Venice Vampyr - The Beginning (25 page)

Chapter Eighteen

Dante heard the thump of the front door closing and shot up from his armchair. Without sparing Lorenzo a look, he sprinted into the hallway and yanked the door open. His eyes instantly adjusted to the dark as he searched the badly lit alley.

Viola made it as far as the corner of the fifth house before he caught up with her and captured her in his arms.

“No, let me go.”

Her struggles would be useless. He wouldn’t let her go. He knew she had feelings for him. How deep they were, he wasn’t sure, but he could sense that she wasn’t indifferent to him. So why didn’t she want to marry him?

“I can’t let you go, Viola.”

She wrenched against his grip, and he eased off the pressure so he wouldn’t hurt her, but he didn’t let go.

“Please,” she begged, her eyes filling with tears.

“I love you.” He took a leap of faith with his next words. “And I know you love me too. So, why are you leaving me?”

She lifted her chin, her gaze colliding with his. Her lips trembled, but she parted them nevertheless. Her sweet breath drifted to him, and he inhaled more of her. “It will never work. Please let me go.”

He shook his head and clenched his jaw. She was keeping something from him, he could sense it. Jealousy reared its ugly head. “Is there somebody else?”

“No!” Her protest was instant and vehement. “Please, Dante, if you really love me then you have to let me go.”

“Why? Tell me why.” His voice bounced off the walls of the neighboring buildings.

Viola dropped her head and her shoulders at the same time. She was defeated, but he felt no joy, because with her spirit gone, she wasn’t the same.

Her voice was quiet and calm when she finally answered. “Because I’m dying, Dante. I have a brain tumor. In a few weeks, I’ll be dead. That’s why I can’t marry you.”

He loosened his hold on her, the shock of her revelation weakening him. She stepped out of his hold, severing her body from his. It was like a cold blast of air hit him. For an instant, he felt dazed and confused. But then his blood flowed to his brain, and it started churning wildly.

Now he understood. The foreign scent and taste of her blood—it indicated her illness. It had been her body’s way of telling him she was sick. And he hadn’t recognized it. But he had felt that he needed to protect her, that she was vulnerable. How vulnerable, he only realized now. But he wouldn’t allow her to push him away because of it.

“That’s the only reason you don’t want to marry me?” The step he was prepared to take demanded that he was sure of her feelings. If she didn’t love him—

“Isn’t that enough?” she whispered.

Dante drilled into her with his eyes. “Tell me the truth. Do you love me?”

A sob broke from her, but in the middle of it he heard her. “Yes, more than I want to.”

His heart rejoiced. “Are you prepared to spend the rest of your life with me?”

“Dante, don’t torture me.”

“Answer me, Viola.”

“Yes, I want to spend my last few weeks with you.”

He shook his head. “That’s not what I asked. I asked for eternity.”

“I don’t have eternity, Dante. Don’t you understand? I’ve come to terms with it. Really, I have. But if I had eternity, there’s nobody in this world I’d rather spend it with than you.”

Dante nodded. “That’s all I needed to know.” She would be his. Now that he knew she loved him, everything would work out. He’d reveal to her what he was: a vampire, a creature of the night—an immortal creature. And he could make her immortal too—by turning her into one of their kind. Any illness she had would vanish as he drained her of her blood and fed her his. She would be as near indestructible as he was. And she would live. And be his wife. Forever.

“Come, let us go home, and I’ll tell you about our life together. You’ll—”

“Watch out, Dante!” came Lorenzo’s scream from behind him.

***

Things happened too fast for Viola’s tear-stained eyes to capture everything. Lorenzo had followed Dante from the house, but there was another shadow too, one that jumped out of an entryway. She recognized him instantly. Salvatore—the man who would have bedded her had Dante not interfered.

The moonlight was sufficient for her to see that he was armed with a pistol, a pistol he aimed at Dante now. She wouldn’t allow it. She’d accepted her own death, but she couldn’t allow the man she loved to perish. Without giving it another thought, she jumped in front of Dante as a shot rang out.

She barely felt the pain when the bullet entered her back. It was a mere pinprick, a sting. Maybe that was what death was like—all pain vanished. More shouts in the alley drifted to her ears, more people came running. Some wrestled with each other, but all she felt was Dante. His strong body holding her.

His voice in her ear. “Oh, God, no!”

Other voices, Lorenzo’s. “Take her into the house.”

Footsteps, people running, voices echoing in the alley—her mind couldn’t process all that was happening.

“I’ve got him—he’s dead.” Raphael seemed to appear from nowhere. When had he come back from the ball?

“—took the bullet.” Fragments drifted to her.

“Hold on, my love.” Dante’s comforting voice again.

“—so much blood. She won’t make it,” she heard Isabella’s voice cry out.

Then Raphael’s soothing voice, low and steady. “Dante will see to it.”

She felt the movement of Dante’s steps as he carried her, but her eyes were too clouded to make out his face. “So cold,” she mumbled.

“I know, my love. Just hold on. Everything will be alright. I promise you.” But she heard the fear in his voice, the desperation. The pain—the very pain she’d wanted to spare him.

“Forgive me, Dante,” she pressed out, the few words leaving her breathless.

“No! You stay with me. You hear me?” he shouted.

“Here, on the sofa. You have to do it now,” came Raphael’s urging voice.

“She doesn’t know.”

“You love her?”

“Yes,” Dante said, his voice firm and strong.

Then she felt his lips on her, kissing her softly. “I love you. Please trust me, I’m doing this because I love you.” Then his lips drifted to her neck.

Her skin prickled. She felt his teeth graze her, reminding her of the night he’d truly made love to her for the first time. She moaned softly. “Yes.”

When his teeth pierced her skin, she jolted, but Dante’s strong body held her down. She struggled only for a second before giving into the sensation. It reminded her of sex—during sex, the initial penetration had hurt too, but only for a moment. Later, it had been pleasurable. Just like this.

Viola had never thought that she would experience her death so vividly, but instead of simply drifting off to sleep, she relived every moment of her time with Dante. Like a moving picture, it played before her mind’s eye until all went black and quiet. Dark.

Chapter Nineteen

Viola’s blood was still on Dante’s tongue when he pierced his own wrist with his fangs. He’d drained so much of her blood that her heartbeat was down to a mere twenty beats every minute. She was unconscious now but still alive.

Despite the fact that his brother and Isabella stood in the parlor, it was eerily quiet in the house. Neither had spoken a word since Dante had started the process. All his concentration was on Viola. If he missed the moment her body would accept his blood, she would die.

His body tensed as he waited for her heartbeat to slow even further, and the whole scene in the alley played out in front of him again and again. He’d seen Salvatore a split-second before Lorenzo had alerted him. He’d been unconcerned with his own safety—all he’d thought of was getting Viola out of danger. He’d never expected her to act so swiftly and shield him from Salvatore’s assault. She’d sacrificed her life for his, with no reason. Salvatore’s gun wouldn’t have hurt him. Only silver bullets could kill a vampire.

Viola’s heart beat even slower now.

It was time. He raised his wrist and set it against her closed lips.

“No!” Lorenzo screamed as he burst into the room. “Stop, you’re killing her!”

Dante reared his head and growled.

“The bullet is made of silver.” Lorenzo stretched his open palm toward him. It held a ring.

Shock coursed through Dante. He pulled his wrist from Viola’s mouth. He recognized the symbol on the black onyx ring: a cross intersected by three waves. The symbol of the Guardians of the Holy Waters, the group of wealthy Venetians whose mission it was to eradicate the vampires in their midst. A secret society that he and his fellow vampires had been fighting over the last years.

“I found it on Salvatore before I disposed of his body.”

“He was a Guardian?” Raphael gasped.

Lorenzo nodded quickly. Knowing that Salvatore had been a member of the elusive society could bring them a step closer in their search of the remaining Guardians. Later, when Viola was out of danger.

“You have to take the bullet out before you turn her,” Raphael said.

“Or she’ll die,” Dante whispered to himself.

If he left the silver bullet in her, the moment he turned her into a vampire, the deadly metal would burn her flesh from the inside and kill her. Had she been shot with anything else but silver, her new vampire body would merely expel the foreign object and heal itself.

Dante stroked his hand over Viola’s face. By shielding him from Salvatore’s bullet, she had truly saved his life. Now he had to save hers, or all would be in vain.

He gave his brother a desperate look. “Help me.”

Without hesitation, Raphael was by his side, his fingers lengthening into sharp claws. Dante shook his head. “No, you hold her. I’ll take the bullet out myself.”

He shifted Viola and transferred her into Raphael’s arms so her back and the gaping wound was exposed to him. Once she was a vampire, her body would heal itself within minutes. “Quickly,” Raphael instructed.

Dante’s fingers had already turned into claws. He sliced through the top layers of her skin and muscle, following the path the bullet had taken. When he touched the bullet lodged next to a bone, the silver sent a bolt of pain through him.

Hissing, he clenched his teeth and curled his claw, dislodging the silver from the bone. With a groan, he drew the bullet from her body, then dropped it to the floor. His flesh was sizzling where it had come in contact with the metal. But he ignored the pain.

There was no time left. He could not lose her.

Taking Viola from Raphael, he placed his bleeding wrist at her mouth and forced her lips open. The blood dripped, filling her mouth.

“Swallow, Viola,” he urged her. “Swallow, damn it.”

Her mouth didn’t move. His heart contracted. No, he needed her to live so he could live. She was all he wanted. “Please,” he whispered. He bent over her face, and a solitary tear dislodged from his eye. It dropped onto her lips and ran to the corner of her mouth before it followed the path his blood had taken earlier. “Don’t leave me.”

A gurgle from her throat startled him. She swallowed. She took a breath.

“Viola!”

The relieved breaths of his companions filled the room. But all Dante saw was Viola. How her chest rose as she took another breath. How her cheeks turned rosy. How her throat worked to swallow the rest of his blood.

“Viola, my love.” Her eyes flew open, and all he could do was smile at her.

“Dante, oh Dante, are you hurt? You’re bleeding.” Viola’s eyes stared at his wrist.

He shook his head and laughed, full of relief. It figured that her first thoughts would be for him. “No, my love, I’ve never been better.” Then he hugged her to his chest and squeezed her to him. “I love you, Viola, I love you so much.”

“Salvatore,” she stammered. “Did he shoot you?”

Dante pulled away just far enough so he could look at her face. “You took the bullet. You saved my life.”

There was a puzzled look on her face. “But … I don’t understand. I feel fine. Actually …” She paused. “I feel better than fine. He must have missed, even though … I felt the bullet hit me.”

He gave her a soft kiss on her lips. “You did get shot. You almost died. I took the bullet out of you. But, that’s not all.” Dante looked at his brother. How should he tell her what had happened? How could he explain to her what he was? What she was now too?

“Just tell her,” Raphael said.

Dante swallowed hard.

“Tell me what?”

***

Viola stared at Dante, who seemed insecure for the first time since she’d met him. Something was odd. While she could have sworn she’d felt the impact of the bullet and the pain that followed, she felt better than she had in a long time. She wasn’t tired, and there wasn’t even a hint of her usual headache. No throbbing, no dull ache, nothing. She felt the way she had before she’d gotten ill. No, better. She felt so full of energy she wanted to run a race, just for the fun of it.

All her senses seemed sharper too. Her eyesight was better—not that it had been bad before, but now she could see the smallest detail on Isabella’s embroidered gown and even the intricate filigree on the buttons that graced Raphael’s waistcoat. Not to speak of her sense of smell. Her nostrils flared as she tilted her head more in Isabella’s direction. She smelled distinctly different than the three men in the room. She’d never noticed the difference before.