Etched in Bone (33 page)

“Almost completely. His being fathered by one of the Fallen is beyond question. My daughter, Caterina, has proof of that. She also witnessed him turning Fallen emissaries seeking to guide him to Gehenna to stone.”

“To stone . . .” Comprehension glinted in Fionn’s eyes. “You suspect Mauvais has one of the transformed Fallen in his possession.”

Renata shrugged. “
È una possibilità
.”

Fionn scrubbed a hand over his face, his gaze shifting away into the distance. “If this is true, that a True Blood/Fallen
creawdwr
exists, and he has rejected the Fallen, then we need to claim him before the
Conseil du Sang
learns the truth.”

“
Sì
, the
Conseil
will have no regard for the
creawdwr
’s spiritual well-being,” Renata said. “They know nothing of gods and will try to manipulate Dante into serving base causes. He is
ours
.”

“Aye,” Fionn murmured, looking at her again. “That he is.”

“And that’s where you come into this,
mio amico
,” Renata said. “I want you to bond Dante Baptiste. You have even more centuries than I do. I can’t think of a better teacher to guide him.”

But what she left unvoiced was her prime reason—Fionn would obey her.

Fionn blinked. He scrubbed a hand over his face again, whiskers rasping against his palm. “Why me, my lady? Why not you, yourself?”

“I have too many other responsibilities,” Renata replied. “All of which I would most likely need to give up if I bonded Dante. I have a feeling he would be a full-time job.”

Fionn laughed, the sound low and warm and very amused. “A polite way of saying I have time on my hands?” When Renata opened her mouth to protest, he held up a hand and shook his head. “I
have
been bored of late. When do you want me to go to New Orleans?”

“Soon. I have a task for Giovanni first—I want him to find and kill Guy Mauvais, then offer his head as a gift to Dante, our
creawdwr
, as a token of our devotion. I want you there with Giovanni when he makes the presentation.”

“Do you have any images of the True Blood you can share?”

“
Sì
, let me contact Stefan.”

Renata sent to
her llygad
and asked him to transmit the most current image he possessed of Dante to her and Fionn.

She felt a touch against her mind, a spiderweb’s delicate tickle, as the
llygad
pushed for her—and Fionn—to open. Renata inhaled deeply, then closed her eyes and relaxed her shields.

<
Dante Baptiste, as seen outside of his Club Hell just prior to dawn on March 28th,
> Stefan sent.

An image poured into Renata’s mind in detail so vivid it was as if she were viewing it in real time and through her own eyes.

Even though she’d studied the pictures of Dante that Caterina had emailed her and was acquainted with his lust-stirring looks, her breath still caught in her throat as though she were seeing him for the first time—a sudden intake of air she heard echoed from Fionn’s throat.

But as Renata looked past Dante’s dangerous and moonlit beauty, she noticed the tight set of his jaw, the smear of dried blood beneath his nose, the blue smudges beneath his kohled eyes, the dilated pupils like pools of ink.

He’s in pain
. Or had been, anyway.

Shirtless, his white skin practically glowed in the waning night, pale moonlight pulsing through his veins. A ringed collar was buckled around his throat and snug, low-slung leather pants were belted over his hips. Smears of dried blood streaked his shoulders and down along his sides, blood that seemed to radiate out from his back.

Has the child been fighting? Feasting? Perhaps both.

But it was the scar on Dante’s chiseled chest that throttled Renata’s heart into high gear. A looping glyph in angelic script. Either Caterina had never seen it or it was new.

The heart-stopping image of Dante shimmered as though underwater, then vanished as the
llygad
withdrew it from their minds. Renata opened her eyes.

“A dangerous beauty,” Fionn breathed. “But that looked like a Fallen sigil on his chest.”

“I agree. Perhaps it was placed there by his father,” Renata said, hoping it was true. If he’d been marked by the Elohim . . .

<
Another event occurred in New Orleans last night,
> Stefan sent. <
One of the cities of the dead was shattered in an explosion of unknown origin.
>

Renata felt a another gentle touch from the
llygad
’s mind. Im
ages streamed in.

The strobing lights of rumbling fire engines, police cars, ambulances, and a squat bomb squad van chip away at the night with red, blue, and white spikes of color.

Shards of broken glass in the street. Dented vehicles, cars slanted across the road as though kicked aside.

The cemetery walls, shattered and ruined, have collapsed; tombs, crypts, and statues have been cut in half, their contents spilling onto the ruptured stone paths; the sliced-off tops of cypress and oaks bury chunks of broken stone and masonry, the edges of their leaves curled up and blackened.

Rescue personnel and first responders search the cemetery, their voice perplexed at what they
don’t
find. A cause for the explosion. Or a reason why the first responders simultaneously fainted an hour earlier.

The thunderstorm scent of ozone lingers in the air.

<
That is all.
> The flood of images and sensory input wavered, then vanished as Stefan withdrew from their minds once more.

Renata opened her eyes to find Fionn staring at her. She wondered if her expression looked as troubled as his.

“I don’t care for the looks of that,” he said. “Could it be the work of the
creawdwr
? Perhaps in a fight against the Fallen?”

Renata shrugged. “Troubling things are always occurring in New Orleans,
sì
? Why be bothered by this one? It may have nothing to do with Dante Baptiste.”

But despite her words, Renata couldn’t help but think that the mysterious explosion
was
tied to Dante Baptiste. But how and why eluded her.

A sudden thought, a horrible possibility, raised its head as Caterina’s words returned to her.

He’s been damaged, Mama. Monsters seized him the moment he was born and hid him among even more twisted monsters who fed upon his beauty and tried to shatter his spirit.

And did the monsters succeed?

No, I think they failed . . .

But what if Caterina was wrong and the monsters
had
succeeded in shattering his spirit, his mind? And Dante Baptiste, first True Blood Fallen
creawdwr
in history, was insane?

Gently shooing the cat from his lap, Fionn rose to his feet and inclined his head at the blood gift. With a smile she didn’t feel, Renata nodded in agreement.

As they feasted together on the young mortal from Naples, his blood pouring hot and well-flavored down their throats, Renata mulled over the relevance of the ruined city of the dead in New Orleans and pondered the possible destruction of the world and all it contained. Opium-birthed visions rippled through her mind.

The night burns, the sky on fire from horizon to horizon.

The Great Destroyer looks up and gold light stars out from his kohl-rimmed eyes.

Sitting back on her heels, Renata studied the runic patterns created on the mortal’s cooling skin in trails and smears and spatters of his own blood. But no matter how long she looked at them, their shape and revelation remained the same—revealing only swords and cracked towers, death and destruction and utter transformation.

Renata felt her heart turn to ice.

31
NO OTHER CHOICE

N
EW
O
RLEANS
,
C
LUB
H
ELL
March 28

“G
O AWAY
, T
EE
-T
EE
,” T
REY
said when Dante walked into the bedroom. “
Quitte moi tranquille
. Just let me fucking be.” He rolled over onto his side, his dreads slithering across the bed.

Dante caught the bitter alkaloid odor of hunger undercutting the web-runner’s natural Spanish moss-and-still-water scent. Trey’s body wanted to feed, but he was ignoring it, willing himself straight into death’s ravenous heart instead.

Not if I can help it. Ain’t losing him too.

“I think you’re gonna want to hear what I got to say,
cher
,” Dante said, sitting down on the quilted comforter beside him. “Those motherfuckers who torched the house? I got word that they’re rendezvousing with Mauvais tonight at Lake Pontchar-train.”

Even though he wasn’t moving, Trey’s body seemed to freeze, every fiber of his being listening. “Word from who?”

“Vincent, and he sends his condolences.”

Trey flopped over onto his back. He stared at the ceiling, his eyes a lambent gleam in the darkness. “If he’s still an ally of that
fi’ de garce
Mauvais, he can keep his goddamned condolences. Was he telling the truth? About the rendezvous?”

“Ain’t sure, but I think it can’t hurt to check it out. We’ll be careful. Watch our asses. But if it’s true . . .” Dante lifted his arm and bit into his wrist. Blood welled up, dark and fragrant, on his white skin. “Then you’re gonna need strength.”

Trey’s nostrils flared at the blood’s rich grape-and-pomegranate scent. But he kept his gaze fixed on the ceiling. “You gotta make me a promise first, Tee-Tee.”

A cold certainty crackled through Dante like winter frost. He shook his head. “No. You can’t ask that of me.”

“Then get the fuck outta here.”

“You want me gone?
Fais-moi
, you. Get the
fuck
up off that bed and
make
me. C’mon, toss my goddamned ass out the fucking door. Kick it all the way down the stairs.”

Trey bolted up on his elbows, fury blazing in his eyes. “
Va t’cacher,
Dante!
Fout moi la prix!
”

“Simone would want you to feed. She’d want you to fucking fight.”

“Don’t you tell me what Simone would want! She doesn’t want
anything
anymore. She’s dead! Nothing but ash!”

Fire scorches her lungs. Blackens her skin. Devours her with relentless teeth.

Throat tight, Dante forced the image and the pain it carried down below. He could only imagine the images Simone’s death had seared into her brother’s psyche. He leaned over Trey, held his furious gaze.

“Her body’s ash, yeah, but Simone ain’t. I fucking refuse to believe that. She’s here.” He touched his left hand to Trey’s T-shirt-covered chest, felt the slow pulse of his heart beneath his fingertips. The fading body heat. “And here,” he added, lifting his right hand and brushing the backs of his fingers against Trey’s temple. “
Toujours
.”

Trey sucked in a ragged breath. A muscle spasmed in his jaw. He closed his eyes. “I don’t feel her,” he said, his voice rough. “But I still hear her screams.”

“Aw, fuck,
cher
.” Dante straddled him and wrapped him up in a tight hug. Buried his face in the thick coils of Trey’s dreads. Smelled bitter hunger and raw grief. Felt Trey slipping away from him even as his cold body rested within his arms.

“Von told me once that what you say from the heart has power to reach the ears of the dead,” Dante whispered, his lips beside Trey’s ear. “Told me that a spoken thing or a wished-hard thing takes a shape within the heart. Takes shape and becomes real.”

Trey’s muscles trembled. “But it won’t bring her back.”

“No, it won’t. But you can shape her within your heart,
mon ami
. Bring her back from pain and ash. Give her a place to dwell.”

Trey laced his arms around Dante, hugging him back, then he cupped Dante’s face between cold hands and looked into his eyes, his own as reflective as black ice. His pale face was composed of sharp planes and angles, all grief and hunger.

“I’ll feed, Tee-Tee. I’ll regain my strength. Then I’m gonna feast on the heart of Mauvais’s
fille de sang
before I feast on his. I’m only asking one thing of you.”

A muscle flexed in Dante’s jaw. He nodded. “Ask,
cher
.”

“If I decide to stop living, if I decide to take what’s left of Simone in my heart with me, then I’m asking you to let us go.”

Dante drew in a tight, painful breath. “Trey . . .”

“I’m asking, Tee-Tee.”

“Fuck you. No.”

“Fuck you back,” Trey said, voice coiled. “You’re asking me to live. You’re asking me to avenge my sister. Well, all right, you, but those are my terms.”

Dante grabbed hold of the words
if I decide
. He searched Trey’s eyes, searched for something beyond his icicle gaze, but only found more ice glittering in the depths.

“
If
, yeah?” Dante said. “
If
you decide.”

“
Oui
. If.”

Not knowing what other choice he had, Dante nodded. “Fuck. All right. Agreed.” He’d just have to make damned sure he gave Trey plenty of reasons to keep living even after they’d put an end to motherfucking Mauvais.

Dante bit into his wrist again, the first bite having closed already. Blood pooled in the fang punctures. Without urging, Trey’s cold fingers latched around Dante’s arm. Hunger had expanded his pupils until they’d swallowed the icy color of his eyes. He fastened his mouth on Dante’s wrist. And fed.

32
LIKE WHITE-HOT STARS

N
EW
O
RLEANS
,
C
LUB
H
ELL
March 28