Page 75 of A Betrothal So Bloody

Dante brings my hand against his cheek and holds it there, turning to kiss my palm. His sigh rattles against me as he inhales my wrist, losing himself to the tempting drum of my blood. I hold perfectly still for him, trying to commit the image to memory. Whatever happens, I never want to forget this.

I sigh in mock uncertainty, tipping my head back invitingly on the pillow. “Perhaps I need more convincing.”

Dante laughs—a rich, rewarding sound. “Greedy.”

He obliges at once and kisses my bite marks. I arch into his affection, letting my eyes flutter shut as his lips trail down along my throat to between my breasts—then lower, lower.

“How do you feel?” He peers upward, his deep voice against my navel.

“Good,” I admit. “Really fucking good. A little sore perhaps, but…” I lift onto my elbows, allowing a girlish grin to spread over my face. “Not nearly sore enough.”

A wicked chuckle. “Careful now.”

“Really. I could be locked in this room with you all day and do nothing else.”

“I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t considered it.”

I chew my lip shyly, unsure if my request is untoward or even possible. “I don’t suppose… Could we do it again?”

“What, now?” Dante’s laughter rings with surprise, deliciously breathless. “You insatiable little whore. Give me a minute.” Then he pauses and regards my face for all but a second. “Actually, on second thought—”

He crawls over me and seizes me, pulling me against him with kisses and gentle bites that make me giggle. He stifles my squirms, pinning my arms over my head with one hand as he guides us toward another round of scorching bliss.

For the first time in my life, I’m thrilled for a vampire’s ungodly stamina.

twenty-four

My lantern illuminates a slow, downward sloping terrain—packed with gnarled beech trees and dense undergrowth. Even as the sweet smell of wild herbs catches on my every breath, I can’t help but feel as though we’re descending into the belly of some great beast.

This forest is untamed, ancient. There’s no path laid before us, forcing us to stable our horse with a farmer on the outskirts of Verona and complete our journey on foot.

This is it—the final stretch toward Callistia’s grove, toward the cure Dante has so desperately sought.

The terrain is full of rises and pitches that demand careful footing. The towering beeches and oaks that surround us cast long, dancing shadows in the lantern light—fragmenting its glow to easily conceal slick patches of moss and errant rocks that might cause a misstep. As I step over a fallen log, I feel a beat of gratitude that at least I don’t have to worry about elaborate skirts encumbering me tonight.

This deep into the wilderness, away from prying eyes, I can finally forsake the expensive gowns and don my armor from the Order. And fuck, I missed wearing trousers.

After days of corsets and ribbons, wearing my Corvus armor feels like coming home. It’s lightweight, built for agility and stealth. I walk a little straighter with my wax-treated leather breastplate secured over my black tunic and matching arm bracers—each embossed with the Corvus emblem. My hips bear the additional weight of the weapons strapped along the slotted belt that cinches around my waist. While I leave my remaining store of holy water packed in the satchel slung over my shoulder, I keep a silver blade sheathed on each side, and two stakes at home in their slots.

How strange to finally look like myself, when I’ve never felt more transfigured in my life.

For the better part of an hour, Dante and I travel in near silence, crickets and cicadas surrounding us with their grating symphony. A few fireflies are drawn to the lantern’s light, occasionally blinking into existence like living sparks. A full moon and stars wink in and out of sight between the latticed branches overhead.

It’s a night beautiful enough to inspire poetry, if I were so inclined for such a frivolous art form. But right now, I miss the sun. I miss the toasty glow of it kissing my cheeks, the way it banishes shadows with vibrant colors. It’s been nearly a week since I’d last enjoyed a full day of it, but I can hardly complain to Dante. A few days in darkness is nothing compared to enduring a full century of it.

I steal a sidelong glance at him, catching how the low angle of the lantern casts dancing tones of gold and amber over the regal contours of his face. A storm has darkened his gaze to something steely, focused on each step forward—until he catches me staring. His eyebrows raise, and there’s a faint lift to the corner of his mouth when he refocuses ahead.

The pretense of being lovestruck newlyweds has finally run its course. Ironic, as the affection between us is no longer feigned. There’s shy fond glances, little brushes of hands or arms as we walk side by side through the forest, each touch not unwelcome.

What is this now, anyway?

There’s nothing conventional about what happened between us, about our very natures—a slayer and her supposed prey. Perhaps it was just a single night of passion… But I can’t deny something has shifted in how Dante looks at me. It’s like a wall has melted away, just for me.

We come across a rugged, rocky patch with a crystalline stream winding a cheerful path through the landscape, forcing us to cross damp, flat stones. Dante holds out a hand for me at the other side, steadying me as I make the final step. I laugh a little at the squeeze of his fingers around mine.

“All this time, you did have a gentleman in you,” I remark, shooting him a vicious smirk as I pass. “Imagine that. You just bury him under layers of foul remarks and indecency.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”