Page 23 of A Betrothal So Bloody

“I do have a sense of humor. You’re just not as amusing as you think you are.”

He hums in thought. “No. That can’t be it.”

“Have you considered that your master purposely let you escape because you’re so fucking annoying?”

He slows his mare with a light tug on the reins, his laugh turning cold and harsh. “You don’t know Alessandro.”

The sudden quiet that follows his hollow tone gives me an involuntary shiver. Arrogant shithead or not, I can’t deny that Dante is an excellent combatant. I can’t imagine the monstrosity of a vampire that frightens him into silence.

“Perhaps it’s best I learn about him, then,” I say. “Should your master discover us, I would like to know what I’m up against.”

Dante makes cold, fleeting eye contact with me, then faces forward as though he hadn’t heard me. A slight pulse feathers his jaw.

“Come on, you were fully incapable of shutting up just a moment ago,” I say. “How can you expect me to protect you if I’m caught unawares?”

Another beat, then he sighs. “What are you dying to know, my little slayer? I’m sure you’ve already been fed your share of horror stories regarding vampire lords.”

“I’ve been educated, yes,” I return pointedly. “But more than the basics of anatomy and strength would be greatly appreciated. Even what little you’ve told me already marks him a stranger cut than almost any of his stature.”

“Is that so?”

I glance over to see Dante watching me with renewed intensity. No taunting, no cruelty. He looks genuinely curious, a faint furrow pulling between his brows. It unnerves me, but I offer a shrug, focusing on the reins in my hands. “Vampires rarely stay close to the one who turned them as long as you and your so-called siblings seem to have. Sometimes the lord and their spawn are lovers for a time, others mentor and student. Most vampires are abandoned quickly like a mistake in the night, according to our records.”

Dante's pause registers heavily, the sound of hooves on the path gently breaking the silence. That contemplative, stony look is still on his face, his gaze miles away. He's surprised, I realize. Another pang of curiosity shoots through me. Over ninety years since his fateful turning, he may know less about what's ordinary for his own kind than the order of slayers hunting him.

But how the hell is that possible?

“I suppose you're lucky to have only met one vampire lord,” I probe carefully.

That pulls a dark smile out of him. “Isn't anyone?” Dante shrugs, his expression easing back into boredom. “The few stray vampires who happen upon our territory never seem to have masters of their own… Though they don't tend to last long enough to share any sweeping personal testimonies.”

“What territory has Alessandro laid claim to?”

“He moonlights as a wealthy merchant in Venice, operating out of a bloated palazzo on the Grand Canal. Not that it matters, because he’s untouchable.”

Venice. Considerably further from Corvus’ usual Tuscan radius, but my insides twist at the thought of it—that crowded city packed with shadowy canals and political warfare that could easily conceal even the most brutal assassination. Not to mention, the international trading hub. Someone could easily blend in or melt into the darkness. It is a perfect vampiric kingdom.

If Corvus' resources could spare it, I know Mother Superior would be keen to purify that city of sin.

“Every vampire thinks immortality is their god,” I say, hiding my shiver behind a scoff. “But even the most powerful creatures have their weak spots.”

“If I find any on him, you’ll be the first to know,” Dante mutters. “Believe me—Alessandro is not to be underestimated. You’ve no idea what he’s capable of.”

My brow furrows slightly. “You speak of him like Lucifer himself. Is he your family or your jailer?”

Dante snorts under his breath. “Both, I suppose. And unfortunately, a skilled businessman. The city worships him for his supposed philanthropics.” I catch his sharp eye roll as he dwells on this. “As if anyone can’t just throw some ducats at street urchins.”

“Well, having a palace for your prison could be worse, hm?”

“I’d give all the gold I have to never lay eyes on it again,” he mutters, deep voice laced with a gravelly bitterness. “A life of luxury until you step out of line and learn the depths of Father’s wrath. Everyone’s dream.”

The heaviness in his words settles like a tangible weight in the air between us. I note it, note the shadows in his gaze—but I refuse to relent.

“And what are you to Alessandro?” I press, splitting my attention between the tree-lined road and the profile of his face. “An errand boy, fetching victims and playing the rake?”

Dante’s mouth tightens at my phrasing, but annoyance quickly melts into contemplation. His eyes slide over to me, cutting a sharp smile in my direction. “Does that frighten you?”

I return a simpering smile of my own. “Don’t flatter yourself, leech.”