“Don’t be so sure of yourself. Kill the old man and get it over with. I want Maeve on the defensive.”
With that, she killed the connection.
I sighed and stood, tossing my laptop onto the couch. I filled a glass with decent wine and took a long sip. It was thick and dark red, like fresh arterial blood. I smiled as it slid down my throat and the comforting warmth spread along my limbs.
Erin always left a bad taste in my mouth, but nothing a little alcohol couldn’t fix.
I stalked to the window and looked out over the city. Rome was a sprawl of ancient buildings interspersed with modern glass and steel abominations. I preferred the old to the new: anything with history. This city was built on bodies, death and suffering, and the foundations were littered with bones—quite literally, the tunnels beneath Rome were dotted with burial niches and piles of human remains. There was something poetic about a city that sat atop its own dead, constantly laying itself above them, on and on into the future.
When I was a child, my father brought me here. He showed me the fountains, named all the historical monuments, and made sure I understood what the Romans cared for.
Blood and honor, boy. Blood and honor. Like our family.
He was a miserable old piece of shit. He was sixty when I was born, seventy by the time he took me to Rome.
Seventy-five when I strangled him in the basement of our house.
A knock at the door between my room and Penny’s made me look back. I hesitated, but went and opened it.
Penny gave me a look that made my heart skip a beat.
She was a path in the middle of the woods. She was a sign in a maze. Her brightness brought breath to my lips.
She had her family’s eyes, like Erin, except where Erin was savage and intense, Penny was soft and flowing. She had pink, full lips, thick hair pulled back in a messy bun, high cheekbones, and curves that made my chest seize and stutter. Back on the island, I made her wear white bikinis, because she looked almost naked.
“What can I do for you so late, little treasure?”
She grimaced. She hated pet names too.
“I want to talk.”
“Come in then.” I stepped toward the side table and offered her a glass of wine.
She accepted it and sipped nervously. She wore a pair of tight-fitting sweats and a tank top that hugged her chest and showed just a hint of her breasts. They were sleep clothes, and I got the impression she’d come straight from bed.
I waited for her to talk. It was a trick I learned early on from my father: when someone came to me about something important but seemed hesitant, I figured out all I had to do was keep my mouth shut until they eventually explained whatever it was I needed to know. I watched Penny squirm as she drank down half the wine before settling in a chair.
I sat across from her.
“I want to make a deal with you.” She took a deep breath as if she were working herself up to something.
“I was wondering when you’d come to the bargaining table.”
That annoyed her. For some reason, I had the gift—I could always find a way to piss her off.
Not that I always wanted her angry, but god, she was beautiful when she was livid. Her skin flushed pink and her teeth ground down tight, and her little hands turned into fists like she wanted to beat them against my broad chest.
I’d love to see her try. Sometimes, late at night when I couldn’t sleep, I’d think about pinning her down on the floor and fucking her wildly. I’d picture taking her, over and over again, breaking her in, making her come on my thick cock until she forgot why it was she ever fought.
From the start, she hated me. I came on strong back then, but I couldn’t help myself. In all my life, I’d never met a girl that made me feel half the way that Penny made me feel. I needed to be around her desperately, and I spent my final year at Blackwoods College following her around, shadowing her every move, and waiting until I had the chance to finally make her mine.
That chance never came. Instead, I ruined whatever opportunity there might’ve been with blood.
“I’m going to offer you a deal. I’m going to offer it once and never again.” Her cheeks were red, like the wine. “I want you to know that I despise you, Kaspar, and I’ll never be your wife. Not willingly.”
“I understand you think so.”
“You clearly don’t then.” She learned forward and I wondered if she’d break that glass in her palm. “I thought there might be something, but you ruined that a long time ago. You’re sick, and you never figured out that I don’t want anything to do with you.”