Maker's Song - In the Blood Part 11

"Thank you for noticing."

Athena squeezed his hand. As always, her touch somehow completed him, closed a circuit. He shared the silence with her as they rocked back and forth in the swing.

But it wasn't truly silent for her. No.

If only Father had devoted his medical and research skills toward helping Athena instead of funneling it into the swirling drain that was his dying wife. If only he hadn't viewed Athena as a flawed project instead of a daughter.

A daughter who'd needed him. Once. But not anymore.

The wind-in-the-pines sound of Athena's whispers ended the silence. Alex squeezed her hand, then released it. "Time for your meds," he said, standing.

Still whispering, Athena rose to her feet. Her gaze was turned inward, truly lost in thought. Alex opened the screen door, guided his twin into the house, and walked her into the living room. Whispering, she sank onto the sofa, automatically crossing her legs under her.

Kneeling beside the coffee table, Alex picked up the little paper cup holding Athena's meds-antipsychotics, antianxiety, tranquilizers-and placed it carefully in her hand. "Put in your mouth and swallow."

Athena raised the cup to her lips, tossed back the pills. Alex slapped a bottle of water in her hand and she drank obediently. He picked up the syringe containing her sleep dose.

Alex glanced at his twin. Listened to her oracle whispers and wondered: Could he keep Athena under control until Dante arrived? Could he keep her balanced and calm for a few more days? She was slipping deeper into madness and it terrified him to think she might plunge so deep into the abyss, he'd never find her again, never recover her.

Rolling up the sleeve on Athena's left arm, Alex swiped the injection site with an alcohol swab. His nose wrinkled at the sharp odor.

"Coldandcoldandcold," Athena whispered.

"Sorry. I should've warned you."

A few more days, he could do that, keep her calm. He had to-for both of them. He'd pick up more material for her experiments.

"I need you to stay here while I'm gone," he said. "Don't go into the main house, and avoid Father. I figure the SB operative will target only him, but collateral damage is usually allowed if necessary."

"Yesandyesandyes."

"If you could be well again," Alex said, his voice low and rough. "If you could return to your career and everything you've had to leave behind, would you?"

"Xander."

Alex looked up and into Athena's eyes. Her gaze seemed more lucid than it had in years. "There's nothing wrong with me,"

she said gently. "I see more clearly than I ever have. I don't need to be healed."

Something twisted tight in Alex's chest. He nodded. He inserted the needle into his sister's cleaned skin, and thumbed the plunger.

"I'll never leave you. I promise," Athena whispered.

Alex leaned forward and brushed his lips against his twin's forehead. She'd said the words he'd longed to hear from her, but instead of the joy he'd imagined-the circuit closed once again, the womb bond that she'd unraveled five years ago to protect him finally restored-he felt only a stark desperation.

Her promise was empty and beyond her power to fulfill.

The bond would never be restored. The circuit would never be connected, closed, an infinite loop. Not until Dante repaired her misfiring synapses and stilled the lightning storm within her hyperactive brain.

Athena tilted her head as though listening-and Alex knew she was-to all the ideas and thoughts pinging through her never quiet mind; she unhooked her thoughts from his.

"Is there anything else you need me to get for you when I go out?"

A smile dimpled Athena's cheeks. "My Xander," she said; then she giggled, a sound Alex hadn't heard from her in years, girlish and light, happy; it spun like a Ferris wheel through his heart.

"What's so funny?" he asked, a grin pulling at the edges of his mouth.

"Could you pick up a copy of G.o.dhead and Divinity for Dummies?"

Alex laughed. "C'mon, let's get you in your PJs and into bed."

He scooped her up from the sofa and into his arms. A pang of sorrow shafted him as she looped her arms around his neck.

She was so light, his G.o.ddess of wisdom, buoyant with far-sight, untethered to the earth. He imagined her floating away from him, rising higher and higher into the midnight sky until she disappeared from view.

As Alex carried his sister to the bathroom, the wind-rushing-through-the-pines whisper of Athena's voice filled the hallway, and the corridors of his heart.

11 FRAGILE.

Seattle, WA March 22

ANNIE ZEROED IN ON the rumpled boxes marked WAL LACE, SHANNON. She'd knock the f.u.c.king things clear out of the dining room, out of the universe, a f.u.c.king home run. She swung the crowbar with every ounce of her strength, weighted the piece of steel in her hand with every dirty, festering bit of her hate.

She caught a blur of movement at the edge of her vision, then the crowbar struck hard, smacking into flesh instead of cardboard. The force of the impact shuddered up her arms and into her shoulders. She stumbled forward, slamming her hips against the table's edge as the crowbar was wrenched from her hands. Her gaze fell across the photos arced across the polished wood.

She looked into her mother's sightless eyes. Saw her curled up and dead on the ground like some f.u.c.king Raid-ga.s.sed c.o.c.kroach.

Your mother's been killed in a car accident. She's not coming home.

With a guttural scream, Annie threw herself onto the table, sweeping everything off-photos, papers, table runner.

Grabbing one of the boxes marked WALLACE, SHANNON, she hurled it with all she had. It exploded against the wall. Gla.s.s shattered. Steel-hard fingers wrapped around her upper arm and spun her around.

Black hair. Sungla.s.ses. White skin and hot hands. One hand held the crowbar, the other held her. "Who you p.i.s.sed at, p't.i.te?" Dante asked, tossing the crowbar across the room and out the open window.

Hawking up a big loogie, Annie spat on him. Spittle gleamed on his pale face. Lifting his arm, he wiped his face clean against his latex-clad shoulder. A smile quirked up one corner of his mouth. "Good shot."

"I swear to f.u.c.king G.o.d, I'll f.u.c.king kill you, if you don't let go!"

"Guess you're gonna hafta kill me then, cuz I ain't letting go."

Annie hooked a fist at Dante's gorgeous face, swinging right-left-right, but she missed him. She rammed a knee at his crotch, but missed again. "G.o.dammit," she snarled. "Quit moving!"

Not able to wrestle/kick/punch her way free of Dante's grip, she decided to change tactics and went limp, collapsing to the floor. His fingers slid away as she fell.

Annie rolled over on the carpet, her fingers closing around a jagged piece of gla.s.s, and she rose to her knees. She sliced the gla.s.s shard across her scar-ridged wrist. Blood welled up dark and thick. Catching a peripheral blur of movement, she slashed out. She felt the splinter bite into flesh and smelled coppery blood. Heard Dante suck in a breath.

Suddenly he was kneeling in front of her, his pale face tight, his unshaded dark gaze determined. She ducked and weaved, tried to climb to her feet, but he shadowed every move. She stabbed at him, over and over, the gla.s.s splinter whistling through empty air as he seemed to vanish.

Then his fingers locked around her wrists. He yanked her in close, held her tight against him. The shard of gla.s.s finally slipped from her blood-slick fingers and he wrapped his arms around her.

Annie felt her muscles bunch, snap taut, and then give. Her knees folded and even as she collapsed into Dante's embrace, she felt lighter than air, buoyed by the feel-good magic of tequila and oxy, but she could never rise high enough.

Leather and latex creaked as he sat on the floor, cradling her in his lap.

"I f.u.c.king hate her," she whispered, curling against him, against his heat.

"I got that," he murmured.

"I'm glad she's dead," Annie managed to say through a throat gone tight. Her heart felt like a red-hot knot in her chest, burning her up from the inside out, a fire she couldn't douse, a knot she couldn't untangle.

Dante pushed her hair back from her face. "Wanna tell me why?"

"No. I hate you too."

"T'es sur de sa?" His scent swirled around her, like autumn, like Halloween-burning leaves and frosted earth and ripe apples.

"What's that mean?"

"It means: You sure about that?"

"Oh. Yeah, I'm sure I hate you. Kinda."

"Okay," he said. Then he started singing, his voice soft and husky and s.e.xy. "Laissez-faire, laissez-faire, ma jolie, bons temps rouler, allons danser, toute la nuit..."

Annie wasn't sure if he was singing in French or Spanish or f.u.c.king Cajun, but the melody was as soothing as a hand stroking her hair.

As she closed her eyes, she thought she glimpsed black wings arching high behind Dante, the undersides glimmering with a hint of deep blue. Held within this dark angel's arms, she listened to his song, and his voice fell like a cool waterfall against her rage, tugged like nimble fingers at the tangled knot of her heart.

Annie opened her eyes and touched bloodied fingers to Dante's pale face. Blood trickled from one nostril, so one of her punches must've landed, after all. His skin felt fevered. She traced his lips. He shivered and closed his eyes, but kept singing.

"Si toi t'es presse et occupe, mon ami, courir ici, courir la-bas..."

"Kiss me."

Dante's eyes opened, dark and wary, but Annie saw hunger in their depths. His song ended as he lowered his head and kissed her, a quick amaretto-and-blood flavored smooch on the lips.

"No." She reached up and captured his face between her hands. "A real kiss."

"I don't think so," Dante said with a wicked smile. "You've been naughty."

Annie stared at the slender fang tips his smile revealed. Her heart kicked hard against her ribs. Nightkind. Could be implants. Had to be implants.

"If you're a vampire, do you kill when you feed?"

Dante's smile faded. "Sometimes, yeah."

Annie paused, mulling over his answer and deciding he was trying to scare her-the f.u.c.ker. "No big deal, but do you hafta kill?"

"Not always, no."

"Can you make me into a vampire?"

"Yeah, but I won't, so don't f.u.c.king ask."

Before Annie could ask another question, he pulled free of her hands and lifted his head. "Heather's here," he breathed, easing them both to their feet. His gorgeous, bloodstained face lit up like an autumn bonfire and Annie knew she no longer existed.

OUTSIDE, DANTE HEARD THE low rumble of a car's engine, a sports car or muscle car, throaty and powerful. But he also heard Annie's heart hammering against her ribs, triple-timed by drugs and adrenaline. He glanced at her. She pressed against him, her eyes dilated and wide.

"Kiss me," she said urgently. "Kiss me hard."

Dante shook his head, listening as the car's rumble grew louder, vibrating in up through his boot soles and into his spine.

Through the front window, he caught a glimpse of the car, low-slung and sleek, turning into the driveway, gravel crunching under the tires. With a low purr, the engine died. Silence filled the house.

"Kiss me," Annie repeated, voice low. "Or I'll tell my sister you broke in and attacked me." Her fingers wrapped around his belt and tugged.

Dante heard a door open and then heard shoes on gravel. The car door thunked shut. He tilted his head and regarded Annie through his lashes. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. I'll tell all kinds of stories." Dark hope edged her words.

"She already knows I'm here. And she knows you're here, too." He remembered Von's brief message: Your FBI sweetie's here-looking for you. He pictured her walking up to the house, imagined her red hair loose and curling past her shoulders and framing her lovely face. Pictured her slim curves. Was she in jeans? Slacks? A dress?

Dante closed his eyes and counted her footsteps.

She was safe. She was breathing. He intended to make sure she stayed that way.

Run from me. Run as far as you can.

She'd tried. But he'd followed. And he couldn't explain why. She knotted him up in ways he'd never felt before.

"Bulls.h.i.t. Kiss me, Dante."

Annie's busy little fingers tried to unbuckle his belt, but he plucked them loose and gently shoved her hand away.

"I'll tell her you cut me," she whispered.

Dante's pulse thundered. He opened his eyes. Heather would walk into the house in a moment. He heard the jingle of keys.