Page 46 of The Vanishing
Cellina nods in agreement. When Giovanni doesn’t say anything else, she lifts her chin. “So back to you—who do you feed from? You haven’t answered me.”
His chest rises and falls in a deep breath, the furrow in his brow somehow deepening. But his voice is light, teasing. “I don’t feed from anyone, Cellina.”
She pauses, processing the words. “What does that mean?”
“It means what I said.”
“Whose blood do you drink in order to sustain your body?”
Giovanni smirks. “My cousin’s.”
She sits straight, thinking. “This… has to do with your father, doesn’t it? Are you feeding him?” She looks down at his side profile, waiting. Her heart is heavy in her chest and her breathing clipped. It’s unfair to put so much weight and responsibility on one vampire.
“Yes,” he says. “But that information is confidential. Please don’t repeat it.”
She sits back and sighs, running her fingers into the thick of her curly hair. She closes her eyes.
“It’s fine, Lina,” he assures her. She opens her eyes, and his head is turned to the side. “This is my life. I’m the first son, remember? It’s just how it is—how it’ll always be. I accept it.”
Cellina leans forward, serious. “I don’t accept it. It’s too much.” She laces her fingers into the back of his soft hair, then uses her other hand to massage his forehead. “And these lines—stop frowning so much. God, Giovanni, you didn’t used to have these lines.”
“I’m old now—”
“No.You’re not. We’re young. Your damn face is just scrunched up all the time.”
She continues rubbing at the lines in his forehead, as if she can erase them by sheer will alone. Her other hand grips the back of his head. “When’s the last time you physically fed from another vampire?”
“Dante. The sexcapade.”
“Dantewas your last true feed? Damn… that was over a hundred years ago.” The sensation of feeding—the intimacy of breaking through another vampire’s flesh and experiencing the rush of their blood in your mouth—is an innate need. Maybe even more so for purebreds. To deny someone this primal right feels harsh. Almost cruel. She never knew Domenico to be a cruel vampire. In fact, he was always the exact opposite when it came to Nino.
After a moment, she tilts his head back against the couch, playful in tugging his hair. “How’s that?” she asks, leaning over his face and noticing the gentle shadow of a beard already forming against his jawline.
“What are you doing, exactly?”
“Massaging the lines out of your damn forehead.”
“Is this a sympathy massage?” He closes his eyes, flashing straight white teeth in a grin.
“No. This is an ‘I’m worried about my friend’ massage.”
“That word again.” He opens his eyes, slow, and Cellina’s breath catches. His irises are glowing emerald green and haunting. He stares up at her unashamed. It calls to her, making her nature deep within her warm and restless. It’s as if a fire burns in her belly, in between her thighs and up her spine, her own eyes threatening to glow to life.
Panicked and in need of a distraction, she reaches over with her free hand and flips the lid of the cake box open. She pinches a large piece of the soft texture with her fingers, then holds the chunk over Giovanni’s mouth. “Open.”
Obedient, he parts his lips. She places the bite inside, but Giovanni closes his lips around her fingers before she removes them. Without thinking, she slides her damp finger into her mouth, cleaning the crumbs. “Better? Less stressed?”
“Worse.” He lifts his head, shaking it. “You and this damn cake.” He draws his tall body up from the floor, and Cellina stretches her leg to kick his hip.
“I’m trying to get you to relax—”
Giovanni turns on a dime and catches her ankle in his large palm. He tugs, making Cellina gasp as she slides down, slouching into the bend of the couch cushions. He leans over her, his smoldering emerald eyes staring as he speaks through clenched teeth.
“You’re not helping.”
Twenty-Two
Nino flips onto his side as he lies in bed, the restlessness like a deep ache in his bones. He can’t sleep at all now. It’s getting worse.
