A Hidden Fire

by Elizabeth Hunter

  Caspar chuckled and went back to his crossword puzzle on the counter. She walked back into the living room and sat in the open spot between the two vampires. Carwyn was already shouting at the screen on her left, but Giovanni sat back, slightly more subdued as he stretched his left arm across the back of the couch and looked at her.

  Beatrice chuckled. “It’s kind of cute, to be honest.”

  “Really?”

  “You’re usually so dignified,” she raised her beer to take a drink, and Giovanni leaned in slightly with a small smile on his lips. “It’s kind of nice—”

  Just then, he grabbed the beer out of her hand and jerked her arm toward his body. His nostrils flared and his eyes glowed as he pulled her hand to his face and inhaled deeply. Her heart rate shot up when she heard the growl rip from his throat, and his left arm coiled around her waist.

  “Gio—”

  “Where is he?” he hissed.

  Chapter Nine

  Houston, Texas

  December 2003

  “Giovanni, let her go.”

  He was lost in instinct, trapped in the scent of the unexpected enemy on a human his nature had claimed, even if his mind had not. His fangs descended, spurred by the sudden rush of blood in his veins and the unseen threat. He wanted to sink his teeth into her, marking her as his own so no other would dare to touch her.

  “Giovanni!” He heard the priest’s voice as if he was calling from far away.

  “Gio,” she whispered; her pulse pounded in his ears, and the scent of her panic rolled off her in seductive waves. “Please, don’t—I don’t understand—”

  His head inched toward her neck, the ancient, territorial compulsion roaring through him to drink and claim her blood as his own. He felt the current in his fingertips crawl across the girl’s skin as the amnis began to run through him and into her.

  “Giovanni di Spada!”

  He stared, hypnotized by the pulsing heartbeat that sped faster the closer he held her. His own heart began to thump faster and he bared his fangs.

  “I will end you if you harm the innocent!” Carwyn roared in Italian, the language of his youth finally breaking through the haze that clouded Giovanni’s rational mind.

  His hooded eyes flew open, and the vampire leapt away from the girl, staring at her in horror when he saw the tears coursing down her face. He stopped breathing and took another step back, pushing down the snarl that threatened to erupt when Carwyn stepped between him and Beatrice.

  “Outside. Now!”

  He tried to look around Carwyn. “Beatrice—”

  “Now, before I throw you out!” he yelled as Caspar stood gaping in the doorway.

  Giovanni threw open the terrace doors and stalked outside. Caspar met him pacing near the pool a few minutes later with a bag of blood from the refrigerator. Biting directly into the bag, Giovanni ignored the stale taste as he sucked it dry. He felt the volatile energy licking along his skin, so he stripped off his clothes, and dove to the bottom of the pool where he sat in utter stillness, gradually slowing the beat of his normally silent heart.

  He watched the moon through the dark water, disgusted with his actions in the living room and furious with himself for losing control of his base nature after hundreds of years of strict discipline.

  “What is our first lesson from Plato?”

  “’For a man to conquer himself is the first and noblest of all victories.’”

  “You must always be stronger than your nature. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Father.”

  “It is the key to your survival in any circumstance. You more than any other.”

  He didn’t know how long he sat at the bottom of the pool, but eventually his ears alerted him to the faint splash near the shallow end as something broke the still surface.

  He shot up, shocked to see Beatrice sitting near the steps with her shoes off, and her feet dangling near the steps.

  “Hey.”

  He didn’t speak, but scanned the surrounding area, spotting Carwyn who sat, glaring at him from one of the chaises on the terrace. Giovanni nodded toward his old friend, his eyes communicating his careful control, and he saw the priest relax. He looked back to the solemn young woman who met his gaze without flinching.

  “I would offer an apology, Beatrice De Novo.”

  The girl had no idea how rare an occasion it was for Giovanni to admit wrongdoing, so she only narrowed her eyes. “Is it going to happen again?”

  He paused, wanting to answer honestly. “I had underestimated how territorial I felt toward you. I won’t make the mistake again.”

  “Why do you feel territorial about me?” she asked quietly.

  He treaded water, still keeping his distance. “You are under my aegis, whether you accept it or not.” Giovanni ignored the sudden tension he sensed from Carwyn on the patio, choosing to lock his gaze on the girl at the end of the pool.

  “What does that mean?” She looked at him, confusion evident in her features.

  There was no need for her to know the full extent of his aegis, or that by claiming her, he had every right to drink from her as he wished. He decided the simplest explanation was best.

  “It means I have taken responsibility for you in my world. Part of that responsibility is to protect you, and I failed in that tonight.”

  “You stopped.”

  He couldn’t speak, afraid that honesty would send her running. If Carwyn had not been there, he wouldn’t have stopped.

  She must have seen the truth in his eyes. “Would you have killed me?”

  Most definitely not. “No ... but I would have marked you. Without your permission.”

  She frowned and looked at him curiously. “Do humans—do they ever give you their permission?”

  He avoided the question, diving and surfacing a few feet from her. She looked away, flustered by his presence, so he retreated a few feet.

  “Wh—who is Giovanni di Spada?” she asked.

  “Who?”

  “Carwyn, he called you that when you were…you know.”

  Giovanni frowned a little, faintly remembering the priest calling the name of his more violent past. “Giovanni de Spada is the name I was using when Carwyn and I met. I went by that name for almost two hundred years. He still forgets and calls me that occasionally.”

  “So you changed the last name, but you kept Giovanni?”

  He nodded, baffled by her questions, but willing to entertain them if it regained some of the trust he had broken. “It seemed easier to keep the given name. If I ever traveled back to the same place or the same business and someone happened to remember me, it was easy enough to claim I was a relative. And, of course, there were no photographs until recently.”

  “Oh,” she nodded, “that makes sense.”

  “It wasn’t difficult to change your identity for most of history.”

  “And now?”

  He shrugged. “Now it is harder, but not impossible.”

  She paused and finally met his eyes. He could see her start to relax and wished he had not agreed to avoid using his amnis on her. It would make questioning her far more straightforward.

  “Who did you meet today?” he asked quietly, slowly moving closer to her at the edge of the pool.

  “Who did I—what? I met…” she cleared her throat, suddenly flustered again, “lots of people, Gio. What does that—”

  “You met someone new. A stranger. You had the scent of another immortal on you,” he said, keeping his voice carefully neutral.

  She scowled at him. “I did not! I had a completely normal day. I didn’t meet any vampires. I think I’d know what to look for at this point, don’t you?” He could hear her pulse pick up, but he sensed it was from anger, not fear.

  He glanced at Carwyn, who moved slightly closer to the pool, his hands in his pockets as he sauntered toward them.

  “I smelled it too, B. It was faint, but it was there. It’s on your hands. Gio’s nose has always been sharper. Did you shake han
ds with anyone? Go anywhere new?”

  She rolled her eyes and huffed in frustration. “I went to school and work. I went to dinner with my grandma and her friends. I went to a new Thai restaurant where none of the waiters looked any paler than usual, Carwyn. I didn’t meet a vampire!”

  “Something,” Giovanni muttered, swimming over to the edge of the pool and lifting himself up. “There has to be something.” He strode over the patio, dripping cold water as he walked. He only remembered his nudity when he heard Beatrice gasp a little from the steps.

  Carwyn rolled his eyes and tossed Giovanni a towel from the end of the chaise. “Cover yourself up. We all know she’d rather see me naked.”

  He glanced over his shoulder toward Beatrice, who was blushing and staring at his feet. He smirked when he realized why her heart had been racing.

  It didn’t appear to be anger.

  He slung the towel around his waist and walked back toward her, holding a hand out to help her up. She was still looking anywhere but at him.

  “Beatrice,” he said, trying to smother a smile. “I apologize. My behavior in the living room was unconscionable. It won’t happen again.” She still refused to look at him. He sighed and dropped his hand.

  “It’s fine, Gio,” she said, bright red in the face. “Just don’t scare me like that again.”

  “I’ll try not to.” He held out his hand again; this time she took it and allowed him to help her stand.

  “And don’t think I didn’t feel the current thing when you grabbed me. Do not mess with my brain.”

  He allowed her to see the edge of his smile. “Understood.”

  She nodded, resolve clear in her eyes. “I’m going to go call my grandmother so she doesn’t worry. I’ll be up in the library when I’m done.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. Now go put some clothes on. Because if you want me to concentrate, you can’t dangle that much naked man in front of me. Vampire or not.”

  Giovanni stifled a grin as he walked into the house, punching a laughing Carwyn as he walked by.

  “Ow,” the priest pouted, back to his normally gregarious nature.

  “Liar.”

  “I’m practicing for wrestling!”

  Giovanni couldn’t stop the grin that spread across his face or the sense of satisfaction as he ran upstairs to get dressed.

  She still hadn’t run.

  He met them all in the library, where Carwyn started a fire and Caspar had already brought drinks for everyone. The butler sat next to the girl on the couch, leaving the two end chairs for the vampires to perch.

  Neither vampire sat; Carwyn leaned a shoulder into the mantle and watched the room, while Giovanni roamed the length of the library. His mind was shuffling information, moving clues like a puzzle. Now that he could think more rationally, the pieces were beginning to fall into place. The anger, however, was only beginning to grow.

  “Carwyn,” he heard Beatrice ask as he walked toward his locked cabinet, “why can you use the stereo and the remotes when Gio can’t? You’ve got the same current under your skin, right?”

  Giovanni’s eyes shot to his friend’s, who simply shrugged a little before he answered.

  “Well,” he winked at Beatrice. “Let’s just say I’m better grounded than Sparky over there.”

  “Better groun—oh, elements! Fire. Earth. Air. Water. Are you an earth vampire, or something?”

  He nodded and stared at her in the flickering light from the hearth. “Such a clever girl,” he murmured. “I wonder what else we can figure out together, hmm?” He glanced back to Giovanni, who only nodded silently at the back of the library.

  “Beatrice,” the priest continued, “may I smell your hand, dear girl? Just once more. I promise not to get all fangy.”

  Beatrice smiled and glanced over her shoulder at Giovanni.

  “Sure.” She held out her hand. “But I’m pretty positive I didn’t meet a vampire today. My day was completely boring. The only exciting thing about it was a couple of new documents at work. And that’s…” She trailed off and Giovanni could see her make the connection. “I mean…the documents—”

  She broke off abruptly when she saw the gleam in Carwyn’s eyes. He bent over her hand as if he was going to kiss it, but just like the night they met, he inhaled a deep, almost predatory, breath over her fingertips.

  “Carwyn?” Giovanni asked with growing certainty.

  “Parchment,” he muttered into her hand. His blue eyes shot up. “The new documents at the library—I need to know what they were. Where were they from? Were they bought? Donated? I need to know everything you can tell me about them.”

  Giovanni felt electricity begin to charge the air as he moved closer to the couch, but the priest held up a hand as Beatrice’s eyes began to dart nervously around the room. Caspar reached over and patted the girl’s arm.

  “Everyone take a step back,” the butler said soothingly. “I’m sure Beatrice is already an expert, gentlemen. Let her speak.”

  She glanced gratefully at him, and Caspar smiled in encouragement.

  “It’s—it was donated anonymously. It’s a letter. There are two of them. From the Italian Renaissance. Two friends, a philosopher and a—a poet. They were authenticated at the University of Ferrara. Dated 1484. From Florence.”

  Giovanni was drawn to her voice, walking silently over to stand by the fire as she spoke. Her eyes lifted and met his.

  Carwyn’s eyes darted between him and the young woman. “Who were the letters addressed to, B?”

  “Giovanni…” she began, staring with her warm brown eyes. “Count Giovanni Pico della Mirandola. That’s who the letters were for.”

  He looked away, hoping she had not seen the flicker of recognition at the old name. He ignored the burning in his chest as he walked back to the library table and collected himself. He glanced over to see Carwyn smiling at her.

  “Anything else you can remember? It really would be helpful.”

  She shook her head. “It sounded like they were mostly personal. I only read the translation on one. They were talking about a new servant, or squire, or—or something like that, and his education. There was something about meeting Lorenzo de Medici.” She blushed slightly and glanced back at him; his eyes were glued to her as she spoke. “Something about a scandal. I can’t—I can’t remember all of it. I’m sorry.”

  “Oh, I think you’ve remembered plenty,” Caspar broke in. “I’m sure that’s what they needed to know.”

  She looked for him in the back of the library. “Did a vampire donate those letters, Gio?”

  He still didn’t speak but nodded as he stared into the fire.

  Carwyn finally answered her. “I think that’s where you picked up the scent. He must have handled them before they were donated.”

  Giovanni was careful to keep strict control of his features as his mind flew in a thousand directions, finally settling onto one inescapable conclusion.

  He had been deceived.

  “Gio?”

  He heard her voice and knew what she wanted to ask.

  “Giovanni?” she almost whispered.

  “Do not ask questions you know I will not answer, Beatrice,” he bit out.

  “But—”

  “It’s not—” he broke off for a moment, “not for you.”

  She stood to face him. Giovanni could see the angry confusion in her eyes, and he could not blame her. She squared her shoulders and turned to Carwyn.

  “I’m going home. I guess I’ll see you at the library tomorrow.”

  Caspar stood with her. “I’ll see you out.” The butler escorted the young woman out of the library, but not before she shot him a pointed glare.

  Carwyn rushed over to Giovanni as soon as the two humans were out of the room and began speaking in rushed Latin.

  “The letters—”

  “‘They’ll be there soon, and there’s more where they came from,’” Giovanni muttered, quoting the mysterious e-mail fro
m weeks before they had both been baffled by. “‘You’re welcome.’”

  “Lorenzo sent the letters, Gio. It’s the only explanation. He must have slept with them on his pillow for the scent to be that strong.”

  “Those letters were bound in a correspondence book. If he has those two, he has all of them. If he has the correspondence books…”

  “He has all your books.”

  Giovanni leaned his hip against the table, still staring into the fire as the memory of other fires haunted him. “We don’t know that he has them all.”

  “But the rumors—”

  “Are rumors, nothing more. It is possible…many things are possible. What we do know is he has the correspondence books and he sent the letters.” Giovanni cursed. “And if his note is correct, there will be more.”

  “He was never one to bluff,” Carwyn growled. “Why? Why now?”

  “Why didn’t I know he had them?” Giovanni asked, pushing away from the table and pacing the length of the library with deliberate strides. “After five hundred years? Or why is he sending them now?”

  “You tell me. You know him far better than I ever will. What’s his game?”

  Giovanni stalked the room, mentally shifting the pieces, and trying to make sense of everything they had learned that night. One disturbing thought kept circling his mind until it was all he could think about.

  “You’re missing his boldest move, Carwyn,” he muttered to the priest as he halted, leaning against the oak table and staring at the empty desk in the corner of the room. “He didn’t send them to me.” He nodded toward the desk. “He sent them to her.”

  Carwyn’s eyes widened as he turned to stare at the girl’s desk and heard Giovanni murmur, “He sent them to Beatrice.”

  Chapter Ten

  Houston, Texas

  December 2003

  He had gone to prison for love.

  She couldn’t tear her eyes away from the translation of the second letter of Angelo Poliziano to Giovanni Pico as she huddled in the stacks, avoiding the packed reading room on Wednesday afternoon. Pico had been imprisoned for his affair with a married woman and only escaped because of his connection to Lorenzo de Medici.