Page 10 of Be Still My Unbeating Heart

Bastian staggered down the hall to the bedroom, certain that his legs were about to buckle. He made it to the bed just as all strength left him. Sitting on the edge of the mattress, he winced as his shoulders pinched, his wrists on fire. Whitby hopped up beside him and sat stiffly, her tail twitching with agitation.

“A fine mess,” she muttered. “A fine, fine mess this is.”

“Quiet, love.”

They watched as De Luca set the kitchen chair in the hall facing the bedroom door.

“Inspector, is there any chance you could…?” Bastian asked, flashing the cuffs at him.

De Luca ignored him. He reached for the bedroom door handle, gave Bastian and Whitby a final heated glare, then shut them in.

“He’s awfully angry for somebody so pretty,” Bastian murmured.

Alone with Whitby, he sank back against a pillow, struggling to get comfortable. Every joint in his body felt swollen. The silver was poisoning him, slowly but surely. By morning, he would be a slave to the pain. Bloated and raving.

The unfairness struck him like a hammer. He had done nothing wrong. He had already suffered for five years taming the hunger, becoming a better person, atoning for all the people he had killed. And now this?

“A fine mess,” Whitby repeated, padding angry circles on the bedspread.

“You don’t know the half of it,” Bastian said.

The cat squinted at him. “What don’t I know?”

“They’ve summoned the vampire council.”

“Theywhat?” the cat hissed, hackles rising.

“Quiet, love.” Bastian’s head ached.

“But thecouncil.That’s like trying to stop a fire by throwinggasoline on it.” Whitby paused her pacing and looked up at Bastian, taking in the state of him. “You look awful, by the way.”

Bastian smiled. “Your compliments are heaven, darling. Let’s talk about this tomorrow. I need to rest.”

“But the council—”

“Won’t be here for at least another couple of days,” Bastian said. “They’re tomorrow’s problem.”

There was silence for a moment, and Bastian could almost feel the cat’s stare. He understood her shock, because he was shocked, too. Calling in the vampire council was extreme, and Bastian wondered what specific dark impulse had spurred the commissario into such vicious action.

Bastian couldn’t speak anymore, though. The silver was robbing him of his faculties. Shutting him down.

“Please, Whitby,” he managed to whisper. “Everything will be better tomorrow.”

Silence, then—

“Fine,” the cat said, “you rest. But roll over so I can take a look at those cuffs.”

5

Morning light shone through the window at the end of the hall.

Wearing his favorite silk robe, Bastian massaged his sore wrists as he listened to the sounds of Vernazza coming to life: Children laughing. Cars tooting. Gulls crying. Outside the apartment, everything was carrying on as normal. Life went on. Inside was another matter.

Bastian resisted tearing at the raw skin around his wrists, which were now free from the cuffs. Ugly red welts circled his skin, and they itched like crazy, but they would heal in a couple of hours if Bastian left them alone. He felt a hundred times better than he had when they got back to the apartment. The silver was gone, and with it the headaches and lethargy.

He had slept little, lying in bed for hours, listening to Whitby’s soft snores as he attempted to conjure a plan to clear his name and get the vampire council off his back. There had to be some way to prove that he didn’t kill the girl on the beach. Some proof. Some evidence that exonerated him.

It was only when dawn light singed the edges of the window blinds that Bastian realized the answer was sitting right out there in the hall guarding his bedroom door.