Page 33 of A Betrothal So Bloody

A stocky hunter plants his spear into the dirt. He spares me a quick glance, hesitating as though he loathes to voice this next bit in front of a woman. “There’s a rumor of a bloodsucker, too. We’ve been told there’s a loner roaming the Tuscan woods. Ravenous, dangerous—”

“Handsome as sin?” Dante cuts in.

The hunter scoffs. “Perhaps. But it’s no joking matter. Vampires are cursed to travel in the shadows. Sundown is unsafe with their kind at large.”

I don’t miss the clench to Dante’s jaw despite the playful slant of his lips—the unspoken question of how they had come across this pointed rumor. My own heart jumps a little, too. The timing could hardly be a coincidence. It’s obviously information planted to root Dante out.

And if not… The alternative is just as unpleasant; it means another vampire may be roaming the surrounding villages on our route. I already have enough troubles with one of them on my hands.

The first hunter breaks from the group, narrowing his eyes as he holds his torch up, looking between us. “It’s late to be traveling, particularly alone,” he says. “Most unusual.”

There’s six of these hunters gathered near us. This could very quickly stray from a friendly warning to an interrogation. The fang marks still freshly healed under my braid throb guiltily. I’d have a hell of a time trying to explain that away, if these men caught sight of them.

“We’re in a hurry,” I say. “We confused our path earlier and took a wrong turn after Asolo.”

“If you’ve seen anything tonight, it could save lives,” the man presses, scarcely paying me any mind. There’s something cold in his voice—not quite satisfied with my response.

Dante’s easy smile locks into something horribly smug—gaze sliding to me as his fingers tighten on the reins. “Truth be told, I’m afraid we’ve been far too busy consummating our recent vows with eager attention to pay much mind to anything else.” He glances back at them, smile widening slightly. “Very eager.”

I catch on, holding up my hand, to show my matching fede ring. The hunters exchange glances, a whisper of knowing chuckles passing through them. I loathe to imagine the images they’re conjuring of the two of us, but I’m pleased that it disarms their suspicions.

“I see. Apologies—can’t be too careful, you understand. Congratulations to you both.” He steps out of our path, but keeps his eager gaze fixed on Dante, raising his eyebrows. “I don’t suppose you’re interested in hunting with us tonight? Do your part to keep our country safe, traveler?”

Dante scoffs. “Pass. Do I look like a common vigilante eager to do your dirty work for you?” He urges his horse forward, and I offer an apologetic smile to the stunned man before hurrying after Dante.

“Were you this much of a dick when you were human?” I mutter, knowing his finely-tuned hearing can catch my words even over the sound of hooves transitioning onto cobblestone. “What good will you do society even if you cure yourself?”

“Oh, so now humans must be saintlike to be worthy of life?” He sneers over his shoulder. “I hate to break it to you, but those hunters aren’t strutting around with hearts of gold, stellina. They’re only interested in bounty payouts and trophies, whether their chosen target is causing harm or not. How very valiant.”

The cathedral bells toll midnight as we pass through the stone gates, but the town shows no sign of sleeping. Red and amber lanterns fill the streets, along with more festive varieties with colored papers pasted to the glass. Ribbons tied lovingly to poles flutter in the breeze, like they’re waving us toward the main square as welcomed guests. The air is cool and fragrant—smelling of flowering jasmine and frying oil. People pack the streets in large groups, ignoring the friar who wanders through with his own lantern, reminding them to indulge in moderation.

I’d almost forgotten—Calendimaggio, the celebration of spring that dominated most of Tuscany this time of year. Tonight was one of the last nights. I’d been too preoccupied with my mission at the D’Agonisto villa to partake in Florence—a pity, since I had only been permitted to watch from afar for a decade. Four days and nights of revelry did nothing to hone slayers of beasts. Before Corvus, I had only foggy childhood memories of sweet rolls with honey and threading flowers around a pole with my father. Sometimes, it feels like viewing someone else’s memories, not my own. After years of nonattachment discipline, the image of my life before has grown indistinct, coated in dust in the recesses of my mind.

I smile softly at the packed, narrow streets as we pass. Our country has suffered dark times, but seeing Terralta celebrate so freely is heartening. This is the light that my holy oath with Corvus protects.

I glance at Dante. “Did you ever celebrate in Venice?”

“Oh yes,” he replies. His sharp gaze is moving over a group surrounding a barrel of fresh wine, a little curve to his lips. “Though in a way I doubt your tender heart would approve of.”

Eventually, we come across an inn: a wide stone building with a painted sign that swings on its chains. A dull roar of cheery voices spill from inside, the smell of something warm and fragrant making the hollowness in my stomach stab more pointedly. We dismount, and a hostler idling near the entrance promptly takes the reins from us, promising to bring the horses to the stables and bring our personal effects up to our room with care. I stroke the neck of my mare with an affectionate murmur before letting it depart. I’ve only bonded with her a few days, but if that stableboy so much as scratches her, I’ll kill him.

The pillars of the inn’s entryway are wrapped in floral garlands, and on either side of the door, vendor stalls boast freshly baked sweets. I break away from Dante, beelining for the middle-aged man with a tray of small round rolls strung around his neck.

“Good evening, signora. Pan dolce, still warm!” The vendor’s voice is hoarse but merry.

“I’ll take one,” I say, trying not to look like I’m salivating.

“With honey or without?”

“With.” I glance over my shoulder, beckoning Dante over with a tilt of my head. I’ve seen that heavy satchel of coin he travels with. Whether he stole the money or not is of little consequence at this point. He stands there, obviously considering whether to ignore me or not before coming to my side, putting a florin on the vendor’s counter.

“Newlyweds?” the vendor asks. He’s noticed the fede ring on Dante’s hand, a twin to the one still adorning my own finger. “Please, signore, take another as a gift. To your good health, both of you.”

“How very kind of you.” I smile, accepting the bundle wrapped in brown paper, still steaming slightly in the cool air. Finally, a perk of this sham marriage I can fully enjoy.

I waste no time in tearing into the treat, ripping off a piece of a bun and letting it melt in my mouth—elderflower, honey, and hearty wheat. I moan in appreciation, much to the vendor’s delight. I whirl to Dante, feeling unexpectedly wicked when I see his bored expression, idly scanning the second floor windows. I step close, putting our bodies flush as I thrust a piece toward him.

“Try some, my angel.” I say it just loud enough, brimming with girlish excitement, to turn a few heads.