Dante's Fire(5)

That's when the screams began.

Masculine voices rose in horror and agony as the flames burst forward  and scorched each of their arms. Rooted to the floor, she stared as the  flame turned sharp like a sword, and carved a symbol onto each of their  arms, slashing from wrist to upper arm. The stench of burning flesh rose  to her nostrils, the cries rang in her ears, and Selina stared at the  man who had saved her, like a superhero turned demon in the dead of  night.

Suddenly, the flames extinguished and the night quieted. Sobs came from  the men as they writhed on the ground. Police sirens rang in the  distance.

The stranger spoke. His voice rose like smoke, burned like fire, tempted  like sin. Rich, dark, and silky smooth with a touch of violence. Selina  knew this voice would haunt her for eternity.

"You are now marked for your crime. If you ever touch another woman,  these marks will turn to fire, to always remind you of what you did."  His eyes dimmed until they were twin pools of inky blackness. "To remind  you of who you are."

Her ears rung and her heart thundered. A ragged moan escaped her lips.  This wasn't real. What if the stranger wanted her for himself? Dear God,  he'd burned those men, the scent of scorched flesh still lingering in  the air. Would he burn her, too?

She had to leave. Had to save herself. Holding back choked sobs, she  flung herself up the steps, but her shaking knees gave out and she  crashed back down to the sidewalk. Frantic for safety, she scrambled  forward, her skin scraping against the rough concrete as she focused on  getting away from the nightmare around her.

In seconds, he knelt before her. She opened her mouth to scream, hoping  the police would get here in time, but his masked face contradicted the  gentleness in his touch as he wrapped the torn coat around her. "I will  not hurt you. Please don't be afraid of me."

"This can't be happening," she whispered. "Help me."

With slow movements, he smoothed back her tangled hair. Produced a clean  white cloth to gently touch the blood on her face. Then gazed deep into  her eyes.

"It will be okay, Selina. I promise you. I will make everything right again."

"You burned them. You- "

"Shh. You're hysterical. Let me help you."

Selina had to be dreaming. Perhaps she'd passed out and was laying  somewhere on the sidewalk bleeding out. The heart wrenching panic  subsided under his touch. A gentle protectiveness settled over her, like  a fuzzy blanket on a snow-ridden night. She lifted her hand to see if  she could touch the stranger, or if he'd dissolve into a cloud of smoke.         

     



 

Then fell into blackness.





Chapter Three



DANTE sat beside her bed and waited.

He'd spent many nights on these types of watches. The first was always  the hardest. To watch a woman wake with violent confusion. The memory of  what had happened and the terror that lurked behind their eyes was  something that always ripped out a piece of his heart

But this was his gift. Once he'd thought of his powers as a curse. No  longer. He'd be doing the world and his mother a huge disrespect by  ignoring who he was.

So, he cut the bitching and took the heat.

But he never thought he'd need to heal Selina.

The burn ripped through his body, beckoning for blood. He fought it  back, knowing taking lives was not his decision. He was forbidden to  kill, no matter how violent the crime. Most of his sleepless nights  revolved around the agony of letting them go, but he had no choice.

The call of fire had always been his gift, but he was unable to play  God. Sure, it took years to learn to control the power of fire,  especially as a young man full of testosterone and rage. Now his control  was razor sharp. After all, he'd learned the hard way after taking his  first life.

His last life.

Life was not about an eye for an eye.

Justice, yes. Healing. Forgiveness. And punishment.

But not a life for a life. This was not his call, as much as he'd love to be the final power in charge.

Dante gazed around the bedroom. Its twist of warmth and stark efficiency  reflected her personality. The king size, four-poster bed was deep  cherry, with matching furniture that held an almost masculine appeal.  But the bright yellow walls, candles, and frilly throw pillows gave off a  feminine touch uniquely hers. One wall boasted a bookcase that  overflowed with treasures. The thick book of sonnets termed her a closet  romantic. The impressive pile of business, statistics and marketing  texts termed her an intellect.

Fascinating.

He'd longed to see her personal space and dig deeper into her mysteries.  The office only allowed a glimpse of her hidden soul to peek through,  like a scatter of sunrays filtering through a partially closed blind.

A breathy hitch broke the silence. His gaze took in her bruised, swollen  cheek and the upper cut on her brow. More marks on her hip. Black and  blue on the delicate swell of her stomach. His gut twisted in nausea but  he fought it back with an ironclad control. Nothing physically broken.  Now he prayed he'd gotten there in time before sexual penetration. Her  jeans had been on, so maybe she had been spared that horror. Of course,  he learned early on a damaged soul was just as traumatizing as a  shattered body.

Dante half closed his eyes, fists tight, as the tornado force of  emotions shook him to the core. How long had he watched her from the  sidelines, greedy to be invited into her inner sanctum? From the moment  they'd met, an odd connection forged between them, as if they'd known  each other in a previous life. She was so familiar, yet out of reach.  She haunted his dreams on a regular basis. But never did he want to be  close to her in this way.

How long had he been alone now? Chase teased him mercilessly about his  monk ways and refusal to engage in another relationship. Since his last  broken affair with Sara, he'd focused on Inferno Enterprises, and the  many women who required his healing touch. Rarely did he experience any  need to venture out of his safe haven, though Chase tried desperately to  tempt him. There had been no women to stir either his body, mind, or  heart.

Until Selina.

She always smelled like a delicious ice cream cone-vanilla. His absolute  favorite flavor. While he foraged her bathroom looking for first aid  supplies he found the body lotion, gel and shampoo; all vanilla scent.  Mystery solved. Long black lashes lay against her cheeks as she slept,  but Dante knew the mysterious swirl of green and gold rivaled a pirate's  treasure chest, changing color depending on the light and her mood.  There was gentleness in Selina's soul that cried out to his, as if  finding its perfect match. As if deep inside, she was as lonely as him.

Dante smothered the humorless laugh. There was no soul mate meant for a  modern day superhero with his mission. No Lois Lane. No Batwoman. No  Piper. No Jane.

Just an endless line of broken women who needed healing.

As she stirred, Dante tamped hard down on the messy emotions mocking his  very existence and used all of his strength to concentrate on the task  before him.

She was awake.







Selina sucked in a breath as her heart thundered, and sharp pain  battered every muscle in her body. As the scene of the assault suddenly  emerged in her vision, she flew up from the bed with a scream lodged in  her throat.

"You're okay. You're safe."

She turned her head, looking for the voice, blinking her eyes, unable to  focus. Where had she heard that voice before? The strange familiarity  reached deep within her subconscious and stroked like a velvet glove.  The man. The one who'd saved her. He was here.         

     



 

She paused in her bed, heart hammering, and took stock of the scene  before her. She lay under the covers, fully clothed, in her own bedroom.  The room was dark, the blinds shut tight, and the weakest flicker of  light cast the man beside her bed in deep shadows, as he had appeared in  the alley. He sat in a chair at the side of her bed. She rubbed her  eyes and tried to focus, but only got a shadowy impression.

The safety of her own room allowed her to drag in a shaky breath and calm. She was home.

"Drink this."

She reached out with a trembling hand and grasped the glass of water.  Her aching throat welcomed the cool gush, and she took the next few  seconds to study her savior.

Dark hair pulled back in a tight ponytail. Black t-shirt and jeans.  Strong jaw, square chin. Carved lips. A stretchy black fabric mask hid  most of his face, clinging to his cheeks, brows, and leaving only his  eyes, nose, and mouth open. Almost like a Zorro mask but without the  flash. But his scent...like his voice, seemed so familiar.

She forced the words out of a mouth that trembled. "Who are you?"

"My name is Dante. I saw you getting attacked and I was able to get to  you before they … " He kept his voice low and soothing, as if trying to  speak to a rabid animal. "You fainted, so I brought you here first."

"I live here."

"I know."

Her hand touched her jaw, which felt double the size and hurt like hell. "How did you know where I lived?"