The Elemental Mysteries: Complete Series (146 page)

“Yes, Father.”

Andros scowled. “I said you could speak, my son.”

Jacopo’s face, as always, was impassive. It was the only defense against the mercurial moods of the ancient Greek. The monster would be as loving as his uncle some nights, then turn in an instant and beat him. Always, Andros said, for his own good. For his education. His training. Jacopo examined the man’s eyes. They were relaxed. Amused even, and his mouth may have been turned down, but his fangs were not descended. It appeared that Andros wanted a debate instead of rote answers.

“The music teacher is a heathen, Father. He teaches me profane songs. I do not care for them.”

Andros smirked. “There is no profane music. Only music. Some is good. Some is bad. Sometimes the coarsest peasant tune is the one most pleasing to the ear.”

Jacopo blinked. He had been exposed to the finest composers of the Basilica di San Lorenzo; and while he had heard beautiful madrigals sung in Paris, nothing could compare to the breathtaking experience of the holy mass.

“I would prefer learning music that edifies the spirit, Father.”

“That is your pathetic uncle talking, boy.”

His temper flared, as it always did when Andros criticized Giovanni Pico.

“You are a heathen demon,” Jacopo spit out. “And God will condemn you for your madness.”

Andros curled his lip and picked up his staff again. “I wonder about you sometimes.” Walking behind Jacopo, he struck the back of his thighs again. “Don’t you know? There is no god. The Greeks stole their gods from the Minoans. The Romans stole their gods from the Greeks. It’s all nonsense, and your Hebrew god is no different.”

Jacopo remembered the gentle instruction of his uncle, reflecting on the common strands of faith that wove through the ancient world. “You’re wrong.”

“I’m not, and you know it. You know more now, more than your pitiful uncle and his friends. More than the deluded mortals who plot and plan.” Andros came to stand in front of him and looked up into Jacopo’s defiant eyes. “They build cathedrals for their immortality. But you will have no need for buildings made of stone.”

Jacopo bit his tongue and decided to take Andros’s earlier advice. In the three years he had been with the strange man, he had learned the lesson of silence. The vampire reached up and grabbed Giovanni by the ear, pulling him down to his face.

“You know the truth, my son,” Andros whispered. Jacopo could feel the creature’s vicious fangs scrape his skin. “You know who the ancients saw that made them believe that the gods were among them, don’t you?”

Jacopo forced his jaws to part. “Yes, Father.”

“They saw
us
, my boy. They saw the water vampire move the ocean, and Poseidon was born. They saw the wind immortal fly on the night storm and draw the lightning to his hands, and Zeus came to be.”

“Yes, Father.”

“Never forget.” Andros patted Jacopo’s cheek and gently stroked the dark curls on his head. He looked up into the young man’s vivid green eyes and smiled. “I
am
god.”

Castello Furio, Italy

June 2012

Giovanni leaned back in the plush seat of the sedan and eyed Beatrice in the slim leggings and fitted bodice. The black boots she wore rose over her knees and hugged her calves, flaring just below the tight muscles of her thighs as she sat across from him.

“Tesoro,” he murmured, “if the women of the court dressed anything like that, I would have had a much harder time keeping my reputation unsullied.”

She only grinned and glanced at his lap. “You’re not having a hard time right now?”

“Oh, I knew I should have taken my own transport.” Carwyn groaned and closed his eyes. “Or better yet, avoided this fiasco all together. Why? Why did I let her sway me with the pitiful voice?”

Beatrice bumped Carwyn’s shoulder. “You love me, and you know it.”

Giovanni smiled at his old friend and his wife. They bantered back and forth as they made their way to Livia’s party, and he reflected on how different this trip was than the last time he had been in Rome. Then, he had been desperate and pleading. He’d had no time for parties or pleasure when his every waking moment had been focused on manipulating different parties at court—Livia most of all—to negotiate for Beatrice’s release from Lorenzo.

After all that, could Livia had taken up supporting Giovanni’s own estranged son? It was something they would have to determine. He frowned and shook his head, contemplating the idea of staying in Rome longer than their original plan of three months. If the answers were there, they would need to stay as long as necessary.

“Hey, Professor.” Beatrice nudged his knee with the toe of her boot, which he grabbed and pulled into his lap. “Stop brooding. We’re going to a party.”

“And one in your honor, Sparky. You should be grateful.”

“Why do I like either of you? Please, remind me.”

“Aww.” She teased him, slipping across the seats to cuddle into his side. “Poor Gio. Forced to play nice with the empress for the night.”

He rolled his eyes. “Not you, too. It’s bad enough that the priest calls her that.” He sighed and waved a hand. “Fine, get it out of your systems now, so you can both behave.”

For the next twenty minutes, Carwyn and Beatrice thought of every needling joke about royalty, Romans, and incest that they could. By the time they pulled into the park, all three of them were laughing.

“B, I swear, if you call her a cougar to her face, I will buy you a car.” Carwyn snickered. “A house. Maybe an island. Something ridiculously extravagant, just so long as I can see the look on her face.”

“Hush!” She giggled and turned to Giovanni. She cleared her throat. “Okay, we’re done.”

“Are you sure?” He cocked an eyebrow at them, which threw both of them into fits of laughter again.

“Okay, okay, we’re really done.” She gasped and grabbed his hand, pulling him toward the iron gates, lit by a thousand tiny lights.

“Yes.” Carwyn coughed. “And I promise not to mention any Greek plays.”

“
How
many times must I state that she is not my mother?”

Beatrice and Carwyn barely controlled themselves by the time they entered the main hall. While more casual gatherings were held in the gardens, Livia had decorated the main hall of the castle for the party that evening. Candles and torches were everywhere. The room was draped in rich tapestries, and demure human servants darted about, offering wine or blood from their wrists.

Part of the way that Livia controlled the huge Roman population of immortals was her decree that feeding from live donors was only allowed at her parties or festivals. While most of the more prominent vampires ignored her, she had enough influence over the younger and weaker of the court that she was rarely defied. It kept the majority of the population under her thumb and relatively weak compared to the older minority. It also ensured her parties were very well attended, which fed her already gargantuan ego.

He heard Carwyn mutter under his breath. “Heaven help us, she actually has a throne now.”

Giovanni looked down the length of the room. Livia’s table had been set up to look very much like the head table at a fifteenth century feast. She was dressed in a burgundy dress that would have far outshone his wife’s—that is, if Beatrice had not paid a seamstress top dollar to butcher Livia’s gown and make her a costume that was more fitting for her personality.

“She does put on a good show—I’ll give her that.” Beatrice looked around the room, seemingly oblivious to the stares her costume drew. Giovanni knew better. His wife, in her own way, was making a statement to Livia and the entire Roman court.

She bowed to no one.

Grinning, he tucked her hand under his arm and walked toward the front of the room. The crowd parted automatically. Livia rose, all smiles as they approached. Only Giovanni caught the acid glint to her eye as she examined the remains of the priceless gown she had sent.

“Beatrice!” Livia smiled, her fangs peeking from the edge of her mouth. “What an... interesting ensemble. I’m so glad you both could make it.”

“Thanks, Livia. I just love my new corset.” Beatrice glanced down at her black leggings and leather boots. “I hope you don’t mind. I don’t really do hoop skirts.”

Livia forced a smile. “How American of you.”

Beatrice feigned naiveté. “Thanks!”

“And, Giovanni, your priest friend came as well, how amusing.”

“Always a pleasure, Livia.” Carwyn stepped forward, snagging a passing glass of champagne. “I do love spending time in your incredibly ancient and imperial presence.”

She only lifted an eyebrow at the dig.

“Not that you really have an empire, anymore. Thank heaven and the Gauls.”

Giovanni cleared his throat, but Carwyn only continued.

“And the Goths. The Vandals, too, I suppose. You
have
been sacked a lot, haven’t you?”

Giovanni broke in. “Beautiful party, Livia. Do excuse us while we say hello.” He dragged Carwyn away with Beatrice following. They both wore smiles.

“You just can’t help yourself, can you?”

Carwyn only laughed, drained the champagne and looked around. “Where’s the bar?”

An hour or so later, they had greeted all the appropriate people and left Carwyn chatting with Emil Conti, who he did get along with, surprisingly enough. The priest had also been instructed to keep an eye out for the presence of Ziri, the ancient wind vampire, in case he decided to make an appearance. Giovanni approached Beatrice from behind as she chatted with a younger group of immortals who had congregated near the fountain in the massive entry hall.

He snuck behind her and grabbed her around the waist.

“Tesoro mio
,
” he bent down and murmured in her ear. “What have you been doing without me for so long?”

She turned and winked at him. “Everyone likes my boots.”

He slipped his hand along the stays of the bodice she wore and over her smooth backside, teasing the back of her thigh. “I’m rather fond of them myself.”

He felt the frisson of energy rise between them and drew her away from the gaping vampires she’d been talking to, throwing them a wink before he tucked Beatrice under his arm. “Come with me; I want to show you something.”

“Come on, you can think of a better line than that.”

He chuckled, shuffling them past the guards, who nodded at him respectfully as they made their way through the labyrinth of a castle. Finally, he reached the tower rooms he called his own on the rare occasions he stayed with Livia. He opened the door, slipping the latch closed behind them. A tall, circular staircase ran around up the sides and he pulled her upstairs.

“Where are we?”

He grinned. “This, Beatrice, is the vampire equivalent of my childhood room.”

“What?” She laughed. “You stayed here?”

“Yes, after my sire’s death, I stayed here with Livia for around ten years or so, getting my bearings, meeting the right people. She wanted me to stay longer, but...”

“I’m surprised she kept it for you.”

They reached the top of the stairs, which opened onto a richly appointed library with curved bookcases that lined the walls. Narrow windows looked out over the park and the full moon shone through.

He left her in the center of the room and walked around, tracing a hand along the bookcases, which had not a hint of dust.

“She wants me to move back, you know?”

“I know.”

He laughed low in his throat. “As if anything here could tempt me.” He looked over his shoulder to see her looking around in wonder. The room looked like the fairytale version of a tower library, complete with dark oak cabinetry, velvet armchairs, and a fireplace he took a moment to light.

“It’s sure beautiful. This whole place is.”

He turned to her, watching as she took it all in. The gold leaf picture frames and jeweled clocks. There was a Faberge egg on a side table and a Lalique decanter with the finest whiskey. He had seen it all before, and he only had eyes for his wife.

“Beautiful.”

He circled her, slowly drawing closer as her busy eyes memorized the room. “Yeah, everything’s gor—”

He darted in and stopped her mouth with a kiss. “Beautiful.”

She smiled, strangely shy in the opulent surroundings. “Gio, this is still so—”

“Fake.” He looked around, then placed his hands around her waist and looked into her eyes. “Real.”

She nodded in understanding, and Giovanni leaned down, drawing her mouth into a leisurely kiss. They stood in the center of the tower as the moonlight streamed in the windows and the faint sounds of the party drifted to their ears. He nipped at her lips, tasting them and enjoying the sweet wine that lingered.

His hands roamed down to cup her bottom, and he lifted her against his body. Their kisses grew heated, and Giovanni felt her heart begin to beat against his chest. Her hands tugged at his neck and he could scent her arousal as it filled the room. It was heady, intoxicating. He wanted nothing more than to feel her skin on his and her flesh against his tongue.

“You were right,” he murmured in between soft bites of her swollen mouth.