Unconsciously, she reached out to grasp his hand. "Still, you must have been curious about your past."
His gaze dropped as he interlocked her fingers with his own. "Not really. From my pungent scent and ragged clothes, I could guess I had been one of the endless hordes of undesirables that plagued the city."
"But what if you had a family?"
For the barest fraction of a second, his fingers squeezed her own almost painfully; then he was once again leaning against the cave wall with that coiled ease.
"What if I did?" he demanded. "I wouldn't have remembered them. They would have been strangers to me. Or worse."
"Worse?"
He deliberately held her gaze. "Dinner."
Her stomach clenched in horror. Damn. He warned her not to forget who, or what, he truly was. Unfortunately, he made it so damn easy.
"Oh."
"It was better for everyone to allow the man I had been to simply die."
She couldn't argue. She never had believed in all that Leave-it-to-Beaver crap anyway. There were definitely times when it was better for all when Daddy walked away and never looked back.
She tugged her legs up to her chest and rested her chin on her knee.
"It must have been so strange. To just wake up and be someone you didn't even know."
Almost absently he raised her fingers to his lips. "In the beginning, but Viper taught me to appreciate my new life. He was the one to give me the name Dante."
It was difficult to imagine Viper acting as a father figure. He seemed so remote and cold. Still, it was obvious that the older vampire had a great influence on Dante. And for that she had to be grateful.
"Why Dante?"
Dante smiled wryly. "He said that I needed to learn to be more a poet than a warrior."
"Ah, Dante, of course."
"He warned me that a predator was more than muscle and teeth. A predator must use his intelligence to observe his prey and learn their weaknesses. A kill is far easier when you can predict how your quarry is going to react."
Abby grimaced. "God, I thought my outlook was bleak."
He shrugged. "He wasn't all wrong."
"What do you mean?"
"If I had been quicker to sense a trap, then those witches would never have gotten their hands on me."
In a heartbeat, Abby was on her knees and had her hands framing his face. The thought that it might have been some other vampire besides Dante here with her was enough to make her stomach clench with horror.
"And you wouldn't be Dante," she said in stern tones.
An odd smile touched his lips. "And that would be a bad thing?"
"A very bad thing," she whispered.
Without warning, he leaned forward to plant a fierce, possessive kiss upon her lips before reluctantly pulling back to regard her with a searching gaze.
"As much as I would love to stay and play, I think we had better move along."
Abby stiffened. Move along? Go out into the dark and face whatever creepy crawlies were out there waiting?
It didn't sound at all appealing. Not when she could think of several other things she would rather be doing in the dark.
Things that involved one sexy vampire and maybe some scented oil…
"Do we have to leave?" she demanded. "We're at least safe here."
He gave a shake of his head. "No, we're very nicely trapped here. Especially once the sun rises."
Abby wrinkled her nose, accepting that he might have a point. "Where will we go?"
Rising to his feet, he reached out his hand to help her up. "First we find the car and then head back to Chicago."
Once on her feet, Abby made a hopeless stab at dusting off her pants. Stupid, of course. The dust helped to cover the wrinkles.
"Why Chicago?"
He tucked a stray curl behind her ear. "Because Viper can keep you protected while I try and find some means to trace the witches."
She jerked her head upward, her lips thinning into a line that should warn the most obtuse vampire she was not pleased.
"You're not thinking about going after them alone?"
Wise enough to sense trouble before it slapped him upside the head, Dante regarded her with a wary eye.
"I am the only one who knows their scent."
"Not the only one," she gritted. "There's something out there that is hunting them. Something that alreadyfound them once and gutted them like sushi. A trick I'm sure they would love to show you up close and personal."
"Graphic, but true," he conceded. "Which is why I need to get you to Viper."
She planted her hands on her hips. "And why you won't go after the witches alone."
"We can argue as we walk," he murmured, taking her hand and pulling her out of the cave. "It will make a nice change from your shrill complaints that I'm leading you in circles."
Abby took a moment to appreciate the faint breeze that stirred the air. It carried with it a scent she could only presume had something to do with nature. She had always made a point of never going anywhere that didn't have pavement and a Starbucks. It was rather strange to be surrounded by trees and stars.
Not strange enough, however, to make her forget that she was in the middle of correcting Dante's mistaken assumption that he could go about playing the Lone Ranger while she was around.
"There's not going to be an argument," she said in her best third-grade-teacher voice. "You're not going alone, and that's final."
He flashed a superior smile. "I'll admit you have stubbornness down to an art form, but I've had four centuries to perfect my own. You don't stand a chance."
Her smile was even more superior. "Four centuries is nothing. I'm a woman."
"So you are." His gaze made a lazy journey over her rumpled form. "A beautiful, glorious woman who purrs like a kitten when I stroke your—"
"Dante."
His lips twitched at her blush. "What? I like kittens."
She struggled to frown. 'You're just trying to distract me."
"Is it working?"
"I—" Abby came to an abrupt halt as a cold chill feathered over her skin.
In less than a heartbeat, Dante was at her side, his body coiled and prepared to strike. All he needed was a victim.
"What is it?"
"There's something out there," she muttered.
His head tilted up, his eyes closing. For a long moment he remained silent, then he gave a slow shake of his head.
"I sense nothing."
Any other night, Abby would have shrugged and admitted she must have been imagining things. A brief cold chill was hardly something to get twisted over.