For the power-hungry dreams of two old men who should have died decades ago.
I can’t do anything about that at this exact moment, but I can do one thing. I roll up the sleeve of my top and lay my arm flat on the table. I’m aware of Luca’s eyes burning into me, and I force myself to look up at him. What I see is unsettling in every way: anger, fear, and sadness are heaped on top of the fierce possessiveness he’s displayed since I first met him.
I’m hit by the realization of why he didn’t say it back when I told him I loved him. He knew that if he did, it might only be the blood spell talking. Perhaps I should thank him for that one small mercy.
“Sit your ass down,” I growl at him. “And get ready for your blood test. We’re answering at least one question, right now.”
He glares at me, folds his arms across his chest, and stays where he is. “And what if you don’t like the answer, bella? What if the spell is there, as we suspect? You want to break it? You want to be free of me, right at the time you need me most? We are on the brink of war here, and we need every tactical advantage we can get.”
It shouldn’t hurt, but it does. It’s like he’s taken his fingers to an already tender spot, a bruise or a break or a bullet hole, and jammed them right in there. Without needing to pick up a single blade from his torture table, he managed to cut me. I’m horrified when tears spring to my eyes, and I screw my lids tight to keep them where they belong. That’s what I am to him, what I’ve been all along—a tactical advantage. He’s played a clever game, and he doesn’t want to lose his MVP at the end.
“I’m glad you see me as a tactical advantage, Luca. I’m glad I’ve been useful. Now sit the fuck down. I need to know if this thing exists or not. But did you hear me say I was going to break it? I’m not an idiot—at least not most of the time. I see the value of it for the time being. I see how it could help keep us alive. So, while we need it, I’ll consider leaving it be. But I have to know, okay?”
Our eyes lock, and despite everything—or maybe because of it—I feel the urge to go to him. To let myself sink into those powerful arms, to run my fingers through that thick hair. To lean up and kiss the sensitive spot beneath his ear that drives him wild.
His hand goes up to his neck, to that exact same spot, and he claws at it as though he has an itch. Yeah. We really need to sort this thing out.
Coming to the same conclusion, he nods once and sits opposite me. The others clear away from the table without being asked, Pietro wheeling himself backward in his chair.
Hang on. What the fuck? “When did you get a wheelchair?” I ask.
“About a half hour ago. Matteo got it for me.”
“What? How?”
Matteo gives me a lazy grin. “Well, Rosa, we have this thing called the internet these days. But as you can’t kill it or fuck it, it’s probably not relevant to you.”
“Ha. Ha. You should do stand up. Okay, Minnie, how does this work?”
She’s currently holding a wickedly sharp-looking knife into the flames of the gas stove, so I’m guessing we don’t all simply hold hands and sing folk songs.
“You have to open your hearts to me. Open your minds to me. And, uh, yeah, open your veins, just a little bit.”
I notice Matteo turning away as she approaches and assume his control isn’t as good as Luca’s. As Minnie takes hold of my forearm and pierces the skin in a vertical slash two inches across, he walks out of the room, shouting for Moonface to follow.
Nobody else bats an eye, and pretty soon, I have other things on my mind—like pain and the fact that Minnie is spilling my blood into a little bowl and mixing it in with some foul-smelling herby substance.
She chants as she works, something deep and discordant, and I swear to god, a few strands of her short hair float up into the air. Witches are weird.
She goes over to Luca and does exactly the same to him. He doesn’t flinch as she cuts him. Instead, he looks at me as she holds his wound over the bowl. I stare at his arms, mesmerized by the corded muscle and golden skin, wanting nothing more than to leap over the table and lick the blood from his flesh.
There’s a hint of static in my mind, a little buzz that makes me want to stick my finger in my ear, and I hear his voice in my head.It was real, Rosa. No matter what she says, it was real for me.
Get out, I reply mentally.I am not talking to you.
I slam the doors to my brain shut, but judging from the little smirk on his lips, it’s too late. He caught the tail end of what I was thinking, what I was imagining. The little tingle in my pants that tells me no matter how much I want to hate him, I can’t stop wanting him.
Minnie carries on with her chanting and mixing and herbing, and then takes a sip of water from a glass on the table. She dips the tip of the knife into the blood and swirls it around, coating it, before lifting it to her lips. After licking it clean, she sits back in her chair, her hands wrapped around the bowl.
She stares at us both and says some words that sound like no words I’ve ever heard before. It’s a real mind-fuck, the way she’s looking at me, but I find it impossible to turn away. She’s doing her witch thing, and I have to let her.
After a few moments, a look of almost orgasmic happiness comes over her face. She wriggles around, her pelvis squirming, and lets out a long sigh. Yeah, right—maybe not so much “almost” anymore. I think the witch just came, right here in front of us.
She throws her head back and sighs again. A whoosh of physical pleasure rushes through my body like vertigo. I think we all feel it. Donatella straightens and lets out a cry, and Pietro slumps in his chair, his face red and confused. I refuse to look at Luca. That would be asking for trouble. I sit through it, letting it wash over me, until Minnie pulls herself together.
She rubs her hands over her face and peeks out from behind her fingers, grinning. “Sorry about that, guys. Blood magic is powerful stuff, and that… Well, that was something else. I can see why you’ve struggled to keep your hands off each other.”
I stare at the table, determined not to crack. Determined not to beg for information.
