Page 78 of A Betrothal So Bloody

He places his boot on the crate, prepared to kick it over the side of the steep hill.

“Wait!” I wheel in front of him, placing a hand on his arm. “She’s an idiot, but not bloodthirsty.”

He sneers, “This coming from a trained assassin of inhumans?”

“Vampires,” I articulate each syllable keenly. “Not fairies and nymphs. Besides, you aided the witch. Come, would you want me to just leave you caged in the wilderness, waiting to starve to death?”

He scoffs, rolling his eyes. “I would never allow it to happen to me in the first place.” Dante’s gaze lingers on me—raking me up and down with a subtle flick. Something tightens in his jaw and he steps forward, closing the meager inches between us. I breathe out sharply as he brushes the knuckles of his dagger-wielding hand along my jaw.

“Besides, you wouldn’t dare,” he goes on. “You’d only crawl inside to sit primly on my lap, where you belong.”

I glance to his mouth, remembering last night. Again.

“You’re full of it,” I scoff—though the breathless tremor in my words isn’t convincing anyone.

Dante leans closer, his body flush to mine as leans down, grazing his lips over the shell of my ear. “I wouldn’t even make you say please, stellina.”

The scent of his skin washes over me this close, my stomach fluttering with need. I picture throwing him to the ground with all my strength, climbing astride him right here in the middle of the pitch dark forest.

I tip my head back, stroking the collar of his doublet. “And what if I happened to be in a mood to beg?” I ask, dropping my voice to a husky whisper that I hope will drive him crazy.

Judging by the shaky, breathless laugh that escapes Dante—it certainly does. Disarming him, provoking that dark look in his eyes is becoming my favorite prize.

His hand clamps onto my lower back, pulling me against him as he leans in and—

“Wait! I heard you speak of Callistia!” The nymph’s muffled voice cuts the air.

Dante stops just short of my waiting lips, irritation flattening his expression. Fingers flexing over the small of my back, his narrowed eyes cut toward the crate.

“You know her?” he asks coarsely.

“She is an old friend! An advocate for my kind for many years. I can take you to her!”

I hold Dante’s gaze, something resolute surfacing. I glance once more at his mouth, at our bodies pressed together, finding a shred of shame still left in me to flush with mortification at my own forwardness—and in front of another, no less.

We break apart, and I open the crate’s lid again, peering inside. “You know where she is?”

The nymph’s inky eyes are wild with hope. “I’ve been there many times. The path will force you through fae wilds—treacherous for the unwary passerby. I can take you there with my eyes shut—guide you past all peril. Just free me, please.”

I exchange another look with Dante over my shoulder. Even his disdain has relented into consideration. It’s too good an opportunity to pass up. And, if she does turn on us, we can simply slit her throat when the time comes.

Dante heaves a sigh, twirling his dagger fluidly. Catching it, he notches it back into his belt with a note of reluctance.

“I was rather hoping to give you a little show,” he says to me, winking. The nymph recoils a little at this. Producing a lockpick from his satchel, Dante glares in at her. “Fine, you’ll lead the way. But no singing.”

twenty-five

Before long, our need for the nymph’s assistance becomes embarrassingly clear. Laelia, as she cheerfully calls herself, leads us down paths that aren’t paths at all. She moves erratically but nimbly, showing no hesitation while navigating the tighter tangles of forest. Meanwhile, Dante and I must squeeze haphazardly between trees at times.

I keep the lantern lit and raised for my immediate surroundings, but Laelia’s skin gives off a glow of its own, growing brighter the deeper we venture into the forest. She doesn’t bother with human guise after a while—though she does abruptly stop twice to get our opinion.

“This is more convincing, isn’t it?” she asks, turning to us with faltering tan skin and multicolored eyes.

“Thoroughly convincing, if you’re attempting to look like the most annoying creature on earth,” Dante says.

Laelia looks at me dolefully. “Your husband is very rude. Callistia won’t like that.” She brightens somewhat. “Perhaps offer him as a blood sacrifice—surely you’ll get your heart’s desire in exchange.”

“Now there’s an idea.” I smirk at Dante’s seething expression.