14. FOURTEEN
fourteen
Abloodthirsty vampire on the loose, and a body under the floorboards. So much for a peaceful evening. At least the bloodstains aren’t too bad after turning each board upside down. I do the brunt of that work while Dante glamours customers and staff alike to stay away from the hall.
I whisper a promise to the stableboy that I will return to bury him when we won’t get caught. The prayer that follows doesn’t feel like nearly enough. I should have saved him. Again, I’ve failed.
Laden with guilt, I finally follow Dante into our room. Our personal belongings have been brought up as promised. I separate my things from Dante’s immediately and pull a nightgown from my bag.
“If he dares show his face again,” I growl, breaking the silence, “I’ll stake a hole the size of an apple into his chest.”
“A delightful image.” Dante draws the curtains firmly to prevent sunlight from sneaking into the room. Then, with barely an ounce of effort, he pulls the wardrobe in front of the door. “Have I mentioned how cute you are when you get that feverish bloodlust in your eyes?”
I do not grace that with a response, my mind too clustered with the bitter desire to have done away with Thomas that night.
Giving chase would be no use—there’s no telling how far he spirited himself away, and with dawn encroaching, we have little time before Dante is a prisoner to the safety of this shelter.
Thomas had his fill of blood, I think with wavering hope.
He has no need to go after anyone else. If he’s smart, he’ll prioritize steering clear of us.
But with his escape, our journey carries more urgency than ever. Besides dodging the Order and keeping them in the dark, I must now worry about Thomas bearing down on us with reinforcements. At least for now, I feel somewhat safe in the rented room. Dante and I can get the upper hand if he returns.
My crowded thoughts come to a sudden halt when I look at the bed.
Nightgown in hand, I stand perfectly still and gape.
Of course, this bed would be the only one in the room.
As far as the staff knows, we’ve been married for weeks.
I’ve been so preoccupied, the reality of our sleeping situation hadn’t dawned on me until now.
“What?” Dante says. “You’re staring at that thing like it’s about to sprout claws. Have you become so spoiled by the villa that you can’t stand the sight of a peasant’s bed?”
“The door is shut, so the marriage charade ends.” I brandish one of my daggers at him as I speak, underscoring my stern look.
He lifts an eyebrow. “We shared a bed not long ago, I’ll remind you.”
“Yes, essentially under duress—and with my darling husband trying to drain me!”
“How many times must I tell you—I wasn’t going to murder you.
” He looks me up and down, mouth pinched.
“Probably.” He can’t seem to resist smirking then, folding his arms over his chest. “I’ll have you know, I was planning to take the chair, anyway.
Have you considered that I would rather not sleep within stabbing distance? ”
Somewhat satisfied, I pointedly step behind the changing screen for privacy.
As I unfasten my cloak, the rose Dante had given me falls out of the pocket.
God above, he’s such a child. This ridiculous charade is humiliating enough without jeering gifts—and that mortifying display in front of the barmaid.
Perhaps it did aid our cover as husband and wife, but his hellbent insistence on toying with me clearly takes a high precedence.
I kick the rose into the dusty corner, reaching for the ties at the back of my dress.
As the cool air touches my bare skin, I’m struck by the overwhelming knowledge that my naked body is mere feet away from him. I hold my breath, too aware of the sudden silence. I move slowly, as though I might give too much of myself away through the sounds of me changing.
He’s undressing too—I hear his doublet thump onto the top of his belongings.
With only a flimsy wooden screen keeping us apart, I can’t help but wonder what else he’s removing.
And then my traitorous mind flickers with the image of his bare chest, the way I had seen it by the firelight.
Curious images of the rest of him crawl across my mind, and the taste of Dante’s tongue against mine flashes back into focus.
The way I had pulled him down to crash our lips together—and he had permitted it, melting into me.
Yes, he had played the sickeningly doting husband downstairs, but that second kiss had been entirely my doing.
It had felt…good. Scorchingly good.
Of its own accord, my hand slides down my side, recalling the sensation of his calloused hand upon my arm last night—when he’d so forcefully tended to my wounds.
As it crosses my mind, I unwind the bandages, letting the linen unravel to the floor so I can inspect the scratches.
Brushing a hand over my forearm, there’s no pain.
The scattered slashes are nearly healed over—only a few faint lines of scabs across my olive skin.
Against all odds, Dante had done a fine job.
I swallow hard, trying to suppress the feeling of…
something. A stirring—familiar, yet not.
When I touched myself in the dead of night in the dormitory, shame always curled its tendrils around the sweet pleasure.
But the space between me and the abbey has made the perpetual pang of contrition grow distant.
I reach between my legs, fingers brushing against the sensitive skin of my inner thigh—
Stop.
I blink hard and get a hold of myself, blaming these blasphemous thoughts on the come-down of such a harrowing night. That, or I’m truly losing my mind.
I throw the gown over my head and step out.
“You took your time.” To my relief, he’s not stark naked, wearing a fresh white shirt and dark trousers.
But Dante’s expression changes when he looks at me.
This gown is a far cry from the simple cotton shifts worn at the abbey, and much thinner than the gown and cloak I’d been travelling in.
It carries a flattering cut at my chest, complementing the modest blessing in that area.
Ivy swirls in green stitching along the bodice seams, with small bows of the same color fixed at each wrist. Ivory fabric flows down to my ankles, making me think about our twirl on the dance floor.
He continues to stare unabashedly. “You look…”
“Like a doll?” I finish flatly.
His toothy grin flickers as though he doesn’t quite agree, but he’s keeping his real assessment to himself. “Do you like it?” he asks.
I am taken aback by the sincerity of the question. “It’s soft as butter,” I admit. “I’ve never had so many styles at my disposal. It’s strange. Frivolous.”
He snorts, but I see something almost soften his eyes like he’s pitying me. “You slayers aren’t really known for your keen sense of fashion. Once you’ve felt silk, everything else snags like hay.”
“You seem to have no shortage of assumptions about the Order.”
“What can I say? I’m a lush for gossip.”
Now that it’s on my mind, I wonder at the origins of the gown—and the rest of my wardrobe packed away.
Am I wearing pieces that belonged to the real D’Agonisto’s lovers?
No, that can’t be right. This nightgown, along with all the exquisite gowns provided for me at the villa, don’t dwarf me.
They’ve been perfectly tailored already.
Even if the marriage was a sham, an odd feeling creeps in. The ring he’d gifted me, the clothes he’d bought for me… As though I do belong to him in more subtle ways than an official ceremony.
“Where did these come from, exactly?” I ask, pinching the skirt of my nightgown.
“I didn’t steal them, if that’s what you’re implying. The tailors were paid handsomely.” He shrugs. “I protect my investments. Couldn’t have you waltzing about in rags.”
I cross the room toward the four-poster bed, the floor cold against my bare feet. I pluck up my dagger and move it to the table nudged beneath the window. “And the money?”
“I wouldn’t worry. It’s a trifle that won’t be missed.”
I frown as I consider the exuberant amount of wealth it takes to maintain a villa, even at half-pace. Given Thomas’ fine clothing as well, it can’t all be stolen from D’Agonisto. Whatever Alessandro is doing, he does it very well.
That man. My throat closes as Dante’s words come back to me—lashed until the scourge hit bone. It conjures images I can’t shake; his handsome face twisted with cold-sweat agony, crying out as the lash came down again and again.
Vampires don’t deserve compassion—but I feel sick as I wonder if he’d begged his tormentors to stop. It seems almost impossible when contrasted to the arrogant man standing before me now.
The prickle of Dante’s stare bores into my back, and I turn to face him. He’s leaning against the wall with his arms folded over his chest, quietly studying me with an intensity I can’t quite read.
“I’ll admit I can’t stop thinking about the taste of you. It was my first in months. I am very appreciative, just so you know.” He tilts his head at me, something wicked surfacing in his gaze. “You’ve been thinking about it too, haven’t you? Did that filthy mind of yours enjoy it?”
“Don’t flatter yourself.”
“Ah-ah. Don’t lie. I could feel it. It must feel like a betrayal to everything you are.”
Of course it does. But I’m not going to weep and grovel over it in front of him, humiliating myself further. I rub my lips together as I chew my next words, folding my arms over my chest. God… Am I completely crazy? Or do I just enjoy that dumb flicker of surprise when I catch him off guard?
“What do I taste like?” I ask.
Dante’s eyebrows lift, eyes sparkling with approval. “An incomparable, rich wine with a note of something sweet. Like a rare Vernaccia.”
He runs his teeth over his lower lip, and I hate that I’m mesmerized by the motion, even knowing he’s looking at me again like that’s all I am—dessert.
I grimace, but snort a soft laugh, shaking my head. “I sincerely regret asking.”