A void formed in Raphael’s stomach, and he averted his eyes. Alone in a crowd. With some effort, he willed the unpleasant sensation away and focused on the lines between the worn cobblestones paving the ground. When the couple started making out in earnest, he studied the intricacy of the braided canes forming chairs, tables, and every other piece of furniture in the hall.
Much to his relief, and not a moment too soon, following on the werewolves’ trail of watery boot prints, Angel walked back in and gave the couple a scowl. “Would it kill you to change into something dry before coming here?”
The boy shrugged as the girl smiled. “We’ll clean up, don’t worry,” he said.
“It’s so hot down here, we needed a splash,” she added.
Angel dismissed their reasons with a wave of his hand, and plopped down on the chair in front of Raphael, placing a worn set of Catan on the table.
“They’re right though. It’s hot.” Raphael tugged at his shirt collar, exposing a bit of flesh to cool his skin.
The den was ventilated through several fissures on the cavernous ceiling. Protected by magik, thanks to the shelter proximity to warlock and witch territory, the rejects enjoyed natural light without Rome being the wiser. Although, compared to the outside temperatures, the place was several degrees colder in winter or warmer in summer, no one suffered from any of the maladies related to poor vitamin D absorption. In addition to his various interests, Raphael liked to read from medical texts as well, but usually kept his knowledge for himself.
Angel’s eyes went from Raphael’s throat to the open box on the table. “I want to play a few rounds first.” Behind him, Patrizia and Paride, twin were-pumas, sauntered across the hall, exchanging words with a few shifters before they reached their table.
“Hi, wolf.” Patrizia grabbed a chair, turned it, and sat astride lowering her chin on the frame.
Raphael tilted his head toward her and smiled, then greeted her brother with a nod. The twins were fun. He wouldn’t count them as friends, but wouldn’t have minded getting to know them better. “Care for a game?”
“Always,” the twins answered at the same time, as Paride lowered himself beside Angel. His hand trailed down and his fingers furtively brushed Angel’s thigh.
Happiness and relief filled Raphael at once.
Angel’s lips hovered close, soft and inviting.
Starving for a touch that wouldn’t become a slap, Raphael leaned into the were-puma’s embrace. He had been frequenting the Den of Rejects for some time, and he liked hanging out with Angel. Usually, he went back to the catacombs to sleep, but tonight they had stayed at Angel’s place, talked until late, and snacked on junk food he had “procured” for them at one of the Promenade’s minimarts. Among the bounty were two cans of lukewarm beers they drank in long sips in between mouthfuls of greasy chips.
Angel’s finger gently pushed Raphael’s chin up. “I think I’m falling for you.”
Raphael’s heart slammed inside his chest. Shaking, he abruptly stood on his feet, putting distance between them. Mere centimeters that divided them like kilometers, and tore him apart. The pleasant buzz he had felt only a moment earlier was gone, a sour aftertaste in its stead. “I—” The hurt on Angel’s face was painful to look at. “I’m sorry.” He shook his head and cleaned the unwanted tears staining his cheeks with his sleeve. “Angel, I—” Yearning for the warmth of a soft caress, Raphael wished he could go back and hold him. Although they hadn’t known each other for long, he cared for the shifter already. “I can’t.”
“You don’t have to say anything. I understand.” Angel, so much bigger than him, now sat on the floor of his bedroom, his chin on his bent knees, curled up in a tight ball.
To Raphael, the sight was as painful as if Angel had lashed out at him. “I’m not free. I’m in love with someone already and she’s my mate.”
Angel raised one hand for Raphael to take, and he accepted the offer. They spent the rest of the night in silence, Raphael’s head resting on Angel’s shoulder.
Raphael caught Angel stealing a glance at him, and he gave the were-puma a smile and a wink. Angel’s lips curved up.
“You’re back.” Patrizia passed a finger over the plastic film on the unopened box. “And with gifts.” Using her long nail, she cut the transparent seal, then removed the lid with a satisfied smirk.
“Yeah, where did you disappear?” Paride grabbed the instruction manual from the opened box.
“Long story short, the Controller caught me, Quintilius hired me, and I now live outside of the catacombs.” Raphael omitted the part where he avoided the den for weeks, and how he preferred to sleep inside a hole in the wall meant for a coffin or under a bridge rather than confront Angel’s pain.
Paride angled his chair backward until its front legs detached from the floor. “That sounds fun.”
“Heaps of it.” Raphael unbuttoned his shirt and turned up his sleeves. Halfway through May, but outside in Rome the weather resembled July. Down in the den, temperatures were well into August digits.
Angel and Paride read Cities and Knights’ expansion rules, while he and Patrizia set the board. Raphael noticed how the two boys seemed to move and talk in synch. Two hours later, they had played through a shortened version of the game. The heat inside the chamber had become progressively more unpleasant, and they agreed to declare whoever reached eight points first the winner. Angel won. Meanwhile, the sun set and the soft glow of hundreds of candles illuminated the Recreation Hall. That too was courtesy of the neighboring warlocks and witches.
“What about a visit to the lagoon?” Paride asked.
“Isn’t it too late for you? Don’t you have a curfew or something?” Angel asked Raphael, his arms folded on his chest.
Raphael pushed his chair aside and grabbed Patrizia’s hand to help her up. He had a curfew, but didn’t want to be by himself. “Nah, it’s okay.”
“Let’s go.” Paride jumped up and let his chair fall to the ground with a loud thud.
They hiked through one of the tunnels sprouting from the den and connecting the shelter with different entrances to the Promenade and Magik Nation. More than half of the kids milling in the hall joined them, including the raucous couple.
Raphael had known of the lagoon before even knowing of the den’s existence, two gems he found thanks to his walkabouts. The natural pool was one of the many wonders of an underground world mortals knew nothing about. Illuminated by a big eye in the ceiling and protected from mundane attention by magik, the basin of crystalline blue waters was situated inside Magik Nation proper and bordered the den. Despite warlocks and witches kept to themselves and didn’t like intruders in their territory, they allowed the rejects to use the premises without restrictions, showing how they kept the kids in higher esteem than they did the rest of the paranormal society.
“Did you find your girl?” Angel asked as they walked inside the spacious chamber of the lagoon.
Filtering from above, the pale rays from a half moon created a circle of wavering light in the middle of the waters and illuminated the sandy floor of the pool, casting everything in a floating azure light.
“I haven’t.”
The first time he visited the den after coming back to Rome, Raphael talked to Angel about Luisa, how they had met the first time, and how fate had reunited them for a spell. He talked for hours, hoping his words would explain why he had rejected the were-puma. Angel listened without interrupting, and at the end hugged Raphael, then whispered, “I hope you’ll see her again soon.”
Confiding in someone else had been a novel experience for Raphael. One he didn’t know how to define, unable to decide if it was good or bad for him, and yet he wished he could open up more.
Removing his heavy boots, he continued, “I’ve asked around at the Mattatoio, but nobody seems to know of her.”
“Maybe she hasn’t gone back there.” After discarding his shoes, Angel unbuttoned his jeans and kicked them off.
“Maybe.” Raphael
looked at the others, already down to their underwear, and was reminded of how truly different he was.
Paride ran toward them, pushed Angel off the ledge, then cannonballed after him and made a big splash that reached Raphael, soaking his shirt.
“Come on! What are you waiting for?” Angel waved at him, water cascading in rivulets from his dark curls.
Raphael stood on the ledge and slowly shook his head.
“What do you need? A formal invitation?” Patrizia grabbed his sleeve, and tried to lower it down.
“Don’t.” He stopped her hand with his own and saw her flinching, but didn’t find the words to make it better. “I must go.”
Instead of returning to his studio, he biked the twenty kilometers to Testaccio, the neighborhood where the Mattatoio was located. The ride should have cleared his mind, but he was still too keyed up.
At the door, one of the mortal social workers, Lina, greeted him. “Glad you showed up.”
After a month of daily visits, Raphael had managed to be accepted by the adults running the youth homeless shelter. He hadn’t had any luck in befriending the kids, but not for lack of trying. “Heavy shift?”
Shoulders slumped, Lina massaged her arm. “Same old story. A new girl arrived tonight—” She shivered.
Despite he had been sweating only a moment ago, Raphael felt cold too. His heart, already beating fast from the breakneck ride, doubled its pace, until he could barely hear what the social worker was saying.
“She was covered in blood, the poor thing. So small. Barely sixteen…”
Without a word, Raphael sprinted past Lina, leaving the Mattatoio main gate behind and heading toward the infirmaries. After it had become clear that Luisa wasn’t there, Raphael had kept visiting the place hoping she would one day show up. Soon, he found himself volunteering alongside the doctors who performed miracles on a daily basis.
“Where is she?” He looked around the large room with the green walls. The light fixtures hanging from the high ceiling were rocked by a gust of wind, and he felt like he was being swayed, underwater. Most of the beds were empty, but a small crowd hung in the far corner. He didn’t dare move. “How’s she?” In the surreal silence, his voice was carried over by the chilly gust.
Roused by his question, the crowd parted. A young mortal doctor he had seen once or twice before—volunteers from the neighboring hospital changed every week—looked up from a bed. The man sat on a rickety chair and held a small hand in his, covering the rest of the patient with his hunched body. Raphael saw the blood coating both the doctor’s scrubs and his hand. A breath later, he saw the cuts on the small wrist and his heart stopped beating.
While hyperventilating, a random tidbit about the place came unbidden to him. The building that housed the social center had once been an ancient municipal butcher shop, and according to legend, its walls had been painted with dozens of layers of green to cover the red sprayed everywhere.
Cursing the image away, Raphael forced his legs to cover the distance to the corner, but every new step was heavier than the previous. By the time he approached the bed, his boots anchored him down as if made of concrete, for all the strength it took him to walk the last meter.
The horrifying sight of one hand, so little and still, its white skin marred by red, froze his heart altogether.
“Luisa—?”
Chapter Four
His question dispersed the crowd. The three nurses and the two paramedics all gave Raphael a glance, then occupied themselves nearby.
“Do you know her?” the doctor asked, leaning back against the chair.
Centimeter by centimeter, the still form came into view, revealing how small the girl was, how her body was swallowed by the narrow hospital bed. How her hair was red and curly, and not Luisa’s.
His nose had known right away she was a werewolf, but not his mate. Yet, he had needed his eyes to confirm the girl wasn’t Luisa. A snarl escaped Raphael’s mouth and soon morphed into a choked cry. His knees sagged.
“Is she your friend?” the doctor had dark circles under his eyes and his speech was slow. “We need to contact her family.”
“Sorry, I don’t know her.” Free to breathe again, Raphael walked all the way to the doctor’s side. “What happened to her?” At a closer distance, the faint blue marks on her pale skin stood out, telling part of the girl’s story.
“She tried to kill herself, but someone must have found her and dropped her by the gate.” The doctor passed a shaking hand through his matted hair. “I don’t even know how she’s still alive. The loss of blood, and her injuries—”
A commotion at the entrance diverted the doctor’s attention. Two teens dragged a third into the infirmary. With difficulty, the doctor pushed himself up, and, followed by the nurses, met the trio halfway.
Raphael sat on the vacated chair and kept vigil on the girl for the rest of the night. Around seven o’clock, she woke, and at Raphael’s sight, she screamed and scooted away from him, only to calm down when one of the female nurses took his place. That told him the rest of the girl’s story.
“Go home.” Lina accompanied him outside.
Awake for more than twenty-four hours, Raphael mounted his bicycle and rode all the way to the other side of the city to start his day at Quintilius’s office. The grandfather clock in the hallway chimed nine in the morning as he walked past the secretary station.
Iris raised her nose from the envelope she was opening with a paper knife and made a show to dilate her nostrils. “You are sixty minutes late and didn’t even bother with a shower.” Her cold, grey eyes studied him from head to toe. “Your clothes are filthy.” She pointed a bony finger at his shirt.
Raphael looked down and saw the girl’s blood on him. During the night, she had thrashed around in the bed and he held her in his arms worried she would fall. With a shrug, he shuffled to his office, and heavily sat at his desk. A pile of documents waited for him to be photocopied.
“Raphael!”
Quintilius’s voice startled him. Disoriented, he opened his eyes and saw the angry alpha staring down at him.
“What are you doing on the floor?” Quintilius grabbed Raphael and pulled him up.
Iris stepped inside, a malicious glee illuminating the harsh angles of her face. “Told you he was a good-for-nothing—”
“Iris, out.” Quintilius raised his arm to the side to indicate the door, and the woman had the grace to exit in silence. “You.” He squeezed Raphael’s arm, then let him go, looking at him long and hard. “This—”
Following the finger pointed at the messenger bag on the marble tiles, Raphael blinked, puzzled. The bag had an indentation, and he automatically brought a hand to his face. Under his probing touch, his cheek felt all wrinkled. When did he slip to the floor for a snooze?
“—I won’t tolerate,” Quintilius finished with a roar.
Raphael stumbled backward and hit the edge of his desk. From outside, Iris witnessed the scene with growing satisfaction. Unable to speak and say the words that would excuse himself, he stared at the wolf. Angry tears filled his eyes, but he refused to cry. Finally, he stepped beside the table and sat. Keeping down the bile, he lowered his head. “I apologize.”
Despite how tired he still was, he was now fully awake.
As soon as Quintilius stepped out of the building, Iris came to speak to Raphael. “People like you are the scum of the Earth. You are not the first one I’ve removed from his life, but you’re proving by far the easiest. And as you might have noticed my whispering lies in his ear is already working.”
Raphael didn’t give her the satisfaction to look hurt, and silently sat as she walked to the desk with a stack of documents.
With a cold smile, she placed the pile before Raphael. “These are the shipping contracts for the load of lumber that just arrived from the Alps. They must be copied, catalogued, and faxed to the Wolf Sea’s captain before five p.m., so the cargo can sail from the port of Civitavecchia to Istanbul’s tonight.”
“Are you done with it?” She carried two manila folders.
Nodding, Raphael pointed with a pen to the copied papers he had neatly stacked on the desk beside the originals. If he opened his mouth to answer, her he would unleash his fury, which was what she wanted him to do, so he kept quiet.
Her cold eyes stared him down. “Good.” She sounded disappointed. Then she lowered the manila folders on the desk. “Here are the contracts for the marble slate shipment that must leave tomorrow morning from Livorno. You know the drill.”
As Raphael finished the new task she gave him, she came back once again with yet another folder.
“I forgot about the terracotta tile cargo that was stopped at customs in Los Angeles, earlier this morning. They need a copy of the original contract you filed two days ago,” she said.
Reaching for the folder Iris had deposited on the desk as far away from him as she could, Raphael collected all his strength and smiled at her.
Past dinner time, Raphael was finally able to leave the premises.
The secretary had stayed as well. “Look how late it is,” Iris said, as she punched the security code to lock the office and broke one of her manicured nails.
The venom in her eyes and the twitch on her lower lip gave Raphael enough fuel to hastily retreat to the ground floor, from where he was still able to hear her tirade. Too exhausted to care, he took the stairs to the garage, but decided to leave the bicycle there instead. After buying a slice of pizza and a soda from the pizzeria at the corner of Quintilius’s offices, he hopped on the first bus to Testaccio and the Mattatoio. There, he met Lina, whose shift was ending, and inquired after the werewolf girl.
“She’s awake. Another girl would’ve died with that amount of blood loss.” Lina walked him to one of the stalls separated from the rest of the infirmary by fabric screens. “Don’t feel bad if she doesn’t want to talk to you. She screamed at the doctor who saved her life too,” she whispered before disappearing behind the screen.
Raphael (The Immortal Youth Book 1) Page 4