Page 52 of The Vanishing
“I put all the data in a spreadsheet too,” Nino explains. “You can manipulate it any way you want, depending on what you’re looking for.”
Haruka sets the book and USB back down in the box, then places his gift aside. He leans forward, wrapping his arms around his infinitely thoughtful and clever mate. “I cannot believe you did this alone—and within a year!”
“You know I work fast. Plus, late nights and long train rides back and forth to Kyoto gave me lots of time.” Nino hugs Haruka at his waist, pulling him closer. “It needed to be done. I know Lajos took the original, but at least the information is still in your hands?”
“You are phenomenal,” Haruka whispers, lifting from the warm embrace and cradling Nino’s head in his hands. “Exceptional. Brilliant…” He leans, lips already parted when he meets Nino’s mouth. Nino reciprocates, and Haruka opens his mouth wider, sliding his tongue against his mate’s and sighing from the taste of his cinnamon-and-coffee-infused flavor.
When Haruka pulls away, Nino’s honeyed complexion is flushed and his smile bright. “With this new tongue, you’re technically my first kiss!”
Haruka rises to his knees, climbing onto Nino’s lap while still gripping his head. He leans down, ravenous in taking his mouth again, growling from want of him and plunging his tongue into Nino’s wet warmth.
Nino rests his palms against his naked hips, but he startles Haruka when he pulls away from the affection. Nino swallows, his face pained. “I really…reallydon’t want to stop this.”
“Why would you?” Haruka smirks, gripping his mate’s coppery hair in a fist and playfully yanking his head back. He raises an eyebrow. “You would deny me?”
“I would never,” Nino sighs, closing his eyes. “But… I think we’re overdue to talk about some things…”
“Such as?”
Nino takes a deep breath. “Maybe you should get dressed first? We can go sit in the kitchen and—”
Something in the atmosphere shifts and Haruka freezes. He looks down at his mate beneath him and his amber eyes are wide with alert. Haruka moves with the speed and intensity of a tornado, jumping up from Nino’s lap, grabbing his robe at the end of the bed and wrapping his body up. Without a word, he moves toward the door of the bedroom with Nino close at his heels.
The sensation is unmistakable and the scent of sage hangs in the air like a toxic gas. Nino’s abductor has returned.
Twenty-Four
Two things Cellina hates—working on Sundays and being ignored. Having both occur in the same instance is turning her mood sour. Very quickly.
She peeks inside her father’s office. The cool, gingery scent remains despite its owner having disappeared. Andrea is sitting in his weathered armchair. His office is the singular place that her mother hasn’t redecorated to flow in rhythm with modern aesthetics. It looks like something from the 1980s—her father’s favorite decade. She blames him for her own fascination with American television shows and music spanning that time.
When he meets her gaze, there’s warmth in his sparkling gray eyes: the eyes Cellina has inherited from him. He looks handsome, having recently trimmed his thick salt-and-pepper curls. He smiles, the affection radiating from him like a haze. “Caffettino.”
My little coffee.Cellina shakes her head. When she’s two hundred he’ll still be calling her that. “Hey, Papà—E’ andato via Giovanni?”
“Sì, sei arrabbiata?” Her father casts his gaze back down to the newspaper he’s holding. Where does he even find newspapers nowadays?
“No, I’m not mad, but I told him to wait one second.” Cellina sits across from him, on the old leather couch. She glances at the mahogany shelves behind his desk, overstuffed with books on real-estate law. On the coffee table between them, there’s a small pink cake box with a business card on top. “I just needed to change clothes,” she says.
“Giovanni is a very busy vampire.” He closes and folds his newspaper, offering his full attention. “He told me to apologize on his behalf.”
Grumbling, Cellina folds her arms. “He could have waited a damn minute.” Maybe she’s being paranoid, but it’s starting to feel as if he’s avoiding her. They’re supposed to be rebuilding their friendship—burying the hatchet, or however the saying goes.
“Go easy on him, darling. He’s having a difficult time right now. Rest assured, he thinks highly of you.”
“I’m not worried about him thinking highly of me.” Cellina frowns. “We made amends, so he can tell me if something is bothering him. Heusedto. I know that was a long time ago… But I don’t know. It would be nice if he felt comfortable with me again.”
Andrea folds his ankle over his knee and relaxes back. “He told me that you know about his feeding situation now. Sounds to me like he’s confiding in you in earnest.”
“Youknew?” Cellina’s eyes widen. “He told you about it?”
“He did, a long time ago. And I’m glad. Giovanni carries a lot of responsibility on his shoulders—admirably. But everyone needs an outlet. He’s not a machine.”
“I’m glad he confides in you.” Cellina leans forward and toward the small box. She grins. “Is this mine?”
“It is. I told him you were complaining about finding a new art conservator in the coming weeks. He has a client who works with a freelance artist that might be looking for a full-time position. That’s their card on top. It’s just a lead.”
Cellina picks the card up, turning it over in her fingers. “Realm leader at his best.”
