Page 16 of Cursebound
That’s not even the worst of it. Vincenzo could simply choose to kill me. I belong to him, and if he decides to, he can end me wherever I stand. Long-distance murder. Fuck.
My mood turning darker, I hang up on Matteo and look around for something to break. The dainty teacup shatters into a million shards against the wall, and they rain down onto the thick carpet. Pathetic little things were useless to me anyway.
It’s morning, so it will remain light outside for several more hours. I pace the room, feeling trapped in every way.
A blood spell? Could that be a thing? The thought of something being inside me—controlling me—without my knowledge is driving me wild. I have little enough free will in this world as it is. I was sold into the Firenze family when I was still in the womb, and it’s the only life I’ve ever known. I hate it, but I need it. The structure, the meaning it gives my life… It’s all I’ve ever had.
Apart from Isabella, and that was… a mistake. A mistake she paid for with her suffering and, eventually, her life.
And now I find out that some bullshit witchy woo-woo has been messing with my mind all this time. It’s too fucking much.
I hate witches. Not on a personal level—Minnie can be a lot of fun—but I hate the whole idea of them and their creepy power. There were a lot of them around before I was transformed, and any one of them could have done this to me.
That’s not much help though, because I can’t remember any of it. Can’t remember what it felt like to be a regular human kid—playing outside, needing sleep, being innocent. That person, and all their memories, died when I was turned. I’ve always assumed it was some kind of mental glitch.
Not all vamps forget their human existence when they change, and it’s kind of sad to see them try to cling to their old lives, their families, their friends—it destroys them, and in most cases, it also destroys those they love. Nothing like a goodnight kiss that turns into a bloodbath to sever those ties.
But me, I don’t remember a scrap. Everything I know about my life back then is based on what I was told by the woman who created me—or at least the me I am now. Giulia is long gone, and I know that for sure because I killed her. I tore her head off and set it aflame as her body tried to crawl back toward it. Vincenzo ordered her death, and it was no hardship. I hated her more than I have ever hated anyone or anything.
But for the first time since her fortunate demise, I wish she were around so I could ask her questions. So I could torture the truth out of her. The witches arrived en masse in the early 1600s, with their herbs and chants and all-powerful magic. They can control all of us—vamps, shifters, fae, every other supernatural dreg—if they want to. They don’t, but things had gotten so bad at that stage that they stepped in.
The legend—and that’s all it is to most of us—goes that an especially bloodthirsty group of vamps was roaming all over Europe. They started in Hungary and basically killed their way through the whole continent. Raping, pillaging, tearing out the throats of young virgins—all that ye olde bygone days stuff. Even the other vampires knew it had to stop because the whole region was at risk of being depopulated, which would have meant losing our food source. Plus, a lot of our kind were meeting their end at the hands of overzealous hunters staking everything in sight.
The witches were called there by the Vecchissime, the old families. The not-quite-humans blessed with their own longevity and special powers. Some were Seers, others Healers. Many were Makers—inventors and artists. They were a large part of why Renaissance Italy was famed for its painters, sculptors, and writers.
The Bargain was struck, and the deal was sealed by the witches. And on the whole, it has held for all these long years. We’re still here; the humans are still here; the Vecchissime are still here. I can’t say I’ve given it a lot of thought—it’s just the way things are.
The Bargain was signed in blood, and my transformation took place hours before that unbreakable spell was forged. From what Minnie is saying, it might not have been the only spell forged—but why? Why bother with me, a baby vamp back then? And why link me to the Capelli Seer, who wouldn’t be born until a couple centuries later?
None of it makes any sense. Except…
Something clicked into place when Matteo said those words, like a key fitting into a lock.
It explains so much. Why everything changed when we met. How my body responded to her. It went far beyond lust. I’ve fucked enough people in my life to know what that feels like.
With her, it went deeper. I was gripped by a primal need to possess her, to devour her. To protect her. To give myself to her, body and soul, and let her take me as completely as I would take her.
Even thinking about her in my arms makes me hard. The way her tits felt crushed up against me, the little mewling sounds she made. Her hair wrapped around my fist, the pale skin of her throat glistening in the moonlight.
Groaning, I head for the shower. I need to release the tension that’s been building inside me since I met her. I’ve been walking around with a hard-on for too long. I need to feel. To imagine her mouth on my cock, my tongue inside her pussy, my hands holding her down while I fuck every hole she has. I’m raging with it, and I can’t think straight. I need to find her. Or I need to find a way to persuade her come to me. But first, I need to come.
Blood spell! Fuck, I really hate witches.
CHAPTER 8
ROSA
My grandfather Tomasso lives in a huge house out by a lake. Well, it’s less of a house, more of a compound. Set on a dozen acres of land, the central mansion is equipped with a pool and gym and is surrounded by four other homes where staff and my brother Pietro live. The property is enclosed within huge walls that curve outward to make them hard to scale. As a kid, I tried repeatedly. One of the many reasons why Tomasso despaired of me—I never met a rule I didn’t want to break.
As I get cleared by the guy in the security hut at the gate, it strikes me, and not for the first time, that Tomasso takes an awful lot of precautions for a man in his position.
Sure, he’s rich—he made his current fortune in banking—but he doesn’t move in especially dangerous circles. No vampire would dare to touch him as he is the son of Alberto Capelli, one of the original founders of the Bargain. And no human would have any reason to come after him beyond the usual hatred reserved for bankers.
Yet as long as I’ve been alive, he has been surrounded by a small army. Like me, he’s had to take steps to protect himself from the curiosity of the purely human world wondering why a man like him has lived so long.
He’s had different residences, different names, and always maintained an air of mystique. He was working from home before it was a thing. But this place has remained a constant, along with the steely-eyed men he employs.
Maybe it’s simply that he’s seen too much and lost too much to ever abandon his sense of caution. Or maybe he’s an egotistical dick who has to pay people to be near him.