After her bath, Lorenzo's eye color returned to normal, the crimson fading back to that striking ocean blue. But her fangs remained extended, sharp points pressing against her lower lip with every breath.
She dressed quickly in riding clothes, movements jerky with barely controlled tension. Her hands shook as she fastened her belt.
Marcello met her in the corridor, blocking her path.
"You need rest," he said firmly. "You've been through too much...the transformation, feeding from her, the..."
"I need to *ride*," Lorenzo interrupted, voice rough. She tried to move past him.
Marcello caught her arm. "Lorenzo, your eyes keep flashing red. Your fangs won't retract. You're losing control."
"Which is exactly why I need to get away from her." Lorenzo jerked free. "Before I do something we'll both regret."
She strode toward the stables, Marcello's worried gaze following her.
---
In the courtyard, Lorenzo's men assembled quickly, prepared to accompany their commander.
Lorenzo mounted her black stallion in one fluid motion and raised her hand. "You all have the day off. I ride alone."
"Your Highness, it's not safe"one of the older soldiers protested.
"*That is an order*." Lorenzo's voice came out harsher than intended, almost a growl.
She spurred the horse forward and galloped through the gates before anyone could object further, leaving a wake of concerned glances behind her.
---
**MARIE'S RESTLESS DAY**
Marie threw herself into work with manic energy, as if staying busy could keep her from thinking about last night.
It didn't work.
She oversaw the hanging of new tapestries in the east wing, rich burgundies and golds that complemented the stone walls. But her mind kept drifting to burgundy wine and gold candlelight and Lorenzo's mouth between her thighs.
She directed the placement of furniture in the library, creating reading nooks with comfortable chairs. But all she could think about was being pressed against Lorenzo's desk, skirts hiked up, completely at his mercy.
And periodically, she found herself glancing toward the training grounds, hoping to catch a glimpse of him.
He was never there.
By mid-afternoon, frustration had given way to something sharper. Worry, maybe. Or longing she refused to name.
A small table had been set up in the garden courtyard, shaded by an old oak tree. A maid brought dates, chocolate, fresh bread, and cheese.
Marie sat, picking at the food without appetite. Everything tasted like ash compared to the memory of Lorenzo's kiss.
Pierro stood at his usual respectful distance.
"Pierro," Marie called, voice sharper than intended.
He approached immediately and bowed. "My lady?"
"Sit with me." Not a request. "I'm bored, and I would welcome the company."
Pierro hesitated, clearly uncomfortable with such informality, then sat carefully on the edge of the other chair.
"Where is your master?" Marie asked, trying and failing to sound casual.
"His Highness left for a ride alone earlier today, my lady. He gave us all the day off."
Marie's hand stilled on her wine glass. "*Alone?* He left alone?"
"Yes, my lady."
She set down the glass with more force than intended, wine sloshing. "Why does he get to do whatever he wants while I sit here? Trapped like some...some..." She couldn't finish, frustration choking her.
Pierro said nothing, but his expression was sympathetic.
Marie stood abruptly. "I have work to finish."
She completed her final tasks, approving menus, finalizing orders, reviewing budgets, all with mechanical efficiency. Then, too restless to settle, she went to the library.
She buried herself in books. Poetry in Italian, which she read easily now without pretending ignorance. Histories of the Italian states. A philosophical treatise on power and governance.
But her mind kept drifting.
To last night. To Lorenzo's tongue on her. To the way she had passed out from the intensity of pleasure she hadn't known existed.
To the fact that Lorenzo hadn't taken her, even though she'd offered herself completely.
*Why?*
The question haunted her.
---
**LORENZO'S DESCENT**
Lorenzo rode her horse like the devil himself was chasing her.
In a sense, he was.
*Marie speaking perfect Italian. Marie saying their lives could have been a dream. Marie's taste, God, her taste, the way she came apart beneath my tongue, calling my name like a prayer.*
The horse galloped through fields and forests, following no path, just running. When the stallion finally grew tired, foam flecking its mouth, Lorenzo dismounted and tied him to a tree.
Then she ran.
At inhuman speed, she tore through the forest. She climbed trees in seconds, leaping from branch to branch with feral grace. She covered miles in minutes, the world blurring around her.
But the bloodthirst only worsened.
Red lines began appearing around her eyes, like cracks in porcelain. Her vision tinged crimson at the edges. Her fangs ached, throbbing with need.
She was going feral.
In desperation, Lorenzo stopped in a clearing and lifted her own hand to her mouth. She bit down hard, fangs puncturing the flesh of her palm. Blood welled up, hot, copper-sweet and she sucked it out, drawing deeply from her own veins.
The relief was immediate but incomplete. The red faded from her vision. Her eyes returned to blue. Her fangs slowly retracted.
But the hunger remained. Manageable now, but still there. Still waiting.
Lorenzo leaned against a tree, breathing hard, examining the wound on her hand. It was already beginning to heal, one dubious advantage of the curse.
She chuckled bitterly. "When did you become so close to my heart, Marie?"
she whispered to the empty forest. "When did you become the thing I crave more than blood itself?"
After a while, she composed herself and returned to her horse. On the way back, she hunted—moving with predatory silence through the underbrush. She caught two deer and three rabbits with brutal efficiency. Something to occupy her soldiers. Something to make this ride seem normal.
She tied the game to her saddle and rode back to the estate, dreading and anticipating seeing Marie again in equal measure.
---
**THE RETURN**
When Lorenzo rode through the gates with her game, her men rushed forward, relief evident on their faces.
"Your Highness! Thank God you're safe!"
They noticed the blood on her shirt but assumed it was from the hunt. They helped her unload the animals, already discussing how they would roast them, whose turn it was to prepare the fire.
Marcello approached, studying her carefully. His eyes lingered on her face, reading signs only he could see.
"Are you in control now?" he asked quietly.
Lorenzo smirked. Her eyes flashed red for just a heartbeat, a deliberate demonstration, then she commanded them back to blue.
Marcello sighed heavily. "You're playing a dangerous game."
"I know." Lorenzo's smile faded. "But I'm managing it. For now."
"And when 'for now' isn't enough?"
"Then I'll deal with that when it comes." Lorenzo turned away. "Set up for a feast. The men deserve it after today."
Marcello gestured to a servant. "Bring wine for His Highness. The good vintage."
Soon, Lorenzo was drinking with her men as they skinned and prepared the animals. The mood was festive, celebratory. Someone started singing, a bawdy Italian drinking song and others joined in. They lit a large fire and began roasting the meat, the smell filling the evening air.
Lorenzo tried to lose herself in the camaraderie. Tried not to think about Marie alone in the library. Tried not to imagine going to her, pressing her against the bookshelves, making her scream her name again.
It didn't work.