Antonietta gasped, one hand going to her throat. “We have many treasures. Priceless art. Jewels. Artifacts. Our ships carry classified cargo, the manifest is usually kept in the offices at the palazzo rather than in the offices on the dock because the security system is so much better. They could be after anything.”
“Go, Byron,” Don Giovanni encouraged. “You must see to it that my family is safe. Scarletti is an old and revered name. We can’t have any doubt on our reputation. Make certain nothing has been taken from the office.”
“You want me to leave you both here, unprotected on the cliffs? That would be far too dangerous.” Byron simply stood, lifting the old man, drawing Antonietta up as he did so. “I will take you both to the palazzo with me. Put your arms around my neck, Antonietta.”
A protest welled in her mind. She was too heavy. He couldn’t carry both of them. He had to hurry. Sensing his impatience, Antonietta remained silent and did as he instructed, circling his neck with her arms. Her body pressed close to his. Byron’s muscular body was as hard as a tree trunk. She had never felt more feminine, more aware of how curvy and soft her form was. She simply melted into him.
Antonietta was thankful it was night and the darkness hid the faint blush stealing under her skin. She should have been thinking of the honor of her family name; instead, she was thinking of him: Byron Justicano. She clung tightly to him. One of his arms wrapped securely around her waist. Almost at once she felt her feet leave the ground. Her grandfather cried out in fear, thrashing against the restraint. Byron murmured something softly to him, something she didn’t catch, but his tone was commanding. Her grandfather subsided, going so quiet she thought he must have fainted.
She turned her face up to the wind, relaxing, wanting to savor every moment. She was blind, but she was alive. She lived in a world of sounds and textures, rich and wonderful, and she wanted to experience everything life could offer. She was moving through space, across the sky, with the sea boiling and thundering below her and the clouds roiling above her. And she was safe in Byron’s arms.
What should have been the worst night of her life had turned into the experience of a lifetime. “Byron.” She whispered his name, an ache in her voice, thinking the wind would take the sound far from them, out over the ocean where no one would hear her most secret desire.
Byron buried his face in the fragrance of her hair as they soared across the sky. There was no fear in Antonietta. He rarely detected fear in her. Because her brain patterns were so different, it was difficult to read her mind, where he could most humans. Now that his heart had settled back to a natural rhythm, he could admire the way she fought for her life there on the cliffs. She was an extraordinary woman, and she belonged to him. She just didn’t realize it yet.
Antonietta had a strong personality and a determination to control her life and her business. Claiming her in the way of his people, Byron suspected, would not only make her resistant but would cause her great unhappiness. Years earlier, he had learned a hard lesson of attempting to take something too fast, for his own benefit, without thought of consequences.
Antonietta was his world. He could put aside his own needs and urges and the terrible hunger to give her the things she needed. He would have her, he knew that. There was no other choice for either of them, but he wanted her to come to him willingly. To choose him. To choose his life, his world. And even more, he wanted to give her all the things he suspected she had never had in her life. He wanted her to know her own worth as a woman. Not a Scarletti. Not a pianist. Not a shipping magnate. A woman.
“Are you afraid?” He whispered the words, half aloud, half in her mind. Knowing she wasn’t and wanting her to acknowledge what they were doing. He hadn’t protected her from their method of traveling. She might be blind, but she was more aware than any other human he knew.
Antonietta laughed, the sound one of joy. “How could I be afraid, Byron? I’m with you. I’m not going to ask how you do this until my feet are safely on the ground.” She answered him as honestly as she could. There was a wild exhilaration in her heart. If she was truly afraid, it was only of the unknown. Soaring through the sky was a dream, a fantasy come true. Her childhood dreams of flying had been so vivid she often believed she had soared across the night skies. “I do wish I could see the view.” There was a wistful note she couldn’t keep from her voice, and she was ashamed that he heard it. “I wish you had the time to describe it to me.”
“There is a way you could see what I see.” His heart was pounding now. The moment he noticed, he allowed it to seek the rhythm of hers. To connect them, heart to heart.
Antonietta’s grip tightened around his neck. For the first time, she turned her face into his throat. He could feel her breath warm on his throat, and his body tightened in reaction. In anticipation. “What are you saying?” Now it was her heart that was pounding. He could work miracles. Heal. Hear a call for help across the raging sea. Dive deep into roiling surf and pull a drowning man from the depths, carrying him to safety. Soar through the night sky while carrying two adults as if they weighed no more than small children. She dared not hope for the impossible.
Her voice was low, but her lips were pressed against his skin. Against his pulse. Byron’s body burned with heat, throbbed with need, with hunger. She seemed unaware of his reaction. He fought the nearly overwhelming urge of his kind, keeping his face turned from her, from the temptation she presented. He couldn’t answer her with his incisors lengthened and his body craving hers.
Fortunately, they were close to the great palazzo. Byron turned his attention to finding the location of every human in the area. He scanned the villa and the surrounding region. The aftermath of violence still vibrated in the air, but if the other conspirator had rushed back to the villa to find the manifest for cargo or the Scarletti family treasures, he had already managed to do so and was long gone, or he was in his bed feigning sleep. Byron could detect no foreign enemy present within the walls.
Family members were sleeping peacefully in their own beds. The entire household seemed to be unaware of the attack on Antonietta and Don Giovanni. Suspicion found its way into his heart.
2
Byron did not put Don Giovanni or Antonietta down until he entered the old man’s room.
“The alarms should be going off,” Antonietta said. “Intruders should have triggered them. How did they get in? How do you get in?”
“Not the same way they entered,” Byron replied with absolute conviction. “There is no intruder present in the palazzo at this time.”
“You can’t know that,” Antonietta pointed out. “There are over a hundred rooms in our home. They could be hiding anywhere. You haven’t even checked the office.”
“I will conduct a search later, only to see what they have been up to. There are no intruders, only your family in their beds,” Byron repeated patiently. “Don Giovanni is freezing from the seawater and chilling wind. His temperature is dropping at an alarming rate. Go to your room and take a hot bath, Antonietta,” he said, his tone abrupt and clipped as he began stripping the elderly man. “You are shaking with cold.”
“I don’t much care to be ordered about,” Antonietta responded. Her teeth were chattering, although she tried desperately to stop them. She was cold through and through. “Don Giovanni is my grandfather and my responsibility.”
“Then give him the dignity he deserves.” Byron’s voice had gone so soft it was black velvet. And it made her shiver.
Antonietta took a step backward. For a moment a lump welled up in her throat, threatening to choke her. Her eyes burned. She hadn’t cried in years.
His fingers caught her chin in a firm grip. “I do not mean to sound abrupt, but I have little time for necessities. If I have offended you, I am sorry. Your grandfather’s heart is weak, and his resistance is low, even with my earlier ministrations.” He bent his head to hers. Touched his mouth to hers. Feather light, a mere brush. She felt it all the way to her toes. Heat curled in the pit of her
stomach. For a moment she couldn’t think clearly, couldn’t think why she wanted to cry.
“Because someone tried to kill you and your grandfather,” he answered for her. “Someone poisoned him and most likely you and also drugged you both. You are tired and cold, and I was curt in my manner of speaking. Anyone would cry, Antonietta. I will see to Don Giovanni while you take a hot bath and get in a warm bed.”
Byron sounded so tender her heart turned over and tears burned behind her eyes. His hand dropped away from her, and she turned to go, compelled by the beauty of his voice, his soothing logic. She even took a step away from him before she realized what she was doing. “Grazie, Byron, but Nonno may need my assistance in the bath. I can’t see him, I’m blind, you know.” Byron was the only person who made her feel as if he never noticed she was blind.
Byron tossed Don Giovanni’s sodden shirt to one side. “You do not have to do everything, cara mia. Go now. I will attend him in the shower and get him settled.”
“Go.” Don Giovanni waved a trembling hand toward the door. “Do as he says, Toni, go to your bath. I will be fine. In fact, both of you go. I want you to look after her for me, Byron. See to it that she changes into something warm.”
“Nonno!” Antonietta was shocked. “I may be blind, but I assure you, Byron is not. I don’t think he can attend me in my bath.”
“I want her protected. Suppose they come back?” Don Giovanni ignored his granddaughter’s protest. “You stay with her at all times.”
“It will not matter, Don Giovanni, whether they come back or not. They will never again put their hands on your granddaughter.”
Byron leaned into Antonietta, and for the first time she felt his body tremble. Rage was a living, breathing entity in the room with them. The air thickened into a heavy mass, a dark cloud of roiling energy until it was difficult to breathe.
Deep inside Byron, the demon roared for release, called for retribution. Demanded he take her away where no harm could possibly reach her. “It is far safer in your bath alone than with me standing guard at the moment, cara. Allow me to attend your grandfather in peace.” His voice hissed out between his teeth. A promise. A vow. An absolute conviction.
Trying to be dignified with her teeth clacking together and her body shivering uncontrollably was difficult, but Antonietta was a Scarletti. She lifted her chin. “The authorities must be notified. I think there’s a body on the cliffs.”
“A body?” Don Giovanni sank onto a chair while Byron gently removed his saturated shoes and socks. “Whose body?”
Byron shrugged casually. “One of them was trying to throw Antonietta into the sea. I may have wrenched him a bit too hard. I was angry and afraid for her, and I was not thinking of my own strength.”
Don Giovanni shook his head. “Better the body go into the sea, and we know nothing of what happened to him. You struggled, he fell. It is better not to take chances with the authorities in the matter of death.”
“Nonno!” Antonietta was shocked.
“If you keep standing there with wet clothes, shaking like a leaf, I am carrying you up to your bath and putting you in it myself,” Byron said. “I will not be responsible for what happens after that. Do not make the mistake of thinking I am jesting.”
Her heart jumped, began to pound at his words. She did her best to look irritated before touching her grandfather’s hand as she swept from the room.
“You never take your eyes off of her,” Don Giovanni said approvingly. “That is good. I wanted a man like you for her. She’s strong-willed, Byron.” The red-rimmed eyes regarded him steadily. “You could hurt her.”
“Not me, Don Giovanni. Never me.” Byron helped the old man to stand. “Lean against me, and we will make our way to the shower.”
“I’m too weak to stand by myself,” Don Giovanni admitted, ashamed.
“I will not drop you, old friend,” Byron encouraged gently. He allowed the man to take staggering steps to cross the room to his private bath rather than arbitrarily lifting him. Instinctively he knew Don Giovanni’s pride would insist on that small independence, even if his body were too weak to walk without assistance. “It has been quite a night. You are aware, of course, that both your life and that of your granddaughter are in danger. She needs protection, as will you.”
Don Giovanni sighed as he reached with gnarled fingers for the glass door to his shower. “She’s a stubborn one. I’ve relied too heavily on her, and she feels responsible for all of us now. She won’t want to hire a bodyguard.”
“I know.” Byron helped the old man shed the last of his clothing and adjusted the temperature of the spray. “But it will be necessary. I cannot be here during most of the day. Why would someone want you both dead?”
Don Giovanni turned his face up to the spray while jets of water helped to heat the rest of his body. Byron was very matter-of-fact about standing with him in the shower, allowing the old man to hang on to him while the water poured over them. He waited until the don had stopped shivering so violently before he turned off the hot jets of water and enfolded the elderly man gently in a towel.
Carpathians regulated their own body temperatures, and it took a heartbeat to dress in dry clothes. The don hardly noticed as Byron helped him to put on his pajamas and crawl into bed. “Go to her, Byron. See that she comes to no harm.”
“I will,” Byron assured. “Sleep now, and do not worry.” He used his hypnotic voice to persuade the don.
“What of the others? My other grandchildren? You were going to check on them for me. And my great-grandchildren?” Don Giovanni slurred his words.
“Sleep now.” Byron gave him another gentle push with his mind. He drew the covers up to the older man’s chest.
Because the elder Scarletti was restless even in his sleep, Byron chanted the ancient healing ritual aloud as he worked on ensuring all traces of poison were driven from Don Giovanni’s body. It took longer than Byron thought it would, mostly because he worked on strengthening internal organs. “You cannot die for many years, old friend,” he murmured as he rose. He looked around carefully, allowing his senses to flare out and reach the corners of the suite of rooms. “I have only recently met you, Don Giovanni, but you are important to me and to your granddaughter. I have great respect for a man such as you.” He leaned very close, put his lips close to the don’s ear. “You will live and be strong.”
Someone had been in Don Giovanni’s room recently. Someone who may or may not be of Scarletti blood. The scent permeated the room. Byron took his time, thoroughly canvassing the room for anything that could be lethal to Don Giovanni. He detected no living thing, not even a poisonous spider. The intruder had dragged the don from his bed. It would have taken only moments to overpower the old man. The intruder must have returned to the room after he had flung Don Giovanni from the cliff. And he was either a family member or servant, sleeping in the palazzo, although the scent wasn’t familiar, or the intruder had left immediately after returning to the room, which didn’t make sense.
Byron shifted shape, taking the form of a large wolf with dark reddish-brown fur. He lifted his muzzle to scent the room again. At once his lips drew back in a snarl. The odor was subtle but there. Wild. Feline. A predator. That explained the quick escape. Was a vampire involved in some act against the Scarletti family? A vampire would have taken the old man’s blood, not simply thrown him into the sea. Vampires were wholly evil, wanting those around them to suffer endlessly.
The wolf began to search throughout the palazzo. How had the intruder come into the house without triggering the elaborate alarm system? Byron simply became mist in the way of his people and streamed through a partially closed window in one of the many unused rooms. Any vampire could do the same. The wolf trotted up the curving staircase on the east side of the palazzo where Antonietta’s cousins made their home.
Antonietta shoved open the door to her rooms with the flat of her hand. She had moved much too quickly and was grateful the children hadn’t left their toys out
where she could trip over them. Ordinarily, they were very good about such things, but little Vincente sometimes forgot. More than once Antonietta had suffered a minor bruise and damaged pride stumbling over one of his trucks. Once, she would have tumbled down the stairs if Justine hadn’t been with her to catch her. Vincente denied he was playing with his toys on the forbidden stairway, but his father, Franco, had punished him all the same. Marita, Vincente’s mother, wrung her hands together and wept aloud for the terrible treatment of her son, but for once, Franco prevailed, furious that Antonietta had nearly tumbled down the marble stairs.
Thoughtfully, Antonietta closed the heavy door to her suite and leaned against it as it occurred to her that Vincente might have been telling the truth. Someone else could easily have put his toys at the top of the stairs in the hopes of causing an accident. Darn you! You have me thinking conspiracy.
There was a small silence. Byron was shocked that she had used the intimate form of communication between life mates so easily. She was a strong telepath—and more. She often called him to her with her music, yet she seemed unaware of it. You are finally coming to terms with what is happening around you. Deliberately closing your eyes to a possible threat is not wise.
Antonietta began to slowly slip the small pearl buttons from the fastenings on her blouse. Her fingers were shaking with cold and maybe fear, so it was difficult to manage.
I could come and help you.
Antonietta gasped, looked around her room as if she might glimpse him there in her world of darkness.
His laughter was soft. Flirtatious. The night belongs to me. I come out of the shadows. I can be anywhere. Even there in the room with you right now, helping you to undress. There was a drawling caress in his tone that sent liquid fire racing through her body and pooling low into an aching need.
I always know when you’re in the room with me, and you’re not at this moment. Antonietta realized she was beginning to stop trembling, and she was smiling in spite of the events of the evening and the serious situation. Byron was deliberately warming her, making her relax. I don’t think helping me undress is a particularly good idea. What are you doing?
Christine Feehan 5 CARPATHIAN NOVELS Page 3
