Page 12 of Love At the Gates of Hell (The Seven Sinners Trilogy #1)

seven

Gideon

“Do your vampires know you’re a neighbor?”

“Is there a real sentence in there somewhere?”

Laughter filled the loft, the sound soft and surprising as Gideon dropped his keys onto the console table by the front door.

Benedetta had ordered herself three dirty martinis with extra olives while they were at Betty’s, politely flagging down Jackie every time she finished a glass and apologizing for each new request. It was actually pretty fucking endearing.

But he hadn’t been sure when or even if he should stop her.

She was a grown woman.

She could drink herself into a stupor if she wanted.

But the volume of her voice increased a few decibels with every drink, and he wanted Betty’s to remain the nice and anonymous refuge it was for them.

So after leaving Jackie with a forty-five percent tip, Gideon found himself putting Benedetta in the backseat of the car a second time this week—though this was a far more pleasant experience.

She wasn’t unconscious, and he could make do with an arm slung low around her waist to guide her while she quizzed Luke on his vampire abilities.

Could he eat garlic? Yes. Could he turn into a bat? No. What about silver? Not the best color for his complexion but hardly as damaging to him as it was to werewolves.

That last one had brought a goofy grin to Benedetta’s face. And Gideon wasn’t sure what he was more affected by, the way her face lit up with her smile or the press of her body against his as they crossed the parking lot. Neither of them were going to do him any good.

“Wait.” Benedetta flopped herself down on the sofa, her lean body stretched horizontally across the cushions as her legs hung over the arm, feet swinging, more laughter bubbling in her throat. He could get used to that sound. “You know what I mean.”

“Strangely, I do,” Luke replied.

“Well?”

“I do not make it a habit of exposing my fangs to everyone in the lobby.”

Benedetta peered up at Luke with a discerning glance.

“Couldn’t you just hypnotize them to forget, anyway?”

“Benny, that Bela Lugosi shit isn’t real,” Luke sighed, his hand rubbing at the butterfly tattoo that adorned his neck.

“You are stomping all over my preconceived vampire notions,” she replied, her hand waving as she spoke. “No shape-shifting, no hypnosis.”

“How do you know so little about vampires?” Luke asked.

“Well, Luke, when you’ve been told your entire life that they want to eat you and harvest your blood, you tend to avoid them.

” She flung her arms out at her sides dramatically.

“My father doesn’t work with vampires all that often, and if he does, he’s certainly not bringing them home for a family dinner, so I only know what I’ve read about in books, and there’s no, like, perfect compendium out there. Most texts are super contradictory.”

Gideon laughed inwardly. Only an academic could still work words like “compendium” and “preconceived” into drunken conversation.

Luke’s smile stretched wide across his face.

“Fine, professor,” he said with a nod of his head. “Ask me anything.”

Benedetta beamed, a hint of wickedness flashing behind her eyes.

“Can you fly?”

Luke stared at her for a moment before narrowing his eyes.

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that question?” he asked.

“So that’s a no,” she said, rolling her eyes. “God, vampires are so boring.”

“Well, I don’t see you showing off your little explosions to everyone you meet,” his brother countered as he leaned against the back of the sofa. He peered down at Benedetta, his arms crossed against his chest.

A little sigh passed through her lips, and there was something about the sound that forced Gideon to walk toward the bar cart near the kitchen. He’d abstained at the diner because he was driving, but after the last couple of days, he deserved a damn drink.

“Well, that’s not fair,” she replied. “I didn’t even know I could do that until the other day. And I don’t really think that’s a great conversation starter. ‘Hi, did you know I can make your brain blow up?’ ”

Luke just fixed her with a look awfully similar to the one she gave him previously.

“Fine, okay, you caught me,” she said. Gideon couldn’t see her from where he stood, but he could have sworn he heard a pout in her tone. “But I choose to be a boring old witch. On purpose .”

“Good,” Gideon said as he shrugged off his suit jacket. He draped it carefully on the back of a stool at the kitchen island before rolling up the sleeves of his dress shirt. “Boring in this case keeps you both alive and makes my job a hell of a lot easier, so we should keep it that way.”

“Ah, so you’re boring too,” she replied.

Benedetta pulled herself up to a kneeling position, her arms crossed against the back of the sofa, her chin resting on her hands. Her brown eyes were a little glassy but curious as they assessed him.

Luke snorted as he pushed off from the sofa. “An understatement.”

Gideon’s eyes lifted to the ceiling as he sighed.

“Okay, yes, we are all boring,” he said, cursing this entire asinine conversation as he poured himself two fingers of whiskey.

“We can resume this assessment tomorrow while we wait for Harker to get back to the city. Until then some of us should get some rest.”

“You know my night is only beginning, brother,” Luke said with a smirk. “I will see you both tomorrow.”

He shared a long look with Gideon before he crossed back toward the front door.

Gideon knew he’d run off, doing whatever it was Luke did in the middle of the night while the human world was sleeping.

Which meant Gideon was on his own with their intoxicated charge.

He took a long sip from his glass, nearly draining the contents, the smoky flavor lingering in his throat.

At least she seemed to be a happy drunk.

He could work with that.

“Goodnight, Benny!” Luke called out as he closed the door behind him.

Benedetta called out her goodnight in a sing-songy voice before he heard two distinct thuds on the hardwood floors as she kicked off her sneakers.

His brow furrowed, watching as she pulled herself off of the couch and rounded toward where he stood by the kitchen island, her steps a little wobbly.

She wore yellow striped socks on her feet, the legs of her jeans half tucked into them.

“I’m not ready for bed,” she said. But her body didn’t seem to agree as a yawn passed through her lips, her arms stretching over her head. The hem of her T-shirt lifted to reveal just a sliver of her skin. He drained the rest of his glass. “What are you drinking?”

“Nothing, now,” he said, though he had half a mind to reach for the decanter again and pour himself another drink. “You need the rest, Russo.”

She shook her head, her curls whipping around her face. She had pulled her braid free, her hair in a halo of messy curls.

“I’ve had enough sleep,” she said with a wave of her hand. “Pour me a glass?”

Her movements were a little heavy, all of them big and exaggerated. It was one of the few signs that she wasn’t as sober as her words made her sound. And he had to admit, he found the whole thing a little amusing. She was funny like this. Unguarded.

“You know you’re gonna have a hell of a hangover tomorrow, right?”

“Well, I’ve very recently lived through worse,” she told him smartly. “And that is precisely why I would like to drink myself into oblivion, so please, help me get shitfaced.”

“And here I thought you were already there.”

“Hm, well, I can still see shapes, so no.”

He hesitated for a moment, his eyes scanning her face for some of that earlier brightness from the car ride home.

He was worried her happy drunk was about to curtail into a sad one.

But there was an expectant look on her face, her chin jutting up slightly.

Like she wouldn’t take no for an answer.

He poured them both two fingers of whiskey each.

“Have at it, princess,” he said, handing her the glass.

She offered him another one of those bright smiles as she took the drink from him and he felt a tug of something he didn’t expect in his chest.

If she kept smiling like that, he’d be happy to keep saying yes.

“To being especially difficult to deal with tomorrow,” she said, some of that wickedness creeping back into her gaze as she held out her glass in a toast.

Gideon choked back a laugh as he clinked his tumbler against hers.

“I’ve come to expect nothing less,” he said.

She glanced down at the amber liquid, hesitating for only a second before she took a sip.

A grimace worked its way through her features before she shrugged her shoulders and took another one.

She really was a woman on a mission. He could almost admire it.

He’d had his fair share of wallowing in a drink or two over the years.

“Wow, this is disgusting.”

“This is Macallan,” he said, exasperated.

“It tastes like death,” she replied merrily, turning away from him.

“And what, those olive juice martinis were top-shelf?”

He couldn’t help but follow after her, watching as Benedetta flopped herself down on the sofa again.

She sure was making herself at home for a woman who seemingly wanted nothing to do with the idea just a couple of days ago.

Still, there was a part of him that was happy that she was coming around.

Even if seeing this kind of familiarity from her in his home tugged at something he wasn’t quite ready to name.

“Are you insulting Jackie’s bartending skills?” she asked.

He sighed as he perched on the arm of the sofa.

“I thought you said you weren’t going to be difficult until tomorrow.”

“No, no, you misheard,” she said. “I said ‘ especially’ difficult. This is just standard level stuff, Crawford.”

He shook his head, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Christ, I should really put you to bed.”