Page 96 of Inked & Bloodbound

His smile falters. “Are you sure? Once I cross that threshold…”

“Everything changes. I know.” I squeeze his hand. “I’m counting on it.”

He hesitates, then takes a breath. Weighing the whole world that sits on his shoulders, then he reaches out to cup my face.

“Ask me,” he whispers.

There’s nothing I’ve ever been so sure about in my life.

“Cassini Valbruna. Please come in.”

31

CASSINI

Iwatch Lily sleep, marveling at how beautiful she looks in the moonlight streaming through the blinds. Her honeyed hair spills across the pillow like light itself, and as I move a strand away from her forehead, I still can't quite believe she's real. That someone like her could love someone like me.

My nimble fingers search for the mark on her ribcage—the one I placed the night we met. When I touch it, she stirs and stretches against me. I hook my arm around her waist and pull her closer so that not even a wisp of smoke could come between our bodies.

The spot she occupies in my arms makes for the perfect fit, and she slots in like a dovetail joint. It feels ridiculous to even think, but I hadn't realized how monumental her absence would feel until she was gone. Here in these silent hours, where the sun doesn't threaten to separate us, I feel whole again. I feel hope again.

Life without her is a hell I cannot return to.

I will never tell her just how dark this past month has been. Nor will I tell her about the things I've done to keep her safe. As she grows more powerful, I'll have to work harder to keep my secrets buried and pray she cannot find evidence of these terrible acts in my thoughts.

Lazaro takes great pleasure in making his little vassal prince dothe dirtiest jobs imaginable. It's as if he feels my father watching from the shadows and has decided to put on an especially sadistic performance for him.

As the oldest vampire in the Hollow, my renewed strength is a tool The Primus uses to his full advantage. My nights are filled with thoughtless acts of violence—one after the next with little reprieve. I have tortured, maimed, and killed on his behalf, and each time I do it I think of Lily. I think of what I have to sacrifice.

At first I kept my distance and respected her warning back at the Hollow, but gradually it became impossible. Thoughts of her plagued me constantly, and a new kind of restlessness coursed through my body. I could not be soothed or satiated. One night, after dispatching a group of dissidents in Waco, I found myself antsy and desperate for a glimpse of her.

I kept my distance, of course, but I had to see she was safe. I needed to hear her heart beating. So I drove to her home, pushed my fingers into the earth, dug a grave to lie in, and I waited. The moment I heard the steady drumbeat of her pulse pounding against her ribs whilst she slept, I finally settled.

That tiny morsel wasn't enough, and I was once again hooked. I returned night after night, arriving before daybreak after another night of bloodshed to listen to the sound of her sleeping. Always keeping my distance but taking an exquisite pleasure in the agony of being so close.

As if that wasn't masochistic enough, I began to wear her initial around my neck and took a sick pleasure in the feeling of it searing my flesh with her mark. The constant, burning agony was a harsh reminder of all I had lost.

But now she's back in my arms and the world is right again.

I press a gentle kiss to her forehead, careful not to wake her. She needs the rest—her abilities have been growing stronger every day, and the constant connection to the spirit world takes its toll. Sometimes I watch her at the kitchen table in the moments before sunrise, dark circles under her eyes from helping lost souls find peace.

A sound from outside makes my skin prickle—not one of theusual night noises, but something that sets every vampiric instinct on edge. I strain to listen, but then there's nothing. The night air stills, and I almost convince myself I imagined it.

There.

The soft scrape of footsteps on concrete, so quiet a human wouldn't register it. The sound of metal clinking against metal. A scent carried on the night air that makes my heart stop.

No. Not yet. Please. We need more time.

I slip out of bed and dress at lightning speed. Lily stirs but doesn't wake, lost in dreams and blissfully unaware of what's happening. For a moment I consider staying, gathering her in my arms and pretending I haven't heard anything.

But hiding won't work. Not now.

My bare feet make no sound on the hardwood as I head downstairs, my heart hammering against my ribs like the steady beat of a funeral march. I touch my hand to the front door—the barrier between two worlds. The sanctuary I've built with Lily and the violent reality I've spent decades trying to escape.

Three measured knocks echo through the house. As if the visitor has all the time in the world and knows I have no choice but to answer.

What met me on the porch was something from a fever dream. A shadowed figure staring up at me from the darkness, thick eyeliner smudged around bottomless eyes. The waxy pomade in his hair catches the flickering light, and he raises an eyebrow at my scruffy clothes. He's dressed in a fitted snakeskin suit that falls open at the front, revealing the tangle of black and grey tattoos on his bare chest, save for a waterfall of chains that drape over his throat in elaborate layers, each one heavy and ostentatious.

He's always had expensive taste.

This is the knock I've been dreading for decades. The confrontation I knew was inevitable but hoped would never come. Every moment of happiness, every stolen kiss and whispered promise—it all crumbles to dust at the sight of his satisfied smile.

“Ciao.”

“Ciao,brother.”