Chapter 2 #2
Serafina thrashes against me like a kitten in a burlap sack as I carry her out the front door, my boots crunching across the gravel toward one of Turi’s SUVs.
She’s all skin and bones, practically weightless on my shoulder, but her squirming and fighting make it hard to keep her from hurting herself. She rains her fists down on my back like she thinks her little tantrum will have any effect.
Then, right next to the car, she twists toward me and sucks on my neck. Her hot, wet tongue flicks out, shooting an unexpected jolt of heat through me.
I stumble. “Serafina, what the fu—”
She bites down. Hard.
“What the fuck!”
I jerk and tear her off me like I’m pulling a bulldog from a rope and toss her against the passenger door. She bangs into it with a grunt.
I’d feel a lot worse about hurting her if she weren’t bearing a mouthful of my blood at me like a crazed cannibal.
Her eyes flick from me to the house as I tilt my head to the side and touch a fingertip to the bite mark she left. Shit stings, and I know it’s going to leave a scar.
I ought to yell at her, but that uncertainty from earlier stops me.
I’ve always known Serafina to play by the rules and to do as she’s told.
She’d never dirty herself with violence, and even though she’s a good person, she wouldn’t put herself in danger for a near-stranger like Marisol.
Either there’s a brain-eating parasite in that head of hers, making her act all crazy, or she’s not Serafina.
“What’s going on, Serafina? This isn’t you.” I test to see if maybe she’ll just come out with the truth.
Her eyelashes flutter, and my suspicions grow.
For what fucking reason would I have Annetta here, dressed up as her twin sister and biting me?
She sucks in a breath and stands tall.
“They’re going to kill her,” she says, voice steady. “You need to go back. Save her. Don’t let her die.”
Warm blood slithers down my neck into my shirt collar, but I make no move to clean it.
I fall forward toward her, catching myself with my palm on the window next to her head. She flinches at the dull thud but doesn’t back down.
I grin.
This close, I can smell blood on every ragged breath spilling from her mouth. She must be terrified, but she’s facing me with everything she’s got, even though I’m nearly twice her size. Most men would have already pissed their pants by now. Maybe she’s foolishly certain I won’t hurt her.
“Do you remember what I told you in the stadium?” I ask.
Her eyes flash wide, and her breath catches.
Yeah. I got her.
Weeks ago, Serafina and I had a little chat at Wrigley Field. If I’m wrong, she’ll pass my little test, and I can figure out what’s actually going on with her. But she’s gonna fail, because I’m pretty damn sure this isn’t Serafina.
She wipes the blood off her mouth with the back of her hand and traces her fingers down my forearm before they fall to her side. If she thinks flirting with me is gonna make me back down, she’ll find out that it will take a lot more than a pretty face to sway me.
“Please don’t let her die, Dom,” she whispers.
My chest gives a light squeeze. How can she be so worried about Marisol when she’s got blood on her tongue and a man like me breathing down her neck? Annetta has always been like this—too much of a martyr for her own damn good.
“Listen to me,” I say, our faces inches apart. Gunshots ring off from inside the house, and she flinches. I don’t. “Do you trust me?”
More gunshots. Her gaze flickers back and forth between me and the house.
She hasn’t answered my question, but I continue, “You don’t need to worry about Marisol. Salvatore would sooner saw off his right hand than let harm come to that woman. If he’s sending her to the basement, it’s because she’ll be the safest there.”
I glance down at her blood-kissed mouth once, then drop my hand away from the window. “Get in the car. I’m taking you home.”
I swing the passenger door open and shove her inside.
Rolling my shoulders, I touch the bite mark. Fucking woman tore a goddamn chunk out of my neck. I may need stitches.
I stride to the driver’s side, get in, and drive us away from the chaos, barely sparing Turi a thought. Whatever is happening, he can handle it. As much as I hate to admit it, his wife’s a tough bitch too. They’ll be fine.
In the passenger seat, Serafina looks frail as a bird, clutching the seatbelt and squeezing herself into the smallest shape possible against the passenger seat.
She has transformed from a she-wolf back to a scared little bunny, casting doubt over my suspicions yet again.
I’ve always prided myself on my intuition in any situation, but in the span of a few minutes, the woman next to me has my internal compass spinning in circles.
I drive us down the long, dark road from Turi’s house back to her parents’ house in Oak Brook.
After several minutes of complete silence, I ask again, “Do you remember what I told you in the stadium?”
I’m not the kind of man who can let something go. Used to drive my dad nuts.
“Remind me,” she says in a dull voice.
I nearly laugh. Still playing coy, then. “I told you I wouldn’t let any harm come to you. Ever.”
She snaps her head toward me, her hands still strangling that seatbelt.
“You mean that?” she asks me in an oddly hopeful voice.
I break my attention away from the road to hold her gaze for a fraction of a second.
“Of course,” I say slowly, feeling like I’m missing something really fucking important. “You’re like a little sister to me. I won’t let anyone touch you.”
Her gaze burns into the side of my face as she twists the seatbelt in her hands. She doesn’t say anything else for a long moment, until my patience finally frays and snaps.
I ask the question that’s been stirring at the back of my mind since she got out of the car.
“Where is your sister?”