Beneath the Skin

35 THE WINTER ROSE

NEW ORLEANS

March 27

THE LIMO GLIDED TO a stop. Tall’N’Beefy, or Payne, as Laurent had called him, opened the door and stepped out onto the wharf. Dante glanced past him to the docked riverboat. Painted crimson red with a white, twilight-dewed rose at its center, Mauvais’s traveling home and casino gleamed in the moonlight. The river flowed beyond, dark and vast. Several figures stood on the riverboat’s deck, slender silhouettes in the deepening night. Lanterns strung above the deck winked in the breeze.

“Out,” Payne said, bending to glare in at Dante. His fingers curled around the door’s edge. “I’ll catch you if you run,” he added with a fanged smile.

“You’ll try, anyway,” Dante said. “But running ain’t on my mind.”

Laurent shoved Dante, pushing him halfway across the seat. “Move your ass.”

Dante whirled, seized a fistful of Laurent’s blond hair, and yanked his head back until his pale throat stretched taut, the blue vein in his throat exposed. Pressing one black-painted fingernail to the throbbing vein, Dante leaned in close.

“Only gonna tell you once,” he whispered. “Don’t touch me.”

Fingernail flicked. Blood trickled. Laurent’s eyes widened. Point taken.

Payne was just beginning to react when Dante released Laurent and slid out of the limo. Dante felt Payne’s gaze as he straightened. Smelled him: adrenaline-sharp and blood-hungry.

Dante sent. < I need you to check Loki. I think Lucien’s spell might be wearing off.>

Laurent’s hand hovered above Dante’s shoulder.

“Only once,” Dante murmured, gaze still on the Winter Rose.

Laurent snatched his hand back.

Dante walked down the wharf to the riverboat’s metal steps. He felt Payne on his left side and lovely Laurent on his right. Stepping up from the weather-warped dock onto the Winter Rose, Dante halted. Several guards patrolled the main deck, pistols holstered at their hips or tucked into shoulder harnesses.

Their body language, stiff and slow, told Dante they were mortal long before he caught their scent on the night breeze, berry-tart and tantalizing. Hunger awakened.

“So what’s the deal?” he said as Payne and Laurent drew up alongside him. “Anybody trying to slip in without paying the cover gets shot? Or is getting shot a bonus?”

“Below,” Payne growled.

Dante shook his head. “Gotta sign you up for the Nightkind Without Humor support group.” Sliding his hand along the cool metal railing, Dante climbed down the circular stairs.

At the bottom of the steps, a narrow, lantern-lit hall led to a large open room. The low murmur of voices and minds lapped rhythmically against Dante’s thoughts like the muddy Mississippi against the riverboat. Slots chimed and rang, lights flashed, and laughter, high and light like champagne bubbles, drifted into the hall.

Dante closed his eyes and breathed in, deep and slow. Using energy as mortar, he bricked his shields up tight, then opened his eyes. Ignoring Payne and Laurent, Dante sauntered down the hall to the Winter Rose’s casino. He stepped through the open doors into a roomful of gorgeous, graceful nightkind dressed in everything from corsets and Levi’s to ball gowns and leather.

Mortals walked among them, gazes lowered, carrying trays of drinks and pastries. A few didn’t carry trays, offering instead a turned wrist or canted throat to any nightkind beauty who craved a blood treat.

Gaming tables, couches, and plush easy chairs were scattered throughout the room. A bar stretched along one wall. Clove and opium smoke curled into the air like thin gray dragons. Dante felt the heat of attention as some of Mauvais’s partiers focused on him.

Payne and Laurent escorted Dante across the room and through the door at its end into a small library containing two mahogany-brown leather chairs—one occupied. The warm smell of a roses-drenched summer evening sweetened the air. The door latched behind them with a solid click.

Dante stopped a couple of yards from the chairs. He shifted his weight to one hip, folded his arms over his chest, and shook his hair back from his face.

“So where’s Mauvais?” he asked.

“On his way,” the woman in the chair said—a gorgeous chick in a long, sleek black dress. Her hair fell in dark waves to her bare shoulders and a black velvet choker with a white rose cameo at its center encircled her slender throat. “But I couldn’t wait to get a look at the murderer.”

“Mauvais?”

Her cold, dark gaze settled on him like a block of ice. “No, you, you prick.”

“You’ll hafta refresh my memory. Who’d I kill?”

“Would you like a list?” she replied. “It’s time to answer for your crimes, Dante Baptiste.” Her black-cherry-glossed lips curved into a smile. “I plan to watch you burn just like you watched Étienne burn.”

“Oui, I did,” Dante said. “And it was over too fast.”

The memory of Jay’s death—mon cheri ami—washed through Dante’s mind in a black and violent tide.

Étienne’s arms lock like steel bands around Dante. Yank him onto his ass. He struggles to break free, twisting, and driving an elbow back into Étienne’s ribs. Dante scrambles to get his feet under him. Étienne digs in his fingernails, piercing latex and skin.

The blood flowing from Jay’s slit throat has already slowed. It spreads in an ever-widening pool around him, staining his hair red. Jay’s half-lidded gaze fixes on Dante.

Dante strains to pull free of the limbs holding him, strains to lower his mouth to his wrist. A sigh escapes Jay’s lips. His heart stops. The light winks out of his eyes.

A hand brushes Dante’s hair aside. Warm lips touch his ear.

“How does it feel, marmot ?” Étienne whispers.

“And I’d do it again,” Dante said. “No regrets.”

A glacier of black ice stretched behind the woman’s eyes. “Trust me, I’ll make sure you regret every breath you’ve ever drawn.” Her gaze flicked past Dante. “Put him on his knees.”

MAUVAIS SLIPPED AN ARM around Giovanni’s shoulders as they strolled together along the Winter Rose’s main deck. “I regret that I need to cancel our get-together this evening. A matter has come up that requires my attention.”

“Nothing serious, I hope,” Giovanni said.

“Just a matter of discipline long overdue,” Mauvais said. “We’ll meet tomorrow evening, oui?”

Giovanni took a sip from his flute of bubbling champagne, then nodded. “Sì, tomorrow. Have you any word on Dante?”

“I’d heard rumors he was back in town, but my people haven’t been able to locate him yet,” Mauvais said, stopping at the starboard railing. “I’ll let you know the moment I hear anything different.”

Giovanni finished his champagne, his thoughtful gaze on Mauvais’s face. Resting the emptied flute on the railing, he said, “You understand that Dante Baptiste is to be treated with the utmost respect once you have located him, sì?”

“No matter his crimes?”

“For now,” Giovanni said. “But I will take his crimes before the Cercle de Druide for consideration, I promise.”

“Ah. Consideration.” Mauvais shifted his attention to the night-blackened Mississippi flowing past, breathed in its odors of fish and muddy brine. “And if he still refuses to recognize my authority?”

Giovanni’s amused chuckle scraped along Mauvais’s nerves. “You have no authority over a True Blood, mio amico. None of us do. We just need to make sure—young as he is—he doesn’t realize that truth.”

“I’ll do my best,” Mauvais said.

“Buono.” Leaning in, Giovanni kissed each of Mauvais’s cheeks in quick succession, his lips cool. “Now I will leave you to your matter of discipline, and I shall explore more of your beautiful city.”

“Bonne nuit et bon appétit.”

Laughing, Giovanni strode away and Mauvais went below decks to meet—at long last—the defiant and disrespectful True Blood brat named Dante Baptiste.

Justine’s justice was finally under way.

ON YOUR KNEES, P’TIT, hands behind yo’ back. Gotta surprise visitor for you.

Red-hot pain skewered Dante’s left eye and the memory unthreaded. His song burned through him, poured molten from his heart.

He caught peripheral movement and whirled, blue light prickling warm and electric around his fingers, just as Laurent’s hand locked around his left bicep.

Laurent froze, uncertainty flickering across his face. Tiny reflected blue flames glowed in his eyes.

“Toldja,” Dante said. And grabbed Laurent’s hand.

Gotta surprise visitor for you.

But the past reached out from behind the walls Lyons and Gone-Gone-Gone Athena had shattered and seized Dante; sucker punched him over and over again with images and whispers and the hard bite of handcuffs ratcheting shut around his wrists.

Sucker punched him with Jeanette’s soft sobs.

You figured I didn’t notice you playing under the sheets with Mark and Jolie Jeanette, huh, boy? Oh, I noticed, p’tit. I noticed for true. Here, let me turn this monitor thingie on and we’ll watch.

A baseball bat of pain slammed into Dante’s mind. His song shattered into thousands of jagged discordant notes. Fell away.

A fist rocketed into his temple, exploding red and orange light behind his eyes. His vision rippled like he was looking through water. On her feet in front of her chair, the chick with the black-cherry-painted lips stared at him.

Hands snagged Dante, and wrenched his left arm up hard behind his back, corkscrewing pain into his shoulder. More hands—another asshole or two summoned to the party—forced him down onto his knees. Another fist smashed into his ribs. Pounded the breath from his lungs. Dante tried to twist away from the punches and kicks falling against him like a hard rain, but he couldn’t break free.

“How did he do that?” someone whispered. “Laurent’s hand? It’s gone.”

“It’ll grow back,” Laurent said, voice shaking. “Right?”

“I … don’t know. I don’t know how or what he did …”

“He’s a True Blood, Justine.” An unfamiliar and assured voice joined the conversation. “He’s capable of many things.”

Dante looked up.

A man appearing to be in his mid-thirties, his slim body draped in an elegant charcoal-gray evening suit, stood beside the chick, the now-named Justine. A black ribbon gathered his long wheat-colored hair at the nape of his neck, allowing an unobstructed view of his sharp-angled aristocratic features and penetrating blue eyes.

Fucking Mauvais.

An amused smile brushed the old Creole’s lips. “I see you’ve been busy charming everyone. A shame you waited so long to grace us with your presence.”

“Yeah, about that—fuck you.”

“Ah. As I said, charming. Apparently, a lesson in manners is needed. If you would, Payne?”

Boy needs a lesson. Boy always needs a lesson.

Payne knelt behind Dante and wrenched his arm up even higher, then leaned into him with everything he had—and given his Tall’N’Beefy nickname, that was substantial. Dante felt his shoulder muscles tearing, white-hot pain needling the joint. His teeth sliced into his lower lip as he clamped his mouth shut. He tasted blood.

“Enough,” Mauvais said quietly.

Payne eased back, but kept Dante’s arm twisted up hard. Sweat beaded Dante’s forehead. Mauvais looked at him for a long moment, his intent blue gaze traveling from head to knees and back again.

“Such a singular beauty,” he said. “In truth, stunning.”

“And a murderer,” Justine pointed out. “He admitted that he killed Étienne. Said he didn’t regret it.”

“I killed the fucker, yeah. Ça y revené.”

“And what of his household?” Mauvais asked. “Did you set his home on fire and murder his entire household as well?”

Dante’s heart kicked hard against his ribs. Étienne had tossed that particular accusation at him several times before over the last year, but he had no memory of that night—except for a dream of fire raging against the dying night sky and joy winging through his heart.

Might be guilty even though I had no beef going with Étienne at the time. Wish I knew the truth.

“I don’t know,” Dante said. “Peut-être que oui, peut-être que non.”

Mauvais tilted his head. “What an odd answer.”

Bitter fury and grief burned in Justine’s eyes. “He’s lying.”

“I’ve heard rumors that the boy never lies,” Mauvais said, his tone thoughtful. “But that seems rather unlikely.” He grasped Dante’s chin between his fingers. “But maybe with beauty like this everything he says sounds like the truth.”

Dante jerked free of Mauvais’s cool touch. “Is this conversation part of the torture?”

The amused smile flitted across the Creole’s lips again. “You refuse to recognize my authority.”

“Authority over what? Wharf-rats? Compulsive gamblers?”

“You’re disrespectful, defiant, and rude. You even break our laws.”

“Fuck your laws,” Dante said.

Bending, Mauvais touched a finger to the steel ring on Dante’s collar, flicked it. He leveled his gaze with Dante’s. “But given this bit of decoration, perhaps you crave discipline. Instruction. Perhaps you yearn for your role in things to be defined.”

A smile tugged at Dante’s lips. “You ain’t got any fucking idea what I crave.”

“Perhaps not,” Mauvais murmured. He sliced a long, sharp fingernail into Dante’s skin just above his bondage collar. Blood trickled hot down Dante’s throat.

Mauvais took a deep whiff, his eyes closing in pleasure. “Time for me and mine to flood our veins with your strength, mon joli.”

“I’ve got a better idea. Why don’t y’all blow me instead?”

Chuckling, Mauvais opened his eyes. “Hold him tight.”

DUCKING BEHIND A LINE of crates waiting to be loaded, Heather crouched beside Von, her gaze on the red riverboat at the wharf’s end. Waves slapped against the pilings, while distant laughter, honking horns, and the high-pitched shriek of a saxophone echoed from the street behind her.

“We might need more ammo,” the nomad muttered, his attention focused on the lantern-lit riverboat and the silhouetted figures strolling the deck.

No, make that patrolling. Posture too alert, steps too purposeful to be anything but security. The place was an exclusive casino, according to Von, but the security seemed excessive.

“Is it always like this?” Heather asked.

Von shrugged. “Ain’t sure, doll. Don’t have many reasons to visit the place, but I have a feeling they added a few bodies to the payroll for our benefit.”

“That’s what I thought,” Heather said. She pulled the Browning from her trench pocket and checked the magazine—full—then chambered a round.

A ka-chunk from beside her told her that Von had done the same. He looked at her with moonlight-glinting eyes. “You ready, doll?”

“Ready.” She stood.

Von wrapped an arm around her waist, his leather jacket creaking against her trench. She caught a whiff of motor oil and frost. “Guns blazing, darlin’. Shoot anyone who tries to stop you.”

“I take it we’re not going to try for stealth?”

“We’ll try, yeah. But even the best-laid half-assed plans, yada yada …”

“Gotcha.”

Swiveling around, the nomad hurtled over the crates, landing them both without a sound on the other side. He moved down the dock to the gangplank, the night streaking past in a cool, Mississippi-scented blur. Heather tightened her fingers around the Browning’s grip.

Vaulting from the gangplank onto the riverboat, Von brought them to a stop on the deck away from the lanterns and near the steps leading belowdecks.

Heather’s heart jumped into her throat when a pair of security guards stopped and turned, hands diving inside jackets.

She swung up the Browning and squeezed the trigger.

MAUVAIS LICKED AT THE blood trickling from Dante’s throat, then, with a low moan, his lips fastened to the wound. Dante tried to jerk away from the Creole’s hungry mouth, but pain ripped through his shoulder with every movement he made. His vision grayed.

“Keep him still,” Justine snapped.

“Why don’tcha come over here and keep me still yourself, chienne?”

“If he says another word, hurt him.”

“Here’s a couple of my favs—Fuck. You.”

A fist knuckled into Dante’s aching ribs, but he held Justine’s gaze and forced a smile to his lips. “Fuck you twice.”

Fingers seized Dante’s hair and yanked his head back. He tried to calm his racing pulse, not wanting to make anything easier for fucking Mauvais and his merry little crew, but his furious heart refused to listen.

Mauvais drank deep, his hands resting on Dante’s hips, fingers kneading the leather beneath them like a contented cat. From above, Dante heard the muffled pop-pop-pop-pop of multiple gunshots.

Mauvais lifted his head. “Sounds like we have guests.”

“Oui. A vampire male and mortal female,” Justine said, a tight smile on her lips.

Her smile and Mauvais’s calm sent chills down Dante’s spine. They’d been expecting, maybe even planning, for someone to come for him.

he sent.

More gunshots pop-pop-popped outside.

“Friends of yours, I presume,” Mauvais said. “That is, providing you’re able to make and keep friends.” He rose gracefully to his feet. Pulling an embroidered cream handkerchief from his breast pocket, he dabbed at his lips.

Several sets of hands released Dante as a couple of the nightkind holding him trotted out of the library to join the fight above. Felt like two remained holding him.

Send the pain below and fucking move.

White light flickered behind Dante’s eyes. Pain hacked at his skull like a dull-edged axe. Seizing the pain, he used it, burned with it and, briefly, transcended it.

With a quick inward twist, Dante yanked his right arm free of the kneeling nightkind asshole holding it. Then, teeth gritted, he reached over his left shoulder and snagged the rim of Payne’s ear. A hard jerk and the bastard’s face slammed into Dante’s shoulder, dislocating it with an audible pop.

“Fuck!” Pain poured molten through Dante’s shoulder, collarbone, and chest. The room whirled.

Blood from Payne’s nose or mouth or where-fucking-ever splashed hot across Dante’s cheek. He heard a thud as Payne toppled to the floor behind him.

“Ouch. Well, hell,” Von said. “Dante wasn’t the one in danger, after all. My mistake.”

“And you call me stubborn,” Dante muttered. He rose to his feet, muscles coiled, burning up inside.

Justine’s gaze slid past Dante, surprise rippling across her face. “Guy—a llygad.”

“You okay, Baptiste?”

Dante smelled lilac and evening rain, then felt Heather’s fingers brush against his cheek. “Better now, catin. You?”

Heather’s mingled emotions, the butter-soft warmth of relief and rose-thorned anger, flowed into Dante through their bond. “I would’ve been better if you’d followed me over that wall. But we’ll discuss that later.”

“D’accord.”

“An honor to have you with us, llygad,” Mauvais said, extending his arm across his waist in a half-bow. “But this isn’t an official … meeting.” He pursed his lips as he straightened, his gaze reflective.

Dante knew just what he was thinking: What the hell is a llygad doing storming a riverboat, gun in hand? Choosing a side and taking action—it ain’t done. He smiled. Until Von, that is. A new breed.

Von stepped up on Dante’s left side. “You’re wrong about that, Guy,” he said. “The moment your people nabbed Dante it became official. I’m here as friend and llygad both. And I’ll never just stand aside where he’s concerned unless he asks me to—so you might keep that in mind.”

A deep frown creased the skin between Mauvais’s pale brows. “What you’re saying goes against all precepts of llygaid law.”

Von shrugged. “What can I say? Times are changing.”

Mauvais’s gaze shifted to Dante. “Indeed they are.” He sat in one of the leather chairs and casually crossed his legs. “Since I have no desire to have my entire crew and staff slaughtered—at least, not tonight—please feel free to leave, Dante.”

<This is too easy,> Von sent. <They’re up to something.>

<I know, but I ain’t sure what.>

Justine moved to stand behind the Creole’s chair, her black gown clinging to every curve. Her body language and expression were wary despite the glimmer of excitement Dante caught in her eyes.

A danger alarm prickled along his senses, intensifying the chill he’d felt earlier. Something was off, wrong. Maybe not a trap, after all, maybe something else altogether.

“You wanted my attention?” Dante said. “You’ve got it. This ain’t finished.”

“And it won’t be until you’ve paid for your crimes in full,” Justine said.

A smile tilted Dante’s lips. Extending both middle fingers, he stepped backward several paces before turning around. He met Heather’s deepest-cornflower-blue gaze.

“You thinking there’ll be an ambush?” she asked in a near whisper.

“Ain’t sure. But maybe, yeah.”

Heather nodded. She loaded a fresh magazine into her gun, then chambered a round. “Okay. How about your shoulder? I know you can’t use it and—”

“We’ll take care of it outside,” Von said. “Once we’re in the clear.”

“D’accord.” Dante looped his good arm around Heather’s trenchcoated waist. They moved out of the library, across the crowded salon, up to the main deck, and off the riverboat without a single challenge. Dante’s inner alarms flashed warnings.

A deafening whistle blasted the air, the sound echoing through the night like a monster’s bellow. Pale steam geysered above the river boat. The Winter Rose edged away from the dock.

“Let’s do this, little brother.”

Dante leaned against several stacked crates on the wharf and gingerly lowered his arm to his side. His shoulder throbbed.

“Ready?” Von asked.

Bracing himself against the crates, Dante drew in a deep breath. He nodded and tensed as Von grasped his left arm. Before he had time to blink, the nomad slammed his hand into his shoulder, popping it back into place.

Dante banged his head back against the crates as pain washed over him like a tsunami; washed over, then ebbed away. Sliding down the crates, he sat down hard. “Shit,” he breathed.

Von crouched in front of him. “You okay?”

“Fuck you.”

Von grinned. “Yup. You’re okay.”

Sudden images and sensations poured through Dante’s mind: walls of roaring flames, skin-charring heat, and choking black smoke; panicked images sent by Simone, Trey, and Silver.

Fire scorches her lungs. Blackens her skin. Devours her with relentless teeth.

“Simone,” Dante whispered. Not a trap, no. Mauvais had detained him, insuring that he was kept away from home long enough for …

How does it feel, marmot?

Heather dropped to her knees, her eyes dilated and brimming with all the dark emotions crashing into her through their bond. “What is it? What’s happening?”

“The house,” Von said. “They’re burning the fucking house!”

Simone’s anguished screams ripped through Dante’s mind, his hammering heart. He bolted to his feet, then stumbled as pain exploded behind his eyes like a fiery Molotov cocktail. Then stopped.

Simone’s link wisped away.

Dante saw his own shock mirrored on Von’s face. “She’s gone.”