My brother.
My best friend. In this life and the one before. We not only died for each other—welivedfor each other. We stole for each other; we bet on each other; we tied each other’s limbs up with rubber bands and pressed needles into each other’s arms.
I squeeze him with all my might.
“Fratè,” he whispers against my skin and I feel his tears. Salty, damp, bloody tears.
I pull back and hold his face in my hands. How beautiful he is. I press my lips to his forehead over and over.
“Davìd.” His name hasn’t passed through my lips in five long years. “Fratello mio.”
We take many minutes to hold each other and cry, and no one interrupts. Finally, when we rejoin the circle, Davìd flashes his beautiful smile.
“This is Sofia.” He rests a hand on the young woman’s shoulder. She fixes me with a terrifying blue-eyed stare. “This is Diego.” The man behind him lifts two fingers as a hello. “And Jacopo.” Jacopo barely nods his head to acknowledge us, but from the glimpse I manage to catch of his face, hidden under a ball cap brim, I know why: he used to be a demon. A demonturned vampire. His mouth is small and lipless, his nose little more than two snake-like slits underneath bloodshot eyes. The left side of his face is marked with deep, heavy scars from a wound that healed poorly. Something tells me he is one hell of a fighter.
They join our circle as Misha begins dispensing salt from her pocket, encircling us as she mutters an incantation. The protective circle seals and the din of ambient forest noise disappears. Misha curls a finger toward Diantha, inviting her into the center of the circle. There she lowers herself to the ground, pushing her hood back.
“Goddess of the eternal night, conqueror of sorrow, I take to my knees before you, humble and eager to serve you, to protect and to deliver in this sacred coven. Mighty Diantha, I lay my sword down before you, disavowing all other powers that work within me. I cast aside my alliance to Alfo and I embrace you, my empress of justice and punishment. Descendant of Hecate, daughter of Hades, I declare myself a willing disciple.In nomine proelium et nomine pax, in nomine mortem et vita.”
The tremor in Diantha’s hands has stilled. She reaches for Misha, pulling her to her feet and to her chest. The women embrace, and Misha whispers something in her ear. As they pull apart, I notice Misha dragging a finger beneath her eye.
It seems impossible to me that such a feared vampire could be crying. And yet.
She rejoins the circle and I take her place at Diantha’s feet. Diantha immediately steps toward me, her cool finger resting on my jaw. I can see it, smell it. Her power has already grown. Misha is a powerful woman, but this change is unprecedented. Diantha’s shoulders are pulled back, her skin glistens under the moonlight. Her impenetrably dark, nearly black eyes have taken on a new hue. The way onyx glints blue. The whirlwind of anxiety in my stomach is gone now. Is it Misha’s pledge that hascalmed her? I want so badly to believe it is my hands on her. I want to believe it’s the invisible bond that ties us together.
Here on my knees, I am reminded of the night in Hades House when I found myself between her thighs. Unable to control myself, I bring my hands to the backs of her knees, dragging them up and over the swell of her ass.
“My queen. My goddess.” I trace the curve of her waist, relishing the slip of the satin fabric beneath my fingers. Those eyes tear into me, they heat my blood and turn my heart into a powerful machine, thudding against my ribs. My dick grows stiff in my jeans. I don’t care who’s watching; I want to rip away the fabric of her dress and press my tongue to the heat of her core. I want to pull her to the forest floor and devour her.
“Darling,” she whispers, a cloud of her arousal’s scent hanging heavy around us.
I press myself to her body, breathing in deep. “I lay my sword down before you. I disavow all other powers that work inside me. I pledge my mind, body, and soul to you. I declare myself your disciple, an archangel of your powers.In nomine proelium et nomine pax, mortem et vita.”
Diantha drags her tongue over her bottom lip, a flash of pink against the carnal shade of her red lipstick, and leans down. Her hair sweeps forward in a rush, tumbling over my body. “You,” she breathes against my lips, “better fucking kiss me.”
And since she is my queen, I oblige.
Diantha
The group breaks apart accordingto our plan. Orfeo and Misha head to “work” the event, the new Italian vampires take up their positions inside and around Paquet Manor, and Leo and I get back in his car and head toward the library. Anxiety rocks my stomach as I pull my phone out of my jacket pocket to check for new messages one last time. But Evie still hasn’t gotten back to me.
Leo’s eyes flit toward me, away from the road. “You’ll have to leave your phone in the car.”
“I know.” I shake my head. “I just don’t understand why Evie hasn’t texted me back. I even tried calling her last night. It just rang and rang.”
“We’ll find her, Diantha,” he says gravely. “I promise.”
I want to believe him. I really, really do.
I don’t have much time to dwell, because we’re soon parking the car on Main Street and darting through the night toward the University of Echidna library. My badge scans us into the back entrance with no problem, but finding the catacomb entrance based on a few footnotes on Leo’s map takes an infuriating amount of time. Eventually, we find the entrance in a back roomof the library archives, behind an empty bookshelf bolted to the wall.
Leo and I regard it with fists pressed to our hips.
“You planning on finishing your degree here?”
“Uh.” I frown. “No, why?”
Leo grabs the bookshelf and, with a deep and guttural grunt, yanks it clean off the wall. Bolts shoot across the room, dust flies up in a puff, and I duck, covering my face. He then drops the bookshelf to the floor where it lands with a horrible, clanking metalthunk.
