Page 41 of Cursebound

I nod, and he runs his fingers through my hair, smoothing it down. It feels impossibly good.

“This is your sister, no? Tell me about her.”

“She was… She was amazing, Luca. We were more than sisters. We were part of each other. And ever since she died, I’ve felt like that part of me is missing. I… I couldn’t leave this behind. It must sound stupid to you, but this photo, this hairbrush, they’re all I have left, and I just couldn’t leave them behind.”

“It doesn’t sound stupid, Rosa. It sounds like love. And I’m so sorry I didn’t understand that. I didn’t give you the chance to explain why you wanted to go back. I just told you no. It’s… it’s hard for me to bend. To give as well as take. It’s hard for me to remember what love feels like.” Emotion makes his voice crack, and I put the framed picture down on the table and turn to face him. He is so much more than he seems on the surface, so much more than the monster I’d expect from a Cosca vampire. My hand goes to his chest, floats across the wings of his dragon.

“You lost her.” He gazes at Serena’s smiling face. “And that still hurts you.”

“It does,” I reply softly. “Losing all of them hurt, but especially her. My parents died peacefully, in their bed, still in each other’s arms. The smoke got them before the fire. And Angie? Well, we don’t know about Angie. Her body was so badly burned we didn’t recognize her—but again, she was still in her bed. Serena… She wasn’t so lucky. She was trying to escape. Her skin melted from her face, Luca. And I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forget that. Especially because it should have been me.”

“Why do you say that, bella? What makes you think you should have died instead of her?”

“Because she should have been at a ball on the other side of town. She didn’t want to go, and I was bored and always looking for ways to rebel, and we swapped all the time. Even our parents couldn’t tell us apart. So she stayed home, and I went to the ball, and then I snuck off to a dance club in Bronzeville. I was dancing as she burned, Luca, and it should have been me.”

He grabs my hands and yanks me to my feet. My head jerks back, and he crushes me tight to his body.

“No, Rosa, bella. That isn’t true. That can’t be true. What happened was terrible, truly awful, but you were meant to be here now. Meant to be with me. Meant to be mine.”

“How do you know that? How can you be so sure? Tomasso has never forgiven me. I’ve never forgiven me.”

He holds my face between his big hands, smoothing my hair away from the tears that I am horrified to find flowing down my cheeks. He kisses them away, slowly, softly, and each gentle touch of his lips makes me feel calmer. Safer. More cherished than I have ever felt in my life.

“Would she want you to live like this, my love? Would Serena want you to be half alive, always doubting, always feeling second best?”

I think of her that night, the last night I saw her alive. She was full of gentle mischief, helping me dress, making me promise to come home with stories and gossip. I spent the whole night storing up funny things to tell her, snippets I knew would amuse her. They were tales she never got to hear.

She died in agony—I saw her body, with its twisted face and torn fingers. I saw the pain that her last moments brought her. But despite all of that, he’s right—she wouldn’t want me to live like this. She loved me the same way I loved her.

She might have died—but she would want me to live.

I look up into Luca’s eyes. See the concern, the comfort. The rings of silver around deep-brown irises. He said I was meant to be his, and that feels right, so inexplicably right—and I want him with every cell in my body. Even now, floored with emotion, I want him. My pulse races at the intensity of his gaze, at the need I suddenly have to feel all of him against me. He notices straight away, a small smirk quirking the corner of those lush lips.

Without another word, he lifts me into his arms and carries me to the bed, where he props himself over me and lowers his mouth to mine. His kiss has me squirming beneath him, trying to pull him down on top of me.

He resists and gives me a smile that is full of dark promise. “You know the rules of the game—you move, I stop. Let me make you feel better, cara mia. Allow me to switch that busy little mind of yours off for a while. Let me be gentle with you until you beg me to be more.”

I run my hand through his hair and sigh at the feel of its thick waves before placing my arms by my sides. “I’ve never been very good at obeying rules… And I’m not sure gentle is something I deserve.”

“Of course it is, bella. Let me show you.” He sits up so he’s straddling me and casts the damp towel aside. His cock is big and thick and ready, and I suck in a breath. That doesn’t look at all gentle, but I’m not going to complain. I’ve felt it inside me and know how good it will feel to have it inside me again. I’m already wet, and I can’t help wriggling up against him and urging him forward.

He shakes his head, and his grin makes it obvious that he wanted me to move and must have known that I would. He tugs a pillowcase from a pillow behind my head and effortlessly rips it into strips. “Do you need some help, Rosa?” He holds the ribbons of fabric in front of my eyes. “Do you need me to help you behave yourself?”

“I’m not a child,” I say defiantly, letting out some of my frustration. “And you don’t get to tell me how to behave!”

“No, you are not a child. And I don’t get to tell you how to behave—not unless you want me to. Do you want me to?”

He slides his hand under my tank top and keeps his eyes on mine as he rolls one taut nipple between his fingers. It feels like a bolt of electricity radiates from his contact point through my whole body. Fuck. He licks his lips, showing me a hint of fang, and all the blood in my body flows straight to my pussy. Double fuck.

“Yes,” I murmur.

“What was that?” he says, caressing the other nipple. “I didn’t quite hear you.”

He did. Of course he did. This man can hear the blood in my veins.

“Yes!” I repeat, glaring up at him. “Yes, I want you to help me behave myself, you big ugly bastard.”

He throws back his head and guffaws, all the while holding me still. “I see you’re a work in progress.” He jumps off me in a blur, and before I know it, the bed is shoved forward and my wrists are tied to the bed posts. When I pull against the fabric, I find that it’s secure but doesn’t hurt. I’m not going anywhere without significant effort. I might be stronger than most women, but each wrist is bound twice over.