Page 41 of Blood Debt

The man who entered was already backing out, eyes averted, jaw clenched.

I bolt past him. Down the hall.

My feet slap the marble as I run.

The shadows bend and stretch along the hallway. The sconces flicker faintly. My breath is jagged, caught somewhere between my ribs and my throat. My chest aches.

My room appears like a lifeline. I fumble with the door.

It clicks open.

I slam it shut behind me and twist the lock.

I’m panting now. Each breath punches out like I’ve run ten miles.

I stumble toward the bathroom. My shoes drag. Once inside, I close the door softly and slide to the floor. The cold tile kisses my knees.

I let my head fall forward and press both palms to the floor, my arms trembling. My shoulder still tingles from where his mouth had hovered.

I'd let my hand rest on his chest. I'd let his fingers trail along my neck. And when his mouth met mine, I’d opened to him like I was still twenty-three and stupid.

“What were you thinking?” I whisper.

I clench my fists. My knuckles pale.

I strike my forehead. Enough to jolt the shame loose from wherever it coiled.

“You let him touch you. You let him touch you.”

My throat tightens. The bathroom walls press inward.

He hadn’t recognized me. I was sure of it.

That look in his eyes wasn’t memory. It was hunger. Lust. But not recognition.

He didn’t remember Rome.

I wipe my eyes with the heel of my palm.

I bite my lip hard until the pain cuts through the noise.

This is dangerous. So dangerous.

I’d compromised everything.

But—a thought slams into me like a fist to the chest.

He wants me.

Not as Elia. Not even as Serafina.

Just as a girl. A body. A fantasy. I slowly lift my head.

My breath is still shaking, but it steadies with each word forming in my mind.

This…could work.

A way in.