Chapter 13
LUCA
She is barely able to stand upright but insists on being by my side when we burn the car. I pass her the lighter, and she throws it at the gasoline-soaked classic. As the flames take hold, I watch them play across her face—her beautiful, blood-smeared face.
She smiles as the gas in the tank ignites and the whole car becomes fully engulfed. I keep my arm around her shoulders, holding her tight in case her still-shaky legs give out.
For a moment, I simply stare at her in amazement. She’s more spectacular than the bonfire in front of us, and I am in awe of her resilience.
She’s hurt, physically and emotionally, likely near collapse. Everything that happened to her tonight will be taking its brutal toll, but still she stands. Continues to fight. And still she takes some small satisfaction from her petty act of revenge.
We’re in a part of the city where, she assures me, a burning car will attract no attention. There will be no sirens, no approaching police, nobody bearing witness. It’s the kind of neighborhood where nobody sees a thing, and if they did, they know it’s none of their business.
“It’s done,” I say firmly. “Let’s go.”
“Not yet. I want to watch it for a few minutes more.”
I let go of her, and as I expected, she almost falls. Ignoring her protests, I pick her up. “Enough, Rosa. You need to rest. You need to sleep.”
Her arms have regained feeling faster than her legs, and she’s using them to pummel my chest as I start to run. It’s sweet. Like a butterfly flapping its wings against me.
I take us swiftly away from the burning car, disappearing us into a maze of closely packed apartment buildings. It’s the middle of the night, but music with thumping bass plays from somewhere nearby.
“You’re going the wrong way, doofus!” she exclaims, making me laugh.
“Doofus? Really?”
“Yeah, doofus—I’m pretty sure you’ve been called that before. Now take a left down there, and when you hit the intersection, go right. Back to my place.”
“No,” I answer but follow the first part of her instructions. “We’re not going there. If anyone comes after you, that will be the first place they look.”
She filled me in on some of what happened tonight, and even with my life experience, it turned my stomach.
“My grandfather won’t be looking for me yet. He’ll be regrouping, and he won’t risk anything until he knows who attacked him. I know the way he thinks, the way he works. He’s cautious; he’ll take his time. It’s all one big fucking game of chess to him, and I’m just another pawn.”
“You are not a pawn, Rosa.” Recognizing where we are now, I hook a right. “You’re a queen. And we’re going back to my hotel for now. Don’t waste your energy arguing with me. You’re not in control here.”
She huffs and puffs, and I can imagine the turmoil in her mind.
She must hate this—having her power taken from her.
But it’s necessary in order to keep her safe, no matter what she thinks.
She hasn’t told them about me, and they won’t know who I am or where to find me.
So for now, the hotel is our best option.
Besides, she’s not the only one who needs to sleep.
The older vampires become, the less sleep they need.
Vincenzo operates on maybe half an hour a day.
I’m around double that under normal circumstances, but these are not normal circumstances.
I’ve run for miles and killed many, not to mention dealing with the shock of almost losing her.
I cannot keep going at this level forever.
Grudgingly, she directs me toward the hotel, and as we near the more populated area, I slow down to a normal human walking pace.
I keep her in my arms, and she stops thumping me.
To anyone giving us a casual glance, we look like lovers.
I stick to the shadows so the blood doesn’t show, and when we reach the foyer, I finally put her back on her feet.
“You okay to walk through the lobby?” I ask.
She glares at me, obviously wanting to tell me to go fuck myself, but finally nods.
I guide her into the reception area, keeping both our faces tilted away from the bored-looking man behind the desk. He calls out a greeting and asks if we’ve had a good night, sounding like he’s following some corporate script for late-night guests and doesn’t give a shit.
“Yeah! Fantastic!” she shouts back at him, leaning on me as she staggers by my side. “Best night ever.”
I get her into the elevator and up to my room, and she’s silent the whole way and leans against the mirrored wall for support. Hold it together, bella, I think to myself. Only a few seconds more.
I leave the light off in the room and pull her inside, then scoop her up in my arms and walk us both toward the bathroom. The fight has gone out of her, which is worrisome.
I set her on the floor of the huge walk-in shower and crouch before her.
Lifting her chin, I force her to meet my eyes and wipe a smear of blood from her cheek, revealing the marks left by the tracks of her tears.
I kiss her with a gentleness I didn’t know I was capable of and switch on the water before testing the temperature with my fingers.
Once I’m certain it’s perfect, I sit beside her on the tile and wrap an arm around her shoulders. We are still and silent together as the water washes away the blood and tears and at least some of the fatigue of the last few hours.
She leans into me, letting her head rest on my chest, and her silent sobs shake her body.
Her dress is soaked through, her breasts outlined by the flimsy fabric, but for once I’m not thinking about sex.
Not thinking about fucking her. All I’m thinking about is making her feel better.
She’s been through so much tonight, and it was all dished out by men who should love and protect her.
Instead, they almost finished her, and that is unforgivable.
If it’s up to me, all the Capellis will die, apart from her.
She’s the only one worth saving. That might not align with what the Don wants, with what the other families want, but that’s too goddamn bad.
This goes beyond them now. This is about her, and she is all that matters.
Except, I remind myself as I kiss her head and hold her trembling body tight …
This might not be real. It’s possible that everything I’m feeling comes down to a centuries-old blood spell.
Maybe once that’s broken, she will mean nothing to me, and I can go back to being myself.
A good soldier. A good killer. A good vampire.
No. I don’t believe that. I don’t want that. This is more than a spell—I know it on a bone-deep level.
“Your feet …” she murmurs, dragging me away from my thoughts. I glance down and see blood flowing from them as the water hits, trickling away in a bright pink stream. I went the whole night without shoes, and my soles are skinned and raw, chunks of flesh gouged out.
“It’s nothing,” I say. “They’re already healing.”
She looks up, and her eyes break me. Big, green, full of emotion I don’t quite understand.
“You ran all the way to get me … barefoot? That’s over twenty miles.”
I shake my head in dismissal. It really isn’t important. I’d run the world barefoot for her if I needed to.
She pulls herself up, grabs one of those little bottles of hotel soap, and crawls down so she’s level with my feet.
“What are you doing, Rosa?”
“Looking after you,” she replies simply, as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world. She unscrews the cap, pours apple-scented liquid into her hand, and gently cleans my wounds.
I become aware of her body in a way I wasn’t seconds before. Aware of her hesitant fingers on my battered feet, how that dress clings to her. My cock twitches to life, and I silently curse it. This is not the time.
“Leave it, for fuck’s sake,” I bark.
Her eyes fly to my face. Shit. I sounded like a monster, and I hate the look of hurt that flickers across her face before she hides it.
“Suit yourself,” she says, her tone neutral. “Get an infection and die for all I care.”
“That’s not going to happen. You already know that. Come on, let’s go to bed.”
Without waiting for a response, I stand up and peel off my T-shirt. Her eyes wander my torso as she undoubtedly catalogs the various marks I accumulated during the night. None of them will be there by tomorrow—she knows that too.
Turning away, I present her with my ass as I take off my jeans. I don’t want her to see that even now, even when she’s suffering, after everything she has been through, I’m still hard for her. It shames me.
I grab one of the robes from the back of the door and slip it on, and when I turn back to her, there’s a smirk on her face that wasn’t there before.
“Nice try.” She holds out her hands so I can help her to her feet. “But there’s a mirror right there, and I’m not blind, big boy.”
I pull her up, and she collides with my body, her hands going to my shoulders. She tilts her face up to mine and winks at me. Yeah, she actually winks, then rubs herself against my dick.
“You need some help with that?” she asks, her voice low, her pulse faster than it’s been all night.
Her hands twine into my hair. She tugs my mouth down to hers and kisses me hard, pushing us both backward so I crash into the sink.
Her tits are crushed to my chest, her tongue is in my mouth, and her breath is coming in sharp, staccato gusts.
There’s a hint of blood from where one of those shitheads hit her face, and it ignites my hunger and fury in equal measure.
She drops one hand down to the belt of my robe and pulls it open before sliding to her knees and coming to rest with her face directly in front of my cock.
With a sigh, she strokes it and cups my balls with her other hand.
Jesus. I’m trying to stay in control here.
Trying not to be a monster—but she’s not making it easy for me.