Page 21 of A Betrothal So Bloody

He’s found what he’s looking for.

Keeping my dagger firmly grasped, I step to his side and lean in for a better look at the map. I trace my finger over the path that’s been marked on the parchment. It meanders from the heart of Florence northward on a wandering line.

“This is just outside of Verona,” I murmur, squinting at his handwriting—Callistia’s Grove is scrawled above the city. “What is it you’re searching for, exactly? Corvus has studied vampires for centuries, and every alleged cure I’ve ever heard of ends up being misplaced faith and snake oil.”

“And if your Order hasn’t taught it, it must be nonexistent,” Dante mutters. “Callistia. She’s a legendary healer. There’s testimony that she can bring one back from the brink of death, heal the blind. For decades, the stories align—I’ve secured texts from every archive within two hundred miles to confirm for myself. She is a merchant of miracles.”

“You think she has the power to make you human again?” Even saying it aloud sounds like an ill-conceived story for children.

“That’s the hope.”

A harsh laugh escapes me. “A charming fantasy. After a century of mass-murder and hedonism, you'll do what exactly? Just pluck up a trowel like anyone else and toil on a vineyard?”

“I'll be a slave to man and no urge," Dante says, low and ground-down—not rising to my bait. "The hunger will end.”

The intensity of his voice sends a pointed shiver down my spine. I spare him a thoughtful glance before returning my focus to the coordinates marked in ink.

“Even if we find this Callistia, what makes you think she’ll help you?” I can’t help but sneer. “You think you can just flash her a charming smile and she’ll rush to do your bidding?”

Dante pulls back to look at me, all too smug. “You think my smile is charming?”

I ignore this—and how my stomach flutters at the peek of his dimples, the way I have to tilt my chin up to meet his gaze, standing this close. Another wave of incredulity washes over me; I’m standing here in my nightclothes, having a conversation with the enemy.

Despite the constant jabs at my expense, the weight of it all sinks in—he’s serious. A vampire who loathes other vampires instead of wanting to spread his affliction. This is bizarre—and certainly not what Mother Superior had in mind with this assignment. But the very foundation of the Corvus Order is to save innocent souls from parasitic damnation. If there is a way to reverse vampirism, I could truly save this wretched man and single-handedly change the Corvus Order forever. A single portrait of me hung in the halls wouldn’t be enough for such a magnificent elimination. Corvus would sing my praises like worship if I pulled this off.

Besides, if all else fails… I’ll just kill him. And perhaps lead my sister slayers to a vampire lord’s nest, like Dante said.

Desperation burns in my blood—the chance to prove myself. I’m already on the cusp of failing the Order, with how Dante had bested me in the bedroom.

And I will not fail.

“I’ll come with you,” I expel the words in a short burst, like I’m cursing in a chapel. I take a step backward when Dante’s eyes widen, my bare feet cold on the stone floor. “But if you try to take a bite out of me again,” I warn in a low voice. “I’ll—”

“Shh, shh… So ornery,” he breaks in over me. “How about ‘that’s a terrific plan, Dante. You’re beautiful, and by the way, thank you for not killing me?’”

My pride stings again, making me grind my back teeth. “Do you want my help or not?”

Dante’s eyes travel me up and down, a quick estimating movement. Then, with a motion almost too smooth for me to track, he reaches out and catches my chin between a finger and a thumb.

“A deal, then,” he says.

His touch isn’t rough, but it’s not gentle, either. He seems to be testing me—whether I’ll pull away or not. It takes everything in me not to. He’s studying my face like a warrior examines a blade for flaws, gaze boring into me with that unsettling blend of curiosity and predation.

For a moment, I let him look. I will not be afraid. I am Corvus’ honed blade. He is nothing but a smart-mouthed blot of filth to be removed. I clasp his wrist, leaning closer—enough to make him stiffen in surprise.

Don’t make me regret this, leech.

Dante releases me. “You’d better change. We’re leaving tonight.”

I falter, but the urgency shouldn’t surprise me. Of course we have to travel by night. Waiting until tomorrow evening is out of the question—it isn’t as though I’d be getting any sleep tonight, anyway.

As I’m trying to figure out how to leave the room without giving my back to Dante, my eyes catch on an ax mounted to the wall. I bring it down and weigh it in my hands, squinting at the sheen of the blade. Surely silver.

He scoffs. “I wonder, have you ever looked at a person with the same fondness as you do sharp things?”

“Are there more weapons like this lying about?” I ask, ignoring the jab.

“Ah-ah. Unless you have a pocket large enough stitched into your gowns, you won’t be taking anything of the like.” He leans around to peer down my back, as though my nightgown might have such a ridiculous hidden compartment. “Stick with those knives of yours. Discretion is key. While we’re on this journey, we’re to stay in the guise of newlyweds.”