Page 55 of Kiss of Blood and Sin

An older woman with silver hair burst in, hands on hips. She clicked her tongue. “Angelo, did you do this?”

Unlike Angelo and Enzo, she looked like she cared about what happened to her guests. Maybe there was someone in the House of Horrors that didn’t think about dissecting me. Something in her eyes, a mix of warmth and steel, reminded me of my grandmother—the only human who'd ever made me feel safe.

He shrugged like beating me to a pulp was just a normal Tuesday for him. Maybe it was. I made a mental note to avoid Tuesdays.

“He did, Elena,” Gianna sniffed. “And he’s my mate.”

Elena shook her head as if in disgust. “Help me get him to your room, ma chère.”

“He’s not going to Gianna’s room,” Angelo growled.

I couldn’t resist. “What, no sleepover? And here I thought we were bonding.”

Gianna squared off with her brother. “We’re mated, Angelo. I’m not sleeping away from my mate.”

“The things I do for love,” I muttered. “Usually it just involves holding a boombox outside a window.”

Elena and Gianna half carried, half dragged me upstairs. Each step felt like climbing Everest in flip-flops. They deposited me on a bed that felt like clouds...if clouds were made of pain and regret.

As they tended my wounds, I kept my eyes on the door, half expecting Angelo to burst in like the Kool-Aid man of vengeance.

Elena went for a minute and returned with what looked like a medical kit. She moved with that fluid grace all vampires seemed to possess. Her cool hands moved efficiently, cleaning the gashes on my face and arms with what smelled like vervain-infused antiseptic. Each dab sent a stinging jolt through my body, but I bit back any sound of pain. No need to give them the satisfaction.

"This might hurt a bit," Elena warned, producing a wicked-looking needle. Great, now I was a vampire pincushion. She began stitching up a particularly nasty cut on my forearm, her fingers steady and sure.

Meanwhile, Gianna was wrapping my bruised ribs with bandages. Her touch was gentler than Elena's, almost hesitant, as if she was afraid of causing more damage. I couldn't help but tense up every time her fingers brushed my skin.

"Am I hurting you?" Gianna asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

I gritted my teeth, the taste of my own blood still lingering in my mouth. "Don't worry about it. I've had paper cuts worse than this."

Elena shot me a look that was equal parts exasperation and concern, reminding me once again of my grandmother. "Less bravado, more healing," she admonished, reaching for a blood bag. "You'll need to replenish your strength. Drink this. It’s Chosen Blood.”

Gianna gave me a reassuring smile as she focused on finishing the bandaging, her movements becoming more confident as she worked. . “You’ll feel better soon.”

"Your brother doesn't—" I started.

But before I could finish my sentence of wondering if we should sleep in separate beds, Gianna silenced me with a forehead kiss. "I don't care what he thinks. You're staying."

I couldn't help but smirk. "Well, if you insist. Who am I to argue with such persuasive logic?"

I wanted to make another joke about family therapy or vampire couples counseling, but my body chose that moment to remind me it was one giant bruise.

As Gianna settled beside me, she whispered, “Sleep, Dimitri. I won’t leave you. You’re safe.”

Elena stood in the doorway. “I’ll check back soon. See that he rests,mon cher.”

Gianna gently pushed back my hair off my face. “I will.” Her soft touch was like magic, easing someof the pain. Her body molded against mine as if she was trying to be a shield between and the Angel of Darkness.

Safe? With Count Dracu-loony down the hall? That’s like saying you’re fireproof while sitting in a volcano. But as I drifted off, I couldn’t help but think, at least if I die, I’ll do it in style. Take that, Romeo and Juliet. Despite my bravado, I found myself unconsciously pulling Gianna closer, my body betraying my need for comfort even as my mind raced with snarky comebacks.

The pain and fear? Just the price of admission for this little drama. But with Gianna by my side, I'd say I got a bargain. Not that I'd ever admit that out loud - I do have a reputation to maintain.

For the next several days, Elena and Gianna played tag team, keeping Count Dracu-loony off my ass. My body felt like it had been through a blender set to pulverize, but slowly, the kaleidoscope of bruises faded from deep purple to sickly yellow. Bones knitted themselves back together with all the grace of a drunk toddler playing Operation.

I lounged in bed, playing the part of the invalid with Oscar-worthy dedication. “You know,” I drawled to Gianna as she fluffed my pillows for the umpteenth time, “I could get used to this. Think your brother would mind if I made professional punching bag my permanent occupation?”

She rolled her eyes, but I caught the smile she tried to hide. “Don’t push your luck, Dimitri.”

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