Maker's Song - In the Blood Part 23

Von snorted. "You tell him that."

"I will." Heather turned and started for the curtain. Fingers latched around her arm. She jerked, but the fingers still held.

She looked up into Von's serious face.

"Let him be," he said. "Now's not the time. You understand? Not now."

Heather paused, then nodded. "Okay. Not now." Von released her arm. She held his gaze. "But he needs help. He can't heal if he refuses to admit he's hurting. And I don't think he can heal alone."

Von nodded. "That's the f.u.c.king truth. What happened between you two, anyway? He's never said."

Heather hesitated, mingled regret and uncertainty p.r.i.c.king her heart. She drew a breath and said, "I saw him unmake a woman." Understanding flickered in Von's eyes. "He saved my life and I'll always love him for that alone, but...what do you know about True Blood?"

"Just a little," Von admitted. "I've only been nightkind for forty years and I ain't heard much because born vampires are f.u.c.king rare. I know they're supposed to be powerful and light-speed fast and br.i.m.m.i.n.g with magic. h.e.l.l, just take a look at Dante."

"Do the nomad clans know about vampires?"

"Oh, h.e.l.l yeah," Von said. "But the clans see True Bloods as night elementals; y'know, as Nature's voice, avatars of the night." He shook his head. "But since Dante's also Fallen, he's something else altogether." He hesitated for a moment like he was about to say something more, but he shook his head again instead.

Heather had known that the nomad clans were mostly pagan, holding to ancient nature rites and wors.h.i.+p, but she hadn't realized nightkind-vampires-were a part of the nomad belief system.

We're a part of the natural world.

"C'mon, let's get you and your lovely sister set up to enjoy the show."

"I'm looking forward to it." She glanced over her shoulder, and stiffened when she saw who Annie was talking to. Midnite Purple dyed hair gelled to maximum bedhead effect, his lean frame draped in black jeans, biker boots, a vintage TV ON THE RADIO tee, and looking no older than sixteen, Silver smiled a fanged smile and chatted with Annie.

Annie s.h.i.+fted her weight to the ball of her foot and pivoted one shapely and booted leg back and forth while her fingers plucked at the edges of her short crinoline skirts. Her gaze was bewitched and dazzled, her blue eyes gleaming with desire.

"What's he doing here?" Heather asked. She'd never gotten a good handle on the enigmatic vampire while in New Orleans, had bristled at his knowing smiles.

"Silver's under Dante's tutelage," Von said with a shrug. "An exchange student kinda thing among nightkind. Anyway, since Dante's responsible for him, he couldn't leave him in New Orleans."

"Ah, I see," Heather murmured. "Well, I don't want him messing with Annie."

A puzzled smile quirked at one corner of Von's mouth. "Funny. She looks old enough to make her own decisions, doll."

Ignoring Von's comment, Heather joined Annie and Silver, wedging her body between them. "This is my sister," Heather said to Silver, holding his gleaming silver gaze. His amused silver gaze. "Hands off. Got it?"

"b.u.t.t out," Annie said, her voice low and tight. "I'm twenty-f.u.c.king-six years old and more than capable of running my own life."

"Really? Since when?"

Silver opened his mouth to say something, then glanced in Von's direction and closed it again. Shrugging, he walked away.

Heather grabbed her sister's hand. Annie yanked free. "Quit treating me like a baby!" she yelled. Fire burned in her eyes.

"I'm bipolar, not r.e.t.a.r.ded!"

"I'm not treating you like a baby," Heather said, struggling to keep her voice level. "But I'd appreciate it if you'd quit acting like one. Silver's nightkind. I'm just looking out for you."

"Really? Is this another guy you're not dating, but want to keep for yourself?"

"No!"

"Oh. Okay. So only you can date nightkind? Is that it, Ms. I Have Everything?"

"Annie, no-"

"Well, y'know what? f.u.c.k you!" Annie whirled and dashed past the curtains.

"s.h.i.+t!" Calling her sister's name, Heather shoved the heavy curtains aside and ran across the stage after her. But Annie dove into the crowd pressed up against the rail. Arms pa.s.sed her to the back. Dropped her. Her multicolored head disappeared from view.

Heather jumped down from the stage, ducked under the rail, and pushed her way through the crowd. The house lights dimmed, and the crowd roared. Heather found her way blocked by burly male bodies reeking of sweat and beer. She bounced up on her toes and looked for any sign of Annie, but a swaying field of heads blocked her vision.

The crowd surged forward, jabbing and shoving Heather with elbows and hips, and the roar intensified. Knowing she couldn't get free at this point, not as Inferno hit the stage, Heather turned around and resigned herself to watching the show.

ALEX SHOVED AWAY FROM the bar, plastic cup of Rogue ale in hand, and joined a group of idlers at the back of the crowd. Colored spots lit up the stage as four figures took their places. Fog machines churned pale, incense-scented mist into the crowd. Alex downed a swallow of the frosty ale, then twisted earplugs into his ears.

Hard-edged industrial music, a p.i.s.sed-off wall of sound, slammed into the crowd, and Alex's heart pounded in time with the heavy ba.s.s throb. He fixed his gaze on Dante's lean, shadowed figure standing before a microphone at the front of the stage, his hands wrapped around the stand, his gleaming black guitar hanging at crotch-level.

Dante curled his hands around the microphone as he sang. His voice, low and simmering with rage, meshed with the music pounding through the club and up along Alex's spine.

"On my hands and knees," Dante sang, his voice a seething whisper. "For you. I'll crawl, on hands and knees, across shattered gla.s.s, over splintered hearts, nothing is left of us. Nothing remains. But to crawl. On hands and knees."

The music came to a sudden halt. But the crowd didn't stop hurling themselves against each other with bruising and skull- jarring abandon.

"Now that I've got y'all's attention," Dante said, "I've got something I wanna say to the nightkind in the audience."

Several people-male and female-shrieked "I love you, Dante!" A few laughed, thinking he was just doing a bond- with-the-audience spiel. Enthusiastic screams pierced the air.

Most had no idea that he truly was what their dark fantasies imagined: vampire.

And more.

"Everyone here came to enjoy a show, have a few drinks, and maybe get laid," Dante continued, his voice clear and strong, his rhythm Cajun-spiced. "If you're here for a different reason, if you want la pa.s.see, go hang out at a Smas.h.i.+ng Pumpkins revival show or some other lame-a.s.s gig and drink your fill. Touch anyone here without their consent and you'll f.u.c.king regret it."

A voice rang out from the crowd. "Is that a challenge?" More laughter followed.

A spotlight focused on Dante, lit him up with blue-gelled light. He slowly extended a middle finger. "Whattya think this means?" Then he lifted his head.

Alex's heart jackhammered against his ribs, a stunned and frantic tattoo. The sudden collective intake of breath that he felt, more than heard, told him that this preternatural beauty, this Medusa of heart-stopping loveliness, hadn't ensnared him alone. Lifting the plastic cup of ale to his lips, he drained it.

Light glimmered from the row of hoops in each ear, gleamed blue upon Dante's glossy black hair; slender coiled muscles; and that pale, breathtaking face-full lower lip, high cheekbones, kohl-rimmed eyes. He moved across the stage with natural and untamed grace.

"Crawl with me, on your hands and knees, for me," Dante growled, jerking the stand back up, rocking back, and pressing his lips close to the rounded microphone. "I'll kiss away your fears. If you crawl. With me. Fall with me. For me."

Every move of his tight-muscled body, every toss of his head, whispered s.e.x. Promised dark pleasure. Hinted at willing, pale flesh. His leather pants clung to his thighs and blue light sparked from the ring on the collar buckled around his throat.

Dante nestled the curve of his guitar against his thigh as his white hands flashed across the strings and frets, his attention riveted on the searing music pouring out from beneath his fingers. His body moved with the music, booted feet sliding, stomping, bracing.

Alex realized as he watched Dante, unable to slow his pounding heart, unable to tear his gaze away, that Dante was dangerous in ways he'd never antic.i.p.ated. Never would've believed possible.

Seductive. Irresistible.

"We'll go down together. I won't let you fall alone." Dante's low, smoky voice curled into Alex's heart and set it ablaze.

"We're both to blame. Crawl crawl crawl..."

Alex forced himself to turn around and fought his way through the heaving, mos.h.i.+ng, sweat-rank crowd, making his way outside. He leaned against the wall, sucking down fresh night-chilled air, Inferno's music vibrating into his muscles through the masonry. Alex pounded his fists against the stone until they bled, until the pain cleared his head.

Fury, blade-sharp and cold, cut into him. He straightened and pulled his Winstons and Zippo from his hoodie pocket. He shook a cigarette from the pack, jammed it between his lips, and sparked it up. As he smoked, a new plan mapped itself out, a way to conquer and control Dante after he'd seized him from Father and made the True Blood his own.

Alex would hurt Dante. Over and over. Long and deep and often. If Heather figured into that plan, so be it. And if hurting him in every way possible wasn't pain enough to keep Dante from spinning another sticky web of l.u.s.t to snare him in-and Athena? Would she be trapped the same way? Burning hot as a star?-then he'd tell Dante the truth.

Cram it down his throat. Every last bit of it.

And let him choke.

THE CROWD JUMPED AND slammed to the music, smashed into each other, sweat and fists flying as those behind tried to dislodge those up front from the rail. The crowd handed along a girl in a latex dress and little else, Heather noted, over the heads of the venue's security guards and to the stage.

Eyeliner-streaked face glowing, she darted for Dante, but he stepped out of reach, still singing. Since her slow speed marked her as mortal, the odds she would ever catch him were nil, Heather reflected, unless he wanted to get caught.

Heather wasn't sure how she'd feel if Dante allowed the girl to touch him, kiss him, feel him up. The tightness in her chest at the image that particular thought created told her: Not well, Wallace. Not well at all.

One of the venue's thick-muscled security guards, his bulky torso sausaged into a yellow VESPERS T-s.h.i.+rt, climbed onto the stage, scooped Latex Girl up and tossed her back into the crowd. The crowd roared, but whether in approval or anger, Heather couldn't tell.

Dante whirled, so fast his movement was a blur, a streak of motion. The mike rolled across the floor. Then the security guard flew into the air, mouth open, eyes wide. The crowd parted, and he hit the concrete floor. Hard.

The crowd roared again, louder than before, and this time Heather had no doubt they were cheering Dante's violent action.

Before Dante had stepped back from the edge of the stage, three other figures hurtled over the rail and the open-mouthed security guards, jumping onto the stage and whirling on Dante-nightkind fast.

The crowd yelled and screamed, unaware of what Heather had just realized: Dante's challenge had been accepted.

A female in a PVC tank and velvet mini, her hair pulled back into a glossy black and red ponytail, swung on Dante, her fists blurring beneath the blue spots.

Dante was already gone when Ponytail's fists cometed one-two through the air. She nearly overbalanced when her punches didn't connect and spun around, confusion on her pale face. Dante tapped her on the shoulder and she spun again, fists flying.

Dante ducked, straightening up right in front of her. He grabbed her by the shoulders, kissed her, then tossed her back into the crowd.

Stuck between a sweat-soaked burly guy in an INFERNO T-s.h.i.+rt and his equally burly and sweaty buddy, Heather watched, heart in her throat, hating the fact that, unless she was willing to pound on these two guys, watching was all she could do. She scanned the stage for Von.

Ponytail's companions-a male in jeans and an ancient Ramones tee, his hair a waxed and bristling Mohawk, and a devil- locked male in leather and latex-appeared behind Dante in twin streaks of motion. Mohawk's long-nailed fingers arced like knives for Dante's sides, while Devil Lock, fists clenched and lifted, swung around to face Dante.

But Dante was already going low and whirling, one hand holding his guitar steady. Heather caught only a glimpse of black hair and gleaming leather as he lunged, his movement so fast it was over by the time it registered in her mind.

Dante's left fist slammed into Mohawk, followed almost instantly by his right forearm into the guy's face. Blood spurted from his nose. Seizing the dazed vampire by the shoulders, Dante yanked him in close and kissed him too. Devil Lock pounded a fist into Dante's ribs as Dante tossed Mohawk into the crowd, the other fist blurring toward Dante's temple.

Dante ducked and spun, slas.h.i.+ng his fingers across Devil Lock's midsection. Blood sprayed into the air, glistening for a moment beneath the blue lights, a dark, jeweled mist. Devil Lock pressed his arm against his gut, his expression both pained and surprised. Dante reeled him in by the long strand of gel-slick hair hanging over his face, but before Dante could kiss him, Devil Lock jerked free and dove back into the crowd.

The crowd roared. Jumped. Pumped fists into the air.

Heather drew in a deep, relieved breath. She spotted the gleam of lambent eyes in the dark wings-Von, she hoped. She was worried about what would happen if ten or twenty more nightkind rushed the stage.

Dante licked blood from his lips, scooped up the mike, stalked to the edge of the stage, and screamed, "f.u.c.k you!" Then he stepped back and resumed singing while the other members of Inferno thrashed their instruments-flying dreads, light-starred piercings, sweat-gleaming skin-pouring energy and heart into the music.

"I'm coming for you!" Dante screamed, neck muscles taut, bending over, the mike stand between his legs. He lifted his head, tossed back his hair, and his gaze locked onto Heather.

For one moment, music, wild and wordless, pulsed between them like it had in her kitchen, and Heather's breath caught in her throat. Dante's song. Beautiful. Lonely. Forsaken. She pressed her hand to her heart, to the healed wound that now vibrated beneath her fingers.

Dante straightened. Sweat trickled down his face. Black tendrils of hair clung to his forehead. "Nothing can stop me. I have nothing left to lose. I'm coming for you!" He screamed the last word, a long, drawn-out sound of animal rage.

Heather pushed and elbowed her way through the mos.h.i.+ng, sweat-pungent crowd, fighting her way to the stage. Hearing the loss behind the rage in his voice, she struggled to keep her gaze on Dante's white face. She shouldered her way to the row behind the rail riders, knowing she wouldn't get any closer without drawing blood.

Dante knelt on the stage, holding his guitar against his side, his dark gaze on her face. Fingers and hands waved in the air, stretched toward Dante. Voices screamed.

"I dream of you, in the dark," he sang, voice strained. "Taste you. Smell you. Feel you burning inside me. I stand beneath your window and watch you sleep."

Dante touched several of the hands waving in the air, his own trembling. He rose effortlessly to his feet, swung his guitar around, and then stumbled. Heather tried to shove closer, but the tight press of bodies held her back.

Dante fell to his knees. The mike tumbled from his fingers and feedback squeal reverberated through the club. The other members of Inferno stopped playing with a hesitant strum of chords.

A tremor shook Dante's body. He keeled over to the floor, his limbs locked, back arching. Heather fought and pummeled her way to the edge of the crowd. She caught a glimpse of blurred movement-Von running in from the wings. He dropped to his knees beside Dante's convulsing body, unstrapped his guitar, and tossed it aside.

Ducking under the rail, Heather dashed up the short flight of stairs leading to the stage and ran across the wood floor. The spots had been dimmed, and voices buzzed and whispered and shouted out on the floor. The other members of Inferno semicircled around Dante and Von, blocking them from view in an effort at privacy. Eli looked up, then stepped forward as if to block her.

"Now's not good-"

As Heather tensed to duck and dodge, she heard Von's voice. "Let her through." She brushed past Eli as he stepped aside. She stopped beside Von, then knelt. The nomad held Dante's convulsing body, his face grim. Blood trickled from Dante's nose and across his foam-flecked lips, spattered the wood floor.

"What can I do to help?" she asked.

Without taking his gaze from Dante's pale face, Von said, "In the greenroom's a black zippered bag. Get it."

Jumping to her feet, Heather slipped between Jack and Antoine and pushed past the heavy curtains. She scanned the room, spotting the bag tucked into the side of the easy chair. Grabbing it, she raced back across the stage.

Her relief vanished when she saw that Dante was still convulsing. His booted feet pounded holes in the stage floor. His body arched and twisted and jerked with a speed and violence that left Heather's mouth dry.

She dropped to her knees beside Von. "Now what?" she asked.

"Get one of the hypes outta the bag and fill it to the brim with morphine," Von grunted, struggling to hold onto Dante. "In the vials," he clarified. Heather stared at him, heart pounding. "To the brim?"

"It won't do nothing but ease him into sleep," Von said, voice tight. "But do it now. This seizure's gonna f.u.c.k him up if it goes any longer. Gonna f.u.c.k me up too."