11
A
t first, Bastian had no difficulty tracking the female specter he'd followed from the piazza, for it had unwittingly left a trail of color in its wake. However, the fog, the maze of crooked streets, and the effects of the impending arrival of Moonful eventually began to defeat him. He'd need a woman soon. It was past time to make his way to a safe haven, where he could begin the ritual. His belly was already rock hard, and the cramping would soon begin. The liquor he'd inadvertently drunk was going to make tonight's Calling particularly arduous for him.
Then, just as he decided to seek home, he spotted a hint of crimson two blocks ahead. A figure rose from the misted street like a corpse rising from a grave. It was a woman, a shapely one dressed in red.
Red; hearts; blood; poppies; lips,
his mind free-associated. The specter that had come this way must have lent its color to her. He shuddered, wanting her. Not her in particular. Any woman would have done for him now. He was in a sorry state. He should head for home and summon a Shimmerskin or two to attend him before it was too late. But even as these thoughts swirled in his head, he stepped in her direction.
It seemed another had similar plans to his, for as the woman straightened her clothing, a man approached her. Bastian tensed, a male animal protecting his territoryâthis unknown woman he wanted to fuck. He loped toward the pair, moving in and out of the halos of gaslight along the street, the striking of his boots on pavement making him known to his opponent. Seeing him as a threat, the man backed away from the female and faded into the surrounding shadows.
She was his now. Bastian prayed to the Gods that she was a whore. A willing one. Not some other man's wife or untried daughter. Judging by his body clock, the moon was easily forty-five minutes away from showing itself. Nevertheless, the desire to push this stranger against the nearest building and fuck her with everything he had already overwhelmed him. The urge shouldn't be so strong, not yet. Not so early in the night. It was the wine. When the moon did come, he wouldn't be able to trust himself not to resort to rape.
He halted abruptly a half-dozen feet from her. What the hells was he doing? The liquor was affecting his reason, as it always had. Curse whoever had tainted his decanter with it!
He had to get home before the Change came over him. With a last, lingering, lustful glance at the female, he gritted his teeth and made to go.
But then she turned. And everything changed.
“Michaela?”
Those red lips formed his name. “Bastian.” Her cheeks were flushed coral; her silky black hair had blue highlights; her dress was crimson. And her eyesâthey were violet as pansies. She shone with an inner light he'd never seen in her before, like a jewel in the black night, drawing him to her side.
“Beautiful,” he murmured as he took her in his arms. Looking oddly nervous, she launched into some rambling explanation regarding why she was here. His suspicions were aroused, but all he could think of was getting her out of her dress. Of fucking her here in one of the alleys, or perhaps breaking into one of these buildings where he could mate with her in privacy from dusk to dawn. A desperate need swamped him to bury himself in her feminine depths, before the color leached away as it always seemed to, turning her a cadaverous gray like the rest of his world.
“So that's why I asked you to meet me here in Monti,” she finished.
“Monti?” he echoed. Only then did he remember the note he'd found from her in his study. Yes, that's why he'd come here. She'd asked him to meet her in the piazza. He'd drunk from the decanter before coming out, wanting to give the elixir time to work its way through his system. It should have tamed the beast that he would become tonight, at least in some measure, but it had not. He'd thrown the decanter away the moment he'd realized it had been polluted with true liquor. Since he'd eaten in the piazza, he no longer stumbled or garbled his words. But inside, he could feel the intoxicating effects of what he'd unwittingly drunk. He was still tainted. And still dangerous. To her.
“It doesn't matter,” he told her, his deep voice brushing off her words. His hand went to the small of her back, tugging her close as his fingers went to the front of her bodice, tearing open the fastenings.
She snatched the gaping sides of her dress together, looking alarmed, but he knocked her hands aside, his own hand diving inside her bodice and underthings to find and squeeze a lush breast. His thumb rubbed over her nipple, relishing the fact that it went stiff for him. His other hand went low to clutch her bottom and force her belly tight to his own. He tilted her just so and ground himself against her. His body reacted predictably.
“Gods, I want you,” he gritted, his lips caressing her jaw.
“Here?” she squeaked. “B-but someone's coming.”
He lifted his head, abruptly noticing the rhythmic clacking sound of horseshoes striking brick. Two of his brothers appeared out of the fog like apparitions on horseback, hailing him.
“Where the hells have you been?” Sevin demanded, his steed rearing as he pulled it to a halt. Beside him, Lucien reined in his roan as well.
“Wandering Monti, half drunk,” Bastian told him succinctly. “And now if you'll excuse us . . .” Ignoring his brothers' stupefied expressions, he lifted Michaela into his arms, sweeping her toward the nearest dark alley.
And then from that very alley before them, the
polizia
suddenly descended upon them. “Gods, is this to be a convention?” he snarled, and saw Michaela smile. Red. Her lips. Berries. He bent his head and tasted them hungrily with his own, just as the officers called out to them.
“We heard reports of trouble. You gents seen anything?”
He heard Sevin make some reply, then everything else was forgotten except the mouth under his. Had Michaela always tasted like this? “You're different,” he murmured against her mouth and felt her body stiffen in his arms.
A soft palm curved his cheek and the unnatural warmth of her touch jolted his sex. He growled low in his throat and released her legs, holding her body close as it slowly slid downward along his own. She couldn't help but feel his erection. “I need to fuck you,” he said, his voice gone unnaturally low.
“Yes, I-I gathered as much,” she said. “But, your brothers . . . the
polizia
.” She gestured toward them. His hand went to her bodice again, and he grunted with displeasure when he found she'd hooked it closed again.
Somewhere behind him, he heard Sevin reassuring the constables. “All is well. We're just on our way home to Esquiline. To the house of my brother,
Lord Bastian Satyr
.” He emphasized the name, obviously believing they would recognize it, and that his reputation would quickly have these men shoving off. It seemed he was right, for they began to take their leave.
“Are you all right, signora?” one of the officers persisted, drawing near. Bastian gnashed his teeth, fighting the urge to throttle the man.
“Very much so.” Michaela smiled sweetly over one shoulder at him, and he doffed his hat in his hands, clearly besotted.
“Come on, man,” called one of his partners, and the officer reluctantly took himself off. Apparently having given them all a sufficient visual once-over, the
polizia
were satisfied and moved on, searching alleys and testing doorknobs.
“The night grows dangerous,” Lucien pronounced in an eerie voice, as if he knew something the rest of them didn't. Bastian's eyes snapped to him where he still sat on horseback. Their youngest sibling, Luc had been lost to the family at the tender age of five and had spent the subsequent thirteen years of his life held captive within a labyrinth beneath the Forum ruins. Somewhere in the intervening years, he had acquired some very peculiar powers. Hells, who knew what his youngest brother was thinking half the time? The doctors in Else-World had found him a complete puzzle. They'd even confided that they suspected he was toying with them in order to impede their understanding of his talents.
In a decisive move, Bastian took Michaela's arm and led her to Lucien's side. “Double with Sevin. I'll take your horse,” he instructed his brother. Without argument, Lucien slid from the steed and just as lithely leaped up behind Sevin.
Swinging Michaela high, Bastian seated her sideways in the saddle; then with one boot in the stirrup, he swung up behind her. Taking the reins, he prodded with his heels, propelling their mount southwestward, toward Capitoline, one of the seven hills that ringed the Roman Forum.
“Esquiline is this way!” Sevin protested. “We were supposed to gather at your house an hour ago, remember? Dane and Eva await us there.”
“Too late!” Bastian gestured toward the darkening sky. “The
Salone
is closer. And Dane will manage his wife just fine tonight without us.”
“To Capitoline, then,” Sevin agreed, veering to follow him. The four of them raced off toward sanctuary. Toward the
Salone di Passione,
a safe haven where the Lords of Satyr would spend this night as their ancient heritage dictated they must.
Silvia rode sidesaddle in front of Bastian, snuggled within his strong embrace, her head resting on his shoulder. Her legs were both draped over one of his, and she felt his powerful thigh muscles work as he urged their horse onward through the night. “Hold on,” he rumbled. His coat was open, so she looped her arms around him inside it, hugging his solid strength. Turning her face into the hollow of his throat, she kissed him. His narrowed eyes flickered over her and his hand tightened on the reins. The horse bucked in reaction, almost throwing them. Cursing, he loosened his grip and rode on, his face grimly determined.
When she'd first seen him on the street just now, joy had bubbled up in her. The sort of effervescent inner lightness a woman feels in the company of the man she loves. A joy she shared with her hostâfor tonight, all of her emotions would be a heady blend of Michaela's and her own. Both were quite utterly attracted to him. But he belonged to only one of them. To Michaela, a woman not quite dead and not quite living.
Still, Silvia anticipated the coming hours with an unapologetic relish that was coupled with a tinge of wariness. After centuries of using her wits to protect her virginity, she would willingly lose it tonight, in spirit if not in fact.
Michaela's body had known many men before, and it was her body their lover would mate under the full moon. Although Silvia would couple with him, she would nevertheless enjoy a certain impunity. This body was not truly hers, and her own virginity would still be intact when she eventually returned to her true form.
Instead of begrudging the sharing of her lover, Michaela seemed pleased with her for going with him now. She had long counseled Silvia against being so rigid in her interpretation of her vows of chastity, claiming that fornication while in the body of another host would not constitute a betrayal of them. But Silvia had always argued otherwise and had remained steadfastly pure over the centuries. Yet tonight, she would do as Michaela had long urged. She would lie with a man for the first time in her life.
A light drizzle began as they bypassed Palazzo Nuovo, and Bastian sheltered her from it with his body as best he could. Protective, as Michaela had said. His gesture, small though it was, touched Silvia's heart.
Several blocks later, they arrived at their destination: the
Salone di Passione
. The entire three-story building reeked of ElseWorld magic. Along its façade, a series of sash windows alternated with Corinthian pilasters crowned with carven olive branches. Gaslights flickered beyond its windows, and the raindrops that clung to the glass splintered their illumination into hundreds of tiny jewels. The salon catered only to an elite contingent of ElseWorld creatures and had been bespelled so that the uninitiated could not see this building or any of the comings and goings from it. To humans, it was nonexistent, appearing only as an impenetrable thicket. But to ElseWorldly beings, it was a sensual paradise.
Two enormous stone griffins watched them dismount and hand their horses off to caretakers at the bottom of the front staircase. The horses were skittish now and shied from the brothers as they dismounted. On some deeper level of the senses, they recognized that these men were devolving into something more animalistic tonight.
As they all took the steps upward, Sevin drew alongside Silvia and spoke in an aside. “Bastian's drunk. Do you know how it happened?”
“A tainted decanter in his study,” she replied.
“How much did he have?” asked Lucien from behind them.
“I don't know.”
“Hells, it doesn't matter. A single damned drop and he's well oiled,” said Sevin.
“I'm drunk, not deaf,” Bastian reminded them dryly as they reached the door. “Someone spiked my decanter with Sangiovese.”
“Who?” the three of them asked at the same time.
“No idea. It was just a few drops, thank the Gods. But I still feel its effects.” His gaze swept Silvia, scalding her.
At the salon's threshold, Sevin held her back, his words making it clear he assumed her to be Michaela. “This Calling will hit him harder than you've seen before,” he warned
sotto voce
. “If you want to run, go now. Once all begins, it will be too late.”