Beatrice cut him off with a kiss, rolling them over so that she was lying on his chest. She pinned him at the shoulders as the speakerphone squawked in the background.
“Guys? Gio? Did you short out the phone again?” Giovanni and Beatrice continued to roll across the dining room and into the living room, taking out another chair as each tried to best the other in their playful wrestling match.
“B? Can you hear me?”
Giovanni gripped her hips and rocked against her, ignoring the voice in the background.
“You guys are fooling around, aren’t you?” Ben sighed over the line. “That’s so gross.”
They didn’t notice when the phone clicked.
July
“What were you thinking?” He patted her face with cool cloths, more for his own peace of mind than anything else. She was already healing.
“I just wanted to see a glimpse of it,” she said sullenly. “Just a... sliver. I didn’t think I would burn that fast.”
He fought back the scream he wanted to level at her. “You’re too young, Tesoro. You just—” He broke off and clutched her to his chest, frightened beyond words. “Do you realize what would have happened if I hadn’t been quick enough?”
“Crispy critter,” she said as she pulled away from him. “I’m fine.”
“Do not make light of this.”
“Don’t order me around.”
He clutched her shoulders again and spoke in a hard voice, holding fast when she tried to squirm away. “Do you realize what it would do to me? To Benjamin?”
“Not fair.”
“To Isadora? To Caspar? How about Carwyn?”
“Shut up!” She shoved him away and tried to stand, but her eyes were still blinded from the seconds of sun she had felt on her face.
“How about Dez? Matt? Isabel? Gustavo? Tenzin?”
“Tenzin does not give two shits about me, Gio!” She rose to her feet and grabbed the back of the couch.
He grabbed her hand. “You know that’s not true.”
“Then where the hell is she?”
August
He was playing again. He often did right before dawn. Relaxing things. Slow melodies by Bach or Satie or Chopin. Things he knew she loved. She wondered if it was an attempt to quiet her and let her rest, even though she rarely took comfort in sleep anymore. There were only a few hours a day that she was able to sleep. She didn’t tire, but she did envy the peaceful oblivion that slumber had once provided.
And dreaming. She missed dreaming.
Beatrice approached the piano, sliding next to Giovanni on the narrow bench he had pushed back to fit his long legs. He didn’t cease playing the Nocturne when he leaned over and kissed her.
“Hello.”
“Hey.”
“Want me to show you a few things?”
“Nope.”
“A little Mozart melody?” His fingers tripped up the keys. “You’ll be amazed by how fast you pick it up.”
“Still nope.”
September
“How could you?” She threw him into the face of the cliff, tossing him as if he weighed nothing when he finally caught up with her on the road back to the valley.
“He was old. He was going to die within a few weeks, Beatrice.”
She paced back and forth in the small clearing. “But I didn’t need to be the one to kill him.” Streaks of crimson tears marred her perfect white skin. The rain beat down on them and the wind whipped through the small pass.
He tried to speak in a low, calming voice. “You broke out of the bloodlust much quicker than I had imagined. You’re doing very well.”
“But I still killed him, Gio! I did. And you stood there and let me. You stood by and let me kill that old man doing nothing more than sitting in his garden.”
Giovanni slowly stood, still keeping his distance. “If he had been in good health, you would not have killed him. But he was sick, Tesoro. Surely, you must have tasted it in his blood. He was in pain. Your amnis calmed him as you drank. He didn’t feel anything.”
She screamed and pulled at her hair. “How could you let me kill him?”
“It was a mercy.”
“No!” she yelled and rushed him, knocking him over and pummeling his face. She loosed her rage on her mate until he grabbed her hands. He could barely contain her; Beatrice had become almost immeasurably strong. “Why? Why did you let me murder him?”
With a surge, he rolled over until she was lying under him, sobbing in the rain as the bloody tears ran down her face and into the mud.
“This is why! Do you understand? Look at me, Beatrice.” He finally caught her narrowed eye and she bared her teeth at him. “Look at me and listen right now. Did I let you kill that old man? Yes, and I’ll tell you why.”
He took a softer hand and brushed at the tears that stained her cheeks. “Because one day, very soon, it’s not going to be a sick stranger in a garden that tempts you.” He sat back and pulled her to sit in front of him, the rain still beating on their backs.
“Someday very soon, it’s going to be Benjamin. Or your grandmother. Or Caspar or Dez or Matt. It’s going to be someone you love. An innocent stranger on a train or walking down the street at night. And the temptation is going to knock you over and every instinct in you is going to be screaming to take and drink and not to stop because there is nothing in the human world more powerful than you. Do you understand what I’m saying?” He grabbed the collar of her soaked overcoat and pulled her closer. She still stared at him with sullen, tear-filled eyes as he continued.
“And when that moment comes, I want you to remember how you feel right now. I want you to remember this moment for the rest of your existence because that is what will keep the humans around you safe from the monster that lives inside you. That lives inside all of us.”
Her eyes were dull as she stared at him. Her hands limp and lying at her sides.
“I hate you.”
“I love you.”
October
“Beatrice?”
She glanced at him, but didn’t speak.
“Have you fed tonight?”
He looked so calm as he wrapped his needless scarf around his neck and prepared to go down to the lodge for Ben’s lessons.
She nodded.
“Call if you need anything.”
She shrugged and turned back to the fire. They hadn’t exchanged blood since she had killed the old man. Her logical brain understood why Giovanni had allowed her to do it, but the gaping void in her chest, the hollow that never seemed to be filled, was only growing deeper the longer she let her anger fester.
And she couldn’t see a way to bridge the gap that had opened between them.
An hour later, there was a knock at the door. So focused on the fire, she failed to register the approaching energy. A storm system had moved into the valley, bringing thunder, lightning, and causing her senses to go haywire in the charged air.
Beatrice rose and went to the door, gasping when she recognized the smell of cardamom on the other side. She flung it open and Tenzin was there, silent and soaked from the rain. Her shorn hair hung in thick chunks around her face as she waited on the porch.
Simultaneous rage and love reared up in Beatrice. She raised her hand to strike, but Tenzin only reached out and caught her fist before it made contact. Beatrice shook, then she crumbled to the ground, sobbing out her grief, anger, and heartbreak as her father’s mate knelt down and gathered her in an embrace. Tenzin kicked the door closed and tucked Beatrice’s head under her chin, rocking her back and forth as Beatrice clutched at her dirty white robes.
“I’m here, my girl. I’m back.”
November
“It’s normal to feel that, you know.”
Tenzin and Beatrice were sparring on the edge of a clearing as one of Gustavo’s men looked on. A human, one of the guides that worked in the valley during the summer months, sat at his feet. While Beatrice had very good control around humans most of the time, Tenzi
n had emphasized the importance of learning how to fight while the distraction was nearby. Considering Lorenzo had used the scent of human blood to pin her and kill her father, Beatrice was quick to agree to the practice, no matter how much her throat burned.
“Feel what?”
“That void from Stephen’s loss. It will fade with time, but there will always be a trace. You were sired from his blood; it would be unnatural to not feel the lack of him.”
They moved in a dancing fight, Beatrice’s style having developed into something uniquely her own in the year since she had turned. It was a melding of the martial arts that she had practiced as a human, Gemma’s vicious street-fighting, and Tenzin’s flowing, but lethal, ballet. Though Tenzin was still faster, Beatrice was more than able to keep up.
“Do you still feel it?” Tenzin cut her eyes toward Beatrice before she punched out in a swift uppercut.
“Sorry,” Beatrice muttered through her fractured jaw. “Stupid question.”
“Have you talked to Giovanni about it?”
“Why?”
Tenzin smacked the back of her head. “Are you stupid, girl? Do you forget that he lost his father, too?”
“Oh, well...” Beatrice had no idea how much Tenzin knew about Andros’s death, but she wasn’t going to say. Giovanni had told her that no one could ever know that he had a hand in the death of his sire. She would not reveal his secrets, not even to Tenzin.
“And however that came about—” Tenzin looked down at the ground. “And I have always had my suspicions—your husband understands the loss you feel. He has felt it himself. If you need to talk to someone, he’s the one vampire here that would understand. If you haven’t talked to him about it, you’re stupid.”
Beatrice held a hand up and paused. “Are you coming back with us to L.A.?”
Tenzin frowned. “I suppose I am. Why?”
“Because apparently, I need you to tell me when I’m being stupid.”
December
She was glowing. Her face may not have blushed anymore, but his wife had been glowing as she sat next to Ben and opened presents earlier that evening. They had gathered at Isabel and Gustavo’s house, Beatrice and Giovanni, Tenzin, Carwyn, and Ben. All together, and she had not struggled to control her bloodlust once.
Giovanni imagined that he was glowing, too.
She lay on the couch, stretched out and listening to him play bits and pieces from the Nutcracker Suite as dawn approached. She hummed along, horribly out of tune, as always, but he didn’t care. He heard her stand and walk toward him. She placed her hand on his shoulder and he leaned into her arm, rubbing his cheek against her flesh and enjoying the crackling, excited energy that filled the house.
They would go back to Los Angeles soon.
“Gio?”
“Hmm?”
She sat next to him for a moment before she ducked under his arms and straddled his lap. He pulled his hands away to grab her waist, but she winked and placed them back on the keyboard. “Keep playing.”
Giovanni chuckled. “What game are you playing, woman?”
She put her arms around his neck, nipping at his ear and nuzzling into his neck. “I think...”
“Yes?” Despite his preternatural concentration, he was having trouble focusing on the Tchaikovsky.
“I think that maybe I do want to learn to play.”
His eyes rolled back as she let her fangs scrape along his neck. “Oh, I think you’re quite adept at playing already, Tesoro.”
“No.” She giggled. “An instrument.”
“I’m allowing that joke to pass. To obvious.”
She laughed and cuddled into him, wiggling on his lap as he struggled to concentrate on the keyboard. “Not piano though.”
“No?”
“No, maybe... guitar. I could be a rock and roll chick. Not electric, obviously... well, maybe I could figure something out. I mean, if I really tried, I could probably figure out a way to make it work. Maybe an insulated case of some kind, but I’d have to make sure it didn’t damage the guitar... What?”
He grinned and ceased playing, wrapping his arms around her and pressing his mouth to hers in a long kiss. His hands reached up, running through her hair and teasing the pins out that she had used to put it up earlier.
“I love you madly, Beatrice De Novo.”
She smiled and nipped at his chin. “I love you, too.”
“Welcome back.”
Chapter One
Los Angeles, California
March 2012
Giovanni woke with a start, and Beatrice looked up from across the room. He sat up and swung his legs over the side of their large bed to stare at the photograph of the Ponte Vecchio, which hung on the wall of their bedroom.
“Hey.”
He blinked before he looked over at her. Beatrice smiled. Her husband looked as if he was still halfway dreaming.
“Good evening. Did you rest at all today?” He rose and walked to her, bending down to kiss her bare shoulder. He still refused to wear any sort of clothing to bed. Since their room was blocked by a sturdy, reinforced door, multiple locks, and an electronic monitoring system that she’d had custom made for them, Beatrice just decided to enjoy the view. No one would be breaking in.
“I rested a few hours. You looked like you were dreaming. What was it about?”
He shrugged and walked to the small kitchen area, heating a bag of blood and leaning over to sniff the coffee pot she’d added in the corner of their room.
“Was it about your father again?”
He was silent for a few minutes, but she didn’t try to fill the space. Giovanni finally turned with a frown on his face. “I don’t know why I’m having so many dreams about him.”
She cocked her head. “Because of me? Because I lost my dad? Because we’ve been talking about that?”
“Perhaps.”
She had finally taken Tenzin’s advice and confided in Giovanni about the gaping wound that Stephen’s loss had left. As predicted, he understood completely. Just sharing the hurt had done more to lessen the grief than any of her own efforts.
“Gio... there’s no chance that Andros could be alive, is there? I mean, you didn’t actually see him die. He was just ash when you woke up. Lorenzo was the one who saw—”
“Beatrice, how did you feel when your father was killed?”
Tears sprang immediately to her eyes. “Like... something was ripped from my chest. Empty. Physical pain would have been a relief.”
He only looked at her and nodded. “I felt the same. Despite how much I hated Andros, I loved him, too. And the pain of my father’s death woke me from my day rest, even though it was practically impossible to wake me when I was that young. I know he is dead.”
“Okay,” she whispered. “I’m sorry. I just—”
“It’s a valid question. Don’t apologize.”
He turned and picked up the bag of blood he had heated in warm water, drinking it quickly before he walked across the room. He picked her up and brought her back to the bed. Though she didn’t need to sleep, his presence—the silent meditation of his touch—allowed Beatrice to rest her mind.
The sun still peeked through the edges of the windows, so they lay silently, curled together as her amnis wrapped around its mate. Though he didn’t move, she could feel Giovanni’s invisible energy stroking along her back and neck, fluttering over her skin and soothing her.
“What are you doing tonight?” she asked in a drowsy whisper.
“I’m introducing one of Gustavo’s sons to Ernesto. Diego has some business in Los Angeles and he asked for an introduction.”
“Oh, you get to play politics. Lucky you.”
He pinched her side when she snickered. “Your grandfather asked for you to come, as well, but I made an excuse for you. I’m not going to next time.”
She leaned over and kissed him. “Thank you. You’re the best husband in the whole room.” Beatrice squealed when he dug his fingers into her sides. Immortality
had not lessened how ticklish she was. If anything, it had made it worse.
“Why? Why did I sign up for this abuse for eternity? What have I done to deserve this woman?” He chuckled as he continued to tickle her. Soon, she was gasping under him.
“Stop!” she panted. “Stop. I’ll...”
An evil grin spread across his face. “You’ll what?”
She brought an arm around and trailed her fingers down his back, teasing his spine as he shivered. Giovanni may not have been ticklish, but she knew exactly how to torment him.
“I’ll... save some hot water for you!”
Beatrice darted out from under him and into the luxurious bathroom, locking the door behind her. She laughed and started the shower, only to hear the door splinter behind her. Giovanni tossed the broken wood to the side and strode into the room.
“We didn’t need that door.”
She drove the grey Mustang through the busy streets, pulling up to the old warehouse where Tenzin had set up a practice studio. The ancient wind vampire was already there, and Beatrice could hear her pounding on one of training dummies.
“You’re coming later, right?” Ben grabbed his gym bag and opened the door.
“Yeah, I’m just meeting Dez for dinner, and then I’ll come back and practice with you guys for a while.”
“No rush. I think she’s meaner to me when you’re there.”
Beatrice laughed and reached across to ruffle his hair as he tried to squirm away.
At fifteen, Ben Vecchio had all the marks of a boy on the verge of manhood. He had shot up the year they had been in Chile and was far taller than she was. Beatrice guessed he would rival Giovanni’s height when he was full-grown. His chest was starting to fill out and lose its scrawny appearance, helped along by the intense physical training that Beatrice and Giovanni insisted on for his safety. His curling hair, deep brown eyes, and quick smile already attracted enough female attention to keep a grown man happy, much less a teenage boy.