39
“Fosco! Stop please!” I stumbled as he dragged me down the corridor, my heels skidding over the stone floor. “We can’t let this happen! They’re going to kill him!”
He halted abruptly and spun to face me, pinning me to the wall with a hand braced beside my head. “And what would you have me do?” he snapped. “Take on the entire royal guard myself? Gosto knew what he was doing. He’s survived this before.”
Tears blurred my vision, hot trails down my cheeks. “This time’s different!” My voice cracked. “He offered double the blood, Fosco. Gualtiero said himself that it might kill him. And after that he’s injecting him with silver!”
Fosco cursed under his breath, fingers threading roughly through his hair. His jaw clenched, eyes squeezed shut as if to block out the reality I’d just forced him to see.
“There’s nothing we can do,” he said hoarsely.
“But he’ll suffer!” I sobbed. “What if he”
“Domitilla.” He took hold of my shoulders, bending his knees until his gaze locked with mine. “We have to trust that he didn’t overestimate himself. He fed from you not long ago. Maybe maybe that’ll give him the strength to survive what’s coming. But if it doesn’t, I’m getting you out of here.”
His hand found mine again. This time, I didn’t resist. My body moved with him, numbly. My mind stayed behind back in that dungeon, chained beside Gosto. He was giving everything to keep me safe. How could I just walk away?
None of this was fair.
I wanted to tear Gualtiero apart with my bare hands. I had never harbored violence in my heart before, but witnessing the king’s sadistic delight… I no longer believed all men deserved to live.
We passed revelers still drunk on laughter and wine, oblivious to the cruelty occurring within the very walls they danced under. I wanted to scream, to shatter their joy with the truth that their beloved king was a monster. But to them, I was just a human. A warm body. A fragile snack.
Outside, under the night sky, Fosco led me toward the waiting car. A few steps later, Leandro emerged from the shadows beside the black limousine.
“Is she hurt?” he asked Fosco, scanning me like I was already broken.
“I’m fine,” I answered before Fosco could, anger slipping through my grief.
“You’ll go with Leandro to the residence,” Fosco instructed, gesturing to the vehicle parked just beyond the castle gates. “I’ll stay for Gosto. We’ll take the van.”
“No!” I shook my head, eyes wild. “I need to know he’s alive. He did this for me. Fosco, it was my blood Gualtiero wanted Gosto offered himself to keep that from happening!”
Fosco let out a harsh, humorless laugh. “Gualtiero played you both. He claimed to want your blood so Gosto would offer him something that might actually kill him. Gosto would rather die than let that bastard discover your blood’s true power.”
“It doesn’t matter!” I argued. “He’s risking everything so I won’t have to!”
Fosco’s gaze hardened. “This was the only way to move forward. Gosto made the choice to protect the plan. Even if it looks like it’s just about you it isn’t.”
I bit down on my lower lip, fresh tears spilling. “That doesn’t make it right,” I whispered.
“No,” Fosco said quietly, resting a hand on my shoulder. “But it is what it is.”
“I’ll wait in the car,” I said after a long pause. “But I need to see him. I need to know…”
Fosco exhaled sharply and nodded. “Fine. But promise me if we get him back, you stay away from him. If he survives, he won’t be himself.”
“I promise,” I said softly, though my heart already ached from the weight of it.
—
Leandro and I waited in silence in the back of the limo, parked just beyond the castle gates. His hand rested over mine for the first thirty minutes. Then I folded mine in prayer, whispering to any god, spirit, or power that might listen.
Eventually, the castle doors burst open.
Fosco came into view, rushing forward, his face drawn with fury. Two guards followed, half-dragging a limp figure between them. Gosto.
My breath caught in my lungs. His feet scraped lifelessly along the marble steps. They tossed him forward like garbage, and even from this distance, I could hear Fosco’s rage explode in curses.
My hand found the door handle before I even knew what I was doing. I was ready to run.
Leandro grabbed my wrist. “Are you insane? You can’t help him. You’ll only get in the way!”
“I just want to know he’ll be okay…” I breathed, my voice barely audible.
Leandro’s expression softened, if only slightly. “It’s too soon to know. Fosco will take care of him. Let’s go.”
I saw the van doors slam shut with Gosto’s unconscious body inside.
Numbly, I nodded. “Yes… let’s go.”
—
Gosto lived through the silver treatment. Barely.
Fosco told me as much when we arrived back at the residence. But whatever “living” meant, it wasn’t what I’d hoped. Gosto’s body was cold and still, carried up like a corpse, his face pale as ice beneath a winter sky. I caught only a glimpse but it was enough to shatter something inside me.
“What happens now?” I asked, my voice trembling.
Fosco let out a slow breath. “He’ll be given blood. It’ll jumpstart his healing.”
“And after that?”
“Then…” Fosco’s jaw tightened. “Then the real pain begins. His body will fight the silver, force it out… And it’s going to be hell.”
I clutched my hand to my mouth, trying to steady the scream rising in my throat.
“How long?” I whispered.
“A week. Maybe two. Could be a month.”
I swayed on my feet. “God…”
“Domitilla.” Fosco caught me. “You have to promise don’t go near him. He’s locked in for a reason. He won’t know who you are. He might hurt you.”
“But my blood what if it could help him?”
Something flickered in his eyes hope? But it died quickly.
“He needs more than you could give. If he drank from you now, it would kill you. And it still wouldn’t be enough.”
I closed my eyes, heart pounding. “I understand.”
But understanding it didn’t mean I could accept it.
They barred me from his chamber. Fosco called it protection, but it felt like punishment.
For days, I couldn’t eat. Couldn’t sleep. His screams haunted every hour. He cried out in torment, sometimes for hours, until finally his body collapsed into unconsciousness. In those silences, I’d sit near the hidden passage behind the bookshelf, holding myself, trying not to cry.
One night, I gave in. I slipped through the passage, sat in the dark, and stared at his door.
“Domitilla…” His voice called out, hoarse and raw. “Domitilla…”
He kept saying my name. Over and over, like a lifeline.
I broke.
I opened the door and stepped into the room, trembling. Moonlight spilled across the bed where he lay, bound in chains. Arms, chest, legs secured. Not to protect me. To protect himself.
“Gosto?” I whispered.
His head snapped toward me, pain etched into every line of his face. “Don’t come any closer,” he rasped. “I’ll hurt you.”
I flinched at the rattle of chains as he tested them.
“I’m not afraid,” I said, though my voice betrayed me. “I’m here to help you.”
He shook his head. “Don’t. I can’t stop if I start…”
I sat beside him, fingers curling into fists. “You said my blood makes you stronger.”
He cursed under his breath. “Domitilla, it’s too dangerous…”
“These chains,” I said, meeting his eyes, “can they hold you?”
“Yes. I’m too weak.”
I nodded. Then, with shaking fingers, I picked up the knife from the bedside table.
I made the cut beneath my wrist and held it to his mouth.
“Then drink.”