Blood Submission (Deathless Night Series Book 5)

by L. E. Wilson

  Chapter 27

  Dante stood just inside the elevator door with Laney passed out in his arms. Noticing the gooseflesh on her bare torso, he pulled her in closer to his chest, trying to keep her warm. The doors closed in front of him, then opened again, then closed again as he stared at the panel of buttons. His immediate instinct was to take her below ground where she would be safe and he could watch over her.

  But she hated it down there.

  Dante’s fangs shot down, aggression overtaking him as he wrestled with the demons in his head. He couldn’t protect her upstairs, and he couldn’t stay up there with her. He was ready to jump out of his skin even for the short periods of time he was required to be up there. If he took her up there to recover, she would be alone. Vulnerable.

  But the others were all up there. And just because she was his fated mate didn’t mean they had to be attached at the fucking hip. She didn’t even have to like him, just give up her blood whenever he needed it for him to survive. Hell, he could set her up in her own place. As long as it was somewhere nearby….

  He immediately squashed that thought. Fuck, no.

  Dante heaved a sigh. But maybe he should give her the choice.

  Dante stared down at her small form, indecision wracking him. Her earthy sweet scent rose around him, overpowering the mix of sea air and car oil that permeated the garage, and the smell of demon gore and seawater on their bodies. She had saved him today. She had saved them both.

  The doors opened again. He growled low in his throat, shifted Laney’s weight to one arm, and punched a button with his finger.

  Less than a minute later he was kicking open the door to his apartment, startling the dog, who in turn began to bark his fool head off. Dante silently ordered the dog to hush while he carried her back to the bedroom and laid her across the bed. Reaching over her, he tugged the comforter up and tucked it around her.

  Then he straightened to his full height and exhaled, slowing his breathing to almost nothing so he could listen. After a moment, he relaxed. Her heartbeat was strong and steady, her lungs expanding and contracting as they should with no abnormalities. Dante took a relieved breath, brushing the stray hairs off her face. Her skin was damp and pale from exertion, but she was sleeping soundly. Yes, his mate was strong. Probably stronger than him.

  He would get one of the other witches to come sit with her so she didn’t wake up alone. He needed to secure the underground. It wasn’t safe there anymore now that the demons knew of his secret exit. Or entrance, depending on how you looked at it.

  But first he would bring up her things. He’d made up his mind. He was leaving her here. They could buy her a table and a couch and whatever else her heart desired. The vampire council had plenty of money stashed away. She would be better off staying up here with the others, much as it hurt his pride to admit it. The witches would make sure she was fed, and she could be with her pet. She would be happier.

  The last few days had proven that he was worthless as a mate for her. Her own words earlier only confirmed it, as did his inability to protect her. He had no fucking idea how to take care of her, or how to comfort her.

  Laney thought they shared a bond, and he supposed that was true—to a point. They’d both lost a child. But whereas her son, he was convinced, had died of completely natural causes, his had not. His had died for no reason other than his father…that he…had failed to protect him. There was no comfort to be had there, from her or anyone else.

  And other than his own personal convictions, he now knew it was impossible for Laney to have killed her own child. She was a Protector: a special breed of witch that came from a long line of magical ancestors who passed down the ability to fight true evil from generation to generation. There was normally one or two in each coven at all times. They protected their kind and the ones connected to them by blood. The sorcery that bred them would not allow them to do otherwise even if they wanted to, similar to vampires with their mates.

  It all became clear to him now. This was the reason she was cleaving to him, the only reason. It was the only thing that made sense to him. They had a blood bond now. But she deserved better than a brutish male like him. Dante had spent his entire immortal life hating humans and punishing them for everything they’d done to him. He didn’t even know how to fucking talk to her.

  Hell, a human male could do better by her. Dante couldn’t even save her from a few limp-dicked demons. She was one of the most important witches of her generation—one of the most important people to him—and he had failed her in his efforts to keep her safe.

  And thanks to him and his fucked up ego, Steven now had the exact thing Luuk had been desperately trying to keep away from them. The Master Vampire had immediately sent out scouts, including Nik and Aiden—and Aiden’s demon—to try to track him. But Dante knew that demon would not be found unless he wanted to be. And who knew where the rest of those bastards were or who they were possessing now. The vampire bodies were no longer viable, and would soon be nothing but ash when the sun came up. To make sure humans didn’t find the carnage before that could happen, Christian was keeping watch over the scene of the fight. He’d hightail it back home just before he was barbecued himself.

  Tucking the comforter closer around Laney, he leaned down and pressed a tender kiss to her hairline, breathing the scent of her into his lungs. Then he turned away, left her there, and went to check on the pets. Noting that they had plenty of food and water, he hunkered down onto his haunches to scratch the dog’s ears and ruffle the cat’s fur.

  He locked the door behind him, and went back down to the underground. After confirming the latch on the bench was repairable, he set about reinforcing it until he was comfortable that nothing would be getting in or out unless he wanted them to.

  When he was done, he wandered around the room, his eyes touching on each piece in turn. Past memories assaulted him along with the way—voices begging for their lives, a blood curdling scream as he carved a piece of flesh from a face.

  He had come upon that particular male while hunting one night, his interest piqued when he heard the sounds of a scuffle. The guy was beating an elderly woman when Dante found him. Apparently, the woman wouldn’t give the asshole her purse. His fangs ached at the recollection of that guest. He had lasted longer than Dante would’ve wagered.

  Turning his head, his eyes skimmed over the bench he had just fixed. Screams of a different sort echoed through his head as he saw a woman with blonde hair and extra flesh strapped face down upon it with her ass in the air as he fucked her from behind—right before he’d dug his hands into all of that hair and yanked her head back until he heard the soothing sound of cracking bone. The screams had stopped abruptly as he bent over her and sank his fangs into her shoulder just before he came. He’d been stalking that one for days. She left her young daughter home alone every night while she whored herself out. Strangely enough, the memory did not make him hard, as it normally did.

  But he was no hero. Sometimes he killed just for the fun of it. He could count on one hand the number of times he’d fed on a human without taking their life. He preferred to kill them. Less risk that way.

  When he got to the table that held his assortment of “tools,” Dante scrubbed his hand over his mouth. His skin felt tight, the muscles underneath twitching restlessly as he admired the assortment of blades, whips, and other pain-inducing gadgets. Picking up a small knife in his right hand, he shoved his sleeve up on his opposite arm and laid the cold blade against his skin. The tip bit into the edge of one of his tattoos.

  Dante paused. The markings had been done by hand with a sharp stick and the ash from a sacred fire by one of the elders in his camp. It was supposed to protect him from the evil lurking inside his body after the vampire had attacked him. An ancient spell tattooed permanently into his skin, but only on the left side, where the bites festered.

  Needless to say, it didn’t work, and he turned soon after. But he moved the tip to avoid cutting into it, just in case. Slow
ly, he drew the blade across the unmarked skin of his forearm. His upper lip lifted, exposing his fangs as the blood welled and spilled over to run down his arm and drip onto the floor. He repeated the process until both arms were decorated with red diagonal lines, but the bloodletting wasn’t enough to release the restless self-loathing and agitation churning inside him.

  He needed to hurt someone. Maybe a couple of someones. Alone in this room, all he could smell was the blood, sweat, and fear of his victims. It made him hungry for the hunt just thinking about it. This was who he was.

  Less than a minute later, he was roaming the city streets. A light drizzle fell, washing away the blood on his skin and gradually soaking his clothes. Dante paid no attention to it, sticking to the shadows as he made his way to The Jungle, Seattle’s infamous homeless encampment. When he got there, he remained under the cover of trees, observing the huddle of tents, searching for something that caught his interest. He was familiar with most that lived there. Some were there because they’d fallen on hard times and had no other recourse. But others chose to check out of society, and he couldn’t really say that he blamed them. Others preyed upon both groups.

  It didn’t take long before Dante spotted exactly what he was looking for. A punk ass and his buddy appeared from the other end of the camp, picking their way along the center path. Their eyes were shifty as they crept through the encampment, peaking inside the tents where they could.

  A quick connection of his mind to theirs confirmed his suspicions, and Dante smiled. These two were the perfect reciprocals for his aggression.

  His hunting instincts took over as he watched them get closer. A quick look around confirmed that everyone else was asleep. Not that it mattered. He cared not whether he was seen here. Everyone thought these people were nothing but crazy meth addicts. Nothing they said was taken seriously. A moment later, and he was crouched on the branch of a large oak. He hadn’t made a single sound. Watching them closely, he waited for the exact right moment.

  Dante liked to toy with his prey.

  One of them ducked into a tent, only to reappear moments later. He shook his head at his friend, and they kept going. Dante waited with the eternal patience of the damned as they made their way toward him.

  Come on, you fuckers. I want to play.

  They walked beneath the tree, completely oblivious to the angel of death crouched directly above them. He let them pass, then stood and stepped off the branch, landing behind them with a soft thud.

  They spun around at the same time, and Dante smiled at their matching looks of horror as he towered above them. “Wrong place, right time, assholes.”

  Grabbing them both around the throat, he dragged them further into the underbrush that surrounded the camp. There were still a few cars on the nearby highway, the sounds of the traffic muffling the sounds they made as they tried to kick and claw their way free.

  Dante pulled the one with the greasy black hair in closer until his fangs were front and center in the idiot’s line of vision. He caught the terrified gaze with his own. “You will remain calm, sit quietly, and wait your turn.” Then he dropped him to the ground where the guy obediently sat up and wrapped his arms around his knees to wait.

  He then turned his attention to the one he still held. Panic-stricken blue eyes shot from Dante to his friend and back again. Shaking his head back and forth, Dante tsk’d at his bad behavior. “Stealing from the poor. That’s pretty fucking lame. Even for a piece of shit like you.” The guy’s eyes bugged out of his head as he clawed at Dante’s hand, still wrapped around his windpipe. It was a good look on him. Dante flashed his fangs with anticipation.

  The human’s gurgling screams, however, were beginning to grate on his nerves. He squeezed his fingers closer together until the guy’s lips flapped like a fish out of water. But at least he was fucking quiet.

  Much better.

  The smell of urine reached his nose, and Dante cocked his head to the side with mock sympathy. “Don’t feel ashamed, asshole. I tend to have that effect on people.” Then he narrowed his eyes and brought him in closer. “What shall I do to a thief and a liar, hmm?”

  “He never lies,” the one on the ground informed him in a monotone voice. “But he does steal. I think he even stole off me once.”

  Dante gazed down at his greasy head, considering. “I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you for telling me.” Then he smiled, and tore the jacket from his victim’s shoulder with his free hand. Rearing back, he prepared to strike.

  “Dante.”

  He froze with his fangs barely touching the homeless man’s throat. Dante didn’t have to look to see who it was. He knew. “Leave me be, Shea.” His victim whimpered in his arms, and Dante tightened his grip around the guy’s throat to shut him the fuck up.

  “Dante, what are you doing? They’re just kids.”

  With an impatient sigh, he twisted his head around to look at her. “Old enough to steal from others who have nothing to spare.” On that note, he tore into the guy’s throat with relish.

  A second later, he threw him to the ground with disgust and spat out the vile blood in his mouth. “Godsdammit!” he roared, and spit some more. “This is fucking disgusting.” He shoved the human with his booted foot. “What the fuck are you on, asshole?” The human turned eyes wide with shock upon him as he pressed both hands over the gaping hole in his throat. It did nothing to stem the flow of blood, however, and he soon passed out.

  Or bled to death. His friend watched it happen with no reaction.

  Shea crossed her arms over her chest. “Who exactly are you punishing?” she asked. “That human? Or yourself?”

  Dante did not have the time nor the inclination to defend himself. Grabbing the human that was still alive by the hair, he hauled him up off the ground until they were face to face. “Follow me,” he ordered. Then he dropped him and walked away, the human on his heels.

  Shea jogged to catch up to him. “Look. You can tell me to fuck off if you want—”

  “Fuck off.”

  “But I think I know why you’re acting out this way, and why you’ve done it before.” She paused. “Okay, I’m lying, I have no idea why you do this. Maybe you’re just old and cranky.” She hurried on when he shot her a look. “But Laney’s awake. She’s asking for you.”

  Something lurched inside of him. He gritted his teeth and ignored it. “She doesn’t need me.”

  “She seemed pretty out of sorts when you weren’t there.”

  When she didn’t expand on that, he stopped, turning to glare down at the human when he walked right into him. Giving his attention back to Shea, he cocked one eyebrow. “And?”

  She smiled at him. “She’s worried about you.”

  A fragile thread of hope wound its way around his gut. But then he remembered what a piece of shit he was. With a grunt, he kept walking, the human on his heels. “That means nothing to me.”

  “Dante—” She quickly caught up to him.

  “I’m done here, Shea.”

  “You can’t live without her. Like, literally. Maybe you should give her a chance.”

  “I’m done.”

  With a sigh of defeat, she stopped talking, and they walked the rest of the way in silence. When they reached the apartments, she said, “Luukas wants you to come and see him.”

  I bet he does. “Tell him I’ll be up as soon as I am finished down here.” Dante left her at the elevators and took his dessert down to his feeding room.

  He had no idea how the “new” Luukas was going to react to his major fuck up. But he would not run from the consequences of what he had done. It had been a stupid move. More than stupid. Ever since he’d brought that female here, he hadn’t been thinking straight. His decision to keep the box, and to then take it with him to barter for Laney, was all because of her. And now the demons still had the clue they were looking for, and he’d gotten his ass kicked in return. He deserved whatever punishment he had coming to him.

  Hell, he hadn’t even bothered tr
ying to use it as a trade. No fucking way. Instead, he’d gone in there thinking he was all badass as soon as he had her in his sights—guns blazing, starting a fight, and almost getting them both killed.

  And they’d gotten it anyway.

  In a fit of temper, he raised his fist to lash out at the human standing next to him. The human stood calmly awaiting the blow, still under the mindfuck Dante had bestowed upon him. He didn’t even flinch.

  With a snarl, Dante lowered his fist and stepped back. Everywhere he looked, he saw Laney’s accusing brown eyes. No, not accusing. Disappointed. She would be disappointed if she found out he killed this one in here. Or had killed any more humans at all. And somehow, that was even worse than her anger.

  Why do I even fucking care?

  But he did care. Godsdamn her.

  He laughed out loud. It wasn’t a pleasant sound. But it was downright fucking amusing, this turn his long life had recently taken. Laney would never care for a monster like him. Not the way he needed her to. And she shouldn’t. She was all that was good and light, a Protector. Even the way she tried to accept her fate with him proved that she was too good for him. He didn’t deserve her. But Shea was right: he needed her. And Dante wasn’t like Nikulas. Fuck, no. He was entirely too fucking selfish to walk away from her, and not entirely because he needed her blood.

  Smashing his fist into the brick directly above the human, Dante roared with frustration. He began to pace the room, tearing at his skull with both hands. Every once in a while, he would stop and destroy something. By the time he got it all out, there wasn’t much left for his entertainment.

  Numb, he sank down onto the bench with his head in his hands.

  Chapter 28

  Laney sat on the side of the bed staring at the nightstand. On it laid her copy of Goodnight Moon. The rest of her stuff was in her backpack on the floor. A glass of juice waited for her to drink it. It had all been there when she’d woken up. She also had one of Dante’s T-shirts on over her jeans. It nearly swallowed her whole, but she didn’t change out of it.