Wild Fire

She promptly offered him her hand. He laid it on his arm, and they walked together across the lawn.

  “I thought we would start with the figs.” He led her down to a grove of fig trees, just beginning to grow heavy with fruit, and she drew in the earthy, somewhat minty aroma. He produced a handkerchief and cut a fig, holding it for her to sample. “Careful. The trees are sticky with sap.”

  The fruit tasted sweet and slightly peachy. “That’s very good.”

  He used the handkerchief to catch a drop of juice at the corner of her mouth, and his knuckles brushed her cheek. She nearly gasped at the spike of sensation.

  His eyes darkened. “You must try the figs again in September. The late trees produce the sweetest fruit.”

  “I’m afraid I’ll be back in America by then.”

  A cloud passed across his face. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  They stopped at the vineyards next to inspect the nearby olive trees, then took a more wooded path back toward the house. Andreas put his hands on her waist to lift her over a large log. Instead of setting her down, he brought her against his chest and captured her lips.

  The human warmth of his lips was new, but the rush of emotion was the same. She melted against him, joining in the kiss, urging him to take it deeper. When he lifted his head, they were both breathless.

  Abigail stiffened. What about her Andreas? Was this a betrayal? He sounded like Andreas, his arms and lips felt like Andreas… She quit thinking and gave in to the moment.

  He loosened his hold and let her down, his warm eyes searching hers. “That was not gentlemanly of me, but I cannot say I am sorry.”

  She ducked her head, torn between her feelings for him and the uncertainty of whether she was doing and feeling something she shouldn’t. “I’m not sorry either, but I think we should go.”

  “Of course.”

  His voice was casual, but did she hear a hint of regret?

  They returned to their walk and neither of them mentioned it again. As the afternoon wore on, they both went out of their way to avoid unnecessary contact. Gradually Abigail’s heart rate returned to normal.

  It was just a kiss. Naturally she was attracted to him. After all, he was still Andreas.

  * * *

  When they arrived back at the house, Manfred informed them that Fredrico was awake and waiting for them in the sitting room. “How was your walk?” he asked.

  Abigail wondered if he could tell something had happened between them. “Lovely. Andreas sliced me a fig. It was delicious.”

  “And dinner will be even more delicious. Please join us.”

  “I don’t know. It’s been a long day.” She glanced at Andreas. Did he want her to say yes? Would it be proper, dining with two men?

  “Do stay,” Andreas coaxed. “If you are concerned about propriety, I am certain our housekeeper would stay. It would be a pleasure to have a lady grace our table.”

  “Well, since you put it so nicely, I accept.” She turned to Fredrico. “Perhaps you can tell us more about your wonderful orchards.”

  Fredrico guffawed. “I will do that. Now, off with the two of you so the staff can prepare for dinner.” Abigail began to suspect that he was deliberately throwing them together.

  Andreas held out his arm. “Perhaps a stroll around the garden?” Something in his eyes made her think of that kiss and wonder if he was thinking the same.

  She smiled and laid her hand on his coat sleeve.

  The garden was awash with colorful flowers and the soothing sound of water trickling in the fountain. Andreas’s hand warmed the small of her back as he guided her around a stone statue of a woman carrying a water jug. It was one of four statues in the garden placed along the stone paths that radiated from a small fountain at the center. When Andreas stopped next to the ornamental fig tree and slipped his hand to her waist, she automatically turned into his arms.

  “Abigail, I—”

  A sudden movement from the edge of the garden made them spring apart. Her magic spiked.

  “Signor Andreas.”

  That was all Abigail understood of the man’s words spoken in Italian, but Andreas muttered an oath. “Give me a moment,” he said, and left her standing there.

  The visitor faded into the trees, but not before she’d seen his aura and recognized his Otherworld power. Weretiger. So Andreas did know the monster-in-the-woods. Although this wasn’t the same tiger she’d seen before. She sensed this weretiger was older, more mature. How should she handle the situation? She felt a duty to stop the terror the tiger was causing among the local residents. Even in this time period, her cop instinct to serve and protect was strong.

  She heard quiet voices, then Andreas reappeared. “I apologize for the interruption.” His smile sent a shiver across her neck. “I must fetch something from the house. Do you wish to come with me or wait in the garden?”

  She jumped on the opportunity. “It’s so nice that I’ll wait here.”

  “I will not be long.”

  “Take your time.” In fact, take all the time you want. She was going to talk with the weretiger.

  Andreas crossed the lawn and entered the house. She ducked into the grove of trees. The moment the tiger saw her, he turned to flee. “Stop. Don’t go.” She sent her witch magic to soothe and reassure that part of him that was Otherworld. “I won’t harm you.”

  He hesitated, obviously confused by the magic he felt.

  Abigail kept talking, telling him about the fear in the village and that he must hide his presence or they would begin to hunt him. He probably didn’t understand her words but she hoped he would get a sense of her concern. Shifters had an uncanny ability to empathize with emotions and feelings, regardless of the language.

  His eyes were wide, frightened. He clearly couldn’t figure out who or what she was. Tuffs of fur appeared on the backs of his hands, and his eyes changed to a burning yellow. She held out her hand and took a small step forward, but he whirled and ran.

  She hesitated, then turned back to the garden. Andreas ducked around a low-hanging branch and blocked her way.

  “Abigail, what are you doing?”

  “I…I thought your friend said something, so I went to see if anything was wrong.” She lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “But no one was there.”

  “Damnation.” Andreas disappeared into the shadow of the trees. He returned after a moment. “I will get you home and find him again.”

  “Is there a problem?” she asked in an innocent voice.

  Andreas hesitated. “That was one of our workers. His son is…ill.”

  “How awful. I hope you can help.”

  “It is not exactly an illness, but a temporary condition.” Andreas looked away, his tense shoulders revealing his discomfort. “I have a bottle of medicine that should have the young man feeling much better.”

  Abigail let out a silent breath of relief as she figured out what the trouble was. Weretiger puberty. He wasn’t a danger to the human population, and his erratic behaviors should fade in a couple of weeks…faster with medication.

  She walked beside him toward the house. “It’s good of you to take such an interest in your workers.” She glanced at his face. “I hope I may visit your great-papa again before I leave.”

  “Certainly. He would be disappointed if you did not.” Andreas’s shoulders relaxed with the change in topic, and his slow smile emerged. “And there’s something else I’d like to show you before you leave Italy.”

  She loved his smile. “And what would this be?”

  “Ancient ruins. Very mysterious. No trip to the area would be complete without them. Perhaps tomorrow?”

  “I’d love it.”

  * * *

  Promptly at three the next afternoon, Andreas picked her up in his curricle and they drove as close to the ruins as possible, then tied the horses and walked from there.

  Abigail took his arm and followed him down a path dappled with late afternoon sunlight through the trees. He asked her about her life in Amer
ica, and she told him the truth as much as was possible, keeping it vague when necessary. The topic make a good segue to her departure. She couldn’t just leave without saying something. “I’m rather anxious to check on my grandparents when I get home. That’ll be one of the first things I do.” She glanced at him. “My brother Thomas is due tomorrow.”

  “Yes, I remember.” His gaze rested on her face. “I will miss your visits. So will Fredrico.”

  “I’ve had a wonderful time.” She examined a spot on the palm of her glove. “So, tell me about the rest of your family. I haven’t heard you talk about your parents or siblings.”

  He kept his attention on the path ahead of them. “Not much to tell. I did not know my father. He died of consumption a year after I was born and the estate legally passed to my brother Luis. Since he was only three, Fredrico helped my mother manage the property. She died when I was twelve, and I was sent to school with Luis in England. After he finished his education, he returned home to take over the estates, and I stayed in London intent on having a good time.” He glanced at her. “Is this long story boring you?”

  “Not at all, but I imagine it’s difficult to tell. You’ve lost a lot of family. I assume something also happened to Luis.”

  His gaze flitted to her and away again. “Two years ago he was hunting, his horse fell going over a fence, and my brother broke his neck.” She saw his jaw tense, but his voice remained flat. “Since I was the only heir, and Fredrico was too old to manage the estate, I was called home from England to oversee the land.”

  “Will you stay permanently?”

  “Strange you should ask. I have considered hiring a permanent overseer and returning to England, but it is not decided. I suppose it is about time I settled down and started a family. I do enjoy children.”

  Abigail swallowed hard. She knew too much to be having this conversation. That must have been one of his bitterest regrets after his return to London and his vampire transformation—the inability to father a child.

  Overhead, clouds began to roll in. The skies continued to darken, and the wind whipped the leaves in the trees to a rustling frenzy.

  Andreas raised his voice over the wind. “It’s too late to make a run for home. We should take shelter, but I’m afraid we’re in for a soaking.”

  “I won’t melt.” And she’d be with him.

  The rain started to fall in large drops, soaking Abigail’s cotton dress. She pushed the loose strands of wet hair back from her face and looked for any potential cover in the surrounding territory. As they approached a stand of thick trees, she spied what appeared to be broken stone walls. “I see something over there,” she said shouting above the storm. “I’m not sure if it’s a shelter or not.” She shielded her eyes with her hands, but it was raining too hard for that to make a difference.

  “It’s the ruins. The trees will provide us some shelter.”

  They wouldn’t drown, but it was far from dry. Thunder boomed, and a moment later, lightning flashed across the sky. She ran across to the wall she’d seen sticking out of the thick brush, skirted around the tangle of foliage, and saw that one side of the structure had collapsed against the other, leaving a sizable area underneath. She had to duck her head, but she was able to walk a good eight feet underneath to where the ground was dry. She turned around to go back for Andreas when he appeared in the opening.

  “Is it dry in here?”

  “Not too bad.”

  He looked her over, a smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. “Hand me your shawl. I can hang it over here. It won’t dry unless we’re forced to stay much longer than I hope, but some of the rain might drip off.”

  She passed it to him, giving him her own scrutiny. “If you think I look bad, you should see yourself. You’re dripping and making a mud puddle all around you.”

  “Speaking of puddles.” He pointed at her dripping dress. “I will help you wring it out in a minute.” He took off his coat and shook it near the entrance, then laid it on the broken stone wall next to her shawl.

  Abigail took over his place next to the opening and began to wring out sections of her skirt, making even larger pools around her. To avoid the small streams she created, she kept stepping from one side to the other. She felt a tug on the back of her dress and glanced over her shoulder. Andreas had a large section of her skirt and was wringing the water out over his boots.

  “What on earth are you doing?”

  “Cleaning my boots.” He grinned at her. “I thought all this extra water should be good for something.”

  She grinned back at him and kept working on the front of her skirt while he worked on the back. When their hands bumped into each other on the side, he drew back and let her finish. She’d finally done all she could. She was wet to the skin, but at least she was no longer dripping.

  He’d been silent for a while, and she turned to find him sitting on a large chunk of stone, one boot in hand. He was staring at her.

  Abigail blushed, realizing the wet dress wasn’t hiding much, and she recognized that look. It hadn’t changed in two hundred years.

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m afraid this dress is still awfully wet. How are your boots?”

  “Ruined, but clean.” He put his boot back on, then his eyes locked with hers, and he walked the few steps to where she stood. He reached out to pull her close, covering her lips with his.

  So soft at first. A shiver shot down her spine, her knees weakened, and she gripped the hard muscles of his shoulders to steady herself. He drew in a ragged breath, deepened the kiss, and pulled her body against his. His hand moved to her lower back, spreading across her waistline and pressing her hips forward. When she curled her fingers into his hair, he lifted his head to run his lips across to her ear. She shivered, and he chuckled. A deep, masculine sound that she knew so well.

  Abigail reached down and began to unbutton his vest.

  * * *

  By the time she woke, the storm was over. Andreas’s head of tousled hair rested on her chest, his breathing regular and even. She listened to it for a moment, contented just to lie there on their makeshift bed of shawl and coat.

  Except… She wrinkled her brow. Something was different. Her magic felt slightly…off.

  She gently moved Andreas’s head and sat up. What was this strangeness she felt? Her magic began to sing, to harmonize. Abigail clapped a hand over her mouth to suppress a squeal of…panic? Excitement? She dropped her hand and stared at her stomach. A tiny flicker of a second precious magic wound around her own.

  Oh, dear Goddess. A child. She was pregnant.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Flanked by Lilith and Russell, Andreas walked swiftly toward Prince Daron’s audience chambers. The compound had received a message from Bastian and Porbius delaying the evening meeting. Daron thought they should discuss it and go over their strategy.

  After the predawn encounter with the elders, Andreas had returned to the compound with barely enough time to give Daron a quick rundown before they were forced to retire for the day. They had agreed that a confrontation seemed unavoidable. Now this. Was it significant?

  Andreas lowered his brows. Incredible to think he and Arianna might be a threat to the power of the O-Seven. How was that possible? All this talk of visions and prophecies. He shook his head in irritation. Someone had misread the mystical signs. Had the O-Seven hounded them for two years based on nothing more than some soothsayer’s vague dreams?

  He opened the door to the audience chambers and found Daron alone with his security chief, Mike. By setting the meeting this early, Daron had excluded the less powerful vampires who were not yet awake. Andreas paused in the doorway and watched his friend pace around the modern conference table.

  “I hope I have not kept you waiting,” he said, entering the room.

  “Not at all. I have been sorting my thoughts.” Daron hesitated, glancing at Andreas’s werelion guards. “I have told Mike what Bastian is to me, and I think we should share the same i
nformation with your people.” He gave Lilith and Russell a fleeting look. “To hold back anything important at this critical moment seems foolish.”

  “It is your decision to make.” Andreas took a seat at the table; Lilith and Russell on either side of him.

  “Anything you tell us will be kept in confidence,” Russell assured him.

  Daron drew himself up, frowning uneasily, as if he were about to divulge some failing in himself. “Bastian is my sire. I was his First Son. It is he who has protected me from the council for fifteen centuries, often being the single vote that stopped an execution order. This was not done out of concern for me,” he hurried to add, “but to keep a bargain. To buy my silence regarding my bloodlines. In truth, I have been no more anxious than he to reveal a connection to his brutal activities.”

  Daron began to pace again, his hands linked behind his back. “I have, however, watched Bastian’s behavior with interest. He has slowly changed over the last five hundred years, growing more ambitious but also more politically correct. It has tempered his prior random brutality. Even so, his recent behavior has been uncharacteristic. His protection of Andreas at the O-Seven court continues to puzzle me. My sire has not been known for altruism.” Daron gave a bark of laughter that held little humor. “Now his actions are becoming clearer.” He nodded to Andreas. “Tell them about your encounter last night.”

  Andreas suppressed a flare of impatience. He was eager to prepare for tonight’s meeting rather than go over past events, but of course the others needed to hear what Bastian and Porbius had said. He hurried through a summary. “I believe their mystics have seen or predicted something beyond what we know from Zylla’s visions. We have focused on images of our defeat and finding a way to stay alive. But it appears as if the O-Seven is worried about their own survival.” He frowned, still reluctant to accept that conclusion. “Perhaps we should consult another seer or even an oracle for clarification.”

  “I have sent for both,” Daron said. “But I do not expect either to arrive before tonight.”