15. FIFTEEN
fifteen
Despite exhaustion pounding behind my closed eyes, sleep evades me for hours.
I’ll be useless if I’m not rested; my reflexes will be slowed by precious seconds and awareness of my surroundings dulled.
Weaknesses I can’t afford on the best of days—let alone now, when every moment could produce a fresh threat.
My frustration is doubled when I hear Dante’s breathing turn slow and even after mere minutes.
Even in sleep, he finds a way to annoy me.
As I roll onto my other side yet again, I consider getting up to draft my next update to Mother Superior—but what could I say?
We’re hastening toward the supposed cure on schedule, but I thought it was a fine time to give my very lethal target a finger blowjob in revenge?
My stomach knots as I relive every second, and I squeeze my thighs together tightly.
Fuck, I’m walking a very dangerous line.
This is precisely the effect vampires have on so many humans, drawing them in like moths to a flame.
Violence wrapped in flattery and false promises.
I am no better than any of those poor wretches until I atone for such vile behavior at the first opportunity.
I have sinned before I’ve even touched him properly.
I need to push Dante from my mind entirely. He’s my mission, my guide toward a cure, and possibly the most irritating person I’ve ever met. Nothing more.
And what if the cure is real?
My eyes flutter open in the dim light.
What if it works, and Dante becomes human again?
My mouth goes inexplicably dry as I picture it—walking beside him in full, glorious sunlight. Not in disguise, not watching our backs. Would it be so terrible to want him if he was no longer a monster?
Don’t be ridiculous, I chide myself, fists balling on the quilt. You don’t want him, and he feels nothing for you. He’s probably had hundreds of lovers—vampire and human alike. Taller, prettier, less militant.
The Order would never permit it, anyway.
My mind drifts back to his erection earlier, the firm length of him ghosting against my belly with only a flimsy layer of fabric between us. I know it was involuntary. It didn’t have to mean anything.
Did it?
For fuck’s sake, stop thinking about his dick.
I squeeze my eyes shut again and slow my breathing in a carefully measured rhythm.
It’s tedious, but after a few minutes, my senses cloud with drowsiness.
Soft, indistinct visions pacify my racing thoughts—childhood memories that had not quite been buried in my decade of unattachment discipline.
Sparkling snow dusting a vast field, cold on my fingertips like melting diamonds, honey-drizzled buns, hooves on a cobblestone path shadowed by sweet-smelling chestnut trees.
Oh, how I had treasured that rare snowfall—however young I had been.
A distressed noise cuts through the room, yanking me back into my body. I sit upright, flipping my silver blade into my hand as I scan the shadows. The door is still barred by the wardrobe, and the windows intact.
The noise comes again—from the left corner of the room, where Dante is slumped in the chair. He appears to be sleeping still, yet muttering clipped phrases, his chest heaving with short, violent gasps. Each breath is an ugly, desperate sound in the otherwise empty room.
Something caves in my chest a little. He’s having a nightmare.
A callous thought is my first instinct—serves him right, let him wallow in whatever dark place his mind has decided to punish him in, let him be afraid.
But as his fretful noises carry on, I can think only of fear that has flickered onto his face more than once, accompanied by the mentions of Alessandro’s cruelty.
Where is Dante right now—being lashed, or worse?
Is it a vision of the past, or the fear of what will happen if he’s dragged back to Venice?
Another moment passes before I accept that I cannot go back to sleep with him fussing like this. And no one else is here to chide my flicker of compassion—weakness wrapped in pretty silks, as Mother Superior likened it.
I climb out of bed, the floorboards cool as I gingerly approach. Perhaps it would be better to call him from across the room, but despite everything, I cannot help but prefer to wake him gently.
He’s shuddering in his seat. As I kneel beside him, I squint. Are his eyelashes wet?
With a light hand, I shake his shoulder to rouse him. I’ve barely touched him before he awakens when a violent start, fangs bared as he launches his arm out, his hand covering my throat. I seize with a choked noise.
So much for gentle.
As our gazes catch, one of his trapped tears spills from his wide eyes. Breathing heavily, he releases me and rubs his face like he’s coming to again.
“Are…you alright?” I ask, one hand over my throat in faltering, belated protection.
“You stupid girl,” he hisses. “I could have snapped your neck.”
“If that’s your way of apologizing, I humbly accept,” I say, tone flattening.
“Apologize? Who said anything about an apology? You shouldn’t have tried to wake me. For a trained assassin, you have terrible instincts.”
“You were suffering!”
“What, your Order didn’t teach you to be soothed by vampiric distress?”
I clench my jaw, unrelenting as I study his face—still glistening with a faint sheen of perspiration. “You sounded like you were in pain. I won’t apologize for being worried.”
Dante frowns, eyes smoldering like he’s unsure if he can trust my display of compassion. “How…sweet.”
Whatever this is, he’s still recovering, and I’ve yet to see this manner of vulnerability from him before.
“Was it a nightmare?” I ask. His arm still shakes slightly, and I reach out to brush his sleeve.
“Don’t touch me.” Tone clipped, he jerks away from me.
“I can’t—” He cuts off in a sharp huff and looks hard at me.
I search for hatred and disgust in his gaze, and perhaps that’s what he wants me to see, too.
But there’s something else he’s desperately trying to chain. Something I don’t understand.
A beat passes, and Dante finally breaks eye contact to scrub a hand over his face again.
He hesitates before admitting, “Less dream than memory,” he mutters.
“I could blame it on the charming family reunion in the hall, but it’s always the same.
The night I was turned was unpleasant, to say the least. I had to watch my family perish the same day.
” He swallows hard and stares at the floor.
“A horrible disease. We’d all been stricken for weeks. ”
“I’m sorry. That’s awful.” Another piece of the puzzle. He must have accepted the gift of immortality from Alessandro so he wouldn’t die of plague with his family.
He pushes both hands through his hair, and my stare catches on the way his arms pull tightly at his shirt. I glance away sharply, hating myself thoroughly.
I am so fucked, why am I staring at his arms while he’s baring his soul to me?
“It was a century ago,” he says. “You’d think the guilt would fade, not sharpen. At least if I’m human again, I have a guarantee that the pain will end one day.”
“You blame yourself?” I tilt my head, trying to catch his eye. “It’s not your fault they were sick.”
He hesitates, then laughs bitterly. “Look. I’m fine. Go back to sleep.” When I don’t budge, he slowly looks me up and down, a wolfish smirk grabbing hold of his features. “Unless you’re desperate for a cuddle. Ever slept with a cock pressed against your ass? Of course you haven’t. I’d be happy to—”
I slap him across the face. Gritting my teeth, I get to my feet and stagger back, putting space between us.
Touching his reddened cheek, Dante chuckles. “Look at you. Doesn’t take much to make you blush, does it? I’d say I’m surprised, but...”
Glowering, I drink him in—contemplating his lewd grin. Here, illuminated only by the faint, lingering glow of the oil lamps by the bedside, I suddenly see it for what it really is. A shield. That’s all it is—a silly shield that helps him take control and power back the only way he knows how.
“Would you do us both a favor and stop doing that?” I snap. “You can play the whore all you want, but I can see right through it.”
“Trust me, my whorishness is genuine.”
“You’re lonely.”
His smile freezes. My words may as well be a blade splitting the air for the way he goes statuesque.
“You don’t know me.” Gone is the laughter, his voice graveled with warning.
“I don’t need to,” I scoff. “Anyone who looks at you—actually looks at you properly—can see from miles away that you’re terrified of being alone yet too cowardly to do anything about it.”
He leans forward, elbows resting on his knees like he might follow through and pounce. “You are an ignorant little girl who has barely seen the outside of a nunnery. You cannot begin to understand what true freedom tastes like after nearly a hundred years.”
“Tell me, then! You’re asking me to trust you, but you can’t be genuine for more than a fucking minute.” The words spill out before I can think better of it, before I can rope back the anger simmering in my chest.
Dante shoots me a mocking pout. “Feelings hurt, darling?”
“Fucking annoyed,” I clip back.
For a second, his gaze wavers with thought.
Then he barks out a cold chuckle. “What do you expect me to say? Do you want me to weep into your bosom and beg you to kiss it all better?” Dante lifts his brows, cocking his head at me with such derision I’m tempted to storm over there and slap him again.
“The very idea of that excites you, doesn’t it?
What a lonely, untouched flower you are. ”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake! Every word you say proves my point.” I lower my voice to an approximation of his, pulling a melodramatic frown and pressing the back of my hand to my forehead. “Blah, blah, I’d rather flirt with and fuck a monkey in the ass before admiting I have fears and feelings.”
“That’s ridiculous. Where would I even find a monkey?” Dante scoffs, rolling his eyes. “And I don’t sound like that.”
I may actually strangle him with my bare hands.