Last Vamp Standing

By Kristin Miller

True love is put to the test in the third book in Kristin Miller's Vampires of Crimson Bay series.

Tortured by demonic voices, Dante's soul is as black as they come. But when he meets Ariana—an innocent vampire fighting demons of her own—he second-guesses everything he's ever known about sacrifice, passion, and soul-scorching love.

Before Dante wages war against Crimson Bay's greatest threat, he must make a choice: love Ariana the way she deserves, risking her life in the process—or fight to protect her, unleashing the monster he's determined to bury.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Open Road Integrated Media
• Release date: Aug 28, 2012
• ISBN: 9780062207845

Kristin Miller

Kristin Miller is the author of the Vampires of Crimson Bay series, a paranormal series featuring a blood war between vampires and shape-shifters, from Avon Impulse. She lives in Northern California with her family.

Book preview

Prologue

DANTE THREW UP his hand to guard against another one of her attacks. You finished yet?

She thwacked him again, right across the shoulder. And again, upside the back of the head for good measure. She couldn’t have thought she was actually hurting him. I wasn’t ready to leave, dammit, take me back!

That’s not happening. He shooed her with an annoyed wave of his hand, glad the shakes and chills had finally subsided. Now just calm down, would you?

After glaring at him for a few moments, she planted her hands on her hips like a pissed-off little teapot. At least she wasn’t hitting him. He supposed it was progress. To think that not twenty minutes ago at the elder black market, Dante had wanted her hands all over him. Ask and ye shall receive, right?

Stifling a laugh, Dante sat forward on his haunches, rubbed his aching head, and tried to slow her words down. Take me back. Why on earth would you want to go back there?

Why on earth would you think I would need your rescuing? She mocked him, a stubborn yet downright adorable pout pushing out her heart-shaped lips.

The elder black market wasn’t exactly the slime-slathered gutters of San Francisco, but it was a far cry from the Hilton. She’d been captured. Bound. Restricted from using her mawares. That bastard Juan Carlos was beating her around. She’d been sold, for Christ’s sake!

He’d saved her.

Only as Dante looked around from his position, squatting in a mound of wet, muddy earth, and spotted an unfamiliar forest and a woman who looked like she’d rather kill him than thank him for removing her from that place, he realized he looked more like the one who needed saving.

To hell with that.

Mustering all his strength, Dante tested his legs by shooting one out from beneath him, kneeling on it, then following suit with the other. He crouched in the mud, listening to the elder take sharp, quick breaths over him. When he finally got to his feet, he regained his balance by grasping onto a thick Douglas fir tree on his right. Teleporting always wiped him physically, but this time his head felt painfully muddled. Like he’d chop off his left leg for an adrenaline drip.

Dante looked around. They were in some sort of tiny clearing, surrounded by fir trees with a hollowed-out mud pit in the middle. From where they stood, the forest went uphill in every direction until the land crested just out of sight, no doubt leading to hundreds of other tree rings and mud pits. Thick trunks popped up like daises through moss-clotted earth. No city sounds buzzed on the cool midnight air. Was that salt he picked up on the breeze? Ocean? They were far from San Francisco, Dante figured that much right away. But the ocean? How far had he traveled? Pain seared through his temples. Disorientation must’ve been fucking with his head.

Although teleporting wasn’t an exact science, he’d like to think over his fifty years on this earth he’d learned a thing or two about it. But he’d never, not once, teleported to a place he’d never been.

And for the life of him, he couldn’t remember his head ever hurting so damn much.

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. Yet she didn’t seem to have any confusion about which way to go 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 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, struck by the knowledge that 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.

Chapter One

The forest was breached tonight. Black Moon is sending out Seekers and taking other precautionary measures. We are as well . . .

W

ATCHER

A

RCHIVE, MOST RECENT UPDATE

IF THE WATCHER sucking face with a platinum-blonde wood nymph in front of Black Moon’s ocean access gate wasn’t already hovering on the brink of excommunication, Ariana would’ve had him thrown out on his ass. He wasn’t supposed to sneak back to their haven to body-rock with a scantily clad nympho on a healing binge. He was supposed to be at his post, just outside the ring of fir trees in the forest, watching over her body as she astral-projected to the streets of San Francisco.

If he’d done his job, she might’ve been able to do hers.

Now, because he’d been distracted by velvet words and the jerk of a tiny hand, a vampire from the elder black market had piggybacked on Ariana’s projection.

He’d gotten too close to their haven, to her.

Ariana could still feel the heat from his liquid gold eyes scorching across her skin. And even though she hadn’t gotten more than five minutes with him—at the black market when he’d caught her eye, then the forest when she’d told him never to think of her again—he was permanently etched into her memory. He had disheveled, chestnut-brown hair that she longed to graze her fingers through. A hard, set jaw that showed every strain of his body, and broad, warrior shoulders that could bear the weight of the world.

She’d never met anyone like him.

Everything Ariana had learned about vampire elders didn’t prepare her for what had happened back there, with him. Elders had mawares—powers bestowed upon them when they transitioned into the ethereal Ever After—and Ariana thought she’d seen them all: orbs of protection, wicked cool time warping skills, control over the weather or elements . . . but she’d never seen a run-of-the-mill vamp teleport.

But that was exactly what her vamp had done.

Except instead of teleporting them to his destination of choice, wherever that might’ve been, Ariana’s astral-projection had snapped them back into Black Moon’s range like a rubber band returning to form.

She thanked her lucky stars that the stranger was on his way to Darkly Meadow. She was finally free from his penetrating gaze. He looked at her with ravenous hunger, yet remained tense and fiercely in control, with tight white lips she wanted to soften with a slow swipe of her tongue.

He wasn’t wrong for looking at her that way. He was a hormonal vamp male, after all.

Ariana was wrong for liking it, especially as much as she did. Her skin flushed merely thinking about the way his eyes had devoured her body.

A percussion of horses’ hooves and hollering men dragged her down to reality with a thud. The warmth blooming through her body iced over as she remembered her Primus had raised the flag—sent out the first wave of Seekers. Someone had breached the invisible umbrella that kept their peaceful world hidden from the tainted one beyond it.

Not wanting to be seen by the goon squad, Ariana slinked behind the shadow of a fir tree and eyed Black Moon’s back access gate. Echo and his wood nymph didn’t seem to hear the thunder of hooves. Or maybe they didn’t care.

Echo shoved the girl against a post and hiked her legs around his waist.

Ariana couldn’t help but think about the burning desire in her vamp’s eyes when he’d pressed her up against that tree in the forest. It’d sparked a fire in her core unlike anything she’d ever experienced.

For a split, crazy second, Ariana had thought about welcoming him in to her haven. Surely Black Moon could use a vampire who could teleport! But she’d been rattled back to reality, had followed her orders to allow only elders in, and had turned him away.

Coming close to Black Moon and the powers it possessed wouldn’t be enough for him. If she showed him their haven—welcomed him in—he’d never leave.

He’d be trapped in Black Moon . . . just like the others.

But there’d been no time to think things through anyway, she reminded herself as she dodged beneath the low-hanging branch of a cypress tree. The Seekers were coming. And if they caught him within Black Moon’s borders, they’d killed him on sight. On second thought, though, he didn’t look like he’d go quietly into the ground.

No, the clench of his jaw, the way it pulsed when he became infuriated with her, made her think that when he got worked up enough to fight, he’d fight to the death.

Would his jaw clench and pulse when he got worked up in other ways?

Seekers’ hooves rumbled across the western ridge, stopped, then circled back.

What the hell was she thinking? Now was not the time to be lost in a daydream.

Shaking her head, Ariana lifted her cloak high and darted across a cobblestone path, into the shadow of a looming cypress not ten feet from the back gate.

Echo and his wood nymph were too tangled in each other’s arms to hear her approach. He moaned into the nymph’s mouth, his hands skimming beneath her pathetic excuse for a skirt.

When Ariana was close enough to hear the stomach-churning sound of wet lips slopping together, she cleared her throat.

Echo looked up, his blood-red eyes matching the color of his cloak, his face as ashen as the pale moon. The tiny wood nymph dropped from his gigantic grasp and hit the dirt. Her eyes were wildly violet, caked with ten pounds of makeup. Her platinum pixie hairdo was spiked every-which-way, making it look like she’d been electrocuted a time or two and thoroughly enjoyed the experience.

What the hell happened to you? Ariana whipped when she blended with the shadows of the stone pillar behind them. You just left me out there.

I’m sorry Ariana, I just . . . Echo lowered his eyes.

Shame was so damn unattractive.

You told me three hours. He checked his watch. You’re early.

Oh, so the blame was hers. She stepped closer, until she could smell whiskey on his breath and hints of sex and pine wafting off the nympho.

"I don’t care if I’m gone three seconds or three hours, you need to be watching my back. That’s your job. If you’re out doing—she shot the nymph a hard glare—the first thing that barks up your tree, how am I supposed to trust that I’ll come back in one piece? What if someone was sitting there, lurking over my helpless body, waiting for me to return and I . . . didn’t?"

But you’re here. He swallowed hard, his pointy Adam’s apple doing a little jig. Everything’s fine.

Not even he believed the bullshit coming out of his mouth. Everything’s not fine, Echo. Send your cricket home. The Seekers have been called out.

They gasped as Ariana pushed past them and through the heavy wooden doors leading to Black Moon’s massive courtyard.

Ariana had been right—they had no idea Seekers were scouring the land. Were they really that lost in each other? Or was she merely uber-sensitive to the workings of Black Moon? She wondered if everyone felt the same things she did about this place. It was almost as if the strong walls were her body, and the gentle melodic inner-workings, her blood and soul.

From behind its towering stone walls, the crash of the ocean against the jagged bluff on which the haven stood could barely be heard. Roses—blacks, reds, whites, and all shades in between—lined a pebbled path that wound tighter and tighter into the center, where a phallic fountain sprayed water high into the air. Walkways branched off from the center, leading to khiss bed quarters, the main galley, and the library.

Ariana didn’t stop to pick the blooming flowers like she usually did on her way in for the night. She strode past the fountain, straight into the heart of the main hall. The Primus would want to see her . . . and ask why she’d failed at her mission.

She didn’t know what to tell him. It was the first time she’d set out to do something, to bring someone back from the brink, and failed.

She didn’t have time to stop and think of an appropriate response to the tongue-lashing she was about to receive. The instant she opened the doors, she was blasted with loud voices, laughter, and music. The haven was bustling. A carefree party. Detached from the stresses of the real world.

Floor-to-ceiling windows let in the honest gleam of the moon, casting bright light on the faces of vampires gossiping on leather sofas cradled beneath them. Gold sweeping valances that hung high on the vaulted ceiling draped all the way to the newly waxed stone floor, making the place seem more colossal and the khissmates much more regal than they actually were. The walls were painted deep burgundy, perfectly complementing the tan and chocolate sofas sprinkled here and there. Their Primus believed the place should make khissmates feel warm and at home. With lots of candlelight and marble and roses and Spanish lace.

Ariana couldn’t recall any of the refugees coming from a seaside mansion with such elaborate furnishings. But the place wasn’t designed or decorated on her dime, and she got the benefit of staying here, so she kept her mouth zipped.

Nodding as she passed group after group of mingling elders, Ariana walked as quickly as she could, past the grand fireplace that was sparking to life, through the lobby where vamps were curled up reading, and along a quiet, winding hallway that led to the Primus’s quarters.

She tried to pretend she couldn’t hear her khissmates’ whispers as she passed by. But she could. She tried to pretend they didn’t bother her instead. That didn’t work either.

Hesitating in front of the door, she adjusted her robe. It was covered in mud and crusting at the edges.

Damn it. She stuck her finger through a hole in the side. Black Moon’s cleaners were closed for the night, and her room was on the top floor. It’d have to do.

She thought about stripping from her robe and addressing her Primus in the jeans and tank she wore underneath, but decided that wouldn’t help her situation. Not only would her Primus be furious at her lack of respect and insist she address him in her haven robe, but he’d also get an eyeful of the strange mark on Ariana’s arm. It was light, but getting darker with each projection—a series of dots that formed a gradual arch around the inside of her forearm.

Tugging her robe over her wrist, Ariana let the silver lion head knocker on the Primus’s door drop two times. And waited.

Echo stepped behind her with not so much as a draft to clue her in. He was quiet for his enormous stature and made an excellent spy—able to sneak up on just about anyone, anywhere. That was the precise reason she’d asked him to be her Watcher in the first place.

I’m sorry, Ari, he whispered, his hot breath coating her neck. It won’t happen again.

She looked over her shoulder. His lips were puffy. His eyes back to black. His shoulder-sweeping red hair a tangled mess.

Was her long, sweeping chestnut hair as disheveled? Her mocha-colored eyes as guilty? It’s all right. But now I’ve got some explaining to do.

We, he corrected.

No, she said on an exhale. It was my duty and my failure. I’ll face him. Hope she was worth it.

He snorted, then caught himself. Ain’t none of them worth it, but you know how I crave that real sweet nectar those nymphs have, and Narci from Depot didn’t have no more bottled. She said next week. That nymph saw me huddled over you near the pit, said she needed some scar her daddy gave her to go away. Fair trade I thought, and we weren’t gone long. Didn’t think it’d be no big thing. Didn’t expect you to show early.

Ariana knocked again. Yeah, well, someone hitched a ride back with me this time. Didn’t expect that either.

She smoothed her fly-aways and pulled her braid over her shoulder, realizing for the first time that the blue ribbon tied on the end had slipped off. Damn it. She knew better than to leave anything behind that could possibly lead back to this place. One hint of the magic on the satin, and someone searching for the haven could trace the way to the front gate with ease.

Would her vamp return? Would he listen to the harshness of her words as she turned him away or did he sense, as she did, that something sparked between them?

That’s odd, Ari, for true. Didn’t think someone could piggyback unless you—

I didn’t want it, she blurted as blood flushed to her cheeks. Besides, it wouldn’t have been a problem if the vamp hadn’t stayed in my projection ring as long as he did. When could she get back out there and look for the damned ribbon before someone noticed? He called too much attention to himself.

Why didn’t you shoo him off? Tell ’im to git on his way before he summoned the Seekers?

God, she didn’t know. That rock-hard body towering over hers, causing her to lose her breath. Those liquid gold eyes that drank her in and replaced the cool chill of her blood with warmth. The way he moved; like a cheetah, calm but ready to spring into action with the slightest twitch. The way he scooped her up so easily in that elder black market like she really was a damsel in distress.

No matter how much she hated the fact that her mission was spoiled, Ariana couldn’t help but smile when she thought about the vamp tossing her over his shoulder like a chivalrous knight from a forgotten age. How could she have been expected to think clearly under those circumstances? No one had ever looked at her, or touched her, like that before.

Everyone in Black Moon treated her with distant reverence. Their gazes were receptive and friendly, yet there seemed to be undercurrents of unease when she came near. As if she could astral-project them out of Black Moon with a slight touch of her hand.

She was an emotional leper. An outcast. A freak among freaks. And damn if she cared.

Come in, Ariana, a voice boomed within.

She sighed and met Echo’s hard gaze. It seemed to slice right through her. It’s now or never. She pushed open the door and stepped inside.

Echo nodded, oblivious she’d completely dodged his question, and turned to face the hall guarding the Primus’s door.

Chapter Two

BY THE TIME Dante got back to his apartment, his insides were raw. Charred right through. His balls ached. His stomach was flattened to a pulp. And his head . . . ah hell, he was all fucked up.

After he’d run half a miserable marathon through the fucking wilderness, hitchhiked north to Pacifica with a greasy, balding trucker who’d watched one too many episodes of Matlock, then taken the only empty seat on a stagnant-smelling Greyhound from there to San Francisco’s terminal, Dante figured Ariana would’ve been a distant memory.

She wasn’t.

Not by a fucking long shot.

She dominated his mind, consuming him to the point of insanity. He was sick with thoughts of her perfectly kissable lips and the way they pushed into a pout when he slid her against that tree and riled her up. His mind tangled around images of her chestnut brown hair, how sleek and soft it would feel slipping through his fingers. And fuck him sideways if his gut didn’t ball into one big-ass knot when he breathed her in—she was wet for him, blooming with desire. He could sense the sexual stirrings within her, laced with a little fear.

For the first time in his life, Dante was secluded within the four spackled walls of his apartment, alone, and he was curiously irritated by it. He’d never been attached—except for that one time he tried to