The Lonely Wolf

by Monica La Porta

  ****

  “Is your coffee still warm?” Camelia asked Quintilius, pointing at the cold cup he was playing with.

  “It doesn’t matter.” With his flat palm, he covered the cup. “It’s not that I need the caffeine in any case. But if you want some, I can make a new moka.” The espresso maker sat neglected on the stove.

  Quintilius had been staring outside the kitchen window for the last hour or so. Storms of loud birds created dark shadows on the nocturnal sky, and he distractedly followed their trajectory.

  Soon after Ludwig left, he had gone out looking for his gardener. He had found no trace of the man anywhere, and he jogged back inside and straight to the communal quarters. There, in the silence of the big industrial kitchen, he had busied himself with fixing a sandwich he didn’t eat and a coffee he didn’t drink.

  Camelia must have heard him the moment he opened his bedroom’s French doors. Most assuredly, she hadn’t missed the unmistakable flapping of Ludwig’s wings, but she had given Quintilius time to vent and only sought him out later.

  Having sat in the same position for a while, his right leg was asleep, and when he shifted on the chair it painfully tingled. “I’m sorry I woke you.”

  She waved his concern away. “When I didn’t see you in the morning, I imagined you spent the night with Ludwig, but then Iris called from the office looking for you. I told her you probably had other plans, then I tried to reach you. At first I thought you two had eloped—” Camelia’s lips turned up in a small smile. “Then the gardener didn’t show up as well, and I knew something was wrong. I called Ludwig and he didn’t answer. Another hour without having any news from you, and I would’ve called Ophelia.”

  “The gardener is dead and it’s my fault.” He pushed the cup away and placed both hands on the granite surface of the table. Cold seeped through his palms, but his body warmth counteracted the cooling property of the stone and he left behind two halos when he raised his hands. Passing his fingers through his unruly mane, he realized he needed a shower.

  “What happened?” Camelia wheeled closer to him.

  “I have a son.”

  Camelia stared at him, her mouth forming a small “o.”

  “I know, it sounds incredible.” He shook his head. “His name is Lupo and he is a strong alpha.”

  “How did you—?”

  “Ludwig found him.” He didn’t know where to start to tell her the whole tale, and it hurt him to think. Fatigue coupled with fasting was taking its toll on Quintilius. He went to the fridge and grabbed the pitcher of fresh squeezed orange juice. Pouring some for him in a tall glass, he asked her if she wanted any, but she declined the offer, and he gulped down his juice.

  Camelia waited for him to sit back at the table before asking, “Who’s his mother?”

  “I believe one of the girls who worked here some eighteen years ago.” He saw the dismay on her face and raised his hand to add, “I know what you’re thinking, but it never happened again. After her, I never entertained any liaison with my personnel. It was one lapse in judgment I didn’t repeat.”

  “And you think you had a son with this girl.”

  “The date coincides.”

  “Then it was a beautiful mistake, and I can’t wait to meet your son.”

  “You and I both.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “I’m wide awake.”

  Quintilius summarized the event of the last day and a half, and how Ludwig’s accidental discovery had led to the gardener being killed by Claudius. He was about to wrap up his story when the sound of breaking glass startled both he and Camelia.

  As the noise changed into loud smashing and banging, Quintilius realized that the mayhem originated from Camelia’s quarters. He stood and shook his head when she made to follow him. “Stay here.” Running, he was at her apartments’ door a few seconds later, only to find it blocked from the inside.

  “What’s going on?” Ramming his shoulder into the door, he had to try twice before the wooden surface splintered and he stumbled on an overturned piece of furniture. The antique dresser that he had bought for Camelia’s bedroom now lay at the entrance of her foyer, two rooms away from its original position.

  With a thunderous roar, Quintilius followed the trail of broken furniture, lamps, paintings, and all the shards of terracotta vases and smashed plants littering the floors, all the way from the hallway to Camelia’s bedroom. Once he stepped into her room, he was shocked by the brutality displayed in the attack. Her bed was split in two and all her vases had been shattered, some of them hurled against the walls. Not one single item was left intact. Yet, the destruction had taken less than a handful of minutes, and the culprit was nowhere to be found.

  Quintilius skirted the broken furniture and passed over the smaller debris on his way to the broken window. The unmistakable smell of vampire hit his nostrils. Rage filling him, Quintilius let his wolf out but kept his consciousness awake. Powering on all fours, he jumped through the window, chasing after the overpowering scent that bordered all around the perimeter of the casolare.

  Bad smell.

  Evil.

  Danger!

  His wolf became progressively more anxious as he circled back toward the communal kitchen. The vampire scent was stronger and fresher, and his wolf ran against the closed French doors, breaking the double glass as if it were cardboard.

  Evil.

  Night-creature.

  Bad.

  Camelia!

  Upon entering the kitchen, the wolf saw a vampire keeping Camelia in his hold, her lifeless legs dangling as the man jerked her around. Blood seeped through her nightgown. The sight and scent of her life essence wasting away sent the wolf into a frenzy.

  Acting on pure animal instinct, the wolf took a running start and jumped on the vampire, sending both him and Camelia to the floor. When he had the man firmly under him, he pawed at the man’s arm until he released his hold on her, then he attacked the man’s jugular and bit down. His fangs tore at skin and tendons, satisfied by the gurgling sounds the vampire made.

  “It was such a pleasure to break your doll.” The man’s whispered words were accompanied by laughter that echoed through the kitchen, passing through the wolf’s senses unnoticed but reaching Quintilius.

  A moment later, Quintilius was back and he stared at the man lying under him, still laughing, his face angled toward Camelia. Quintilius couldn’t help a sideway glance at her, and recoiled at the sight of her still form, and at the blood gushing from her side.

  “Camelia?” he called her, but her eyes remained glassy.

  “Master always wins.” The vampire pushed up and overthrew Quintilius, who found himself on the floor before he could react.

  The next moment, the vampire was out of the kitchen, but Quintilius didn’t follow him. He moved toward Camelia, sat by her and cradled her in his lap, then reached for her wrist. Pressing down his finger over her vein, he silently prayed to the Great Wolf that he could feel her heartbeat.

  Several seconds passed, she became progressively colder, and her lips turned a sickening shade of light blue, but he couldn’t detect any pulse under his thumb.

  “Camelia?” Quintilius gently shook her. “Wake up, love.”

  She remained still in his arms, light as a feather.

  Lifeless.

  Quintilius raised his head heavenward and roared his pain out loud for the whole of Rome to hear.

  Chapter Seventeen

  A day earlier.

  Driving around the rocky terrain of the ridge overlooking Reserve, Lupo slowed the beamer to a stop by a glade. Hungry, tired, and worried, he let his head hit the steering wheel and exhaled a long sigh. “Here we are.” He raised his head to point with his chin at the hills and plains below.

  Illuminated by a waning crescent moon, Reserve was bathed in a pale light. From their perch, Lupo could hear the soft chirping and buzzing of insects, and the fast flowing waters of the river bis
ecting the vast area in two. He found the natural sounds calming and breathed the fresh smell of resin and dew in, filling his lungs to capacity.

  By contrast, the silence in the car was unsettling. Jasmine had stopped talking when they left the main artery and entered the dirt road that led to Reserve. Now she was hugging herself, keeping her body as far away from his as possible, while she stared outside.

  “This isn’t right.” Lupo pushed himself up and leaned against the window, facing her. “I want you, but not if it looks like I’m about to force you.” His wolf paced in his mind, as he had been doing for the entire drive, adding anxiety to Lupo’s turmoil.

  Jasmine stirred, but didn’t turn or say anything.

  “Talk to me.” Tentatively, he reached out and brushed her shoulder. “If you have changed your mind, just tell me.” His wolf abruptly halted.

  Jasmine tilted her head then, her black eyes staring back at him. “For the last hour, I tried to gather enough strength to tell you that we should wait, that you should drive me back home. But I can’t even think of living a moment without you.” She took his hand and kissed it. “I don’t know why the Goddess and the Great Wolf decided we should be one, but the truth is, I don’t care anymore. I tried to rationalize that it must be for a reason. I mean, a Purist panther and a wolf—”

  “A lowlife one at that.” Lupo smiled.

  She nodded, her mouth forming a small smile. “Our lives run on separate tracks so far away from each other that we would’ve never met.”

  “And yet, here we are, two runways, and the whole Reserve for us.”

  “What I feel for you is soul-consuming. It’s like I’m burning, and you are made of water. I need you so much, I can’t breathe.” She brought his hand to her heart. “I was raised to be a good wife for my Purist husband, to act and speak properly, to always follow our tribe’s laws. A few hours with you, and I forgot everything about decency. I feel like a different person—”

  “I don’t know the old Jasmine, and I’ve just started to get to know the new one, but I’m here to be everything she needs from now on.”

  “And I’ll do my best to be a good mate for you.”

  Her scent intensified, and Lupo’s heart leapt up to his throat, leaving him panting. In the confines of the small car, he pulled her closer, but the gear shift and the arm rest were between them. After a few failed attempts, he ended up banging her head against the ceiling and his against the window frame. Meanwhile, she was trying to avoid the lever, but lost her balance and hit him squarely in the chest with her elbow. At his grunt, Jasmine started laughing, and after a moment he joined her.

  “I swear, I’m usually way smoother,” he said in between laughter.

  Jasmine placed a finger over his lips. “Never mention your Casanova past to me again.” Without giving him time to answer, she grabbed the collar of his tunic to pull him closer to her. “How would you react if I mentioned an army of ex-lovers?”

  His animal took control of his brain and he saw red. “But you said you never—”

  She raised an eyebrow. “See?”

  He blinked, realizing she was just making a point. “I become instantly stupid around you.”

  “You’re welcome.” She leaned forward, closing the small gap between them, and took possession of his mouth.

  The kiss was soft and tender at first. Jasmine’s lips felt like heaven, and Lupo pressed against them, his tongue tracing the seam, demanding she open for him. With a moan, she granted him access. His arms wound around her, taking control of their breathing while their heartbeats synched as one in a frantic gallop.

  If their first kiss had been fast and furious like lightening, the second was more like a summer thunderstorm that started slow and left them drenched, but exultant. Their animals chased each other, and their joyful roars echoed in Lupo’s and Jasmine’s minds.

  Lupo’s hands went to her lap, and he bunched up her chiton, but there wasn’t enough space to maneuver, and he only managed to raise the fabric up to her knees. Frustrated, he interrupted their kissing and lowered his forehead to hers. “I swear, you’ll never wear one of those hideous things again.”

  “You order me so, wolf?” she asked, tilting her chin up to brush his lips.

  “I order you so, panther.” He caressed her back up and down. “What do you think of a bit of fresh air?”

  She gasped when he deftly unhooked her bra from over the chiton. “What?”

  “Down there, I can see a bend in the river and a nice glade.” He placed both hands to the side of her face and gently turned her so that she could see the place he was describing. “What do you think?”

  Her eyes wide and her chest rising and falling, she whispered, “Okay.”

  He kissed her one more time, then helped her back in her seat and started the engine.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Clearing his mind and focusing on the target, Ludwig punched the dummy. The humanoid figure waved back and forth on its axis as it absorbed the strength of Ludwig’s upper jab. Sweat covered Ludwig’s torso and arms, dripping down his boxer shorts as he extended his right leg for a roundhouse kick followed by two punches.

  Drako’s gym was empty when Ludwig had arrived at four-thirty in the morning, but now a few of the regulars were coming in, ready to blow off some steam before starting the day. No one offered to spar with Ludwig. Although his angelic strength usually kept the other patrons at bay, he still managed to get a cocky shifter or two to train with him. But his current mood was so dark, no one dared to step into his side of the gym.

  The clock on the wall displayed it was seven in the morning, and he realized he had been punishing the dummy for almost three hours. The soft plastic around its chest was coming off in chunks, while the sides were all frayed, and the head was dangling, attached to the neck by a few centimeters of foam. Overall, his unwilling training partner was covered in Ludwig’s blood, another reason that might have kept the rest of the gym away from him.

  Grabbing the towel from the low wooden bench by the wall, he wiped off his face, stanched the blood on his hands, then walked to the water fountain.

  “You’re bleeding all over the floor,” Drako’s voice came from behind him.

  “It’s okay, I’m holy.” Ludwig turned and gave the Greek a one-armed hug. “You can bottle my blood and sell it on the black market. I’m sure it’s good profit.”

  Drako stepped back and studied him for a moment. “You just made a joke.” He opened his arm to the side to show Ludwig the nook where a small kitchen and the coffee maker was.

  “I’ve taken myself too seriously for far too long if people feel the need to comment upon my wit.” In passing, Ludwig grabbed a clean towel from the rack and folded it around his left hand that had sustained the most punishment. He sat at the chair Drako pulled out for him and stretched his long legs under the small round table, while Drako fixed the moka with fresh roasted Arabic.

  “Is everything all right?” Alexander asked.

  The aroma of coffee filled the nook, and Ludwig inhaled a gulp of it before answering, “Nothing is all right, but I’ll survive.” He couldn’t help but chuckle at his choice of words, given that angels couldn’t die.

  “Okay, twice in less than ten minutes. What’s happening, archangel?” Drako turned on the camp stove and set the moka on the burner, then stepped in front of the table.

  “I hate that word with all my might.” Drako gave him a puzzled look, to which Ludwig answered, “Archangel.”

  “May I ask you why? You fought so hard to reach this position.” Arms folded over his chest, Alexander leaned against the edge of the huge marine shell that served as a sink.

  “Millennia in the making, and I would give everything to be free of the title right now.” Uncomfortable on the small chair and feeling caged inside the nook, he shifted and pushed it back. “Azahel is pestering me about wanting to visit my office at Castel Sant’ Angelo before she’s installed, and I’d like to tell her she can take my seat at t
he Holy Nation too, for all I care.” To his annoyance, the angel had sent him a volley of emails, and had also left a few messages on all of Ludwig’s numbers.

  “Life can be funny that way.”

  “Have you ever regretted making a decision?” Ludwig asked, aware he had never engaged in a personal conversation with the Greek before—he actually never talked about private matters with anyone else but Quintilius.

  “When you live as long as we do, there’s always room for epic screw-ups. I’m the king of bad decisions, but in a way, I think that each one of them brought me closer to Ravenna. And with her by my side, everything feels right.”

  Ludwig scoffed. “Amor vincit omnia, ah?”

  “With three kids and a companion I could’ve only dreamed of, I’m the proof that love conquers all.” Drako stepped back to the stove where the moka was spitting out espresso from its spout.

  “You don’t miss your old ways?”

  “Sure, I loved my life as a playboy. I was very good at it.” Drako pivoted on his heels and brought the moka to the table. “But the thought of spending one single day without my family depresses me. I don’t want to imagine a life without them. It terrifies me.” He reached for the espresso cups and saucers on the shelf over the stove.

  As Alexander poured the coffee, Ludwig mulled over his statement.

  “I know it’s not my business, and we don’t have that kind of familiarity, but if I may say something, I think you’d be better off choosing what makes you happy.” Alexander brought his cup to his lips, sipped his espresso, then placed it back on the saucer. “Mortals say that life’s too short to not live it at its fullest, and we immortals sometimes forget that the same applies to us, even if on a larger scale.”

  Ludwig tasted his coffee and found it bitter but reinvigorating. “But what about responsibilities?”

  Alexander played with his cup, tracing its edge with his finger, but at the question, he raised his eyes. “What will you remember in one million years?”