by AJ Llewellyn
“Who are you and how do you know my name?” Massimo was surprised when the question came out in a low guttural growl.
“You know who I am.”
“Thais,” Massimo hissed as he gripped the hilt of his weapon so tightly his knuckles popped.
“I knew you were smarter than the others give you credit for.” Thais smiled wider, showing off his fangs. They were longer than any others that Massimo had seen before.
“You were the one who attacked Marcello and almost killed him. I should gut you right now and let you bleed out on the streets!” Massimo raged.
“Ah, yes. You’re getting quite good with that blade, aren’t you?” Thais’s gaze was too knowing for Massimo’s comfort.
“You’ve been following me the whole night, haven’t you?” he asked as apprehension crawled up his spine.
“Yes, I was.” The vampire took a couple of steps closer. “I must say I was most impressed with the way you handled that wretched female. You did her a favor really. The plague would have tormented her for days before she finally died. What you did for her was quick and with mercy.”
“It was,” Massimo agreed, willing to let Thais think the kill was an act of kindness.
“But that’s not why you slit the courtesan’s throat, was it? You did it because you didn’t want Caprice distracted by anyone but you.”
Massimo opened his mouth.
Thais cut him off, “Don’t even try to deny it. I can read the truth in your mind. Don’t worry, I won’t go and tell the others your secret. In fact, I’m impressed with you for doing it.”
“You are?” Massimo felt as if he’d been reduced to a blathering idiot with all the questions he was asking, but the whole situation was so surreal. It was almost as if he was having a dream and he would wake up to find himself in the safety of Philippe-Auguste’s arms.
“Most vampires aren’t weak and afraid like Philippe-Auguste. We know that humans have their place and it’s under us.”
“You’re just saying that so I will betray him,” Massimo accused, seeing right through the man’s lies.
“Maybe, maybe not.” Thais glided a bit closer, within striking distance now. “Let me ask you a question though. If Philippe-Auguste were to have to pick you or Marcello, who do you think would win?”
“Me, of course. I was the first one he sought out. The first he turned.”
“Massimo, let’s not hide from the truth here.” Thais reached out and caressed his cheek, and despite himself, Massimo shivered at the heated contact. “We both know that Philippe-Auguste has a very soft spot for your twin. The only reason he turned you was to get closer to Marcello. It was he and Caprice that he wanted all along, not you.”
“Not true, we all love each other,” Massimo spat, but there was a dark spot of doubt seeding in his heart.
“You forget, I can see into your mind.” Thais continued to caress his face, before allowing his fingers to linger on Massimo’s pulse line.
Massimo sucked in a breath as his cock grew hard. Disgust for himself made his stomach clench. Thais was the one who tried to kill Marcello and Caprice and yet he was sexually attracted to him. Maybe he truly was the monster that Philippe-Auguste spoke of.
“Not a monster, just a god,” Thais leaned in to whisper, his hot breath fanning against the side of Massimo’s face. “Leave the others and come with me.” He cupped Massimo’s straining cock. “I can help you become so much more.”
It was tempting, so tempting, but then he remembered Caprice’s warm eyes, his brother’s loving smile and the protective way Philippe-Auguste always held them. Giving a roar that sounded more animal than human, Massimo swung the dagger around to slash at the vampire.
With a smooth laugh, Thais moved so quickly to the side that Massimo didn’t even see him move. One moment he was in front of him, the next, he was standing beside him. There was a pricking at his neck and it took him a couple of heartbeats to realize the vampire had pulled out a dagger of his own and pressed it against Massimo’s throat.
“I could kill you right now.” Thais pressed the blade in even deeper to prove his point. “Just because you’re immortal doesn’t mean you won’t die if I cut off your head. I could do that, you know. Cut off your pretty skull and leave it on a pike for Philippe-Auguste to find.”
“Please,” Massimo whispered as he felt a thin trickle of blood start to come down from his neck.
“I won’t do that though, and you want to know why?”
“W…w…why?” Massimo hated that his voice trembled so, reducing him to a crying female.
“Because we are alike, you and I.” Thais used his free hand to swipe up some of Massimo’s blood. Bringing his wet fingers to his mouth, he licked them clean. “Sooner or later, you will see how right I was tonight and then you will come looking for me.”
“I’ll never be with you.” Massimo was proud that this time his words came out much stronger.
“Your words say one thing, but your blood and hard cock tell me another.” Thais smiled, managing to look both sensual and sinister at the same time. “You and your sweet ass belong to me, Massimo, you just aren’t ready to realize it yet.”
With that final stunning declaration, Thais turned and walked away. The final insult being that he seemed to have no care that he was giving Massimo his back, as if he was no threat.
Massimo snorted as he held a hand up to his bleeding throat. Given the very humiliating encounter, he wasn’t a threat to the vampire. Thais had all but spanked him.
“Massimo! There you are. We’ve been looking for you, forever.”
Massimo closed his eyes and groaned as he saw his twin approach, Philippe-Auguste not far behind. Perfect, just what he needed to end this perfect mess of a night. He was going to have to scramble fast to come up with some excuses. Looking down at his bloodstained clothes, he amended that to having to think really fast.
“You’re hurt.” Marcello’s eyes grew wide with concern as he came up to stand in front of Massimo.
“Just a scratch, nothing more,” Massimo assured, trying to make the situation as light as possible.
“It was Thais, wasn’t it?” Philippe-Auguste asked, his eyes narrowing as he looked at the wound.
“Yes, he was here,” Massimo admitted. There was no sense in denying that much since Philippe-Auguste already seemed to know that much. “We fought and he left.” He deliberately left out the damning words the vampire had flung out.
“Let’s get back home to Caprice,” Philippe-Auguste ordered. “We can discuss what happened there. The sun will rise soon.”
Massimo nodded his head, only too happy to put off the interrogation for as long as possible. The three vampires took off, running through the streets of Venice at a breathtaking speed. All too soon, they were back at Caprice’s house. As soon as they walked in, she came running to the door.
“You were all gone so long, I was beginning to worry,” she admonished with a smile. It faded as she looked at them. “You are all upset. Why?”
“Thais,” Marcello supplied grimly. “He attacked Massimo.”
“Are you okay?” she gasped.
“I’m fine.” Massimo brushed past her and sat in a chair.
“The blood that is on you… it’s not all yours,” Philippe-Auguste observed in a dark voice.
“No, it’s not.” Massimo decided to go with the story he concocted on the run home. “It’s Geovanna’s. She’s dead, by Thais’s hand.”
“Not Geovanna,” Caprice cried as she sank down into a seat and started to sob.
“I’m sorry. I tried to stop him, but I was too late.”
“Why would he want to kill Geovanna?” Philippe-Auguste continued to study Massimo. “She was harmless to him and he couldn’t drink her blood since she had the plague.”
Now he tells me. Massimo groused internally. It would have been nice to know that kernel of information before I took a sip. “He told me it was because he wanted to hurt Caprice since she belongs to you,
” Massimo said.
Caprice began to cry in earnest. Philippe-August and Marcello ran to her side, trying to comfort her.
Massimo stayed where he was, too busy reliving the kill in his head to pay them any mind. It had felt so good and he’d managed to get away with it, too. The others had believed his lies.
What was to stop him from enjoying it again? Surely one or two humans wouldn’t hurt? Hiding his smile behind his fist, he ran his tongue over his fangs in anticipation.
Chapter Ten
Caprice stood in front of the painting. The late afternoon sun slipped into the lagoon, casting a pearly, orange glow into the room of the great artist’s salon. He lit candle sconces on either side of the painting. All her hopes and dreams rested on what happened next. She was aware of Philippe-Auguste watching her, his calm presence washing over her from the chair where he sat, sipping wine.
She stepped back and blew out a breath.
“Well?” the old man’s voice was a bark, but his expression was not unkind.
“Maestro, the painting is magnificent.” She stared at it a moment longer, the haunting image of a man hanging upside down, flayed, as other men gathered around him. The rich depth of detail and exquisite use of color in the enormous oil on canvas stunned her.
Titian, the greatest painter who ever lived in Venice, no, the whole of Italy, awaited her opinion of The Flaying of Marsyus. Just completed, this two-year labor of love was destined for a home in an obscure foreign city. Titian, still striking and strong in his eighty-fifth year of life, waited for more. His wrinkled skin and gray hair belied the brilliant gleam of his piercing, dark brown eyes. He still saw everything.
Her former art teacher, Eduoard, once told her, The Maestro sees everything. He is always painting, always seeing the light, the color in all things. He paints in his head. It is a glorious gift.
It had been Philippe-Auguste who finally introduced her to Titian who had not been surprised to discover the brilliant new artist Capriccio’s true identity. Now, he sought to test Caprice’s desire to be a serious artist. She wondered briefly if she were really up to the challenge.
She stumbled over her words. “Marsyus is being skinned alive in the center of the painting.”
“Yes, yes,” the old man was testy now. “Why was he flayed?”
“He challenged the god Apollo in a flute-playing contest.” She paused. “The contest rules stated the winner could do whatever he pleased with the loser. Apollo chose to flay him.”
“Let’s move to the peripheral characters, shall we?”
She inclined her head. So far, so good. She remembered all her lessons. “The man on the left is, I believe, King Midas. He is wearing the ears of an ass because he prefers Marsysus’s flute playing to that of Apollo. This was his punishment.” She turned and smiled at the old master. “Maestro, this is a self portrait, is it not?”
Titian beamed, but he did not look well. His skin was pallid, but then he was still churning out paintings in his relentless way, as if he were a young man in his prime. “Very good, young Caprice. What else do you notice?”
“Marsyus is a satyr. He has the torso of a man, the lower body of a goat.” She bit her lip. “He seems to accept his fate.”
“What of the violinist?”
“I believe that is Apollo.” Oh, that I were home in bed with Philippe-Auguste!
She caught his chuckle in her mind. She was still enthralled over his ability to read her and send her messages. She wished she could read him as well and hoped in time she would. She also hoped he received her call for sexual fulfillment loud and clear. Sensual desire swamped her reason for a moment. “Apollo is said to have regretted his violent treatment of Marsyus and abandoned the flute for a time.” She tried not to think about handling Philippe-Auguste’s beautiful shaft in her warm hands.
“What about the flayer himself?” Titian asked.
She was glad he didn’t ask about the other characters. She knew Saint Sebastian, who frequently popped up in the great artist’s recent works was there for a reason, but could not fathom why.
She studied the image for a moment. “The flayer is wearing a cap that some say is the symbol of a freed slave. It also represents a foreigner. It looks very much like the doge’s cape here in Venice.” Her thoughts raced. “You are letting the people who receive this painting know that it is the work of a Venetian artist. No, I should say, the greatest Venetian artist of all time.”
Titian accepted the compliment. “I won’t ask you about Saint Sebastian. Only somebody very stupid would not know why he is in the picture.”
She caught Philippe-Auguste’s wicked grin and said nothing.
Titian threw back the contents of his crystal wine goblet. “I am going to give Capriccio a commission. I am old and tired and I believe this work will enhance his reputation.”
“Really?” Caprice felt elation and fear mingling within her.
“You have learned very well.”
“Thank you, Maestro.”
“You will undertake the portrait of the town magistrate. His name is Baldovino. I accepted the commission, but find I am unable to complete it in the amount of time he has allotted.”
Caprice opened and shut her mouth. She hated Baldovino. He was the one who allowed Geovanna to go away to die, abandoned and alone. She could not be foolish however. She had fought for the privilege of painting, earning her place as a working artist on the periphery of Titian’s great studio La Senseria.
“He has paid me eight crowns and I will give you five.”
She almost gasped at the huge sum of money. Titian held out his hand and her fingers closed over the coins. Her fate was set.
“He likes to pose early in the morning, as soon as the sun rises. He will give you two hours per day for nine days.”
Nine days! She nodded, but felt miserable. She was useless at sunrise. How could she do her best work? This was the first time she was painting an actual commissioner. Normally they asked for a certain style of portrait and Geovanna or Marcello posed for her.
You will have to paint from memory and use a double as you usually do, Philippe-Auguste telepathed to her. Please don’t worry. We will get through this.
She nodded. She liked the sound of that we. She took hold of the vellum contract bound with cord and finished with Titian’s personal wax seal. She could hardly believe her ears when the Matestro wished her good luck.
Believe it, Philippe-Auguste’s thoughts flew into her mind. You are talented. You are the queen of Venetian art.
“You will bring the painting to me, unsigned, and I will decide if it is good enough for him.” Titian paused. “Or if indeed, he is worthy of an original Capriccio.”
She stared at him.
“I knew Geovanna. Her death was…regrettable.”
Caprice closed the gap between her and Titian. She kissed her beloved Maestro’s hand, then impulsively pressed her lips to the other. He patted her head and shooed her away like an errant chicken. Philippe-Auguste helped her out of the studio.
“Those stupid shoes,” he murmured. “These are even more ridiculous than the rest. You must never wear them again, promise me.”
Since Thais had become a threat and Massimo increasingly absent, Marcello and Philippe-Auguste had insisted she wear lower chopines in case they needed to run. She had insisted on wearing her very best, eighteen-inch heels for her meeting with the great Maestro, but now found herself hobbling home.
The pink satin and velvet shoes had been her joy and now she knew she must leave them in the sprawling dressing room where she sometimes wore them, just for the reminder that she owned them and had bought them with her own money.
It was dusk when they arrived and out of breath, she removed her shoes at the bottom of the stairs and raced Philippe-Auguste to the top. She ran to the bedroom and threw herself on the bed. He covered her body with his. She could feel her lover’s hard erection straining against her, even through her clothes.
They stare
d at each other. “I am so proud of my woman,” he whispered.
“Show me how proud you are.” She still held her coins in one hand and her shoe straps in the other and let everything clatter to the floor.
He smiled and she enjoyed the spark of lust in his eyes.
He gazed down at her, resting on one elbow. He drew back and knelt on his haunches. His hands moved over her body, caressing the low décolletage and he kissed the rise of her womanly breasts as his hands slid her full skirts of cotton and silk up her thighs and she felt the cool rush of air as he detached the laces holding her sleeves to her chemise. He slid her silk and lace pantaloons down her thighs.
“Oh, Caprice.” His gaze implored her to open her legs and she held her breath as he kissed her mound and quickly buried his face between her hot thighs.
“I waited so long for this,” he murmured, his tongue reaching into her musky depths.
She stroked his long gray hair, feeling his mouth suckling at her, one hand moving back to her breasts, the other underneath her ass. She felt him drawing her closer, his skin bristling against her tender inner thigh. Her legs opened further and she held his head close, feeling her orgasm closing in on her. His fingers grasped a nipple over the top of her bodice. She felt the jolts of pleasure as his tongue and lips latched onto her clitoris and sucked her. She felt her release engulf her like a wave of fire. Red and white flames seemed to ignite across her brain and she opened her eyes to find herself holding his head to her so tightly she was surprised Philippe-Auguste could even breathe. She let go of him and his wet lips came off her, a smirk of satisfaction invading his handsome face.
“I can’t believe you two,” said a voice from the doorway.
Philippe-Auguste laughed. “Our beautiful little artist just scored her first big commission, Marcello. I do believe she wants to celebrate.”
“Well, in that case, who am I to interrupt the festivities?”
Marcello raced toward them, stripping fast. Philippe-Auguste’s gaze fell on the prize between Marcello’s thighs. “Get me ready for her,” Marcello grunted and Philippe-Auguste lost no time absorbing his man’s hardening shaft in his hot and hungry mouth.