Undaunted

by HELEN HARDT

  “That we know of. That doesn’t mean they won’t. What if they smell you and—”

  “I’m going. I want to talk to Bea anyway.”

  “What for?”

  “I want to find out how Abe is doing, and…I want to ask her something else too.”

  “What?”

  She reddened. “I want to see if she has a potion for me or something.”

  “Are you feeling okay?”

  “I’m fine. I’m a nurse, Dante. If I had a medical problem, I wouldn’t be going to Bea.”

  “Then what do you need a potion for?”

  “To disguise my scent.”

  I inhaled. As always, she was everywhere. All around me. Making the air sweeter and purer. “Why would you— Oh.” To keep the Claiborne vamps away, of course.

  “It’s worth a shot.” She patted the small purse on her hip. “And I brought lots of twenties.”

  “But…”

  “But what, Dante?” my father said. “It’s a brilliant idea. Bea is quite powerful. I’d think you’d believe that by now.”

  But…what if I could no longer smell Erin?

  I was being selfish. Erin’s safety was all that mattered. “I’m sorry.”

  “Sorry for what?” she asked.

  “I just don’t… Your fragrance. It’s so much a part of me. Of us. I don’t want to lose that. You’re the only human I can smell now. If it goes away… I just can’t.”

  “You know how I told you that we are not our bodies?” My father smiled. “Erin is not her fragrance, Dante. Her fragrance comes from her blood, from her ancestry. You know this. But it is not who she is. Besides, you have a blood bond with her. You will most likely always be able to—”

  “Wait, wait, wait.” Erin reached out for my father’s arm, but her hand whooshed into air.

  “What?” he asked.

  “What do you mean, from my ancestry?”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Erin

  “You haven’t told her.” Julian’s words were a statement, not a question.

  “No, Dad.”

  “Told me what? What the hell are you keeping from me?”

  “Do we have to do this now?” Dante asked.

  “Oh, hell, yes, we do. Honesty, Dante. Do you really think anything else will bother me at this point?”

  “Not here. Not in broad daylight in a public parking lot, Erin.”

  “Now,” I said through clenched teeth. “No one is here, and I refuse to go one step farther with you until you level with me.”

  “I should go,” Julian said.

  “Dad, stay,” Dante said. “Please.”

  “If you think I won’t lay into you with your father here, think again.” I turned to the ghost. “You’re welcome to stay or go. It doesn’t matter to me either way.”

  “I know damned well you’ll lay into me if you want to.” Dante grasped the golden urn holding Julian’s ashes, his knuckles tense and white. “You have every right to. I want my dad here because he knows more about our history than I do. He might be able to explain some of this better than I can.”

  “Fine. Then please stay, Julian.”

  “If you both want me to,” he said. “But I do suggest we go somewhere else. Somewhere private.”

  A half hour later, we were back at my place, sitting—Julian stood; ghosts didn’t sit, apparently—around my small kitchen table.

  “Spill it,” I said gruffly.

  Dante inhaled, held the air with his chest puffed out for a few seconds, and then exhaled. “As kids, we’re taught to distinguish scents based on certain characteristics. Blonds have a citrusy smell, for example.”

  “I’m not blond.”

  “No. Then redheads. They taste kind of like lavender. Males taste different from females. You know.”

  “As a matter of fact, I don’t know. And I’m not a redhead.”

  “Tell her, Dante.”

  “Yes, for the love of everything holy, tell me, damn it!” I was close to pulling my hair out of every follicle in my scalp, after I pulled out all of Dante’s.

  “Dark-haired humans with light skin… Have you ever wondered why your skin is so sensitive to the sun?”

  “No. I’m a medical professional. I know why it’s sensitive to the sun. I’m fair. I don’t have a lot of melanin. I burn easily.”

  “Have you ever wondered why you prefer the night shift?”

  “I’ve always been a night owl. So is my brother. So is my—” I clasped my hand over my mouth.

  No way. No. Just no. I was not a vampire.

  “Which one, Erin?” Julian asked. “Your mother or your father?”

  “My mother. She’s a cashier at a local grocery store. A local grocery store that’s open twenty-four hours.”

  No, my mother was not a vampire.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” Dante said. “It’s not true. Your mother isn’t a vampire. But somewhere in your ancestry, there was a vampire, most likely on your mother’s side. It’s part of your scent and why it’s so appealing. Your vampire ancestor could have lived centuries ago. He probably did.”

  Julian cleared his throat.

  “What?” Dante turned to him.

  “That’s what you were taught,” he said, “and that’s what we thought at the time. But my father and Jack Hebert have done quite a bit of research on this in the last ten years, some of which I’ve learned about recently.”

  I stared blankly at Dante and his father. My body went numb.

  Where was this going? I was afraid to find out. I didn’t want to know, yet I did. I burned for the knowledge.

  Silence.

  And more silence, until the ringing in my ears became unbearable.

  “Would someone fucking talk, please?” I nearly screamed.

  “Go, Dad,” Dante said. “You obviously know more than I do. Everyone seems to these days.”

  “Don’t,” Julian said. “I only know because I was standing over my father while he was researching one day, before he could see me. I read what was on his computer screen.”

  “Then he doesn’t know you know?”

  “No. And we need to keep it that way.”

  Numbness. Cold numbness. I heard the words, but I felt nothing.

  I screamed. I screamed bloody murder.

  Minutes after screaming, I stopped feeling. I’d just wait. Wait for Dante and his father to tell me what I already knew in the marrow of my bones.

  I was part vampire.

  Whether it was two generations ago or two hundred, I had a vampire in my family tree.

  And because of that, my scent was irresistible to vampires, apparently.

  Vampires, who couldn’t smell each other.

  How did any of this make sense?

  “Are you listening, Erin?” Julian asked.

  I popped out of my stupor. Sort of. “Sure.”

  “I’m sorry to lay this on you,” he said.

  “Yeah. I mean…what?”

  “All vampire descendants have dark hair and fair skin, plus a scent that vampires find enticing. You’re different, though, Erin. Your brother as well. Because your scent is so strong to vampires, it’s likely that only a few generations separate you from your vampire ancestor.”

  “Are you saying—”

  “Most likely no further than a great-grandparent. And it’s possible that—”

  “My mother.” No emotion laced my voice. Pure monotone. Pure robot.

  Julian nodded. “It’s possible.”

  “This is still unlikely,” Dante said. “Right, Dad? I mean, there aren’t enough of us to…”

  “To what, Dante?” Julian shook his head. “It only takes one.”

  My mother.

  People always said I looked like her. I did. I had her dark hair, her fair skin. My eyes, though. The light green came from my blond-haired—well, gray now—father. Jay had blue eyes, like my mother. Also dark hair and fair skin.

  Did my mother have the same needs as Dante? Did s
he drink—

  Oh, God. So can’t go there.

  My father’s blood.

  The words emerged in my mind despite my will for them not to.

  No, not my mother.

  My grandfather. Had to be. My great-grandfather maybe.

  “Erin?” Dante said gently, caressing my forearm.

  “What?”

  “You’re a million miles away.”

  “Sorry. Just trying to process the fact that my mother might be a vampire.”

  “You would have seen clues, Erin. Can you think of any?”

  I shook my head.

  “What about your grandparents on her side?”

  “My grandfather.” I cleared my throat. “He’s great. Always was there for Jay and me.”

  “What about your grandmother?”

  “I never knew her. She died giving birth to my mom.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Dante

  My father and I exchanged a glance, which didn’t go unnoticed by Erin.

  “What?” she asked.

  “Does your mother have any siblings?” Julian asked.

  “She’s an only child. Why?” Erin bit her bottom lip.

  “Tell her, son,” Julian said.

  “Pregnancy is difficult for vampire women. I’ve already told you that they’re only fertile once every couple of years, so getting pregnant is difficult. But…even with advanced medicine, pregnancy is still hard on them. My own mother—” I gulped, unable to continue.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I know. You’ve told me, and I’m sorry.”

  “It’s possible your grandmother was a vampire. But human women still die in childbirth, so there’s no guarantee. I’m sorry, Erin.”

  “Sorry…” she murmured.

  “Baby, are you okay?”

  “She just needs a minute,” my father said.

  “Damn!” I brought my fist down on her table. “She had accepted me. All of me. How could I make such a stupid mistake? And now—”

  Her daze seemed to fall away. And she was angry.

  “How could you keep something like this from me? After all we’ve been through, Dante. All your talk about honesty. Was that all bullshit?”

  “No, of course no—”

  “How? How could you?” Erin stood, her face reddening, her hands clenched into fists.

  I couldn’t help inhaling. Her blood was boiling, forcing itself to the surface of her skin, making her red.

  Red…and delicious.

  Dark chocolate. Blackberries. Tin and copper. Milk and estrogen.

  Then there were the dark-haired ones with light skin—those who, somewhere hundreds of generations ago in their family tree, were descended from a vampire. Their blood was the ultimate concoction, the Champagne of plasma. Bold and tannic yet fruity and divine. Peach, plum, blackberry. Leather, coffee, the darkest of chocolate. Tin, zinc, laced with violet and apple and estrogen. Even the men smelled of traces of milky estrogen.

  And testosterone. From a woman. An angry woman.

  I inhaled again, letting the fragrance infuse me with more need. More ache. More longing. More raw, primal urge.

  The smell of her rage was intoxicating.

  I didn’t need to feed. Not until the next morning. I’d proved earlier that I was learning to control myself when I waited with Erin, waited to feed because I wanted to savor her, feel alive with her.

  But something new rose within me.

  Something foreign.

  Something dangerous.

  Something beyond my shreds of control.

  “Leave,” I said to my father between clenched teeth.

  “Dante,” he said. “I know what you’re feeling. I can’t smell her, but I see what her body is doing, and what it must be doing to you. This isn’t you. You’re stronger than this. You can control yourself. Let me teach you—”

  I bared my fangs to my father’s ghost.

  Control? I’d learned it, found it through my love for Erin. My duty and obligation to see to her needs first, before my own. I’d shown the ultimate control this morning, when I’d taken her and fed from her slowly, evenly.

  I had control. I’d proved it. I had it now, but I’d take what I wanted—what Erin and I both wanted. I drew in a breath. Her musk was already permeating the room.

  I needed her.

  What I didn’t need was a lecture from my father.

  “Leave,” I said again.

  “Don’t do this. Don’t destroy what you’ve—”

  “Get the fuck out of here, damn it. Or watch me take her right here.”

  “I won’t allow you to do this. You won’t do this. Know that I would not leave if I believed it of you.” He disappeared in a flash.

  I inhaled once more, her steamy scent racing through my veins, my muscles, my bones.

  My bare bones.

  Nothing but bones supported me as I stood and grabbed her, snarling.

  “Dante?”

  A soft whimper.

  A frightened whimper.

  An aroused whimper.

  I inhaled. Indignation. Rage. Lust. Racing blood. A potent combination I was powerless to resist.

  “You’re mine, Erin. Mine. And I’m going to take you the way I’m meant to take you. Violently. Forcibly. With you tied up and helpless, begging for me to take your body and your blood.”

  Epilogue

  The Queen

  Yes, Dante. Lose control. Seize what you crave. Be what you’re meant to be. Take what you want from her as I took what I wanted from you.

  Everything is working.

  You’ve asked me for answers.

  Now you know the first of the questions.

  The answers will come when you’re ready.

  My plan is underway.

  Soon you will become mine.

  Forever.

  Prologue

  Dante

  I couldn’t help inhaling. Her blood was boiling, forcing itself to the surface of her skin, making her red.

  Red…and delicious.

  Dark chocolate. Blackberries. Tin and copper. Milk and estrogen.

  Then there were the dark-haired ones with light skin—those who, somewhere hundreds of generations ago in their family tree, were descended from a vampire. Their blood was the ultimate concoction, the Champagne of plasma. Bold and tannic yet fruity and divine. Peach, plum, blackberry. Leather, coffee, the darkest of chocolate. Tin, zinc, laced with violet and apple and estrogen. Even the men smelled of traces of milky estrogen.

  And testosterone. From a woman. An angry woman.

  I inhaled again, letting the fragrance infuse me with more need. More ache. More longing. More raw, primal urge.

  The smell of her rage was intoxicating.

  I didn’t need to feed. Not until the next morning. I’d proved earlier that I was learning to control myself when I waited with Erin, waited to feed because I wanted to savor her, feel alive with her.

  But something new rose within me.

  Something foreign.

  Something dangerous.

  Something beyond my shreds of control.

  “Leave,” I said to my father between clenched teeth.

  “Dante,” he said. “I know what you’re feeling. I can’t smell her, but I see what her body is doing, and what it must be doing to you. This isn’t you. You’re stronger than this. You can control yourself. Let me teach you—”

  I bared my fangs to my father’s ghost.

  Control? I’d learned it, found it through my love for Erin. My duty and obligation to see to her needs first, before my own. I’d shown the ultimate control this morning, when I’d taken her and fed from her slowly, evenly.

  I had control. I’d proved it. I had it now, but I’d take what I wanted—what Erin and I both wanted. I drew in a breath. Her musk was already permeating the room.

  I needed her.

  What I didn’t need was a lecture from my father.

  “Leave,” I said again.

  “Don’t do
this. Don’t destroy what you’ve—”

  “Get the fuck out of here, damn it. Or watch me take her right here.”

  “I won’t allow you to do this. You won’t do this. Know that I would not leave if I believed it of you.” He disappeared in a flash.

  I inhaled once more, her steamy scent racing through my veins, my muscles, my bones.

  My bare bones.

  Nothing but bones supported me as I stood and grabbed her, snarling.

  “Dante?”

  A soft whimper.

  A frightened whimper.

  An aroused whimper.

  I inhaled. Indignation. Rage. Lust. Racing blood. A potent combination I was powerless to resist.

  “You’re mine, Erin. Mine. And I’m going to take you the way I’m meant to take you. Violently. Forcibly. With you tied up and helpless, begging for me to take your body and your blood.”

  Chapter One

  Erin

  Anger boiled through my veins, turning them into rivers of raging red—rivers I could feel racing through my body, tearing through my heart.

  Blood.

  This was what Dante felt when he touched me. Now I felt it too.

  My body blazed as if on fire. Red gold rushed through me, making me throb, toying with me, and soon I could no longer differentiate between the fury and the raw yearning, the storm and the ache.

  I didn’t want to want him in this moment. In fact, I wanted to hate him for keeping the secret of my ancestry from me, even more so for wanting to take me forcibly. Violently.

  But I didn’t.

  I couldn’t.

  The pulsing between my legs was stronger than it had ever been. My nipples were so hard they could have cut glass. Each follicle on my body tensed, forcing every hair upward. My heart pounded in a distorted rhythm—a jazzy drumbeat that buffeted me both inside and out.

  Always the music when Dante and I were together, only this time the chords were disharmonic and tense…but all the more beautiful, all the more symphonious.

  The peppery scent of my arousal was thick in the air, and as Dante inhaled, its effect on him was more than evident. His lips were firm and red, and his fangs protruded from his gums in sharp points. Fiery amber rimmed his irises, more pronounced than I’d ever seen. His hair was unruly as he shoved his fingers through it, sweat binding strands of it to his cheeks and forehead. The bulge in his jeans grew larger, harder, and he curled his hands into fists.