Page 2 of Be Still My Unbeating Heart

“Buonasera,” Bastian said, but the woman was too busy fumbling with her purse to respond. She tossed a coin at the ground and fled down a side street. She and her companion were long gone by the time the chiming metal disk stilled.

“She threw a coin at me!” Whitby wailed.

Bastian chuckled, recognizing the custom. Drop a coin to cancel bad luck.

“Looks like you’re the real bad omen around here,” he said.

“I’m going back to the apartment.”

Cats hated being laughed at.

“You’re not,” Bastian said. “Look, we’re almost at the harbor. If you’re lucky, somebody might drop some fish. Hey, there’s that word again.”

“Fish?”

“Lucky.”

They reached the Piazzetta del Porto, with its manyrestaurants and bars. Beneath the chatter of diners and drinkers came the tantalizing roar of the sea. The sound crashed in Bastian’s ears, and he found it soothing. His heart rate would slow, if it could beat at all. He loved the water and the ocean always made him feel free. It filled him with the need to dance.

The town square brimmed with colorful umbrellas and glowing lanterns. It faced the Ligurian Sea, above which the sinking sun resembled a split blood orange, its ruby innards painting the sky. The sight filled Bastian’s chest with joy, the way an Aerosmith song cranked up to eleven always did. He smelled basil and rosemary pasta, and sandalwood cologne, and noted a couple of handsome Italian men amid the al fresco diners. The thought of a warm body in his bed made him quiver. Perhaps he’d have a holiday romance. He just had to trust that he wouldn’t lose himself so completely in a heated moment that he ended up sticking his fangs in a guy’s neck.

It was difficult, navigating that line between horny and hungry. For years, they had been inseparable in his mind. He supposed it was because both involved penetration. He’d lost count of the number of times when, before he got clean, he had been necking with a hunky guy, only to realize he had torn out a hunk of the hunky guy’s neck.

“They’re looking at you,” Whitby warned as they wandered through the piazzetta, an edge to her tone.

He spotted a couple of diners who were watching him. It happened sometimes. People turned and looked at him, almost subconsciously, not knowing why their heads rotated or their eyes glazed over, like deer sensing the attention of a lioness. When they emerged from the daze, most forgot they had even seen him. Others decided they had been distracted by his height, his hair, his style. Bastian knew he looked like he’d stepped out of a 1980s music video, but why mess with perfection?

People could stare all they liked, so long as they didn’t slip a stake from their sleeve.

On the far side of the piazzetta, the cove spread out to either side of them, laden with treasures. The sea glittered, the sun melting into a golden pool on the horizon.

“Nowthat’smagic,” Bastian said.

He drank in every detail like he was sipping sunshine itself, and he felt the past five years begin to slip away.

The dark days were behind them. He was calm now. He had turned a corner, and his old self was nothing but a distant memory. A faded photograph consigned to the back of a closet.

Now, he was ready to cut loose in Vernazza, a place they had chosen for one specific reason: It was vampire-free. The European Accords protected tourist hot spots like the Cinque Terre—any vampire discovered to be hunting there would face the True Death.

Bastian was just glad it meant he could go outside without worrying he’d bump into the more bloodthirsty of his kind and be ridiculed for his new diet plan. If he was careful, he might even pass as human.

Whitby’s yellow eyes seemed distant as she observed the sunset, her expression as unknowable as any cat’s. She hadn’t wanted to leave London, had argued against it, but despite her protests, Bastian knew this was what they needed. Time spent together, away from the memories of Shoreditch and that stuffy flat where they had been confined too long. Proof that he had changed. A chance for her to have a good time.

Finally, the cat blinked and said, “Can we go now? I really must practice that incantation.”

Bastian expelled the air from his lungs in a fair approximation of a sigh and pushed his Wayfarers into his hair. The light didn’t sting his eyes now that it was fading from the sky. The sun hadset, emboldening the moon, which gleamed like a silver coin pressed into the fabric of the darkening sky.

“All right, darling, if you insist.”

They took the walkway that ran alongside the water, between the church and the sea. It was dotted with rocks the size of stingrays. The path led to smaller, more secluded patches of sand, mini-beaches off the beaten track where Bastian imagined scenes of secrets being shared and lovers embracing. Damn, Italy was already romancing him.

At the farthest beach, he stopped to admire the view again, savoring the moment before he was forced back indoors. He didn’t trust himself to be out alone at night yet, so he would have to accompany Whitby back to the apartment. The thought caused his neck to twinge with irritation, but he tried to be understanding. Whitby would set the pace. Baby cat-steps.

It was quieter away from the restaurants. The sea crashed against the cliff, spraying the air with salt that he tasted on his lips.

“More people drown on holiday than at any other time,” Whitby said.

Bastian chuckled. “Your optimism is infectious, Whitby.”