Page 81 of Be Still My Unbeating Heart

De Luca nodded, though he wouldn’t quite meet Bastian’s eyes. Flustered, perhaps? “It was my parents’ house. I inherited it after my mother died.”

“It’s sweet. Reminds me of English cottages. Don’t you ever get lonely? Being here on your own?”

De Luca’s gaze dropped. “My job is pretty time-consuming.”

“Of course.” Bastian winked. “No time for fun.”

“Not until you.”

“Inspector, I believe you’re flirting.”

“I’m trying.”

“Here,” Bastian said. He took a plaster from the first aid kit and fixed it gently to De Luca’s neck. “You’re as good as new.”

De Luca smiled. “Thanks. It’s been a while since somebody…”

“Looked after you?”

De Luca gave a small shrug.

“The honor is all mine.”

De Luca ran his thumb over the back of Bastian’s hand. “I’ve been thinking about what you said. About letting go.” He raised Bastian’s hand and kissed it. The feel of his lips sent a shiver of pleasure down Bastian’s spine.

“And what have you decided?” Bastian asked.

De Luca’s ears turned pink. Bastian leaned in and kissed his neck, gently, right where he had been bitten. De Luca sighed and his scent was intoxicating.

Bastian kissed up his neck to his jawline, moving toward his mouth.

Another creak sounded above their heads.

Bastian looked at the ceiling again. He was sure he heard something up there.

“Ignore it,” De Luca said.

Bastian smiled. Even though he wanted nothing more than to keep kissing him, he stood.

“Your shirt is bloody. You rest here and I’ll fetch you a change of clothes.”

“No, don’t—” De Luca said, but Bastian was already at the stairs. He knew what he’d heard and he had to check the house was safe. It wasn’t just vampires that had made the past few days difficult. What if Matteo the cat café mob leader was lying in wait for De Luca to go to bed?

Bastian went up to a dark, cramped landing, where he followed the sound that had distracted him. He heard the inspector coming up the stairs behind him, calling his name, but he paid him no mind, drawn to the second door.

He pushed it open and peered into a bedroom.

A man lay asleep in the bed. He was handsome, dark hair swept back from a noble face, eyes closed, eyelids fluttering.

Bastian’s ears filled with the sound that had drawn him up there.

Breathing.

The sound of somebody breathing.

He turned to look at De Luca, whose face was stiff with guilt. And guilt could only mean one thing.

Salvador had been right.