Venice Vampyr - The Beginning

A sob tore from her chest.

No, she couldn’t allow herself to wallow in those dreams of what could be if only she was healthy, if only she wasn’t dying. It would only lead to more pain—both for him and for her. If she left him now, at least she wouldn’t break his heart. He’d be angry and disappointed, but his love for her couldn’t yet be deep enough to damage his heart. But if she allowed him to marry her, he would see her waste away over the next few weeks.

She didn’t want to hurt him like that. He’d done too much for her. She wouldn’t repay him by inflicting pain on him.

His explanation to his friend Lorenzo that she wouldn’t be allowed to leave the house on her own had only given her ammunition to push him away. It would make it easier to leave. He wouldn’t pursue her if she insulted him by insisting he was imprisoning her. His pride would be hurt, his ego bruised, because he believed—rightly so—that she was staying of her own free will by now.

Dante might have imprisoned her the first night, and maybe even the second, but after that, the choice to stay had been hers. They had never spoken of it, but she’d never heard him utter another word to the servants or his brother or sister-in-law that she wasn’t allowed to leave.

Viola regretted that everything had to end so soon. She threw a last look at the bed they’d shared for a week, and her body instantly remembered the pleasure he’d given her, the tenderness he’d showered her with. Even now, her womb clenched with desperate need for his touch. For a last kiss. But she couldn’t risk it. If she allowed him even one last kiss, one last embrace, she’d never leave him.

The tears in her eyes stung, but she cried them silently. No sound came from her lips when she walked down the stairs, her slippers in her hands so as not to make any noise. When she reached the landing, she stopped and listened. Dante and Lorenzo were still in the parlor. The door was ajar, and she could only hear their muffled voices.

As quiet as a church mouse, she reached the heavy oak entrance door and put her hand onto the handle. Viola held her breath while she pressed it down.





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?”