and forced her to meet his stern gaze.
"It will not be necessary. With every passing hour, the Phoenix gathers its strength."
"The Phoenix is gathering strength?" She gave a short, humorless laugh. "Inside me? Is that supposed to be reassuring?"
A hint of tenderness eased his stark expression. "I only mean that it soon will be capable of masking itself so that the demons cannot sense its presence."
Far from comforted, Abby regarded him warily. "And what else will this thing be doing inside me?"
"I can't say for certain," he reluctantly admitted. "Selena did not consider me her confidant. I was merely her chained beast."
Her head dropped back onto his chest. "My God, what am I going to do?"
He laid his cheek upon the top of her head, read-ily surrounding himself in her sweet warmth. "I do have a suggestion."
"What?"
"We must seek out the witches."
He felt her suck in a shocked gasp. "The witches? You mean the women who put this Phoenix into Selena?"
His features hardened. Even after three centuries, he vividly recalled every moment he endured at the hands of the coven. The black dungeon. The chains that had burned his very flesh. The magic that had leashed him like a neutered dog.
His searing hatred had not eased, but his concern for Abby was even greater. There was no one else who could help her.
"Yes."
"But"—she pulled back to regard him with a frown—"surely they are dead by now?"
'Their powers are linked to the Phoenix. As long as it lives, so do they."
"And you think they could help me?"
"Perhaps," he offered cautiously.
'Then let's go to them." She reached up to clutch the lapels of his silk shirt. "Where are they?"
"Actually, I'm not entirely certain."
"What do you mean?"
"As I said, Selena kept most of her secrets to herself, but I do know that she met the witches on occasion. They must have a coven close by."
"In Chicago?"
He gave a faint shake of his head, having already considered the possible locations. "Not in the city. They will need a place that is well secluded."
"Why?"
Dante hesitated. Although he had determined not to hide the truth from Abby, he conceded that there was no need for graphic details. Not when they were only bound to upset her further.
"They perform… certain rites that they would not want others to witness."
Thankfully she was too distracted to consider the nature of the rites. Instead she chewed her bottom lip until Dante shivered with the need to soothe it with a soft kiss.
"Then how can we possibly find them?"
Now it was Dante who was distracted. The scent of her satin skin, the feel of her soft curves, the delicious heat that stirred his passions.
"Leave that to me," he muttered, his hands slipping down the curve of her spine to rest upon the swell of her hips. "Now, what would you say to a hot bath?"
"A bath?" The frantic urgency faded as a dreamy longing settled upon her face. "I would say that it sounds like heaven."
Dante silently groaned at the thought of seeing that dreamy expression for an entirely different reason than hot water and soapy bubbles. Reasons such as his hands skimming over that silken skin and tumbling those honey curls while his lips blazed paths that had never been blazed before.
Abruptly he stepped away, not at all accustomed to restraining his passions. The witches might have stolen his lust for hunting humans, but every other lust remained in exquisite working order.
"Come along, lover. You shall have your bath."
Turning on his heel, Dante moved to a door neatly hidden by the paneling. A press on the hidden lever and the door swung open to reveal a narrow hall. With a glance over his shoulder to ensure that Abby was following, he led her past the various bedrooms to the master bathroom.
With a flick of the switch, muted light filled the room. From behind him he heard a faint gasp, and then Abby was stepping into the center of the room with a dazed expression.
For a moment Dante regarded her in puzzlement, but as she reached out to run a hand over the marble tub that was the size of a small swimming pool, a smile touched his lips. Of course. For one unaccustomed to Viper's extravagant taste, the perfect replication of a Grecian bath would be somewhat surprising. And perhaps just a tad overwhelming.
"Viper is never subtle," he murmured, sweeping past her to turn on the faucets that were shaped as goddesses.
"It's beautiful."
'Yes."
Pausing to pour a measure of scented bubble