“Of course he’ll open the archives for me. I’ll owe him one.” Adrian shuddered at the mere thought of being indebted to Lando, but this was one of those cases when a vampire should swallow his pride. He reached for his cell phone.
“I’ll give you some privacy.” Mark exited the room, grabbing his phone as well.
Once alone, Adrian made the one call he had never thought he would ever make.
“Adrian,” Lando answered right away. “This is unexpected.” His voice didn’t betray any emotion, but Adrian knew the man as well as he knew himself, and Lando was dying of curiosity.
“I need your help,” Adrian said, cutting to the chase.
The stunned silence from the other side spoke volumes.
“This is even more unexpected,” Lando finally said. “The proud Adrian calling me, of all people.”
“As you can imagine, my situation is dire.”
Lando’s long, unmerciful laughter echoed in the chamber. “What do you want, Adrian?” he asked, his voice cracking, unable to keep a serious tone.
“I need access to the Satan Archives.”
“You must be kidding!” Lando roared.
“Dead serious,” Adrian said.
“It must be killing you that you have to ask me for a favor.”
“You can only imagine.” Adrian forced himself to keep his temper under control lest he pay the consequences.
Out of nowhere, the thirst hit him. His hand dropped to the side and let go of the cell phone. He needed blood, straight from the vein. The strength of this new episode put to shame all the previous ones, encompassing all his senses, and leaving him in a red haze made of unbearable pain and unquenchable thirst. It hurt beyond endurance, like needles driven deep into his heart. The pain multiplied until he couldn’t see what was in front of him.
The imperative to find fresh blood wouldn’t be ignored. Only a few meters above Adrian’s head, the pub was filled with mortals.
The pain blinded him but also expanded his other senses. He could feel the arterial pulses as if he could see in a different spectrum. His blood donors looked like laser dots on the ceiling, moving around, mingling in clusters, only to separate a moment later. One dot gleamed more luminous than the others, driving Adrian’s senses wild with need.
He wanted to reach out and drain the person, gorging on the fresh blood that would taste like ambrosia. The imperative consumed him. His feet moved of their own volition. His hand reached for the door latch. A primal hunger spurred him into action. Only one thought remained in his tortured mind: once he drank from the source, it would be heaven.
It would be murder.
The realization hit him as he lowered the latch and the fresh air from the catacombs entered the room. From somewhere close, Mark was talking to someone. Adrian was still too far gone to understand what his friend was saying, but he anchored his senses to his friend’s voice, inhaling the cold air.
It will be murder, his inner voice told him.
The thirst didn’t care for morals, though. The pain doubled, sending Adrian to the floor as he clutched his throat. It felt like sand was being forcefully poured into his mouth, filling his throat and choking him as he asphyxiated.
Only he was already dead and knew that no relief would come, but the agony would go on and on. Blood, fresh and warm from the living—only that would do. His body craved a mortal’s sacrifice.
On his knees, Adrian prayed the Goddess for deliverance. He reached up for the latch once again. It was only a few steps; the stairs were around the corner, and then he would grab the first person he met—
It will be murder, his inner voice repeated.
An image flashed before his eyes. A woman begging him not to kill her as he tore her throat and savagely drained her. Lucidity came back for a moment, long enough for Adrian to shudder out of the bloodlust and lower his hand to his knees.
He’d rather meet true death than become a monster.
Gathering whatever strength of will he had left, Adrian finally opened the door and rushed out of the pub.
Mark came running from around the corner. “Adrian!” he yelled, but Adrian was faster and was soon out of his friend’s reach.
8
Under the constant supervision of Giulio, Lavinia paced the corridor of Leone Rampante, back and forth, for several minutes until she could have recognized every grove and nick on the marble floor, blindfolded.
“Sweetheart, you need to calm yourself,” Giulio said.
Lavinia felt like snarling back, but it wasn’t the man’s fault that she was in that situation. “The detective is taking his sweet time to arrive, and my nerves are too frayed to try and calm myself,” she managed to say.
Giulio smiled and opened his hands in front of him in a peace offering. “I know, and I understand perfectly, but it’s close to the full moon—”
His words stopped her dead. Two days to the full moon, and Lavinia had completely forgotten. She couldn’t afford to forget that she would be in the throes of her monthly shift in less than forty-eight hours. And she hadn’t even remembered to check when the next full moon would rise.
“I’m going to keep it together. I promise.” All of a sudden, she felt cold. Caressing her arms to warm herself up, she finally walked back to the booth and sat opposite Giulio.
“You forgot,” he said.
She nodded.
“It’s understandable. You have a lot on your mind.” Giulio gave her a sympathetic smile. “And I’m sure you haven’t slept since the other night.”
She nodded again.
“If you’d like to sleep a full night tonight, I could help.” Giulio placed his hand palm up on the table.
A powerful warlock, Giulio didn’t usually offer his services. His gesture touched Lavinia deeply.
“I must look a fright for you to propose to cast a spell,” she said, but her attempt at humor backfired when Giulio’s expression became even more worried than before. “I could use some help, thank you.”
She placed her palm against his, and he closed his eyes, reciting an incantation. The arcane words echoed in the air between them, creating a strange echo, as if several persons were talking at once. Even the voices belonged to different people. When Giulio said the last word, he opened his eyes and looked at their united hands. A sudden warmth emanated from his skin and radiated forward, enveloping her hand, then her arm, and finally covering her entirely like a warm blanket. The sense of relief was immediate, and Lavinia finally relaxed.
“Thank you.” She sighed.
“It’s a delayed spell. It will make you sleep a full eight hours when you go to rest.” Giulio squeezed her hand once before releasing his hold and leaning his back against the booth’s bench. “Where are you going to sleep?”
“I haven’t thought that far ahead.” She only knew that she couldn’t go back to her apartment. The rest was a big unknown.
Giulio drummed his fingers on the scarred wooden surface of the table. “Duke Alberti, the owner of this pub, had safe rooms built underneath this building. They were meant for vampires, but all supers are welcome to use them.”
“I heard about them.” Lavinia shrugged one shoulder. She had also heard of the reclusive vampire, who was a billionaire and one of the few day-walkers in Rome. “Sure. It beats going back home,” she said at the same moment Detective Lane finally arrived.
The vampire looked shaken as he approached the booth and introduced himself to Giulio before nodding at Lavinia.
Giulio made to leave the booth but sat down again. “I need to tend to the masquerade’s preparations, but I can stay a minute or two longer if you want.” The Directive had hired Giulio to cater beverages to the White and Black Gala, its exclusive annual ball.
“Thank you, but there’s no need. I’ll be okay, and you don’t have time to waste.” Lavinia smiled at him and pointed at the scene behind him in the pub. “Go. Don’t worry. I’ll talk to you later.”
Giulio nodded at her, then saluted the
detective with two fingers to the temple and slid out of the booth, vacating it for Lane.
Once the manager was gone, the vampire said, “I apologize I’m late.” A great deal of anguish showed on the man’s face, even though his voice was calm. “Are you okay?” he asked, taking Giulio’s spot.
“I am now,” she answered.
“What happened?”
“I felt a presence—”
“A presence?” Lane’s question didn’t sound mocking, but it raised her hackles nonetheless.
“I am a half-breed, but that doesn’t make me less wolf—” All her life, her mixed heritage had been the source of pain and ridicule at best, and persecution at worst. Her father’s clan had hunted them like mongrels for years. “For your information, I am still a werewolf, and close to the full moon my senses are keener,” she angrily finished. “So, if I say that I sensed a presence you better believe me.”
Lane raised his hands in the universal sign of peace. “I didn’t mean to offend you. I was genuinely asking about it.”
“Okay,” Lavinia said. “Sorry. I’m a bit strung up.”
“Understandable.” The vampire adjusted his long legs under the table. “So, what happened?”
“There was someone outside my complex building, and when I reached my apartment, the door was ajar, and there was a strange smell.” Lavinia frowned, trying to remember. Something more than a feeling, but not yet a fully developed memory, filled her mind. “I don’t know how to explain it, except that it was familiar, and at the same time it wasn’t. I’m sure that I’d never met anyone with that scent before, though.” The more she talked about the experience, the more details came into focus. “It was a man and a shifter.” She tapped her chin. “He walked around and touched things.” Her head heavy from the effort, she leaned against the booth’s leather back.
“And you are one hundred percent sure it was nobody you know.”
“Positive. Carolina’s family came earlier today to pick up her things for the funeral, but it wasn’t them. It was a shifter signature—”
“You think it was a shifter.” Lane caressed his well-groomed goatee. “Can you tell me what kind?”
Lavinia leaned her head back, her nostrils flaring as her mind supplied her with the memory she was trying to bring forth. “It was similar to my scent—” She frowned. “But not quite.”
The detective cocked his head to the side, his eyebrow arched. “What do you mean?”
“I’d say that it was a wolf,” she answered, feeling the truth of her statement deep inside.
“That’s good. Any new clue is good news at this point.”
“Do you think it was the assassin—” Lavinia couldn’t finish her thought.
Horror struck her at the mere idea that the person who had killed Carolina had entered their apartment and touched their things. She felt nauseous.
The vampire clenched and unclenched his fists. “I don’t know, but I’ll place you under surveillance,” he said. “And I think it would be better if you don’t go back to your apartment for a few days.”
She snorted. “I had no intention to.”
“Good.” He splayed his palms against the table. “Where are you going to stay?”
If the situation hadn’t been dire, Lavinia would have found it nice that people were so worried about her whereabouts.
“The safe chambers underneath the pub. Leone Rampante’s owner lets supernaturals use them.”
A fleeting emotion passed through the vampire’s face. It had looked a lot like fear, but he was fast in smoothing his expression to neutral. “I know of the chambers, but tonight they might not be safe. There’s a better solution for you.”
9
Panting, Adrian stared at the pale disk reflected into the dark waters of the Tiber River. It wasn’t the full moon yet, but it would be soon. The silver light cast an ethereal glow that was swallowed by the darkness. He had run out of the catacombs and found his way to the jetties.
Out there, in the middle of the night, only danger lurked. Riddled with lowlife, this side of the river was ensconced in darkness, and the good citizens of Rome seldom ventured there, even during the day.
Amongst the scum and derelicts who scurried under the scarcely illuminated bridges, Adrian was the most dangerous of creatures. While the others were conducting their usual business of dealing in drugs or flesh, Adrian was seeking prey, and anything would do.
The nocturnal breeze brought a low moan of pain to his sensitive ears. Adrian jerked his head in the direction the simper had come from. He silently rode the wind, moving at a speed no mortal could ever achieve. Under the bridge, two young women huddled together in a corner.
Adrian halted a few steps from them, inhaling the fetid air surrounding him. The women smelled of decay and years of chemical abuse. They were too far gone to understand the immediate danger they were in and regarded him with hope in their dazed faces.
“I can suck you for twenty euros,” the younger looking one said, emerging from the shadow with an unsure gait. She shivered and could barely still her hands from shaking as she added, “No condom.”
“We can go down on you at the same time if you like,” the other said. “We’re really good.”
“And cheap.” The first woman lowered the hem of her tank top with one hand and pushed up a breast with the other.
Bile surged into Adrian’s throat, but the thirst wouldn’t relent, forcing his legs to move toward the two women.
“Money first.” The second woman stepped back, grabbing her friend’s wrist and pulling her away from Adrian.
Deep inside Adrian, a voice cheered for his victims, urging them to flee when they still could. He wanted to fight the malady gnawing at his sanity but was too tired and too weak.
“Run—” His voice sounded distant and not like his own.
The women regarded him with the first glimmer of recognition that something was wrong.
“Hey, hand the money or scoot,” the younger looking woman said.
The other reached into her back pocket and procured a short knife she thrusted at him.
Adrian couldn’t help the mocking laughter that escaped his mouth. Still, a sentiment akin to admiration surfaced amidst the chaos of his emotions. The two women were barely alive, but they still had a spark in them that made them fight. He could respect that.
“Run!” He managed to raise his voice over a whisper.
Attracted by the rapid pulsing of the blood flowing in the mortal’s vein, Adrian’s eyes zeroed on the taller woman’s throat. The throbbing against her skin matched the tattoo of his heart. She repulsed him, but he still advanced toward the easy prey. His groin tightened against his pants, growing heavy, forcing the sexual desire to the forefront of his thoughts as he anticipated the pleasure of release.
“If you like it rough, it’s one hundred euros, and you can’t touch my face,” the woman said, trembling.
Adrian could smell her fear, and beneath the terror, there was also a twisted eagerness for the abuse. His fangs swelled in his mouth as his engorged member throbbed. His vision dimmed for a moment. He needed to feed from the source. The unquenchable thirst didn’t leave any room for his conscience to butt in and talk him out of draining those two broken women. Even tainted, their blood would do. For the moment.
His hand snuck out before the woman could see it coming, and he grabbed her wrist, pulling her to him.
She screamed, jerking away to no avail. Her friend called for help, kicking at Adrian. They were nothing more than mosquitoes to him. Their buzzing and swatting barely reached him. In her attempt to free herself, the woman scratched at his skin. Instead of hurting him, she broke her nail, and a drop of blood pooled underneath her nailbed. His nostrils flared when the coppery scent reached his nose. The smell was disgusting. His thirst didn’t care one bit though, forcing his mouth to open and his fangs to lower to the pale stretch of throat in front of him.
Lost to a haze of primordial need, Adrian sank his
teeth into the woman. Blood gurgled into his mouth, coated his tongue, and slid into his throat. Someone screamed. Not the woman, though. The sound was in his mind. The acrid taste of corruption filled him and made him gag. Startled, he jerked his mouth away.
It was all wrong.
He stepped back. Wiping the woman’s blood from his mouth with the back of his hand, he stared at her and saw his face mirrored in her terrified eyes. The sight made him recoil. The stuff of nightmares stared back at him. He’d stopped being mortal a long time ago, but his humanity had never been in jeopardy. Tonight, he had almost become a monster.
Staggering, he pushed himself away from the woman and ran.
10
Lavinia couldn’t believe she had accepted Lane’s suggestion to spend the night at the Directive’s headquarters.
“It’s the only place where I can guarantee you’ll be safe,” the detective said.
He had been studying her every move since the moment they’d entered the white building in the Parioli neighborhood.
Or maybe she was being paranoid.
“We have a small apartment where agents rest in between stakeouts,” he said, pointing his chin at the end of the white hallway that seemed never to end.
The place looked like it had been carved out of white marble. The polished material covered every surface, from the floors to the impossibly high ceilings. The carved accents were in marble, as well. Even though the place was spacious, a bout of claustrophobia gripped Lavinia. Her werewolf nature disliked the mausoleum quality of the Directive’s Roman headquarters.
Or, again, it was all in her mind.
“This way,” Lane said, gesturing ahead.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked, unable to contain the question any longer.
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