Dark Symphony (Dark Series - book 10)

by Christine Feehan

  Byron did not put Don Giovanni or Antonietta down until he entered the old man’s room.

  “The alarms should be going off,” Antonietta said. “Intruders should have triggered them. How did they get in? How do you get in?”

  “Not the same way they entered,” Byron replied with absolute conviction. “There is no intruder present in the palazzo at this time.”

  “You can’t know that,” Antonietta pointed out. “There are over a hundred rooms in our home. They could be hiding anywhere. You haven’t even checked the office.”

  “I will conduct a search later, only to see what they have been up to. There are no intruders, only your family in their beds,” Byron repeated patiently. “Don Giovanni is freezing from the seawater and chilling wind. His temperature is dropping at an alarming rate. Go to your room arid take a hot bath, Antonietta,” he said, his tone abrupt and clipped as he began stripping the elderly man. “You are shaking with cold.”

  “I don’t much care to be ordered about,” Antonietta responded. Her teeth were chattering, although she tried desperately to stop them. She was cold through and through. “Don Giovanni is my grandfather and my responsibility.”

  “Then give him the dignity he deserves.” Byron’s voice had gone so soft it was black velvet. And it made her shiver.

  Antonietta took a step backward. For a moment a lump welled up in her throat, threatening to choke her. Her eyes burned. She hadn’t cried in years.

  His fingers caught her chin in a firm grip. “I do not mean to sound abrupt, but I have little time for necessities. If I have offended you, I am sorry. Your grandfather’s heart is weak, and his resistance is low, even with my earlier ministrations.” He bent his head to hers. Touched his mouth to hers. Feather light, a mere brush. She felt it all the way to her toes. Heat curled in the pit of her stomach. For a moment she couldn’t think clearly, couldn’t think why she wanted to cry.

  “Because someone tried to kill you and your grandfather,” he answered for her. “Someone poisoned him and most likely you and also drugged you both. You are tired and cold, and I was curt in my manner of speaking. Anyone would cry, Antonietta. I will see to Don Giovanni while you take a hot bath and get in a warm bed.”

  Byron sounded so tender her heart turned over and tears burned behind her eyes. His hand dropped away from her, and she turned to go, compelled by the beauty of his voice, his soothing logic. She even took a step away from him before she realized what she was doing. “Grazie, Byron, but

  Nonno

  may need my assistance in the bath. I can’t see him, I’m blind, you know.” Byron was the only person who made her feel as if he never noticed she was blind.

  Byron tossed Don Giovanni’s sodden shirt to one side. “You do not have to do everything,

  cara mia

  . Go now. I will attend him in the shower and get him settled.”

  “Go.” Don Giovanni waved a trembling hand toward the door. “Do as he says, Toni, go to your bath. I will be fine. In fact, both of you go. I want you to look after her for me, Byron. See to it that she changes into something warm.”

  “

  Nonno

  !” Antonietta was shocked. “I may be blind, but I assure you, Byron is not. I don’t think he can attend me in my bath.”

  “I want her protected. Suppose they come back?” Don Giovanni ignored his granddaughter’s protest. “You stay with her at all times.”

  “It will not matter, Don Giovanni, whether they come back or not They will never again put their hands on your granddaughter.”

  Byron leaned into Antonietta, and for the first time she felt his body tremble. Rage was a living, breathing entity in the room with them. The air thickened into a heavy mass, a dark cloud of roiling energy until it was difficult to breathe.

  Deep inside Byron, the demon roared for release, called for retribution. Demanded he take her away where no harm could possibly reach her. “It is far safer in your bath alone than with me standing guard at the moment,

  cara

  . Allow me to attend your grandfather in peace.” His voice hissed out between his teeth. A promise. A vow. An absolute conviction.

  Trying to be dignified with her teeth clacking together and her body shivering uncontrollably was difficult, but Antonietta was a Scarletti. She lifted her chin. “The authorities must be notified. I think there’s a body on the cliffs.”

  “A body?” Don Giovanni sank onto a chair while Byron gently removed his saturated shoes and socks. “Whose body?”

  Byron shrugged casually. “One of them was trying to throw Antonietta into the sea. I may have wrenched him a bit too hard. I was angry and afraid for her, and I was not thinking of my own strength.”

  Don Giovanni shook his head. “Better the body go into the sea, and we know nothing of what happened to him. You, struggled, he fell. It is better not to take chances with the authorities in the matter of death.”

  “

  Nonno

  !” Antonietta was shocked.

  “If you keep standing there with wet clothes, shaking like a leaf, I am carrying you up to your bath and putting you in it myself,” Byron said. “I will not be responsible for what happens after that. Do not make the mistake of thinking I am jesting.”

  Her heart jumped, began to pound at his words. She did her best to look irritated before touching her grandfather’s hand as she swept from the room.

  “You never take your eyes off of her,” Don Giovanni said approvingly. “That is good. I wanted a man like you for her. She’s strongwilled, Byron.” The red-rimmed eyes regarded him steadily. “You could hurt her.”

  “Not me, Don Giovanni. Never me.” Byron helped the old man to stand. “Lean against me, and we will make our way to the shower.”

  “I’m too weak to stand by myself,” Don Giovanni admitted, ashamed.

  “I will not drop you, old friend,” Byron encouraged gently. He allowed the man to take staggering steps to cross the room to his private bath rather than arbitrarily lifting him. Instinctively he knew Don Giovanni’s pride would insist on that small independence, even if his body were too weak to walk without assistance. “It has been quite a night. You are aware, of course, that both your life and that of your granddaughter are in danger. She needs protection, as will you.”

  Don Giovanni sighed as he reached with gnarled fingers for the glass door to his shower. “She’s a stubborn one. I’ve relied too heavily on her, and she feels responsible for all of us now. She won’t want to hire a bodyguard.”

  “I know.” Byron helped the old man shed the last of his clothing and adjusted the temperature of the spray. “But it will be necessary. I cannot be here during most of the day. Why would someone want you both dead?”

  Don Giovanni turned his face up to the spray while jets of water helped to heat the rest of his body. Byron was very matter-of-fact about standing with him in the shower, allowing the old man to hang on to him while the water poured over them. He waited until the don had stopped shivering so violently before he turned off the hot jets of water and enfolded the elderly man gently in a towel.

  Carpathians regulated their own body temperatures, and it took a heartbeat to dress in dry clothes. The don hardly noticed as Byron helped him to put on his pajamas and crawl into bed. “Go to her, Byron. See that she comes to no harm.”

  “I will,” Byron assured. “Sleep now, and do not worry.” He used his hypnotic voice to persuade the don.

  “What of the others? My other grandchildren? You were going to check on them for me. And my great-grandchildren?” Don Giovanni slurred his words.

  “Sleep now.” Byron gave him another gentle push with his mind. He drew the covers up to the older man’s chest

  Because the elder Scarletti was restless even in his sleep, Byron chanted the ancient healing ritual aloud as he worked on ensuring all traces of poison were driven from Don Giovanni’s body. It took longer than Byron thought it would, mostly because he worked on strengthening internal organs.
“You cannot die for many years, old friend,” he murmured as he rose. He looked around carefully, allowing his senses to flare out and reach the corners of the suite of rooms. “I have only recently met you, Don Giovanni, but you are important to me and to your granddaughter. I have great respect for a man such as you.” He leaned very close, put his lips close to the don’s ear. “You will live and be strong.”

  Someone had been in Don Giovanni’s room recently. Someone who may or may not be of Scarletti blood. The scent permeated the room. Byron took his time, thoroughly canvassing the room for anything that could be lethal to Don Giovanni. He detected no living thing, not even a poisonous spider. The intruder had dragged the don from his bed. It would have taken only moments to overpower the old man. The intruder must have returned to the room after he had flung Don Giovanni from the cliff. And he was either a family member or servant, sleeping in the palazzo, although the scent wasn’t familiar, or the intruder had left immediately after returning to the room, which didn’t make sense.

  Byron shifted shape, taking the form of a large wolf with dark reddish-brown fur. He lifted his muzzle to scent the room again. At once his lips drew back in a snarl. The odor was subtle but there. Wild. Feline. A predator. That explained the quick escape. Was a vampire involved in some act against the Scarletti family? A vampire would have taken the old man’s blood, not simply thrown him into the sea. Vampires were wholly evil, wanting those around them to suffer endlessly.

  The wolf began to search throughout the palazzo. How had the intruder come into the house without triggering the elaborate alarm system? Byron simply became mist in the way of his people and streamed through a partially closed window in one of the many unused rooms. Any vampire could do the same. The wolf trotted up the curving staircase on the east side of the palazzo where Antoinette’s cousins made their home.

  Antonietta shoved open the door to her rooms with the flat of her hand. She had moved much too quickly and was grateful the children hadn’t left their toys out where she could trip over them. Ordinarily, they were very good about such things, but little Vincente sometimes forgot. More than once Antonietta had suffered a minor bruise and damaged pride stumbling over one of his trucks. Once, she would have tumbled down the stairs if Justine hadn’t been with her to catch her. Vincente denied he was playing with his toys on the forbidden stairway, but his father. Franco, had punished him all the same. Marita, Vincente’s mother, wrung her hands together and wept aloud for the terrible treatment of her son, but for once, Franco prevailed, furious that Antonietta had nearly tumbled down the marble stairs.

  Thoughtfully, Antonietta closed the heavy door to her suite and leaned against it as it occurred to her that Vincente might have been telling the truth. Someone else could easily have put his toys at the top of the stairs in the hopes of causing an accident

  Damn you! You have me thinking conspiracy.

  There was a small silence. Byron was shocked that she had used the intimate form of communication between lifemates so easily. She was a strong telepath—and more. She often called him to her with her music, yet she seemed unaware of it.

  You are finally coming to terms with what is happening around you. Deliberately closing your eyes to a possible threat is not wise.

  Antonietta began to slowly slip the small pearl buttons from the fastenings on her blouse. Her fingers were shaking with cold and maybe fear, so it was difficult to manage.

  I could come and help you.

  Antonietta gasped, looked around her room as if she might glimpse him there in her world of darkness.

  His laughter was soft. Flirtatious.

  The night belongs to me. I come out of the shadows. I can be anywhere. Even there in the room with you right now, helping you to undress.

  There was a drawling caress in his tone that sent liquid fire racing through her body and pooling low into an aching need.

  I always know when you’re in the room with me, and you’re not at this moment.

  Antonietta realized she was beginning to stop trembling, and she was smiling in spite of the events of the evening and the serious situation. Byron was deliberately warming her, making her relax.

  I don’t think helping me undress is a particularly good idea. What are you doing? The idea of helping you undress takes my breath away.

  There was a short silence. Antonietta draped her blouse over the back of a chair. Her fingers trailed over the silk, wishing she were touching Byron’s chest. The idea of him helping her undress robbed her of breath, too. Of speech. She couldn’t think straight. Dragging the tie from her hair, she began to pull out the weave as she crossed to her bathroom.

  I am searching the palazzo to see what the intruders were up to and examining your cousins to make certain they were not fed poison or drugged. A much more interesting question is, what are you doing? I’m taking the braid out of my hair.

  Byron closed his eyes and inhaled sharply as if he could drag her scent deep inside his body.

  There is something very erotic about a woman letting down her hair. Have you removed your slacks? My blouse.

  She admitted it without hesitation. It was part of her dreamworld. He was far away and it was a harmless game. And it distracted her from thinking about the terrors of being nearly killed. Of someone hating her enough to want to kill her. Antonietta’s fingertips moved across the swell of her breasts. She ached for his touch. She had never wanted a man more.

  It doesn’t make sense. It makes perfect sense.

  She had never talked with any man this way, not even a lover. She had never blushed or stammered or deliberately tempted a man. Byron never once had given her an indication that he was interested in her as other than a friend. She might even be making a fool of herself, but it didn’t matter. He was an obsession.

  As she made her way across the tiled bathroom floor, colored images leapt in front of her eyes without any warning. Shades of vivid red and yellow. She cried out, closing her eyes instinctively. The colors were so intense they hurt her, made her feel ill.

  What is it?

  She was disoriented, frozen to the spot, unable to tell exactly where she was in her own bathroom.

  I see something. Colors. Red and yellow. Like heat images. Take a deep breath, your heart is beating too fast. It is nothing. Let the images go. You may have been seeing what I was seeing. Our connection is strong.

  Byron bit back the ominous growl in this throat, hackles rising. He shifted shape back to his human form and bent over her sleeping cousin.

  Cautiously, Antonietta opened her eyes and saw the comforting darkness.

  That made me sick to my stomach. How strange.

  Rather than use the centuries-old bathing pools, now modernized, Antonietta filled her private bathtub and tossed in scented salts. She wanted to feel beautiful tonight She needed to feel beautiful.

  Where are you?

  She didn’t want to be alone. In spite of her bravado, she was frightened by the events of the evening and wanted the comfort of Byron’s powerful presence. She peeled off her damp slacks and laid them carefully on the vanity. The simple act of removing her lacy bra and panties made her feel sexy. A tempting siren.

  She stepped into the bath, sank into the blessedly hot water, and allowed her head to fall back against the side of the tub.

  I am standing over your cousin Paul. He is sleeping deeply, and I do not think it is a normal sleep. I must spend a few minutes examining him. Are the windows in your rooms closed and secured?

  Her breasts floated on the scented water as she relaxed.

  I didn’t think to check. I will before I go to bed. Have you smelled a strange odor? A wild cat. Large breed.

  Antonietta sat up straight, the water beading, rushing down her skin.

  Why would you think that? What made you ask me that?

  Byron was silent, analyzing her voice. There was fear in her tone. Fear in her mind, but her barriers were intact and strong. For a moment he considered pushing through to get the informa
tion he needed, but she was his lifemate, and he had learned, all too well, the danger of trying to force and manipulate. Patience, he reminded himself. Above all, a Carpathian male could endure.

  Antonietta could not escape him, now that he found her. He had not counted on danger in her own home.

  Byron? Why would you think I would smell a wild cat?

  She sounded very anxious. For the first time he wished he could see images around her through her eyes. He felt textures through her, but there were no images to aid him. He had to use feelings. Emotions were still somewhat alien and overpowering. It made him dangerous and near the edge of control.

  I smell a cat here, in this room. And also I smelled the same creature in your grandfather’s room.

  He answered truthfully because she was his lifemate, but his instincts told him she knew something he did not.

  Are you with Paul or Franco? Paul.

  There was another long silence. He tuned his acute hearing to finding her room. Bathwater splashed as if she were agitated. He closed his eyes with a small groan, picturing her lush body naked and floating in the scented water. Her silky hair would be surrounding her, an allure he would never be able to resist.

  His entire body tightened, hardened to a painful ache. Antonietta. How much he wanted her. How difficult it was to wait. He savored every moment with her. And his creativity, so long gone, was returning, thanks to her.

  Is it Paul? Does he have the scent of a cat?

  There was reluctance to her voice, as if she might be betraying someone… or something she held dear. And there was an underlying note of fear. She tried to hide it, but it was there.

  Byron leaned over Paul, examining every inch of him, paying attention to his fingernails, his arms, looking for scratches, for any telltale sign that would indicate he had been a party to the attack on Don Giovanni and his grand-daughter. There was one long scratch along the inside of his left forearm. It looked raw and angry.

  Byron! Please, does he have the scent of the cat?