Page 56 of Inked & Bloodbound
He winks at me. “It’s fine, really. Accidents happen. It’s just a car. You’re much more precious.”
I’ll admit it feels nice to be talking again. I’ve never been one to hold a grudge or maintain a silence for longer than it takes to get my point across.
I lean back in the passenger seat and stretch out, getting comfy. “What even is that car anyway?”
“A Maserati,” he says, his hands steady on the wheel. “It was the one thing I brought with me from Italy when I ran.”
“You ran?”
His voice gets quiet, and his eyes soften. He stares straight ahead when he speaks. “Yes, I ran. I had to get away from my father.”
I sit up straighter. “Why?”
“He was too controlling. He wanted things for me that I didn’t want. Things that would make me a pawn in his stupid games.” His eyes flicker, as if breaking a spell. “I refused, so he punished me severely.”
The admission twists at me, and I reach out and lay my hand on his thigh, giving it a small squeeze to reassure him. He tilts his face toward me, but he doesn’t look at me.
“Hey, if it helps, I have plenty of daddy issues too,” I offer. “Is it okay if I ask what he wanted you to do?”
The question hangs in the air for what feels like minutes, and when he answers, he finally glances at me.
“They wanted me to marry someone. The daughter of one of my father’s enemies. It was supposed to be a joining of our families, a truce for our people, but I refused.”
“Why?” I whisper.
“I didn’t love her.” He’s matter-of-fact. “I couldn’t marry someone I wasn’t in love with. It felt like a sin. Maybe not against God, but against my heart. I believed marriage to be something sacred, something human.”
“Wait. Vampires believe in God?”
He smiles a slow, sad smile. “Not vampires, no. But I did. When I was human, I studied in the seminary in Rome. I made my parents—my real parents—so proud. If they had seen what I became, this abomination, it would have destroyed them.”
I think of how he prayed over me, the ancient chant of Latin drifting through the veil, the wooden rosary beads on his key ring, and suddenly it all makes sense.
“You were a priest,” I say, not really asking.
“I was.”
“Don’t take this the wrong way or anything, but do you think that’s maybe why you’re so uptight?”
His eyes nearly pop out of his head. “I amnotuptight,” he scoffs. “Please, don’t insult me. I’m Italian. We practically invented sex.”
I laugh. “Okay, then why don’t you believe I want you? Why do you still think it’s the venom that’s making me crave it? Maybe you’re just used to doing it with shy maidens from the 1700s or whatever, but here in the twenty-first century, we women don’t wear petticoats, and we ask for what we want.”
“I know that,” he says, his voice firm again. “But I know my power, and I know what my venom is capable of. It wouldn’t feel right, like I was taking advantage or something.”
“Cassini. Try not to clutch your pearls when I tell you this.” I shift so I’m facing him, and he acknowledges my request with a subtle nod. “I have wanted you ever since that first night back at the tattooshop. I thought, and still think, that you are the most beautiful man I have ever seen in real life, and ever since that night I’ve basically been half afraid of you, and half perpetually horny over you. Sometimes both at the same time.”
He swallows, and his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat.
“So believe me when I say this: I want you to take me home and fuck my brains out. I want you to devour me.” I throw my arms up. “Hell, I want to climb on top of you so I can ride you like a damn bronco.”
I pause to read his reaction, but there’s nothing. His eyes remain fixed on the endless black highway. The picture of focus and concentration.
Shit, okay, maybe I misjudged this. Maybe this has all been a grand delusion after all? A one-sided, venom-induced delirium inside the mind of a woman going through a dry spell.
I swallow my pride and continue. “But if you’re not into me, and you don’t want to, that’s cool. I don’t care. But do me a solid and tell me the truth? Please don’t use the venom as an excuse.”
He’s silent, so I sink back into the seat and kick my feet up on the dash. Deflated, but not defeated.