“Who’s this fool? A friend of yours, Virgil?”
“I mean, I knew you were an idiot, but involving an immortal in nest quarrels? Seriously?”
“I don’t know who this man is.”
“Yeah, sure.”
Air whooshed to Marcus’s right, the sick sound of a hard surface making contact with another resonated in the air, then the beggar, Virgil, cried, “I swear. I’ve never seen him before.”
“Do you think Claudius will think that it’s just a coincidence an immortal was strolling by tonight, here, of all places?”
Another sound slashed through the night, Virgil moaned, but never uttered a word.
“Let’s finish him.”
Marcus’s sight cleared and he saw the third vampire tying a silver cord around Virgil’s neck. The man pulled the loose ends of the cord with his gloved hands and Virgil’s eyes, nose, and mouth bleed a dark, viscous liquid. Marcus jumped on his feet and barreled through, dislodging the cord from the vampire’s hands. He grabbed the cord and in a swift movement, circled it around the attacker’s neck, and pulled until the silver went through first the skin, then the sinews, and finally the bones. One last pull and the vampire’s head fell from his body. Being a renegade had its perks. He wasn’t subjected to the Peace Pact’s laws that would have required him to incapacitate his attackers and forbade him to kill them. He stepped back and watched as the body exploded in a fine mist.
Meanwhile, Virgil, freed from the restraining silver, had managed to incapacitate the second vampire by pressing the manacles over his attacker’s eyes. Marcus made a lasso out of the silver cord and directed his attention to the remaining attacker. Swinging the lasso in a large arch, he caught the man at chest-height on the second try and pulled the trussed-up vampire closer to him. Then he let the cord rise to the man’s neck and closed it tight around it to decapitate him as well. Marcus was tired and his hands were covered in blood. It took longer this second time to get the job done. When he finally admired his handiwork on the ground, his upper body ached, and he barely moved out of the way when the corpse disintegrated.
“I need some help here.” Virgil was struggling to keep his hold on the last vampire.
The vampire was blind and in terrible pain, but he was resisting Virgil’s efforts to disable him. Marcus marched toward them and laid one booted foot over the vampire on the ground to keep him down while Virgil finished him. Without notice, the girl screamed. The sound, coming from something so small, was frightening. Virgil left his prey and ran to her side. Not impaired by the silver manacles, the vampire hit Marcus behind his right knee and toppled him over and away from him. The girl screamed again, this time louder. A blink of an eye later, the vampire was gone.
Marcus turned to Virgil. “You.” He walked the three steps dividing them and stopped to tower over the vampire cradling the girl on his lap. “You owe me a few answers.”
Despite the closeness, the vampire didn’t seem to notice Marcus’s presence. Then, he raised his head to look at him. “Promise me you’ll save her.”
Marcus fought the urge to laugh. “I don’t make promises to your race.”
“She’s innocent.” Virgil stroked the girl’s temple and shushed her as if she were a child.
Something primal awoke in him at the sight, but Marcus pushed it away. “Not my problem.”
“Please—” Virgil’s head dropped to his chest, his hair covering his face like a dark curtain.
Marcus crouched down, put a finger under the vampire’s chin, and pushed it up until their eyes met. “Tell me where Claudius lives.”
“You have to promise you’ll take care of her.” Virgil’s eyes were glassy, his words slurred.
“What’s wrong with you?” Marcus’s hands shot to the vampire’s chest where black blood oozed out from a wound. “Stay with me! You must tell me where Claudius is.” He tore Virgil’s shirt aside to reveal a silver dagger stuck to the hilt in his heart. “Don’t you dare die.” His fingers probed the edge of the wound, and the vampire barely moaned. Throwing caution to the wind, he dug inside to remove the dagger, but only cut himself on the blade. Screaming in pain and frustration, he redoubled his attempts, but couldn’t dislodge the weapon. In the distance, steps could be heard approaching.
“Marcus!” Alexander came running, only to stop before him. “What happened?”
Marcus looked down at the dying vampire in his arms and felt rage growing inside of him and threatening to explode. He pushed the man on the ground, stood on unsteady legs, and backed away from him several steps before looking at his friend. “Where were you?”
Alexander passed his hand over his jaw, then through his short, blond hair. “Looking for you.”
Virgil emitted a low, choked sound, and his chest heaved and expanded. Marcus and Alexander moved away at once, but weren’t distant enough when the vampire exploded, covering them in matter that soon transformed into ashes.
“It always stings.” Alexander dusted his face with the hem of his white shirt, leaving a dirty smear on the fabric. Several burnt marks dotted his skin.
Marcus didn’t bother trying to clean himself. Nothing less than a hot, long shower would do the trick anyway. The girl cried and he looked down at the corner where she was curled up and shaking.
“What is this?” Alexander was at her side before Marcus. He bent over the girl and gently pried her hands away from her face, then swore a long streak of profanities in Greek. “A vampling—”
Marcus pushed away Alexander and examined the girl for the telltale signs of a freshly turned vampire. “For Jupiter’s Jewels.”
Alexander followed Marcus. “Someone will come to claim her.” He made to turn and leave.
Marcus took him by the elbow. “They were going to kill her.”
“Why?”
“From what I understood, she was turned against the nest’s approval.”
Alexander took another step away from the scene, his face turned toward the exit by the Coliseum’s side. “We can’t be involved in the nest’s business.”
Marcus applied pressure on his hold. “She might know where Claudius lives.”
“It’s a terrible idea.”
“If we leave her here, she’ll die.” Marcus pointed at the girl who had curled up again and was trembling so hard, he couldn’t help walking back to her and laying a hand on her shoulder to calm her. The girl reacted to his touch by leaning into it.
Alexander shook his head. “No. It’s one thing to be looking for Aurelia’s murderer to bring him to justice. It’s another to get involved in the vampire’s politics.”
“She might be the only chance I’ll ever get to catch him.”
“You’ve waited two thousand years. There will be other leads.” Alexander raised his hands in the air and walked away.
Marcus left the girl to reach Alexander and stopped in front of him. “I can’t wait anymore.” He shrugged. “I won’t live like this a day longer.”
“Don’t talk like that.” Alexander placed both hands on Marcus’s shoulders and shook him hard. “You’ll catch this Claudius, and we’ll see him sentenced for his crime.”
“I never meant to bring him to justice.” Marcus sighed at his friend’s dismayed look. “Come on. You must have known my intentions when I had my status rescinded.”
Alexander removed his hands from his shoulders and took a step back. “You can’t go against the Council.”
“The Council doesn’t have to know. I intend to be discreet.” Marcus tilted his head toward the girl on his back. “You weren’t here.”
“What the heck…?” Alexander closed his eyes and sighed. “I can’t let her die anyway.”
“I’ll help her find a safe place somewhere.”
“If anyone saw me coming here, I arrived too late and missed you.”
“Which is not far from the truth.” Marcus waved him away.
Alexander pointed a finger at Marcus, gave him one last warning look, sighed again, then finally left
, sprinting away.
“What am I going to do with you?” Marcus stared at the shaking form that resembled a lost stray. “You must collaborate, little thing.” He bent and slid his arms under her back to pick her up.
The girl didn’t resist; she barely seemed aware of what was happening around her, but cried when he lifted her. She weighed nothing in his arms, and from what he could see, her body was covered in bruises. The most prominent ones were around her neck, where the vampire had tried to strangle her, but her skin was marred all the way under her blouse. The long-sleeved garment was made of heavy cotton, almost as thick as the type used to make pants and was seasonally inappropriate. The sight of it made Marcus sweat, but he cradled her to his chest and started walking toward the exit, hoping nobody was wandering around.
He maintained a slow pace and traveled several meters of park before he was stopped in his tracks by soft murmuring nearby. The exit was just ahead of him. The sounds changed tone and became unmistakably intimate. With the corner of his eye, Marcus caught a head peeking out from behind a nearby ruin. A man in his twenties gave him the international sign to move away. Marcus nodded, a half-smile on his mouth, and complied with the request, leaving the Forum behind in a few steps. Out of the gate, he adjusted her body to give the impression he was carrying his girlfriend on his back, her head gently leaning on his shoulder. He wished she had long hair to cover her face from onlookers.
“Hope you’re a good actress, little thing.” With as much gentleness as he could muster, he angled her head with her mouth at his neck.
Once on the main street, he was soon swept away by the festive crowd. It was well past midnight, but Rome never slept. He maintained the slow, measured pace throughout the stroll back home, and once in a while leaned his head to the side and whispered small nonsenses. It took him several hours to reach his destination, but he didn’t have to stop again or seek lonely alleys to escape curiosity. He caught a few double takes, looking first at the girl and then at him. For the most part, the men winked at him and the women gave him unreadable looks, but nobody seemed alarmed.
The sun was rising when he opened the door to his home, a building he had bought for Aurelia as a one-story villa when he was courting her in imperial Rome. He wanted to impress her father, the freshly elected consul who thought a centurion wasn’t enough for his daughter, and worked with the architect to ensure their nuptial bedroom would face the riverbank. There, he had anchored the ship he had named after her so it could be seen from the house. Aurelia had squealed in delight at the sight of the large boat decorated with flowers. They had spent their first night together on the ship several months before the wedding.
Several centuries later, he had bought the house a second time as a four-story palazzo in the heart of a renaissance city. At that time, almost nothing of the original Roman villa remained, and yet on a wall, poorly hidden beneath a layer of decaying stucco, he found the carving he had made with the initials of his name and Aurelia’s intertwined. The image of his wife scraping out her initial with a ring he had given her was too much to bear, so he had run away. And, despite the fact he knew other memories would haunt him as soon as he stepped foot inside that house, he had bought it again just recently when Alexander had told him the vampire he had been looking for all his life might be in Rome.
He closed the door with his hip and slid the girl to his front. “Forgive me, Aurelia.” This girl was the first woman he had ever brought home.
Chapter Two
Although her head was heavy and her tongue felt like sandpaper in her mouth, Diana opened her eyes to a pleasant scene. Sunlight came through the light-blue venetian blinds and illuminated the room in black and white stripes. Stardust sparkled in the slivers of white light, reminding her of summers from her youth, when she had been a little girl and spent time at her grandmother’s villa by the sea. All around, the décor was simple, yet elegant—a few pieces of dark furniture, all antiques. The walls were painted cream, the ceiling was vaulted and frescoed with morning sky and scattered clouds. Despite the lightness the place emanated, the overall feeling was that of a bedroom belonging to a man.
She had never seen the room before. She couldn’t remember how she had found her way there, and she was sure she didn’t know the man sleeping on the couch below the window. His chest rose and fell at regular intervals and she wondered how he could rest with his head leaning against the back wall, while his body was angled in what looked like an uncomfortable position. A client? And if so, why wasn’t he sleeping in his own bed?
Diana passed her hand over her face and saw the darkening bruises on her arm. She moved her hand before her eyes, taking in the red blotches under her nails, then she saw the blood stains on the linens draped around her naked body, and she screamed. Terrified at what the scene implied, she put both her hands over her mouth, but it was too late.
The man had jumped up at her scream and had run to her side. “What is it?”
She stared at him and shook her head. “Please don’t hurt me.” She hated herself for crying, but couldn’t stop the tears from falling. Not again. Please, not again. Her knees went to her chest and she brought the bloodied sheet up to cover as much as she could.
The man stared back, his eyes a rich hazel, but despite the warm tint, they still emanated a cold vibe. He was tall, imposing as he towered over her. When he slightly leaned and reached out one hand to touch her, panic overruled her senses and she screamed again.
He retracted his hand and raised it before his chest, showing her the palm. “Stop that.”
“I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.” Diana rocked back and forth, shaking between sobs, her head between her knees. “Please, don’t hurt me. I’ll do anything you ask me.”
“Start with calming yourself. I have no intention of harming you.”
She heard him walking to the other side of the bed, then a drawer was opened. She turned her head slightly to peek and saw him rummaging through the contents, moving stuff around until he stopped as if he had found what he was looking for. A moment later, he pushed the drawer closed, a pair of boxers in his hand. Without saying a word, he left the room. A door opened and closed, then the sound of running water filled the silence.
Diana breathed in and out, then swung her legs out of the bed, intending to find something to wear beside the linen sheet and leave before the man came back. As the soles of her feet made contact with the cold marble tiles of the floor, she realized how weak she was. Her knees could barely hold her up and she struggled through a few steps before she had to steady herself by grabbing the back of a delicate chair. It didn’t work; she tripped on the hem of the sheet tangled between her feet, the chair went legs-up under her, and she fell on the floor, hitting her head against the edge of the nightstand.
Hurried steps resonated closer to her and she had a fuzzy vision of the man’s legs dripping water everywhere. Next, she felt light, almost as if she were floating under water. Warmth enveloped her and she finally relaxed. Diana thought she might have heard a few soothing words sent her way, but she was probably already dreaming.
“How do you feel?”
She opened her eyes again. She remembered having done so several times already, but she hadn’t mustered the necessary strength to keep them open the other times. Now, she tried harder and succeeded. A mumble escaped her mouth in response to the man’s question.
“We must talk.” The man appeared in her line of vision. He was wearing a black T-shirt and faded jeans.
He didn’t look like one of her clients. They were usually older and wore conservative clothes, work suits. They came to her after the office hours and before returning to their families. And they never took her home with them. Their furtive meetings were held at discreet, small hotels. Escorts like her were treated with a modicum of respect. Except when they weren’t and ended up bloodied and beaten in dark alleys…
“Virgil!” She remembered. All of it. She saw black dots swimming before her eyes and she was suddenl
y dizzy. Her head was heavy and she soon lost her battle to remain awake.
A voice called her back. “Little thing, stop doing this.”
She was floating again, strong arms cradling her. A door opened. She was in a different room. Everything was white and smelled of clean cotton and shampoo. Her head dipped lower and dizziness threatened to make her throw up. The sound of running water. The world realigned. She gasped as she was lowered into warm, scented water.
“Better?” The man handed her a bar of soap.
She looked at the proffered gift and frowned. Her arms lay limp by her side. She could barely move her fingers.
He pushed the soap toward her a second time, then sighed. “Fine.” He lowered his hand toward her right arm, then stopped and tilted his head by the side. “You will not scream.”
Diana shook her head, a tear menacing to betray her, but she held it back.
The man methodically lathered his hands with the soap, reminding her of a surgeon’s actions she had once had as a client. She shivered.
“I won’t hurt you. I won’t repeat myself again.” The man gave her one warning look, and she nodded. He proceeded to raise her right arm toward him and gently covered it in a layer of fresh-smelling soap.
She closed her eyes, suddenly flushing at the intimacy of the act. Lavender. She focused her senses on the soap’s scent while he took her other arm and repeated the treatment. Next, he put one hand behind her right knee and with the other lathered first her toes, then her ankle, her calf, following the contour of her leg with a slowness that didn’t help her nerves. At the knee, he stopped. She wanted to drop onto the tub’s floor and sink her head under the water. After a long pause, he took her other leg. Again, at the knee he stopped. She hadn’t dared open her eyes, her embarrassment too big. She had almost moaned in protest and asked him to keep going. His hands circled her neck, her shoulders. He washed her head with long strokes through her scalp. She wished her head wasn’t shaved so she could feel his fingers between her tresses. Her clients had always complimented her on the beauty of her chestnut curls. She had hated their touch.
The Lost Centurion Page 2
