He knew that he had.
Would you cry for me, Dante?
It would have been easy to lie and say yes, but he didn’t want to lie to her. She deserved his honesty.
He hadn’t cried for anyone in hundreds of years. He’d cried after his brother was gone, but . . .
That hadn’t done much good.
“Let’s go around to the back,” Cassie said, her voice low.
They slid through the shadows, easing up the back porch. Cassie crept toward the door and rapped lightly against its surface.
Dante inhaled, pulling all of the scents into his lungs. Wolf. Werewolves often had that slightly woodsy odor.
“Your werewolf... was here.” Is he still?
Dante pulled in more scents. “Ash . . .”
“Cain?” she whispered, glancing at him from the corner of her eyes.
Dante wasn’t sure.
The door creaked open. A man stood there. His hair was gray on the sides and deep lines were etched across his forehead. “They said you’d be comin’, Cass,” he whispered and opened the door. His eyes narrowed when he caught sight of Dante. “Who’s this?”
“A friend,” Cassie quickly told him. “Dante’s a friend of mine.”
Dante frowned at her. He was a whole lot more than just a friend.
The man’s gaze assessed him. “You vouching for him?”
“Yes.”
After a small hesitation, the guy waved them inside.
Dante crossed the threshold.
Cassie followed the man through the kitchen and down the hallway.
The scent of ash and that wild, woodsy scent grew stronger. He’d thought the werewolf was close but—
Is that Trace?
The scent actually seemed to be blending with the ash as they were nearing the living room.
Cassie reached out, as if unable to help herself, and caught the man’s arm. “Keith, I’m so sorry . . .”
Dante heard the restrained emotion in her voice. The whisper of pain and sorrow. “But there’s something I have to tell you. It’s Vaughn . . .”
Keith’s face hardened.
“He’s dead.”
Dante thought the man would break down, but Keith shook his head. “No, he’s not.”
“He is,” Cassie said, the words soft but certain. “I saw him. He was staked and—”
“He’s still alive, and that’s why”—Keith lunged toward Cassie and shoved a needle into her neck—“I have to do this.”
Dante roared. He grabbed Cassie, snatching her from the man’s hold even as he threw the human back. Keith’s body slammed into the wall with a thud.
“Cassie?”
Her breath heaved out. Her lashes began to fall.
“I had to!” Keith shouted as he rose. “He has my son!”
Carefully, so carefully, Dante put Cassie on the floor. Then he looked up at Keith Adams. “You’re a dead man.”
A door opened behind him. The scent of ash and woods—that damn scent—was stronger.
“No, Dante, he’s not dead.”
Dante knew that voice and spun around.
Jon Abrams was staring at him. The man’s body was covered with burns.
“You are,” Jon said. He raised his hand and fired the gun he gripped in his fist. The bullet tore right into Dante’s chest.
He fell back, ramming into the floor, his body landing just inches from Cassie’s. As death claimed him, she was the last sight he had.
Cassie . . . so still. So pale.
Would you cry for me, Dante?
“I’m sorry.” Keith’s broken voice.
No, the bastard wasn’t sorry, but he would be. Dante would make sure of it.
The rest of Jon’s team slowly swarmed the house. They’d stayed back because Jon had worried that the human might slip up and give away his plan.
Humans could be such screw-ups.
Dante lay sprawled in the hallway, blood pooling beneath him.
Keith crouched over Dante, with his hands drenched in the phoenix’s blood. Was the fool actually trying to save him? It sure looked like he was attempting to stop the blood flow.
Humans. Screw-ups. Jon was so glad he wasn’t one of them any longer.
I’m so much better.
“You never said you were killing him!” Keith yelled as he looked up at Jon. “You said you were taking them into custody! That you wanted them alive!”
“Relax.” Jon motioned to two guards. They needed to get Cassie out of there before Dante started to burn. “It’s not like he’ll stay dead.”
Keith jerked his hands away from Dante. “Vampire?”
“Guess again.” Jon winced when the burns on his shoulder brushed against the wall. He hadn’t summoned any more fire in the last six hours because when he conjured the fire, it hurt.
As much as he would like to kill Dante when the phoenix started to rise, he couldn’t.
I need him.
Jon knew that his body wasn’t holding the phoenix transformation. His cells weren’t strong enough. Not yet. A few more dosages of the serum, and maybe those cells would be strong enough.
I need his tears.
As Jon’s men carried Cassie out of the house, he knew that he had the perfect means of getting those precious tears.
“We have to transport him ASAP,” Jon ordered the guards in the fireproof suits who had just arrived.
How long would those suits last once Dante’s fire lit? They sure hadn’t lasted long before.
“If he rises during transport, put a knife to Cassie’s throat. That’ll keep him calm.” Jon winced. His burns hurt. “When he’s calm, kill him. Just keep killing him until we get back to the lab.”
The lab he’d taken over as soon as he got to New Orleans. Genesis had tentacles everywhere, and the closed-down lab a few miles away from the Tulane campus had been easy enough to acquire. It had all the equipment that he needed.
And he had the phoenix that he needed, too.
All nice and neat.
Time for the tears. Jon wasn’t going to lose his power. He wouldn’t go from being a god to being a rotting husk of flesh. He’d do anything necessary, but the phoenix would cry.
It was all a matter of motivation.
You’ll feel plenty motivated when Cassie screams for you.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
When Cassie opened her eyes, she was in—a truck? Some big, jostling vehicle, it almost looked like a moving van, and a man with a knife was sitting beside her, pretty much holding her upright.
She smelled smoke.
Her gaze flew to the left. Dante. He was lying on his back, and there was smoke rising from him. Men in those familiar white, flame retardant suits were all around him.