Yeah, he did. And if I ever found out who he was, and could get my hands on him, he’d have a crazed woman to deal with. I’d go madder than the hatter on that asshole. I wasn’t sure what the motherfucker gave me, but it was still causing me to go in and out, and I kept having horrifically real nightmares. Even when I’d wake up, I’d question my surroundings. I’d expect the ghost of my mom, who might not be a ghost at all, to pop out at me from nowhere.
The kind doctor, who had instructed me to call him Uncle Tito, said the drug was just going to take time to run its course. I was ready for it to be over. Not much scared me, but just the thought of those visions assaulting me again made my heart race and sweat coat my body, even with the cool weather.
The water taxi had three bench style seats below. Two were across from one another and the third was by itself, facing the two. Nazzareno sat by himself, but when our eyes met, he came to sit beside me, sighing as he did.
I hadn’t felt how cold I was until he sat next to me. He was warm, and I almost wanted to scoot closer and put my hands against him.
Even though he felt like what I needed, I scooted away from him some. In all the time I’d been alive, I never needed to get close to someone to drive my demons away. I did it myself.But…it almost felt like he was responding instinctually to me.
Those dreams were freaking me the fuck out, and so was this.
Whateverthiswas between us. I could feel it pulling us closer to together. Like sexual attraction but on steroids.
That was another reason I’d needed to get to Luca’s palazzo. My curious nature was dying to get close to Nazzareno again. My memories from the night before were somewhat distorted, except for a few things that stood out vividly.
The swaying candlelight.
The shadows crawling up walls and twisting into mysterious shapes.
The gallons of blood covering my bare feet, seeping into my white gown, and turning it black.
That moment in the hall that shocked the shit out of me when I’d collided with Nazzareno.
We weren’t touching on the bench seat, but it was almost like my hand ached to reach out to his. To feel his body pressed up against mine, his arms around me, his scent as strong as his embrace.
There was something so warm about him, besides his appearance.
He turned some and met my stare.
He was so fucking good looking. Like…the Fausti family was a beautiful bunch. Italian vampires, remember? And no one knew as well as I did just how gorgeous they were, especially after last night. But Nazzareno…no other man could compare.
He stood out in a crowd of the most gorgeous men in, maybe, the world to me.
His hair was jet black, worn in a military-style cut. His skin was smooth and a tad bit darker than tan. He had that Mediterranean glow about him, like he was made by the olive tree, and its drupes had reached his eyes. In this dimness, they were a darker green, but in the sun’s bright light, they were going to be the color of green olives.
He had that Fausti look about him—strong, prominent bone structure, sharp features, and lips that looked like they could kiss for days.
Sitting next to him, his body made mine feel feminine…like I became hyperaware of myself. I was a woman made up of atoms sitting next to a man with the strongest magnetic field.
Not even when I had my cards and was going through stats did I concentrate on only him. In person, though…I had no clue how he stood out among his family to me, but he did. And it might not make any sense, why then and not before, but I was never one to focus on everything making sense.
The only thing I couldn’t figure out was what was causing the pull.
Was it just physical?
If so, I’d never been drawn to a man so strongly, except for in my fantasies.
Or was it something deeper?
And in that case…I’d never had that either.
Again, like the nightmares, it freaked me the fuck out.
My sister was the one to believe in souls meeting and responding to each other—soul mates, I guess—and she was never afraid of commitment, or as I liked to call it, being cuffed to another person forever.
Just thinking about it would send a shiver over me, and I’d break out in cold sweats. Being tied down was a fear of mine. A terrible, terrible, fear, and there was no true basis for it, except I just didn’t like the idea of feeling trapped.
My sister once told me that maybe it wasn’t fear of commitment at all, but I was just claustrophobic and confusing the two.
