Christmas Bite: A Golden Vampires of Tuscany Novella

by Sharon Hamilton

  Her eyelids grew heavy. She heard music, saw bonfires and dancing maidens clutching maypole vines, lovers kissing in the shadows, and smelled cinnamon and other exotic spices, mixing with the strange vapor-like scent that refreshed her soul coming from the shawl.

  She knew she was waiting. But for what? Her next adventure?

  And with whom?

  And would her family ever allow it?

  Chapter 3

  LIONEL PACED THE hallway outside the two-story walnut-paneled library at the great Monteleone estate. Hugh was at his side. He remembered how he’d paced the night Marcus and then Paolo came into the world, when Maria was in labor upstairs, screaming her lungs out. Half the men that night begged her husband to turn her during the birth to take the pain away from her mortal body, but she wouldn’t have anything to do with it. Her husband defended her wishes.

  It had been centuries since he’d felt so out of sorts, nervous. Filled with something he couldn’t put his finger on. They’d both been summoned, officially summoned. He had a hard time wondering if, somehow, his employers sensed what was growing inside him, something he wished he could control and obliterate.

  “I don’t understand the summons, brother,” Hugh whispered to him. “Is there anything wrong? Something I have missed?”

  Lionel was pressing his fingernails into his own palms, barely listening to his brother.

  “Yes,” he began tentatively. “Something—but I can’t make it out. I’m confused.” He stared at his younger brother and shared the man’s compassion.

  “Not like you, Lionel. What confuses you? Or are they visions, signals from beyond—?”

  Lionel clutched at the curly locks above his ears and pulled, as if the pain of nearly pulling them out by the roots would right his thinking. His heart was beating with adrenaline as if he’d been tracing all night long. He was filled with foreboding, and something else he couldn’t identify.

  Hugh tried to stop him, pulling his hands from his scalp. “Stop it, brother. You need a drink,” he said, and he ran to the bar well-stocked with wines, elixirs, and spirits. Hugh poured a large tumbler for his brother and presented the crystal goblet to his lips. “Take it all down, Lionel. Calm yourself. Or do you want a meditation incantation? I can get one of the—”

  “No! No witches. I’ve had it with witches.”

  Hugh accepted back the empty goblet thrust into his chest with a twinkle in his eye. “On the contrary, brother, when you need to forget everything, witches are exactly the right tonic for an overly developed and frustrated male of our species. You know this to be true.”

  “Not now. I have to keep my wits about me.”

  “But why?” Hugh replaced the liquid with more dark amber whisky, pouring a shot glass of Absinthe for himself. “Another. Together. Always together,” he said as he handed the goblet back to Lionel.

  “Always together,” Lionel echoed and threw back the drink. He kept his eyes closed, searching his brain for something to focus on. Through the vague mist of the whiskey, he saw a huge bed with a woman sleeping there. He tried to study the environs but found it unfamiliar. He watched as her hands covered her breasts, rubbing flowery material over her ripe red nipples. He felt his tongue curl and his lips pucker as if he were suckling those nipples like juicy red cherries. The scent of her neck overwhelmed him as she turned and angled herself. His nose dove into the small hairs beneath and behind her pink ears. His wet lips drew across her cheek until they mated with her soft pillows, sucking them into submission. When she moaned into his mouth, he immediately opened his eyes in horror.

  Phoebe! She feels me!

  He worked to mask his errant thoughts just as he saw the back of Hugh’s frame quickly turn to greet the crack in the library door as it opened to the warm, golden light inside.

  “Hugh,” acknowledged Marcus. His cousin’s dark, kind eyes scanned Lionel’s face. Out of centuries of instinct, Lionel lowered his and nodded to his master.

  They were shown into the library, to a gathering of a handful of chairs in a semicircle, filled with Goldens of the Monteleone clan. Paolo carefully studied Lionel and Hugh as they were guided to chairs, completing the circle. The eyes continued to bore in, and Lionel worked a smile and nod to everyone else in the group, landing at last on Paolo’s face.

  “Sir.”

  The gesture was returned with formality.

  Marcus began the discussion after a male servant brought a silver tray of spirits into the room, including two chilled glasses of blood for those who needed nourishment. Lionel took one of those and noticed the effects of pure Golden elixir as it coursed throughout his bloodstream. His stomach stopped churning, but his heartbeat remained rapid, though no longer labored.

  “This meeting is called in an effort to discuss measures that are deemed urgent and necessary.” Marcus remained standing and touched Lionel’s shoulder. “These two brothers are a part of this family in every way but one. And if I could change that, I would.”

  Lionel darted a look to his employer.

  “Yes, you’re surprised at this, old friend?”

  “I am,” Lionel said with gravel in his throat nearly cutting off his wind. Marcus had never called him “old friend” before.

  Lionel searched Hugh’s face and got a reactive shrug.

  “The brothers have sacrificed much—their own brother, in fact—to protect this family. They have spilled their dark blood to save ours. I trust them more than members of my own family,” Marcus continued.

  Lionel watched Paolo squirm. His son, Lucius, was the offspring of a union between he and a Golden part-witch female, luckily now dead. But Maya’s family was a constant sore subject in the Monteleone discussions of bloodlines and family. His brother, Jeb, had given his life for this mixed-race boy and his father.

  “Paolo and I have some things to share with you. But I must first tell all of you, this meeting is being done in complete secrecy. No others outside our immediate family are to hear what I have to tell you. And if anyone repeats any of this to persons—no matter who they are—outside this room, it is not only grounds for dismissal from this little council. It would mean your own death.”

  Several of the men shifted themselves. Someone swore in Italian. Paolo stared at his boots, his shoulders hanging down limply at his sides as he took a huge sigh. Whatever it was had been weighing on both of them heavily.

  Marcus went to the library shelves and drew out a book. “This, gentlemen, is the missing book to my grandfather’s collection.” He placed the book on a table at the edge of the circle. “It is the history of our family. There are many things in here that give us clues to what is going on right now between the two vampire covens.”

  Marcus studied his brother and then continued.

  “It refers to another book, The Book of Spawn, which we have yet to find.” He glanced again at Paolo, who nodded in agreement.

  “But we are doing ongoing research. We’ll find it, eventually,” said Paolo, making eye contact with the rest of his family. He gave quick nods to Hugh and Lionel and then looked back down at his boots.

  “Yes, Paolo’s Carabella is the one who discovered this book.” Marcus pointed to the family tome. “She’s since turned it over to us so that the library is complete and under guard.”

  “This is information we’re allowed to read?” said one of the members of the group.

  “As a Monteleone, yes. No other Golden is allowed,” answered Marcus, gruffly. “And you are commanded not to discuss it with any of your wives, your offspring, your parents, or other relatives. No one outside of this room will be allowed access to these books, or to this library as of tonight.”

  “So why is all this being shared, and why with them?” one of the other members asked, pointing to the two Jett brothers.

  “Because their trust and loyalty are without question,” whispered Marcus. “They are mistaken as outsiders to some of our family, but mostly to the dark hordes with whom they share a bloodline, and I’m choosin
g to leave it that way, for now. We are going to need their access to some of the other coven leaders, any of the ones who are not at war with the Monteleones.”

  “But won’t their loyalties lie with the dark covens?” asked an aging member of the audience. His worried brow was duplicated by several of the other elders present.

  “Yes, how can you be sure, Marcus?” added one of the others. “And hear me, no offense intended, Hugh and Lionel. I mean you no disrespect, but our rules are based on natural selection. Our blood never lies. But, there are things beyond even our control,” the other elder continued. “How would they be expected to share this to those of us outside their species?”

  Marcus seemed unfazed. “I have asked myself this question, and I have looked inside their hearts. I see only loyalty and service there.” Marcus gripped Lionel’s shoulder again, squeezing it to the point of pain.

  Lionel remained motionless, like a rock, envisioning slugs and cold slimy things in the earth so as to mask any emotions or fears. He understood the questions about his loyalty, but it didn’t set well with him.

  “You think this is just against the Monteleones?” asked Hugh, breaking the awkward silence.

  “Gentlemen,” Marcus began, “We think it’s coordinated to take us out first. Then they’ll work on some of the other families, who have allowed others infiltrating their bloodlines. For some reason, our fated lines have remained nearly pure.” He glanced quickly at Paolo, who winced but didn’t look back at his brother.

  Lionel’s stomach began to gurgle, which started Hugh in a chuckle that soon spread to all the other members.

  “Apparently, my wife’s blood cocktail doesn’t agree with you,” Marcus said with a smirk.

  “Pardon me, but no. That’s not it. That could never be it.” Lionel snuck short glances at several of the other members to make sure his point was made. Hugh continued to chuckle until Lionel hit him on the bicep and nearly toppled the huge vamp.

  “Okay. It’s late, and we’re tired. There will be more coming, which will mean more meetings. But not tonight. It’s been a big weekend and the young bride and groom are safely on their way sailing around the world. The party was saved by the heroics of these two.” Marcus grabbed Lionel’s shoulder again and held it like the top of a staff. The rest of the room clapped. “So now it’s time for some of us to travel, some of us to visit and vacation, and some of us to go back to bed.”

  Everyone stood in a circle, arms around each other’s shoulders. Paolo led the circle chant, which everyone said in unison. Lionel had learned it many decades ago, but had never been part of the circle, until this evening.

  “We are one family, one people, one blood. We eternally stand for what is precious and good, what is innocent and pure. We pass the flame of eternal life on to the worthy.”

  THE CONCLAVE BROKE. Both Jett brothers shook hands with most the other members and took their exit. Lionel felt the eyes of the two Monteleone brothers on his back as he and Hugh walked across the crushed granite driveway to their motorcycles.

  “You game for some recreation, brother?” Hugh asked. It meant he wanted to share a female. The need for blood was equally as important as his lust for sex.

  “No, Huge. I don’t trust myself tonight.” He stared up at the moon, remarking how many stars were out tonight in the clear midnight sky. The other Monteleones left, piling into two vehicles. The orange square of the front door closed, and the brothers were alone at last under the dome of nature, staring up through old gnarled olive trees.

  “Trust yourself? Your mood is curious tonight, Lionel. Where is your mind?”

  “As I mentioned, all these changes, even tonight’s meeting, has me uneasy. For some reason, I’m feeling the need to remain vigilant. It’s like there’s a fight about to break out any second. Don’t you feel it?”

  Hugh shrugged, turning with is arms outstretched as if willing all the dark forces of the universe to hit him square in the solar plexus. “I feel nothing, except a need to feed and spawn.”

  “Nights like this I miss Jeb,” Lionel whispered to the moon.

  Something rustling in the bushes made them both jump. A huge dark cat ran across the driveway and scampered around the stone foundation of the enormous villa.

  “I thought I heard him yesterday,” Hugh sighed. “Even smelled those disgusting little things he liked to suck on.”

  “Sardines.” It made Lionel begin a rumbling chuckle that soon was uncontrollable.

  “Yuck.” Hugh shook his head and shoulders in a shiver of movement. “What was it about them he liked?”

  “The salt. He had a salt tooth.”

  “I could never understand—” Hugh began.

  Still smiling, Lionel jumped on his kick starter and allowed his motorcycle to roar to life. He looked behind him as Hugh did the same.

  The two brothers followed the road which bordered the river, using moonlight and their preternatural vision to guide them. Night creatures cavorted in the woods and fields as they passed. Owls swung low searching for prey. Several families of tree bats hovered above the water’s edge. Lionel loved the simplicity of nighttime. Movements were efficient, intentional, with life or death consequences. All creatures of the night hunted.

  At last, they came upon their bungalow, buried behind rows of thick berry vines. Nestled amongst the vines was an automatic gate behind a well-traveled path just wide enough to allow them and their bikes through. Lionel swished over the tire tracks outside with a broken oak tree branch full of dead leaves to hide their entrance to mortal interference.

  Inside, the little home was cozy and warm. Their part-time daytime staff, hired by Marcus himself, had long since retired, but left behind a roaring fire and a hearty beef stew simmering on the stove they would dispose of when they retired for their daytime sleep. The windows had been shuttered and draped over. Each brother retired to his own bedroom, leaving Jeb’s room door wide open, but paying respects to him first before retiring. A red candle was lit beside Jeb’s bed, as if to leave a light on for his safe return, which would never occur.

  Lionel locked his door and placed the iron key beneath his pillow. He wished he could sleep with the windows open, so he could watch the stars all night until the sky pinkened like the bottom of a cherub, but that was too dangerous in these times. He’d awaken to save himself from the dawn, but it was the other night creatures, the other dark coven members he feared most. Safety precautions were taken with the perimeter walls.

  Removing all his clothes, he decided to sleep naked. The clean white sheets felt like a mortal woman’s backside tonight as he snuggled to find a comfortable position. He knew it might take him a few hours to drop off. He placed his arms beneath his pillow, rested his head, and waited, thinking.

  He too had picked up a sensation of Jeb, but not in the same way Hugh had. His aura traveled on a dry wind from the south. He’d been in the old Souks in Marrakesh and Casablanca, where they sold colorful spices in huge reed jars as tall as a man and oils infused with every kind of scent imaginable. He wondered if his strong sense of smell was picking up something from across the Mediterranean, something from North Africa. But he felt Jeb was calling to him in a message from that parched, scented wind.

  He traced the roughhewn timbers that held his ceiling in place, noticing the lattice pattern and circular indentations of a skilled artisan’s blade. His eyelids felt heavy, and he let them fall.

  He drifted off to a gentle sleep, hearing sounds of the ocean lap upon a sandy shore, but as he became more discerning, he determined the rhythm of the sea was really the sounds of heavy breathing. He was back in the room with the golden fireplace illuminating the mounds and valleys of the mortal woman’s body.

  He knew he could turn her over with a suggestion she’d not recall but was afraid to try at first and then gave in to the urge to see her writhing in her bed. Her shoulder turned, then came her arm, and, at last her torso lay back into the bed, as her hands pushed back the covers. Her body had produ
ced delicate beads of sweat like tiny diamonds that shimmered in the light of the flames. Around her neck was draped the shawl that he’d held inside his shirt as he traveled to her, his heart ardently striking its dull cord like a homing beacon.

  He dared not speak her name, or even think it. She was agitated, flailing back and forth, eventually turning back to her stomach. One thigh and butt cheek were exposed to the flickering light in the otherwise silent room. He could almost feel the firm flesh beneath his fingertips as he smoothed over her, searched for the crevice between her cheeks. His mouth watered.

  I can taste you, Phoebe.

  He’d said it in his mind before he could stop himself. He should open his eyes and begin reading a book, or watching some television, but he couldn’t stop the dream.

  She rotated her body again, laying on her back and pushing the covers down over her chest. It moved beyond her waist, and she raised her nightgown and then exposed the juncture between her legs. With her chin extended toward the ceiling, she raised her knees, touched herself with one hand, and whispered, “Taste me.”

  Lionel sat up immediately. He scrambled to his feet, examining the bed as if it was to blame for his erotic thoughts, and then noticed his hard-on. He swore, storming off to the shower, and stood beneath the cold spring water spray until his teeth began to chatter. He lathered his body with the heavy clove and cinnamon-scented soap he’d bought in the village. He rinsed his mouth out, even adding soap to his tongue to interfere with the pheromones he’d inhaled in his dream.

  Exhausted, he sat dripping wet, shivering in the dark room, alone. He couldn’t afford to sleep until he was sure the vision he’d had was completely severed from his psyche.

  Minutes turned into three hours. He allowed the cold to chill his soul even as he heard sounds from the outside that indicated dawn was approaching. Any hint of emotion or warmth, he stomped out until sleep began to overtake him.