On Midnight Wings

34 THE CLOCK RUNS OUT

I’M NOT GOING TO wait for you or De Noir, not for anyone. I can’t—there’s no time. But as soon as I find Dante, I promise I’ll let you know exactly where we are. You go after Von. You find our nomad and bring him home. And, Silver?

Yeah?

Thanks for watching over Annie. I owe you.

Ain’t doing it for you. Doing it because I want to. Hey, you felt anything through the bond from Dante?

No. Nothing new, anyway. But don’t worry—I’ll call as soon as I find him.

Heather goosed the speedometer to 85 mph, mulling over everything she’d just learned, including her brief, tense conversation with the assassin’s nightkind brother after she and Silver had respectively filled each other in—Von missing, De Noir silent and most likely still in Gehenna, Mauvais and his new Fallen friend, her escape from SB agents and Cortini.

She tried to kill you?

Yes, but something was very wrong with her. I’ve seen Dante when his programming was triggered and, well, her behavior kind of reminded me of that. Like someone else was pulling the strings.

Molte grazie for not killing her. Where can I find her?

At an abandoned rest stop on I-530 South, near Pine Bluff.

The night blurred past in a streamer of oncoming headlights and red taillights, of soft light glittering from windows in faraway homes, of white lines disappearing beneath the bulleting Nissan. Heather’s hands white-knuckled against the steering wheel.

I feel like I’m running out of time, catin.

No, cher, no. I refuse to lose you.

Too late. Too late. Too late. The clock has run out.

Heather shoved aside the despairing and traitorous thought, refused to examine yet again what she had felt through the bond nearly an hour ago—a shattering desperation, a crumbling resolve, an overwhelming sense of loss.

She hadn’t lied to Silver just to protect him from bad news; she’d lied because she hadn’t been able to say the words, hadn’t been able to force them from her throat.

I think what we’ve all feared, what we all fought to prevent, has happened—

. . . I think he’s had all he can take, doll. Heart and mind . . .

—and Dante has finally broken.

Eyes burning, Heather pressed harder on the gas pedal, following the bond, following her heart, to Baton Rouge.

I feel like I’m running out of time, catin.

No, cher, no. I refuse to lose you.

That was a promise she intended to keep.

ANNIE TUCKED HER CELL phone back into her jeans pocket, watching as Silver rubbed his face in frustration. The relief—hell, be honest, the fucking joy—she’d felt at hearing her sister’s voice, a voice she’d feared she’d never hear again, dimmed a little at Silver’s expression. “Since I seem to be lacking nightkind eavesdropping power, what did she say?”

Silver sighed. He looked at Annie from beneath his dark lashes. “She’s okay, she’s going after Dante and ain’t about to wait for us to catch up.”

Merri scooted out of the booth so that tall, dark, and snobby Giovanni with his sexy Italian purr of a voice could slide out. He pulled a handful of twenties from the pocket of his designer jeans and tossed them on the table. “My treat,” he said with a sexy half-shrug. Looking at Silver, he added, “And thanks for taking me into your confidence.”

“Remember, you gave me your word.”

Giovanni nodded. “I won’t say anything, not even to Renata until after Dante is safe.” He headed for the tavern’s entrance. “I’ll be in touch after I’ve taken care of Caterina,” he called over his shoulder as he pulled the door open. “Ciao, belli.”

Silver shook his head. “Hope I didn’t make a mistake there.”

“If it’s any comfort, I don’t think you did,” Merri said. “But if his mère de sang suspects he is hiding something from her, believe me, she’ll pry it out of him.”

“Then let’s hope he’s good at hiding shit. Ready to quit sitting on your ass and twiddling your thumbs?”

“What do you think, Zero-boy?” Merri snorted, rising to her feet. “But we should feed before we go. Looks like there’s any number of willing volunteers across the street.”

Silver looked up at the ceiling, regret on his face. Annie figured he was thinking about the tasty SB agents upstairs. “Okay,” he said, lowering his gaze to look at Annie. “Wait here, all right? We won’t be long.”

“I’ll order another beer, so take your time.” Annie lifted her mug and polished off her Abita, ignoring Silver’s frown.

Silver and Merri moved across the room in double streaks of pale skin and black clothing, of purple and black hair.

Neither Aunt Sally’s red-checker-aproned staff or the scattered handful of people chowing down on late night/early morning platters of pork ribs and grilled shrimp noticed their passage across the room and out the door—except maybe as a cool breeze or ghostly chill.

Still, Silver and Merri’s nightkind speed had nothing on Dante’s. And if he’d been truly awake the day her coldhearted bastard of a father appeared in the hall, James Wallace would never have stood a chance.

But Dante hadn’t been truly awake, he’d been fighting Sleep, struggling to keep from nodding off again, to keep his eyes open, but aware enough to shove her out of harm’s way at the last moment.

His blood, spattering hot upon her cheek, her lips.

Glistening so dark on his white skin.

Annie’s belly squeezed tight, killing her appetite. The yummy, comforting taste of beer and tangy barbecue sauce soured on her tongue. She pushed the plate away without even looking at it, her restless thoughts roiling, bubbling up and down, up and down, up and fucking down.

Steeping her in guilt.

Dante. Heather. Blood. Trank guns. The sharp smell of gasoline. You’ve reached the voice mail of James William Wallace, please leave a message. Dante. Heather falling, the gun skittering from her hand. The sound of a gunshot shattering the air—

Stop! Slow the fuck down and concentrate on what’s happening right now.

Sucking in a harsh breath, Annie tried to do just that, but her thoughts immediately slipped back to Heather and Dante and James Wallace. The coldhearted prick rat-bastard could be a fucking double agent working for the FBI and the SB for all Annie knew.

And he just dumped me on the sidewalk.

Something wheeled open inside of Annie, something as cold and empty and black as the belly of a plundered coal mine. Something endless.

She’d called the rat-bastard over and over in hopes of finding out where he’d taken Heather, in hopes of luring him back to New Orleans as she played the tearful, contrite, don’t-leave-me-all-alone-with-the-bloodsuckers-daddy-please daughter, but his phone had gone straight to voice mail each and every time.

He’s written you off. He’s got the daughter he cares about. Nothing new, right?

Right, and look where that got her—tranked, cuffed, and dragged away.

Maybe I’m the lucky one.

Percolating, her thoughts, bubbling hot and cold, up and down, loud enough to hear the perk-perk-perk echoing from the inside of her skull.

Needing another beer, a drink to drown out the goddamned bubbling noise, Annie waved at the waitress, then pointed at her empty mug once she’d captured the caramel-skinned woman’s attention. With a nod, the waitress beelined for the bar, returning a moment later with a freshly filled mug.

Annie swiveled around in the booth so she could rest her back against the wall and keep an easy eye on the tavern’s door. She rested a hand against her T-shirted belly and as she did, Silver’s words blossomed in her memory as bright and shining as his silver eyes.

I know it isn’t mine, that’s not what this is about . . .

Look, I can’t say I know what you’re going through—I don’t. But I do know that you don’t hafta face this alone.

She rubbed her belly reflectively. Maybe, just maybe, that would be enough. With Silver’s help and Heather’s, maybe she could do this, could be a good mom.

The only question was: did she want to do this?

Maybe it was time to find out. Silver stepped back into the tavern. His silver eyes seemed luminescent, brimming with moonlight. He curled a let’s go finger at her.

My very own vampire knight.

Annie rose to her feet, leaving her beer untouched.