What? “I’m not afraid of the human.”
Jon took another step forward. “But I’m not just human.” His hands lifted, moving in a fast blur, and knives slashed into Dante’s chest.
No, not knives. Claws.
“I stopped being human long ago. I guess Cassie has a thing for monsters, huh?” Jon’s teeth had elongated. He lifted his claws again—and came for Dante’s neck.
Dante sidestepped, twisted, and came up ready to send his fire right into the man’s heart.
A shot rang out, an explosion that ripped past the fire and the shouts from the approaching men.
Jon froze, then he looked down at his chest. A dark shadow bloomed in the middle of his shirt. Growing bigger, bigger. He lifted his head. “Cas . . . sie?”
Dante spun around and saw that Cassie had grabbed the gun that he’d tossed aside earlier. She still had that gun aimed at Jon.
“I told you, Jon . . . you should have left . . . the program.”
It sure looked like he’d left the program right then.
More gunfire erupted—from the guards rushing toward them. Seeing their boss get shot down had driven them over the edge. A bullet sliced across Dante’s arm as he leaped toward Cassie.
Using his body, he shielded her. “I’ll stop them.” A deadly promise.
There would be no more running.
No one would be left alive to hunt them.
“Dante, no!”
But he’d turned his back on her. Lifted his hands. It would be easy enough to send a wall of flames rushing toward their pursuers. They’d be dead in moments.
So simple.
He’d killed before like this. Taken out an army that came after him. A different life. The same beast inside.
The fire had raged and raged.
He’d eventually been captured, and later, accused of witchcraft. Of working with the devil.
“I am the devil,” he whispered as his flames began to rise.
They’d hung him.
He’d come back, burning in front of them.
“I won’t run,” he said.
The shots stopped firing. Maybe the fools finally realized they were facing a creature they couldn’t ever hope to defeat.
Good-bye.
Some were turning tail and running away. Dumb. They’d never be able to run fast enough.
“Dante, no!” Cassie jumped in front of him and grabbed his hands. “Don’t do this!”
“They took you. They hurt—”
“They’re people. Some of them might hate what they’re doing, some don’t even know what’s really happening. You can’t just . . . just kill them all!”
Of course, he could. With barely a thought. “Watch me.”
“No!” Cassie held him tighter. “Let’s get out of here. Let’s just go.”
Running wouldn’t work. “They’ll come for you again.”
“No, no, with Jon dead”—her head turned toward the downed Lieutenant Colonel—“they won’t come for us. We can vanish.”
Running wasn’t his style. They’d hurt him by taking Cassie. Now they should hurt.
“Please,” Cassie begged. “Let’s get out of here.” She drew in a ragged breath. “I don’t . . . I hurt, Dante. Please just take me away from here.”
Jaw clenching, he nodded. He’d take her away. Get her safe and secure, and when she wasn’t watching—when she can’t see just how dark I truly am—he would come back to finish the war these fools had started.
There would be nothing left but ash.
She smiled at him, the sight weak and trembling, but so beautiful.
He pressed his lips against hers. Sank his fingers into her hair. The beast wanted to be free to burn and destroy, but as he held her, she . . . soothed him.
She always had.
From the very first moment, when his cell door had opened and he’d looked up at a lost child.
She wasn’t a child anymore.
But she was his.
He lifted her into his arms. Cradled her carefully. As they approached the thick wall and the barbed wire, he sent out a ball of fire to blast them an exit.
No one followed. No shouts or gunfire filled the night. Those behind him were too scared to fight.
Good. But I’ll return.
He wouldn’t give his enemies a chance to come for him again.
He’d spared enemies before, only to see them come once more and attack when they thought he was weak. So much fire and death. So many centuries.
No wonder he had tried to push away the memories.
He found the motorcycle that he’d left behind. He put Cassie on her feet, and saw that she still gripped the gun in her right hand. He stared at the weapon. “I could have killed him.” She hadn’t needed the man’s death on her.
I was going to marry her.
He’d wanted to kill the bastard.
“I tried to save him, tried to tell him to leave . . .” She shook her head. “It took me too long to realize that Jon didn’t want to be saved.”
Dante pulled the weapon from her hand and put it in one of the motorcycle’s saddlebags. He climbed onto the bike and gripped the handlebars. “Will you be able to hold on to me?”
Cassie climbed on behind him. “Yes.”
He wasn’t sure he believed her. The lieutenant colonel’s words replayed through his mind. You think she’s yours. You’re wrong. She’s been working you from the beginning.
Her hands curled around Dante’s stomach. Held tight.
He revved the motor. Rocks and dirt flew out behind him as the motorcycle sprang away from the patch of trees. He didn’t bother with the headlights. He could see just fine as he raced ahead.
Cassie’s body was warm and soft behind him. Alive.
Going after her—getting her back—had been his only thought when he’d risen from the flames. He’d always believed Cassie was his . . . his alone. But as the motorcycle pushed forward ever faster, a dark suspicion began to grow in his mind.
I was going to marry her.
Cassie hadn’t said the man was lying.
Her lover is sick. Not sick so much as transforming. If she can’t help her werewolf, she’ll lose him, and Cassie doesn’t want to lose Trace.
Cassie had said that she had to get to Mississippi. That there were those in that area who needed her.
Dante’s left hand rose and curled around her. He held her as tightly as she held him.
He’d seen much in his years on the earth. Things he hated. Beings he wanted to destroy.
He’d only once ever found something that he craved.