Page 37 of A Betrothal So Bloody

“Now, don’t be shy,” he scoffs, chuckling with the barmaid. Dante lowers his voice conspiratorially. “She was utterly stricken when we saw an unnatural shadow in the woods. This poor thing here was utterly helpless, shaking like a leaf until I swept her into my arms and carried her to safety.”

Cover story be damned. I open my mouth to object, but I’m silenced as Dante crushes his lips to mine. My small grunt of protest could easily be mistaken for delighted surprise.

He— He’s kissing me.

That sharp, grounding scent rushes over me—the smell of his skin. It’s the first time we’ve kissed since that sham wedding, and lightning shoots through me anew, sensations flooding through every fiber in my body. I’m acutely aware of his grip pressing against the small of my back, how easily he could scoop me right off the ground with that one hand.

Others beside the barmaid are staring now, and the flush of my cheeks is beyond my control.

Dante’s mouth releases mine, but he isn’t finished. He presses another kiss under the shell of my ear, then lower—just above the fang scars hidden under my hair. His lips linger there, his warm breath stirring goosebumps along my skin.

Is he…smelling my hair?

He pulls away, gazing at me with unnerving tenderness that sparkles with challenge. Anyone who can fake love so convincingly is a monster, with or without fangs and bloodlust. Who knew that kisses could be such effective weapons?

He turns back to the barmaid. “She’s the one who got us lost in the forest in the first place, you know.” Dante clicks his tongue fondly, giving my chin an infantilizing squeeze. “She is stubborn, always thinks she’s right, rarely listens to me… But now that my heart knows her face, how can I bear to live without it?”

Too many witnesses to stab him, unfortunately.

Damn him. Is this all payback for the roll outside?

I temper my outrage, forcing what I hope to appear as a lustful mask.

“And how lucky I am to have found you,” I sigh.

Before another stupid, saccharine word can drip from his mouth, I grab the lapels of Dante’s doublet and yank him down to shut him up with a kiss of my own.

He reacts more gracefully than I did, but it seems my fervence still takes him by surprise. I’m rather stunned to feel my body awaken to the initiative; my lips pressing with more confidence, my right hand moving to tangle firmly in his hair. I probe my tongue into his mouth the way he had done before, emboldened enough to skate over the tips of his fangs as I taste him. Dante makes a small noise of astonishment at the back of his throat, eyes flying open to catch mine with what may be wonder.

When I release him, he’s speechless. Small blessings.

Smiling triumphantly, I snatch the key from the counter and nod to the barmaid. “Thank you for your hospitality. Maybe you have a blessed and safe Calendimaggio.”

thirteen

Istride off, dodging around dancing couples with my sights set on the stairwell across the tavern. Dante catches up to me, a hand closing around mine mid-stride.

“What’s the hurry?” he pries. “Plenty of moonlight left, and the company appears…lively.”

“I’m going to bed,” I say, shrugging him off.

Dante takes my hand again. “Don’t you ever take a break and loosen that constipated look on your face?” He’s looking at me earnestly, tugging me toward the music. “Join me. Just one dance for the occassion—five minutes. A little public entanglement will only strengthen our ruse while passing through.”

“Dante, from the bottom of my heart: I’d rather eat soap. And besides, we did plenty of convincing back there.”

A part of me still reels at my own brashness, kissing him like that. What had come over me?

With a stubborn, pleading pout, Dante steps backward into the lively gathering, his fingers still clenched around mine. “I’m truly worried you don’t understand the concept of fun, darling.”

“We clearly have vastly different definitions,” I say, but my words are swallowed up by the volume of delighted voices and laughter in the tavern, with dozens of couples celebrating Spring’s arrival. “We should be focusing on survival, not a fucking galliard.”

“You slayers are so grim. If our days are numbered, all the more reason to indulge in what simple amusements we stumble across, hm?” Dante counters.

My protests are weakened by the warm smiles of the other revelers. Everyone is pink-cheeked and brimming with good-natured spirits, beaming like they’ve been waiting for us to join them.

Shit, I think. This is happening.

The cool glass beads of the necklace Chiara had given me suddenly seem to grate against my skin. What would she think if she were here, watching me willingly submit to dancing with the very lethal target of my assignment? I can picture Chiara’s sharp brows pulling together, the confused gasp of—”Ari, are you entirely mad?”