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Chapter Forty-One

Joy

Enzo led me up the staircase, where the walls were dressed in dark tapestries and gilded frames.

But it wasn’t the artwork that caught my attention—it was the house itself, breathing around us, each creak and shift a reminder that the Santi legacy was very much alive.

My fingers trailed along the polished mahogany banister, cool and smooth beneath my touch.

Each step creaked slightly, as if the house itself acknowledged our presence.

We reached the second floor where a hallway stretched before us, lit by antique sconces that cast a warm, golden glow against the deep burgundy wallpaper.

Several ornate doors lined the corridor, each one closed, hiding secrets I could only imagine.

The weight of history pressed down around us, making the air feel thick and heavy with untold stories.

Enzo’s hand rested at the small of my back, a gentle but possessive touch that somehow both steadied and excited me.

His movements were fluid despite the dried blood stiffening his clothes, his natural predatory grace undiminished by the night’s violence.

When we stopped before a door near the end of the hall, his fingers lingered against my skin for a moment before he reached for the handle.

He opened the door, revealing a room that took my breath away.

It was tastefully decorated in rich, masculine tones—deep purples, charcoals, and burnished golds.

A large king-sized bed dominated the space, covered in a dark purple quilt that was almost black, the fabric catching the light with a subtle sheen.

An antique dresser stood against one wall, its surface adorned with just a few personal items—a silver pocket watch, a leatherbound book, an ornate dagger that looked centuries old.

What struck me most was the air itself—rich, warm, threaded with a smoky depth and a sharp bite of something wilder beneath.

His scent. Not just clinging to him, but woven into the very bones of this place.

This wasn’t just a room—it was his den, his claim, and now I stood in the middle of it.

My pulse gave a sharp, aching thud, as if my heart had stumbled over its own beat, unsure whether to race or hold still.

“Your room?” I whispered. The intimacy of the moment wasn’t lost on me—standing in a vampire’s bedroom, surrounded by his essence.

He turned to face me, his dark eyes reflecting the soft lamplight. One hand came up to cup my face, his thumb gently caressing my cheekbone. His touch was cool against my flushed skin. “Yes.”

I swallowed hard, suddenly hyperaware of every sensation—the lingering adrenaline from the night’s events, the proximity of his body to mine, the way his eyes had darkened as they held my gaze. “My room,” I added, the words more question than statement.

In answer, he took me in his arms, one hand sliding around my waist while the other tangled in my hair.

The embrace was both gentle and unyielding, as if he feared I might shatter or flee.

For a heartbeat, we stood suspended in time, his face inches from mine, our breaths mingling in the space between us.

Then he kissed me, and the world fell away. I should have noticed the blood on his lips—the undeniable reminder of what he was, what he had done—but all I felt was him. The heat of his mouth. The way he claimed without apology. There was nothing but Enzo.

His essence overpowered everything else—dark, intoxicating, dangerous yet impossibly tender. His lips moved against mine with a hunger that spoke of centuries of loneliness, of finding something precious and unexpected.

My hands clutched at his shoulders, partly to steady myself as my knees threatened to give way, partly to pull him closer.

The rational part of my mind screamed warnings—this man was a predator, a killer, everything I’d been taught to fear—but my heart and body responded to him on a level that transcended reason.

In his arms, despite everything, I felt found rather than lost.

He slipped his hand around my neck, the cool press of his fingers a stark contrast to my flushed skin. The touch was intimate, possessive, and it sent a shiver cascading down my spine.

“I’ve waited a long time for this,” he murmured, his breath skimming my lips. His gaze darkened, and in its depths, something ancient stirred—something hungry.

Before I could respond, he lifted me effortlessly into his arms, cradling me against his chest as if I weighed nothing at all. The sudden shift in perspective made my head spin, or perhaps it was his closeness, the scent of him surrounding me completely.

He carried me through an adjoining door into the most luxurious black marble bathroom I had ever seen.

Crystal sconces cast a warm glow over gleaming surfaces, highlighting the massive sunken tub and walk-in shower that could easily fit five people.

Gold fixtures gleamed against the darkness of the stone, opulent and breathtaking.

I gazed up into his eyes, finding myself momentarily lost in their depths.

My heart galloped, pounding against bone, driven by adrenaline and something deeper.

“You have?” The question came out breathless, uncertain, because how could someone like him, who had lived for centuries, seen empires rise and fall, want someone like me?

“The minute I saw you, I wanted you.” His expression softened, vulnerability briefly replacing the predatory intensity. He set me down gently, but kept his arms around me, as if afraid I might disappear. “You’ve melted my cold heart like no one else.”

His raw honesty made my chest tighten. Here was a man—a vampire—who had witnessed lifetimes of life but now offered me a truth that felt like it was mine alone. My fingertips traced the line of his jaw, feeling the subtle tension there, the careful control he maintained even now.

Weeks of terror had drained me completely. The constant fear, the looking over my shoulder, the nightmares that jerked me awake with my heart racing. I wanted to replace it all with a memory of pleasure. Something that he could grant me.

My inexperience made my hands tremble slightly as they rested against his chest, but the nervousness was overshadowed by a deeper need—not just for physical connection, but for something that felt real and present after so much uncertainty.

Despite never having been with a man before, my body responded to his touch with an instinctive knowing, a recognition that transcended my lack of experience.

“I want this,” I whispered, the words escaping before I could second-guess them. My pulse quickened as I admitted it aloud, not just to him but to myself. “I want you.”

His eyes sharpened, homing in on me with the razor-edged focus of a predator that had just scented blood. The hunger in his gaze should have frightened me, but instead it ignited something deep inside me—a matching desire that coiled low in my abdomen, warm and insistent.

He stripped off his shirt and tossed it on the floor, the bloodstained fabric landing with a soft thud against the marble.

My breath caught in my throat at the sight of him—his sculpted abs rippling with subtle movement, skin like pale marble in the soft lighting.

A tattoo of roses ran from the tip of his neck down to his heart, the intricate black ink stark against his alabaster skin.

The artistry was breathtaking—delicate petals unfurling across muscle, thorny stems weaving patterns that seemed almost alive.

I put my shaking hand on it, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath my fingertips.

The contrast between the hard muscle and the soft design made my heart race.

Under my palm, I could feel the steady, slow rhythm of his heartbeat—stronger than a human’s, more powerful somehow, a reminder of the supernatural life force that flowed through him.

“It’s the mark of the Santi family,” he said as he placed his hand over mine, his palm warm against my skin. His eyes never left my face, tracing the subtle shifts in my expression as if committing them to memory. The weight of his palm against mine felt significant, symbolic somehow.

“You all have one?” The bathroom suddenly felt smaller, more intimate.

“Yes, even Elena and Gianna do.” His thumb traced small circles against the back of my hand, each movement sending tingles up my arm. The thought of belonging to something so ancient and powerful made my head swim.

“Serenity?” I asked.

“No. Not yet.” A knowing smile played at the corners of his mouth, his eyes darkening with something possessive. “But I’m sure she will soon.”

Something fierce inside me wanted to declare that I wanted one as well, to really belong to him, to be marked as his in a way the world would recognize.

The desire burned in my chest, sharp and unexpected, but I swallowed the words before they could escape.

I was rushing this—rushing us. Whatever this connection was, it crackled with something electric, something almost magical.

And yet it felt inevitable, as if I'd spent my whole life searching for him without even knowing it.

I let my fingers trace the outline of a rose petal, feeling his skin warm beneath my touch, his heartbeat quickening just slightly at my exploration.

Now was not the time to think about Dark Demons or kidnappings or the supernatural world.

I wanted to lose myself in sensation, in the feeling of being wanted so completely by someone who had seen centuries of beauty yet still looked at me as if I were the most precious thing he’d ever beheld.

The weight of the past days fell away under his gaze, replaced by a heat that spread through my body like wildfire.

He stepped back from me, his movement fluid and deliberate.

His amber eyes darkened, not rushed, but with the slow inevitability of dusk swallowing the day.

His chest rose faster, breath drawing shallow and sharp.

A hunger filled his eyes—not the bloodlust I’d glimpsed before, but something equally primal, equally consuming.

“Take it off.” The words were a command, yet they landed like a whisper against my skin, soft and deliberate, sending a shiver through me.

Anticipation, not fear, sent tremors through my body as I considered what this man, this vampire could do to me.

My fingers fumbled with the damp fabric clinging to my skin, every nerve ending heightened to his unwavering gaze.

The rustle of cloth against skin seemed impossibly loud in the steam-filled room.

My soaked gown fell to the ground with a wet sound, pooling around my ankles like discarded memories.

All I wanted to do was burn it—this last remnant of my captivity, this final piece of evidence of what I'd endured.

He scanned my body slowly, his gaze a physical touch that left goosebumps in its wake.

The marble bathroom suddenly felt too warm, the air too thick to breathe properly.

When his eyes finally locked with mine again, there was something new there—concern breaking through the desire. “Your bruises are gone? Serenity?”

“Yes.” I unconsciously wrapped my arms around my naked breasts, a lifetime of modesty asserting itself despite the hunger coursing through me. The memory of Serenity’s light flowing through me felt distant now, overwhelmed by the present moment and the man before me. “She healed me.”

He stepped closer, the heat of his body radiating against my skin. With gentle yet firm hands, he moved my arms away from my chest, his touch leaving trails of warmth that lingered like brands. His eyes held mine, intense and possessive, as he murmured, “Never hide what’s mine.”

The words should have raised warnings in my mind—too possessive, too soon—but instead they sent a jolt of pleasure straight through me. His claim on me felt right, as if all the random coincidences and terrible events had been leading me to this moment, to him.