23. TWENTY-THREE
twenty-three
Ijust fucked a vampire .
As the ludicrous thought clangs around my mind, I brace myself for a vile sensation—the understanding that I am a terrible, unholy thing. But…even as I grasp for tendrils of self-hatred, all I come up with is elation. Regret is bound to come later.
For now, I allow myself to revel in the afterglow. The feeling of having him. Of feeling more alive than I thought possible.
Like an anchor reminding me that this is real, Dante’s head is a pleasant weight on my chest. I never considered myself impressively blessed in that area, but he’s content to bury himself there, seemingly incapable of resurfacing.
I breathe slow and deep as I reach down to stroke his tousled hair, combing my fingers through the golden locks.
The moan at the back of his throat is a soft, contented rumble. The arm slung across me reaches up to play with the bite marks on my neck. He traces his fingertips over the healing puncture wounds like he wants to memorize them. Pride radiates off of him in waves.
He inhales deeply. “Fuck, you’re warm,” he sighs. “And soft.” After giving me a squeeze, he adjusts himself to spoon me. He clutches me like it’s a familiar position, his larger body wrapping around mine, molding together like we were made to fit. I feel surrounded, safe beyond words.
I roll around to nuzzle under his chin, my nose to his chest. His fond chuckle rumbles through me and God, I could melt into him. I could vanish into this crushing embrace—only momentarily jarred by the absence of a heartbeat thudding under my cheek.
My eyes flutter open, still lulled by Dante’s slow petting through my wild hair. His own fang scars are staring back at me—the silvery marks etched into the base of his neck. I brush my fingers over the place reverently. Dante stiffens at first, but allows me to continue.
“How old were you when he turned you?”
He gives a small laugh through his nose.
“Darling, if you’re about to tell me you don’t prefer older men…
” I playfully shove his chest, and he quiets again.
His body tenses slightly around me, as though suddenly uncomfortable in the plush bedding.
“Thirty-four. I was poised to take over operations of my father’s empire and marry in the same year. ”
“Marry?” I peel away from him, jaw slack. Dante’s shadowed expression flickers with amusement, and I stammer for composure. “Sorry, it’s just… You don’t strike me as the sort.”
“It was an arranged union, I’ll grant you that, but a fine one. Well—it would’ve been. I’d known the girl nearly my whole life. Cecilia.”
I falter, air whooshing from my lungs. That name he’d mentioned when he’d confessed to me in the witch’s cottage…
She begged me, pleaded with me.
Father above… He’d killed his own fiancée in his fledgling hunger.
Though fresh horror rips through me, I tamp it down, softening my wide-eyed expression. I won’t force him to relive that to sate my curiosity. Given the hollowness seated at the back of his gaze, he’s done that countless times to himself already.
“Thirty-four,” I murmur instead, curling back against him with my head nestled under his chin. I tangle my legs with his and my gaze pulls back to the scars on his neck.
“Do you ever wonder?” I ask, my voice soft. “Why Alessandro chose you? Why pursue you like this—and each of his fledglings—so adamantly, when he could easily turn another?”
He’s utterly silent, and I wonder if I’ve truly upset him now, if I’ve ruined this perfect moment.
“I have my theories,” Dante finally says. “Marco once told me—only once, mind you, decades ago—that Alessandro lost his own wife and children a thousand years ago, victims to the Gothic wars. Despair can drive even the sharpest minds to madness.”
I pull back so we’re nose to nose, pinning him with a soulful look. “Trying to rebuild what he’s lost doesn’t excuse what he’s done to you,” I growl.
“No, it doesn’t.” Dante’s answering smile is soft, almost sad. “Don’t trouble yourself, darling. Trying to understand him is a waste of time—trust me, I’ve tried. Men like him love having power over people. We are his things. His to control, his to feed, his to torment—whatever he wants.”
I frown deeper, piecing together the twisted intent. Belittling a nobleman’s son—the Prince of La Serrenisima—to little more than a slave in a gilded cage. Free only so long as he obeys Alessandro’s will. It makes me queasy.
Something shifts in his expression, reading the worry that was likely plain as day on my face. Lifting himself on one arm, Dante turns my chin toward him. His smiling mouth catches mine in a deep kiss, melting my dark thoughts away moment by moment—for now, at least.
“Do you know how long I’ve waited to do that?” he asks when he comes up for breath. “I mean really kiss you. Every second near you has been positively maddening.”
“I thought you loathed me.” I lift a brow teasingly, though my heart hammers at his confession. I push my fingers through his hair again, pretending as though he hasn’t completely disarmed me. Surely he’s simply relieved that we’ve finally fucked. But something in his gaze reads deeper than that.
“I know. I did give it my best effort, but I fucked up.” He sighs dramatically, leaning his forehead against mine like we’re sharing a lament. “Pathetic, isn’t it? It’s rather ruining my plan to fester away as a devastatingly handsome legend in a dusty castle.”
I press a quick kiss to his lips to break his false pout. “On your own?” I say. “Doubtful. You wouldn’t last a week without someone to irritate.”
He wrinkles his nose. “Thralls are an option, I suppose, though I’m not terribly fond of them. Pathetic, desperate wretches—the lot of them.”
I hum, my soft smile unfaltering even as I make a keen mental note of the disclosure—so you do have thralls back in Venice.
“And here I thought you adored being worshipped without question,” I tease.
“Please, I have standards.” Dante huffs, and his gaze rakes over me pointedly—me, the pinnacle of such adoration to attain.
“You know, I’m still waiting for you to return the compliment.
How you’ve nearly melted at the very brush of my touch.
How I have awakened sensations you didn’t even know existed.
How you can’t breathe when I leave the room… Stop me when you hear one you like.”
“Sounds like you’ve got your merits covered without my help.”
The retort somehow makes his smile soften. He remains over me on one arm, gazing down at me like he hasn’t had his fill yet. He cups my face, tracing my cheek with his thumb.
“Oh, mio dio. I was doomed the second you appeared in my foyer,” he says, lowering his voice like someone might hear. “Vicious, smart-mouthed—” His thumb tugs my lower lip. “And ruinously beautiful. Unfair, really. I never stood a chance, my little slayer.”
His compliments make me shift uneasily. I’m nothing more than a peasant.
A soldier, if I’m being generous. I’ve seen my reflection—I’m pretty enough, I suppose, but nothing exceptional and certainly undeserving of Dante’s affectionate words.
I never experienced a life where I was stared at with desire.
“I’m already seduced into your bed.” I break from his gaze, smiling tightly. “You don’t need to say those pretty things.”
His grin widens curiously, even as a crease forms between his eyes. “You don’t believe me. Why would I lie to you?”
“You lie effortlessly at every turn. All the time.”
“Not about something of such devastating importance.” He tips his hand under my chin, forcing my gaze upon him. “You’re a vision, stellina. Point me in the direction of anyone who has told you otherwise, and I’ll have them choking on shards of their own spine.”
I giggle—the image is so grotesque, it’s outlandish.
He takes my hand and runs his lips over my knuckles reverently. “I’ve suffered for weeks, imagining what it would be like if you belonged to me.”
“What did you imagine?” I ask quietly.
“A world where you didn’t see me as a monster, and I could have you entirely. All to myself.” His voice drops to a whisper scarcely audible as he adds, “Mine.”
Dante brings my hand against his cheek and holds it there, turning to kiss my palm.
His sigh rattles against me as he inhales my wrist, losing himself to the tempting drum of my blood.
I hold perfectly still for him, trying to commit the image to memory.
Whatever happens, I never want to forget this.
I sigh in mock uncertainty, tipping my head back invitingly on the pillow. “Perhaps I need more convincing.”
Dante laughs—a rich, rewarding sound. “Greedy.”
He obliges at once and kisses my bite marks. I arch into his affection, letting my eyes flutter shut as his lips trail down along my throat to between my breasts—then lower, lower.
“How do you feel?” He peers upward, his deep voice against my navel.
“Good,” I admit. “Really fucking good. A little sore perhaps, but…” I lift onto my elbows, allowing a girlish grin to spread over my face. “Not nearly sore enough.”
A wicked chuckle. “Careful now.”
“Really. I could be locked in this room with you all day and do nothing else.”
“I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t considered it.”
I chew my lip shyly, unsure if my request is untoward or even possible. “I don’t suppose… Could we do it again?”
“What, now?” Dante’s laughter rings with surprise, deliciously breathless. “You insatiable little whore. Give me a minute.” Then he pauses and regards my face for all but a second. “Actually, on second thought—”
He crawls over me and seizes me, pulling me against him with kisses and gentle bites that make me giggle. He stifles my squirms, pinning my arms over my head with one hand as he guides us toward another round of scorching bliss.
For the first time in my life, I’m thrilled for a vampire’s ungodly stamina.