Lucca (10 page)

Shakespeare In The Park
held their
annual tryouts at the Garden Grove Amphitheatre. April weather
could be unpredictable, but tonight the weather held out. No rain.
Yet
. Juliet thought.

Even if it did rain, it wouldn’t be like
London’s storms where the wind swept through her clothes, making
her bones ache with the cold. Southern California’s weather was
mild in comparison. Even in damp weather, a light jacket would
suffice.

From the side of the stage, her gaze swept
over the rows of seats where people waited their turn to read for
them. No Lucca. She would have noticed the warrior looking man with
his long thick mane since he would tower over most of the men here.
She tried to ignore the pang of disappointment centered in her
chest. Instead, she admired the costumes some of the readers chose
to wear tonight. Some of them missed the mark on authenticity, but
there were a few that were passable. She had to give them credit
for trying.

Despite the weather, they had a good
turnout. Hopefully, they’d find talent among the Shakespearean
enthusiasts. Shakespeare’s plays were magical, but without talented
actors to bring forth the lines with flourish, the beauty would be
lost.

“Were you looking for me?”

Her heart thumped rapidly in her chest and
her stomach flipped in response, not because he startled her, but
because his presence sent a little thrill through her veins like a
shot of adrenaline. What was it with this guy? She usually could
stamp out any emotion toward the opposite sex, but with each
meeting with Lucca the flame of desire just rose a bit higher.

She rearranged her features, forcing her
lips not to curve into a condemning grin. She turned to face Lucca,
hoping her skin didn’t betray her with a flush of crimson. “Now why
would I be looking for you?” She arched a brow for the effect of
indifference.

His lips quirked at the ends before his grin
broke out. He leaned forward. “I saw you scanning the crowd.”

“You saw me counting how many people showed
up,” she offset a comeback.

“Hmm… and what was your last count?”

“Uh…you interrupted me.” She waved him
off.

His chuckle warmed her. He came to stand at
her side to look over the crowd first hand. “There’s not much
competition is there?” His gaze swept over the crowd in a
dismissive manner. “The costumes are atrocious, are they not? Cheap
imitations at best. Shakespeare would surely have the company’s
attire burned at once.”

He was correct in his observation. She knew
first hand what the clothing looked like, but she was surprised
Lucca recognized the fact. “Are you a historian as well as a
private detective?”

His gaze wavered over her features one by
one, like a feathery kiss. She found herself leaning toward him as
if he had some kind of power over her. Yeah, it was called
seduction. The man oozed with sexual prowess without even
trying.

“I’ve studied the time period at length.”
His smooth deep voice would melt an ice queen. It sure did a number
on her limbs.

He thought he was an expert, but since she
actually lived in the century, she’d have him beat. Lucca was like
no one she ever met—in any
time
. She wanted to melt into
Lucca’s arms and challenge him at the same time. “I will have to
take you at your word.” She decided to play it cool for now and
changed the subject. “What scene have you chosen for tonight?”

“You will have to wait and see. I will give
you this: It was you who inspired me.” He reached out, caressing
her chin with his thumb and forefinger. He let his hand drop and
the warmth of his touch evaporated, leaving her longing for him to
touch her again. He didn’t seem to notice or he was a better actor
than she thought. “Once I land the part, I’m taking you out for
dinner,” he told her.

She couldn’t help but chuckle. “You’re
pretty sure about yourself.”

“Lucca Marlowe,” the stage director called
out, interrupting their banter. “You’re up.”

Juliet noticed Peter’s dark expression and
the way he skimmed the roll call sheet. He hadn’t been impressed
thus far by the performers.

“Do you mean landing the part, or that you
won’t refuse me?” Lucca wagged his wheat colored brows at her
before moving past her. If his confident swagger could be evidence,
he believed he knew his Shakespeare. God, she hoped he did.

Once he took his spot on the stage, it was
as if a different person had taken over. He was no longer Lucca
Marlowe, a detective, but Romeo Montague of Verona.

Her lips curved, her spirits soaring with
shameless delight that he had thought of her when he chose his
piece tonight.
Romeo and Juliet, act two, scene two.
She
knew the play well. She had managed a seat by sneaking in dressed
as a page when the play had first been performed on stage.
Shakespeare had a way with words, a true romantic to her. His
characters portrayed love with passion, aggression, despair and by
God, determination. She closed her eyes as Lucca spoke the words as
if they had been written for him. “
I am too bold, 'tis not to me
she speaks
…”

The place fell silent, his voice captivating
the audience from the first sentence.

“
See, how she leans her cheek upon her
hand! O, that I were a glove upon that hand. That I might touch
that cheek!
”

Silence reigned, not because they didn’t
like the performance, but because they were stunned. Lucca had
brought the passionate words alive as if he spoke the words from
the heart and not lines he memorized.

Someone clapped. Then, like it was catching,
everyone began to slap their hands together in time.

Oh, Lucca knew Shakespeare all right. She
looked to where the stage director, Peter, stood and then to Arty,
the director, who would make the final decision. She could see it
in their eyes. They wanted Lucca to sign on with them.

Lucca met her gaze, his eyes shone bright
with
I-told-you-so
. The man’s arrogance should warn her to
stay away from him, but then his gaze changed. The shade of
blue-gray in his eyes darkened with unspoken passion, but there was
no mistaking that look. “My heart is forever at your service.” He
bowed to her low and deep as if giving her homage. Her heart
fluttered in her chest at the sweet gesture.

She shouldn’t have been able to hear his
voice, but the deep rumble reached her ears like a caress. Then he
flashed her a sexy, wicked smile, both in invitation and in
challenge. God, she wanted him. The realization floored her, but
she pushed the desire back, forcing herself not to yearn for
something she could never have.

Chapter Fourteen

Gideon wanted to wretch, the bile actually
making its way up his throat in an attempt to make an exit.

Zaiden clasped a hand on his shoulder.
“Don’t look at it.”

Don’t look at it he says.
The gore
plastered to the walls and table made it difficult not to look.

“Concentrate,” Zaiden ordered, his voice a
booming reminder of his ability to command.

Gideon preferred the behind the scenes kind
of life. That’s why he worked with computer graphics. He had a
successful graphic art series going. It was dark and violent as
most were, but they were just stories. It was the most death he
dealt with in a long time. He’d been on a battlefield now and again
through time, fought with the best of the Watchers, and held his
own, but this... “They slaughtered him.”

“Yes.” His hand gripped his shoulder. “I
need to know who
they
are.”

Gideon nodded. His gaze landed on the stove
where the bloody handprint all but glowed like a neon sign. He’d
start there. He cleared his mind and placed his hand on the
stovetop.

Flashes of Leroy, bloodied and trying to
crawl away, his eyes betraying his fear or he should say one eye.
The other eye was swollen shut. His arms were sliced as if trying
to ward off blows.

“
Get it over with,” he rasped out a
response. “I can’t tell you what I don’t know. You used the
Brugmansia on me. Don’t you think I’d spill my guts by now?”
Beaten to a pulp, but Leroy hadn’t been broken. The smell of
Brugmansia and blood permeated the air, but something like rotten
eggs wafted on it, too. The images were hazy, which surprised
Gideon when torture should have burned the impression clearly
within the surrounding surfaces.

The being inflicting the blows knew the
Watcher should have talked, too. Why hadn’t Leroy talked? Was he
immune to the Brugmansia?
“Hmm…yes about that,”
the being
said.

Gideon tried to focus on the being’s voice,
to see the face. There was something odd about the resonance of his
voice, an edge to it that spoke of someone in charge, but before he
could pick up the impression a bright light flashed and Leroy
exploded, flesh and bones spraying in every direction.

“Holy—.” The curse lodged in Gideon’s throat
as he gagged and backed away. His connection to the past broken. He
leaned forward, gripping his knees and drawing in deep gulps of
air.

Zaiden stood with his arms crossed over his
chest, giving him time to compose himself.

After a moment, he stood, wiping his mouth
with the back of his hand. He had to leave the bloody aftermath.
His steps took him to the living room where the horror in the other
room couldn’t intrude.

He heard Zaiden’s booted steps and knew he
followed close behind. The Guard of Judgment wanted to know who did
this. He didn’t have a name. Hell, he didn’t have a face, but he
sure in heck knew what did this to Leroy. The bright light had
given it away and the fact scared the hell out of him.

He turned to meet Zaiden’s gaze. His
unearthly ice blue eyes a shade sharper, his patience a paper-thin
step away from snapping. He was used to immediate results and
Gideon was taking too long. “Well, did you see anything…
useful?”

“I don’t have a name.”

Zaiden let a frustrated breath and rubbed a
hand over his face.

“But…”

Zaiden’s gaze zeroed in on him once more.
“Do you mind sharing your findings?”

Gideon blinked at the icy authority in
Zaiden’s tone and was glad he wasn’t the one he was looking for.
“He died by Angel fire, a lightning strike.”

“An Archangel did this?” Zaiden stiffened in
automatic defense that Heaven would send Archangels to earth again.
“What’s going on?”

Chapter Fifteen

After the tryouts were complete, everyone
began to clear out with endless chatter of
goodbyes
and
see you later
.

Lucca lounged in one of the back row seats,
wondering what in the hell he was doing here waiting for a human to
finish up so he could… What exactly? Court her, or as this century
liked to say,
hook up
with her? How he hated the loose term.
It made the honor of wooing a female sound cheap.

Then what did he really know about human
females? His mother died giving birth to him. His father, Arizul
was one of the original Fallen. He raised him, if his brutal ways
could be called such a thing. His father drummed into his head not
to associate with humans.

You are a superior being. Act like one.
Don’t mingle with the mortals.
His father’s words from long ago
lashed out at him as if he sat next to him. Lucca shifted his
weight and wiped his damp palms on the thighs of his jeans.

Arizul did whatever it took to beat Lucca’s
curiosity of humans out of his head. He was half human, too, but
his father seemed to have forgotten he impregnated a human
female.

Arizul’s ruthless teachings were a regular
happening in his home.
“You must learn discipline.”
His
father’s booming voice would make him quake.

They traveled and watched humans, entering
the centuries from the Otherworld to observe, but his father began
to become anxious as if he witnessed something in one of the points
in time and he needed to change the outcome. The Watchers were
forbidden to change history, but there were alternate outcomes to
every event. He suspected his father tried to influence certain
events, shimmering to each alternate outcome to make it happen.

Of all the time slots, his father was
obsessed with sixteenth century, London, not long before
Shakespeare and Marlowe made a name for themselves. Arizul tested
Lucca, but he didn’t know what he wanted of him. No matter how hard
he tried to win his father’s approval, he failed. He was a
disappointment to him.
You’re weak.
The words evoked
feelings of failure even now.

He closed his eyes, trying to close the door
to his past, but once the door had been nudged, he couldn’t stop it
from opening the rest of the way.

Before his Awakening, when he was tall and
lanky, a boy who had yet to grow into his height, Arizul would drag
him into the seedier part of London where morals were left behind.
Brothels lined the bank where the stench from the Thames smelled
like raw sewage. Body snatchers were prevalent back then and lone
strollers were easy targets. The money was good—if you brought a
surgeon a good specimen.

His father would make him watch these vile
men murder for money, knowing they could have saved the poor
bastard who staggered down the walk unaware of what lay in waiting
for him.

Lucca recalled his first night of
training...

His heart had pounded in his throat and he
knew all he had to do was call out a warning and the man would be
saved, but his father’s hand seized his shoulder, his grip so tight
it almost brought him to his knees. He bit his lip, tasting blood
as he forced himself to remain quiet.

The two body snatchers were upon the man,
bringing him down as if they meant to slaughter cattle. A flash of
steel glinted in the moonlight. A cry of alarm was choked off as
the blade bit into the victim’s neck, cutting back any further
protests.