“You studied Handel?” She was shocked.
Byron looked down at his hands, surprised he had made such a slip. “I liked his work,” he said carefully.
“So do I. He returned years later, when he was looking for artists and performers. Did you know in his later days he was blind?” She arched her back, tried to relieve some of the pressure building inside of her.
“I had heard, yes.”
His voice wrapped her up in silk and satin. Antonietta shook her head. “I need to put the score somewhere safe. I’ll talk to Nonno tomorrow. He’s long gone to bed. I seem to be sleeping later and later every day and miss the activities.” She took the package from him, avoided his touch as she did so. “I’ll be right back. I’m going to put this in the vault in the passageway. I doubt Marita will find it there.”
“Paul might.” Byron rose, a lazy, fluid movement. He sounded like a great jungle cat rousing itself from a warm fire. And it irritated the hell out of her. “I am coming with you.”
She was already at the door to the passageway. The last thing she wanted was to be with Byron in such close quarters. “Just relax for a few minutes.” She did her best to sound calm. “It won’t take long.”
“I do not mind. I wanted to get another look at the wall with all the carvings.” His body pressed close to hers. She could feel his body heat.
Antonietta hurried forward, entering the labyrinth of tunnels without hesitation. Byron moved in his usual silent way, but she was all too aware of him. She could almost feel his muscles beneath her itching fingers. Erotic images danced in her head. She wanted him with every breath in her body. And he seemed so…unaware…uninterested.
She wanted to shred the package in her hand, rip at something with her nails. Her shoes made noise on the ancient marble tiles. Her breath seemed overly loud. Her heart was pounding, and her mouth was dry. Antonietta counted silently to herself, making each twist and turn sharply.
“Our history is very colorful.” She made every attempt to carry on a conversation if that was what he desired. A history conversation.
Byron continued to prowl silently behind her. Breathing on the nape of her neck. Smelling good. Making his presence known by resting his hand in the small of her back. Burning right through her clothing. Branding her. Claiming her.
“I know you studied the carvings in the wall. Did you decipher the very first entry? I would think the earlier entries would be fascinating.” Byron sensed her growing agitation. When he touched her mind, it was chaotic. There was no one thought. She was confused and angry. Brooding. Moody. Edgy. The gathering of a great storm. She was his lifemate, and whatever she needed he would provide. He was well aware she found the history of her family intriguing. He hoped to distract her for a time.
Antonietta clutched the package tighter to her. “I spent some time studying the first bride’s entry. She wasn’t alone. Her husband did his share of carving also. I think it was his idea. I think he wanted his family to know the gifts he secured for them. He was very intrigued with the idea of shape-shifting. The earlier carvings are nearly all of shape-shifters. Women and even a few men changing to the jaguar. The earlier etchings are crude, of course, but they are detailed. I think they reveal more of the secrets than the later carvings.” She made herself breathe in the oppressive heat of the passageway. If only his breath didn’t tease the hair on the back of her neck, she might be able to think straight.
“In the later, more modern days, was there any evidence of shape-shifting?”
She rubbed at her itching skin and stopped directly in front of what appeared to be a solid wall. Byron reached past her to run his palm over the smooth surface. Her fingers brushed his, caught, and instinctively guided his to the three shallow depressions guarding secrets. It was an admission of trust, and he knew it even before she did.
The wall slid noiselessly away to reveal the air-sealed vault. Obviously she knew the sequence of numbers on the keypad. She punched several buttons carefully. The door to the vault opened. There was no light. The passageway was pitch black, but Antonietta didn’t need light. She was at home in a world of darkness. Byron was impressed with her uncanny ability to know exactly where she was in her environment.
“I didn’t see any. I think the blood is too diluted.”
“Could one of your cousins be capable of shifting?” Byron posed the question without inflection.
Antonietta went still, her hands hovering just inside the vault. “One of my cousins?” she echoed, the idea unsettling. “I can’t think that, Byron. That one of them would be this creature tearing the throats out of innocent people. It sickens me to even imagine such a possibility.”
“The smell of the cat was inside the palazzo. It permeated your grandfather’s rooms. You say the sheets of music were kept in Don Giovanni’s private safe. If a shifter was looking for them…”
She thrust the precious music into the vault and slammed it closed. “I don’t want to think a member of my family is capable of such cold-blooded murder.”
“In the body of a wild predator, it can be very difficult to control the urges. It is said that some shifters do not even recognize their human side. And some animals are much more difficult to control than others.”
Antonietta bent forward to lean her forehead against the vault in guilt. “I wanted to play the music.” The confession came out in a little rush. “If I hear music, no matter how difficult or intricate, I can play it, but I can’t see it. I had to ask Justine to read it to me. You can imagine how difficult it was for us to decipher the entire score between us, how long it took us. Don Giovanni knew, of course; he gave it to me, but I was to guard it so carefully. Each night I returned it to his room, but anyone could have seen Justine and me working together on it.”
The action of bending forward brought her buttocks in direct contact with Byron’s body. He pressed against her, hard and thick and very male. Antonietta could have cried in frustration. Her skin crawled with need. Her body felt tight and alien to her. She straightened immediately to break the contact, pushing away from him to begin the walk down to the history room. She was aware of her own body. The swaying of her hips, the ache in her breasts. It was insanity that she lacked control.
“Antonietta, when I touch your mind, you are confused and distraught. I would help you, if you allow me access.” Byron was going to push past that barrier if she didn’t enlighten him soon. He couldn’t take her being so upset. They had already exchanged blood twice. The Carpathian blood was definitely enhancing her senses, changing her, but he had no idea with her differences, what other changes the blood might cause.
“I prefer to work out my own problems,” she said. “I’m sorry if I sound abrupt; everything feels like it’s crashing down on me.”
“In a partnership, cara, one shares troubles.”
“I’m not used to a partnership yet.” Antonietta softened her voice, not wanting to hurt him. “I’m trying, Byron. I really am. I’ve never had these feelings, and I’ve never felt so intense about everything. It’s unsettling.” And I have never been so aware of a man before.
Byron caught that very feminine thought. She still didn’t accept the power and force of the bond between them. It was unlike anything she’d ever experienced. She was both intimidated and a bit frightened: two emotions Antonietta Scarletti was unfamiliar with. He followed her in silence to the history room.
The door slid aside, and the light automatically leapt to life, displaying the rows and rows, floor to ceiling, of pictures and words and symbols carved into the wall, much like the Egyptian hieroglyphics.
Antonietta pressed her palm over one of the etchings. “Can you imagine the time it took to do this? And it will be here for all time unless the palazzo is destroyed. Someday, perhaps a hundred years from now, another Scarletti will stand in this room and see what went before them.”
Byron began reading, totally absorbed in the unfolding drama before him. Bride after bride was selected from the small village
of Jaguar people. There were a few gaps, and as the generations lost touch with what the original Scarlettis intended, the brides from the village became fewer, until the bloodline was once again diluted. Many of the brides were unhappy with their husbands and the jealousies and intrigues that prevailed in the palazzo through the centuries. Some loved their husbands very much. Many had gifts of healing and telepathy. The latter stories seemed to indicate telepathy was common among the Scarlettis. “This is fascinating, Antonietta.”
“I used to come here often when I was younger. I could read the wall and most of the diaries myself, even though I couldn’t see, and it made me feel independent. Of course I can read Braille, but most business documents are not put into Braille for me, so I rely on Justine to read them to me.”
And Justine had betrayed her. How could she ever trust her with such important and private information again? Byron rested his hand over Antonietta’s. Linking them. Merging his mind with hers to feel the heart-wrenching sorrow. She no longer trusted her judgment. No longer trusted the sixth sense she used in her relationships with people. Justine had done more damage than he had first believed.
“And now you cannot rely on her.”
On anyone. The words shimmered unbidden in her mind. She wiped them away quickly. “I’m not feeling sorry for myself, Byron. I learned a long time ago to pick up the pieces and move on. I just feel like I’m in quicksand, and every step I take, everywhere I turn, I’m being pulled down. I want solid ground.”
He pulled her palm to his heart. “Right here, Antonietta. I am right here.”
She tugged to get her hand free. “How much do I know of you? You want complete trust. You want me to change my entire life for you.”
Byron kept possession of her hand. The jaguar in her was close. Wary. Wanting to run. The woman in her was feeling exactly the same way. Hunted. Under siege. She had no idea how much he intended to change her life, but she sensed he was dangerous to her. That was the jaguar’s instincts, and they were strong in her.
“I want to be in your life, yes. I am not going to deny it. Allow yourself to completely merge with me. Your answers are there, in my mind.”
She pulled her hand away, her heart beating fast. His words were always a temptation. His voice was sinful and filled her with a lust she couldn’t seem to control. One she didn’t want. “The passageway is suffocating me.” Her voice was breathless, husky. She wasn’t going to merge with him and let him see the images dancing in her head. It would be humiliating.
She turned abruptly and started back to her room. Byron stepped out of the history room, allowing the door to slide closed. He kept pace easily with Antonietta, his body close to hers, wanting to ease her distress but uncertain just how to do so.
The wide-open rooms were cold after the suffocating heat in the tunnels. Antonietta gave a sigh of relief, shivered, and crossed her arms to hide the way her nipples hardened into pebbles, rubbing against the lace of her bra every time she moved. She said nothing when the fire leapt to life, certain Byron had misinterpreted her gesture, mistaking her for being cold.
“Did you have the Handel score copied, Antonietta?” Byron inquired as he seated himself in his favorite armchair. Celt was curled up in her bedroom. He could see the dog through the open door. The borzoi hadn’t stirred, not with Byron guarding his charge.
Antonietta stretched her arms over her head. Her body felt heavy and sensitive. She could smell Byron’s masculine scent and for some reason it called to her. She was too aware of him only feet from her. The interlude in the solarium had been brief and ferocious. And not enough. She paced across the floor, a restless, edgy mood driving her. Her breasts felt full and ached for attention. Her skin itched for relief. “I did, just to make certain it was never lost. The copy would be worth something for the score alone; it is entirely his original work, nothing borrowed from other composers, but it still would never be worth what notations in his own hand would be.”
“Could Marita have the combination to Don Giovanni’s safe?”
“No, he would never give it to either her or Franco. I know Nonno. He is not a trusting man, especially since Franco sold information to the Demonesini family.” The fire crackled. Byron shifted, his clothes rustling. Antonietta wanted to scream. “Do you think the attack on Nonno and me the other night had something to do with Handel’s composition?”
“I would think it likely. It would be too much coincidence for it to be otherwise. Those men were searching for something, and they spent a great deal of time in Don Giovanni’s rooms.”
Byron’s voice was killing her. Stroking her skin like velvet. Like a thousand tongues. She didn’t think she could stand it much longer. She tried to force her body under control. She was going to have to send him home and get distance between them. Miles would help. Oceans maybe. “The opera is not common knowledge, even among family members. Franco could have told Marita, but I’ve never heard of him even asking about it. Someone must have seen it when I was so insistent on playing it.” With restless abandon, she pulled the pins from her hair so that it tumbled down her back, a wild display mirroring her bizarre emotions. “It’s hot in here, we shouldn’t have a fire.”
“Come here, Antonietta.” Byron said it softly, but she heard the command in his voice. It set her teeth on edge.
“Why? I say it’s hot, and you want me to come to you.” She paced away from him, wanting to tear at her own skin.
“You are uncomfortable.”
Antonietta had a mad desire to kneel between Byron’s legs and work his trousers from his body. Her mouth would show him uncomfortable. She imagined how he would feel growing full and hard and thick. At her mercy. She would show him none, not when he was making her feel so out of control and frustrated. She kept the distance of the room between them, wary of what she didn’t understand.
“Come here to me.” He repeated the command, his voice coming between his teeth. Soft. Imperious. Frightening in that she wanted to obey him.
She stood her ground, refused to move. Refused to give in to whatever was happening. “What is it? What’s wrong with me?” The junction between her legs burned and ached for fulfillment.
Byron touched her mind again, a shadow hiding while her mind raged and swirled with erotic images, with a terrible, insatiable hunger. “I suspect it is a combination of things, Antonietta. I do not understand why I cannot help you relieve your suffering.”
“Just tell me what it is.”
Byron sighed. “Carpathians must mate frequently. I have noticed you are very sensitive. I suspect between the Carpathian species and the Jaguar gene you must carry, you are feeling…er…heat.”
“Heat?” She whirled around. “I am not an animal in heat. That doesn’t make me feel better, thank you very much.”
“Is the idea of mating with me so terrible?”
“Don’t twist my words. I didn’t say that. If you want to help, distract me.” She twisted her fingers together in sudden daring. “I want to see, Byron. I want to see through your eyes. You said you could do it, and I want to try.”
“Are you certain that is what you want? It will not be easy.”
She lifted her chin. “I don’t care. I want to try it.”
“It will be disorienting at first. You’ll have to get past your senses and hold on to mine. Your own body will fight you. The images will be in your mind. You will see things the way I see them.”
“I don’t care, as long as I see.” There was determination in her voice.
“You will have to merge your mind fully with mine. What I see and feel, you will also. If you are uncomfortable, pull away from my mind. You will have the control to do that. Have you noticed that your power and sensitivity to the environment around you is growing?”
“Why is that?”
“You are my lifemate. As our lives merge, so do our bodies. I made my claim on you, the ritual binding, and we are tied in heart and soul.” His smile was in his voice. “In this modern age, I suppose th
at sounds melodramatic and old-fashioned.”
“Not to me.” She hesitated, suddenly afraid. “What do I do?”
He went to her, recognizing she was close to tears. The intensity of her sexual need was overwhelming. Continually having to adjust the volume of hearing and coping with the separation without understanding why was daunting. He stood behind her, wrapped his arms around her waist, and held her to him.
Antonietta shivered. “You really can do this?”
He felt the small tremor that ran through her body. “I will be with you. Remember, you cannot see through your own eyes. You have to merge completely and see through mine. I can use Celt or any person I have a particular bond with to see, even from a distance. We have a strong bond. There is nothing to worry about. I can hold the merge, and you will be able to see.”
“I’m not certain I understand, but I want to try.” She sounded scared but determined. Her hands gripped his. “Tell me what to do.”
“Let yourself reach for me. You know the path. It is the same as making love, merging minds completely. Just let it happen.”
Antonietta forced air through her lungs to calm herself. She was terrified it would work. Terrified it wouldn’t. Very slowly she reached up and removed her dark glasses. Her fingertips touched her eyes. She felt him. Byron. Moving in her mind. Looking into places she didn’t want anyone to see. She jerked away from him.
“It is all right, bella, I am not looking for incriminating evidence. You are in my head as well. It goes both ways with mutual respect. Try again, and this time relax.”
Antonietta dug her fingers into the back of his hand and let go with her mind. Allowed her barriers down to merge. It was a peculiar feeling, not unpleasant, a blending of two personalities. She waited. Held her breath. Colors shimmered and danced. Raw. Vibrant. Too much so. She cried out and put a hand over her eyes. The colors didn’t go away.
Christine Feehan 5 CARPATHIAN NOVELS Page 22