“What the fuck is going on? Your pastaaglio e olio is ready—” The doorknob rattles. “Diantha,ma porco due?—”
I throw the toilet brush aside, rip off my heavy winter boot, and launch it at the door. “Get back!”
“Apri ’sto cazzo de porta!”
“Go. Away.”
“I thought you knew.” His voice is much closer now, deeper, like he’s pressed up against the door. “I thought you could tell, the same way I could tell about you.” His accent grows stronger with each word, and against my own will, I feel myself believing him.
“Tellwhatabout me?! I’m a fucking human.” I rip off my other boot and throw it at the door. “And you aren’t allowed to fucking eat me!”
The doorknob stops rattling. Orfeo falls completely silent.
Do Italian vampires breathe? I have no idea, since they can apparently touch garlic and come into my house without a damn invitation.
Many, many seconds pass.
Maybe…I’ve insulted him. Maybe it’s extremely disrespectful to accuse a vampire of wanting to eat you.
I swallow against the throb of fear in my throat. “Hello?”
“Diantha.” His tone is gentle again, soft and sweet with the lilt you might use while reasoning with a toddler. “You are not a human. You’re…something. I don’t know what. But Icanhelp you, if you just tell me what happened tonight. When I found you, you were in some sort of coma or having a seizure. And then you collapsed. I just want to know?—”
I cross the room, unlock the door, and open it just a crack.
And there he is—shirtless and gorgeous, amber eyes wide. Fingers buried in his pitch-black hair, the angle of his jaw cast in harsh relief by the dim lighting coming from the kitchen. If he were a human man, his cheeks would be flushed. But they’re not. They’re hollow, and the skin around his eyes has gone transparent, tiny green veins visible.
Is he hungry—or sad?The thought flashes through my mind. I catch it, crush it, throw it away.Who cares?I can’t care, that’s all I know.
Orfeo steps back, fingers flexing into fists at his sides. His jaw clicks.
“Tell me,” I say. “Tell me what I am.”
The vampire sets a steaming bowl ofspaghettiaglio e oliodown in front of me. Then, he hands me a fork. I flash him a look of gratitude, wishing briefly he had a shirt on. Not because I’m not enjoying the soft, etched contours of his muscles. It’s just awkward, I guess. My face heats as soon as our eyes catch. I don’t think I’m blushing, but what do I know? Can vampires smell emotions?
“Can I,” I whisper, “also have a spoon?”
He frowns. “What, are you German?”
“No, I just—” He hands me a spoon. I barely saw him move, but I know he did because the air around us feels disturbed. His wavy black hair is slightly askew, as if he just dodged a bullet.
“Thank you.”
Orfeo settles across from me at the kitchen table, pressing a cigarette between his lips. “I don’t know what you are. But when I look at you, I can tell from your energy that you are notonlyhuman.”
Holyshit, this pasta is good. I try for one single second to eat slowly and demurely, but my primal instincts take over and I realize I’m starving. I barely come up for air while Orfeo talks.
“You’re not a demon, I know that much. If you were a demon, you would know Leo and Nis. You’d know about Hades House being purchased by Alfo. You would know a lot more about Echidna in general.” He shakes his head and pulls the unlit cigarette from his puckered lips. “And you would be much less…”
I pause mid–pasta twirl and narrow my eyes at him. “Less what?”
His lips twitch. “Beautiful.”
“Oh.” I shake my head, burying my face back in my bowl.He thinks I’m beautiful.He said it so casually—as if it’s just a fact.This Italian vampire thinks I’m beautiful.A sentence no one else in my lineage has ever thought before.
“Maybe you’re a witch,” Orfeo continues. “Or, I don’t know, part fairy.”
I swallow an enormous, cheek-bulging mouthful of pasta.Finally, I feel like I’m back in my body. “Part fairy? How would that even work?”
