Inferno Page 3

  The wolf girl had secrets. There was no doubt of it in his mind. Was she in league with the woman who’d just lobbed killing blows from fifteen yards out? That was powerful sorcery, and it had been aimed directly at Dante.

  If the two women were working together, why would Megan put herself in the path of danger to save his life? Or was a more elaborate ruse yet to unfold?

  Duncan would keep watch, as was his duty, and try to keep an open mind. Dante was more special than anyone knew and it was Duncan’s task to keep him safe for the battle ahead. If the other side managed to take him out in the early rounds—or worse, to turn him to their cause as they’d been trying to do for centuries—it would be a tragic and dangerous turn of events.

  “Where are we headed?” Duncan asked once they were out on the open road. It was essential to put as much distance between them and the threat of danger as possible. The girl was in bad shape. She needed medical—and magical—attention.

  “Home.” Dante was growling. Something Duncan had never heard him do before. Come to think of it, he’d never seen Dante react so strongly to a female of any kind before. Something was definitely strange with this situation, yet Duncan would be damned if he could put his finger on exactly what it was.

  “Are you certain that’s wise?”

  “Home, Duncan! Fast.”

  Well, that was clear enough. Duncan applied his foot to the gas pedal, watching the mirrors carefully for any sign of pursuit. He also kept a magical eye out. He’d arrived in time to taste the flavor of the blonde’s magic. If she was anywhere near them, he should be able to tell, regardless of how strong she was.

  Duncan’s magic was of the fey realm. No mortal mage should be able to fool him once he’d identified a unique magical signature.

  “She’ll be all right, Dante. Her light is strong and pure.” Duncan spared a moment to reassure his old friend about the wolf girl’s chances of survival.

  Since Duncan’s release from the fey realm, Dante had proved himself a man of honor, once again fighting on the side of light. Duncan respected that. He respected the man Dante had become, though he hadn’t trusted him at first. Duncan had laid a trap for Dante, feeding him his potent half-fey blood to both heal him and test him. Duncan held the key to Dante’s continued existence. If he ever stepped over the line into darkness, Duncan could destroy him.

  They’d left Montana together, both aware of the need to renew their bonds of friendship. Trust would come in time and in fact, Duncan was already far down the road to trusting Dante. The bloodletter hadn’t changed much over the centuries. He’d been a good man before he’d become immortal, and his basic goodness had never been suspect.

  He might have become more dour—more introverted and solitary—but that was to be expected when one lived so long and so alone. Dante had no mate. He’d never found the fabled One most of his kind searched for. The One woman who, legend said, would be able to share his mind and complete his soul.

  Duncan had seen it a few times during his last sojourn in the mortal realm. There was nothing more beautiful than the magic of two souls joined in love. He hoped one day Dante would find that.

  Hell, if he didn’t know better, he’d wonder if the woman lying injured in his arms wasn’t the One. Dante’s reaction was certainly violent enough. He was uncharacteristically possessive and quick to anger, and he wouldn’t let anyone near her.

  Weres and bloodletters didn’t mingle. Oh, weres and immortals had worked side by side in the distant past to defeat the armies of darkness. However, these days they kept themselves separate and distinct.

  So it was unlikely he was witnessing such a true mating. Still…Dante’s unreasonable reaction gave him food for thought.

  Dante had always been something of a rebel. He never seemed to do anything the easy way. His life had been one crisis after another. Not an easy road and not one of his making. Only now did it come clear—there had most likely been Venifucus infiltrators behind most of the tragedies that had followed Dante d’Angleterre throughout his long life.

  They’d killed his beloved brother. They’d been behind the death of a mortal mage who’d been a close friend and tricked Dante into a vendetta that lasted to this day. Most recently, the mortal mage named Patrick Vabian had tricked him into helping hunt down and attack an innocent young Priestess. Vabian had preyed on Dante’s simmering need for revenge against the werewolves that had killed his friend. Thankfully, Dante had come to his senses in time to foil Vabian’s plot and prevent her murder.

  Dante fought against the Venifucus at every turn, yet they continued to pursue him, hurting those he befriended and those he loved. It was no wonder he’d become a hermit, not allowing anyone to get near him.

  Duncan had vowed to look after him while the half-fey blood Duncan had given him still enhanced Dante’s already formidable power. Duncan wouldn’t let darkness overtake Dante d’Angleterre. Not while there was breath in his body.

  He drove directly to Dante’s brownstone. It was one of many residences Dante owned and maintained for his personal use and it had every protection an immortal could wish for. Duncan was certain no one had followed them the traditional way and fairly certain no magical means had been able to track them. They’d be safe here while they sorted out what to do with the woman.

  He pulled the car up to the curb, and Dante was out like a shot, the wolf girl held close in his arms. Duncan shut off the engine, secured the vehicle and followed close on the vampire’s heels. But Dante wasn’t waiting for anyone. He used his powers to fling the door open before him as he stalked through the house to the bedroom directly above his subterranean resting place. It was the master bedroom. The one he kept for show. It was decorated to his tastes and contained some of his belongings. He used it and the attached master bath when he came upstairs after dark. It helped maintain the fiction that he was just a regular guy should anyone come to call.

  Not that he let just anyone inside his home. No, Dante was a regular hermit, holed up alone the majority of the time. Duncan was changing that. He didn’t think it was good for Dante to be so solitary.

  Oh, he went out to hunt every once in a while. A man had to eat, after all, but he didn’t linger. He barely even talked to his prey anymore, he’d confided to Duncan after one particularly long night spent reminiscing and drinking.

  Dante had an extensive wine cellar, stocked with the finest vintages from all over the world. He also had an excellent selection of wines from California and preferred the burgundies of Atticus Maxwell’s winery in particular. Duncan knew Maxwell was also a vampire, though he’d never met the man. Wine was their last link to the sun and one of the few substances they could consume. It had healing properties for them and many of the greatest vintners in the world were secretly immortal.

  Duncan watched Dante place the girl on his king sized bed as if she were made of glass. She was mostly naked. Her clothes hadn’t survived her partial shift to werewolf form very well. She was in bad shape at the moment. She hadn’t regained consciousness, and her breathing was shallow.

  Dante removed the remains of her clothing and checked her for injuries, cursing under his breath.

  “She’s got at least two broken ribs and her left wrist looks bad.” Dante held her hand gently, probing the joint tenderly.

  “May I help?” Duncan didn’t want to approach without Dante’s knowledge. He was focused on the girl and had been unpredictable since she’d taken the hit meant for him. It was best to tread lightly.

  Dante looked up, and Duncan was struck by the emotion in his eyes. He hadn’t seen Dante really feel in far too long. There was an ocean of guilt swimming in his eyes along with worry, fear and something that looked like longing, but Duncan would worry about that later. For now, he had to help set this little mortal wolf to rights. He didn’t think he’d get anything resembling sense out of Dante until she was on the road to recovery. And that was something else he’d have to ponder…later.

  Duncan moved closer as Dante nodded his consent. Duncan put one hand over her brow, closing his eyes as he sent out magical tendrils of his power, seeking her mind and her consciousness. She was hidden deep within herself, hiding from the shocking blast that had caused her so much pain. She was cuddled with her wolf, the animal spirit wrapped around her mortal soul, protecting it. Duncan had never seen the like, though he’d heard stories. It was beautiful and strange. They were separate and yet one.

  He’d been inside were minds before, but none had ever looked like this. This girl was different.

  She became aware of him. The wolf looked up, recognizing his light. She nuzzled the girl’s spirit encouragingly while Megan’s human side looked at him with wide, frightened eyes.

  “Fear not, Megan. We’re trying to help you. Can you speak? Do you have the energy?”

  “We? Is Dante all right?”

  Odd that her first thought would be of the bloodletter. Duncan filed that away in his mental “things to ponder” file.

  “He is well. He’s seeing to your physical injuries. I’m more concerned about your spirit. Will you come back to us or do you seek the light? I think your wolf spirit would prefer you to stay in the mortal realm, don’t you?” He sought to engage the wolf in helping to coax the injured spirit back to the surface where it should be. Only then would Megan regain consciousness in the mortal realm.

  As he hoped, the wolf agreed, nudging her toward him in the space of her soul.

  “This is gonna hurt, isn’t it?” She had enough moxie to smile at him, one eyebrow raised mischievously, though he could see her fear.

  “I’m sorry, Megan. I won’t lie to you. You were injured by the blast, but you’ll recover. Especially with Dante watching over you like a mother hen.”

  She giggled. There was no other word for the pure sound of enjoyment that issued from her lips. She was enchanting, and now Duncan knew for sure that her heart of hearts was pure and true. There was no darkness in her tender spirit, only honor, duty, loyalty and love.

  All in all, if she’d been completely human, Duncan would have thought her a great match for Dante’s warrior soul. She was something he’d never personally encountered. The wolf inside her was strong, separate in a way he didn’t quite understand, but would like to discover. This strange phenomenon deserved further study.

  “All right. Let’s get this over with.” With a last caress to the fur of her wolf spirit, she stood on her own, the wolf walking beside her to the boundary separating her unconscious mind and the waking world.

  Duncan retracted his mental probe when he saw her step over the line. She would wake and need their help getting through the wrenching pain of her injuries—both physical and magical.

  She gasped as her eyes opened, her body trembling in reaction. Dante’s hands went to her face, cupping her cheeks gently as he soothed her. Duncan watched the uncharacteristic tenderness from his old friend with a worried sort of interest. Dante was behaving out of character, but then, nothing was normal about this situation—from the girl to the attack to Dante’s reaction.

  “Son of a bitch!” she sobbed aloud as consciousness returned. “That hurts!”

  “Where does it hurt, baby?” Dante questioned, moving his hands lower, to cup her bruised ribs and injured wrist. “You’ve got two broken ribs and a few snapped bones in your wrist.”

  “Yeah, that’s what hurts.” She gasped once more as she tried to get up and failed. Dante pushed her back, making soothing sounds.

  “Stay put, little wolf. I’ll take care of you. Is anything else bothering you?”

  “Besides the fact that I’m naked in front of two strange men and can’t really move?” Sarcasm dripped from her terse tone.

  Dante actually blushed. If Duncan hadn’t seen it himself, he wouldn’t have believed it.

  “I had to check for injuries,” he explained. “And your clothes didn’t make it through your partial shift.” His tone went from chastised to serious in less than a second. “You shouldn’t have jumped in front of that fireball.”

  “You’d rather I let you get killed? Fine. Next time I’ll just mind my own business.”

  He stroked her hair back from her face. “You saved my life, sweetheart. Thank you. But I couldn’t have lived with the guilt if you’d died to save me.”

  Duncan wondered if Dante realized the serious nature of that statement. It sounded almost like a declaration of…something. Still, there was no way they could be mates. They weren’t even close to the same species. Weres hadn’t mixed with immortals since the Dark Ages.

  It was one thing for a bloodletter to find his One among mortals. Humans could be turned to become like their mates. Weres were already magical in quite a different way than vampires. There were tales of weres who had been turned to vampires back during the black times of the Venifucus, but such power hadn’t been needed—or wanted—in the peaceful times since Elspeth, Destroyer of Worlds, leader of the Venifucus, had been banished to the farthest realms.

  Dante tugged the blanket from under the girl, jostling her as little as possible. It was as he rose to lift her legs and slide them under the cover that he stilled. Duncan sensed something amiss and froze as well.

  Dante’s eyes rose to his and back down to Megan’s thigh. There was a mark there, and it was obvious Dante wanted Duncan to see it. He moved closer, noting that Megan was likely in too much pain to tell that something was up. He stared at the smooth flesh of her muscular thigh and had to stifle his reaction.

  There, clear as day, was the ancient mark of the Altor Custodis. It wasn’t a tattoo in the traditional sense. It was a magical mark they sometimes used on creatures that owed them allegiance for one reason or another. It was a rare thing, but Duncan had seen it once before. Many years ago.

  Yet another piece to the puzzle that was Megan.

  He nodded to Dante and left him to settle her beneath the blankets. He had a lot to think about.

  *

  “She’s sleeping.” Dante strolled into the living room minutes later heading straight for the sideboard that held a large decanter of his favorite wine. He poured two glasses, bringing one to Duncan as he claimed the opposite chair.

  “That’s good to hear. With her were constitution, she’ll most likely be up and around sometime tomorrow. I’ll keep an eye on her during the daylight hours.”

  “Much appreciated, my friend.” Dante toasted him with his glass before drinking the deep red burgundy with a modicum of relief. “What I still can’t figure is how that first fireball missed me. I felt it brush by, and saw the remnants of it drip past me—right in front of my face. It didn’t even singe a single hair on my head. I just don’t get it.”

  “That, perhaps, is due to me. Or at least, the remaining power of my blood in your system. I believe it deflected the worst of that magical blast, though I don’t believe it would have protected you from the second one. You have your lady wolf to thank for saving your hide from that one.”

  “I just don’t understand why she did it.”

  Dante was filled with residual anger and frustration that hadn’t left him. It had hurt more than he expected to see the girl go down in a fireball that was meant for him. It was too much like his past. Too much like the tragedy that seemed to follow everywhere he went. If he didn’t know better, he’d think he was cursed.

  “You should know something. She isn’t entirely were.” Duncan sighed and placed his wine glass on the table in front of him, looking troubled. “When I was coaxing her back, I saw inside her soul. The wolf was there, but it was very separate from Megan herself. I’ve never seen that before.”

  “What do you think it means?”

  “I’ve been sitting here pondering that as a matter of fact.”

  “If she’s not fully were, what’s the other part?”

  “Human, most likely. Though, as you well know, when weres mate with humans, the were side usually wins out in the offspring. I’ve never seen a half-were before. Not like that.”

  “Neither have I. But the new Priestess—”

  “Yes, I thought about that too. Her situation is different since there is quite a bit of magic involved, not to mention the Lady Herself.”

  Dante realized the Goddess might very well have intervened where Her newest Priestess was concerned. Therefore, any comparison to Priestess Allesandra probably wasn’t an accurate one.

  “So what do you make of what you saw in Megan?”

  Duncan reached for his glass. “I just don’t know, Dante. She’s special. I can tell you that. The wolf lives in her and protected her mortal spirit from the blast of that fireball. It would have killed you. It would probably have killed any other were as well. I think it was her dual nature that saved her.”

  “So we have a unique lone wolf sporting an Altor Custodis mark of obligation on our hands. None of this is the usual course of business, Duncan.”

  “She is an enigma, I’ll give her that,” Duncan agreed.

  “So where does that leave us? What do we do with her?”

  “We watch her. She came to you—or was sent—for a reason. Whether of her own making or directed by someone within the Altor Custodis. We need to find out who and why. Until we do, I must caution you not to partake of her blood if she offers. It could be some kind of trap. The surest way to harm one of your kind is to bespell blood, as you learned firsthand when I did it to you.”

  “Agreed.” Dante wanted to growl at the half-fey warrior. That had been a dirty trick, but he supposed in hindsight it had been necessary. Duncan had needed to be sure of him after all the time that had passed since they’d last fought side by side.

  He thirsted for a taste of Megan, but he firmed his resolve. He had to stand strong against the almost unreasonable attraction that drew him to the small wolf nestled in his bed.

  “There is also the possibility that the taint in the Altor Custodis has reached whoever pulls Megan’s strings. That kind of mark means she owes someone within the AC allegiance—maybe even a blood debt. We can only hope her patron is someone on the right side of things and not a Venifucus infiltrator.”