He pointed down the hill to a grand, sweeping structure nestled among cypress trees.
Then, like a stallion loosed from the reins, he bolted.
I struggled to keep pace, my breath coming in quick bursts as werushed downhill. Balthazar moved as if propelled by an invisible force, each step like a gust of wind urging him forward.
The villa loomed ahead—an ominous masterpiece of old stone and shadow.
Monstrous statues lined the path leading up to it, their grotesque faces frozen in eternal screams.
Gargoyles perched at every corner, their unblinking eyes tracking our movements.
And for a moment, I swore they moved.
Balthazar burst into the foyer, his voice booming through the grand halls. “Ginevra! Giorgia! I want a bath at once!”
The house erupted into movement. Servants scurried, their footsteps echoing against the marble floors.
“Master!” one of them cried, breathless. “Welcome home!”
Balthazar didn’t slow. He bounded up the stairs, his movements fevered.
“Balthazar!” I shouted, struggling to keep pace. “What do you need me to do?”
He stopped abruptly, gripping the ornate banister. His eyes gleamed with purpose.
“You will go and retrieve the dagger from Giovanni.”
I faltered. “What? Where?—?”
But Balthazar was already moving again, ignoring me completely.
A plump maid, flushed with exertion, waddled up the steps, gasping. “Master, wait! I shall prepare your bath.”
“Fine, fine, Ginevra, but hurry! There is much to do.”
He vanished down the hall, and I had no choice but to chase after him.
We entered a massive chamber.
At its center stood a grand copper tub, its clawed metal legs sculpted into the shape of deer hooves.
I hesitated in the doorway.
“Come, come.” Balthazar waved me inside, his impatience palpable.
The room itself was otherworldly. Devilish-looking plants with spiraling vines and wicked thorns hung from the ceiling, their tendrils swaying as if alive. Stained glass bathed the space in fractured crimson, gold, and violet hues.
Balthazar shed his clothes without hesitation, tossing them carelessly in every direction.
He stood bare, unbothered, as if he owned the very world we stood in.
My gaze flicked to the angry, red gash on Balthazar’s abdomen. Then, lower.
Damn it.
Heat crawled up my neck as my eyes betrayed me, lingering on the impressive cock hanging between his legs. Mortified, I yanked my gaze away.
Except for that wound, Balthazar was a specimen of unshaken power—his muscled physique carved like a warrior forged in battle.
