Authors: Kristin Miller
Vamped Up (30 page)
“Hel-lo?” she asked, leaning into his line of sight to catch his eye. The long braid of her ponytail swung to and fro like one of those freaky pendulums in psychologists’ offices. His mundane parents had insisted on taking him to dozens of those places throughout his childhood to figure out why he wasn’t “normal” like the rest of the kids.
Why doesn’t he sleep? Why doesn’t he ever eat?
That was before he realized being abnormal wasn’t always a bad thing.
“I asked you a question,” she said, louder, with more fire behind it. “What the hell kind of right do you have to scoop me up like some knight in shining armor? Did you hear me ask for your help?”
No. He hadn’t. He couldn’t remember hearing much before her voice, actually. Although anger was pitching her tone octaves too high, causing his ears to ring, it was still the most beautifully ringing orchestra he’d ever heard. Like wind chimes blowing in the soft southern breeze. “I thought I was doing you a favor.” He heeled his boot against a tree and scraped off a clod of mud, thinking about how off-target her questions were. She should’ve been asking
how
he’d teleported. Not
why
. But he sure as hell wasn’t about to pony up any information she could use against him.
“Some favor,” she said, swiping smatters of dirt off her robe. It was so dirty, the burgundy had turned gunpowder-brown. “Next time you might want to ask the damsel if she’s in distress before you stick your nose where it doesn’t belong.”
With a swish of her braid, Miss Priss hiked up the heavy swells of her robe, spun around, and high-stepped over a fallen log to the outskirt of the circle. As she made her way out of the small ring of fir trees in a very straight and determined line westward, Dante realized he had no idea where the hell he was. Or how to get back to Ruan. Yet she didn’t seem to have any confusion about which way to get out of the thicket. She trudged uphill, in and around scattered rows of trees, with purpose.
Damn it.
He was gonna be in trouble deeper than the mud sucking at his boots if he didn’t bring this elder back to help him decipher the scrolls.
Don’t let her get away.
He scrubbed his hands over his head. “Son of a bitch.”
“Excuse me?” She whipped around, her robe flaring out in a perfect circle before wrapping around her legs. “What’d you just call me?”
“Shit.” Dante closed his eyes tight and lifted his face to the heavens. “I wasn’t talking to you.”
It wasn’t like he expected solace, at least not from the Big Guy upstairs. But he would’ve appreciated a break every now and again. He would recover from the physical energy-suck. His brain would even shift into high gear at some point and stop grinding gears like a beat-up Pinto. But why did it seem like everything was a fucking battle—waged uphill, staring into the sun—against more powerful enemies using superior weapons?
He didn’t know what he expected when he’d jumped her out of the black market. Maybe some gratitude and a rewarding kiss? Certainly not this . . .
She trudged a few steps back down the hill. “A real man, if he had something to say, wouldn’t wait until a woman turned her back before letting his balls drop.”
Oh, Miss Priss had a mouth.
Small pulses of adrenaline tingled across Dante’s chest, settling in his lap. It was like the beginning rush of a fight. An erotic kiss, drawing his mouth open in rebuttal.
Dante took a step closer, holding her mahogany eyes in his sights. “A real man, who saved you from certain death, wouldn’t expect a thank-you in return. He’d rescue your beautiful ass and ride off into the sunset to be virtuous for the sake of virtue.” He advanced, stepping over the same fallen log she had. Shock widened her eyes as he closed the distance between them. She retreated, her back pressing against the wide span of a fir. “A real man wouldn’t try to take advantage of the situation at hand.” She was still as stone, her chin high. Her expression like a marble statue, regal and poised. Her skin glowed luminescent in the soft streams of moonlight peeking between overhead branches. Dante stepped closer still, an odd twinge in his belly humming in anticipation. “But I’m not a real man. I’m not virtuous. And not only would I appreciate a goddamn thank-you for getting you out of that mess, but something tells me you know where we are. Now you’re gonna share that with me or we can keep going round and round all night.”
She shook her head, rubbing it against the bark behind her. Standing over her five-foot-nothin’, hundred-something-bony-pound frame, Dante noticed how so small and fragile she looked, despite the roughness of her mouth. She had a button nose. Heart-shaped lips that turned up at the edges, even without the trace of a smile. Cute, pointed chin. Looking down upon her, nothing but a breath between them, Dante could hear the flutter of her heartbeat pattering like a bird in the canopy above their heads.
“You know where we are.” He was certain of it. “You’ve been here before.”
“No. You’re wrong.”
“And you’re a horrible liar.”
“You have no idea what you’ve done.” Her breath caught as he pressed against her. The cool glimmer in her eyes simmered down.
“Why not tell me so I can get the hell out of here and away from you.” Oh, how things had changed. To think . . . he’d actually felt something for this elder at the black market. Now, looking into the hard glare in her eyes, Dante realized the feeling he had must’ve been pure pity. She wasn’t strong. She wasn’t a woman to be respected, refusing to give her name when threatened. She was just a spoiled brat with mud on her robe and a chip on her shoulder. “The least you could do is point me in the right direction.”
“Go to hell.” She slipped around the tree and took off up the hill at a dead sprint.
Dante sighed, chewed on his lip and his options. Even if his energy was restored full-force, could he risk teleporting somewhere else—to somewhere he knew? What if he’d jumped to a different dimension completely? Where would he be then? He may never find his way back. And he needed to find a way to contact Ruan. He pulled his cell out of his pocket and tossed it into the mud pit he’d just stepped out of. Another jump, another dead phone. This shit was getting expensive. AT & T was going to own his ass.
Just when Dante thought he was going to have to follow the elder and come up with some sort of pathetic excuse for an apology, she stopped right at the top of the nearest ridge, spun around, and faced him. Wind ruffled wisps of hair around her face and fanned her robe so that it clung to her body. She was tinier than he’d thought. Curvier at the hips, too. He wondered what else she was hiding beneath the weight of that cloak.
“You can’t follow me, though I can see you’re more stubborn than a mule, and will probably do it anyway,” she said, raising her voice so that it carried down to him. “It’s forbidden to pass here, punishable by death.”
“I hardly think—”
“If I tell you the way back to the city, will you promise never to think of this place, or me, ever again?”
Dante couldn’t explain it, but two seconds ago, all he’d wanted was to find a way back to San Francisco and ReVamp. To get out of this forest and back to civilization. Now, the thought of leaving this elder behind, not knowing anything about her, letting her vanish into the night felt . . . wrong.
“You’re not coming back to the city?” It was the only thing he could find to say, though he hated the concern lacing his voice.
She shook her head and clasped her tiny hands together in front of her. “I don’t belong there. Never did.” She looked content in this place. At peace. As if she’d run over the logs in this forest a thousand times.
How did her loathing of him dissipate so quickly? She’d easily lashed out at him with her tongue, been rude without regard. But now, her eyes were softer. Her words feather-light. Even the air around her seemed surreal. As if she was standing behind a veil of water, the waves rolling up and down her body. Was her maware some sort of protective shield? Is that why, now that she was protected, her demeanor changed?
Dante moved up the hill and watched her go rigid again.
“No,” she snapped, throwing up her hands. She glanced over her shoulder as if with one step backward, she’d tumble off the ridge, right into oblivion. “Don’t come any closer.”
The air around her wavered and rippled, as if his movements caused the disturbance in her aura. But he had to know what was going on. Had to understand the switch from pissed-off beauty queen back to the concerned angel he’d first laid eyes on.
“
Please
,” she whispered, just like she had in the black market, the exact same way that made Dante’s blood still. It had the same, soothing effect on him, even now. “I wasn’t supposed to bring you here, please don’t come any closer.”
“Where’s
here
?” He stilled.
“It’s the Black Moon.”
Puzzled, Dante looked up, peeking between umbrellas of fir. The moon was full, far from blending with the black vastness of space. “What are you so afraid of?”
She pointed through the trees. “Head due east.” Warm currents in her voice wrapped around him, tugging him into compliance. “When you come to a series of warm springs, turn and head north. Within a half-mile, you’ll come to a meadow with two large boulders leaning against one another in the middle.” She whispered now, leaning forward out of the shadows. “Touch them with the palms of your hands and think about where you want to go.” She turned.
“Wait,” Dante said, keeping his voice low, though he didn’t have a goddamn clue why. “At least tell me your name. It’s not like I’m ever going to see you again anyway.” The words stung, although he knew they were the truth.
The slight curve of her mouth lifted into a coy smile that flipped Dante’s stomach. “Ariana.” She glanced over her shoulder. When their eyes met again, the smile was gone. “My name’s Ariana. Seekers are coming.
Go
.”
The air between them rippled with such intensity, Dante thought he was dreaming, although he’d never actually had a dream to measure it against. His mind couldn’t seem to grasp what he was seeing. He could make out Ariana through the fog of air circling her—her mahogany braid tied with a pale blue ribbon, draping down the front of her cloak, her expression downturned—though she was fading. Wavering. Shifting as the air shifted.
Dante reached out, his fingers sinking into the cool air as if it’d transformed into some kind of portal. Then, with a rush of winter wind that howled through the trees, she was gone. The air stilled behind her.
Just when he was about to shadow her footsteps and stand where she stood on top of the ridge, two words echoed through the forest. They reverberated from the soiled earth, the starless sky, off the tall and stoic trees. They came from everywhere, yet nowhere at all.
Thank you.
Dante stopped in his tracks, absorbed with the feeling the words were for him. Feeling somehow vindicated, he smiled and slowly turned down the hill, in no hurry to get back to the monotonous life he dreaded living.
He took a single step in the direction Ariana had pointed, when the branches above him rustled with movement. He glanced up. Falling from the sky, right into the open palm of his hand, was a baby blue satin ribbon.
The one Ariana had tied around her braid.
A smoldering inside him—a knowing—told Dante he’d meet Ariana again. Someday he’d find his way back here, wherever
here
was, and get the explanation owed to him. As he wrapped the ribbon around his wrist and looped it into a knot, he wondered how she made an impression on him so quickly. And why she made him feel like there was more life to be lived in one curl of her lips and one melody of her voice than thousands of days and nights on this earth.
Kristin Miller is the author of
Dark Tide Rising
, a romantic suspense novel, and the
Vampires of Crimson Bay
, a paranormal series featuring a blood war between vampires and shape-shifters from Avon Impulse. She lives in Northern California with her family.
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