The Immortal Greek
Page 7
“No, it can’t wait.” She mustered all the strength needed and scooted to the edge of the bed, then planted her feet firmly on the floor, and this time succeeded in standing up. “See. I’m fine. I don’t need a nurse.”
He shook his head, but didn’t come any closer or even try to help when she staggered toward the bathroom. Instead, he walked out and announced he was going to prepare some breakfast.
Ravenna had underestimated the damage her body had suffered. As an immortal, very few things could kill her. Even the paralyzing poison would have only slowed her down, but she wasn’t feeling as fine as she had proclaimed. Still, she dragged herself to the shower stall and let the water wash over her for several minutes.
“Is everything okay?”
Alexander’s voice came muffled from over the waterfall. She cleared a patch of fogged glass panel with her hand to glance outside, and was relieved by the fact he wasn’t in sight. “Just taking my time.”
“Breakfast will be ready in a few.” His voice sounded more distant.
“Okay.” She passed her palm over her face. Alexander Drako, the playboy, the womanizer, the man she had been avoiding like the plague, was fixing a meal for her. In her kitchen. While she showered. And she liked the idea.
She dried herself quickly, wrapped a towel around her body, and walked to her underwear dresser where she picked out matching black lace panties and a bra. She donned the undies, gave herself a good look in the mirror over her vanity desk, decided she looked okay given the recent events, and chose an outfit with greater care than usual.
****
Alexander was making an omelet when Ravenna reemerged from her bedroom after taking the longest shower in the history of all showers. While cleaning the mess in her kitchen—a novel activity for him since Pietro and Marta magically tidied up the house after him—he had been tempted more than once to swarm into the bathroom and see if she was okay. “I put together a light meal.” He usually followed the Italian tenet of breakfast made of coffee or cappuccino and croissants. He couldn’t eat anything else beside a plate of fresh fruit before the first hours of the afternoon. “I can make something else if you don’t like omelets.”
She entered the kitchen in high heels, black pencil skirt, black button-down shirt, her hair collected in a high pony tail. Seemingly oblivious to what he had just said, she gave him a puzzled look, her eyes traveling from his face to the non-stick pan he held in his left hand. She opened her mouth to say something, but from the frown on her face, he understood the gist and raised the other hand to wave the wooden spatula he was using.
“I’d never scratch a pan.”
“You know your way around the kitchen.” Her eyes intently studying him, she walked to the table and leaned against it, legs crossed, arms straight to the side, palms down on the polished wooden surface.
“I know my way around all sorts of things, women being my expertise.”
She scoffed. “If only.”
“You wish.” Before turning toward the stove and focusing on his omelet, Alexander made the mistake of giving her another look and realized the austere, masculine shirt she wore was made of a silk so fine, depending on how the light cut through the fabric, it was transparent. Underneath, he had a brief peek at a black, lacy bra with thin straps crisscrossing the swell of her breasts. Images of Ravenna arranged in several poses over that same table populated his mind. He had already cornered her against it, upper body leaning over the table, straight legs parted—
“I’m hungry.”
With his back to her, he couldn’t see the expression on her face, but he could have sworn she had said it on purpose. Most probably, it was his overactive imagination. His parents had told him that his tendency to daydream would be the end of him. His nose caught the unmistakable smell of burnt food and he looked down at the egg mix he had spilled on the burner below the pan. He forced himself to focus on cooking breakfast. When the omelet was ready, he turned to face her. She was sitting at the table, her legs united and to the side of the chair, one hand under her chin as she scrolled down items on her cell phone.
As he approached the table, she raised her eyes toward him. “You did call me yesterday. What was so important it couldn’t wait and you had to drive up here?”
Alexander placed the pan over the trivet, took one of the two ceramic plates he had found in the modern cupboard by the stove, and served her a big portion of omelet. He filled his plate as well, then sat at the opposite side of the table from her and stared into her eyes. “I wanted to see you.” Pleased by the visible intake of breath his words had caused in Ravenna, with a smile he gestured toward her plate. “Eat before it becomes too cold.”
When they silently finished their omelets, he served her the fruit salad he had made with the oranges, apples, and bananas he had found in the fridge. She remained subdued the whole time, but offered to make coffee at the end of the meal.
“No offense, but I only drink espresso I prepare myself.” His cell phone rang. “Must take this.” He noticed she made a face, and he added, “It’s Samuel.”
****
Ravenna wasn’t sure she liked how he could read her so easily. It seemed he was in her mind, answering questions she hadn’t yet formulated. She watched as the conversation changed the expression on Alexander’s face from happy to sad in the span of a few sentences. He hung up, and left the table. “We must go—” He paused to look at her and continued. “I can go if you don’t feel like it.”
She waved his concern away, putting aside her chair as well. “I’m ready. Where?”
“To Castel Sant’ Angelo. Samuel needs to debrief us about a second Immortal Death.” He paced back and forth between the stove and the table. “They found another girl. Earlier this morning, a row crew found her stranded by one of the bends in the Tiber. Her body was semi-hidden by the reeds, just around the pier of the Tiber Golf Club.”
Less than ten minutes later, they were on the road. Alexander had insisted on driving and she had accepted. She felt fine for the most part, but she hated to admit she was still lightheaded. The traffic wasn’t heavy and she even let him open the top of the Mercedes. Half an hour later, they arrived at their destination. He parked on the red level of the subterranean garage.
“When you want, you can drive.” She didn’t wait for him to open her door.
“Told you I know my way around things.” He closed the door for her though, then headed toward the Promenade. “I could even show you a thing or two if you were nicer to me.”
She walked in the opposite direction. “Come, I’ll show you something.” She let him ride the internal elevator to Samuel’s floor.
“That’s how you tricked me last time.” He was standing in the middle of the elevator, arms crossed over his chest, legs slightly apart, the corner of his mouth turned up in a lopsided smile. He didn’t move an inch, even when the elevator lurched upward.
She couldn’t help but notice how he exuded an aura of command in his controlled movements and words. “A girl must have a few tricks under her sleeves.”
“I agree.” His eyes slid down to her shirt and his lips seemed to moisten.
Ravenna automatically stepped out from under the bright light fixture on the elevator ceiling. She felt stupid. She had chosen that shirt to draw his attention and now she blushed like an adolescent. Men usually cowered before her, rarely finding the courage to approach her. But Alexander told her the most outrageous things at the most inappropriate moments. Automatically looking for comfort, she brought her left hand over her right wrist to play with her charms. The watch wasn’t on her wrist. She had forgotten to wear it. Her hands went to her earlobes and was relieved to find her pearl earrings. Without them, she felt naked. She always wore the earrings and the watch.
“Those pearls make your eyes sparkle.” He stepped closer to her, and without notice put a finger under her chin and raised her face to his. “I’d like to see you wearing only your earrings.”
She stopped breat
Without saying a word, Alexander grabbed her hand, gave it a soft squeeze, then let it go as he knocked on the door. In that brief moment before Samuel answered to the knock, she locked eyes with Alexander and he smiled at her, a sweet little smile, nothing more. If his teasing had the power to unsettle her, his tenderness would be her ruin, because she knew she would be powerless if he decided to start smiling like that at her.
“Come in.” The angel opened the door and stepped aside to let them in, then walked to the open window where he hopped on the large windowsill, his broken wings’ feathers ruffled by the breeze. He waited for them to take their seats before the desk. “I didn’t want to tell you on the phone, but we already know the identity of the girl.” He spoke looking at Alexander. “I’m sorry.” He shook his head, turned his gaze outside, then faced back to the room.
“Who was she?” Alexander had both arms on the armrests, his hands wrapped around the metal frame of the chair.
“It was Margherita Salvatori. I’m so sorry, Alexander. I didn’t want you to hear it from someone else.” Samuel dismounted from the ledge and sat at the chair behind the desk.
Alexander leaned forward and shook his head. “Margherita? No, it can’t be. She isn’t into that kind of stuff.”
“We positively identified her.” Samuel’s mouth closed on a thin line. “She drowned two days ago.”
Alexander’s eyes watered. “I must beg your pardon.” He stood and left the room.
Ravenna’s first impulse was to follow him, but she remembered in time that she was there on official matters and tried to act accordingly. After composing her usual, professional mask on her face, she passed her hands over her skirt, and turned her attention toward the angel. “Who was this girl?” She omitted the words “to him” from her question.
“She was one of the few protégées Alexander has ever had.”
Chapter Five
“Please, Messer Drako, save my daughter. If you have ever felt a shred of affection for me, don’t let Margherita die.” Caterina had been begging him for hours. He had tried to reason with her, but she kept crying at his feet.
Caterina knew of him. He should have never told her, but she had been such a sweet girl in her youth and he had cared for her. One night, the pillow talk had taken a different direction. She had seen him around from when she was but a child, and she wasn’t stupid. On the contrary, she had noticed things and started asking questions. He knew her life span would be short and felt compelled to gift her with a truth so few knew about him.
Years later, she reminded him of how foolish his act had been.
“Some consider living a life like mine a curse.” His resolution to negate her request was getting weaker, but he had to try to convince her through his friend Marcus’s words. “Once you’re changed, you’re changed. There’s no going back to your life.”
“Margherita’s dying. She’s the only one I’ve got left. The plague has stolen everything I care for in this world. Please.” Caterina could barely talk by now. Her voice was but a whisper. She had been sick for four days and she had outlived, by only twenty-eight hours, four of her children and her husband, who had died first. She had sent her remaining daughter to the nearby convent, hoping she wouldn’t be infected, but it had been in vain.
“The goddess might not grant my plea to turn Margherita. Minerva doesn’t listen to me anymore.” He looked around. Despite the open window, the bedroom was dark, the wooden beams weighed down the ceiling, and the hearth was cold. Outside, the sun hung low in the sky and it was covered by the billowing smoke fueled by the wet pyres. The city of Bologna was dying along with its citizens, the churches’ bells stroked mournfully, and priests demanded the last ones standing to repent. The sweet and sickly smell of death permeated the air. Frigid rain driven inside by the winter winds pelted the terracotta floor.
“But you must try.” Caterina’s eyes had cried all the tears she had already. She shook her head and slid to the floor, her tattered gown fanning over the straws now soggy and giving off an unpleasant smell. “I can’t die without knowing you at least tried.” She raised her chin to look at him, and even that small gesture caused her pain, but she didn’t complain.
Alexander leaned over her and took her frail body in his arms. Caterina weighed less than a child; she was all skin and bones. Even in her old age, she had been beautiful. In less than a week, the bubonic plague had ravaged her. “I’ll try.” He kissed her forehead and rocked her against him.
Caterina mustered the strength to thank him, then smiled, and closed her eyes. He put her to rest on her wedding bed, and waited until the gravediggers arrived to claim her body. He didn’t let them touch her and toss her like garbage as he had seen them doing all over Bologna, but wrapped Caterina in a white linen and gently lowered her on the gravediggers’ cart. He paid them good coins to transport her to the burial site he had chosen for her and her family, and followed the cart to make sure they didn’t drop her in the communal grave.
The Black Death had taken millions of lives all over Europe, but Alexander saved one. On a frigid morning in February, in the year thirteen-forty-eight, at the age of nineteen, Margherita Salvatori became an immortal. She hadn’t asked for it.
Alexander walked the whole length of the fourth floor hallway of the Immortal Council headquarters, and reached the men’s bathroom. Once inside, he locked the door and fell to the marble tiles. The floor was polished to a shine and he could see his misery reflected beneath him. Samuel had said Margherita had drowned. He saw her immersed in the water, bubbles coming out of her mouth, straining her lungs to get air. Images of the last time he had seen her mixed with the images he was fabricating about her death. A pitch black veil was lowered over his head, suffocating him, while happy memories were shuffled with the most horrifying visions. He let the moment pass, then pushed himself up, walked to the sink, and splashed some water on his eyes. He dried his face with a wad of paper towels, dabbed the water that had fallen on his shirt, and left the bathroom.
When he reentered Samuel’s office, two sets of concerned eyes welcomed him, but neither Ravenna nor Samuel asked anything. He walked to the chair, pulled it farther away from the desk and angled it to face both of them, then sat.
“I was telling Ravenna I decided to extend the detail at her house for the entire length of this investigation so we can all sleep at night knowing she is safe.” Samuel sipped tea from one of the porcelain sets he had bought in China.
Alexander had a vivid memory of the merchant Samuel had haggled with for hours over a silk rug, that particular porcelain set, and a chess board made of mother of pearl. Funny how he could remember insignificant details from several centuries back, but if he tried, he couldn’t remember Margherita’s eye color and he had seen her only a few years ago.
Samuel was talking. “A were-panther will join the investigation. Since the Immortal Death kills your species, but doesn’t reflect well on others, especially given the fact that our major suspect is a vampire of Claudius’s caliber, the Council has been asked to keep the investigation accessible and transparent.”
Alexander shrugged. “It only makes sense.” Even in his distraught state, he didn’t fail to notice Ravenna’s sudden tension.
“She’s already at the crime scene—”
Ravenna interrupted the angel. “Who’s this shifter?” She sat primly, her back straight, but not touching the chair. Her legs lay united at the ankles in her signature sitting position, but her right heel was hitting the floor in a staccato rhythm.
“She told me she knows you—”
As Samuel spoke, Ravenna’s upper body stilled even more, if possible, but she crossed and uncrossed her ankles under the protection of the desk.
“—Malina Rotari. She is a Peace Pact enforcer.”
At the mention of the name, Ravenna’s whole body froze, but her lips curved up in a smile. “Of course, I know Malina. We go way back.” She passed her hands up and down the length of her skirt, applying pressure that created wrinkles on the black fabric, instead of flattening them. “If we’re done here, I suggest we go ask a few questions.” She turned toward Alexander. “If it’s okay with you, I’d like to examine the place where the girl was found. I understand if you prefer to stay behind.”
“No, that’s perfectly fine. I’ll drive you there.” He put the chair back before the desk.
Samuel left his place and gave him a one-armed hug. “I’m here for you. If you need anything, call me.”
Alexander reciprocated the hug. “I will. Thank you.” The words and the gestures felt like déjà vu. When Cherry had died after a long, painful malady, he hadn’t wanted anyone near but Samuel and Marcus, but the angel was the only one around at the time. He patted the angel’s shoulder. “I’ll be fine.”
Samuel stepped back and gave him one of his small, sad smiles. He then tilted his head ever so slightly toward the enforcer, and his eyes lit with a different light. “I know you will,” he whispered only for Alexander to hear, then dictated the golf club’s address to Ravenna, who typed it on her phone with the tip of one of her immaculate fingers.
Alexander left his friend’s office wondering about Samuel’s parting words.
****
Ravenna was shaking. Nobody would ever know the depth of her rage, but she was furious. She let Alexander open the car door for her, and asked him if he could keep the top down. Had they been better acquainted, she would have asked him if she could drive. She needed a good run. Or a good fight. Or something else entirely. Her treacherous mind suggested all the ways she could get better acquainted with the athletic Greek sitting so close to her. Her eyes went to the swell of his bicep under the shirtsleeve he had carefully folded, leaving the forearm free. A vein ran from the inside of his bent elbow almost to his wrist. Short, blond hair covered his tan-freckled skin. Gods above, the man made her forget her own name.
-->