13. THIRTEEN #2
My surge of pride is somewhat soiled when I sense him doing the same to me—the dance a veneer to circle me, make me feel like cornered prey.
My heart races, but not with fear. I almost welcome the unspoken challenge that charges the air between us.
Let him prowl around with that stupid smirk all he wants—I know my blade will strike first.
“You’re not terrible at this.” I lift my voice to be heard over the music, wavering between a statement and an incredulous question. It seems unfair that someone so strong could also be so effortlessly graceful.
Dante laughs. “Used to be a lord, remember? The art form was all but beaten into me until perfection. Though, admittedly, my finesse may be a little rusty after nearly a century.”
“No grand balls with dear Father lately?” I simper, lifting my eyebrows.
The sparkle in his eyes hardens like ice. “Not exactly.”
My gaze moves to the other couples passing around us, hands clasped and faces bright.
I watch one pair in particular, who move more scandalously than the others, allowing their hips to press close, faces hovering close at the seamless return from every twirl.
The untethered longing in their gazes makes my chest ache, feeling more than ever an imposter amongst them.
But for a moment, I pretend it’s different. I wonder if I’d feel differently if I wasn’t who I was; if Dante was human, and I was just a common milkmaid, and this was real.
Being a part of something larger has always been enough for me. For the first time, watching the couples laugh and clutch each other close, I wonder—is this what it feels like? To be desired?
When I look at Dante’s face again after the next dip, I’m taken aback to see the goading challenge in his expression has softened.
His cheeks are gently flushed, his lips parted thoughtlessly.
It almost looks like he’s having fun. It disarms me so much, I don’t realize we’ve stopped moving, that I’m grinning back—until his gaze suddenly snaps over my shoulder, elsewhere in the room.
We’ve danced through not one, but three songs, and the music has melted into something new—but it suddenly feels far away as Dante’s demeanor abruptly withers.
To my confusion, I see terror—true terror—cross his face.
Cursing, he pulls me across the floor, into a small nook away from the festivities.
He corrals me into the narrow inlet with my back against a potted plant.
“Dante—”
“Shh.”
To keep the leaves from poking into my hair, I’m forced to nearly press my nose to the base of his neck. My stomach flutters at the nearness, forcibly reminded how much taller he is. Elbowing as much space as I’m able, I follow his gaze outward.
A dancing couple spins out of the way, giving view to a man sitting alone across the room, dark-haired and strikingly handsome.
Far too handsome for an agricultural village like Terralta.
He surveys the nearest people around him as though he’s trying to come to a decision.
There’s something too smooth about how he watches the world around him, something cold and ancient.
“Another leech,” I mutter, frowning at Dante. “Do you know him?”
He looks affronted. “How dare you. Are you naive enough to believe that every vampire knows each other?” He raises his eyebrows accusingly, then gives a defeated sigh. “But yes, I do know him. Thomas. One of my brothers fathered by Alessandro.”
A monster among easy prey. That’s all I need to hear. I pull the dagger from my skirt pocket and start to push past Dante, but he won’t allow it. He steers me back into place.
“Easy, stabby. Perhaps we can attempt a more subtle approach than murdering him in front of a crowd of people?”
I growl in my throat, shoving my hand back into my pocket but keeping it clasped around the cool metal handle.
Though I wouldn’t admit it to him, I had rather been looking forward to beheading a vampire; a chance to redeem myself.
My loss to Dante back at the villa still stung my pride irreparably.
I would not be caught off-guard in my nightclothes this time.
“How could he possibly know you’re here if we’ve only just arrived?
” I ask, brows pulling together as I roll it around in my head.
We’d followed every precaution, taking less traveled roads, giving a different name to everyone who asked.
Then it dawns on me. “Do you think… Was it the hunters who drew him?”
I glance up at him—only to catch Dante’s gaze lingering on my chest, where the split front of my cloak exposes a window of my low-cut bodice.
“Dante!” I throw my elbow into his stomach.
“Sorry.” He hastily pivots his gaze back to the tavern floor.
He blinks, expression darkening back into thought.
“Yes—you’re probably right, unfortunately.
” Dante’s jaw feathers, and I see his mind racing, stitching everything together urgently.
He’s watching Thomas with such intensity I half expect the target of his stare to catch ablaze.
“Those hunters seem to have made a very loud fuss about pretty, undead creatures.”
Every rise of my chest brushes against his. I scan the floor, trying to focus on tactics—not how I can vaguely feel the outline of what I realize is Dante’s cock pressed against my hip.
Thomas is lounging at a corner table by the window, a mug of wine before him that I’m certain he hasn’t touched.
His posture is somewhat sprawled, resting his chin on his fist—which puts me at ease only a little.
He’s a lazy predator hunting for food, not a ravenous vigilante prepared to turn his own brother over to their maker.
Still, if what Dante’s told of Alessandro’s so-called family is true, there’s no secret why this vampire has been allowed to roam so far from Venice.
Thomas’ seat is adjacent to the staircase that leads to the bedrooms on the second floor.
We can’t retreat without crossing him. I suppose we could try to steal away through the front door and gather the horses…
But I wince when my eyes slide back to the bar.
Somehow, I doubt the owner will let Dante leave without a fuss of betrayal, when she was so pleased he’d rented her biggest room only minutes prior.
With a little effort in the awkward space, I touch Dante’s arm, my fingers ghosting lightly on his sleeve.
“Don’t panic,” I murmur.
He snaps his head down, turning his withering look onto me. “I’m not panicking,” he hisses. “Are you?”
“We just have to wait him out. I doubt he’ll sit there until sunrise to be kicked out with the drunkards, right?”
Dante grunts, and I take this as agreement.
My stomach roils as I try not to think of how someone’s death will undoubtedly be the reason Thomas will clear our path.
Protecting Dante for the time being means the chance at finding a cure for all vampires.
It can change everything, dispel that darkness forevermore.
But who am I to decide the weight of an innocent life on those scales?
Does it balance out, or am I damned either way?
Tense minutes stretch. I feel like I’ve been waiting for hours with Dante’s hot breath against the top of my head before we see Thomas rise from his seat and slip out a side door toward the back, following after a pair of musicians.
“He’s gone,” Dante says. “Let’s go.”
I straighten my navy cloak over my gown, plucking my hand off his shoulder. We slip through the crowd to the stairs, keeping close to the walls as we watch for Thomas—but he’s nowhere to be seen.
The air grows less smokey as we ascend, arriving at a long, dimly-lit corridor that branches in the opposite direction of the revelry below.
Music and laughter are muffled by the paneled walls, lit by oil lamps mounted at periodic intervals.
My heartbeat starts to calm at the mere notion of sleeping in a warm bed again.
A creaking noise gives me pause. Up ahead, a balcony door hangs open along the corridor, shifting in the night breeze. The sight makes my breath catch—an open entrance I had not accounted for.
Dante stops short beside me. He puts a hand on my arm, urging me to halt.
“Oh, shit,” he says softly.
Then I hear it, too. A soft, chilling sound—flesh tearing, wheezing gasps. Something viscous dribbling onto the wood floor with a slow drip, drip, drip.
A shadow comes into focus, partially concealed behind one of the wide mahogany pillars near the end of the hall.
Thomas is pinning the stableboy to the wall by his throat, sucking greedily at a gushing laceration just above his exposed collarbone.
The stableboy jerks weakly under Thomas’s unyielding grasp, hoarsely pleading for mercy he will never receive.
He looks nearly catatonic—but then, his glazed eyes move toward us and widen, finding the strength to muster a last shred of hope.
No matter how many times I’ve seen vampires feed, the horror never relents.
A breath escapes me like I’ve been punched.
Dante claps a hand over my mouth, dragging me backward.
I buck against him, biting his hand. He winces, but seems to have expected this, his grip tightening.
My boots graze over the narrow strip of carpet, desperate for purchase as he moves me effortlessly.
I will not abandon that poor boy right in front of us.
We’re quiet, but it’s not enough—not for a vampire.
Thomas flinches, his eyes pricks of glowing white in the dim hallway as he swivels his head toward us.
He registers us, dropping the man in a heap as he steps away from the wall.
He blinks, and I can see some of his defensiveness melt away into recognition.
Slowly, the milky white of his stare fades back into deep brown irises.
I hear Dante curse as he releases me, his body radiating with coiled tension by my side. His face is set in an unreadable expression, the sconces casting wavering hues of gold and shadows over his skin.