by Michele Hauf
Fingers curling, she wanted to push them through Nicolo’s hair and direct his attentions, yet at the same time the visceral cry of yes shimmered across her system. His not touching those key pleasure spots was proving even more erotic than if he’d simply went straight for the orgasm. But an orgasm was building within her, slowly, with a maddening promise.
“Brightness,” he whispered as his tongue teased the crease between thigh and mons. His crotch rested on her shin, and he pressed down, grinding his erection against her. His next utterance was more a moan than actual words.
His hand clasped her ass and he squeezed. Breath heated her labia. She exhaled and the shimmer of orgasm fluttered through her body. With a sigh, Summer came quietly, gently, yet she had never felt pleasure envelope her so fully, so easily.
“Exquisite,” Nicolo said against her leg.
* * *
Snuggled together on top of the duvet, the twosome watched the passing countryside out the window. It was around 2:00 a.m., and yet the sky was bright with starlight.
The violin lay on the bench, the bow deposited on the floor. Summer reached over to stroke the body of the instrument. Nicolo matched her strokes, drawing his fingers up her back and then down to the divots that marked the top of her buttocks. His touch melted into her, tracing her within and shivering sweetly in her soul. Was this what it felt like to be bitten and feel the orgasmic rush of the swoon?
“If we are successful in destroying the black violin,” he said quietly, “I’ll have a new life to look forward to. And the first thing I want to do is visit il Cannone.”
That was the nickname he’d given to the violin made by Giuseppe Guarneri, which he’d treasured when last alive in the nineteenth century. “Why not do it on this road trip? What town is it in?”
“I had gifted it to the city of Genoa.”
She grabbed her cell phone from the floor and checked the map app. “That’s not a long trip from Milan. We can most definitely give it a visit.”
He kissed her bare back, and his hair tickled her skin. “Thank you. I would like that very much. Do you think they’d give it back to me? If I asked nicely?”
“Considering you’d have a challenging time convincing them you are Paganini risen from the grave? Not a chance. You know, it’s been played in concert since your death.”
“By whom?” He leaned up on an elbow. “That is my violin!”
“A handful of violinists through the decades have been allowed to perform with it. Not a lot. I’m sure they took good care of it.”
Nicolo lay back on the duvet, staring upward. Summer could sense his outrage. It made him human. And for some reason she needed that reassurance. Especially since the vision of Himself was still vivid in her memory. And yet she was the farthest thing from human. Soul Piercer. The title haunted her.
“I had that violin for twenty years,” he said. “It was my closest friend. It was— the Big Guy hated it. Said it was innocence. My balance. I was never sure what he meant by that. But that’s probably why I held it to me so fiercely. Perhaps I thought it a means to protect myself from his influence.”
“Maybe it did? We’ll go see it,” she reassured. “Let me rest an hour before we arrive, will you?”
“Of course. Can I hold you?”
“I’d love that. And then when I wake...”
“Yes?”
“I’ll be hungry.”
“Mmm, I’ll be waiting for your bite.”
Yes, but now she had to decide whether or not a bite was the best for her. Truly, would drinking from a soulless creature drive her mad?
* * *
Nicolo wanted to visit the Duomo, Milan’s magnificent Gothic cathedral, the largest church in Italy. It had taken six centuries to build and was completed some time in the twentieth century. Summer suggested they head to the cathedral immediately to avoid the tourist rush. It was early, and the sun had just risen. The cosmopolitan city had awoken, but the hubbub still slumbered. They took a cab to the piazza in front of the cathedral, and before Nicolo could tug her toward the entrance, she pulled him into the shadows beside an arriving tourist bus.
“Hungry, remember?” She kissed him. “Will you give me a few minutes to, uh...?”
“Are you going to snack on a tourist?”
She shrugged. “Not much else around right now. Unless I wander deeper into the city and find a homeless guy. Ugh. Forget I said that.”
He embraced her and kissed her quickly. “Take from me. I love your bite. In fact...” He stepped back and held her hand as he looked over her from head to toe. The twinkle in his eye matched the curve on his mouth—playful.
“What?” she said, patting her hair subconsciously.
“I think I may be falling in love with you, Summer. Is that okay to say nowadays? Do people declare their love so openly and quickly?”
“Are you sure it’s not lust? I mean, we make a great pair in bed. I lust for you.”
“No, I believe it’s something more. And not simply my being alone in this world and needing you to guide me. I feel it here.” He thrust a fist against his chest.
“That’s sweet. Really. I could love you. But...”
“But you don’t dare because of what I could become? Or is it your soul-piercing thing? Are you afraid to bite me after what Himself said?”
She tilted her head, offering a shrug, unwilling to come out and admit it was probably a little of both. “What if it’s true about me going mad?”
He sighed. “So you must use caution. And I must fight the evil I could become. What about il Cannone?” he suddenly said. Standing straight and tapping his lip, he then tapped the air between them. “If it really was innocent, something You Know Who was actually fearful of...? Maybe it could defeat the black violin?”
“How do you mean? You can’t pit two violins against one another. Well, in a duet sort of duel you could, I suppose. They made a song about that. ‘The Devil Went Down to Georgia.’”
“Really? They sing about the devil and a violin? That’s troubling.”
“You entertained the rumors back when you were alive. I mean, your first life.”
“Yes, but to this day they sing about it?”
“I’m sure it’s a different story. The Big Guy is always tempting people. Seems a violin is one of his more popular instruments of temptation. But about your other violin. The one in Genoa.”
“Yes, a thought just occurred. What if I played the Guarnerius? I might send the devil packing.”
“Sounds too easy.”
“But worth a try?”
“Anything is worth a try. But again, I don’t know how you’d convince the city of Genoa to let you take it for a spin.”
“We’ll figure it out. I think we have a plan. A sort of plan, anyway. And what if when I do defeat the black violin I might get a soul?”
She didn’t know what to say to that one. With a soul, she could never bite him again. And if she did, he’d succumb to madness. Without one? She could be the one singing for her Fruit Loops.
“Let’s go for a walk,” he said.
“A walk? I thought you wanted to go inside the cathedral? I was going to show you the gargoyles. They put them up for adoption a few years ago.”
“Is that so? That one will definitely require an explanation. But I thought you were hungry? We’ll find you a candidate. A donor, as you call it.”
* * *
He wasn’t sure what it said about him, but he enjoyed watching Summer bite a young man. Nicolo wasn’t going to overthink things. They had found a tourist wandering a dark alcove at the end of a pretty tree-lined street. A nearby olive tree shushed in the breeze, and the sounds of pounding from construction down the road would muffle any noise of struggle.
But there was no struggle. The man grinned w
idely at Summer’s approach. And now he groaned loudly when Summer pulled her fangs from his neck and began to draw out his blood. Was she the very evil Nicolo had tried to avoid all his life? Summer was bright and good, and he really did believe he was falling in love with her. And he wanted to be the one under her fangs. The madness bit had to be a ruse concocted by Himself to wedge them apart. Though, if he considered it, Himself would benefit more from a mad vampire.
Perhaps his destiny was closer to hand than he’d care to admit? Maybe the evil he’d avoided all his life was already germinating inside him. Himself had said it had begun. And with the playing of the black violin it would be complete. He would be—what?
The tourist pulled Summer tight against his body and rocked his hips. Nicolo’s erection hardened. Summer dropped the man and then pressed her hand to his forehead and told him to sleep and wake only with memory that he’d gotten lost. She turned to Nicolo, licking her lips.
He pulled her into his arms. “Take off your pants,” he said. “I want to be inside you as you’ve been inside him.”
“That turned you on?”
“Don’t speak, vampire. Just do it.”
She shoved down her pants. The T-shirt fell below her buttocks, concealing her modestly if anyone should walk by. She unbuttoned his trousers, and her fingers wrapping about his cock felt like coolness to molten steel. He lifted her and she wrapped her legs about him and allowed him to glide inside her. She pressed her lips to his neck, and a star-filled shock of pleasure raced through him. And he pushed deeply inside her, chasing the high, the magnificent release.
“Goddess, that’s good,” she said on a gasp. He caught sight of her face, and she dashed out her tongue to lick away a spot of blood. His? No, she hadn’t pierced him yet. “Your cock. Us. Yeah, I think I could love you, too, Nicolo.”
“What if I were evil?”
“You’re not.” She closed her eyes as he continued to glide in and out of her. “You could never be, even if you did play the black violin. Your soul is good. That’s all that matters.”
His soul? She’d forgotten he was missing one. But he didn’t want to spoil her hopeful mood.
“I hope so, Brightness. Ah! I can feel you squeeze me from inside.”
“You like that?”
He nodded, words unnecessary. Instead he clasped a hand over one of her breasts and pinched the nipple through the soft shirt fabric. She rocked upon him, harder, faster. She drew him out almost all the way and leaned forward. He knew she was gliding her clitoris along his shaft. Her fast breathing told him she was right there, along with him, ready to fly.
Shudders built in his body. He gripped her upper arms. Clenched his jaws. Summer cried out and quickly pressed her mouth against his neck to muffle the sound. The dash of her tongue over his vein caused him to release. The world went bright, then all colors and then all sound ceased save for his pounding heartbeats.
He was in his homeland. Alive. Vital. And in love.
* * *
Hours later they pulled in to the Parco Sempione, the large park behind the castle Sforza that had once been hunting grounds to the Sforza dukes. They stood in a shady copse listening to a street performer. Or rather, Summer stood back in the evening shade. Nicolo was currently chatting with the violinist, who had taken a break and put up a sign that he would resume in half an hour.
Nicolo had been impressed with the musician’s tonality and dancing. He’d done a jig while performing, and it must have reminded Nicolo of his own performances. History told he had been very animated while playing, bending this way and that as the music captured him. Summer couldn’t wait to see him perform.
“Achoo!”
She hastily glanced around but didn’t see anyone with red eyes lurking about. Much as she knew she could sneeze from pollen or dust or other irritants, she was always cautious for demons.
The crunch of footsteps across the loose pebbles under the tree alerted her, and she turned. A tall blond man grabbed her about the upper arm. Only when he spoke did she know exactly who he was.
“So you two are in love. Happened much faster than I could have hoped for. Excellent. Once again you’ll serve as useful bait to dangle from the hook, Soul Piercer.”
Before she could scream, Himself swiped his palm before Summer’s eyes. She blacked out.
Chapter 21
The cloying scent of sulfur alerted Nicolo. He paused in the middle of conversation with the violinist and scanned about the park’s green scenery. A family accompanied by a small dog tossed bits of bread to a flock of pigeons. Lovers kissed after a sip of wine from an amber bottle. An elderly gentleman wearing plaid slacks tilted his hat lower to shade his eyes from the sun as he reclined on the lush grass.
Summer had been standing beneath the palm tree. Where had she gone?
A silvery whisper slipped into Nicolo’s ear as the violinist took up his bow and kicked down his out-to-lunch sign. He soared into a Mozart concerto. And Nicolo walked swiftly toward the palm trees. The distraction of the music did not lessen his senses. He might not be able to hear her, but he could scent her. She wore that delicious, sweet, after-sex musky smell that he’d know miles away and recognize even after decades away from her side.
And yet, sulfur pervaded the atmosphere.
Were demons in the area? He hadn’t heard Summer sneeze. Had he been too involved in the discussion of Paganini’s inventive harmonics with the musician to notice?
“Damn it, where is she?”
And why now had those diabolic whispers returned to him? Where was the black violin? When they had been at the Archives in Paris Himself had disappeared with it in hand. That bastard could place it anywhere in his path now, Nicolo knew that.
His father had said they would meet again.
“No.”
And in a heartbeat, Nicolo knew the whispers were telling him to follow them. They would lead him to Summer.
And Himself.
* * *
Summer didn’t know where she was. It felt...underground, for the musty, chalky scent. And yet the ceiling, a dome looming perhaps three stories above her head, seemed to let in daylight. Some kind of strange illumination lit the dusty air. The circular cell was vast, yet she could see the walls, fronted by equally spaced columns that looked carved out of red stone or clay. The floor was packed red dirt.
Sulfur whispered into her nostrils.
A tall, Nordic man with a blond, buzz-cut style and angular cheekbones leaned against one of the columns, arms crossed high over his chest. An ice-gray suit looked a fashion mistake stretched onto his muscular physique.
Summer knew it was an illusion. A glamour. And not one that particularly appealed to her.
“What’s with the Zoolander look?” she asked of Himself.
“You do not care for it? I was trying to blend in.”
“A blond? In Italy? Achoo! Damn it!” She hated that he’d so easily taken her away from the park. Must have used some devilish thrall on her. Asshole.
The man morphed into a tall, bearded looker with piercing blue eyes and a striped red-and-white shirt. An Italian gondolier?
“Oy.” Summer paced. “I thought you appeared to people in the guise of their greatest temptation?”
“How’s this?”
Suddenly Nicolo stood by the column, long dark hair curling over his shoulders. A rich velvet suit coat revealed a lacy-cuffed white shirt. His arms spread as he waited her summation.
Summer gulped back a gasp. “That’s not fair, or ethical. He’s your son, for the goddess’s sake.”
“Touché.” Spreading back his arms, the image of Nicolo was shed, seeming to peel back and away from the black leathery flesh and muscle beneath, until finally the devil Himself stood before her in all his wicked incarnation of horns, hooves and glinting razored fa
ngs. “Better?”
“Absolutely. I prefer you that way. Least I know what I’m dealing with. So you got a thing with kidnapping me? Really. Last time we did this you had taken an innocent little baby to do your dirty work. Didn’t go very well for you, did it?”
“Now I remember why I find you so distasteful.”
“Please. I was a freakin’ baby. There was not a distasteful bone in my body then. I’m still a pretty cool chick, if you ask me.”
Himself rolled his red eyes. “So says the vampiress who drives men to madness with a single bite.”
“Not all the time!” she protested.
“Yes, all. You don’t track their lives after you have taken what you want from them.”
“No.” She slunk back against the wall. He was a liar. Nothing he said could be trusted. And yet, he’d always told Nicolo his truths. She rubbed her upper arms and shivered. “Why am I like this?
Himself grinned. “I did it.”
“What?”
“It was a little going away gift to you as a baby. I do shit like that. It’s my job.”
“I hate you.”
“Wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“It’s not going to work, you know. Nicolo has resisted you for decades. And look at him now. He’s alive and doing well. He looks and feels better than he ever has, and he’s starting a new life. He doesn’t need any fabulous powers.”
“Bringing him back to life wasn’t my doing. When you bowed the violin that fateful morning you raised a facsimile of my son from the grave.”
“A facsimile? What, you mean like a clone or doppelgänger?” Summer caught her forehead in a palm. Oh, please let her have made love with a real man and not some creepy golem. Or something worse. “Please, tell me he’s not a zombie.”
Himself chuckled. A tilt of his head caught the overhead illumination on his horns and they gleamed. “He is demon in a human shell. Trapped like those pitiful corporeal demons who feed off any soul’s shell they can inhabit. Though Nicolo is quite soulless.”