Bones shattered in her cheekbones, skull, and hands. Muscles tore. Her brain swelled. Skin on her forehead and knuckles burst open.
Dante’s black eyes shot open.
“No!” he roared.
She smiled down at him. He leapt to his feet and crouched over her. Their connection broken, the transferred injuries took over and she collapsed onto the pavement.
Chapter 9
“No!”
Dante bolted upright. What the hell happened? The last thing he remembered was the minion getting in a good shot when he’d been distracted. By Hannah. Herre Gud.
She lay crumpled on the pavement, blood oozing from the injuries on her face and the back of her head. He touched his own scalp in the same areas, found sticky blood in the exact same places. But no cuts or bruises.
She healed him, but why? His body would’ve gotten around to it eventually. But of course, she wouldn’t have known about his own rapid healing abilities.
She had given him one chance to help them both.
Blaring sirens and flashing lights intruded on his thoughts. Dante rose from the pavement in time to see a police cruiser roll up. He slid his hands beneath Hannah’s limp frame, careful of her injuries.
Jåvlar. He had to get out of here. Too many questions.
The first officer rushed out of the car, pulling his gun. “Stop! Hands up!”
In one smooth movement, Dante pulled Hannah to him, curled around her, and sprinted lightning fast around a nearby house into the backyard.
“What the...?”
As Dante heard the officer call into the walkie-talkie for backup, quick footsteps drew closer around the side of the house.
Dante shifted Hannah to his shoulder, holding her inert body to his chest. When broken bones ground together in her ribcage, his stomach churned. He had to get her to help. With his free arm, he grabbed the top of a fence and swung himself over, landing lightly. He ended up in a kennel run. With a barking dog.
Kristus. Dante crouched and growled until the dog submitted. The canine lay on the ground, whining.
Yelling for backup, the officer began climbing the same fence, flashlight beams piercing the slats and bouncing shadows over Dante and Hannah.
Dante sprinted across the yard, vaulted another fence, landed in yet another backyard, cursed, and spun ninety degrees. Leaping over another fence, he raced around to the front of a property and followed the driveway to the street.
He sprinted for two blocks and ducked behind an unlit home.
What to do? Hannah needed medical attention. He couldn’t go to the hospital with her—it would raise way too many unanswerable questions. Create a trail. His kind avoided places requiring an insurance card, places with security cameras.
But he’d reveal his secret if it meant she would live.
She moaned, her pitiful cries torpedoing into his chest. Adjusting so she rested in front of him but still in his arms, he studied her grotesquely bruised and swollen face. Sick rage almost incapacitated him at such destruction of her smooth skin. He needed to kill something, someone. He wanted to track down Brandon. The knife pulsed, eager to participate. Gritting his teeth, he pushed back the killing urge and focused on the broken body in his arms.
“Dante?”
Her soft voice tethered him to reality but barely.
“Yes, ålskling?” Sweetheart. He hadn’t called anyone that for 150 years.
“Are you okay?” she whispered.
He blinked. She was asking about him?
When she tried to reach for him, her arm dropped away. Dante removed her smudged glasses and slid them into his pants pocket. He knew she couldn’t see without them, so he’d try to keep them from breaking.
“Am I okay? Of course. I have a hard head. What about you?”
He swept her matted hair back from her bruised forehead. His normally steady fingers shook.
“Not so good.”
She winced when she moved, and he tucked her into his arms, holding her steady as he surveyed the damage.
“Why did you heal me back there?”
“... thought you might die.”
If only she knew.
“I’m pretty tough to kill.”
“They hurt you. Badly. Especially Brandon. He’s ... bad.”
“I agree.” At least she’d woken up and could talk to him. “But you took on the injuries yourself.”
“It’s just something ... I can do.”
“You’re hurt now.” A lump formed in his throat.
“Yes, but it’s never quite as bad as the original injury.”
Really? Because she looked like she’d gone five rounds in an MMA bout and should’ve tapped out four and a half rounds ago.
“How bad is it now?”
“Well, I thought they had killed you, and I took on all of your injuries.” She moaned. “So, not great.”
“Can you reverse it? The healing?”
He couldn’t handle her being in this much pain.
“I don’t know if it’s possible.” She wheezed.
“My friend Barnaby thinks the healing can be reversed back into the original person who was hurt. Can you try, please?”
When she closed her eyes, it took too long for her to open them again. “I can try. But it makes more sense for you to be healthy than me,” she rasped.
He couldn’t argue the logic. She knew he’d protect her. He’d challenge the hounds of hell to keep her safe.
“Well, I’m just fine now, so put the injuries back into me, please.”
Sirens rang out in the distance, and he tensed. She coughed and cried out, holding her ribs.
He wanted to kill Brandon. Needed to. Now. The knife was hungry. He dragged his gaze back to her face.
“Can you get us out of here?” she gasped.
He thought through his options and made a decision. “Ja, but you have to get to a hospital.”
“No!” Tears shone. “Please, no.”
“You’re hurt.”
“No hospitals. I don’t want ... anyone to know where I am.”
Of course. She didn’t want Scott or Brandon to discover their whereabouts. That made sense. Damn it. Dante would try to take care of her as best he could.
The sirens drew closer again. The police were likely canvassing the area. He had to get her away from here.
“I’m going to run. I’ll try to be easy, but it might hurt.”
“I trust you.”
The glazed pain on her face would’ve driven him to his knees if he weren’t already crouched over her. His heart twisted. She trusted him, a killer, to keep her safe.
Biting off a curse, he cradled her against his chest, trying not to jostle her too much. She pressed her lips together into a thin, white line.
Bending down to brush her forehead with his lips, he said, “I’m sorry, ålskling.” And took off at an inhumanly fast sprint.
He would’ve moved even faster if he weren’t concentrating on smoothing out his gait and sticking to as many shadows as possible. It was harder to stay hidden with the light from a full moon. They were sure to attract some attention, but thankfully at this evening hour, fewer people were out.
Taking a circuitous path through the area of town south of the bookstore, Dante tried to mask their direction. Every so often, he’d leap into backyards, through driveways, creating paths that would confuse anyone following them. A police dog would never catch them, but it might be able to follow a scent. When a small drainage ditch presented itself, he slogged through it for a quarter mile before jumping out and continuing on his way.
At every jolt, he cringed. She suffered for him, taking all those injuries, but she never complained, just pressed her swollen cheek to his chest.
After a period of silence, he tried to rouse her, but it took effort. He needed to get to the car and have her reverse the healing. Now.
Finally arriving at his Hummer, he eased Hannah into the passenger seat and reclined it.
“Ålskling? Wake
up, please.”
She groaned, her cheeks glistening with tears and oozing blood. He hated himself. She’d endured more pain than she let on. Brushing her skin dry with his thumbs, he rocked her shoulder.
“We need to leave, Hannah. Can you reverse the healing?”
“Yes, but you’ll be sick immediately.”
“I don’t care.”
“Do I look like I can drive this vehicle like this?”
“Well, no.”
“What makes you think you’ll be able to drive if you’re in this state?”
“Ah, I do heal very quickly.”
“Not fast enough.”
She coughed. Flecks of blood dotted her pale lips. He grabbed her cold hands and squeezed, willing whatever it was she did to send the pain back to him.
“Give it to me. Let me have it.”
“No. Get us away to a safe place where we can heal. Then I’ll reverse it.”
She wheezed, head lolling against the back of the seat. He opened his mouth to argue. She silenced him.
“Hurry, please.”
Balling his hands into fists, Dante struggled to keep from yelling in frustration. He hadn’t experienced such helplessness since his brother almost died those many years ago.
He removed her glasses from his pants pocket and stored them in the center console. Slipping her purse from around her body, he laid it at her feet. Throwing open the trunk, he searched for extra clothes he kept stashed there. He retrieved one of his shirts and draped it over her, hoping to keep her as warm and comfortable as possible.
No seatbelt. It would hurt her ribs too much. So drive carefully.
Concentrating, he wove through town. He tensed at every stoplight, scanning the other cars and cross streets. He wanted to race out of here, but he didn’t want to draw attention.
Keeping to the interminably slow speed limits, he obeyed all traffic rules, a perfect vehicle operator, until he got on I-84. He blew out air. They were finally out of town.
Hannah coughed, a strangled, gurgling sound. He put a hand on her shoulder and she moaned, resting her cheek on his hand. Blood trickled down her chin.
Black terror clawed its way down his throat.
He pressed the pedal down.
When they reached the next interstate exit, he pulled off on a dirt road near Sandy River Delta Park. They weren’t nearly far enough away from the frontage road and from Portland, but this would have to do. Her suffering had to end before it killed her.
Shutting off the vehicle, he ran around the car, wrenched open the passenger door, and cupped her face in his hands. She startled, eyes flying open, mere ghostly shadows beneath the slanting dome light.
“Hannah, reverse it, please. Something bad is happening to you. Give it back to me, now, ålskling.”
She wrapped a clammy hand around Dante’s wrist, and he rotated his own hand to secure his grip. When her eyes closed, he thought she’d passed out again, until the tsunami wave of agony slammed into him. Inhuman pain, fiery torture riddled his body. But it was his pain. His injuries. This was what she’d been holding on to so he could get them to safety. Herre Gud. They made a grisly tag team.
His brain throbbed like a mad drummer pounded on his skull. Cuts bled anew, though not as briskly as they had originally. They stung, but he continued the connection. He wanted all of the damage back.
How had she lived through that hell?
He bit off a curse as she continued to push the injuries back into him. His ribs cracked again in deep, sickening pops. Blood pooled in his lungs, and he wheezed as ice pick-sharp pain pierced his side with every shallow draw of air.
Knots of bruised muscle tore through his back and shoulders. His abdomen ached like a bitch. Probing his belly, he perceived tense pressure building up inside, a rapidly expanding knot deep in his gut. Kristus. A spleen maybe? And she kept this from him? She might’ve died if he hadn’t taken it back when he did.
As the tension in her hand relaxed, Hannah’s weary sigh did his soul wonders. Relief softened the tension on her lips; the bruises and bleeding had receded. When she blinked, the connection ceased, and he staggered back, clutching the doorframe to remain upright.
“Why did you hold on to the injuries so long?” he ground out, his jaw clenched against the searing pain.
“We’d never have gotten far enough away to be safe.” Her low voice soothed him. “You’re going to feel awful for quite a while.” She yawned. “If I can sleep for a bit, I’ll drive.
“No need. I just need an hour or so to get better.”
“An hour? Who are you kidding? I know how hurt you are.”
“Like I said, I heal quickly.”
“Are you some kind of freak of nature?”
“You could say that. Can we discuss this later? I need to rest.”
He coughed, doubling over. He remained vertical only by virtue of will.
A frown furrowed her brow.
He pointed to the center console next to her. “If you would push those two buttons ...” She complied, and the back seat of the Hummer rotated, slid forward, and flattened. “Aftermarket upgrade. Totally worth it.”
Dante groaned as he opened the back door and eased onto the seat, lying diagonally and bending to accommodate his large frame. Sleeping in his car wasn’t perfect, but it worked in a pinch. Wouldn’t be the first time.
“Your glasses are in there.” He pointed at the console. “And if you need anything, there are water and snacks, too.”
“You keep food in your car?”
“I like to eat.” He panted through the pain until he could talk again. “But I stocked it this morning, hoping I might be able to eventually drive you around. Like, on a date. This is not what I had in mind.” He pressed a hand against his creaking ribcage.
He watched as she found napkins, wetted them, and scrubbed her face clean. After gulping some water, she sighed. Satisfied that she had recovered, Dante relaxed into the cool, quiet night air that drifted through the vehicle.
“Please?” He raised his hand to Hannah.
He had to have her next to him. She was like a human salve on his scarred and raw soul. She was the good to his evil. The light to his dark. He had to be in contact with her and pretend that he could keep her safe, even in his battered state. Thankfully, his injuries had already begun to knit. The broken ribs had nearly sealed back together, and he moved more easily now.
Hesitating, she stood outside the car near his feet, her expression obscured by the shadows from the harsh dome light. Finally, she stepped in and closed the back passenger door, sealing them in a cocoon of warmth and silence. When she paused again, he gently tugged her arm so she rested on her side in front of him, her head pillowed on his arm, the backs of her knees resting against his kneecaps. With a contented sigh, he wrapped his other arm around her, briefly enjoyed the sensation of her tiny frame tucked into his body, and fell into a rare deep sleep.
• • •
Darkness. She couldn’t move. Panic welled up. Another time, another cold, dark space. Another man.
But ... warmth?
The scent of latte and maleness and leather. And blood.
Dante. His car.
She let out a breath and allowed the tension to seep away.
He shifted in his sleep and pulled her closer. She snuggled back against the ridges of his abdomen and anvil-hard chest. For all of his strength, he hadn’t once hurt or threatened her. He’d used all of that power to keep her safe.
She hadn’t felt safe for years.
She wanted to stay here forever, in this car, in his arms, away from all the bad things in her world. What if he wanted more? Didn’t matter. Wouldn’t happen. She was damaged goods, not fit for anyone in a long-term, forever kind of way. Someone with a messed up leg. A messed up life. The creepy healing thing. Her fear of ... closeness. What a bargain.
Dante tensed, grunted, and relaxed back onto the flat seat. He brushed his firm lips over her temple, sending shivers down her spine.
“How are you?” he said. “Is all of the damage gone?”
She loved the way his deep voice rumbled through her bones, and how he kept her tucked against his frame, surrounding her with his body. Safe.
“Almost all of the injuries are gone. I’m a little tired and sore but fine.” Twisting toward him in the near darkness, she asked, “What about you?”
“Ja, told you, I’m a fast healer.”
“People can’t recover that quickly. Breathe.” She put her ear to his chest while he obediently complied. Sounded okay. “I know what was going on in those lungs an hour ago. How’s that possible?”
“It’s a long story. How’s it possible for you to heal people when they’re injured?”
“Good point.” She understood how a person would want to keep secrets. She burrowed her cheek into his shoulder. “You’re really warm.”
“Are you saying I’m a hot guy?” He chuckled.
“Not if it’ll go to your head.”
“Then best not say anything.” When he shifted, the leather seats creaked under his weight. “I have a high thermostat.”
As if demonstrating, he rested his rather warm lips on her cheek and moved down to her mouth. Swirls of pleasure coiled down her body as he kissed her gently. When he added a nip with his teeth, she jumped.
He pulled away, half chuckling, half groaning. “Hannah, even with aching bones from getting my ass handed to me by Scott’s friends, we should really be working out a plan for what to do next.”
“But?”
“But nothing. I’m happy cramped in a car with you right here. I can’t concentrate on the next step in our plan.”
He brushed his lips over her forehead once more and sat up, helping her to do the same. Opening the passenger door, he muttered something foreign and unpleasant sounding when the garish dome light flashed on. He reached up and shut off the interior light. Now only the light from the full moon illuminated the vehicle.
She pulled out her glasses from the center console and popped them on. As she stepped out of the vehicle in front of him, he swung his long legs out of the car and sat on the edge of the seat. With his big hands, he scrubbed at his jaw. The bruises and cuts had almost healed. Just a little dried blood. Amazing.
Relentless Flame (Hell to Pay) Page 10