Playing With Fire (2 page)

“Dante, I—”

“Is that my name?”

The memory loss seemed more severe than it had been in the past. “Y-yes. That's what you told me to call you.” But was it really his name? She wasn't sure. He'd never confessed too much about his life—at least, not his life before he'd come to be a prisoner.

“How did I get in that alley?”

She pushed away from the table. Her knees were trembling so she locked them as she faced him. “I don't know. The last time I saw you, you were down in New Orleans.”

A faint furrow appeared between his brows. He appeared to be a man in his prime, maybe close to thirty-four or thirty-five, but the truth was that Dante was much, much older.

There was a reason he'd been called the Immortal at the facility.

“New Orleans?” He yanked a hand through his hair. “What was I doing down there?”

That was an easy answer. “Saving my life.”

His hand fell. Suspicion was on his face as he asked, “Are you sure I wasn't trying to kill you?”

Actually, no, she wasn't. But she was still breathing, and if he had truly wanted her dead, she'd be ash.

His enemies had a way of ending up as ash drifting in the wind.

“What happened to me in the alley?”

Okay, if she was going to get his trust, she was obviously going to have to share with him. “I think you died.”

He laughed. The sound was bitter and hard, just like the laughter she'd heard from him a dozen times. She'd tried for years to get a real laugh from him. That hadn't happened.

“If I died,” he asked, “then how am I breathing now?”

That was the tricky-to-explain part. “Look, Dante—”

Shouts erupted from the other room. High-pitched, desperate screams that were immediately followed by the rat-a-tat of gunfire.

They found me.
Cassie's heartbeat froze in her chest then she was the one leaping forward and grabbing Dante's hand. “We have to go.
Now
.”

She yanked him, hoping he'd follow with her.

He didn't move. Not even an inch. “I don't run from anyone.”

Well, yes, that was true. He didn't.

She did. When you weren't a paranormal powerhouse, you learned to flee pretty quickly.

More screams. More blasts from guns. “If they catch me,” Cassie said, voice soft, “they won't let me get away.”

His gaze held hers.

“If they catch
you,
they're going to toss you back in a cage, and you won't see daylight again anytime soon.” Her heartbeat seemed to thunder as loud as the gunshots. He had to believe her. “They'll keep you in that cage, and they'll torture you again and again.”

“How do you know this?”

She licked her dry lips. “Because that's what they did to you before.”

His jaw hardened. “Then I think it's time I faced these bastards.”

Wait—what? Hadn't she been trying to sell the guy on running?

He pulled from her and rushed toward the broken door, heading right toward the sound of gunshots and screams.

As she watched him run away, her heart iced. She'd followed Dante to Chicago because she'd needed him. She'd hunted for him, searching desperately . . . and she'd led his enemies right to his side.

Dante, I'm sorry.

But he wouldn't believe that apology. He never did.

 

Men wearing black ski masks had rushed inside of Taboo. The drumming music had died away, and only the screams of those still trapped in the club remained.

Most of the patrons had run away. Those wounded on the floor appeared to be mostly vampires. It seemed they were fine with walking amongst the humans these days. There were shifters, too.

Dante hadn't felt even mild surprise when he'd seen a man shift into the form of a fox just the night before. Maybe it was because his memories were gone that he felt no surprise. It seemed that vampires and shifters were a normal part of the world.

Or at least, they felt normal to him.

“You there!” A male's voice called out. “Stop!”

A big, black gun was pointing at his chest.

Dante. She'd said my name was Dante.
The name had felt right in his mind. Just as the sexy brunette had felt right in his hands.

“Are you a human?” the voice snapped out from behind a mask. “Or a Para?”

He'd learned yesterday that
Para
was the slang for a paranormal being. He didn't quite know what he was, so he just stared back at the man, not particularly feeling the urge to answer him.

“What are you?” the man demanded as he came closer.

“I'm someone you don't want to piss off,” Dante said. A fair warning.

“That's him,” another masked man said, his voice breaking with excitement. “The one from the video feed. He's the one who torched that den of vampires in the alley!”

Dante stiffened.

“Holy hell,” said the fool who still had his gun pointed at Dante. “It looks like we've got big game today.”

“No,” Dante said very definitely. “You don't.” He let his gaze sweep the club. Men and women were cowering under the upturned tables . . . but Paras were supposed to be stronger than that.

No one makes me cower.
The knowledge was there, pushing inside him. He feared no one and nothing.

I make others fear.

“Get out of here now,” Dante told the men. “While you still have a chance at life.” He counted a dozen men in the black clothing, complete with heavy, thick vests that covered their chests. They were all armed to the teeth. He didn't care about their weapons. He'd learned that he had a weapon of his own. One that always seemed to be at the ready.

He lifted his hands.

And he let the fire burn through him. The power started as a warm pool within him, then it heated, going molten, and seeming to spread through his veins. Soon the fire was bursting from his fingertips, rising right over his hands, swirling in a thick ball. Red, gold, and orange, those flames flared higher and brighter.

The men swore and jumped back. But they didn't flee. Fools. They lifted their weapons. Aimed at him.

He would incinerate them.

He would—

“No!”

It was her scream. His head whipped to the right, and Dante saw the woman with the thick, dark hair running toward him. Her face was paler than it had been before. Her green eyes seemed huge, her red lips were trembling and—

“Dante, get out of here! They'll drug you!”

The men fired their weapons. Except they didn't aim at him.

A bullet blasted and slammed into Cassie's shoulder. Her eyes widened as she stumbled back. But she didn't go down. “Run!” she yelled at him. “Get out of here!”

He wasn't running anywhere.

They'd shot her.

The fire raged hotter and fury had him snarling—and letting that fire go.

They'd shot her.

The flames flew from him and the fire raced right for the gunmen. They screamed—
yes, now it's your turn to scream—
and dropped their weapons.

Falling to the floor, the men rolled over and over as they tried to put out the flames that licked greedily along their clothing.

“Dante . . .” A whisper. Her whisper.

The woman who'd haunted him. Obsessed him.

Enraged him.

She was on her knees, struggling to get to him, and he . . . found himself running to her side.

“I-it's a drug,” she whispered. “They were . . . trying to take us in . . . alive . . .”

The men weren't taking anyone in. They were running
out,
dragging their wounded with them. The other paranormals were rushing for safety, too.

“Go,” Cassie told him. “Before they're back with . . . reinforcements.” Her eyelids were sagging closed. The drug she'd spoken of was knocking her out. “Go,” she whispered again.

What was he to do with her? Leave her there? She'd just said the men would come back with reinforcements. When they returned, they'd take her.

No. No one takes her from me.

The thought made him tense. It was—though he did not know why—the first thought he'd had when he'd looked up and seen her coming toward him in Taboo.

No one takes her from me.

He scooped her into his arms. Rose with her held tightly against his chest. He worried—too late—that the heat from his hands might burn her.

But there were no burn marks on her delicate skin.

Her head fell back against his shoulder, but her eyelashes were still flickering, and Dante knew that she was fighting to stay awake.

“What will they do if they take you?” he asked her.

“C-cage . . .”

An image flashed in his mind. Thick, metal bars. A flickering fluorescent light. A dirty, stone floor.

He could taste ash rising on his tongue. He didn't want to taste the ash. He wanted to taste her again. Sweet, light . . .

Temptation.

“You're not going in a cage,” he promised.

His arms tightened around her. This woman . . . he'd thought she was a phantom from his mind, someone else to torment him. Not real. Then he'd looked up and seen her. She'd come to him.

Flesh and blood.

Real
.

He strode from the wreckage of Taboo, hurrying into the night. Sirens wailed. Voices cried out.

He ran faster. Held her even tighter.

Cassie Armstrong was the key to his life. The key to finding out just who—what—he was.

And he had no plans to let her go.

No one takes her from me.

 

Lieutenant Colonel Jon Abrams marched into the wreckage of the paranormal club. Tables were overturned. Chairs smashed. The doorway still smoldered from the flames that had been unleashed on his men.

“You had him here?” Jon demanded, turning to the men who stood behind him. Burned, beaten, those men were so useless to him. “You had him, and you let the bastard just walk away?” What part of
priority containment
had they missed?

“He shot fire at us!” Kevin Lysand said, straightening his shoulders. “No one said the Paras could—”

“He's a phoenix. What did you think he was going to do, just stand there and let you drug him?” Jon spun away from the men, the fury nearly choking him. After all those months. To be so close . . . and have those idiots let his prey escape.

“I . . . it was the woman.” Kevin's voice was softer.

Jon glanced over his shoulder. “What woman?”

Kevin's Adam's apple bobbed. “Th-the one from Genesis. Cassandra—”

Jon lunged and grabbed the guy's shoulders. He lifted him up, forcing Kevin to look him straight in the eyes. “Are you telling me that Cassandra Armstrong was actually here, in Taboo?” He'd been ripping the country apart looking for her.

A grim nod. “That's when the big guy attacked. When we shot at her.”

They'd shot at her, but she wasn't there. Hell,
no one
was there anymore. Those who hadn't ran out before the infiltration had crawled out when his men had retreated.

“He went wild when we shot at her,” Kevin told him with a quick nod.

Jon forced himself to release the other man. “Did he take her out?”

Kevin didn't speak.

Because he didn't know?

Fucking incompetence.
Jon heaved out a sigh. “You didn't see them leave, did you?”

Kevin wet his lips. “I was on fire then, sir.”

Like a little fire should have stopped him.

Jon whirled away. “Tell me that you had a tracker in that tranq you fired into Cassandra.” A new little invention, one that Uncle Sam was rather proud of—a drug and tracking combination bullet all in one. Some paranormals could flee even after the drug hit them. They had the strength to run, for a time.

But sooner or later, the drug got to them.

And when it did, the tracker came into play. It would light up in their system and lead Jon and his men right back to their prey.

Easy.

“Tell me,” he demanded without looking back. If the dumb bastard hadn't done his job and gotten a track on Cassandra, Jon might just shoot the fool himself.

“There was a track in there,” Kevin said, his tone growing more confident. “She won't be getting away from us.”

Hell, yes.
But Jon didn't smile, not yet. The tip that he'd received about the phoenix—and Cassandra—had been right. He'd have to be sure and reward his informant. First, though . . . “Burn this place to the ground.”

Taboo was far enough away from the hub of the city that most folks wouldn't have heard or seen the attack. Just in case, he was used to covering his tracks.

The paranormals might be out in the world, trying to blend with humans, but they were also still hunted. Still targets, especially the walking, talking nightmares that stalked the earth.

Nightmares like the phoenix.

Some beings were too dangerous to live.

Some needed to be stopped, by any means necessary.

In this instance, the means was one Cassandra Armstrong. A weapon had never looked so innocent.

“Burn it.” The fire could always be blamed on the phoenix. “Then get me the track on Cassandra.”

She'd led him on a chase for months, but he'd have her soon. She wasn't getting out of the program. She was too vital.

Too useful as a weapon.

He began to whistle as he walked out of the club.

Kevin and his men were pouring out alcohol and smashing the bottles, soaking the scene for one fine blaze. They wouldn't make a fire that burned as hot as a phoenix's flames, but they'd come close enough.

Close. Enough.

Jon kept whistling.
I'm coming for you, Cassandra.
She'd run from him, but their little cat and mouse game was almost at an end.