"I keep you at a distance because I don't like you."
He leaned forward, until his lips were nearly touching her own. 'You may not like me, sweetness, but that doesn't keep you from wanting me."
Her heart forgot to beat as she struggled not to close that shallow distance and put herself out of her misery. A kiss. Just one kiss. The tingling need was nearly unbearable.
No, no, no. Did she really want to be a poor joke to relieve his boredom? Hadn't she played that humiliating game before?
"Do you know, Dante, I've met my share of jackasses in my time, but you—"
The rather tidy insult was brought to a stunning halt. In the air there was a sudden, crackling heat. As electrifying as a strike of lightning.
Unnerved by the prickling sensation, she turned her head toward the stairs just as a thundering concussion ripped through the house. Caught off guard, she tumbled backward, her breath knocked from her body.
Just for a moment she lay perfectly still. She half-expected the ceiling to come crumbling down upon her. Or the ground to open up and swallow her.
What the blazes had happened? An earthquake? A gas explosion?
The end of the world?
Whatever it was, it had been enough to tumble the pictures from the walls and knock over tables. Suddenly the Ming vase she had broken matched every other priceless object.
Giving a shake of her head to clear the ringing in her ears, Abby sucked in a deep breath. Well, at least she seemed to be alive, she told herself. And while she was certain to be sporting a few bruises, she didn't think anything vital was actually missing or punctured.
Lying flat on her back, she barely heard the low feral growl, but it still managed to make the hair upon her nape stand upright. Dear Lord, now what?
Struggling to push herself upright, she glanced about füe littered foyer. Astonishingly it was empty. No wild animal. No approaching madman.
And no Dante.
With a frown, Abby ignored her wobbly knees and forced herself toward the nearby stairs. Where had Dante gone? Had he been hit by the explosion? Or thrown from the foyer?
Had he simply disappeared in a puff of smoke?
No, no, of course not. She pressed a hand to her aching head. She was thinking crazy. She must have been knocked unconscious for a moment. That would explain it. No doubt he had gone to check on the damage. Or to call for assistance.
Her job was surely to ensure that Selena was not injured.
Concentrating upon placing one foot in front of the other, a startlingly difficult task, she managed to climb the sweeping marble stairs and awkwardly make her way down the hallway. At the end of the long east wing, the door to Selena's chambers was already open and Abby stepped over the threshold.
She got no farther.
A gasp was wrenched from her throat as her wide gaze swept over the demolished room. Like downstairs, the pictures and various objects had been tumbled to the ground, most of them smashed beyond recognition. But here the general mayhem had left the walls blackened and in places crumbled to dust. Even the windows had been blasted from their frames.
Her gaze flew to the large bed that was tumbled onto its side and at last to the center of the room where Dante was kneeling beside a limp, battered form.
"Oh my God." Holding her hands to her mouth, Abby stumbled forward, her heart firmly lodged in her throat. "Selena."
Noticing her presence for the first time, Dante jerked his head up to regard her with a frown. Almost absently, Abby noted the even sharper pallor of his skin and the oddly hectic glitter in his silver eyes.
Obviously he was as shaken as she was.
"Get out of here," he growled.
She ignored his warning as she fell to her knees beside the burned body. Whatever her secret dislike for the beautiful, coldhearted woman, it was forgotten as tears streamed down her cheeks.
"Is she… dead?" she croaked.
"Abby, I said to leave. Now. Get out of this room. Out of this house…"
The dark, furious words continued, but Abby was no longer listening. Instead she watched in fascinated horror as one of the charred hands twitched upon the carpet. Holy freaking hell. Gould the poor woman still be alive? Or was it some horrible trick of her imagination?
Frozen in shock, Abby stared at the fingers that continued to jerk and spasm ever closer. It was like something out of a nightmare. A sensation that only deepened when the hand snapped upward and grasped her wrist in a painful grasp.
Opening her mouth to scream, Abby discovered her breath wrenched from her body. A coldness was spreading from the fingers that dug into her flesh. A coldness that crawled through her blood with a searing, ruthless agony. With a groan, she desperately attempted to tug herself free of the brutal grip.
She was going to die, she realized in stunned disbelief. The pain was clawing at her heart, slowing its beat until it was doomed to halt She was going to die, and she hadn't even bothered to start living yet.
What an idiot she was.
Raising her head, she met Dante's shimmering metallic gaze. His beautiful, wicked features appeared grim in the dim light. Grim and edged with something that might have been fury, or regret, or… desperation.
She tried to speak, but a bright flare of light burst through her mind, and with a strangled scream she plunged headfirst into the welcoming darkness.
Chapter 2
Surrounded by a silver fog of pain, Abby floated in a world that was not quite real.
Was she dead?
Surely not. She would be at peace, wouldn't she? Not feeling as if her bones were being slowly crushed and her head about to explode.
If she were dead, then this whole afterlife thing was a big, fat rip-off.
No. She had to be dreaming, she at last reassured herself. That would certainly explain why the silver fog was beginning to part.
Curious despite the vague taste of fear in the air, she peered through the shimmering light. Moments later she could see a dark, stone chamber that was only dimly lit by a flickering torch. In the center of the stone floor lay a young woman in white robes. Abby frowned. The woman's paleface was remarkably familiar, although it was difficult to determine the exact features as the woman twisted and screamed in obvious agony.
About her prostrate form sat a circle of women in gray cloaks, holding hands and chanting in low voices. Abby could not make out the words, but it appeared as if they
were performing some sort of ritual. Perhaps an exorcism. Or an enchantment.
Slowly a gray-haired woman stood and held her hands toward the shadowed ceiling.
"Arise Phoenix and bring forth your power," she called in booming tones. "The sacrifice is offered, the covenant sealed. Bless our noble Chalice. Bless her with your glory. Offer to her the might of your sword to fight the evil that threatens. We call. Come forth."