12. TWELVE
twelve
Woodsmoke fills the air inside, wafting from the large fireplace at the center of the room.
Every seat seems to be occupied—we’re clearly not the only travelers passing through during the festival.
Wine is flowing like a damned river between patrons, most of them flushed from hours of celebration.
Watching their clumsy merriment, it’s not hard to understand why Corvus doesn’t permit the substance on our grounds, apart from flavouring meals.
Enticing though it is, I can’t help but feel like I don’t belong here. I don’t drink, and I certainly don’t dance. All I want is a ladle of that steaming stew cooking over the fire and a private room.
To the left of the main bar, another stall is set up offering flowers.
The vendor calls to us as we pass, holding out a scarlet rose for inspection.
I expect Dante’s patience to be worn to the bone after our altercation outside, but something about this human has clearly caught his eye.
He idles by the floral display, offering his full attention—even prising about whether the man grew the plants himself.
In a quick glance, I size up the vendor; he’s young—perhaps a little older than me—and handsome in a rugged sort of way, with dark stubble peppering a square jaw. The sort of exquisite packaging I’m sure Dante would appreciate in both a meal and a lover.
Fucking vampires. Always thinking with their stomachs or their dicks.
I excuse myself, taking advantage of Dante’s engrossed conversation to approach the bar alone. This will be far easier without him glued to my side.
“Good evening, signora. What can I get you?” The woman who greets me behind the bar is quite tall, with wide-shoulders and the faint etching of smile lines around her dark eyes.
She’s perhaps in her early fifties, with a pleasant countenance that gives the impression that the last few days have been horrible for sleep and wonderful for business.
Her eyes widen when she catches sight of my left arm, still securely wound by linen bandages. “Your arm, dear! Are you quite alright?”
“A clumsy spill from my horse. I hardly feel it now,” I bluster with a smile. I rummage under my cloak for the letter I’d scrawled by the straggling light of sunset, pushing the folded parchment across the bartop. “Do you have a courier who can get this to Isola?”
The barmaid’s brow furrows as she turns it over to read the location—it’s addressed not to Corvus, but to a cottage in the village just outside the abbey’s towering walls.
Another long-held precaution, in addition to the encoded contents.
Mother Superior is owed an update—even if my letter is full of white lies on the status of my mission, stirring up guilt that I struggle to shove away.
It will be worth it.
“Is there a problem?” I ask. She’s been quiet too long.
“No, of course not,” she answers, tapping the address. “It’s just… This town isn’t far from that obscure faction of vampire slayers. You’ve heard of them, I’m sure. The Corvus Order.”
These last words are said quietly, a whispered superstition.
“I have,” I say carefully.
The barmaid mistakes my trepidation, wrinkling her nose.
“I’m grateful for the work they do. I know more than one who’s been saved from their efforts.
But their methods… It’s ungodly. Taking young girls from their families like that and cloistering them without a word of contact…
” She grimaces. “I can’t imagine being separated from my little one like that.
Not after fighting so hard to bring her into this world. ”
My parents had clearly not had such strong sentiments about me, even at fourteen.
I do my best to keep my expression agreeable, the mask of a gossip.
This woman isn’t alone in her guarded opinion of the Order.
Though many are honored to support Corvus’ mission, just as many countrymen view us almost kin to witches, with secrecy foddering vicious rumors.
Ignorance is a beast all its own, impossible to eradicate.
Dante’s laughter carries over from the flower stall, drawing several fascinated gazes—the barmaid’s included.
I frown, watching him. The flower vendor is currently explaining with great passion the difference between planting methods for roses versus petunias—and to my astonishment, Dante is listening, nodding along like it’s the most interesting subject in the world.
He’s the picture of charm and innocence—and that’s what disturbs me.
It’s been a full day now since he fed, and I can’t help but suspect he’s scoping out a meal.
This is what hunting looks like—not always violent in the shadows, but seductive, hiding in plain sight.
“He’s quite a looker, isn’t he?” the barmaid says conspiratorially when she catches me staring, too. “Haven’t seen someone of his station in quite some time around Terralta, and trust me—they’re not usually half as handsome.”
“Yes, er… My husband is blessed in that regard,” I answer. “He’s all too aware, tragically.”
The woman startles, blanching. “My apologies. I didn’t realize he was your—”
“Don’t trouble yourself, please.” I chuckle, holding up a hand.
She relaxes a little, lets her eyes slide back his way.
A dreamy glaze comes over her, like she’s looking at fine art forbidden to be touched.
“Well… You must agree then—he’s got this strange way about him, doesn’t he?
I can’t put my finger on it. The way he talks…
It makes you want to hang on every word. It’s otherworldly.”
“Getting him to stop talking is actually the greater feat most days,” I mutter, though my mouth twitches upward at the corners against my will.
“Mmm.” The barmaid doesn’t appear to be listening, her stare fixed solely on Dante. She startles when he suddenly turns our way. As he returns to my side, she straightens, blinking hard. “Good evening, signore. Anything to drink?”
“Nothing for me, dear. I already have all I need right here.” I swear his gaze flickers over my neck before he holds out a perfect red rose to me, every thorn picked clean away.
He smiles dotingly. “I’ve been assured this bloom has been cared for with the same level of passion I carry for you, my pet. I know how you adore roses.”
A jolt runs through me as my fingers close around the cool stem, stealing the words building on my tongue—how the hell does he know crimson roses are my favorite?
My admission on the road darts through my mind. Your bones will offset the bloodred roses I’ll set at the corners.
I hadn’t thought twice about it at the time. Hadn’t even known he’d been listening so closely. I flick my gaze up in time to see the mischief buried in Dante’s eyes, and my insides sour. The fucker is mocking me. He’s mocking my aspirations to be honored with glory at the Order.
The barmaid practically melts into her sigh, while I do everything in my power to not shove the stem into his eye.
I am forced to smile and coo over the delicate petals, ever grateful for my adoring, infatuated husband.
Assaulting him either verbally or physically won’t help us pass through with discretion, so I’ll have to handle that later.
Dante makes a show of tearing his gaze away from me to face the barmaid. “I don’t suppose you have an empty room for the night, what with the festivities?”
“Of course, signore.” She flips through the ledger, wincing. “Even on the emptiest night, we don’t have a room as fine as I’m sure you’re accustomed to. My apologies.”
Dante waves a hand dismissively. “Your inn is a palace compared to our lodgings last night. My only insistence is that the room has curtains. Heavy curtains and the fewest windows. Sensitive eyes, you see.”
“And your name?”
“List it under Rossi.” He slides more florians than necessary across the counter.
Another false identity. I find myself getting used to how easily his unending lies flow off his tongue like honey. His utter ease shouldn’t surprise me; he’s had nearly a century of practice. The barmaid nods, unshaken by his request, and retrieves a key.
“I mean no offense,” Dante says as she scribbles in the ledger, “but your decorations don’t appear traditional to Calendimaggio. They are…unique, to be sure.”
He leans folded arms against the counter with a boyish ease, scanning everything with keen eyes.
I try to maintain a neutral expression as I properly assess the garlands around the bar.
He knows as well as I do that the garlic, juniper, and hawthorn branches adorning the room are not for celebration.
“Protection,” I utter. “Has…this place been attacked recently?” My widened eyes are no pretense. I think of the unnatural child in the alley, and my hidden weapons suddenly feel heavy.
The barmaid waves a hand hastily, perhaps worried about losing business. “Only a precaution. Dreadful stories in these parts about vampires and wicked nymphs. None have crossed the threshold of this place in many years, not with these wards in place. You’ve nothing to fear.”
A pang shoots through me, begging me to grab her by the shoulders and break the news that these wards have no consequence to vampires.
The legend of their supposed properties are rumors too powerful to shake, especially in smaller towns such as these.
My sisters and I are quite certain that vampires themselves have spread such rumors to throw the populace off their scent—much like the falsehood about them needing to be invited into a dwelling.
“Smart,” Dante says brightly, the corner of his mouth fighting against a wicked grin.
“Can’t be too careful. We’ve had a few close encounters on our journey, haven’t we, darling?
” He squeezes me to his side, his hand clamping onto the curve of my hip and almost eliciting a squeak from me.
“Luckily, I was as prepared as this fine establishment. Couldn’t let anything happen to my precious little prize. ”
I’m sincerely regretting not letting the bear take a bite out of him.
“You exaggerate, dear,” I say through a strained giggle. I squirm and shoot him a warning glare out of the corner of my eye, but his grip only tightens. I may as well be fighting against stone. “It hasn’t been so harrowing.”
“Now, don’t be shy,” he scoffs, chuckling with the barmaid. Dante lowers his voice conspiratorially. “She was utterly stricken when we saw an unnatural shadow in the woods. This poor thing here was utterly helpless, shaking like a leaf until I swept her into my arms and carried her to safety.”
Cover story be damned. I open my mouth to object, but I’m silenced as Dante crushes his lips to mine. My small grunt of protest could easily be mistaken for delighted surprise.
He— He’s kissing me.
That sharp, grounding scent rushes over me—the smell of his skin.
It’s the first time we’ve kissed since that sham wedding, and lightning shoots through me anew, sensations flooding through every fiber in my body.
I’m acutely aware of his grip pressing against the small of my back, how easily he could scoop me right off the ground with that one hand.
Others beside the barmaid are staring now, and the flush of my cheeks is beyond my control.
Dante’s mouth releases mine, but he isn’t finished. He presses another kiss under the shell of my ear, then lower—just above the fang scars hidden under my hair. His lips linger there, his warm breath stirring goosebumps along my skin.
Is he…smelling my hair?
He pulls away, gazing at me with unnerving tenderness that sparkles with challenge. Anyone who can fake love so convincingly is a monster, with or without fangs and bloodlust. Who knew that kisses could be such effective weapons?
He turns back to the barmaid. “She’s the one who got us lost in the forest in the first place, you know.
” Dante clicks his tongue fondly, giving my chin an infantilizing squeeze.
“She is stubborn, always thinks she’s right, rarely listens to me…
But now that my heart knows her face, how can I bear to live without it? ”
Too many witnesses to stab him, unfortunately.
Damn him. Is this all payback for the roll outside?
I temper my outrage, forcing what I hope to appear as a lustful mask.
“And how lucky I am to have found you,” I sigh.
Before another stupid, saccharine word can drip from his mouth, I grab the lapels of Dante’s doublet and yank him down to shut him up with a kiss of my own.
He reacts more gracefully than I did, but it seems my fervence still takes him by surprise.
I’m rather stunned to feel my body awaken to the initiative; my lips pressing with more confidence, my right hand moving to tangle firmly in his hair.
I probe my tongue into his mouth the way he had done before, emboldened enough to skate over the tips of his fangs as I taste him.
Dante makes a small noise of astonishment at the back of his throat, eyes flying open to catch mine with what may be wonder.
When I release him, he’s speechless. Small blessings.
Smiling triumphantly, I snatch the key from the counter and nod to the barmaid. “Thank you for your hospitality. Maybe you have a blessed and safe Calendimaggio.”