It was totally spontaneous. With her eyes still closed, he covered her mouth with his and she parted quickly and allowed him access. She sucked at his lips as he did the same. She was lovely, and just what he needed. He brought his hand to the back of her head and sifted through her long locks. She was intoxicating to him.
“More wine?” he asked as they parted and stared into each other’s eyes.
“Please.” It meant more than the wine.
“Your wish is my command.” They both smiled.
He was suddenly aware of motion coming from his left. The room had taken on an agitated air. He heard a chair crash and something very large hit the floor.
Lionel saw that his brother had surfaced from his erotic reverie and had noticed the same thing. A large enforcer for one of the dark coven lords had been thrown on the floor. He was the lord’s executioner, and Lionel had always thought the man had been brought to modern times from the sixteen hundreds, where he no doubt worked as an executioner in a dungeon before turning. He was legendary for his torture methods. The fact that he was in obvious pain concerned Lionel.
Both brothers stood, as did most the non-mortal males in the bar. Several couples made it discreetly out the entrance into the night air. A wall of males began to form in a circle around the two fighting vamps.
The challenging vamp was Rory Monteleone, Marcus and Paolo’s young nephew, who had just undergone the change. The struggle on the floor was between a Golden and dark vamp. Last Lionel knew, Rory was attending school in France, but his family lived in Tuscany. He wasn’t sure Marcus or Paolo even knew he was in California.
Lionel was in a quandary. Hugh was ready to jump in, though it might cost him his night of sex.
Hold it, brother. Not now. Observe first. Lionel was satisfied to see that although Hugh had made fists with his hands, his giant brother inhaled and slumped his shoulders in resignation. He knew it was hard for his brother to control his urge for a good, hot fight.
The large dark vamp hit the back wall this time. Rory appeared to have gotten the better of him, having used some new moves he must have learned recently. He acted without hesitation, and anticipated the large giant’s moves. No doubt the Executioner wasn’t used to working out, nor felt any need to.
Both girls had scooted their chairs together and were clearly distressed. Lionel let his fingers lace through the redhead’s hair and patted her head to reassure her.
Lionel watched the two sparring vamps who were making the whole block rumble, until the dark one suddenly straightened up to attention and turned at the arrival of another dark vamp, dressed all in black. Lionel remembered hearing a motorcycle revving up outside when the door had opened, and he knew this was probably Dag Nielsen, the new Coven Supreme Leader, though he couldn’t see his face.
He wanted to ask Hugh mentally what Dag was doing here, but he didn’t want to risk the uncloaking that could create. If he focused on it, Dag would realize who he was.
“Rory, my friend,” Dag said as he grabbed the young Golden’s shoulder and wrenched him around and back into the crowd of his friends. “You’d do well to leave California to our kind. We don’t need you stirring up trouble.”
Rory spat out blood and glared back at Dag. He looked from face to face, and Lionel could tell the Golden vamp was assessing who would be for him and who would be against him. The executioner was clearly taking directions from Dag. Hugh hung a worried look back as Lionel sought to ask a question without raising it mentally. What in the hell was happening? Had Dag been consolidating his ranks by eliminating another coven leader and adopting his Executioner?
The two brothers were careful, but Lionel could see Hugh gently nodding, biting his lip.
Rory took a swig of beer, straightening himself to address Dag. “I hold him personally responsible for the death of my little brother,” he said.
This was news to Lionel. Had Morgan, Rory’s ten-year-old mortal brother, been killed at the hands of this dark vamp? It made his stomach seethe, and he could feel Hugh wanting to step closer and get right in the middle of the fray. Loyalty and honor made Hugh spread his chest and take a deep breath.
Not now, Lionel quickly blurted out with mental energy. Dag immediately turned and looked over the faces in the crowd. The Jett brothers focused on Rory and turned off their minds. Their training was to go into focus on some detail of someone or something they hadn’t noticed before, and that would mask them.
Through their peripheral vision, they saw that Dag appeared to stop searching for the thought source and returned to the two enemies before him.
“Rory, that has yet to be proven. But I think you need to understand you are way outnumbered here in California. And it’s getting more so. You run home to mama, and tell her I send my love,” Dag snickered in triumph.
Rory started to bolt toward the dark coven leader at the insult to his beautiful mother, Daria, but was held back by a cadre of dark security forces, who hauled him out of the bar.
Dag breathed in the agitation and smiled. It was like he got energy from the strife and Lionel could feel the power surging in the other man’s veins. But that masked a probe he could feel like barbs in a wire fence. He wasn’t going to fall for it. He resisted nothing, allowed the barbs to mentally scrape his flesh and did not flinch. He hoped his brother did the same, as they both sat down.
The one thing he would not do was look directly at Dag; otherwise the safety of their anonymity would be shattered. He pulled the redhead to his lap and laid down a kiss so intense she nearly fainted. Her arms were wrapped around his neck, her fingers making luscious circles through the dark curls of his scalp. He wished she would pull his hair a little, and she did.
He drew his head back and looked at the dizzy expression she wore. The woman was a walking, talking sex doll, and he planned to take his time learning every inch of her. He felt the dark coven leader swish by him on his way outside. The executioner was on his heels.
A few stilted minutes later the room returned to its party atmosphere. The music resumed, but the laughter was careful. The reckless abandon of the last hour was clearly altered. Lionel felt a grip on his upper arm.
“Let’s get out of here, brother,” Hugh said.
“Brothers? You two are brothers?” the redhead said.
Lionel smiled and nodded, focused on her lips. He’d caused a tiny cut and there was a drop of blood near the corner of her mouth he wanted to suck dry.
“We’re sisters!” she said, her breasts giggling like they were bursting to break out in song.
“Perfect.”
It was all he could think to say.
Chapter 23
Cara was anxious to return to poring over the old book she’d recently acquired from the bookseller in Prague. As she pried open the thick green leather, the letter she’d seen before but never read fell from the interior. The cream-colored envelope had a distinctive letter “M” embossed on the upper left corner. As she noted before, it did appear to be addressed to an A. Fraser of Edinburgh.
Her fingers smoothed over the ripped surface of the flap on the back where a red seal had been broken. The relief pattern in the fragile sealing wax was that of a Medusa-like face with lips that drew together as if mouthing the letter “O”. Cara held it closer to her and detected a faint lemony-camphor wax scent as she examined the puffy checks of the image, and realized the face was caught in the act of blowing something in the reader’s direction.
Strange.
Her fingers shook with anticipation as she removed the single sheet from the envelope and began reading the old black script.
Dear Brother Ignatius,
I fear I must warn you of something that has come to light recently. I believe you have purchased a book, specifically The Book of Spawn, as it is known. This book has been illegally sold from our family library, and is of great personal value to us, and is the final book of a series of volumes. My wife and I are worried sick about it, fearing it might have fallen into black hands.
My dear Brother, your calling to God on high has no doubt acquainted you with the black arts and those who practice them. They would use these sacred texts which have been handed down from generation to generation amongst clergy trained to contain and dampen the effects of these black arts. In the wrong hands, the book could prove to be lethal, not only to the possessor, but to those who would cause our society harm.
I must implore you to return the tome to my estate in Tuscany immediately. You will be compensated handsomely, and will be free from prosecution, I assure you.
As a further warning, I need to inform you that the person who sold you the book has met a most disagreeable end, and not by my hand, or that of any of my family. I believe there are other dark forces at work who will stop at nothing to make sure they have full possession of this book.
You will be doing your race and the future of mankind a great service by returning the book to me as soon as humanly possible I would be happy to entertain you at my estate as well as make a sizeable donation to the church, or to any one person or organization you choose.
Again, this is not a matter of money. It is a matter of life and death. And you, my dear Brother, are in grave danger until you divest yourself of this book.
Ever yours,
The—
Cara couldn’t make out the signature, except for the fact that it was heavily inscribed in an artistic scrawl. The black letters bounced across the page in front of her, appearing to be breathing. Under the signature line was scripted the date 14 February 1710.
She closed the letter in half again and slipped it inside the envelope. She was going to put it back into the book, but thought better of it. She added the book to the false bottom compartment of the old desk in her living room. The letter she slipped under the floral drawer liner of the underwear compartment in her bedroom dresser.
She was distressed by this new bit of information, and had a twinge of regret that she’d been so preoccupied with the party and meeting the mysterious Paolo that she hadn’t taken time to study the Fraser book. She would have found the letter much sooner, in time to reconsider Johnny’s field trip to Berkeley on her behalf. She became concerned for his safety and decided she needed to hear from him. She called his cell phone.
“And here I thought you’d perhaps had second thoughts about spending the night with me,” Johnny said with a chuckle.
“You’re persistent. I’ll give you that.”
“Well, I’ll take whatever I can get.” He turned down his radio and continued. “I was given the name of an occult bookstore owner in San Francisco, although it was too late to call. Will do so tomorrow.”
“What did the research assistant say about the book?” Cara asked.
“Said the book you’re looking for is called The Book of Spawn, but he doubted it really exists. Like pieces of the true cross. Urban legend.”
“Ah.” Cara hesitated to tell Johnny about the letter she’d found. “When did this book last appear, or did the assistant know?”
“There is some notation of it being recovered in the charred remains of an abbey that burned to the ground in early 1700’s in a little village in Tuscany. The brothers there poured over it, tried to restore it, and spend some time cataloguing it. In the end, it seemed to have disappeared until your friend Alasdair Fraser started digging around. Cara, he may have found it.”
“Interesting. Is that what the assistant said?”
“He said Fraser was known for his braggadocio. Lots of exaggeration, and who knows what. Up until his death. It was pegged a suicide, but we know the guy just disappeared, along with much of his research.”
“Yes, and we know there was a big book burning after he was declared legally dead.”
“True.”
“Anything else?”
“The assistant seemed to think the bookseller in Prague would be your link, unless the San Francisco bookstore owner, who he says specializes in witchcraft and vampire books, and has one of the most extensive collection of rare books in the world, knows where it is. He thought it even possible the bookstore owner himself might have it, or know where it is.”
“Good. That’s a great lead, Johnny. Maybe you and I will have to go there sometime soon.”
“It would be fun. I’d like that.”
“Good. Well, we’ll plan it, then.”
“Can I ask you something?” Johnny’s voice had lowered an octave.
“Sure.”
“You talk to your mystery man?”
Cara quivered at the thought of her mystery man, and what they had done this afternoon. The way his kisses scorched her flesh. The way his tongue had its way with her private parts…
“Cara? You still there?”
She wondered what she should say. What was wise? Paolo Monteleone was her own private dream, a fantasy she wasn’t sure she should even be having. He was dangerous, but his presence demanded consort with her psyche.
She sighed and resigned herself to the fact that she would never be able to keep the secret she hoped she could. Just containing the ripeness of the facts would send her into frenzy. “I had lunch with him today. Right when you called, as a matter of fact.”
“I see. I thought about you. For some reason, I was worried. Are you all right? Are you with him now?” The last question he whispered as if he’d been seated next to her, instead of on the other end of the phone. As if Paolo could hear him ask the words.
That was a good question. She somehow felt with Paolo Monteleone, even though she had requested, and been granted, her leave. She did not expect to see him again. Not if she could help herself.
“We had lunch. He showed me a little of his family estate in Healdsburg. I had supper with his brother and sister-in-law and his son.”
“Son? He’s married?”
“No. His wife has passed.”
“Ah, dark widower, then. Mysterious. Did he kill her?”
“Johnny, I’m going to stop talking about this if you don’t behave.”
“Couldn’t help it.”
“Yes, you can. You can do a lot better. We had a nice supper and then he returned me quite safely to my home, where I am right now, Johnny. No worries. I’m quite safe, and alone.”
“And in need of company?”
She paused long enough to briefly think about what she would have considered just a couple of days ago. But not now.
“No. I’m sorry, Johnny. We are not going to have that kind of relationship. We work together. And right now, my work comes first.”
She was so close to uncovering the mystery and the myth of the sacred joining, she felt as excited as she had on her first day of school when she was five. She knew her theory of the union between the God of Love, Jamal, and his queen consort had something to do with sexual liaisons, and the mixture of bloodlines.
“I get it. But if I find you the book, you will be sufficiently grateful, right?” he asked.
Cara let a tiny laugh bubble up “Very. But don’t pin your hopes on it meaning a night of sex. The book might turn out to be the directions for collecting data on birth control in the third century instead of some divine coupling treatise.”
“Yes, boss. I will be your lackey. Your yard dog. But I’m going to exact a price if I find it.”
“I’m sure you will. But let’s not worry until we find it, okay, Johnny?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’m nearly home. See you in the morning, teach?”
“Most definitely.” She was about to sign off when she had another thought. “Johnny, why don’t you leave a message for the bookstore owner tonight? Then perhaps he’ll call you tomorrow while we’re in class, or early before he opens.”
“Good idea.”
Johnny hung up.
It had been an exhausting day. Cara wanted another hot bath, but hesitated. She’d been enjoying the faint scent of his flesh on her skin. Even the backs of her hands where he had kissed her smelled of him. The side of her neck, where she could swear he had bitten her, was
sensitive to touch. Laying her fingers there, she could feel her pulse flow strong and steady. The vein in her neck seemed to press against the fingers she held lightly in place.
She felt something cold at her neck and turned around. No one was there. She walked to the bathroom and tuned on the bath water, sprinkling lavender salts and bubble bath generously into the swirling hot water. With steam rising beside her, she examined her face in the mirror. She closed her eyes and removed her top. She removed her bra and felt her hardened nipples under the tips of her fingers as they squeezed and kneaded the soft skin of her breasts. She thought perhaps there was a second set of hands helping her along in the process, helping her slip down her skirt and panties until she stood naked.
Something warm between her legs seemed to vibrate, a gentle sensation and she began to orgasm, imagining him tasting her there, lapping and nibbling on the lips of her labia. But when she opened her eyes, there was no one near her, no one appeared behind her in the mirror. Swinging her arms out, she turned and could neither feel nor see anyone standing in her bathroom.
The water continued to pour into the lavender scented bubbles, calling her.
She stepped into the tub and then sat, keeping her knees to her chest until she got used to the heat. She shut off the water and relaxed, leaning back into the tub and closing her eyes.
That’s when she heard his words faintly caressing her face as if he was suspended above her.
“Mi amore.”
Her eyes flashed open, but no one was there. Cutting across the light purple bubbles and pungent floral scent was the smell of fresh-picked lemons.
The same scent she’d found on the sealing wax.
Paolo had been surprised his whisper traveled to her. Although he was clear across the valley from Cara’s home, he could see her in his mind. He saw the beautiful flesh he had tasted, the tapered ends of her fingers as he felt what she felt, those rich pillows of flesh that were her ample bosom. He knew what it tasted like to be between her legs, and his mouth watered as his fangs dropped. He’d been heartbroken when she slipped into the water where her scent would be buried in the lavender.
Mortal Bite (Golden Vampires of Tuscany) Page 13