A Mermaid's Ransom (Daughters of Arianne 3)

"Mmm. Not yet matured, likely around eleven or twelve." Though her intent expression didn't change, he realized she was not unmoved by his mother's fate. "Perhaps she had some magic after all. There are many types. From what Mina told me, she had great fortitude to survive that long. I hope her end was merciful."

"Any end in the Dark One world is merciful," Dante responded.

Lyssa's mouth tightened and she inclined her head. "I wish I had known her better, so I could tell you more. But I can inquire for you and see if I can find others, if you'd like to know more. Would you like me to do that?"

Dante gripped the chair arms. "What would you want in return?"

The vampire queen leaned forward, her hair whispering off her shoulder to fall against his knee. Her extraordinary eyes locked with his. "She told me if she had a child, she would have named him Patrick. It's from the Latin, meaning nobleman. Noble man. Learn to conquer your pride and fear, Dante, and live up to the name. Then you will have given me what I wish. What she would have wished as well, I expect. Would you like me to look for others who knew her?"

He lifted a hand before he thought, so he stopped in midmotion. Something in her face told him it might be all right, though. Slowly, aware of her power, he closed his fingers over the skein of hair, remembering his mother's. They'd often torn it out, but being a vampire, it grew back quickly, down to the small of her back in a matter of days. Soft, silken wisps of it had fluttered over his face when he pressed to her side.

He closed his eyes, a hard shudder running through him. Lyssa touched his temple, gentle, easy, her exotic scent cocooning him, the dim lights of the windows closing in. A vampire home, a place where vampires knew who and what they were.

Bolting out of the chair, he put the distance of the room between them again. Lyssa remained where she was, watching him breathe hard. He had his fangs bared, and he knew the crimson light of his eyes was likely like a demon's in the shadows.

"No," he said. "She's dead. There is nothing else I need to know." Nothing else I can afford to know.

Twenty-two

MINA returned them to a wooded area close to Alexis's home. Dante had said little when he emerged with Lyssa. Mina and David had made the appropriate farewells and thanks, and Lyssa had reiterated the invitation--though Alexis sensed an underlying command--that Dante should consider staying at her estate for a time to be tutored in the ways of his vampire kin. When she added that his servant would of course be welcome, Alexis detected emotion from Mina and David that suggested they would not necessarily welcome that idea.

Remembering how Mina had described the relationship between vampires and their servants, she shivered a little. Slaves, made to serve sexually . . . But then she thought of what Mina had said about Jonah and Anna. It's in your nature, to submit to the man you love . . . And then Lyssa: There is a bond there that should never be abused. It is the one constant in a vampire's life. What would she be willing to do to stay at his side?

David and Mina had departed. As Alexis moved with Dante through the forest, following the jogging path she knew would come out behind her home, Dante remained silent, head down, gaze trained on the pathway. Alexis gave him privacy, involved in her own thoughts, though the odd absence of night sounds caught her attention. With a chill, she thought she knew why. Predator, as Mina had said. The creatures of the night stayed silent, motionless as he passed, instinctively hiding. But when she probed deeper than that, she stopped.

"What?" Dante's head came up. He stepped to her shoulder, a position allowing him to move forward or aft as needed, gratifying her with his willingness to protect her. It was falsely reassuring, she knew. His idea of protection might involve tearing some innocent apart before she could establish it was a power walker tuned into their iPod. Of course, it was the thought that counted, right?

"What do you feel?" he asked.

"Don't know," she responded truthfully. "It was different from the diner. Sometimes I catch a passing whiff of somebody else's house-cleaning issues, if that makes sense." She forced a lighter tone. "I'm starving. Want to watch me make a late dinner? You can taste things, right?"

He turned her to face him. Alexis tipped her head back, dreading that impassive look. Instead she was surprised by one that was . . . well, tender would be going overboard. Concerned seemed more accurate and sensible. "Alexis--"

"Let's not." She shook her head "I really think it would make sense for you to stay out of my head except when you need to talk without words. You can't worry about my moods, okay? You've got too many more important things to deal with right now. I'm kind of . . . I've got a crush on you, first-sex infatuation, whatever. You're not at a place that you can give back to that, and you shouldn't. I do understand that, really--"

Could she sound more idiotic? Maybe this was why girls had sex and first relationships early. She handled so many things well, with complete confidence, and yet the way he made her feel made her so . . . adolescent.

"Why are you helping me, Alexis?"

She frowned. "I wish you'd stop asking me that. I just want to, all right? I think you're worth helping. And you can read my mind. You know."

"No." He shook his head. "No more than you understand my emotions. You cannot read what I cannot read myself, and I think it is the same for you, what is going on inside of you."

"I'm not used to being confused," she said irritably. "You're inaccessible."

At his blank look, she made a face. "I can read emotions, meaning I can read them. Like a book, with words. You're a foreign language. I feel certain things from you, but I can't get into your head, really grasp the meaning. That shouldn't matter. I should know you're reflecting what you yourself are dealing with, but . . . aargh." She threw up her hands. "Fine, I'm sorry. It's selfish, but I want to know how you feel about me. And no, I don't want you to tell me. I want to know, to feel it. And I can't. It's frightening, because I told them you would be fine here, that it would all work out okay, and it turns out . . . I'm just guessing, really. I don't know. I just know I want you to be okay. I want you to be all right here. And that's different, you know?"

He blinked. "Females are confusing."

Alexis gave a half snort. "I guess we can be." Following his glance down, she saw she'd curled her fingers in several strands of hair lying against his chest. She was twisting it against his pectorals and the soft stuff of his shirt. She suspected it reflected the tangled state of her mind. She really needed food and sleep. She'd had the sandwich Mina had requested, but it had gone down like sawdust with her worry about other things. She'd only eaten half.

"Perhaps we can help each other," he said, drawing her attention. Taking her fingers in his, he splayed them out on his palm. "If I concentrate on one moment, very hard, maybe you can help me understand what it is I'm feeling. You are not alone in your confusion, Alexis," he said, so softly that the rumble of his deep voice was almost lost in the weighted silence of the forest. "I have felt only anger and hatred for so long. But it . . . pleases me, I think, that you want me to be here. Is that what you feel?"

She realized he wasn't asking about her fe

elings, but his own. His expression was concentrated, as if he were holding the emotion steady within himself with effort. Alexis closed her hand on his, listening with the sense she had. Slowly, as if his feelings were a nebula, slowly oscillating, drifting through her mind, one side turned up toward the light of her gift, reflecting the direction of his thoughts.

The smile bloomed first in her heart, her hand tightening on his. "Yes. You're pleased. That's what that feeling is. You're . . . glad."

His expression was somber. "Now, what do you sense?"

She closed her eyes. With his flame-colored eyes so intent on her face, it was easier to keep her own emotions disengaged that way. But the smoke sifted and what she felt now had a lighter feel to it, a tickle like feathers. It reminded her of her father tumbling her through the clouds when she was barely more than a toddler.

"Laughter," she breathed. "Amusement. We smile or laugh when we feel that way. What are you remembering?"

Opening up a window into her mind, he showed her the scene when she'd laughed at Clara's absorption with Marcellus. Her joy had planted and germinated within him, such that he'd had the unfamiliar urge to smile with her, even though he hadn't understood the humor.

"I know you've sent me a picture, but that's the first time you sent me a movie. Wow." She grinned. When his lips twitched then stilled, uncertain, she lifted onto her toes, teased the corners upward. "It's a smile," she said softly. "Don't be afraid of it. Imagine me laughing. Remember the mother and little boy at the craft room, when he asked you for a face painting."

"Will, and his mother." Another emotion came at her then, and this one was not laughter. Alexis stopped, her fingertips resting on his mouth. His eyes were only inches from hers as she let it flood her. "What is this one?" he asked.