Tegan leaned across the seat, one thick forearm draped over the wheel, his shrewd gaze narrowed. " Dante, man--what the fuck? What's going on?" "No time," Dante said. He pivoted back around to the car and slammed the door shut. "I'm taking off on foot. I need you to haul ass to Ben Sullivan's place. It's off--"
"I remember the way," Chase piped up from the backseat, meeting Dante's gaze through the Rover's open window. "Go. We'll be right behind you."
Dante nodded once at the grave faces staring at him, then he swung around and took off at a dead run.
He cut through yards, leaped over fences, sped down tight alleyways, firing off every cylinder of his Breed-born speed and agility. To the humans he passed, he was nothing but cold air, a brush of icy November wind on the backs of their necks as he barreled over and around them, all of his focus honed on one thing: Tess.
Halfway down a side street that would dump him onto Ben Sullivan's block, Dante saw the little terrier Tess had brought back from the brink of death with her healing touch. The dog was wandering loose on the dark sidewalk, its leash dragging limply behind it.
Hell of a bad sign, but Dante knew he was close now.
God help him, he had to be.
"Tess!" he shouted, praying she could hear him.
That he wasn't already too late.
He peeled around the corner of a three-decker, jumping over the toys and bicycles that littered the front yard. Her blood scent was stronger now, a shot of dread hammering his temples.
"Tess!"
He tracked her like the beam of a laser sight, racing in a mindless panic when he picked up the low snuffles and grunts of Rogues fighting over a prize.
Oh, Christ. No.
Across the street from the building where Ben Sullivan lived, Tess's handbag lay near the curb, the contents spilling out of it. Dante veered right, racing down a foot-worn path that cut between two houses. There was a shed at the end of the path, the door swinging idly on its hinges.
Tess was inside. Dante knew it with a dread so deep it made his step falter.
Behind him, in the split second before he could reach the shed and tear the thing down with his bare hands, a Rogue came out of the shadows and pounced. Dante twisted as he fell, withdrawing one of his blades and slicing it across the suckhead's face. The Rogue gave an unearthly shriek, flying off him in agony as his corrupted blood system got a good taste of lethal titanium. Dante rolled out of his crouch and shot to his feet as the Rogue spasmed into swift death and decomposition.
On the street now, the black Range Rover roared up and lurched to a sharp halt. Tegan and Chase jumped out, weapons in hand. Another Rogue came out of the dark, but he took one look at Tegan's icy stare and decided to run the opposite way. The warrior sprang like a great cat, leaping into pursuit.
Chase must have seen more trouble at Ben Sullivan's apartment, because he held his pistol in ready position and started off across the street at a stealth jog.
As for Dante, he was hardly aware of the peripheral action. His boots were already chewing up earth, moving toward the shed and the terrible noises that were emanating from it. The wet, slick sounds of vampires feeding was nothing new to him, but the idea that they were harming Tess threw his rage into the nuclear zone. He stalked to the flapping shed door and yanked it loose with one hand. It sailed across the empty back lot, instantly forgotten.
Two Rogues held Tess down on the floor of the out-building, one sucking at her wrist, the other latched on to her throat. She lay motionless beneath them, so still that Dante's heart froze in terror as his eyes took in the scene. But he could sense that she lived. He could hear her thin pulse echoing weakly in his own veins. Another few seconds and they might have drained her.
Dante let out a bellow that shook the place, his fury boiling up and out of him like a black gale. The Rogue feeding from Tess's wrist leaped back with a hiss, her blood circling the peeled-back lips and staining the long fangs scarlet. The suckhead twisted in midair, flying up to the corner of the shed's ceiling and clinging there like a spider.
Dante tracked the flash of movement, releasing one of his malebranche blades and sending it airborne. The spinning wheel of titanium made lethal contact with the Rogue's neck. It dropped to the floor with a shriek, and Dante turned his hatred on the bigger one, which had moved around to challenge him to its prey.
The Rogue crouched low in front of Tess's limp body, facing off against Dante with fangs bared and eyes aglow with feral amber light. The suckhead appeared young behind the Bloodlust that had transformed it into a beast, probably one of the missing Darkhaven civilians. Didn't matter; the only good Rogue was a dead one--especially this one, which had its hands and mouth all over Tess, sucking precious life out of her.
Might have killed her already, if Dante didn't get her out of there quick.
Blood screaming into his muscles, Tess's pain and one that was wholly his own galvanizing him for the fight, Dante bared his own fangs and flew at the Rogue with a roar. He wanted to deliver brutal, hellish vengeance, tear the bastard apart piece by piece before gutting it with one of his blades. But expedience was paramount. Saving Tess was all that mattered.
Latching on to the Rogue's snapping jaw, Dante levered his arm and shoved down hard, cracking bones and severing tendons. As the suckhead screamed, Dante flipped a blade into his free hand and buried the titanium-edged steel into the vampire's chest. He shoved the corpse off him and went to Tess' s side.
"Ah, God." Kneeling down, he heard her soft, rasping breath. It was shallow, so thin. The wound on her wrist was nasty, but the one on her neck was savage. Her skin was pale as snow, cool to the touch when he brought her hand to his mouth and kissed her slack fingers. "Tess... hang on, baby. I've got you now. I'm taking you out of here."
Easing her into his arms, Dante gathered her close and carried her outside.
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chase stepped over the body of a dead human male that lay just outside the first-floor apartment door, the television blaring from inside the living room. The old man had been mauled by Rogues, at least one of which still remained in the building. Chase climbed the stairs to Ben Sullivan's apartment in utter silence, his thighs pumping, senses tuned to his surroundings. He held the Beretta in both hands up near his right shoulder, the safety off, barrel tipped up toward the ceiling. He could have the weapon leveled and firing off titanium rounds in a fraction of a second. For the Rogue moving carelessly around in the apartment at the top of the stairs, death was imminent.