Page 38 of Be Still My Unbeating Heart

Matteo was just like them. A bully. Monstrous in his own way.

And it would feel so good to show him how powerless he really was.

Bastian opened his mouth, freeing his fangs, preparing to sink them into soft flesh for the first time in five years.

But then he saw the terror in Matteo’s eyes.

The kind of terror Bastian had seen so often in the moments before he killed. And it made him think about Whitby.

Whitby who loved him. Who saw the good in him. Who helped him.

Guilt knotted his gut. The same guilt that was always there when he thought about the people he had killed. Despite everything, Whitby had been a good friend to him. She was there for him during some of the toughest moments of his life. They knew each other on a subcutaneous level and, at some point, they had only started making sense when they were together. They were connected, now and forever.

In that moment, he felt Whitby’s absence like he’d lost his shadow. A piece of him had been torn off. He needed her to helphim feel calm. One backhanded compliment from her and he’d be laughing instead of thirsting for Matteo’s blood.

He probably tastes like cat food, Whitby would say, and the thought caused the rage to shrink. It retreated to the back of Bastian’s mind, and he remembered that he wasn’t a killer.

He wasn’t a monster.

He was calm.

And he had to get away.

He brought his arms up quickly, breaking free from Matteo’s grip. Matteo yelped in pain, but Bastian didn’t acknowledge him, because he was free.Free!

He didn’t hesitate. He flipped up and over the wall, then plummeted, reveling in the sensation of air rushing over him, pulling at his shirt, whipping through his hair. He didn’t fall like a human, but with controlled grace. The air held him all the way to the harbor below, and when he landed, he sank to his knees, feeling the weight of the past few hours pressing down on him as unforgivingly as the sun.

This was getting dangerous.

Maybe Whitby was right, and they should leave Vernazza. Forget that it made him look guilty. Forget what the vampire council might do to this place. Bastian’s life was at stake—literally.

He stared about the harbor, knowing he had to find Whitby. He was about to start making his way back to the town, but then he smelled it on the breeze. Sharp and metallic.

Blood.Again.

Nervously, he went to the harbor wall and peered over at the rocks, suspecting what he’d find, but still shuddering at the sight because it was bad news. Really bad news. Faintly, he wondered just how long he had wandered the dark alleys after that goblet of blood. It felt like mere moments since he had fled the mayor’soffice, but then he’d run into Salvador, followed by Matteo, and however long it had been, it had been enough time for the killer to strike again.

A body sprawled amid the rocks. Limbs bent. Neck torn. Blood leaking into the water.

Bastian recognized the blond hair, the Micio Micio uniform, and he closed his eyes in sorrow.

Emilio, the cute blond waiter and L.O.V.E. ambassador, was dead.

13

“Bastian!”

Whitby leapt into his arms, pushing her face into his and emitting kittenlike mews. There was no sign of De Luca. He must be speaking with his colleagues or helping control the crowd at the other end of the harbor.

“It’s good to see you, too.” Bastian chuckled as he scratched behind Whitby’s ear. The cat nuzzled into his hand, her body vibrating with purrs.

Then she bit him. Her teeth sank into the flesh between his thumb and forefinger—a sharp, mean little nip.

“Ouch! What was that for?”

“Don’t ever run off again!” Whitby glared at him, her claws needling through his shirt to prick his skin. Bastian smiled through the pain. The cat acted aloof so much of the time, but it was good to know she cared, at least a little.

She had been a nuisance when he first took her into his flat—a wild, angry thing that wouldn’t give him a moment’s peace. Shecried and yowled at all hours, and more than once he had regretted adopting her.