He stumbled to his cold bed, wishing for oblivion, death. Seeking a grave somewhere. Dirt. Worms, stones, and carcasses of dead animals. Bones staring back at him. Just before he plunged deep into the midnight sea of sleep that was his legacy, he heard her once more.
“Taste me.”
Chapter 4
PHOEBE WAS STARTLED when her attendant awakened her. Her gown was twisted about her waist and upper chest, the covers nearly ripped from her bed.
“Goodness, Princess, you’ve had an awful night,” Selena said to her charge.
Phoebe went back into her memory and couldn’t recall anything, except the warm glow deep inside her soul. She’d been drifting in an erotic wind where fabric, and coarse skin of a mysterious male’s cheek pressed against her breasts and made her rise up to present herself. It was unlike anything she’d ever felt before.
“Is there anyone else in the household?” she asked.
“No, miss. Your mother and father are downstairs in the garden room. But they are expecting visitors this morning. They asked me to get you ready to receive them.”
“Who?” Phoebe asked.
“Don’t know, sweet child. A delegation of some kind, I think.”
Just then, they heard an automobile pull up to the front. They both watched as an elderly priest extracted himself from the back seat then placed his cap firmly atop his bald head. With the help of an accolade and two other younger priests in black robes, he was ushered to the entrance of the villa.
“Come, Phoebe, we must prepare quickly. Your mother will be angry with me if we don’t get down there soon.”
“I’m starving,” Phoebe moaned, holding her stomach.
“She’s had prepared a full breakfast for our visitors, it seems. Can’t you smell it?”
She could. Satisfied with the clothes laid out, she sent Selena away to announce her imminent arrival. She jumped into the shower, again feeling the sensitive and blooming parts of her body. Fear had left her. Her mood turned happy now that the effects of the bite and the dreams it had caused last night were distanced.
She did her hair up in a bright red ribbon and wore the deep red garnet necklace her mother had given her last year, with the matching heart-shaped earrings that had belonged to her distant great-grandmother. She wore a dark burgundy frock over flowing black leggings, slipped on her black leather pumps, and examined herself in the mirror after applying red lipstick.
The raw marks on her neck were still present, but the healing had nearly completed. The remaining tissue was swollen and as bright red as her lips. She used some of the salve left behind, dabbing the green substance over her scarring flesh, and noticed how it made her surface skin tingle then numb.
Not knowing who her visitors were, she decided it would be prudent to drape a clean shawl around her shoulders to cover up the mark, in case the event wasn’t known to the audience downstairs. Taking the ends of the material and tossing them behind her, she straightened her bedding, and skipped her way downstairs to the waiting crowd.
Father Domenico Flavius regarded her from his sitting position in the garden room like a cherub. His round face and pink shiny cheeks resembled a baby’s bottom.
“Ah, Freya, how lovely she has grown!” He set his plate of sweets down and stood, outstretching his arms. “Child of God in Heaven! The Lord looks down upon you with favor!”
She ran toward him, remembering him from her brother’s birthday party some years ago when he took a vow as a youngster to help in the church—a vow which was quickly expunged by the family. Her brother was a kind and helpful soul who wished to live a life of service to his community.
“Brother Domenico! I’m surprised you remember me. I have all my teeth at last! See?” She gave him a wide smile showing her mouthful of perfect white teeth. Then she hugged the rotund gentleman. She noticed the black-robed younger priests fidget, switching their weight from leg to leg while they presented brittle smiles. Her father was frowning but her mother clasped her hands together and beamed.
“Look at you, my dear,” Father Domenico said as he held her at arm’s length. “As beautiful as your mother, as all the women of your family.” His hand cupped her cheek.
Phoebe felt her cheeks blush from all the attention. She recognized one of the young priests.
“Mario! You’ve taken the cloth.”
“I have, dear Phoebe. Although looking at you now, I’m seriously reconsidering that option. Was I premature?” he said as he winked at her. His stiff blond-colored hair appeared not to have been combed for several days and stood out at his sides like straw.
Phoebe had played with Mario and his brothers all during her childhood, until his parents intervened over two years ago as Phoebe blossomed from child to young woman. It was explained that it would be improper for her to be alone with him, unless accompanied by members of her family and the security detail employed to watch over the children.
“You have a good heart, like Damian.”
Phoebe’s mother put her palm to her mouth at the mention of Phoebe’s brother, who was away at a camp for the young Goldens going into family winery businesses.
Mario glanced at Father Domenico nervously and then gave Phoebe a chaste kiss on her cheek. “Bless you, Phoebe. You always see the good in everyone. That’s a gift,” he whispered, with his eyes downturned.
Her father cleared his throat and extended his arm around Father Domenico. “Phoebe, your mother and I are making plans for your coming of age party.”
His smile was plastered to his face, but his eyes were deadly serious. Phoebe knew well there was another meaning to them. Her mood darkened at the reminder of the decisions she was being pressured to make. But it was awkward to discuss it with members of the clergy, as well as childhood friends, who were all mortal, with no vampiric bloodlines. It felt like a betrayal of her friends that they were excluded.
“Yes, Father. That would be lovely.” She worked to make her voice sound compliant, as she always did around him. But she clearly saw the strain in his face, the wrinkle between his eyes he could not mask. And her mother had stopped smiling.
Even the older priest seemed a bit ill at ease.
“Is there a special someone who could also be part of this celebration, my dear family?”
He looked from Salvatore Dominichelli, to his wife, Freya, and then back to Phoebe without getting a nod or answer of any kind. His fingers started flickering beneath his robes, which extended past his first two knuckles.
At last Phoebe burst out into laughter to break the tension. “Father! You rascal! Of course not. I’m way too young.”
Her mother angled her head and sweetly smiled. Her father ground his teeth and held his jaw firm.
She twirled, her eyes dancing over all the faces in her presence. She hugged herself, pulling the shawl tight across her chest for comfort. She didn’t want to show the bite mark. The older priest would certainly be able to recognize it. Nor did she want to show the goosebumps on her arms and chest. She sashayed towards the kitchen fireplace, hugging their cook along the way.
“I’m starved! Can I join you in breakfast?” she finally asked the non-plused crowd.
“Yes, yes. Forgive me, Father. Where are my manners?” Freya said as she flitted over to the kitchen, lifting trays of breakfast breads, jams, and several fancy egg dishes.
Phoebe sank into the chair at the head of the table without waiting for anyone else to join her and dove into the food. It was a welcome distraction.
AFTER THE ENTOURAGE left, Phoebe turned from the closed front door and addressed her parents.
“And what was that?”
“Phoebe, you remember—?” Her mother began.
“It’s been decided you need to either take seriously your choices or take a husband. Your mother and I are beside ourselves with worry, now that you’ve come to the attention of the dark covens.”
“That might not be true,” Phoebe protested.
“Oh, for Heaven’s sake, Phoebe, look
around you,” her mother added. “You have to be able to feel all this change going on. Your father and I do. You told me last night—”
“In confidence, Mother. Does half the village know about all this, this decision made without consulting me?”
“No final decision has been made, Daughter,” her mother whispered, then searched her husband’s face for help.
Her father stepped closer and took both her hands in his. “You must know how much I love you, Phoebe. I just wouldn’t be able to live with myself if anything happened. I could drop everything else and guard you every waking minute myself, but that’s not realistic. We are worried. And we don’t think history is lining up very favorably for our family, for any of the Golden families. Even the Monteleones are worried.”
“I’m sorry, Father.” She searched his face, noticing his lack of aging, the familiar lines that remained ever since she was old enough to remember him. The older she got, the closer in physical age to both he and her mother she was becoming. She knew the mortal population would notice it sooner or later. It meant that some children who elected not to turn had to leave their homes to live elsewhere.
He drew his large arms around her and kissed the top of her head. “Phoebe, I’m not sure why I am so protective of you. You are smart, capable, and beautiful. You’ve been a wonderful, obedient daughter, accepting of all that is about this family. Not rebellious like some of the other families. You are a model for all young Golden virgins. A father couldn’t ask for anything more.”
His hand rested at the back of her head and lazily rubbed her curls. The heat from his body felt reassuring to her, even though there was going to be a large “but” in his conversation soon.
She decided to take a chance he might understand her. “I honestly haven’t decided, Father,” she said to his chest.
“Could you—?” His breath hitched as the emotions overtook the normally cool and logical family icon. “Could you consider speeding up your choice? Or could it be possible you could take a husband, even if he wasn’t fated to be yours? Not a mate, but a protector.”
She withdrew from him, scanning their faces back and forth.
“A marriage without love? Just a protection? That would be a lie.”
“An arrangement,” said her mother.
“But I thought you said—”
“Your father and I have discussed it at length after we spoke. It would be with the understanding when the fating came, you’d be free to go. That you’d remain unsullied, a virgin, until that time.”
“But you said this was never allowed.”
“In special circumstances,” said her father.
“With a non-Golden husband? A protector?”
Both her parents nodded. “It’s allowed and done. Especially now that these wars are beginning, Phoebe. We are having to resort to desperate ways to protect our young. You are the future of this family. You and your siblings,” said Dominichelli.
“How would this be arranged?”
“We would pair you with someone we trust. You’d have no obligation. In fact, you’d be requested not to consummate the marriage. It wouldn’t be a real marriage. But it will protect your place in our bloodline. And your womanhood.”
“But who?”
Chapter 5
THE MESSAGE STARTED as a shrill whistle, coming from the south. Lionel had been polishing an old knife his grandfather had given him when he was a boy of not more than ten. He’d been waiting until Hugh rose from his slumber.
As he angled his head, the whistle became louder. He shook his head and then tapped his ears as if to allow bugs to fall from his brain. Nothing stopped the noise.
Hugh swung open his door and stood naked, holding an axe.
“Hold there, brother. I mean you no harm,” shouted Lionel.
“One thing to be rousted up from a wonderful wet dream and quite another to hear a banshee—it is from a creature, not a man-made instrument,” Hugh spat. “The bastard who dares do this will pay for it by giving me his dick.”
“What if that whistle is a woman?”
Hugh tossed his head from side to side. “Damn! It’s incessant. I hope she’s an ugly witch or she-banshee, a female troll with warts and green skin. Would be a shame to behead a beauty, now, wouldn’t it?”
The sound stopped abruptly. The two brothers waited several seconds before relaxing. Lionel spat on the metal blade he was polishing, rubbing it against the sharpening stone by candlelight. Hugh laid the axe into the doorway and removed blood from the refrigerator, adding it to a protein shaker and topping it off with whiskey. After giving the mixture several vigorous shakes, he drank the contents down and let out a gut-wrenching burp.
“You’ll never marry, Hugh. I think that alone could undo any fating coming your way.”
“Nah, I don’t believe in it any longer. It would have happened by now, with all the sampling we’ve done.”
“We’ve been tethered to one family, one employer. We’ve not traveled much for the past century. Who knows what’s out there?” Lionel had pondered it for decades.
Hugh rinsed his shaker. “You want me to make a concoction for you, Brother?”
“Nope. I’m not hungry at the moment.”
Hugh collapsed into the heavy wooden chair and sat across the table from Lionel’s finishing cloths, oils and polishing pastes. “You seem calmer today. You thinking more clearly?”
He nodded. “I am. I’m of a good frame of mind tonight. My rest was restorative. You?”
Hugh got up and suddenly discovered he was still naked. “Now I’m the one distracted. But, unlike you, I’m going to go hunting. I can see you won’t join me.”
Lionel’s cell rang. Both brothers noted the screen read Marcus M.
“Sir?” he answered.
“I have some news you’ll want to hear. Jeb has been found. Alive.”
Lionel stood. Even Hugh had heard the scratchy voice of their employer from the cell phone and scrambled to his feet, tracing through the table to put his ear against the little device.
“H-How is that possible?” Lionel asked. His heart was racing. He’d hoped the signals were not just his over-active imagination.
“He was rescued by a Bedouin tribe in the Sahara, near death. He was clutching to the charred, dead remains of Dag, who is confirmed truly dead. Good and dead, thank God.”
Lionel was almost giddy. It had always struck him so odd that Goldens liked to swear and thank God for things he had nothing to do with, if he even existed.
“Where is he?” Hugh blurted out.
Marcus chuckled. “Right now, he’s wrapped like a mummy in a very thick carpet, and stored in a cool, dark place, so that he doesn’t lose any more flesh before he can regenerate.”
“He needs a host. Are they feeding him, Sir?” Lionel asked.
“Apparently, they know all about your kind. And they recognized the vamp who perished at his hands, which is why he was spared, I’m told. Dag was an enemy of those people.”
“So they are a dark coven, then?” Lionel asked.
“I don’t think so. In fact, I think they may become mortal allies.”
“When will he return?”
“Lionel, I’m sending you to go bring him back. I can’t spare the both of you, so Hugh, you’ll stay here.”
“Very good, sir. How will I find him? You have the location?”
“They will be sending you a signal to guide you. It’s a frequency only your species can hear.”
“We’ve had it! I woke up to it this morning,” gasped Hugh.
“Good. I will let Paolo know, then. You can leave whenever you are ready, Lionel. But don’t linger there. Use your mental gifts to alert Hugh to anything dangerous. And be careful. It could be a trap.”
Lionel considered his options before he committed to the mission. His mind wandered to the bedroom of a certain mortal woman again. Hugh felt it, staring back in horror at him, and shook his head.
His duty and honor to the Monteleone
family was his primary directive, and at last he sighed, resolute with his decision. “I’ll leave within the hour. I’ll make sure Hugh is fully made aware of my progress.” He hesitated and then added. “Marcus, promise me you’ll add extra detail to your family and that of the young Dominichelli woman. I have reason to feel you are all in danger, and if I am gone, it will seem like an opportunity to some.”
Hugh frowned now, his hands on his hips, his legendary cock swinging almost to his knees.
“I’ll take your advice and act on it, Lionel. Thank you for the protection of my family. Please keep yourself out of danger. If it wasn’t Jeb, I’d not send you. But I couldn’t let you sacrifice your brother. I couldn’t ask that of you.”
“I understand. I will return intact and with Jeb, in whatever form he remains.”
After the call was ended, Hugh punched him in the stomach, sending him rolling backwards, upturning a lamp and small chair. His anger roared, and his fists sought to smash his own flesh and blood, but he stopped short.
“What are you thinking? What were those visions?” Hugh demanded.
“I’m dealing with it.” Lionel turned to begin gathering things for his trip. He was looking for the healing bag they carried with them everywhere. Hugh blocked the doorway.
“Was that what I felt it was?”
Lionel looked up to him, feeling guilty and unable to mask his shame.
“I am unable to control it, brother. It’s like a—”
Hugh was on him, covering his mouth. “Do not speak of it, brother! It’s blasphemy to say it.”
“I’m going to find a way to set it aside. Perhaps not eliminate it, but set it aside, to the back of my mind, where it can’t hurt me, or—” He stopped, unable to speak her name for fear the dragon of lust building inside him would get loose and wreak havoc with his soul and the souls of both his brothers.
Hugh stepped away and watched him glumly gather things. He only needed a small backpack, enough to bring a cloaking cape in an emergency, some implements like silver handcuffs he had to gingerly handle with heavy work gloves he stuck in there as well. He used a dirty shirt to pick up a string of small silver chain, along with the herbal salve and the healing bag. He fingered over the lavender drawstring pouch with the distinctive letter M embroidered on the top, done by the nimble and impossibly tiny pink fingers of Maria Monteleone herself.
Christmas Bite: A Golden Vampires of Tuscany Novella Page 4