Relentless Flame (Hell to Pay) (19 page)

“In between what? God. Just move away from me for a minute.”

He did as she asked, and she backed up until her legs hit the futon. Sitting down hard, she scooted to the end farthest from him; little would the distance help against an Indebted. Damn, but her fear eviscerated him. Suave confidence wouldn’t salvage this disaster.

“So, meeting you at the bookstore? It wasn’t an accident?” She squinted until he handed her the glasses and moved back several paces.

“Not an accident, no. Right before I killed Raymond, he asked me to find Jessica Miller and tell her that he was sorry.”

“Jessica no longer exists.” Her monotone voice sent chills down his arms.

“I understand. Nevertheless, Raymond sent me to apologize to you.”

“Oh. Well, that makes everything all right, doesn’t it?”

“No. It doesn’t.”

“So why didn’t you just tell me and leave?”

“I couldn’t. My interest in you goes beyond Ray’s request.”

“Should I be grateful? Relieved? Or maybe you’re just waiting for a good time to kill me. Easy picking, huh?”

Tears coursed down her face as she trembled. She stared down at her hands resting in her lap and didn’t look up.

Dante struggled to be patient.

He’d held out sick hope that she’d still accept him. Somehow. If he’d lived for hundreds of years, he could give this woman more time, right?

Dåre
. Idiot.

“Well,” she began.

He hung on the syllable. Needed her to understand. Needed ... much more. But he deserved nothing. He studied the floor while she sat in silence.

“Okay.”

His head snapped up. “Pardon?”

Her gaze was steady. “Look, do you think you can keep me safe tonight from whoever it is coming after us?”

“Of course, yes.” He stood up straighter. “You’re safe here.”

“Under the same roof as a known killer?”

Touché. “Yes.”

“Who has been fighting the growing urge to kill again?”

He descended into abject misery. “Yes.”

“Who, at a point down the road, won’t be able to control it, no matter how nice of a killer he is?”

“Maybe. Yes.”

“Well, that’s good news.”

“Hannah, I would never—”

She cut him off with a shaky chop of her hand. “I’m glad you had a chance to deliver your sick message from the great beyond and then tell me about your career choice. I will have wonderful dreams tonight, waiting for you to lose control and kill me. Unless the crappy memories we’ve dug up of my own hell don’t ruin the night first.”

When she stood up, he took a step forward. She crossed her arms, and he paused.

Despite being one of the most powerful creatures walking this Earth, he didn’t have the strength to handle this rejection. He dipped his head, hands planted at his side.

She had destroyed him more surely than a knife ever could. And damn it, he had no solution, no recourse. No promise of hope to give.

“We’re quite the pair, if you think about it.” She laughed until a sob cut off her voice. “Freak of nature compulsive killer and bizarre healer who’s damaged goods.”

At his protest, she held up her hand. “I don’t want to hear it. That’s just how it is.”

“Hannah, please.”

“Is there anything else we need to work on tonight?” With her jaw set, her expression was both grim and matter-of-fact. “I’m done with messed up revelations for now. Done with worrying about people who want to kill me. Done with this ridiculous excuse for a life. If it’s all the same with you, I quit.”

“You quit?”

“Done. As in, not dealing with this stupidity for now. It’s too much.”

“All right ...”
Where is she going with this train of thought?

“So my quota has run out. I can’t handle anything else tonight. No more killer stuff. No more of my baggage. No more bad thoughts for a while.”

He could gladly live with that request.

But she was right about one thing: At some point, he wouldn’t be able to control the knife’s call. He only hoped to override the instinct if the urge hit when he was with her, but there were no guarantees.

“Can you do one thing for me?”

“Yes, anything. Name it.”

“Don’t kill me tonight.”

“Did you take care of the Blackstone situation?” Jerahmeel growled into the cell phone.

He hated loose ends but hated not being kept up to date even more. His energy had been waning of late. He could no longer leave his den and easily walk in the mortal world without burning a great deal of reserve strength. Couldn’t check in as frequently on his favorite employee.

Since he needed to be judicious with his energy, he had to rely on minions to do his work.
Merde
, he hated how his power had become limited.

“Um, no, my lord, you see, that asshole Dante—”

“Excuses?”

“But Blackstone, my lord. I tried to ... dissuade him like you ordered, make him stay away from the woman so he’d focus on your needs. But it didn’t work.”

Rumbles transmitted through Jerahmeel’s receiver. That idiot minion must be driving.

“What happened?”

“Raymond Jackson’s daughter. She healed Dante.”

“She. Did. What?” he screamed into the phone.

The scent of hot rotten eggs rose from his clothing.
Merde
, he’d have to throw this outfit away.

“I had him down, out cold, so I could get rid of her. But the police were coming. Then she jumped on top of Dante, grabbed him, and boom, he woke up like nothing had happened. And then she went down for the count.”

“She healed one of
us
? How is that possible?”

“Hell if I know. But don’t worry, boss, I’ll find her and destroy her, like you want.”

“
Attente sur!
Hold on now.” Jerahmeel tugged at a black curl of his hair. “This has intriguing possibilities. Find the human.”

“And kill her?”

“No. Her ability to heal might be of use to me.
Très intéressant
.” His hunger hollowed out his soul. She could help fill the emptiness.

“So I need to track her down but not kill her?”

“Exactly.”

“And get her away from your strongest employee?”

“I prefer to say, ‘most valued.’”

“So how do I do that?”

“I don’t care, moron. However, you were unable to complete a simple job before, and I am sore displeased. Don’t disappoint me now.”

“Ok, I’ll—”

Jerahmeel hung up on him and began fantasizing about how an unlimited stock of perpetually healed beings would keep him supplied and well fed. Renewable energy
was
all the rage nowadays.

• • •

Hannah grabbed the blanket and huddled on the mattress, shivering, miserable. She left the light on in the bedroom, but it didn’t matter. The light didn’t keep away the bad thoughts.

Exhausted, she finally slept, and the dreams came again.

Horror. Death. Scott. Ray.

The pain returned. Pain from being broken, from healing.

She relived the frantic trip across the country, her pajamas crusted with blood. Ghost pain seared her foot again, and her skin, wrinkled and soft from soaking in the basement puddles, throbbed in agony. Phantom fevers racked her body. Her pulse pounded in the ankle, pounded in her brain, pounded in her damaged core all over again.

The boundaries of reality began to smear. Dante. Killing Ray. Killing her. Dante loving her, blood coating his hands. Her blood. From Ray. On them, between them, between them all.

Sweating, she thrashed on the bed. This misery was all karma for not trying harder to cure her aunt’s illness. Aunt Linda’s gaunt face floated in Hannah’s memory. Her aunt’s kind expression morphed first into disapproval, then into a rictus of horror. Shame froze all of Hannah’s muscles, paralyzed in grisly stasis, indicted by Linda’s sad smile.

On and on her dreams played. At one point during the night, her hip and shoulder became superheated, waking her briefly.

Dante’s forehead pressed against the mattress as he knelt on the floor, his large hands resting on her. He sat still, breathing slow and steady, at her side. Her heart actually went out to this guy, even after everything she’d learned about him.

She had tender feelings for a murderer? What kind of twisted world did she live in?

Falling asleep again, she returned to more hours of endless, miserable dreams.

When she woke for good the next morning, her eyes still burned from last night’s tears. Her chest still ached from sobbing.

The extra blankets remained folded on the floor across the room. No one had slept in this room except her. But the indention in her own mattress near the edge told her that she hadn’t dreamt it. Dante
had
been there during the night. He hadn’t killed her. Hadn’t done anything improper. He had watched over her and kept her safe, like he promised.

Maybe they could at least figure out a way to escape from this mess before he had to attend to whatever other obligations he must have. Before he decided she’d be an easy mark for his knife. Even now, she couldn’t imagine that Dante would try to kill her. For all his muscles and swagger, his every action had centered around her safety and comfort. This whole situation played like a hallucination, like when she had the flu as a child. Being here, in this cabin in the middle of nowhere, with Dante’s knife issues, felt like a disconnected dream.

Did she want to try to evaluate the dream? No way. What good would it do? No good. Time for some good old-fashioned avoidance.

With muscles protesting, she rolled out of the bed, donned jeans and white T-shirt, and washed up in the bathroom. Throwing on a light green hoodie to ward off the morning chill, she entered the main cabin.

Dante sat with elbows propped on the table, his golden head resting on his fists, his massive shoulders slumped. Defeated. Wounded. Hurting. Her heart ached.

As she approached, he lifted his head and his icy, pain-filled gaze locked on to her. She rested her hand on his warm shoulder. After a moment’s hesitation, he covered it with his hand.

“Breakfast?” she asked, breaking the tension.

“What?” His voiced cracked on the single word.

“Do you want breakfast? I’ll fix something for us.”

He scrubbed at his face. The slash of his mouth softened a tiny bit. “Uh, sure. I picked up granola and milk in Caldwell. Will that work?”

“Perfect.” Trying to ignore the tension remaining in the room, she heated two bowls and set them on the table.

He smiled halfheartedly as they ate in silence.

After breakfast, he said, “We should get out of the cabin.”

“What did you have in mind?”

“There’s a nature trail here. It doesn’t look fancy, but it might be nice to get some fresh air.”

“You sure it’s okay for us to be outside where people can see us?”

“There aren’t many people here. Just retirees in RVs, mostly. I think we’re safe.”

She took a deep breath. “Sounds good to me.”

They exited the cabin into clean morning air and walked along the John Day River on a graveled path. With her damaged foot, she couldn’t move quickly on uneven surfaces. Her steps were roll-y, and she had to concentrate to keep her balance. He slowed his steps to match her slow pace.

The crisp fall day yielded blue skies and a breeze that moved Dante’s hair over his forehead. A gray thermal shirt stretched over his large frame. With each step, his thigh muscles bunched beneath denim. She shivered, recalling those thighs locked on to her hips as he kissed her in the Hummer.

The shallow river rushed by, swift and clear. Small cataracts, combined with the rustling gold-tipped leaves, created relaxing background noise.

They plodded along at her geriatric pace until they arrived at a logging pond. Circling the pond, they sat on a rough dock with their legs dangling over the edge and let the sun warm their backs. A few ducks paddled amiably around the far side. The bright sun made the water glitter.

She hated to interrupt the serene moment.

“I have more questions,” she said without preamble.

The sun behind him created a halo that turned him into a beefy, avenging angel. She shook her head to rid herself of the image.
He’s a murderer, remember?

“Of course. I’ll tell you anything.”

His voice, subdued this morning, rolled through the wood of the dock and into her bones. That crystal-blue gaze was still wary.

For a moment, a pang of guilt gave her pause.

“This situation is a mess, right?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“How do Brandon and your friends, Peter and Allie, figure into it?”

“Valid question. I don’t think I explained everything properly.” He took a deep breath. “But first let me start at another place. You’re might not believe what I have to say, but please try.”

“More unbelievable than being a hit man who made a deal with the Devil?”

“Yes, even more unreal.”

“Sounds interesting. Go ahead.”

He raked his hair off his forehead. “So, remember I told you why I made this deal?”

“Yes.”

“Well, that occurred in 1718. In the Great Northern War.”

“1718? Not possible.”

“Yes, I’m that old.” He grimaced. “Please hear me out.”

She went cold. Even the leaves stopped rustling. He didn’t look old.

“You’re serious?”

“Dead serious.”

“Great Northern War? Never heard of it.”

“Not many Americans have. It was an ambitious military campaign to expand the Swedish Empire. A nice idea, promising in the beginning, but poorly executed in the end. And obviously not well received by those who were conquered. Some would say a failure.”

“You’re serious? So you’re telling me you’re 300 years old?”

“Closer to 320.”

“But who’s counting, right?”

Her laugh sounded hollow, even to her own ears.

He at least had the sense to look embarrassed.

She threw a few twigs into the calm water, watching the ripples spread out. “Go on.”

“So, we campaigned during one miserable winter. As several companies traveled back over the mountains from a failed siege in Norway, men were dying of frostbite and starvation. The death toll was horrific. If it had been only me, I wouldn’t have cared. I’d have just tried to save myself.