02 Awaken-The Soulkeepers (26 page)

Keeping his eyes locked with mine, Dante lies next to me, propped on his elbow. Then he slides the covers over my chest and arms, across my stomach, and past my bare legs. He takes up my right hand like it’s something to cherish, brings it to his mouth, and kisses my bruised knuckles. A jolt of electricity shoots up my arm, and I feel my heart straining beneath my T-shirt. He lays my hand high over my head and then reaches for the left one. Another jolt zings through my arm as he kisses that hand, too, and then places it on top of my right one. I feel as though my blood is rising to the surface. My pulse thumps violently at the base of my throat. I want to touch it, to calm it down, but
my arms feel pinned by a heavy, invisible weight.

Hair falls across Dante’s forehead as he leans over me. His eyes are pale like the Caribbean, and I have the urge to reach up and cup his face. I want to pull his mouth onto mine.

He gives me a tantalizing smile as though he knows. With his eyes hooked to mine, he reaches down and slides his hand beneath my shirt. I catch my breath. His touch is blazing across my skin, and I tremble with need.
I want the heat. I want his touch
. His eyes dance with amusement; he loves to see his effect on me.

Gently, he pushes my shirt up and then brushes his fingertips across my rib cage. The sensation is white-hot and tingling, creating goose bumps. I open my mouth to speak but can’t. He cocks an eyebrow and grins. Then he tears his eyes from mine and dips his head, gently kissing my bruised ribs. Soft kisses flutter across my skin, and I hold my breath.
Lightning
. His kisses feel like snippets of lightning stabbing me. It’s painful and pleasing at the same time, and my body arches up to meet his lips.

Dante growls and rips away his shirt. He slides an arm around me, into the small of my back, and holds my stomach against his scorching mouth. His kisses burn and devour a path across my skin. His naked chest is pressed against my side, searing me with his heat. I moan, aching for this. Everything inside me is craving to touch him, to feel his weight on me again. I wrestle my arms free of the invisible weight and lower them. I drive my fingers through his hair.
Yes! Please!
I rake my nails over his shoulders, trying to pull him up. I want to feel his mouth on mine again.
I need to feel him!
There is a familiar craving in me that only he can satisfy.

“Dante, please!” I beg, and then hear him groan.

He slides on top of me and buries his face in my neck. “Yes, Lovaria, yes.”

My eyes fly open and I stare at the ceiling. I’m panting and flushed. There is a weight on my chest, and I realize what’s happening. “Dante! Stop!” I push against him until he lifts his head. His hair is tousled and sexy, and his eyes are glowing green. For a moment, I think he’s just as shocked as I am.

Then he frowns and withdraws to lie next to me. He sits up on his elbow, his shoulder muscles flexing beneath the red lines my fingernails have left. He catches me staring, and I grow flustered.

“Who the hell is Lovaria?” I snap.

Dante sighs and closes his eyes because I am the annoying voice of reality. He takes a moment and then opens them. “You tell me,” he whispers. His voice is sad with longing, and my anger slowly dissipates. I hate to make Dante angry but I hate it worse to make him sad. Dante’s sadness goes so devastatingly deep, as though he carries all the
sorrow of the world within him.

“She was the one you loved? The one you lost?” I smile tentatively, hoping he will see that I have empathy for his loss. Although I’m not convinced that I’m the one he wants me to be, I’m not without compassion. I hate to see him suffer.

To my surprise, he laughs lightly. “It is a strange thing to hear you speak of yourself in the past tense,
cara
.” His eyes crinkle with delight, and then his face falls and becomes somber again. He snuggles closer and caresses my cheek with the back of his fingers. “But I know you are in there, somewhere. You have a very old soul … and it belongs to me. So many lives to sift through but when you return, all will be perfect again. In the meantime, I will continue to be patient.”

“You call this being patient?” I ask. He smiles and wiggles his eyebrows but I’m not being playful. I haven’t forgotten the night. I clear my throat and sharpen my voice like a blade. “Dante, I want you out. Now. I’ll never forgive what you did tonight.”

“Forgive
me
?” He sounds genuinely confused. “For what, now, may I ask?”

“For the death of Colin Firth.”

Ah, now he remembers.

“Poor choice of words, I should think. I did not kill nor cause the death of Mr. Firth. Remember, he was already dead.” He fakes a pout and runs the tip of his finger down my throat.

“But you set him up to be Taken. And that’s almost the same thing.”

“Actually, you should be thanking me.”

I scoff and push his hand away. His heat is distracting and I’m still mad. “How do you figure that?”

“Earlier tonight, Santiago and I came upon Degan, who had cornered a lost soul outside your high school. Apparently, Mr. Firth came to Haven Hurst in search of some mysterious girl who claimed she might be able to help him cross over.” He gives me a stern look like I’ve been caught telling fibs. “Being the soul seeker that he is, Degan had Firth dead to rights, so to speak. But I had the brilliant idea to give the old man a fighting chance. So I sent Degan and Santi to find you while I summoned Teriza.”

“So, you thought I could save Colin?”

He shrugged. “I thought you would want to try. Am I wrong? Did you not want to try to save him?”

The tables have turned. And here I thought Dante had been cruel and vindictive when all he wanted was to help me. Sure, he said he wanted to help me “out” of becoming a spirit walker, but at least he was giving Colin a fighting chance, sort of.

“Then why summon a reaper? Why not let me fight Degan for Colin’s soul? It
seems to me that soul seekers are far less skilled and lethal than reapers.”

“This is true. But Degan refused to fight you. Apparently, he is infatuated with you. You haven’t been leading on poor, unassuming soul seekers, now have you,
cara mia?
” He wraps an arm around my waist, pulling me closer. I scoff and roll my eyes.

“So you call in a skilled reaper and I get my ass kicked. That sounds completely fair.”

“I knew she would not hurt you.”

“How did you know?”

“Because I would not have allowed it.”

We fall silent and stare.

“But she did, Dante. She threw me around like a rag doll.”

“Well, you did strike her in the face, Sophia. Shocked the hell out of her, too.” He smiles affectionately, and I squint at him.

“I think you really enjoyed my debut beat down, didn’t you?”

“I don’t know what that means, but if you’re asking if I enjoyed seeing you get hurt, then no. I did not enjoy it at all.” He slides his hands over my rib cage while he stares at me. He’s making some point but I don’t—

I push him away and sit up. I touch my ribs and then my lip. There is no pain, no swelling. My knuckles have completely healed, too. I fall back against the headboard, shocked.

“You healed me,” I say, almost accusingly. “That’s why you came here tonight. To heal me.”

Dante rolls onto my legs, bracing his arms on either side of me. I’m pinned all over again, and he hugs me close, pressing his hot naked chest against my bare legs. This feels far too intimate but there is nothing I can do.

He pouts up at me. “Please do not break my fool heart and say you believed I would let you suffer.”

I won’t admit that he’s exactly right. He looks too happy, and I’m more curious than mad. “How did you do it? How did you heal me?”

“A perquisite of being a demon.” He grins and then bites his lip as he looks me over. He is a kid in a candy store, contemplating the right place to sink his teeth in. It’s moments like this that I have to remind myself of reality; that for all of Dante’s beauty and charm and smoldering sex appeal, he wants to end my life. He wants nothing more than to kill me, again, and Take me to Hell. Preferably without further interruptions.

How can he be so determined? How can he be so sure?

I want to demand answers but then I notice something on his forearm. I roll it
sideways and reveal an exquisite-looking dagger tattoo. It’s both ancient and futuristic, and I’m astounded that he would have something like this on his arm. Dante seems so traditional, so formal and proper. This is deviant art for sure. He catches me staring and then reveals his other arm.

“Two? Seriously? This is kinda badass for you, isn’t it?”

He looks at them with keen interest and then shrugs. “They serve a purpose.”

“What do you mean? They’re just tattoos.”

He doesn’t answer but grins and lays his head in my lap. He’s making himself right at home, seemingly satisfied just to be where he is.

My eyes trail over the long, sculpted muscles of his back and shoulders. Dante is truly stunning, a real work of art that is tempting to touch. But this artwork is damaged with a lifetime of scars.

“Oh, Dante,” I murmur, brushing my fingers over the whipping lines across his back; they have regenerated since I saw him last but have not completely vanished. They are long and twisted and some more than an inch wide. Smooth and hot, they pulsate beneath my fingertips, and I know they’re still tender. Such angry scars; such pain he endured for … me?

How can he put himself through so much suffering? How can he be so sure I’m the one? And how can I be so sure that he’s wrong when he’s willing to risk so much to find me?

I close my eyes. I’m on the verge of crying, of completely losing it. It’s been such an emotional night.

With great effort, I repeat my mantra word in a slow, meditating rhythm until I’ve calmed my emotions. After a moment, I open my eyes. They fall on the strange, green chain tattoo wrapped around his bicep. My fingers glide over the firm roundness of his shoulders and along the tattoo. Unlike the dagger tattoo, the chain hisses when I touch it, and I pull back in pain. It’s like touching a hot stove.

“Dante, what is this?” I whisper in frightened awe. He snuggles his head against my stomach and mumbles,

“Not for you to worry about.”

It’s bad. He would tell me if it wasn’t bad.
Another torture he was forced to endure because of me?

The likelihood is too much and I’m overwhelmed. Everything rushes to the surface again, and I cover my face and cry. My cheeks burn, like the rest of my body. Dante lifts his head and then sits up next to me. I feel a draft of coldness as he takes his heat with him. I shiver, so he pulls the blankets over me.

“Hush,
cara mia
. I cannot bear it. You are breaking my heart.” He gathers me against him, cradling my head into his neck. He strokes my hair while I sniffle.

“I’m forever breaking you heart, aren’t I?” I murmur.

He considers for a moment. “No. There was a time when we were happy as children. Our love was as powerful as the sun, and you loved me beyond all things. You believe me?”

I lift my head and look into his eyes; they are soft with nostalgia. “You said I had an old soul. That it’s been through many lives. If that’s true, have you considered that the life you’re trying to bring back won’t come? It had its time, and the life I’m living now has a greater purpose than the one you’re looking for?”

“No,” he answers bluntly. “There is no greater purpose than our love. It is not complicated, Sophia. I still have the memories, and I know for sure. If you had them, too, this would not be a discussion.”

“My mom told me I come from a long line of spiritual warriors. In this lifetime, I’m meant to be one again.”

Dante is shaking his head. “Let me bring up your memories of our past life and then you may choose which life you want.”

“You make it sound so easy.”

“If it was easy, we would not be debating this.” He smiles ruefully. “But you are very stubborn in this life; you have been fighting me.”

“And what if I don’t fight you anymore? The memories would come easily?”

His face becomes still; he thinks I’m considering it.

“Yes, I believe so,” he says eagerly. I realize his body temperature rises dramatically when he is emotional. With the idea of freely resurrecting my memories, he is practically a furnace. “Are you willing to try? Are you willing to stop fighting me?”

I bite my lips together and gaze around the room, stalling for time while I work out the scheme that’s unfolding in my mind. Dante needs something from me, and apparently I need something from him.

Well, here goes nothing
.

“Dante, what do you know about quid pro quo?”

Rama is pacing the length of my bedroom while I sit on the bed and watch. I have explained the situation: the loss of Colin Firth’s soul, my complete humiliation at failing, the plan to sneak into La Croix to get the book and use a spell to make me a twin. He’s distraught, but I’ve been arguing my point like an attorney. It’s necessary to save the lives of my flailing academic and spiritual careers. He’s been grumbling reservations.

“Should stay in the ankle snappers where it’s safe,
wahine
, not dump into a wind chop. Too dangerous. Giving me chicken skin just thinking about it.” He shudders and rubs his arms.

“I have to do it. It’s the only way. You see that I need help, right?”

“I see a brave
ha’ole
with too many distractions, cha.”

“Then you’ll help? When we get the book, you’ll help cast the spell?”

“
If
you get the book,” he points out.

Yeah, okay, there’s a snag. It seems La Croix is so secretive that no one knows where it is. I asked Dante to help find it
and
get us inside. I omitted the part about making me a double, knowing Dante would never agree to helping me become a spirit walker. He thinks I need a spell book to tap into my former lives, meaning former memories. That way I can decide for myself what life I will choose. Dante agreed to search for La Croix but refused to succumb to the contemporary trappings of a materialistic society and buy a stupid cell phone. He’ll make Santiago give one of his phones to Vaughn. I gave out Bailey’s number, and we’ve been waiting on pins and needles to hear from Vaughn ever since.