Mona Lisa Eclipsing

NINE

THE PHYSICAL PAIN was agony, the silver bullets burning like fiery brands lodged within Dante’s flesh. But the mental agony was greater. She had betrayed him. In what explicit words, Dante could not say or express coherently in his current haze of rage and pain, only that she had betrayed him and caused injury to all but his father.

It had been many lifetimes since Dante had been a captive, bound, gagged, and helpless. Yet in this current cycle of life, this was his second time in such a state, in as many months. The first time, Mona Lisa had saved him. Now she was the reason he had been captured, his body writhing in silver-ridden pain . . . because she cared more for a handsome stranger than she did him or her own people.

Dante’s thoughts and emotions were in chaotic turmoil. He loved her, hated her, wanted her like no other . . . and despised her with almost blinding, seething fury for kindling that want, that helpless need within him.

As if Dante’s very thoughts had procured her, he heard her voice above. Heard the treacherous news fall from her own lips that she had yet again fled a rescue attempt by his father. The Warrior Queen had indeed served vengeance upon him cruelly well.

You made me love you! Made me think you might love me, too.

Betrayed, betrayed . . .

It seeped within him and rose like a poisonous well until livid fury drowned all thoughts in a deafening roar for blood and vengeance. The sight of her, as she came through the door, was like a blow bludgeoning his chest. Love and hate, yearning and betrayal, mixed together in tumultuous disorder.

He twisted against his silver bonds, shouted muffled words of wrath. Then fell silent as she pulled Roberto in behind her, bound and gagged, with his arms handcuffed behind his back.

Mona Lisa hesitated at the sight of the wild captive chained to the wall. She had thought him frightening before in his eerie fighting calm. Now the calmness was gone and something akin to madness gleamed in his pale silver-blue eyes. The sight, the shock of it, jarred loose another broken memory.

The same young man in a near-naked savage state straining against silver chains, padded oddly with fleece, his hair unkempt and wild, eyeing her like a famished beast.

It overlay the current reality like a ghostly afterimage for a heartbeat, and then disappeared. The momentary shift in reality unsettled and confused her enough to make her ignore the dangerously enraged state of the bandit.

She ripped off his gag, asked him desperately, “I . . . I know you, don’t I?”

Her question punched through Dante’s rage and shocked him still. “Mona Lisa. What game are you playing at?”

“Do I know you?” she persisted.

“Hell, yes, you know me!”

His shout galvanized her into action. “Where are the damn keys?” she asked. Turning to Roberto, she searched his pockets.

“You don’t need keys,” Dante snarled. “You’re strong enough to break the chains yourself.”

“I can?” She seemed surprised.

“Yes, silver doesn’t weaken you.”

“No, you’re right. Silver doesn’t bother me.” Still, she seemed astonished that, with one simple tug, she was able to wrench open the shackles that had contained him.

The chains fell away with a clank, and he was free, looking wildly dangerous and threatening, those pale blue eyes burning so hot and fierce as he stepped toward her.

“What’s your name?”

Her question stopped him cold in his tracks again. “You know my name,” Dante said, jaw clenched.

“Maybe once but not now. I don’t remember. I hit my head. I don’t remember any of you.”

He stared at her intently then said, “I’m Dante.” When she showed no reaction to his name, he nodded toward Roberto. “What about him?”

“He’s the bad guy, right?”

A cold, deadly smile lit Dante’s face. “Yeah, he’s the bad guy.” He moved toward Roberto, who fell back, mumbling frantically, trying to force words out past his gag.

“Wait.” She gripped his forearm. “What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to kill him.” He had fallen back into that eerie calmness. Said it as if it were a foregone conclusion. As if it was normal practice for him—and her—to kill the bad guy. But whatever Mona Lisa didn’t remember, she couldn’t have changed that much. The thought of killing Roberto made her instinctively recoil.

“No, leave him! We have to go. There were other guards coming to the house. I took off before they arrived. They may be on their way here.”

The sound of a car pulling up and people getting out, weapons being readied, filtered down from outside.

“Too late, they’re here,” Dante said and ran up the stairs as fast as his wounds allowed, cursing the silver still lodged within him limiting him to only human speed.

He grabbed a knife from a fallen guard and one of those automated pistols—.22 caliber, Dante noted, why the bullets hadn’t blown through him like a more powerful 9 mm weapon would have. Mona Lisa followed behind with Roberto. Stuffing the pistol in his waistband, Dante grabbed Roberto, bringing the naked blade to his throat. “Knife, I think. A more visual threat. You’re going to tell your men to throw down their weapons, understand?”

Roberto nodded frantically as Dante ripped off the mouth tie, allowing him to spit out the gag.

Dante glanced around for Mona Lisa, but she was gone. He felt his heart give a frantic thud at the discovery. “My lady doesn’t want you dead,” Dante snarled in fluent Spanish as he jerked Roberto outside, using him as a human shield. “But give me a reason and you will be. Tell them to drop their weapons now!”

Roberto yelled out the order. There were four men, all armed with automatic pistols. Two of them started to drop their weapons, but the two others farther away still held their guns trained at Dante. In a fast, blurry motion, Mona Lisa came up behind them, knocked the two armed men unconscious, and followed suit with the two surrendering guards.

“I did what you said!” Roberto babbled in English as his men thudded to the ground.

“Pity,” Dante said, removing the sharp knife from his neck. He shoved Roberto down onto his knees. “Stay here. You move, you die.” He strode to Mona Lisa, stopping two feet away from her. Any closer and he would be tempted to grab her and shake her. “What the hell did you think you were doing?” he gritted out as fear and adrenaline pounded madly through him.

“Disarming them.” She started gathering up the weapons, handling them with dainty distastefulness.

“You should have stayed safely inside instead of risking yourself,” he growled.

“I didn’t want any more bloodshed, yours or theirs,” she replied softly. Only a discerning ear would pick up the faint, trembling edge in her words. She was not as calm as she appeared. That sign of nerves oddly calmed his own fear and rage.

Dante watched as she went to the car parked farthest out in the driveway. Popping the trunk, she hastily dumped the weapons she had collected in there.

“You should kill them,” he said with calm practicality.

“No.” Just one soft word.

“They’ll follow us.”

Slowly, carefully, she took the knife from Dante’s hand. “Not if I can help it.” Going to the other cars, she slashed their tires with quick efficiency. “Let’s go,” she said, sliding behind the wheel of the last car, the only functioning vehicle left.

“What about him?” Dante asked, casting a hard glance back at Roberto.

“Just leave him, please.”

She scrambled out of the car in alarm as Dante went back to the other man. “I’m just getting his wallet and leaving him a warning,” he said. Crouching down, Dante whispered low into Roberto’s ear, “Be grateful for your miserable life. Come near her, or any one of us again, and I will kill you slowly and very painfully. Comprende?”

Roberto nodded frantically.

Dante returned to the car and they drove off.