Page 46

A nightingale flitted along the stained glass, calling loudly and casting a shadow over our heads. Seeing its outline fly across the tiles, up through the apex of the church’s triumphal cross, I remembered where I was, who I was talking to. My hand returned to my side.

“I need to go to bed now.”

“Cora,” he said, voice scarcely above a whisper. “Please stay.”

In another circumstance, I may have faltered or frozen, but there was not a moment of hesitation in me now. Not when his voice was so vulnerable, so pitiful. Not when he had called me by my first name.

Wordlessly, I sat on the bench in front of him, and he sat beside me. From the corner of my eye, I saw minute, halted movements as he considered and second-guessed a thousand different actions. I smoothed down my skirt, an invitation for him to lay his head on my lap. After briefly meeting my eyes, as if to ask for permission one final time, he accepted it.

Seconds later, Duca de’ Medici melted into me, closing his eyes. Looking down at him, at his long, white lashes and the fullness of his lips, it struck me that Zeno was only a few years older than me. I saw blood was pooling into his cheeks, and I remembered that some of that blood was my own. I brushed my thumb across his sleeve, feeling how soft it was and wondering how soft the skin beneath it would be.

“You smell good,” he mumbled, voice muffled by embarrassment and fabric. “You always do.”

“Strange,” I replied with a small smile. “I was thinking the same thing about you.”

“Cora?” the vampire murmured dreamily.

“Yes?”

“You can call me Zeno.”

I chuckled and ran my fingers through his hair. “Okay, Zeno.”

As if I had commanded it, his breathing slowed and grew even. Up close, the contrast between his translucent skin and the dark crescents beneath his eyes was even starker. How long, I wondered, had it been since he had a good night of sleep? From afar, his hair always looked sculpted, so I was pleasantly surprised to find it silky to the touch. As I carefully braided a few stray strands, Zeno snored softly through parted lips. I gently combed through the braid to loosen it, then began another.

By the time dozens of braids were done and undone, the moon had risen to its apex, the purplish hue of the sky had deepened, and the lanterns around us flickered as their power diminished. All the while, Zeno slumbered in near-perfect stillness, save the occasional languid mumble.

“Cora.” When he spoke, clear and lucid, after some time, I flinched. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Zeno peeled himself from my lap, yawned wide enough to show every fang, and straightened his hair. “How long was I asleep?”

“Only a few minutes,” I lied.

He looked at where the moon was in the sky and shot me a skeptical look but didn’t bother arguing. Instead, he stated, “Thank you, Cora. I’ll walk you back.”

Zeno’s pace through the gardens was steady, which I sensed was for my sake rather than his own. That flash of childlike fear he had shown was absent now. Meanwhile, my anxiety had heightened, a Pavlovian response to the twilit gardens. I sighed and focused on the tiles at my feet and the sound of Zeno’s shoes on them. No more moonlit walks for me through this courtyard. What a pity.

The checkerboard of tiles ended, and Zeno held the door open for me.

“Aren’t you a gentleman?” I teased.

“Only for—” he cleared his throat. “I try.”

When we made it to my room, he lingered at my doorway, and I smiled. Déjà vu. When I turned to say good night, I realized Zeno was holding out his hand. The rosary. “I didn’t realize you were religious.”

“I’m not.” I took it quickly and shoved it into my pocket. “Counting the beads helps when I get nervous. Sorry, I’m not trying to be disrespectful. I’ll get a normal bead bracelet soon.”

“I don’t believe He minds. I don’t, anyhow.” Zeno shook his head and reached into his shirt. All along, he had been wearing a miraculous medal. “It helps me to rub my thumb across this as well.”

“I didn’t realizeyouwere religious,” I echoed.

“Ah, so I’m still a mystery to you? How amusing.” He smirked. “In another life, I would be standing here in a cassock.” I studied him to see to what extent he was joking about becoming a priest. Seeing my prying eyes, he added, “Probably further from your bed at this time of night, of course.”

I gasped at the implication and pointed past the door. “Out!”

“Hey!” Zeno said with a guffaw. “Iama gentleman, remember? You said so yourself.”

“It doesn’t matter! If anyone sees you here—”