She stilled, and her fingers dug into his forearm.
“You’re hungry?”
“Yes, I need to go out and hunt something. I need…I just need to hunt.” He tried to pull away, but she clung to his arms and his jaw clenched in frustration. “Beatri-”
“Drink from me.”
His blood roared when he heard her quiet voice and his fangs descended. “Are…are you sure?”
Beatrice rolled over and looked at him. “Yes. Will it be like before?”
“I won’t drink too much,” he whispered. “I promise.” He could feel his skin heat and his heart begin to beat.
She blushed, and Giovanni stifled a low growl as the heat flooded her face. “Not that. I mean, I don’t want to…you know. We probably shouldn’t-”
“If you tell me ‘no,’ I’ll stop.” Giovanni clamped down his self-control. “No matter what.”
“Okay,” she whispered and tilted her head to the side, brushing the hair away from her neck. The scent of her skin washed over him, and he swallowed a groan. His hands reached under the camisole she wore, splaying across her back as his mouth dipped down to her neck.
He nosed against her pulse, rubbing his cheek across the delicate skin of her collar and reveling in the scent of her pounding blood. His tongue flicked out and began tracing the artery. He could feel the amnis that ran under his skin spread over her everywhere their flesh touched.
Her bare shoulders. The small of her back. Everywhere his hands went, her skin prickled in awareness. He could scent her arousal and he struggled to control his own. He fought the urge to plunge his fangs into her neck, determined to enjoy the rare pleasure of her blood and skin for as long as he could.
“Gio?” she panted, arching against him. “Are you going to-”
“Shh,” he whispered. “Let me…” His tongue fluttered against the pulse point in her neck. “I don’t want to rush.”
“Oh,” she breathed out and reached up to run her hands through the hair at the nape of his neck. Giovanni trailed his fangs along her skin. He closed his eyes and held her for a moment, feeling the beat of her heart against his chest.
“I love you,” he whispered, as his hands stroked her back. He pulled her closer, but kept himself in check, determined to only take what she was offering.
He could, however, give her a taste of what she was missing.
Giovanni rolled over her, and his lips closed over her neck. He nipped at it, savoring the rush of blood to the surface. His fangs pierced around her artery, and she gasped in pleasure as the sensation of his bite combined with the electric current that ran from his lips and over her skin.
He was determined to drink slowly, but she cried out when he bit and her hands pressed his head to her neck. She arched under him as her rich blood filled his mouth. He moved against her, letting his hands roam as her blood ran down his throat, soothing and inflaming him at the same time.
It was nothing like the empty feeling Giovanni had experienced when he drank from random humans. Beatrice’s touch, her smell, everything about her drew him in. When he moved, it was in time to her breath and pulse. It was need. Love. Nothing could compare to it.
He felt his amnis snap when she peaked, and her body shuddered underneath his. Her heartbeat hammered against his lips and he took one last draw from her neck before he pulled away. Their bodies slowed as he licked the last of the blood from her neck and sealed the small wounds. His hands stroked her hair, her shoulders, and down over the curve of her hips.
“Gio,” she panted. “That was…”
Even as her blood coursed through his system, Giovanni hungered for more. Pushing down his own desire, he pressed her to his chest and breathed deeply, deliberately slowing the rush of his blood as he held her.
“Thank you, Beatrice.”
“You’re welcome. Did you get enough?” She was already falling asleep in his arms.
He smirked. “For now.”
She rubbed her face into his chest and released a sigh. “Don’t leave, okay? Stay with me. Just…stay.”
He closed his eyes and sent up a silent prayer that she would do the same.
“Always.”
“I can’t believe you told her the story about me and the bear,” Giovanni muttered to Carwyn as the priest piloted the Range Rover through the twisting mountain roads.
Carwyn gaped at him. “I can’t believe you didn’t. I thought you were trying to impress this woman.”
“I hardly think that story impressed her, you idiot.”
“Well,” Carwyn shrugged. “It made her laugh, anyway.”
Giovanni glanced at Beatrice, who had fallen asleep in the back of the vehicle as they made their way to London. “I love hearing her laugh.”
“She has a great laugh, doesn’t she? Did she tell you the story about when she fell off the motorcycle when I was teaching her to ride? She was so terrible at first! She broke two fingers, and we had to wait six months for her hand to be strong enough to shift again. She had such a good sense of humor about the whole thing.”
Giovanni glared at him. “You broke two of my woman’s fingers?”
Carwyn cocked an eyebrow at him. “Careful now, you’d been gone for two years at that point. I doubt she’d appreciate you calling her ‘yours.’”
Giovanni crossed his arms over his chest. “You knew better. You knew I was coming back.”
“Oh, aye, but she didn’t, did she?”
He was silent for a few minutes before he muttered, “Benjamin says I need to apologize to her.”
Carwyn’s eyes popped open. “You’ve not apologized to her? For leaving for five years? Why on God’s earth is she even talking to you?”
He glared at the priest. “I’ve explained to her-”
“I want to punch you right now, di Spada. I really do,” he whispered. “That’s quite childish of you.” Carwyn drove in silence for a few more minutes with a frown plastered to his face. “You don’t deserve her.”
“What?”
“You don’t! For heaven’s sake, is it that hard to say you’re sorry? I’ve not been married for a thousand years, and I know that much.”
“Can we talk about something else, please? This really isn’t any of your business.”
He snorted. “Fine. But for the record, you’re lucky she’s even talking to you. And don’t think I can’t smell her all over you or see that flush in your cheeks.”
“Drop it, Father. I’ll not be leaving her again,” he muttered, glancing over his shoulder to make sure she was still sleeping. “I don’t even think I could at this point.”
Carwyn glanced between them, muttering something in Welsh, a language Giovanni had never wrapped his brain around sufficiently, before he looked back to the dark road ahead. “Let’s talk about London.”
“Fine. What have Terrance’s people found out?”
Carwyn shrugged. “It’s been vague, but there seem to be enough reports of your boy lingering to make Terry think he’s still around. It’s a large port and with easy access to the French coast, it makes it harder to get a handle on him.”
“Lorenzo had allies in La Havre at one point. Has that been investigated?”
“It has, but not thoroughly. You know how tricky the French can be. Also, they’re water clans in that area, so they’re tight lipped to any that aren’t their own.”
Giovanni racked his memory, trying to think of some connection he might use to get more information. “I could always ask Livia. One more favor to add to the growing list.”
Carwyn snorted. “Do you have time for that? Besides, you know how she is. She’ll not give you anything unless you come to Rome, and I doubt you want to take a side trip right now. Would you bring B? That would be interesting.”
Giovanni sighed. “They’ll have to meet eventually, and Beatrice handled the meeting with the Alvarezes in Los Angeles quite well.”
“Ernesto Alvarez is a friendly guppy compared to the sharks that swim in Livia’s sea. Don’t dump her into that until you have to.”
