The Trouble With Vampires

by Sands, Lynsay

  “It is fine,” he assured her, rubbing his hands up and down her back soothingly. “You are not likely to get pregnant now. The nanos are using up the blood we gave you to finish your turn. They will not allow you to get pregnant, or at least not to stay pregnant. They would see the fetus as a parasite using up blood they need for you, and would not let it grow.”

  Oh,” she murmured, but thought that sounded a little . . .

  “When an immortal wishes to have a child, she must take in extra blood to support the child or she will not keep it,” he continued. “That is the only form of protection we need, and the only way we have managed to stick to the one-child-every-hundred-years rule.”

  “What?” Pet gasped. “One child every hundred years?”

  “Sì. It is to ensure we do not outgrow our food source,” he explained.

  “You mean people,” she said dryly.

  Santo shrugged, jostling her a bit on his chest. “It is a fact of life that we need extra blood to survive, tesoro mio. But it would be risky to allow our numbers to flourish too high. Aside from outstripping our blood source, there is the increased risk of exposure.”

  “Right,” Pet sighed and laid her head down again, then ran one finger lightly over his rings. “Why do you have two exactly the same?”

  “I have three exactly the same. One is on my other hand.” He held up his other hand in front of her face so she could see the third ring. “They are my sons’ rings. The only things left of them after their death.”

  “The ones on your pinkies match too,” she pointed out. “They look like women’s rings.”

  “My daughters’ rings. I had to have them enlarged to fit.”

  “And the one on your ring finger?” she asked.

  “My family ring, given to me when I became a man,” he explained. “The one on my right hand is my father’s ring. And the last ring on my right hand belonged to the mother of my children.”

  “She wasn’t a life mate, though,” Pet murmured. “And they all died in the same house fire?”

  “It was not a house fire,” he admitted, his voice rough.

  Pet knew he planned to explain, or he wouldn’t have admitted the truth. So, she simply waited.

  “Back at that time, there was a thing called vindicta. It later became vendetta in Italy,” he said, his voice a soft rumble.

  “If a member of a family was insulted, harmed, or killed, the victim’s family would seek revenge on the other family, which would then seek revenge for this new hurt and so on,” she said, shifting off of him to sit cross-legged on the bed facing him. When his eyebrows rose slightly at her words, Pet said, “History professor, remember?”

  “Oh, sì.” Santo smiled and then shook his head. “Well, Honorata, the mother of my children, was from the Bruni family, who had a blood feud with the Vilani family. It started quite small, with some sort of perceived insult. I cannot even remember what it was, if I was ever told. But it was not important, a small thing when Honorata and I first decided to have a child together.”

  “How did you decide to have a child together?” Pet asked with curiosity.

  “Her brother, Anselmus, and I were friends, and I was visiting with him in 1035 a.d., shortly before my two thousandth birthday. We got to talking and . . .” Pausing, Santo rubbed a hand over his head. “I was about to turn two thousand years old. I was also without a life mate and in a bad place.” He shrugged. “It is not unusual for immortals to go rogue after so long without a life mate. There have even been immortals who broke and went rogue after just three or four centuries, so . . .”

  “So making it to two thousand without going rogue was doing well,” Pet suggested solemnly.

  “Sì.” He smiled wryly and nodded. “Anyway, I was no doubt very morose and perhaps even moaning about such things. Honorata overheard and commented that having a child might reinvigorate me and make life more bearable.” Santo smiled faintly at the memory, and then admitted, “Of course, Anselmus and I laughed at the suggestion. He said something about children being a woman’s answer to everything, and we left to go hunting. But—” He ran his hand over his skull again, the rings on his fingers catching the light, and finally admitted, “But the idea stuck with me. At first it just niggled at me, and then it intrigued me, and then it plagued me, and finally I could not get it out of my head. A child, a son or daughter of my own to love and care for. To raise and protect.” He said the words with wonder even now, but then sighed. “It is not the right reason to have a child, but I needed something to live for.”

  Pet nodded in understanding.

  “Finally, I decided to do it,” he continued. “But I did not know how to go about it.”

  “You didn’t?” she asked teasingly, her gaze dropping down over his body. “You seem to know what you’re doing with me.”

  “Not the sex, Pet,” Santo said with exasperated amusement. “I was not even interested in that part, really, other than that I would have to perform to impregnate a woman. I was more concerned with how to find an immortal woman who would be interested in such a thing. Having a child with a man not her life mate.”

  “Ah,” she murmured.

  “After thinking about it for a while, I went back to see Honorata. It had been her suggestion, after all. So I thought perhaps she would have some idea of how I would find a mother for my children.”

  “And she volunteered?” Pet guessed.

  Santo nodded. “Honorata was eight hundred years old herself, and tiring of life. She wanted to have a child. It seems that was why she had suggested it to me in the first place. We were friends, she trusted me, and had hoped I would be interested. Fortunately, while she had been looking, she had not settled on another man while I dallied.”

  “How long did you dally?” she asked with curiosity.

  Santo frowned, apparently doing the math, and then said, “Seventy-two, maybe seventy-three years.”

  “What?” Pet gasped with amazement. “And she couldn’t find a man to get her pregnant in that time? Not likely! Good Lord. She just wanted you to be her baby-daddy. Maybe she just wanted you, period. I mean, you are a big sexy beau hunk of a guy. She probably had a huge old immortal crush on you and wanted to get you into her bed and this was a way to do it.”

  Santo waited patiently until she ended her rant, and then arched one eyebrow. “Bohunk? Is that not an insult?”

  “No,” she assured him solemnly. “B-o-h-u-n-k is an insult. I’m calling you beau hunk, spelled b-e-a-u h-u-n-k. ’Cause you’re my beau, and you’re hunky. It’s a completely different thing.”

  “Hmm.” He didn’t look convinced.

  “Anyway,” she said, prodding him past that subject. “So she jumped your bones and nine months later a baby was born?”

  Santo winced at her words. “She did not jump my bones. We . . . performed sexual congress.”

  “Oh, wow,” Pet breathed. “There’s a term that takes the sexy out of sex.”

  “You are hopeless,” Santo said on a chuckle, but caught her hand, tugged her against his chest, and hugged her close as he did. After a moment, though, he said, “And the baby was not born until ten months later. The first time did not take, so a month later we tried again, and nine months after that our twins were born.”

  “Ah,” Pet murmured. “Cataldo and Romaso.”

  “You remember their names,” he said with surprise.

  “They’re your sons. It’s important,” she said quietly, and he squeezed her again. Pet hugged him back, and then as they relaxed once more, asked, “So, did having them help? And how did this work? Did you move in together?”

  “Sì, having them helped a great deal. They were wonderful boys. But, no, we did not move in together. I visited often over the first three years, and then the twins would come and stay with me for a while, and then return to her for a while and so on.”

  “Shared custody,” Pet murmured, running her finger absently over his chest. “Like a divorced couple.”

  “Sì. O
nly without the acrimonious relationship. We were still good friends. Just without sex.”

  “Until you decided to have another son with her about a century later,” she pointed out. “Dardi?”

  “Sì. Honorata wanted to try for a little girl,” he said solemnly.

  “Ah, which explains the twin baby girls after that, Claricia and—” Pausing, she frowned, trying to remember the name.

  “Fenicia,” Santo said for her. “Sì. They were beautiful little babies. So sweet.”

  “Wait.” She tilted her head up to look at him. “Didn’t you tell me there was a one-child-every-hundred-years rule or something?”

  “Sì, but they do not punish you for having twins.”

  “So, you had two beautiful little girls.”

  “Sì.” Santo smiled softly. “While Honorata was the one most interested in having girls, they ended up being my little tesoros. I loved them dearly.”

  “What is a tesoro? You call me that sometimes.”

  “Treasure,” he explained, his voice a gentle rumble.

  “Oh.” She smiled. “Well, I think you’re a tesoro too.”

  Pet felt him kiss the top of her head, but he was silent for several minutes before continuing.

  “My baby girls were my treasures, but they had very short lives.”

  “The vendetta,” she said quietly. “Tell me.”

  Santo sighed, his chest moving under her. “Well, as I said the vendetta was just a piddling thing when we first decided to have children together. Nothing even worth noting. It was perhaps a little more troublesome when we tried for girls and had Dardi, but still nothing too bad. No one had really got hurt, it was still mostly insults cast back and forth and—” Frowning, he asked, “Rustling? Reive? I am not sure of the English word.”

  “Stealing their animals?” Pet asked, just to be sure she was understanding correctly, and when he nodded, said, “Either, I guess.”

  “Then they would reive back and forth a bit.”

  “Okay. Not great neighbors then.”

  “No,” he said with a sigh. “But still not so bad either.”

  “If you say so,” she said dubiously.

  “It was a different world,” he pointed out solemnly.

  Pet merely nodded. “So what changed things?”

  “Vanittus Vilani,” Santo said, loathing in his voice. “He was born the same year as Dardi.”

  “Vilani was the family the Brunis were feuding with?” she asked, just trying to keep the names straight.

  “Sì. The original feud was with his father, Vincente Vilani. Vincente met his life mate five years or so before they had Vanittus. He was their first son. Their only son as it turned out.”

  “Why?”

  “Reivers from the Bruni family went on a raid, stole several sheep, and set what they thought was an old abandoned hut on fire as they left.”

  “But it wasn’t abandoned,” Pet guessed.

  Santo shook his head. “Lady Vilani was inside. She had been to visit friends at court, but was delayed on her return. The sun rose as they reached the edge of Vilani land, and she took shelter in the hut. She kept her maid with her, but there was not room for everyone, and she did not expect any trouble, so sent the other servants and the soldiers on ahead. Old Vilani was sleeping when they arrived. But when darkness fell and Vincente rose, the servants explained their lady’s absence. Vicente rode out to meet her as soon as he got word, but arrived only to see the hut ablaze. He ran in to try to save his life mate, and both died.”

  “We’re very flammable,” she murmured, remembering him saying that.

  “Sì. Vicente was running to his death when he went into the burning hut and knew it. That is how important life mates are to us.”

  Pet merely asked, “So the son . . . ?”

  “He blamed Anselmus,” Santo said solemnly.

  “Did he do it?”

  “No. But his men did, and Vanittus held him responsible. I think Anselmus felt responsible too, otherwise he surely would not have been so easily captured.”

  “Vanittus killed Anselmus?” she asked, and when he nodded, said, “I’m sorry.”

  Santo grunted sadly, and then sighed and continued, “Honorata wanted revenge. But the vendetta was getting out of hand. Two had died on one side, and one on the other. I tried to reason with her and convince her to let it lie.” His mouth tightened. “I thought I had talked her out of it. But I should have known better. The moment I left, she started plotting her revenge.”

  “I’m guessing something went wrong,” Pet murmured solemnly.

  “Sì. You could say that,” he said dryly. “Her men attacked Vanittus and brought him to her so she could kill him personally as Honorata wished. But once they had him at Bruni keep, it turned out she could not read or control him. He was a possible life mate to her.”

  “No way,” Pet gasped with dismay.

  “Sì,” Santo said grimly.

  “What did she do?”

  “She could not bring herself to kill him, so let him go,” Santo said wearily. “It was the biggest mistake of her life, and ended up causing the deaths of herself and our children.”

  Pet remained silent. She really didn’t know what to say. Fortunately, Santo didn’t seem to expect her to say anything and continued.

  “I knew none of this until long after it happened. Otherwise, I might have been able to prevent what occurred.” His hand lifted to his head, and she knew without tipping her face up that Santo was running it over his scalp. His hand dropped, and he went on, “In the meantime, she came to me about trying again for a girl. Knowing not what had happened and understanding her desire for a female, I agreed and we tried. Nothing came of that attempt, and we tried twice more before she got with child. But the pregnancy was an easy one, and the girls were born beautiful and perfect. Everything seemed fine for the next five years.”

  “But it wasn’t,” she said on a sigh.

  “No. Nothing was fine. Vanittus was young and—”

  “What?” Pet interrupted with a snort. “He was over one hundred years old if he was born the same year as Dardi.”

  “Young for an immortal,” Santo amended. “So . . . headstrong and arrogant. He was also grieving his parents, lusting after Honorata, and enraged that he was. He was equally enraged that she would have nothing to do with him.”

  “So, basically Vanittus was screwed up in the head,” she suggested, and then added, “Although, I’m a little surprised that she could resist. I find you completely irresistible. And I did try,” Pet admitted, although she knew she hadn’t tried very hard. Santo was like a drug she couldn’t do without. If Vanittus had been like that for Honorata . . .

  “If you found out that I was a member of the Brass Circle who killed your parents . . .” He let the question drift off when she scowled.

  “That is different,” Pet said grimly. “The fire was an accident. They didn’t realize anyone was inside. My parents were beheaded and burned to death on purpose.”

  “And perhaps that is why Vanittus was more willing to have Honorata as life mate. His parents’ deaths were not deliberate murders. But Vanittus had Anselmus tortured before having him set on fire,” he said solemnly.

  “Oh.” Pet sighed.

  “But I do think Honorata was tempted anyway,” Santo said sadly. “I think that is why she was so desperate for another baby. She said it was because she wanted girls. But afterward, I wondered if it was to distract her from her desire for Vanittus.”

  “What made you think that?” she asked with curiosity.

  “Because Vanittus later told me she did lie with him one night. Which just made matters worse for him. He was young enough that he was still sexually active. Or had been. After sex with a life mate, however, no mortal or immortal woman would be able to satisfy him.”

  “It must have been hard for Honorata too,” Pet pointed out.

  “Sì, but Honorata was eight hundred years old. Wiser, more disciplined, and after six or seven
hundred years with no appetite for sex, was used to going without.”

  They were both silent for a minute, and then Santo said, “The girls were five when it happened.”

  Pet didn’t ask what; she suspected she knew.

  “Dardi no longer lived with his mother, but he was visiting her and his sisters. He was not within the walls, though, when Vanittus and his army attacked. There was a small lake a half hour’s walk from the castle, and Dardi had taken a young maid there for a moonlight tryst and to feed.”

  Pet glanced up at him with surprise.

  “There were no blood banks then,” Santo reminded her gently.

  “Oh, right,” she murmured, and lowered her head again.

  “Dardi saw what was happening on his return. The gates were closed, and Vanittus was being held at bay for the moment. Dardi came looking for me. He had no horse and had to make his way on foot. He ran through the night and well after dawn, arriving at mid-morning.” Santo paused, and his voice was grim when he said, “Unfortunately, Romaso and Cataldo were visiting me.”

  She didn’t have to ask why he thought that was unfortunate. If they had not been there, no doubt they would still be alive.

  “We gathered the men together and rode out.”

  “Were your men immortal too?”

  “No. Mortal. All the servants and soldiers were mortal.”

  “And no one ever saw you . . . feeding. Or thought it odd that you slept all day and were up all night?” Pet asked with surprise.

  “We were always careful not to be caught feeding,” Santo assured her. “Often we rode out to find our hosts in nearby villages rather than feed on those at home. As for the hours we kept, the nobles and wealthy were always considered eccentric layabouts who partied all night and slept all day. Although, that was more true in the Regency period, but even that early in history some nobles were like that.”

  Pet shook her head, but then asked, “Dardi didn’t stay behind? He’d run all night and part of the morning. He must have been exhausted.”

  “No. Extra blood took care of the exhaustion. It was one of the few times he was allowed to feed in the keep. And he was as determined as the rest of us to save the girls and Honorata.”