Page 10 of Cursebound
He leans back and grins. For the first time, I see the white gleam of the tips of his fangs, and it’s clear I’m only seeing them because he wants me to. Because he knows exactly what I’m thinking about.
“Yeah,” he says, raising one eyebrow. “I am exceptionally… skilled. And by all means, train harder. Stay more alert. But know this—you have enemies, Rosa Capelli. Enemies you might not see coming, like this Kurt and the allies he has drawn to his cause. At the moment, I’m not one of those enemies, and you would do well to remember that.”
“Enemies schnenemies! There’s always some jerk with a hard-on to kill a Seer. This Kurt guy has probably got delusions of grandeur. They all do. I blame the internet.”
“This is not a damn joke! Do you know who sent me here?”
“No idea. Ronald McDonald?”
His hand shoots toward me and grabs my chin. He holds my face steady despite my struggles, and I consider slamming a stake down through his other hand, pinning it to the table. But I’m aware, even if he isn’t, that we are attracting attention. The bartender is looking over with a frown, obviously trying to weigh up whether he needs to intervene and just as obviously hoping he doesn’t have to.
Luca’s grip doesn’t waver, and neither does his glare. I’m going to have finger-shaped bruises on my face tomorrow, and that is not a good look.
“Listen to me, Rosa Allegra Capelli. This is not a game. Kurt is dangerous. He’s powerful. And he has allies, possibly within the Vecchissime themselves. I was sent here by my boss to kill you or kidnap you. He wasn’t bothered which. He is not a vampire you want to mess with. He’s… He’s bad.”
It’s barely there, that hesitation, but it is there. He’s conflicted about what he’s saying. Maybe he thinks he shouldn’t be saying it. Maybe he’s regretting not having killed me already. If his boss is the Don of the Firenze Cosca, then he’s a hundred percent right to be worried. Disloyalty is a big deal in a world where allegiances run for centuries.
I once heard a story about how the Milano Don kept a vamp who’d betrayed him tied to a post in a dungeon for ten years and disemboweled him with a scimitar every single day. Anything other than pure obedience could get Luca into serious trouble, yet he’s risking it. He didn’t kill me when he could, and he seems to be warning me in his own angry way.
That and the fact that he abruptly lets go of my face earns him a few points for good behavior. But it doesn’t mean I trust him.
We are both quiet for a moment, our mutual fury dissipating. Someone puts a song on the juke box—one-half of the goth couple, and the two of them are now dancing to that old Doors track about people being strange—and I ponder how bad this Don must be for a vamp like Luca to describe him as such. Handling the Rogans of the world is one thing. Taking on the head of a Cosca is a whole new level of risk. Especially when I have no fucking clue how or why I caught his attention.
The Vecchissime and the Coscas have lived in uneasy peace for longer than I’ve been around, so I haven’t had cause to mix with them. From what I’ve been taught, their rules are strict and the consequences for breaking them brutal. The result is that they keep their vamps under control, and their criminal empires are vast but disciplined. Never once have I been Called to deal with a Cosca vamp. Presumably because whatever depraved shit they get up to, they get up to it in a way that has been deemed acceptable by the Vecchissime. Or they’re really freaking awesome at hiding it.
Regardless, the news that I’m now one of their targets is not great. I am already exhausted, and this ratchets it all up a level.
I school my face into something perfectly neutral and concentrate on keeping my breathing steady so he doesn’t spot my fear. Because I am scared now. I’d be stupid not to be.
“Come with me,” he commands. “Let me help you figure this out. Let me keep you safe.”
“Why?” I ask, genuinely confused. “Why would you want to do that? Because you feel sorry for me? Because you want to fuck me? Because we had such a sweet little meet cute over the body of a dead vampire? Nah, I don’t think so, Luca da Firenze. My mama taught me not to talk to strangers, and like Jim is singing right now, people sure are strange.”
He slams his fists on the tabletop so hard our drinks bounce a couple inches into the air. I grab my beer as it flies upward, and his rolls to the ground, shooting fizzy amber liquid across the floor.
“That’s your final answer?” he asks, oblivious to the stares from around the room. Jeez, how has this guy lasted so long? One of the number one skills of the Old World vamps is blending, but he has “I am not quite human” stamped all over him.
“That is my final answer, Regis.” I lean back and touch the lip of the beer bottle to my mouth. Tipping it backward to take a long drink, I show him my throat. Show him that I am not afraid of him. I am, of course, faking it. But damn, the beer sure tastes good.
He gets to his feet, gives me one last extra-pissed glare, and snaps, “Good luck to you, Rosa. Maybe I’ll come to your fucking funeral.” He storms from the room, sending the goths scurrying for cover as he stalks past. They recognize him as a threat, no matter how nice the packaging. He slams open the door and disappears into the darkness without so much as a backward glance.
Well, I think as I finish my beer, that went well.
CHAPTER 5
LUCA
Ilet her think I’m furious, that I’ve lost control. It’s not that big of an act, truthfully. She knows how to push my buttons. I was sorely tempted to sling the woman over my shoulder and carry her out of there when she refused to come with me willingly.
The frustrating thing is that she wanted to. She tried to hide it, but I could sense how afraid she was—more than that, how alone. I wonder how long she’s been running on fumes and why she feels she has to shoulder the whole burden by herself. The Vecchissime might not be the virtuous angels they pretend to be, but she has family and should therefore have support. Her bloodline, the other Seers—why isn’t she confiding in them? Why is she out here, facing this situation on her own? Why is she so fucking stubborn?
In case she’s watching, I punch the pole of a streetlight as I pass it. The skin covering my knuckles breaks open, and the light wobbles so much it might come down. Shit.
Once that’s done, I stalk away down the road, but after a few moments, I calmly walk back, making myself invisible in the shadows until I find a spot where I can see into the bar. If she was watching, all she would have seen was what she expected to see—a grumpy-ass vampire storming away, leaving her in peace.
Now, I just need to wait. After she comes out, as soon as I get her alone, I will take her. Whether she wants to or not, she’ll be coming with me tonight. I can be stubborn too. I’ve had a lot of practice.
I have no clue why I’m so drawn to this woman when all logic tells me we should be enemies. No idea as to why I would consider disobeying the Don and risking everything, including my life. I have less of a clue why, after centuries of not giving a damn about anyone, I suddenly feel the urge to charge in and be the hero.