Chapter 19 - Garrett
My skin itched. My throat felt like sandpaper. Even my teeth seemed to ache as I paced back and forth in the little apartment, mirroring Marella’s movement from earlier.
Where was she?
My gaze darted back and forth between the clock on the wall and the unmoving door. Every few minutes, the front door, several floors below, would open and close, and I’d hold my breath, waiting for the footsteps that followed to manifest into her face across the mantle.
But hours passed, and none of them ever turned out to be her.
Deep in my bones, a curious sensation boiled amidst the hunger. I needed her to fulfill her promise, of course. But there was a different, more pressing emotion there as well.
Fear.
Not fear for myself. I knew what I would eventually have to do to alleviate this pain, regardless of how it made my stomach turn.
No. The fear I felt wore Marella’s face, and the longer she stayed missing, the more pronounced it became.
I couldn’t shake the gnawing idea that she needed my help.
Somewhere, alone in this labyrinthine city, she was alone, and she needed me.
And finally, I couldn’t take it anymore.
I would have to hunt first, I realized with growing nausea. There was little I could do in my current state. Every step I took sent a wave of dizziness through me, and I didn’t think I’d be able to make it more than a few blocks without drinking.
I stopped pacing and stared at the door, breath coming in heaving gasps.
There was a woman who lived alone downstairs.
She was old and sick—the Fratelli sometimes brought her groceries when they checked on the apartment.
I’d only met her once, but her frailty had been undeniable.
She didn’t have much time left anyway. Perhaps I could give her a quick, painless end.
Tears filled my eyes as I walked toward the door. But if I thought too hard about what I was about to do, I wouldn’t be able to see it through.
Is Marella’s life really worth more than this woman’s?
A nagging voice at the back of my conscience whispered at my heels. And my answer surprised me even as I thought it.
Yes.
I pictured her gleaming green eyes, narrowed and skeptical, and I knew that I would do almost anything to keep them open. And when I pictured her hurt, or somehow in danger… I found myself filled with a surprising resolution.
Finally, I reached out a hand and turned the doorknob.
As I flung it open, I was met by another outstretched hand and a loud gasp.
She was there. Hair askew, covered in dirt and scratches, looking at me with those bright green eyes filled with surprise.
Her mouth opened as if she were about to speak, but before any words could escape, I grabbed the wrist of her outstretched hand and pulled her onto my side of the threshold, closing the door behind her.
Maddeningly, she giggled as it slammed. But her laughter quickly stifled as I grabbed her shoulders and pressed her back against the wall.
I searched her eyes for—something. I wasn’t sure what.
She was hurt. That much was obvious. Her bare arms were covered in what looked like superficial cuts and bruises.
But I wasn’t worried about those. She could take care of herself.
I was looking for something else.
Her guarded expression gave me nothing.
"Where were you?" I finally asked, noting the rise and fall of her chest in the flimsy tank top she wore.
She frowned before answering. Just as they had before, when she’d told me about her family’s predicament, her lips seemed to fuse together as she tried to speak. Her hands balled into tight fists at her sides.
"Fuck," she whispered before glaring back at me. "I was delayed."
"By what?"
Her teeth worked at her lower lip so violently that I thought she might break the skin. "The Stone Witch."
What little blood remained in my face drained quickly. "What?"
A pinprick of blood appeared on her lip. "She knows what we’re doing." Her voice was stilted. It was as though she were ripping each word from her mouth one by one. "And she isn’t happy about it."
"Is she the one who hurt you?" I let my fingers drift from her shoulders down her arms, softly grazing the scratches and bruises inlaid upon her skin.
She nodded and shifted to one side, as if trying to step away from my touch, but I didn’t miss the shiver that she tried to hide.
"Sorry," I whispered, suddenly very aware of how close we were standing—of that small dollop of blood pooling on her lower lip. "Does this hurt?"
She shook her head, following my gaze. "You need to feed," she said with a note of bitterness in her voice.
I sighed and let myself lean forward, resting my forehead against the place where her neck met her shoulders. I could practically hear the blood pulsing just centimeters from my ear, but I couldn’t bring myself to bite her just yet.
For a moment, she froze, arms raised at her sides like the statue she once was.
Then, slowly, she brought them up to wrap around my back.
Her touch was awkward, stiff like her words.
But her fingers rested gently against the thin cotton of my t-shirt, and all I could think about was how badly I wanted that layer removed from between us.
"I’m sorry you were hurt," I said. I could smell my own breath as it pooled in the space between us. "I never want that to happen."
She didn’t say anything. Her fingers traced their way up my back, across my shoulders, until they twined around my hair. She pulled my head back by the scalp gently but firmly. Her eyes were sad when they met mine. "Drink."
With that, she pressed my mouth against her neck, and I gave in to my most base desires. This time, when my lips met her skin, they parted as if on instinct. My teeth found that pulse point without me having to look.
I heard myself moan as the first sip slid across my tongue and down my throat.
Just that one sip was enough to make me feel infinitely better than I had just seconds before.
Had it felt like this the first time I’d drunk from her?
I’d been so near to death, I couldn’t remember, but surely there was no way I could forget something like this.
It was ecstasy. It was sustenance and pleasure and need and desire all coalesced into one spot on this woman’s neck.
I let my body lean into her as I continued to suck, a series of unholy sounds echoing along the back of my throat.
Somehow, amidst my haze of pleasure, I became aware of other noises filling the room.
They were coming from her.
Beneath me, Marella was gasping, her breath coming in short little bursts that ruffled the hair on the side of my head.
They didn’t sound like gasps of pain.
As I allowed myself to pull harder and deeper at the place where we were attached, I also let my hips settle onto hers.
Her breaths grew even more shallow and ragged.
And then, before I even realized what I was doing, I raised one hand, letting it scrape across her waist, across the cotton of her shirt, to the thin strap at her shoulder.
I pulled it down slowly, waiting for her to stop me, to say no, to grab my wrist and shove me away.
When she did none of that, I pulled the fabric down entirely, so that her bare breast was cupped beneath my hand.
I’d seen her naked before, of course. Just once, when I’d walked away like an idiot. But this was different. This time, I couldn’t see her breast. But I could feel it. I felt her skin pebble against my fingers, felt her trembling with each pass of my hand.
"Garrett." When she whispered my name, it felt like waking up. Like my eyes were suddenly opened to all the bright, shining color of the world.
And when she arched her back with a raw, jagged little whimper, it felt as though I’d never existed before this singular moment. Like I was always meant to find myself here, pressed against her, holding her waist as she crumbled beneath me.
Finally, as her chest heaved and her fingers fisted tightly in my hair, I released my hold on her neck.
But I didn’t step away. We stood like that for a long moment, both of us breathing manically, staring into each other’s eyes with near-rabid obsession.
I wasn’t sure which of us moved first, but suddenly, in a flash of teeth, we collided.
Marella didn’t kiss softly. She kissed me like she was dying of thirst, and I was her single source of water. I kissed her back like she was the answer to every question I’d ever asked.
Because maybe she was.
We couldn’t get close enough. I knew she felt it too, because she clawed her way into my arms, wrapping her legs around my hips as I pressed her into the door.
I tore my mouth from hers, trailing kisses along the line of her throat where I’d just been feeding. There was a jagged little scar already forming there, and she gasped as my lips brushed across it.
"Garrett," she said my name again, and all rational thought left my head. I turned us away from the door, cupping her thighs as she continued to kiss and grind against me. This time, it wasn’t hunger making my knees weak.
When we crashed onto the bed, she landed beneath me, legs locked around my waist. For several frantic seconds, neither of us slowed. Her hands disappeared beneath my shirt, nails scraping lightly across my back, and I kissed my way from the mouth to the sharp line of her jaw.
She tipped her head back and whispered my name again.
This time, it sounded different. It was soft. Quiet. Gentle.
I pulled my head back just enough to look at her.
Her lips were swollen, black hair messy atop the pillow, like a pool of ink beneath her head. The strap of her shirt still hung uselessly from one shoulder, leaving the top of her breast exposed.
She was beautiful, but I already knew that. But looking down at her in that moment, I didn't see something as simple as beauty. As her questioning eyes raised to meet mine, as her thumb brushed across the ridge of my cheekbone, something inside me lurched.
For a terrifying moment, I felt like I was falling.
When I caught myself, I jolted upright, pushing myself off of her and scrambling from the bed. I looked around the room frantically, searching for something, anything familiar, feeling like an animal caught in a trap.
What the fuck am I doing?
"Garrett?" she said my name again. This time, it was a question. This time, it was laced with fear and worry. This time, it held an edge of hurt that I tried to ignore.
I squeezed my eyes shut.
This wasn't what I came to Rossaia to do. I'd come looking for purpose. I was there to find meaning, to finally commit to something bigger than myself. I crossed an ocean, left my home, my friends, my family.
I'd been adrift, and the Fratelli had offered me an anchor. They offered me something that mattered. A purpose.
For the first time in a long time, someone expected something more from me.
Was I so disloyal that a smile from a pretty woman could undo all that work?
"I'm sorry." We spoke the words at the same time. My voice was muffled by my hand, my words tight and scared. Hers was apologetic and gentle.
When I looked at her again, she was sitting on her knees on the bed. She had the sheets pulled up against her chest, and her eyes were guarded. She looked sad, but even her sadness couldn't detract from what radiated from her.
She was dangerous.
But somehow, I wasn't afraid of her teeth or what she could do with them.
No. I was afraid of that look in her eyes. And more than that, I was afraid that it might have the power to completely unravel me.
Without another word, without giving her the chance to say my name again, I sprinted across the room, ripped open the door, and ran out into the night.