The Lonely Wolf (4 page)

After that, Quintilius could never think of Mondays without associating the day to his angel. And the day after to when he had to come back to a reality that didn’t include Ludovicus, who would later become his beloved Ludwig Barnes.

With a shrug and a suffered sigh, Ludwig pushed aside the brown folder filled with the report from Castel Gandolfo. “They haven’t found anything,” he said to Peter, who had stopped by his office.

“I suppose that’s good news, right?” The demon looked at him with his ever-changing eyes, now a warm hazel. He had refused to sit when offered, claiming he had enough of desk work for one day already.

“Yes, it is, but we still don’t know the kid’s whereabouts.” Ludwig slammed his hand over his oversized desk, sending a few pens rolling around.

“My kid could know nothing at all of Quintilius’s clan pin—”

“Do you really believe that pin was there by accident? Werewolf paraphernalia and vampire grounds don’t go hand to hand.”

“I concede you the point, but my kid might not be the one who lost the pin.” His eyes now dark, Peter paced the length of the office, his long legs covering the space in a few strides.

Ludwig pointed at the reinforced leather chair under the window. “You’re making me dizzy. Please, relax. I know how much you care about your renegades.”

Demons and angels couldn’t procreate, and Ludwig knew firsthand how the longing for a child could become an open wound after a few millennia of watching other species multiply. Peter cared for the teenagers he saved from the street as if they were his own. In a quest to save the closest thing he would ever have to children—his angels—Ludwig had been denied both a family and a life with the man he loved.

Tapping the folder, Ludwig watched as Peter finally sat on the chair that, although meant to withstand an angel, squeaked under his weight. “We need to find Lupo and fast. Your informant has reported to the enforcers as well.”

Crossing his ankles, Peter reclined his head against the wall. “Who’s the enforcer on the case?”

“Ravenna Del Sarto.”

At the name of Alexander Drako’s companion, the most famous officer in all the Immortal Council, Peter straightened and his eyes widened, sparkling with a reddish hue. “You’ve got to be kidding. They called the Enforcer to investigate an underage renegade case. Why?”

“Because Vampire Nation is quite vocal when it comes to its members being slaughtered and has asked for drastic measures to stop the murders.” Leaning forward, Ludwig folded his arms over the desk. “I had hoped to keep the whole affair contained until I had a chance to talk with Lupo, but Samuel was asked to step in by the Vampire Nation, and as a liaison he had to call the cavalry. I’m sure he took into account the cub’s young age and thought Ravenna’s maternal instinct would help the case.”

“I’ll talk to Ravenna.” With one graceful move despite his size, Peter stood and reached down for his rear pocket.

Ludwig gestured for him to sit. “No need. She’s on her way.”

In fact, after a few minutes, Ravenna Del Sarto arrived. Elegant in a dark suit and wearing a long necklace of iridescent black pearls, the enforcer walked in balancing her slim body on stiletto heels. Alexander’s companion had always been a striking albeit inaccessible-looking woman, but after the birth of their triplets the brunette had softened and blossomed.

“Ravenna.” Peter smiled at his friend.

“Gentlemen.” Ravenna lowered herself to the chair the demon had offered her.

“How are the kids?” Ludwig asked, walking to the antique drop leaf table where he kept his espresso maker. The Bezzera Vittoria Alata,
winged victory
, in copper and brass had been a splurge of the moment. He had not resisted the urge to buy one of the original pieces created by the espresso machine factory at the beginning of the nineteen hundreds. The statuette of the she-angel on the coffeemaker dome was ready to fly away, and so was Ludwig.

Ravenna smiled at the mention of her triplets. “Walking all over the house. Thank the gods for Raphael and Luisa helping me. Those two kids are saints, I swear.”

“I’m glad things worked out the way they did for them.” Peter patted Ravenna’s arm.

“We’re constantly sending Raphael back to his bedroom at night, and Alexander’s had to have the talk with him, but we both know they are past the talk.” She chuckled. “Anyway, they are so much in love it makes all their shenanigans bearable. It’s like we are practicing having teenagers a few years in advance.”

“I don’t want to be around Alexander when Arianna, Serses, and Darius hit puberty,” Peter joked, as he walked back to his chair.

“I’m thinking of taking a long leave of absence myself. I heard Seattle is having vampire problems lately, they can only worsen with time.” She tilted her head toward Ludwig. “Can it be arranged, archangel?”

“Yes, but only if you call me by my name.” Ludwig turned on the espresso machine and put two porcelain cups under the elongated levers. A gurgling noise erupted from the copper tubes, and soon after white steam sprouted into the cups with a satisfying hissing sound. He let the vapor warm the cup, then pushed the espresso button and the aroma of fresh brewed Arabica coffee filled the room. Already knowing both his guests’ preferences, he fixed the one for Ravenna black and served her the small cup. “Speaking of teenagers, I have a favor to ask you regarding Lupo Solis.”

Ravenna accepted her coffee with a small chuckle. “I figured that when you summoned me.” She took a sip from her cup. “So, what is it about this kid that makes both of you nervous?” She smiled at Peter who had blinked in surprise at her statement. “You wouldn’t be here as well if Lupo wasn’t your concern.”

Peter raised his hands. “You got me.”

Balancing both his cup and the demon’s, Ludwig walked around the desk, served Peter his, then leaned against the windowsill. “The cub is involved in the attempted murder of one of Claudius’s vampires—”

One hand holding her cup and the other holding the saucer, Ravenna straightened against her chair. “That’s bad news.”

“My words exactly when I first heard of the mess this kid is in,” Peter said.

“But there’s more.” Ravenna put down the cup on the saucer and placed them on the desk.

Ludwig summarized how he had found Quintilius’s clan pin, and Peter added his concerns about Lupo at the end.

After silently listening, Ravenna pushed herself up and said, “It seems that there isn’t any time to waste. Later, I’ll file that I asked the Renegade Controller to work with me.” She turned toward Peter. “Let’s go.”

With a few farewell words, Ludwig accompanied Ravenna and Peter to the door, and they left with the promise they would let him know as soon as they found Lupo.

As it happened more and more often lately, Ludwig resented his station and the fact he soon wouldn’t work in the field any longer. The Archangel Seat loomed over him and he didn’t look forward to taking his rightful place at the head of the Holy Nation. Millennia of hiding his angelic nature to save his own species from Arariel’s dominion and now he wished he could disappear and live his life like any other paranormal.

****

The sound of his Suzuki Katana roaring to life always put Lupo in a good mood.

Even in days like the present, when his delivery docket looked like it didn’t contain any white left after Rock had filled the page with locations scribbled in black ink. For the last few days, one of the little brothers working on Lupo’s delivery team had been sick with a nasty bug that sent him to the infirmary. To make things worse, a second member of the team had crashed his bike and broken his leg.

Lupo revved the engine and listened to the purr radiating from the bike and vibrating through him, then zigzagged alongside the Lungotevere driving toward Trieste neighborhood and his next delivery. Although the drop-in locations always changed, he had already delivered V at the address next on his list. The peculiarity of this delivery was that the cargo had to be deposited in a mailbox that was left open for it. The first time, Lupo had been surprised by the note beside the address. The standard procedure was to ask the person who accepted the package to sign a receipt. But not for this delivery. When Lupo asked Rock about it, he was dismissed with a, “Follow the instructions to the letter.”

With its clean Art Deco façade, marbles and dark wooden accents in the foyer, the building exuded old wealth, the kind that was built upon social privileges due to caste. The place was beautiful but cold, and Lupo resented that the people living there had a better life than him because of their birth parents.

As he strode through the hall, his boots dirtied the shiny flooring with outside dust and soil, leaving a trail of gray-brown prints. He knew he was being petty, but when he heard the entrance glass door open behind him, he stomped his heavy footwear with gusto, making as much noise as possible while fouling the place.

On his way to the mailboxes’ wall, a wind gust brought the scent of were-panther to his nostrils and Lupo’s heart sped up without warning, as if he had been running for his life. Instinctively, he pressed his palm over his chest and swirled around, looking for the reason that had awoken his wolf senses.

Behind him, a small figure all clad in black stood at the entrance. A long, tunic-like dress attached to an equally black veil covered a girl from head to toe, leaving only her eyes out. Dark and liquid, those almond shaped eyes were framed by perfectly applied eyeliner that made them so big Lupo couldn’t look away. Startled, he realized he was staring at a member of the Purists, one of the most elusive shifter clans in the whole world.

Her brethren were were-panthers who refused to mingle with the rest of the paranormal society for fear of polluting their superior genes. It was fabled that their women were so beautiful, shifters would go to war with the Purists for them. Helen of Troy had been a Purist. After her, the she-panthers in her clan were ordered to cover themselves for the safety of their people and theirs. At the beginning, a sheer veil had covered their eyes too. Nowadays, times were more relaxed, and the Purists allowed their women to show their eyes. The penalty for approaching a Purist woman was still severe though and at the disrespected family’s discretion.

Lupo’s wolf growled when he kept still instead of reaching for the girl as he demanded. The girl’s scent and her expressive eyes told him she was as startled by the situation as he was. When he finally stepped forward, she jumped back.

“It’s okay.” Having already forgotten about the sealed plastic container he was carrying—and the flogging that would follow if she cried wolf—he raised both hands to the side to gesture he didn’t mean to harm her.

With another step back, the girl shook her head, then looked over her shoulder. A second dark-clad figure appeared at the entrance and took the girl by her elbow. Brown eyes, older and colder than the girl’s, stared at Lupo. The revulsion in the woman’s look was evident and hit Lupo with the strength of a punch to his stomach.

The older woman pushed the girl forward and they hurried past Lupo and toward the gilded elevator. Before Lupo could say or do anything, they entered the cabin, the woman closed both the wrought-iron gate and the internal door, and they disappeared from sight.

Shaken by the fleeting experience, Lupo let out a long breath. The weight of the V container reminded him of the reason why he was there, and he walked to the mailboxes wall, went straight to the designated box and delivered the package. The box locked itself with a soft clicking sound, warning Lupo his services were no longer needed.

On his way to his next stop, Lupo wondered about the she-panther and how his wolf had gone crazy over her.

After seeing the girl, Lupo thought there might be some truth in the rumors about the Purist women’s spellbinding beauty. In just a few seconds, those black eyes had imprisoned his heart, and he could think of nothing else but meeting her again. And he had only seen her eyes. What would her mouth look like? Her throat? From the little skin exposed, he knew she was fair skinned. Did she have freckles? Where did she have those freckles?

His wolf whined in pain.

****

After a full day of tedious work at the office, Quintilius felt he could go home and have enough strength left to fake he wasn’t heartbroken.

For the last few days, he had done his best to avoid Camelia. Staying late at night at the office and leaving early in the morning had helped. Camelia worried about him, and he wasn’t in the mood to explain why he wanted to punch a concrete wall until it broke.

“See you tomorrow,” he said, passing Iris’s desk on his way out.

His secretary waved at him. “Have a good night, alpha.”

Lately, it was easier to deal with Camelia’s twin sister, Iris, who looked nothing like her. Where one was all light and pleasantness, the other was dark and meanness.

Iris was efficient and unpleasant at the same time, making her the perfect person to have in the office. There was no love lost between Quintilius and Iris. She worked for him, and that was the extent of their relationship, although she had tried to change that.

Soon after Iris had moved into Quintilius’s house—he owed Camelia too much to deny her sister a roof—one night, she asked for a private talk and said, “You need a woman, and I’m not frail Camelia. I’ll give you strong and healthy cubs.”

At first Quintilius had been so enraged with Iris, he had almost thrown her out on the spot. Then he considered how Camelia would suffer when she knew about her sister’s duplicity, and sent Iris to the guest house in the back of the park instead, with the excuse she had asked for privacy. A few days later, he summoned Iris to his office and told her she would never overstep the bounds of his hospitality ever again, and that she would work for him to earn her keep. He also made abundantly clear that she would treat Camelia with the utmost respect or she would find herself out of the clan.

Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.

That was Quintilius’s motto, one that had served him well for the best part of two millennia at the head of his clan. A clan that had flourished under his reign like no other tribe in Europe.

Already outside his
Casolare del Lupo
, Quintilius’s cell phone rang and he pushed a button on the wheel to accept the call. “Peter, how are you?” Meanwhile, he raised a hand for the security camera on the right column to wait before opening the wrought iron gate.