Night Train to Naples

by Caroline Valdez

  Now, Massimo patted Dante’s hand. “Alexandros Nicolaides would be ashes if you, a human, hadn’t been with him.” To Alex, he said, “I’ll return again before sunrise. I order both of you to rest. I’m sure you’re exhausted.”

  He left them alone. The guard closed the door and took his position outside it.

  “Come to me,” Alex said. His eyes had returned to the mesmerizing emerald they were, and the depths were deeper, richer.

  Dante pulled his chair up beside the bed. “I’m afraid to kiss you or touch your hands.”

  Alex patted the bed. Dante rested his head there and laid a hand on Alex’s thigh. Fatigue washed over him, and he fell asleep again.

  A nurse awakened him an hour before daybreak with water and a glass of orange juice. He gloved his hands and rubbed more soothing balm on Dante’s burns, then motioned him to return to his chair.

  Donning a fresh pair of gloves, he discarded the old IV bags and hung fresh ones. Then he gently spread the silvery ointment on Alex.

  Dante dozed. The next words he heard were Alex’s.

  “I’m better, thank you.”

  “Good,” the prince responded. “Dante, wake up and hear me.”

  Dante came fully awake and rose to join them at the bedside.

  “Thank you. I wish both of you to hear this.”

  Dante fought the nausea that flared as he saw the small, sharp knife the prince held. He’d probably opened his vein with it. Fangs out, Alex was drinking from the other wrist. Dante listened but dropped his gaze. He didn’t have to see this. Preferred not to see it.

  The prince spoke as calmly as if he hadn’t sliced his vein for a bloodsucker. “If the stolen gems are not recovered, I’ll pay for them. Global’s CEO confirms they’re insured, but I take responsibility for what has happened. Dante, I intended to award my business to your company, but since what has happened is due to my lack of foresight, I’ll split my needs between both couriers. Have the contracts faxed to me, and my lawyers will contact you if there are questions.”

  “Thank you, Highness,” Dante said.

  “Alexandros, do you accept the offer to serve as my gemologist?”

  There was a long pause before Alex said, “Yes.”

  Dante, surprised, thought it was a reluctant answer and wondered why this change of heart. But then he realized Alex couldn’t turn him down because the prince had given him blood.

  “Grand.” The prince gave a little nod.

  Soon Dante and Alex were alone again.

  “Are you really better?” Dante asked.

  “Yes, my lover, I truly am.” Alex took a small washcloth on the table next to his bed and wiped away some of the ointment on his hand. The blisters had disappeared and the skin’s redness was fading.

  Dante took the hand and pressed his lips to its palm. The palms hadn’t blistered. They would have if Dante hadn’t switched off the sunlamp. “When they took you away in the ambulance, I was frantic because I didn’t know where you were. I’d told the desk clerk to notify Massimo and he sent Agapeto, who brought me to you.”

  “Massimo’s blood has done the job. I’ll be well enough to travel tonight.”

  Dante’s heart skipped a beat. “So soon? I thought we’d have more time together.”

  Alex laid the palm of his clean hand, which had returned to its natural state of coolness, against Dante’s cheek. The ointment was gone, but the pleasant aroma of cinnamon remained. “Don’t leave me, Dante. I’m happier with you than I’ve been in too many years to count. I don’t understand why I should fall in love with a mortal, but I have. I think you know I love you. If you don’t love me, I at least sense your feelings for me run deep. Come with me to America.”

  “I…I—” Dante dropped his gaze to Alex’s hand. He couldn’t go to America. For oh, so many reasons he couldn’t. He was Italian, and the thought of leaving this country to live somewhere else was unthinkable. Alex’s Italian was excellent, in fact, they conversed in it, but Dante’s English was limited and he spoke with an accent. Here, he knew who he was and how things worked in Florence’s rich culture. There, it would be strange and difficult.

  He drew in a deep breath. The image of Alex with his eyes as red as the blood that dripped from his fangs at that wrist crowded his mind. He felt a stabbing pain in his chest as he understood he’d never really accepted what Alex was; had seen him as different from the other undead. With Alex’s intellect and dry humor, his great physical strength and athletic grace, his sense of honor, Dante had refused to open his mind to the fact that Alex was, as he’d once said of Garibaldi, dead. Immortal, perhaps, but dead.

  He was afraid of voicing any of this because he didn’t want Alex to try to talk him into moving to America, but most of all he didn’t want to hurt him with this new and deeper understanding that he was truly a vampire.

  Alex waited for an answer that didn’t come, and as if suddenly depleted of strength again, he released Dante and lay back against the pillows. “I understand. Us together. It’s complicated, isn’t it? Plus, this little tirade of Giacomo’s has spoiled our last days together, hasn’t it?”

  “Only if we let it,” Dante said and wanted it to be true.

  “At least take the night train with me back to Rome. We can talk on my company’s plane tonight, and at sunrise, you can catch the train to Florence. Will you do that for me?”

  Dante couldn’t sort through the conflicting emotions tumbling through him, but he knew he wasn’t ready just yet to let go of Alexandros Nicolaides. “Yes, I’ll go with you.” He took Alex’s hand and kissed it, loving the coolness and the gradual return of pale translucence to his skin. “The sun’s rising. Sleep well. I’ll be here when you wake.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  While Alex slept that day, Dante took a cab to the Stoker and telephoned his boss in Florence to explain the prince’s offer. Since he was now experienced in dealing with the undead, he agreed to be the company’s liaison with the prince regarding deliveries. Since an immortal had been selected for any appraisals necessary, their Italian gemologist wasn’t needed.

  Later, he took another cab to the port. He could be taking his life in his hands to make the walk on the path above it, but he was convinced the thieves had either been arrested or moved on by now.

  And he was armed. Knife, stake, and gun this time, he thought grinning.

  He gazed across the cerulean sea as it lapped gently against the docks below. Snow-mantled Vesuvius gleamed as it rose in the distance, a waiting Pompeii at its feet. Thoughts of Alex and the night ride were uppermost in his mind. He crossed his arms to hug the memory of that evening tight against his chest as he leaned on a guardrail. He finally located the slip where the small Global yacht had been docked, but stopped as disappointment swept through him. It was gone. Now, he couldn’t convince himself in daylight that the trip wasn’t a dream. Maybe what he and Alex had experienced there was just as ephemeral.

  Finding a nearby restaurant, he ordered Italian food and drank a hearty wine that didn’t match how he felt.

  Alex deserved an answer. Dante wasn’t ready to give him one. Did he love Alex? Although he’d never said the words, he thought he did. Might. But Alex had saved Dante’s life—twice. Dante knew that gratitude for being rescued often created a feeling, often temporarily experienced as love, toward the rescuer. Now, he’d saved Alex, and how could he know if the love he felt for Alex and what Alex professed for him were real or based on that natural affinity and loyalty for the one who prevented you from dying?

  Damned if he knew. He tossed euros on the table and told the waitress, whom he realized was flirting with him as she flipped her skirt at him, to keep the change.

  Oh, if she only knew. Not only am I gay, I’m having hot, mind-blowing sex with a vampire. He walked out smiling.

  Back at the Stoker, he inserted his flash drive into the lobby computer and made note of what might be missing or had been tampered with by Giacomo. Then he notified his supervisor he’d be ret
urning to Florence by train tomorrow.

  Agapeto and a guard arrived to accompany him to the hospital.

  The orange ball that was the sun had just hidden behind the horizon as they drove through the busy streets. As soon as its color disappeared, Dante found himself beginning to tremble uncontrollably. The taste of his fear was like brass in his mouth. “Is he out there?”

  As if reading his mind, Maciodi said, “If he is, he wouldn’t dare show himself. You’re too well guarded. He knows the prince’s guards will slaughter him on sight, Signor Rocco.”

  None of which helped the trembling in his limbs. Giacomo had no capacity to care or feel for others. Who knew what such a dead, twisted mind could dream up next for murder?

  “Alex is still weaker than I’d like, and I’ve tried to talk him into staying another day, but he insists on leaving. I assure you, you’re safer with him because I’ll travel with you with guards.”

  Alex was dressed and ready for them. He was wearing the green shirt Dante had bought for him, and a happy warmth spread through Dante to see him in it. There was still a light flush to his countenance, but he seemed more himself.

  His eyes flashed an even deeper green when he smiled.

  Dante felt the smile all the way through him. “Hi,” was all he could manage to say.

  “Shall we go?” Agapeto asked.

  The hotel would send their things on for them, so they traveled lighter than when they’d arrived. The difference, as far as Dante was concerned, was the three weapons he carried.

  They boarded the train to Rome, sitting in the last seats at the back of the last car. Maciodi and a guard took seats in front of them on one side of the aisle. Two other guards sat on the opposite side, forming a triangle.

  Alex put his arm on the back of the seat. He didn’t make contact, but Dante was aware of his arm there, understood Alex wanted to be near him even if this was as close as he dared. He tried not to think about the danger they might be in, but he couldn’t stop stiffening in readiness at every stop as he watched those who boarded their car. Of course, Alex sensed his anxiety.

  “He won’t be on this train,” Alex said in a quiet voice. “He knows better.”

  “But he’s insane. Insane people, human or immortal, aren’t rational.”

  “Relax. We’ll protect you. Any problem we might have will happen when we reach Rome. What’s your favorite thing to do in Florence?”

  Startled, Dante turned to him. “My favorite thing?”

  “Yes. Is it the museums, the art, some kind of sport? What do you enjoy when you aren’t working for your precious gems and metals company?”

  “I play soccer in a small neighborhood league. Sometimes, my friends and I hang out in the evening on the Ponte Vecchio. The lanterns are lit and the shops are closed. There’s no traffic, and we play our guitars.”

  “That’s the medieval bridge over the Arno River, isn’t it?”

  Dante nodded.

  “As young men, we wrestled and practiced throwing the javelin and the discus. We played in the nude. Girls were forbidden. Sometimes we played chess.”

  “Hmm. Naked. No wonder you’re attracted to men.”

  Alex slid his index finger caressingly across and down Dante’s shoulder then withdrew it. “Only to some men.”

  Dante’s breath caught at the sensual touch and voice. His nerves came alive with longing.

  Alex stopped talking and seemed to withdraw. He turned to the window and stared out the rest of the trip.

  “Look alert, everyone,” Maciodi said quietly as the train rolled to a stop in the busy station in Rome.

  The guards formed a casual phalanx around Alex and Dante, pretending to chat while their gazes darted about for the slightest action or sound that might announce the enemy.

  A black town Car pulled up, and they all piled in, Alex and Dante between Maciodi and another guard. Two guards rode with the vampire driver, and one rode in the jump seat facing Alex.

  Dante watched as they approached the private airport, and Alex reached his pilot on his cell phone.

  Maciodi extended his hand to Alex and Dante. “We need to say good-bye inside the car because we’ll leave you off at the plane’s steps. It’s been my pleasure to know both of you. I hope we’ll meet again.”

  Alex and Dante expressed their thanks, and when the car came to a smooth stop beside the plane, the guard on that side opened the door and stepped out, the door and his body providing protection until they were on the steps and inside the plane.

  A neatly dressed young man in a uniform of dark blue and maroon with an embroidered company logo on the pocket greeted them.

  Alex introduced him as his liaison, Robert Thomlin.

  Mr. Thomlin took over from there. “Mr. Rocco, I’d like you to meet our pilots, Captain Robinson and co-pilot Tim Hathaway.”

  Another man dressed in a white shirt, dark blue vest and slacks was John Langston, their attendant for the evening.

  The men shook hands.

  John offered Dante use of the facilities and pointed in their direction. Dante accepted the invitation and excused himself to the bathroom.

  §§§§

  Alex sank down on a couch in the lounge reserved for the executives, his earlier energy sapped by the journey. When John asked if he could get anything for them, Alex ordered fresh blood for himself and champagne for Dante.

  “Oh, and sandwiches, fruit, and a nice cheese for Mr. Rocco too, please. We didn’t have time for dinner.”

  “Yes, sir.” John shut the door to their part of the plane.

  Dante returned, and Alex thought no one had ever looked better to him than this man who’d shared not only this adventure and his bed with him, but had saved his undead life. He patted the seat beside him. “Sit with me?”

  When he felt the weight of Dante’s body compressing the cushion next to him, he said, “Thank the gods, we’re finally alone and I’m well enough to do this—” Turning to Dante, he put a hand behind the head of dark hair and gingerly pressed his still-tender lips across Dante’s. “You smell like someone I know,” he murmured. “Your mouth tastes as delicious as that someone. I’ve missed this, Dante Rocco, more than you can guess.”

  They drew apart, and Dante said, “I can more than guess. I was terrified for you. I thought you might disintegrate to ashes.”

  “I’ll admit I had moments when I thought I might too.”

  A light knock at the door, and it door opened quietly. “I’m sorry to interrupt, Mr. Nicolaides, but I have your drinks and the sandwiches, fruit, and cheese you requested.”

  “Thank you, John.”

  Dante stared at the food on the highly polished stainless steel tray that the attendant held. “This is wonderful. I’m starving.” He picked up a sandwich and began to eat.

  Midway through his meal, Dante asked, “Champagne?”

  “I hope you like it. I thought a celebration was in order…that we each have a contract and are still alive. If you’d rather have something else, John will bring it. If that isn’t enough food, we have more.”

  “Champagne is perfect. And we do, indeed, deserve a celebration.”

  Alex lifted the bottle from the ice bucket and filled their crystal flutes. He lifted his. “Salute.”

  Dante clinked his flute to the one containing dark red blood and didn’t blink an eye. “Salute.”

  Alex sat back and sipped the blood. It was wonderful to see Dante finish the food. Being with him and pleasing him—and he was easy to please—brought on that settled feeling.

  When he’d finished the blood, he excused himself to the restroom. He rinsed his mouth, brushed his teeth and gargled so as not to offend this human he loved.

  By the time he returned, John had removed the empty dishes and glasses and had closed the door behind him.

  Dante stood and walked toward him when Alex entered the room. He pulled Dante into his arms and rocked with him, enjoying his heat and the musk that underlay the spicy scent from his skin. T
heir bodies touched from mouth to thigh, but it wasn’t sexual. It was a moment of relief and gratitude that they were safe. Dante had healed, and he was healing.

  Reluctantly, he released him. “My skin needs a break from what I’m wearing.”

  Dante sat on the nearby bed and saw the difficulty Alex was having removing his shirt. “Here, let me help.”

  “I’m afraid the journey used up much of the strength I’d regained.” Alex said by way of apology.

  “It’s not a problem. I love undressing you, Alexandros.”

  If he’d had a heart, it would have turned over with happiness. It would have thundered as Dante ran his hands over the body he’d made naked.

  Gently, Alex stopped those hands and buried his face in Dante’s hair, then lightly kissed the pulse in his neck. “I’m helpless tonight. I haven’t the energy to do what I’ve wanted to do ever since I was injured.” He made his tone light and teasing. “Are you sure you don’t want to go to America with me?”

  One corner of Dante’s mouth crinkled with the hint of a smile, as if to indicate he knew Alex was toying with him. “Where’s your robe?”

  Before helping Alex slip his arms into the silken sleeves, Dante studied his burns. “You’re so much better than even last night. The blisters have disappeared, and your skin has only a slight blush to it. To those who don’t know you’re immortal, it would probably look normal. Is it tender still?”

  “Alas, it is.”

  They sprawled together on the bed, and Alex traced the lines of Dante’s face with his fingertips, then kissed him. Dante pushed him gently onto his back, keeping his hands only on that part of Alex’s body untouched by the fire of the lamp. Alex thought he couldn’t get it up tonight, but his dick responded to the caressing, searching hands as they played over his thighs and cradled his balls. He spread his legs apart, and when the wanted finger slipped inside his ass, he groaned. “Dante, that feels so good, but I can’t—”

  “Don’t. Let me do it all,” Dante shushed.