The Lost Centurion (The Immortals Book 1) (17 page)

Hungry shouts and the sound of more punishment inflicted on Alexander’s priceless belongings echoed inside the corridor. Without slowing down, Marcus kept his senses on maximum alert, but nobody followed him and he entered the garage. He took care to close that entry as well, then ran to the blue Bugatti, pushed the button to lower the pedestal, jumped inside the car, opened the glove compartment where he knew Alexander left his keys, ignited the engine and hit the gas pedal. A blink of an eye later, he was out of the garage and exiting the main gate while sirens blasted through the night.

Without a cell phone handy, stealing one of Alexander’s cars was the fastest way to get in contact with him. Marcus let the police stop him not far from Amalfi center; he had depleted his energies driving at breakneck speed along the sharp turns of the coast, and the whole point had been to be apprehended. Two policemen had to help him enter their car. Once at the station, he asked for water and sugar, then explained he had permission to take the car. Given the way he looked, Marcus didn’t take it personally when the tired man behind the desk wouldn’t believe him, and instead threw him in a cell. He refused medical attention and asked for his phone call. Water and even food were brought to him, and by the time a worried Alexander appeared around the bars, Marcus’s strength had come back.

Alexander studied his appearance. “What happened?”

“We were attacked.” Marcus grabbed the bars, then lowered his forehead to them.

“Where is Diana?” Alexander placed one hand over his knuckles. When Marcus didn’t immediately answer, he leaned closer to the bars. “I’m so sorry—”

Marcus shook at the mere suggestion she could be dead. “No, she’s alive. I know she is. I can feel it in here.” He released one of the bars to press his hand over his heart.

Alexander exhaled a long breath, then nodded at him. “Let’s get you out of here.”

An hour later, Alexander escorted him out, had him drive the Bugatti back to the house, where he took a cursory look at the damages, spoke to his majordomo, Giovanni, who had been warned by the alarm and already called the insurance, then they were on the road toward Rome.

“The Council is furious. I was on the phone with them the whole way here. They say the nest operated under their rights.” Alexander had kept quiet for the first stretch of the ride, and even stopped to buy sodas and sandwiches on the road to feed him. Once on the freeway, he had asked him if he were up to talking. Marcus had taken a swig from the can and nodded.

“I wasn’t expecting anything different from them.” He shrugged, not interested in listening to politics.

Alexander canted his head. “Even without you being a renegade and all, the Council couldn’t have stopped Claudius from getting back what is rightfully his.”

Marcus cursed a string of profanities. “Diana isn’t a thing.” He looked heavenward, bumping fisted hands against each other for several counts, then turned toward his friend. “I’m sorry for the house.”

Alexander sighed. “I know you are.” He patted Marcus’s arm. “It wasn’t your fault.” He turned to look at him. “So, how did those vampires manage to overpower you?”

“They injected me with something that paralyzed me.” Marcus had had plenty of time to think about the poison in the syringe. “My guess would be a massive dose of curare.”

Both of Alexander’s eyebrows shot up in a worried frown. “Curare?”

“I’m afraid so.” The poison, in a much smaller percentage, was one of the ingredients used to make the Immortal Death, a potion used to temporarily revert immortality. It was the poison of choice for both immortals seeking death and their enemies who could kill them without incurring in the Council’s wrath. Once an immortal became mortal, the Council’s jurisdiction became null, and the murderers could only be prosecuted by the human courts that were easily swayed to the paranormals’ bidding.

“But usage of curare is against the Peace Pact’s amendments. Maybe I could use it to build a case against Claudius—”

Marcus stopped Alexander. His thoughts were stretched in several directions, but he had only one purpose in mind. “I know I don’t have the right to bring you in this mess, but I need help to find her.” He put his hand over Alexander’s. “Please. I have no one else to ask.”

Alexander looked down at Marcus’s trembling hand, then raised his eyes to look into his. “No need to ask.” He frowned. “How did the nest find you at my place?”

“I don’t know.” He hadn’t had any time to think about it, but there could be only one explanation. “Someone must have heard you talking—”

Alexander pushed his open palm in the air as if he were braking. “No. Absolutely not. Nobody heard me say anything at all. You know me better than that.”

“I apologize. You’re right.” Marcus passed his hand to the back of his head. “Is just that your house is always full of people and…”

“Except for my paranormal parties once a year, only humans are invited to my house. My guests are blissfully clueless about the supernatural and usually inebriated. And I never take private calls before my guests. Not one of the men and women passing through my house would’ve called in the nest.”

“No, of course. But then who did?”

“I have no clue, but I’ll ask around.”

He released the breath he had been holding. “No other member of the immortals council involved though.”

Looking at the road, Alexander shook his head. “I can’t promise that and you know it.”

Marcus nodded. “I’ll get some sleep if you don’t mind.” He closed his eyes and a fitful slumber claimed him.

Several nightmares later, Alexander tapped on his shoulder. “You’ve arrived at your destination.”

He had faked the Northern Italian accent of his navigator and that made Marcus smile every time. “I miss my tutor.”

“I’ve always missed my young master Marcus.” Alexander looked up at the sky showing from the sunroof.

Marcus opened his door. “Sometimes, I think that kid never existed.” He exited the car, then leaned back in. “I will stir things up.”

“Do what you must. I’ll try to clean up after you.” Alexander brought two fingers to his temple and saluted him.

Back in his house, Marcus ran to the shower to soak his clothes with warm water. The stiff fabric of his jeans and shirt clung to his skin where the blood from his wounds and cuts had dried. Dark red pooled down onto the shower stall’s floor, swirling toward the drain. By the time the water cascading over Marcus’s head became lukewarm, he was able to remove his clothes without ripping his wounds open. As an immortal, he healed faster, but he still needed time to knit himself together, and myriads of small cuts crisscrossed his body and still bled.

He exited the shower without bothering with a towel he would soak with blood right away, and instead went upstairs to the terrace to expose his skin to the sun. When anything else failed, the healing power of his god would take care of him. He raised his hands to the sky, kneeled on the terracotta tiles, and sent his prayer upward. “Apollo, help me find her,” he repeated, rocking back and forth. “Apollo, please don’t leave your son alone in this time of need.”

Marcus cried. The sunrays healed the last of his wounds and gave him back the strength the poison had stolen from him, but his heart was heavy. He went back inside the house and headed to his bedroom to get a fresh change of clothes. As he entered the dim room, he smelled Diana’s scent still lingering in the air and he walked to the bed. He sat at its edge and took the pillow she had slept on, then hugged it and buried his face in it.

A cell phone rang somewhere in the house. Marcus raised his face from the pillow and tilted his head toward the hallway, trying to locate the sound. He left the bed, but kept the pillow to his chest and walked outside. The ringing was louder. He followed the sound to the bathroom, where his cell phone laid on the tiled floor, almost getting lost in the black and white décor. He had forgotten all about his cell phone. He’d had the presence of mind to retrieve it from Alexander’s green apartments when they had gone back to the villa. Thankfully, it must have slipped out from one of his jeans’ rear pockets.

Alexander’s worried voice echoed into the small bathroom as he answered the call. “I’m working on patching things up for you with the Council. I have an idea, but it could take time to make it work. Anyway, I wanted you to know that they might send someone to apprehend you later today.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. I was tipped off—” Alexander paused. The loud noise of cars’ honking covered what he said next.

The call dropped and when Marcus tried to call his friend there wasn’t any signal. With the Council at his heels, he didn’t have time to plan anything. On his way out of the house, he went to the kitchen and grabbed a loaf of bread and a container of olives to eat on the road. He would start interrogating the few informers he had in the vampire underground. Rejects are a universal species and can be found in every aspect of society. Not every vampire was associated to a nest, and he happened to have befriended a few of the most disgruntled.

Full of hope that something would come out before the Council’s watchdogs found him, he opened the outer door and almost tripped over a small box left on the steps. He looked at the cardboard container closed with a pale purple ribbon, knowing he didn’t want to pick it up, but put the bag with the food down and lifted the box from the floor, gingerly passing it from one hand to the other. His eyes focused on the purple ribbon, and when he recognized it as a scrap of fabric torn from Diana’s purple top, his heart plunged to his stomach. His fingers were badly shaking and he had to yank the piece of fabric away to open the box.

Diana fell asleep in the same position the vampires had left her. She hadn’t meant to close her eyes because she didn’t think she deserved to rest, but her ever-changing physiology had decreed differently. She didn’t need to witness the end of the night and the first lights of dawn to know she must rest. As soon as church bells announced it was five o’clock in the morning, her mind became sluggish and her limbs sunk lower into the rug. She dreamed of Marcus.

“Vampling, wake up.”

Something soft poked her forehead.

“Open your eyes. It’s late.”

Diana didn’t want to obey. Marcus was holding her in his arms. She swatted at her forehead. Marcus was kissing her right ear, the warm wetness of his tongue sent shivers through her.

“You must wake.”

Marcus passed a soft, furry hand over her cheek and purred…

Diana’s eyes opened to stare into the small face of a calico kitten, whose tongue was gently lapping at her nose.

“Good. I was this close to showering you with a cold glass of water.”

Diana looked over the kitten and found the owner of the voice that had rudely intruded in her dream. “Who are you?”

A chubby girl in her early twenties stared back at her, holding a big blue glass filled to the rim. “A full-fledged vampire. So, for starters you show some respect.” The girl wrinkled her nose. “You’re in need of a bath.”

Diana shook her head. She wasn’t sure when she’d had her last shower, but could still smell sea salt and Marcus on her skin and she wanted to cling to that.

“Don’t waste my time, vampling. You’ll bathe whether you want to go willingly or not. It doesn’t matter to me how you go.” The girl stepped back and called someone named Carlo who must have been just outside the door.

A burly man peeked inside, looked at the girl, and raised an eyebrow in a silent question.

The girl pointed a finger at Diana. “Take her to the baths.”

The man, Carlo, entered the room, walked to Diana, then bent to grab her.

Diana recoiled at his touch and crawled back toward the wall. “I can walk.” She was on her feet before the man could pick her up.

“Follow him and don’t take long. Sire wants to see you tonight and there’s so much work I must do on you to fix this slave-camp look of yours.” The girl, although shorter than Diana, managed to look down at her, then made a circle with her index finger to encompass Diana from head to toe. “Why would anyone keep their hair short like that is beyond me.”

Diana closed her eyes and plastered a thin smile on her lips, but didn’t answer back. She had known bullies all her life, and they didn’t like to be ignored.

The girl walked to Diana and invaded her personal space. “You better be fast, vampling.”

Carlo grunted and took Diana by the elbow. She jerked her arm away, but the man was strong and didn’t let her go. He shook his head and pointed ahead with his chin.

Diana resigned herself to be led and walked faster to keep up with her guard’s pace. They entered a long, windowless hallway. The ceiling was high and vaulted. The walls were covered in rich tapestry depicting a hunting scene. Despite the place being illuminated by the artificial light of three big chandeliers, the palette of the tapestries was airy and gave the idea of the outdoors. Her espadrilles flew on the polished mosaic floor that matched the colors on the wall. The flooring pattern resembled the one she had seen once in the ruins of a Roman villa, and at Marcus’s house.

Every time her thoughts went to Marcus, her heart bled anew.

“Hmm.” Carlo yanked her elbow to steer her to the right.

She looked ahead and saw a door opening where the man was pointing at. “That’s my stop I guess.”

He nodded and pushed her forward. Diana lowered the handle of the door and stepped inside warm, aromatic fog. Her first reaction was to turn toward the hallway, but the door was slammed on her face before she could make it outside. She put one foot before the other, her arms outstretched before her, fingers probing the air for any obstacle. After a minute of blind walking, her eyes adjusted to the fog and the fragrances burned her eyes, but her improved senses helped her find the built-in bench jutting from the wall at the other end of the room.

She went to sit and took a better look at the place. On her right, there was a big archway leading to a series of small pools, on her left, a door with an ornate oval with the silhouette of a woman wearing petticoats and plumed hat. She headed to change. Her torn clothes were dripping with her sweat; the sauna had erased Marcus’s scent from the fabric and she mourned that loss. She peeled off what was left of her top after the vampire everybody referred to as sire had cut a strip from it, and discarded that and her shorts missing all the buttons on the wooden bench beside the shower stalls. Now that only bad memories clung to her body, she grabbed a hard, natural sea sponge from a cabinet stacked with high-end products, and washed herself, scrubbing those men’s touches from her skin.