Page 64 of Depths of Hunger

Chapter

Twenty-Nine

Iopen my eyes and squint against the bright sunlight streaming in through the window. As my vision adjusts, I realize I’m in Renzo’s bedroom, tucked up in his bed—our bed. My hand instinctively moves to my chest. It’s sore, but there’s no bandage, no deep slice marring my flesh, no scar. I frown, closing my eyes as flashes of the scene at the Duomo play in my mind. I remember the bald man’s sword slicing into my chest, the searing pain ripping through me, the feeling of my flesh tearing. I know it happened. It wasn’t just a dream. Was it?

“Welcome back, gattina.” Renzo’s voice pulls me back to the present. He’s leaning against the wall, arms folded across his chest, dressed in a crisp white shirt and dark dress pants—his working attire. Even now, in the middle of my confusion, I can’t help but notice how damn sexy he looks, the kind of raw power and elegance that sends a shiver down my spine and hardens my nipples.

“I… yes. What…happened?” I stammer, my mind still foggy.

“What do you remember?” His tone is low and controlled, but his posture screams anger. My stomach twists, fluttering with uncertainty. I can feel the distance between us like a chasm.

“I remember the man on the altar. He was going to kill you. I hit him, and he fell. His sword… sliced my chest.” My fingers trace the smooth skin, and my confusion deepens. “I could have sworn it cut me open.”

“It did,” Renzo confirms, his expression unreadable. He offers nothing more.

“I don’t understand. Why am I not dead?” I push myself up, leaning against the headboard. The duvet slips from my shoulders, exposing my chest. I scan my skin, expecting to find evidence of the wound, but it’s flawless as if nothing ever happened.

I look up at Renzo, my voice tinged with a rising dread. “Did you…?” The question hangs heavy between us, the horror of the possibility clear on my face.

“Turn you? No.” Renzo’s voice is sharp, almost dismissive. “Turned vampires are scum, like the ones you saw at the Duomo. You said you didn’t want to be a monster. I respected that.”

“Then how am I still alive, and why aren’t there any scars?” My confusion deepens, my mind reeling. “Why am I sore where the sword cut me but there’s no mark?”

“You’re sore? Interesting.” Renzo’s eyes narrow, but he doesn’t elaborate.

“What does that mean?” I snap, my frustration bubbling to the surface.

“Are you hungry?” he asks, deflecting.

My stomach growls loudly in response. “Ravenous,” I admit, surprised by the intensity. I’ve never felt hunger like this before—it’s gnawing, all-consuming.

“I’ll let Albert know.” Renzo turns to leave.

“Wait! Aren’t you going to tell me what happened last night?”

Renzo pauses, glancing over his shoulder. “Last night? Nothing happened last night, gattina. If you’re talking about the incident at the Duomo, that was last week.” Without another word, he walks out the door.

“Last week?” My whisper cracks, but Renzo is already gone, his footsteps echoing down the hallway. It’s strange; I can hear each step so clearly even though the thick carpet runner normally masks any footfall. I rub my eyes, trying to clear my thoughts. I swing my legsover the side of the bed, but the room tilts violently. “Whoa.” My head spins, and I quickly pull my legs back, sinking into the pillows. If I haven’t eaten in a week, the dizziness makes sense.

I yawn, and my ears pop. Suddenly, I hear Renzo’s footsteps again, climbing the stairs. It’s odd—I could never hear him like this before. He reenters the room, carrying a plate piled high with pasta and garlic bread, the aroma hitting me like a wave. I breathe in deeply, savoring each scent.

“How can I hear you coming up the stairs? I could never do that before.” I watch as Renzo sets the plate on the nightstand. The scent of garlic and herbs is almost intoxicating. “And I can smell you—your scent is stronger. Not like before, but more intense. Is that your heartbeat I’m hearing? What the hell, Renzo?”

Renzo moves back to his spot against the wall, arms crossed, his gaze unreadable. “I don’t have answers for you, Mia.”

“How can you not have answers?” I ask, grabbing the plate and placing it in my lap. I take a bite, and the explosion of flavors is overwhelming. It’s like I can taste every single ingredient in the dish. “Oh God, this is so good.” I shovel in a few more bites, unable to stop myself, then force myself to pause. “Wait, what happened to me, Renzo? Why is everything different?”

Renzo’s eyes meet mine, and a chill runs down my spine. “I had a decision to make, Mia. I could let you die, or I could try something… and hope you lived. As you saved my life, I felt it was necessary to try to save yours.”

His calm tone sends a wave of anxiety crashing over me, souring the food in my stomach. “What did you do?”

“My brothers and I poured our blood into your wound. Vampire blood has potent healing properties. On top of that, my father had just injected us with a powerful potion—one that makes us damn near invincible. You now have some of our blood running through your veins. I imagine it’s causing certain effects, but we don’t know what they are yet. This hasn’t been done before, or if it has, no one has spoken about it, so we’re uncertain of the long-term impacts or even the short-term consequences.”

I stare at him, my mind racing. “So, I have your blood in my veins?”

“Yes, some.”

For reasons I can’t explain, a surge of desire overwhelms me. My eyes rake over Renzo’s body, and a flush of heat floods me. I set the plate aside, barely aware of my movements. “Renzo,” I murmur, “I think you should join me in bed. Let’s explore what I can do… Together.”

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