On Midnight Wings

But Dante’s face blanked again. His hands knotted into fists. Pounded knuckled blows to his leather-clad thighs. As though he were fighting against himself.

“Dante, what is it? Talk to me, cher.”

<Stay here with me.>

“T’es sûr de ça, catin?” Dante licked blood from his lips. A dark light burned in his eyes. “Yours, yeah? Yum. Wouldn’t mind some more.”

Heather’s mouth dried as she realized she wasn’t looking at Dante, but S or maybe even the Great Destroyer.

He is becoming . . .

No and no and no.

Fear coursed through Heather, bright and cold. Dante wasn’t just shifting between the past and the here-and-now, but between the man she knew and one he’d been programmed to be.

“Fun, yeah?” His head tilted. His gaze fixed on the pulse in her throat.

“You with me, Baptiste?” she said through a mouth that felt full of ashes.

“Run,” S said.

Heather didn’t hesitate. She jumped to her feet and slammed out through the door, grateful he couldn’t follow. She had no doubt Dante was the source of the “run.” She also had no doubt that he’d just saved her life.

REALITY WHEELED. DANTE GRABBED ahold with both hands. But the here-and-now was damned slippery and he didn’t know how long he could hang on.

Stubborn-ass woman. All heart and steel, ma chèrie.

Gotta get her the fuck out of here. Gotta see her safe.

Images of sapphire flames, of plucked hearts, unmade hearts, of his finger curling around the trigger of a gun filled his aching mind.

J’su ici, catin.

Run from me. Run as far as you can.

Nothing like a good chase, yeah?

Dante drew in a ragged breath. He shivered, so cold that he expected his breath to plume the air white. He had to end this.

You ain’t gonna save her, y’know. Shit, you can’t even save yourself.

Watch me.

Planning on it, bro. Laughter. Low and amused. Happy.

Fi’ de garce.

You should know, yeah?

Voices whispered. Wasps droned and burrowed. Dante squeezed his eyes shut, struggling to silence the internal aural storm. Stomping everything down below and kicking the door shut was no longer an option.

There was no more below. No more door to kick shut.

As the din gradually quieted, Dante realized one faint whisper didn’t come from within. He opened his eyes, gaze following the sound to the ceiling. Upstairs. Someone was upstairs still alive, still breathing and talking in a low, steady murmur. A brief silence, followed by the raspy cough of a longtime smoker.

Like maybe two packs of Winstons a day, yeah?

Time to take yo’ medicine, p’tit.

A dark smile tilted Dante’s lips. He opened his eyes.

Gotcha, Papa. Time to take your own damned medicine.

Staggering up to his feet, he moved. When he hit the third floor landing and breezed through the door, he spotted something lying on the floor, a dull metallic gleam.

A gun.

Dante stared at it, winter descending upon his heart. Unaware that he’d even moved, he found himself picking it up. His fingers curled around the rubber grip as naturally as if he’d always held a gun, been born with one in his hand. He felt the cold trickle of sweat along his temples.

Put it down. Or go back and toss it out to Heather. She’s gonna—

Low murmurs from above snagged Dante’s attention. He tilted his head, tucking the gun into the back of his leather pants, then he headed back to the landing. As he raced up the stairs, he felt a little girl’s weight in his arms, heard her black paper wings rustling, caught a glimpse of red hair. Then he was blurring through a crowded club, a woman smelling of lilac and sage, of evening rain, a woman of heart and steel, hugged tight against his side, a woman who disappeared as another little girl, red-haired and freckled, took her place as they ran through a park in the rain, trying to outrace their fates.

Laughter. You kidding me? You are their fates.

Reality wheeled, reminding him of promises made.

Make them pay so I can be warm again.

Make the world burn, mon cher ami, mon ange, and set me free.

Set things to rights, cher. Make them pay in blood and fire.

Reality wheeled yet again.

His finger squeezes the trigger. Her head rocks forward with the first bullet, then snaps back with the second, tendrils of red hair whipping through the air.