by Michele Hauf
And she wanted to bite him, to taste his blood and learn if it was as rich and exciting as the man. But there was a certain danger in that. She had no idea what Nicolo was. And while vamps could bite just about any creature that walked this realm, they avoided faeries, angels and demons.
Demon blood wouldn’t kill a vamp, but it was thick and nasty like tar. Blue angel blood caused a gruesome explosion—from inside the vamp. And faery dust, well, that was addictive, as she well knew. Her father, who had once lived in Faery, used to crave the stuff after he’d arrived in the mortal realm and he’d succumbed to addiction. He was clean now. Though their mother, Lyric, never let down her guard around faeries and her husband.
Summer had never had a curiosity for faery blood. She had enough to deal with, being a Madness Maker. What would she impart in Nicolo’s mind if she drank his blood? If he were merely human would she drive him mad?
Couldn’t risk it. He needed her. And she wanted him to trust her. She was his only connection to learning the new. She could be everything to him. And if she focused on being that everything then she needn’t think about biting him. And yet, Johnny had mentioned something about her bite perhaps not affecting Nicolo as it did mortals.
“Don’t let this happen,” she muttered.
But it was only words. Her heart had already made a leap. And while that scared her, she was always one to follow adventures. Even the kind she’d never before pursued, like the adventures of the heart.
* * *
Nicolo had once a rich patron in Venice who owned a sort of shower system in his palazzo. So this was vaguely familiar to him, save the amazing water pressure, the adjustable speeds (massage!) and the ability to control the warmth of the water with but a flick of the dial. Heaven! He stood in the shower until his fingers were wrinkled and he felt confident he’d washed away any remnants from the grave.
Once toweled off, he found a comb in the glass-fronted cupboard above the washbasin and pulled it through his slick hair. When he’d been dying, his hair had fallen out in clumps, and out of vanity he’d insisted his nurse no longer comb it. Of course, he’d written that command out, since at the time he’d been unable to speak. He had been such an invalid! A fifty-eight-year-old man destroyed by drink, gambling and whoring.
But never had he succumbed to the vice of selfish greed in a quest to be all-powerful.
He narrowed his eyes at the distorted reflection the glass showed and wondered about his casino. Now, there would be a way to make some money so he wouldn’t have to rely on Summer’s charity. Not that he’d ever refused a gift from a beautiful woman. Such acceptance had come easily to him. He gave the world music; he gladly accepted any gifts the world wanted to bestow in return.
So his ego hadn’t changed since death. Yet the thought to rely on a woman now seem repulsive. He had a second chance at life. He must live it fully and as a proud and capable man. He was not one to stand on the sidelines and witness life. He wanted to be in it, grabbing it by the throat and sucking it dry like a...vampire.
Heh. He wasn’t sure what kind of monster he was now, but he was probably closer to Summer than to a human being. Such proof was in his strength and the hard muscles that wrapped beneath his skin. What other abilities had he gained upon climbing out of the coffin?
Did he want to learn what they could be? He nodded. Would be ridiculous to not exercise any gifts this new life had granted him.
With the fluffy white towel wrapped about his waist, he strode out to the living area, where the large gray velvet divan did indeed look comfortable. In a home devoid of color and feminine decoration it was odd to see a pink frilly pillow nestled on the cushion. But it made him smile. She wasn’t so tough as she feigned.
He should have nightclothes to put on. A glance to the clothes he’d folded across the chair by the shower gave him a shudder. They were his burial clothes. He needed new things. Any bit of fabric not a hundred and seventy-five years old.
He sat on the divan and stretched his arms across the back, closing his eyes. No, he didn’t feel at all sleepy. But it did feel good to sit and ruminate over the day. What a crazy day.
He had traveled from Italy to Paris in less than a day. Unthinkable. He’d learned about electricity and modern lighting and air-conditioning. And the food. And the women! Goth or sluts (as Summer had termed the women in the tavern), he liked them all. He looked forward to what tomorrow would bring.
Yet he didn’t want to think about the Big Guy because that might bring him to his side. Now that he was again alive would the devil resume his temptations? If so, could he resist the brimstone bargain again?
Did he want to?
So much power. And now he had not his son to worry about shaming should he accept such power. If he was strong and possessed magical skills, he should not want for money and would not have to rely on the kindnesses of a lovely vampire.
Lovely? In her own, particular manner, Summer was indeed lovely. And if she could be his introduction-to-the-twenty-first-century woman then he was eager to learn. Hands-on learning, of course.
He knew Summer had entered the house, not from the sound of the door opening—she’d been very quiet—but from the smell of her skin. Salty and sweet. His senses were simply that acute now. It was wondrous to indulge in the use of them.
A vampiress. She’d been out in the daylight with him today. And tonight at the club, she hadn’t been away from him for long. When did she bite people? How often? Did she drink a lot of blood? What did it taste like? Was it a sexual thing? Did the bite feel good to the bitee?
He could imagine threading his fingers through her lush blond hair and pulling her in close, allowing her to kiss his throat and glide those fangs along the thick vein beneath his skin. Such a drink would give her life. The eroticism of it all made him hard, and he clasped his hands over his erection beneath the towel. He wanted the vampiress who quietly filed into the bedroom and pulled a curtain hung on a wire so they were separated by that thin sheet of privacy.
Though there were no lights on in the home, pale moonlight filtered through the window behind the bed and he could see the shadow of her as she tugged off her shirt and slipped down her trousers. The curves of her body were slim and small, but there was no denying she was a woman.
His erection hardened even more.
Did he simply want any woman to fuck after a dry spell of one hundred seventy-five years? It should not be unexpected. If he were going to live life large he must engage in everything sensual, visual, audible, and drink it all in. Because he may not have much time before evil crept over him and changed him. To that thing like the devil Himself.
Nicolo shuddered. He would not succumb to the darkness that was his legacy. He must not.
Chapter 9
Summer woke to daylight filtering through the bedroom curtain and the intriguing strains of a violin piece she’d never heard before. It had a gypsy lilt to it. Fun and peppy. Yet, it crackled. Nicolo must have figured how to plug Domingos’s violin into the amp she kept out in the garage and turn the volume to low. Good boy.
Did she just think good boy? She needed more sleep. Or maybe a new perspective on this situation. She was merely entertaining a visiting celebrity, right?
A celebrity she wouldn’t mind learning far more intimate details about than a few kisses and tender hugs.
She rose and wandered into the bathroom. With the curtain still pulled between the bedroom and living room, she had minimal privacy because standing out in the garage, Nicolo could see her shower if he simply turned around. She didn’t care. He could look all he liked.
After a shower and brushing her teeth she found a pair of loose jeans in her closet and pulled them on. A Bitter/Sweet T-shirt featured the red outline of devil horns above the band name which looked as if it had been written with spattered blood.
The gypsy d
ance changed octaves and increased speed. “That’s not one of his,” she decided. And when the song suddenly changed to something she did recognize, she was startled. “He’s playing Bitter/Sweet’s ‘Welcome to the Fire.’” He’d managed to pick it up merely by hearing it performed once last night.
“He really is a genius.”
In the kitchen, she grabbed a bottle of water and then wandered into the garage barefoot. She wiggled her toes appreciatively on the cool concrete.
Nicolo hadn’t turned around once while she’d been showering. Bummer.
Ahem.
The guy wore the same pants he’d been buried in and no shirt. The muscles on his back flexed deliciously as his bow arm moved back and forth, teasing the strings to sing. She’d always been a back kind of girl. Abs and biceps? Nothing wrong with the front side. But a wide-shouldered back with muscles that screamed for exploration? Add to that the lush fall of coal-black hair skimming those muscles? Mmm... Her fingers ached for touch.
He certainly could not have gotten those muscles during his previous lifetime. Beyond their fingering skills, violin players were not known for their physical prowess. And she suspected the concept of working out hadn’t existed back in his time. He did have long fingers that quickly danced across the strings. She recalled the history she’d read about him had claimed a doctor who had once examined him had made the statement that his hands and fingers were large but not abnormally so. Nicolo simply had dexterity, flexibility and speed attributed to years of practice.
A glance over his shoulder spied her, and he stopped playing. “I like that composition!”
“I guess you do. You remember it from last night?”
“Yes, but I prefer it in E minor.”
“I noticed. I think Johnny would like that version, as well. Keep that up and you’ll be a heavy-metal rock god in no time.”
“That sounds favorable.” He splayed out his arms, which gave her a great view of his hard pectorals and impossibly rigid abs. “I don’t mind being compared to a god.”
“I imagine not.” She didn’t mind the view either.
“But it does crackle, yes?”
“Yeah, that’s the pickup. Need to fix that. So what was the gypsy dance you were playing before this one?”
“Ah, just something I made up while you were showering. I didn’t look. Well, not too much.”
She felt a blush rise, and that was so startling she twisted at the waist as if she was looking for something in the kitchen. But really? She wasn’t afraid of a little flirtation. And she had been eyeing him up, down and all around. “Nothing wrong with looking.”
“Is that so? Then next time I will look longer.” He winked. “As for the gypsy tune, when previously alive I was constantly filled with inspiration. I am so pleased my muse has not left me. Though, the whispers are distracting.” He twirled the violin bow and pointed upward as if to indicate something coming from above. “Must be your neighbors.”
“The whispers?”
He swung the bow before him, pointing all about. “Don’t you hear it? Sort of a subtle whisper. I can’t make out the words, but it is annoying.”
“You must be hearing voices, buddy. I don’t hear anything but the buzz from the amp. I need to tear that apart and check out its insides.”
And yet. She had heard whispers while down in the storage room where she’d found the violin. Was it coincidence?
“So are you up for some clothes shopping today?” she asked.
“Oh yes. It was a great struggle to force myself to put on these trousers. I was buried in this clothing, by God. It doesn’t feel comfortable but rather like something a zombie would wear.”
Summer chuckled. “You know I was just kidding about the zombie thing.”
“You were not. And that’s perfectly fine. Neither of us knows what will come of me. Let’s just keep our hopes up for all my parts staying intact, shall we?”
Summer’s eyes strayed to his abs. “Fingers crossed,” she said. Sucking in the corner of her lip, she restrained herself from reaching to touch.
“Now you are looking at me.”
“Huh? Uh...that I am. Lots to admire.”
He straightened, preening a palm down his abs. “I thank you for the compliment.”
Yes, well, if she didn’t turn and find something better to do right now she’d probably have to touch him. And then all thoughts would turn to biting him. Deeply, and for a very long time. Mmm...
“I got a text from Verity this morning,” she said, fleeing the sensual thought. “The witch I told you about. We can stop by her place after we suit you up in some new clothes.”
“I am hungry, as well. You don’t have any food in your fancy icebox with the light that flickers on when you open the door.”
“Yeah, well...” She pointed toward her chest. “Vampire.”
“Tell me about that,” he said as he set the violin in the case and loosened the bow before also placing that in the case. “Do you bite people every day?”
“I need blood about once a week.” More so really, because of her small drinks, but she didn’t like to reveal that terrible anxiety to others. “It tastes great. No, I don’t kill people.” Not anymore, if she could help it. “Don’t have to take that much blood to survive. And, no, you can’t watch. Anything else?”
“Touchy,” he muttered, and he slid his eyes down her for an assessing summation. “As a matter of fact, there is something else I am curious about.” One hand stroked up his chest to rest over his heart. His eyes met hers in a stunning fix of smoldering connection. “Is drinking blood a sensual experience for you?”
She raised a brow, seeking truth in his eyes. Was he asking for himself or purely out of curiosity? Because she got the questions all the time. That’s why she quickly rattled off all the answers to get it over with. But something in the glint dashing his pupils made her wonder about his intentions. And she wanted to entertain those curious thoughts.
She cautioned her tone to not touch a tease. “Do you want me to bite you, Nicolo?”
“If it is a sensual thing?” He glided a palm down his bare chest. Man, oh man, did that move make her heartbeats stutter and her skin grow warm. Such a fine piece of man flesh. “I’d give it a try.”
“But if you’re not going to get off then it’s not worth the pain, eh?”
“Get off?”
She shrugged. “Get hot. Get aroused. You know.”
“It’s been a while,” he said. “I do have...needs.”
“As do I. The first of which is—” Not getting emotionally involved!
He held up a finger to silence her. His eyes traced the ceiling then down around the room. “You don’t hear that?”
Was this a side effect of him rising from the grave? Or would she have to face the realization that whatever she’d unearthed down in the Italian cellar might have followed them here? Because she didn’t have the violin in her possession anymore. Yet if he were still hearing those same silvery whispers she had heard...
“No, I don’t hear anything. What’s it saying?”
“Nothing distinguishable.” He shook his head yet tilted it as if seeking the source. “Odd. It seems to trail about inside this carriage parking area.”
In the kitchen, Summer’s cell phone rang. “Don’t follow it,” she said as she went to answer the ring. “It could be something you don’t want to meet. Hello?”
“Summer, this is CJ.”
“Oh hey.” She had expected Director Pierce. “You get the violin tagged and tossed?”
“Is that what you Retrievers call it? We don’t toss the objects you collect. We handle them very carefully. And in fact, I did tag the black violin last night after you handed if off to me. I set it in storage and then went to look for some heavy-duty wards. Still hadn’t fou
nd any until this morning. When I intended to ward the violin, and notify the Director of Acquisitions the mission was complete, I found the spot on the shelf empty.”
“What?”
“The violin is gone. I’ve searched the stacks, thinking I might have misplaced it. We do have a large storage room. Nothing. I know where I had placed it because the dust is disturbed. Now it’s gone. Have you seen it?”
“Why would I...”
Her vision wandered into the garage, where Nicolo paced around the Veyron her father had driven into a street pole. What was whispering to him?
She didn’t have to wonder very long.
“I don’t know,” CJ said. “Sometimes the objects we store have a mind of their own. I should have put a basic ward on it to hold it tight, though I doubt that would have been sufficient. You might take a look around to see if it’s returned to you for some odd reason. Otherwise, I’ll take a look through the entire Archives. It’s got to be here somewhere. Then again, if it was created with diabolic magic...” His sigh rifled over Summer’s shoulders in a chilly warning.
“Sure, CJ, I’ll look around. Let me know if you find it.”
He rang off, and before she could click off, Nicolo rushed toward the Audi. It was as if he were being called toward the car by an unseen force.
“Nicolo!” she called. “What are you doing?”
“I’m following it,” he hastily said over his shoulder.
The silver Audi needed a wash after her adventure through Italy. He stopped before the trunk and pressed his palms to it and then leaned down to put his ear to the place where CJ had performed remarkable auto-body magic.
“What is going on?” she said, coming to a stop beside him.
“The whispers. They are inside this vehicle,” he stated. “Open it, if you please.”
“But. That’s impossible. There’s no one in my trunk. And the violin is gone. You saw me hand it to CJ last night.”
Though, after talking to CJ...
He splayed his hands toward the trunk, indicating she open it. “Humor me?”