Page 107 of Her Dark Salvation

I pushed my fingers into his silky hair and left them tangled amid the waves. His eyes lidded, and he shivered at my touch. “That was bad luck, Marco. The wrong place at the wrong time.”

He winced, opening his eyes, and the set of his jaw hardened. “That’s just it. I will always be the wrong place. Around me, you will always be at risk.”

“No.” I smiled and dragged my nails across his scalp. “No, Marco. You will always be the right place. A future with you is more than worth the risk. An accident like that could have happened anywhere, at any time. But you were there for me.” Tears streamed down my face, and I tightened my fingers in his hair.

“Almost too late.” He swallowed. “Anna, I…” He placed my arm on the bed, sat back, and swiped a hand down his face. “You looked so broken. Lying there.” His lips trembled but from holding back tears or rage I couldn’t tell. “Your pulse was weak. It was fading. I should have asked permission, but you were unconscious, and the fucking ambulance was taking so long.”

“I don’t understand. Permission for what?”

“I gave you my blood.” He met my eyes, and his were haunted with shame. “Don’t you see? You’re safer without me, but I’m too fucking selfish to let you go. I know I said we couldn’t have a future together, but I can’t let you go.” He clasped my hand with his own shaking fingers and kissed it over and over. His eyelashes fluttered closed, and a tear slid down his scruffy, drawn face. “I can’t lose you. Please forgive me.”

A miracle, Jeff had said. But it wasn’t a miracle. It was Marco.

After that big argument and all the protesting, he’d given me his blood. He’d spoken about how intimate that was for a blood demon, how consent was a strict part of their moral code, and the guilt was plain in his plea for forgiveness. His integrity made my heart swell, and in that moment, I loved him impossibly more.

“Marco.” He kissed my fingers again. “Marco, look at me.” He lifted his eyes and squeezed my hand. “I wanted a future with you, remember? I asked you to bite me. I would have taken your blood eventually. You had my consent all along. You saved me, Marco.” My quiet words filled the room with all the love and gratitude I felt for the man who’d been my salvation in more ways than one. I ran the back of my fingers along his cheekbone. “You saved my life.”

He rested his head on the pillow next to mine and laid his arm across my waist. He kissed my cheek and nuzzled my neck. “No, amore mio,” he whispered into my ear. “You saved mine.”

ChapterThirty

Anna

Twilight’s shadowy fingers had spread across the Commons by the time Marco’s key wiggled in the lock. I’d watched the encroaching darkness envelope the white blanket of midwinter snow. Lights flickered to life. Cars crawled down traffic-filled streets. And above it, I sat on the sofa inside the peaceful sanctuary of Marco’s penthouse with Sophie purring in my lap.

My body ached. It hurt to breathe. But more than anything, I was emotionally raw. I’d had nightmares since I’d regained consciousness three days ago. The screech of tires and white metal… The flash of a gun and its loudcrack… I’d woken up multiple times in a panic. But Marco had been there each time to hold me and wipe away the tears, his calm, comforting presence an anchor amid the turmoil of my trauma.

Keys clattered against the entry table followed by the rustling of clothes. He was removing his coat and suit jacket and rolling up his shirtsleeves, his nightly ritual. He crossed our living room to where I sat with Sophie.

Our living room. In classic Marco fashion, he’d refused to let me go back to my condo after the hospital discharged me. When we arrived at Terme di Boston, my clothes were already in his closet, and Sophie was curled up on his bed.

Cigar smoke, leather, and the heat of his body surrounded me, an embrace of safety and belonging I’d forever tie to Marco. He laid his hands on my shoulders and kissed the top of my head. “Ciao, amore mio.”

He dismantled the messy bun piled on top of my head, something he’d become fond of doing over the past couple days, and my hair fell past my shoulders. He ran his fingers through it, and I closed my eyes, relishing the tingle of the strands pulling on my scalp.

“How are you?” I asked, not daring to turn and risk twisting my broken ribs and causing myself more pain.

He bent down and whispered in my ear. “Now that I’m with you? È tutto perfetto.”

Warmth spread across my neck and down my spine, and for a moment, I forgot about my broken ribs. I leaned back to look up at him and pain lanced my side. I winced, hissing on a sharp intake of breath. “Ow,” I whined and resumed my safe position.

He walked around the end of the couch and sat next to me, concern breaking through the determined set to his brow and jaw. “You’re hurting.”

“Getting hit by a car will do that.”

He grunted and narrowed his eyes. “You want to be with me.”

“I do, but you already know that.”

“Even knowing what it means. Outliving your family and friends, watching them fade. Moving every few decades. Living with a Mafia Don.”

“At least you admit it, now.” I gave him an arch look.

“I’m serious, Anna,” he grumbled.

“Fine,” I said, exasperated. “Yes. I want to be with you even knowing what it means.”

“You’re sure.”

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