The Shades of Time

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The Shades of Time Page 8

by Diane Nelson


  "All right, but take care, child. We will track you as best we can. Be safe."

  Veluria thought, 'that may not be so easy,' as she pivoted toward the door, hands clasped white-knuckle tight as she poured her energy into the gateway to ease her sister's passage. When she felt the last puff of energy fold into itself, she exhaled slowly and waited.

  Veluria had been drawn to the house, not because of the vaulted company within, but because she'd sensed the energy signature of a gateway … and not a naturally occurring portal. It was too good an opportunity to bypass.

  What she'd discovered, after surreptitiously sneaking past the card players and drunken sots passed out about the spacious room, was an upper floor and Marie, anxiously awaiting her arrival. That was bold, even by Mother Superior's standards. Although, so long as Marie stayed close to the gateway and did not interact with anyone else, the perturbations in the present timeline would be unaffected.

  That was the theory.

  Marie had quickly replaced Veluria's ruined gown with a lighter weight garment into which they'd cleverly inserted several talismans in case she needed backup of a magical and not-so-magical nature. One such was a stiletto with a jeweled hilt and poison embedded in the steel.

  At that point, with both the Council operative and Antonio de 'Medici in hot pursuit, she would have enjoyed the security of a large caliber composite handgun. But of course, that was forbidden.

  Instead she leaned against the bedpost and awaited the pleasure of the Demon on stealth approach in the hall, armed with nothing more than her feminine wiles and not a small amount of anticipation.

  ****

  Antonio hesitated at the top of the stairs. The landing off to his left opened to another, narrow set of stairs leading up to servants' quarters and storage areas. The small rooms to his right, accessed by a hallway dimly lit by candles spaced unevenly down its length, beckoned with a familiar energy, and something more. Cautious now, he stole quietly toward the rear of the house, keeping to the floral patterned rugs to mute his passage.

  Laughter and the scuffle of chairs and tables being re-arranged for more evening entertainments wafted from the salon below, the sound soon lost to a background buzz as he extended his senses, trying to pinpoint Veluria's location. What had seemed like two wells of energy evaporated to a single powerful source, then everything extinguished to flutter like weak embers.

  The cat-and-mouse game grew tiresome. He was hungry, thirsty and tired, his nerves raw and his head pounding so hard he could barely hear. The more he tried to avoid thinking about Veluria, the more he became obsessed with how she'd felt when he kissed her, how she could feel in his arms.

  Antonio wished for his brother, Nico's, presence to help him sort out the barrage of conflicting signals and the strange effect it had on his ability to concentrate. He allowed the familiar flood of cleansing anger to wash over him, nervously fingering the hilt of his cinquedea as his system prepared for a conflict that never seemed to materialize. He yearned for a physical opponent, someone he could pound to a bloody pulp.

  Shutting his eyes against the pain hammering his temples, he tried to fight the whirls of confusing thoughts and sensations assaulting him: Stefano in her arms, awash in passion, lost to her exquisite heat, his cock commanding her pleasure, then twisting in pain, blood dripping, pleading … Antonio staggered against the brocaded corridor, his back pressed against the wainscoting, the harsh wood a comfort, a piece of reality in a world gone topsy-turvy. He desperately needed something he could use to focus.

  He whispered, "Mio Dio, what is happening to me?"

  He had to get control of himself for he knew with certainty that the woman owned his thoughts, if only for a brief moment, yet a moment too long, for it released his own lust and intense shame. He could not allow this thing, this creature of power, to tread like an advancing army through his being. If he could not control her, her power, he could lose his besotted, beloved younger brother. If it wasn't too late already. That 'thing' he'd felt, for a fleeting instant, held the sulfurous essence of evil and corruption.

  Antonio straightened to his full height, nearly brushing the ceiling, and slid the dagger into its sheath. The weapons he must bring to bear would require a different form of steel. This thing he faced would require cunning for he must harness its power. Only then could he protect his people, his family, and himself. He unlatched the bedroom door to swing inward, the dim yellow light from candles scattered about the room revealing a tiny figure, waiting patiently with hands folded demurely. Antonio ducked as he entered the cluttered sleeping chambers, eyes sweeping the space to assure himself they were alone.

  She—Veluria—looked serene and in control. He had expected a doe, startled and in blind terror of her pursuer, but this petite visage kept her counsel wrapped in quiet, regal assurance. She was not the typical beauty of the French Court, bejeweled and powdered and stayed within an inch of her life. Instead, she had an easy grace, poised, almost battle-ready. Despite her tiny frame, she displayed a handsomeness of spirit that commanded his attention. Truly, this woman was a force to be reckoned with.

  "Madame, je vois que vous souvenez de moi." Antonio stumbled over the phrasing, French never being his strong suit. Of course she'd remember him.

  With a small uptick to her mouth, she said, "I make a point to remember my kidnappers so that I may later report them to the authorities."

  Her voice still had that odd timber, vaguely accented in an unfamiliar way he could not pin down.

  She must have interpreted his expression correctly for she said wryly, "And to save you asking the question, no, I am not French, although Charles is my cousin by marriage." He'd already figured that out but it still begged the question—where was she from?

  Since the woman seemed uninclined to share any additional information, Tonio lounged against the doorframe, blocking her exit with his sheer bulk and using the silence to study his brother's paramour with undisguised interest. Stefano indeed had exquisite taste. The blue silk of her voluminous gown accented skin so pale it appeared translucent, her face heart-shaped with a pointed chin, lashes thick and dark, shadowing intense eyes mirroring the color of the Aegean when storms threatened, flashing silver-black like a breaking sea.

  By some miracle the blue-black braids remained relatively intact after the frenetic activity of the day and evening. However, more tendrils now curled about her face and down the back of her swan-like neck—he found the effect oddly pleasing and wondered, not for the first time, how long her hair would be once he freed the strands from their tight bonds. The thought of running his fingers through the silken strands left him dry-mouthed and his throat constricting.

  Instead of lowering her eyes away from his bold stare and concentrating on her hands, she held his with a steady gaze and simply denied him access to her thoughts.

  Damn.

  He could leave the finer points of divining the woman's capabilities to Cosimo or he could assess the mettle of the adversary facing him. What he needed and what he wanted seemed strangely at odds.

  Of course, she could say no in as many ways as she pleased—he did not need to ask permission—yet he hesitated, acutely aware that the answers he sought might not be to his liking. Yet he had no choice. And why he needed to talk himself into what came naturally, aggressively so, perplexed and annoyed him.

  With an effort he attempted a neutral stare, but felt his features forming around the more natural glower that caused strong men to grow weak in the knees, or so he was told.

  It made no difference—she held firm, sufficiently content to allow the silence between them to waver like a brocaded curtain, sold and tangible with implications neither would acknowledge.

  Finally growing claustrophobic in the confined space, Antonio dislodged himself, speaking dismissively, "My brother hardly qualifies as a kidnapper, Madame. He and I have only your best interests, and your honor to defend. Forgive us, forgive me, if we seemed to behave in an unseemly fashion."

&n
bsp; That clumsy little speech would have left Nico rolling on the floor.

  The woman brushed a stray tendril that had fallen out of place behind her ear, an unconscious gesture, perhaps indicative of some level of anxiety? Small movements like that often spoke volumes about a person's inner turmoil. Or it was clever misdirection.

  He doubted she knew he could sense the energy enveloping her like a living breathing organism. Her posture spoke to careful control, the energy contained, her defenses in place. He had her at a disadvantage, yet she yielded no quarter—an ability he demanded in himself and admired in others.

  Yes, Stefano had chosen well. But why she should chose 'him' was another matter altogether. He was a mere boy compared to her worldliness. Though he could not pinpoint her age, she was not as young as she seemed.

  "If you have seen quite enough, signore, perhaps we could retire to the drawing room and discuss how you will compensate me for my … inconvenience."

  Compensate? What the fu—?

  Veluria moved past Antonio, pausing slightly to allow him to bend away from her so that she could maneuver her unwieldy skirts through the entryway. She lifted her chin and shifted a shoulder coquettishly to draw attention to her bosom and the soft, rosy flesh straining against the silken material. She smiled at the ever-so-slight intake of breath.

  So, I have you guessing now, my Demon?

  Satisfied the balance had shifted back in her favor, she swept down the hall to the left, following the darkening corridor to the rear of the building. Most of the houses in this section of the city had the same basic layout. Since she hadn't the time to investigate, given the haste with which Marie had been forced to dress her and arrange the few weapons at her disposal, she relied on guesswork and luck find an excuse to move out of the bedroom and away from his smoking hot stare that had undressed her in more ways than she could catalog.

  At the end of the corridor she turned left again, this time into an arched doorway that led to a long, narrow space overlooking the canal two floors below. Several tall windows, some with fanciful stained glass, allowed ambient light from a pre-dawn sky to filter through, laying down intricate patterns on the mosaic flooring. Several portraits and a moderately-sized religious landscape dominated the plain paneled wall.

  Veluria waved to a divan barely discernible in the dim light. Antonio shook his head no and strolled to the large painting, feigning curiosity about its unusual treatment of the Madonna.

  "Bellini," she murmured.

  "That is not Jacopo's style." Tonio frowned and waved his right hand over the muted grays and browns of the background that gave the figures such monumental proportions and sense of place.

  Well, that was unexpected. The man continued to surprise her. Prevaricating, she asked, "His brother?" in hopes of allowing herself some time before the real test of wills began.

  "Ah, Giovanni. Well, then…" Tonio let the words trail off as he continued to stare at the painting, his back to her, not yet ready to engage.

  Veluria arranged the skirts ballooning about her, almost consuming her petite frame in a cloud of blue fabric. Annoyed she tamped the offending material down as best she could, utilizing time honored delaying tactics to avoid the coming confrontation.

  By some common consent or acknowledgment of the inevitable, they seemed to come to an unvoiced agreement. He turned toward her, allowing her the luxury of finally taking the measure of the man standing with careless disregard before her.

  The strengthening dawn cast shadows over his huge frame, not just tall but massively built, his shoulders broad and muscular under the dark leather doublet and stained white shirt with billowing sleeves, worn but serviceable. He had well-shaped legs with muscular thighs bulging through the nondescript brownish wool hose. Leather boots in desperate need of oiling came to mid-calf. When he turned toward her, she glanced surreptitiously at the codpiece and wondered with a sneer if it were padded.

  No one would call this man handsome. Imposing, yes. Terrifying, definitely. Faint scars jigsawed across the dark stubble that accentuated a strong jaw and an unforgiving set to his mouth. Full lips offset the fierce demeanor, giving him a compellingly sensuous aura. She knew what those lips, that tongue, could do…

  Except for the eyes, he and Stefano looked nothing alike, though with Tonio they achieved unfathomable depths and a glint of cruelty. If she hadn't experienced the tenderness, sensed the guilt and pain, seen for herself the unyielding devotion to his brother, she might have bought into the soul-less devil persona. But the chink in his armor was there, though he might not be aware of it.

  Stay on target, Veluria. If the man wants to stay a sociopath, leave him to it. His inner demons have nothing to do with you.

  Thank you, Mother Superior. She resisted the urge to brush at her shoulder, shooing her imaginary spirit guide away.

  "If you have had your fill, Madame?" he mimicked her former tone and faced her squarely, this time with menace and a clear intent to arrive at answers satisfactory only to him.

  On the low divan, with her eyes drawn first to his sheathed weapon, then to the object of her curiosity, she realized with a start that the codpiece indeed was not padded, a fact becoming more evident the longer the giant glared at her. She found it interesting as she had carefully tamped back her energies so he was reacting to her, as a woman, not as a 'device' as the Reverend Mother was so found of calling her flock's special abilities.

  Harshly he spat at her, "What are your intentions?"

  "Signore, I have no idea what you mean. You have no right…"

  "I have every right, Madame. He is my brother and it is my duty to protect him from the wiles of such as yourself."

  Veluria bristled. The beast might as well have called her a whore. Clearly he baited her. Why, she was not sure. She would need to think carefully on his train of thought for it might reveal much about the man, and hopefully the secret she must prise out of him.

  "Hmm, Stefano is your brother? Then you must be…?" She entered into the pretty phrasing and accepted forms. Each knew the other—and all relationships, tangential or otherwise. The well-rehearsed steps would allow for certain variations later on.

  He looked ready to strangle her as he spit out, "Antonio de' Medici."

  Tonio crouched, bringing himself eye-level with her. They had done this dance before and she was well-aware of who he was. His face flushed with his growing fury and frustration. He might not mean to harm her but she wouldn't place any bets on that when he teetered on the brink of giving in to well-schooled violent behaviors.

  She steered the interrogation in a less dangerous direction. "Well, signore, I still do not understand why you chose to abduct me." The lilt at the end of the sentence held the hint of a question … and perhaps mirth.

  Tonio's gut quivered, his groin aching as he crouched before her in a desperate attempt to remove her gaze from his growing arousal. He felt the heat steal up his neck, setting his ear tips on fire. If his choice was to wring her neck or fuck her senseless … well, that was no contest.

  With relief, he realized she had steered them to safer ground.

  He explained, "That was no abduction, woman, but a rescue. You were out cold and someone advanced from the inner reaches of the passageway. I watched the tableau play out and knew that my brother would not be able to defend both of you against that kind of mischief."

  "So you stepped in to save the day?"

  Tonio growled, "Something like that, yes."

  "And that frantic flight across the Grand Plaza and dragging me down alleys and into that, that … den of iniquity."

  "That 'den of iniquity' is owned by a business associate of my family, one who would take great offense at having his establishment so maligned."

  Tonio failed to wipe the puzzlement off his own face as he remembered clearly tasking his dim-witted sibling with alerting the pallazzo's staff to their imminent arrival, only to be detoured into the raucous party. The ultimate escape of their captive had been a vexing conseq
uence of his brother's poor improvisational skills.

  He despised being vexed. And the last thing he wanted to be reminded of was his subsequent action, taking Stefano to task in front of his men, inflicting such cruel and humiliating injuries that he wouldn't blame his brother if he never spoke to him again. Cosimo would care little about the incident, leaving the brothers to deal with each other in their own way, but Nico's simple 'If you hurt him again, I will not tolerate it, do you understand?' cut him to the bone.

  Can you feel my pain, M'lady? Do you even care?

  Veluria boldly stared into the dangerous man's deep-set eyes. In the dim light of pre-dawn they were the darkest brown, almost black, and glinted with gold flecks. Like daggers they sliced and diced across her flesh, setting her nerve endings on fire and her nipples hardening to stiff peaks against the stays. Fortunately, her state of arousal was not so obvious.

  The frown lines between his eyes bespoke a lifetime of care, displeasure and violence. She could sense him a man who would give no quarter, who could kill without a second thought, whose sole purpose in life was protecting his family and his people.

  "They call you Demon de' Medici, don't they? The Dark One. I think perhaps it is 'you' whom I must fear, not this mystery stranger. I have no enemies. I am but a simple ward of my cousin's sent on a diplomatic mission of goodwill between my sovereign and the Papàl Legate." She dismissed him with a toss of her head. "You, indeed, have no such standing here in Venice."

  Antonio smiled wolfishly. "I think, my dear, that you are quite wrong on many counts." With a small groan he rose to standing position and extended his hand.

  "It grows light enough to tread the streets. Is there a back way that we might exit this building without disturbing my cousin's guests and business associates?"

  Veluria wondered, 'now what does he have in mind?' but replied, keeping the concern out of her voice, "We can go through that door to the servants' stairs and then out through the kitchen."

 

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