Chapter 30
NICO
Every time I closed my eyes, all I saw was Emberline’s ruined throat.
Not her beautiful face or the way her mouth curved into a smirk when she was about to make one of her smartass comments.
Only that sharpened edge sliding through her skin, crimson blood blooming around the keen metal, the way I’d wanted nothing more than to force my blade down the rest of the way and…
I jerked awake so violently, the bench beneath me cracked.
The human bar reeked of spilled liquor and cigarette smoke.
The day’s heat from the alley rolled through the tavern, packed with sweating bodies and noise.
Somewhere to my left, a man was shouting along to a song on the radio, his friends pounding the table, laughing and spilling beer until it dripped from the table to form puddles at their feet.
I sat in the very back, hood pulled low over my face, my shoulders hunched in a manner that kept people away, my hands wrapped around the foggy glass like it was my only lifeline to sanity.
I lifted my drink and swallowed again.
The burn hit my throat, like a knife pressed to my…
“Fuck.” I rubbed my burning eyes, trying to get a hold of myself, but none of my usual mind-over-matter tricks were working. Slow breathing. Calming my mind. Thinking about killing Marcello, though, after seeing that old fuck earlier, I doubted I’d get the chance.
No, Marcello Dominico was halfway to the Underworld; all he needed was a fucking token for the ferryman.
I really needed to get my shit together. Emberline was fine. I’d seen her healing throat with my own godsdamned eyes.
There was only truth in her voice when she’d told me all was forgiven.
But nothing blunted the horror of what I’d almost done, and alcohol—I took another long pull—only made the guilt scream louder.
I almost killed her.
The thought wasn’t just a fact. It was a fist to the face.
I could still feel the weight of my body pinning her down.
Still feel the deathly calm when I forced that sword toward her neck.
The horror dawning in her dark eyes as she realized I was too strong.
The clean certainty of the kill—as if my muscles knew what to do and the blankness in my head that turned me into a puppet.
If Gabriel hadn’t pulled me off when he did…
I tossed back the rest of my drink and raised my glass. The barman scurried over with the bottle as I laid another hundred euros on the table. He filled it to the brim, swiped the money, and ran away, throwing a fearful look over his shoulder.
Fine. Whatever. Leave me the fuck alone.
Gabriel had jammed that antivenom into my shoulder, the world cracked, and memory clawed its way back inside.
Then I saw the terror in her eyes and realized the prey beneath me had never been prey at all.
It had been Emberline.
I yanked the glass toward me, amber liquid spreading like blood across the wood.
A human at the next table barked a laugh and shoved his friend hard enough, he fell off his chair. Two more sparred at the end of the bar, and a table of males sat smoking, trying to outdo one another with lies about their prowess in bed. What I wouldn’t give right now to be in their shoes.
Instead of feeling like a weapon that had malfunctioned and should be destroyed.
I hadn’t just almost killed her.
I had wanted to.
Not me. Not Niccolò Draconi, the best fighter in the Draconi Brotherhood, esteemed Vendetarri, and best mate of Gabriel Dominico, our future Don.
But the dangerous beast that prowled under my skin.
The one I’d been cursed with since birth, contained through years of training and discipline, the one that hungered for more than blood, only going silent after a kill.
And now, facing that darkest part of myself, facing what I’d nearly done, I also had to face the truth.
I’d been assigned to keep her safe.
Duty was how this started. Protect Emberline. Don’t let anyone hurt her.
I’d sworn an oath to Dante, and in the beginning, I’d meant every word. And now, now I couldn’t swallow around my horror. I hadn’t just failed Emberline today. I’d become the monster she needed protecting from.
I needed to go see Emilia. I needed her to perform another one of her spells, lock me up tight, because what happened in the Fossa had broken me wide open and now… now all my darkness was about to leak out, and not just metaphorically.
In ways that turned me into a time bomb.
I tipped my glass back and drank until the burn reached all the way down to my stomach.
My thoughts tipped sideways, too, slipping into memories I didn’t want.
Emberline, the first time we’d met. The way her hair curled at the nape of her neck, how her tight jacket showed every hidden weapon.
Her in a blue velvet gown with snow still sticking in her hair, standing like a fairytale princess in the center of a ballroom.
Her gripping my shirt, fire and ash spilling around us like the depths of Hades, putting all of her trust in me to keep her alive.
Her hands on my ankle—delicate but unyielding, nails digging through my boot, holding me back while she and Gabriel begged me to come to my fucking senses. The way she’d pleaded—You came back to me. That’s all that matters.
My throat tightened.
I was in love with her.
Not lust. Not fascination. Not the dark obsession that males like me mistook for devotion.
Love.
The kind that made my lungs ache when I thought of losing her. The kind that made my head go quiet whenever she spoke because I didn’t want to miss a single word. The kind that made me want to build a wall around her and stand guard forever.
The kind that made me feel like I could fly.
And I had almost been the blade that cut her down.
I stared into the bottom of my glass as if it might give me absolution.
The room swayed, the miserable weight of guilt shifting to jealousy, then even faster to shame.
Dante was back. Her husband was back.
His return should have been a relief.
Because Dante belonged to Emberline in a way I could never touch.
Because Dante would keep her safe now. Because Dante was the center of her world, the love she’d bled for and would die for.
And because, with Dante back, I could finally do what I should have done the moment I realized my feelings for her had strayed far beyond friend territory.
I had to put distance between us.
I couldn’t be around them, not when they were always touching, always looking at each other. When all I could smell was their comingled scents all over each other.
The decision settled into me like a vow, heavy and bitter and necessary.
I’d rather cut my own heart out than risk her again, so I lifted my glass.
“To distance. May it not break my heart as wholly as I fear it will,” I murmured under my breath, then drank like it was a sacrament.
The bar’s front door banged open, letting in a gust of even steamier air and a ripple of laughter that slowly gave way to something else. The loud bar quieted, the atmosphere in the smoky room shifting.
Old power slid through the air like oil in water, subtle and unmistakable. It didn’t matter how drunk the humans were—some instincts survived, despite the pleasant haze of alcohol.
Conversations faltered. Laughter dipped. A few heads at the bar turned. Even the barkeep stopped polishing glasses with his filthy rag.
My spine went cold as I recognized that familiar power and threw up a shield of shadow, enough to keep him from scenting me. Then I pulled my hood lower and watched.
Giovanni strolled in, dressed in that ridiculous monk’s habit, his round face marking him as a non-threat, despite the dangerous chill he dragged behind him. All I saw was cunning and cruelty, the air of a male who believed he was untouchable.
I tracked every minute detail, the pinch of frustration to his mouth, the bead of sweat racing down the side of his face, the way every movement was rushed, jerky.
So, he knew about the prison. That was fast.
The question was, how much did he know? It would take time to dig out the bodies, to search through that wreckage, even with magic at your command. And something about his bearing indicated fear, not annoyance. Who was he afraid of?
The older, wiser patrons kept their eyes on him, a few making the sign of the cross as he passed, whether because they believed him to be a man of the cloth…
Or they recognized him for the predator he was.
Without looking around, he headed past the bar and disappeared through a hanging drape leading to a private room. The bartender’s posture stiffened as Giovanni passed, then ever so slowly, his eyes drifted to my table, as if he’d made some connection between the two of us.
Well shit. Looks like I have some cleanup to do before I head back to the safehouse.
My mind raced.
Giovanni shouldn’t be here. Not in a common human bar filled with locals. Not without a reason. Then I thought back to his meeting with Severin and the lengths he’d gone to avoid detection.
I’d come here for the same purpose. To have some godsdamn privacy.
Vampires didn’t monitor human establishments; we just… didn’t need the aggravation.
Giovanni had lost an important strategic advantage today when we’d destroyed the Fossa. Hard to tell how much he knew, but my guess was, most of the guards were dead, and the prisoners wouldn’t talk, so he’d—at best—be sorting through about twenty conflicting stories, trying to discern the truth.
I toyed with my drink and kept my head down. A few minutes passed, and the bar’s atmosphere returned to its previous chaos. I ordered another whiskey. The humans went back to their bragging.
When the door opened again, Rocco Demente strolled in.
The old vampire moved with purpose, silver-tipped cane tapping the floor, his dark, bristling gaze sweeping the room in a sharp scan that made my skin prickle. Then he ducked beneath the hanging drape and disappeared.
Well, what do you know?
We have ourselves a little conspiracy.
I tossed back the rest of my drink and sauntered up to the bar, fished around in my pocket long enough for the barkeep to lean a little closer, then shoved three hundred euros toward him and a tendril of glamour.
“You had a very good night tonight. Lots of humans, but you never saw me. Understand?”
“Understood.” He licked his lips, his eyes glassy.
I stepped outside, where this shadowy city only pretended the streets weren’t haunted by ghosts.
Rocco’s involvement complicated things.
The old bastard was always more interested in preserving his own skin than actually choosing sides, but in this case, he bore close watching. I sighed, rubbing my chin. Gabriel and Dante had to know we had hit a snag.
I’d just made a vow to step away from the one woman I loved, but that vow would have to wait. Rocco walked into that room like he wanted blood, and I meant to make sure he didn’t come for ours.