Page 34 of Be Still My Unbeating Heart

He heard Whitby calling his name, and shame and hunger wrestled in his gut.

He’d wanted the blood. He still did.

He prowled back and forth in the shadows, unable to think about anything other than the goblet filled with the rich, oily substance. How sweet the sensation would be as it poured into his mouth, coppery and warm, igniting him from within. Memories sparked and flashed in his mind. How could he have forgotten how wonderful it tasted? How delicious? How content he felt afterward?

He needed it.

He needed it.

Suddenly, he wasn’t thinking about the goblet anymore. He was thinking about a neck. A vein. The source of that deliciousness. His mind twisted itself in knots trying to figure out how he could get hold of it.

He could drink from a townsperson and…blame it on the killer.

It would be easy, really. Over in an instant.

That was only fair, given Bastian was being blamed for killing Luna. Everyone already thought him a monster. Why not prove them right?

But Bastian heard Whitby’s voice calling for him, and it punched a hole in the brain fog. A fraction of the hunger shrank. His mind began to clear, the bloodlust calming.

He wasn’t accustomed to being near human blood anymore, that was all.

Still, he couldn’t bear the thought of them seeing him like this. Shame overwhelmed him, and he stepped back into a doorway, the shadows cloaking him just in time for him to see De Luca and Whitby run past the alley, still yelling for him.

Quiet fell.

If Bastian still breathed, he was sure he’d be panting. Instead, his chest ached with tension. He tried to remember the calming mantras of self-love and acceptance that Whitby had taught him and settled on whispering the lyrics from Enigma’s “Second Chapter.”

It wasn’t his fault that he had reacted to the blood; it was in his nature, and he hadn’t been around human blood in years. He had controlled himself. He had done the right thing.

Bastian was so distracted by the whiplash of emotions, he barely registered the sound of a heart hammering nearby. Suddenly, a cold hand gripped his, and a man appeared from the dark. Bastian stared into a skeletal face with sunken eyes, above which crawled bristling black eyebrows. The man’s face was red with exertion, and his smile held a graveyard of yellowing teeth.

“I’m so glad I found you, Mr. Vampire,” the man whispered. “You must listen to me. My name is Salvador Silvestri, and there’s so much I need to tell you.”

12

Salvador.

Bastian’s head still pounded with the slow-fading bloodlust. He knew that name was familiar, but he couldn’t think clearly. The man’s nails dug into the bones of Bastian’s hand, scraping the raw skin around his wrists, and the cold of his touch was shocking because living bodies usually held at least a little warmth, but this man felt almost dead.

But no…

Thump-thump…thump-thump…

Bastian shuddered at the sound of his pulse, hating the flood of saliva in his mouth. His vision flashed red as it zeroed in on the man’s throat, seeing that goblet once more, glittering with rich red fluid—

“No,” he grunted, attempting to wrestle free so that he could run. “I have to go.”

But Salvador leaned closer, and Bastian’s nostrils prickled with the reek of brandy and damp fabric, his ears picking up that insistentthump-thump…thump-thump…

“You must listen to me,” Salvador hissed, spittle flecking Bastian’s lips. “Time is running out.”

Bastian shoved him. Hard.

He’d done it before he was aware he’d moved.

Salvador sailed across the alley, airborne for a moment before his back struck the wall. He collapsed to the ground like a bag of bones, broken by the impact. A wave of regret ran through Bastian, snapping him to his senses. He didn’t enjoy using his full strength on humans, especially ones as frail as this sorry creature.

“Sorry, love,” he said, instinctively reaching out a hand, even though the thought of touching the man made him grimace. “Here, let me help you up.”