Page 91 of Be Still My Unbeating Heart

He wouldn’t succumb to that rage again. Not when he had so few hours left.

The thought of his own death both fascinated and frightened him. What would the True Death feel like? Would he suffer the same way he did when he got clean? Or would it be a different kind of suffering?

Don’t think about that, either.

The holiday isn’t over yet.

He began to unplait his hair, pushing memories of the past hour into the back of his mind. Drawing shutters over them. Forcing himself to forget how De Luca had felt, what his kisses tasted like, how it felt when his pulse echoed in Bastian’s chest. How uncertain De Luca looked now. He thought Bastian was lying about Enzo.

The Obliterati would kill him.

And if he only had one night left on Earth, he wasn’t going to spend it thinking about the vampire council.

Bastian’s mind swiveled away from darkness, into the light. He didn’t care if it was the right thing or the sensible thing, he only knew that he was going to enjoy his last night on Earth.Live in the moment.It was the only way to be.

“I don’t know about you, darling,” he said to Whitby, “but I can’t help feeling things have gotten a little serious around here. I’m in the mood for a stroll. What do you say?”

“Bastian—” Whitby started, but he cut her off.

“Excellent. Let’s go.” He squeezed past De Luca, ignoring the inspector’s scent, not allowing it to pull him back as he headed for the front door.

“Inspector, please give Commissario Zappa and the council my warmest regards. And I wish you the very best with your promotion. Zappa would be a fool not to reward you for your excellent work.”

“Bastian,” De Luca said, and his fragile tone stopped him on the threshold. Bastian looked back at the inspector, wanting him to take his hand, to say he’d spend Bastian’s last night with him.

But De Luca said nothing. His mouth closed, his jaw tensing, his eyes glittering with a distant light.

This is for the best, Bastian thought.

“Are you coming, Whitby?” he called, stepping outside. “The night is still young!”

30

The question was, What did hewantto do?

“Karaoke!” Bastian cried, pointing at a pink neon sign in one of the quieter streets. Vernazza was buzzing, even at this late hour. The bars bustled with music and laughter, and Bastian soaked up the atmosphere. This was what holidays were all about. Staying out late and following the signs that led to a good time.

“Bastian, are you sure about this?” Whitby asked as they went into the karaoke bar.

“Of course, darling.”

“You seem upset.”

“I’m not upset,” he said, paying up and then leading them to a private room. “I think it’s high time we had some fun. Now do you want to sing first or shall I take that honor?”

They sang. Bastian raged through Judas Priest’s “You Got Another Thing Coming,” but made sure not to hog the mic, propping it up against a cushion so that Whitby could belt out her best rendition of “Set Fire to the Rain.” Bastian sang until his body hummed with joy, and only the sight of Bronski Beat on the track list dimmed his glow.

No.

No De Luca.

No mystery.

“To us,” Bastian said, toasting with a glass of Merlot as they sat in the fish bar they’d found down the road from karaoke.

Whitby tucked into the biggest sea bass on the menu. Some of the patrons stared, but Bastian raised his glass and said “Buon appetito,” and they smiled and went back to their meals.

They climbed up to the castle and Bastian danced as a street musician played the cello.