Page 34 of Just for a Taste

“Can we have the feeding in here?”

“I guess?” I shifted from one foot to the next, not relinquishing hold of my bag. “I mean, I haven’t hadpanis largitoris.”

“Does it really matter? I only have you eat it for Signora Carbone’s sake.”

“Okay.” I couldn’t find anything objectionable, but a pressing question came to mind. “Why, though?”

He sat and ran his fingers through his hair. “This is my favorite part of the opera. I would like to listen to it with you in my presence. But I understand if you’d rather not.”

I tossed my bag to the side and sat next to him. “No, it’s fine!” I said a bit too quickly.

Despite my initial hesitation, I warmed up to the idea quickly. After all, I couldn’t trust Duca de’ Medici’s room not to bring to mind certain undertones, and the exam room we used the second time had felt uncomfortably antiseptic. I looked down at my hands, trying to decide the best option to offer him to drink from. There was the inner wrist, like he did the first time. There was my inner elbow, like the second time.

And there was my femoral artery in my upper inner thigh. I saw it in my head, the scene of him on his knees on the ground, the ghostly feeling of his lips, his soft eyelashes fluttering against me.

I banished the thought with such ferocity, my face scrunched up.

“Are you okay?” Duca de’ Medici raised a brow.

“Uh, y-yes,” I stammered. “Just got an extra sour piece of candy, that’s all.” I thrust my hand toward him quickly, giving the choice over to him.

Duca de’ Medici carefully took my hands in his and looked me in the eyes. His breath hitched. It brought me relief to see he was also anxious, that there was also something in his mind that brought him unease. I was okay with this, as long as he couldn’t read mine.

He raised my hand slowly toward him and placed his lips on the most sensitive part of my inner wrist. Duca de’ Medici’s eyes closed, and I closed my own, tuning in to the sound of the music and the feeling of him.

He continued to press his mouth against me, then finally parted them, softly sucking on my skin. I tried my best not to squirm and focus on staying still, but I couldn’t help but let out a staggered exhale.

Then came the sharp pain of a single fang piercing my skin, one I had forgotten to expect. I grasped his hand, and he rubbed a gentle thumb across my fingers. I expected this subconscious movement to elicit an electric response from the vampire, but it seemed to have the opposite effect. Duca de’ Medici drank from me slowly and steadily, pausing now and then to squeeze my hand and swipe his tongue across my wrist, all the while not moving from where his mouth had originally touched.

“You were right,” I murmured.

“Hmm?” His mouth buzzed against me with a strange tickling sensation.

I suppressed a giggle, then explained, “The opera. It’s really pretty.”

“Yes, it really is.” After one last sip, he parted from me and looked up with a smile. “Have a lovely day, Signorina Bowling.”

And then he departed, leaving me a mess of dizziness and fluttering butterflies.

∞∞∞

Even after dinner, I didn’t have it in me to take off the cotton ball or bandage. Not that it would hurt or anything—I just didn’t want to. When I sat down for tea with Noor, she gave me a strange look but didn’t inquire. I was too distracted to explain myself, anyhow, as my attention was immediately drawn toward the satchel of books at her side. I didn’t recognize any of the titles, but they appeared to be archival, the sorts of things Noor had brought from local libraries in the past to help me.

“Are those for me?” I asked, taking a seat.

“I thought they could be,” she replied, her mouth set in a line. “But now that I’ve examined them more closely, I don’t think they would be of interest to you.”

“Why not?” I reached out and glanced at one. It looked old and saidMedici, which was typically my only criteria.

“They are more recent than documents you are typically interested in—those from the seventeenth century.”

“That’s not necessarily true,” I replied, carefully reading her expression. We had tiptoed around the precise topic of my thesis, but if Noor was to help me and I was to avoid leaving the abbey anytime soon, she would need to know what to look for. I took a long sip of tea to steel myself. “What do you know about the Medici line?”

Noor shrugged. “Not more than most. They were a wealthy and influential family in Italy during the Renaissance, and they are still wealthy and influential today.”

I leaned forward in my chair. “And?”

“And nothing more.”

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