Page 30 of The Vanishing
“Maybe,” Giovanni says, turning his head to glance out the bright window. “I have to go home in a month to take care of some things, but I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“Asao has secured a source for Cellina. Would you like him to arrange one for yourself? We are more than happy to accommodate you.”
“No. I’m alright.”
Haruka turns to face Giovanni. He is not one to push, but having a second starving Bianchi within his household is undesirable. “Giovanni, you should not go a month without feeding.”
His brother-in-law’s gaze shifts toward him. “I’m feeding. I have bags.”
“Bags?” Haruka cringes. “Why would you choose to feed this way?” Haruka has fed from bags in his past, when he was avoiding intimacy and being indebted to other vampires. It had served the intended purpose, but the practice was abysmal. Stale. Feeding fresh from the warmth of a living, breathing creature—especially one that you love… There is nothing better. Nothing.
Giovanni folds his arms. He stares down at the karuta cards atop the table for a long minute. Just as Haruka opens his mouth again, Giovanni speaks. “I don’t choose to feed this way. I have to, to help keep our father alive. I’m my father’s source, so my feeding source impacts his well-being. It’s too risky to feed from just anyone.”
Haruka’s mouth is still open as Giovanni’s confession sinks in. He blinks and closes it, processing. “This… this is how your father survives without his mate?”
“Yes. My blood is a combination of my father’s and mother’s blood. The biology he receives from me helps to nourish the part of him that suffers from the loss of my mother. He doesn’t feed directly though. We’re not complete fucking weirdos.”
Unbelievable…Haruka stares out the window, considering. When his mother died, there had been talk. He wasn’t supposed to be listening, but he’d been eavesdropping, as children do. He’d noticed his father, Hayato, getting weaker, day by day. So Haruka had taken to quietly following him around. Just to be near him and watch over him, knowing that their time together was finite.
In a hushed conversation, Asao had asked if Hayato might try feeding from Haruka. He’d refused. It was the first and singular time he’d seen his father display anger toward Asao. Haruka still remembers his words as if it were yesterday…
I will not sacrifice my son’s entire life to cling to some deficient, hapless version of my own.
Given the opportunity, Haruka would have done anything to save his father—to keep him alive and with him. Even if it meant a questionable quality of life for both of them. His father made his choice, gifting Haruka with free will and loneliness in exchange.
Giovanni’s father, Domenico, made a different choice.
“You cannot feed of your own free will?” Haruka asks, refocusing on Giovanni. “And you cannot form a bond?”
Haruka waits, the silence stretching out between them before Giovanni answers.
“Nope.”
Familiar voices approach the closed door. Giovanni looks up at him, serious. “You don’t repeatanyof this.”
“Does Nino know about this?”
Giovanni scoffs. “Of course he knows.”
“Cellina?”
“No.”
The door slides open and Asao walks in first with a tray full of coffee cups. Cellina follows behind. Giovanni stands from the seat, says “Thanks” as he takes a cup from Asao’s tray, then moves toward the armchair in the opposite corner of the room. He sips the coffee, but his eyes keep darting over to Cellina.
Fifteen
Summer, 1915
This is not how Cellina had envisioned her sixteenth birthday.
She follows the maidservant down the long hallway. This in and of itself is unsettling. At what point did Cellina start needing an escort to see him?
The estate is quiet. Cold. The warmth she usually feels here—the energy, liveliness and laughter—is gone. Everything is muted now, as if all the vivid color has been sucked out of a beautiful painting.
The maidservant knocks on the door. “Your grace, Miss Cellina De Luca is here to see you.”
She has been announced like a stranger. Cellina steps into the formal room stuffed with antique furniture, old family portraits and heavy, dusty drapes. They used to make fun of this room: the drawing room. In name alone it sounds dramatic—this place where all the older vampires talk about boring, serious things. Things she and her dear friend have no interest in.
