Maker's Song - A Rush Of Wings Part 21

It bothered Ronin that he hadn't seen E recently. Was he out proving the papers wrong? Pouting? The fact that he hadn't been able to track the jittery psycho on the GPS had left Ronin cold. Had Johanna already switched him off, so to speak? Or had E discovered a truth Ronin had hidden from him? Ronin slipped into the shadows between buildings, shades on to keep his lambent eyes from giving him away. A movement above caught his peripheral vision. He froze. Looked up.

Dante climbed onto the roof of CUSTOM MEATS, moonlight gleaming on leather and metal. He prowled along the roof's edge, lithe and quick, his shaded attention focused on the concrete beneath his feet.

Ronin drew his s.h.i.+elds in tight. Stilled his questing mind. Dante seemed like a slice of the night itself, black hair and moonlit face stalking the edge of dreams, an elemental of old.

He remembered the feel of Dante's lips against his, the unexpected warmth of his hands against his face.

Remembered the smell of him, smoke and musk and frost.

Remembered what Dante had murmured against his lips.

You'll never taste my blood.

Ronin's hands pressed against the wall behind him, his palms sc.r.a.ping across brick and rough mortar.

We'll see, child, we'll see.

Dante stopped. Tilted his head, listening. He crossed to the roof's center, paused, then took one more step. He vanished. The sound of shattering gla.s.s echoed throughout the sleeping street.

A smile touched Ronin's lips. Hard boy to predict.

Dante'd just dropped through the skylight.

With the touch of his fingers still lingering on her face, Heather watched Dante run across the street, blurring, moving too fast for sight. He vanished into the night. Or merged with it.

She stared at the empty sidewalk. The MG's engine ticked and clinked as it cooled. Apprehension lodged in her belly, twisted tendrils of doubt around her spine. She opened the pa.s.senger door.

She thought about calling Collins, but realized she'd be asking him to risk his career. He'd probably do it, too.

Heather got out of the car and quietly closed the door. Nothing moved across the street. Shadows stretched away from buzzing streetlights. Most houses were dark, as were the little neighborhood businesses. Mom and Pop market. Used-book store. Antiques.

She trotted across the street, her rubber-soled Skechers nearly silent against the pavement. Her purse b.u.mped against her hip, and she paused; but it was too late to run it back to the MG. Swinging the body of it behind her, she loped down the gravel alley between the antiques store and the used-book place.

Where was Dante? Inside, already?

Promise me you'll play it safe.

No. His voice, low and firm, had brushed against her heart just like his fingers had against her face. Anger surged through her, stoked a fire in her belly. Gorgeous, s.e.xy, but pigheaded. Loyal to a fault.

Simone's voice whispered into her thoughts:What you need to remember, m'selle,is that Dante never tells a lie.

So how could he promise when playing it safe might cost Jay his life? And if Jay was already dead? She pushed away the thought.

Heather stepped out of the alley and into the shadows cl.u.s.tered along the sidewalk. Across the street was the front of CUSTOM MEATS, windows boarded, red paint weathered to a faded-out rust color.

The sharp sound of breaking gla.s.s shattered the silence. Heather yanked her .38 from the trench's inside pocket. Even as she raced across the street, she realized the gun's weight was all wrong. It wasn't loaded. As she glanced down at the .38, sudden motion in front of her yanked her gaze back up.

She dropped to the damp pavement, then rolled to her left. She swung the empty .38 up in both hands, aiming between her upraised knees at the darkness rus.h.i.+ng toward her with heart-stopping speed. She squeezed the trigger. The .38 fired, fracturing the night, the bullettwipp ing into flesh. Heather released the breath she held. No magazine, but a round had still been in the chamber.

Thomas Ronin stood about a foot from her, a hand pressed to his side. Blood leaked between his fingers. He frowned, his gaze on the wound.

"f.u.c.k."

Heather rolled to her feet, swinging the .38 up again. She had another magazine in her pocket, but no time to grab it and slam it home.

"Don't move." She aimed the empty .38 at the journalist's forehead, hoping he'd buy her bluff. "A bullet to the brain will put you down for a little bit."

Ronin glanced at her. A smile curved his lips. "Naughty Dante. Telling trade secrets. Even more amazing, you believe him." He shook his head. His hand dropped from his wound. Something slipped from his fingers andtink ed against the concrete.

"Did he tell you that it hurts? A lot?"

Sweat slicked Heather's palms. "If you don't want it to hurta lot again, stay right there."

Wiping his bloodied fingers against his jeans, Ronin chuckled. "You've got bra.s.s."

"You here for the story?" Heather asked, keeping careful aim on the journalist's forehead and hoping he couldn't hear her thundering pulse. "Or did you set us up?"

Ronin tilted his head. "There it is again...us. I setDante up. I can't help it if you're along for the ride."

Hemoved .

Something slammed against Heather's temple. Blue light flickered through her vision. She staggered. The .38 was ripped from her grasp, tearing the fingernail on her trigger finger down to the quick. Pain arcedup to her elbow. A gleaming pin-wheel spun through the air. The .38 clattered onto the roof of CUSTOM MEATS. Rough hands spun her around, an arm slid around her throat. Squeezed.

"Time for Dante to wake up," Ronin said, his voice smooth, affable. "And time to bid you good night."

Heather's vision darkened. She drove an elbow back, hoping to connect with Ronin's wounded side, and slammed her foot down on his at the same time.

He squeezed harder.

She gasped for air. Her fingernails tore into his arm.

Darkness swallowed her whole.

In a jagged shower of gla.s.s, Dante landed in a half crouch on the concrete below. An old stench of spilled blood and terror permeated the building, clung to it like a starving leech. He straightened, bits of gla.s.s dropping from his shoulders and hair and scattering across the stained and dusty floor. Thick curved hooks and dangling chains gleamed in the darkness. No power. No lights. Only a little bit of moonlight leaked in from the broken skylight. But that was all the light he needed, and more.

An image flickered: blood spraying across white walls, blank faces, a window. A voice, asking,What's he saying?

The image vanished, but Dante's unease deepened. Pus.h.i.+ng his shades to the top of his head, he listened. Two hearts. One slow, a little erratic; the other deep and steady. One mortal. One nightkind.

Adrenaline burned through Dante's muscles. Drawing in a deep breath of tainted air, heran .

Chains clinked in Dante's wake, and memory clawed at him with cold fingers. Pain p.r.i.c.kled behind his eyes. He ignored it. Just as he reached the cavernous building's far end, a door sc.r.a.ped open, metal shrieking against concrete. Nightkind scent. Clean and spicy, blood-fed and warm. Familiar.

Flickering light spilled from the opened freezer door - candle-light - and a form hurtled out with nightkind speed. Black braids, cafe au lait skin, eyes black as burned coffee and just as bitter.

etienne.

Dante headed straight for him, going low and fast. etienne swerved at the last moment before impact, but Dante spun with him, slamming a forearm across his face.

Blood spurted from etienne's broken nose. He hit the floor hard with Dante on top of him. Air exploded from his lungs. Grabbing a handful of blue-beaded braids, Dante slammed etienne's head against the concrete over and over. Something cracked - floor, skull, Dante wasn't sure. A deep ache radiated through his right side. Glancing down, he realized etienne was hammering a fist against his ribs.

Dante smashed his fist against etienne's swollen nose. The vampire's eyes rolled up white and he went limp. Dante paused, blood-smeared fist still lifted, braids still clutched in his other hand. He listened. The hair on the back of his neck p.r.i.c.kled.

Too easy. Too f.u.c.king easy. Heather was wrong. Either someone - etienne? - was copycatting her killer or her killer wasn't working alone. Mortal DNA, she'd said.

Gla.s.s crunched beneath boots. Dante let go of etienne's braids and lowered his fist. Another heartbeat.

Another familiar scent. Nightkind. His muscles coiled. He slid off etienne's motionless body and straightened. His hair fluttered as the newcomer rushed past him. Dante breathed in the smells of dark tobacco, ink, and desert sand. His hands knotted into fists.

How about a nightkind journalist with a pervy mortal a.s.sistant who liked to sneak peeks?

Dante swiveled around to face the open freezer door. Ronin leaned against the wall beside it, one leg braced behind him, a cold smile stretching his lips. His eyes gleamed. Shades dangled from his hand.

"Lying motherf.u.c.ker," Dante spat.

Ronin spread his hands. "You should know. You've beenliving a lie." He tapped a finger against his temple. "Wake up, S. Time to wake up. All of this is for you." He stepped into the freezer, stepped toward the source of the irregular mortal pulse.

Jay.

Dante launched himself, diving across the threshold and into quivering orange light. Rolling to his feet, he looked up. And froze.

A figure hung by the ankles from a metal hook, wrapped and hoisted in dull chains, strapped into the white coc.o.o.n of a straitjacket. Blond hair swept against the floor. Pale face. Nearly white lips. Closed eyes.

Images flashed and whirled through Dante's mind. A glimpse of red hair. The reek of clotting blood. The cold gleam of chains. Pain blasted through his mind, dropping him to his knees like a sucker punch to the temple. His vision whited out.

Dante-angel?

What's the little psycho saying?

"You can still save him, True Blood. All you have to do is wake up."

Wasps droned, crawled angrily beneath Dante's skin. Staggering to his feet, dizzy with pain, he threw himself at Ronin.

The journalist sidestepped Dante's rush, shoving as he pa.s.sed. Off-balanced by Ronin's push and his own momentum, Dante slammed shoulder first into the wall. As he twisted around, a hand latched onto his throat and bulldozed him into the wall. Dante's head snapped back against the concrete. Color fractured his vision.

The fingers around his throat squeezed. Struggling to breathe, Dante locked one hand around Ronin's steel-corded wrist. Energy pushed at Dante's s.h.i.+elds. Sweat trickled down his temples, stinging his eyes.

His s.h.i.+elds rippled, faltered. Gasping for air, he hammered his other fist into Ronin's gut again and again. Ronin doubled over, his fingers sliding away from Dante's throat. Sucking in a throat-burning gulp of air, Dante hooked his hands on either side of the journalist's head and rammed Peeping Tom's smug, lying face into his upraised knee.

Bone crunched. Blood sprayed.

Dante shoved Ronin away from him, tossing him completely across the freezer. The journalist stumbled, struggling to retain his balance.

Blood slid down Dante's throat. He wiped a hand under his nose. Blood, gleaming almost black in the candlelight, smeared the back of his hand. Wincing in the light, he reached for his shades and realized he'd lost them in his fight with etienne.

Nausea twisted through Dante's gut. The migraine pierced his mind with blinding shards of white light, hacked at his thoughts. But one thought persevered - Jay.

Dante shoved the pain below. Pus.h.i.+ng himself away from the wall, he went to the center of the freezer.

Jay's eyes opened. Relief flickered in their green depths. A smile ghosted across his lips.

"Mon ami,"he breathed. "I'm so sorry -"

"Shhh.Je suis ici ."

Dante circled Jay's bound and dangling body, his eyes on Ronin. The journalist straightened, his dark eyes calm above his blood-smeared face. Gaze never leaving Ronin, Dante slipped his arms around Jay, lifting him up and off the hook. As he crouched, easing Jay onto the concrete floor, Ronin grinned. Then hemoved .

Uncoiling upward, Dante placed his feet on either side of Jay's body and braced himself for Ronin's attack. Denim slid across latex. As Dante ducked and swiveled, something caught his hair and yanked his head back. Pain rippled through his scalp.

"Caught you,marmot ." etienne, up from concrete floor and joining the fight.

A flurry of fingertip jabs. .h.i.t Dante in quick succession, stone-edged and quick; then Ronin whirled away.

Minefields of pain exploded with each jab. Base of throat. Sternum. Gut. Crotch. Dante gasped for air, but gagged instead as his burning insides tried to turn themselves inside out. He spat blood onto the floor.

His vision blurred.

Ronin wheeled around for another pa.s.s. Dante swung his arms up, blocking the first two blows. The last two knifed into his ribs on either side. Pain stole his breath.

Send it below or f.u.c.king use it.

"Your pretty little FBI agent won't be joining you," Ronin said. He knelt beside Jay. "A shame, really.

Might've been amusing."

Heather.The thought hurt, a jagged splinter of gla.s.s. Light pinwheeled through Dante's vision. His head ached. Pain pounded at his temples.Jay.

Send it below or f.u.c.king use it. Dante leaned back into etienne's warm body, then stepped forward and kept moving. Pain tore through his scalp as ten-drils of hair ripped loose, still wrapped around etienne's fingers. Blood trickled down his neck, sticky and warm.

"Wake up, S," Ronin murmured. His forefinger slipped across Jay's throat.

Blood sprayed across the grimy floor and spattered Ronin's face, the white straitjacket. Jay choked.

"No!" Dante dropped to his knees beside Jay and bit into his own wrist. Blood welled up, dark and rich and full of life.

Jay looked at him, eyes dilated, scared. And dying.

Arms locked like steel bands around Dante. Yanked him onto his a.s.s. He struggled to break free, twisting, and driving an elbow back into etienne's ribs. The vampire's breath exploded from him in a painedwhoof . Dante scrambled to get his feet under him. Etienne dug in his fingernails, piercing latex and skin. Dante hissed.

The blood flowing from Jay's slit throat had already slowed. It spread in an ever-widening pool around Jay, staining his hair red. Jay's half-lidded gaze fixed on Dante.

"Hang on," Dante said. "Hang on."

A smile flickered across Jay's pale lips.