The Elemental Mysteries: Complete Series (180 page)

Lorenzo said, “I won’t tell you where the books are, Giovanni Vecchio. You figured out where I would be, you’ll be able to find them, too. Why—why did you keep this horrid place?”

“Why did you come back?”

“Because I want to die.”

Giovanni looked into Lorenzo’s vacant blue eyes, and his son spoke again. “Aren’t you going to kill me now?”

“No,” he whispered. “I am too much at fault for what you became.”

Lorenzo rolled his eyes. “So dramatic. I am a creature of my own making,
Papà
. Don’t overestimate your influence. Tell the truth, why aren’t you going to kill me?”

He took a deep breath and lifted his eyes over Lorenzo’s shoulder.

“Because she is.”

Giovanni had felt Beatrice enter the castle. She’d waited longer than he’d asked her to. Her elemental energy had filled the fortress, drawing the angry waves as he and his son had spoken. He knew Lorenzo had felt it, too. The amnis of an immortal as strong as his wife was unmistakable.

Lorenzo smirked, then tossed the book he’d held and darted down to grab his sword, which was tucked under the chair. He spun toward Beatrice and their blades clashed together.

His son was good with a blade, Giovanni thought as he watched them from the corner, trying not to intervene. But his wife was better.

Beatrice spun and twisted; the
shuang gou
she carried moved as if they were part of her own body. Sparks lit the dark room as they battled. Lorenzo ducked and darted around her, but Beatrice moved at a languid tempo as she parried with him. The room was utterly silent except for the sound of colliding metal. The two exchanged no useless chatter as they dueled.

She slid one blade down and swung it toward his legs, leaving a deep gash in his thigh. Lorenzo hissed and parried. He swung his blade up toward her face, but she only ducked away.

She was playing with him.

Her tempo slowly built, and he could see Lorenzo struggle to keep up. Even without the benefit of her element, she controlled the fight, forcing him around the room, pushing him into the corner.

“Because I want to die.”

Even if it was true, when faced with a mortal adversary, Lorenzo was battling as if he wanted to live. Giovanni wondered whether he had changed his mind.

It didn’t matter. Beatrice would have her revenge.

She looped one of the hooks of the
shuang gou
around his long hair and pulled, jerking him toward her and opening a gash on his neck as a chunk of his hair fell to the floor. The blood sprayed across the room, and Giovanni could detect the moment Lorenzo knew he was going to die.

A strange calm fell over his son’s angry face, even as his sword reached up to block Beatrice. Sparks scattered across the floor as she lifted her blade again. She brought it down against his, and the sword flew from Lorenzo’s hand.

He fell to his knees, weaponless, as Beatrice circled him. The tears streamed down her face as her blades ran around his neck, slowly deepening the bloody cut. She came to a halt in front of Lorenzo, and he lifted his brilliant blue eyes to hers. She crossed her swords at his neck, the hooks of the blade curling around the softest, most vulnerable part of his neck.

Giovanni could hear his son whisper as he looked into the face of his killer.

“Let it be enough,” Lorenzo said.

Beatrice pulled back her arms, and the curved blades caught his neck, slicing off Lorenzo’s head in one smooth stroke. Giovanni felt the sharp ache pierce his heart as the son of his blood fell to the ground, crumbled into a lifeless heap. He was frozen for a moment until he heard her sobs.

His mate dropped her swords and stared at the body of her enemy. At her father’s murderer. The vampire who had thrown her world into chaos. Then, Beatrice pulled her foot back and began to kick.

She sobbed as she struck him, screaming into the silent room and stomping on Lorenzo’s body over and over again, mashing it to a bloody pulp. Giovanni ran from the corner of the room and pulled her away, so she turned on him, striking his chest as she continued to scream.

“Let it be enough!” he whispered, pulling her close so that her fists could not strike. She sobbed into his neck until—finally—she wrapped her arms around her mate and let out a deep breath, exhausted by her rage.

He closed his eyes and whispered again, “Let it be enough, Beatrice.”

Her rasping breath echoed off the walls of the cold chamber. The waves still bashed against the rocks outside. But her racing heart slowed as her anger turned to grief, and she let him hold and comfort her as she wept.

Giovanni kept whispering as he stared at the broken body of the child he had sired five hundred years before. Lorenzo’s eyes stared from the corner, and a bitter smile was frozen on his face.

“Let it be enough, Tesoro. It has to be enough.”

Chapter Thirty-Five

Outside Florence

December 2012

Beatrice arched her back as she moved over him, and her eyes caught the skylight they’d uncovered at dusk. A thousand brilliant stars shone over her head as his warm hands stroked over her shoulders, cupped her breasts, then trailed down her body until he grasped her hips in his hands. He groaned in pleasure and rose up, kissing along her collar as her hands tangled in his hair. The amnis sparked between them wherever their skin touched, and their pleasure built as they slowly made love.

His hands trailed down her spine, teasing the small of her back as his mouth met hers and his tongue traced her lips. Then he flipped her over so she was under his body. Beatrice smiled as she wrapped her hands around his wrists, and they moved in ancient rhythm.

Rise and fall. Push and pull. When she felt the wave lift her, she looked into her husband’s eyes. Her mouth opened, and a soft breath escaped her lips. Giovanni leaned down and captured the small exhalation of pleasure before he pulled back, rocking into her faster as his eyes darkened in desire.

The wave crested and she pulled him closer. He reached down to lift her up and press their bodies together in one, final thrust before his back arched and he cried out in release. Then he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers in a long, luxurious kiss.

She rolled them on their side, and his fingers reached up, tracing the line of her nose. Her chin. The curve of her eyebrow. She smiled and looked at him from the corner of her eye.

“You’re staring at me,” she whispered.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because you are beautiful, and I like to look at you.”

She grinned and turned to face him. “Then I guess I can stare at you, too.”

Giovanni smiled. “You are allowed.”

“Bet your ass, I am.”

They laughed quietly, enjoying the peace of the house. Giovanni’s home in Florence reminded her of his home in Cochamó with a few major exceptions. One, it was huge. An estate more than a home. It was in the country and one wing of the house had no electricity, which made it easier for Beatrice to rest. She had even been sleeping a little more, which was nice.

It was surrounded by an olive grove, so it was private; she could see them spending many, many months there in the years ahead, enjoying the isolation and the quiet hills. She sighed in contentment, and Giovanni stroked her skin, tracing the small scars where he had marked her years before when she was still human. Her fangs dropped when she heard his low growl, and her hunger began to rise again.

Just then, a sharp cry pierced the silence of the room.

“What did you do?”

There was a clatter in the living room below them.

“Nothing!”

“Well, you must have done something. She wasn’t crying before.”

“Tenzin, I was just sitting here, and the baby started crying. I didn’t do anything.”

“Well, I didn’t do anything, either. I was just looking at her. She’s not a drooler. That’s good.”

“Well, how do we get her to stop crying? It’s gonna wake Dez up.”

More footsteps came from below them. “Oh there, precious girl. Let me have you.” Carwyn’s deep voice rose as the baby’s cry grew desperate. “Why didn’t one of you try picking her up instead of squawking about whose fault it is?”

“I don’t know what to do with babies! I’d probably break her.”

Tenzin’s voice replied, “That is not my child.”

“Shhh.” The vampire soothed the baby, whose cries began to die off. “There you are, Carina. No more crying, love. Uncle Carwyn is here, and he isn’t a bleeding idiot.”

“Hey!”

Matt’s voice came from a distance, whispering down the hall. “Hey, Carwyn, is the baby hungry?”

“I don’t think so. Let Dez sleep. I think she just woke up and realized she wasn’t by her
mam
.”

Matt’s voice drew nearer. “I appreciate you guys helping out, but should I—”

“No, no.” Carwyn interrupted. “She’s
fine
. See? She’s falling right back to sleep. Let Dez rest a bit. I’ll call you if she starts to fuss again.”

The baby’s cries had turned into pleasant gurgles, and Beatrice smiled when she heard the low hum of activity level out. Carwyn sang a lullaby to the baby. Matt returned to sleep. Tenzin and Ben wandered off to a different part of the house, probably to start another fight. She turned when she heard Giovanni’s low laugh.

“What?”

He shook his head. “Our friend is singing a drinking song to that child.”

Beatrice couldn’t contain her smile. “Well, it’s a very
soothing
drinking song. Besides, probably better that she gets used to him now.”

He only closed his eyes as his shoulders shook with silent laughter.

“I mean,” Beatrice continued, “that baby’s going to have the most messed up sleep schedule in history with all these vampires doting on her.”

“Carwyn does indulge the child.”

“You’re just as bad! I saw you reading her a book at two in the morning the other night. Isn’t she supposed to be sleeping at that hour?”

“
The Runaway Bunny
is a classic of children’s literature, and an allegory of unexpected depth.”

“Sucker.”

He couldn’t hide the smile. “It’s not a... conventional family.”

“But it
is
ours.” She grinned and tucked her head under his chin as he wrapped his arms around her. “And conventional is boring.”

“It is. Though… perhaps we could use some boring.”

“Maybe just a little.”

By the time they’d returned from Crotone, Saba had disappeared, taking Lucien with her. If anyone could cure the vampire, it would be Saba. Giovanni appeared to hold no lingering effects from the strange coma that had held him for weeks, except a deeper sense of peace and contentment than Beatrice had ever seen from him. He no longer struggled to control the fire within him. It was always there, bubbling under the surface, but the tension, the ever-present stress of it no longer seemed to affect him.

He was finally at peace.

As was Beatrice… as much as she could be. The wound from the loss of her father, from the loss of their friends and allies could only heal in time. But they had time. And though the cost of the battle had taken its toll on all of them, when Matt and Dez brought home their tiny daughter, the whole household seemed to heave a collective sigh as they looked to the future instead of dwelling in the past.

Only one mystery remained.

Beatrice lifted a hand to stroke along Giovanni’s cheek. “We should get ready.”

“What time is our appointment?”

“Ten o’clock.”

“Yes, we should leave soon. It’s a bit of a drive.”

Citta di Castello

Perugia, Italy

When they pulled through the gates of the isolated country house, Beatrice noticed the glowing lights that welcomed them. It was a large home, and when she had called the number listed, the curator did not seem surprised by her request for evening hours. The polite woman had simply asked for their names, put her on hold for a moment, then asked when they would like to make their appointment. She would be at their disposal.

The front door opened, and an attractive woman wearing long slacks and a blouse waited for them to exit the car. She had curling brown hair and a friendly expression. Her name, records indicated, was Serafina Rossi. She was thirty-six, and a graduate of the University of Ferrara. She had worked for Lorenzo for ten years.

“How long had he owned this?” Giovanni asked quietly.

“The house was built about two hundred years ago, but the renovations were done just before he hired the curator. So about ten years or so.”

“A few hours from one of my own homes,” he mused before he stepped out of the car. “A few hours…”

The curator stepped forward and greeted them in Italian. “Dottor Vecchio, Signora De Novo, it is a pleasure to meet you both. I am Signorina Fina Rossi, welcome to the collection.”

“Thank you so much for meeting with us,” Beatrice answered. “I know it’s late.”

“Oh,” she waved a hand. “We are accustomed to unusual hours here.”