Page 74 of A Betrothal So Bloody

Father above… He’d killed his own fiancée in his fledgling hunger.

Though fresh horror rips through me, I tamp it down, softening my wide-eyed expression. I won’t force him to relive that to sate my curiosity. Given the hollowness seated at the back of his gaze, he’s done that countless times to himself already.

“Thirty-four,” I murmur instead, curling back against him with my head nestled under his chin. I tangle my legs with his and my gaze pulls back to the scars on his neck.

“Do you ever wonder?” I ask, my voice soft. “Why Alessandro chose you? Why pursue you like this—and each of his fledglings—so adamantly, when he could easily turn another?”

He’s utterly silent, and I wonder if I’ve truly upset him now, if I’ve ruined this perfect moment.

“I have my theories,” Dante finally says. “Marco once told me—only once, mind you, decades ago—that Alessandro lost his own wife and children a thousand years ago, victims to the Gothic wars. Despair can drive even the sharpest minds to madness.”

I pull back so we’re nose to nose, pinning him with a soulful look. “Trying to rebuild what he’s lost doesn’t excuse what he’s done to you,” I growl.

“No, it doesn’t.” Dante’s answering smile is soft, almost sad. “Don’t trouble yourself, darling. Trying to understand him is a waste of time—trust me, I’ve tried. Men like him love having power over people. We are his things. His to control, his to feed, his to torment—whatever he wants.”

I frown deeper, piecing together the twisted intent. Belittling a nobleman’s son—the Prince of La Serrenisima—to little more than a slave in a gilded cage. Free only so long as he obeys Alessandro’s will. It makes me queasy.

Something shifts in his expression, reading the worry that was likely plain as day on my face. Lifting himself on one arm, Dante turns my chin toward him. His smiling mouth catches mine in a deep kiss, melting my dark thoughts away moment by moment—for now, at least.

“Do you know how long I’ve waited to do that?” he asks when he comes up for breath. “I mean really kiss you. Every second near you has been positively maddening.”

“I thought you loathed me.” I lift a brow teasingly, though my heart hammers at his confession. I push my fingers through his hair again, pretending as though he hasn’t completely disarmed me. Surely he’s simply relieved that we’ve finally fucked. But something in his gaze reads deeper than that.

“I know. I did give it my best effort, but I fucked up.” He sighs dramatically, leaning his forehead against mine like we’re sharing a lament. “Pathetic, isn’t it? It’s rather ruining my plan to fester away as a devastatingly handsome legend in a dusty castle.”

I press a quick kiss to his lips to break his false pout. “On your own?” I say. “Doubtful. You wouldn’t last a week without someone to irritate.”

He wrinkles his nose. “Thralls are an option, I suppose, though I’m not terribly fond of them. Pathetic, desperate wretches—the lot of them.”

I hum, my soft smile unfaltering even as I make a keen mental note of the disclosure—so you do have thralls back in Venice.

“And here I thought you adored being worshipped without question,” I tease.

“Please, I have standards.” Dante huffs, and his gaze rakes over me pointedly—me, the pinnacle of such adoration to attain. “You know, I’m still waiting for you to return the compliment. How you’ve nearly melted at the very brush of my touch. How I have awakened sensations you didn’t even know existed. How you can’t breathe when I leave the room… Stop me when you hear one you like.”

“Sounds like you’ve got your merits covered without my help.”

The retort somehow makes his smile soften. He remains over me on one arm, gazing down at me like he hasn’t had his fill yet. He cups my face, tracing my cheek with his thumb.

“Oh, mio dio. I was doomed the second you appeared in my foyer,” he says, lowering his voice like someone might hear. “Vicious, smart-mouthed—” His thumb tugs my lower lip. “And ruinously beautiful. Unfair, really. I never stood a chance, my little slayer.”

His compliments make me shift uneasily. I’m nothing more than a peasant. A soldier, if I’m being generous. I’ve seen my reflection—I’m pretty enough, I suppose, but nothing exceptional and certainly undeserving of Dante’s affectionate words. I never experienced a life where I was stared at with desire.

“I’m already seduced into your bed.” I break from his gaze, smiling tightly. “You don’t need to say those pretty things.”

His grin widens curiously, even as a crease forms between his eyes. “You don’t believe me. Why would I lie to you?”

“You lie effortlessly at every turn. All the time.”

“Not about something of such devastating importance.” He tips his hand under my chin, forcing my gaze upon him. “You’re a vision, stellina. Point me in the direction of anyone who has told you otherwise, and I’ll have them choking on shards of their own spine.”

I giggle—the image is so grotesque, it’s outlandish.

He takes my hand and runs his lips over my knuckles reverently. “I’ve suffered for weeks, imagining what it would be like if you belonged to me.”

“What did you imagine?” I ask quietly.

“A world where you didn’t see me as a monster, and I could have you entirely. All to myself.” His voice drops to a whisper scarcely audible as he adds, “Mine.”