One With the Shadows (19 page)

And then there was his own reading. He hadn’t minded all the foolishness about being the devil. He was used to that. But the impotence? A lucky guess? Something she’d heard? He’d taken pains to conceal it, else the supply of bedmates to give him blood would have dried up.

And the part about the stone? He’d always believed she got that information from LaRoque. But then, why alert Gian to her knowledge? She should have wanted to keep their association secret. As for this latest “vision,” maybe she had seen or heard Giovanni do something that indicated he would propose. But again, how could she know about the rain?

Hmmm. Interesting. When had he not known everything about a woman? He should mistrust her. But on some visceral level, he trusted her more than he had ever trusted anyone in his life. It had to do with the vulnerability he saw beneath the hard exterior. She only pretended to be heartless and amoral. Didn’t she?

He knocked at the door with the corner of the tray.

“Come in.” Kate’s voice drifted out. It had a somber tone to it.

“My hands are full. You’ll have to let me in.”

Hesitant steps. The door cracked open, hardly an inch, and Kate peered out.

“I thought you might be hungry.”

“Oh.”

“Well, aren’t you?”

“Yes. Yes, I’m hungry.”

“Well, then, you might want to let me in.”

“Oh.” This time the door opened wide. She was dressed in that beautiful blue wrapper that matched her eyes again, and she smelled of what they had done together. He smiled. How could he not? Like Vulcan drawn to Aphrodite, he was lost, no matter who she was.

*   *   *

What was he doing back? And bringing her food, and … were those books under his arm? And … he had on a man’s dressing gown. Kate’s mind fluttered around what that might mean.

Then he smiled. Kate stepped back and swung the door wide under the blast from that smile. Perhaps she would get used to it, but at present, it devastated her every time he did it. But then, she would not have time to get used to it. She was leaving today, if the draft arrived. She glanced to the doors open onto the balcony and saw the first hint of lightening in the sky.

He set the tray down on the bed, closed the shutters to the balcony tightly, and pulled the heavy velvet draperies across their rod. In order not to be caught staring at the body she knew moved beneath the silk of his dressing gown, she sat cross-legged and busied herself with the tray. He had brought quite a repast. She popped an olive into her mouth. They were green, pungent. They seemed to hold the summer sun. “This is good.”

He opened the bottle and poured her some wine. “My own vintage,” he murmured. He unveiled the cheese and the tomatoes, sprinkled them with basil and drizzled oil over them.

Kate took a bite. “Lovely. The oil tastes fruity.”

She looked up to find he was watching her as she ate. He made no move to eat himself. He was going to tell her he was leaving. He had come back only for that.

“Your maid may be preoccupied today. One of my mother’s grooms proposed to her last night during the rainstorm.”

Kate felt the blood drain from her face. The fork she held clattered to the tray as the room began to spin. “So … so soon? I … I wasn’t sure just when…”

Somehow he was holding her. He’d swept the tray to the other side of the bed and she was shaking as he held her to his chest. “Oh, God, Gian.” The sobs took her. “I wasn’t … sure, not … not until now.”

“It’s all right.” He stroked her hair. “It’s all right.”

She wanted him to hold her forever. And that was exactly why she couldn’t let him continue. She sat up and tried to get her breath. “I’m fine. Just startled, that’s all.”

He handed her the glass of wine. “I take it this is a recent development?”

“Since … that night at the marquesa’s little gathering. That was the first time. The one with the stone.” And the one with him in it. Dear God, he was going to be tortured! She had to prevent that somehow. Could it be prevented? She grabbed his biceps. “Gian, I saw you, chained to a stone wall. Like it was a dungeon. And someone was … hurting you with that stone.”

His face turned grim, but his tone was light. “Did you happen to see who it was?”

“A woman’s hand, no more.”

He lifted his brows, thinking. “Probably Elyta. I have not … endeared myself to her.”

“What is this stone that it can hurt you and drive the jeweler mad?”

He frowned. He was thinking how to lie to her. “It is a … a relic if you will, from the first of those with the Companion in their blood.”

“The Companion?”

“The parasite that shares our veins.”

“I thought you said it was an infection. Gian, you have got to tell me the truth about you at least, because so many strange things have been happening to me, I just don’t think I can bear it if I don’t understand at least in part.” Still she saw him hesitate. “I know, for instance that you are very, very old. Don’t even bother to tell me that Michelangelo sculpted some ancestor.” That closed his mouth before he could even speak. “And I’ve been having visions about people’s moments of intense emotion in the future. I could have been mistaken about the others. But one has just come true. Not to mention the emerald that drives people mad. It’s all too much.”

He started to speak, then pressed his lips together and looked away.

“Very well,” she said, rushing on. “So you won’t tell me. Probably out of some mistaken sense of duty to somebody or other, or honor or something. You have to tell me what the stone can do. Why do I see it hurting you? I have to know that.”

He looked down at the brocade bedcover, obviously disgusted with himself. “It takes energy from those who have the Companion.”

“I’ve felt your vibrations. Is that your … Companion doing that?”

“Yes. The Companion provides energy to us. The stone saps it and leaves us weak. I think it can kill us. But only if it touches our flesh.”

She realized that he’d never touched it. No wonder he’d let her keep it after she’d removed it from its box. “And we … others?” She couldn’t say “humans.”

“It drives you mad when you look into it.”

She knew that first hand. But it was hard to hear it confirmed so calmly. “How?”

“It is said that you see all possible futures in it.”

“But it didn’t drive me mad, and I looked at it.”

He looked up at her under his brows. “Yes. That has me puzzled. There are many puzzling things about you.”

She sighed. “Why does Elyta want it?”

“I don’t know the particulars. But think what she could do with it.” His voice was grim. “She could kill the Elders of our kind. She could drive the men who direct history mad, bring down governments…”

“I see what you mean.” But Kate really didn’t care much about all those theoretical possibilities. “We must prevent this … this thing from happening to you.” She had always thought he wanted the stone to give to some woman, if she considered it at all. But he couldn’t, not if it drove people mad. “What do you mean to do with the emerald?”

“Take it to Mirso Monastery, a refuge for those who are infected as I am. The monks there will keep it from doing harm to anyone.”

“Just throw it in the nearest lake. That’s the way to keep out of anyone’s dungeon.”

He let out a breath, as though he had been holding it. “I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m honor-bound to return it to Mirso.”

She could hardly believe what she was hearing. “With Elyta waiting to kill you for it, and my vision of you being tortured, you’re still considering going on some insane journey to … where is this Mirso Monastery?”

“The Carpathian Mountains.”

“Transylvania.” She frowned. “Does it have dungeons?”

“I expect so.” He dismissed that. “I’ll make arrangements tonight and go tomorrow.”

“So that’s it. You’re going to just throw yourself in the way of being tortured for some stupid promise you made to some monks.”

“We live by our promises. They are the only compass we have.” His voice went distant.

“Well, I don’t have that compass. If you made a mistake promising, just don’t do it.”

“That’s not who I am.” His brows drew together.

“Well, maybe you ought to change that.”

He took a breath. She felt him recede again. He was shocked at her. But then he reengaged. “We don’t know that your visions all come true. Only the one about Carina has for certain.” He took her shoulders. “Even if it is true, for all we know, if I don’t go, Elyta will storm Firenze and imprison me in the dungeons of this palazzo.”

She gasped. “This house has dungeons?”

“We use ours for wine.” He shrugged. “We cannot know how to avoid your vision, if it is true, or if it could be avoided.”

“God, this is awful.”

He touched her cheek, the one without the scar. She had almost forgotten about the scar. “Perhaps that is why one shouldn’t take too much stock in visions.” His voice rumbled even when it was almost a whisper. “Perhaps the visions are only a possible future. And anyway, we can do nothing today except worry, and that seems a waste of precious time.” He took a larger book from the stack he’d brought. “Let me distract you.” He opened it to a random page. Figures entwined together. They had slanting, dark-lined eyes, and they were …

Kate peered closer. Oh, my dear Lord in heaven. That was a phallus, and another there, and there. And the people were … copulating? It was a little hard to tell.

“It’s called the
Kama Sutra
. It’s Indian.”

Kate drew the book closer. “Can people
do
that?”

“Oh, yes. Though I must admit some positions are not entirely comfortable.” He lifted her chin. “But there are one or two I can personally recommend.”

She looked into those green eyes. If there was only to be one more day together, she knew how she wanted to spend it. She clutched him to her. “I am afraid.”

“So am I,” he murmured into her hair. “So to hell with fear. Let’s make love.”

*   *   *

How could he sleep like that when tonight or tomorrow night he was going to leave the sanctuary of Florence and take the bloody emerald halfway across Europe with Elyta and Kate’s own vision waiting to waylay him? Kate took a curl of dark hair and pushed it behind his ear. He didn’t stir. Not that today had not been wonderful. She smiled when she remembered how she’d surprised him by licking him in return. She’d seen a picture of a woman doing that in the book, and after some initial hesitation, she’d gone about it quite enthusiastically. How she liked to make him moan. It hadn’t been distasteful at all. A little salty, perhaps, along with the cinnamon.

But now the light leaking around the shutters was copper red and fading. Soon it would be evening. He would take the emerald and go to some god-awful place in the mountains, if Elyta didn’t catch him first. What to do? She felt sure his impulse to follow his duty at any cost was wrong. The man seemed to have a thousand bloody internal rules about how he should act. And he was stubborn to a fault. She sat up and hugged her knees to her chest beneath the brocade bedcover. The wardrobe loomed in the corner. In the lower right-hand drawer, the stone sat inside her reticule. She could practically feel its presence. It was as though it was … brooding. Or threatening. It was a threat, all right, to Gian more than anyone.

Why didn’t she go mad when she looked at it? She chewed one nail.

Perhaps it was because while it showed all possible futures, she saw the real future and she was immune to the chaos of possibilities. And hadn’t all her visions started when the stone had come into her life? Maybe it was the reason she was having visions. Maybe the stone was the answer to all her questions.

She eased herself out of bed, so as not to wake Gian. Books were scattered on the floor, along with two large silver trays, assorted china, three wine bottles, and the remains of their meals. And their dressing gowns. Gian’s was nearest, black silk embroidered in red to highlight some kind of Oriental writing. She slipped it on, reveling in the scent of him that clung to it, and went to kneel in front of the wardrobe door.

A certain satisfaction hovered in the air. Did she imagine that it was the stone that called her, and that now hummed with satisfaction? She opened the drawer and rummaged to the bottom, pulling out her silver-embroidered reticule. The stone was heavy inside it. She swallowed.
I’m immune, for better or for worse,
she told herself.
Stop delaying and just open it.

Still, it took her several moments to pull open the drawstring and fish around for the stone. Its cool, smooth surface in her palm promised, threatened. She opened her hand. At first she saw only the green cabochon mound, perfect, without the little clouds of imperfection most emeralds contained. Then, deep inside, the lazy coils rolled with their glinting scales. She tried to breathe, but it was hard. The scales flashed, coruscating. She couldn’t quite make out …

A feeling of dislocation from herself descended.

No!
But it was too late. The room disappeared abruptly and was replaced by a desert landscape. A few gigantic hewn building stones littered the sand. A red and gold striped tent was pitched among them and five camels knelt in its shade. She sensed a yearning in the air almost painful in its intensity. Then the sand began to whirl, and she whirled with it. And she was home.
Home!
She was shouting. It was the most joyful moment she had ever experienced. She wanted to cry and laugh and scream and tear at her hair.
Home!
She caught a glimpse of many other giant gemstones, blue and red and green and clear white, gleaming and whirling in a tower of light. And over all poured water, precious water. Around the fountain, huge stone statues of some unknown gods loomed up into the darkness. It was a frightening place. But she wasn’t frightened. Peace filled her.

The room wavered back into view around her. The feeling of peace still enveloped her. She looked down at the stone, cupped in her hands.

“Gian,” she called softly.

“What, my love?” His voice was sleepy.

She rose, cradling the stone. He sat up, alarmed now. “What is it, Kate?”