A sigh escaped her lips, but even so, Alessia knew she still had to get the job done–and do it well. She nced around, only now remembering she was no longer at the Tate family’s manor. Of course there wouldn’t be any art supplies here. Thest time she’d asked Cole to help, he’d brought her a small box of paints, but she’d given them all to Ivan–hadn’t kept a single tube for herself.
Resigned, Alessia stood up. She’d have to borrow some paint from Ivan. She knocked on the cab door; the curtain hanging nearby fluttered gently in the breeze, but the room remained silent. Alessia was used to this–she figured Ivan was probably lost in his painting again–so she simply pulled the curtain aside.
But the little studio was empty.
She was about to let the curtain fall back into ce when a painting by the window. caught her eye. The canvas was a mass of ck, streaked with deep, unsettling reds, the whole image twisted into something almost grotesque. Even though the summer air outside was thick and stifling, this painting seemed to leech the warmth from the room, sending a chill through her.
Almost without thinking, Alessia stepped closer. The moment she reached out, Ivan burst out from who–knows–where and mped his teeth onto her outstretched hand. Pain shot through her–she could feel his teeth sinking into her skin, sharp and desperate, as if he wouldn’t let go until he’d bitten out a piece of her.
She sucked in a breath. As she started to pull away, Ivan suddenly trembled, his eyes wild with terror, his grip tightening instead of loosening.
Alessia was quick to pick up on emotions–sometimes more than she wa d to be. A thought shed through her mind, one she instinctively wanted to reject. Her hand throbbed, but instead of pulling away, she reached over and gently patted Ivan’s head, soothing him with a calm that belied her pain.
The movement was so fluid, it was as if she’d been bitten and then immediately moved tofort him.
There was no screaming, no iling–none of the panic she’d braced herself for. Ivan stilled, sensing her steady presence and gentle touch.
He blinked, eyes clearing, the fear draining away as he met Alessia’s gaze. There was no anger there, just a helpless kind of resignation.
“Sorry,” Alessia said, crouching down so she was eye–level with him. “I shouldn’t have barged in. I just wanted to borrow some paint.” She made <b>sure </b>her <b>tone </b><b>was </b>
<b>13:50 </b>
<b>Chapter </b><b>42 </b>
even, not scolding, just honest–putting herself on his level.
She wasn’t angry about being bitten. Besides, it was her own fault for <b>startling </b><b>him</b>, and honestly, this wasn’t half as shocking as what the Tate twins had put <b>her </b>through.
Ivan had calmed down. He let go of her hand and curled up against the wall, arms wrapped tight around his knees. He was <i>so </i>small, drawn in on himself, that she <b>felt </b>an unexpected pang of sympathy. Alessia wasn’t the sentimental type, but seeing Ivan like this made her brow crease with concern.
She wanted to say something, but the moment didn’t feel right. Besides, ncing at the blood oozing from her hand, she just let out another sigh.
Without another word, Alessia left the room, giving Ivan his space. The apartment wasn’t big, so it didn’t take her long to spot the first–aid kit in the living room.
Her hand was already bruising, purple and blue around the crescent marks where blood still welled. Against her pale skin, the bite looked almost ghastly. At least it was her left hand–cleaning the wound wouldn’t be too tricky.
She twisted the cap off the peroxide and poured it over the bite without so much as a flinch. Bubbles fizzed up, but she just dabbed them away and reached for the iodine, moving with practiced efficiency, her face unreadable.
Finally, she tore open a roll of gauze, biting one corner as she wrapped it around her hand with the other.
Just then, she heard Karen and the others outside the door. A secondter, the front door swung open.