The Lost Centurion (The Immortals Book 1) (3 page)

He maintained a slow pace and traveled several meters of park before he was stopped in his tracks by soft murmuring nearby. The exit was just ahead of him. The sounds changed tone and became unmistakably intimate. With the corner of his eye, Marcus caught a head peeking out from behind a nearby ruin. A man in his twenties gave him the international sign to move away. Marcus nodded, a half-smile on his mouth, and complied with the request, leaving the Forum behind in a few steps. Out of the gate, he adjusted her body to give the impression he was carrying his girlfriend on his back, her head gently leaning on his shoulder. He wished she had long hair to cover her face from onlookers.

“Hope you’re a good actress, little thing.” With as much gentleness as he could muster, he angled her head with her mouth at his neck.

Once on the main street, he was soon swept away by the festive crowd. It was well past midnight, but Rome never slept. He maintained the slow, measured pace throughout the stroll back home, and once in a while leaned his head to the side and whispered small nonsenses. It took him several hours to reach his destination, but he didn’t have to stop again or seek lonely alleys to escape curiosity. He caught a few double takes, looking first at the girl and then at him. For the most part, the men winked at him and the women gave him unreadable looks, but nobody seemed alarmed.

The sun was rising when he opened the door to his home, a building he had bought for Aurelia as a one-story villa when he was courting her in imperial Rome. He wanted to impress her father, the freshly elected consul who thought a centurion wasn’t enough for his daughter, and worked with the architect to ensure their nuptial bedroom would face the riverbank. There, he had anchored the ship he had named after her so it could be seen from the house. Aurelia had squealed in delight at the sight of the large boat decorated with flowers. They had spent their first night together on the ship several months before the wedding.

Several centuries later, he had bought the house a second time as a four-story palazzo in the heart of a renaissance city. At that time, almost nothing of the original Roman villa remained, and yet on a wall, poorly hidden beneath a layer of decaying stucco, he found the carving he had made with the initials of his name and Aurelia’s intertwined. The image of his wife scraping out her initial with a ring he had given her was too much to bear, so he had run away. And, despite the fact he knew other memories would haunt him as soon as he stepped foot inside that house, he had bought it again just recently when Alexander had told him the vampire he had been looking for all his life might be in Rome.

He closed the door with his hip and slid the girl to his front. “Forgive me, Aurelia.” This girl was the first woman he had ever brought home.

Although her head was heavy and her tongue felt like sandpaper in her mouth, Diana opened her eyes to a pleasant scene. Sunlight came through the light-blue venetian blinds and illuminated the room in black and white stripes. Stardust sparkled in the slivers of white light, reminding her of summers from her youth, when she had been a little girl and spent time at her grandmother’s villa by the sea. All around, the décor was simple, yet elegant—a few pieces of dark furniture, all antiques. The walls were painted cream, the ceiling was vaulted and frescoed with morning sky and scattered clouds. Despite the lightness the place emanated, the overall feeling was that of a bedroom belonging to a man.

She had never seen the room before. She couldn’t remember how she had found her way there, and she was sure she didn’t know the man sleeping on the couch below the window. His chest rose and fell at regular intervals and she wondered how he could rest with his head leaning against the back wall, while his body was angled in what looked like an uncomfortable position. A client? And if so, why wasn’t he sleeping in his own bed?

Diana passed her hand over her face and saw the darkening bruises on her arm. She moved her hand before her eyes, taking in the red blotches under her nails, then she saw the blood stains on the linens draped around her naked body, and she screamed. Terrified at what the scene implied, she put both her hands over her mouth, but it was too late.

The man had jumped up at her scream and had run to her side. “What is it?”

She stared at him and shook her head. “Please don’t hurt me.” She hated herself for crying, but couldn’t stop the tears from falling.
Not again. Please, not again
. Her knees went to her chest and she brought the bloodied sheet up to cover as much as she could.

The man stared back, his eyes a rich hazel, but despite the warm tint, they still emanated a cold vibe. He was tall, imposing as he towered over her. When he slightly leaned and reached out one hand to touch her, panic overruled her senses and she screamed again.

He retracted his hand and raised it before his chest, showing her the palm. “Stop that.”

“I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.” Diana rocked back and forth, shaking between sobs, her head between her knees. “Please, don’t hurt me. I’ll do anything you ask me.”

“Start with calming yourself. I have no intention of harming you.”

She heard him walking to the other side of the bed, then a drawer was opened. She turned her head slightly to peek and saw him rummaging through the contents, moving stuff around until he stopped as if he had found what he was looking for. A moment later, he pushed the drawer closed, a pair of boxers in his hand. Without saying a word, he left the room. A door opened and closed, then the sound of running water filled the silence.

Diana breathed in and out, then swung her legs out of the bed, intending to find something to wear beside the linen sheet and leave before the man came back. As the soles of her feet made contact with the cold marble tiles of the floor, she realized how weak she was. Her knees could barely hold her up and she struggled through a few steps before she had to steady herself by grabbing the back of a delicate chair. It didn’t work; she tripped on the hem of the sheet tangled between her feet, the chair went legs-up under her, and she fell on the floor, hitting her head against the edge of the nightstand.

Hurried steps resonated closer to her and she had a fuzzy vision of the man’s legs dripping water everywhere. Next, she felt light, almost as if she were floating under water. Warmth enveloped her and she finally relaxed. Diana thought she might have heard a few soothing words sent her way, but she was probably already dreaming.

“How do you feel?”

She opened her eyes again. She remembered having done so several times already, but she hadn’t mustered the necessary strength to keep them open the other times. Now, she tried harder and succeeded. A mumble escaped her mouth in response to the man’s question.

“We must talk.” The man appeared in her line of vision. He was wearing a black T-shirt and faded jeans.

He didn’t look like one of her clients. They were usually older and wore conservative clothes, work suits. They came to her after the office hours and before returning to their families. And they never took her home with them. Their furtive meetings were held at discreet, small hotels. Escorts like her were treated with a modicum of respect. Except when they weren’t and ended up bloodied and beaten in dark alleys…

“Virgil!” She remembered. All of it. She saw black dots swimming before her eyes and she was suddenly dizzy. Her head was heavy and she soon lost her battle to remain awake.

A voice called her back. “Little thing, stop doing this.”

She was floating again, strong arms cradling her. A door opened. She was in a different room. Everything was white and smelled of clean cotton and shampoo. Her head dipped lower and dizziness threatened to make her throw up. The sound of running water. The world realigned. She gasped as she was lowered into warm, scented water.

“Better?” The man handed her a bar of soap.

She looked at the proffered gift and frowned. Her arms lay limp by her side. She could barely move her fingers.

He pushed the soap toward her a second time, then sighed. “Fine.” He lowered his hand toward her right arm, then stopped and tilted his head by the side. “You will not scream.”

Diana shook her head, a tear menacing to betray her, but she held it back.

The man methodically lathered his hands with the soap, reminding her of a surgeon’s actions she had once had as a client. She shivered.

“I won’t hurt you. I won’t repeat myself again.” The man gave her one warning look, and she nodded. He proceeded to raise her right arm toward him and gently covered it in a layer of fresh-smelling soap.

She closed her eyes, suddenly flushing at the intimacy of the act. Lavender. She focused her senses on the soap’s scent while he took her other arm and repeated the treatment. Next, he put one hand behind her right knee and with the other lathered first her toes, then her ankle, her calf, following the contour of her leg with a slowness that didn’t help her nerves. At the knee, he stopped. She wanted to drop onto the tub’s floor and sink her head under the water. After a long pause, he took her other leg. Again, at the knee he stopped. She hadn’t dared open her eyes, her embarrassment too big. She had almost moaned in protest and asked him to keep going. His hands circled her neck, her shoulders. He washed her head with long strokes through her scalp. She wished her head wasn’t shaved so she could feel his fingers between her tresses. Her clients had always complimented her on the beauty of her chestnut curls. She had hated their touch.

His fingertips found the burnt patch of skin under her left ear and she jerked away. She opened her eyes and looked at him. “I don’t know you.”

“No, you don’t.” He stood back and sat on the edge of the tub, his eyes locked on hers.

She felt her breath leave through her open mouth in a rush. “Did you do this to me?”

“I’ve never touched a woman to harm her.” He took her hand, deposited the soap on it, and closed her fingers around the bar. “You can finish by yourself now.” With a single movement, he stood and went outside the bathroom, but instead of closing the door behind him, he turned his back to the frame and leaned against it. “What’s your name?”

“Diana Valente. What’s yours?” From the tub, she could study him and wash herself in relative privacy. Despite his casual tone, he was tense judging from the way his body barely touched the doorjamb, his back straight, his shoulders straighter. He was looking at a window facing the hallway. Outside, red tiled roofs, terraces, and terracotta vases filled with the latest blooms of the season framed another sunny day in Rome.

“Marcus Sulpicius Aurelianus at your service.”

She saw his shoulders raising and lowering as if he were softly laughing. “Quite the name.” She passed the soap between her legs and then over her breasts. Her skin tingled.

“Can’t change it.” His words were tinted with a dark undertone.

She pressed her hand over her belly, a sudden queasiness making her stomach contracts. “I have to ask—”

He stilled.

“What happened to Virgil?”

“He’s dead.” He turned, his massive frame filling the entrance to the bathroom, making the view from the window disappear.

“Did you kill him?” Her fingers dug into the soap, her nails embedded deeply into the bar. She waited for him to answer, the rising nausea difficult to ignore.

“No, I didn’t. As a matter of fact, I tried to save him. I needed him alive.” He walked inside the bathroom, not more than a step, but the place seemed too crowded already.

His eyes were roaming over her, from the top of her head to her toes. She noticed the chipped black nail polish on her toenails and lowered her feet under the water. Yesterday or the day before, she had asked for the black French manicure. The nail job had looked elegant when matched with the strapped sandals. Now, it only looked cheap. Marcus stepped closer, removed a white cotton robe from a hanger inside a shallow closet, and handed it to her.

She reached out and took it from him and made to stand, but as soon as she raised her head higher than the tub, she faltered and fell.

“Easy.” He scoped her up and brought her back to the bedroom. There, he stopped at the foot of the bed. “I’ll change the sheets.”

With great care, he lowered her on the couch where he had slept and went to a tall fitted cupboard where he chose among several sets of white linens. To Diana, the sheets looked all the same, but she noticed how he discarded two of them before he picked the one he was proceeding to cover the bed with. Finally, he collected the pile of bloodied linens he had thrown on the floor and dumped them inside a wicker basket by the cupboard.

He came back to her and offered her a hand for support.

She thanked him and let him help her to reach the bed. “What did you want from him?”

He gave her a puzzled look.

“Virgil. What did you want from him?” Suddenly cold and shivering, Diana burrowed under the linens.

“Information. Are you okay?” He moved toward her, but didn’t come close enough to touch her.

“I feel strange.” She couldn’t stop her teeth from chattering, and even in a sitting position, her head swam as if under water and transported by a strong current. A wave of dizziness hit her anew. She saw black one more time.

Marcus walked back to the end of the bed, leaned over a chest, opened it, removed a sage green comforter, and tucked her under its fluffy warmth.

“I don’t know what’s happening to me.” She was scared. If she hadn’t known she had never started the round of chemo prescribed by her oncologist, she would have thought these sensations were the result from the side effects from the chemicals.

He sat on the edge of the bed, but kept his body angled away from her and played with the hem of the comforter. “You don’t know?”

She shook her head as another shiver left her trembling.

“Unbelievable.”

Although Marcus had whispered, she had heard him loud and clear as if he had shouted in her ear, yet she knew he had kept his voice low. Another wave of nausea left her breathless. Then pain shot through her whole body.

He pinched the arch of his nose with two fingers, opened his mouth, then closed it, sighed, then opened it again. “You need to feed.”