The Hidden Demon

by Monica La Porta

  The shocking revelation that there was at least one intact vampire skeleton—something deemed impossible until now—and his encounter with the forensic anthropologist had taken a toll on his mind. He had reached his preserve mentally spent; even his body felt heavy, his movements sluggish as he tossed away the gloves and dragged himself to the shore.

  Seagulls squawked high above, and the brine from the sea tickled Peter’s nostrils. He was now replenished, but still restless. Ophelia had set his senses on fire and he gave in and touched her. He had made it look necessary to get her over the wall, but the truth was he had been dying to place his hands on her. The spark between them, however, that he hadn’t expected. Even through the gloves and her clothes, he had felt the synergy building between them and she had felt it too. He had never lost his control with a woman, and now, as a result, he needed to tend to his body. He thought about diving into the cold water, but knew swimming would only excite him more. Time to collect another object for his memories collection. After a brief shower, he drove back to Rome, to the nightclub barges anchored alongside the Tiber River. He had several favorites, but decided to try a new one tonight, the Arco di Trionfo under Vittorio Bridge.

  The place, nothing more than a dive despite being pretentiously named after the Arch of Triumph, was well assorted in the human variety. Peter didn’t care for alcohol, but usually a large crowd meant the beverages were either good or cheap. Or both. He couldn’t understand human’s fixation for getting inebriated. He’d never been drunk. His body metabolized alcohol at such a rate he had never felt any effects. He also didn’t like to pick up women who were intoxicated. He wanted them to know what they were doing before he removed his gloves and touched them.

  He saw the brunette before she saw him. He strolled toward her, and sure enough, she felt his presence. She smiled at him and he cocked his head to the side. She nodded and followed him outside. Peter preferred the nightclub barges because there were plenty of secluded corners under the Lungotevere bridges, and he wasn’t always in the mood to follow them home.

  Last night, he had needed the diversion with the two women and accepted the offer of going to the redhead’s place. But he was in the mood for something fast, and the arched alley just around the corner from the barge would do. The young woman was curvaceous and her hair bounced over her back. She was lovely and kept smiling at him, but he saw beneath the façade and found her sadness.

  “I’m M—”

  He pushed her against the concrete wall as he lowered his mouth over hers to stop her from saying her name. Not quite kissing her yet, he whispered, “I can only give you this.” Still wearing his gloves, he brushed the side of her ribcage and stopped just under her breast. “Nothing more.”

  She moaned and arched her back to press herself against him. “It’s enough.”

  Peter removed his gloves and caressed her jaw. Her eyes widened at the onslaught of feelings he elicited with a single brush, lust instantaneously overwhelming her senses. He had to cover her mouth with his, least she screamed as he raised her skirt and lowered his jeans. Casting her panties aside, he joined their bodies with a swift thrust. He grabbed her legs and she was fast in anchoring herself to him as he rocked in and out of her, making sure the woman experienced the highest peaks of pleasure several times before he let himself reach completion.

  He had to help her stand when he finally lowered her to the ground. Her eyes half-closed, she sought one last kiss. They asked so little of him, and a kiss meant nothing to him. His eyes went to a small barrette holding her black curls to the side. In the throes of passion, the barrette had come loose and was now dangling from a silky strand. Small, delicate fabric rosettes in pastel colors decorated it. One rosette was missing and showed the yellow glue underneath. Almost childish in its innocence, that object was his collected memory for the night. He put his gloves back on and breathed a deep breath.

  On their way back to the nightclub, where he would leave her and look for another woman—his thirst for fulfillment wasn’t sated yet—he saw a familiar figure standing before the entrance.

  Chapter Two

  Peter couldn’t believe that of all the people in Rome, he would meet Ophelia Neferet twice in a day.

  “Controller.” Hands on her hips, smile on her mouth, eyes full of mischief, she looked at him, then at the woman at his side barely able to walk. “Nice night for a stroll.”

  “Indeed.” Without lowering his gaze, he pulled his companion along and left her at the foot of the stairs leading to the nightclub.

  “Did you have a good time, sweetheart?” Ophelia looked amused by the woman’s wobbly stance.

  The brunette smiled at Peter and sent him a kiss, then turned to face Ophelia. “He’s a great lover, that one there.”

  Ophelia gave Peter a once over, and as he had done before to her, she lingered a moment on his pectorals, then her gaze slid lower, and she smiled an appreciative smile. “Good to know.” Her cell rang before he could say anything back. She raised one finger. “It’s Barnes.”

  He watched as she answered the call, her brows scrunching in disappointment as her conversation progressed from greeting the immortal to telling him he had the worst timing in the world, and finally hanging up with a curse whispered under her breath. Meanwhile, he had checked to see the brunette had safely made it back inside the nightclub.

  “Bad news?”

  Ophelia was bristling, her arms under her chest, her cell phone dangling from her fingers, her right heel tapping the cobblestone pavement in a nervous pace. “Nights are off limits. I work during the day, but at night, I party. Barnes knows that. I’d just arrived.”

  He gave her a good look. She was wearing a tight, white dress barely reaching mid-thigh. Her shoulders and arms were naked, as was her back, and a low décolleté showed the hollow of her breasts and their soft swell. Her long legs, straight and muscular, were supported by even higher heels than the ones she had been wearing that morning. The strappy sandals were black and contrasted with her dress. She had released all her tresses and her head was haloed by a mass of hair floating around as she breathed. She looked regal.

  “I must go to the morgue to take a look at the remains. Talk about a mood killer.” She raised her cell phone and called a cab.

  He tapped her phone with his gloved index finger. “Wait. I can give you a ride.”

  “No need to ruin your night too.” She closed her cell though and lowered her hand, her chin slightly coming up.

  “I’ll be asked to give the dead a read tomorrow morning anyway. Better get it over with now.” He showed her the way to the underpass. “And I’m done here.”

  She brought a long, lacquered red fingernail to her lower lip. “And I haven’t even started.” She gave him a long stare.

  He shook his head, but couldn’t help smiling. “You’re an insufferable tease.”

  She tilted her chin to the side. “Just curious about your eyes and the way they change color. I want to know what the color of unfulfilled desire looks like.” The tip of her tongue darted to lick her lower lip.

  He stepped into a pool of light, then opened his arms by the side.

  “I’m a werewolf. My vision is perfect even in the dark.” She made a circle with her finger pointed up.

  He obliged her request and slowly turned on his boots until he was facing her again. “Like what you see?”

  She laughed and nodded. “I do—” She tapped her lip with her fingernail. “Although, you’re too dressed for my tastes.” Her eyes went to his again.

  Peter couldn’t help but smile and shake his head. “And I would be the demon.” He strolled toward the steps leading up to the Lungotevere and his car, and passed the spot where he had entertained the brunette only a few minutes earlier.

  “May I suggest a cozier alcove for your next dalliance?” Ophelia’s legs had easily fallen in step with his and she was smirking at him, her eyes alight with mirth.

  He couldn’t help but give those legs a good loo
k. “And you are an expert in cozy alcoves?”

  She shrugged, the hand holding her phone waving away a mosquito buzzing around her shoulders. “You bet I am. I never take them home.” The bug took a dive between the hollow of her breasts.

  Peter fought the urge to swipe it off of her. But he didn’t touch people. Usually. “Same rule here, but I make them comfortable in my arms.”

  “Aren’t you the gentle-demon?” She rolled her vowels and accentuated the last word by batting her eyelashes at him.

  Any other time, he would have inwardly recoiled at being called “demon.” Not because it wasn’t correct. He was a full-fledged demon. But usually, a snide remark would follow. People would not-so-subtly step away from him, as if he would possess them on the spot. Not this time. Not with her.

  He closed the gap between them and lowered his chin so his mouth hovered over hers. “Didn’t your mommy teach you not to play with fire?” He saw the red of his pupils reflected in the chocolate pool of hers.

  She didn’t even flinch at his proximity. “I jump through rings of fire for fun, first thing in the morning.”

  Peter felt the hard surface of the concrete wall on his back and only then realized she had cornered him there without touching him.

  Ophelia inched closer to him, her head leaning toward his right ear. She inhaled, then released her breath, tickling his skin. “Underneath that woman’s scent, you smell yummy.” Abruptly, she walked backward and took the steps one at a time, leisurely, giving him a sight of her dress climbing up the back of her legs and almost showing him if she was wearing panties or not. He had an inkling she wasn’t.

  He laughed. She had just punished him for his refusal that morning. “I deserve it.”

  Without pausing her stride, she looked at him from over her shoulder. “You do.”

  After that exchange, they reached his car in a more relaxed state of mind. At least from Peter’s side. He wasn’t sure what was going through the werewolf’s mind, and he found himself curious about her. So far, the forensic anthropologist had managed to surprise him at every corner.

  “A Jeep?” She correctly pointed at his car, even before he stopped by it, then she gave him one of her assessing stares. “Yes. Definitely your car. Foreign. Sturdy. Lots of character.”

  He walked around his Jeep and opened the passenger door for her. “You forget big.”

  “I have a habit of not talking about things I don’t know.”

  And like that, the banter was back. Peter drove following the Lungotevere, enjoying her company and her constant flux of innuendos, and regretting the ride had been too short when he parked by the Tiberina Island Hospital.

  Ophelia became serious the moment she exited his car. “Back to business.”

  They entered the hospital, flashed their badges to the security man standing guard at the entry, then walked down to the morgue.

  She stopped at the glass door at the end of the hallway, then pushed the intercom button. “I know this place like the back of my hand. How sad is that?”

  The familiar smell of chemicals and disinfectant hit his nostrils, tickling his nose. “I’m no stranger here either.”

  “What a screwed up line of work we entered.”

  “Not really a choice, in my case.”

  A click resonated from the intercom, she pushed the glass door to the morgue’s antechamber, and smiled at the man sitting behind a small desk cluttered with papers. “Hi, Guglielmo. How’s the family?”

  The man looked up and waved at them. “Ophelia. Peter. All is well. You?”

  She answered, “I’m doing great,” as Peter said, “I’m well enough.”

  Guglielmo left the desk to open the door behind him. “The remains are ready for you.” He pointed at a metal table in the middle of the bare room on the other side.

  Peter was used to the cold always permeating morgues, but the chill he felt every time he stepped into one of them wouldn’t disperse by simply returning to the land of the living. That chill would stay with him for days. Until the next read. He was tainted by death because of a sin he had committed. A sin so heinous, he had fallen from grace and preferred to become a demon rather than carry on with the memory of his actions. But he had soon discovered that not knowing was worse than knowing.

  “I don’t have any of my tools with me.” Ophelia walked to the center of the room, her heeled steps echoing loudly in the preternatural silence. “Guglielmo, would you be so kind as to find pen and paper for me? Thanks.” She waited for the man to fetch the supplies, then donned a pair of vinyl gloves she found by the counters and started examining the remains. She soon was absorbed by her task.

  As earlier in the morning, he found himself fascinated by the way Ophelia focused on the bones, carefully brushing them, almost caressing them, as if she were seeing beyond the mortal spoils. Even wearing her nightclub ensemble, she looked as demure and professional as if she were wearing scrubs. She had tied her hair back with a rubber band so her mane wouldn’t trail across the remains as she bent over them.

  An hour later, she raised her head and looked at Peter, her eyes slowly focusing back on the rest of the room. She sighed. “I can’t find cause of death.” She stretched her neck from one shoulder to the other. “From the state of those bones, it’s as if they willed themselves to death.”

  “And there’s the little detail of a vampire skeleton that shouldn’t be.” Peter bent over the bigger skeleton, the one sporting a set of long canines descending from the upper jaw. “And why are those fangs out anyway?” He scratched the stubble on his jaw. “Unless it’s a hoax.”

  “I wish it were a hoax. But no, those are fangs. Genuine vampire fangs, drawn out for the whole world to see, and attached to a perfectly preserved skeleton.” Ophelia stepped closer to the table, then stood side-by-side with him. “How’s that even possible? Vampires’ bodies disintegrate at the moment of true death. What are we looking at?” She walked around to look at the male skull from a different angle. “These bones are so well preserved I thought at first it was a joke. I’m even wondering about their age, but I’ll have to wait for the lab to—”

  “I can help with that.” He removed his gloves, finger by finger, not eager to start the reading, but knowing he had to. He thought he heard Ophelia gasp, but when he looked up, she gifted him with a tentative smile.

  Peter steeled himself to the task and reached out a hand toward the female skull. She must have been small when alive. Peter’s cupped hand encompassed the whole skull, but he wasn’t touching it yet. He wanted to be ready for the onslaught of memories and feelings. He closed his eyes, breathed in and out, and lowered his index fingertip to brush the smooth surface of the bone.

  “I love you. I want to be with you, life after life.” I don’t want this moment to end.

  He looks at me. “I’ll find you. Always.”

  “Make love to me one more time.” I burrow into his embrace. My heart races fast.

  We are one. I arch my throat for him. His bite is sweet. The moon is rising. I almost change.

  Claudius won’t ever leave us be. “I’m ready to die.”

  ****

  Ophelia hadn’t known what to expect when Peter had started the reading, and she didn’t know if his frozen state was normal, but when he screamed in pain, she tapped his shoulder and he moved his hand away from the skull. “Are you okay?”

  His eyes slowly focused on her, as if he were awakening from the deepest of slumbers.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t know what to do. You screamed and I panicked.”

  “I screamed?” His voice was slurred.

  “Yes, you did, and you scared me. I didn’t think readings were so intense.” Ophelia automatically reached for his ungloved hand.

  Before she could touch him, he jerked away from her, horror written on his face. “Don’t. Ever.”

  She was taken aback by his order and stepped back as if slapped. Her wolf whined in pain. Ophelia brought a hand to her chest and pressed down. “
I—”

  He relaxed his traits and breathed a few shallow breaths. “I didn’t mean to be rude. I apologize. It’s just that I don’t like to be touched.”

  “I wouldn’t have known given your X-rated show under the bridge.”

  He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it.

  Ophelia hugged herself. The cold of the morgue had been seeping through her bones for almost two hours now and she wanted to be out of there as soon as possible. She also didn’t like that her wolf had intruded in on the moment. “Anyway, what did you see?”

  “They were young, barely out of their teens, and in love. Claudius was after them. She was a werewolf. They lived in Roman times.”

  “A werewolf?” She looked at the small skeleton lying on the table, still embraced by the other—she had not wanted to separate them, not yet. She had known the woman had been a shifter from the composition of her bones, broken and knitted together too many times to make her anything else but an ever-changing being. “We might’ve been living in Rome at the same time. I might have known her.”

  “She loved him so much she didn’t want to live without him.” Peter stumbled, but put out his hand to stop her from helping him. He walked to the end of the room and sat on the floor, his back against the cold concrete of the wall. “I can’t let you touch me.” He retrieved his black leather gloves and hastily put them back on. “I’d make you feel things.”