Page 36 of A Betrothal So Bloody

I do my best to keep my expression agreeable, the mask of a gossip. This woman isn’t alone in her guarded opinion of the Order. Though many are honored to support Corvus’ mission, just as many countrymen view us almost kin to witches, with secrecy foddering vicious rumors. Ignorance is a beast all its own, impossible to eradicate.

Dante’s laughter carries over from the flower stall, drawing several fascinated gazes—the barmaid’s included.

I frown, watching him. The flower vendor is currently explaining with great passion the difference between planting methods for roses versus petunias—and to my astonishment, Dante is listening, nodding along like it’s the most interesting subject in the world. He’s the picture of charm and innocence—and that’s what disturbs me. It’s been a full day now since he fed, and I can’t help but suspect he’s scoping out a meal.

This is what hunting looks like—not always violent in the shadows, but seductive, hiding in plain sight.

“He’s quite a looker, isn’t he?” the barmaid says conspiratorially when she catches me staring, too. “Haven’t seen someone of his station in quite some time around Terralta, and trust me—they’re not usually half as handsome.”

“Yes, er… My husband is blessed in that regard,” I answer. “He’s all too aware, tragically.”

The woman startles, blanching. “My apologies. I didn’t realize he was your—”

“Don’t trouble yourself, please.” I chuckle, holding up a hand.

She relaxes a little, lets her eyes slide back his way. A dreamy glaze comes over her, like she’s looking at fine art forbidden to be touched. “Well… You must agree then—he’s got this strange way about him, doesn’t he? I can’t put my finger on it. The way he talks… It makes you want to hang on every word. It’s otherworldly.”

“Getting him to stop talking is actually the greater feat most days,” I mutter, though my mouth twitches upward at the corners against my will.

“Mmm.” The barmaid doesn’t appear to be listening, her stare fixed solely on Dante. She startles when he suddenly turns our way. As he returns to my side, she straightens, blinking hard. “Good evening, signore. Anything to drink?”

“Nothing for me, dear. I already have all I need right here.” I swear his gaze flickers over my neck before he holds out a perfect red rose to me, every thorn picked clean away. He smiles dotingly. “I’ve been assured this bloom has been cared for with the same level of passion I carry for you, my pet. I know how you adore roses.”

A jolt runs through me as my fingers close around the cool stem, stealing the words building on my tongue—how the hell does he know crimson roses are my favorite?

My admission on the road darts through my mind. Your bones will offset the bloodred roses I’ll set at the corners.

I hadn’t thought twice about it at the time. Hadn’t even known he’d been listening so closely. I flick my gaze up in time to see the mischief buried in Dante’s eyes, and my insides sour. The fucker is mocking me. He’s mocking my aspirations to be honored with glory at the Order.

The barmaid practically melts into her sigh, while I do everything in my power to not shove the stem into his eye. I am forced to smile and coo over the delicate petals, ever grateful for my adoring, infatuated husband. Assaulting him either verbally or physically won’t help us pass through with discretion, so I’ll have to handle that later.

Dante makes a show of tearing his gaze away from me to face the barmaid. “I don’t suppose you have an empty room for the night, what with the festivities?”

“Of course, signore.” She flips through the ledger, wincing. “Even on the emptiest night, we don’t have a room as fine as I’m sure you’re accustomed to. My apologies.”

Dante waves a hand dismissively. “Your inn is a palace compared to our lodgings last night. My only insistence is that the room has curtains. Heavy curtains and the fewest windows. Sensitive eyes, you see.”

“And your name?”

“List it under Rossi.” He slides more florians than necessary across the counter.

Another false identity. I find myself getting used to how easily his unending lies flow off his tongue like honey. His utter ease shouldn’t surprise me; he’s had nearly a century of practice. The barmaid nods, unshaken by his request, and retrieves a key.

“I mean no offense,” Dante says as she scribbles in the ledger, “but your decorations don’t appear traditional to Calendimaggio. They are…unique, to be sure.”

He leans folded arms against the counter with a boyish ease, scanning everything with keen eyes. I try to maintain a neutral expression as I properly assess the garlands around the bar. He knows as well as I do that the garlic, juniper, and hawthorn branches adorning the room are not for celebration.

“Protection,” I utter. “Has…this place been attacked recently?” My widened eyes are no pretense. I think of the unnatural child in the alley, and my hidden weapons suddenly feel heavy.

The barmaid waves a hand hastily, perhaps worried about losing business. “Only a precaution. Dreadful stories in these parts about vampires and wicked nymphs. None have crossed the threshold of this place in many years, not with these wards in place. You’ve nothing to fear.”

A pang shoots through me, begging me to grab her by the shoulders and break the news that these wards have no consequence to vampires. The legend of their supposed properties are rumors too powerful to shake, especially in smaller towns such as these. My sisters and I are quite certain that vampires themselves have spread such rumors to throw the populace off their scent—much like the falsehood about them needing to be invited into a dwelling.

“Smart,” Dante says brightly, the corner of his mouth fighting against a wicked grin. “Can’t be too careful. We’ve had a few close encounters on our journey, haven’t we, darling?” He squeezes me to his side, his hand clamping onto the curve of my hip and almost eliciting a squeak from me. “Luckily, I was as prepared as this fine establishment. Couldn’t let anything happen to my precious little prize.”

I’m sincerely regretting not letting the bear take a bite out of him.

“You exaggerate, dear,” I say through a strained giggle. I squirm and shoot him a warning glare out of the corner of my eye, but his grip only tightens. I may as well be fighting against stone. “It hasn’t been so harrowing.”