As she stumbled on her numb foot, he cupped her elbow to steady her.
“Why?”
“For two reasons. First, you can potentially undo any kill, thus depriving Jerahmeel of his tasty soul. Second, it’s possible that he might force you to heal a criminal over and over so he can keep feeding off of one person. It wouldn’t satisfy Jerahmeel completely, but might sustain him nevertheless.”
Her legs wobbled. “That sounds awful.”
“You’d be worse than a slave.”
“Oh, God.”
He grabbed her arms, stopping her in the path. His grip was the only thing keeping her upright. A ringing in her ears accompanied blackness on the edge of her vision.
He gave her a light shake, anchoring her back in reality.
“I’m not going to let those scenarios happen,” he said.
“Peter and Allie and their baby may die because of me. And Scott, too.” As fear and anger took over, her knees trembled.
“No, that will not happen.”
“Do you have a plan?” Because Hannah sure as heck didn’t see a way out of this mess without someone dying, and it might just be her.
“Not yet. Peter and Barnaby are discussing options. There’s also another undead working with Barnaby. She might be helpful.”
“She?”
“Ruth. Apparently she had been a Civil War nurse. She could probably kill people with her glare.”
“Well, that’s helpful.” Hannah backed away from him and continued walking along the path. “So what about your super speed and strength and ability to heal yourself?”
“All part of the contract with Jerahmeel. It’s inconvenient for us to get old and die of disease or injury.”
“So when Brandon saw me heal you, that was bad?”
“He already knew you could heal.”
“How?”
“Scott told him.”
“What?” She stopped again, sick at her stomach. “No way. He wouldn’t tell.”
“He would if he was drunk.”
Oh, geez, Dante was right. Scott’s loose lips could’ve wagged any night when he and Brandon hung out. Her brother had marked her and some very good people for death. Or worse.
What would be worse than death? Not having Dante around. Being forced to heal criminals for the Devil’s consumption. Pain every single time she touched someone with an injury or illness. Without an end in sight.
She wouldn’t do it, then. She’d just die.
But this Jerahmeel guy would make her do it, wouldn’t he? Anyone she knew remained at risk. Anyone she cared for became leverage over her will.
As for Brandon tracking her? She’d never be able to run far enough or keep everyone safe.
Just a matter of time.
All the air, all her energy, deserted her.
She sat down on the gravel, hard. The edges of the rocks jabbed into her palms as she leaned forward.
“Hannah?” Dante knelt next to her, his warm hand on her back.
“Everyone’ll be hurt because of me.”
“No. We’ll find a way out of this situation.”
“There are no options. You said so yourself. Even though Peter and Barnaby are out of their contracts, they’re still vulnerable. So are Allie and Scott. Just because this Jerahmeel guy can’t touch them doesn’t mean one of his cronies can’t attack them. People are going to get hurt. You’re going to get hurt.”
“You needn’t worry about me. I’ve managed for 300 years; I’ll be fine.”
That was the problem, wasn’t it? He’d be alive for hundreds more years. Longer than she fathomed. Longer than she would live, that’s for sure. A shiver crawled up her spine.
When he rubbed her shoulder, she startled. Then, unbidden quivers of desire flowed up her spine. She shook her head to clear it of the growing interest in his touch.
“This situation is not good,” she said.
His caress flooded her entire body with warmth. She briefly closed her eyes until he cleared his throat.
“No, it’s not great. But then again, it’s all relative. I’ve lived through far worse. You, too. When it all boils down to it, we’re both survivors.”
He pulled her to her feet, the river murmuring next to them. The contact with his hand flowed like a warm wave through her chest. For a split second, she saw him as a constant companion, a loving partner, someone to grow old with. As a breeze moved the hair above his eerie blue eyes, he blinked, and the image shattered into a thousand pieces.
She tried to swallow, but the movement stuck halfway down.
What a stupid dream. She wasn’t normal. Dante wasn’t normal. Hundreds of years after she was long dead, he’d still be roaming this Earth. Time to deal with reality.
She tilted her head upward to meet his gaze, framed by an upraised eyebrow and tilted corners to his sensual mouth.
“So, what do you recommend we do now?”
He squeezed her hand, which still rested in his big paw. “You know what I like when the going gets tough?”
His wry grin lit up even the dark shadows of her mind, and she found herself smiling in spite of everything.
“No, what?”
“Lunch! Let’s eat.”
He held out his arm to support her as they walked back to the cabin.
• • •
Although he acted calm, Dante was panicking inside. He had tried to distract her from the near disaster earlier today. If one could understate nearly killing an innocent as a mere disaster.
Since when had he been unable to escape a predicament? Since never.
Until now. At the rate things were going, they were screwed.
How were they going to escape this mess without someone dying?
They weren’t.
Allie’s death visions always came true, and she’d seen one of Hannah when the two women had briefly shaken hands.
Kristus.
Hell, he’d almost fulfilled Allie’s prediction himself, trying to gut Hannah with his damn knife. What a pathetic protector. What a dåre, idiot. Jåvlar, the knife still throbbed, reminding him he remained overdue for a kill.
Peter and Barnaby were working on options, but when Dante slipped into the backroom to turn on his cell phone, there were no messages. He threw the phone back in his bag. For right now, he and Hannah were on their own. He paused at the doorway of the bedroom and watched her cleaning the plates from lunch. The sweet, domestic image pinched inside his chest until it hurt to breathe.
He didn’t care how much he had to fight his killer instinct. He had to keep her safe. Or destroy himself trying.
The urge to kill had started to consume his thoughts. What if he could sneak away and kill a human, slake the killing instinct? But not in this area. To be safe, he’d have to go hundreds of miles away, and he refused to leave her unprotected for that long.
If he killed anyone in this town, the minute he sank his blade into a human, that cursed unhuman radar would alert Jerahmeel of his location. Brandon would soon follow.
Oddly, Dante hadn’t gotten so much as a whiff of the minion yet. Not detecting the minion was either neutral or very bad. It wasn’t good. Brandon wouldn’t stop until he got hold of Hannah. Either the minion still searched for them, or he’d stopped looking and was formulating a new plan. Neither option boded well.
Damn, another wave of hunger fired up again. It wasn’t completely knife lust this time, though. He had no right giving into any base instincts where she was concerned. The seesawing killing desire versus male desire wrecked his ability to think.
His fingers involuntarily stretched toward the knife. He wanted to sink the damned blade into a human more than he’d wanted any prior kill. Dante shook his head, trying to concentrate. No one ever fought the pull of the knife for long. But he had to try harder, be stronger. For Hannah. For everything she’d already been through. For what she might yet have to endure.
The thought of her in the basement, beaten and raped by Raymond, sharpened his focus, t
emporarily replacing the urge to kill. Well, kill anyone new, at least. He’d prefer to gut Raymond again and again, but even that act could never exact adequate justice.
Fury and protectiveness boiled in his gut until raw emotion cleared his mind of the knife lust.
Cleared his mind of everything.
Except Hannah.
With sudden clarity, he watched her small hands move through the water and grasp a towel to dry the plates. Such a simple task she performed. But he needed those hands on his damp skin, moving over his body. Raw desire drilled a spine-wrecking shudder through him, and the wood of the bedroom doorframe creaked beneath the pressure of his fingers. How much longer could he fight this other battle?
Long enough.
Right?
Damn her delicate fingers, flitting over the countertop.
His jeans strained against his inappropriate interest. He had no right to respond in this way. Not with Hannah.
Not after he’d lost control and tried to bury the goddamned knife in her earlier today. A monster who would do such a thing—he had no right to ask her for anything.
But he could only stay in this cabin, so close—enjoying her sweet smile, her scent of flowers and fresh air, listening to her low voice—for so long without breaking.
He had suppressed the killing urge. Maybe he could suppress his other urges.
When she raked back her strawberry blonde hair, she exposed her creamy neck. His groin tightened as if a vice had been placed on his balls. How had she made it so difficult for him to maintain control? Perhaps his mind was addled. Maybe every one of her actions, no matter how innocent, turned him on because he’d become a giant, horny mess. How did she weave such a spell? He had no idea, but she’d done it ever since he had first seen her. At least her allure was consistent. Or his active libido was consistent.
Damn it, where was a book to read when he needed it?
Maybe sunshine and nature would divert him.
He cleared his throat so as not to startle her as he walked into the kitchen. “Want to sit on the porch?”
When she glanced up, those inquisitive brown eyes, framed by the glasses, pinned him.
He indulged in a sudden fantasy of her lying beneath him, naked. Except for those glasses. She should leave those on; they were cute.
Kristus, he needed to get out of this cabin before his mind and balls exploded.
She wiped her hands on the towel.
He groaned.
“Sure.” Her stiff frame belied her light tone. Probably worried he’d try to stab her again. He was an idiot. Here she tried to hide her terror of him, and all he could think of was his own carnal needs.
Praying that he wasn’t making a foolish choice, he motioned for her to precede him out the door. He scanned the area and inhaled. No sign of danger. For now.
She perched in the double porch swing and scooted over to make room, but her jaw remained set.
Her lack of trust hurt, but he deserved her doubt. Somehow, though, he’d try to prove that he would never hurt her.
After dubiously assessing the s-hooks suspending the swing from the rafters, he shrugged.
Hannah had the temerity to giggle when the wood creaked as he eased into the swing. When Dante growled at her, she laughed even more. The tense line of her shoulders relaxed, and she rested her hand on the arm.
He didn’t care that her lack of fear came at the cost to his pride.
Satisfied the seat wouldn’t drop out from beneath him, he, too, relaxed, dropping an arm behind her on the back of the swing. Strands of her silky hair slid over his hand, sending sparks of sensation up his entire arm. But he didn’t move a muscle.
She fingered the supporting chain at the end of the armrest. “So you’re really Swedish?”
“Ja, definitivt. Definitely.”
“Not a strong accent.” Gold glints like effervescent bubbles swirled in her brown irises.
His heart thumped. Nerves? What happened to the great Dante, waylaid by this slip of a women? Ridiculous.
He swallowed. “Depends on the mood and location. Don’t need the accent in this country. Also, it’s been a long time since I visited Sweden. Too many memories. Doesn’t matter. No one is left.”
“Three hundred years ago. For real?”
“I would not lie.”
She pursed her lips. “So, what was your home like?”
Leaning back on the wooden slats, he sighed. “Ahh, my province was called Vårmland. I lived in a small village, really more a collection of small farms. The village doesn’t even exist now. A beautiful, lush region with thousands of streams and creeks. Like western Oregon near Portland, only the hills are softer, more rolling. Lots of lakes.”
“Was it cold? Did it snow a lot?”
“I was young then and didn’t know any different, but yes, there was a tremendous amount of snow. But when spring came with the flowers, it was spectacular. And the summer days lasted forever.”
“Family?”
The chair creaked as he pushed the swing. The gentle rocking combined with a cool fall breeze to calm his strained nerves.
“My fader died early on in the Great Northern War, doing his duty for the Swedish Empire. Moder carried on with my help and that of my brother, Lars. He and I were near inseparable. Even in war.”
“Sounds like a good family.”
When she rested her head against his arm, he swallowed a lump in his throat.
“Yes. Our family had love, happiness, and ... lots of hard work.” He laughed. “And sometimes the switch when Lars and I did wrong.”
“How often did you get in trouble?”
“Often enough. But I always ran faster than Lars.”
The river rushed along in the background. Leaves rustled. Light wind moved pieces of her strawberry blonde hair over his arm. He’d love nothing more than to sit here with her forever.
She pressed her cheek to his shoulder. That simple act twisted something both sweet and terrible in his chest.
Hold still. Don’t mess anything up. Keep rocking the swing.
Damn it, this perfect moment would never last.
When she rolled her head to look up at him, a sick dread dropped like a rock into his gut.
“So what were you and Allie talking about before we left? She and Peter gave me strange looks, and you seemed really upset. Did I do something wrong?”
Dante cupped her shoulder reassuringly while struggling to formulate an answer. Could he answer honestly? He might be an oaf, but he generally told the truth.
“Absolutely not. It’s nothing to worry about.”
She blinked. “I don’t believe you.”
Did she need the truth? She was already a marked woman. Maybe she deserved to know. He rubbed his neck with his free hand.
“Ah, Allie has a ... gift, too.”
“Can she heal people?”
When Hannah gazed up at him like that, all hopeful and trusting, he wanted to kiss the tip of her nose, wrap her in his arms, and keep everything bad in this world far, far away.
Damn it.
“No, Allie’s ability is different. She sees death when she touches some people.”
“Wow.” Then her expression changed. “Oh. She saw mine?”
His silence answered her.
Damn those earnest, gold-glinting eyes. “Is she ever wrong?”
“Once she had a vision of her niece’s death, and she prevented it from occurring.”
“But it would’ve happened if she hadn’t intervened?”
“Yes.”
“So she’s never wrong.”
“No.”
She leaned forward, elbows on knees, and pressed her face into her hands. “Oh. Well, that’s that, isn’t it? You don’t think I have a way to survive this mess ... intact. Allie’s never-wrong death-seeking ability agrees with you. Done.”
“No.”
She laughed sadly. “You’re a contract killer who is semi-immortal, and I’m about to be dead.”
&
nbsp; “No.”
When she planted her feet on the porch, the swing stopped. “I’m a marked woman. Brandon isn’t going to stop. Your friends’ lives are at risk because of me. Oh no, Allie’s baby—”
“It’s not your fault.” He dropped a hand onto her thin shoulder.
“Answer me. If I hadn’t met you, if I weren’t ... the way I am ... none of this mess would be occurring, right?”
“It’s not that simple.”
“Seems pretty cut and dried to me.” She stared off in the distance. “Actually, it sounds like it’s not healthy for anyone to be around me. Who’d want to take the risk?”
“Hannah. No.”
She was wrong.
He needed to prove it.
Giving in, he pulled her back into his shoulder and tilted her chin toward him. When he touched his mouth to hers, she tasted like hope and light. Her lips were the sweetest ambrosia, and he could sip at them forever.
Damn that word again, forever. Jåvlar. There was no forever.
But he did have right now. And right now, he wanted to erase her fear, to keep her safe.
For once in his unnatural existence, his base sexual needs took a back seat to something more, an emotion he refused to name.
He would give her comfort, however small a kindness it might be in this insane situation. Wrapping his arm around her shoulders, he tucked her deeper into his embrace and bent his head to take the kiss deeper.
As she pressed up toward him, a tiny cry escaped her lips. He kissed her forehead, her chin, her cheeks, and then back to her soft mouth. The taste of salty moisture stopped him cold, and he lifted his head.
“Ålskling?” He pulled a strand of hair off of her damp cheek.
She fisted his shirt and pressed her forehead to his chest. “Don’t ask me anything. Please.” Her hoarse entreaty ripped him to the core.
More. He needed more contact, to envelop her more, protect her more. Reassure her.
Of what? That nothing bad would happen? He might be unnaturally strong, but he couldn’t keep that promise of total safety.
So what did he have to offer?
Himself. Such as he was.
Jåvlar.
He drew her over onto his lap and settled her legs on either side of his thighs. The slight weight of her frame barely registered. Snaking his arms around her waist, he tucked her tightly to his chest. She fit perfectly in every way. He’d do anything to protect her. Do anything to have her forever.
Relentless Flame (Hell to Pay) Page 17