“Has he done this before? Has he tried to, I don’t know, provoke you?”
“No. I know his reputation, of course, but we’ve spent hundreds of years avoiding each other. I’m starting to realize what a mistake that was.”
“And he has your books? Your own son stole your books and letters from you?”
Giovanni nodded. “Before I turned him, he told me they had been lost. He told me that my properties were intact, but that my library had been ransacked and destroyed. It was during the time of Savaranola in Florence. It wasn’t hard to believe. There was so much lost. I had to trust him. There was a time that I couldn’t be around people like I can now.”
“Why? The blood thing or the fire thing?”
He hesitated before he answered. “Either. Both. There were…many reasons. Can we talk about something other than my past, please?”
He saw her cross her arms from the corner of his eyes and angry tears came to her eyes. “Well, it seems like your past is affecting a lot of my future, Gio. So maybe I feel like it’s kind of my business at this point.”
Biting back a curse, he gripped the steering wheel a little harder too hard and heard the plastic crack. Damn.
“I’ll tell you what you need to know, just not right now. I’ll take care of this, Beatrice, but you’re staying with me for a while.”
She snorted. “I am not. I have finals and classes and all sorts of shit to do. You’re not locking me up in your house.”
He frowned, irritated that she had predicted him so accurately. She was probably correct, and he didn’t want to interfere with her completing her classes unless it was absolutely necessary. He had no doubt Lorenzo would linger in the city for some time, watching them and securing support before he made any sort of move.
In his mind, he recalled the small boy sitting in front of a basket, dangling a mouse by its tail. The rodent was intended to be a meal for the snake that was kept in the classroom, but the boy always asked to be the one to feed it. Not wanting to handle the task himself, Giovanni always let him, but soon became disturbed by how the angelic looking child taunted both the snake and the mouse before he finally offered the serpent its meal.
“Gio?”
“Hmm?” He broke out of his reverie to glance at Beatrice. “We’ll figure something out. It would be best if you stayed at my house after dark. There’s plenty of room. I’ll increase your security during the daytime, as well.”
“What about my grandmother?”
“There’s a house that Caspar loves, up in the hill country around Kerrville. It’s isolated and Caspar knows the area extremely well. He can take her there. I don’t think it’s in Lorenzo’s interest to follow them. They aren’t what he’s after.”
“He’s after me?” she asked in a small voice. “I guess I knew that, but it hadn’t really sunk in until today.”
She seemed to shrink into the seat next to him as they made their way through the winding streets of Houston. He scented the air, pleased that the adrenaline had ceased pumping through her bloodstream and satisfied she wouldn’t alarm Isadora.
“I really hate my dad right now,” she whispered.
He wasn’t shocked by her admission, but it saddened him. He felt the urge to hold her again, but he shoved it to the side.
“I understand why you feel that way, but you have to know I do not blame him for running from Lorenzo.”
“You can’t? Even though it’s now messing with your life, too?”
Giovanni shrugged. “I’m the one who created the monster, Beatrice. And trust me, Lorenzo is a monster. Life as his child would be horrendous.”
“Why? I don’t get it. Carwyn told me he can’t make his kids do anything they don’t want to, so why would it be so horrible?”
He frowned at her. “It’s not a mental compulsion, it’s sheer physical strength most of the time. Strength for us is determined by age, mostly-though the age of your sire has some significance, as well. I’m old, but my sire was ancient. Combine that strength with my physical strength at the time of my change and my natural element-that makes me very strong.
“Lorenzo was never as strong as me when he was human, but my blood was very strong because of my sire and that was passed onto him. He has also trained himself particularly well in his elemental strength, though he’ll never be quite as strong as I am.
“Your father-though very strong now by human standards-would be no match for either of us. He would never beat Lorenzo in a fight, and I’m sure my son probably tortured him in all sorts of inventive ways when your father didn’t do exactly what he wanted.”
He saw her eyes widen in horror, but he didn’t want to soften the truth for her. “You have no idea how much power he would have over him, especially in those first few years when he was learning to control his bloodlust. Your father is almost five hundred years younger than his sire. And he could conceivably be under his control for eternity. You must not blame your father for running.”
She seemed to shrink in her seat. “How about your sire?” she almost whispered. “Does he-I mean, was he good like Carwyn?”
Giovanni frowned. “My father…was a complicated vampire. And he’s dead, so it doesn’t have any effect on me now.”
“Oh.”
“Is there a proper anger, my son?”
“Aristotle said ‘anyone can become angry, but to be angry with the right person and to the right degree, and at the right time. For the right purpose and in the right way-is not within every man’s power. ’”
“Are you the ‘every man’ that the philosopher spoke of?”
“No, Father, I am better than other mortals, and will be better still.”
“Therefore, you must master your anger so you control it always.”
“Yes, Father.”
“Giovanni?”
“Hmm?” His eyes dropped their hollow stare as he glanced at Beatrice again.
“You missed the turn to my house.”
He quickly turned the car around and made the right onto the street he had missed. As he pulled up in front of Isadora’s small home, he noticed that all the lights lit up the first floor. He parked and walked around the car to help Beatrice out. Half way up the walk, the first scent of blood hit him, and he turned to Beatrice, pushing her back toward the Mustang.
“Go back to the car,” he said firmly.
“What? No! What the hell-” Her eyes widened when she saw his face. She ran up the front walk, but Giovanni beat her to the door, blocking her path.
“Grandma!”
Chapter Sixteen
Houston, Texas
April 2004
“Let me in!” Beatrice beat on his chest. “Let me in, you bastard. Isadora!”
“Be quiet and wait. The smell of blood is not strong,” he hissed. “Wait, so I can check the house, damn it!”
“Grandma?” She began to cry, continuing to try to shove past him, but his arms held her in a cold, iron grasp. She was beside herself, and could only imagine the worst.
“Beatrice, do you have your phone?”
She wanted to hit Giovanni, but she was too busy trying to get out of his arms so she could enter the house.
“Beatrice, calm down. You need to call this number.” He rattled off a number, but she still wasn’t listening.
“You stupid, asshole vampire!” She tried to jerk out of his arms. “Let me in my house. Make your own telephone-” She froze, suddenly realizing it was possible there were people or vampires still inside. She immediately fell silent and stopped struggling.
“What do you hear?” she whispered.
“Nothing suspicious, and I don’t feel anyone. I do smell blood, but your grandmother’s pulse sounds fine; her breathing is slow and regular. Are you going to be calm now?”