Chapter 21 – Cassini
CASSINI
The Hollow never felt like home. Not even after months of working and sleeping here. But it used to feel like a reliable foothold. I won’t miss it when I’m gone, but as I’m sorting through my meager things, I register a tiny amount of affection for the place I never intended to settle in.
There’s barely any furniture in my room. No windows, no frames or artwork mounted to the exposed brick walls. Just a single bed in the center of the room with a flimsy pillow and a threadbare white sheet. Redundant human comforts displayed for show.
Italy had been different. I’d lived in sprawling palaces filled with ancient treasures—centuries of accumulated material beauty. Lush hand-embroidered fabrics draped around bricked-up windows, the endless hallways boasting exquisite Renaissance artwork in gilded frames.
But here, I needed only the basics to survive.
My one non-negotiable was a place to hang the clothes that mattered.
Soon after I’d moved in, I’d installed a single metal rail near the shower room and filled it with my most prized possessions: a single suit, my custom silk-lined leather jacket, and a few elegant shirts in case of emergencies.
I pull a charcoal Prada shirt from its hanger and run my fingers over the starched cotton.
It’s one of my favorite pieces, a fine example of exquisite Italian tailoring that fits me like a glove.
I slide it over my thick shoulders, past the growing mark on my forearm, and slowly button it closed in front of the floor-length mirror, leaving a few open at the top.
Damn, I look good.
It clings in all the right places, and when I flex, my biceps and forearms strain against it so much you can almost see the cords of lean muscle in my arms.
But if Lily wanted to tear it off me later and shred it into a million pieces with her bare hands, I wouldn’t stop her.
The memory of last night crashes into me like a tsunami.
Lily’s perfect mouth, Lily’s divine body, Lily’s heavenly moans.
In all my centuries of being a hollow shell, she filled every empty space inside me.
To feel her thoughts while I was buried deep inside her, to explore her mind and her body at once—it was like being reborn.
Raw, desperate, perfect. I’ve existed for so long without truly living, and when she opened herself to me completely, mind and body, I remembered what it felt like to be human.
I could experience that for all eternity, and I’d still crave more.
The leather of my belt feels supple between my fingers as I pull it tightly around my waist and fasten it behind the gold buckle.
I push the mess of wavy curls back from my face and take a deep breath, trying to quiet the tingling in my spine that radiates to my belly, waking a million dust-covered moths somewhere deep inside me.
They flutter and bang against the darkness inside me, searching for light.
I’ve had hundreds of women, but this feels different.
For the first time, I’m unsettled and trying to navigate uneven ground.
Maybe it’s because until tonight I haven’t had to try with Lily.
There’s been no ceremony or seduction. Just connection.
Our relationship has progressed so naturally—the trust and affection between us is an organic thing that has grown in the space between us.
But twenty-four hours can change everything.
Until I tasted her, I could convince myself obsession was weakness.
Until I fucked her, I thought I could still walk away.
But now her blood courses through my blackened veins, and nothing will ever be the same again. Now that I’m falling for her, the threats are coming from every direction. If I don’t get this done and get us both out of here, we’re fucked.
“Going somewhere?”
I’m pinning my solid gold cufflinks when the voice behind me makes me stiffen.
Julian.
How long has he been standing there? My hand instinctively curls into a fist, and I do my best to relax my stiff jaw as I turn to face him, plastering on the most neutral expression that I can muster.
“I am, actually,” I say with forced geniality.
He leans against the edge of the heavy oak doorway with his arms crossed and regards me like some lowly cockroach he wants to crush under his boot.
His wiry frame almost reaches the top of the arch, and as usual he’s dressed in all black, with a leather holster of horrors slung around his waist. My eyes flick to the miniature crossbow dangling off the leather loop of his belt, and the image of pinning him against the wood and shooting him through the ribs with it warms me for a fleeting moment.
He fixes me with a steely look, like he’s trying to see below my layers of skin and into the darkest parts of me.
His tone is ice-cold. “Your name keeps coming up. Again and again. The residents here tell me stories about you. About how they wonder where you go when you disappear. They tell me you leave at all hours and only come back to feed on our generous blood stockpile.”
“Have I got a curfew now?” I smirk. “Sorry, Julian. I didn’t know you cared so much. Well, if it makes you feel any better, I’ll text you next time I’m out late so you don’t get worried.”
He sneers. “Perhaps I should let the twins have their way with you. Actually, no—nothing would give me more pleasure than being the one to end you, but for some reason the Primus has a strange affection for you.” He shakes his head.
“I don’t pretend to understand it, and I definitely don’t share it, but know this: even his patience is beginning to wear thin. ”
Is that true? Lazaro cares for me? Why would he? We’ve barely interacted in the time I’ve been here. Sure, I give him a large cut of my income, but compared to the blood money he collects, it’s a drop in the ocean.
“Either way,” he continues with a humorless smile, “it won’t be a problem soon enough.
In a few short days you will take the Sangretà, and be bound to the Sixth and under our control, or I will have the great pleasure of turning you to ashes.
I hope for my sake you refuse. My fingers have been itching to stake you. ”
I step toward him, and he stands up straighter, like he’s preparing to square up. I smile and bare my teeth. “I’d hate to deny you such a pleasure, Julian, but you’ll be disappointed to know that I fully intend to pledge my allegiance to the Sixth.”
He deflates, almost imperceptibly, and it pleases me so much that it raises a smile.
“In fact, I’ve been meaning to ask you for something, brother. I intend to visit Nocturne on the eve of my pledge. I humbly request you add me to the list.” I say this with a sarcastic little bow.
The request hangs in the air between us.
Julian’s eyebrows knot in confusion. “Nocturne? That’s quite the leap from your usual scene. I thought you were too good to drink from live humans.”
I flash my fangs. “I’m tired of living on the periphery. If I’m going to be part of this clan, I want to go all in. Show you the depth of my loyalty.” I meet his gaze steadily. “Besides, isn’t that where the real business happens?”
“Indeed it is.” Julian’s eyes move over me slowly, like he’s trying to unearth a lie. “Nocturne is invitation-only. Very exclusive. Very…intense.”
“Can you arrange it?”
“I could.” He pauses in front of me. “But there are conditions. You’ll need to bring chattel.”
I force myself to nod. “Of course.”
“Fresh blood. Untouched. Something worthy of the venue.” His smile turns cruel. “I trust you can manage that?”
The thought of bringing Lily into that den of monsters makes my skin crawl, but I have no choice. This is the only way to get Megan Fontaine out. The only way I can end the binding. There is no other way. I have to be strong again—strong enough to protect Lily when danger comes.
And no matter how much I try to ignore it, the tingling scar between my shoulder blades warns me that it is coming.
“I have just the creature,” I say with a smile he doesn’t return.
I turn away, but something makes me glance back. Julian stands in my doorway, his lips curved into a cruel smile, watching me with those cold gray eyes.
Maybe I should poison the blood supply. The thought cuts through my mind, words clear as if he was speaking. Lazaro will never know. Teach this pretty boy a lesson.
But Julian’s lips haven’t moved. He’s just standing there, staring at me with that calculating look.
The realization hits me like a slap—I just heard his thoughts. I felt them in the same way as I hear Lily’s voice in my head, the echo of them rattling around in the dark space we usually occupy together. I study Julian’s face, watching for his response, but there’s nothing coming back.
I guess I must be staring, because his eyes narrow. “Something wrong?”
“No,” I say quickly, brushing past him and turning my back to mask my shock. “Nothing. I’m just very much looking forward to tomorrow. I can’t wait to see it…to join you.”
“I’m sure you are,” he murmurs sarcastically behind me, and I can feel his suspicious gaze burning into my back as I walk down the corridor.
There are traces of Lily’s essence still coursing through my veins—could that be what this is? Has she transferred some of her abilities to me through her blood?
There are folk tales about this. Stories that aging vampires tell each other when they’re drunk on bloodwine, spinning yarns of valiant battles and drained virgins.
But some speak of darker legends—how feeding from certain creatures can change us, give us abilities we were never meant to possess.
How draining a medium can open doorways in the mind that should remain forever closed.
An intoxicating power we should never have access to.
The unfettered ability to spy on your enemies.
The permission to reach across the veil of light and corrupt it with our darkness.
If it’s true, my family is the least of my worries.
Soon every vampire on the planet will come looking for her.
On uneasy legs, I step out into the warm Texas night.
Sixth Street pulses around me with predatory energy.
Neon cowboy signs flicker like warning beacons while music bleeds from bar after bar, creating a symphony of excess where each fresh cacophony crashes into the next.
I grip the leather bag tighter as I move through the crowd of dead-eyed humans—their laughter sharp-edged, their movements loose with substances and desperation.
There’s something in the air tonight, a malice that makes even seasoned hunters like me on edge.
My car waits in the shadows, black paint gleaming under the streetlights, fixed and ready for me.
I run my hand over the shining hood and feel the still-warm engine underneath.
Carmen and Luna have done a hell of a job getting it here so quickly.
Years of running have taught me that survival depends on knowing who you can trust—and who owes you favors.
Once safely inside, I unzip the soft leather of the bag in the passenger seat and pull out a pouch of blood. I need to be as strong as I can before we hit the bar, so I grabbed as much as I could carry without raising suspicion.
The first pouch slides down my throat quickly. Without hesitation, I reach for another. This batch belonged to someone who eats a lot of beef—the smoky flavor of rare filet mignon coating my tongue as I suck it down like it’s nothing. Then I grab another.
The buildings blur as I hit the accelerator, moving closer to her.
One hand on the wheel, the other fumbling around the bag, looking for the next pouch.
A vegetarian this time, clean and light with hints of spinach and tofu.
I barely pause before tearing open the next one—someone with a sweet tooth, their blood carrying notes of chocolate and vanilla that would have been delicious under different circumstances.
The fourth tastes of cigarettes and cheap wine, probably from someone who spends their nights in bars like the Jackalope. I don’t care. I keep drinking, the Maserati engine humming under me as the glut of blood gurgles in my belly.
Number five carries the umami tang of miso and mushroom. Six tastes of garlic and tomatoes—Italian food, which normally would make me homesick. Tonight it just fuels me and sloshes around in my uncomfortably full stomach.
I tell myself this is about strength, about being prepared for the dangers that lie ahead. But the truth claws at me with every swallow—I’m terrified of what I might do to her if I’m not sated.
The memory of her blood haunts me, has haunted me since that first taste in that basement. The way it sang through my veins, how nothing else has ever come close to that perfect symphony of flavor and life.
Seven pouches. Eight. I drain them mechanically, one after another, trying to build a wall between my hunger and my desire for her. Because if I’m too weak…if I lose control again, if I take too much…
By the time I’ve finished the tenth bag, I’m queasy but satisfied. The blood hums through my veins, dampening the hunger inside me. I throw the empty pouch in the bag and zip it up before throwing it in the backseat.
I won’t need to feed for a while. My strength is temporarily replenished, but it won’t last. I know it won’t. Even weak as I am, I’m ready for whatever tonight brings.
Ready to protect Lily from every threat we’ll face.
But there’s one truth I can’t escape: I’m the only one who knows what her blood is truly capable of. I’ve tasted paradise, felt the intoxicating rush of her gift flowing through me. I lost control once before—nearly drained her dry while she clawed at my skin, begging me to stop.
Ordinarily, I’d be strong enough to protect her from almost any vampire alive. Ancient, powerful, deadly when I need to be. Not right now, though.
The question haunts me as I lock the car and walk toward her door:
Am I strong enough to protect her from myself?
Because no matter how much human blood I consume, no matter how carefully I prepare, there’s one truth I can’t deny: I am still a monster.
And tonight, I’m taking her straight into the darkness.