Orfeo
Her body is freezing,and even though she’s not human—and she’snothuman, I know that much; fifty years of being trapped on this rotating ball of garbage as a non-human have taught me exactly what to look for—I know she’s humanenoughthat a cold body means death.
Never mind the fact that her lips are turning a shade of purple that makes my chest tight.
I crouch beside the limp body I’ve hauled up onto a fire escape and quickly remove my jacket, wrapping it tight around Diantha’s frame. She makes small noises and her eyelids continue to flutter and twitch. I have nofuckingidea what’s happening inside her mind, inside her body.
Beneath us, Leo and Nisos’s footfall and voices echo through the alley.
“I swear to god,” Leo half yells, half pants, “she was just fucking here! Wherethe helldid she go?”
What an enormous idiot.
I pull Diantha into my arms and press us back into the shadows. She stirs, nuzzling her face into my chest. Her brows pucker into a frown, her bottom lip quivering. It’s horrible to feelso helpless as someone suffers. And no matter how long I live as a dead man, I will never be able to kill off this part of me.
The part of me that hurts for others.
Especially for beautiful women.
Watching her stumble forward from the shadows while fixing Leo and Nis with a ghastly, hollow stare was the closest I’d come to fear in many years. I rounded the corner just as she emerged like an apparition, her beauty so magnified it had become a threat.
“What the fuck are you looking at?” Nis shouted at her. But she didn’t even blink.
She took a few, lurching steps toward them and then her knees buckled. That’s when those morons snapped into action.
I’d only just managed to grab her. A few more fractions of a second and even my vampiric speed wouldn’t have been enough to save her.Who knows what they would have done to her.I tighten my hold on Diantha—soft and familiar, even though I haven’t known her for more than a handful of hours.
I adjust her so she’s cradled in my arms and do what any good vampire worth their weight would do: I bury my nose into the crook of her neck, allowing a wave of desire to wash its red, hot riptide over my body. I let her scent penetrate me. Jasmine and vanilla; smoke from a fireplace and the musk of her own personal, delicious odor; the tangerine she ate for lunch, the strawberries she had for breakfast. My fangs extend in a satisfying flash.
I pull my lips over my teeth, and then, I follow her scent.
The inside of Diantha’s studio apartment is—in a word—adorable. I see two parts of this long-haired siren at warbefore me. On one side: a heavy wooden curio cabinet filled with artifacts that no doubt correlate to her area of study, interspersed with heavy tomes and golden-edged books.
On the other: a double bed with Hello Kitty sheets.
I deposit the woman onto her mattress and busy myself attempting to find a mug and some tea in her kitchenette. Thankfully, her apartment’s small balcony overlooks a courtyard that appears to be mostly abandoned. I yank open the doors and remove both my jacket and button-up, now soaked through with sweat.
There’s this idea (a misconception, really) that vampires are ice cold, that we produce no fluids other than blood. Maybe that’s true of my Nordic brethren, but Mediterranean vampires are different. We sweat. We cry. We bleed. And the sun doesn’t kill us—it makes us stronger.
Consider it a public service that we only go out at night.
Finally, I find a mug and a single, pathetic bag of chamomile tea. Across the room, Diantha groans and flops onto her back, mouth hanging open.
I freeze. I should really prepare for the moment when she inevitably wakes up and begins screaming her head off.
But she rolls over again to face the wall and begins to snore.
Loud, mouthy gasps. It’s quite cute.
I need to somehow bring her back to herself, to find out what the hell kind of spell she was put under that caused her to become catatonic. Those half-demons are foul—dangerous—but obviously have no idea who she is. Perhaps someone had caught her off guard and stunned her, holding her hostage in her body while they made their way over to execute whatever disgusting plan they had in mind.
I have no idea. That’s why I need her awake.
Leo and Nis are the least of my worries—it’s their fucking overlord who’s like a rusted nail jammed into the bottom of myfoot. Someone like Diantha, someone who so clearly radiates magic, needs to keep her distance.
With a hot mug in hand, I sit on the edge of her bed.
“Diantha, wake up,” I command, attempting to use my power of persuasion to glamour her.
