Dante didn't feel good about letting Helios go to his father alone. A part of him wanted to follow, to protect him. But he was painfully aware that this wasn't possible. They needed to split up. He tried to focus his thoughts on his task, but it was harder than he could bear.
Hurriedly, he packed their bags with everything he thought might be important. Clothes, shoes, toiletries. For Helios, he packed only practical clothing. He would need neither one of his tailored suits nor his lab coat.
He needed clothes he could move in, clothes that would keep him warm.
Dante was fairly certain that their disappearance wouldn't go unnoticed for long. Maybe some hours. If they were lucky maybe even a day. They would have to leave the continent as quickly as possible. They needed to reach another country, build fake identities, and keep a low profile for a while.
He hoped Helios had enough money in his safe so that they wouldn't have to show themselves in public for the time being. Maybe they could live somewhere by the sea. The air there was good and Helios had liked waking up there after being killed by Belladonna.
If they even managed to get that far.
Of course, Dante could simply kill Jonathan Vale, take his revenge, and let Helios inherit the Vale Empire. But did he even want that? He had always sworn to take revenge on the one who had turned him, and yet he had never truly imagined simply killing him.
At least not anymore.
Right now, all he wanted was to flee together with Helios, to find safety and enjoy their time together. Without responsibility, without stress, without the daily monotony of the laboratory. He wanted to discover the world with Helios. To travel with him, get to know other cultures, and taste whatever dishes awaited them.
He didn't pack the bags too full. Less luggage was less conspicuous. Besides, he had no idea how much money Helios had actually stashed away in his safe. And apart from that, any unnecessary item could become an obstacle. It was about time to finally check. He should also start hiding the bags soon—anyone could come into this room at any moment. Even if it was very likely just Thomas.
He really didn't feel like having to explain why he was packing their bags.
In his mind, he went over possible routes. They could drive straight to somewhere. By car, or by train. They could cross to the next continent by ship. But he had no idea when the next one would leave, or how long the nearest ship would still be on its way.
They could also aim for a specific place and travel there by many detours.
They didn't really need much. Helios didn't even have to bring his suitcase…
…what was he supposed to do about Helios' records? He couldn't take them. Nor his poisons. Helios would have to give up everything. Everything he had achieved so far.
It tore Dante apart inside that Helios had no choice left but to flee.
The only comfort he had was time.
They had plenty of time to build a new life. Far away from Helios' father and his empire. Helios would get a new laboratory, one where he could work freely, without pressure and manipulation. There he would develop new medicines, conduct research that truly sprang from his own will.
Dante would damn well make sure they could build a good life together. They would need a bigger house, one that could fit Helios' lab. A training room wouldn't be bad either, and their shared bed should be just as big as Helios', maybe even a little bigger.
Maybe they would get a dog. Dante would also agree to a cat, if Helios preferred one. With a bit of luck, they'd find a house in a nice neighborhood, though he couldn't quite imagine Helios chatting carefree with the neighbors.
Or perhaps they'd live a little more secluded. At least then they wouldn't have to keep moving again and again.
Not aging raised far too many questions.
Besides, Helios seriously needed to take a driving course. With the way he drove, Dante couldn't possibly let him loose on society.
He smirked quietly as he knelt down in front of the wardrobe where Helios' safe was hidden.
Maybe Helios would even be interested in learning a new sport, or how to shoot a pistol. That way he'd finally learn how to aim, and he'd have another way to protect himself. It would be a win-win situation.
His smile grew wider as he pictured Helios trying to hit a target.
Then the door suddenly burst open.
Dante flinched violently and shot to his feet. He already had an excuse ready on his lips. But when he turned, it wasn't Thomas standing there as expected—it was Aaron and Mike. Two of his fellow guards.
Even as he turned to face them, a gunshot rang out, missing him by mere inches.
He stared in disbelief at his colleagues, who looked at him with grim determination. They had sparred against each other several times during training. From time to time, they had chatted afterward, and on a few occasions, they had been assigned alongside him to protect Helios.
He knew these men well.
And yet they glared at him with such hostile eyes. In their hands, they held pistols, aimed straight at him. He instantly understood what they intended. Surrendering without a fight was not an option.
"Aaron, Mike," he finally said with feigned composure, while his hand drifted inconspicuously toward the knife at his hip. "What an unexpected pleasure to see you here. Can I be of any assistance?"
Aaron drew a deep breath. For a fraction of a heartbeat there was something like regret in his eyes. But then the expression vanished, replaced by the same iron resolve that burned in Mike's gaze.
"Dante, I'm really sorry," Aaron said calmly. With a short click he disengaged his safety. "But orders are orders."
Dante growled, feeling adrenaline like acid in his veins. "Where is Helios?" he snarled, dropping into a fighting stance.
"In safety. That's all you need to know. Don't worry, we're keeping an eye on him," Mike replied.
So Vale had taken him away.
That was very bad. He had to take these two out and get out of here—fast. Ideally he'd get their luggage out and grab the money. If he made it back to his apartment, he could figure out how to get Helios out of his father's damn clutches.
This was the absolute worst case.
His grip on the knife hilt tightened. Regret blended with anger. He regretted postponing his revenge on Vale. He regretted not fleeing with Helios earlier, when they still had the chance. After the Belladonna incident he should have run with him, leaving no trace.
He shouldn't have listened to Helios. The last two weeks had been a tightrope walk. Vale could have noticed Helios' missing fingers at any time. It had been pure luck that everything had gone smoothly until tonight.
His eyes locked on the two guards before him. His hand closed around the knife hilt.
He would take them out.
"I'm sorry too, but I am definitely not going to let you execute me without a fight," he growled.
The bullet hissed. Dante rolled to the side, drew his knife, and threw it with a precise, powerful motion. The blade missed Aaron's heart by inches and instead buried deep in his right chest. The man gasped, his face contorted in pain, and his upper-body movement stuttered. Blood dripped onto the floor. Aaron sank forward to his knees, the gun still in his hand but now useless in a hand weakened by pain.
Mike fired again — the bullet tore through Dante's left shoulder. A sharp pain exploded where he'd been hit. Dante gritted his teeth. He would never get used to that pain. He inhaled deeply and ignored it, like he always did.
He grabbed the large vase from the console table and smashed it toward Mike with the flat of his hand. Glass shattered, dust flew; the blow sent Mike staggering. Dante seized the moment, charged, grabbed the hand holding the gun, rammed his shoulder into Mike's chest and twisted his arm in a short, decisive movement. With a targeted elbow strike he pried the weapon from him.
Hand-to-hand combat was his specialty. He knew that after this fight Vale would be on his tail. He would no longer be able to move freely.
Vale wanted him dead. He had no choice but to kill the two guards in front of him. Otherwise they would cause him trouble later. The incident in Soley had made painfully clear what it meant to be lenient.
He needed to kill them.
Pacifism would not bring Helios back to him.
If the two were dead, he would have to use the secret passage. He had no idea where it would lead — since no one had found the tunnel so far, the exit would most likely be well hidden.
His fist crashed into Mike's face, a dull thud followed by a sickening crunch as the nose broke. Blood sprayed; Mike staggered back, but Dante gave him no respite. He struck again and again until the body went limp and collapsed to the floor. Unconscious. Maybe dead. It didn't matter.
A shot rang out; hot pain exploded in his thigh. Dante snarled, buckled, then caught himself.
"Fuck…" Aaron's voice was hoarse, tortured. Sweat gleamed on his brow, his breathing already shallow.
Dante hurled himself at him, ripped the gun from his hand, and slammed him brutally to the ground. With practiced grips he immobilized arms and legs, though he knew Aaron wouldn't hold on much longer anyway.
Aaron gasped for air; a faint smile flickered over his lips. "Even… two against one… you finish us. You… are just too good at close combat…" Each breath rasped like sandpaper on glass.
And yet the two had never really been worse than he was.
Aaron had already lost a lot of blood and seemed to be fighting for consciousness. Apparently Dante had punctured an artery and now the man was slowly but surely drowning in his own blood. Guiltily, Dante clenched his teeth. He had not wished them a slow, horrible death. This was unworthy and far from anything he had intended.
But time was running out.
"Where is he taking Helios?" he asked quietly.
And every second he wasted increased the chance of being caught.
"Don't… know… should… only… kill… you…"
Aaron's eyes closed. His breathing was shallow and strained.
Dante's heart raced. Helplessness gnawed at him.
"Do you know where Vale's secret facility is?" Dante grabbed him by the shoulders, shook him as if he could wrench the answer out of him. "Tell me!"
A weak groan, then Aaron breathed one last, unintelligible word. His eyes rolled back, his chest rose once more in a shallow breath… then stayed still.
Dante stared at the lifeless body. A bitter feeling shot through his stomach. He had killed without getting any answers. Mike wasn't moving either. He had to get out before more guards arrived.
With determination, he got to his feet. Quickly he locked the door, then rushed to the wardrobe and opened the safe. Helios had stashed away more than expected. He grabbed all the money inside and all of Helios' papers as well. He slammed the safe shut just as he heard fast, heavy footsteps in the corridor and opened the secret passage.
On the dresser lay the photo of Davis and the Polaroid they had taken with Penelope before their first trip to Soley. He couldn't just leave them behind. Not when they were the only things that reminded Helios of his loved ones.
He quickly stuffed the photos into his pocket and turned back to the passage when an idea struck him.
He snatched up the candle Helios always used to contact Spider, placed it in the right corner of the windowsill, and opened the window as a distraction for his pursuers.
With some luck, Spider would notice something was wrong if the ritual wasn't completed. Dante would need that annoying assassin if he wanted to get Helios out of there.
A loud thud echoed as someone slammed against the door. Dante cursed under his breath, grabbed the luggage, and fled into the secret passage, hastily activating the mechanism for the bookcase.
The bookcase slid silently back into place at the very moment the door burst open and more guards stormed into the room.
Dante froze in place in complete darkness. He couldn't afford to make a sound and risk drawing their attention to the hidden passage. They would definitely hear his steps.
"Oh shit, he really got them!" someone shouted. "They're both dead!"
"Stop whining, they knew what they were in for. We have to catch him before he's completely gone," said a second.
"He escaped through the window, he's not in the bathroom," said a third.
"You report to Mr. Vale. I'll get a few more of the guys and you check for tracks under the window. Wherever he ran, he won't get far," ordered the second.
"Shit… I never thought I'd have to hunt one of our own," said the first.
"Mr. Vale's orders are our highest law. Anyone who refuses is executed," the second growled.
A heavy sigh.
"No idea, but if you don't want to take a bullet yourself, we shouldn't question whether there's any justice in this matter. Mr. Vale was very clear."
"God dammit, the guy's lost his mind. Who the hell kidnaps his own son?!"
"Quiet now! I don't want to lose any more men!" the second snarled. "Do what I told you. We meet outside in fifteen minutes."
"Yes, sir!" the others answered.
Dante waited a moment until they left the room. He switched on the lamp Helios always used when accessing the hidden passage. He shouldered the backpack and the small travel bag he had packed and set about finding a way out of the estate.
Fortunately, the secret passage wasn't as sprawling as he had feared. There were only a few rooms. One of them was Helios' secret lab. Another was a small storeroom; the rest were unused.
Since the other rooms were dirty and unused, Dante could at least be sure that no one knew about these tunnels besides Helios and himself. He followed the passage until he reached a door and no further paths branched off.
He was glad he didn't get claustrophobic in the cold, dark corridor. Helios had once told him he used the passage now and then to plant one or another poisonous herb in his herb bed. Unnoticed, of course, so no one would ask why he'd suddenly taken up gardening.
He had reached the end of the passage.
The door was locked from the inside, so you couldn't get in from outside. Dante listened for anyone out there. His heart pounded fast and hard in his chest, but he heard neither voices nor footsteps.
He unlocked the door, extinguished the lamp, set it down and opened the door slowly.
He peered out cautiously. No one was in sight.
The night garden spread before him: darkness pierced by the pale sheen of the moon, which silvered the mist over the grass. Dante stepped out, staying low, and slid behind the bushes. Every breath felt too loud; every footfall in the grass like a thunderclap.
Unluckily, he hadn't ended up outside the grounds, but in a quiet corner of the garden that was hardly used. Luckily, he was near the training ground. If he stayed close to the wall, he could put some distance between himself and the main building. There was no obvious escape, but he could get to the garage and take one of the cars. With a car he could reach the city, leave it somewhere obvious, and walk the rest of the way to his apartment.
While he ran the plan through his head, he moved on. Crouched as low as his frame would allow, he crept across the grounds. Every shadow could hide an enemy. Every twig that snapped would give him away.
He didn't want to kill unnecessarily. He was willing to kill anyone who tried to stop him, but he much preferred to avoid any more murders.
In the last half-year that he'd lived here, he'd grown fond of his colleagues.
He knew these men pretty well by now — how they lived, what drove them. He knew how they fought. Damn, he knew so much about them that it hurt.
Is Helios all right?
Dante hoped Vale had only taken him away and hadn't hurt him. Helios was smart. He would probably obey his father and stay put until Dante came to get him. Wherever "there" was.
Still, he worried.
"Check the training ground!" a voice suddenly rang out right in front of him through the darkness.
Dante froze, dropped to his knees and pressed himself deep into the grass. Heavy, rhythmic footsteps drew closer. For a moment it seemed as if they stopped right in front of him. His breath hitched, sweat beaded on his brow. Then they moved on, passed by him, their silhouettes swallowed by the night.
That had been close. Very close.
Dante had a rough idea how many guards were still patrolling the grounds. He'd need more than luck to get out unseen.
He continued on.
He needed a car. There was no other way out.
On his way to the garage he avoided several patrols, slipped through shadows, crawled behind hedges until he reached the dark rows of parked cars. He drew his combat knife and set about slitting the tires. With flat tires no one could follow him.
He'd reached the penultimate car when a heavy blow landed on the back of his head. Pain throbbed and he slammed his forehead against the bodywork. The alarm screamed; the high keening split the night and made his heart pound in his throat.
Dante swore under his breath.
He turned on the man who'd struck him and drove his knife into the attacker's thigh. In a flash he pulled it free and plunged it into the man's neck.
He'd at least punctured the tire in front of him and lunged for the car he wanted. He slid into the driver's seat, fished the key from the glove compartment and started the engine. He locked the doors. Two guards stood behind him.
Inwardly, he apologized to Thomas, whose car he was stealing. He knew how much the old man loved it. But it was the only vehicle whose keys were kept inside the car and not in the mansion.
This car was his only way out.
With the gas pedal slammed down, he reversed hard, the rear end shooting back, tires screeching, metal groaning—then he floored it and drove straight at the two guards. He prayed they would dodge in time. Something slammed against the car, but he didn't check what he had hit. He didn't want to know. Dante spun the car around and sped off as fast as he could. Gunfire rang out.
He swerved, surged forward, yanked the wheel. Shots cracked into the rear; the back window shattered, shards stinging his skin. A bullet hissed past his ear and buried itself in the windshield. Web-like cracks spread across his vision; a second bullet deepened the damage, making it nearly impossible to see. Shards danced in the moonlight.
To his horror, he realized Thomas's car—unlike the Vale family's—was not bulletproof.
That was bad. Very bad.
He tried to see the road ahead through one of the bullet holes. Another round punched into the seat beside him. He cursed and pressed harder on the gas. As long as he didn't take a bullet to the head, he'd be fine. If he got far enough, he could smash out the windshield and keep going.
Until he remembered the damn gate he still had to get through.
"Shit," he muttered as it came into view.
There was no choice but to ram it. He only hoped this car was strong enough. He drew a deep breath as it loomed closer. His foot was welded to the pedal.
No matter what happened, he would survive and somehow make it back to his apartment. He just had to avoid being impaled or having his head blown open. Everything else was bearable. Pain was only temporary.
Don't die.
He must not die.
He pressed the pedal to the floor and held steady. The gate rushed closer, Dante barreled straight for the spot where the two wings met. The car surged forward, engine howling, and the silence of the night was ripped apart by a metallic chaos of grinding, groaning, and splintering wood. The impact was brutal: the bumper shattered, the grille bent, sparks flew as metal slammed against the gateposts. With a crash the gate gave way. The car skidded out of control and slammed into the nearest tree.
The collision hurled Dante forward. His head smashed into the steering wheel. A dull explosion of pain erupted in his face, accompanied by a sickening crack. Warm blood trickled over his lip—his nose was broken. A piercing ringing filled his ears like tinnitus, his vision blurred, and the world tilted.
Dazed, he turned the ignition key. The engine sputtered, coughed — and died. For good.
"Damn," he croaked.
His fingers trembled as he reached for the pistol. The driver's door was jammed; the metal was so mangled there was no escape. So he unbuckled, freed his leg, drew a deep breath, and kicked at the windshield with all his strength. On the third blow the glass shattered, shards showering down.
He heard shouts and footsteps rushing toward him. He scrambled up, tossed the two bags out of the car, and climbed free, cutting his skin as he forced himself through. He paid them no mind.
Quickly he looked around and fired blindly over his shoulder toward where he'd heard the shots. The fog in his head thinned. The ringing faded, the dizziness eased. His feet found purchase; his body obeyed again. He jumped off the hood, snatched the bags, and bolted into the darkness of the woods. He didn't know the place, but he'd find his way to the city somehow. He just had to avoid running too deep into the forest.
The ground was uneven; roots jutted up, thorns ripped at his clothes. He had no idea where the woods led. But better to run blind into the unknown than to fall back into Vale's clutches.
Shots whipped behind him. Bullets tore splinters from trunks and hissed past his ears. One grazed his side, another struck his lower leg. For seconds the pain burned like fire, then the familiar tingle began as his body started closing the wounds. He growled softly and kept running.
Now and then he fired back in short bursts, at least forcing his pursuers to take cover. He tried to keep up his pace even when he felt he'd gained a decent lead.
Dante didn't know whether he had killed anyone else. He didn't try to think about it.
He just had to reach his apartment, meet Spider that evening, and hope the assassin actually showed up.
If not, he'd have to find a way on his own to free Helios from his father.
Under cover of night he continued on.