Sliding closer, Nic gathered her in his arms. “I will protect you, Evangeline. Always. Forever.”
The idea of leaving his home filled him with dread, but Nic forced himself to move, to pull a large suitcase from his closet and lay it out on the bed. Running his fingers along the sleeves of his shirts, he shook his head. Half of his wardrobe had fallen out of style during his imprisonment. The world had changed around him, and he didn’t know how—or if—he would ever catch up.
When he and Evangeline had escaped the catacombs, he’d hoped Carlo would help him—help them both. But now, he’d lost the closest thing he had ever had to a son. His eyes burned as he pulled a black dress shirt from the hanger. Not now. If he fell apart, it would be alone, in the middle of the night, where Evangeline could not see him.
“Is the weather like it is here?” Evangeline asked as she molded her body to his, her breasts pressing against his back. “I’ve never had…options for what to wear. I don’t even know how to choose.”
“It is warmer in Rome.” He barely noticed when she pulled a few colorful t-shirts from one of the drawers and laid them in the suitcase. Jeans, panties, several bras, and socks followed, and then she stopped, her fingers resting on his arm.
“Are you all right?”
Nic shook his head to clear the fog he’d lost himself in, finding a pair of dress pants crushed in his hands. “I am sorry, cara. I do not want to leave our home.” The lump in his throat roughened his words, and he turned and rested his forehead against hers. “Once I feel certain the Conclave cannot find us, I will feel…steadier.”
“Nic.” Evangeline wrapped her arms around him, and he settled. “I know there’s more you’re not saying. And until we’re away from here, you can have your secrets. But everything Carlo said this morning…you should have told me about all of it. From the beginning. Maybe I could have fought Vittoria. Called for Sylvie. Something.”
“Do not blame yourself,” he said sharply. “Vittoria and Carlo are at fault. Not you.”
She sighed as she took a step back and pulled a sundress from a hanger. “Did you know that the dress I wore for our wedding was the first dress I’d ever put on?” Her voice took on a wistful tone, but when she met his gaze, passion smoldered in her warm brown eyes.
“No, I did not. You were a vision. Particularly when you threw your heels at Vittoria.” He would never forget the sight of Evangeline sputtering while Vittoria tried to force her into a corset and a pair of three-inch spiked heels.
With a wry smile, she linked their fingers. “We’re stronger together than we are apart. I need you to trust me. Not keep things from me because you want to ‘protect me.’ Agreed?”
Shaking out the pair of black pants to smooth the wrinkles, Nic nodded. “Agreed. Once we are on the train, I will tell you everything. The interrogation, my history with the Conclave…everything.”
18
Evangeline clung to Nic’s arm as they wove through the crowd at the Napoli Centrale train station. “There are so many people,” she whispered in his ear.
“Stay close.” Nic scanned faces through his dark glasses. With his hair bound up in what Sylvie deemed a “man bun,” his sunglasses, and wearing a suit and tie, he bore little resemblance to the last photos of Nicola Angliatti.
His life mate now sported platinum blond hair, courtesy of Sylvie’s quick bleach job, and smoky eye makeup—along with her purple contact lenses. Nic pulled their luggage in his free hand, with Sylvie and Bayard following behind them, arm in arm, pretending to be lovers on vacation.
A family with four children jostled him, and he tensed, but the kids ran ahead of their parents laughing, and the father offered Nic an apologetic look.
Evangeline watched the young humans run off and shuddered. “I don’t know how you can be so calm.”
“Calm? I am far from calm.” Nic glanced back at Sylvie and Bayard as they approached the train. “If anyone recognizes us…”
“You. No one knows me.”
Letting his sunglasses slip down his nose slightly, he slanted a gaze her way. “You did not read the paper this morning, did you?”
“No. Why?” Her fingers tightened on his arm.
Nic pulled his phone from his pocket and opened the local news site while Bayard slipped ahead of them into the private car he’d booked under the name Salvatore Como. Nic had a passport in the same name, and Evangeline traveled under the first name Regina.
“When we were in Sorrento for lunch,” he said as he showed her the photo of the two of them walking down the street, Evangeline wearing a look somewhere between joy and terror while Nic smiled warmly at her.
“Shit. You know everything I said about not keeping secrets from me?” Evangeline shook her head. “I should rethink that.”
Nic chuckled, her wry humor relaxing him. “This is why we had to cut your hair.”
“Again. I never thought I was overly attached to the length or the color, but why does my hair have to keep suffering to protect us?”
Dio, after all she’d been through, she was comforting him. Making jokes. Trying to keep him calm. He felt her love, her intense need for his smile, his laugh. “You are a treasure, Evangeline,” he said quietly.
“Regina,” she said, an odd note in her voice. “Salvatore.”
Bayard ducked his head out of the train car and nodded, and Sylvie followed them inside. “Once the ticket agent comes by, we can relax.” Nic stowed their suitcase and helped Evangeline off with her coat. Letting a lock of her hair trail through his fingers, he offered her a small smile. “I miss the brown. Your eyes as well. But…this…you look like a film star.”
A blush rose on her cheeks, and she ducked her head, letting her hair fall over her eyes as she sank into one of the plush seats. “I just hope I’m not stuck with this forever. I mean…your hair doesn’t grow. Does mine? I don’t remember the last time I had a haircut. Well…other than after the fire.”
“We should have paid Vittoria a visit,” Sylvie muttered. “Had a word with her about what she learned from your blood.”
“A word?” Bayard asked, arching a brow. “Perhaps a few well-placed threats.”
“Enough.” Nic failed to keep the harsh edge from his voice, and Evangeline tensed at his side. He swore under his breath. “I do not want to speak of either of them again unless we have to. It is bad enough we are leaving our home, our names, and our lives behind. I do not need a reminder of what else we have lost.”
Trying to focus on his anger to avoid sinking into the heartache that threatened him, Nic stared out the window at the crowds milling around the tracks. Silence filled the car until the ticket agent verified their names and closed the door.
“We won’t be bothered again,” Sylvie said. “I made reservations at the Hotel Roma Centrale under our aliases. Most of the banks will be closed by the time we arrive, but we can visit at least one first thing tomorrow morning. We’ll meet my Network contact at 10:00 a.m., then hit another couple of banks after lunch.”
With a nod, Nic loosened his tie. They had a plan, and by the end of the next day, they’d have enough accessible cash for a decade. In a week, their lives in Italy would be over.
The train lurched, and Evangeline grabbed Nic’s arm.
“Breathe, cara.” Nic cupped her cheeks and held her gaze. “The train ride is quite smooth. Better than a car, I think.”
“Easy for you to say,” she managed through clenched teeth.
Despite his assurances, she ran for the toilet a few minutes later, and Sylvie held up a hand when Nic jumped up to follow. “I got this.”
Through the thin door, Nic could hear Sylvie whispering gentle assurances as Evangeline retched. He hated that he couldn’t make her transition to living above ground easier. But then, he thought back to his first car ride. The vehicle’s top speed had been no more than twenty kilometers per hour. Painfully slow compared to modern automobiles. Of course, she was struggling.
Bayard took a seat across from hi
m and handed him a tablet. “Monsieur—Nicola—here is all of the information I compiled as I searched for Philipe.” Bayard’s voice took on a weary tone, and he rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes shining.
“You loved him.”
“Oui. We thought…one day we might grow close enough to bond.” Bayard dipped his hand into his pocket and withdrew a ring, turning it over several times before slipping it on his finger. “This was his. It is all I have left of him.”
“You are certain he is dead?”
With a nod, Bayard pushed to his feet. “Philipe would not have left me without a word. Even if—as Antonio suggested—he was embezzling funds from one of his charities. But I knew my lover better than I know myself. Stealing? It was not in his nature.”
Nic raked his fingers through his hair until he reached the idiotic "man bun" Sylvie had insisted he wear. “Philipe and I were not close. He was young. Impetuous. With little time for an elder’s wisdom. But he was never selfish. He would not have stolen from anyone less fortunate.”
“Not knowing…is the hardest part.” Bayard swallowed hard, pressed his lips together, and then turned on his heel and strode to the back of the car. As the train took a curve out of the city and sped up, the sound of the engine and the tracks drowned out Bayard’s ragged breathing.
Nic paged through Bayard’s reports from the days before and after Philipe’s disappearance. The Conclave had met for three days in a row—not uncommon. Philipe and Bayard stayed in a hotel in Rome, and Bayard had noticed Philipe’s stress. He hadn’t been sleeping well.
Evangeline made her way back to his side, holding onto Sylvie’s arm the whole way. When she dropped into the seat, her pale face worried him. “What can I do, cara? Some of my blood?”
“No. I’ll…be okay. I hated traveling through the portals, but cars and trains are worse.” She accepted a bottle of water from Sylvie and, after a few sips, a little color returned to her cheeks.
“You will not always feel this way.” Balancing the tablet on his knee, Nic pressed a kiss to her cheek.
“What are you working on?” She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, grimacing as the train shuddered going over a short trestle.
“These are Bayard’s reports from Philipe’s disappearance.”
Evangeline’s purple eyes narrowed as she read, a hint of her natural brown irises peeking out from the edges of the contact lenses when she blinked. “There are whole conversations in here,” she whispered after a quick glance at Bayard.
“Vampires have perfect memories. That is how I could tell you all those stories when you were…”
“Dying. I remember.” Evangeline pressed closer to him. Her warmth seeped through his suit coat as they both read Bayard’s account of the night Philipe disappeared.
On the flight from Rome, Philipe was unusually quiet. He offered only one- or two-word answers. When we arrived at his home outside Paris, we shared a simple meal of cured meats, cheeses, and bread. I asked Philipe what was bothering him.
He answered, “It was a long day, mon ami. We are divided, and I fear what will happen if the balance of power shifts.”
Despite my repeated attempts to draw him into conversation and learn why he was worried, he would only say that he wanted to take me to his summer home in Nice the next day. We made love, and then fed from blood we had stored in the refrigerator.
Philipe urged me to go to bed and told me he would join me within the hour. When I woke up the next morning, he was gone.
Bayard had known from the moment he’d woken. The front door was unlocked, Philipe gone. Two scuff marks on the marble floor—one in Philipe’s home office, another in the foyer worried him, as did the scent of sweat lingering in the air. Another vampire’s scent. When he’d examined the property, he’d found a bit of gravel disturbed in the driveway. No blood. No other signs of struggle.
For months, Bayard had monitored all of Philipe’s bank accounts—including the ones under his various aliases. Not a single penny had ever been touched. It was as if the vampire had disappeared into thin air.
By the time they reached Rome, Nic’s stomach had tied itself into knots. Bayard’s notes had been impeccable. The curse of a vampire, to have such a perfect memory. To never forget the horrors, the fear, the helplessness of losing a loved one.
As he and Evangeline walked hand-in-hand from the train station to the hotel, Nic turned the photos from Philipe’s home over and over in his mind. None showed evidence of foul play, but what struck Nic most of all was the emptiness of Philipe’s desk. The vampire he’d known years ago had been disorganized. His office at the Conclave was always messy, papers in disarray, no filing system to speak of. Yet his home office had been pristine.
“Nic? Err, Salvatore?” Evangeline wrinkled her nose at the name. “You’re a million miles away.”
He smiled down at her. “I am sorry, cara. Are you hungry?”
“A little.” Wide-eyed, she pressed closer when a group of six people, all carrying on loudly in Italian, passed them by. “Is it safe to go out?”
“I believe so. Bayard and Sylvie will be close by. This is our honeymoon,” Nic said, forcing a smile. “We should celebrate. At least for one night. Tomorrow, we will prepare to disappear.”
19
Evangeline stared at the assortment of biscotti and pastries laid out on the breakfast tray. “I don’t know how you eat like this every day,” she said as Nic poured her a cup of espresso.
“I do not. But you should. I am starting to worry about you, Evangeline. You are not hungry?” He bent to cup the back of her neck, his eyes almost black with intensity. “Are you worried? Is that it?”
Chewing on her lower lip, she wished she had an answer for him. She’d devoured a small plate of pasta with vegetables in a light and spicy sauce the night before. Had even nibbled on the leftovers after their lovemaking. But this morning, she wanted nothing to do with food.
“No. I mean…I think I’m always worried. The crowds…and the Conclave…it’s a lot to deal with.”
Understatement of the year.
She wanted to reassure him. Had to. He’d lost everything…for her. His freedom eighteen years ago. His position with the Conclave. And now his home. Even his name.
Picking up a biscotti, she forced herself to take a bite. “Maybe it’s the lack of activity. I’m used to hunting, running, keeping busy. I’ll be fine, Nic. I promise.”
The second bite threatened to come back up, but she swallowed hard and washed it down with a sip of espresso. At least the coffee was still delicious.
“We will walk several kilometers today. If you’d like, once we are done at the banks and have met Sylvie’s contact, we could visit the hotel gym? A race, perhaps?”
Her laugh surprised her, but some of the tension currently turning her shoulders into rocks faded with the sound. “You’re a vampire. You could probably run back to Sorrento in the time it would take me to go five miles—err…what’s that in kilometers?”
“Eight. And I will moderate my speed,” he said with a chuckle. “We can move very quickly, si, but only for short bursts of time. We tire as humans do.”
“Do you have…vampire sports? Like the Olympics?” She knew so little of the world beyond what the Hand of God and her father had allowed her to learn, and in these calm moments when she and Nic were alone, she had so many questions.
“Vampires invented the Olympics in Ancient Greece and revived them in 1896.” Nic plucked a pastry from the tray, the bitter note in his voice confusing her. “Not our finest hour. Having humans compete in grueling sports for our entertainment? Many died the first three Olympiads. The Conclave intervened and instructed the International Olympic Committee to ensure safety for all participants, but I believe humans started using performance enhancing drugs in part to prove to the world that they were not the weaker race.”
Evangeline choked on a sip of espresso. “Holy shit.”
“We are not kind creatures, cara. Vampires have a lo
ng history of violence. We are strong, our memories are flawless, and we outlive humans by centuries.” As he met her gaze, his eyes softened. “This is why I joined the Conclave. Why I fought so hard for the law that protects humans and requires that vampires buy their blood from blood banks. Why I wrote the law that prohibits a vampire from siring another without consent.”
“I don’t understand how you can say you’re not kind.” Evangeline ran her fingers through her freshly chopped hair. The pale blond locks felt odd to her now, barely brushing her shoulders. “You carried me through the forest when I was eight and lost. Tried to protect me from my father. You saved my life. Three times. You’re a good man.”
Nic brushed his knuckles over her cheek. “I am a better man because of you.”
The knock at the door sent Evangeline’s heart pounding against her chest, and espresso sloshed over the rim of her cup. Nic moved so fast, she saw only a blur of his dark blue suit and golden skin until he angled a gaze through the peephole. “Sylvie,” he said as he opened the door.
The female vampire strode into the room, her purple eyes bright and her cheeks pinked. “We scouted from here to the Banco di Marco. All the blind spots and back alleys. If we leave in ten minutes, we’ll arrive shortly after the bank opens. Thom—he’s the hacker I told you about—will meet us at the coffee shop across from the Pantheon at ten.”
“We are meeting him at one of the busiest sites in Rome?” Nic asked. “Is that smart?”
Sylvie shrugged. “His rules. Somewhere with a crowd.” She held up her hand when Nic started to protest. “He didn’t pick the coffee shop. Bayard went out last night to find a place we could secure ahead of time. There’s a table in the back. Right next to the exit. We’ll sweep for bugs, and Bayard will keep watch outside.”
Nic shoved his hands into his pockets. “Leaving only you inside, should anything happen. I do not like this.”
“You have a better idea?” Sylvie asked.
Revelations in Blood Page 11