Besides, he thought, they were being frustratingly celibate.
Giovanni thought of how she looked curled into his side while she slept and the alluring scent of her blood when she woke, warm and sleepy as she stretched next to him.
He had gone longer without sex in his five hundred years—much longer at times if it was necessary—but he wasn’t going to lie and say he enjoyed it. Especially when the object of his desire slept next to him every night and inflamed his preternatural senses with her every pulse.
Feeling his fangs descend, he decided that he should brave the cold and hunt. There was little wildlife to choose from this time of year, and Sister Maggie had stocked donated blood for him in the kitchen, but he needed the exertion of the chase.
So he gritted his teeth and braced himself for the sour taste of mountain goat.
He walked down the hall to check on Beatrice and put on a shirt, only to find her twisted in the covers, her eyes darting behind her lids in the beginning of a nightmare. He quickly slipped into the bed behind her and pulled her to his chest, murmuring soothing words and stroking the hair back from her face.
She started and turned in his arms.
“Gio?”
“You were having a bad dream,” he murmured. “Do you remember?”
She took a deep breath and relaxed. “I…kind of. I remember hearing the ocean. It was echoing like it did when I was in Greece. The waves always echoed…”
She drifted off, sighing quietly as she relived the weeks she had spent as a captive under Lorenzo’s control. The water vampire had kept her isolated and alone in his compound in the middle of the Aegean Sea. Beatrice told Giovanni later she had never felt more trapped than in the small room that faced the ocean. It was why she chose to live in the hills in Los Angeles instead of on the beach. The sound of waves, though soothing to most, gave her nightmares at times.
He held her tightly, humming a tune he remembered from his human childhood. It was a song about a cricket that Giuliana had sung to him in the garden of her home in Arezzo. He remembered her lilting voice and the sun as it reflected off the water of the fountain.
“Gio?”
“Hmm?”
“What is that song?”
“‘Il Grillo.’ It’s a song about a cricket.”
“I like it. I didn’t know you could sing.”
“Hmm,” he breathed in her scent and pulled her closer. “My uncle liked it when I sang. Andros required it. I don’t really sing anymore.”
“It’s nice.”
“Thank you.”
She was quiet, but he could tell she had woken from her slumber, at least for a while. She normally had trouble getting back to sleep if she woke in the middle of the night. Ironically, she often slept better during the day.
“Gio?”
“Hmm?”
“Did you call home?”
He nodded. “Ben said hello.” And that I should ask you to marry me. What do you think?
“How’s Grandma and Cas?”
“Doing well and pestering him about cleaning up his room.”
She laughed quietly, and the shaking of her body against his reminded him why he had come to the room to begin with. The feel of her curves was starting to make his blood pulse.
“Beatrice, I need to go out.”
“No,” she murmured and pulled his arms more securely around her waist. “I’m too comfy here. Stay.”
“Tesoro,” Giovanni groaned quietly and took a deep breath. It didn’t help, he only managed to make his throat burn all the more and his desire spiked. “I need to go. I need to…hunt.”
She stilled, and her fingers dug into his forearm.
“You’re hungry?”
“Yes, I need to go out and hunt something. I need…I just need to hunt.” He tried to pull away, but she clung to his arms and his jaw clenched in frustration. “Beatri—”
“Drink from me.”
His blood roared when he heard her quiet voice and his fangs descended. “Are…are you sure?”
Beatrice rolled over and looked at him. “Yes. Will it be like before?”
“I won’t drink too much,” he whispered. “I promise.” He could feel his skin heat and his heart begin to beat.
She blushed, and Giovanni stifled a low growl as the heat flooded her face. “Not that. I mean, I don’t want to…you know. We probably shouldn’t—”
“If you tell me ‘no,’ I’ll stop.” Giovanni clamped down his self-control. “No matter what.”
“Okay,” she whispered and tilted her head to the side, brushing the hair away from her neck. The scent of her skin washed over him, and he swallowed a groan. His hands reached under the camisole she wore, splaying across her back as his mouth dipped down to her neck.
He nosed against her pulse, rubbing his cheek across the delicate skin of her collar and reveling in the scent of her pounding blood. His tongue flicked out and began tracing the artery. He could feel the amnis that ran under his skin spread over her everywhere their flesh touched.
Her bare shoulders. The small of her back. Everywhere his hands went, her skin prickled in awareness. He could scent her arousal and he struggled to control his own. He fought the urge to plunge his fangs into her neck, determined to enjoy the rare pleasure of her blood and skin for as long as he could.
“Gio?” she panted, arching against him. “Are you going to—”
“Shh,” he whispered. “Let me…” His tongue fluttered against the pulse point in her neck. “I don’t want to rush.”
“Oh,” she breathed out and reached up to run her hands through the hair at the nape of his neck. Giovanni trailed his fangs along her skin. He closed his eyes and held her for a moment, feeling the beat of her heart against his chest.
“I love you,” he whispered, as his hands stroked her back. He pulled her closer, but kept himself in check, determined to only take what she was offering.
He could, however, give her a taste of what she was missing.
Giovanni rolled over her, and his lips closed over her neck. He nipped at it, savoring the rush of blood to the surface. His fangs pierced around her artery, and she gasped in pleasure as the sensation of his bite combined with the electric current that ran from his lips and over her skin.
He was determined to drink slowly, but she cried out when he bit and her hands pressed his head to her neck. She arched under him as her rich blood filled his mouth. He moved against her, letting his hands roam as her blood ran down his throat, soothing and inflaming him at the same time.
It was nothing like the empty feeling Giovanni had experienced when he drank from random humans. Beatrice’s touch, her smell, everything about her drew him in. When he moved, it was in time to her breath and pulse. It was need. Love. Nothing could compare to it.
He felt his amnis snap when she peaked, and her body shuddered underneath his. Her heartbeat hammered against his lips and he took one last draw from her neck before he pulled away. Their bodies slowed as he licked the last of the blood from her neck and sealed the small wounds. His hands stroked her hair, her shoulders, and down over the curve of her hips.
“Gio,” she panted. “That was…”
Even as her blood coursed through his system, Giovanni hungered for more. Pushing down his own desire, he pressed her to his chest and breathed deeply, deliberately slowing the rush of his blood as he held her.
“Thank you, Beatrice.”
“You’re welcome. Did you get enough?” She was already falling asleep in his arms.
He smirked. “For now.”
She rubbed her face into his chest and released a sigh. “Don’t leave, okay? Stay with me. Just…stay.”
He closed his eyes and sent up a silent prayer that she would do the same.
“Always.”
“I can’t believe you told her the story about me and the bear,” Giovanni muttered to Carwyn as the priest piloted the Range Rover through the twisting mountain roads.
Carwyn gaped at him. “I
can’t believe you didn’t. I thought you were trying to impress this woman.”
“I hardly think that story impressed her, you idiot.”
“Well,” Carwyn shrugged. “It made her laugh, anyway.”
Giovanni glanced at Beatrice, who had fallen asleep in the back of the vehicle as they made their way to London. “I love hearing her laugh.”
“She has a great laugh, doesn’t she? Did she tell you the story about when she fell off the motorcycle when I was teaching her to ride? She was so terrible at first! She broke two fingers, and we had to wait six months for her hand to be strong enough to shift again. She had such a good sense of humor about the whole thing.”
Giovanni glared at him. “You broke two of my woman’s fingers?”
Carwyn cocked an eyebrow at him. “Careful now, you’d been gone for two years at that point. I doubt she’d appreciate you calling her ‘yours.’”
Giovanni crossed his arms over his chest. “You knew better. You knew I was coming back.”
“Oh, aye, but she didn’t, did she?”
He was silent for a few minutes before he muttered, “Benjamin says I need to apologize to her.”
Carwyn’s eyes popped open. “You’ve not apologized to her? For leaving for five years? Why on God’s earth is she even talking to you?”
He glared at the priest. “I’ve explained to her—”
“I want to punch you right now, di Spada. I really do,” he whispered. “That’s quite childish of you.” Carwyn drove in silence for a few more minutes with a frown plastered to his face. “You don’t deserve her.”
“What?”
“You don’t! For heaven’s sake, is it that hard to say you’re sorry? I’ve not been married for a thousand years, and I know that much.”
“Can we talk about something else, please? This really isn’t any of your business.”
He snorted. “Fine. But for the record, you’re lucky she’s even talking to you. And don’t think I can’t smell her all over you or see that flush in your cheeks.”
“Drop it, Father. I’ll not be leaving her again,” he muttered, glancing over his shoulder to make sure she was still sleeping. “I don’t even think I could at this point.”
Carwyn glanced between them, muttering something in Welsh, a language Giovanni had never wrapped his brain around sufficiently, before he looked back to the dark road ahead. “Let’s talk about London.”
“Fine. What have Terrance’s people found out?”
Carwyn shrugged. “It’s been vague, but there seem to be enough reports of your boy lingering to make Terry think he’s still around. It’s a large port and with easy access to the French coast, it makes it harder to get a handle on him.”
“Lorenzo had allies in La Havre at one point. Has that been investigated?”
“It has, but not thoroughly. You know how tricky the French can be. Also, they’re water clans in that area, so they’re tight lipped to any that aren’t their own.”
Giovanni racked his memory, trying to think of some connection he might use to get more information. “I could always ask Livia. One more favor to add to the growing list.”
Carwyn snorted. “Do you have time for that? Besides, you know how she is. She’ll not give you anything unless you come to Rome, and I doubt you want to take a side trip right now. Would you bring B? That would be interesting.”
Giovanni sighed. “They’ll have to meet eventually, and Beatrice handled the meeting with the Alvarezes in Los Angeles quite well.”
“Ernesto Alvarez is a friendly guppy compared to the sharks that swim in Livia’s sea. Don’t dump her into that until you have to.”
“I think you’re underestimating Beatrice, Carwyn. She’s a fast learner and I have a feeling that she’ll have a knack for the political side of our life.”
“Well, one of us should. I hate that stuff, and you piss people off too quickly. Don’t get me started on Tenzin.”
“Tenzin said something about Beatrice being my balance,” he murmured.
Carwyn frowned. “You’re not thinking—”
“I’m not thinking anything at this point. It’s not an issue yet. She’s handled herself extremely well so far. Ernesto was incredibly impressed with her. You could almost see him salivating at her potential.” He looked over his shoulder at the young woman who still slept peacefully. “We’ll see how she does in London. Meeting Terry and Gemma ought to be interesting.”
“Does she know about you and Gemma?”
He paused, thinking about Carwyn’s daughter, who was also a former lover. “I’ve told her we were involved, and that we are still friendly.”
He heard Carwyn snort. Then he heard him chuckle quietly before the Welshman laughed out loud.
“What?” Giovanni’s voice dripped in irritation.
“You make it sound like the two of you were study partners at university!”
“Beatrice knows that I love her.” He glanced at the sleeping woman in the backseat. “There was no need to go into detail.”
“Well, don’t let her imagine the worst. And she doesn’t need to hear about your sporadic relationship with my daughter from someone else, either, so make sure it’s from you.”
“Gemma and I were never serious.”
“I know that, but you two danced around each other for almost two hundred years, so don’t just dismiss it.”
“I can’t believe she’s marrying Terry. I would never have put them together.”
“Well, sometimes we find our match in the most unexpected places, don’t we?”
Giovanni turned to stare at Beatrice. Her head was slumped to the side of the car, and she was curled up with his coat covering her in the back seat. He had the urge to crawl next to her so she was lying against his side as she slept.
“I’ve never felt for any woman what I feel for her, Carwyn,” he said quietly. “It’s somewhat terrifying at times.”
He heard his friend start to speak a few times, but he kept pausing. Finally, he heard him mutter under his breath.
“You’re a lucky bastard, Giovanni Vecchio.”
Giovanni was reminded why he hated London as soon as they arrived, but he tried to enjoy it through Beatrice’s eyes. Carwyn had woken her as soon as they crossed into the city and started pointing out the sights. She smiled and bounced, enjoying the historic town as he tried to smother his own displeasure.
He hated the city. The streets were too crowded. The traffic too rushed. Too many people pressed against him if he tried to walk around, and there was too much noise. The air quality may have improved, but he remembered when coal smoke hung over the dreary town and soured the air. More than anything, Giovanni hated the cold damp that reminded him of the school in Crotone where Andros had held him against his will for so many years.
“Don’t be such an old man,” she teased him. “How long are we staying, anyway?”
“As long as we need to, tesoro. I may not be very fond of London, but Gemma and Terrance are close allies and this is the best place to start looking for Lorenzo. If the information you found is correct, he’s still in England or France. Between the three of us and all of their contacts, we have a very good chance of finding him. It may only take a few weeks if we’re lucky.”
She fell silent; finally, he heard her heave a great sigh.
“Beatrice?” He turned to look at her grim face.
“I’m going to have to quit my job.”
Giovanni turned around so she didn’t see his satisfied smirk. “Oh no. Whatever will you do?”
She pinched his ear. “Shut up and don’t gloat. I’m quite capable of surviving without a job, thanks to my superior embezzling skills. I haven’t agreed to work for you yet.”
Carwyn snorted, but Giovanni just grinned.
“Yet.”
Chapter Fourteen
London, England
January 2010
“Another glass of wine…B?” Gemma arched an eyebrow at her in the formal sitting room of the h
ouse in Mayfair. They had arrived at the home of Terrance Ramsay only an hour before and been immediately welcomed by more household staff than Beatrice had ever seen outside a period film.
“No, thank you.”
“Perhaps some tea?”
“No,” she smiled stiffly at the extremely elegant vampire sitting across from her. “Thank you.”
Gemma Melcombe may have been Carwyn’s oldest daughter and second child, but her manners, accent, and wardrobe revealed none of what Beatrice suspected were probably humble origins. It wasn’t just the staff that seemed to belong in a period film. Gemma’s delicate features, gold-spun hair, and tinkling laugh made it hard not to imagine her in lace and petticoats, riding in a carriage to a ball.
Which she had most likely done on more than one occasion. Possibly in Giovanni’s company.
Casually involved, my ass. Beatrice plastered a pleasant smile on her face.
“What do you mean, you were involved? She’s an old girlfriend or something?”
“Nothing that serious, tesoro. I just wanted to let you know. We’re friendly now. She’s apparently quite happy with her fiancé.”
“Oh.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Are you jealous?”
“Why would I be jealous? You said it was years ago.”
He had winked at her. “A vampire can hope, can’t he?”
Beatrice hadn’t asked more about their involvement, and she pushed away the cold lick of jealousy, knowing it was unreasonable. Giovanni, for all his keen intellect, could be startlingly obtuse about human nature at times. Because whatever he thought about their friendship, Gemma Melcombe was completely in love with him.
“Perhaps I should show you to your room,” Gemma said with a polite smile. “I’ve prepared one of our guest suites for you. The windows are east-facing, so you’ll be able to enjoy the morning—”
This Same Earth Page 17
