Page 42 of A Betrothal So Bloody

He moves so quickly, it’s dizzying. Dante lunges, seizing Thomas by the collar of his shirt, and slams him onto his back. The reverberation rattles the floor. It’s suddenly very clear how much he’d been holding back when we had grappled at the villa.

I push myself away from the wall but stand back, watching as Dante kneels over his brother, pressing his weight down on him mercilessly. Thomas connects a blow to Dante’s face, but is unable to shake him off. Dante knots fingers into Thomas’ hair and slams his skull into the floor—twisting his head hard and to the side at a painful angle.

“Just like old times,” Dante says through gritted teeth, breathing heavily. “Me on top, you with your face in the dirt. When has it ended any differently?”

He presses down, fingers gripping hard enough to make Thomas bare his teeth, fangs flashing uselessly in the lamplight as Dante grounds his face against the wood.

Even through his struggle, Thomas’ eyes find me—and the stake clutched in my hand. He groans through heavy breaths, his words choking out in a rasp. “She’s no thrall, is she? You revealed your nature to a slayer and let her live?”

Whatever he tries to say next is drowned in a garbled mess as Dante applies crushing pressure to his windpipe. For a moment, I am certain Dante will decapitate him with fingers alone—but he removes one hand and snatches his dagger. Thomas gives a wheeze of protest, his struggles growing panicked. Something odd shivers in the air around Thomas—mist gathering desperately. He’s trying to shadow-step, but Dante’s hold is too tight to allow it.

With an anguished cry, Thomas manages to squirm one arm free, raking one of Dante’s hands away long enough to deliver a devastating blow to the head. He knocks Dante off and staggers to his feet. Bleeding from the throat and chest, one eye swollen from being ground into the floor, he appears genuinely frightened by my approach.

He throws a disgusted glare at Dante. “Death is too good for you. You should have just crawled back home.”

Before I’m anywhere within swinging distance, Thomas' body tenses, losing its defined edges. With a faint hiss like a sweeping draft of wind, his form collapses in on itself, leaving a swirling cloud of mist in its place. Were I not already fed up with the evening, I might have been wonderstruck by the impossible sight. The mist shoots towards the open balcony like a ghost shooting out of hell itself, leaving the ajar doors to bang on their hinges.

I race for the balcony, breathless as I peer around the dimly lit courtyard below—stables, a well, and not a single soul in sight. Thomas is gone.

Cursing, I lower my stake and raise my eyebrows at Dante. “So he can do that, but you can’t?”

“Oh, shut it.” He gives me a withering look as he stands, then considers the stableboy’s body, which is now unmoving. “Wonderful. I suppose you expect me to clean that up?”

fourteen

Abloodthirsty vampire on the loose, and a body under the floorboards. So much for a peaceful evening. At least the bloodstains aren’t too bad after turning each board upside down. I do the brunt of that work while Dante glamours customers and staff alike to stay away from the hall.

I whisper a promise to the stableboy that I will return to bury him when we won’t get caught. The prayer that follows doesn’t feel like nearly enough. I should have saved him. Again, I’ve failed.

Laden with guilt, I finally follow Dante into our room. Our personal belongings have been brought up as promised. I separate my things from Dante’s immediately and pull a nightgown from my bag.

“If he dares show his face again,” I growl, breaking the silence, “I’ll stake a hole the size of an apple into his chest.”

“A delightful image.” Dante draws the curtains firmly to prevent sunlight from sneaking into the room. Then, with barely an ounce of effort, he pulls the wardrobe in front of the door. “Have I mentioned how cute you are when you get that feverish bloodlust in your eyes?”

I do not grace that with a response, my mind too clustered with the bitter desire to have done away with Thomas that night. Giving chase would be no use—there’s no telling how far he spirited himself away, and with dawn encroaching, we have little time before Dante is a prisoner to the safety of this shelter. Thomas had his fill of blood, I think with wavering hope. He has no need to go after anyone else. If he’s smart, he’ll prioritize steering clear of us.

But with his escape, our journey carries more urgency than ever. Besides dodging the Order and keeping them in the dark, I must now worry about Thomas bearing down on us with reinforcements. At least for now, I feel somewhat safe in the rented room. Dante and I can get the upper hand if he returns.

My crowded thoughts come to a sudden halt when I look at the bed. Nightgown in hand, I stand perfectly still and gape. Of course, this bed would be the only one in the room. As far as the staff knows, we’ve been married for weeks. I’ve been so preoccupied, the reality of our sleeping situation hadn’t dawned on me until now.

“What?” Dante says. “You’re staring at that thing like it’s about to sprout claws. Have you become so spoiled by the villa that you can’t stand the sight of a peasant’s bed?”

“The door is shut, so the marriage charade ends.” I brandish one of my daggers at him as I speak, underscoring my stern look.

He lifts an eyebrow. “We shared a bed not long ago, I’ll remind you.”

“Yes, essentially under duress—and with my darling husband trying to drain me!”

“How many times must I tell you—I wasn’t going to murder you.” He looks me up and down, mouth pinched. “Probably.” He can’t seem to resist smirking then, folding his arms over his chest. “I’ll have you know, I was planning to take the chair, anyway. Have you considered that I would rather not sleep within stabbing distance?”

Somewhat satisfied, I pointedly step behind the changing screen for privacy. As I unfasten my cloak, the rose Dante had given me falls out of the pocket. God above, he’s such a child. This ridiculous charade is humiliating enough without jeering gifts—and that mortifying display in front of the barmaid. Perhaps it did aid our cover as husband and wife, but his hellbent insistence on toying with me clearly takes a high precedence.

I kick the rose into the dusty corner, reaching for the ties at the back of my dress.

As the cool air touches my bare skin, I’m struck by the overwhelming knowledge that my naked body is mere feet away from him. I hold my breath, too aware of the sudden silence. I move slowly, as though I might give too much of myself away through the sounds of me changing.

He’s undressing too—I hear his doublet thump onto the top of his belongings. With only a flimsy wooden screen keeping us apart, I can’t help but wonder what else he’s removing. And then my traitorous mind flickers with the image of his bare chest, the way I had seen it by the firelight. Curious images of the rest of him crawl across my mind, and the taste of Dante’s tongue against mine flashes back into focus. The way I had pulled him down to crash our lips together—and he had permitted it, melting into me.