She grabs the chain and drops it around her neck, flipping her hair out afterward. Some of the tension fizzles out of her as she touches the gold heart, her eyes fixed on mine.
“Okay,” she says after a few seconds. “New York. I’ll come to New York. But first, I really need to go back to my apartment.”
“No.”
“No?” she repeats, incredulous. It’s probably not a word she’s heard a lot, but she damn sure needs to hear it now.
“No. We won’t be doing that. We’ll be leaving Chicago as soon as it’s dark.”
She stares at me, and I regret this new rule about keeping our minds closed to each other. What the hell is she thinking?
She gives an abrupt nod as though she’s come to a decision. “Right. And when we get to New York, what’s the plan, if not to hand me over to Vincenzo?”
“The word ‘plan’ might be stretching it. There’s too much I don’t know right now. I need to talk to him and find out what he’s up to. In the meantime, I have a place I can put you to keep you safe.”
“A place you can put me?”
“Rosa, if you’re going to overreact to everything I say, we’re going to get nowhere. Yes—a safe house, if you prefer that term. It’s comfortable and clean, and there might even be a dog to play with.”
An unexpected smile curves her lips. “Well, I do like dogs. But Luca…” Her expression turns serious. “Don’t make the mistake of thinking that I’m gonna let you fuck me over just because I like fucking you. I am truly grateful for what you did tonight. For all of it—the rescue, the sex, the cheeseburger. But being grateful and trusting you are two different things.”
Of course she doesn’t trust me. Why would she? Who has taught this woman to trust? It doesn’t seem anyone has shown her an ounce of tenderness in decades.
And it’s not like I’m the right man for the job. I am a fiend. A vampire who lies, kills, and tortures. My life is synonymous with causing pain and suffering, and I’m in the sworn service of an ancient murdering maniac who doesn’t possess a single grain of morality.
I don’t trust myself.
CHAPTER 14
ROSA
Iwake in his arms, and it is everything I imagined it would be. My head is cradled on his chest, one of his legs is hooked around me, and my whole body is curved tight against his in a protective cocoon.
For a few seconds, I am lost in bliss and comfort. I feel safer than I ever have in my life. And then reality comes crashing down on me.
I ache everywhere. Some of it is good—the dull throb between my legs and the faint tingle on my neck reminding me of what this man did to me hours earlier. Of what we did to each other.
It was the best sex of my life, the biggest high, the most euphoric sensation imaginable. Even thinking about it sends a little clenching tremor through my core.
But the other aches… They’re less enjoyable. The still-fuzzy aftershock from the drugs, the bruises I accumulated during my struggles, the crust of a scab on my lip from Martin’s slap. And all that is nothing compared to the wounds that left no visible trace—the sense of betrayal and complete disgust I now feel toward my own family.
The tiny voice inside me is always ready and willing to tell me I’m not good enough. To remind me that Serena died when it should have been me—that I am, and forever will be, a second choice.
The voice will probably never go away, but my underlying self-doubt still isn’t loud enough to drown out the injustice. I might not be perfect, but I didn’t deserve what happened to me. Nobody deserves what happened to me. It was foul and corrupt and fills me with shame and sorrow.
My grandfather hasn’t kept his disappointment in me a secret, but I did at least trust him.
And Pietro? I loved him.
Now they both need to be dead to me, and I must accept that I am alone.
Except, I remind myself as I indulge in a few more moments of peace, I am not alone right now. I am draped in a big, bad, beautiful man.
Vamps don’t need much sleep, especially the older ones, but when they pass out, they are dead to the world. It gives me a chance to study him and admire his full, luscious lips, the long, dark eyelashes resting against golden skin. His strong nose and the jut of his stubble-coated jaw. He is breathtaking, truly gorgeous. And sleep almost makes him appear innocent.
But I know better. There is blood on his hands, in his soul. It seeps into every aspect of his life. He will have committed unspeakable acts and left terror in his wake for centuries. Still, some of the blood on his hands was shed for me, and I can’t find it within myself to feel anything other than tenderness and desire. A great big pickup truck of desire.
If I don’t move now, I never will. Sighing, I wriggle out of his embrace. My clothes from last night are disgusting, but I quickly dress in them before I change my mind. We slept for nearly a whole day—or at least I did. He wouldn’t have needed as much rest. Knowing how he feels about me, how we feel about each other, I wouldn’t be surprised if he spent at least some of it watching me sleep, staring at me the same way I stared at him.
