"That much I can promise you," he assured her, giving a small tug until they were out of the alley and standing upon a narrow street. "You see the building on the corner? That's our destination. Can you make it?"
She regarded the plain building, at last concluding that it must have been a hotel in years past. A hotel that was now dank, moldy, and no doubt filled with entire communities of hungry rats. She heaved a sigh even as she gave Dante a reluctant nod of her head.
She was too weary to quibble. If a few rats and a rotting chair were the price of resting her aching feet, then so be it.
"Let's go," she muttered.
Readily accepting Dante's assistance, Abby limped across the street and around the building to the back. He ignored the narrow door that hung limply off its hinges and instead reached out his hand to touch one of the loosened bricks near the window. Astonishingly (well, perhaps not so astonishing on this particular evening), a silver shimmer filled the air, and before Abby could even question what had occurred, Dante had pulled her through the mystical veil into a vast crimson and gold lobby.
Stumbling to a halt, Abby glanced about her with wide eyes. It was impossible. There was nothing rat-infested about this place. Not with its black marble columns and crimson velvet walls and domed roof painted with beautiful naked women.
It was lush and exotic and, well, more than a little decadent.
"What is this place?" she breathed in wonder.
Dante smiled wryly as he took her arm and steered her toward a nearly hidden alcove at the back of the room.
"Better not to ask."
"Why?"
Ignoring her question, he brushed aside the gauzy curtain spangled with golden stars and pulled her down a darkened hall until they reached the last door. Tugging it open, he waited for her to enter before firmly closing the door behind them and turning on the lights.
Much to her relief, Abby discovered the large room considerably more comfortable than the lavish lobby they had left behind. There was a solid warmth to the satinwood paneling and leather furnishings that were scattered over an ivory carpet More like an English country estate than a lavish bordello, she decided.
Absently wandering to study the leather-bound books that filled the shelves upon one wall, she drew in a deep breath before turning to meet Dante's guarded gaze.
"Will we be safe here?"
"Yes, the building is owned by an acquaintance of mine. It possesses an enchantment upon it that will prevent anyone from sensing your presence here. Human or demon."
Enchantment? Well, that sounded… less strange than anything else that had occurred this bizarre evening. Still, Abby sensed there was a great deal he wasn't telling her. Always a bad sign.
"And your friend?" she demanded.
"What?"
"Is he human or demon?"
He gave a lift of his shoulder. "He is a vampire."
Abby rolled her eyes toward the open beamed ceiling. "Great."
With a silent grace, Dante was suddenly standing before her, his expression relentless in the muted light.
"I would suggest that you attempt to disguise that rather nasty prejudice of yours, lover," he warned in silky tones. "We shall need Viper's assistance if we are to survive the next few days."
Suddenly realizing that she had indeed been more than a bit rude to the man who had saved her life more than once in the past few hours, Abby caught her lower lip between her teeth.
"I'm sorry."
The silver eyes darkened as he tenderly ran the back of his fingers over her heated cheeks.
'There are some things I must do. I want you to remain here." The fingers slid beneath her chin as he gazed deep into her eyes. "And whatever happens, do not open this door until I return. Do you understand?"
A shiver inched down her spine. He was leaving her? Alone?
Good Lord, what if he didn't return? What if some demon attacked while he was gone? "What if…
Grasping her shattered courage, Abby gave a lift of her chin. Stop being such a spineless wimp, she chided herself. Dammit. She had been taking care of herself since she was fourteen years old. Not only herself, but her mother as well, since the older woman discovered life easier to bear at the bottom of a whiskey bottle.
And all without the assistance of a sinfully beautiful vampire.
"I understand."
As if sensing the effort it cost her to appear brave, his fingers tightened upon her chin. Gazes locked, he slowly lowered his head.
"Abby," he whispered.
Softly he brushed his lips over her own. And over and over. His touch was featherlight, but it was enough to make her entire body tingle with pleasure. Tingle and shiver and lots of other exhilarating things.
At last he lifted his head and stepped back. Still reeling with the aftershocks, she watched in silence as he turned to leave the room. It was only when the door snapped firmly shut behind him that she recalled the need to breathe.
Well…
It seemed that her feet weren't nearly as tired as she had thought since her toes were firmly curled in pleasure.
A hysterical urge to laugh bubbled in her throat as she moved to flop herself upon a leather sofa. Vampire kisses, indeed. She was mad. That was the only explanation. She was stark, raving mad.
And thankfully too exhausted to even care at the moment.
Allowing her head to topple back onto the leather cushions, Abby breathed in deeply and closed her eyes. For the first time in hours, she wasn't searching over her shoulder for marauding demons or squashing through rotting trash. There was not even a vampire in sight.
For the moment she could simply relax.
Relax? Yeah, right, a tiny voice mocked in the back of her mind.
She sucked in a deep breath. No. She could do this. All it took was a bit of concentration.
Relax, relax, relax, she silently chanted. She snuggled deeper into the cushions. She slowed her breathing. She tried to imagine a beautiful waterfall, a peaceful meadow, the sound of whales (whatever the hell they sounded like).
All worthless efforts that were eventually disturbed when a cold rash raced over her skin.
A sudden certainty that she was no longer alone had her eyes fluttering open and her head lifting. Her heart halted as she realized her instincts had not been wrong.
There was a man standing in the center of the room.
No, not a man, she swiftly corrected. Now that she knew the truth of Dante, she could detect what those too-perfect features and fiercely elegant form meant.
Not that this vampire was the spitting image of Dante, she readily concluded. He was taller and leaner, with a ripple of hard muscles beneath the crimson velvet coat that flowed nearly to his knees and black satin slacks. His hair was worn long, but it was like the pale silver of moonlight and his eyes the startling darkness of midnight. And while his features were hauntingly beautiful, there was a starkness to his countenance that sent a chill down her spine.