Night Train to Naples
Page 1
Table of Contents
Night Train to Naples
Blurb
Copyright Acknowledgement
Trademarks Acknowledgment
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
About the Author
NIGHT TRAIN: TO NEW ORLEANS
MLR Press
Night Train to Naples
Night Train Series Book 1
Carolina Valdez
www.mlrpress.com
The hot, urgent passion of an immortal for his human lover, the vengeful vampire who wants to kill them, and the world of precious stones.
After seven-hundred years, Alexandros Nicolaides has adjusted to life as an immortal. Employed by a New Orleans diamond courier, the gemologist travels to Italy in the hope of gaining a new customer for that business. On the night train from Rome to Naples, he confirms what he’s suspected--someone is following him.
Human Dante Rocco has his reasons for tailing the tall blond. Unaware he follows an immortal, he’s in for a bad shock. When Alex rescues him from thugs, a hot, urgent sexual bond flares between these two rivals for the courier account. As they struggle with the reality of their relationship, they discover they’re now the ones being pursued--by an unstable, vengeful vampire.
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Copyright Acknowledgement
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright 2016 by Carolina Valdez
All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.
Published by
MLR Press, LLC
3052 Gaines Waterport Rd.
Albion, NY 14411
Visit ManLoveRomance Press, LLC on the Internet:
www.mlrpress.com
Cover Art by Winterheart Design
Editing by Christie Nelson
ebook format
Issued 2016
This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of International Copyright Law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines and/or imprisonment. This eBook cannot be legally loaned or given to others. No part of this eBook can be shared or reproduced without the express permission of the publisher.
Trademarks Acknowledgment
The author acknowledges the trademark status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:
PowerPoint: Microsoft Corporation
Hanes: Hanesbrands Inc.
McDonald’s: The McDonald’s Corporation
Dedication
With many thanks to my writer friends in the Orange County, California, chapter of Romance Writers of America.
Chapter One
New Orleans, Louisiana, USA
2016 AD
Dressed as usual in black slacks, shirt, and his favorite leather ankle boots, Alexandros Nicolaides opened the door where Global Diamond Couriers was stenciled in fine gold lettering on the polished Cajun cypress wood. He stepped inside. It was a business he knew well.
His entrance seemed to startle the short but robust man behind the counter. Looking at Alex from above the reading glasses perched on his nose, he said, “Damn it, Nicolaides, you almost scared the shit out of me. How you can be so quiet, I’ll never understand.” Hank Walton, the owner of GDC, glanced at his watch. “I didn’t expect you until dark.”
Alex shrugged, then extended his hand. “And good afternoon to you, too, Mister Walton. You asked me to drop by to discuss my next assignment. It’s been overcast and sunless all day, and I seize every chance I get to be out during the day.”
The expression on Walton’s face softened with understanding. “Yes, you would, wouldn’t you?”
“What have you got for me?”
“Flick the locks on the door. Before we discuss your assignment, I want to show you something I bought yesterday.”
“You didn’t ask my advice before you did? Tsk, tsk.” Alex, who like his boss was a qualified gemologist and rivaled him as top appraiser in the firm, smiled as he teased. He turned the deadbolt on the door. “Okay, we’re locked in now. Show me what you have.”
He followed his boss to the back room and into the walk-in vault.
Hank pulled a black jewelers bag from one of the many small drawers. He removed a heavy gold bracelet set with gems and laid it on a black velvet pad on the review table.
The business owner’s excitement spilled out as he asked, “Is this what I think it is?”
Alex switched on the lamp above the table, and as he removed his loupe from a pocket in his slacks, he said, “Byzantine. Fourteenth century. Probably a piece of finery for a wealthy woman of Athens. Very valuable.”
“Good, good. I agree.” Walton rubbed his hands in satisfaction.
Alex leaned in closer with the loupe to study the piece. He pushed his long blond hair behind his ears to clear the way to view the piece.
“Interesting that it’s not the usual narrow bangle or delicate filament style.”
Even buried for centuries, gold and gemstones retained their beauty once cleaned. This bracelet had a soft patina that glowed under his loupe’s magnification. It was almost two inches wide. Coils formed at the top and bottom with connecting bands in between. The coils twisted in a decorative pattern in the center where emerald, chalcedony, and the very popular amethyst stones were set. They gleamed under the loupe.
Recognition came slowly as Alex drank in its lovely form. He wasn’t sure what triggered it, but suddenly he knew with absolute certainty whose slender but sturdy Athenian arm it had once graced. And he felt as if a stake had been driven through his cold, undead heart. He had no words. Could not move. Stood as still as a stone as he gazed at the bracelet he’d presented to his mother seven hundred years earlier.
“Alexandros?”
The concern in Walton’s voice broke his impasse, and Alex picked up the bracelet and cradled it in his hand. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” he whispered in wonder.
Even now, its solid weight was familiar, but the sight of its beauty against his too-pale skin caused his eyes to brim from the hot rush of tears of blood threatening to overflow as memories of the near-perfect life he’d lost burst into his mind.
A life that had once been happy and filled with promise…
Chapter Two
Athens, Byzantine Empire
1316 CE
He was not yet twenty, and it was his mother’s name day. As the son of Agathon, a wealthy shipbuilder, he had money, but building wasn’t in his blood. His father’s second obsession was for the sparkling beauty of gems and the sheen of silver and gold. He had taught Alex much about gemstones, and now they aroused Alex’s interest as nothing else could.
He respected his father, a big, rough man who was demanding and strict. He adored his slender but sturdy mother, Elissa, who loved him despite his careless, selfish ways. It was she whom he’d spent his cache of coin on that day.
Satisfaction swept through him when he saw her dark brown eyes widen in wonder and glisten with tears when his gift lay in her hands.
“It’s beautiful, Alexandros!”
“You are beautiful, Mother. Beautiful, clever and kind
. The best mother in all of Athens. It suits you well.”
“But you shouldn’t have spent your money on me. You should have spent it on some lovely young woman you like.”
Although he didn’t voice it, there had never been a girl about whom he’d felt romantic. The girls could be great companions and caring, but big breasts and slender ankles had never made his cock rise. The occasional secret kisses he’d shared with girls felt as if they were between brother and sister.
“Help me slip it on. I want to wear it for tonight’s celebration.”
He slid it over her flawless skin, and returned her embrace when she hugged him.
Later, he waited until the friends and family who had gathered were eating, then he kissed his mother’s cheek and started to slip out on the rest of the dull time with old people to be with his friends.
Alex was almost at the courtyard gate when a strong hand gripped his shoulder. Afraid, he stiffened. It was only his father, not the mysterious stranger he’d sensed stalking him as he’d walked to and from the boatyard.
“Son, stay out of the cypress groves. Two bodies have been found in one in the next town.”
“Bodies? I’ve heard nothing of it.”
“The authorities don’t want to frighten us. I’m telling you to stay out of them.”
“But these groves are on our property.”
His father’s grip tightened. “Hear me, my son. Always carry your knife. Stay out of the groves unless you’re with a woodcutting team. Or friends. Someone is ripping out men’s throats.”
“I hear you, Father. I’ll be careful.”
Alex returned to the house and retrieved his knife and carrying pouch.
§§§§
Orange and red flames from the bonfire shot into the night sky, highlighting the faces and bodies of the young men and women who talked and laughed in its warmth. Behind and below them, waves of the Aegean Sea lapped gently at the shore. The scent of lamb roasting on a spit filled the warm air.
Safely away from the death-dealing flames, Vlad Radko watched from the limbs of a cypress tree in the grove. Not so for the young men and women who remained near the fire’s light as the sky darkened. He studied the humans, wondering if one would capture his interest. Their laughter caught his attention first, and, then, when he saw the latest young man come to join them, he felt his groin tighten in piercing pleasure.
The gods knew how good that felt. He took it as a sign—as sure as an arrow in flight—that this would be the one. The athlete, the arrogant, friendly one.
A pretty woman named Dagni lifted a hand and called out to him. “Alexandros!”
“Over here, Alex!” Three of the men waved for him to sit with them.
Emerging from a different part of the grove, Alexandros, whose dark hair spread in loose waves across his shoulders and down his back, entered the clearing. He called a greeting in return as he lifted a jug of wine and patted the bag across his chest, probably filled with food, Vlad decided. He strode toward the group of friends, walking with unconscious grace, absolutely sure of himself and his welcome.
He was dressed in the loose, brown pants worn by the men and boys in this country. His shoulder, arm and torso muscles rippled beneath a snug shirt in a creamy color. As casual as what he wore might be, the cloth was of a fine weave and cut available only to the rich.
Ah, money. That makes him even more appealing.
The urge to strip this Alexandros and run his hands over what Vlad knew would be a hard, hot and beautiful body surged through him. He wanted to taste the man, to suck, rub and cradle his sac as the liquid heat of climax warmed Vlad’s cold body and brought him to his own thundering release.
To be blunt, Vlad thought with a wide grin, he wanted to fuck him, down and dirty.
But he would take his time to woo this lavishly beautiful specimen of a man. He would seduce Alexandros into loving him, then bind him to Vlad forever. However, as he observed the man dancing, it became more and more difficult to hold onto his decision to go slow because pre-cum—the only cum he would ever generate—had spun its glistening threads into his underwear.
Tonight, he would have to use his hand to satisfy his urges.
Chapter Three
Alex handed over his gifts of wine and loaves of hot olive bread to the women preparing the meal, brushed a kiss on their cheeks and hugged the men in greeting.
“You are late. As always,” his best friend, Iakkhos, said as he returned the embrace.
“Ah, but you all waited for me, did you not?” Alex’s laugh was quiet and low. “Of course, you did. Am I not the one who brought honor to Athens in the recent games? Was I not crowned with the olive branch wreath for long jump, javelin toss, and footrace?”
“And who won the discus throw?” Iakkhos gave him a light knock on the shoulder with his.
“Ah, but you are shorter and stockier than I am.”
Their repartee ended when the sounds of flute and lute filled the air. The women raced to form a circle, holding hands and beginning to sing as they danced, their skirts flipping up enough to expose their ankles.
Most of the men crouched to watch for a peek at those ankles, knowing if they were lucky maybe they’d see something even a bit higher. Alex knelt, too, but he had no interest in girls’ ankles.
The circle rotated as the women worked to outdance each other. The tempo grew faster and faster until they dropped hands, exhausted. Laughing and gasping after such exertion, they moved back to make way for the men.
The music slowed, and Alex stepped up to begin a chain. Being unchallenged, he considered himself the best dancer and so he led. The men held hands. Alex saw Iakkhos take the end of the line, anchoring his left hand at his waist in back while his right held the left hand of the man next to him.
Being first, Alex’s right hand was free for balance.
Some didn’t remember how the pattern went, but Alex knew all the intricate steps as the line moved slowly to the music in a half circle. At times, he twirled under the arm of the man who held his hand. Sometimes he knelt, only to stand and throw his arms skyward as he turned in circles. The others followed with a shout, then linked hands again.
They were perspiring heavily by the time Iakkhos noticed the women were signaling. “The food is ready! Time to eat!” he cried.
That was all it took to end the activity. Alex pushed past the man ahead of him to be the first to carry his terracotta bowl to the place near the spit where a woman filled it with hot slices of lamb and olive bread.
Iakkhos stopped and shook his head at Alex’s impoliteness. In a voice only the two of them could hear, he asked, “Why do you always have to be first? You almost knocked down Dimitris to get ahead of him, and he has a bad leg. Sometimes, you can be such an ass.”
Alex laughed. “No one has thanked this ass for the delicious wine and olive bread I have provided for us. Now, who are the asses?”
Iakkhos had no answer for this.
One by one, the men took their filled bowls and earthenware mugs of red wine to sit cross-legged on wild grasses cropped close by the last group of grazing sheep. The women joined them, carrying their food. The females sat together, the men the same. The women’s chatter and the deeper tones of the men drowned out the night’s sounds.
When everyone had washed down their meals with the wine from Alex’s jug, they lay back with the scent of the sweet wine on their breath and considered the stars.
“When will your father launch his new ship?” Iakkhos asked.
“By the next full moon, if God wills it.” Alex felt pride in the well-built Byzantine warships called dromons that his father’s shops produced. The long and sleek vessels had several sails, and seats for more than twenty rowers. “My shoulders and arms have grown strong working on the latest one.”
Iakkhos dropped his voice. “Your chest has broadened as well. Little wonder you won the javelin toss.” In a sudden change of subject, he asked, “Will you be seeing Sofia again?”
Alex grinned. “You like her, don’t you?”
“Well—”
“You do! You like her!”
“Be quiet, Alex, or I’ll sink my fist into that tight gut of yours.” Iakkhos looked around, his dark eyes flashing. He relaxed when no one seemed to have heard them.
Alex said, “No, my friend, I will not be seeing Sofia again. I am not very taken by her or any of the girls so far. She is all yours.” After a moment, he added, “Now. Am I still an ass?”
It was Iakkhos’s turn to laugh.
The activities fell quiet. Time passed. Alex thought on the attraction he felt for men with firm, round buttocks and well-developed muscles, and how a young woman’s full breasts were no match for large, male chest muscles and flat nipples. He had told no one—not even Iakkhos—but those were what created a stirring in his body, deep in his belly.
In the mellow evening air, someone called, “Zeibekiko, Alexandros!” It was a warrior’s dance performed by one or, rarely, two men.
He shook his head. Only when the slow rhythmic clapping of his friends’ hands and the strings of the lute joined in did he reluctantly rise. The dance, supposedly, was a tribute to the ancient god Zeus.
As he spread his arms and began the controlled, sensual footwork and measured turns of the improvisational solo, he lost himself in the beauty of movement. The others watched, and the clapping ceased as he executed the steps. He smiled inwardly because he knew he had them in the palm of his hands. As he continued, Alex forgot about “having them.” Now, he poured his passion and loneliness into the kneeling, turns and steps, always keeping his arms out, his hands often making brief expressive motions.
He could have danced all night, but the lute’s music gradually slowed as the fingers of the player obviously tired. Alex dropped into a final pose—on his knees, body and head bent back almost touching the ground, arms still wide, palms to the sky.
The music faded and was gone. There was silence, and then the partygoers clapped and cheered.
Alex sat up, shaking his head to clear his mind and return to the present. When he danced zeibekiko, he became absorbed in its beauty—as if he were someone else, somewhere else.