by Diane Nelson
Veluria's gaze was drawn repeatedly to Antonio, his uncommon bulk parting the sea of people with ease. She'd lost sight of the phalanx guarding their passage across the square but there was no question they were close and ready to intervene when necessary. She wondered what it might be like … serving under such a master. Did they do it out of fear, or out of respect?
He wore power effortlessly, the threat of violence barely below the surface, not so much concealed as simply … available. But there was more to him than that. Others would see it as something discomfiting, a matter of dominance and an utter lack of compassion, a being who was nothing more than a cold impervious shell.
Defenses. Like her own carefully constructed barricades, his walls radiated like a beacon to her heightened senses. What interested her was that he made no effort to conceal the fact that he possessed rather extraordinary abilities. What others saw was a mere shadow of his true existence. For lesser men to be called Demon would have led to the torture chamber and a slow agonizing death. For him, it'd become the currency that allowed him to function without drawing undue attention.
Damn. I've been too long in this world, walking in shadows. Shadows that keep me from seeing clearly.
She'd already drawn 'undue attention', first from the Council operative—unavoidable and not unexpected, though the nature of the man's abilities was unclear. The contact—the assault—had held an element of voyeurism, perhaps even obsession. If there were a description for what she'd suffered when he'd probed her, rape was the only word that came to mind. And it had hurt. It still did.
Antonio de' Medici then made a surprise entrance onto this damnable stage, acting at the behest of, by implication, the redoubtable pater familias, Cosimo. That was a potential complication she hadn't counted on. To make matters worse, she suspected Tonio of fostering intensely protective instincts toward his younger brother. Those instincts radiated disapproval of her and her influence over the young man's emotions and position in the court. Whether or not he divined her true purpose had yet to be determined.
Mother Superior was either smiling benignly at her stroke of good fortune or suffering apoplexy at the potential for out-of-control mayhem.
Mother Superior paced the sanctuary, her robes in angry agitation about her ample figure.
"My dear, we must restore the balance of power to the rightful rulers of our world, a balance that slips away, each day closer to disintegration of all the principles we revere."
The older woman stopped abruptly and drew in a breath, then spoke so softly Veluria had to lean close so as not to miss her next words. "You will find that the politics of court and war dominate that shadow Venezia, unlike our enlightened times. History tells us much of that period," she shrugged and pursed her lips in a grim line, "but not everything. What you, we, seek might be an object of power that has the potential, in the wrong hands, to effect the changes we only now detect."
Veluria understood that 'object of power' might be a thing, a person, an unspecified congruency of events, even deliberate interference. The statisticians could only guess and add euphemism after euphemism to mask their own lack of understanding of the processes.
Fingering the tora, her face creased with concern, the woman said, "The probabilities are not … favorable."
Veluria sighed, "I understand, Reverend Mother."
"Do you, my child?"
"The gateways may be unstable, difficult to locate. I-I…" she hesitated, regretting the hitch in her voice, the misgivings too readily apparent, "…might be stranded there." She mentally chided herself for the weakness and stated, this time her voice strong and filled with conviction, "I do thy bidding, thy Word is mine, so shall it be."
"So shall it be…" Mother Superior intoned. "Now. Particulars. We will lend assistance but it will depend on those damnable bolt holes being in the right place at the right time. Think of yourself as the Lone Gunman, use whatever resources come to hand. You will not be faulted…" the woman grinned wickedly, "…for thinking outside the box."
Veluria followed her Orders' Head of Operations into a large room filled with storage containers, racks of clothing and mannequins in obscene parodies of human stances.
"My dear, allow me to introduce you to that most heinous of all devices. The distaff answer to the Council's perversion: the hair shirt." With a flourish, she held up a lovely bit of stiff fabric, lace and satin ribbons. "I give you … the corset."
The Medici family: Cosimo, Antonio, Stefano—these were known historical figures. Yet the reality of dealing with men who so deftly exercised influence and control over not just a city and a religious institution, but a continent as well—none of that had been anticipated when she had been tasked with journeying through the portal between their cities, their shadow worlds. She had never suspected there would be someone on this side who could match, let alone possibly defeat her gifts, if he chose to be her enemy.
She felt the weight of a stare upon her and looked up, her gaze locking with Antonio's deep-set eyes. No expression could be read in their endless depths, but he smiled and in that moment she realized that he had likely calculated the probabilities—and now he might be closer to knowing what she was and why she had come.
He would rightly guess that she was not what she claimed, but he could not possibly understand the nature of her mission, or what she truly was—a being out of time and out of place. She could feel his black eyes boring into her with a knowing that frightened and titillated, setting every nerve ending ablaze.
Fear. That would be the little death that training and belief could defeat. But this—this was something else.
Stefano hissed, "Are you all right?" and placed his arm protectively about her shoulders. She settled against him, his compact body warm and comforting. This innocent she could handle. It was the taller, cold demon stalking ahead of her that gave her pause.
Her fingertips tingled as she smoothed her gown, the hair on her arms standing up at the familiar, and most welcome, sensation. Off to her right she spied a stairwell, rough-hewn and hemmed in by ancient stone edifices, leading to an upper floor or the roof. In the dim light, it appeared wrapped in a smoky blue haze. Her captors paid it little mind. She was sure this led to a portal, as it had that feel of other-worldliness, a homing beacon to her own time and place. She risked a nonchalant glance at the stairwell again, marking its location in relation to the square.
A fleeting thought of flight caressed her mind. She knew where the stairs were now, the link mathematically encoded, accessible only to her. She could return later, if she needed an emergency bolt hole. Assuming it would still be there. No one had informed her about how to discriminate between naturally-occurring gateways and the constructs held in place by the scientists of her own generation.
The other, more vexing, problem was, even if she did flee, she suspected that both Antonio and the Council's operative had the ability to track her. Both men seemed keyed onto her energy signature, an unfortunate and annoying development when she lacked the means to slam a virtual door shut against any pursuit.
She needed some damn shields—even now the Medici demon probed, sending tendrils of energy to snake her neural pathways. Does he think I don't notice? His powers had an unschooled, neophyte's feel, rough around the edges but for all that … insistent. I wonder if he realizes what he's doing. Unfortunately, once he figured it out he would learn quickly.
Confusion and determination wrestled for dominance and, for a moment, it controlled her mind. She couldn't help but turn her eyes to him. If she weren't careful, he could steal her very thoughts, look into her soul like a voyeur and rape her most private self.
That word again … rape. But this was not the same as the full scale invasion she'd suffered in the tunnel. This was curiosity, tinged with admiration. If she didn't know better, she'd say it was naïve, coy, perhaps even flirtatious.
Flirtatious? Merciful Mother, that did not compute.
Her hands trembled. She would need to find a way to
counteract his growing abilities before they subsumed her very essence.
Or I could give in, submit.
For a frightening moment, that thought gained dominance, hurtling through her veins in a hot rush of sensuous pleasure fueled by unbidden, forbidden desire. The intensity startled and rocked her back on her heels. She stumbled and fell heavily onto the uneven cobbled path. Stefano's gentle touch and gasp of concern brought her back to her senses.
Mon dieu, what had just happened?
****
"Hai fatto bene, Padre Andreas," the Monsignor intoned. He repeated, "Well done indeed."
Andreas kept his eyes lowered, fingers twitching with irritation as he kept them buried in the folds of his robes. Despite His Holiness' pleased tone, he had not done well at all. He had failed to divine the location of the woman, despite his link. The mob in the Square, the Demon's men effectively blocking his every attempt to approach, all had conspired to defeat his purpose.
So much for Follow, Observe.
During his report he'd noted the Monsignor's almost giddy excitement at learning what should have been self-evident facts. The Medicis continued to exercise nearly absolute control over events, the French woman was not who she seemed… He found it difficult to care about the import of such mundane particulars, not when he had other, more urgent, concerns.
Thoughts racing nearly out of control, he longed to succumb to the compulsive urges that her link provided. Sweat beaded on his brow as he pushed the Monsignor's monotone discourse to the background. Opening to the ambient energies, he sought the one who promised completion, fulfillment, undeniable ecstasy.
She held him in thrall and he yielded to her, inviting her formless essence to brush his soul.
There. Like a second heartbeat. Feel the rich red heat coursing, my desire, yours … as one.
In false supplication Andreas bent to hide his lust and his throbbing erection, nodding at uneven intervals as the Monsignor uttered meaningless directions to the scribe at his left.
"Andreas. You will continue with your task. Report only to me. Do you understand the gravity of what we face?"
"Yes, I understand." Andreas smiled inwardly for he doubted the dim-witted prelate had a clue. The Monsignor would play this close to his vestments, hording his bits of intelligence against the day when he prayed for opportunity and fortune to align in his favor.
He risked standing upright, relieved at his ability to control his wanton body's functions once again, and approached the desk.
"I will report to you alone, M'Lord. If I divine their intent, shall I…?" Andreas left the question hanging as he bent to kiss the proffered ring, then backed away carefully.
The Monsignor gave a careless wave of his hand and murmured, "No need, Father. We will decide the best course of action when the time is right."
"Come vi piace." Andreas touched the crucifix to his lips and paced slowly from the chamber. The fool might think he need only hide his plans from the Papàl Legate. He thinks me his creature. He thinks me of this time and place, as do they all.
Andreas strode slowly along the narrow corridor, perpetually damp, perpetually intense with the fervor and gleeful adherence to the petty concerns of this time. He allowed himself the brief respite from maintaining the dual links, allowing his hand to trail along the rough stucco, fingers bouncing in slow staccato rhythm over ridged designs and swirls. The architects of this world were truly masters of the art. He admired the primitiveness, the attention to detail, so unlike…
"Mio Dio," he gasped, staggering against the wall, thrown as by an invisible adversary, powerful, lifting him, crushing him. He sobbed in agony.
Oh dear God. Why can it not be me?
****
Nearly prostrate, her voluminous gown cushioning her petite form, Veluria desperately collected her thoughts, emptying stray images, flooding her eyes and ears with the sensations and brilliant auras of the revelers wheeling in splendor, shadow to light to shadow, winking in and out until they filled her. She allowed the wash of joy and intrigue and mindless pursuit of pleasure to swamp her, hoping to flood the link. Better yet, to sever it.
That had been no naïve expression of interest—that had been full-on lust and the shock of that desire had been mutual, of that she was certain. That he had shut it down so abruptly indicated it came as a surprise. That saved her, just barely, from reciprocating … what? What did she feel?
Stefano set her to rights and wrapped a protective arm about her waist. He seemed oblivious to what had just happened. Not so his older brother. Though Tonio still stalked ahead of them, clearing their path, she could tell from the set of his shoulders and the mindless way he rubbed the back of his neck that he'd been as thoroughly blindsided as she.
When Reverend Mother eventually debriefed her, that was going to be an interesting discussion.
In any case, knowledge of the gateway would remain safe for a time, but for how long she was uncertain. The phalanx of Antonio's guards closed ranks as they approached a narrow alley leading off the main square. She had not been this way and disliked the uncertainty, searching frantically through her resources to pinpoint the general direction. She might need that mental roadmap should her link to the bolt hole be severed, even temporarily.
Thanks to Stefano's assistance she negotiated the rough stones leading to the narrow alley without further mishap, the connection with his brother severed. The young man pressed close, his hand teasing her breast, the fullness cupped gently in his right hand as he nuzzled her ear. She barely heard the whispered, suggestive endearments, her head still buzzing from the near orgasmic experience.
Now did not seem the time for Stefano's ardeur to kick in. Could he have sensed the wash of energies that consumed her, and his damned brother? Fortunately Antonio kept his back to them, concentrating on the task at hand which was to get them out of the Square and to whatever destination he had in mind.
No matter how much he loved and wished to protect his younger brother, when it came to that much unbridled passion, she would not want to be in Stefano's shoes should Tonio glimpse him fondling her breasts so openly. She had grown to care about her young lover, the dalliance a calculated risk with sometimes satisfying outcomes. Pitting the brothers against each other ran counter to her objectives and was not a legacy she cared to leave when she exited this dimension.
However, engaging Antonio de' Medici in a contest of wills? That was an intriguing proposition, but a risk with consequences she could not predict. The uncertainty about how much he knew and understood about his own powers must guide her now. If she could control that budding promise of self-awareness—partition and parlay the devious Medici mindset to her advantage—she might redirect his interest. If he ever decided to act on it, would she be strong enough to deny him? Would she even want to?
"Veluria, are you…?"
"I am fine, Stefano." She brushed her gown, aligning the layers, spinning in a slow circle to fan the folds over the rigid hoops.
"If you are quite finished, Madame? We have an appointment to keep." Antonio spoke with disdain and motioned his men forward through the narrow opening. "Stefano, go on ahead and make sure there are no unwelcome surprises. We shall be there shortly."
Stefano nodded and strode off with two of the guards. Tonio filled the space left by his brother, pressing Veluria against the wall, forcing her to brace her left hand against the ever-damp stone. What she wanted was to press her hands against his massive chest, to get him to back off her personal space … and using that excuse to explore what lay beneath the leather jerkin, the hard muscles and a heart thudding like a bass drum.
Damn him.
A small smile played about Tonio's full lips, dark eyes glinting even in the dim light. Bending down, his hot breath brushed past her ear as he whispered, "You may fool my besotted brother but you do not fool me, M'Lady. I know who you are. I know what you want. Best keep that in mind."
Veluria kept her head down and face carefully blank. Let the Demon
enjoy his moment of intimidation. She would have been disappointed had he not seen through at least one or two veils of her disguise. What he did not know was … what she was. That piece of knowledge she tucked away in the private space the Sisters had so diligently fashioned, a honeycomb of safety, each space, each construct, to serve her higher purpose.
When she finally lifted her chin to stare directly at the domineering force trapping her, she settled her features into mask of anguish and acquiescence. Would he buy the artifice? The false fluttering of eyelashes, the … oh dear Mother, dare she say it? The heaving bosom?
Before she could ask herself how far she could push his buttons, the demon pressed her hard against the wall, his hot breath tantalizing against her cool cheek. With shocking gentleness, he brushed her mouth, his tongue trailing wet warmth as he eased her lips apart for the briefest taste, leaving her light-headed with her blood pounding through her veins.
Mercy, what was that? I thought I was the seductress.
With a sneer, he said, "Shall we?" and pointed down the alleyway, inviting her to go first. His withdrawal was like an ice bath on overheated skin, a sensation open to interpretation.
With as much dignity as she could muster, Veluria moved in the direction he indicated, acutely conscious of the gush of wetness flooding her engorged private place. The man chuckled, deep in his throat, and she wondered if he knew this thing…this physical reaction to his unexpected show of affection.
As she gathered her skirts, she felt the dark giant's presence as he moved in close.
Then pain, sharp searing pain stabbing through her chest.
Need. Desperate need.
Not him, I would know if it were him.
Then who?
Bewildered, Veluria staggered ahead of the man who would be her captor and her master.
Chapter Five