Author's Note:

You might be noticing an alcohol theme here in chapter titles. Alcohol is not going to be a theme of the story necessarily, but when I was trying to come up with a title for the first chapter I thought it would be a fun naming convention to name them all after mixed drinks. The drinks themselves won't necessarily always appear in the chapter, but some portion of the name will. I'm such a geek.

I have made a point of writing Dante a little differently here than I normally do. Usually I make him out to be nicer and a little less of a jerk, but he really can be a total arrogant ass in the games at times, so I thought it would be interesting to try writing him a little more like that. I hope you'll forgive him. :) I also tend to write these kinds of scenes from the girl's point of view most of time. Being a girl myself, that's probably only natural, but I thought it might be interesting to try a truly hormonal male perspective since I attempt it so rarely. Hope I managed to pull it off.

Whiskey Sour

Dante was dozing in his favorite chair, his feet resting on his desk and a magazine open over his face to block out the harsh light of the setting sun. He had been up nearly seventy-two hours straight finishing up a couple jobs that just wouldn't die—in a manner of speaking. Lady had shown up at the last one to help him out though she hadn't been invited, claiming that he was in no shape to fight demons on his own. Just thinking about her nerve annoyed him all over again and he tossed the magazine across the room with a scowl just to have something to throw.

The woman was driving him absolutely crazy. She ran her own business and competed with him for jobs, and yet she still felt the need to meddle in his life every other day. Out of respect for their history, he couldn't quite bring himself to mouth off at her, but the prospect was getting more tempting all the time. She mothered him more than Trish had when she was around, and it didn't help that she also seemed to be flaunting her body in his face at every opportunity.

Not that he didn't enjoy the view. She might have lost some of the innocent girl appeal she had when he met her at Temen-ni-gru all those years ago, but that innocence had been replaced by a seductive fire in her eyes and a swing to her hips that raised his body temperature despite his best intentions. He couldn't deny the fact that he was attracted to her—who wouldn't be? But he had learned a few things about himself since his reckless youth.

At the top of that list was the fact that he didn't sleep with women he respected. It was pathetic, but true. And he respected Lady—he would be an idiot not to, and probably dead, too, if she ever found out. But it wasn't just that he respected her as a peer and a rival. She was like a little sister to him—an annoying, busybody little sister. Sleeping with her had hardly any appeal at all because he knew it would end in disaster; his heart wouldn't be in it and the repercussions of that kind of misstep would be far too painful.

That wasn't to say that he was incapable of sleeping with a woman he respected—he just didn't make a habit of it. He satisfied his body's needs from time to time because his demon blood made denying those impulses nearly impossible, but he usually chose nameless women who were more than willing to fill his need with no strings attached. They used him as surely as he used them, but it was better than using someone he cared about simply to fulfill a physical requirement. While she was a lot stronger than she used to be, Lady was still fragile in many ways emotionally, and he couldn't forgive himself if he added to her emotional burdens out of nothing more than curiosity and lust.

Sighing and deciding that he wasn't going to be drifting off to sleep any time soon, Dante sat up in his chair, heavy boots landing on the floor with a thud. What he needed right now was some alcohol. He rummaged around in the bottom drawer of his desk for that old bottle of whiskey he had hidden there after Lady's latest prohibitionist rage. Occasionally, when she was tired of his procrastination, she would scour his house for alcohol and throw away everything she found just to make him get off his ass and get to work. Alcohol, after all, was expensive, and he had to earn money in order to buy more.

The front door swung open with a creak and Dante paused in his search without looking up. The visitor's boots stepped quietly inside, something about the gait immediately suggesting femininity to him. "What?" he demanded, finally fishing his bottle of whiskey out of the drawer. "Did your voice finally recover from all that shrieking so you could pick up where you left off?" He knew that it might be a client and he should probably be a little nicer just in case, but he decided he would cross that bridge when—or if—he came to it.

The door clicked shut, but his guest did not make a noise.

Feeling a bit foolish as his certainty of his visitor's identity began to waver, he sat up slowly and squinted through the harshly angled light to make out the figure leaning back against the door. Dressed in black leather that hugged her body like a second skin, she smirked at him from beneath dark sunglasses, full red lips curving upward deliciously.

Struck dumb for a moment, Dante simply sat there and stared, his eyes reacquainting themselves with the generous curves of her willowy body and his hand clenching on the neck of the whiskey bottle. Her smile widened and she pushed away from the door, endlessly long legs striding across the floor toward him with captivating sways of her hips.

He didn't sleep with women he respected, but he had long suspected that Trish could be the exception to that rule.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded, the words coming out more ragged than he would have liked.

Crossing her arms over her stomach as she shrugged, her breasts came close to tumbling right out of the leather contraption she called a shirt and Dante consciously shifted his attention to removing the cap from his bottle of whiskey.

"I was in town. I thought I would see what you were up to," she said lightly, perching on the edge of his desk in the precise spot Lady often chose when she was chewing him out.

Dante placed the open bottle of whiskey down and reached for the glass he kept in the top drawer. "You must want something. You never stop by just to say hi," he said, trying not to sound overly bitter.

He poured himself a glass of whiskey without looking up at her, but she still hadn't replied by the time he had sent the first gulp of alcohol burning down his throat. Looking up at her cautiously, he watched as she pushed her sunglasses up on her forehead and regarded him with startlingly blue eyes, her pale brows drawn together in an unexpectedly serious expression. "That's not true."

Dante threw back another gulp of whiskey, a shadow of a smile ghosting over his lips. "Whatever."

"Maybe I missed you," she said defensively and he nearly choked on his drink. She sat silently while he laughed, glowering in a manner that seemed out of place on her.

Catching his breath, Dante sighed. "Thanks. I needed that."

"It wasn't meant to be funny," she snapped.

"Mm-hm." Pouring another glass, he considered her with a jaunty smile, his eyes brazenly taking another round trip along the perimeter of her body. "You cut your hair," he observed quietly, holding the glass up to his lips.

Pointedly looking away with a petulant expression, she stated, "I got too close to a fire demon and it singed a chunk out of my hair. I had to get the rest cut off to match."

"It looks good," he said honestly, placing his empty glass down on the desk and leaning back in his chair.

An awkward silence filled the space between them, and though she was close enough to touch, Dante felt as if he couldn't move an inch toward her. He had never understood how she could manage to keep him at arm's length when he was standing only a breath away, but she had a knack for being carelessly aloof. She was sitting no farther from him than Lady often did, but while he knew that he could have gotten a rise out of Lady with only a small gesture, Trish could be sitting on his lap and still not respond with anything more than a roll of her eyes.

She broke the silence first, continuing to gaze at the wall as she commented, "I ran into Lady at the bar. She was complaining about you."

"Great," Dante grunted. "I suppose you're here as a favor to her, then?" He had started to lift the whiskey bottle to pour another glass without even realizing what he was doing, but Trish held the bottle down to the desk, her eyes sparking dangerously as they focused on him again.

"Yes…" she replied softly, "…and no."

"What's that supposed to mean?" His voice had instinctively dropped into a lower tone as well and his eyes narrowed as he fought her hold on the bottle.

"Don't you think you've had enough to drink?" she asked brusquely.

"I've only just started and the initial buzz is already wearing off," Dante nearly growled.

Sighing, Trish released the bottle and turned away. "How do you feel about Lady?" she asked so quietly that he had to strain to hear her voice.

Strangely, Dante no longer felt like drinking. Pushing away from the desk, he stood up and paced off across the room just to put a little distance between them; the proximity might not have been doing anything for her, but it sure as hell wasn't helping him think any clearer. "Where are you going with this? Did you two have some kind of heart-to-heart or something?"

"I'm asking for myself."

That didn't make a lot of sense to Dante. How could asking how he felt about another woman be something she needed to do for herself? Deciding to avoid the strange question entirely, he said, "Well, I'm not really in the mood to talk feelings."

Turning back to face her, he was surprised to find her following him across the room. She didn't stop until she was standing close enough for him to feel her body heat. He wondered if she knew that her body was a tool and that she was extremely adept at using it to her advantage. If she had been any other woman, he wouldn't have doubted that she shifted her hips and tilted her head just so because she wanted to play with him. But with Trish he never could be sure if she was even interested enough to try.

"When I was at the bar Bill said that you've seemed lonely lately," she murmured, watching him closely.

Confused and getting tired of having no idea what she was thinking, Dante shook his head and leaned back against the pool table, crossing his arms over his chest. He decided not to even respond until she started making sense again.

She raised a hand to his face with a casual air and he repressed a shiver as she traced lightly over his jaw, a wondering expression on her face. He couldn't decide if she liked the sensation of the stubble beneath her fingertips, or if she was merely amused by his rough appearance. "I guess I'm just worried about you," she said finally. "It's not like you to be lonely—or, at least, it's not like you to let it show."

"So, you thought you could hook me up with Lady?" he retorted coldly, not doing a very good job of remaining silent. "Thanks, mom, but I can find my own dates."

Her eyes darkening, she took a quick step away from him. "I am not your mother." Her voice was frigid and her body language spoke of ten types of danger. He had certainly struck a nerve with that comment.

"Yeah, I know," he breathed, wondering how many of his frustrated desires were coming out in his hungry tone.

She tilted her head, an uncertain expression on her pale features. "I've been thinking," she began slowly, turning away and taking a deep breath before continuing, "about coming back. But I wasn't sure if there would still be a place for me here."

Understanding dawned on him swiftly and he nearly melted with delight in spite of his annoyance. "Lady's not my partner," he said evenly. "But I don't know that I even want a partner anymore. Being partners with someone implies a level of trust I'm not sure I have in anyone."

Smiling humorlessly, she looked back at him over her shoulder, the pose guileless and yet sensual in a way he couldn't quite describe. "You act as if I cheated on you."

He sighed. Her suggestive language wasn't making this any easier. "You did what you felt you had to do. I understand that. But you can't expect me to just welcome you back with open arms and pick up everything right where we left off." Except that was what he was more than willing to do. He refused to let her know that yet, though; he wanted to hold on to his dignity as long as he could manage, despite the fact that he knew he would give in before it was over.

"Where did we leave off, Dante?"

Her voice was soft and full of unspoken meaning and he was so startled by the question that he gaped at her anxiously for longer than he probably should have. He couldn't decide if she was really implying something or if he was simply being overly hopeful. "I'm starting to think that demon singed more than your hair," he murmured, avoiding the question altogether. "What is with you tonight and the deep questions?"

Trish began pacing slowly across the room, hugging her arms to herself. "I've been halfway around this human world and back again, exploring it and trying to figure it out in a feeble attempt to find a place I could belong. I thought that maybe if I traveled long enough and met enough humans I would start to think and feel and behave more like them. I wanted to blend in with them, wanted to forget what I was so that I wouldn't have to face the reason I was created."

Turning back to him abruptly, a devastating expression twisting her flawless features, she continued, "But I could never find the sense of home I felt here…or the feeling of belonging I felt at your side." Even she seemed surprised by her statement, as if she had only come to realize the truth as she said the words out loud.

Dante, frankly, felt stunned. She had never shared her feelings so openly with him before and he had no idea how to respond. Luckily, she didn't give him the chance.

Composing herself and meeting his eyes with determination, she said firmly, "So, I need to know, Dante. Can I come home, or do I have to keep searching?"

A weak smile twisted his lips and he rolled the eight ball back and forth across the pool table as he considered his answer. Deciding to take the safer road through drearily familiar territory, he said nonchalantly, "I'm using your old room as my exercise room. And I threw away the clothes you left in the closet."

"Is that a no?" He could see the hurt in her eyes though she managed to keep her expression serene.

"I sold your bed too," he added as if she hadn't said a word, his smile gaining strength as he sent the eight ball spinning toward the corner pocket.

"Then, I guess I have nothing else to say." She turned toward the door and pushed her sunglasses back down on her nose. "Except that you should really be kinder to Lady." He could feel her eyes burning behind her dark shades as she glanced back at him with a haughty tilt of her head. "If you don't stop abusing her she might just give up on you."

Shaking his head at her odd comment, he followed after her. "Will you hold on a second? Damn, you sure know how to jump to conclusions."

Trish hesitated, her lips pursed as she turned to look at him with only a modicum of patience.

"I never said 'no.'"

She arched an elegant brow but did not respond.

Pausing in front of her, he pushed a golden strand of hair behind her ear gently, his fingers following the curve of her neck to her collarbone. She actually shivered in response and he leaned closer, surprised to feel her pulse racing beneath his fingertips. Eating up every second of her uncertainty, he said with a grin, "You're welcome to stay, if you want. But I felt I should warn you that you don't have any extra clothes here, so if you take a shower you might have to wear mine, and I've only got the one bed, so—"

If she had been human he might have been able to dodge the slap, but as it was, her palm had connected with his cheek almost before he saw her move. She was fast, but she was strong as well, leaving his skin stinging with the force of the blow. Cradling his aching cheekbone, Dante looked up at her through a ragged curtain of hair; she was nearly glowing with rage and he wondered what he had done to piss her off so badly. It wasn't as if he hadn't used worse pick up lines on her before.

"You don't mean that," she murmured and he blinked in surprise. He couldn't help thinking that she seemed to be angry at the wrong thing. Sweeping her sunglasses off her face, she flung them carelessly across the room and his eyes followed their progress as they skittered across the floor because he was too dumbfounded to do anything else.

Gripping his chin fiercely, she forced his face back toward her and he winced at the pressure of her slender fingers against his jaw. He instinctively wanted to twist her hand away, but he had a feeling using force would not be the best choice at the moment. "She's right. You're impossible," she stated with ice clinging to her words. "No wonder she's so bent out of shape over you."

"Who's bent out of shape?" Dante asked with dread. "Lady? Are we back to her again? She's practically like a sibling to me, okay? I'm just not interested." That wasn't the whole truth, but it was as close to it as he was going to admit.

"Then stop egging her on," Trish snapped, her hand clenching painfully against his skin. "It's not fair to her."

His anger flaring, Dante snapped, "Fine. Can we stop talking about her now? Why are you really here, Trish? Because I get the feeling that it wouldn't have mattered how I answered your question. You'd still be pissed."

Dante felt her nails break his skin, a thin stream of blood tickling its way down his neck. Her expression darkened, but she didn't say a word.

"What do you want from me?" he demanded, finally snatching her wrist and ripping it away from his face before she could do any more damage—although it wasn't the pain that was bothering him. It was the way the small act of brutality instantly raised his blood pressure. "You're the one who left me, remember? So, why are you trying to make me feel like I'm the one who screwed up?"

Her wrist was still clutched in his hand, but her hand had gone limp, her blue eyes hazy as she looked away. She was rarely so unsettled, and he sensed an unspoken opportunity in her demeanor. Perhaps it was time for him to take a risk. "What's the question you're really wanting to ask?" he murmured and she flinched, her chest rising and falling rapidly with anxious breaths.

Her voice faint as if she was hoping he wouldn't be able to hear her, she said haltingly, "When you look at me…who do you see?"

So that was what was bothering her. Dante's eyes drifted shut and he sighed. "Trish, how many years have we known each other?" he asked, trying not to sound too exasperated.

She shook her head numbly. "I've lost track."

"Don't you think it's about time you let this go?"

Trish's gaze swerved back toward him, but only got as far as his shoulder. She seemed hesitant to look him in the eyes. He loosened his grip on her wrist, rubbing his thumb soothingly over her palm as he continued, "I barely knew my mother before she was taken from me. I only had a picture and a few vague recollections of my childhood, so yeah, I thought about her when I first met you. I'd been trying to imagine what she was like most of my life, and I guess I projected some of that onto you—but I was only doing what Mundus expected of me. I was searching for something that couldn't be found."

He took a step closer to her and she instinctively backed away though the door stopped her from going far. "But I knew in my gut that I would never react to my mother the way I reacted to you," he breathed, his voice shrouded with dark promises. "I told you that you would never have her fire, but that doesn't mean you don't burn just as bright."

Finally meeting his gaze reluctantly as if she expected him to disappoint her in the end, Trish regarded him warily. "Those are some pretty words, Dante," she whispered. "I don't know whether to believe you or not."

His lips quirked with a fleeting smile. "You'd better be careful or I might just start talking about filling your soul with light, and we both know how much that turns you on."

Groaning and rolling her eyes, Trish hissed, "You really know how to ruin a moment."

Dante smirked, his hand drifting along her arm to her waist and catching at the curve of her hip as he tugged her toward him. "Then let me make up for it," he breathed, his lips hovering over hers as he watched her eyes widen slowly, exhilaration pounding through his veins as he realized that for once she wasn't pushing him away. Brushing teasingly against her mouth, he snagged her lower lip briefly with his teeth and soothed away the offense with a playful half-kiss, wondering how he had managed to wait so long to give in to this particular temptation.

True to form, Trish stopped him before he could get any further, her hands pressing against his shoulders and pushing him back a step. "Why now?" she demanded, watching his reaction carefully. "You've never tried to kiss me before."

"You've never let me get this close before." He reached for her again and she brushed his hand away.

"You've teased, you've made lewd comments, and I know you've groped my ass--whether it was intentional or otherwise--but you've never actually tried to kiss me," Trish persisted.

Sighing, Dante threw up his hands. She was asking questions he wasn't comfortable answering. How could he tell her that he'd been drawn to her from the moment he met her and that he had only held himself back because he couldn't figure out how to approach her without making a mess of things? He was self-assured to a fault with most women, but he doubted himself when he was with her. And that doubt led to stupid mistakes.

Finally, he said crossly, "Well, there's a reason, I suppose. It's generally not a good idea to screw your business partner. I was just being cautious. That doesn't mean I never wanted in your pants."

He could tell by the way her expression darkened that he was doing a good job of screwing things up so far. "How terribly romantic," she whispered sarcastically.

Sensing the opportunity slipping away quickly, he knew the only way to catch it before it was out of reach was to shift the focus from wordplay to something more physical. He was a man of action, after all, not words. Throwing all caution to the wind, he leaned toward her again, pressing his palms against the door on either side of her slender shoulders. This time she didn't stop him; she must have noticed the dangerous glint in his eyes. "You didn't come here for romance," he purred in her ear with confidence he didn't have, running his tongue over her earlobe and catching it in his teeth.

His hands found her hips, sliding around her waist and downward. Cupping her firm behind in his palms, he lifted her off her feet while pressing her body flush against his. Her low-slung belt dug painfully into his stomach, but he didn't care as he flexed his hands and tightened his grip. She made a breathy noise in his ear and he grinned, nuzzling against her neck as her hands moved from his shoulders to his back, trailing up along his spine until they tangled in his hair.

Gripping his hair cruelly, she hauled his face back up so that she could look him in the eye. He winced, but she was utterly unsympathetic, attacking his lips with a ferocity that left him wondering—not for the first time—how different it would be to have sex with a demon. She was nearly as strong as him and healed even more quickly than he did, so he imagined he wouldn't have to hold himself back nearly as much as he usually did. Humans were fragile and easily injured, but Trish was anything but human.

To his surprise, she slipped her tongue into his mouth before the idea even occurred to him, but he refused to let her dominate the kiss, trying to meet her at every angle of contact before she could take the advantage. She tasted tart and tangy, like cranberries and lime, and he found himself getting far more wrapped up in the kiss than he had anticipated.

On some level he had always expected her to be somewhat inexperienced—perhaps because he had been one of the first men she had ever encountered in the human world and he had never crossed this line with her. Not that she wasn't fully capable of exploring this aspect of humanity on her own. In fact, judging by her level of skill, she must have done quite a bit of research.

Though he probably had no right to feel jealous, he felt a wave of possessiveness take hold of him as that realization began to take shape. She had been by his side for years and he had never had the courage to attempt claiming her, but if her eagerness now was any indication, he had been holding himself back needlessly. Suddenly her reasons for leaving, her frustration with him, all of the strange, incomprehensible comments she had made to him through the years crystallized in his mind and he realized he really was the one to blame in the end.

Anger at his own stupidity mingled with his current desire, and he came up for air briefly, only to dive immediately back into the kiss with a desperation that seemed to startle her because for a moment she didn't fight him at all. He clutched at her and pressed her slender body back against the door, his hands roaming from the bare skin along her midriff to the soft curve of her breasts where they were barely concealed by taut, black leather. With a need darker than mere lust driving him, he worked hastily at unfastening her shirt, grinding his hips against hers as he worked and moaning in her mouth at the delicious friction.

He hadn't noticed that she was no longer responding. Oxygen deprived and on sensory overload, Dante was unprepared for her sudden burst of strength as she broke the kiss and pushed him back a step, swatting his hand away before it could find its way inside her half-open shirt. "I'm not that easy, Dante," she growled, her eyes narrowed to slits.

Hurt by her unexpected rejection, he gasped unevenly past panted breaths, "Correct me if I'm wrong, but you're the one who started that kiss."

"Just because I kissed you doesn't mean I gave you permission to undress me." He could tell by her tone of voice that she was trying to make a point; he had been moving quickly and hadn't exactly been paying attention to her reactions to see if she was along for the ride.

Dante hesitated, suddenly realizing the downside to his poor choices in bedmates all these years. He was used to getting what he wanted, used to women eagerly offering themselves up to him for sacrifice; he didn't know how to deal with a woman he cared about and perhaps that was why he had avoided this moment for so long. To his knowledge, he had never truly made love to anyone—love had never had anything to do with the act in his experience. He wondered when the two things had become so disconnected in his mind and he couldn't help thinking of his brother. Love was an emotion he had been taught to distrust from an early age, and he had eventually found ways to distance himself from his heart so that it wouldn't betray him at every turn. That choice had its disadvantages.

When his eyes focused on her again, her expression had softened a great deal and she was regarding him cautiously, the anger that still clung to her features tempered by a hint of concern. Shame washed over him and he turned away quickly; he had let his guard down and she must have read the insecurities written plainly on his face.

The forgotten whiskey bottle glinted invitingly from his desk and he took a deep breath. "I lied before," he said without emotion, approaching the desk slowly and turning his back on her. "Your room is exactly the way you left it. It's been waiting for you all this time…if you still want it." He filled the glass, holding the amber liquid up to the light with a sour smile.

"I still have a job to do," she said awkwardly. "I was just planning on passing through town on my way."

Dante savored the warmth of the alcohol, closing his eyes. "I guess I'll see you around, then."

Trish sighed and shuffled her feet. Finally she began walking across the room to him. "Dante." She pressed a hand gently against his back. "I'll be back."

He nodded, but didn't turn to watch her leave. He was used to watching her walk away, and while the view was usually enjoyable, he didn't think it would do much to improve his mood this time.

Author's Note:

This chapter was surprisingly hard for me to write—partially because I didn't want to write the two of them the way I usually do. The idea that Dante is somewhat intimidated by Trish is fascinating to me, but not very easy to write. It's even weirder considering I'm writing him as more of a playboy in this story…

I wanted to thank everyone for your reviews on the first chapter. I try to respond to reviews if at all possible, so if you leave me a way to contact you, I will be sure to reply. Thanks for reading. Next chapter will be Lady's point of view.