Too silent, he realized as he glanced toward the delicate profile that was tinted silver by the moonlight
Although Abby was always careful to keep others at a distance, it was unlike her to withdraw so completely. If nothing else, she should be complaining of their futile search for some hint of the witches. Or chastising him for possessing lethal ex-lovers. Or at least telling him how he should be driving.
Instead she slouched in her seat, drinking her herbs and…
Dante's frown abruptly deepened. Was she humming?
Devil's blood. There was something definitely wrong with the woman.
Slowing the car, Dante carefully cleared his throat. "Abby?"
"Mmmm?"
"Are you okay?"
"I was just thinking."
Well, that didn't seem so awfully bad. At least she hadn't tumbled into some catatonic state.
"What were you thinking?"
"Do all vampires have Porsches?"
He shot her a swift glance of puzzlement. That was what she had been brooding on? The preferred form of transport for vampires?
"Of course not," he said slowly. "I know several vampires who prefer Jags and even one who wouldn't be caught dead in anything but a Lamborghini. Pun intended."
"Ah." She wagged her finger in his general direction. "I knew there was something suspicious going on. I just supposed that the very rich had sold their souls to the devil. Instead they are all demons."
'Yes, it's all a vast conspiracy."
She actually giggled. Giggled. Then, taking another deep drink, she turned her head on the soft leather seat and regarded him with half-closed eyes.
"Whatever happened to the days when a vampire would skulk through the sewers and live in a damp crypt?"
He arched a brow. "I think they ended about the same time mortals decided to crawl out of their caves."
"Still, you should at least turn into a bat or have a bumpy forehead. Something vampirish."
Okay. It was official. Mortal women were without exception the most unpredictable, erratic, insane creatures ever to roam the earth.
And this woman was the champion of champions at driving a vampire insane. One minute she was terrified, the next she was angry, and then, bam, she was all soft and vulnerable.
Still, this giggling, almost giddy mood was a distinct change. He might have thought she was drunk as a skunk if it weren't…
Oh bloody hell. Dante's eyes narrowed as he watched her down another large gulp of her drink.
That was it.
It had been so long since Selena had become the Phoenix that he had forgotten the effects of the potent herbs. Over the years, she had become accustomed to the concoction, but for a time she had reacted with precisely the same woozy silliness.
"Abby," he murmured.
"Mmmm?"
"Are you drinking Selena's herbs?"
"Yes." She smiled blithely. "And you know, once you get past the vile taste and occasional lumps, it isn't entirely repulsive. It makes me feel… tingly."
"Tingly?"
She abruptly grimaced. "Except for my nose. I can't feel my nose at all. It's still there, isn't it?"
Dante swallowed a laugh as he reached out to lightly tap her nose. She was unexpectedly endearing when she was tanked.
"Safe and sound in the center of your face," he assured her.
"Good. I don't like it very much, but I wouldn't want to lose it."
"No, a nose is a good thing to have." He regarded the pale features a moment before returning his gaze to the darkened streets. "And it's a perfectly fine nose."
"It's too short, and it has freckles."
He tightened his fingers on the steering wheel as he turned onto a tree-lined boulevard.
"Mortals," he breathed in annoyance. "Why are you so consumed with physical appearance? Not only does it swiftly fade, but it is also meaningless."
His words of wisdom were greeted with a disdainful raspberry. "Spoken like one of the truly beautiful people," she groused. "It's easy to condemn shallow vanity when you look like a Greek god."
"I merely…" He shot her a swift glance. "You think I look like a Greek god?"
"Actually, you look more like a pirate. A very, very wicked pirate."
A pirate? That didn't seem nearly as good as a Greek god. Of course, she had said that he was a wicked one.
"Okay, I'm going to take that as a compliment."
'You must know you are gorgeous."
"Well, there is that whole reflection thing, lover," he said in dry tones. "I don't spend a great deal of time preening before mirrors.""Oh… I forgot." She hiccupped. "Sorry."
"Not as exciting as having a bumpy forehead or turning into a bat, but it's at least vampirish."
She gave a slow nod. 'That's true, I suppose. And you do have the fangs."
"Yes, I do have the fangs."
She heaved a faint sigh. "Still, turning into a bat would be cool."
Dante's smile faded. She still had no clue of the monster he was capable of becoming. In her mind it was all myths and fairy tales.
"Abby."
"What?"
"I think perhaps you've had enough of those herbs for now."
There was a short pause before she struggled to straighten in her seat. 'You may be right. My head is starting to spin."
Dante flicked a switch to roll down her window, allowing a gust of fresh air to enter the car.
"Better?"
"Yes." She stuck her head out the window, breathing deeply. "Do you know, I think that muck might have been spiked."
Dante chuckled as he slowed and pulled the car to a halt. "Don't worry, lover, soon enough you'll be enjoying your hot fudge sundaes instead of spiked muck."
Pulling in her head, Abby regarded him with a lift of her brows. "Why are we stopping? Are we near the coven?"
'That's what I intend to find out."
She blinked in surprise. 'You can sense it?"
"Actually, I hope to smell it."
"Ugh. Do witches stink?"
"Not the witches, but something near the coven," he explained with a smile. "When Selena would return from her visits, there was always a peculiar scent that would cling to her."
Abby tilted her head to one side. "What sort of scent?"
Dante gave a shrug. "I'm not sure. I only know that when she would return, I would avoid the house for days. It was very… distinctive."
Abby pondered for a long moment. "A butcher shop? Or tannery?"
He lifted his brows at her naive words. "I would recognize the scent of blood, my sweet."
"Oh… right. What about an oil refinery or stockyard?"
"No, it was more like a rotting field of wheat."
She frowned. Dante didn't blame her. Even for a powerful vampire, a vague smell that he couldn't even identify was hardly much to go on. MacGyver he was not.
Then, without warning, she reached out to grasp his arm in a tight grip.
"Oh my God."
Instantly on alert, Dante glanced about to ensure they were not under attack. "What is it?"
"I know where it is," she breathed.
"The coven?"
"Yes."
"How?"
"Years ago, my oldest brother worked at the cereal factory," she explained. "When he would return, the entire house would reek of rotted wheat for hours."
There was rotted wheat in cereal? Hellfire. How dare humans shudder at vampires' preference for blood? At least he demanded it distinctly unrotted.
'It's worth a try," he concluded. "Which direction?"
"South."
Gunning the engine, Dante turned the car southward. There was no guarantee that the coven would be near the factory, but it was at least a place to start.
As silence once again descended, Dante shot a covert glance toward the woman at his side. On this occasion, Abby wasn't guzzling the potent herbs or humming in a pleasant cloud of fog. Instead her brow was furrowed, and she chewed upon her lower lip as if she were in deep thought.
With an effort, he resisted the urge to demand what was on her mind. If he had learned nothing else about this woman over the past few months, it was that she could write a thesis on stubbornness. She would reveal what she wanted to reveal, when she wanted to reveal it.
It was twenty minutes later before she at last turned her head to study him with a troubled expression.
"Dante?"
"Yes?"
"Viper seemed angry when you spoke with him earlier."
Dante abruptly clenched his fingers on the steering wheel. He had presumed that Abby had been far too occupied with ensuring none of the guests were creeping toward her neck to notice his confrontation with his fellow vampire. It seemed that not even a hotel filled with vampires and demons indulging in orgies could keep her properly distracted.
"He wasn't overly eager to hand over the keys to his favorite Porsche," he retorted in light tones. "He can be annoyingly possessive of his toys."