Mortal Bite (Golden Vampires of Tuscany) (14 page)

Lionel saw that his brother had surfaced from his erotic reverie and had
noticed the same thing. A large enforcer for one of the dark coven lords had been
thrown on the floor. He was the lord’s executioner, and Lionel had always
thought the man had been brought to modern times from the sixteen hundreds,
where he no doubt worked as an executioner in a dungeon before turning. He was
legendary for his torture methods. The fact that he was in obvious pain
concerned Lionel.

Both brothers stood, as did most the non-mortal males in the bar. Several
couples made it discreetly out the entrance into the night air. A wall of males
began to form in a circle around the two fighting vamps.

The challenging vamp was Rory Monteleone, Marcus and Paolo’s young
nephew, who had just undergone the change. The struggle on the floor was
between a Golden and dark vamp. Last Lionel knew, Rory was attending school in
France, but his family lived in Tuscany. He wasn’t sure Marcus or Paolo even
knew he was in California.

Lionel was in a quandary. Hugh was ready to jump in, though it might cost
him his night of sex.

Hold it, brother. Not now. Observe
first.
Lionel was satisfied to see that although Hugh had made fists with
his hands, his giant brother inhaled and slumped his shoulders in resignation.
He knew it was hard for his brother to control his urge for a good, hot fight.

The large dark vamp hit the back wall this time. Rory appeared to have gotten
the better of him, having used some new moves he must have learned recently. He
acted without hesitation, and anticipated the large giant’s moves. No doubt the
Executioner wasn’t used to working out, nor felt any need to.

Both girls had scooted their chairs together and were clearly distressed.
Lionel let his fingers lace through the redhead’s hair and patted her head to
reassure her.

Lionel watched the two sparring vamps who were making the whole block
rumble, until the dark one suddenly straightened up to attention and turned at
the arrival of another dark vamp, dressed all in black. Lionel remembered
hearing a motorcycle revving up outside when the door had opened, and he knew
this was probably Dag Nielsen, the new Coven Supreme Leader, though he couldn’t
see his face.

He wanted to ask Hugh mentally what Dag was doing here, but he didn’t
want to risk the uncloaking that could create. If he focused on it, Dag would
realize who he was.

“Rory, my friend,” Dag said as he grabbed the young Golden’s shoulder and
wrenched him around and back into the crowd of his friends. “You’d do well to
leave California to our kind. We don’t need you stirring up trouble.”

Rory spat out blood and glared back at Dag. He looked from face to face,
and Lionel could tell the Golden vamp was assessing who would be for him and
who would be against him. The executioner was clearly taking directions from
Dag. Hugh hung a worried look back as Lionel sought to ask a question without
raising it mentally. What in the hell was happening? Had Dag been consolidating
his ranks by eliminating another coven leader and adopting his Executioner?

The two brothers were careful, but Lionel could see Hugh gently nodding,
biting his lip.

Rory took a swig of beer, straightening himself to address Dag. “I hold
him personally responsible for the death of my little brother,” he said.

This was news to Lionel. Had Morgan, Rory’s ten-year-old mortal brother,
been killed at the hands of this dark vamp? It made his stomach seethe, and he
could feel Hugh wanting to step closer and get right in the middle of the fray.
Loyalty and honor made Hugh spread his chest and take a deep breath.

Not now,
Lionel quickly blurted
out with mental energy. Dag immediately turned and looked over the faces in the
crowd. The Jett brothers focused on Rory and turned off their minds. Their
training was to go into focus on some detail of someone or something they
hadn’t noticed before, and that would mask them.

Through their peripheral vision, they saw that Dag appeared to stop
searching for the thought source and returned to the two enemies before him.

“Rory, that has yet to be proven. But I think you need to understand you
are way outnumbered here in California. And it’s getting more so. You run home
to mama, and tell her I send my love,” Dag snickered in triumph.

Rory started to bolt toward the dark coven leader at the insult to his
beautiful mother, Daria, but was held back by a cadre of dark security forces,
who hauled him out of the bar.

Dag breathed in the agitation and smiled. It was like he got energy from
the strife and Lionel could feel the power surging in the other man’s veins.
But that masked a probe he could feel like barbs in a wire fence. He wasn’t
going to fall for it. He resisted nothing, allowed the barbs to mentally scrape
his flesh and did not flinch. He hoped his brother did the same, as they both
sat down.

The one thing he would not do was look directly at Dag; otherwise the
safety of their anonymity would be shattered. He pulled the redhead to his lap
and laid down a kiss so intense she nearly fainted. Her arms were wrapped
around his neck, her fingers making luscious circles through the dark curls of
his scalp. He wished she would pull his hair a little, and she did.

He drew his head back and looked at the dizzy expression she wore. The
woman was a walking, talking sex doll, and he planned to take his time learning
every inch of her. He felt the dark coven leader swish by him on his way
outside. The executioner was on his heels.

A few stilted minutes later the room returned to its party atmosphere.
The music resumed, but the laughter was careful. The reckless abandon of the
last hour was clearly altered. Lionel felt a grip on his upper arm.

“Let’s get out of here, brother,” Hugh said.

“Brothers? You two are brothers?” the redhead said.

Lionel smiled and nodded, focused on her lips. He’d caused a tiny cut and
there was a drop of blood near the corner of her mouth he wanted to suck dry.

“We’re sisters!” she said, her breasts giggling like they were bursting
to break out in song.

“Perfect.”

It was all he could think to say.

Cara was anxious to return to poring over the old book she’d recently
acquired from the bookseller in Prague. As she pried open the thick green
leather, the letter she’d seen before but never read fell from the interior.
The cream-colored envelope had a distinctive letter “M” embossed on the upper
left corner. As she noted before, it did appear to be addressed to an A. Fraser
of Edinburgh.

Her fingers smoothed over the ripped surface of the flap on the back
where a red seal had been broken. The relief pattern in the fragile sealing wax
was that of a Medusa-like face with lips that drew together as if mouthing the
letter “O”. Cara held it closer to her and detected a faint lemony-camphor wax
scent as she examined the puffy checks of the image, and realized the face was
caught in the act of blowing something in the reader’s direction.

Strange.

Her fingers shook with anticipation as she removed the single sheet from
the envelope and began reading the old black script.

Dear Brother Ignatius,

I fear I must warn you of something
that has come to light recently. I believe you have purchased a book,
specifically The Book of Spawn, as it is known. This book has been illegally
sold from our family library, and is of great personal value to us, and is the
final book of a series of volumes. My wife and I are worried sick about it,
fearing it might have fallen into black hands.

My dear Brother, your calling to
God on high has no doubt acquainted you with the black arts and those who practice
them. They would use these sacred texts which have been handed down from
generation to generation amongst clergy trained to contain and dampen the
effects of these black arts. In the wrong hands, the book could prove to be
lethal, not only to the possessor, but to those who would cause our society
harm.

I must implore you to return the
tome to my estate in Tuscany immediately. You will be compensated handsomely,
and will be free from prosecution, I assure you.

As a further warning, I need to
inform you that the person who sold you the book has met a most disagreeable
end, and not by my hand, or that of any of my family. I believe there are other
dark forces at work who will stop at nothing to make sure they have full
possession of this book.

You will be doing your race and the
future of mankind a great service by returning the book to me as soon as
humanly possible I would be happy to entertain you at my estate as well as make
a sizeable donation to the church, or to any one person or organization you
choose.

Again, this is not a matter of
money. It is a matter of life and death. And you, my dear Brother, are in grave
danger until you divest yourself of this book.

Ever yours,

The—

Cara couldn’t make out the signature, except for the fact that it was
heavily inscribed in an artistic scrawl. The black letters bounced across the
page in front of her, appearing to be breathing. Under the signature line was
scripted the date
14 February 1710.

She closed the letter in half again and slipped it inside the envelope.
She was going to put it back into the book, but thought better of it. She added
the book to the false bottom compartment of the old desk in her living room.
The letter she slipped under the floral drawer liner of the underwear
compartment in her bedroom dresser.

She was distressed by this new bit of information, and had a twinge of
regret that she’d been so preoccupied with the party and meeting the mysterious
Paolo that she hadn’t taken time to study the Fraser book. She would have found
the letter much sooner, in time to reconsider Johnny’s field trip to Berkeley
on her behalf. She became concerned for his safety and decided she needed to
hear from him. She called his cell phone.

“And here I thought you’d perhaps had second thoughts about spending the
night with me,” Johnny said with a chuckle.

“You’re persistent. I’ll give you that.”

“Well, I’ll take whatever I can get.” He turned down his radio and
continued. “I was given the name of an occult bookstore owner in San Francisco,
although it was too late to call. Will do so tomorrow.”

“What did the research assistant say about the book?” Cara asked.

 
“Said the book you’re
looking for is called
The Book of Spawn
,
but he doubted it really exists. Like pieces of the true cross. Urban legend.”

“Ah.” Cara hesitated to tell Johnny about the letter she’d found. “When
did this book last appear, or did the assistant know?”

“There is some notation of it being recovered in the charred remains of
an abbey that burned to the ground in early 1700’s in a little village in
Tuscany. The brothers there poured over it, tried to restore it, and spend some
time cataloguing it. In the end, it seemed to have disappeared until your
friend Alasdair Fraser started digging around. Cara, he may have found it.”

“Interesting. Is that what the assistant said?”

“He said Fraser was known for his braggadocio. Lots of exaggeration, and
who knows what. Up until his death. It was pegged a suicide, but we know the
guy just disappeared, along with much of his research.”

“Yes, and we know there was a big book burning after he was declared
legally dead.”

“True.”

“Anything else?”

“The assistant seemed to think the bookseller in Prague would be your
link, unless the San Francisco bookstore owner, who he says specializes in
witchcraft and vampire books, and has one of the most extensive collection of
rare books in the world, knows where it is. He thought it even possible the
bookstore owner himself might have it, or know where it is.”

“Good. That’s a great lead, Johnny. Maybe you and I will have to go there
sometime soon.”

“It would be fun. I’d like that.”

“Good. Well, we’ll plan it, then.”

“Can I ask you something?” Johnny’s voice had lowered an octave.
 

“Sure.”

“You talk to your mystery man?”

Cara quivered at the thought of
her
mystery man, and what they had done this afternoon. The way his kisses scorched
her flesh. The way his tongue had its way with her private parts…

“Cara? You still there?”

She wondered what she should say. What was wise? Paolo Monteleone was her
own private dream, a fantasy she wasn’t sure she should even be having. He was
dangerous, but his presence demanded consort with her psyche.

She sighed and resigned herself to the fact that she would never be able
to keep the secret she hoped she could. Just containing the ripeness of the
facts would send her into frenzy. “I had lunch with him today. Right when you
called, as a matter of fact.”

“I see. I thought about you. For some reason, I was worried. Are you all
right? Are you with him now?” The last question he whispered as if he’d been
seated next to her, instead of on the other end of the phone. As if Paolo could
hear him ask the words.

That was a good question. She somehow felt
with
Paolo Monteleone, even though she had requested, and been
granted, her leave. She did not expect to see him again. Not if she could help
herself.

“We had lunch. He showed me a little of his family estate in Healdsburg.
I had supper with his brother and sister-in-law and his son.”

“Son? He’s married?”

“No. His wife has passed.”

“Ah, dark widower, then. Mysterious. Did he kill her?”

“Johnny, I’m going to stop talking about this if you don’t behave.”

“Couldn’t help it.”

“Yes, you can. You can do a lot better. We had a nice supper and then he
returned me quite safely to my home, where I am right now, Johnny. No worries.
I’m quite safe, and alone.”

“And in need of company?”

She paused long enough to briefly think about what she would have
considered just a couple of days ago. But not now.

“No. I’m sorry, Johnny. We are not going to have that kind of
relationship. We work together. And right now, my work comes first.”

She was so close to uncovering the mystery and the myth of the sacred
joining, she felt as excited as she had on her first day of school when she was
five. She knew her theory of the union between the God of Love, Jamal, and his
queen consort had something to do with sexual liaisons, and the mixture of
bloodlines.

“I get it. But if I find you the book, you will be sufficiently grateful,
right?” he asked.

Cara let a tiny laugh bubble up “Very. But don’t pin your hopes on it
meaning a night of sex. The book might turn out to be the directions for collecting
data on birth control in the third century instead of some divine coupling
treatise.”

“Yes, boss. I will be your lackey. Your yard dog. But I’m going to exact
a price if I find it.”

“I’m sure you will. But let’s not worry until we find it, okay, Johnny?”

“Yes, ma’am. I’m nearly home. See you in the morning, teach?”

“Most definitely.” She was about to sign off when she had another
thought. “Johnny, why don’t you leave a message for the bookstore owner
tonight? Then perhaps he’ll call you tomorrow while we’re in class, or early
before he opens.”

“Good idea.”

Johnny hung up.

It had been an exhausting day. Cara wanted another hot bath, but
hesitated. She’d been enjoying the faint scent of his flesh on her skin. Even
the backs of her hands where he had kissed her smelled of him. The side of her
neck, where she could swear he had bitten her, was sensitive to touch. Laying
her fingers there, she could feel her pulse flow strong and steady. The vein in
her neck seemed to press against the fingers she held lightly in place.

She felt something cold at her neck and turned around. No one was there.
She walked to the bathroom and tuned on the bath water, sprinkling lavender
salts and bubble bath generously into the swirling hot water. With steam rising
beside her, she examined her face in the mirror. She closed her eyes and
removed her top. She removed her bra and felt her hardened nipples under the
tips of her fingers as they squeezed and kneaded the soft skin of her breasts.
She thought perhaps there was a second set of hands helping her along in the
process, helping her slip down her skirt and panties until she stood naked.

Something warm between her legs seemed to vibrate, a gentle sensation and
she began to orgasm, imagining him tasting her there, lapping and nibbling on
the lips of her labia. But when she opened her eyes, there was no one near her,
no one appeared behind her in the mirror. Swinging her arms out, she turned and
could neither feel nor see anyone standing in her bathroom.

The water continued to pour into the lavender scented bubbles, calling
her.

She stepped into the tub and then sat, keeping her knees to her chest
until she got used to the heat. She shut off the water and relaxed, leaning
back into the tub and closing her eyes.

That’s when she heard his words faintly caressing her face as if he was
suspended above her.

“Mi amore.”

Her eyes flashed open, but no one was there. Cutting across the light
purple bubbles and pungent floral scent was the smell of fresh-picked lemons.

The same scent she’d found on the sealing wax.

Paolo had been surprised his whisper traveled to her. Although he was clear
across the valley from Cara’s home, he could see her in his mind. He saw the
beautiful flesh he had tasted, the tapered ends of her fingers as he felt what
she felt, those rich pillows of flesh that were her ample bosom. He knew what
it tasted like to be between her legs, and his mouth watered as his fangs
dropped. He’d been heartbroken when she slipped into the water where her scent
would be buried in the lavender.

He’d conjured her, rubbing her vision all over the erection he felt in
his pants and he’d said it—“Mi amore,”—more as a need than a
prayer. And he saw her react in his dream. She’d
heard
him. He could see it on her face.

“Can you love me, Carabella?” he whispered. He watched as she turned
around in the tub and checked the wall behind her. She was looking for him. She
rose to her knees. The delicious shape of her shoulders, narrowing at her waist,
and the soap bubbles slipping down her back to the upper reaches of her bottom.
He was tantalized. With her hair up atop her head she turned again and looked
right at him, except he knew she really didn’t see him. But she felt him spying
on her.

And the lovely object of his desire wasn’t afraid.

Thank the God of vampires.

Still on her knees, she inserted a finger between her legs and impaled
herself, arching backwards.

“Give me your pleasure, Carabella,” he whispered, as he stroked himself.
His cock had gotten rock hard and was seeking freedom. He felt her shudder just
as if he was deep inside her. “You feel me? You feel my hardness? You feel my
seed wanting to find solace in your folds?

He heard her moan, “Yes. Mi amore.”

Could it be? Could she hear him, feel him when he wasn’t there? What was
this connection?

“Deeper, I want you deeper,” she said.

Paolo grasped the arms of the chair in his bedroom, then hastily
unfastened his pants, peeling them off his thighs and letting his penis leap out
unbridled. “Need to be inside you, Bella. Invite me in, please let me come
inside you,” he whispered.

And then he heard it.

“Yes. Come to me.”

The summons took only a second and he had traced to her bedroom. He was
in the tub with her, his shirt wet and clinging to his skin, but his cock had
found her opening and he raised her knees up over his shoulders and, pulling
her buttocks toward him with both his hands, forced her over him, sending him
deep inside her.