A Mermaid's Ransom (Daughters of Arianne 3)

Sliding his fingers along her spine, he traced that fragile part of her, then down to the flare of her buttocks. He stopped abruptly, tracing something there. Something that felt different, thicker somehow.

"What is it?" Alexis asked groggily, too tired to reach around.

"It is a mark. A mark that I left."

"Another one? I thought there were only three."

"The three markings are internal in their effect on you, but the third mark comes with a brand upon the skin, a mark of the vampire's ownership of the servant. I had not thought of it until now, because you are the first I've ever marked three times. You did not notice it?"

"I'm sure Myel saw it when she bathed me, but she didn't mention it." Though Alexis wondered if that was part of why her mother had been so emotional. "What does it look like?"

Dante surprised her by showing it to her in his mind as clearly as if she was looking at it herself. A benefit of the second mark she hadn't realized fully until now. Digesting that, she focused on the image. The mark, a cross between a tattoo and a scar, was shaped like a tongue of flame.

"My mother mentioned it, but I don't know why it occurs, or the significance of the design." He frowned. "Does it bother you?"

"Only because it doesn't. I missed having the other marks . . . the ones you put on me." Knowing it was crazy for her to feel that way about the magical brands that had pulled her into his world, Lex laid her head back down on his shoulder. Having him look in her face when she felt so vulnerable was somehow more difficult than knowing he could plunder her mind. "We'll find out more about vampires, don't worry," she added hastily in the weighted silence. "When you were face painting, I checked my cell messages. Myel said that Mina and Pyel have initiated contact with a vampire who might know more about your mother."

Not responding to that, he lifted her to look at her upper body, the clothes he'd torn away to reach her flesh. "I am also glad you still carry my mark upon you."

Under his intent scrutiny, she held still, but she felt that confusing mix of emotions . . . and something else, too. On instinct, she twisted around, looking out the windshield. There was an abandoned field behind the diner, littered with trash, of course. The sun had gone behind a cloud, giving her a shivery cold, though the day had warmed up and the car more so because of the things they'd been doing in it.

"What is it?" Dante's attention sharpened, picking up on her mood or thoughts, she wasn't sure which.

"Nothing, I guess. I just felt, for a minute . . ." It had been a malevolent presence, a wave of vengeful anger, but she couldn't isolate it. In this section of town, it could be a random wave, except the intent had been firmly fixed on her. Or Dante.

Almost before she finished the thought, he'd lifted and placed her back in her seat and was scanning the area, his expression intent. "I think they're gone," she said, probing their surroundings herself. "Whatever it was. Let's get home. Maybe it was just somebody who saw what we were doing and got really upset. People can be like that about public sex." She tried for a smile and failed when he turned his gaze to her.

"It was more than that. But you're right. They're gone, whoever they were. It could be one of your father's Legion keeping watch on us."

"I guess." Only what she had felt was a malevolence that transcended paternal outrage, or a vicarious sense of it. She started the car. Whatever it was, she didn't want Dante facing it and forcing an evaluation of his probation before it even started. She didn't want to contemplate any confrontation between him and the angels, or Mina.

"You think of their lives or mine. Do you not value your own life?"

"It's not that. I thought we agreed you'd stay out of my head. Dante, you're doing fine. There's no reason to think . . ."

"There's every reason to think it," he said. "You should think of your own life first. I will not go back to that world, even if they have to destroy me here. Your fate will be secondary."

When Lex spoke again, she had to do it in a low voice to keep it steady. "You put my fate first, earlier."

"Because you cared about mine, and it was the first time anyone had done so. It took me off guard. Such things are temporary, and only useful for certain periods of time. As I said before, when your arousal for me cools, or I have done something that makes it too difficult for me to be here, you will not care as much what your father and godmother do to me."

She stared at him. Putting the car in park, she opened her door and left him sitting there, though she slammed the door hard enough to rock the vehicle. While it didn't surprise her that he was at her side in an instant, her own reaction did. She slapped him, a solid thwack that hit his perfect jaw. He hadn't anticipated it from her mind, because he didn't jerk back in time to avoid the blow, though he caught her wrist to prevent a follow up. If she'd used her fist, she suspected he would have knocked her on her ass, but like a spanking, a slap was confusing. It wasn't intended to injure, but to express an emotion in physical form, in a way most males would read loud and clear. While she wasn't sure if he had that radar, she didn't particularly give a damn.

"I get it. You've lived in this awful world where you couldn't count on anyone. But you do not get to do what we just did, and then sit there with that stupid, horrible arrogance and calmly state that my feelings are a phase of lust and shallow infatuation. Like I would abandon you like that. Look at me." She jerked away from him and gestured to her shirt, still in dishabille, breasts nearly exposed. She'd pulled her skirt back down when they'd sensed the disturbing presence, but her panties were in shambles in the car and his seed was damp on her thighs. His fingers had speared through her hair, mussing it, and his paint was stiff upon her skin, like a light rope restraint twining around her throat and arms. "You are a complete . . . ass."

Turning, she stomped away from him. Rationally, she understood he couldn't help it. For Goddess's sake, he put the capital letters in Dysfunctional Childhood, and had been exposed to a semblance of normalcy for less than forty-eight hours. If her feelings weren't far more involved than they should be, she could accept that. Trust took time. Even when rehabilitating a manatee, she had to win that to heal his or her wounds. Huge leaps forward could be followed by huge leaps backward.

But she wasn't detached. She knew his feelings, and his marks had tightened those ropes even further, binding her to his mind and body. Half the time she embraced his thoughts and emotions, reveling in their dark pleasures, and other times they frightened her. Anger fell somewhere in between, but she preferred it to the fear.

She was the only one who sensed that one spark within him. No matter how faint its flicker, its very existence was an indication of how strong it was, how strong it could be. She knew evil could triumph over a spark of good, no matter her influence, if the person's will was already drawn irrevocably toward that darkness. But she wasn't losing Dante to that.

Ah, Goddess. This was impossible. She needed some way to vent. Unfortunately, she didn't have the option Clara did, arriving at Lex's town house with ice cream and Kleenex to spend a self-indulgent night lamenting a boyfriend's betrayal, berating him as a complete bastard. Yeah, she could see that happening.

See, I brought this guy back from this horrible hell-planet and he's got enough baggage to fill up a 747, but the sex is so hot I'm having a hard time kicking him to the curb. And even if I could, I can't, because I'm supposed to make sure he doesn't wreak havoc on the world . . .

When his hand closed on her wrist again, she stopped, stiffly facing away from him. He stepped around to her front, and she pivoted on her toe. Yes, it was childish, but her feelings were going to strangle her. She was all alone in this. Her father was hoping to see Dante a corpse before it was all over. Her mother was supportive, but too worried for Alexis to burden her. And Dante, he was the problem, wasn't he? It was hard to lean on the problem.

"I've upset you."

"You think?" She managed the sarcastic reply through a throat thick with tears. "Just go back to the car for a few minutes. I'll

pull it together. Just leave me alone."

"No," he said. "I've upset you, and it bothers me."

She lifted her face to him then. Damn it, Alexis, be better than this. Stronger. Fighting out of the thicket of her own feelings, she focused on his. Confusion again, and a tugging that could be regret, if he knew to call it that. "When someone does something here that hurts your feelings, they say they're sorry." She swiped at her cheek, frustrated with more stupid tears. "And really mean it. You don't say it just so everything will be less awkward."

"Does being sorry mean I am admitting I was wrong?"

She choked on a chuckle and a sob together. It made her lungs hurt. She bent her head, pressing her forehead against his chest, and drew a deep breath. "Sometimes. Sometimes not. You can think you're right, but still be sorry that you hurt someone. I wish you didn't think you were right, though. I wish you had faith in me, in my father."

His arms slid around her. He was somewhat stiff, as if he wasn't sure how this nonsexual gesture would be received. She recalled then how he'd watched the children and parents at the craft room, and in the park. He would have noted how parents hugged their child if he fell down and cried, or was getting fussy, and as she'd said, he was quick to adapt. Swallowing, she slid her arms up his back, clutched his shirt. His arms were a comfort, as long as she could push aside the reality that he was imitating the behavior, rather than understanding what a hug was supposed to convey.

No, that wasn't true. He did have an indefinable need to soothe her, to make her happy. He truly didn't want her to cry or be angry with him. Thinking about his world, that might be a first as well, because the only reason to avoid anger in his world was to prevent physical retribution. He knew he was in no danger of that from her.

Dante eased her back from him and traced the track of a tear. "I was cruel."