Chapter 30 Orfeo
Orfeo
I awaken in my bed, in my loft, in my carriage house.
I am naked, but I am not alone.
First, I see Diantha’s stuffed dog slumped against the pillow beside me. Tucked into the sheets with me, his vacant eyes warming my undead heart.
I stir and find Leo sitting on a chair beside my bed, those big, pretty eyes going wide with shock. Then his mouth falls open to form an O. He jumps to his feet. “Diantha. He’s awake!”
“Really?!”
There’s a million more evil scraping noises as chairs drag across my poor hardwood floors. Then, I hear the soft padding of feet up the loft steps.
“My baby.”
And then the mattress depresses beside me. I let out a groan of pain. “Ecchecazzo—”
Her mouth covers mine. Her sweet, delicious mouth.
I bring a bandaged hand to her head. “You.”
I caress the curve of her face, the angle of her jaw. I know my touch isn’t soft or nimble, but she nuzzles into me and kisses my bandaged palm, the tender inside of my wrist.
“You,” she whispers back. “You.”
“Before you two start fucking—” Leo interjects in his usual dry, bored tone. “Diantha, remember we have a family meeting tonight at my place. All survivors will be there.”
“Of course,” she says, and her voice sounds like heaven. “Thank you, Leo.”
He bows. He fucking bows. “Of course, my goddess. I will also bring the new cat tree to Dusty.”
“Oh my god…” My voice is a broken croak. “What the fuck have I missed?”
Leo cocks a brow at me. He has a small bandage under his eye, and I notice faint greenish bruising around his nose. “A lot, stronzo. You have missed a lot.”
Diantha leaves me in the bed, walking Leo to the door. They exchange terse whispers and then I hear the swish of his leather jacket against her pajamas as they hug.
She sneaks back upstairs and crawls into bed with me, gently tangling her legs with mine. Amore, I think.
She slowly unbuttons her satin pajama top, slipping out of her bottoms. Her body is warmer than usual, pulsing and throbbing with so much life.
With much effort, I turn to her, threading my fingers into her hair and pressing my fangs into the soft flesh of her breast. I apologize, embarrassed that I am too weak to bite her neck.
She shushes me, taking my other hand and bringing it between her thighs.
It takes longer than usual, but I eventually draw blood.
Her hands slip below the sheets as blood slips over my tongue and down my throat, like pure sunshine has been injected into me. Her hands encircle my erection, pulling slowly and steadily, making me harder and harder. Our bodies work together, slow and gentle, in a fever of gasps and moans.
I seal her wound and pull her hips to mine, rolling onto my back. She slides me into her.
“I won’t last long,” I whisper, my voice hoarse. I grip at the thickness of her thighs.
“Me neither,” she replies, leaning forward and bringing her lips to mine.
I don’t realize I’ve been, apparently, using a cane until Diantha hands me the silver snake-headed thing before we leave for Hades House.
“You used it to get home the other day.” She narrows her eyes. “You don’t remember that?”
I flash a pained smile and do something vampires never do: I apologize.
In the bar room on the first floor of Hades House, we gather around the bistro tables in a comfortable but heavy silence. Many people are missing.
Kat and Sofia. Half of the strigoi. All of the demons.
And Davìd.
Diantha notices my eyes skimming the room and she reaches for my hand.
“All right.” Diantha nods at Leo. “Let’s begin.”
He clears his throat, leaning back against the bar, hands in his pockets.
“We all know what happened. And we’re all still recovering.
I’m not gonna waste time in the details.
Diantha has appointed me her advisor, so…
I’ll be trying my best to put shit back together.
Many of us met a final death. Sofia and Diego.
All of the demons from New York. Many of our Canadian brothers and sisters.
But worse yet, many are still missing. Notably, Davìd, who managed to escape the fire but has not been seen since. And Evie, a human witch.”
Diantha’s eyes drop to our tangled fingers and moisture rushes forward in her eyes. I reach to catch her tears with my thumb. She flashes me a weak, watery smile.
“We believe they have been taken hostage, down into the Underworld, but until the Paquet Manor fire is completely cleared, we won’t know.”
A strigoi with a long neck and black eyes raises their hand. “Why would they take a human?”
“Because I love her,” Diantha says. “That fucking abomination of a god knows I love her.” She turns her eyes, hot and dark and angry, to Misha. “What about your coven? Please tell me they’re okay.”
Misha pulls her gaze away. “I haven’t seen or heard anything.” She looks exhausted, like the last few days have somehow broken her free of immortality and aged her years.
“Clearly, this war is not over,” Leo says, pushing off the bar and reaching for Misha.
He closes his hands around her shoulders and pulls her to his waist, embracing her.
“But the battle here, in this realm, has been won. Diantha’s mother’s spirit has been released, and the Paquet fire was attributed to Alfredo Mancini, a New York crime boss who went by Alfo, who hadn’t received payments on a multimillion-dollar illegal loan from the Paquet family in a decade.
” Leo strokes Misha’s hair. “So, how’s that for a happy ending? ”
I tighten my hold on Diantha’s hand. Her blood courses through me. I feel her pride, her affection, her strength, and her pain.
“And Orfeo survived,” Misha says, her voice quiet. “He cheated death.” I look up and meet her eyes. She’s grinning. “How many times will you cheat death, stronzo?”
This cracks the tension in the room. Diantha lets out a wild laugh and leans into me.
We all begin to laugh, quietly and then with our mouths open. Then, it grows. Some of the strigoi whoop and clap; Leo presses his fingers into his teeth and lets out a long, loud whistle. A chant begins:
The vampire lives. The vampire lives.
Diantha reaches for me, takes my face in her hands, pulls me to my feet. She wraps her arms around my neck and presses her lips to mine, and it’s magic. It’s her magic. The same magic that saved my damned and damn-near immortal life.
“The fucking Italian vampire survived,” a strigoi shouts, his voice thick with emotion. “Now, let’s fucking drink.”