Raphael (The Immortal Youth Book 1)

by Monica La Porta

  When it was Rock’s turn, Raphael’s heart lurched down to his stomach. The man puffed his chest and smiled when he presented himself, as if Raphael had already chosen him. The presentation part of the ceremony seemed to prolong forever after that. Finally, the Red Raphael was looking for—the man Carla had mentioned as the one owning Luisa—said his name loud and clear, Rico.

  When the last werewolf in line bowed back, the lights in the hall changed color, from bright white to a more muted orange.

  “Declare your choice.” Tancredi shifted in his throne, causing Raphael to turn and look at him. The alpha’s eyes were even colder than the first time Raphael had experienced their unwavering probing.

  His throat closing, Raphael pushed the name out of his mouth. “Rico.”

  Rock’s astonished and hurt expression was impossible to ignore, as it was the prolonged moment of silence that followed Raphael’s statement. Raphael wished he could explain his reasons to the werewolf, but it would never be possible.

  “Rico, you may take your place to my left.” Even though Tancredi didn’t seem affected by Raphael’s decision, the tall werewolf with the long braid and partially shaved head looked perplexed and uncertainly walked toward them. The silence had become unnerving.

  When Rico stepped on the dais, Rock gave a gentle shake of his head, then smiled to Raphael and started clapping. The crowd immediately followed.

  “Time for your mark, prospect.” Tancredi opened his arm to the right, where a secondary hallway started. “Rico, is your duty to accompany him to the tattoo chamber.”

  Rico groaned an answer and made sign for Raphael to move. They left the chanting crowd and entered the smaller corridor. Compared to the ceremony hall the space was dim and cold, and Raphael welcomed both.

  “You made the right choice, pup.” Rico planted a beefy hand on Raphael’s shoulder, and propelled him forward. “Never understood why Tancredi patched Rock, he’s not Red material.”

  The physical contact combined with the unflattering statement about Rock created an involuntary response in Raphael who recoiled.

  Fortunately, the werewolf misunderstood Raphael’s reaction. “You’ll do fine on the chair. Don’t worry.” Rico extended his fisted hand toward Raphael, then opened it to reveal a purple sticker. “Three hours of ecstasy, guaranteed.”

  Raphael forced a thank you out of his lips and refused.

  With a scoff, Rico closed his fingers around the sticker. “Suit yourself. I only share the goodies with my most talented bitch.”

  Seeing black, Raphael fought the urge to do something stupid like punching the guy, and hoped Rico would stop talking. His wish wasn’t granted, but they reached the end of the hall, and Rico opened a door on their right.

  “In you go as a pup.” With a theatrical gesture, Rico showed Raphael a room with lights so low it took him a moment to see its interior.

  Then his eyes adjusted, and he regretted it. At the center of the dark room stood a barber chair equipped with restraining cuffs for the head, arms, and legs. A man with the longest beard Raphael had ever seen sat on a stool by the chair.

  “Make a man out of him, Guts.” Rico laughed.

  “Come here, boy.” The bearded man, Guts, patted the barber chair.

  Taking in various details as he entered the room, Raphael noticed none of the instruments he associated with the art of inking were present. In their stead, bowls with a viscous and pungent substance lined the surface of a small cart along with a metal stylus.

  “Last chance to accept my offer.” Rico showed Raphael the sticker once again.

  “I would accept if I were you.” Guts folded his arms over his chest.

  Not so convinced anymore of his decision, Raphael still shook his head.

  “No?” Guts raised an eyebrow, but gave him a small smile. “Sit then and let’s get going, I have a party to attend.”

  Before Raphael knew what was happening, the two men forced him down to the chair, then immobilized him. Strapped, and with the only source of light in the room now pointing at him, for the second time that day he feared for his safety.

  “Don’t struggle. It will only make the experience more unpleasant.” From one of the shadowy corners, Rico dragged a second stool closer to the barber chair.

  “He’s right. Try to relax.” Guts reached for the cart.

  With his head secured to the headrest, Raphael’s visual was impaired. He could only see what happened right in front of him, making the experience downright terrifying, and Guts hadn’t even started yet. When the man yanked open Raphael’s robe and his cold hands touched his chest, remnants of his breakfast came back to him.

  “Breathe. Big gulps, in and out.” Guts’s words were accompanied by a pat that was meant to be reassuring, but it set Raphael’s nerves even more on edge. “We do things the right way here.”

  Rico’s face appeared before Raphael. “Like the Romans did. Not that sissy stuff civilians think is inking.”

  “Yes. I had to study the ancient texts to find the right solution for the vitriol paste.” Guts passed a wet sponge over Raphael’s chest as he recited, “Aetius, a six century Roman doctor, had the good sense to write down the Roman technique for tattooing. First, you wash the area with leek juice, you know, because you need an antiseptic.” He raised a cup to Raphael’s eyes. “But beforehand I must prepare the ink as Aetius explained, thankfully in detail.” He raised a large bowl this time. “The best tattooing ink combines the bark of Egyptian pine wood—” He shrugged. “On that one I had to improvise and find a good substitute. But don’t worry, through trial and error I discovered Mediterranean pine wood works fine.” He showed Raphael a handful of resinous bark. “Then you add corroded bronze, gall, and vitriol, and dilute the ink with more leek juice until you reach the proper texture.”

  Breathing hard, Raphael shivered. “What are those? The gall? The vitriol? Never heard of them. I mean I know the word vitriol, but—”

  “I’m glad you asked, because in my extensive research I found several possible meanings for the Roman word ‘gall.’ Again, through trial and error I decided gall was none other than the contents of the gallbladder. In other words, bile,” Guts said. “But fear not, I only use animal bile.”

  “That’s good to know.” Raphael’s wolf showed his teeth, but Raphael ordered him to be quiet. That wasn’t the right moment to have a disagreement with his wolf about ethics.

  “And vitriol is just plain old sulfuric acid. Very corrosive, hence the association between the corrosive and oily liquid and bitter criticism to which you were probably about to refer.”

  “And you’re going to ink me with that?”

  Rico snorted and made a clucking sound. “Chicken.”

  “Of course,” with a raised eyebrow, Guts said, “Like the Romans did.” He adjusted the angle of the lighting fixture to illuminate Raphael’s chest only. Finally, he brought forth the stylus, which up close resembled a long needle. “I’ll prick the design into your skin with this.” In case Raphael hadn’t made the connection, Guts pierced his skin.

  Once was fine, but Raphael envisioned that singularly painful puncture repeated hundreds of times for hours.

  “Interesting factoid, this needle is called a stigma, because tattoos were for bad people and soldiers, and if you’re a smart pup you can make the connection with the modern meaning of the word and this—” Guts waved the stigma before Raphael. “Anyway, I keep inking your chest until blood is drawn and the design is injected permanently under your skin.”

  “Ready, pup?” Rico asked.

  By now, fear had frozen Raphael’s ability to think. The acrid smell of the paste offended his nostrils, and his wolf was running in his mind trying to take control of the situation. An image of Luisa appeared behind his eyes, and much needed inner peace took hold of him. “Let’s do it. Like I said, I have a party to attend.”

  For the next three hours, Raphael only knew agony. The stigma’s pointed end wasn’t as smooth as a needle at all, a
nd every time it broke his skin felt like a laceration. The inking paste was, as he had envisioned, acid. To top it all, the leek juice Guts administered every few minutes on his tortured skin made every cut sting, sending shooting pain throughout his whole body.

  The entire time, the two men talked about their latest conquests in brutal details. Raphael didn’t dare faint in case Luisa’s name would come up. Thankfully, it didn’t happen. What could he do about it anyway? Spit on Rico? Call him names in Latin? But if he owned her, why hadn’t he mentioned her once? Bleak despair possessed Raphael then, and he closed his eyes to will the tears away.

  Finally, Guts raised the stigma from Raphael’s chest and didn’t lower it again. “We’re done.”

  The sponge was wet and abrasive on his mangled skin, but Raphael was far away from that chair. In his mind, his wolf was running alongside Luisa’s in a meadow bathed by silvery light. They had been playing for a while and they were tired. Wolf nuzzled her flank and she plopped to the ground, nipping at him. With a joyous bark, Wolf pounced on her, his teeth grazing her back, when she rolled to her belly and showed him her throat.

  “You’re a tough son of a bitch. I’ll give you that, pup.” Rico sounded close. “That’s lots of blood, isn’t it?”

  “Yep, he bled quite a bit, but it’s also one of the few times I finish the design in one session, and he didn’t even take anything to dull the pain,” Guts answered.

  Something dry, a towel maybe, was passed over Raphael’s chest.

  “Only Tancredi is capable of that.” Guts’s voice had a tinge of awe.

  Loud steps resonated into the room. “Until now.”

  “Alpha—”

  The dry cloth was hastily removed from Raphael’s skin, and he opened his eyes to find three men staring down at him with different emotions showing on their faces. Rico’s eyes glinted with greed. Guts was satisfied by his work. Tancredi had the most disconcerting look, pride.

  “I knew the moment I saw you that you were special.” Tancredi’s lips shaped up in a thin smile, his piercings caught the light from the overhead lamp and sparkled like diamonds.

  “I finally got the little brother I deserved.” Rico placed a hand over Raphael’s shoulder.

  “A handful is what you got,” Guts whispered as he untied the restraining cuffs, starting with Raphael’s head strap.

  Tancredi stepped away from the chair and exited the cone of light. “Come, son. The final part of the ceremony awaits you.”

  Rico reached down to help Raphael, but Raphael pushed himself up, without accepting the man’s hand. Swaggering, he followed the sound of Tancredi’s steps out of that horror chamber. Rico and Guts tailed after him, whispering.

  Walking back to the main hall felt surreal to Raphael. Something was different about him. He couldn’t pinpoint what had changed, but the lights, the colors, the scents, all he sensed with a different spirit. As if his heart was encapsulated in an icy glove, he looked around and saw people smiling, laughing, congratulating him, but he wasn’t affected by their enthusiasm. Soon after he had started doubting Luisa was there, he stopped caring and welcomed the pain from the needle.

  Tancredi talked to him, words of reassurance. Rico boasted about being his big brother. Guts recounted the feat. At every step, a detail was added to the tale, until the whole story reached epic proportions in the span of a few meters. Along the hallway, soon after Raphael met Rock’s gentle stare, Guts resumed his position by the wall, while Rico, parading as a peacock, strolled after Tancredi and Raphael on their journey toward the throne.

  Once on the dais, the alpha raised one hand. Not that he needed the gesture to gain any attention. The crowd was riveted on the spot. Expectant eyes focused on the trio, as the Reds waited in religious silence for the alpha to talk.

  “Sons of mine. Proud Reds. I present you one of us. Raphael, who knocked at our doors as an untrained civilian, became a prospect by entering the tattoo chamber, and emerged from it as a Red through and through.”

  At first, Raphael didn’t understand the significance of Tancredi’s words. The rest of the hall remained still like a tableaux. Then, the crowd went crazy with applauses, cheers. Boots stomped so loud on the marble tiles, the whole floor shook. Pushed by overexcited hands, the braziers swung back and forth touching the walls and spilling ashes.

  To the side, there was a commotion as two different jackets were passed among the Reds. One garment went down the line while the other reached Rico, who stepped out, waited for Tancredi to nod, then presented the jacket to Raphael, who in turn gave it to the alpha.

  “May the Red Wolf be with you,” Tancredi intoned.

  The crowd answered at the unison, “To the end of time.”

  “Ever and ever.” The alpha placed a patch over the jacket. “You’ll make me proud,” he whispered just for Raphael. Then he brought both items to his lips and brushed jacket and patch separately. When he raised them for the crowd to see, another long applause exploded, and it was only stopped by Tancredi’s call for silence.

  Finally, the alpha offered the jacket to Raphael once again, and Raphael saw the detached patch on top of it. The letter on it wasn’t a “P”, but a crimson red “R.”

  “There’s a first for everything,” Tancredi said, then added in a lower voice, “Well, you’re the first after me, but it wouldn’t do to point that out.” He chuckled softly. “You are a Red now. Choose a girl for the night.” Tancredi pointed at his left, where a tall, carved wooden screen barred the entry to a second hallway.

  Squinting, Raphael noticed shapes moving behind the screen. Then the panel was pushed aside by one of the Reds, and girls appeared from behind. Lots of them, their heads low and their hands before them as they silently walked before Tancredi in a long line.

  A sudden burst of joy exploded in Raphael’s heart. Luisa was among them. He sensed her scent. His wolf felt her wolf and howled.

  Tancredi laughed. “Saw something you like?”

  Raphael hadn’t realized he had let Wolf out but nodded, his eyes scanning the procession of girls filling the hallway.

  One by one, they walked by the dais. All scantily dressed, redheads, blondes, brunettes, short hair, long hair, tall, slim, curvaceous, pale, tanned, freckled, paraded for Raphael. Their hesitant steps, their lowered shoulders, the way they sought each other when they passed the throne and bundled up further away along the corridor, all betrayed their uneasiness.

  Toward the end of the line—only a few girls were left behind the screen—one shaved head came into sight. Raphael’s heart, already galloping, sped up, leaving him breathless.

  Breaking protocol, the girl, his Luisa who had changed so much, raised her chin to meet his stare. Her eyes were bright with unshed tears. She was wearing nothing more than a thin slip that revealed too much, and she hugged herself.

  “I want this one,” Raphael hurried to say, indicating Luisa.

  “My skinny bitch?” Rico asked, and was immediately stared down by Tancredi. “It’s not customary to ask for a spoken girl—”

  With a tilt of his head, the alpha shut Rico. “As it’s not customary to go from recruit to Red in one night.”

  Visibly swallowing, Rico fisted his hands to the side. “Yes, but—”

  “Are you gainsaying me, Rico?”

  As if slapped, Rico bowed his head. “If you command it, he can have any one of my girls,” he amended with his eyes on Luisa, who paled. “She isn’t the best I can offer to my little brother. That’s all.”

  “My new son has chosen. You—” Tancredi pointed one of his ringed fingers at Luisa. “Follow him to his bedroom, and be sure to please him.”

  Escorted by Rico and a loud posse of brothers, Raphael and Luisa walked down to the third floor and his new quarters. After several unwanted suggestions on how to spend the night and put Luisa to good use, the other Reds left.

  To Raphael’s utter dislike, Rico lingered. “You could’ve anyone you wanted tonight—”

  Raphael didn’t let
Rico finish. “See you tomorrow.”

  Finally Rico moved out of the doorway, and Raphael closed and locked the door, then leaned against it. The moment he heard the werewolf’s steps dim farther away along the corridor, he slid to his knees and circled Luisa’s legs with his arms, making sure not to crush her with his cast.

  “I missed you,” he whispered.

  Chapter Nine

  Tired as never before, Raphael inhaled her scent, drawing strength from her presence. “I’ve missed you so much it hurts.”

  Luisa placed her hands on either side of his neck, and his eyes were drawn up to her face. Already small, during their estrangement the vibrant girl he had fallen in love with had become thin and emaciated. His heart aching, he took a moment to see through the superficial signs he had noticed at first.

  Where once long, auburn tresses had cascaded down her shoulders, now her hair stood unevenly chopped to her scalp. Her complexion was so pale it was clear she hadn’t seen the sun in a long while. Under his gaze, Luisa’s green eyes—now haunted and too big for her face—locked with his for a moment. Then she blinked, subtly shook her head and leaned away from him.

  “Baby, oh baby—” His good arm traveling up to her waist, he pulled her back to him and hid his face against her stomach. “I’ve dreamed about this moment, us, for too long. Please, don’t push me away.” Brushing her hand with his lips, he whispered, “I need to touch you, fill my lungs with your scent, caress your ache away. I need to feel you and make sure you’re real.”

  During the long hours at the office, when Iris drove him insane, or when he was alone in his apartment, and even when he was at the social center, Raphael had constantly thought of Luisa. He imagined hundreds of scenarios where they met again, and in all of them he called her baby and she leaned into his kisses.