Page 73 of Blood Submission

Chapter29

Her scent cameto him first.

Dante lifted his head and his burning eyes shot over to the empty tunnel.

She’shere.

Standing up, he triggered the secret latch underneath the bench he’d been sitting on and raised the seat. In a flash, he was in front of the human male, still waiting for his turn near the smashed bricks in the wall. “Time to go, asshole.” Lowering his head until he was eye to eye with the shorter man, he said, “Go back to the homeless camp and find your dead friend. You won’t remember me, or what happened to him. It must have been an animal.”

“An animal,” he repeated obediently.

Dante could hear Laney in the other room now. “Yes, a bear. Now get the fuck out of here.” He pointed toward the bench. “Follow the tunnel to the other end. Don’t speak to anyone until you get back to your friend.”

The guy started shuffling toward the escape hatch, and when he didn’t move fast enough, Dante came up behind him with a snarl. Grasping him by the collar and the back of his pants, he hitched him over the side and dropped him through the opening.

“Dante?”

Her voice washed over him, soothing his raw nerves. He didn’t respond right away, watching to make sure the human male got up and walked away, and then he slammed the bench closed and secured the latch. Steeling himself, he turned to face her, and felt like he’d been punched in thegut.

Laney stood before him in one of his plain black T-shirts and jeans, holding a candle. The shirt fell nearly to her knees and hung off one bare shoulder. He could see the outline of her bare breasts, the nipples jutting against the soft material. Her hair was partially damp and tumbled around her face and down her back in disarray. She was still too pale, too thin, her tawny eyes worried and too large in her delicateface.

She was fucking exquisite.

It took him a moment before he found his voice. “What are you doing here, little mouse?”

“I came to find you,” she simply said. “Who was that?” She glanced around. “And what happened in here?” He could see her coming to conclusions—the correct conclusions. Her voice lowered to a near whisper. “No. Dante, did you hurthim?”

Dante narrowed his eyes at her, unused to being questioned, nor having someone to answer to. But he felt compelled to do exactly that. He tried to swallow past the dryness in his throat. “No. I—” The words wouldn’t come. He’d wanted to hurt the human. Craved the release it would have brought him. And he still might have done it if she hadn’t shownup.

She studied him, her perceptive eyes roaming from his face to his clenched fists and back again. Somehow, he managed to remain still, even though he wanted to hide, afraid as always that she would see right through to his blacksoul.

“Why did you leave me upstairs?”

He ground his jaw, though her directness shouldn’t surprise him by now. His heart palpitated in his chest. “Because that’s where you should be.” His voice was gruff. He tried to swallow again.

She took a step toward him. “I should be with you, Dante.”

“No, little mouse.” He gave a snort of disgust. “You should not be with me.” His voice became strained. “You should have finished the job you started last night, the job the demons started out there on the docks. You would be free now.” A razor sharp pain lanced his insides at what he was about to say, yet he heard the words come out of his mouth as if in a dream. “I should still freeyou.”

“Dante—”

He interrupted whatever she had been about to say. It was too late now for her. “And yet, I can’t let you go. Not without forfeiting my own damned life. And I’m entirely too fucking selfish to do that.” He paused. “Letting you live upstairs is the best I can do. I will only bother you to feed when I have to. The others will make sure you have everything you need and will keep you safe.” His instincts screamed in denial. No one could keep her safer than he could.

But we both know that’s nothing but a fucking lie, don’twe?

She was silent after his little speech. He longed to know what she was thinking, but couldn’t bring himself to reach out to her thoughts, half-hopeful and half-terrified at what he might find there.

Finally, she spoke. “But that’s not what I want. I want to be where youare.”

That tiny tendril of hope threatened again. In an act of sheer desperation to save himself before it was too late, he changed the subject. “Why are you wearing my shirt?” The question may have come out a bit harsher than he had intended.

Full of defiance as always, she lifted her chin. Her gaze was steady as she stared daggers across the room at him. Witnessing the way she stood up to him, his chest swelled with pride.

“Because mine are filthy. And because I wanted to. It smells likeyou.”

His blood warmed at her answer. “Laney—” He stopped, not quite sure what it was he had been about to say. A plea, or perhaps a warning. Talking had never been his forte. Especially when he had so many emotions eating away at his insides.

She came closer, so close he could reach out and touch her face. And that’s exactly what he did, his fingertips skimming lightly over her cheekbone. Setting the candle down, she took his large hand in both of her small ones and held it to her chest, over her heart. “I want to be with you, wherever thatis.”

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