He'd gone back to that stone platform in Hell, to stare down into fire. To listen to the distant weeping of those facing judgment, striving for redemption to start again.
He was alone for a while, but in time he felt the presence of the dark-winged angel. Dante kept staring downward. "Could I be one of those?"
"No. Your path to redemption doesn't lie in Hell's chambers. I told you this."
Dante turned. Lucifer squatted on the point of rock above him like a magnificent sculpture, his muscular body marked with those finely lined symbols that emanated power. The dark wings swept low along his back, trailing down the side of the rock. His black eyes rested on Dante, red flame flickering in their depths.
"Then what is my path to redemption?"
"You will find it, if you truly desire it. But I fear the Fen are right. The price you pay is commensurate with the crime you committed. You are likely to lose her at the moment you learn how to love her with your entire soul."
"Then I will have nothing more to do with her. I will stay here, or go somewhere else." He swallowed. "I will go back to the Dark One world, where I cannot hear her, see her . . ."
But he could hear her. He could hear her thoughts, touch her soul whenever he wished, because he'd third-marked her. Beyond that, he'd created a connection that would reach through worlds, over any distance. He wouldn't be able to resist it.
"There is such a thing called a gift, Dante," Lucifer said. His deep timbre resonated against the rocks, vibrated in Dante's bones. "It is something given freely, with no expectations. It is rare, because what people often call a gift comes with conditions, whether conscious or unconscious. She has given you a true gift, and wishes to keep offering it to you. She has accepted the risks. Do not make the mistake of thinking she doesn't understand."
Lucifer cocked his head as if listening to something, then turned his gaze to Dante again. "Her father made that mistake with her mother as well. Purity of heart is not innocence or gullibility. There are exceptional souls who understand every life stands at the fulcrum of a scale, between living in that moment, cherishing it for everything it is, and realizing that life is a journey. Sacrifices and pain have a purpose, as much as laughter and joy do. That kind of soul has a faith that eclipses all else, and it is so rare, it might break the universe itself if it was darkened."
"Which is why I should--"
"You don't darken it with death. You darken it by not accepting the gift. That's the only thing that could truly destroy Alexis."
He rose to his full, intimidating height, and jerked his head toward the other side of the rock. "You have a visitor."
Dante spun, surprised, for he'd heard and sensed nothing. Surprise was quickly replaced by wariness and more than a little hostility when he saw it was the seawitch.
"One of your quieter arrivals," Lucifer noted to her. "Jonah would be less than amused to know you can do that."
"He knows I arrive in his precious Citadel precisely the way I do to annoy him," she responded, her one blue and one crimson eye glinting up at the Lord of the Underworld.
Lucifer made a noncommittal grunt and departed with a nod to Dante. His outcropping of rock was only briefly vacant, however. David landed there, taking a silent perch in the same watchful posture.
They still didn't trust him. He didn't blame them for that, particularly when it came to the seawitch. Facing her in this place of solitude with no other distractions was dangerous. It made his violence boil forth anew. He'd imagined ending her a hundred times, a hundred ways. The vulnerable neck beneath his hands, breaking it, twisting it, ripping into heated flesh, hearing her strangled cry.
He told himself he remained where he was because he'd seen the witch's power. A fool would think her vulnerable. If she had any weaknesses, her sharp-eyed angel mate covered them. But it wasn't that which stayed his hand. He couldn't say what it was yet, but something had changed within him since he'd been around Alexis.
Unfortunately, while it harnessed his hatred, it didn't abate it. Logically, he knew there was no reason to hate her more than any other. Since his mother and until Alexis, no one had done anything for him. Why should the witch incur his special wrath?
"I've given it a great deal of thought," she said, jerking his attention to her. "I think your mother did name you."
When he said nothing, she paced the stone, glancing over the edge. "She never told you, because your true name holds power. She never wanted that power to leave you. It became another reservoir under which to put the core of yourself, hold it inviolate. You sought that reservoir in yourself unconsciously. She would have whispered the name to you as a baby, marked you with her blood to set it."
"I will never know what that name is."
"One day you may remember it, but it doesn't matter. It added to the power you have now." Fishing about inside her cloak, she took out a slim volume, placed it on another protrusion of rock. "Since you seem determined to sit down here and brood, I brought you a way to pass the time. Dante's Divine Comedy. It's about a man who travels through Hell to get home, because he is denied the usual road. You chose an apt name."
"What do you want?" he asked, his brow furrowing.
"I shouldn't have left you there," Mina said. "I'm sorry."
Dante wasn't entirely sure he'd heard her right. He barely restrained himself from asking her to repeat herself. In a blink, her usual sarcasm had vanished like a Fading Spell. Her steady look showed compassion, an emotion he could identify, thanks to Alexis.
"I was new to hope then," she continued quietly. "My own soul has struggled between good and evil all my life, even being here. I had no room to believe that someone who'd been trapped in a Dark One world would have the strength to keep up that battle for as long as you had. I should have realized that there was still hope for you, and sixty-two lives might have been spared. What remains to be seen is if there will be a sixty-third casualty, or if my lack of judgment is irreversible."
"My decisions were my own, witch. I know what I am."
"Do you?" She cocked her head. "I'm not so sure of that."
"I know what Alexis is. And I know what I am not. That tells me who I am."
"Hmm." Crossing the distance between them, she sat down on the edge of the rock several paces away and dangled her feet over the side as if she was dipping them in a pond. She leaned back on her arms, studying the view in front of her. "If you push me, I'll take you with me. And it's a long fall."
He set his jaw. "I don't need you in my head."
"I wasn't. I share your blood. It's what I'd think of doing." Cocking her head, she glanced up at him. "Why are you hiding here, away from her? The battle for good and evil is comprised of choices, but for those like us, we have to have someone to help us. We can't do it alone. Not indefinitely."
"She loves me."
"Believe me, greater miracles have rarely happened." Mina turned her gaze to her mate. "Maybe once or twice."
"I do not know what love is. There is no way I can ever deserve her."
"Probably not. But that's irrelevant." Mina pinned him with her bicolored eyes. "You did what you had to do to survive. There was nothing in your life to tell you what you were doing was wrong, until she came. Since you can live
for a few thousand years if you manage not to piss someone bigger off--another major miracle, I might add--you can spend a lot of that time making up for what you've done. You do have a debt to pay, but denying yourself the thing that inspired you to be better, particularly when she wants you as well, isn't the right thing to do."
"Why do you argue this with me? You, of all people, should know." He pointed at David. "He is strong. An angel. A male. He can handle what is inside of you. She can't."
"Really?" She arched a brow. "Chivalrous chauvinism exists even in the Dark One world. How reassuring. You're probably right. She's a merangel who survived two days in your world, who backed you down when your temper was fully unleashed, who convinced a group of males who had every reason to kill you in a hundred different ways to let you go. She's obviously not strong enough to handle anything."
"I have shortened her life," he snarled. "She thinks I do not know this, but I do. I've already killed her."
Mina didn't blink. "We all die, vampire. It isn't how long we have that matters."
When he set his jaw, she shook her head. "You're not even willing to try. The same being who spent decades working on one weak dream portal is averse to working his ass off to deserve her."
"Witch." He set his teeth. "You are goading me."
"What gave it away?" She sprang to her feet and stabbed his chest with a finger as sharp as a talon. "You've been brave enough to survive that world. Be brave enough to learn how to live in this one. Which means loving as well."
"None of you want me around her." He wrenched away from her. "Why do you come now to argue with me about it? My soul is stained. How do you remove or change or alter a permanent stain? There's too much darkness in me. I'll infect her."
Moving away, he circled the perimeter of his temporary home, trying to escape the rush of emotion, but it became too much. He fell to his knees and roared, the echo of it coming back upon him, a wild beast, untamed, unwanted, unsure of its place or its prey. He wanted the witch gone, all of them gone, so that he could stay here in this stasis where the aching emptiness in his chest at least was soothed by the sounds of fire and torment, a mirror image of his own substance. He'd come here thinking to find answers and he'd found only silence, something important missing. Something he couldn't have.