The Lost Centurion

by Monica La Porta

  “Thank you for the clothes.” A shiver ran through her and she hugged herself.

  “I should’ve bought something warmer.” He strode to his closet and looked for anything small enough for her to wear. “This should do.” He walked back to her and wrapped a cashmere sweater around her naked shoulders.

  She caressed the soft fabric with her fingers and tilted her head to her right shoulder to rest her cheek on the sweater, a small smile illuminating her serious expression. “I think I could use some fresh air after all.”

  From what he could see, she was still shivering, but he didn’t want to argue. “This way.” He opened his arm to the side and escorted her out of the bedroom, then down the whole length of the hallway to an archway leading to a set of narrow stairs flanked by beige walls in need of a coat or two of fresh paint. He made a mental note of that and added it to the list of items in need of repair in the house. He had noticed its asking price was lower than he had expected, but had been in a hurry to buy his house back and hadn’t thought of hiring an appraiser. The ceiling was low and Marcus bent to avoid hitting his head on the exposed rafters. A few steps in, and the air in the small space felt too hot, her proximity affecting his ability to breathe. He climbed his way up, yanked open the dark wooden door at the end of the stairs, and was finally outside on the terrace. He didn’t stop until he reached the low parapet from where he had observed the young men boasting their misplaced egos only three days earlier. It seemed a lifetime ago to him. He leaned over, his eyes on the placid waters of the Tiber.

  Diana had followed and was standing next to him—close, too close, but not touching—her elbows on the parapet, her eyes staring ahead. “I love Rome.”

  He was taken aback by the softness and longing in her voice. He tilted his head to look at her and saw she was blinking away the tears slowly escaping her lashes. “I’ve tried to leave this city behind so many times, but I always come back to her.” He smiled. “Someone once told me Rome was my true love.”

  She turned to face him. “Has she treated you well?”

  “She’s a cruel mistress. But I do love her nonetheless.”

  “I understand what you’re saying.” Diana leaned with her back to the river. She was small and could sit on the parapet without having to bend her knees. “You said we should talk and I agree.” She removed the sweater from her shoulders, repeated the gesture of stroking her cheek on it for the briefest of moments, then caught him watching, and put it back on.

  “You can’t leave this house. My friend Alexander warned me the nest is actively looking for you.”

  “Why?” Despite wearing the cashmere that should have kept her warm, she was shivering.

  “We’re looking into that.” He wanted to take her in his arms, but there was something forbidding in her stance, the way she was controlling her breathing, that prevented him from closing that gap. They were separated by no more than two fingers, but she was miles away at the moment. “You seem to cope with the turning well. Anybody else would’ve freaked out in your stead.”

  “I still can’t wrap my head around this—” She made a gesture encompassing her body from head to toes, then her eyes locked onto his. “But why aren’t you freaking about it?” She shook her head. “You see, after you left me this morning, I had some time to think before I went insane with hunger, and there’s one question you must answer for me before we talk about anything else.”

  “I told you I’m not a vampire.” Marcus felt colder himself.

  “And I believe you. But you know things…” She stretched her legs before her, then crossed them at the ankles. “What are you then?”

  “Very old.”

  ****

  Diana heard his whispered words, but also read the sadness in them. “How old are you?”

  Marcus lowered his eyes to the terracotta tiles, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “Two thousand, one hundred, thirty-seven years, three months, and eleven days.”

  She gasped at the revelation.

  He straightened his legs, then stood, turning toward the parapet. He swung over it and sat facing Rome. “Of these two millenniums, I only lived for the first thirty-two years, and I have existed ever since.”

  “That sounds… lonely.” She teased the hem of the sweater with unsteady hands. She had been trying to control the shaking, but it was worsening. “What are you?” she repeated.

  “Cursed.” He was still as a statue. An imposing figure watching over the eternal city. “I can’t age.”

  “Are you immortal?” Three days before, she would have thought voicing a question like that was crazy.

  He laughed a bitter, humorless laugh, then raised his head to the heavens. A moment later, he had sobered up and was wiping laughing tears from his face. “I always thought the term immortal was misleading.”

  She gave him a puzzled look. “Can you live forever or not?”

  “Technically, yes. But I can be killed.” He shrugged. “I’m just very hard to kill.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t get common illnesses, exposure to sunrays heals wounds and pretty much anything else done to my body, but I can be beheaded for example.”

  Her mouth curved up in a small smile. “An allergy to machetes and a great tan, which I already envy… you got a very good deal if you ask me.”

  “Believe me, it sounds better than it actually is.”

  “To a dying person, it would sound like a miracle.”

  He opened his mouth and closed it, then gave her an apologetic smile. “I haven’t had a real conversation in so long—” A car ran a red light in the street below and several horns honked. “I don’t remember what’s like to be mortal anymore.”

  “Overrated.”

  Marcus exploded in a genuine, stomach-hugging laugh. “Said the vampire.”

  “Vampling.” Diana watched his whole countenance change from stiff to relaxed, and when he tilted his head toward her, the full moon illuminated his eyes. The hazel in them was golden-brown, and she melted in their warmth. “Tell me about you.”

  “What do you want to know?” He crossed his strong arms before his chest, perfectly balancing his weight on the edge of the balcony, his booted feet dangling in the air.

  She bit her bottom lip and realized her fangs were slightly protracted. With a snap, she willed them inside her gums. “You were born human, right?”

  “Yes, I was a Roman citizen, born in a patrician family, destined for greatness.” Swinging his feet back and forth, Marcus hit the cornice with the reinforced heels. A small piece of the cornice broke and fell. He followed the descent only to let a loud breath when the debris hit the sidewalk without damage to the passersby.

  “Then what happened?”

  “I messed up my life and the lives of those I loved the most, and the gods cursed me with immortality to remember my sins forever. End of story.” His eyes changed to a cooler brown.

  “Why are you looking for this Claudius?”

  The cool brown became almost black, and when he locked eyes with hers, she saw hate reflected in them.

  “He killed my wife and I swore on her grave I would kill him.”

  She couldn’t help but inch away from him and flinch.

  “I’ve been waiting for almost all my existence to vindicate Aurelia, and now I’m so close to it I can feel it in my bones.” He swung his long legs over the edge of the parapet and walked back inside the house without a look to spare for her.

  Diana thought it was better not to follow him right away and lingered on the balcony to cool her senses. The moon was now shining high in the night sky and several stars were visible. She gave a better look around and realized the terrace was filled with vases full of succulents, some of them blooming with colorful flowers. A swiveling sofa was shielded from the nocturnal humidity by an umbrella that had been left open. She sat on the sofa and gently rocked it back and forth, thinking of the conversation she just had with Marcus. The hunger hit her without warning. She dou
bled over, fell, and screamed in pain. The terracotta tiles covered in wet dew felt too cold under her forehead. She breathed through clenched teeth and cried, writhing on the floor.

  “Diana?”

  She felt Marcus wrapping her in his strength, his arms around hers, his breath fanning over her mouth. As before, all of her senses were hijacked by the hunger. All that was left of Diana was her need to feed. His blood flew loud in his veins, its scent calling to her. She fought to gain control over her urges, but her fangs lowered in her mouth and she couldn’t will them back. He changed position and his throat was exposed to her. Her scream was muffled by his skin, her tongue already searching for his throbbing vein. She sat on his lap, latched her legs around his waist, her hands to his neck, and bit deeply at the base of his throat. His blood inundated her mouth and she swallowed greedy gulps. He tasted rich and spicy. Her hands left his neck to roam over his back, her body seeking his through the caresses.

  ****

  Marcus couldn’t move. The pleasure was intoxicating. Her hands where everywhere, and she had made his shirt disappear. He raised the hem of her tank top and slid his hands underneath. Her skin was soft. His fingers caressed the side of her breast, and he wished he could kiss it. As she had started feeding from him without a warning, she also stopped and retreated several feet away from him, a horrified expression on her face.

  “It’s okay, little thing.” He walked to her, but she stared up at him, her eyes full of tears. He crouched before her and took her face between his hands. “It’s my fault. I should’ve known better than to leave a vampling without food for a whole day.” He caressed her cheek and she leaned into his hand, her breathing hard and fast. “Your body is going through a radical change, and your mind isn’t ready to follow yet because you should be primed by your sire.”

  “Virgil…”

  “Yes, Virgil should be the one raising you. I’m sorry you’re stuck with me instead.”

  “Would you hug me?”

  He leaned and took her in his arms and felt her whole body shaking. “You haven’t drunk enough. You still need to feed.”

  She shook her head. “No, I won’t drink again from you tonight.”

  He noticed how hard she was trying to control herself to keep from biting him and nodded. “Let’s go back inside. I need to rest and so do you.” He scooped her up and she hid her face in his naked chest. Out of the corner of his eye, he located his discarded shirt by the umbrella stand, but decided to come back later to pick it up.

  Once in his bedroom, he deposited her on the bed, then dried the sweat covering her face with a towel. “Everything will be all right.” He had never made a promise since Aurelia had died and couldn’t believe the words had left his mouth.

  Diana took his hand and moved it over her still beating heart. “Tell me it’s true. Tell me you believe so.”

  “I do.” He lowered his head to her chest and brushed the hollow of her breasts, then lay by her side, one hand over her waist. “Now dream for the both of us, little thing.”

  He had left the venetian blinds ajar to let some of the outside coolness to refresh the air, and when he awoke, the sun had inundated the room. Noises and bakery smells from the busy city reached the quiet oasis that was his bed. Stubbornly keeping his eyes closed, he reached out to his side, feeling the untidy sheets for Diana’s form. She wasn’t there. A long-forgotten ache took hold of his heart and he pressed his hand over his chest.

  “Good morning, Marcus.”

  He opened his eyes at her voice and found her sitting on the couch under the window, both her feet perched on its edge, her chin resting on her knees. A small smile accompanied a mischievous look on her face, her eyes shining with a new light. She looked rested.

  “Good morning, little thing.” He sat on the bed, his back relaxed against the headboard.

  “Nice ink.” She raised her chin and her eyes roamed up and down his chest and right arm.

  His hand shot toward the Roman acronym “SPQR” and the eagle tattooed on his skin. “A reminder of my eternal shame.” Normally, he wore shirts with long sleeves to cover the design. The reminder was for him and him alone.

  She frowned.

  “In my time, only slaves, criminals, and mercenaries wore ink, so people knew right away of their station in life.” The distant memory of the shocked face of the medicus he had asked to perform the series of tattoos now covering his body came back to him. “Do you know what the Latin word for tattoo is?”

  She seemed to search for the meaning, then bit her lower lip. “No, I don’t.”

  “Stigma.” Saying the word conjured the millions of pricks inflicted with the pointed instrument. Marcus shivered as if the medicus were there in the room with him. It had taken the small, impatient man three long sessions to finish the design. At the end of each one, Marcus had been left bloodied and nauseated by the pain and the smell of the mixture used to make the ink. Acacia, gall, rusted bronze, and vitriol made one sick aroma when forcefully injected under one’s skin.

  Her eyes shifted from the tattoos to his face. “Why did you choose those symbols?”

  The Roman eagle and the initials standing for the Senate and People of Rome had seemed to Marcus the perfect choice at the time, several centuries after he had become an Immortal. Christianity had replaced his gods and hordes of barbarians had sacked his beloved city. “Because I would’ve preferred to be a slave and serve Rome rather than to be witness of her downfall and outlive her.” He felt exposed and left the bed in search of something to wear. With two long strides, he reached for the closet and grabbed a white shirt he donned over the jeans he still wore from the day before. He turned to look at Diana, who was silently studying him.

  “Are you hungry?”

  “Yes, but I can wait for you to have breakfast.” She rose with one graceful move. “Come to the kitchen.”

  He walked behind her, and only when they were close to the end of the hallway did he realize that the smell of bakery hadn’t come from outside, but from his kitchen. He stood at the doorway, his eyes on the marble surface of the table laden with two cakes and several trays of turnovers.

  “What do you think?” She smiled at him and walked to the table, reaching for a plate to serve him.

  His mind was immediately filled with worries. He took the plate from her, put it back on the table, then grabbed her by the elbows. “I told you it was dangerous to leave the house. Someone could’ve seen you. The nest could’ve found you.” He realized he was shaking her and immediately freed her and stepped back.

  She tilted her head toward the oven. “Relax. I couldn’t sleep and I baked the rest of the night away.”

  His heart still thrumming against his ribcage, he sat on the chair she was offering him and accepted the glass of water she then poured for him.

  “Have something to eat. You look a fright.” She pushed toward him the plate now filled with two turnovers. “Peas and potatoes.” She indicated the triangular pastry on the left of the plate, then pointed at the one on the right. “Cauliflowers and black olives.” She watched him as he elected which savory turnover to eat first. “I couldn’t find any form of meat in the fridge.”

  “I’m vegetarian.” He took a bite from the one on the left. “This is heaven.” He took a bite from the other and moaned in delight.

  “You’re vegetarian?” She gave him an amused look. “Well, aren’t you full of surprises?”

  “What? I don’t fit the stereotype?” He shot one eyebrow up, daring her to answer.

  She laughed and raised her hands before her. “Peace.”

  “Thank you for making breakfast.” He finished one pastry and attacked the other with gusto.

  “I miss food already.” She looked at his empty plate. “I tried to eat something, but I couldn’t even bring the turnover to my lips. My whole body refused it.”

  “I’m sorry.” He put the half-bitten morsel down.

  “It’s not your fault and it’s not a new thing.” She shrugge
d. “When I first got sick, I knew something was seriously wrong with me when my appetite dwindled to nothing. I had worked the whole day in my kitchen, preparing my favorite savory cake, and when I finally took it out of the oven, the smell made me sick.” Her eyes lost focus.

  He took her hand and gently caressed her fingers one by one.

  “It’s been more than three months since I’ve eaten a whole meal anyway.” She smiled down at the sight of their hands intertwined. “In a way, I was already preparing myself for this.” A small chuckle escaped her mouth. “I would give anything to have even a crumble of that turnover now.” She licked her mouth, then her teeth pressed on her lower lip. “Just the flour dust resting on your chin would suffice.”

  The air in the kitchen was suddenly uncomfortably warm and he moved to open the big window overlooking the internal court of his building. “There’s so much more to life than eating.” He reached for an empty plate and fanned himself with it.

  The corner of her lip curved up and she looked at him, one eyebrow up. “Is there?”

  He didn’t answer, but gave her his best smile, the one that had never failed him a good night company. She showed him her tongue.

  “I hadn’t realized how famished I was.” He dug in the cake pan and served himself a large portion of a golden Bundt topped with fresh strawberries and whipped cream. “I think I’ll keep you around. You know your way around the kitchen, woman.”

  He was able to catch the plate that flew his way with his free hand. “I really like this dinner service. Please, be more considerate of other’s property.”

  “You must thank your good fortune I have no other choice for now but to remain here with you.”

  Despite her playful tone, her words stung, being too reminiscent of a conversation he’d had in this same house. Several lifetimes had passed, but he could recite Aurelia’s spiteful confrontation by heart, and it had sounded a lot like what Diana had just said.

  “Cheer up, big guy. If you behave, I’ll stay a bit longer.” She touched his hand and all of a sudden the dark thoughts plaguing him disappeared. “But now, I really need to feed.”