by Michele Hauf
“I don’t get that. I don’t sneeze around him. I’m allergic—”
“Not really. It’s merely a traumatic residue you carry around with you. You don’t have to sneeze. If you were mentally strong you could accept that you don’t need that crutch.”
“It’s not a crutch. I sneeze before I even know there’s a demon near me. That can’t be psychosomatic.”
“It is. But then, you are but a miserable and hapless vampire.”
“I am not hapless!” Summer thrust out her arm, splaying her fingers, as if to throw magic at him. She’d give anything to have such power as to knock the bastard off his leathery black ass.
“You wish it?” Himself queried. “I can make that happen. Give you magic untold.”
“Fuck you.”
“My son’s girlfriend? I could manage that.”
“You’re disgusting! Goddess to hell, I hate you!”
Himself’s satisfied moan roiled in his throat. “Your hate feels delicious.”
Truly? Was the sneezing thing all in her head? As for the soul piercing...
“Take it back. I don’t want to be a soul piercer.”
“Ah. A bargain, perhaps? What will you offer me to lose such an ability?”
She squeezed her eyes tight. No making deals with the devil. Just. No.
“As I suspected, you are too weak to be so bold. As for Nicolo,” Himself continued, “he won’t survive much longer in the human host without dire physical consequences. So your zombie theory is partially true. He needs to come fully into his legacy, you see. This second life is not as you would believe—a second chance. It is his only option. If he does not choose that option he will falter and—sooner rather than later—degrade. Unless he accepts his power.”
“And turns into something like you?”
The bastard actually puffed up his chest proudly. “He would be exactly as me.”
“That’s gotta annoy you. Can’t there be only one of you? One Dark Lord. One big, ugly, disgusting—”
A swipe of his hand through the air sent Summer flailing backward. Her shoulders hit a red stone column, and breath chuffed from her lungs. She dropped, landing on the ground on her ass, which hurt like a mother. If she hadn’t seen the demon move, she would have guessed it had been a Mack truck that had instead hit her. Whew! Yet with the appropriate oath on her tongue to fling at the bastard, she had the sense not to give it voice.
Instead she prayed Nicolo would not find her. But if he did not, then he would degrade? Did that mean die? Probably. He was demon? Hell, this day just got better and better.
“If he does find me,” she muttered, “it won’t matter. He is determined to never play the violin.”
“That was before he confessed his love to you,” Himself said. “Now he’s invested his heart like some poor sob story of a human. He has someone to protect. A reason to relent his steadfast refusal.”
Ah fuck. Would Nicolo ransom his life for love? The other option, of course, was not playing the violin and degrading. Neither was any better than the other.
Summer dropped her head onto the dirt floor and closed her eyes. Never had she wanted to sink her teeth into someone—some Dark Lord—so badly and then tear and rip and annihilate.
* * *
Following the whispers, Nicolo strode swiftly out of the park. He passed people on the street, brushing their shoulders roughly as he could not be concerned to actually watch where he was going. He was being led. And he was not going to like what he found at his final destination.
But he couldn’t move fast enough to get to her. If his father had Summer he couldn’t imagine what she must be going through. Pray, the bastard did not harm her. Of course, if the old man wanted him to agree to the bargain, he had best be sure she remained untouched and safe.
Because that was what this was about. He would not be able to free Summer without first succumbing to the brimstone bargain. And he would do it. She was an innocent in this horrible nightmare he’d been summoned to act upon. He would sacrifice his freedom to free her. No question about it.
Because the other option, to let the devil have her and him go on living? Unthinkable.
“Quicker,” he muttered.
And in that instant the world blurred and his body moved by the massive buses and buildings, and then it soared into the sky and he felt the flick of tree leaves as he moved over the canopy of green. Faster, wind rushing through his hair. His eyes open, he spread back his arms and for one moment allowed himself to feel the joy of flight. Of weightless transport through the clear, pale sky.
It will be yours, assured the whispers.
And Nicolo smiled in anticipation of such a skill being his to command.
But too quickly his mirth regained presence of his fear and frustration. He would not let Summer down. She had not let him down from the moment she had found him wandering the Italian countryside. Even if becoming like his father meant he could never see her again, at the very least, he would know she was safe.
Suddenly, Nicolo’s body righted in the air and he dropped. Falling what seemed parasongs, he wrapped his arms about his chest as the velocity increased and the rush of the passing world bruised his skin. Settling into darkness and then a dimly lit cavern, he came to land with a gentle touch of shoes to a red dirt ground.
Inhaling dust and dry air, he straightened, taking in the surroundings of the circular auditorium crafted from stone and dirt. His eyes fell upon Summer, lying on the floor. He rushed to her and rolled her to her back. As he smoothed a palm over her cheek, she felt warm, alive. Her hair slipped softly through his fingers. Tears choked at the back of his throat, and his heart burst with relief. Pulling her up into his arms wakened her, and she slipped her arms about his waist and hugged him tightly.
“I knew you would come for me,” she said. “But I wish you hadn’t.”
Chapter 22
Nicolo held Summer to him as if to let go she might be swept away and he’d never see her again. The odds of that happening were far too great. He sensed another presence in the cavernous room. But he wouldn’t turn to acknowledge the man who claimed to be his father yet who had never earned such a title. Every moment he now had with Summer he must remember. Her scent. The texture of her skin against his. The slide of her hair over his cheek. The possessive grasp of her hand clinging to his shirt.
Never had anyone meant so much to him, save his son. Why had he been given this second chance, only to have it so cruelly ripped away?
“I love you,” he whispered.
The silvery whispers in his head laughed a vile tone that curdled in his gut. It was what his father had been waiting for. A reason for Nicolo to bow before the devil Himself.
“Don’t love me,” she said.
“Too late.” He kissed her then, wanting to embed one last impression of her onto his skin. To fix her to his memory.
The world lived in her kiss. The laughter and cocky attitude that made her exclusively Summer. The softness of her sighs and the wicked tease of her sensuality spilled over him, immersing him in love.
“It hurts,” she whispered.
“What? Did he harm you?”
“No, here.” She pressed a palm over her heart. “You make me feel so much. I know that’s a good thing, but it’s painful, as well. A good pain I hope to never lose.”
“I don’t want to ever lose hold of you,” he said to her.
“Then don’t play that violin.”
“If I do not, you will be sacrificed.”
“But, Nicolo...”
“Could you love me if I changed to that monster who lurks in the shadows?”
She nodded her head up and down, and then it moved in a sort of circle. Of course she could not love a monster. Who could?
“You won’t become
a monster. You are too kind. I have to believe that your goodness will overwhelm any evil.”
He’d like to believe that, too, but knew it could not possibly be true. With reluctance, Nicolo pulled away from Summer and helped her to stand. She hugged him, and he put his arm around her back to keep her close.
Only now did he search the shadows of the circular emporium for his greatest nemesis. The man who had given him life. Twice over.
The horns were the first thing he saw. He hated that Summer had been here alone with such a creature. But then he knew she was strong and probably hadn’t flinched to stand before one so wicked. She hadn’t sneezed since he’d arrived. He wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad thing.
“So you finally have me where you want me,” Nicolo said.
“Is that your surrender?” Himself stepped forward. In his hand hung the black violin and bow. The creature held it before him. “Play.”
Heart dropping to his gut, Nicolo sucked in a breath when Summer squeezed him tighter about the waist and slid her hand to clasp within his. He looked down into her blue eyes. Mercy, he didn’t want to lose her. She was all he had in this modern world. And if he never met another soul or made friends or walked onto the stage again then she would be enough.
“You guarantee Summer Santiago will leave here safely and never again be bothered by you?” Nicolo asked.
“I do. But you should ask she not be bothered by you again, as well. Would you wish her life be destroyed by your presence once you’ve stepped into your legacy?”
What sort of birthright was it to know he was demon and the son of the one thing in this realm most evil and reviled?
Summer clutched his hand tightly. “Don’t say it,” she said softly. “We will see each other again. We must.”
Yes, he wanted that, too. He could not fathom never again holding her or feeling her soft skin against his.
“Just you,” Nicolo reiterated to his father. “Stay away from Summer Santiago. And her family and friends. Including anyone she cares about.”
Himself inclined his head. “Unfortunately, she cares about you. So that last request will be ignored. Deal?”
Nicolo sighed deep in his throat. His fingers ached to touch the bow. To feel the music once again. To own it. It pleaded for his submission. For his mastery. To be played and to finally sing the exquisite song it had been made for.
He’d always been a gambler. Time to make the greatest gamble yet.
Nicolo nodded. “Deal.”
Stepping forward, he stretched back his arm as Summer would not let him go. The look on her face was a mixture of dread and hope. At a moment when all hope was lost. He lifted his chin and dropped her hand.
“Ti amo.” A simple “I love you.”
“Je vous aime,” she reiterated in French.
Nicolo turned and crossed the dirt floor. From above, eerie illumination misted about the curved ceiling like a spacescape speckled with starlight. It beamed down far enough to light his shoulders but not the floor. His strides were slow, reluctant. And then he forced courage into his bones and straightened his shoulders and walked proudly toward the destiny that had been hounding him since his birth so very long ago.
Himself opened his taloned fingers, and the violin moved from his grip, through the air, to hover before Nicolo. Exquisite and sublime, the ebony body gleamed with promise. He lifted a hand to grasp.
“Come home to me, my son,” Himself said. “Take the throne beside me.”
A shiver traced Nicolo’s spine. What throne? Was he to be seated in some vile Hell for all his days, expounding punishments and torture upon poor souls? What powers would he receive, exactly?
He dropped his hand.
“Tell me what I will have,” he said.
“Is it so important to know, when a refusal will see your lover’s head torn from her body?”
Nicolo tightened his jaw. How dare he speak the cruelties they both knew would occur.
“She suffers enough as the Soul Piercer,” Nicolo said. “Never touch her. Ever.”
“Agreed.” And Himself shared an odd look with Summer.
“She should leave now,” Nicolo requested.
“No!” Summer called.
Himself shook his head. “She must be your witness. And then she will know you are not worth the risk should either of you attempt to reunite after today.”
“What is it to you whom I take as my lover? Will I not be allowed such after I have assumed this vile birthright?”
“Very well. Ruin her life. It is a good start actually. You must learn that being my kin has its requirements—lacking emotion and a willingness to hurt others at all costs.”
“Enough.” Nicolo grabbed the violin. “I will never be like you. No matter what I become. I promise you that.”
Himself hissed and stepped back. His eyes glowed red as he crossed his arms and waited.
Nicolo could feel Summer’s anticipation, but he did not turn to face her. He could not. He wanted to remember only her kiss and the look of adoration in her eyes.
Instead he closed his eyes and felt the power of the violin hum through his system. It vibrated in his veins. Forged with a new power, he felt immense. His fingers curled about the bow, lightly taking their place. He put the base of the instrument against his shoulder and chin. It fit perfectly, the bone-hard chin rest conforming to the shape of him. He played the fingers of his left hand over the neck to summon muscle memory.
And then he could no longer resist the intriguing comfort and the one thing in this world that spoke for him. His voice. His heart. The soul he once had.
The first note, clear and long, opened the room with the spectacular presence. He would not play a composition, but instead follow the instrument’s direction. It lured him into an A minor scale that rapidly trilled and sparkled with harmonics. His joy spoke, followed by his screaming terror. His spine arched and bent forward as his body began to dance to the music.
* * *
Summer fell to her knees. The terrible beauty in Nicolo’s performance made her weep. It was exquisite. Monstrous. Sublime.
Diabolical.
The notes shivered in her heart. And she knew that with every note he bowed or plucked his very being was altering, changing, growing into that which made Himself smile so wickedly from behind him.
He played a song she did not know, yet also knew it belonged only to him and the black violin. It showcased his incomparable skill and musicianship. And it shivered a cold prickle into her neck.
And with a wicked run that spanned four octaves and ended in a dashing bounce of bow over strings, Nicolo began to change. As the music moved faster, rushing toward some wicked cliff, his body lengthened and his shoulders grew wider. His spine, bent and moving sinuously, suddenly arched backward. Nicolo cried out in pain. The bow didn’t miss a note.
A rapid scale taunted his body into a side bend as hooves grew at his feet, cracking open the leather shoes he had so valued. Powerful thighs split his pants, and underneath the skin was red and then black and then a deep crimson to match the color of the blood which Summer loved to smooth over her tongue.
Nicolo shouted as a horn erupted from his temple and then the other. They grew to curves that looked so heavy they should bring him down. Yet he stood tall, still bowing, dancing wildly to the violin’s command as he transformed into demon.
And when he spun about and met her gaze for a moment Summer saw the humanity in his pale gray eyes. And a teardrop. And then the irises turned red and he growled, revealing fangs within the deep maroon structure of the demon he had become.
He pulled the bow in one final dash across all four strings and flung back both arms as he shouted a final entreaty to the heavens. The shout turned to a growl and then a deep and rumbling cry of—not defeat, but rather triumph.<
br />
He reached out a taloned hand toward her. His jaw shifted, and then he pointed to her. “Out!”
Summer shook her head. She didn’t want to leave. Not now when he must need her most. She would not leave him!
Himself stepped beside his son, his hooves stirring up the red dirt in clouds about their ankles. Nicolo had grown taller, and even more physically powerful. The twosome standing together presented a wicked and diabolical force that would make any man cringe and cower into the shadows.
With a flick of Himself’s hand Summer found herself back in her own bedroom. Alone.
She fell to her knees and gripped the bedspread and began to cry.
Chapter 23
The moon was full. It had been four days since Summer had stood in the red-dirt emporium and watched Nicolo transform into something she still didn’t know how to define. Would he stay away from her forever? She couldn’t bear that.
Her gut ached and her skin itched. She needed blood. Had tried to ignore the hunger, and now she was desperate as she took the stairs down from beside the Pont Neuf to the sidewalk beside the Seine. It was well after midnight, and the summer beach parties had packed up and gone home. Only the derelicts and a few lonely souls remained out on the streets.
Here by the river she scented desperation and evil. Whoever walked ahead of her near the underpass for the next bridge had done something terrible. Who better to gift with madness?
No. She didn’t want that for any person, good or bad. Truly, had every bite she had ever taken plunged that person into madness?
“That’s wrong. I can’t... I’m more evil than Nicolo could ever be.”
Tonight it didn’t matter. In fact, she wanted to dowse herself in the darkness. Perhaps that would draw her lover back to her.
Stepping up behind a man dressed in jeans and a black hoodie, she put her arm on his shoulder just as he turned. Knife in hand, the blade stopped before it entered her gut. The man smirked and, seeing it wasn’t someone he thought would cause him harm, he tipped his chin up at her. “Nice surprise.”