Maker's Song - A Rush Of Wings Part 45

Heather glanced down the empty red-lit corridor. She still felt the heat of Dante's mental touch; his image-voice circled through her mind -On my way.

Pushing away from the wall, she ran down the corridor in her stocking feet, the green-cool glow of the EXIT signs her guide. She couldn't stay put and wait for Dante to find her. Couldn't risk Moore finding her first. Couldn't risk Dante sacrificing himself for her. Because sheknew he would.

Shhh.Je suis ici.

Pain bit into the undersides of the fingers on Heather's right hand. She glanced down. Her hand, white-knuckled and stinging, was clenched around the nail file. As she forced her fingers to relax, she heard a soft padding behind her, movingfast - "Freeze, Wallace. Hold it right there."

Heather heard the unmistakable sound of a round being chambered and smelled the faint scent of sweet melon. Trench. Parka's partner.

"I'm not the one you need to worry about," Heather said, tucking her fingers over the nail file. "He's coming for me."

"Psycho bait. I know. Turn around. Slow."

"Walk away," Heather said. She measured the distance to the corridor's bend. If she was needed as bait, would Trench risk killing her?

"Don't. I'll put one into your knee."

Heather stared straight ahead. Shifted her sweat-damp grip on the nail file. Slid the point between her fingers. Heard Moore saying:Should I let him have you?

Not for you to decide. Heather whirled to the left, her hand arcing up and over for a file-toothed shoulder punch. Then she froze.

Elroy Jordan jerked a syringe from Trench's neck. The agent gasped, her eyes rolling up white. Her gun dropped from her fingers and clattered against the tiled floor. His gaze met Heather's. Abyss-eyed. A shark's unemotional regard.

"Looks likeI'm the one she needed to worry about," he said as Trench collapsed, limbs twitching against the floor tiles. He shook his head. "That was supposed to be for my Bad Seed bro."

Trench went still, eyes wide. Silent. The pungent smell of p.i.s.s filled the corridor. "Oops," Jordan said. He grinned.

Heather lowered her hand, tightened her fingers around the nail file. Her heart hammered against her ribs. Jordan, alive. But a little worse for wear - bruised and bitten throat, arm in a sling, disheveled.

Jordan's gaze dropped to the gun on the floor between them. "Faithful Heather," he murmured. "I knew you'd come for me." He looked up. "But S is still mine."

"Wrong," Heather said. And lunged for the gun.

Jordan dropped at the same moment. As his fingers wrapped around the pistol's grip, Heather stabbed the nail file into the back of his hand. Jordan screamed. She yanked the bloodstained file from Jordan's hand. Lifted it again.

But Jordan spun on his knees and slid the pistol down the corridor behind him. The gun skittered across the gleaming tile into darkness.

Jordan sprang to his feet. "Whoever finds Dante first can keep him." He locked gazes with Heather. The abyss kaleidoscoped open within each eye, endless and hungry. "Race ya," he said.

Heather ran.

Johanna reached the med unit. Her fingers curled around the door handle. A scream echoed through the center and she paused. Male - Bennington? E? A shadow jittered on the wall at the corridor's end. She yanked open the door and slipped inside. As she eased the door shut, she tried to calm her frantic heart.

She sneaked a peek out the door's window.

Johannafelt him before she saw him - mingled pain and rage spiked against her shields. And desperation. He struggled for control. He burned.

She carefully removed her shoes, then stepped backward to the drug cabinets. S's shadow stopped, twitched against the wall in the red light. Sweat trickled between Johanna's b.r.e.a.s.t.s, along her temples.

As Johanna unlatched the cabinet, the door flew open and slammed against the wall, denting the plaster.

She brought up the Glock. S stepped into the room and she couldn't breathe for a moment, dazzled, as always, by his beauty.

"Welcome home," she said.

S stopped, dark eyes perplexed. He winced, touched a hand to his head. Blood trickled from his nose.

"Dante!"

S spun. The red-haired agent grabbed the doorway's threshold as she slid across the tile in her stocking feet. She looked past S to Johanna.

He wants to save Wallace. Ah, but what if he doesn't?

"s.h.i.t," Wallace said.

Johanna fired.

A gunshot cracked down the corridor. E's heart leapt into his throat. He edged around the corner.

Hugged it. Dante knelt on the floor,his Heather cradled in his arms. She touched a shaking hand to the backstabber's pretty face. E tensed.

Had her eyes gleamedgolden ? ForDante ? For his cheating/ lying/backstabbing Bad Seed bro?

Looks like Heather won the race.Fire charred E's heart. He reached into his sling, his fingers finding the syringe. He regretted emptying the vial into the ponytailed blonde, wished he'd saved just enough for Dante. Hand shaking with cold, with rage, he pulled the syringe free.

Something on the floor glinted in the red light. A gift to an angry G.o.d?

The bad-a.s.s bloodsucker bent his head and kissed Heather's lips.

E's cindered heart crumpled to ash.Does she taste of honey? I bet she does. Syringe full o'

eye-p.r.i.c.king pain in hand, he stepped forward, back still pressed against the red-lit walls.

A dart suddenly sprouted from Dante's neck. The bloodsucker shivered, but continued to kiss Heather.

Or was he giving mouth-to-mouth? No,his Heather's fingers were wrapped in Dante's black hair.

Where had the dart come from?

E went still and watched. Johanna Moore stepped from the room behind Dante, leaned over him and plucked the dart free. Stroked his hair.

"You failed," she whispered. "Again."

Another shudder snaked the length of Dante's spine, then he slumped to the side, Heather still in his arms, her fingers still entwined in his hair.

Together.

A strange wailing noise filled the corridor, rising and falling, like a siren. E became aware that he was running, the syringe raised in his bad hand like a shiv, when b.i.t.c.h-Mommy's head jerked up. Looked at him.

"Ffffuuuucccckkkkkk yyyyooooouuuuuuu!"

E scooped up the shining gift from the floor with his good hand. Metal, sharp and slender. A nail file.

b.i.t.c.h-Mommy Moore lifted the Glock. Fired. Pain flowered in E's chest, hot and full of thorns. Grinning, he kept running. b.i.t.c.h-Mommy fired again. Another pain-flower blossomed in E's belly. He launched himself. He flew, a golden arrow, a G.o.d of death, pure and terrible. Golden light starred from his body,piercing, white-hot, and unerring.

The G.o.d slammed into Johanna Moore, knocking her back into the room. The syringe broke off in her throat. The nail file punctured her gut. Choking, she shoved the G.o.d to the floor. The G.o.d's stomach heaved blood up into his mouth. The G.o.d grinned. b.i.t.c.h-Mommy clutched at the broken syringe in her throat and pulled it out. Then she lifted her eyes up and up and up.

So she finally sees me, the G.o.d thought.

b.i.t.c.h-Mommy's face turned fifty shades of white.

Pleased, the G.o.d closed his eyes.

Something hot and wet spread across the front of Heather's blouse. She glanced down. Blood, bright red. Arterial. Dante caught her as she fell, gathered her into his strong arms. She looked at him and tried to say,I'm sorry , but couldn't find her voice.

Cradling her against his chest, Dante dropped to his knees. She touched a shaking hand to his beautiful, devastated face and smoothed her thumb beneath his left eye.

"Not for me, Dante," Heather whispered, showing him the moisture on her thumb. "No tears for me.

Not your fault."

Dante pulled her closer. His heat radiated into her. "I won't lose you." He lifted his wrist to his mouth and bit it. Dark blood welled up on his pale skin. He pressed the wound against her lips. "Drink," he urged."S'il te plait."

Dante's blood smeared across Heather's lips as she turned her head away. It smelled of dark sun-warmed grapes and tasted like Dante's kisses, heady and tempting. Her throat tightened.

"No," she whispered. Her vision swam. "No. I want to stay what...I...am..." She shivered, suddenly cold. Sleepy.

Gold fire lit Dante's eyes. Lowering his head, he kissed her.

Dante's song stirred within him, layering chord upon chord. Bending his head, he kissed Heather's bloodstained lips and breathed his song into her. He filled her with his essence, kindling blue fire at her core. He imagined her whole, healed, and wove blue-lit thread through her wound. Heather's fingers twisted around his hair. Her faltering heart beat strong and fast.

Something stung Dante's neck.

"You failed," a familiar voice said. "Again."

Dante shivered as cold spread through him, crackling like ice through his veins. His song faltered.

"Not true," Heather murmured against his lips. He tasted the salt of her tears. Fire flared for a moment, and he breathed it into her before they sank together beneath the ice, plunging through starless night.

Pain and grief slapped against Lucien's shields like twin tsunamis, receding to return in ever stronger waves, deadlier surges. He ran, following his bond to Dante. Loss reverberated within Lucien like a broken song. Power swirled into the air, buoyed by acreawdwr's energy. Then, Dante lapsed into unconsciousness.

As Lucien rounded the corner, he saw Jordan fling himself at Johanna Moore, a syringe in one fist, a bit of metal in the other. He saw Moore shoot Jordan twice before the mortal tackled her. They both hit the floor hard. Her gun skittered across the tiles, coming to a stop against Dante's back.

Dante lay in the corridor, his arms wrapped around Wallace. Fading blue flames sparked and danced around them. Lucien heard Dante's slow, measured heartbeat, smelled the chemicals flowing in his blood.

Wallace's heart pulsed, as well, a rapid patter.

In one long stride, Lucien stood beside his drugged child and the woman he cared for - cared for enough to sacrifice his own safety to ensure hers - but hadn't that always been his way?

It was one of the things Lucien loved and treasured most in Dante - his compa.s.sionate heart. All the things Moore had subjected his child to hadn't stolen that compa.s.sion or broken his spirit. He was wounded, yes, and some of the wounds might never heal, yes. But he'd survive. And he'd love.

Lucien saw Genevieve in every act of love Dante performed, in every kindness he showed. In those moments, Lucien saw his laughing, dark-haired little Genevieve.

But, as for the woman who'd killed her...

Lucien swiveled and watched as Johanna Moore pushed herself free of Jordan's body. Her hand reached up, grabbing the broken syringe in her throat. She yanked it out, blood trickling from the puncture, then froze, her gaze traveling up the length of Lucien's body.

Johanna Moore paled. Her fingers froze around the sliver of steel in her belly.

Jordan's blood-frothed lips curved into a smile. His eyes closed.

"Do you remember Genevieve Baptiste?" Lucien asked, kneeling beside Dante. "My son's mother?" He picked up Moore's gun and tossed it down the darkened hall.

Shock blanched Johanna's face. Widened her eyes. "Your...son?" she whispered.

"Oui, mon fils,"Lucien said. He glanced at Heather; she opened her eyes. "But, I believe my question was - do you remember Genevieve Baptiste?"

Lucien slipped an arm around Heather and eased her up, helping her to sit against the wall. Her gaze remained on Dante, reluctant to leave him. Lucien touched a talon beneath her chin. Heather regarded him with shock-dilated eyes. "It's all right," he promised.

Heather drew in a deep breath, then winced. Lucien brushed her hair back from her face. Her wound no longer bled, but she needed medical attention. The drugs had kept Dante from finishing whatever it was he'd started.

"I'm waiting," Lucien said.

"Yes, I remember her," Moore stammered, voice rough. She yanked the file from her flesh. It hit the floor with a sharp tink.

Lucien drew a talon across his wrist. Blood welled up. He looked at Moore from beneath his brows.

"Say her name."

"Genevieve Baptiste," Moore breathed. "I didn't know. I wouldn't have -"

"Be silent," Lucien said, gathering Dante into his arms.

Moore closed her mouth.

Lucien pressed his bleeding wrist against Dante's lips. The blood smell roused Dante's nightkind instinct and he sucked at the wound, swallowing the healing blood. Lucien knew it wouldn't cleanse all of the drug's effects, but it would lessen them.

Looking back at Moore, Lucien said, "I've read the file. I've seen the CD. I know what you've done to Dante. To him and to his mother, my love."