Page 9 of A Betrothal So Bloody

“That was barely for a week,” Gia chimes in as her vampire slumps to the ground, dripping with fresh wounds. “And at least we got a clean hunt to punctuate your efforts at the end. I spent three months as a housemaid to the Medici family—hauling water for basins and scrubbing floors—only to prove they’re a flock of corrupt bastards, not vampires.”

“And what a quiet three months we had here in the meantime,” Antonella sighs wistfully.

Gia makes an indignant noise and makes a playful swipe with her fist—expertly dodged. Raising her eyebrows, Gia looks me up and down. “I suppose after the ceremony would make for a good opportunity to prove what he is once and for all.”

I nod as though I’ve already come to terms with the more uncertain logistics of my role. “Should he be a vampire, I have no doubt he’ll take the opportunity to strike then, thinking he has a helpless victim in his bed.” My voice tightens around a weak chuckle. “And if he’s not a vampire, well…”

Gia shrugs, waving a hand. “Then you’ll simply enjoy it. It provides ecstasy in ways you can’t imagine… Well, when done right.” When the other girls and I frown at her, she lowers her voice further. “Come now. Haven’t you noticed how I mysteriously vanish whenever the merchant from the valley pays a visit? At least your lovemaking would be all but sanctioned by Mother Superior for the sake of the Order’s discretion. Lucky you.”

Gasping, Chiara presses a hand to her chest. “You mean… You and him have—”

A snarl and a clang break us apart. The vampire Chiara and I had struck down has gotten a second wind. It charges viciously, yellowed fingernails clawing at our limbs, and we waste no time in getting back into position. Antonella makes the first strike, catching its arm with her dulled blade.

“Don’t overthink it,” Gia calls to me even as she dodges the vampire’s snapping jaws. “When in doubt, just get on your knees, and any redblooded man will tell you precisely what he wants you to do next. They simply can’t resist.”

“You’ve been with one merchant,” I grunt, my face red with more than just exertion.

“Believe me, I’ve been around this D’Agonisto type before. A man like that either wants to feel powerful or powerless once he’s behind closed doors with you. You’ll figure out quickly which—if he’s not a leech looking to drain you dry.” She leans in closer, her voice a conspiratorial whisper. “Do you hope he’s human so you can have an excuse to follow through with the bedding? You can be honest with us.”

I swing with more force than necessary at the target. Even with the dullness of the blade, I decapitate it. Its head rolls off, and the body goes rigid and slumps to the floor with a wet thud. As the other girls clap me on the shoulder with praise for the clean blow, I hope they don’t feel how badly I’m shuddering—not from the beheading, but from the thought of D’Agonisto’s hands pulling down my dress and skating over my bare skin. To my relief, the decapitation makes them drop the subject of sex.

My brow furrows at the corpse sprawled out undignified on the damp stone in a shallow puddle of its own viscous blood. Our training captives are not to be put down unless given clearance.

“I suppose I won’t have time to be punished with double chores for this,” I say.

“I doubt Mother Superior would mind in this case,” Antonella says, squeezing my shoulder. “Good practice.”

The other vampire does not seem quite so keen on fighting further, cowering against the wall as it stares at its fallen kin. A hoarse noise comes from its throat, unintelligible.

With that, the grates are lowered again, sealing the captive monsters back into the damp stone walls for later use. We return our dulled weapons onto their hooks on the wall, exchanging remarks on form and technique while dabbing sweat on our sleeves. The other girls begin dispersing to bathe and begin their evening prayers before bed, tugging at the ties of their leather training gear. Before I can exit the undercroft, Chiara takes my hand and pulls me into an alcove just short of the door. I am surprised to see her eyes glimmering wetly in the torchlight.

“Chiara?” I whisper.

“This is the last night we may be sleeping in the same bunk for a long time,” she says.

I squeeze her hand tightly. “I will return. We haven’t lost a slayer in over a decade.”

Our gazes meet and darken, uncomfortable silence stretching. Francesca. A thirty-year-old sister who’d been lost during a group hunt all those years ago. Both Chiara and I had been too young to participate in such endeavors, yet I vividly remember the hurricane of grief that tore through the abbey upon the survivors’ return—the rest of us waiting to welcome them back. They walked back into our stone walls not rallying in victory, but with heads hung low.

The coven of vampires terrorizing a coastal city had been eliminated—but not without sacrifice. By the time the rest of the hunting party found Francesca in that damp basement, the coven leader had drained her and forced his own blood down her throat. He’d tricked her into submitting to the dark gift and turned her, leaving our slayers to follow through on their only recourse—to behead them both.

Francesca’s martyrdom fanned a rage in the Order that lasted for years. Combat training intensified, our hunts were more savagely efficient, and we in the younger ranks quickly learned to take punishment without a sound. How could we whimper over whipped hands and feet when Francesca had given her very life for Corvus’ creed?

My assignment is not forcing me to confront a coven alone—that would be suicide. No, this is tactical—a fight even avoidable if I play my cards right.

I picture D’Agonisto’s face—his arrogant smirk, his stupid blond hair that always seems to fall perfectly into place. A vile man, but just one. And he’s underestimating me. If it comes to blows, I can take him.

Even still, my stomach churns at the alternative—the possibility that I may not return for years and years. Alive, but locked into a role I did not ask for.

“You know I’m not reckless,” I murmur, trying to brighten my expression—perhaps for both our sakes. “I won’t go blundering for glory without cause like Gia’s done before. I know every precaution, and I’ll be well-armed.”

“I know, but…” Chiara sighs and reaches into her pocket. “We don’t know how this one will go. We never do. I’ll miss you, however long you’re gone. Here— I… I want you to have this.” She holds up a necklace in the torchlight—white and pink glass beads glinting along a cord. “For protection.” She deposits it in my palm and closes my fingers around it.

Now I’m getting misty-eyed. This is a rite of passage for all slayers sent out for espionage—saying goodbye to the dearest friends we have trained and grown with. No one told me how it would claw at my heart. Chiara is the closest thing to a real sister I’ve ever had, despite sharing a few shy kisses over the years in secret—just to see what it would be like to brush our lips together the way ordinary civilians did so often, so eagerly.

But such physical temptations are a dangerous distraction. Forbidden, and never to be indulged. Luckily, neither us nor the other few curious souls in our dormitory have ever been caught.

I peer at the necklace and breathe in sharply. The delicate beads look far more expensive than anything our vows of modesty permit any of us to keep in the abbey—another safeguard against corruption and bribes that might undermine our holy undertaking. .