Mortal Bite (Golden Vampires of Tuscany) (20 page)

“So you want to tell me why you are here? I never did see a badge or
anything. How do I know I shouldn’t be afraid of you?”

“Good. It is smart for you to be thinking that way.” He produced a card
he used on occasion to explain his presence. “This is my card. We don’t have
badges, or uniforms. We never carry guns. We are merely here, trying to look
like everyone else, not stand out, to keep an eye on things. It’s not every day
that we have a murder on campus. In fact, I don’t think we ever have since the
founding of the University. You will be contacted again by all the authorities,
and we want you to fully cooperate.”
 
He stood and she did the same. “I do not mean to scare you. Just
checking up to make sure you are not being harassed here at your home.”

“Thank you. I appreciate it.” Her warm smile hit him in the middle of his
chest. Her eyes traced there, as if it were a familiar place, a place where she
had lay her head at one time. Or, as if she wanted to be comforted there.

Then she brushed past him, the electricity of their closeness sparking
another current he tried to ignore. But he could see she felt it too. At the
door, she opened it. “I appreciate your concern. Unlike earlier, I must remember
to keep my door locked at all times. This little chain,” she said as she
touched it with her forefinger, “wouldn’t really stop a bad guy, would it?”

“No, indeed.” He moved past her, brushing her skin one more time. Her
breath hitched. “Call me if anything comes up. Anything at all. I also have some
psychic friends who could help you with the other thing, too,” he said with a
smirk.

She crossed her arms and aimed her glare at him. “No. Thank you very
much, but I think I misunderstood something. Remnants of a dream I was having
perhaps. No doubt something the police told me I had forgotten until you
mentioned it.”

“Well, anything at all. Anything I can do, just call me.” He turned and walked
down the hallway, feeling her eyes on his back.

“You never told me your name. Well, I guess I could look it up on your
card,” she called out, her voice vibrating down the vacant hallway.

He looked at her one last time. Would this be it, he wondered? The last
time he would see her? Would he be able to keep her safe from Dag and his
forces? It was everything he could do to simply speak to her. What he wanted to
do was rush to her arms, and glamour her until she wanted him again. His heart
was breaking.

“I am Paolo Monteleone, at your service, miss.” He found himself bowing, as
he had done for the past three hundred years.

“I’ve met you before. You’re not from around here, are you? Originally? I
can detect an accent.”

“Tuscany. Our family is from Tuscany, and some are in Prague.”

“Ah! The vampires I study are from those two areas as well.”

“Really? I didn’t know.” Paolo became hyper aware of the vacant hallway,
not wanting to be seen there talking to her. “But as far as meeting you before,
I’m sure I would have remembered such a beauty.” He looked down to allow her
blush to be private. “Perhaps you’ll have to tell me about your vamps some
time.”

“Perhaps. Thank you for your concern, Paolo Monteleone.” Her voice wobbled
a tiny bit from the thudding of her pulse. Paolo loved feeling how he affected
her.

She turned and closed the door behind her.

Paulo’s heart was ready to leap out of his chest. This mental bond with
her, his need to focus on her well-being to the exclusion of the rest of the
outside world felt like a form of fating. No way this attraction was ordinary, for
human or vampire. It was something else entirely.

He didn’t have time to figure it out. The God of vampires was giving him
another gift. Just being close to her was going to have to be enough for now.
The war was looming and Marcus was screaming in his ear.

“Yes, I’m coming. I’m ready to do battle, Marcus,” he said out loud but
sent the mental message as well.

Paolo traced to Marcus’ study, where his older brother was perusing the
book from Cara’s things. He looked up. “Good. I was beginning to wonder if I’d
have to come get you.”

“I thought it important to make sure she didn’t suspect me in any of the
morning’s events.”

“Good. And how is her memory?” Marcus asked.

“Spotty.” He smiled, remembering his delight that she’d heard his mental
question. “But all in the right places.”

“Excellent.”

“But brother, there is another problem. When I dropped her off, Dag was
in her apartment.”

“Bastard. And he knew you brought her back?”

“What else could he have deduced? I told him her mind had been erased.”

“Under the circumstances, I would have done the same. Good.”

“She hadn’t come to. I took Dag for a little discussion downtown Santa
Rosa. He won’t stay away from her, that much is clear. Not sure he buys she has
no memory of her research, or the book either, Marcus.”

“I will get the security detail deployed. Waiting to speak to Lionel
tonight.” Marcus looked back at the book on his desk. “This is fascinating.
Pull up a chair and let me show you a few things.”

Paolo brought a nearly black lacquered chair around and sat down next to
Marcus at the desk. The book was opened to an interior page. There was an image
of a horned man carved into a large door. Paolo read the inscription
underneath:

This horned man is one of a series
of three, which adorn the front of the Banqueting House. The three men
represent the emotions of Hatred, Malice and Envy. The Banqueting House was
said to be built for the eating of desserts, but others have suspected its use
as a place for human hosts to be fed upon by vampires who invite them to
dinner. It was a reminder to humans and vampires alike, of their symbiotic
relationship.

“Symbiotic relationship?” Paolo asked. “Vampires have always feasted off
humans. I don’t understand.”

“He’s talking about some grand legend of a joining between the vampire
and human races.”

“Vampires have had many pleasure partners amongst mortal men and women.
What’s so fascinating about these?”

“These Banqueting Houses appeared to be places where more than just blood
was exchanged.”

“Again, no surprise there, Marcus. I just don’t understand.”

“New vampires were born there, too. It is referred later to the
Place of Beginning.”

“Someone took themselves a mortal bride, drained her, and turned her to
be his forever. She was born there. That’s all he’s talking about, brother.”

“Alasdair Fraser has uncovered the fact that there are halflings, Paolo.
Half vampire, half human. They are another race, brother.”

“That cannot be. The fating. It makes it impossible to have children
unless there is fating. There is no fating except between species. Even dark
vamps—”

Paolo’s eyes grew wide as he looked into his brother’s stern face .
Marcus was nodding when he said, “Yes, Paolo. Darks are Halflings. Half human,
half vampire. Some experiment gone horribly wrong. A mixing of the blood that
was never intended to be mixed.”

Paolo leaned back and stared at the carved walnut ceiling of the study.
He’d spent decades studying the reliefs and the stories they told. He wondered
what the person who carved the reliefs had been trying to tell them. Suddenly
there were more questions than there were answers.

“
The Book of Spawn
this letter
references here,” Marcus took out the letter that had been embedded in the
text, “was once a part of our library, Paolo. It passes on the studies of this
transformation, this experiment. I believe Alasdair Fraser found that book.”

“This is the book Cara had?”

“No. She found and purchased Alasdair Fraser’s book, with this letter in
it. But I think the clues to where
The Book
of Spawn
is located are in this book. I believe this is a map, a key.”

“So the darks are looking for it because it contains the history of their
origins as well,” Paolo said.

“Exactly.”

“Then they do not know about this book. They have no idea this book
exists,” Paolo guessed.

“I believe you are correct. They are after
The Book of Spawn
. They think that’s the book she had. They
wouldn’t even recognize this one.” Marcus was smiling as he stood, closed the
book, walked over to the bookcase and placed it between two other older books.
“It will be safely hidden in plain sight. If Cara doesn’t remember the book,
I’m not sure Dag and his dark coven hordes can find it. And I don’t think she
knows where
The Book of Spawn
is,
either.”

“Which doesn’t ensure her safety, but means she is useless to them.”

“That’s right.”

Paolo looked at the letter on his brother’s desk. “What about this?”

“I’m going to take it to the Council. I’ve booked an audience with
Praetor and the council for Wednesday. You want to join me? A little time in
Tuscany could do you some good. Perhaps take Lucius where he would be safer?”

“I think he would like that. Would be good to see Laurel again, too,”
Paolo said, referring to their only unmarried sister.

“I’m going to make arrangements and break the news to Anne,” Marcus
started.

“You better take her, too. It isn’t safe around here without your
presence.”

“I will be doing that. But you know how stubborn she can be.”

They chuckled. After all, Anne was the one who had decapitated Marcus’s
witch/vampire lover and Lucius’ mother within weeks of her turning. They
learned never to underestimate her.

“I’ll get with Lionel as soon as his sleep is over and make the
arrangements for Cara’s security detail,” Paolo said.

“Good. Take Lionel’s advice one hundred percent. He would never let us
down. I consider him almost kin,” Marcus replied.

“Wonder what the Jett brothers will do when they find out about all
this.”

“We’d just better hope we are the ones to tell them, Paolo. Be well. I’m
off.” Marcus took the folded letter, placed it back in the envelope and left
the study, leaving Paolo to ponder the future he had not expected.

It was good that Cara should stay away completely, and they could achieve
this. It was unfortunate today’s findings made the impending war more likely.
He thought about Dag and his belly full of hatred and resentment, and saw the
dark vamp as if he was standing outside the heavily carved wooden door, not allowed
to join the party.

Maybe the dark coven leader knew more than he let on. Maybe he was far
more dangerous than any of them had thought.

Dag traced to his bedchamber in San Francisco. Someone had left a sliver
open between his blackout drapes, so his skin burned until he could reposition
the fabric and find comfort. He cursed his staff. He’d kill someone for that
lapse in judgment.

He ripped off his clothes, sniffing them. He was aware of the fact that
dark vamps smelled when they were burning up. Who wouldn’t? Burning human flesh
was even worse. Had he not had a good dose of Rory’s blood, pushing aside his
coven cohorts like a pack of dogs, he could have been dead. His hatred of the
Golden Monteleones and their powers boiled and burned the insides of his
stomach to match the festering blisters on his skin.

He opened his bedroom doors. The house was quiet.

“I need blood,” he screamed.

There was no answer. Of course there would be no answer. His daytime
staff was worthless, and now he knew they weren’t doing their jobs. They were
probably out gambling or telling secrets. Well, they’d pay. And any who were
unlucky enough to be loyal today would have to be his hosts. No one, not even
someone who was grossly overpaid, would willingly share his bed and die for
him. Fear him, yes, but sacrifice themselves for him like those ridiculous
traitors, the Jett Brothers and their kin? No, none of his paid staff would do such
a thing. “No one fuckin’ cares.”

“I care.”

He smelled her before he saw her. The blonde from Starbucks and the cheap
motel. His teeth ached as his groin went to granite. He was drooling on
himself.

He lurched and grabbed her by the back of her head, forcing her lips up
to his, plunging his tongue down her throat, sucking her tongue and then
tasting one puncture wound he placed there. His surrounding saliva would heal
the wound quickly. These were little love nibbles. But he desperately needed a
whole meal, and fast.

“Need you,” he heard himself say.
What
the fuck is this?
He’d never said this to anyone in his life before.

“Dag take me. Take all of me if you wish. I am totally yours to do with
whatever you want.”

“Holy fucking nuns without panties. I don’t need sex right now. Not until
I can have blood, and I’d drain you.”

“Then that is what I want.”

He couldn’t believe it. The woman would fucking die for him. Right here.
How the fuck did she get inside his home, anyway? Was this a trap?

“Who let you in?” he whispered as he licked her neck. He pricked the
surface of her impossibly smooth skin and lapped a trickle before he would
waste a single drop. He began to shake and shudder as her delicious elixir
coated his insides. His dick stayed just as hard as it always did. A brief
thought flew through his brain. If he ever did die in the sun, his dick would
be the last thing standing.

“Someone in an apron and little white cap.”

“Why did she let you in?”

“I told her I was to be your sacrifice for this afternoon. When she
started to send me away—” the blonde gasped as Dag had gone to his knees
and had bitten her on her upper thigh, going for the femoral artery right
through her jeans.

“Tell me, damn it.” He insisted, licking his lips, growling at the
growing red stain on her jeans. “And take these fucking things off.”

“Thought you didn’t want sex.”

“The femoral artery. Bigger than the jugular. I need blood. Fast. Need.
Your. Blood.”

He allowed her to step back. The blood he’d ingested gave him the
strength to wait until she slithered her jeans down to her ankles. Her white
cotton top was all she wore. Her panties lay in the pile at her ankles.

“Off,” he pointed to her top.

“Yes, Master.”

“Quick. Make it quick.”

“Yes.” She ripped open the shirt, popping the buttons. Like depositing a
tissue in the wastebasket she let her cotton top drop to the floor. All that
remained was her bra. He liked the look of her bulging bosom all trussed and
confined.

“Leave it on.”

Her sweet smile drove him insane. He wrapped his naked peeling thigh
around her perfect cool flesh. “Do I repulse you, with my burning skin?”

“Yes.”

At first he wasn’t so sure he liked that answer.

“I repulse you?” he said as he sunk his fangs into her thigh and slurped,
blood squirting and spraying over the top of the stairway and cascading to the
marble floor below.

“It is all I deserve. I would eat your scaling flesh if you commanded
it.”

This caught him off guard. He withdrew his fangs and looked at the little
waif. “Eeewwww,” he said as he scrunched up his eyebrows and wrinkled his nose.
“Disgusting.”

She did what no mortal or vamp woman had ever done to him before. She
touched his flaking member, letting her fingertips travel over the lumpy,
charred surface. She placed her palm under his ball sack and squeezed him while
he stood there in shock.

She knelt and had him in her mouth so fast he didn’t have time to
respond. It felt incredible. She rubbed her bitten tongue all over his member
and immediately it became smooth, albeit coated in blood. A trickle escaped
down the right side of her mouth.

“Holy shit, Sheela,”

“Shirley,” she said between sucks. “My name is Shirley.”

“Shir—agh—”

She allowed her canine to drag along his shaft, scraping a tiny layer of
skin with it. She must have gotten a minute taste of blood because she inhaled
and almost swallowed him whole.

Dag traced backwards, looking with incredulity at the little vixen. “What
are you?”

“Excuse me,” she said, standing. She used her jeans to dab the blood
draining from her thigh wound.

“Someone. Someone sent you. Who was it?”

“I believe it was yourself, sire.”

“Don’t fuckin’ bullshit me. Who the fuck sent you?”

“Fate.”