Venice Vampyr - The Beginning

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.