Page 84 of Be Still My Unbeating Heart

“Actually, it explains a lot,” De Luca said. “But if you did thatto her, why doesn’t she hate you? Why are you onholidaytogether?”

Bastian chuckled. “Hate requires fuel, and Whitby had plenty of it for a long time. When she magicked herself into the cat, she also cast a spell that trapped us in her apartment. Sealed us inside. I couldn’t get out no matter what I did. We fought and screamed for weeks. I even tried to feed on her again, but she was too nimble for me. Eventually, I grew so weak from the lack of blood, I couldn’t speak. All I could do was listen.”

He swallowed, shame shuddering in his rib cage as he remembered that time.

“I experienced something I never had before. Guilt. It consumed me. Whitby cried and raged for months. Before Whitby, I killed without remorse because, for the first time, I was strong—something to fear for all the right reasons, rather than the wrong. Before Whitby, none of my victims could tell me how it felt when I attacked them. What it was like when life bled from their body. What I had taken from them.”

Bastian stroked his neck. “Whitby took advantage of my weakened state. She hunted mice and fed them to me, kept me just lucid enough to hold a conversation, and I found myself opening up to her. She helped me process all those years of pain and resentment, and as angry as she was with me, I believe she began to understand me. We began to understand each other. She told me about her life as a witch, the wretched family she had fled when she moved to London, the girlfriends who came and went over the years. She told me all about the life I had taken from her, and I pledged to make it up to her, to look after her, and to never kill again.”

He couldn’t look at De Luca. The guilt still burned.

“So, that’s me,” Bastian said. “Not so dashing after all. Just another monster.”

“Oh, Bastian.”

Bastian smiled sadly, certain that he had pushed De Luca away for good by sharing his story.

“I love it when you say my name,” he said.

“Bastian,” De Luca said, standing. He crossed the room and Bastian wondered if he was leaving. Leaving because he couldn’t bear the thought of all the people Bastian had killed.

But De Luca was at the shelf of CDs. He took a disk from its case and slotted it into an old-fashioned stereo. Hit Play. “Smalltown Boy” came from the speakers as De Luca moved toward Bastian, shrinking the space between them.

“Bastian,” he said, taking hold of Bastian’s hands, saying his name again and again as he brought his mouth to Bastian’s.

The kiss was gentle. Timid. De Luca’s hands moved to Bastian’s chest, warm and firm, and his lips moved with increasing force.

Bastian shivered, tasting De Luca, smelling him, trembling with surprise, relief, and excitement. He hadn’t run. He didn’t think Bastian was a monster.

“Thank you for telling me,” De Luca whispered. “Grazie, tesoro mio.”

Bastian pulled De Luca close, bringing their bodies together, just like their dance at the gala. But they were alone now. Alone at last. And they knew each other in a way that Bastian had never felt known, not even by Whitby.

De Luca’s kisses grew more insistent, and Bastian felt his own body warming, filling with De Luca’s heat.

There was that heartbeat. Quick and loud. Vital and demanding. It thumped through Bastian’s palms when he touched the inspector’s back, his arms, his ass.

Be still my unbeating heart.

De Luca’s hot breath against Bastian’s mouth made him shiverwith delight. Their foreheads rested together, and Bronski Beat were still playing on the stereo, singing about smalltown boys finding their home, then De Luca’s hands were at Bastian’s shirt, unbuttoning it one button at a time.

“De Luca—”

“Nico. Call me Nico.”

Bastian frowned, then remembered that De Luca was his surname. His first name was—

“Nico,” he said softly, feeling the name on his lips, like a kiss. “Nico.”

De Luca kissed his neck. “You were right, what you said at the mayor’s house.”

Bastian tried to focus as De Luca’s hand slipped inside his shirt, grazing his skin, leaving a trail of warmth across his chest.

“What did I say?” Bastian murmured.

“You only have to let go once,” De Luca said, kissing him. “I’m so tired of holding on.”

He saw the heat in De Luca’s gaze. The determination in his jaw. Bastian resisted, not wanting to take advantage, but then De Luca’s fingers teased Bastian’s nipple, sending a jolt of arousal through him, and Bastian gave in.