Jacopo cocked his head, and his mind began to spin. Andros had called him a “human,” as if there was some other option, and there remained a faint, dull ache at the base of his skull. He felt as if he had woken from a strange fever, but his body did not ache, only his mind. His memory flashed to the strange preachers on the streets of Paris, raving about demons and spirits. His uncle had dismissed them as lunatics.
“You are young,” Andros continued with a nod. “You will adapt nicely.”
“What do you want from me?”
The odd man smiled. “It is not what I want from you. It is what I want to give to you.
Instinct caused Jacopo’s stomach to churn, and his eyes darted around the room, searching for escape.
“Don’t panic.” Andros laughed. “I mean you no harm. Your uncle is dead. Florence continues its descent into madness.” He came and sat next to Jacopo on the small bed, but kept a comfortable distance. “You will be safe with me. Cared for.”
“Cared for?” The reality of his isolation hit him at last. Jacopo wondered what the servants thought had happened to him. His uncle had only been dead a few hours when the footman had announced that Signore Niccolo Andros had come to the villa. He remembered meeting the man in the study, but nothing else. “What has happened to my uncle?” Jacopo asked in a soft voice.
“Your uncle is dead,” Andros said. “His family will bury him. The servants have sent for them already.”
A slow ache twisted in his chest. “I am his family.”
“No, you aren’t.”
Jacopo’s eyes closed in pain. He was weary. He wanted nothing more than to curl up and go to sleep. If he woke, perhaps this would be revealed to be a strange nightmare. If he woke, his uncle might be alive. His warm feather bed would be beneath him. He would hear the maid singing a lilting song in the courtyard.
Andros’s voice brought him back to reality. “As much as your uncle may have loved you, he was never really your family. Did he ever name you as his heir? Of course not. You were his brother’s bastard. He would have married eventually and, if you were very fortunate, he would have made you steward of some house or property. You, my dear boy, were never his family.”
Jacopo’s eyes furrowed in pain. He knew in his heart that his uncle had cared for him, but the twisted words of his captor needled his insecurities. “I was his family. I was.”
Andros rose, and Jacopo’s eyes followed him. At first glance, Niccolo Andros did not look exceptionally strong or powerful. He was black-haired and bore the even, Mediterranean features shared by most men of Jacopo’s acquaintance. He had a medium build, though his arms were thickly muscled, more like those of a laborer than a successful merchant. The only startling things about the man were his pale complexion and vivid blue gaze, which sparked with intelligence and calculation. When Jacopo looked into Andros’s eyes, they radiated a quiet menace.
“No, my boy, you weren’t his family, but you will be mine.” Andros stepped closer in the small room, towering over the tall, young man as he sat on the edge of the bed.
“Do what I say, and I promise you I shall call you my son. In front of a far more powerful court than the piddling salons of the Medici, I will stand up and call you my child.”
Jacopo frowned. “What do you speak of? What court is more powerful than the Medici? Are you a priest? Do you claim the Holy Father’s favor?”
The older man chuckled. “Oh, my dear boy, how your eyes will be opened! Your world has been so small, even with all your uncle’s travels. That which I speak of is beyond your comprehension. But you will understand. I promise, very soon, you will understand.” Andros’s voice grew gentle. “You have never truly had a home, a family. I will be your family. I will call you my son, and someday, all that I have will be yours, do you understand?”
Despite his fear, a strange kind of desire began to fill Jacopo. He had watched many men lie, and was more than proficient at the art himself, but Andros’s eyes held none of the telltale signs of a deceiver. In fact, despite the ridiculous promise of the words he spoke, Jacopo almost believed him.
“You would call me your son?”
Andros smiled and stepped forward, placing a cool hand on Jacopo’s cheek. “Trust me, my child. I am your family now.”
Los Angeles, California
March 2012
He woke suddenly, twitching his nose at the memory of the salt air. Giovanni blinked the sleep from his eyes and immediately searched the bedroom. As was her habit, Beatrice sat in the large chair by the fireplace, reading a journal and taking notes in a small book. Her forehead crinkled in thought as she puzzled over some mystery. He took a silent moment to examine her.
She was stronger than he was now, though she lacked his experience, discipline, and control. For whatever reason, the cocktail of blood that had flooded her mortal body during her change had effected a truly spectacular transformation. In the year and a half since she had turned, Beatrice had grown in power and confidence. She rarely acted impulsively, and her grace was that of someone ten times her age.
Happily, she was still the same woman he had fallen in love with.
“Tesoro.”
She looked up and a slow smile spread across her face.
“Hey, handsome.”
He cocked a finger at her, squinting his eyes as he caught the teasing light in her own. She rose and sauntered toward him as he continued to beckon her. Once she was within arm’s reach, he pounced. Beatrice laughed and rolled across the floor with him as they played.
“You’re in a mood for just waking up.” She laughed as they came to a stop halfway to the fireplace. Giovanni braced himself over her and looked down. “Do I dare ask what you were dreaming about?”
Sadly, not what you’re thinking of. He kissed along her collar and nuzzled into her neck. “Have I told you tonight that I love you?”
“No.”
“I do. I love you.” His lips explored the nape of her neck, where her soft, honeysuckle scent was strongest.
“I love you, too.”
He rolled to the side and let his hand trail along her shoulder. “And I love our home.”
She laughed. “Okay.”
“And our family.”
She caught his chin and forced his eyes to hers. Giovanni met her gaze, bathing in the comfort of her energy as it wrapped them both. “Where are you tonight?”
He still marveled that she could read him so well. “Just... thinking about the past.”
Beatrice’s eyes held nothing but the soft light of understanding. “Anything you want to share?”
He shook his head. She paused for a minute, examining him before she leaned in for a gentle kiss. Giovanni kissed her back, letting his amnis spread over her skin to tease her senses. He could feel her desire twine with his, and he sat up, pulling her with him and pressing her mouth to his neck.
“Bite,” he growled. “Feed from me.”
“Thought you’d never ask.”
“Since when have you ever waited for permission?”
Giovanni heard a low purr before her fangs pierced his skin.
“What is on your agenda tonight?” he asked as he dressed in his uniform of black slacks and a dress shirt. Beatrice lounged in the bath, enjoying the calm of the water before she left their room.
“I’ve got some translation to do on the journals. I already helped Ben with his homework today, but I’ll drive him to Tenzin’s later tonight and practice for a while.”
“I wanted to talk to you about that. I asked Ernesto to call Baojia back from San Diego.”
Beatrice raised her eyebrow. “Oh, really? Did Grandpa decide to let him out of time-out?”
Giovanni grimaced. “I asked Ernesto to bring him back so he could continue your training. I spoke to Baojia last week and he wanted to know how your weapons were progressing. He says Tenzin is not a good enough teacher.”
She smiled. “It’s going fine. I’m always grateful for help though. I was talking about it with T
enzin the other night. She says I’m more than proficient with the dao, and I’m fine with the jian. I never really liked using a jian much, to be honest, so I’m not too concerned—”
“Baojia says you’re ready for the shuang gou.”
Her eyes lit up. “The hook-swords?”
“Yes.”
“Wicked.”
He smirked and walked over for a quick kiss. “Glad you agree. I’ll probably be in the library most of the night. I want to go over some of my uncle’s correspondence before we leave for Rome.”
“This trip is going to be safe, right? I know you want to bring Ben, but it’s not worth it if you think there’s any danger of—”
“Nothing we can’t handle, Tesoro.” He leaned against the edge of the counter. “We’ll see Livia, and I’ll introduce you to her people. We’ll play nice for a week or so, and then she’ll lose interest. That’s what she always does. She’s always after the shiny new toy. Right now, she’s curious, that’s all. Honestly, I should have taken you to see her right after we got married, but we had a bit on the schedule.”
“So no reason to worry?”
“No.” He frowned. “Are you worried?”
Beatrice shrugged. “Well, she’s the closest thing I have to a mother-in-law. From all reports, she’s also an incredibly beautiful, two-thousand-year-old, Roman noblewoman. And she is, according to you, one of the most powerful vampires in Europe. Nope, nothing intimidating about her at all.”
Giovanni bent down, ignoring the water soaking his knees. “Nothing to worry about. She’ll love you.”
“Yeah?” She couldn’t hide the skepticism in her voice.
He grabbed her chin and laid a hard kiss on her mouth. “Since when is my woman afraid?”
Her eyes narrowed. “I’m not afraid.”
“Good.” He stood and straightened his collar. “You’ll love Rome. And since Kirby and Desiree can come along with Benjamin, we’ll all have a grand time. Tenzin will... she’ll put up with it for your sake. Try to persuade her not to kill anyone.”
“Hmm.”
“What now?”
“Just thinking. We’ll need to figure out something about accommodations. We’re going to be there for three months and there’s six of us, so—”
“We have a house in Rome. It has plenty of room.”
Beatrice blinked. “We do?”
“I have a large house in Rome, an estate outside Florence, and a smaller flat in Milan. Didn’t I tell you that?”
“Anything else?”
“That’s all that I have in Italy. I have a few other places scattered around Europe.”
Beatrice paused. “Was that on your husband profile right under your ability to burn pasta? Because, I’ll be honest, anything after the description of your sexual skills I just skipped over.”
He burst out laughing and tossed a hand towel at her. It hit her in the face.
“Hey!” She flicked her fingers and a spray of water crossed the room, soaking him.
“Thanks for that.” He stripped off the wet shirt.
“Aha! My devious plan worked; you’re naked again.” She grabbed his hand as he walked past and pulled him into the tub.
“Tesoro?”
“Yes?”
“Are we going to accomplish anything tonight?”
“Probably not.”
Hours later, he managed to pull himself away when Ben resorted to calling their room, threatening to steal the car to drive himself to practice. Though Giovanni was agreeable to that scenario, Beatrice was not. She muttered something about “stupid teenage drivers” as she pulled on her practice clothes and left the room, blowing him a kiss over her shoulder.
He wandered down to the library on the first floor, where he had shipped most of his uncle’s collection of books, letters, and artwork. He had expanded the original library during the year they had been in Chile and added a pool house, as well. All the windows had lightproof shutters, which allowed Beatrice to have use of most of the house during the day. He had spared no expense making sure their home suited his wife’s somewhat unusual needs.
Just as he was sitting down with a collection of letters between Girolamo Benivieni and his uncle, Giovanni Pico, the phone rang. Looking at the clock, he realized it was probably Carwyn calling before dawn.
Giovanni picked up the phone. “Hello, Father.”
“That would have been awkward if it was Livia.”
“You know she never uses the phone. She can barely stand using the postal service instead of uniformed messenger.”
“And yet she does love her fancy lights and indoor plumbing.”
“No one can ever claim she was anything but an aristocrat.”
“So, speaking of your mummy—”
“Please, don’t call her that,” he said with a wince. Carwyn only chuckled. “Ever. I’m serious.”
“Fine. Speaking of the Roman she-devil, when will you be there?”
He rolled his eyes. Carwyn had always had a clear disdain for anything having to do with Rome. The Welshman barely put up with his own friends at the Vatican, who had known about the priest’s existence for centuries, and he delighted in making snide remarks about the arrogance of ecclesiastical and military empires.
“We’ll be there at the beginning of May. Will you be joining us?”
“Will Tenzin be there? And the boy?”
“Of course.”
“Well, I wouldn’t want to miss out on the party. I’ll see you there. I could use a visit with a few people in red bathrobes anyway.”
That was unexpected. Carwyn usually avoided Vatican City if possible. “Oh? Anything I need to know about?”
“Just some... personal details. Collar-type things you’d have no interest in.”
The priest was being uncharacteristically cagey, but Giovanni let it rest. He knew if his old friend wanted to share, he would. Carwyn had few secrets, but those he did have, he kept very close. Giovanni decided to change the subject.
“How’s Deirdre?”
Carwyn paused. “She’s doing well. As well as can be expected. She’s keeping busy. Has quite a few projects she’s juggling at the moment.”
“Good.”
“And how is your wife?”
“Doing extremely well. She’s practicing with Ben and Tenzin tonight, though I believe she’ll be training with Baojia again in the near future.”
“Oh, you must be thrilled.”
“I can... appreciate his usefulness.”
Carwyn only laughed. “And the bloodlust? How’s she doing with that? Any slips?”
He shrugged. “Doesn’t seem to be a problem. She still feels it, from what she says, but her control is so good you wouldn't know it was ever a problem. She’s extraordinary.”
“Well, that’s no surprise.”
“I suppose not; she’s always performed beyond expectations.”
“Speaking of things I don’t need to know about...”
Giovanni snorted. “Aren’t you amusing?”
“Sometimes.”
He frowned. Something was bothering his friend. “Are you sure you don’t have things at home you need to take care of? We’d all love to see you in Rome, but it’s not necessary if you’re busy.”
Carwyn paused. “I’m sure. I’ve been here too long as it is.”
“Where are you? I thought you were calling from home.”
“No, I’m in Ireland.”
“Still looking through Ioan’s library? If he’s the doctor that Stephen mentioned in the journals, it’s possible that they were in contact. Have you looked through his letters?”
“Deirdre has. I’ve been through his library, and so far, there’s nothing. Nothing about the research that Lorenzo tortured him over, either. In fact, anything related to vampire blood seems to be gone, though I know he had at least one book that he wrote, detailing its uses in treating humans. Deirdre is quite certain that no one has been in their library except their immediate family and nothing seems
disturbed. I’ve been writing letters to the rest of the family and his other colleagues to see if he lent his work to anyone, but as you can imagine, the list is fairly long.”
“I hate to pull you away if you’re needed there. Are you sure—”
“Yes, I need to get away from here for a bit.” Carwyn sighed. “I’ll see you in Rome the beginning of May, Gio. Keep out of trouble and say hello to B for me. I need to go.”
“You’re acting strange.”
The priest laughed. “When do I not act strange?”
Giovanni scowled. “Fine. Keep your secrets.”
“Just following your excellent example. I’ll see you in a month or so.”
“Good night, Carwyn.”
“Good night.”
He hung up, but couldn’t shake the feeling that something was very wrong. Carwyn had lost much of his normally affable demeanor since Ioan’s death, and Giovanni knew that witnessing his family’s grief was even more wrenching than his own. Reminding himself that Lorenzo still walked the earth, free to hurt others, he dove back into research. He pulled out the letters and turned to one dated 1488, written from Benivieni to his uncle when they were in Paris.
“My dear Giovanni, I saw the odd Signore Andros in Rome last month. He was speaking with the Moor who is visiting with the governor on some trade issue. He really is a most strange gentleman. I cannot ascertain your preoccupation with him...”
Chapter Three
Los Angeles, California
April 2012
In the four years since Ben Vecchio had lived with his adopted uncle, it wasn’t unusual for him to pinch himself to make sure he was awake. It wasn’t when he saw his uncle dart by so fast that his eyes blurred or noticed his aunt’s new fangs peek out of her mouth. The fact that he had been adopted by vampires no longer fazed the young man. No, it was the mornings he woke in a warm bed, surrounded by the sounds of family and signs of comfort that he pinched himself.
But pinching was the last thing he needed to do to remind himself he wasn’t dreaming when it came time for practice with Tenzin.