Night Train to Naples

by Caroline Valdez

  Darkness and the night were his elements. He relaxed. His body was naturally cool, so the chill of the light breeze that sent the salty scent of the Sea of Naples brushing over him didn’t bother him. Since he had excellent vision at night, he started for his appointment in the old city at a brisk pace without fear of tripping or stumbling.

  Chapter Eight

  Dante’s frustration built as he watched the man he’d been paid to tail rise and disappear amidst a tangle of passengers before they’d even reached their destination. Dante clenched and unclenched his hand in impatience as he waited for the train to roll into Naples. As soon as it stopped, he pushed through the crowd ignoring curses as he elbowed his way to the doors and exited.

  Once off the train, he had difficulty ditching the two men he’d joined up with at the station in Rome. He didn’t know them, but they’d provided what he’d hoped was good cover. Still, he feared the man he pursued had spotted him.

  “Hey, compadre, where you goin’?” The two men swayed, each with an arm around the other’s shoulder for support.

  They obviously had too much vino with their pasta earlier this evening, Dante thought. The smell of the potent red Taurasi, produced in the harsh, hot climate of nearby Campania, saturated the already-foul breath of teeth and tongues reeking from long neglect by toothbrush or floss. In contrast, the pleasant taste of a good Greco di Tufo lingered in Dante’s clean mouth, and he was stone cold sober. He continued moving away from them under the lighted walkway that arced around the parking lot, turning without stopping as he waved and called out, “Arrevederci, my friends. I’ve a big date tonight.”

  The two drunks laughed and repeated, “Big date tonight,” then glanced at each other and chuckled again as they walked unsteadily away in the opposite direction. Relieved, Dante searched through the crowd in the station in hopes he could locate his quarry, but he wasn’t in sight.

  “Merda,” he swore under his breath and ran a hand through his hair. It was his ass if he didn’t find the guy. Find and follow him to his business appointment wherever it might be.

  He sensed there was something unusual about the one he followed—a man whose face had an almost ethereal beauty and whose eyes glowed liked polished emeralds. He wore his long, blond hair pulled back at his temples and caught into a braid at the back, while the rest of his hair reached well below his shoulder blades. His skin had the pallor of someone with a serious illness such as leukemia or a fatal iron deficiency.

  Dante left the bright lights of the station and ventured into the deserted piazza that bordered the old part of the city. After halting a few moments until his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he began to walk again, ears pricked for the sound of his quarry’s shoes against stone.

  When he heard them, they came fast—from behind instead of in front as he’d expected. A glancing blow to his head from a sand-filled sock stunned him. He missed his footing, and before he could turn to defend himself against what he assumed was the man he pursued, a broad hand grabbed one of his arms and twisted it behind him so hard he cried out. An arm snaked around his neck and tightened.

  He’d had no chance to reach the handgun strapped to his ankle.

  Dante expected to be asked, “Who are you and why are you following me?” Instead, he was shocked to hear a familiar voice grunt out words that no longer slurred. The breath was familiar, too—fetid and soaked with Taurasi.

  “I guess you’re havin’ your big date early, compadre.”

  Christ. A groan escaped him. He thought he’d used the men he’d joined up with in Rome. Intent on his assignment, he’d been too stupid to realize they’d set him up. He’d forgotten the crime rate around the train station was higher than in the rest of the city because it was on the turf of the Camarro Familia, Naples’s infamous crime family. The police tended to look the other way here.

  He wasn’t going to be stupid enough now to ask what they wanted or to beg. He hoped their intention was to rob, not rape. And that they’d let him live if they did. Even if they hurt him bad. He kicked back to disable his attacker’s knee so he could free himself. His attacker’s legs weren’t close enough. He missed.

  “Stop that. Hold still while Guido helps himself to what’s in your wallet or I’ll kill you.”

  First, Guido pried off the expensive watch from the hand Dante was using in an attempt to loosen the arm around his throat. Then Guido’s hands not only removed Dante’s wallet from his back pocket, they groped and rubbed his penis as they slid into his front pockets.

  Guido laughed when it remained limp and unresponsive. “At least he’s not a faggot.”

  Actually, he was. But why any man’s dick, gay or not, would respond to a rough, dirty man reeking of bad breath was beyond his imagining. Dante fought the nausea rising in his throat because he needed the scant air he could suck in. Let this be over soon, he prayed, as he fought to relax and breathe.

  §§§§

  Across the piazza, Alex had paused to listen. Moments earlier, his keen hearing had picked up the muted conversation between the man he believed to be his pursuer and the men he’d been with. He’d heard the words “big date” from his tail, but not much else. When the noise from the train station and the people who’d disembarked from it had died down and the train had rolled away, he’d hurried on. Now, he glanced at his watch and risked pressing the button to turn on its light. He peered at its GPS feature. Intent on the directions to his destination, he forgot to listen. Someone cried out. The cry was sharp. It was the sound of pain.

  When a voice that was different from that of the man who was after him taunted something about “your big date,” he heard a low groan cut off fast and knew someone must be attacking his pursuer.

  Next, his keen hearing picked up the name Guido from the same speaker, and a response in Italian using the word faggot from a second man he assumed belonged to this Guido.

  Anger flooded him at the use of the homophobic word and the belief a man was being attacked simply because he was homosexual. Opening his senses, his nose picked up the smell of strong wine on fetid breath, and he scented blood, felt its heat as it pounded against the walls of the arteries in three human necks. Thirst flared, burning and raging in his throat, threatening to overcome the tight control he kept on the urge to taste and drink from those pulsing vessels. With great effort, he tamped down his need and reined it in. Just barely.

  These had to be the three men from the train. Apparently, the men who were with his pursuer, his gay pursuer, had turned on him. Retracing his steps, he made no sound as he followed the scent of blood and hurried toward the conflict.

  All the men had their backs to him. As Alex approached, he studied where to hit first. One man had a chokehold on the man who’d been following Alex since this afternoon and had pinned his arm behind his back. The second man was intent on pulling money from a billfold and stuffing it in his pocket. He slid a gold watch in there as well.

  Not a hate crime. They’re just robbing him. But now that they have his money and his watch, they’ll kill him.

  Without a sound and faster than lightning could strike, he moved behind the bigger man and caught him in a chokehold. The man gurgled, released the man pursuing Alex and clawed at Alex’s arm to stop the ever-tightening pressure on his windpipe. Alex held on until the man relaxed into unconsciousness. He let him slide to the ground.

  Alex smiled. He’d whittled the odds down to greater than even now.

  Released, the pursuer sank to his knees and struggled to regain his breath.

  “Who are you?” Alex asked of the man he’d rescued.

  “Dante.” It came out as a croak from a damaged throat.

  “Alex here.”

  Someone grunted behind Alex. He whirled and faced a commando knife held by the second man. Fear flashed through him until he saw the knife was steel, not death-dealing silver. The fear fizzled and died. His kind healed rapidly if cut by steel, but he intended to limit any wounds this man might deal him.

 
; “Guido, is it not?” He let his green eyes glow red, taking pleasure in the horror that gripped the man’s features.

  “You killed my buddy, sanguisuga!”

  Most men who realized what he was would’ve turned and run, but not this man. He seemed to be too drunk, or too stupid, to understand the danger he was in. Alex’s voice soothed, sought to mesmerize as he watched that knife and the arm holding it as they moved. “Not so. He’s just having a little sleep. Besides, I’m not interested in the blood of filthy men.”

  Guido snarled at the insult and lunged. Alex sidestepped him with all the elegance of a matador on the pass of an enraged bull, and the knife cut through air. Alex softened his knees, arms slightly out at waist level for balance, ready to grab the knife arm when the time came.

  Unlike the first man, this opponent was an experienced street fighter. He circled and feinted, taunting and teasing as he worked Alex around. Always, he avoided Alex’s hand each time he grabbed for the arm wielding the knife.

  Alex let him play a little. Confident of winning and enjoying how the man was wearing himself down, he nevertheless grew bored waiting for a clear opening. He didn’t want to have to use all his skills, lashing out and killing the simpleton.

  From behind came the sound of a throat clearing, and Alex listened to be sure his chokehold results on the first man weren’t wearing off.

  The instant his attention wavered, Guido lunged again, and a small rip in Alex’s jacket brought the immortal back to full attention. The blade hadn’t nicked him, but this fight needed to end. Now.

  Dante’s throat had recovered somewhat and he’d risen to his hands and knees. He coughed.

  It was Guido who became distracted then. Faster than the eye could catch, Alex was on him. He twisted Guido’s wrist and wrenched the blade out of his hand. There was a crack and a scream, and Guido fell to the ground, crying and clutching his wrist as blood dripped from a small cut on his arm.

  The blood smell filled Alex’s nostrils, stirring his thirst. He could have healed the man by licking the wound, but he risked losing control over satisfying his blood thirst and draining him if he tasted him. He let the blood flow. It wasn’t a life-threatening wound.

  “Broken, is it? Tsk, tsk,” Alex said. He leaned down.

  “No!” Guido cried in terror as he tried to get away.

  “Not to worry. I won’t bite,” he whispered in guttural tones only his victim could hear. “There is, after all, some discrimination and honor among my kind.” Alex pressed a vital spot in Guido’s neck and knocked him out.

  Alex wiped the knife on the sleeve of Guido’s coat and slid the blade into an inner pocket in his jacket. He gazed down at Dante. “Are you injured?”

  Dante shook his head. “You’re very good at this. I’m in your debt.”

  Alex stiffened at the sight of the small gun in Dante’s hand.

  “Mine. Couldn’t get to it until you freed me, and by the time my shaky hands got it out of my ankle holster, you didn’t need my help.” He re-holstered the weapon.

  Alex smiled and took a good look at Dante now that he had the chance. His eyes were even deeper and more mysterious in the dark. His lips promised delicious satisfaction in the act of love. Considering the whole, it wasn’t just Dante’s remembered ass sending shivers of desire shooting through Alex’s belly to his groin. Alex released some hold on his control and let himself hear the wildly beating heart and feel the rush of blood bounding through the arteries in Dante’s neck.

  The excitement of the fight, the smell of Guido’s blood made Alex’s need to either feed or fuck surge through him like a tsunami. The salty scent of the blood drew him like a powerful magnet. His dick fattened and his pucker tightened. The feelings were pure pleasure and not to be denied.

  On impulse, he reached down and gave Dante a hand up, then he gazed into Dante’s eyes as he slowly drew him close, ready to release him at the slightest resistance—and hoping he’d be able to do so. In the breathless silence that followed, he cupped his hands and cradled Dante’s face in them. Slowly, he ran his thumbs over Dante’s cheeks, enjoying a warmth so different from the unnatural coolness of his own. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

  Dante’s warm breath held the faint hint of a mellow wine. His gaze locked on Alex’s and he spoke in a breathy voice, as if entranced by the hands on his face. “Mostly shaken up. I think my arm and throat will be sore tomorrow, but I’m okay.”

  He’d planned to demand to know why Dante followed him. Instead, unable to resist his urges, Alex leaned in to capture the seductive lips with his mouth. Thoughts of anything else fled.

  Dante stiffened, and Alex thought that perhaps he’d been wrong; perhaps this man wasn’t gay. Or maybe he wasn’t as attracted to Alex as Alex was to him, or as stirred up from the attack as he was. Then, as Alex softened his mouth and deepened the kiss, Dante’s body relaxed and he responded hungrily with an exploring, searching tongue, as if he, too, needed release in the aftermath of the attack—to let go of the fear and, in a good fuck, exhaust the stockpiled chemicals his body had triggered so he might fight or flee.

  Alex let his hard cock, its full veins thrumming hot against its velvety skin, press against an echoing erection that strained against expensive designer jeans and threatened to break through the fly. He couldn’t have described in words how good, how necessary that felt. He slid his hands down the silk shirt covering Dante’s shoulders and then around to his appealing ass to bring their bodies even tighter together. Knowing how sore Dante’s throat must be, he placed a soft trail of kisses away from Dante’s mouth and to the salty drink his throat offered.

  His felt his fangs come out, prepared to graze over or sink into the heat of the skin covering the tantalizing pulse and drink in the rich blood throbbing there. He groaned. And fought temptation.

  I can’t do this. Dante didn’t see my eyes glow red, doesn’t know what I am.

  Abruptly, he released the Italian and stepped away as his fangs retracted. “I apologize. It was the fight, you see.” He kept his voice steady, his words formal, even while his body cried out to take this man, to push his cock hard against Dante’s until it spurted and he bit. Drank. He shook off the dangerous thoughts. “Will you be able to make your way home?”

  Dante, his lips swollen from their kisses, his cock still pressing against his zipper, stood there as if stunned by the sudden end of the prelude to sex. It was moments before he answered, “Sì. I’m good to go.”

  “I’m not sure how much longer the scum will remain unconscious. We must hurry.” He looked at his watch. “I’m sorry. I have to leave. I’m glad I was able to be of some assistance.”

  “Some assistance? You may have saved—”

  But Alex was gone, moving away from Dante and what he craved from him so fast he almost glided across the piazza.

  What a fool you are, he berated himself. Thank heaven, common sense overruled your throbbing cock for once or you’d have arrived at your business appointment with wet pants reeking of cum.

  By the time he turned down the first street into the old city, he was calm and had his control in place again. Once he no longer saw Dante following him, thoughts of sex with him disappeared from his head. Under the weak light of a street lamp, he straightened his tie in the reflection of a pane of glass in a store window and ran his comb through the loose part of his hair until it held no signs of the fight. He examined the rip in his jacket. It was a small tear and wouldn’t show. He checked his GPS again and walked briskly toward his destination.

  Upon reaching it, he ascended stone steps guarded on either side by high stone walls, and reached the huge doors of one building amidst a complex of them. A sign listing the days and times one might tour this historic edifice was posted next to them. Alex smiled as he read it. Grasping the huge iron ring hanging from the door, he knocked as instructed. When a peephole opened and he identified himself, the door swung wide to admit him.

  Alex stepped into the narthex, and a self-eff
acing man in a dark business suit pushed the heavy wooden door shut behind him and locked it.

  “Signor Nicolaides, my name is Garibaldi.”

  “Signor Garibaldi,” Alex said as he extended his hand. The man’s flesh was as cool as his own.

  Beyond them, at the end of the single aisle in the middle of the elegantly appointed old church, an ornate golden cross hung above the altar. For all he knew, they might still hold mass here. How many centuries had it been since he’d entered a house of worship of the three-in-one God? he wondered.

  With unexpected suddenness, the feelings, the memory of the church of his boyhood swirled through him, creating a flooding warmth and a brief, bittersweet longing for what was forever lost. He no longer saw the interior of this church, but instead, he sat with his parents and siblings as they watched robed clergy waving censers wafting the fragrant, spicy scent of frankincense ahead of altar servers, who carried richly decorated bronze fans. Behind them, a procession of Greek Orthodox priests and bishops dressed in brightly colored, decorated vestments followed, wearing miters of embroidered gold cloth atop their heads as they approached the altar. The chants of the worshippers rose and fell in his ears.

  The vision, the scents, and the comforting warmth faded. He lived in the United States now and had suppressed those long ago memories. Alex’s smile was ironic. That he, one of the undead, was keeping an appointment in a Christian church was hard to believe. Especially in one erected during the fourteenth century, when he was a boy.