Vampires aren’t particularly fidgety creatures, but at the sound of her name, I feel every muscle in my half-dead body tense and still.
Vittoria.The last human woman I ever loved—truly, really loved.
She was the reason I’d submitted to Paolo’s, my creator’s, tyranny. And I would have suffered worse than Paolo to protect her. I would have taken a stake through my heart. I silently thank Davìd for using a shortened version of her name, concealing her gender from Alfo.
“How?”
“Fuck do I know? He said to pass on the message.”
I light my own cigarette and smoke it down to the filter in two massive inhales. Then, I ask: “Any other word from Rome?”
Alfo’s lips curl into a snarl. “What do you care, Michelangelo? That’s not your world anymore,bastardo.Thisis. Now, go fucking paint my ceiling. And send that whore back in.”
What a gentleman.
I dream of tenderizing his ball sack.
With our conversation clearly over, I stand slowly even though I know I could move fast enough that tracking me would snap his neck. Even though I know I could sink my fangs into him and rip through his carotid artery and never hear his horrible voice again. I don’t. I exit the room and tell the redheadthat her lover is ready for her. Her posture changes when she hears that—yourlover.
I have a plan, but tonight, I just need to paint the ceiling.
The second floor, once a stately cigar lounge with a baby grand piano and imported lamps and plush seating dotted around glass tables, looks like shit.
Abandoned, dirty, dusty. All the furniture has been removed except for a single velvet, high-backed armchair and a brocade chaise lounge. Someone has brought me a ladder and paint.
How the fuck am I going to paint a fresco onto the ceiling in two days?
My dinner waits for me, draped across an armchair, tapping frantically at her phone. When she sees me, she drops the device to her chest and grins. I believe her name is Kat. Alfo takes care of bringing in willing participants for us, but I’m not an idiot—I know the deal that landed her here is one she regrets. Between us, there’s nothing other than a foul exchange. Money for her body; blood for orgasms; small talk for the vague sense that someone gives a shit about us.
Kat smiles, pressing her tongue into the corner of her mouth. Her caramel-blonde hair is twisted away from her face in a chignon. Her features are stunning, but I’m not interested. Not like that.
“You’re late.”
“I know,amore.” I shrug off my jacket, then unbutton my shirt and leave it draped over the chaise. “Busy night.”
“Poor baby,” she coos.
I undo my belt. “I built the walls of my own prison.”
She laughs. “You’re such a poet.”
I lift her easily from the chair and settle back down with her in my lap. I push a loose strand of hair away from her face. “Let’s not talk tonight, okay?”
She makes a soft sound in the back of her throat, curling her arms around my neck. “No talking.” Her heart rate doubles. “I promise.”
I let Kat take the lead. She presses her plush lips to the corner of my mouth, moving in a slow line toward my ear, easing my head back against the chair. I slide my hands around her narrow waist. She’s a bit thin for me, in a way that makes me feel worried she’s not eating enough.
I’m not sure why I care. I know other vampires certainly don’t.
She’s a nice enough girl, with hungry eyes and a neck scarred with little white puncture marks. She likes our world, finds it interesting.
I should be a hunter; I should crave the smell of fear in her sweat. But maybe this is part of our specific type of vampirism. It’s the excitement in her that makes my hunger grow from a dull ache to a razor-sharp pain.
I feel myself growing hard from the gentle pressure of her ass against me. Her movements are slow, and I appreciate the way she moves around me like she cares. Kat straddles my lap, pulling a groan from both of us as her heart rate spikes, thumping visibly in her throat. She sweeps her tongue down my neck, over my Adam’s apple. Her pulse point is inches from my mouth. Its thudding overwhelms me, rushes through my ears like the swell of the ocean. All of the points of connection between us feel like pure electricity.
“Bella,” I whisper, tightening my grip on her ass. “Come sei bella.”
Her heart rate skyrockets. She drags her tongue back up over the column of my neck, mewing like a desperate animal. She presses her sex down hard into me.
