Page 76 of Be Still My Unbeating Heart

Teeth gnashed inches from Bastian’s face. Only Bastian’s hands on the creature’s shoulders kept him at bay. Bastian recoiled as the man’s meaty breath blasted him.

He smelled blood.

De Luca’s blood.

The scent split his focus. Confused the anger. The blood smelled good. Really good.

But it wasDe Luca’s.

Fresh anger wrenched at his gut. How much damage had the man done? How much of De Luca’s neck had he attacked before Bastian tore him free?

The thought spurred him into action, and suddenly Bastian was on top of the man again, gripping hold of his arms. He wanted to tear him limb from limb for what he had done. He twisted and pulled, thrilling at the sound of popping joints and snapping sinew, the agonized yowls of the vampire that had fed on De Luca.

The rage in Bastian shuddered with glee and compelled him to keep going.

But Bastian’s grip slipped and the man squirmed free. He sprang from the bed, tumbling across the floor and landing on all fours. He crouched low like a hound from hell, eyes shining. His wrists were circled in red, the skin raw. From restraints? Restraints that he had escaped?

Bastian stared into that gray, sickly face and realized he recognized their attacker.

Despite the dripping fangs, his gaunt face was familiar. It wasthe man from the picture in the mayor’s office. A gold ring glinted on the vampire’s finger, confirming Bastian’s suspicions.

The mayor’s husband.

The vampire tensed, drool oozing in strings to the floor, and Bastian felt certain he was about to attack again.Bring it on. Anger still flooded his system, desperate to be vented.

But then the creature turned tail and scuttled from the room. The pounding of hands and feet in the hall fell into silence.

Bastian prepared to give chase, but Whitby’s voice broke his focus.

“Press harder,” she said, and through the red haze clouding his vision, Bastian spotted her on the floor by De Luca. The inspector slumped against an armchair, clutching his neck. Blood welled between his fingers.

“I think he bit me,” he murmured as Bastian hurried to his side.

“I willendhim,” Bastian growled, his hands curled into claws. “I will bleed him dry and wear his bones—”

A paw swiped his cheek. “Bastian, get a hold of yourself.”

The contact snapped Bastian from the fever. The anger dulled. He wrestled it under control.

“Sorry,” he said.

De Luca was pale. “Am I going to turn?” he asked. “Am I going to be a vampire?”

“No,” Whitby said. “You would have to drink the vampire’s blood for that to happen.”

A flicker of relief in De Luca’s face. But then he gritted his teeth.

“We have to…”

“Try not to talk,” Bastian said. He shrugged out of his suit jacket and tore at the arm of the shirt the mayor’s secretary had given him. “My apologies to the mayor,” he said, wrapping the makeshift bandage around De Luca’s throat, pulling it tight to stanch the blood.

The inspector winced but calmed at Bastian’s touch.

Bastian tried not to think about the blood. It shouldn’t call to him—it was De Luca, after all, and he was hurt, badly—but it did, and Bastian felt ashamed of how much he wanted to taste it.

“You’re going to be okay,” he said, focusing on De Luca’s eyes. Those beautiful blue eyes. “Once the bleeding stops.”

“Who…” De Luca said.