27
ICY shock shot through her body at his
words.
Alejandro immediately moved into a position to
defend her, in front, but slightly to the side so she could still
see Sante. “Back off,” he warned. “You touch her and I’ll gut
you.”
Sante never moved his gaze from Daria’s face. “Calm
down, Alejandro. I have no intention of harming her. Don’t you
think I would’ve before now, if I wanted that?”
“What do you want, Sante?” Daria
asked.
His expression darkened. “To not have to deal with
you, Daria. To not have to kill you. I am sincere in my wish to not
hurt you. I have already done enough of that.”
Alejandro took a step forward and snarled, “If
there’s any killing to be done, we’ll be doing it.”
“How did you recognize me?” Daria asked.
“The first time I saw you, I suspected. That night,
when I came to your room, I knew for certain.”
Great.
Sante smiled a little. “Did you really think you
could fool me? Did you think you could disguise yourself from a man
who once loved you, who memorized every move you made, every little
gesture? You could have had ten plastic surgeries, Daria, I still
would know you anywhere.”
He’d known all along. God, he’d known when he’d
allowed them into his inner circle, when he’d revealed the secret
of Ari Templeton. He’d known when they’d rescued Ari from his
house. He’d been acting the whole time.
“Why didn’t you kill me?” The question sprang from
her lips before she could stop it.
Sante rose slowly, and Alejandro shifted in front
of her, ready to act if required.
Daria also shifted, balancing her weight on the
balls of her feet in case Sante decided to rush them.
“Because I once loved you, Daria, desired to take
you as my mate. Haven’t you heard a word I’ve been saying? I know
you and Alejandro are good people, and I have no will to hurt
either of you. I wanted to wait and see what you would do before I
made any decisions regarding your future.”
Before I made any decisions regarding your
future.
She shook her head, trying to wrap her mind around
the words he’d spoken. Thoughts of murder she’d expected from him,
but words of love . . . no, she hadn’t expected those. He’d wished
to take her as his mate?
“Yes, Daria,” Sante murmured. “It’s true I loved
you. Not at first. In the beginning I only meant to use you.
However, after I got to know you, I fell in love.”
She put a hand to her head. “Stop. I don’t want to
hear that from you.”
“Did you love me back?” Sante pressed. “I’m sorry I
hurt you.”
“Shut up! Just shut up.” She paused, swallowed
hard, and brought the conversation back to somewhere relevant. “It
doesn’t make sense that you wouldn’t kill us once you’d revealed my
true identity. We were a threat to you.”
He smiled. It looked even more cruel and violent
for Brandon’s blood discoloring his fangs, face, and clothing. “You
were never a threat. I wanted to know how you would react to the
truth about Ari and me. I wanted to know if there was any way to
deal with you two peacefully. There is an old Earth saying, ‘Keep
your friends close and your enemies closer.’ That’s what I was
doing while I assessed you.”
And, as his enemy, she needed to be closer to him
now.
She took a step forward. Alejandro blocked her, but
she gently pushed his arm away. “I need to do to this, Alejandro.
If you care for me, you won’t interfere.”
“If I care for you, I won’t let you take another
step.”
“Alejandro, I have come a long way to stand and
face Christopher Sante. I have spent years dreaming of this, and
have discarded my humanity to be here. Please. Do you
understand?”
Alejandro hesitated, but then stepped to the side.
“Don’t do anything stupid.”
She allowed a ghost of a smile to cross her lips.
“Me? Do something stupid? Never.”
Daria took another three steps toward Sante, coming
close enough to scent the blood on him. She noted uneasily that the
predator in her liked that smell a lot. She was a Chosen, a true
vampire. Death was not something that she abhorred, as a human
would. In fact, the smell of that blood made her hungry.
She could see that same hunger reflected in Sante’s
eyes, the eyes she once used to look into and glimpse love. An hour
ago she would have said that love had been an illusion. Perhaps it
hadn’t been. That was a thought she couldn’t follow at the moment,
so she turned her mind toward the oddness of that violent hunger
mirroring her own.
They weren’t so different after all, she and
Christopher Sante. The thought was chilling, but it was the truth.
Daria preferred the truth, even when it was chilling.
She held his gaze. “I came here to bring you in,
Sante.”
“I know you did.”
“I came to find Ari Templeton, nail you with
kidnapping charges and anything else I could throw at you. Since
you got out of punishment the first time, I came to make you pay
for killing Julia any way I could.”
“I understand that.”
“You deserve to die for what you did.” The words
came out of her cold and bitter, like rusty water running from a
pipe that had just thawed after winter. They made her feel sick
because she meant them. She didn’t enjoy meaning them, not even
when they were directed at Christopher Sante.
“You’re right. I do deserve to die for what I did.
Afterward, I even tried to take my own life. In another time, in
another place, I would let you kill me.” He paused. “But I have
someone to live for now.”
Anger, hot and hard, filled her. “So, you’re not
going to come quietly then. Too bad.” Just like she was in the gym
back at headquarters, she pivoted on her right foot and brought her
left leg up fast, kicking him in the side of the head.
He took it just like her punching bag, too, didn’t
even make a move to block her. His head snapped to the side and he
staggered.
If he wasn’t going to fight her, that was fine. It
would make her job a lot easier. The fact she’d just engaged a
Chosen male nearly four hundred years her senior was not lost on
her. She knew she played lamb to his wolf, even though she felt
better—stronger and faster—than she ever had in her human
life.
Sante lurched to the side and put his hand to his
face, where she’d added to the blood he already wore by splitting
his cheek open with the side of her thick-soled boot.
Not giving him a chance to recover, she turned the
opposite way and brought her other leg up to kick him square in the
solar plexus.
He grabbed her foot before it could make impact and
wrenched it, forcing her to twist in midair to avoid having her
knee broken. She hit the ground unscathed and rolled away, spitting
out sand.
She risked a glance at Alejandro to see him
standing ramrod straight, fists clenched at his sides. Every muscle
in his body was clearly tense from the effort to stop himself from
jumping into the fray. She gave him a look of warning. This was her
fight. She needed this, no matter the outcome.
“Do we have to do this?” Sante asked. “I don’t want
to fight you.”
“Why?” she sneered as she pushed up. “Because you
once loved me? Spare me, Sante. You don’t know how to love.
You don’t have it in you.”
His face became like stone. “Fine, you want to
fight, little girl? Let’s fight.”
“Finally.” She whirled in another kick and caught
him right in the gut this time. The air whooshed out of him, and he
staggered backward.
He came to a halt, holding his stomach and looking
up with hooded eyes. Sante snarled and launched himself at
her.
They met in the middle.
Daria ducked as he threw a punch, then spun to find
him nearly on top of her. She crouched and elbowed his solar
plexus, hitting the already sore area. The impact was like hitting
a concrete wall. Sante hardly seemed to notice it at all. Kicks
were more effective to his rock-hard stomach. Live and learn.
Daria stumbled backward, dodging another swing and
feeling air brush her cheek. She whirled, but couldn’t avoid the
next punch. Pain exploded. She fell back, holding her cheek.
God, that hurt. She only hoped it wouldn’t swell too
quickly, limiting her vision.
She heard Alejandro move near her. She should’ve
expected him to leap to her defense. “No!” she yelled. “Back off,
Alejandro.”
“You’re too weak for this, Daria,” he answered.
“You’re newly Chosen!”
She fixed him with a grim stare. “I’ve dug my
grave.”
Alejandro swore loudly and colorfully, but he
backed away.
Sante circled her, that eerie light in his eyes.
This excited him. Clearly, the fight brought out the brutal part of
his personality he’d been trying to suppress. That part that had
led him to torture Stephen Miller for hours before he’d killed
him.
This dome, his love for Ari Templeton, none of it
fooled Daria. At the heart of him, Christopher Sante was a
monster.
“You never could best me in the sparring ring at
headquarters, Daria. Do you remember?”
She did remember. They used to spend hours training
together there. Christopher had always been her favorite partner,
since he never let her win. She’d always had to fight all out in an
effort to best him . . . and had never succeeded. Now she knew that
was because he was Chosen. She’d never had a prayer of beating
him.
Nothing much had changed.
“If you’re trying to psyche me out, it won’t work,”
she replied. Knowing her best chance lay in her ability to move
faster than him—maybe—she leapt up, whirled around, and caught him
in the side of the head with her boot.
She may not be stronger, but she was quicker.
Well, almost.
With a roar, he turned and grabbed her before she
could move to the side, slamming her to the ground. Her breath left
her with a hard gasp. The loss of it stunned her into inactivity
for a moment, giving Sante an opening.
The older Chosen hovered over her, that same
murderous glee in his eyes that she’d seen after he’d snacked on
Brandon’s throat.
She snaked a hand up and palmed him hard in the
Adam’s apple. He yelped, released her, and she rolled to the side,
as far from his reach as she could get.
She heard him come after her—his low growl and the
shift of sand under his boots. Daria lunged to her feet and darted
away before he could body slam her again.
Move met countermove.
Daria knew Sante wasn’t giving it his all only
because she wasn’t dead yet. They danced their violent dance in the
sand under the spread of glittering stars over their head, Daria
gave everything, depleting her energy and grunting in exhaustion.
Sante mostly just blocked her, wore her down.
She wanted nothing more than to kick his ass, but
had to settle for just getting in a solid body blow once in a
while.
Daria went down on her knees in the sand, her body
aching from the continual hits and blood running afresh from the
wound in her throat. She’d lost too much. Exhaustion suffused every
molecule of her body. Hunger ached in her stomach and her head
pounded. Her eye had swollen where he’d hit her, obscuring her
vision.
Sante was winning, but at least she hadn’t made
victory easy for him.
“Give it up,” rasped Sante, out of breath.
“Never.” The word tore from her. She bowed her
head, panting.
“I’ll kill you before we’re through.” He leaned
over, resting his hands on his thighs. “You have someone to live
for, too.” His gaze flicked to the pissed off vampire watching
them.
Alejandro. It was true.
She realized she didn’t want to die. It was
jarring, since she’d spent the last seven years not really caring
if she did or not. She looked up at Alejandro and locked gazes with
him. He probably saw in her unguarded expression that sudden,
undeniable truth.
She turned back to Sante, her gaze hardening. Yes,
she thought she might love Alejandro, and she didn’t want to die,
but her bitterness for Christopher Sante was too much for her to
deny.
“Fool,” Sante sneered, seeing her answer in the
hardness of her expression and the challenge in her gaze.
He lunged for her, catching her around the throat
and pushing her back onto the sand. His big hands tightened and her
airway closed.
Her gaze locked with Sante’s. Brutal, joyful, light
of death lit his eyes. This is what Julia had seen right before
she’d died—Christopher Sante wanting nothing more than to take
savage bliss from murdering her. Here was his monster in full
rampage.
Alejandro moved on Sante like a striking
snake.
Suddenly, Sante was just gone.
She rolled to the side, gasping for air and holding
her burning, bleeding throat. Through her nauseous light-headed
wooze, she watched Alejandro and the older vampire. They fought, a
tangle of limbs and growls.
Sante managed to push Alejandro away and lunge to
his feet. Alejandro also rose. They circled each other.
Alejandro wore a murderous expression, but Sante
didn’t back away. Instead he snarled and attacked. They met in a
flurry of fists and fangs.
Alejandro was much younger, but exceptionally
strong. Probably even stronger than Sante. That strength made up
for the discrepancies in their ages.
They dealt blow after blow, periodically circling
each other with their fangs extended. Sante fought like a
well-trained Chosen, but Alejandro . . . Alejandro fought like a
bar brawler. He punched more than he executed any fancy kicking
moves, brought his strength to bear on his opponent with brutal
intensity.
Sante swung, but Alejandro blocked him and returned
the punch, then swept Sante’s legs out from under him, slamming
Sante facedown onto the sand. He knelt on the small of Sante’s
back, in just the way they’d restrain any other piece of scum
they’d arrested on the street.
One large hand gripped Sante’s hair and wrenched
his head back, exposing the vulnerable line of his throat. Sante
growled and clawed the sand, unable to free himself from the press
of Alejandro’s weight.
“Kill him,” Alejandro pushed out in a low, gravelly
voice, breathing exerted. Blood streaked him. “Do it, Daria, if you
want it so bad. Here’s your chance to avenge your friend.”