1
Curst greed of gold, what crimes thy tyrant power has caused.
—Virgil
A biting chill came to Rome early, like it had the year of Victoria’s death. This time, Luke Evans sensed the sting and yearned for the crisp wetness, which would have seeped inside his bones if he were human. He pulled the lapels of his coat up out of habit and started across Piazza del Popolo toward Santa Maria di Montesanto. The church and its twin, Santa Maria dei Miracoli, loomed ahead of him, whispering words of warning. This he believed because it made sense damned creatures would not be welcome within their doors.
A young girl hurried toward him. The scent of her hunger and desperation, not unlike that of a beggar, reached him first. Holes laced the cuffs of her thin coat. Her slender form was diminished beneath jeans several sizes too large.
“Signore, stop,” she said, reached up and tugged the arm of his coat, pleading with her dark eyes. “Please help me. A man has taken my purse. Without it, I have nothing.” Her English held a hint of Roman accent. Perhaps a city native?
Luke would bet his immortality she did not have much within her purse. Not that immortality meant much.
“Signore?” The girl grasped his hand, her skin warm in comparison to his. “Please.”
“Luke.” Victoria slipped a hand through his, squeezing it tight. She turned, her pale eyes searching. She was frightened. He needed to soothe her.
No, he thought. Not real. Not any longer. Victoria was gone. Eyes closed, he tried to separate reality from the images his mind recreated.
A scream echoed. This time Victoria lay still, cold. Her gray dress reflected the pallor of her skin. A matching handbag rested alongside her, its contents scattered across a growing pool of burgundy. Blood. It encroached upon the cobblestone beneath them.
“Are you okay, sir?” The girl frowned.
“Yes.” Luke blinked, letting the image of his dead wife dissipate. The girl shifted with edgy movements. Still, her tale hit too close to home for him to deny her request. He gripped her arm, his firm hold a warning as much as a comfort. “Bring me to where you last saw him.”
Her lower lip trembled and her moment’s hesitation puzzled him. A possible lie? Perhaps, but curiosity got the better of him. He let her lead him amidst the shadows of an alley. In any case, no predator worse than he awaited them. He scented anxiety, anticipation. Another human being. A male, based on the musk.
“Reveal yourself,” he said.
The man’s ragged breaths muffled his thumping heart as he stepped beneath a street lamp’s orange-tinted halo. Longish, straggly hair covered part of his face. He held a knife, the blade shaky in his tremulous grip. “Give us your wallet.”
Beside Luke, the girl backed away. He turned, disappointment a bitter taste on his tongue even as her gaze held regret. “If I refuse?” he asked. “Do you truly believe you could overpower me?”
The man stepped forward. “Leave her alone. Do as I say. We only want your cash.” Brows creased, he puffed up his chest. Young, like the girl. Nearly a boy at age eighteen or nineteen, he mistook stupidity for cunning, bravado for courage.
The predator within hungered for an easy kill. He’d gone too long without taking life. His canines lengthened, but he kept them covered. “You know not what you threaten. Do not make the mistake of playing a fool.”
The young man squinted, hesitated. His hand lowered slightly as he pressed his lips together. An insecure child pulled within hunger’s grasp. The boy shoved back greasy hair. “We need this. Don’t try to convince us otherwise. You’re free if you give us your money. We don’t want to hurt you, but we will if we must.”
Damn it. Luke did not have time for children’s games. He attacked with a rush of speed, knocked the knife from the boy’s hand and seized his neck. “You try my patience.” Beneath Luke’s thumb, blood pulsed an almost irresistible tune of temptation. It would be easy, quick. Saliva pooled on his tongue but he could sense the three of them were not alone.
An audience of one stood amidst shadows. A heartbeat too slow to be human. Broderick. The halfling possessed impeccable timing. Without easing his grip, Luke turned toward the darkness. “What is it you are hoping for? Do you find fault with my judgment?” His resolve wavered as he waited for an answer. None came. “Selfish men are thieves. Do you not see greed manifests itself here?”
For a moment the weight on his shoulders seemed insurmountable. It was not enough for vampires to drink life’s essence. Only a kill would calm the angst consuming him. How he loathed the animal inside him.
“No,” the girl cried, tugging at his arm. “We didn’t mean any harm. We’re hungry, desperate. Leave him alone. Please.”
“How touching.” He growled and pulled away, tossed the boy against a stone wall. A gush of air left the boy’s mouth then he coughed and slid to the ground. The girl came at Luke again and he lifted her, a hand braced against her jugulars. Too thin and delicate. He kept his touch gentle so as not to make a mark. At least she felt regret. “Do you know what I could do? What I should?”
“No, Giulia.” The young man coughed again and stretched forward an arm. “Please, don’t hurt her. Take me instead.” This time, the scent of sweat emanated from him. It flooded the atmosphere, choking Luke with its potency.
Interesting, the boy feared more for Giulia’s life than his own. There might still be hope for them. With a sigh, Luke set her down.
She ran to the young man and helped him up, caressing his face, neck and arms in search of injuries. They were in love. Strange how even in the darkest of circumstances, the emotion blossomed.
Luke adjusted the cuffs of his collared shirt. Such luck. In search of wrongdoing, he’d found not true wickedness, but young lovers confined within the depths of hopelessness. Standing before him, they possessed a profound slightness, granted not only by their small stature but through life’s cruelty. “Bloody hell.”
“Who are you?” the young man asked and pushed Giulia behind him.
Luke hung his head. “I am no one.”
The boy opened his mouth as if to say something then backed away, taking Giulia with him.
“Wait.” Luke pointed down a shadowed, cobblestone street. “If you go straight, make your second right and you will see a wooden sign for a small hotel. Ask for Francesca and tell her Dante sent you. She will take care of your room and board until you can earn enough wages to pay your own way.”
The boy’s brows drew together. “Is this some kind of trick?”
“I do not joke regarding favors.” He pulled several euro notes from his wallet. “This should take care of you both for the next couple weeks.”
“We don’t need your charity.” The boy snarled.
“I would say current circumstances prove otherwise. What about her?” He nodded at Giulia. “Do you think Giulia deserves this kind of life?”
“She has clothes on her back. We eat enough.”
“Her person is frail and such clothes shall not protect you through winter’s first week.” Luke rubbed his neck, considering. “I too have found myself facing difficult situations, but I warn you once. What you are doing is never the answer. If you insist, you may pay me back through Francesca. She will make arrangements.”
“Grazie, signore.” Giulia stepped toward him and accepted the money.
“Thanks.” The young man came forward.
He faced him. “Do not thank me. I could easily have damaged your person. If you choose a thief’s role, be prepared to pay the price. Next time, you might not be so fortunate.” He nodded at Giulia. “Take care of her. And take a bath. Several days’ stench makes for a terrible lover.”
The young man nodded and hurried away, linking his arm with Giulia’s.
“Nicely done. Almost Zorro-like,” Broderick said. “Dante is it? I’d applaud but you’d call me dramatic.”
“Yes, I would.” Luke glared as his close friend and private investigator, Broderick Sullivan, left the shadows and leaned against a wall. “Francesca prefers to call me Dante. She has always been fond of The Divine Comedy.”
“There is something fitting about it,” Broderick replied.
“Believe what you may.” Luke preferred not to delve down that path. He was not sure he agreed with Broderick or Francesca. Unlike Dante, his journey did not traverse beyond Hell’s realm. “You did not intervene. I know you wanted to. Why resist your urge?”
Broderick stared down the narrow street where the couple had disappeared. “You had everything under control.”
“You thought differently.” He had heard the uneven skip of Broderick’s heartbeat as he held the boy. His friend had not believed him capable of holding out much longer. Difficult to admit, that Broderick might be right. A shiver of unease worked its way through him but he shrugged it away. “Why did you doubt me?”
“You know why. Your problem is you won’t admit it.”
Luke shook his head. “I would like to think I would not have hurt them. They were young, desperate.” Still worth saving.
“They were thieves. Despite what you’d rather think of yourself, you’ve gone too long between killings. You know feeding is not enough for a pureblood.” Broderick stepped closer. “It’s not a game whether or not you choose to kill your victims. You don’t have a choice. If you keep pushing yourself like this, madness will drive you toward something you regret.”
“Something I regret.” Luke barked a sarcastic laugh. “Tell me what I do not already know. I choose my victims with a purpose. Are you saying I should let the memory of her die?” He squeezed his eyes shut and swallowed. “Should Victoria have died in vain?”
“Your wife’s death happened unexpectedly, an unforeseen tragedy. Not a justification for murder. Especially one that happened over two hundred years ago.”
“Murder is never unexpected. Those men knew what could result from such harmful actions. I, however, cannot help what I do.”
“Oh yeah.” Broderick huffed. “You are what you are.”
“What do you expect? Each day, I live her murder like it happened the day before. I am a murderer by nature.” And always would be.
“Don’t blame nature. You’re a vampire. Your premeditation makes you a murderer by choice.”
“Enough. I pay you to bring me potential victims, not be their judge and juror. That is my role,” Luke said.
“A role you’ll fuck up if you don’t feed and kill in a timely manner. A vampire with a conscience is anomaly enough. If you want to live as guilt-free as possible, this world’s got plenty of scum awaiting your death sentence.”
“I’m not searching for a couple guilt-free millennia, I want complete freedom. Do you not understand I need to make a determination whether my victims are evil or not?”
“No,” said Broderick. “I don’t understand.”
“Because you have not been listening.”
“I disagree.”
“No.” Luke closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. “This discussion is over.” Broderick’s words only grated on his nerves. “What new information do you have for me?”
Broderick hung his head. “Did you get my latest file upload?”
“I did receive the file. Still, I prefer paper. Did you bring it with you?”
“Yes. This is pretty much everything I have on Savannah Michaels.” He handed him a manila folder. “You better get with the times. I’m done killing trees for you.”
“You are full of sage advice today.” Luke accepted the folder and thumbed through the first couple pages.
“Dates wealthy men, volunteers at charity events, which high society women somehow feel obligated to do, and is obviously desperate for money since she answered my ad. This is fairly circumstantial. I have quite a bit of work on this one.”
“You don’t let me make it easy. If you’re looking for justifiable kills, I could bring you convicted felons.”
“No.” Each killing was as much a test for him as it was for his victim. He might be a monster but he needed to prove he could choose right from wrong, good from bad.
“As you wish.” Broderick brushed a hand back through his unruly waves. “People become who they are through experience, upbringing and motivation. Not everyone immediately chooses the wrong path. For some it is thrust upon them.” He nodded toward where the young couple had walked. “Like them.”
“Exactly why it is important for me to do this.”
“You need another purpose beyond revenge. You are strong, but we each have limits. It’ll catch up with you sooner or later.”
A muscle pulsed along Luke’s jaw. “I do not pay you to be my bloody conscience. I am a vampire, for God’s sake.”
“I haven’t forgotten. If anything, I’m reminding you of this fact,” Broderick said. “Besides, I’m speaking as a friend, not an employee.”
“A friend would understand my motivation.” A low blow but he grew tired of their argument. This was not the first time Broderick had expressed concerns. No doubt it wouldn’t be the last. Each victim challenged him further. Before long, the lines between good and evil would blend and a primitive part of him would take over. He refused to lose whatever humanity he held without a fight.
The line of Broderick’s mouth grew rigid as he met his gaze briefly then turned away. “Ms. Michaels should be en route to your meeting place shortly.” He pulled out an iPhone and pushed its Home button. “It’s late. Considering your night’s distraction, you should leave soon.”
Luke paused on a photo in the file. It could only be described as vivid, and Snow White came to mind. He did not believe fairytales, yet something about her warmed the cold crawling along his skin.
“Luke?”
“I have one stop at the church first.”
“Fine. Anything else.”
“Did you pick up my shipment of blood?” Luke asked.
“It’s in my trunk now. I’d recommend a bag or two. It might keep the angst at bay for some time.”
He doubted it would help, however, Broderick’s intentions remained well placed. “Maybe you are right.”
“Of course I’m right.”
“Either way, if it gets too difficult, I will call you before I do anything to her.”
“Fine.”
Beyond the immense doors of Santa Maria di Montesanto, the night’s noise died down. As Luke located a pew, he could almost hear Mrs. Thompson say, the Lord giveth and He taketh away. If you have time to make it to gaming hells, you have time to make it to Mass.
He smiled at the memory. Despite a fondness for his family’s housekeeper, he’d always thought her words the mere poppycock of an old woman. Now... His world was different and the Church had become a vestige of hope. More than two hundred years in Rome, and Catholicism had grown on him. He would not call himself devout, but his interest remained somewhat sturdy, considering his damned status.
After saying a short prayer, he genuflected, made the Sign of the Cross and gathered his black scarf before heading to the back of the church. He smiled at a woman who lit candles, careful not to expose too much fang.
Her mouth curved easily. “Buona sera, signore.”
“Buona sera.” He wished her good night and strode past.
“Buona sera, signore. Vada con Dio.” An elderly lady with gray streaks through her hair greeted him near the front door. A regular, she smelled of incense and dust.
Luke nodded in salutation and hastened into the brusque night. He could have said the damned did not go with God except she seemed a nice lady. Far be it from him to ruin her evening. Besides, there was a certain irony to the fact he concerned himself with religion as an immortal when as a human he’d labeled it a dull, useless waste of time.
He’d seen enough throughout his lifetime to respect the existence of a greater power. Yet he would never understand why this greater power would let a young couple wander through the streets hungry.
Pushing past his thoughts, he picked up the pace. He had an appointment to make. Icy wind whipped through the air and sliced apart a light mist over the near vacant piazza. Late September, and a winter frost tiptoed across Rome.
2
Desperation is the raw material of drastic change. Only those who can leave behind everything they have ever believed in can hope to escape.
—William S. Burroughs
Savannah Michaels nibbled the fingernails of one hand while she crinkled a piece of paper with the other. Ninety thousand dollars of debt and now she was thousands of miles away from home doing only God knew what. Sure, it had been for necessary expenses. She hadn’t planned the accident and definitely wouldn’t have chosen to complete near two years of physical therapy afterward, but this knowledge didn’t soothe the butterflies in her stomach. A knot tightened her throat. Now was not the time for cold feet. She massaged her throat and glanced back down at the internet classified ad she’d printed off.
COMPANION WANTED
Traveling companion, male or female, between the ages of twenty-five to forty-five. Requires valid passport and the ability to travel throughout Italy for four weeks straight. All expenses covered. Will pay handsomely. Please inquire at
[email protected]
Too good to be true? Savannah released a shuddering breath and sipped her cappuccino. Steam hit her nose, warming it against the air’s chill. Across a huge expanse of ocean, meeting a complete stranger. She had to be crazy.
“Your tartufo.” A waiter leaned forward and placed a chocolate lover’s dream before her. “Anything else, miss?” His gaze questioned beneath a broad brow.
Rubbing the button holding her pants closed, she smiled. “No, thank you. Um, grazie.”
He nodded and turned, attending another table.
Hmm. She planned to eat in Italy and here she sat, content after a sumptuous feast. Of course bread dipped in olive oil, a cappuccino and a heaping plate of capellini al pomodoro slowed her gusto a bit. Aspiring chef or not, a person could only eat so much at one time. Good thing she’d spend four weeks here, although there might not be a plane big enough to carry her back.
She settled further down in her seat, spooned a cold layer of chocolate and cream onto her tongue and let an explosion of cocoa work its magic. The accordion whines of “Quando, Quando, Quando” drifted past her and brought bliss. She’d imagined Italy like this. These tastes and sounds were the reasons her friends oohed and aahed when she’d mentioned this opportunity. Of course they’d also tsk-tsked at the idea of her spending four weeks with a complete stranger. Still, after everything she’d suffered through, what did she have to lose? Bad relationships, no funds, death. She’d pretty much been there and done all of them. Somehow, she stayed afloat, but the exhaustion of life made the thought of sinking deep alluring.
She released a long breath, pushing away any daunting thoughts of her prospective employer. For now, Piazza Navona remained her personal paradise.
Pink and purple painted the evening sky. Groups of tourists hustled into cafes for a warm meal. Passersby stopped to watch musicians and mimes perform for their day’s wages. Strange how no matter where one went, it always boiled down to the good old all in a day’s work. Though not opposed to labor, bartending at Murphy’s Irish Pub wouldn’t earn enough to pay her debts and establish her restaurant. Not in the near future, anyhow. She pulled out another folded piece of paper, confirmation she moved one step closer to her dreams.
Dearest Savannah,
I am pleased you have decided to accept my offer and I look forward to our meeting in Rome... Once you arrive, you may take a taxi to Piazza Navona—I will reimburse you this expense. After sunset, I will present myself to you outside cafe Tre Scallini.
Cordially,
Luke
Present myself? Who wrote present or signed their emails with cordially? Technically this was a business deal so the polite tone made sense but this guy came off as an old timer, at least on paper. What would she do with an old guy? Hmm, what did a companion do exactly? She bit her lip. Details, people usually gathered before accepting a job.
Twisting her napkin around her fingers, she shifted in her chair. Evening grew nippy after sunset. With any luck, he wouldn’t run late.
“Savannah Michaels?”
She spun toward the man who’d spoken in that deep voice and stilled. Coffee brown eyes, intense brow, sensual lips and definitely off limits in her life right now.
“Yes?” She’d come here to work not admire scenery—no matter how tempting. Wait a minute. She took a breath. This particularly handsome bit of scenery knew her name. He couldn’t be him. This man had a strange accent. Not Italian, though familiar. British? Savannah hadn’t asked where he was from. “You’re not, um, hold on a sec.” Her mind blanked and she exhaled loudly, fumbling with the papers in her hand. Several sheets dropped to the ground. “Um, I’m sorry, one moment.” Served her right for having expectations of a shriveled old man. He was a man and that’s where any similarity to what she’d envisioned ended.
“If your bumbling around is an attempt t. . .
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