Maker's Song - In the Blood Part 44

Heather jumped to her feet, the floor rocking and rippling underneath her.

Dante's eyes opened, and recognition sparked in his gaze. "Catin," he said, his voice an anguished whisper. The blue tongues of fire licking out from around him vanished like wind-snuffed candles. He fell to his knees, head bowed, his black hair a lamplight-streaked curtain.

"Threeintooneholytrinitythreeintooneholyholyholy..." The triune beast sang its multiple-voiced hymn as it slithered and humped its way toward the dark hall.

The front door yawned open, then froze in its warping frame. A breeze smelling of pine and rain and cordite gusted into the room. Von came to a stop, struggling to keep his balance as the house shook itself apart, his gaze on Dante's singing triune beast.

"Holy f.u.c.k," the nomad whispered, holstering his Brownings.

"Yeah," Heather agreed, her voice shaky.

She crawled to Dante. Kneeling beside him, she pushed his hair back from his face, her fingers skimming across his cheek, his temple; his skin was fevered and heat radiated from him, baked into her. Blood was pooled in his hoop-rimmed ear. That scared her, a lot."Dante? Baptiste?"

He lifted his head. His eyes were no longer golden, the irises now rims of deepest brown ringing dilated pupils. She looped an arm around his waist and tugged. "On your feet, Baptiste. We gotta move."

More windows exploded into shrapnel clouds of gla.s.s. Groaning masonry crumbled. Beams splintered. Debris hurtled to the floor.

"I've got him, doll," Von said. "Get the f.u.c.k out."

Heather rose to her feet. "Together," she said.

Bending, the nomad grabbed Dante's arm and slung him over his leather-jacketed shoulder. Straightening, he looked at Heather. "Move your a.s.s, woman."

Noticing Annie's gym bag by the front door, Heather scooped it up on her way out through the warped doorway, Von hot on her heels.

AS VON FOLLOWED HEATHER off the porch and into the yard, his arm locked across the backs of Dante's thighs, he heard a familiar sound through the pouring rain-the rush of wings. Relief spun warm tendrils through him.

So Lucien was all right, after all. After what he'd felt from Dante, and Lucien's continued absence, he'd feared the worst.

Because, closed bond or not, Von had known that Lucien would've flown to his son's aid even if he had to wing across oceans and time and h.e.l.l itself.

Von sent, slowing to a halt and turning.

His thought bounced back, unheard. His relief vanished. Wiping rain from his eyes with the back of one arm, he looked at the black-winged figure standing beneath the evergreens.

Not Lucien. She fluttered her wings, flinging droplets of rain into the downpour. Her long black hair snaked up into the air and her eyes gleamed like golden stars. The chilly air steamed against her skin.

"We don't have much time," she said, her musical voice urgent. She stepped from beneath the trees. "The others are on their way. Give me Lucien's son so I can hide him."

Lucien's words sounded deep and clear through Von's memory: Guard him from the Fallen, llygad. Guard him from them, most of all.

As Von reached his left hand inside his jacket for his gun, the house exploded. And a giant, heated hand hammered him into the ground.

40 THE GREAT BELOW.

Damascus, OR March 25

DANTE HIT THE GROUND hard shoulder first, rolling and bouncing across the wet gra.s.s until he slammed into a tree and came to a stop. Bright specks flecked his vision and pain shimmered like heat in his mind.

Lucien...

Je t'aime, mon fils, toujours.

Voices crooned and whispered and demanded, buzzing up from the shattered depths within on the backs of fire-scorched wasps.

You look so much like her.

You wanna take her punishment, p't.i.t?

How come Papa Prejean handcuffs you at bedtime?

Your heart won me, Dante Baptiste.

Heather's face flashed behind his eyes as the bright specks faded. Dante tried to catch his breath, but his ribs ached and he couldn't seem to get air down into his lungs.

Focus on Heather.

He rolled over and onto his knees, pressed his arm against his damaged ribs. Rain cooled his face. He swiveled around.

The house was nothing more than a smoking pile of rubble, masonry, and wood. He stumbled to his feet. Heather...

Music trilled into the air, burning and bright, and his song soared up from his core in spontaneous answer. Lucien! He reached for their bond, but found nothing, just a searing emptiness where the bond had been. Pain jabbed Dante's mind and sucked away his hard-won breath.

The ground rushed up to meet him.

COLD RAIN PLASTERED HEATHER'S hair to her skull and her clothes to her body. Wet gra.s.s p.r.i.c.kled against her nose. She rose to her knees, ears ringing and head aching. The blast had sledge-hammered her to the ground, knocking the air from her lungs.

"Heather! f.u.c.k!" A voice yelled. Just as Heather gained her feet, Annie skidded to a stop beside her and grabbed her arm.

"Are you okay?"

"I think so," Heather replied. "You?"

"Yeah, but when the house blew up, I thought you...I was scared..."

"s.h.i.t," Heather breathed, spinning around. Von and Dante had been right behind her. Through the rain, she spotted a figure rising to its knees several yards from the twisted and rubbled remains of the main house. Grabbing her sister's wet hand, Heather loped across the yard to Von.

"You okay?" she asked. She scanned the yard, looking for Dante. Her pulse pounded through her veins. She didn't see him.

Von blinked, then his eyes focused. He jumped to his feet in one smooth, light-blurring movement. Did a whirling 360.

"Where the h.e.l.l is Dante? Did she take him?"

"Who?" Heather asked, cold seeping in through her wet skin.

"One of the Fallen, a chick," Von said. "She ordered me to give Dante to her. Said others were on their way. G.o.ddammit!

Lucien asked me to guard Dante from the Fallen."

Heather pushed her wet hair away from her face. "But Dante's part Fallen too, why would he need-"

"Dante Baptiste is a Maker." The dark-haired woman's voice joined the conversation. She stepped beside Annie. "And a True Blood prince."

Von fixed a hard gaze on her. "And who the h.e.l.l are you?"

"Caterina Cortini, llygad," she answered, her voice laced with respect. "I was sent by the SB to kill Wells." She looked at Heather, her gaze steady. "And you."

Von's hand blurred to his jacket, a creak of leather. Heather blinked. A Browning muzzle was shoved against Cortini's temple. "Care to explain that comment before I pull this trigger?"

Cortini's gaze remained steady, but Heather had caught a flash of surprise in her eyes at Von's action. "The order changed," Cortini said to her. "The SB sent another team to bring you in. But even before then, I'd decided to protect both you and Dante Baptiste."

The muzzle didn't waver, not one iota.

"Why would you do that?" Heather asked.

"Because I learned who and what Dante is and guessed at what you mean to him."

"And why do you care?" Heather replied, voice tight.

"My mother is vampire." Cortini's chin lifted a shade. "I was raised in a vampire household and I've listened to fables about True Blood all my life."

"A child of the heart," Von said. "Who's your mom?"

"Renata Alessa Cortini."

Von whistled. "Holy h.e.l.l. One of the Cercle de Druide." He lowered the gun to his side. He looked at Heather. "I say, let's trust her for the moment. She f.u.c.ks up, she's dead."

Cortini inclined her head toward Von. "Thank you, llygad."

"Good enough for me," Heather said. "Let's find Dante."

WINGS RUSTLED. DANTE SMELLED wing musk and smoky incense. Heat radiated against him. The ache in his heart eased.

Lucien's here and safe.

But the scent was wrong and the scent was female.

Dante opened his eyes and looked into a woman's rain-beaded face-golden eyes, midnight hair, a slender sapphire-blue torc around her throat. The black tips of her wings arched above her head, sheltering him from the rain. She traced a finger along his jaw, trailing down to his collar.

"You had a seizure, Dante. But you mustn't rest for long, we need to leave."

"You know my name. You a friend of Lucien's?"

"Yes, he sent me," she said. "And you may call me Lilith." She flicked a glance at the sky. "We need to leave."

"No, ain't leaving. Why'd Lucien send you and not come himself?" Dante pushed himself up off the ground. Pain lanced through his ribs. Sc.r.a.ped through his mind. The night pinwheeled around him and he would've taken another header if Lilith hadn't steadied him with a hand to his shoulder.

"Merci," he murmured, stepping free of her support. "Is Lucien okay?"

The light in Lilith's eyes softened. "Your father's dead, little one."

"Liar. I don't f.u.c.king believe you!" He reached for his bond with Lucien again and touched emptiness. Pain burned like acid through his mind. He reeled, touched trembling fingers to his temple.

"He died to protect you from his enemies," Lilith said. "And that sacrifice has injured you, more than you know. Let me help you."

Dante couldn't catch his breath. His heart felt cold and still, the blood cooling in his veins. He shivered convulsively, his hands knuckling into fists. "No," he choked out. "T'a menti. He ain't dead, he ain't."

Je t'aime, mon fils, toujours.

I shoved him away and now he's gone forever.

Will he be with me now, Dante-angel?

Red hair, freckles, blue eyes, and giggles. Chloe. This time her name didn't slide from his mind, a pebble skittering across ice. This time, her name, her face, stayed.

Chloe.

Dante's breath caught in his throat. Grief knifed his heart. His muscles coiled, trembled. Blood trickled from his nose. "My princess," he breathed.

"We need to go," Lilith urged. "I promised your father I'd keep you safe."

Lucien's voice whispered through Dante's memory: I tried to keep you safe in silence.

You promised me I'd never be alone again. And I abandoned you.

Dante's eyes stung. He met Lilith's golden gaze. "Why should I trust you?"

"Lucien told me that you once gave him a gift he cherished, an X-rune pendant."

Memory splashed acid through Dante's mind.

"Hey, mon ami, I saw this in a boutique. And I thought of you."

A sterling silver and tungsten chain slides from Dante's hand into Lucien's palm.