“Really?” he asks. “Cause they’re not here.” He looks around the room then behind his shoulder.
“I didn’t have them alert the family,” I admit. “I wanted to do that after.”
He steps into the room and reaches into his back pocket. “You’ll need this then.” Soren holds my phone out to me. The screen is covered in hairline cracks but it still works.
I take it from him and then eye him as I’m swiping to my text messages. There’s a few asking where I am. Talking about a family meeting. I scowl.
It’s definitely needed. That much I know, and I have quite a few things I need to say, but I’m not ready yet. Not ready to face my family.
I’m barely ready to face the man right in front of me, and it’s his transgressions that need to be made up for, not mine.
Made up for… It seems I’ve already made up my mind. I can’t get rid of Soren—no matter what I should or should not do.
Soren has saved my life several times, but that’s not the only reason.
I turn my phone off completely and get up from the bed. I hadn’t been forced to change into a hospital gown, thank God, but I have an awful band around my wrist that itches. I rip it off and toss it to the side.
“We need to talk,” I tell Soren, and he looks back at me with a dark expression. I saw my own cold eyes reflected in his.
Soren nods. “Just tell me where, and I’ll take us there.”
The next moment I’m in the passenger seat of Soren’s car and he’s driving down the dark road to not a Fiorelli safe house but one of ours. A Dresvanni safehouse. One of the more well-kept ones on the coast a few miles south of the hospital. I know that there will be hot water, fresh clothing, and something to drink when I get there.
Briefly, I forget about how sober I had felt before I fell asleep earlier. I forget what I’d told myself about taking responsibility. Anxiety creeps up my spine. What am I going to say to Soren exactly?
I don’t have enough time to think about it before we’re there at the small house on a hillside surrounded by pines and pinecones.
Every little bit of anxiety inside me seems to quell the second we’re alone inside the house. I tell myself it’s not because Soren is here with me, but because this house means something to me, and that’s true. It still looks very much the same as it did when Iwas a child. Not much of the décor has been swapped out. A soft small blanket still remains draped over the edge of the couch. A bit tattered and torn, but still useful. Crocheted in pastels of brown and green, with little accents of pale rose pink. I’m standing in the hallway staring at it, nearly forgetting Soren’s presence entirely.
“So, let’s talk.” His voice comes from behind me and I take a slow breath.
“Right,” I turn around to face him. “How could you betray me like that?” I ask him. “I trusted you, your family… maybe against my better judgement. But you said you wanted to protect me, Soren.”
Soren’s eyes are dark and cloudy like a stormy sky. “I do, Carmine,” he insists. “That’s why I’m here right now, but it’s more complicated than just protecting you and your family, you know that.”
I shake my head. “No, I don’t think it is. You’re either on my side, or you’re not,” I tell him.
Soren growls low under his breath. “How do I know that you’re on my side?” he asks me. “We haven’t made a fucking deal.”
“Other than the fake one you presented me with so you could lure me into my fucking death? Do you remember that one?” I step closer to him, my hands balling into fists. “The one that has my leg stitched up and someone else’s blood running through me.
Soren eyes me. “My blood.”
I blink at him. “What?”
He licks his lips for a moment. “They didn’t have enough of your blood type in stock…turns out, I’m a match, so…” he trails off.
My entire body runs hot and I swear I feel a twitch in my jeans. I try to will my body to settle down, but something aboutknowing that Soren’s blood is inside me—at least partially—makes my skin buzz with life and heat like no other.
“You didn’t get my consent,” I snap at him.
“Didn’t need it,” he tells me. “Besides, would you have really said no just because it was my blood?”
I stare at him, trying to ignore the rising arousal in my groin. “You’re such an ass,” I bite back. “Is this supposed to show me I can trust you?”
“No, it’s more nuanced than that; damn, you know that, but it’s a start, right?” he asks me.
I huff and shake my head. “You really think that? A start? No, a start would be telling me you’re done with your uncle’s plans,” I say. I highly doubt he’ll do it, and his next words only prove my concerns.
