Inferno Page 4

  Igor Poferov looked at the head of the Vabian Dynasty over the tips of his steepled fingers. He’d called Viktor Vabian and his wife, Una, in to see him as soon as he received the surveillance report on his minion, Megan.

  “You need to control your daughter Siobhan. She almost cost me a valuable agent last night.”

  “What can I do?” Viktor made an unconvincingly helpless gesture. “She’s a grown woman, and you know she took her brother’s disappearance to heart. She worshiped Patrick.”

  “He was as bad as she’s turning out to be. Nobody authorized him to go after the werelords’ new mate. He was foolish to try and worse, he may have compromised our position badly. That’s what I sent my pet wolf to find out. Your daughter interfered with my plans last night, and I do not take that…kindly.” He lowered his hands allowing his power to tingle through the air, snapping viciously at his guests’ exposed skin.

  To his satisfaction, Viktor sat up straighter in the ornate chair, trying hard not to show his discomfort. Igor looked to Una, watching her carefully. She’d always been the stronger of the two. She didn’t allow the pain to show, but Igor saw a subtle tightening of her red-painted lips that gave him immense satisfaction. He was the most powerful in this room, though both Una and Viktor had challenged him from time to time. Still, he was in charge here. The Vabians, “dynasty” or not, had to learn their place.

  “Really, Igor,” Una spoke, saccharine dripping off her every word, “you’re far too fond of the creature. Our Siobhan didn’t do much more than take a bite out of your wolf. She’ll live. Thanks to the bastard who hurt my boy.” Her eyes turned deadly cold. “I will have my revenge on Dante d’Angleterre, Igor. It is my right.”

  “And you will, Una, but you forget who is running this show. It’s my call as to when and how Dante will meet his fate. First, I need to know more. Even an ancient bloodletter should not have been able to counter the Elspian Ring. That spell was handed down from the Mater Priori herself. Its magic comes from another realm entirely. No mere vampire—regardless how old—should have been able to detect it. Dante is running with some strange characters, and we need to know more about them before we act.”

  “But—”

  Igor cut off Una’s words with an angry sneer.

  “We also need to know what your useless son divulged before he disappeared. If he compromised our plans, the entire Vabian dynasty will pay. Mark my words. Or perhaps,” Igor said as he tilted his head to give them a quelling look, “that was your plan. Maybe you wanted to do away with the bloodletter before Patrick’s failure is fully known?” He rubbed his chin as if considering. “The plan has merit, I will admit. It’s a good way to cover your asses. However, you should know this, if Dante or those around him so much as catch a cold in the next two weeks, I will have all of you Vabians up before the Priori. I’ve been tasked to find out what happened to Patrick and how badly he damaged our plans. That will come out no matter what you try to do to block my agents. Harm my wolf and I will kill you myself. She’s been far too valuable a tool to lose now. She’s mine and only I will decide when to put her down like the dog she is. Is that clear?”

  Una hesitated, and Viktor looked at her for guidance. The so-called leader of House Vabian was weak, just as he’d always been. It was Una who wore the pants in the family. Of that Igor was certain. And her daughter Siobhan was turning out to be just like her, the bitch.

  “Bottom line, call off Siobhan or you will all pay the price.”

  Una stood, huffing in outrage. She bit back her words before she could speak the treason that would give Igor reason to smite her where she stood. Too bad. She stomped out the door, leaving her henpecked husband to face the music.

  “We’ll do what we can, Igor, but Siobhan is a grown woman who makes her own decisions.”

  “Is that your way of hedging your bets, Viktor? It won’t work. If your daughter continues pursuing d’Angleterre, you will all pay the price. Have no doubt about that.”

  Sadly, our Siobhan is a lot like her mother.” Viktor stood with stooped shoulders and followed his wife.

  Chapter Three

  Megan was up and around by the time Dante rose the following day. She looked a little worse for wear and was moving cautiously, but she was clearly in better shape than a mere mortal would have been, given the extent of her injuries the night before.

  She sat with Duncan in the living room. She’d taken over the couch with a pillow tucked behind her back and her legs stretched out on the cushions, covered by a blanket. She was wearing a sweatshirt and pants that were too big for her, most likely pilfered from Dante’s closet while he slept below ground. The sight that touched Dante most, in the oddest sort of way, was her dainty feet peeping out from under the edge of the blanket, cuddled up in a pair of his fluffy white gym socks.

  It didn’t make any sense that a little thing like that would capture his attention. Somehow, it appealed to his sense of the ridiculous and also warmed something inside him that had lain cold and lifeless for centuries. She was cute though ferocious in her own feminine way. He’d been impressed by her half-shift, which wasn’t an easy form for even the strongest of shifters to hold for long. He had no doubt she was fierce. Which was probably why he found it so charming that she needed to roll his socks into donuts around her ankles because they were too big for her petite frame.

  Every article of clothing she’d borrowed from his closet was too big, and he thought she looked adorable. He liked the idea of her wearing his clothes. That the softness of the shirt that he’d felt many times against his own skin was now caressing hers.

  Dante shook off the uncharacteristically sappy thoughts with some difficulty as he entered the living room.

  “Good to see you looking so well, Megan.” He smiled as he joined her on the couch.

  There were other chairs in the room, including another wing chair like the one Duncan occupied, but there was enough room for him on the couch, down at the end near her dainty feet, and he was drawn to it. He wanted to be near her. He didn’t look too closely at why.

  “I feel much better, as I was just telling your friend Duncan here.” She smiled at him, and he felt it like a sucker punch to the gut.

  “When did she wake?” Dante turned his attention to the half-fey knight who currently shared his home.

  “Not long ago,” Duncan answered with an elegant shrug. “She wanted to leave but I talked her into resting on the couch for a bit until you rose. I think we have a lot to discuss before anyone talks of leaving.” Duncan sat forward, and his words came down heavy in the space between him and Megan, as if he’d been making this point for some time already.

  “You can’t keep me here against my will.” She sounded like a recalcitrant child. Of course, the way she filled out his sweatshirt reminded Dante that she was definitely all woman.

  “Try me.” Dante recaptured her attention, his tone brooking no argument. “Last night you took the full force of a magical blast that would have killed anyone else. How is it you survived, Megan? And why did Duncan see two distinct entities in your soul? You are were, but you are also something more. That’s what saved you. Isn’t that right, Duncan?”

  “That’s my theory, and I haven’t come up with anything better while you were below. So how about it, Megan?” Duncan turned the force of his question on her. Between the two men bearing down on her in concert, she began to fidget.

  “I’m only half were.” Her voice was as soft as he’d ever heard it, as if she was embarrassed by her origins.

  “Nothing to be ashamed of in that,” Duncan softened a little. “I’m only half human myself. What’s your other half, lass?”

  “Human…as far as I know. My mother was were. I never knew my father.”

  Dante shifted on the couch, raising her legs, blanket and all, to rest over his lap as he moved closer. She needed the warmth of another being right now. Touch was something all weres needed—or so he’d believed. He rubbed her legs through the blanket, giving
her reassurance with his gentle movements. At least he hoped that’s how she’d see his actions. He didn’t fully understand it himself.

  “You’d best not be spinning tales to try to gain our sympathy, lass.”

  “Duncan.” Dante’s growl was a warning not to push her too hard.

  “It’s no lie. Nothing I’ve told you has been a lie. I wouldn’t do that.”

  Duncan answered with one eloquently raised eyebrow, but Dante let it pass.

  “The fact remains, you can’t leave, sweetheart.” Dante tried to bring the conversation back to the point. “Remember what we talked about last night before all this happened? Remember I told you there were things going on that I wouldn’t talk about in public?”

  “Yeah, so what? Are you going to tell me now that some crazy woman wants you dead? That’s not exactly news.” Sarcasm was thick in her voice, and Dante didn’t like it one bit.

  “I don’t know who that woman was or why she targeted me in such a public way. I can only guess at her motivations.”

  Duncan picked up the narrative. “For centuries, Dante and people around him have been targeted by agents of the Venifucus.”

  “Venifucus? I thought they were ancient history. Right?”

  “I thought their days long over as well.” Dante ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “However, your current Lords have had dealings with one of them in recent weeks, as have I. They’re back. The threat is real. Whether it is imminent or not, remains to be seen.”

  “So this affects me how?”

  “It affects all were. All supernaturals for that matter,” Duncan said. “If the Venifucus are back, and Dante and I both witnessed one of their mages confessing some of their plans, then all creatures of good conscience need to know and prepare.”

  “All right.” She leaned forward confrontationally, toward Duncan. “You told me, and I’m prepared. Can I go home?”

  “Absolutely not.” Dante’s words were iron.

  “You’re too much of a mystery for us not to want to keep you around for a little while, lass.” Duncan eased back in his chair, a cunning smile playing about his lips.

  “I’m no mystery at all.” She sounded defensive to Dante’s ears.

  “Allow me to be the judge of that, my dear.” Dante resumed stroking her legs, slower now, with a more seductive purpose.

  “Now that you’re up—” Duncan rose from his chair, nodding toward Dante, “—I’ll see about making some dinner.” The half-fey knight beat a retreat toward the kitchen at the rear of the house, leaving Dante and Megan alone.

  “Won’t you stay a while? At least to heal. And perhaps to pick up where we left off last night before we were so rudely interrupted?” He poured on the charm, knowing his usual tricks with mortals probably wouldn’t work on her.

  For one thing, her mind was half-were. She’d likely be immune to his ability to cloud mortal minds, just as she was somewhat immune to magical attacks like the one they’d lived through the night before. Weres had a special kind of protection against magic. Or perhaps it was the nature of the animal spirits that shared their souls that protected them against most kinds of mortal magic. Dante didn’t know for sure, but either way, it was likely what had saved her.

  Megan couldn’t believe her good fortune. She’d been ordered to find a way to spy on the vampire and had been prepared to do almost anything to accomplish this final mission that would free her from the debt her family owed the Altor Custodis. This was almost too easy. She made a show of reluctance, but inside she was overjoyed by his invitation.

  She could use the excuse of her injury to keep some distance from the attractive bloodletter. Last night, she probably would have shared his bed. He was handsome as sin and she’d been too weak to fight the need he stirred in her body, regardless of her distaste in associating with another supernatural of any kind.

  She was clear headed now. The pain of her injuries was a grim reminder of the danger of her mission. With any luck, she could accomplish it without succumbing to the temptation he represented.

  “All right.” She sighed, trying not to look as pleased as she felt. “I’ll stay a few days. Until I’m fully healed. But I won’t promise anything more.”

  This was the perfect setup. She could nose around his house all day while he slept. The only sticking point in the plan was Duncan. Whatever he was, he was formidable. He’d said he was half human, but what in the world was the other half?

  “Understandable. Let’s just take it one night at a time for now.” His big hands stroking her legs through the blanket made her feel distinctly warm. She tried to shift away, but he wouldn’t let her go and she refused to engage in a childish tug of war with him.

  “So tell me more about this threat.” She tried to get him back to his earlier conversation. Without Duncan in the room as a buffer, the atmosphere felt too intimate.

  Dante sighed, looking away from her for a moment and she felt some relief from his intense regard. His dark eyes were so compelling. When he looked into her eyes, it almost felt like she was falling into them, drugged by his presence, and she feared she’d give him anything he wanted. She had to be on guard. Of course, the handsome bastard made that nearly impossible just by breathing. He was too damned sexy and too distracting.

  “I was approached by a man several months ago. He said he had information on how I could avenge a wrong done to me by the werelords who were in power in 1871.” Megan didn’t like the sound of this. “They had sanctioned the murder of a close friend of mine. An unjustifiable act of evil that destroyed a promising young man and most of the city of Chicago.”

  “The Great Chicago Fire?” She really didn’t like the sound of this.

  Dante nodded. “That is the sordid history. What matters most now is the fact that I felt the werelords owed me a blood debt. Like an idiot, I went haring off across the country on this man’s information. What I didn’t know was that he was a magic user, bent on murdering the new Priestess and mate of the current Lords of the Were. I helped him get close to them and made it possible for him to attack them. Once I realized my mistake, I changed sides and tried to help them, but it was already too late. One of the twins was grievously injured and it required a great working of magic to save him. That’s how Duncan was brought back into this realm. But that’s another story for another time.” He turned to her, his dark gaze zeroing in on her. She could see as well as feel his very genuine regret. “We eventually captured the mage, and he confessed to being a Venifucus agent. He spoke of their plans to return Elspeth to this realm.”

  “Elspeth?” A chill of fear trembled through her. “Isn’t she the one they call Destroyer of Worlds?”

  “The very same,” Dante agreed. “So you see, we have to be on guard. None of us can afford to let that happen. Not were, not immortal, not fey. If she regains power, we’re all in danger.”

  “Bright Lady, I had no idea. They’ve got to be crazy to want to bring that kind of evil back into the world.”

  “Crazy and power hungry.” He resumed stroking her legs through the blanket absently, as if to comfort himself with the repetitive motion. “Duncan thinks they’ve been behind all the evil that has followed me most of my life.”

  “What kind of evil?” She was afraid to ask but needed to know.

  “The murder of my brother and the beginning of my immortality. The death that started the fire in Chicago and my vendetta against the werelords. All that and more. Evil has followed me at every turn, tempting me to turn against what I know to be right and good.” His expression was tormented, spurring her into motion. Despite the pain in her side and wrist, she moved next to him on the couch, reaching out with her good hand to take his.

  “Why?” She searched his bleak gaze, offering her warmth when she saw the cold pain there. “Why would they do this to you?”

  “To try to turn me to their side. Or so Duncan believes. Personally, I don’t see why they’d target me, but it sure feels like they have. There’s no other ex
planation for all the bad things that seem to follow in my wake.”

  She put her hand on his shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Dante.”

  She was drowning in his gaze, mesmerized by his regard as he moved closer. She met him in the middle and their mouths touched, igniting a fire to rival the one that had consumed Chicago so many years ago. This fire however, wasn’t destructive. It was seductive. It flamed within them both, drawing them near, binding them together in the moment.

  He deepened the kiss and she was right there with him, pushing herself into his arms, into his body, despite the pain in her ribs. It was nothing compared to the pleasure to be found in his embrace. He moved over her, setting her down on the couch beneath him as he held himself above, keeping the majority of his weight off her smaller body. He was careful with her, and she liked that. In fact, she liked everything about his possession. Here was a man who knew how to make a woman feel cherished. Even with something as simple—and as overwhelming—as his kiss.

  Dante’s hand skimmed under the loose hem of the borrowed sweatshirt to ride up the bare skin of her midriff, grazing lightly over the area that hurt like the dickens and upward, to cup her breast. She sighed into his mouth when his big hand took possession of her sensitive skin, his fingers going right to the hard peak that so wanted his attention.

  She wanted more. So much more…

  The sound of a throat clearing rather loudly at the entrance to the living room interrupted. Dante pulled back first, frustration and chagrin clear on his handsome face. Megan was still in a fog of desire that he’d created, unsure of her surroundings.

  The sound came again as she shook herself, and Dante’s hand slipped from beneath her shirt. He helped her sit up.

  “Dinner is served,” Duncan intoned with clear amusement.

  Megan looked at the doorway in shock to see the other man there. He winked at her before turning to leave, and she felt heat flood her face. He’d seen what they were up to and deliberately interrupted. She’d have to thank him, despite her embarrassment. Either that or kill him. She would decide later.