Wandering Soul (10 page)

Elsa sat up, sliding her legs over the side of the lounge chair so that she could be closer to him. Their knees touched, but she ignored the pleasant heat that spread through her body from the contact. She tightened her grip on his hand.

“She left because of Klaus. I think he was jealous of the attention you were getting.”

Dante stared at her silently, waiting for her to go on. With a deep breath, she plunged forward.

“You were just a baby. Your mother left you alone with Klaus for just a few moments, and he…” Elsa's throat nearly closed up, as if trying to shield Dante from learning the horrible truth. “There was a candle. It had burned down into a pool of molten wax.”

She shook her head, closing her eyes to try to shut out the memory, but it only became sharper. Dante's wailing, his mother wiping the hot wax from his face, even though it was burning her, and Klaus standing nearby, glaring at them both.

“Klaus did this.” Dante's voice was barely a whisper.

Elsa felt sick. She couldn't imagine what he was feeling, what he was thinking. He stood up and stepped away from her. She couldn't let go of his hand at first, but forced herself to release him.

Straightening his shirt, he said, “If you would not mind terribly, I should like to be by myself for a little while.” His voice was rough as he spoke, and he didn't wait for a response before he left.

She thought about following him, but what could she say? His scars had caused him so much hardship.

Based on Elsa's descriptions, Garrett thought Dante might be able to have reconstructive surgery to remove some of his scarring. But it seemed an awful time to broach that topic. She wanted Dante to know that people had changed. He didn't need to alter his appearance to have a happy life. Others would accept him as he was, like she did.

The thought of Dante going through more pain because of his scars, of taking the risk of surgery, terrified her. She covered her eyes, willing herself back under control. He needed her to be strong.

Some of the fatigue from the day before was returning. She leaned back in the lounge chair, thinking she would rest a bit to give Dante time to process what he'd learned, then find him so they could talk.

Not much later, Elsa heard soft footsteps approaching. She opened her eyes and saw a man hovering over her, backlit by the sun. At first, she thought it was Garrett. The man had the same shoulder-length blond hair, but he was too short and slender.

Her stomach lurched as she realized that she didn't know this man. She started to get up, but he was so close that she didn't have room to stand. The table blocked one side and the man blocked the other. Elsa did her best to put on a stony gaze, conveying only disapproval and hiding her fear.

“It's a lovely morning,” he said.

“For trespassing?”

The man laughed in response. It was a rich, throaty sound, but made the hair on her arms stand on end. He pulled over one of the chairs from the patio table and she tried to get up again, but he shifted even closer.

“Please, stay comfortable.”

“If you really want me to be comfortable, you'll tell me who you are.”

He sat next to her, smiling, though the smile didn't make it to his pale blue eyes. “You really don't remember me? Elsa, I'm crushed.”

She didn't like that he knew her name. She tried to think of when they might have met. His features were remarkably handsome, but the smile that pursed his full lips seemed cruel, and the lines around his eyes as he squinted in the sun made him look angry.

“I thought our date went so well. I was disappointed when you didn't call.” His voice was as smooth as snakeskin.

Elsa suddenly remembered a dinner Jazz had set up a few months back with one of the new artists from the gallery. Jazz called to say she couldn't make it after Elsa had already arrived, so she tried to cover for her friend. Elsa vaguely remembered listening to him talk about art and the gallery, but she had been so distracted with her plans to bring Dante to her time she'd only half paid attention.

Back then, she knew there were only a few events left in Dante's ring with strong enough imprints that she could use them to travel. She could sense the energy dwindling and she was getting desperate.

The random nature of her powers meant that she never knew when or where a piece of art was going to take her. The first time she saw Dante through his ring had been the day Heinrich died. The next trip took her to the day Heinrich offered Dante a job with the theatre—years earlier in Dante's lifetime. The third event took place between the two moments. He was helping with a performance, running around on the catwalks to operate incredible mechanisms he had developed for a play.

She had also visited times when Mary owned the ring—after the fire. Elsa knew Dante would be in the theatre while it burned. That would be the one moment when she could try to save him. And she had no idea when the ring would drop her there.

When she had met this man sitting next to her, whoever he was, she was focused on getting the play off the ground to hopefully boost her power, preparing her house for Dante's arrival, and figuring out how she could help Dante establish himself.

“I didn't know I was supposed to call,” Elsa said.

A wave of anger flashed across his face, his lips tightening in a frown and his eyebrows lowering over those cold blue eyes. Elsa had seen that look too many times before. It usually preceded violence.

She couldn't move. Her heart pounded in her chest and her muscles seemed to turn to stone.

Just as quickly, his expression became placid again. He sat forward and smiled. “It's all right. I forgive you.”

Elsa felt herself relax just a bit. Enough for her to ask, “How did you find out where I live?”

His smirk made her wonder if she'd find feathers in his mouth. With a shrug, he said, “Friend of a friend.”

Elsa's friends would never give someone she didn't know information about where she lived. But he had found her somehow.

“What is it that you want?”

“I want us to be friends. Good friends.” He leaned back in his chair. “I was thinking perhaps we could collaborate on a piece. I find you inspiring, and I think you can understand the allure of having someone to inspire you, what with the actor you've hired to live with you.”

“I didn't hire Dante.” There was more ire in her tone than was probably wise.

“So it isn't a professional relationship, then?” His gaze slowly slid down her body, making her wish she was wearing baggy sweats, even with the temperature starting to climb. “If I had known you liked to play dress up, maybe our date would have ended differently.”

Date? As frightening as he was, Elsa was about to let him know precisely what she thought of that. Rachel and Dante walked out from the studio doors before Elsa could let the guy have it.

“There you are, Michael,” Rachel said. “Did you get lost?”

“Only a bit.” Michael stood and smiled at Elsa. Her stomach churned. “I saw the garden from inside and just had to take a peek. Elsa was keeping me company.”

He walked over to Rachel, then gripped her arms and kissed her passionately enough to make Elsa even more uncomfortable. Dante stepped away from the pair, glancing briefly at her before turning his attention to one of the blooming gardenias.

She suddenly needed to be closer to him. She leapt up from the lounge chair and crossed the patio to stand at his side. She tried to hide the way her legs shook.

When Michael finally released Rachel, Elsa asked, “What are you doing here?”

“We were in the neighborhood and stopped by to see how you're doing.” Rachel was breathless, a dazed smile on her face. “Plus, I wanted you to meet Michael, since I already told you about him.”

“My sweet little thing couldn't keep a secret to save her life.” Michael tapped Rachel under the chin with his finger. “But we should go. We don't want to impose.”

He didn't wait for Rachel to respond. Turning on his heel, he put his hands in his pockets, then strolled down the pathway that led to the front of the house. Rachel started after him, but Elsa took a few quick steps after her and grabbed her arm.

“Rachel, are you okay?” Elsa kept her voice low so Michael wouldn't hear.

“Of course I am. You're the one who was sick.” Rachel laughed, then gave Elsa a quick hug. “I've got to go. Michael hates it when I keep him waiting.”

Rachel waved cheerfully, then ran after Michael. Elsa was left standing in the middle of her patio, a knot of dread heavy in her stomach. When she felt a gentle touch on her shoulder, she yelped and jumped away, then whirled around to face the potential threat.

“I did not mean to startle you,” Dante said.

Before he could say anything else, Elsa stepped forward and wrapped her arms around his waist. She buried her face against his chest.

She knew she shouldn't. She should be strong. He was undoubtedly still dealing with what she had told him. But Michael had roused her own skeletons, and their rattling bones drowned out the sound of reason.

Elsa wasn't strong enough to resist the comfort of Dante's embrace.

Chapter Thirteen

The remainder of the day passed in what Dante could only think of as bliss. Elsa had been a bit on edge, and he could not say he did not feel the same after the morning's revelation. However, after hours spent in pleasant conversation on the patio and in the studio, he was feeling more at ease than he had perhaps ever been.

Once she had retired for the night, he planned to read more of the encyclopedias. The natural light faded as the sun set, and Elsa yawned with increasing frequency. Still, she made no sign that she was preparing to return to her room.

The insects were singing loudly as she turned off the fan that kept them at bay. Elsa closed and locked the doors to the patio, her gaze scanning the garden as if some menace lurked within the azaleas. When she nearly stumbled in the short distance between her desk and the door, Dante could no longer remain silent.

“Elsa, you must sleep.”

“I'm not tired.” Her words were distorted by an enormous yawn that she barely managed to cover with the back of her hand.

He'd been able to finish another painting while she postponed her rest. His brushes were already cleaned and put away. Drying his hands with a cloth, he approached her, unable to tame his smile. He stopped only a few inches from her, enjoying the softness of her eyes as sleep crept in around their edges.

“You are quite stubborn.” He was close enough to catch her should she fall. The way she was swaying on her feet made that a very real possibility. He tossed his cloth over the back of her chair, and she did not even protest. “You must rest. Winston has tasked me with keeping you well.”

“I'm fine,” she said, though she yawned once more. “Let's watch a movie. I can make popcorn.”

Dante gently caught her arm as she turned toward the hall and she stumbled into him. Rather than move away, she rested against his chest, yawning again. She seemed close to falling asleep on her feet.

“What is troubling you?”

She stared at the ground, then shook her head. “It's ridiculous.”

“Are you still upset from your encounter with Michael?”

“I'm probably overreacting. He's Rachel's boyfriend. I know she has bad taste in guys, but really, how dangerous can he be?”

“In matters such as these, it is always best to trust one's instincts.”

“The way he showed up on the patio, the things he said… It was unnerving.”

Without thought, Dante pulled her close, holding her tightly. “I will not let anyone harm you.”

“I keep telling you,” she mumbled into his shirt, “I'm supposed to be protecting you. Great job I've done so far.”

“You saved my life,” he said, but stopped himself from proceeding. She had not reacted well when he expressed gratitude about the matter before. And he respected that she did not wish him to feel indebted to her.

To lead her from the fretful path her thoughts seemed to be taking, he lifted her from her feet using a bit more energy than was strictly required. She was momentarily airborne before landing gently in his arms.

As he had hoped, she let out a brief laugh. Her smile lit the room more brightly than the electric lights. Before she could gather her wits to begin yet another argument, he carried her from the studio.

She nestled against his chest, letting out a contented sigh. She fit so perfectly against him.

When he reached her bedroom, the door was open. Dante barely hesitated before entering.

In his time, it would have been scandalous for him to be in a woman's bedroom at this late hour. He was glad to be free to assist Elsa as much as needed without worrying about her social standing, especially since she was still having some trouble with her
physical
standing.

He chuckled at his unspoken jest, and she made a soft noise in response, like a roosting dove. It was not until he set her down on her bed that she roused.

“Don't go.” She gripped his shirt tightly. “Please. Not yet.”

“You are perfectly safe.” Dante pulled the covers from under her so that she could slide beneath them.

“I know. I just don't want to be alone. Will you stay for a little while?”

Her eyes were pleading. He was not inclined to disappoint her, given how distressed she appeared.

She slid further across the bed, making room for him. The sight of her lying there, waiting for him, brought heady images to his mind. He imagined lifting the covers to join her, sliding his arms around her waist, pulling her close and…

He scolded himself for the wayward nature of his thoughts and sat instead above the covers, then leaned against the pillows. He did grant himself the comfort of stretching his legs out next to her.

As soon as he did, Elsa tucked her body snugly against his, resting her arm across his stomach and her face against his chest. He could not resist wrapping his arms around her. Indeed, there was nowhere else for him to place them.

She made another soft sound, her breath becoming deep and even as she relaxed. For Dante, the opposite was occurring. His breath came quicker as her warmth seeped into him. He could feel the blood pooling low in his body, hardening him with desire. If she were to fully awaken, he would be mortified.

He wished he could secure more modern clothes rather than the thin slacks he wore that did nothing to conceal his current state. He thought perhaps to broach the subject, but she had gone to such lengths to make him feel at home, it seemed ungrateful to ask for more.

He kept wearing the black slacks and linen shirts to show his appreciation for how considerate she had been, but his clothes and his room only served to haunt him with memories best left forgotten.

This moment was another example of his dilemma. Trapped in his clothes from another time, the only thing he could do to conceal his predicament was turn off the lights, which would plunge him back into darkness.

At least Elsa's room had large windows and he could look up and see the stars. He kept the curtains in his room open as wide as possible, yet still, he felt as if he was back in Heinrich's theatre, buried beneath the earth. Dante wanted only the sky, the air, and the beautiful colors of the garden outside.

Each kiss of sunlight peeled away more of the life he had left behind. Perhaps he might eventually become as bronzed as Garrett. The pallor of Dante's skin was already lessening with his time in the solarium and on the patio. All but the skin under his mask, of course. He doubted even the sun would do anything to the reddened flesh beneath.

Suddenly self-conscious for an altogether different reason, he reached over and turned off the lamp. He would lie with Elsa for a little while, until he was certain she was sound asleep, and then he would slip from her room and return to the studio.

The lounge chair on the patio was quite comfortable, and after his morose thoughts, he hated the thought of going back to his room. He would sleep in the studio, the windows giving him an excellent view of the sky and the stars. Until then, he would enjoy her warmth beside him.

In the darkness, he reached up and touched the smooth surface of his mask. If only it didn't stand between them. And yet, without his mask, the mystery that it presented, they most likely never would have met. Dante could not fool himself into believing that history would have remembered him if he had simply been a set designer for a failing theatre.

He removed his mask and held it up so that it caught what little ambient light was in the room. The smooth porcelain appeared as a pool of silver darkness, a bit lighter than the backdrop of the room.

He had tested many materials before settling upon this. Lightweight, durable and comfortable enough that he barely registered its presence.

At first, he had thought to use a flesh-colored glaze to make the mask less obvious, but that only made others' reactions worse. His experiments with decorative enamels had not been met with any less derision. He had finally ceased trying to gain the acceptance of others and left his masks unadorned.

So much of his life had been dominated by his disfigurement. Knowing that his own brother was responsible…

Dante suddenly wanted the mask away from him, even if only for a few moments. He set it on Elsa's nightstand on top of a stack of books. The silence of the room settled over them, the only sound her soft breathing.

Holding her in his arms, he almost felt normal. What if this was truly what his life was now to be? Meals shared in camaraderie with Winston and perhaps at times Garrett, days creating in the studio and gardens, evenings relaxing in Elsa's company, and nights spent like this. It was more than he dared to dream. And yet, his thoughts went further.

She cared for him a great deal. That much was obvious. And though it had only been a matter of days, he could feel his heart reaching toward her, yearning for her. How could he not grow fond of someone who inspired such loyalty in her friends, who helped others so selflessly?

He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head, then smoothed her silken hair against her back. She let out a contented sigh and Dante smiled, gratified that she was so at ease in his presence.

It was wrong of him to want more from her. He knew that he could not give her the kind of life that she deserved, a partner who could stand beside her in the light of day without hiding behind a mask.

She was intelligent, kind, beautiful and strong. She could have any man she wanted. Why would she ever want him?

No, the most he could hope for was her friendship. For that blessing, he would consider himself the luckiest man in the world. But for a little while, he could let himself think about what their lives could have been if circumstances were different. For a little while longer, he let himself dream.

The room was filled with a golden glow when Dante opened his eyes again. It seemed he only blinked, but he must have fallen asleep. Morning light illuminated everything within the room.

He stretched, enjoying the feel of Elsa lying at his side. She had nestled against him even closer during her sleep, the softness of her breasts pressing upon his stomach and her arms folded over his chest. He glanced at her, wanting to see her face illuminated by the morning light and relaxed in sleep, but she was awake.

One of her hands was pressed against the bare skin of Dante's chest, the contact nearly searing him. His heart began to beat frantically beneath her palm, as if striving for her touch. Her chin was resting on the back of her hand and she was smiling at him.

Her eyes were dark in the rich light of dawn, a smoldering, deep sienna. Breathtaking.

“Good morning.” She cast a smile upon him broad enough that the skin at the corners of her eyes crinkled.

He had never seen her smile so completely. It took some time for him to bring himself to speak, dazed as he was by her obvious happiness at waking next to him.

“Good morning. I trust you slept well?”

His hand reached out of its own accord, combing through the golden locks of her hair. He did not even have the pretense of tucking it behind her ear. He was just mesmerized by the light in the strands, the silken texture against his fingers. Fortunately, she did not seem to mind. In fact, she closed her eyes for a moment and leaned her head against his palm.

She let out a contented sigh. “I did. And you?”

“I am quite rested.” Something was scratching at the back of his mind, a warning that intruded on his ability to enjoy the moment fully.

“I didn't realize you're already this comfortable with me. I'm so glad.”

He laughed. “I have been comfortable enough to sleep next to you from the very first night.”

“That isn't what I meant.” A blush spread across her face that made him smile despite his forebodings.

She rose on one elbow, which brought her lips very close to his. She lifted her hand to his face and, for a moment, he thought that she might kiss him. Instead, she ran her fingertips lightly along his cheek, the gentle touch resounding through his entire body as he realized it was
the right side
of his face.

Dante was halfway across the room before he even had a chance to fully process the horror of what had just happened. Elsa, beautiful Elsa, had been looking at him, smiling at him, chatting with him. All while he was not wearing his mask.

He covered his face with his hand, hiding the scars as best he could, turning so that his right side was away from her. How could she stand to look at him? To touch the marred flesh that had destroyed his chances at a normal life?

He started back to the nightstand to find his mask, but it was not where he thought he placed it the night before. Perhaps it had fallen among the books she kept at her bedside. Or Leonardo could have knocked it off the nightstand during his nightly prowls.

Dante dropped to his knees, reaching under the bed to see if it had fallen below. It was neither under the bed nor the bedside table. He rifled through the stacks of books, knocking them over in his frantic search for his mask. Where was it?

“Dante…” Elsa's voice was quiet and thin. He had never heard that tone from her before. She sounded afraid. The thought tore through his heart, freezing him in place.

He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. His whole body was shaking with the effort to calm himself. But he was frightening her, and why shouldn't she be frightened? He was used to those who saw his face reacting quite worse than Elsa had. At least she had not screamed.

In fact, she had spoken to him, smiled at him, even touched the scarred skin without seeming troubled at all.

The depths of her kindness went beyond what he had realized. Kindness or pity, the one reaction he found even worse than fear.

Dante opened his eyes, keeping his hand over his face. Elsa was on her knees on the bed, clutching the sheets to her chest and staring at him. Her face was bloodless, a deep crease wedged between her brows. Whatever her initial reaction had been, fear had unmistakably taken over.