Page 33 of Be Still My Unbeating Heart

“You believe the charge? That Signor Emerson is a killer?”

De Luca swallowed. “It doesn’t matter what I believe. The law will decide.”

Mayor Moretti considered him. “Innocent until proven guilty, isn’t that the phrase? And will you justlookat him? Put him in a tuxedo and the hearts of the people in Vernazza will soon melt.”

“Why does everybody in this town want to get in your trousers?” Whitby asked.

De Luca frowned. “It could be dangerous, fetishizing a vampire.”

“I don’t know.” Bastian gave him a teasing smile. “Some vampireswantto be fetishized.”

De Luca seemed unsure if Bastian was serious. And the truth was, some vampires did fetishize themselves.Bastian had seen them posting thirst traps online: pictures and videos of their undead bodies, flexing and pouting, showing off their fangs. It was empowering, he thought, if that was what you chose to do with your time.

The mayor clapped her hands. “It’s decided. Bastian will come to the gala, and everybody will love him. It will help to usher in a new age for Vernazza. Here, let’s celebrate.”

She returned to the bureau, clinking glasses as she prepared a toast. Bastian shrugged apologetically at De Luca. The gala wasn’t his idea, but the mayor had made it impossible to say no.Besides, he was intrigued. What if this was his best chance at being pardoned?

“Here,” the mayor said, holding something out to Bastian.

The goblet came into focus like everything around it had turned monochrome.

Bastian smelled it before he registered the ruby red liquid filling the glass.

Blood.

It was a goblet of blood.

“Is that…” His throat constricted. He couldn’t say it.

“Human? Yes. Humanely sourced, of course. You have my word. I like to set a good example.”

Bastian shivered. The scent caused every hair on his body to prickle and rise.

“Mayor Moretti,” De Luca said, “this is completely inappropriate.”

“Please, don’t refuse on my behalf,” the mayor told Bastian. “Let us drink to friendship.”

Bastian’s arm trembled with the need to reach for the glass. His throat pulsed with sudden hunger. He had drained his Bonnie Tyler flask at breakfast, so he should be full, but his stomach knotted itself together, cramping with the need for exactly what the goblet contained.

“Bastian?”

Whitby’s voice was an echo in the dark.

And the blood…He felt its pull. His mouth was parched.

The mayor’s eyes shone with encouragement, and Bastian’s incisors buzzed with a desperate kind of desire.

His hand twitched toward the glass, but he managed to stop it reaching.

He could taste the aroma on his tongue, and it caused his throat to swell with want. All he had to do was take the glass andhe would feel satisfied for the first time in five years. He would feel stronger. More powerful. More himself.

His hand twitched again, and Bastian thought about Whitby. How much his getting clean meant to her. Everything she had done to help him become a better person.

“No,” he choked, dragging his hand back to his side, where it tightened into a fist. He looked at De Luca and Whitby, seeing the strain in their eyes, and he couldn’t bear it, having his own monstrosity reflected back at him like that.

So, he ran.

Ignoring Whitby’s calls, he sped out of the office, past the startled secretary, and into the street. He darted around the first corner he found, then turned another corner in the opposite direction, losing himself in the blessedly dark alleyways.