carlyinrome

Roma, 1771

Stagnancy is a problem. It didn’t used to be; even as a human, Darla was always endowed with enormous patience. But in their few short years together, Angelus has driven the virtue from her.

Ah, well. Turnabout is fair play.

Darla stands at the window, watching the pale last breaths of the setting sun. They should be moving, but of course they can’t. Not even once it’s properly dark.

On the bed, behind her, Angelus writhes, a furious feral growl ripping from his chest.

La contessa swats at him. “Ma che cazzo fai, coglione? Calmati!”

Angelus growls again. Darla sighs, lets her eyes drift wearily closed.

“If you rip her throat out, you’ll have to tend to your own wounds. Our choice of magical healers is somewhat limited, and I am not a nursemaid.”

Angelus stills beneath la contessa’s ministrations, but not happily.

“Mangierò degli tuoi occhi,” he hisses.

“Vai all’inferno,” la contessa says, and applies the cauterizing brand with rather less care than one might appreciate.

“Not yet,” Darla says. “Not yet.”

She turns to appraise the situation. La contessa straddles her boy; they both started sitting up properly, facing each other, but Angelus’s peevishness necessitated a firmer hand, as usual. His chest is still half open, his blood as rust stains marring the hotel’s expensive linens. This is a problem; there will be questions.

Darla’s life has been more than enough problematic of late.

She could have left him with Holtz. Between Angelus’s loyalty and Holtz’s capacity, she never feared that a secret would be spilled that would seriously endanger her. She has no delusions of maternal obligation, and truly clean breaks are so rare in life.

Still.

Darla sits on the bed beside Angelus, threads her fingers through his hair.

“You flirt so close to death again,” she purrs, “and I’ll kill you myself.”

Angelus narrows a knowing look at her. “I love you too, Darla.”

Love. The audacity. A quick backhand wipes the smug smile from his face; la contessa laughs.

“Hush,” Darla says. “Or I will let him eat your eyes.”

Angelus relaxes against Darla’s hand, her palm cradling the base of his skull. He closes his eyes, felled by the exhaustion of hours of torture, the comfort of familiar proximity and an emotion that is definitely not love. Darla repositions herself, moves to let Angelus’s heavy body fall against hers. Her fingers comb gently through his hair.

She’s dangerous, Darla said, her eyes glinting hotter than the embers Angelus was tending to. And she tries my patience.

Everything tries your patience, Darla.

Darla’s pale hands splayed against the stiff fabric of her skirts, a flexing of claws, a display of arsenal. He wasn’t too old.

Come sit here by the fire. It’s nice and—

We don’t have body temperatures, you idiot. Why don’t you make yourself useful, and toss in your new toy as kindling?

She wouldn’t fit, for starters, Angelus replied amiably, and then rose. Grinning, which was stupid of him. No one in their right mind would have a smile on their face with Darla in the state she was in.

He wound his hands around her small waist. Darla allowed him to pull her against his chest; he was warm from the fire, and smelled earthy and hot: smoke, carbon.

You’re an idiot, Darla said. Angelus’s mouth fell against her neck. She cocked an eyebrow and looked down at him. His eyes were closed, and her face relaxed. She threaded a hand through his hair.

No sense wasting a perfectly good fire. Not now that you’ve gone through the trouble.

’Course not, Angelus agreed, and let Darla drive him to his knees on the hearth.

Darla’s lips are candy red, her eyes pitiless blue. She has a little girl’s voice, but she wears the night.

“Never trust a beautiful woman,” she purrs against the nape of Angelus’s neck, so close that he can’t help but shiver.

Later, he watches her lure beautiful boys and girls to her like a spider taking in prey. She hardly has to work: all she has to do is be beautiful, waiting. She doesn’t look like death, not to them, but he can see it now, glistening all over her like a veneer, like a candy coating.