by Scott, Talyn
“Are you hungry?”
Something told her that was a double entrende, but she pretended not to notice. “No, but thanks for asking,” she replied as they settled into a too intimate bistro set. She looked down at her watch.
“Is he timing you?”
“No.” She refused to bite. “He’s helped me take care of a lot of things today, and I don’t want to keep him away from work for too long.” Brightly colored mosaic tile covered the small tabletop. She kept her head down and picked at a chipped corner. Fried veal cutlets caught her attention, aromatherapy for her Italian nature. In her peripheral vision, she watched a sweaty man with a wide belly sandwich them between a split French roll. On cue, her stomach howled.
“You are hungry.”
He rose to order and she made the mistake of touching his hand to stop him. “I’m fine.”
“Ah, that’s right.” He eased back in his seat with a mulish expression. “You have Ryan to take care of you now.” He cocked his head. “Maybe he doesn’t understand that you need to be waited on instead of cooking the side of beef weighing down your shopping cart.”
That just made her mad. “I’m not going to defend him to you,” she said as if she didn’t care. “Over the years, it has never gotten me anywhere but angry. Say what you need to say and be done with it.” He stared pointedly at her hand until she realized she’d mistakenly kept it on his. When Blythe pulled it away, he curled his fingers around hers and held firm. After that, he started feeling up her ring finger. “I’m not married to him.” She jerked her hand away.
“Just living in sin, then?”
“What?”
“The little shack over his dump of a night club…a love nest for two?”
“You’ve been spying on me?”
He blew out a tentative breath. “You can have so much more than what he’s giving you.”
“Wait just a minute.” She dared to meet his incredible eyes, and, as she thought, all those horrid memories came crashing back ten-fold. A machete would have done less damage to her heart than Sixten had. “I deserved more than walking in on you screwing my matron of honor in our future marriage bed.”
“This isn’t going the way I’d planned.” He said sourly.
“At our engagement party,” she had the courage to ignore him and go on. “That’s pretty heavy for an eighteen year old, you know? Now, I would’ve beaten the crap out of you two and turned myself into the cops. That’s what you deserved. But then, I ran out crying.” She sucked in a breath. “And you had the audacity to go downstairs and tell everyone I loved, family and longtime friends gathered for our celebration, that I was drunk.”
“I don’t think it went exactly that way.”
“And the next day,” she said, sensing white ash float above her inner volcano, “you didn’t apologize. In fact, you’ve never apologized.”
“I’m sure I did.”
“You made me feel like a stupid a child.”
“I didn’t mean to.”
“And I was a stupid child,” she snapped, hating that her bottom lip quivered over something that happened a lifetime ago. However, with him sitting so close to her, it didn’t feel like a long time ago. The day she left him ingrained itself in her heart. She remembered the horrific scene vividly as if it happened hours past instead of years gone by on Captiva Island…
Packing and cramming, all her stuff would have to fit in one trip. She couldn’t afford movers, and miraculously, she had one extra set of strong hands alongside a borrowed truck.
“You’re a fool. Walking away is not your style,” Six taunted. “You’ll have nothing without me, but you’ll want for everything if you leave. Everything I can give you, which no one else can. Don’t be stupid.” He slid his designer, space-age glasses down his nose; no doubt, they cost more than her borrowed, dilapidated truck was worth. His self-absorbed look said it all: He held the world in one casual palm. He could crush it, toy with it, or leave it alone. Blythe voted for the latter.
“Could you snag that last box, Ryan?” Blythe wiped her sweaty palms on her comfortable, ratty jeans. After crying all night and perspiring all morning, she felt dehydrated, though it was a good thing. If a single tear fell in front of Sixten, she’d never be able to look in the mirror again.
Cheap sunglasses hid her puffy eyes, and creamy, taupe lipstick replaced the smile she couldn’t give the general population. The one that said life was great, and she didn’t give a flying fig what Sixten did anymore. At least, that was the lie she told herself.
“Oh, please, Ryan.” Sixten mocked. “Snag that last box, would you? What other tricks does he do for you, Blythe? He hasn’t said a word since he’s been here.”
“He’s not in the middle of this, and he’s smart enough to stay out of our discussions.”
“Is that what this is?” He stepped forward. One menacing and strategic step had him staring down from an inflated height roughly a foot above her head. She realized then that Sixten was always indefinable, even to her. Sixten defied the laws of …anything. “This,” he gestured at the half-filled truck bed, “is your idea of a discussion?”
“You slept with my best friend, and I had the privilege to walk in on it.” The only indication of emotion he displayed, if one could call it that, was a knot that quickly formed in his jaw. “What an engagement present,” she drew out the words, thoroughly disgusted with him. “That little visual saved me from the worst mistake of my life.”
“Drama, Blythe, your naivety is only endearing for a couple of good fucks, and then it wears off. Where’s my real lover?”
Her hand rose on its own volition, but, just in time, she stopped before she slapped him. Never had she been a violent person, and even though he most certainly deserved it, she wasn’t starting today. “I don’t want to hate you.” She turned, eyeing Ryan as he placed her remaining box inside the rust-filled, truck bed. It landed with a finalizing thud, just as her heart had last night.
“See you tomorrow,” Sixten continued to taunt her while sliding his glasses back in place with a cool fingertip, “when you come to your senses.”
That did it. Words formed from something so painful she nearly couldn’t bear it. They seethed, swelling with hatred until they choked everything she thought she was. “Never.” Reigning back as much as possible, just so she could have some pretense of dignity, she somehow maintained her smokescreen of composure, “One day, someone will crack that icy soul of yours. And when she does, that cocky, self-important delusion you depend on every day will abandon you, leaving you to grovel on your knees begging for mercy.” She dragged in a cleansing breath. “But I hope you grow up before that happens. Have a good life, Six. I truly wish you well, at least, as much as I can at the moment.” She refused to lie, but she had too much class to utter the ‘fuck you’ teasing her tongue, daring her to toss it out. “I can’t hold on to nothing, and that’s what you’re offering me,” she whispered, placing a boulder that he called an engagement ring on the concrete edge of a nearby planter. “The trappings of wealth can’t replace fidelity.”
“Don’t whine, Blythe. It’s tiresome. You’re in love with me, so stop this game before you lose everything.”
She dug her fingernails in her palms and fought the juvenile urge to give him the finger. Ryan opened her door, and helped her up on the tattered vinyl seat. She decided to sit on both hands since the need to flip the ever-loving bird was still overpowering. Childishness withstanding, she was going out in class, riding in a rusty, orange truck far away from Captiva Island…at least, over the bridge.
Blythe watched the palms go by as she bid farewell to the colorful houses that dotted the beach. She was supposed to live here after marrying the man of her dreams, making a love nest in the house of her dreams - on an island where the rich played while making babies in the sun. Admittedly, a fairytale most girls discarded when they actually grew up. She should have, too.
Therefore, Blythe put away her fairytales, understanding they coul
d never exist when a faithless bastard owned her heart. After such a thorough devastation, she wondered when she would ever get it back.
The tears she thought wouldn’t come escaped anyway, pooling at her jawline before they streamed down her throat. Ryan had given her every moment to contain herself until he pulled up at the tollbooth. After handing a ten to the operator, he said, “I know what I want you to do, but you have to be sure, Blythe. You can’t move forward if you’re always looking behind with regret.”
“Narrow is the path, right?”
“Something like that.” He manually rolled up the window, giving it a good slam when it stuck, and crossed the invisible train tracks from Captiva Island to Fort Myers.
“– so I know that it’s a lot to take in, but I’m asking you to understand,” Sixten said warily.
Blythe’s mind came back to the present. He had both of her hands in his, rubbing circles over her knuckles and giving her that infamous eye-smolder trick of his. He must have been rambling during her mental outage, and she hadn’t heard a word he said, but she figured it was for the best.
She pulled her hands aside and placed them in her lap. “You stayed away for almost two years the last time.” Sixten always came and pleaded his case every birthday. She never could enjoy them past the age of eighteen. No matter where she was, he always seemed to find her and ruin everything.
At that precise moment, Sixten’s eyes grew dark, dangerously so, as he fixated on something above her shoulder. “I’ve already loaded everything in the trunk, let’s go,” Ryan said, instantly by her side, pulling her up by her arm.
Pain shot through to her shoulder. “Ow,” she hissed, but was careful to keep her string of complaints to herself. Her arm felt raw. Considering the nurse had trouble finding a good spot to poke her, she wasn’t surprised. However, no one, especially Sixten, needed to know her business. Ryan and Dakota were enough.
“Sorry, sweetheart, that was careless of me.” Ryan wrapped an arm around her shoulder and towed her away. “There’s a bag of frozen peas in the car. We’ll ice down your arm, and I’ll have you feeling better in a few minutes,” he whispered faintly.
“Goodbye, Six,” she heard herself say.
Ryan looked over her head and spoke to Sixten in a very vampiric way, “Stay away from her.”
“No one marks property around here, not for centuries.” Sixten trailed behind them towards the exit.
“I’m not too worried about that.”
“You may not be worried about that, but you should be worried about me.” Sixten circled Blythe. “I want you to take my number in case you need anything.”
“She won’t need anything.”
“And think about what I said, angel.”
“She’s not thinking about anything you said.”
“Hold on,” Blythe said between them, flattening her palm against Ryan’s chest and realizing Sixten was letting her go too easily. “You’re… not just visiting here, are you?”
“Not anymore.” A slight smile curved Sixten’s flawless lips.
“Last warning, asshole, you will stay away from her.”
“Ryan, you’re about to find out why that’s something I just can’t do. And if you continue to get in my way, you’ll also find out that you have a serious problem on your hands.”
“Not anymore?” she asked. “You’re here for good?”
“Yes. I will see you soon, moja láska.”
Blythe stayed frozen for a long moment, staring after Sixten as he walked away. The Florida sun beat down on her with its overwhelming heat, or maybe that was just him. Her arms ached. Her head swam, and anemia weakened her body. Above, a gull startled her with its sharp cry as if it warned of something impossibly worse headed her way.
Chapter 7
Naples, Italy
Gianni Ludovico was every girl’s dream. That’s why three lovelies were in front of him - a redhead, a blonde, and a brunette. Since he couldn’t make up his mind today, he figured he’d have the trio together. They slowly caressed one another while dancing to some disconcerting beat that was driving his hunter insane. “You want to dance with them, Lovec?” Gianni mocked.
“Sire,” Salk cleared his throat nervously, “it has been six months now. I am certain she is dead or hidden incredibly well…like the others. As you know, our resources are limited due to the fact so many Donors are missing, yet you have us spending an exorbitant amount of time searching for this particular one.”
Pretty faces, pretty bodies, and pretty fingers alternately touched each other. They reached into one another’s slick and ready flesh, as they waited for him to pounce. But Gianni’s pants were still on, and he didn’t even have an erection. “I have had enough.” Clearly bored, he waved his hand in the direction of the door. There went their pouty faces. “Why do they think that if they stupidly puff out their lips, I will change my mind?” It just made him angry and disgusted with their selfish petulance. Or maybe it wasn’t because of the nameless women at all, but the singular woman who he could not seem to get his hands back on: Blythe Giarrusso. Where are you?
He had to face it. Yes, his royal pride experienced its first putdown when she fought everything he was to her…everything he made her feel. In return, he fell in love with Blythe, and emotionally; he couldn’t fight back. Couldn’t let her go.
“I’m afraid that I’m not an expert on their mannerisms, since humans aren’t my forte.” Salk rubbed his shaved head, speaking with as much patience as he could muster while he watched the women stomp out of earshot. “Sire, please, back to the matter at hand.” He pulled a linen handkerchief out of his jacket and swiped his perspiring brow. “We have a dozen Donors missing now. May I be so bold as to say that Lovci cannot spend all their time rounding up the lost and ignoring the possibility of finding the new?”
“Of course I want them to discover the new!” Gianni stood up, every bit the Marchii he was, and stalked towards the open window that overlooked endless and glorious gardens. “We have many to feed.” Dynasty Vampyrs could only drink from born Donors. Their fangs were deathly toxic to any other creature they bit. And even if they were starving, nothing besides a Donor could give them a drop of sustenance. As a nobleman, Marchii Gianni was one of the purest bred Dynasty Vampyrs who walked the earth.
“We have extra males on property. All are Donors,” Salk explained easily, not worried for his nourishment since hunters could drink from anything. “Personally, I love to feed from human males on most occasions.” Salk, as well as the other Lovci, weren’t permitted to drink from Donors. “Surprisingly, their blood is chock-full of virility and innate aggression, which kicks up my hunting instincts.”
“Find her.”
Salk was still giving it his best shot. “I had quite an exciting luncheon just a few hours ago in a darkened alcove behind the piazza,” he admitted wistfully. “A male youth of twenty has incredible physical stamina. After drinking that blood, I’m certain I could hunt for a week without stopping.”
“I have incredible physical stamina, and I want to share it with one particular Donor. Who is missing!”
His Lovec continued, “Yes… everyone has a preference, and I understand you prefer your missing Donor.” He shoved his damp handkerchief back into his pocket. “But I’m respectfully asking that you drop the hunt for your specific Donor and allow us to use our resources to find her replacement.”
Having heard enough, Gianni pushed his body forward, moving across the marbled floors with extraordinary speed. He landed atop Stalk with an astonishing gracefulness only a Dynasty Vampyr possessed and slammed him against the floor until his head thumped like an overripe melon. “I want her,” he snarled as an expanse of silken hair whipped around his face. “You have a lead, hunter. I smell your deception.” He extended his toxic fangs and watched as his lifelong Lovec, and sometimes friend, stared back in horrific astonishment.
“The Lovci have one. Only on her brother, but not h-her,” he stammered.
“
I knew you were hiding something!” He hissed so loudly the floor vibrated underneath Salk’s back. “I drank from her daily,” Gianni roared. “Because of that, she needs my exchange, or she will die! Do you hear me?” No, he shouldn’t have done it. Gianni shamelessly took from her for the selfish reason that he wanted to sink his teeth in Blythe and Blythe alone. And for that, she would pay for leaving him…whether he wanted her to or not. Unquestionably, he wanted her back, but Gianni never wanted someone so incredibly precious to pay for his ghastly mistake.
“She’s not with her brother,” Salk answered regretfully. “We used everything that you gave us to aid in tracking. After all this time, her scent barely permeates her clothes, so I can’t exactly hunt her. I need newly worn garments, and the hunt would be successful only if she entered a decent range within my presence, maybe a radius of twenty miles or so,” he sighed heavily. “Then I would be able to release my inner Lovec and bring her back to you.”
“You’re forgetting one important thing,” Gianni said with blazing eyes. “To this day, I am still full of her blood. Within that kind of range, I can sense her myself. We could split up. Cover more ground.” Gianni’s chest was heaving. Choppy breaths punctuated with frustration.
Salk wisely chose not to comment on the fact that royalty never hunts. “I did not realize you chose her as…a mate?” The Dynasty did not have Brides as the Species did. They could choose their mates and that particular fact suited their bloated egos tremendously.
