Raphael (The Immortal Youth Book 1)

by Monica La Porta

  Lights and sounds from one of the Mattatoio internal chambers, the auditorium, spilled into the courtyard. The social center was famous for its music festivals. Groups from all over Italy donated their time to raise money for the homeless youth shelter. Several teens were hurrying past them toward the auditorium, and Raphael inwardly thanked the Great Wolf for the lucky break.

  Grabbing Carla’s hand, he pulled her forward and into the chamber filled to the brim with a swirling, singing, jumping crowd. It took them several minutes to cross the whole length of the room, and Raphael lost Carla when the lights went out and lasers cut the blackness in a dramatic song finale. Several long heartbeats later, after the lights were turned back on and temporarily blinded him, he found Carla frantically spinning around and shoving people away. Raphael took her hand and led her out through the closest emergency street exit. The next song had started, and no one heard the alarm blaring.

  “Where are we going?” she asked, pulling at him when they rounded the corner.

  “To retrieve our ride.” Without slowing his hurried pace, he reached the building side where he had chained his racing bicycle to a lamppost. The rust and general discoloration of the paint on its old frame worked like an anti-theft magik spell, but he was still relieved to find his bicycle where he had left it.

  She gave his most precious possession a raised eyebrow. “Where should I sit?”

  “In front of me, with your feet on the bar.” He patted the top tube.

  Canting her head, she read out loud the words he had stenciled in red letters on the aluminum body. “Nimbus Two Thousand.” She gave him a second raised brow, this one higher up on her forehead. “Really?”

  With a shrug, he mounted the bicycle. “Huge fan of the series.” He held out his arm and signaled her to come closer. When she hesitated, he tilted his chin to the spot behind her where several people were walking in their direction. “We should hurry.”

  She followed his eyes and shuddered, then swung one leg over the bar and tried to find her place between Raphael’s and the front of the bicycle as she anchored her boots to the down tube. “I so don’t like this.”

  Raphael didn’t feel comfortable either, but placed his arms around her, and grabbed the handles. “It’s just a short ride.” One boot on the pedal, he pushed the Nimbus out of the curb. Their combined weight and less than ideal visibility made the bicycle sway as soon as the wheels hit the worn cobblestones. “For the record, I’m not trying to get too personal, but you must lean back against my chest.” He didn’t want to touch her more than necessary, but with her head in front of him he couldn’t see anything.

  She must have realized his predicament because she did as she was told without complaining.

  “Thanks.” The new arrangement still wasn’t enough to guarantee them a smooth ride, and he nestled his head over her shoulder. When she tensed, he said, “We only need to reach the closest Promenade entry.”

  Despite the awkwardness of the ride, a few minutes later Raphael was locking his bicycle in one of the many underground garages dotting the Promenade, but only relaxed when they slipped inside the Den of Rejects. A few words in private with Angel to explain Carla’s situation, and the girl was an official Reject in less than an hour. An impromptu celebration ensued, and Raphael found himself spending yet another night with little or no sleep.

  Chapter Five

  Around seven in the morning, mindful of what Iris would say the moment he set foot in the office, Raphael stopped at his apartment for a quick shower and changed into clothes that were clean but not ironed. A few days earlier—time was a blur for him—he had thrown the contents of the washer on the drying rack and forgotten about them, but, besides being wrinkled, the white button-down shirt and the dark jeans didn’t smell.

  On his way to the office, he stopped at a coffee shop to drink an espresso, and bought a croissant he ate on the go. Relieved he had made it on time, he entered the office only to be welcomed by the secretary’s raised eyebrow, and a finger pointed at the clock on the wall behind her desk.

  “Ten minutes late. For it, I’ll detract a percentage from your salary. It’s only fair.” Iris resumed tapping on the keyboard of her laptop, a smile tugging at her lips. “I’ve given you enough slack already.”

  “My phone says I’m two minutes early.” He waved the screen before her face.

  With a hateful glare, the woman paused her typing. “Don’t you dare encroach my personal space ever again. I’ll report that you attacked me if you do.” She placed her manicured hands on the desk, and tilted her head to the side. “You also get a fine for coming to work not properly attired.” Relaxing against her chair, she folded her arms under her chest. “Would you like to say something else?” Her eyes went to his long hair. “You know we’ve been talking about your education with Quintilius—”

  Raphael couldn’t help but notice the proprietary tone she had when she mentioned the wolf’s name. Had she realized how Quintilius was not into her, she could’ve moved onto something more productive. Like growing a heart.

  “I’ve recommended the alpha to send you to the military boarding school in Naples, next September. Structure and discipline would do you a world of good. He has enough clout among the board for the school to open a spot even for someone like you.” With a finger, she lowered the glasses down her nose and gave him the same disgusted look she had been regarding him with since the first time they met.

  Raphael bit down his retort, as the croissant he had just ate traveled upward his throat with a side of bile. Pivoting on his boots, he loudly marched down the hall and entered his office. The moment the door slammed against its frame, he regretted that he didn’t take care to accompany it. Not even a minute later, as he had expected, a mail arrived with a detailed account of all the fines he had incurred in the last week. That month, his paycheck was already halved.

  To make things worse, lately, he was paying for all his meals. Quintilius had been working on a merger with a Swedish shipping company, and he wasn’t around much to take Raphael out for lunch. In fact, their time alone had dwindled to nothing which—independently from the free food—saddened Raphael, because he liked talking to the wolf.

  Besides the merger, Iris’s lies were the reason for the alpha’s detachment, but Raphael couldn’t do anything about it. Twice, he had tried to call Quintilius to talk to him, but the alpha was busy and both times told him he would call him back. He never did.

  The next day, Iris gave Raphael hell for a stain on his shirt. He had tried to clean an ink smudge and smeared it all over the fabric by mistake. The day after, he came in late after the monthly run. Although, in that occasion, Iris was magnanimous—he imagined she must have had a good run—and didn’t reduce his salary. She sent away the janitor, and ordered Raphael to clean the bathrooms instead.

  Needing the money and not wanting to go back to RYS, Raphael did his best not to ire the secretary. He succeeded for a day or two, then she proceeded to ruin the next week for him. And the next month. He tried to ignore her antics, but it wasn’t easy to shrug everything off, especially when she involved Quintilius. Those few times the alpha made an apparition in the office, Iris found a way to blame Raphael for some wrongdoing or another.

  It didn’t help Raphael’s cause that he was always tired at work. Most of his nights were spent at the Mattatoio, helping the center. After he managed to lie through his teeth and deny any involvement in Carla’s disappearance—he said he had seen her last at the concert and had plenty of witnesses supporting his words—the staff decided not to investigate the matter further and welcomed him back as a volunteer. Meanwhile, several other renegade shifters found their way to the Den of Rejects, but Raphael smuggled them out of the shelter without anyone being the wiser. After all, homeless teenagers weren’t known for staying still in one place.

  In the following months, Raphael went to visit the rejects every two or three weeks and checked on Carla. After realizing she wasn’t pregnant, she decided to
join the den permanently and to help with the children. One Sunday afternoon, the five of them, Raphael, Angel, the twins, and Carla went to the lagoon. At the end of July, temperatures had risen to a record high all over Italy, and the den resembled a sweltering sauna. One of the warlocks, a guy named Caelum, who was a friend of the rejects, had insulated the cave walls by casting a spell. Magik made sleeping at night possible, but during the day even light activities took lots of energy, and the den usually relocated to the lagoon.

  “About that girl you asked me about—” Carla abruptly said.

  She and Raphael were sitting aside from the rest of the group. The lagoon was stormed by people engaging in all kind of activities, resembling one of the beaches along the Roman coast, too crowded and too loud with every bit of rocky ground covered by towels. The blue waters swarmed with rejects working out the steam. Some played water polo. Others preferred splashing everyone around. A few minded their own business and swam in long circles. Couples looking for privacy stayed out of the pool, and occupied more secluded spots.

  Raphael and Carla sat on a ledge overlooking the lagoon. Neither of them wanted to remove their shirts for different reasons. Until now, they had been silently watching their friends having fun.

  Raphael straightened up from his slouched position against the wall. “What about it?” Once, soon after Carla had settled in the den, he asked her if she had ever met Luisa on the streets. Carla had shrugged and told him she hadn’t.

  She pointed at the spot, several meters below, where Angelo and the twins were swimming. “I was talking with Patrizia—” Then she angled her body toward him. “And she told me that this girl is very important to you. Is that true?”

  “Yes, it is.” Raphael drummed his fingers against his thigh. “Why do you want to know?”

  Carla bit her lower lip, then lowered her eyes to her feet. “So, is it also true that you only saw her twice, and yet you’re in love with her?”

  The question took him by surprise. “Yes, that’s true. She’s my mate and I love her.” He waved a hand before her face. “Can you look at me?” She slowly raised her gaze to him, and he asked, “Why the third degree?”

  Her shoulders rose as she gave him a small smile. “Nothing—”

  “It’s not nothing.” He scooted closer to her. “Why do you want to know about Luisa?”

  At Luisa’s name, Carla winced. “I wondered why you never…”

  “I never what?”

  Carla’s smile morphed into a grimace, and she made circles with her feet. “I told Patrizia I thought you liked boys, and she told me you don’t, and how you rejected Angel because of a girl.”

  “It’s not that I like or don’t like boys. I already had a mate when Angel—” Frowning, he tried to connect the dots. A fuzzy picture emerged of the reason why Carla might have had that conversation with the twin. His head and his stomach hurt already. Not sure of what to say next, he waited for her to resume the conversation.

  Her feet stilled, her whole body seemed to freeze, and she averted her eyes once again. “I might know of her.”

  Carla’s whispered words hit Raphael like a shout. “What do you mean?”

  “I think I know where your girl is,” she said louder.

  “But you told me you didn’t know of her—”

  “When you asked me, you only mentioned that this girl lived in the streets and was a renegade—” Carla raised one finger to stop him from interrupting her, and continued, “Then, talking to Patrizia, a few more details came out about this Luisa of yours, and I remembered of a girl living at the Reds—”

  “The Reds?” Raphael felt cold all of a sudden.

  Carla nodded. “I told you that I only lived with the Reds for a month, but, soon after I arrived, a girl who had escaped was brought back to the harem. Her name was Luisa, and no, I don’t know her last name. She had been hiding at the Mattatoio for a few days before Rico found her. I meant to ask her how she had managed to leave the compound, but she was still locked in a cell when I decided I couldn’t stand it anymore and tried to kill myself.”

  With his heart galloping in his chest, and too many questions fighting for predominance, Raphael blurted out the first that came to mind. “Who’s Rico?”

  “Rico is one of the big brothers and Luisa is his. Tancredi gave her to him.” Carla’s voice was low and the ambiance noise was getting louder—two teams had formed in the pool and the kids who weren’t playing the huge game of water polo were shouting to the top of their lungs, cheering their friends—and Raphael had to move closer to her, despite his wolf ears.

  “And who’s Tancredi?”

  “Tancredi is the Reds’ alpha. Sometimes, he gifts the girls from the harem to the big brothers.” She shivered despite the rising temperature.

  Carla’s words made Raphael sick. From the look on her face, reminiscing wasn’t agreeing with her either. “That’s what happened to you?”

  Her mouth closed in a straight line, she nodded.

  Knowing how memories had the power to hurt even after years, he didn’t press the matter, but his mind was whirling with scenarios straight out of his nightmares.

  She patted his hand. “I’m sorry I didn’t put the pieces together sooner.” With a sigh, she added, “And it might not be her at all. Luisa isn’t that rare as a name.”

  “You’re right, it isn’t.” He placed his hand over hers and gave it a squeeze, then leaned toward her and brushed the crown of her head with his lips. “And I’m sorry—”

  “It’s not your fault you don’t feel anything for me.” A small smile appeared on her mouth.

  “But I do care for you.”

  She leaned forward until their foreheads touched. “I know that you care for me as a friend.”

  “Carla—”

  She placed her head over his chest. “It’s okay. I’ll survive.”

  Several hours later, he took his leave from Carla and his friends, and headed back to his place. A plan had slowly formed in his mind, and, the more he thought about it, the more it made sense to him until he couldn’t see any other option. Next morning, he would knock on the Reds’ door, hoping it was recruiting season.

  ****

  After a sleepless night Raphael spent convincing himself of the righteousness of his actions, he left his apartment. Before running away at the first lights of dawn, he cleaned the place, threw the garbage out, and wrote a note for the alpha, twice. And twice, he walked back in to get rid of his farewell messages.

  At his favorite coffee bar at the corner of Vescovio Place, he ordered a sumptuous breakfast and ate until he felt sick. Not the best of ideas, but he had discovered he was a nervous eater when he had enough money to splurge on food.

  Devouring his last croissant with abandon—he had asked the barista to fill it with extra nutella—Raphael realized he had just eaten away what remained of his last paycheck. As painful as the thought was, he felt also liberated. Guilty for having betrayed Quintilius’s trust and generosity, but liberated nonetheless.

  Full and sleepy, he jumped on his Nimbus and left the security of the alpha’s protection without looking back once.

  Rome in the early hours of the morning looked full of promise. Running his bicycle in the streets that would be soon crowded, he breathed in the scent of wet asphalt after the rain of the night before. Neighborhood after neighborhood, he shed parts of who he had been for the last four months and a half to become the perfect prospect for the Reds.

  His past brushes with the street gang had taught him to avoid their territory at all cost. To the point that, when he worked as a courier, he would circumnavigate the whole city to skirt Red headquarters. Even if that meant adding precious time to his route. Once, one of the gang’s thugs caught Raphael delivering around the corner from their place, and demanded he opened the parcel he was carrying in the back of his bicycle. When Raphael refused, the Red slapped him hard with his ringed hand. For days, he sported the gang sigil on his lower lip. But he hadn’t opened the p
ackage. Instead, he slipped away from under the shifter’s nose and completed his delivery in time.

  Now, he was walking straight into their lair. Life was full of irony.

  He had his speech ready, but rehearsed the words in his mind as he pushed on the pedal and ran faster toward EUR, the futuristic neighborhood that housed several modern buildings, and, unbeknownst to the mortals, also the Reds’.

  When he arrived at his destination, a four-story complex shaped like a sail with glass walls and an external staircase resembling a black mast, he had the first doubts about his plan. But he promptly squashed them, thinking of Luisa kept prisoner by the Reds.

  One shaking hand on the lion-shaped brass knocker, he breathed slowly for a few counts, then lowered the ring attached to the lion’s nose to the plaque. As expected, the thud emitted by the knocker reverberated inside the building.

  What Raphael didn’t expect was for the door to open right away, revealing a big werewolf wearing a chef apron over combat gear.

  “Yes?” the Red asked, looking down at him.

  With a rolling pin in his hands, and dusty-white handprints all over his black wife beater, the man looked comical. But one look at his bulging muscles, and Raphael’s urge to laugh died a sudden death. In fact, he remained speechless for a moment too long, and the shifter harrumphed and started closing the majestic door in Raphael’s face.

  “Wait! I’m here to pledge as a prospect.” Raphael wasn’t sure about the vocabulary, but hoped to pass at least as deferential.

  The wolf’s nostrils flared and gave him a second, more calculated look, then snorted. “Is this a joke, cub?”

  Straightening his back, Raphael made himself taller, pushed his hands down his rear jeans pockets, and gave the man a slow grin. “I’m a thief, I delivered for Faster Than Bite, and I slipped right under Reds’ noses more than once. Ask your brother with the tear tattoo on his right cheek.”

  “Is that so?” The Red’s face darkened at first, then he changed expression, and roared a forced laugh.