Raphael (The Immortal Youth Book 1)

by Monica La Porta

  Before entering Coin, he gave a perfunctory glance at himself and was relieved to see his clothes didn’t have visible holes. One glance at the girl and he couldn’t pass her eyes. She could have worn a burlap sack for all he was concerned and she would have looked perfect. He powered through the entrance with the girl in tow, and the demon only steps behind.

  “Up or down?” He tilted his chin toward her.

  “Up,” she answered.

  “Up it is.” He took the large, marble stairs two and three at a time, and the girl kept up with his pace without complaining. Not knowing the layout of the store, at the landing he hesitated. The Controller’s heavy steps echoed in his ears and propelled him forward, forcing him to decide on the fly where to go and what to do next.

  “There.” The girl squeezed his hand and pointed at the women’s sportswear section.

  Still tethered to his hand, she jogged past him and pulled him forward. They entered the maze of shelves and mannequins, and the girl gracefully picked items here and there. With a handful of bras, panties, and yoga pants with matching jackets, all in several sizes, she headed toward the dressing rooms. There, she asked one of the pretty girls wearing the blue uniform to open a room for her.

  Fidgeting with the gold Coin logo appointed on her shirt, the saleswoman gave them a raised eyebrow—but Raphael smiled at her. A moment later, she opened the door of a large dressing room.

  Raphael followed the girl into the brightly lit space and couldn’t help a low whistle. “This place is bigger than the hole in the wall where I live.” As far as catacombs’ space went, he couldn’t complain though. And to be precise he only slept there, but realized he had already overshared.

  The girl’s eyes widened, and the saleswoman’s nose twitched as she pointed a finger at him and said, “You wait outside.”

  “Yeah, sure.” With a shrug, he stepped back out into the hallway, but as soon as the saleswoman turned the corner, the girl grabbed the lapels of his sweater and pulled him in. He repressed a laugh and closed the door with his boot, then relaxed against it.

  “What’s your name?” she asked, opening her light pink jacket which she promptly let fall on the cream, padded bench.

  “Raphael. Yours?” Fascinated, he stared as she grabbed the hem of her shirt and pulled it off in one graceful movement, revealing she was only wearing a tiny top that hugged her lithe frame and no underwear underneath.

  “Luisa.” She then turned, raised the top over her head and stretched her hand backward. “Purple bra, please.”

  With two shaking fingers, he picked the bra she had asked for and deposited it in her palm.

  “Thanks.” She yanked the labels off, then donned the bra and reached for the hooks in the back. “Some help?”

  “Sure.” Raphael had never seen a bra on a real girl and was afraid his hands would shake hard, making a fool out of himself. But, much to his surprise, he managed to match the hooks to their respective loops at the first try. He fervently hoped she hadn’t noticed he had held his breath the whole time.

  “So, you’re a Raphael.” She lowered her top back over the bra and turned to face him.

  “Don’t I look like one?” His eyes kept traveling down to the purple shadow now coloring her thin top.

  She nodded. “You’re the definition of a Raphael.” Leaning over the pile of clothes she had thrown on the bench, she selected one of the pants.

  “And how is that?” He couldn’t believe she would remove her pants before him, but she proceeded to do it a moment later.

  “Handsome, mysterious, kind, smart.” She shimmied down her jeans, revealing boys brief with an army of smiley faces on a red background, then kicked off her heavy boots.

  Her words hit him more than the sight of her naked skin. His knees giving up, he fell on the bench and stared at her speechless.

  “I’ve thought of you. All this time,” she said. “I wished I’d see you again.” She stood, looking down at him, in her top, briefs, and white cotton stockings that reached her knees.

  “Why did you run away that night?” He had looked for her. A few days later, he went back to the alley and searched every corner, hoping she would reappear out of thin air, like a dream.

  She shrugged. “I’m on the run too and not used to company. I thought splitting would give us both a better chance.”

  “What are you running from?”

  “The usual—”

  She was skin and bones like him and he had seen the faint lines on her wrists. Once werewolves went through their first change they healed fast, but still scarred when the cuts were repeated over a short period of time, or had happened before shifter puberty. He knew. His back could attest to that. “Abusive family?”

  “Something like that.”

  He nodded. “Me too.”

  The demon’s booted steps echoed too close, and with them the lighter clicking of the saleswoman’s heels.

  “I’m not going to the Renegade Youth Shelter.” She wore a pair of pants and another on top of that.

  He helped her layer up three jackets that fit thanks to the different sizes she had chosen. “Me neither.” Pocketing the remaining bras and panties for her, he propelled her out of the dressing room and almost into the Controller’s arms. Acting on pure instinct, Raphael drove his knee into the demon’s groin.

  The Controller’s eyes bulged as a strangled scream exited his mouth and he doubled over.

  Raphael couldn’t help but grimace in a sympathetic reaction. “Sorry.” He pushed the Coin girl aside, and holding Luisa by her elbow he ran out of the dressing rooms, away from the women sportswear floor, and down toward the ground floor and the exit. When he turned and looked over his shoulders, he saw the demon jumping the stairs three and four at a time. The alarms blared as he and Luisa flew through the exit.

  “Great Wolf!” Luisa’s new clothes had just cost them their freedom. He was never so sloppy as to leave the security tags on the items he borrowed from stores. Besides the Controller, at least four big guys wearing the security uniform started running after them.

  Raphael knew they wouldn’t be both able to escape. “Remember I love you.” He fished inside his messenger bag, looking for the ten euros he had saved for his birthday meal; two slices of pizza at his favorite place, and a beignet filled with custard from the pricey bakery near Termini Station.

  Stepping out of the walkway, he put two fingers in his mouth and called a cab. “That’ll be enough for a short ride.” He pressed the euros in her hands.

  One yellow car pulled over. Luisa shook her head as Raphael opened the passenger door and pushed her inside, while looking over his shoulder.

  “Come with me,” she pleaded and his heart broke.

  The Controller and two of the security guards exited Coin at the same time. A second cab was slowing down, the driver expectantly looking for clients. Raphael didn’t have any money left to send the second cab away. If he got in with Luisa, the demon would follow them.

  “You were right two years ago, splitting is the smart move.” Raphael then asked, “Where do you live?”

  Luisa’s eyes went to the side, then back on him. “At the Mattatoio.”

  “What’s your last name?”

  “Caroli.”

  “Luisa Caroli. I promise I’ll find you.” With a pat on the ceiling he closed the door. “I’ll always find you,” he mouthed.

  The cab left the curb as the Controller grabbed Raphael by the shoulder.

  “Mr. Letta, we meet again.” The demon’s hand kept Raphael in place as he automatically struggled—he couldn’t help it.

  “Not by choice.” Waiting for the taxi to be out of sight, he only relaxed when he was sure Luisa was safe.

  Chapter Two

  Only two months at the Renegade Youth Shelter, and Raphael had tried to escape countless times.

  On top of the fence, his right leg swinging on the other side, he heard shouts and heavy steps and looked ahead. The Reserve stretched out for acres, but
a vast plain between the shelter’s grounds and the forest hindered Raphael’s dreams of freedom. Only low shrubs dotted the expanse of green pasture. Nowhere to hide for a kilometer or so.

  Raphael had waited for the adults to look away from him, and snuck out of the cafeteria while the other kids had breakfast. His pockets full of croissants and small sandwiches, he hurried down the hall and out of the main house. As for any of his other attempts, he had no plan.

  “Get back here!”

  The shout made him turn and look down at the two burly guards. Both were-pumas, the two men hadn’t even broken a sweat chasing him. Healthy food and a good exercise regime must work for those shifters.

  “Come on, kid. You know you have nowhere to go.” The one with a pair of impressive sideburns shook his head, and pointed at the ground with his stun gun.

  Noticing the second guard had his stun gun pointed at his nether regions, Raphael climbed down and followed the shifters back to the shelter. A dose of electricity applied anywhere on his body wouldn’t have been pleasant, something he knew from experience. And it wouldn’t have helped his cause. A scrawny werewolf seizing on the ground would not be able to stand up and run anytime soon.

  The RYS rector, Mr. Valdi, one of the new additions to the place, looked at him with a scowl on his large face. The werewolf was bigger and more menacing than the guards who escorted Raphael into the dark office. Mr. Valdi sighed, shook his head, then splayed one of his massive hands onto the marble surface of his antique desk, a mammoth piece of wooden furniture with sturdy columns for legs. “I must confess I am at a complete loss with you. We all want to help you here—”

  The lecture was old. The Controller had imparted a similar speech on Raphael during their long ride from Rome to that strip of Latium bordering Umbria where RYS was located. Raphael scoffed and shifted on his chair, an equally large wood and metal structure which resembled a torture device more than something one would sit on.

  “I know what happened to you, but things have changed. The man who mistreated you—”

  Raphael looked straight into Mr. Valdi’s eyes. He steadied his hand on the armchair, and gripped it until his knuckles became white.

  Raphael was roaming the shelter looking for an early-morning snack, when he rounded the corner just out of the kitchen and heard whimpering and the sickening sound of flesh being hit. The tuff brick walls of the old casolare, the main building of the compound, were thick, but not thick enough to cover what was happening in the pantry.

  Upon Raphael entering the dimly-lit room, Mr. B, a majestic werewolf and RYS’s counselor, looked up at Raphael and sneered, one hand firmly grabbing the waistband of Darla’s pajama pants. “Go away, if you know what’s good for you.”

  Kept on the floor by the counselor, the girl looked up, fear and shame in her eyes, then lowered her head. As if it was her fault.

  “Leave her alone.” Bile travelled from Raphael’s stomach to his throat and propelled him forward. His anger exploded in a punch aimed at Mr. B’s jaw and he managed to kick the man once, before the counselor rose and spun around, taking Raphael down with a single slap of his beefy hand. Blood welled up inside Raphael’s mouth and he spat it out, aiming up at the looming figure.

  The man kicked him in the chest, then threw him around. Raphael landed in the corner and hit his head, blacking out. Once he opened his eyes, he found himself facing the floor, his back bare and Darla rocking on her haunches a few steps from him.

  “I’ll teach you a lesson, you good-for-nothing bastard.”

  “Let her go.” Raphael heard the familiar rustle of a belt being freed from someone’s pants. When he looked over his shoulder, Mr. B had the punishing device high over his head and ready to strike.

  “What are you going to do, runt?”

  Raphael refused to cry out when the hard leather hit his bare back.

  “Nobody’ll believe you.”

  The belt whistled in the air and hit Raphael a second time. The pain compounded. He knew the third lash would be hell, and the fourth would make him bite his tongue. If he were lucky, the man’s arm would tire soon. His father’s never had, but he’d had years of practicing on Raphael’s back.

  The little girl screamed. Raphael looked at her and slightly shook his head.

  “You won’t talk.” Mr. B hit him again.

  Darla’s sobs redoubled. She was maybe eleven years old. Small. All skin and bones. She liked to draw rainbows and hearts. Raphael knew because he had found a carefully folded piece of paper under his pillow a few nights before. His name was inside an oblong heart, scrabbled alongside hers.

  “Stop,” he mouthed, hoping she would see his lips moving under the cascade of tears and hair. He couldn’t faint again. He had barely halted Mr. B from abusing her.

  The grandfather clock in the hallway chimed the hour, five o’clock in the morning, and Mr. B stopped hitting Raphael. “You’re a lucky son of a bitch.”

  The first light of the pale morning illuminated the pantry from the skylight nestled between the large wooden beams in the ceiling. The kitchen staff would arrive soon.

  “Talk, and I’ll finish what I started.” Mr. B kicked Raphael to make him turn and face him. “Do you understand?”

  Raphael didn’t answer. Remaining awake past the tenth lash had required all his strength. Darla had stopped crying, but stared at him with glassy eyes, her small body shaking.

  The man grabbed Raphael by his forearm and pulled him up. “Go.”

  His back was wet with blood, and every movement amplified the pain. Shaking, he reached down to help Darla and his skin ripped around the multitude of cuts as he took her small hand in his. “She comes with me.”

  “I don’t think so.” Mr. B walked the few steps separating them, and towered over Raphael.

  Unbidden, a growl escaped Raphael’s throat. His wolf had decided to make his presence known.

  Mr. B inflated his chest, stepping closer until mere centimeters separated them. “Are you challenging me?” He planted a finger on Raphael’s forehead and pushed.

  Raphael swatted the finger away and kept his eyes on the man, without flinching. His wolf growled louder, while he kept his hold on Darla’s hand. Steps resonated from the end of the hallway.

  With a jerk, the counselor turned, and Raphael lowered his free elbow aiming for the werewolf’s groin but hit his abdomen instead. Not an incapacitating blow, but enough to make Mr. B recoil and step out of the way. Raphael sprang forward and pulled Darla with him. Muffled conversation reached them and he froze. His heart sank when he recognized the voices of two of the kitchen staff who were friends with the counselor.

  Mr. B’s focus switched from Raphael to Darla, a sneer on his mouth. “Whatever you say I did, they’ll say I didn’t. And tomorrow night, I’ll come back for you.”

  Darla whimpered and Mr. B laughed. Helped by the added strength of his wolf and without letting go of her small hand, Raphael sprinted through the arched exit and ran, passing the kitchen staff and reaching the casolare wing that opened into the gardens. He didn’t stop until he reached a thick copse, where he lay down, but not before making sure Darla was all right.

  The following night was a full moon. He shifted into his wolf while unconscious and woke the morning after with the majority of his wounds healed. Darla wasn’t at his side.

  “The former rector should’ve managed the whole situation better,” Mr. Valdi said.

  Raphael wasn’t listening to him. The memories of that night, two years before, were etched on his mind, even though the flesh had healed one full moon at a time.

  “They should’ve believed you.” His monologue ended, and Mr. Valdi looked at Raphael.

  “But they didn’t.” Raphael was accused of spreading lies about the counselor.

  Darla told the rector that Raphael had asked her to follow him to the pantry with the promise of a treat, and Mr. B had saved her from Raphael. As soon as his solitary confinement had ended, he ran away.

  Street s
marts had kept Raphael away from the shelter for two years.

  “Anyway, I can’t change your past, but I’m trying my best to make your future brighter by working on your present.” Mr. Valdi’s eyes went to the door at Raphael’s back.

  Raphael felt a prickle of worry as he realized that heavy steps had paused outside the rector’s office. “I won’t go anywhere with the Controller. I’m a minor. You can’t send me to Regina Coeli.” His biggest fear was to end in the adult correctional facility for paranormals. Strong men died in there.

  The rector looked back at him and blinked. “Why would I send you to Regina Coeli?”

  A knock on the door prevented Raphael from answering, “Aren’t you?”

  “Please, come in.” Mr. Valdi looked back at the door. His voice had softened and his eyes betrayed eagerness.

  Raphael turned on his chair to face the newcomer, and was surprised when the rector sprang up and walked around the desk to greet a giant of a werewolf.

  “Mr. Quintilius, it’s always a pleasure to have you here.” With his head bowed in submission, Mr. Valdi waited for the man to make the first move.

  At hearing the guest’s name, Raphael understood the reason for the rector’s demeanor. Lucius Seneca Quintilius was the alpha of the largest werewolf pack in Rome, but his empire extended beyond the capital’s borders. His influence reached well beyond Italy to the far corners of Europe. Some shifters would have considered themselves fortunate to be in the same room with the alpha.

  Raphael wasn’t some shifters and couldn’t help his visceral reaction to authority figures in general, and werewolf alphas in particular. With an inward groan, Raphael adjusted his lanky frame on the chair, letting his back slouch as he kept his eyes on the men.

  The werewolf took the rector’s hand in his for a vigorous shake, releasing the man from the formal show of respect. “Likewise, Rector Valdi.” With an easy smile, he patted the rector’s shoulder.