“You are unregistered, right?” Maia asked, confirming Lavinia’s thought.
“Correct.”
“I only wanted to let you know that I am against the Half-breed Census.” Maia smiled. “Who’s the mortal in your family?”
“My mother,” Lavinia said.
Since she was a kid, her parents had taught her to lie about her origins, but it felt good to have someone to talk to about it.
“Your secret is safe with me.” Maia gently squeezed Lavinia’s hand.
“Thank you.”
“No need to thank me,” Maya said. “I despise the Supernatural Race Act and am working with a group of eminent people to fight the Purity Law. Mixed unions should be legalized and have the same rights as full supernatural ones. It’s just unfair that the Wolf Council doesn’t recognize you as a werewolf.”
“You can’t possibly know what your words mean to me.” Lavinia’s eyes welled with moisture. “I’ve been dealing with racism my whole life, both from the supernatural side and from the human side, because my mother is not only a mortal but also a gypsy.” She was tired of being considered less than garbage because of her mother’s heritage. “My father was thrown out from his clan when he decided to marry the love of his life. If it weren’t for my mother’s gypsy family that took them in, I don’t know what would’ve happened to them.”
“I’m sorry,” Maia said, her eyes bright as well. “Even though we supernaturals feel superior, the truth is that we have much in common with the mortals when it comes to arbitrary racism.”
“I couldn’t agree more.”
“Okay, it’s just an idea, and you can say no if you don’t feel like it, but there’s this gala tonight,” Maia said, turning to the countertop where she had put the bread to rest. “It’s a Directive thing, and there will be several members of that group I’ve mentioned.” She removed a cutting board and bread knife from a drawer and started cutting thick slices from the loaf.
“I’m not sure—” Lavinia’s emotions were still too raw.
“I think it would be beneficial for you to meet some of them, and it would also be an occasion just to enjoy yourself.”
“What kind of gala is it?”
“A masquerade ball—”
“The White and Black Gala?” Lavinia asked, her interest immediately piqued.
“Yes, that one.” Maia arranged the bread slices on a platter and put it on the table. “Again, if you don’t feel like it, I understand.” Pivoting on her high heels, she grabbed the hissing kettle from the stove and poured loose tealeaves in it. “And if you’d like to come but don’t want to meet anyone, that’s fine, too. It might do you some good to take a night off from the nightmare you’ve been living the last few days. Sometimes it helps to forget our problems if even for a few hours—”
Fighting her conflicting emotions, Lavinia went through the pros and cons of that suggestion. “I’d like to come,” she finally said.
The White and Black Gala, hosted by the Directive, was the biggest and most exclusive affair of the year in the supernatural community. She might have waitressed at the event if she were lucky and Giulio hired her to serve the drinks. Not in a million years would she have thought she’d be a guest in Villa Pamphili, the exclusive mansion in the Gianicolo neighborhood where the ball took place.
“Good,” Maia said with a bright smile.
“I can’t promise that I’ll want to talk to these people from your group, though.”
“That’s okay. You don’t have to,” Maia reassured her. “I’ll leave a message on Lane’s cell phone that he can meet us there. I’m sure it’s going to make his life easier since he needs to be at the gala as well.”
“But I’ve got nothing to wear,” Lavinia remembered. The fleeting enthusiasm she had experienced a moment earlier was soon gone.
“We’ll find something, don’t worry.” Maia patted her hand. “Now, let’s have our tea.”
13
After a long night and part of the next day spent in Lando’s library, Adrian had barely read halfway through the Satan Archives and wasn’t any wiser about the reason for his mysterious affliction.
In fact, he was utterly frustrated. If he didn’t find anything relevant about his thirst, he would end up owing his blood-brother for nothing. Truth be told, Lando had acted in a decent way since learning about Adrian’s symptoms and had even gone as far as to offer the access to his entire library. Adrian hadn’t expected that from him.
“Did you find anything?” Lando asked from the Gothic archway. He had kept out of the way for most of the time and only popped in once or twice, asking Adrian if he needed to feed.
“Not yet,” Adrian answered, raising his eyes from the yellow pages of the ancient book.
Frustration was eating at him because he feared the next episode would start any moment now. He didn’t want Lando to see him in the throes of the thirst, but at the same time, he couldn’t leave until he found what he was looking for.
Carefully removing the silk gloves Lando had given him to handle the text, he turned off the cold light in the glass box containing the Satan Archives and swiveled on his chair to face his blood-brother.
“I need to thank you,” Adrian said.
Lando waved his hand in dismissal.
“You could’ve refused, and it would’ve been your prerogative.” Adrian passed a hand across the stubble on his jaw. “We haven’t been on friendly terms in a long while.”
“That’s true.” Lando strolled across the library, his image mirrored on the polished marble floors, and stopped at Adrian’s station.
“Why are you nice to me?” Adrian asked.
Lando’s eyebrow shot up in surprise. “I don’t remember you being this direct before.”
“I suppose you’re right.” Adrian squared his shoulders. “But my question stands.”
Taking one of the swiveling chairs from another station, Lando sat right across Adrian. “I lost my brother soon after I was turned,” he said, keeping his hazel gaze on Adrian. “Laurentio had been recently turned, too. But you already know that.”
Adrian remembered Lando’s mortal brother. Laurenzio was an unruly youth, who shared with his brother a penchant for extravagant living habits.
“He died a few decades after his vampire birth,” Adrian said.
Rumors abounded about Laurenzio committing suicide, and among the undead, taking one’s own life was considered taboo.
“Thank you for being tactful.” Lando gave him a sad smile. “What you don’t know—nobody does but me—is that my brother went crazy before meeting the sun. But, although he was far gone, he didn’t kill himself—” Lando’s eyes focused on a faraway place. “The Directive sentenced him to death because he’d gone on a killing spree, draining humans.”
Adrian listened, his heart galloping madly against his ribcage.
“Before his mind went dark, I spoke with Laurentio. Only once, but I’ll remember his words forever.” Lando’s gaze snapped back to Adrian. “He said, ‘It’s like a thirst that doesn’t go away. There isn’t enough blood to quench it.’”
Cold shivers ran along Adrian’s back. He kept silent.
“Does it sound familiar?” Lando asked.
“It does,” Adrian admitted.
“Then I might know where you can look for your answer.” Lando leaned across the station and bent over the glass box. Putting on a pair of silk gloves he grabbed from a drawer under the desk, he said, “There’s a passage toward the end of the archives where a mysterious ailment is mentioned affecting only vampires—” He gently turned the pages, his gloved fingers touching the corners where someone had left small notes. Several minutes passed before he finally pointed at a comment handwritten in a spindly calligraphy. “Here,” he said.
Lando leaned back to make space for Adrian, but he could barely read the inscription. “What does it say?” he finally asked, giving up after a full minute of squinting at the letters.
“A Vampire’s Thirst,
only the bloodmate bond can cure it,” Lando recited. He flipped through the pages until he almost reached the end of the tome, and pointed at a second minute note, written by the same hand. “And it says here, ‘You’ll only feed on your bloodmate. You’ll only crave for your bloodmate’s touch.’” He closed the book and looked up at Adrian.
“Anything else?” Adrian asked.
“There’s another passage at the very end of the book, but a water stain ruined that page. I could only decipher two words, progeny and bloodmate. Although, I can’t be sure if I got them right because the ink bled heavily into the text.”
“It could mean anything.” Adrian needed straight answers, not riddles.
Lando took a long pause before he talked again. “I found these notes several years after Laurentio died and wondered if—” His voice broke and his eyes cut to the dark mahogany bookshelves and the Corinthian columns carved from pink and white marble. “What if I could’ve done something to save him?” he asked after a pregnant pause.
Adrian was at a loss for words. He and Lando had never had a heart-to-heart like the one they were having now, and it left him on uncertain ground. One thing he knew, though, was that his blood-brother was helping him out of his own volition, and this had changed their dynamic.
“Thank you for telling me all of this.” Adrian brought his fisted hand to his heart. “It might save my life.”
Lando sighed. “We’ve been fighting ever since we were kids, but I don’t want to lose you, too.” Before the moment became more emotional than it already was, he continued, “I don’t have any other insight on the matter, but I know someone we can ask for more information.” He turned the gloves inside out and threw them in the basket by the desk. “He is the librarian I usually consult before acquiring new pieces for my collection. His name is Teodoricus Vicenzi, and we are lucky that he’s visiting Rome for the White and Black Gala.”
Adrian swore inwardly. He had all but forgotten about the Directive’s annual extravaganza. The black tuxedo Armani had custom made for him sat on the dresser in his bedroom, alongside the white domino mask he’d bought in Venice. He wasn’t in the mood to dress up for the soiree when the next bout of this vampire’s thirst could hit him at any time. What would happen if he lost control at the ball? The Directive would coffin-lock him.
“Is the librarian going to stay in Rome long?” Adrian asked.
Lando shook his head. “He’s leaving first thing in the morning. I know because I met with him yesterday and he told me that the Geneva Museum of Ancient Artifacts has requested his expertise about a Sumerian tablet they recently bought.”
Adrian groaned out loud. He needed answers, and he needed them as soon as possible.
“Do you think you can pull it through?” Lando asked, genuine worry etching his elegant features.
Adrian scoffed. “Honestly? I don’t think so. The episodes are getting stronger.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “But I’ll try to keep it together for as long as I need to.”
14
Holding the trail of her gown with two fingers, Lavinia turned to and fro. The sophisticated woman in the mirror looked nothing like her.
“You are stunning in white,” Maia said, looking at Lavinia’s reflection.
With her free hand, Lavinia waved at her dress. “I’ve never worn anything like this—” Maia had lent her one of her evening gowns, saying it didn’t fit her any longer and Lavinia could keep the dress if she liked it.
“It looks like they tailor made it for you.” Maia turned toward the dresser and picked up the black half mask she had chosen for Lavinia. “Try it on.”
Holding the lacquered wooden bracket, Lavinia took another look at the mirror. The result was just short of miraculous. It was hard to believe the difference that a gown and mask could make, but she didn’t just look different, she felt different as well.
Maia walked around Lavinia, then stopped behind her. “I’d say to leave your hair down on one shoulder.”
Lavinia nodded.
“Even without wearing the mask, you wouldn’t need makeup. Your internal beauty shines brightly already.” Maia smiled at Lavinia’s reflection before taking a glance at her wristwatch. “It’s getting late. I better change, too.”
Lavinia was left alone in the guest bedroom, but Maia returned in less than fifteen minutes. “You didn’t take long,” she said, looking at the beautiful she-wolf.
“I’ve been preparing for tonight for a while and knew what to do,” the psychologist said with a wink. She wore an elegant white gown that hugged her statuesque figure and held a Venetian black mask in front of her. She hooked her arm around Lavinia’s. “Lane will arrive later tonight, but until then, it’s a girls’ night out.”
“I like the idea very much.” Even before Carolina’s tragedy, Lavinia hadn’t had time for a night out, given that she worked the late shift at the pub and needed to save as much as she could to reach the end of the month and pay the utilities.
They took an Uber and were soon on their way to Villa Pamphili.
It might have been the light drizzle that covered the Roman night with a glossy shine, but as Lavinia looked outside, her eyes on the city passing by, her thoughts turned heavier. An oppressive emotion weighed on her chest, and she pressed her hand against her heart.
“Don’t feel guilty,” Maia whispered, taking Lavinia’s hand in hers.
“How can I not feel guilty when the only reason I’m going to the gala is that Carolina’s dead?” Lavinia sobbed.
“You’re experiencing survivor’s guilt, and it’s perfectly normal, but please, understand that there’s nothing you could’ve done to save her.”
“But it doesn’t feel right to go to a party tonight. To enjoy myself… It’s just wrong—”
“We can go back to my apartment,” Maia said, leaning forward to talk to the driver.
Lavinia grabbed the woman’s forearm to stop her. “No, I won’t ruin your night. I’ll wait for Lane to arrive and I’ll explain to him that I want to go back to my place.”
“You can’t go back there. It’s too dangerous.”
“I’m sure the detective will find a solution.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to go to my place? I don’t mind—”
“Absolutely not. You changed in record time because you’ve been preparing for tonight for a long time—your words.”
“Still—”
“We’re going to the gala,” Lavinia said. “I don’t want to add any more guilt to my conscience.” She gave the psychologist a tight smile and hoped it was convincing.
“Okay, we’re going, but only because I think that it’s better for you than brooding for the rest of the night.” Maia patted her hand.
A few minutes later, their ride crossed Villa Pamphili’s ornate gate.
15
As soon as Adrian entered Villa Pamphili’s majestic foyer, he realized that coming to the gala had been a terrible mistake. His throat was parched, and his stomach heaved. A waiter passed by, offering goblets of freshly squeezed blood.
“A Positive, B,” The waiter said, pointing to the different types of blood. “We also have donors on tap, if you prefer a more organic experience.”
Feeling on the verge of losing his sanity, Adrian grabbed a random goblet and nodded at the waiter before he accepted the offer of a live donor. The pain wasn’t as strong as before, but he feared it would be spiraling out of control soon. The beverage coated his throat with a viscous film that made him gag. It filled him, though.
The wave of thirst receded even if marginally, and he wondered why. In his recent experience, this malady, a Vampire’s Thirst, according to Lando, had only grown exponentially stronger with the passing days. Why the reprieve now? It didn’t make sense, and this terrified Adrian.
He looked around, searching the ballroom for familiar faces. Lane wasn’t awake yet and would arrive later. Lando had texted him that he had some last-minute business to take care of and would join later as w
ell. Only the few day-walkers who had traveled to Rome for the occasion were about. Shifters, witches, and warlocks filled the place, exchanging greetings and partaking of the hors d'oeuvres for which the gala was famous. The Directive flew in the best chefs from all of Italy to serve its guests the most exclusive culinary experience on top of the excitement of the masquerade ball. In the past, the event had seen several scandals when jealous companions caught their partners in the arms of someone else. Illicit trysts and the forging of new alliances happened during the gala with the same frequency.
All of a sudden, Adrian’s thirst seemed to shift, stirring his thoughts away from the past galas’ events and back to the present. A different kind of pain seized him. It felt like a deep longing, painful and bittersweet. A need for completion as if something important was missing from his life and he had to find it right away.
Like a beacon, his senses focused on the opposite corner of the ballroom. A crowd of people moving liked an enormous wave hid the object of Adrian’s desire. He started wading through the dancers, who waltzed around the room, creating an enormous human maze for him to conquer.
The more he advanced toward the other end of the room, the faster his heart galloped against his ribcage, and the stronger his thirst became. Dizzy with want, for once, his mysterious ailment didn’t impair him but gave him a new strength, as if reaching the opposite corner was all that mattered. His legs moved faster, and his senses sharpened. New energy flowed through him, regenerating his tired body. Never before had Adrian felt so alive. People moved to open a pathway before him, letting him pass as he crossed the room in a straight line. Finally, the last couple moved out of his way.
Two she-wolves stood by the archway, talking among themselves, their heads leaning close to each other. As if startled, the shorter of the two turned to face Adrian. The woman’s hazel eyes shone brightly from the confines of the half mask she was wearing. An electric current seized Adrian. The she-wolf’s eyes widened, and she brought a hand to her mouth. His thirst quieted, leaving room for an even stronger emotion.
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