"Here we are," she said, pulling in front of the Conservancy and parking. "Before I start my shift, I'll show you around, let you know the types of things you can do. We're open, but it's a weekday, so it should be fairly quiet. You can feel free to wander around while I help Branson feed and clean everyone up. Is that okay?" She gave him a false, bright smile. "After we close and Bran leaves, you and I can have the place to ourselves for a couple hours. I'll show you some really amazing things."
"Yes," he agreed, then refused to release her hand. "Alexis, what is the matter?"
"Nothing."
But once he asked the direct question, he saw it in her mind as if his query had spotlighted the answer, hiding amid the jungle of her other thoughts. She continued to worry that if she kept giving in to her desires, she couldn't stay objective and truly help him.
"You cannot deny me, Alexis." He spoke softly, holding her gaze. "As I have said, I would not suggest you try."
Before she could marshal the irritable retort her mind was building to that, he caught the stubbornly tight chin. "You are helping me. Whatever happens in thirty days, it will not be your fault. Do you understand?"
"It's not that easy. I want you to be able to live here for hundreds of years to come."
"Yes, I know." And he wondered what the feeling swelling inside of him in reaction to her hope was called. He cradled her jaw. "But I must be able to kiss you whenever I wish."
"Really?" He was relieved to see worry replaced by that light he was beginning to recognize as humor. "Well, I can't think when you kiss me, so I'm no good to you then."
"I like you mindless. A few minutes ago, your mindlessness made me willing to do anything I had to do to stay with you."
She stilled, staring up at him. The shock in her mind was no less than what he felt inside himself. Where had that come from? He was here because he'd spent two decades trying to get free, that was all. She'd been the means to get him here. Since he'd bound her to him, he might possess a territorial need to keep her, but he wanted to stay in this world. He was willing to do anything in order to accomplish that.
A honking noise broke the moment. Alexis's attention went to a car driving by, and she waved to the driver. "That's Branson, my co-worker." As Dante's gaze followed the man as he got out of his car, Alexis's hand tightened on his arm, drawing his attention. "This is going to be like the craft room, only busier, a lot more people. I need you to trust me when I say this is a safe place. Anything you perceive as a threat is 99 percent likely not to be one. So before you decide to incinerate or maim, do you think you could run the situation by me first, so I can clear it up before you strike? I don't want you to hurt yourself. Or anyone else."
"I will try."
Reaching up, she passed a gentle finger over his mouth. "Thank you for saying that, a second ago. Even if it was just a heat of the moment thing."
Then she got out of the vehicle, calling out in a friendly voice to the man, Branson. A relaxed voice to the untrained ear, but Dante could hear the tension beneath it, see her thoughts. She wasn't sure how well this was going to go. She was afraid he might . . . torch the place?
I will endeavor not to do so, he reiterated with more firmness.
She stopped, looked back over her shoulder at him and attempted a smile. Good. Because I suspect Pyel would be really miffed if you did.
I do not fear your father.
I don't want you to fear him, she rejoined, sadness crossing her face. I want you to know him, to respect him. And him to know and respect you. That is what I want.
If I am deserving of respect. He kept that thought to himself, puzzling over the meaning of the word once again.
SHE needn't have worried. After an hour or so, Dante came to the conclusion that most of the people in her world were engaged in entirely baffling but mostly non-threatening activities. He spent the first hour sitting on a bench within sight of the area where she and Branson were doing daily tasks related to the sea creatures. It did take some effort to remain still and relaxed while people sauntered, ambled and scurried from exhibit to exhibit. Big and small, young and old, even some elderly people in buzzing contraptions she called scooters. When he asked her, she explained that they couldn't walk due to health problems.
A couple of the wheeled contraptions didn't have a motor, and he preferred their quietness. He was surprised, though, when one came to rest next to his bench. Glancing left, he saw a young girl studying him. She was dressed differently than the others, whose wide variety of colors in T-shirts, shorts and jeans had a certain symmetry to them that blended. She, on the other hand, was all in black. She had silver rings in her nose and large, heavy boots and red and white striped stockings on her thin legs. Despite her age, she was dying. The scent of fatal sickness was undeniable. In the Dark One world, she would have been his next meal. From what he'd seen of the environment here, she perhaps had a year or two.
She met his gaze with frank interest. "Want to go get naked with a jailbait crip? Give her a lasting memory before she croaks?"
He blinked. "I am with a female." He nodded toward Alexis. "She told me that it would make her angry, and she would no longer want to . . . get naked with me. Though I think I could talk her out of that, I sense it would upset her."
The girl's heavily lined eyes widened. "And you don't want to upset her."
He shook his head. "I have done that too much already."
"You talk weird. That's cool, though. I like your collar. It's Goth chic. Not every guy can pull that off without looking like a poser." As Dante raised a brow, she looked toward the tank. "That's her? With the manatees? She's really pretty."
"She's beautiful." The words came to Dante before he realized he was going to say them. Her brown hair gleamed in this lighting, the tendrils wisping around her face from the way she had it pulled back. While her outfit was similar to those of the other staff, and not too different from the visitors', there was lithe grace to her movements that emphasized every curve the clothes modestly delineated. Her angel blood emitted those waves of warmth and reassurance, and when her blue eyes turned to someone asking a question, she offered a genuine smile and an interest that instilled confidence in whomever she was addressing, bringing balance and . . . peace. He thought of how she'd looked with her snowy wings and the sparkling jewel-like scales of her tail.
"Yeah." The girl was studying him. "You're gone over her all right. My name's Reba." She extended her hand. "You're the most interesting guy visiting this place today. All the rest are tourist cookie cutouts."
Dante studied her hand, then took it. When she shook, guiding him through the unfamiliar greeting, there was a faint tremor in her hand and her grip was weak. "My name is Dante. You are pretty, too. You are dressed differently, though."
"Yeah. You dress the norm, like one of them"--she nodded to the brightly colored visitors--"and you're just another pathetic kid in a wheelchair. You dress like this, you're mysterious, intriguing. Bad attitude waiting to happen. You looked at me like you'd never seen anyone in a wheelchair."
"I hadn't, before today," he said honestly.
"There are no people who can't walk where you're from? What does someone do who breaks a leg or hurts themselves?"
"They die," Dante responded. "Only the strong survive, and only if they are clever. Strength is not enough."
"Hmmm. Yeah, you figure out quick in this thing that your brain has to be better than your motor control. So woohoo to survival of the fittest. Want to see what I can do?"
"As long as it doesn't involve taking off your clothes."
"Your loss." She shrugged. "Perv. But no. Watch this."
Fishing a rubber band out of her jacket pocket, she stretched it between her fingers. "I'll bet you a kiss--no tongue, out of respect for your girlfriend, and she'll give me that much, unless she's a heartless bitch--that I can hit that asshole over there."
She nodded across the carpeted area to where a boy about her age was hanging over the ledge of the stingra
y exhibit and using a pen to poke the creatures, despite signs noting the animals were not to be touched. "I'll hit him in the ass hard enough to make him jump and put his hand on his butt in front of everyone."
Dante gauged the distance, the number of people moving through the area, the velocity capability of the band. It would be near impossible. "All right."
She took aim and then went still. Utterly still, in a way Dante recognized from having waited in secret places for the right second to move, to attack, to maneuver. He'd focused so hard on everything, it was as if all things started moving in slow motion, until he knew precisely when to--
Snap.