A Mermaid's Ransom (Daughters of Arianne 3)

"Sadness," she murmured. "Different from anger and hatred. Sadness is . . . a feeling of loss, like you lost something, and you won't get it back."

"Yes," he said slowly. "It feels that way."

"Oh, Dante." Squeezing his hand harder, she pushed away anything but the desire to help him understand his own emotions, as foreign to him as a new language in truth. "This is working wonderfully, but why don't we take a break for a little bit? I am really hungry and tired. It's hard to run around all day with a guy who doesn't eat. Well, not like the rest of us do."

Of course, the reminder of when he had last eaten and how brought a flush to her face. Dante cocked his head at her, and a little tug happened at that right corner again, a very sexy almost-smile that caught her breath. "Is it my turn to read your emotions?"

"No," she said firmly. She angled her head down the path. "I'll race you there. No vampire cheating. You have to run like a human."

"As tired as you are, perhaps I should run on my knees? That should be slow enough."

"Okay, that was definitely a smart-ass thing to say." Stepping into him to put him off balance, she took off.

He caught her in seconds, of course. When he captured her about the waist, she ducked under his hold and managed to slip by him to take another few steps. Then he caught the hem of her shirt and swung her around into his arms, such that she was laughing breathlessly.

"You're cheating," she informed him. "Racing means whoever can run the fastest, not grabbing hold of the other person to slow them down."

"I was distracted," he said. When he lifted her under her arms, she settled her legs around his waist, her arms around his neck. "When you run, it's a challenge. I feel I must catch you."

He's a predator . . . The meaning didn't feel sinister now, though it wasn't safe, either. That pleasurable ripple low in her belly intensified as he gripped her buttocks in a firm, kneading hold. "If you don't let me eat, I'll be no good to you at all," she complained.

"A hungry servant is more motivated to please her Master."

Cold fear returned. Not because of his words and what Mina had told her about vampires. This was like what she'd felt behind the diner. Sharp and sudden, like a gunshot in the back.

She didn't have to tell Dante. Almost as soon as she registered it, he'd dropped her to her feet and thrust her behind him to face the threat.

The man watching them was crouched in a tree, comfortably as a bird, despite the fact he was at least Dante's size. He looked about forty years old, but Alexis assumed that was deceptive, since he was a vampire. Handsome, with styled blond hair and cold green eyes.

"You're new in this territory. I'm Terence." His eyes glinted. "Like your servant, I'm hungry. I expect you to share her with me."

It was like a scene from National Geographic, two males fighting for the same helpless gazelle. Jonah's words came back to her. All you have to do is call . . .

No. Dante's mental voice was a sharp, undeniable command. I will handle this.

"Your expectations mean nothing to me," Dante responded. Glancing at Alexis, he jerked his head toward a large tree behind him, wide enough to protect her back. Go and stay there until I tell you to do otherwise.

She wanted to argue, wanted to suggest something that might avoid a fight, but his glance and the commanding power behind the words forestalled any thought. If servants were what Lyssa and Mina had implied, her arguing with the vampire Terence considered her Master would be viewed as a sign of Dante's weakness. Thank goodness she'd learned a lot about animal behavior at the Conservancy, though the same behavior seemed far too often to apply to human males. She couldn't find humor in the thought, though, for Terence's eyes were following her movements closely. His hunger was palpable, and not just for blood. Mindful of Dante's earlier words, she didn't run, trying to avoid the appearance of frightened prey.

It didn't matter. As soon as the blond vampire's eyes left Dante to follow her, her vampire leaped. A cry escaped her lips when Terence launched himself from the branch--toward Alexis.

Dante intercepted him. She only knew that because Terence didn't reach her. She wasn't human, but she wasn't equipped with accelerated sight to track their movements. The evidence of their struggle was all around her though, the heat of it blasting her, the sound of snarls. Tree limbs, thick as her arm, snapped off when they hit. The earth plowed up in gouged furrows as they thudded into it and rolled, leaves and dirt spraying up and showering her. She yelped as she was slammed hard into her tree, so her breath left her and her teeth snapped down on her tongue. When she fell to the ground, dazed, she realized they'd run into her in their fight. They were a few feet down the trail, grappling. Terence had Dante down, his back to her.

Seizing a broken limb, she scrambled to wobbly legs and rushed forward, taking a swing at the blond vampire's head. The solid thwack was heartening, but Terence turned into the blow, knocking the weapon from her hand. She had a brief impression of Dante's crimson eyes before everything accelerated.

Stars exploded in her brain as Terence hit her. With her body hurtling through the air, she tried to shift, reach for her wings, but she was moving too fast and a tree met her too quickly. She slammed into it ten feet off the ground and landed hard, her ankle giving way beneath her.

There was a guttural bellow, like a creature chained in the bowels of Hell, raging for more souls to eat. A blast of energy caught her in its maelstrom, the turbulent nebula one pure illuminated killing rage, so devoted in its purpose she was overwhelmed by its weight, thrust to the ground by its intentions. Choking smoke, electrical energy and a roaring gripped her heart in terror. It was the Dark One world, all over again, come to reclaim her.

Dante. She hadn't realized how well she'd blocked the aftermath of her fear until the terrible winds of that place surrounded her again, intending to take her back. Only this time Dante wouldn't be there, and she'd be alone, subjected to the grasping talons and fetid bodies of the Dark Ones, pushing in on her, wanting to feed on her pain . . .

"Alexis." Alexis. The second command was sharp, resonating through her mind, but it was the worry behind it that made her turn her mind outward, summon the courage to focus on her surroundings.

"Oh, Goddess. Oh, thank the Lord and Lady." She was lying on the jogging path, earth and leaves clutched in shaking hands. There was dirt on her face where she'd pressed her cheek to the ground to stay beneath the wall of flame. Smoke assailed her nostrils, and when she lifted her head, she saw the nearest trees were charred, the branches gone, trunks blackened. A larger pile of ash was scattered across the pathway. Ash with bits of chalk in them. Not chalk. Bone, like a cremated body.

She jerked her attention from that to her companion. She couldn't look beyond his gaze, windows to a hellfire furnace, but he seemed fine, for he lifted her so she was cradled in his arms, held against his chest. His voice was gruff, tense. "I am going to spank you for not listening to me. I'll take you back to your home."

She nodded, keeping her arms folded against herself. Despite the overwhelming heat before, now she was shivering from a place so deep inside her there wasn't enough hot chocolate, warm robes or fuzzy slippers in the world to make her warm.

She must have passed out, for the next thing she knew, he was laying her on her bed. Glancing down, she saw her shirt looked like it had been scorched in the dryer. One section of skirt hem was blackened, crumbling at her touch, though the rest was intact.

"Should we call your mother . . . or father?"

Some part of her wanted to, the terrible fear of being sucked back into the Dark One world far too close, but another part of her warned against it.

"If that is what you need, you should call them," he said, and there was fury in his voice. She couldn't handle anger right now. She wasn't sure what she could handle. She was so cold.

"I am not angry with you." He was, of course, but he was struggling not to be.

"What was all that?" she rasped, and put her hand to her throat.

&nb

sp; "I took care of him. He is gone."

"But . . . how?" She saw now he was also marked with ash. The poet's shirt she'd liked so much was done for. Slashes in the shirt and bloodstains suggested the skin beneath had suffered open wounds, though none were visible now.

"Later. What do you need? There is a bath. And clothes. Are you hurt?"

"I don't know, I'm just . . . I'm so cold." Her teeth were chattering and she still had her arms folded around herself.

Muttering a curse, he drew a blanket off the trunk she had at the foot of the bed and wrapped her in it, and then the coverlet around that, so she was cocooned in both. Then he went into the bathroom and started the water in the tub, running it so hot she could see the steam rising, billowing out toward her. But still she shook. There was no amount of fabric that would be warm enough.

Turning off the tub, he came back out. Stripping off the remains of his shirt, leaving on the jeans, he unrolled her. She thought he was going to take her to the tub, but then he slid onto the bed, bringing her up against his chest before he rewrapped her, throwing the blanket ends loosely over his own body as he folded his arms around her.