“She needs to drink. She hasn’t fed in over a week.”
“I know.”
Ziri, Arosh, and Kato had disappeared as if their presence had been a dream. Though rumors of the ancients’ appearance ran wild through Rome, the whole saga of Livia’s defeat, and all that had led up to it, was quickly becoming more vague speculation than actual knowledge. Wild tales rose up, but the Roman noblewoman was no more. Dwelling in the past was useless. Emil Conti was the power in Rome, and despite the loss of his wife, he had quickly gathered a strong group of allies around him. There was no question who had control of the city.
“Anything?”
“I think we need to stop asking.”
It was two weeks after Livia’s defeat that Beatrice found herself standing in the kitchen, looking around blankly. She couldn’t remember why she had come downstairs until the smell of a human reached her nose. She turned around with bared fangs.
“Whoa, B.” Ben held up his hands, quickly walked to the refrigerator, and pulled out a bag of blood. He tossed it to her, and she caught it, biting into the thick plastic and sucking the cold bag dry. Ben watched her, then reached in and pulled out another.
“Looks like someone’s hungry.” He tossed her the second bag.
She bit into it, ignoring the stale taste of the preserved blood. It was enough to take the edge off.
Beatrice asked in a hoarse voice, “Where is everyone?”
Ben took a deep breath. “Most of us are… around. Jean took off back to France for political stuff. Gavin and Carwyn cooked up something to do with the last of the elixir, so Gavin’s gone, but Carwyn stayed. And Angela’s here, of course. Tenzin’s even been staying here. All the family except for Dez and Matt. They’re back at the hospital.” She looked up in panic, but Ben was quick to continue. “The baby’s fine, but Dez had some bleeding again, so they think they’re going to do a C-section in the next couple of days. She’s a few weeks early, but the doctors think the baby’s big enough.”
“Lucien?” she asked.
Ben’s face fell. “He’s in his room. It’s not good. He’s mostly just sleeping. Though, I guess since we know that Kato survived… There’s still hope, you know?”
She nodded. “Okay. Good. Uh… you okay?”
He gave her a crooked smile. “Yeah. I’m good. Just been worried about you guys. Is there any… never mind.”
She just shook her head. “No. Nothing so far. Everything’s the same with him.”
Beatrice turned when she heard a thump in the hall. “Who...”
Ben started toward the door. “It’s early, but the sun’s up; I thought everyone was asleep except for you.”
Her eyes narrowed and her senses went on alert, but she could detect no unfamiliar scent. In fact, she thought she smelled Lucien, but he wouldn’t be awake.
Then, she smelled the smoke.
She rushed toward the courtyard and pulled open the door, but reared back at the low light of dawn. No sunlight touched her, but she could still feel the agonizing heat from its glow.
Ben was right behind her. “What are you doing, B?”
“I think Lucien’s in the courtyard!”
Ben’s eyes grew wide. “Oh shit! I don’t know if I can—”
“You have to drag him in. You have to!”
Ben ran into the courtyard while Beatrice held the door open, aching with the proximity of the light. Her skin wasn’t burned yet, but she could feel the heat building. She heard a scuffling sound along with quiet curses, then Ben pulled a charred Lucien into the house, and Beatrice slammed the door shut.
His skin was blistered and smoking, and he clutched a letter to his chest.
“Ben, grab some blood from the fridge!”
Beatrice cradled him in her lap and rocked him back and forth. “Please, Lucien. Not you, too. I can’t handle this. It’s too much.”
She saw his lips move and put her ear down to his charred lips.
“Rada,” he whispered. “She is dead, Beatrice. The letter…”
She pulled the letter from his hand and smoothed it out. It was written in Bulgarian, and she could only read the date. It had been written the week before. She didn’t try to stop the tears that fell down her face.
“Too much,” he whispered. “I’m tired, B. I’m so tired.”
She pressed a kiss to his blistered forehead and closed her eyes. “Please, Lucien, don’t make me lose you. I’m so tired of losing.”
Ben held out the bag of blood and Beatrice held it to his lips, mouthing the word ‘Please’ again. Lucien’s eyes held hers for a moment; then he closed them and bit. She watched as he forced down the blood she knew he didn’t want. Lucien’s eyes closed after a few moments, and he fell into a deep sleep.
Beatrice was just stirring to lift and take him back to his room when she felt the pulse of energy coming from outside the house. The hairs on the back of her neck rose, and she crouched over Lucien, immediately on alert.
The sun may have been rising in the sky, but her instincts told her there was an immortal only steps away. It was the oldest amnis she had ever felt. She looked at Ben, and she could tell he felt the strange energy, too. It hummed as if the very dust in the air vibrated. The scent of dark earth came to her nose. The smell of green and living things. Of soil and leaves. Moss and flowers. Her ears pricked at the sound of a light step in the courtyard.
Ben placed his hand on the knife he wore at his waist and walked to the door, but before he reached it, the door opened and a tall figure wearing a heavy cloak stepped through. It closed behind her, as if moved by an invisible hand. The stranger lifted her hands and pushed back the hood of her cloak as Beatrice gasped.
She was Saba. Beatrice knew it without question. She was earth and life. Her dark brown eyes were round and thickly lashed. Her black skin pulsed with energy, and her wide lips spread in a gentle smile. She was the most beautiful woman Beatrice had ever seen.
Beatrice couldn’t stop the rush of joyful tears that came to her eyes as she looked up and whispered, “Mother.”
Ben stepped back, even his weak human senses telling him that this was a creature of immense power. Saba stepped farther into the room and knelt down, placing a hand on Lucien’s forehead.
“My son,” she said. “My lovely child, what have you done?”
Beatrice was frozen as Saba gently lifted Lucien from her arms. The vampire rose and spoke to Ben. “Boy, you will show me where he may rest.”
Ben looked at Beatrice, then back to Saba in confusion. “Um… yeah, okay. His room is up the stairs and down the hall.”
Saba turned her eyes to Beatrice. “Daughter, you will follow me.”
Beatrice rose without question, following them to Lucien’s room where she saw Saba lay Lucien down on the bed before she came back to the door.
“Daughter, you will wait.”
She shut the door, and Beatrice sat down in the hall just outside. Ben slid down to the floor next to her and asked, “B, who is that?”
“Saba,” she whispered.
“How can she be out during the day? She wasn’t burned at all.”
Beatrice only shook her head. “Because she’s Saba.”
Ben frowned at her, then turned back to stare at the wall. Beatrice relaxed. For the first time in months, she felt complete and utter peace.
An hour or two later, Ben was slumped against her shoulder, napping. She heard the crack of the door; then Saba entered the hall. Beatrice quickly stood. Ben roused when his pillow moved and looked around, blinking like an owl. Saba smiled at him in amusement.
“Boy, you are faithful. Few know such strength so young. Go to sleep. Your time is not now.”
Ben blinked again and stood up, stretching his lanky frame. He sniffed and rubbed his eyes. “Okay. B, you need me?”
She shook her head and placed a hand on his cheek. “Not right now. Go to bed, Ben.”
He rubbed his eyes again, then turned and walked down the hall. Beatrice looked back at
Saba, who was watching her.
“Daughter, where is your mate?”
Beatrice felt tears come to her eyes again, but she was not ashamed. Saba held out her hand and Beatrice took it, climbing the stairs to the third floor where Giovanni rested, cold and motionless in their bed.
The ancient healer entered the room and walked to him as Beatrice sat at the foot of the bed.
“Do you know what’s wrong with him?”
Saba stroked his face and placed a hand at his temple. “He is tired.”
Beatrice choked back a sob. “Will he wake up?”
“Do not be uneasy. He has earned this healing, Daughter.”
Beatrice blinked and wiped the tears from her eyes as Saba sat next to Giovanni. She bit her wrist and held it to his lips. Immediately, he latched on and began to drink. Beatrice had to stifle a joyful laugh.
“How—”
“I use my power to make him drink.”
“You can do that?”
Amusement colored the ancient’s eyes. “Oh yes.”
Beatrice stretched out next to him and put an arm around his waist, watching in fascination as Giovanni’s lips moved. “I didn’t think I would ever see him move again.”
Saba’s other hand stroked along her forehead. “Of course you will. I can feel your blood in him. Do not worry; he will come back to you, Daughter.”
Beatrice stared up into her beautiful face. “Am I your daughter?”
“Of course you are.”
“I’ve never had a mother.”
The ancient smiled. “Now you do.”
Beatrice watched Giovanni as he continued to drink from Saba’s wrist. “Are you really the oldest of us?”
“I think so.”
“Where do we come from, Mother?”
“Does it matter?”
“Yes,” Beatrice whispered as she watched her mate. “It matters. The past matters.”
She heard Saba draw a deep breath. “I have spent thousands of years searching for wisdom. I know enough now to know that I will never know everything.”
“Does that mean you’ll stop looking?”
She chuckled. “Of course not. And neither will you.”
For the first time in weeks, she felt Giovanni’s heart give a quiet thump. Saba withdrew her wrist, then paused, looking at Beatrice. She held it out. “Daughter, do you need to be healed?”
Beatrice looked at her, then at Giovanni. His amnis was faint, but it was slowly creeping over his skin. She put her hand to his neck and felt the warmth return. His green eyes flickered open for a second, met hers, then shut as he gave a great sigh and fell into sleep again.
Beatrice smiled. “You’ve already healed me.”
Saba nodded with a smile. “I will rest with Lucien today. Your mate will wake at nightfall.”
“Thank you, Mother.”
She heard the door shut quietly, but she kept staring at Giovanni as the life returned to him. The warmth continued to spread over his skin. His hair, which had been completely burned off, began to grow before her eyes. First his eyelashes. His eyebrows. A faint stubble covered his jaw.
She felt an odd sensation under her fingertips and looked down. She couldn’t stop the smile when she realized that Giovanni had chest hair, probably for the first time in five hundred years. She bit her lip, then laughed and buried her face in his neck. His scent wasn’t exactly right, but his skin was warm. His amnis hummed, and she could feel the lively energy when she put her hands to his temples.
Beatrice laughed more. Then she curled into his side to wait until he rose.
When his eyes flickered open hours later, they immediately sought her own. She sat next to him, grinning down at his confused face.
“Where am I?” His voice was hoarse.
“At the house in Rome.”
He kept blinking, looking around. A curl of hair fell into his eyes, and he frowned in confusion.
“What happened, Tesoro?”
Beatrice leaned down and brushed the hair from his forehead, tangling her fingers in the curls. She traced the shell of his ear before she pressed her lips to his in a gentle kiss. His arms reached up and held her to his chest, and Beatrice could feel the slow, steady beat of his heart.
“You found your way back to me, Jacopo. That’s what happened.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
Crotone
Spring 1509
“What is your name?”
He looked up from tightening the fastenings on his leather jerkin. His father was standing at the door observing him as he dressed in the fine traveling clothes he’d been given. Tonight, he would leave the cold stone fortress. He was no longer Andros’s student. He was his son. He no longer wore the clothes of a servant or the scraps of cloth he’d scrounged during his training. His jacket was richly embroidered, and his boots were made of the finest leather. His immortal body was strong and healthy. He had conquered the fire that burned within.
Andros stepped into the room and smiled at him. He asked again, “What is your name?”
The young vampire smiled back, amused by the old game his sire played. “Whatever I want it to be.”
“Why?”
“Because I am superior to mortals.”
Andros smiled at the rote answer and asked another question.
“Where is your home?”
“‘Ubi bene, ibi patria.’ Where I prosper is my home.”
“Do not forget.” Andros stepped close to him and put a hand on his cheek, smiling up at the child who towered over him. “Nothing endures, save us and the elements.”
The young vampire smiled, feeling a surge of warmth for his sire. “I remember, Father.”
Andros patted his cheek fondly before he stepped back and walked to the desk, paging through the books piled near his trunk. He carefully placed a few inside.
“You do need a name, though. You’ll be introduced as my son, but the name you choose is up to you. You need something other than your mortal name. It was a peasant name, and you are a prince.”
He ignored the old ache and pushed it aside. “I may choose it?”
“Of course.” His father shrugged. “Haven’t I taught you this? Your name is whatever you want it to be. Keep in mind that you will be introduced into the Roman court, so make sure it is something appropriate.”
Andros began listing names. Aristocratic names. Fine names that would be acceptable for a rich merchant’s son. A faint, human memory rose to his mind. The sweet burst of an apricot and the sound of trickling water in a stone fountain. He heard the buzz of bees in a summer garden and a woman’s tinkling laugh.
“Giovanni! My Giovanni, sing me a song.”
He could hear the echo in his mind. His uncle’s lover teasing in a laughing voice before she was joined by another, who sang a childish tune. A song about a cricket that made a small boy giggle.
“Giovanni!” She laughed out his name. “My love…”
The young vampire blinked and looked up. His father was staring at him with calculating eyes.
“My name will be Giovanni,” he said.
Crotone
December 2012
No one visited the cold stone building that jutted into the sea. Old women who passed by made the sign of the cross, and small children peeked at it from behind their parents’ legs. Daring boys climbed the rocks that surrounded it to impress their friends, but no one ventured inside except a lone caretaker who visited the old fortress every few months. He slipped in silently then left after a few hours. The heavy locks that hung in the door were always in good repair.
Giovanni walked down the rocky path leading to his birthplace. The sound of the sea filled his ears, and the salt spray tickled his nose. It was a clear night, and the black outline of Andros’s fortress rose ominously from the waves that rose and fell under the full moon. He walked to the front door, noting the broken lock, and pushed it open. Then he tucked his hands into the pockets of his overcoat and walked in.
He could
feel the faint energy trace as soon as he entered. Giovanni took a deep breath and closed his eyes, then he followed the energy down the stone stairs. Down. Down. Until the damp walls around him pressed in and the haunting memories filled his mind. Childish voices seemed to echo off the walls.
“Paulo, give me back that book!”
He followed the hallway toward the ancient classroom, and he heard the mischievous laugh echo off the walls along with his steady footsteps.
“Cook says that I look like an angel.”
“Then I congratulate you on your deception.”
“She gave me a cake, too.”
“Perhaps I need to speak more sweetly to Cook.”
Giovanni turned the corner and passed by the room where his son had slumbered. He pushed it open, but he was not there.
“Will I ever be as tall as you?”
“I do not know. How tall was your father?”
“I never knew my father. I only remember Andros.”
He entered the cold classroom to see his son’s blond head bent over. Lorenzo was sitting in the center of the room, reading a book as the waves crashed against the stone walls.
Giovanni leaned against a stone pillar and watched him.
“What are you reading?”
Lorenzo looked up. “Virgil. The Aeneid. Book Four.” He straightened his shoulders and lifted the book. “‘But the queen, wounded by serious love, cherished the wound in her veins, and she was consumed by the hidden fire.’”
Giovanni stared at him. Lorenzo’s face was gaunt. The shining blond hair he had always been so proud of was limp and hung around his face. His clothes were torn and stained with blood.
“She was so bitter with hate,” his son said. “Maybe even more than me. It was easy to convince her that you had plotted to murder Andros.”
“So you told her that I used amnis on you? That I used you to kill him.”
“You did use me.”
“You wanted him dead, too.”
“I did.” Lorenzo nodded. “I did. And she always hated you. I saw it even when you didn’t. The way she looked at you when your back was turned. I knew it would not be difficult to fool her.” A loud wave smacked the rocks outside.