My fangs were already down, bloodlust rising, hunger burning in my belly. I bit down gently, and the taste of her…
The taste of my wife was heaven to a starving male, but to me, it was life itself.
Every swallow brought me back, my head clearing, hyperaware of every inch of my body as muscles slowly mended, flesh regenerated. Even my leg ached less by the time I ran my tongue up the side of her beautiful throat, kissing the edge of her delicate jaw.
“You need to feed, too,” I murmured, but I couldn’t be the one to feed my own wife. Not for a few weeks, and it suddenly occurred to me that my wife had been feeding…from Nicoor Gabriel.
Jealousy rose like a blinding tide…
Then the full effect of Emberline’s blood, weeks of exhaustion, and injuries hit me like a hammer, and the last thing I remembered was my wife’s arms going around me, and her lips brushing my cheek as she made me a promise.
“I’ll never let you fall, either, Dante. We’re in this together,amore mio, until the very end, whatever that might be.”
30
NICO
Every time I closed my eyes, all I saw was Emberline’s ruined throat.
Not her beautiful face or the way her mouth curved into a smirk when she was about to make one of her smartass comments. Only that sharpened edge sliding through her skin, crimson blood blooming around the keen metal, the way I’d wanted nothing more than to force my blade down the rest of the way and…
I jerked awake so violently, the bench beneath me cracked.
The human bar reeked of spilled liquor and cigarette smoke. The day’s heat from the alley rolled through the tavern, packed with sweating bodies and noise. Somewhere to my left, a man was shouting along to a song on the radio, his friends pounding the table, laughing and spilling beer until it dripped from the table to form puddles at their feet.
I sat in the very back, hood pulled low over my face, my shoulders hunched in a manner that kept people away, my hands wrapped around the foggy glass like it was my only lifeline to sanity.
I lifted my drink and swallowed again.
The burn hit my throat, like a knife pressed to my…
“Fuck.” I rubbed my burning eyes, trying to get a hold of myself, but none of my usual mind-over-matter tricks wereworking. Slow breathing. Calming my mind. Thinking about killing Marcello, though, after seeing that old fuck earlier, I doubted I’d get the chance.
No, Marcello Dominico was halfway to the Underworld; all he needed was a fucking token for the ferryman.
I really needed to get my shit together. Emberline wasfine. I’d seen her healing throat with my own godsdamned eyes.
There was only truth in her voice when she’d told me all was forgiven.
But nothing blunted the horror of what I’d almost done, and alcohol—I took another long pull—only made the guilt scream louder.
I almost killed her.
The thought wasn’t just a fact. It was a fist to the face.
I could still feel the weight of my body pinning her down. Still feel the deathly calm when I forced that sword toward her neck. The horror dawning in her dark eyes as she realized I was too strong. The clean certainty of the kill—as if my muscles knew what to do and the blankness in my head that turned me into a puppet.
If Gabriel hadn’t pulled me off when he did…
I tossed back the rest of my drink and raised my glass. The barman scurried over with the bottle as I laid another hundred euros on the table. He filled it to the brim, swiped the money, and ran away, throwing a fearful look over his shoulder.
Fine. Whatever. Leave me the fuck alone.
Gabriel had jammed that antivenom into my shoulder, the world cracked, and memory clawed its way back inside.
Then I saw the terror in her eyes and realized the prey beneath me had never been prey at all.
It had beenEmberline.
