Page 49 of A Betrothal So Bloody

“You’re wrong!” A shout tears out of me now—other tenants in the inn be damned. “I was born for this. Corvus is my family. They trained me, gave me everything! They have shown me more love than—”

“Love,” Dante growls, “does not require a price. Did you ever once try to imagine what your life would be like if they hadn’t turned you into this?” He breathes heavily, and to my disgust, his anger simmers into pity. “You can be so much more than they made you to be, you know.”

I am speechless for a moment, teetering between despair—and fury.

With a guttural cry, I claw for something else, anything within reach. My fingers close around a book, and I hurl it across the room with all my might. This one catches Dante squarely in the temple, and he gives a sharp grunt, lunging to his feet.

“Would you stop—”

His shout chokes off as the dagger I’d placed under my pillow goes flying at him next. Cursing, Dante recoils, his hand flashing upward with those damnably inhuman reflexes. He seizes the cold edge midair before it can whizz past his head.

“What do you know of love, leech?” I snap.

“Oh, fuck you.” The silver starts to singe his skin, and Dante promptly tosses my dagger into a corner, wringing his reddened fingers.

I grope for more ammo, but there’s nothing left to throw—nothing that can hurt him.

Breathing heavily, I bare my teeth as I desperately muscle back tears. All I can see is Mother Superior’s unreadable smile as she commissioned me to investigate D’Agonisto. Over and over, I played the moment in my mind.

She knew there’d be nothing left of you to bury, and she didn’t care. The thought is sudden, cutting, all-consuming.

Hypnotism. He must be hypnotizing me again.

But Dante’s lips aren’t moving. And as I frantically scan his face in the dark, I note that his eyes are still their usual deep blue—not a hint of the pallid veil that would indicate he’s pulling on his powers.

Which means any doubt I’m feeling is my own.

Dante stands halfway across the room from me, shoulders rising and falling with cautious, labored breaths.

“You finished?” he calls over. “Or shall I fetch you some more projectiles for your little tantrum?”

Red floods my vision. The next thing I know, my feet are carrying me forward. In a few strides, I’ve closed the distance between us, putting my face right under his.

“You are the most vile person I’ve ever had the misfortune to meet,” I say through my teeth, jabbing a finger to his chest. “Even if you can be cured, you’ll be a monster as a human, too. No one can remedy you of being a spoiled, wicked man who got too greedy for power and welcomed the curse of immortality.”

His hands clamp around my shoulders so suddenly that I choke on my next breath.

“I didn’t ask to be like this!” he roars, shaking me slightly. “It was forced upon me—like everything else in my godforsaken life. Alessandro’s grand vision. His captive, everlasting family.”

His face is so close to mine, our furious breaths mingle—and I can see his eyes are wet again.

“You… You were forced?” I whisper, struggling for words beyond that.

We both jump as footsteps pound up the stairs. At first, I’m sure that the innkeeper is rushing to scold us about the noise. But no, there are too many urgent, masculine voices. Metal clinking and the heavy weight of armored steps.

Hunters, accompanied by a familiar, chilling voice.

“Through that door,” the owner of the voice orders. “Hurry, before he escapes.”

“Fucking Thomas,” Dante growls, releasing me to lunge for his dagger. He tosses another blade from his bag, which I pluck cleanly out of the air.

We share a lingering heated look, weighed by a fresh wave of unanswered questions. Vampire lords always initiate an invitation before turning their mark—almost every testimony and ancient text confirms it. How could Dante have possibly been forced to transform?

He’s watching me with a slight furrow between his eyes, flickering every few seconds toward the growing noise behind the wall. He gives me a faint, almost imperceptible nod, his lips parted with a breath of uncertainty, as though I might refuse and usher in his death instead.

I return the nod. Allies—just long enough to survive this.

A deep, resonant thud signals the first blow from the militia against our bedroom door. I turn from him, eyes darting for the rest of my arsenal, still stored near the changing screen.