Page 68 of Blood Submission

Chapter27

Dante stood justinside the elevator door with Laney passed out in his arms. Noticing the gooseflesh on her bare torso, he pulled her in closer to his chest, trying to keep her warm. The doors closed in front of him, then opened again, then closed again as he stared at the panel of buttons. His immediate instinct was to take her below ground where she would be safe and he could watch overher.

But she hated it down there.

Dante’s fangs shot down, aggression overtaking him as he wrestled with the demons in his head. He couldn’t protect her upstairs, and he couldn’t stay up there with her. He was ready to jump out of his skin even for the short periods of time he was required to be up there. If he took her up there to recover, she would be alone. Vulnerable.

But the others were all up there. And just because she was his fated mate didn’t mean they had to be attached at the fucking hip. She didn’t even have to like him, just give up her blood whenever he needed it for him to survive. Hell, he could set her up in her own place. As long as it was somewhere nearby….

He immediately squashed that thought. Fuck, no.

Dante heaved a sigh. But maybe he should give her the choice.

Dante stared down at her small form, indecision wracking him. Her earthy sweet scent rose around him, overpowering the mix of sea air and car oil that permeated the garage, and the smell of demon gore and seawater on their bodies. She had saved him today. She had saved themboth.

The doors opened again. He growled low in his throat, shifted Laney’s weight to one arm, and punched a button with his finger.

Less than a minute later he was kicking open the door to his apartment, startling the dog, who in turn began to bark his fool head off. Dante silently ordered the dog to hush while he carried her back to the bedroom and laid her across the bed. Reaching over her, he tugged the comforter up and tucked it aroundher.

Then he straightened to his full height and exhaled, slowing his breathing to almost nothing so he could listen. After a moment, he relaxed. Her heartbeat was strong and steady, her lungs expanding and contracting as they should with no abnormalities. Dante took a relieved breath, brushing the stray hairs off her face. Her skin was damp and pale from exertion, but she was sleeping soundly. Yes, his mate was strong. Probably stronger thanhim.

He would get one of the other witches to come sit with her so she didn’t wake up alone. He needed to secure the underground. It wasn’t safe there anymore now that the demons knew of his secret exit. Or entrance, depending on how you looked atit.

But first he would bring up her things. He’d made up his mind. He was leaving her here. They could buy her a table and a couch and whatever else her heart desired. The vampire council had plenty of money stashed away. She would be better off staying up here with the others, much as it hurt his pride to admit it. The witches would make sure she was fed, and she could be with her pet. She would be happier.

The last few days had proven that he was worthless as a mate for her. Her own words earlier only confirmed it, as did his inability to protect her. He had no fucking idea how to take care of her, or how to comforther.

Laney thought they shared a bond, and he supposed that was true—to a point. They’d both lost a child. But whereas her son, he was convinced, had died of completely natural causes, his had not. His had died for no reason other than his father…that he…had failed to protect him. There was no comfort to be had there, from her or anyoneelse.

And other than his own personal convictions, he now knew it was impossible for Laney to have killed her own child. She was a Protector: a special breed of witch that came from a long line of magical ancestors who passed down the ability to fight true evil from generation to generation. There was normally one or two in each coven at all times. They protected their kind and the ones connected to them by blood. The sorcery that bred them would not allow them to do otherwise even if they wanted to, similar to vampires with their mates.

It all became clear to him now. This was the reason she was cleaving to him, the only reason. It was the only thing that made sense to him. They had a blood bond now. But she deserved better than a brutish male like him. Dante had spent his entire immortal life hating humans and punishing them for everything they’d done to him. He didn’t even know how to fucking talk toher.

Hell, a human male could do better by her. Dante couldn’t even save her from a few limp-dicked demons. She was one of the most important witches of her generation—one of the most important people to him—and he had failed her in his efforts to keep hersafe.

And thanks to him and his fucked up ego, Steven now had the exact thing Luuk had been desperately trying to keep away from them. The Master Vampire had immediately sent out scouts, including Nik and Aiden—and Aiden’s demon—to try to track him. But Dante knew that demon would not be found unless he wanted to be. And who knew where the rest of those bastards were or who they were possessing now. The vampire bodies were no longer viable, and would soon be nothing but ash when the sun came up. To make sure humans didn’t find the carnage before that could happen, Christian was keeping watch over the scene of the fight. He’d hightail it back home just before he was barbecued himself.

Tucking the comforter closer around Laney, he leaned down and pressed a tender kiss to her hairline, breathing the scent of her into his lungs. Then he turned away, left her there, and went to check on the pets. Noting that they had plenty of food and water, he hunkered down onto his haunches to scratch the dog’s ears and ruffle the cat’sfur.

He locked the door behind him, and went back down to the underground. After confirming the latch on the bench was repairable, he set about reinforcing it until he was comfortable that nothing would be getting in or out unless he wanted themto.

When he was done, he wandered around the room, his eyes touching on each piece in turn. Past memories assaulted him along with the way—voices begging for their lives, a blood curdling scream as he carved a piece of flesh from aface.

He had come upon that particular male while hunting one night, his interest piqued when he heard the sounds of a scuffle. The guy was beating an elderly woman when Dante found him. Apparently, the woman wouldn’t give the asshole her purse. His fangs ached at the recollection of that guest. He had lasted longer than Dante would’ve wagered.

Turning his head, his eyes skimmed over the bench he had just fixed. Screams of a different sort echoed through his head as he saw a woman with blonde hair and extra flesh strapped face down upon it with her ass in the air as he fucked her from behind—right before he’d dug his hands into all of that hair and yanked her head back until he heard the soothing sound of cracking bone. The screams had stopped abruptly as he bent over her and sank his fangs into her shoulder just before he came. He’d been stalking that one for days. She left her young daughter home alone every night while she whored herself out. Strangely enough, the memory did not make him hard, as it normallydid.

But he was no hero. Sometimes he killed just for the fun of it. He could count on one hand the number of times he’d fed on a human without taking their life. He preferred to kill them. Less risk thatway.

When he got to the table that held his assortment of “tools,” Dante scrubbed his hand over his mouth. His skin felt tight, the muscles underneath twitching restlessly as he admired the assortment of blades, whips, and other pain-inducing gadgets. Picking up a small knife in his right hand, he shoved his sleeve up on his opposite arm and laid the cold blade against his skin. The tip bit into the edge of one of his tattoos.

Dante paused. The markings had been done by hand with a sharp stick and the ash from a sacred fire by one of the elders in his camp. It was supposed to protect him from the evil lurking inside his body after the vampire had attacked him. An ancient spell tattooed permanently into his skin, but only on the left side, where the bites festered.

Needless to say, it didn’t work, and he turned soon after. But he moved the tip to avoid cutting into it, just in case. Slowly, he drew the blade across the unmarked skin of his forearm. His upper lip lifted, exposing his fangs as the blood welled and spilled over to run down his arm and drip onto the floor. He repeated the process until both arms were decorated with red diagonal lines, but the bloodletting wasn’t enough to release the restless self-loathing and agitation churning insidehim.

He needed to hurt someone. Maybe a couple of someones. Alone in this room, all he could smell was the blood, sweat, and fear of his victims. It made him hungry for the hunt just thinking about it. This was who hewas.

Less than a minute later, he was roaming the city streets. A light drizzle fell, washing away the blood on his skin and gradually soaking his clothes. Dante paid no attention to it, sticking to the shadows as he made his way to The Jungle, Seattle’s infamous homeless encampment. When he got there, he remained under the cover of trees, observing the huddle of tents, searching for something that caught his interest. He was familiar with most that lived there. Some were there because they’d fallen on hard times and had no other recourse. But others chose to check out of society, and he couldn’t really say that he blamed them. Others preyed upon both groups.

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