“Did you two just come up with some really academic, smart-sounding rationalization for why you’re watching professional wrestling on pay-per-view?”
Carwyn snorted. “Are you kidding? It took us years to come up with that. Grab a beer and sit down.”
Still snickering, she walked into the kitchen, where Caspar was holding an open long-neck for her. “Do you-”
He shook his head. “Oh no, this is their own crass amusement. I’ll have nothing to do with it, no matter how many times they cite Beowulf.”
Beatrice chuckled and took the beer. “I guess I can hang out for a while. After all,” she smiled, “the main event is just ahead!”
Caspar chuckled and went back to his crossword puzzle on the counter. She walked back into the living room and sat in the open spot between the two vampires. Carwyn was already shouting at the screen on her left, but Giovanni sat back, slightly more subdued as he stretched his left arm across the back of the couch and looked at her.
Beatrice chuckled. “It’s kind of cute, to be honest.”
“Really?”
“You’re usually so dignified,” she raised her beer to take a drink, and Giovanni leaned in slightly with a small smile on his lips. “It’s kind of nice-”
Just then, he grabbed the beer out of her hand and jerked her arm toward his body. His nostrils flared and his eyes glowed as he pulled her hand to his face and inhaled deeply. Her heart rate shot up when she heard the growl rip from his throat, and his left arm coiled around her waist.
“Gio-”
“Where is he?” he hissed.
Chapter Nine
Houston, Texas
December 2003
“Giovanni, let her go.”
He was lost in instinct, trapped in the scent of the unexpected enemy on a human his nature had claimed, even if his mind had not. His fangs descended, spurred by the sudden rush of blood in his veins and the unseen threat. He wanted to sink his teeth into her, marking her as his own so no other would dare to touch her.
“Giovanni!” He heard the priest’s voice as if he was calling from far away.
“Gio,” she whispered; her pulse pounded in his ears, and the scent of her panic rolled off her in seductive waves. “Please, don’t-I don’t understand-”
His head inched toward her neck, the ancient, territorial compulsion roaring through him to drink and claim her blood as his own. He felt the current in his fingertips crawl across the girl’s skin as the amnis began to run through him and into her.
“Giovanni di Spada!”
He stared, hypnotized by the pulsing heartbeat that sped faster the closer he held her. His own heart began to thump faster and he bared his fangs.
“I will end you if you harm the innocent!” Carwyn roared in Italian, the language of his youth finally breaking through the haze that clouded Giovanni’s rational mind.
His hooded eyes flew open, and the vampire leapt away from the girl, staring at her in horror when he saw the tears coursing down her face. He stopped breathing and took another step back, pushing down the snarl that threatened to erupt when Carwyn stepped between him and Beatrice.
“Outside. Now!”
He tried to look around Carwyn. “Beatrice-”
“Now, before I throw you out!” he yelled as Caspar stood gaping in the doorway.
Giovanni threw open the terrace doors and stalked outside. Caspar met him pacing near the pool a few minutes later with a bag of blood from the refrigerator. Biting directly into the bag, Giovanni ignored the stale taste as he sucked it dry. He felt the volatile energy licking along his skin, so he stripped off his clothes, and dove to the bottom of the pool where he sat in utter stillness, gradually slowing the beat of his normally silent heart.
He watched the moon through the dark water, disgusted with his actions in the living room and furious with himself for losing control of his base nature after hundreds of years of strict discipline.
“What is our first lesson from Plato?”
“’For a man to conquer himself is the first and noblest of all victories.’”
“You must always be stronger than your nature. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Father.”
“It is the key to your survival in any circumstance. You more than any other.”
He didn’t know how long he sat at the bottom of the pool, but eventually his ears alerted him to the faint splash near the shallow end as something broke the still surface.
He shot up, shocked to see Beatrice sitting near the steps with her shoes off, and her feet dangling near the steps.
“Hey.”
He didn’t speak, but scanned the surrounding area, spotting Carwyn who sat, glaring at him from one of the chaises on the terrace. Giovanni nodded toward his old friend, his eyes communicating his careful control, and he saw the priest relax. He looked back to the solemn young woman who met his gaze without flinching.
“I would offer an apology, Beatrice De Novo.”
The girl had no idea how rare an occasion it was for Giovanni to admit wrongdoing, so she only narrowed her eyes. “Is it going to happen again?”
He paused, wanting to answer honestly. “I had underestimated how territorial I felt toward you. I won’t make the mistake again.”
“Why do you feel territorial about me?” she asked quietly.
He treaded water, still keeping his distance. “You are under my aegis, whether you accept it or not.” Giovanni ignored the sudden tension he sensed from Carwyn on the patio, choosing to lock his gaze on the girl at the end of the pool.
“What does that mean?” She looked at him, confusion evident in her features.
There was no need for her to know the full extent of his aegis, or that by claiming her, he had every right to drink from her as he wished. He decided the simplest explanation was best.
“It means I have taken responsibility for you in my world. Part of that responsibility is to protect you, and I failed in that tonight.”
“You stopped.”
He couldn’t speak, afraid that honesty would send her running. If Carwyn had not been there, he wouldn’t have stopped.
She must have seen the truth in his eyes. “Would you have killed me?”
Most definitely not. “No… but I would have marked you. Without your permission.”
She frowned and looked at him curiously. “Do humans-do they ever give you their permission?”
He avoided the question, diving and surfacing a few feet from her. She looked away, flustered by his presence, so he retreated a few feet.
“Wh-who is Giovanni di Spada?” she asked.
“Who?”
“Carwyn, he called you that when you were…you know.”
Giovanni frowned a little, faintly remembering the priest calling the name of his more violent past. “Giovanni de Spada is the name I was using when Carwyn and I met. I went by that name for almost two hundred years. He still forgets and calls me that occasionally.”
“So you changed the last name, but you kept Giovanni?”
He nodded, baffled by her questions, but willing to entertain them if it regained some of the trust he had broken. “It seemed easier to keep the given name. If I ever traveled back to the same place or the same business and someone happened to remember me, it was easy enough to claim I was a relative. And, of course, there were no photographs until recently.”
“Oh,” she nodded, “that makes sense.”
“It wasn’t difficult to change your identity for most of history.”
“And now?”
He shrugged. “Now it is harder, but not impossible.”
She paused and finally met his eyes. He could see her start to relax and wished he had not agreed to avoid using his amnis on her. It would make questioning her far more straightforward.