An Immortal Valentine's Day (9 page)

“It’s not the same experience for everyone,” Peter told Alexander, who had just commented about ladybugs, pacifiers, and flying pearl necklaces. “You see things relevant to your own life.”

The other men shared what they had seen, but Quintilius didn’t. He kept quiet and continued walking. As the alpha of the biggest werewolf clan in all Europe, he wasn’t used to having conversations with peers. He had his extended family, those he loved very much, but based on the banter and camaraderie among this group, he realized he hadn’t allowed anyone close in a long time.

With the exception of Peter, whose real age nobody knew—not even Peter—Quintilius was the oldest of the lot. He was also aware that he appeared more mature than the rest of them. In human years, he could pass for an athletic man in his early fifties. Ophelia had told him that, when he shaved his beard and altered his black and silver mane with a haircut from this century, he could pass for someone even younger. But Quintilius had stopped caring about his physical presence long ago, when his love dreams had been shattered and he had committed all of himself to his pack. There had been moments when he wondered how life might be with friends though.

Even Peter seemed to get along well enough with Ophelia’s friends, and that must have taken some adjustment. Or maybe Quintilius had judged the demon too harshly from the very moment he realized Ophelia loved him. The longer this day progressed, the more Quintilius had to admit Peter seemed a great guy. And they not only shared their affection for Ophelia—because the fact that Peter loved Ophelia was undeniable—but apparently they also both enjoyed giving back to the community.

He couldn’t help but wonder why Ophelia’s wolf had chosen the demon. Quintilius shouldn’t have questioned it though. A shifter’s wolf was never wrong. Even when the wolf’s choice brought great pain to his host. Usually, he tried to avoid those thoughts and not think of the only man he had ever loved. A man who had stolen Quintilius’s heart and broken it in so many pieces he could never put it back together again.

Maybe, his personal experience with his wolf’s decision was responsible for Quintilius’s dislike of Peter. It wasn’t Peter’s reputation that bothered Quintilius, but the fact that Ophelia’s wolf had mated to him, mirroring what had happened to Quintilius many years ago. And he didn’t want his princess to suffer his own fate.

“And here we are, Lungotevere Flaminio exit to your right,” Peter announced with a flourish of his hand.

Taken by his inner monologue, Quintilius had blindly followed the rest of the group. He blinked and headed to the ascending steps and the exit to the human world. A small corridor brightly illuminated ended with a metal door. Like all the Promenade exits, it had been built by expanding one of the pre-existing Roman tunnels. Once outside, the chaos of the mortal city was tangible and the peace of the underworld gone.

In the last thirty minutes, a crowd of people had regurgitated out of their offices, competing with cars and scooters for supremacy of the ancient streets. Near closing time, novelty and souvenir stores were overtaken by last-minute shoppers looking for stuffed animals, cards, and balloons. Meanwhile, several flower shops had already hung signs declaring, “Roses—Sold Out.”

Quintilius imagined that buying a box of chocolates would be difficult by now. Although he didn’t have a lover to lavish with such treats, he had instructed his pastry chef to prepare several kilograms worth of chocolates. He would gift them to his house staff on the morrow. Some of his longtime helpers had recently lost their companions, either to tragic death or bitter betrayal, and Quintilius thought that no one should feel alone and forgotten on Valentine’s Day.

Given all the frenzy around them, it seemingly took Quintilius forever to lead his group across two blocks to the doors of his club.

“Sir,” Pino, the Circolo Vogatori manager, greeted Quintilius inside the elegant club made of dark wood, ancient mosaics, and marble arches, all vestiges of the Roman baths upon which the modern facilities had been built. “Welcome, gentlemen.” His face lit at Alexander’s sight. “Mister Drako, it’s a pleasure to have you here again. How are the triplets and your charming consort?”

“They’re fine. The children are growing and their mother gets more beautiful every day.” The Greek took the manager’s hand and shook it. “What about yours?”

Quintilius waited for the two to finish their chitchat, then he formally introduced the centurion, the fallen angel, and the demon, and was pleased by Pino’s aplomb. The man, like anyone else in Rome, knew who the three were—rejects and unwanted by the so-called polite society. But, if he was surprised by their presence, he didn’t show it. Instead, he treated them as he would any other member of the club.

Even though they were Quintilius’s guests, other werewolves would have had a difficult time not making a snide remark. Soon after, they would have profusely apologized to their alpha, but it was in their wolf nature to feel superior and constantly challenge authority when they saw an opening.

Once again, Quintilius was proud of his employee. He had chosen the tall werewolf for that position because of the man’s work ethic and high moral standards. Pino was one of the few werewolves who wouldn’t judge other species beneath his own social standing, and that was a trait Quintilius appreciated. He would be forever grateful to Pino for a single act of kindness that had changed Quintilius’s life for the better. To thank him, Quintilius gave the werewolf a job and permitted him to mate outside of the pack, in an era when cross-mating was considered taboo.

“May I offer you something to eat? We bought almond and orange cookies from the bakery at the end of the street. A slice of Valentine cake perhaps? It comes from the same bakery. Tea? Coffee?” Hands crossed behind his back, Pino walked toward the breakfast nook, covered with trays full of sweets. Underneath the wooden furniture, baskets filled with non-perishable food items were placed in neat rows. He smiled at Quintilius. “Our patrons have been generous. We’ve collected way more than last year and we’ll be able to deliver all of them to the shelters tonight.”

Quintilius smiled. Every February, his club hosted a charity that brought food to the less fortunate among the paranormals. In a month where all the focus was on love, people tended to forget about the ones who couldn’t eat. “As usual, you outdid yourself, Pino.” Quintilius instructed him to redirect several baskets to the Den of Rejects. “And we need to borrow one of the speedboats.”

Pino nodded, and, as expected, without a question walked to the reception desk where he spoke in hushed tones with the clerk. A moment later, he was back. “The speedboat is being prepared for you, sir. It will take but a moment. Now, if you’d like some of the refreshments I mentioned—”

Quintilius was neither hungry nor thirsty, but the Roman and Drako accepted an espresso while Peter and Samuel asked for a glass of water. As promised, mere minutes later, Pino escorted them outside to the lush gardens bordering the pier, and one of the crew guys showed them to their boat.

After they were all seated, Quintilius went to the wheel, turned on the engine and drove the speedboat out of the harbor and into the Tiber. He set course toward the city of Fiumicino, then turned to Samuel. “You’ll be my navigator.”

Samuel nodded and opened his cell phone. “Let me find the coordinates for the nest.”

Quintilius pushed the accelerator lever, and they sped away, leaving a large wake on the otherwise placid waters of the river.

One eye on his cell phone and one on the coast, Samuel checked the coordinates so they wouldn’t miss the tiny spot his GPS app signaled as the vampire nest in Fiumicino. “We’re close.” Even standing, he couldn’t see much yet because the speedboat was fast, and the river twisted following the bends of the rugged shoreline.

In less than forty minutes, they reached the mouth of the Tiber. No one on the speedboat had attempted conversation. Samuel sensed the palpable nervousness from his friends. He had tried throughout the day to keep his cool and knew he couldn’t lose it now. Leaving a message for Martina, he explained in a handful of words what he was doing and with whom. She would be awake in less than an hour, and he wanted her to go to Ravenna’s instead of waiting for him to return home.

Only one previous time, Samuel had not been by Martina’s side upon her awakening. Last spring, he was called to rescue Ophelia and Peter and had to leave Martina alone for part of the night too. It was for the most serious of reasons, but he felt anxious the whole time he was away and had never left home again after sunset.

He would miss the show she inadvertently put on for him every night. Martina usually purred when she opened her eyes and saw him. He could never have enough of the sight of her, sleepy, her athletic body carefully arranged on their bed, her arms hugging the pillow. Her recent changes were more subtle compared to other vamplings, but he knew her like the palm of his hands and had noticed small nuances about how she moved or acted. Her inner strength was now evident, and she wore it on her skin for everyone to see, making her powerful.

Once fully a vampire, Martina would only be pliable under his tender care and he loved that. No one would ever hurt her again. Samuel had promised he would start their nights by reminding her how much he loved and wanted her. He would help her awakening by caressing her bare skin with the tip of his feathers just to see how her eyes brightened with need. He would light up then too, but she loved that his wings became a billboard of his longing for her.

Thinking of those private moments with her greatly affected Samuel, and he inwardly groaned. He hoped there would be time to swing by their apartment and retrieve the little box he had hidden in his closet. Later, at Alexander and Ravenna’s Valentine party, he would propose to her in the presence of all their friends. But as the day progressed, he became progressively more nervous. His plans for the evening seemed to be doomed.

He chided himself for the selfish thought. The safety of those two kids was paramount. He would always have tomorrow to declare, yet once again, his love for Martina. Those kids might only have a few hours of life remaining if the clues about what had transpired were true.

Marcus said something, startling Samuel from his daydream. “What is it?”

“Take a look at that.” Marcus pointed ahead as Quintilius steered the speedboat toward the coastline.

“Is that a dinghy?” Alexander stepped to the bow.

Peter neared Alexander and cupped a hand above his forehead. “It looks like one.” He turned to Quintilius. “Do you think we can catch up with them?”

Quintilius nodded. “Hang on,” he said and pushed the accelerator lever.

The speedboat, already cruising faster than the maritime limits, jerked forward.

Samuel spread his legs shoulder width and steadied his stance, then watched as Quintilius maneuvered the waters with calculated calm, steering the speedboat toward the other vessel. Their wake jostled the smaller tender. “I think it’s them.”

“I can see three people.” Peter squinted. “Two are crouched.”

“And in that cove, right there, ahead on the right, there’s a small harbor.” Marcus pointed at the half-moon shaped recess along the coast. Low vegetation and Mediterranean pines covered the slope where it met the Tiber in descending terraces. Anchored in the water were several sailboats and a yacht. He looked at Samuel. “Is that vampire land?”

Samuel peered back down at his cell phone and shrugged. “My GPS says otherwise, but it wouldn’t be the first time vampires have declared their properties to be somewhere else—sometimes just a kilometer or two south or north from the correct location. They prefer to keep their nests hidden.” He checked the map with the red dot indicating where the vampire mansion should be, then looked back at the jagged coast. “It’s also true that the building could be hidden by the vegetation or by one of those ridges.”

“I vote for checking on them in any case,” Quintilius said, and when everyone else assented, he angled the speedboat and created an artificial tide that swelled in length and rocked the other tender.

They approached so close, Samuel could see the other driver having a difficult time keeping the small vessel upright. Then, all of a sudden, the man turned and bent, lowering his fist onto one of the huddled figures. A girl screamed, chilling his blood.

Quintilius redoubled his efforts, but when he was about to launch the final maneuver to approach the tender, the unmistakable sound of a police siren echoed over the engine’s din.

“Crap.” Samuel turned to face the Coast Guard boat as the tender slipped out of their reach.

The amplified voice of one of the officers ordered the speedboat to show them papers and state their business.

Samuel debated if he wanted to use his human credentials as an officer of the law himself or not. The whole point of their covert operation was to avoid involving the Immortal Council. If he used his mortal badge—which he always carried—he would have to write an official report for Barnes. If he didn’t, the archangel would not be bothered with the paperwork, but Samuel would have to spend precious time appeasing the Coast Guard. He could spin some tale about fishing, but the Coast Guard would be suspicious. The best case scenario was that the speedboat would be searched for drugs—one of the few plausible reasons to cruise toward the sea at that speed at night.

Meanwhile, the tender had reached the harbor and was being hastily moored to the pier.

“If the werewolf takes the kids inside the nest, they’re as good as dead.” Marcus stepped closer to Samuel.

Alexander flanked him on the other side. “Don’t forget, we have no proof the nest is involved.”

“And I really don’t want to ask the archangel for official permission to enter vampire property without just cause.” Marcus fisted his hands before him.

“I mean, permission or no permission, we must still go after those kids, of course. But it would be so much easier if we catch up with them before they step
inside
the nest,” Peter added from the bow.

Samuel swore. The rotating, flashing light colored their immediate surroundings in red and unnerved him. He took his badge from his rear pocket and swore once more. With a grunt, he raised the metal insignia over his head and let the stroboscopic light reflect on it. “I’m a colleague.”

As one of the officers leaned over the rail of their boat to talk with Samuel, he made up a white lie and extended the hand holding his badge. The man reached for it, then straightened and studied Samuel’s badge.

“Rome Homicide.” The man whistled low, turning to the side to let the other three officers take a look at the piece of flat, diamond-shaped metal. “What an honor.” He launched the badge back to Samuel, who caught it in midair. “What’s the hurry?”

“We’re pursuing a drug dealer responsible for several street gang-related deaths and human trafficking.” Samuel had chosen the closest lie to the truth, in case an official investigation was started.

“What gang?” An older officer, a captain from the silver insignia on his uniform, stepped forward.

“The Reds.” Samuel knew the gang had pending charges in the mortal world too.

“The Reds, you say?” The captain raised a hand to his hat and caressed his scalp underneath.

“I’m afraid our quarry is escaping under our noses as we speak.” Samuel pointed at the three figures walking on the pier. One of the fugitives fell while the second—a smaller figure—was grabbed at the elbow by the third, a massive man. Samuel’s stomach flinched at the thought they were so close to saving Raphael and Luisa, and yet, with further delay, they could lose them.

The captain took the scene in, then addressed Samuel, “I can’t—”

Samuel raised one hand. “You can call my superior, Ludwig Barnes, for elucidations, but we must leave at once.”

“Do you need backup?” The man didn’t sound eager.

Samuel had counted on that and shook his head. “It’s Friday night. Go home to your families. No need for us all to be miserable.” He nodded at Quintilius, then gave the visibly relieved officer a formal salute. While Quintilius turned on the engine and eased the speedboat away from the Coast Guard’s shadow and into the mainstream, Samuel sent Barnes a warning text, then added, “I had no choice. Sorry.”

“Buckle up.”

Samuel and the others barely had time to register Quintilius’s words. With the full blessing of the authority, the speedboat lurched forward and gained marine knots until it was flying over the Tiber. The coastline soon became a blur.

A few heartbeats later, Quintilius slowed their boat beside the tender. Without waiting for the werewolf to finish the maneuver, Samuel jumped onto the pier, his eyes scanning the terraces before them. The grounds were covered with evergreen shrubs, tall enough to hide three people ambling through the winding paths leading up to the top of the ridge.

There, partially hidden by the shadows of the night and the natural conformation of the ridge, stood the vampires’ manor. “Up there.” He pointed at the structure built to mimic the rocky surroundings, all rough travertine for the exterior and uneven lines. Earth colors and trees around its structure created the intended illusion, making the manor difficult to spot. Plus, the building wasn’t located where the GPS placed the nest, but a full kilometer south.

Samuel sprinted into a run, taking the first trail opening at the end of the jetty. On the left corner, he noticed a second trail heading up the hill. He heard Peter’s booted steps behind him and slowed his pace to say, “Let’s split. You take that one.”

“Okay.” The sound of Peter’s boots hitting the ground faded and soon echoed from the opposite direction.

“I’ll go with Peter.” Alexander patted Samuel’s shoulder and was gone.

Marcus and Quintilius were soon at Samuel’s side, climbing at full speed along the impervious path. A few days earlier, heavy rains had relentlessly battered Rome and its region for hours. The trail, made from clay excavated from the flank of the ridge, resembled a mudslide in the making. Combined with the gravel base, the terrain made for a dangerous hike and slow progress.

Samuel swore as he powered through the holes and bumps created by tree roots and animal burrows. He had made it to the top, without slipping and sliding on the pitted stairs, but there was no trace of the kids or the werewolf. Fearing their captor had already taken the kids inside the manor, he grabbed his cell phone, ready to call Barnes and beg for a special warrant to search the nest. It would start a war with the Vampire Nation, but he didn’t care.

A scream from the other side of the ridge made Samuel’s head snap. He put his cell phone back in his pocket without having called Barnes. Behind him, Quintilius and Marcus stopped at once.

****

Peter asked Alexander to take a third trail flanking the ridge from a different angle. “It might take you closer to the nest.”

“Worth checking.” Alexander brought two fingers to his forehead and about-faced, disappearing behind the curve a moment later.

Sprinting toward the top of the ridge, Peter redoubled his pace. As he exited a bend in the trail, he glimpsed movement ahead. It might have been nothing more than a flash of a pale color, maybe white or cream, among the shades of murky green, brown, and black of the vegetation against the darkening night. At first, he thought his nerves and mind were playing tricks on him.

More than anything else, he wanted to find Raphael and Luisa to right a wrong he had committed. It didn’t matter he had tried his best to help Raphael. To Peter, the kid ending up in a gang was all his fault. If he had checked on him more often at the shelter, or if he had tried to understand what was going on in Raphael’s life when under Quintilius’s tutelage, maybe he would be doing something different this evening. Something that didn’t involve chasing gang members and traumatized kids up a steep cliff, covered in mud.

A shrill scream froze his heart.

He ran the last stretch of trail without breathing or thinking. Before fully knowing what he was doing, Peter jumped on the big werewolf who was holding the screaming girl down. He hit the shifter with everything in his arsenal, punches, kicks, getting angrier and angrier as the man fought back with mirrored meanness.

Peter didn’t need a shifter nose to sense the werewolf was high on vampire blood. No paranormal could have borne a beating from a demon without asking for mercy after the first two or three blows. Peter seldom fought—for good reason. Besides the angels, and anyone who had been an angel once, no one could withstand the power Peter kept carefully in check. He never sparred with anyone at Alexander’s gym, because there were no training opponents strong enough.

“Raphael!” The girl had scooted away from under the werewolf and was leaning over a motionless heap of clothes, a few meters away. “You killed him. You killed him.” She cradled the boy in her arms and rocked him slowly, calling his name.

Her mournful wail distracted Peter long enough for the werewolf to hit him square in the face. His lips split. The sweet, coppery scent of blood filled his nostrils and clogged his taste buds, fueling his rage. Peter’s eyes became red.

The shifter shuddered in fear and murmured, “Demon.”

Peter delivered his next blow to the man’s sternum. His fist hit the werewolf’s ribcage just over his heart, stopping it for a few seconds.

The girl ran back to them, stopping a few centimeters from the werewolf and she kicked him. Once. Twice. Then she bent over him. “I hate you, Rico. I hate you.” While crying, the girl punched the werewolf over and over again. “You killed him.”