Beneath the Skin (37 page)

<
Where are you going? I'll send help. You could come to Savannah.
>

<
No, first place they'll look for me. Once we're out of here, I'll let you know
.>

<
They hunt you, they'll be starting a fight they'll wish they never started
.>

<
Keep out of it for now, please. The True Blood's name is Dante Baptiste. He's from New Orleans and he's on the run. If he's still alive, that is
.>

<
I'll look into it. Keep safe, child. I'll be waiting to hear from you
.>

<
I will and thanks
.>

Merri looped the strap of her laptop's black leather carrying case over her shoulder, then left her room. Emmett waited for her in the hall.

"You take the south elevators to the parking garage, I'll take the north," he said. "I'll meet you at the car."

"You mean
I'll
meet
you
," Merri said with a quick smile. She
moved
.

30
AT THE HEART OF IT ALL

NEW ORLEANS
ABOARD THE
WINTER rOSE
March 26

JUSTINE AUCOIN AWAKENED. SHE stared into the cabin's gloom. The riverboat creaked as the Mississippi lapped delicately against it. Beyond the curtained windows, the sun lingered just above the horizon. Evening had not yet arrived with its subtle, cool scents and its electric lure of mystery and danger; the world colored in shades of midnight blue, black, and deepest purple.

What had awakened her?

Uncurling from the silk sheets and velvet comforter, Justine sat up and listened. Creaking wood, splashing water, the babbling, unshielded thoughts of the servants and
apprentis
, the silence of Sleeping vampires.

She extended her senses out, searching for danger, for anything out of place, or for anyone who didn't belong. Nothing disturbed the spiderweb of security erected and maintained by Guy Mauvais's Sleeping mind. Ah, no longer Sleeping. Her
pere de sang
was also awake.

Justine smoothed back her long hair and was about to turn around, a question on her lips, but it hit her then, like a spike through the heart, and her breath caught in her throat.

Once more,
absence
had awakened her. A void where once a Sleep-cool body had curled beside hers.

Justine closed her eyes. Even after a month, her grief whittled at her. She refused to swivel around and look at the empty bed. She wanted to keep the image of Etienne's black braids fanned across the pillow as he Slept, wanted to keep the image of his smooth cafe au lait skin showcased by her burgundy silk sheets.

She wouldn't look. She would pretend--as she had for the last month or so--that he still Slept, awaiting her kiss to reel him up out of dreams and into the night.

Before Dante Prejean had murdered him.

Smoothing back her long dark hair, Justine rose to her feet. She plucked her red silk bathrobe from the hook on the back of the cabin's door and slipped it on. Belting it at the waist, she sat at the polished maple vanity and picked up her brush.

Drawing it through her thick coffee-colored hair, she regarded her reflection in the vanity's mirror--white skin, full pale lips, large dark eyes still drowsy with dreams and shadows. Snow White before the apple. She touched her fingertips to the black velvet choker with the white rose cameo encircling her throat.

Guy sent, lacing warmth through Justine's mind. <
I have exciting news. Join me for tea
.>

<
The news? What is it?
>

Guy's amusement swept through her. <
Like a child before Christmas
,> he teased. <
So impatient. I'll tell you this much - it regards Dante Prejean
.>

Justine's heart leapt into her throat. She rested her brush on the vanity, her hand trembling. <
I'll be right there,
mon pere.>

"I HAD A SUMMONS sent to Prejean's home," Mauvais said, shifting his gaze from the black water rippling past the
Winter Rose
's bow to Justine's lovely moonlit face.

"He'll ignore it. Just like every other time."

Mauvais nodded. "Most likely. But this time, it'll cost him if he does."

He breathed in his
fille de sang
's scent of wild rose--prickly and sweet--along with the river's odor of cold water, mud, and fish. Justine's scarlet gown looked nearly black in the starlight, its trimmed black lace curving around her full, white cleavage and shoulders.

"Why do you suppose Renata Alessa Cortini is interested in that defiant, murdering brat?" she asked.

Mauvais shrugged one shoulder. "Perhaps the defiant brat murdered someone else he shouldn't have."

He replayed his earlier conversation with Rome's leading lady and principal voice in the Cercle de Druide, examining it for hidden meanings and nuances he might've missed while listening to her enticing Italian-accented voice.

My
fils de sang,
Giovanni, will be paying you a visit,
M'sieu
Mauvais
.

I am honored to play host to your son,
ma belle dame.
Will this be an official visit?

No, Giovanni is merely on a fact-finding mission.

I shall assist him in every way,
Signora Cortini.
What information is he seeking?

Everything you and yours know about Dante Baptiste.

Baptiste? I know of a troublemaking and unruly Dante Prejean, but no Baptiste.

Ah,
si,
we've recently learned that his true name is Dante Baptiste.

An intriguing bit of information--Baptiste, not Prejean. A name change to hide other crimes, perhaps? A matter Mauvais intended to investigate further.

"I hope to find justice for Etienne," Justine murmured.

Mauvais looked at her. Justine gazed at the cloud-smudged night sky, her face wistful. Unable to stop himself, he brushed his fingers against her soft cheek.

"And if you don't?"

"Then I will settle for revenge."

"Is there a difference,
ma belle?
"

Justine sighed. "I don't know. Does it matter?" she asked, leaning against him.

Mauvais slipped an arm around her night-cooled shoulders. "Perhaps not."

Boards creaked beneath shoes as a servant hurried toward them. Ah, but not alone. Mauvais detected a slow and unfamiliar heartbeat edging the mortal servant's rapid patter.

<
Our guest has arrived,
> Mauvais sent.

Justine straightened, skirt rustling, and took her place at his side. The heady scent of roses perfumed the night air.

Victor, a white rose tucked into the breast pocket of his black butler's suit, ushered a man onto the riverboat's rear deck. Stopping beside Mauvais, Victor said, "
M'sieu
Giovanni Toscanini."

Dressed in crisp black jeans and a tight purple sweater, the handsome Italian with a proud Roman nose, wicked hazel eyes, and razor-cut burgundy hair sauntered forward.

"A pleasure to meet you,
signor,
" Mauvais said, grasping the Italian's shoulders. He kissed both pale cheeks in turn. Giovanni smelled of the sea--of salt and sand and deep waters.

"And you." Giovanni returned the embrace, then released Mauvais, his light-filled hazel eyes dancing over Justine. She curtsied, her hands white blossoms on her bloodred skirts.

"My
fille de sang,
Justine Aucoin."

"Bella,"
Giovanni murmured, capturing one of her hands and touching it to his lips. "A true pleasure."

"Merci,"
Justine said, eyes amused.
"Vous etes tres aimable."

"Only when necessary," Giovanni said, a smile curving his lips. With a wink, he allowed her hand to slide free.

Mauvais stepped forward, gesturing for the others to follow. "Please, let's go below and make ourselves comfortable."

Victor had disappeared, already below, preparing drinks.

Justine led the way, her skirts whispering against the deck. Tendrils of dark hair had slid free of their pins and framed her pale face. She descended the wrought-iron staircase leading belowdecks.

"As I told Renata, I am happy to help you with whatever you need," Mauvais said, walking beside Giovanni. "But what is your interest in Dante Baptiste?"

The Italian glanced at Mauvais, a smile on his lips. "For one thing, the most important thing, we believe he is a True Blood."

Mauvais stopped walking. He stared at Giovanni. "Say again?"

"A True Blood."

"Ce n'est pas possible,"
Mauvais said.

"Are you telling me you've never even
met
Baptiste?"

"He refuses every invitation, every summons. He has been nothing but trouble and has been accused of murder--charges he still needs to face."

Giovanni shrugged. "We'll see,
mio amico,
we'll see. A True Blood can be forgiven many things,
si
?"

Mauvais remained silent, knowing only one thing with absolute certainty: True Blood or not, Justine would forgive Dante Baptiste nothing.

Mauvais inhaled deeply, drawing calming night air into his lungs, and followed Giovanni down the curving metal staircase. His hand slid along the smooth railing, his feet soundless upon the steps.

And Justine would never forgive
him
if Dante Baptiste walked away untouched.

"A WISHED-HARD THING TAKES a shape within the heart. Takes shape. Becomes real."

His own whispered words guiding him up from Sleep, Dante drew in a deep breath of air. He smelled crackling frost and gun oil, tree sap and dewed grass, lilac-laced sweat, blood, and fear-spiced adrenaline.

Tasted his own blood.

Dante's eyes flew open. His heart kicked hard against his ribs. Whip-slender willow branches hung over the curtained windows. Grass cushioned his ass. Dante glanced down. Shock glaciered his heart.

Not lying down. Not in his mummy bag. Nope.

Ain't possible. Ain't no such thing as Sleep-walking.

Dante sat on the SUV's grass-covered floor, Von's head pillowed on his leather-clad thigh. Fading blue sparks winked along the nomad's body and face. And fear crackled through Dante like ice.

What the fuck did I just do to him?

Blood glistened on the nomad's lips. But dried blood streaked the skin beneath Von's nose and his mustache.

The shovel whistles through the night as he brings it down again and again. Blood jewels the air, a warm and never-ending rain.

Not a dream. Not a nightmare. He'd attacked Von during Sleep.

And
had transformed the SUV's interior without a conscious thought. And Von?

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!"

Fear twisted, barbed and cold, through Dante's guts. The nomad hadn't stirred. Still Slept, despite the night's primal and arousing rhythm, a seductive drumming.

He's not dead. You can still save him.

He's
mon cher ami
and I tried to kill him.

"Takes shape, becomes real," Dante reminded himself. "Ain't losing you. Ain't leaving you underneath the willow tree." But pain pierced his head, slid like an ice pick through his left eye.

Heather, curled up against Dante's opened and abandoned sleeping bag, sucked in a sharp breath as though she'd felt the ice pick's touch too.

Dante stared at her. Remembered the music pealing between them, untamed and ablaze, the moment her hand touched his shoulder. Remembered the sound of his name spilling from her lips.

Baptiste.

Remembered the white silence, pearlescent and pure, descending over them, cupping around them. Sealing them together.

"What the fuck did you do?" a voice, low and shaky, asked.

Annie stood at the opened back door, her eyes wide and ink-black, one hand still holding the door's edge. Dante realized she must've been standing there beside the open door ever since he'd awakened, pale moonlight pouring into the SUV and giving him more than enough light to see by.

Behind Annie, Dante could see a square building and parking lot lights glowing pink and orange. Rest area. The mingled odors of wet grass, dog shit, and oil-stained pavement wafted into the SUV along with night-chilled air.

"I don't know," Dante said, meeting Annie's stunned gaze.

"Grass and ... are those
tree branches
?"

"Yeah. Think so."

"Is my sister okay?"

Heather's heartbeat, fast and steady, pulsed at the back of Dante's aching mind. He felt the rhythm of her chest rising and falling, felt the warm edge of the soothing sleep she'd tucked herself into.

"Oui,"
he said, voice soft. "She's okay."

But for how much longer, Dante-angel?

Dante didn't have an answer, but knew it was a damned good question.

Lifting his wrist, Dante bit it, filling his mouth with blood. It tasted thick and earthy--pomegranates and vine-ripened grapes. Bending, he pressed his lips against Von's, parting them with his tongue.

I won't lose you.

Pain trip-hammered against Dante's temples and another kind of pain squeezed his heart. Heather moaned in her sleep.

Von sucked in a breath, then his fingers brushed against Dante's cheek, entangled in his hair. He kissed Dante back, deep and hungry. Refused to let him go.

No matter what, your heart's true.

Breaking the kiss, Dante raised his head. Joy fluttered through him, light as a moth, at the recognition glinting in the green depths of the nomad's eyes.

"I still believe that," Von said, pressing his hand against Dante's chest. "But that doesn't mean you don't scare the shit outta me, little brother."

"Mon ami,"
Dante whispered.
"Je re--"

Von clapped a hand over his mouth. "Nuh-uh. Don't wanna hear it. You wanna owe me, then owe me. No apologies. Not between us.
D'accord
?"