Byzantine Heartbreak (5 page)

“I apologize profusely, master,” the Scythian replied. “I thought you wanted to see the Forum.”

“I know the Forum,” Demyan growled. “Do I look like a provincial to you?”

The Scythian murmured to the litter-bearers and the litter swung around to the left, pushing through pedestrians. It headed up the sloped and terraced street.

“So, do you not think this is wonderful?” Demyan asked his companion, settling back on the cushions.

“It’s everything I thought it would be,” she breathed, looking out. “More or less. It’s a lot...dirtier than I thought it would be.”

“Here on the Aventine, it can be,” Demyan agreed. “Wait until we reach the Palatine. You are sure you will not see the Forum?” This omission from her itinerary had surprised him. Everyone wanted to see the Forum.

“I won’t,” she said with certainty. “I have been to Rome in our time and it was enough. I want to see how people live, not how they congregate.”

“You can see how they live right here.” Demyan pointed out the window.

“Not plebs. I want to see patricians.”

“So you said back at the agency.”

“You really know your way around the Palatine?” she pressed.

“I really know my way around,” Demyan assured her for what felt like the fortieth time. “We should be there in about twenty minutes.”

“That long?” Her brow puckered.

“Traffic,” Demyan explained, with a wave toward the street. “The Romans invented traffic jams the same time they invented civic government.”

His small joke usually laid them in the aisles, but Jane Alexander merely fell back on her cushions with a sigh.

His customer had puzzled him right from the start. Even her explanation for not wanting to see the Forum seemed...weak. She was nervous, energetic and distracted, even at the Agency. At first he’d put it down to the jump itself. All their customers were nervous about the jump and about dealing with vampires. The long list of do’s and don’ts and the training they sometimes had to take often pushed their stress levels higher.

Demyan usually managed to get them to relax once they’d arrived at their destination. It was what made him one of the more sought-after travellers. But Jane Alexander wasn’t relaxing. Not even the unique sights of a civilization that was the bedrock of modern human society seemed to move her.

She fidgeted with the beads and baubles on her belt, the straps on her sandals, back to her belt...

“Why the Palatine?” he said at last.

She looked at him sharply. “Why not?”

“The rich and famous locked away behind barricaded iron-clad doors and armed slaves? You will not see anything there except cobbled streets and house slaves.”

She worried at her bottom lip with small, even teeth. “I’ll take my chances.”

He tried a different tack. “You know, you paid much money for this tour. A once in a lifetime chance. Do you not want to make sure you see what you’ve paid to see? Tell me what you really want out of this trip and I will see that you get it.”

She considered him for a moment.

He smiled reassuringly at her. “You should trust me in this. I have heard it all. Once, I had a client that paid too much money just to sit in the Emperor of Russia’s bath and pleasure himself. There is nothing left in the world that could shock me.”

“That’s right, you’re the Russian one. The fierce, ancient Khazar.”

Before Demyan could respond to this surprising statement, she smiled at him, dimples appearing in her smooth cheeks. “My true wish is not nearly as exciting as your Emperor lover.”

“Tell me.”

“I want to meet Aurelia Cotta.” And she blushed.

For a minute, Demyan’s mind free-wheeled, as he tried to encompass this unexpected request. He tried to pull at the short hairs at his chin, until he remembered he had none right now and dropped his hand. “Aurelia Cotta?” he repeated, at last. He still could not place the name.

Jane’s face brightened and she sat up. “Yes! She was a great matron, one of the most famous and her beauty was renown. She was revered for her goodness and kindness and she wielded great influence during her lifetime. For a Roman woman, that wasn’t half-bad, you know.”

“That, I can appreciate,” Demyan acknowledged. “But, who is she? I can’t recall the name. Who are her parents?”

“Rutilia and Lucius Aurelius Cotta. Her father was consul in 119 B.C.”

“The Aurelii Cottae family, hmmm?” Demyan frowned, pulling it together. His knowledge of the patrician families of Rome around the time of Julius Caesar was detailed, but that was thirty years from now.

“Her mother Rutilia was a member of the Rutilius family. They were of consular rank.”

“You have done your homework,” Demyan told her. “You don’t happen to have their address, too?”

“I thought you might,” she said airily. “Or that you might know someone who could get us invited.”

“We can’t socialize with influential contemporaries. They warned you about this at the Agency.”

“I don’t want to be her best chum, Demyan. I just want to meet her. Smile at her. Then you can whisk me into the nearest deserted room and we can jump home.” She smiled winningly at him, her dimples deepening. “Please?” she asked sweetly. “It’s such a simple thing.”

Demyan took a breath, intending to explain why something this simple was incredibly challenging. But her big eyes were staring at him, her defences down. She had confessed her wants as he’d asked her to. Now he had to deliver.

If he could.

“There’s a senior slave I know, who isn’t above bribes. He belongs to the Clodius family. I’ll see what I can do.”

She threw herself forward, right into his arms and held him tight, while his human instincts switched to high-alert. “Thank you,” she whispered, her lips against his cheek. She smelled of lilac.

Chapter Five

Vienna, 2263 A.D.

“I feel ridiculous,” Brendan complained, tugging at the complicated double bowtie at his neck.

Cáel slapped his hand away. “You look just fine. Leave it alone.” He looked out the window of the coach. “Five minutes, maybe less, folks.” His gut tightened. “Are you ready for this?”

Nayara, sitting in the far corner of the coach, wrapped in ermine up to the neck and trailing velvet and sequins, looked serene and calm as usual. Her eyes were two crystal clear pools of green Cáel could easily drown in. He pulled his gaze away from her face. She looked glorious. If anyone was going to help make vampires palatable and sexy to humans, Nayara was the poster pin-up girl who would do it.
If
she could lose some of her indifferent air.

“Explain to me one last time how this is going to help vampires’ public image, Cáel?” Ryan asked.

He was sitting next to Nayara, wearing the latest in designer menswear and Cáel had to admit he looked damned good in it. He had the height and build to pull it off, along with the shoulders to fill the jacket very nicely.

Yeah, the pair of them would make a hell of an impression, as long as no one hit one of their sensitive buttons, or messed with them in any way.

Cáel sighed mentally.

Then there was Brenden.

“You’re here because you have to start looking more accessible. So you start blending in. Charity events. High publicity events where the media can showcase you. The more humans get to know and learn about you, the more comfortable they’ll get with you.”

“We have no intention of turning into second string humans, Cáel,” Nayara warned, her voice soft.

“Hell, who would want you to?” Cáel replied. “That’s not what this is about. For the last two hundred years, since you guys stepped out, you’ve stayed segregated. You’ve pretty much locked yourselves away on that station, or else you’ve stayed hidden, passing as human down here, because being yourselves down here was too much trouble. It’s time you took the trouble and
made
humans look at you. Look at you, accept you. Take you in and learn to live with you, warts and all.”

Ryan grimaced. “What if they don’t like what they learn? What if they don’t accept it?”

Cáel took a breath. “They have to, don’t they? You are what you are.”

Brenden was watching the rows of fans pass by the carriage as it rolled along the street toward the Vienna Opera House where the ball was being held. “Humans aren’t exactly pretty, either,” he observed. “Not when you get right down to some of their less endearing habits.”

Cáel gave another gusty sigh. “For god’s sake, don’t start talking about elimination and breeding in front of the cameras, Brenden. Let’s just stay positive for tonight.”

The carriage came to a halt. Already, blazing light from cameras and spotlights streamed in the tiny windows of the carriage.

“We’re on,” Cáel breathed. The tension in the carriage jumped higher.

The footman opened the carriage door and dropped the step down, then moved to one side, holding the door open. He was bewigged and wore stockings, as if he was from the 18th century, but his frockcoat was made to glitter in the lights.

Ryan stepped out first and helped Nayara out. Then Cáel and Brenden stepped out. The carriage lifted up on its springs as Brenden stepped onto the red carpet, which rolled up the short flight of steps to the graceful arches that fronted the opera house. The ball was an outdoor ball held in front of the opera house, in the public square where the fountain played. Security was paramount for the event, for world dignitaries were attending. The roads in a five block radius had been secured and even the fans lining the route to cheer the attendees had been vetted and screened.

It was this factor that made the charity event more suitable for Ryan and Nayara to attend. Cáel had been easier in his own mind when he had seen the long list of security precautions attached to the event.

But still he worried. Nayara and Ryan were trusting his advice in this matter. That was no small thing.

Ryan glanced around, taking in the camera crews, the fans, the guests making their way along the rope lines, talking to fans and camera crews and posing for pictures. “Right,” he murmured and reached for Nayara’s coat. “Time to show off, Nayara. Finally, I get to see what’s under this.”

He helped Nayara remove the faux-fur coat and handed the coat in Brenden’s direction, but the coat hung in mid-air, until Brenden had the presence of mind to take it from Ryan’s hand.

Ryan was staring at Nayara.

Cáel looked. And ran his eyes over her, from top to bottom a few more times, in slow, lingering appreciation.

His heart squeezed. His body tightened.

The dress was velvet. A deep green colour that matched her eyes and made them glow. It was strapless and clung to every inch of her until it reached her hips, where wisps of chiffon began to appear and the dress trailed behind her. And there were beads and sequins all over it, so that with every breath and move, she shimmered.

Cáel lacked the terminology to describe the dress more accurately, although he knew the female assistants in his office would demand details he wouldn’t be able to supply.

“Beautiful,” he croaked.

Nayara smiled. “Thank you.”

Brenden tossed the coat into the carriage. “We’re holding up the line,” he said.

Ryan took an audible breath. “Cáel, for the sake of symbolism, you should escort Nayara.”

Cáel nodded. He tried to school his face, to hide his eagerness. Then better sense reasserted itself. “Both of you,” he said. “Together. With me.”

Ryan’s brow lifted. “Alright,” he agreed. He smiled at Brenden. “You’re on your own, Brenden.”

“As it should be,” Brenden growled. “If I’m going to be a target, I’d rather be a lone target and not take anyone else down with me.” He squared his shoulders. “Let’s get this over with.”

Cáel patted the big man’s shoulder. “Security is the highest, Brenden. Relax.”

“After the last ten days of the nets called for my head on a plate? I don’t think so. But you’re the boss tonight, boss.” He nodded toward the opera house. “Let’s go.”

The carriage pulled away, leaving them alone at the end of the red carpet. Cáel lifted his arm, so that Nayara could slide her hand under it. Ryan stepped to her other side and did the same. She moved forward along the red carpet, the dress trailing out behind her. Cáel stayed abreast.

“I’ve spent generations keeping my face out of the news,” Nayara murmured. “This feels very unnatural.”

“You’ll get used to it. This is a whole new world,” Cáel assured her. “Look, there’s the first reporter now. Just smile and say hello. I can do the talking unless they ask you a direct question. Keep it sunny and superficial.”

“Hey, they’re the vampires!” someone in the crowd called out.

“We’ve been recognized,” Brenden muttered from behind them, sounding unhappy.

The rope line holding the fans back was only fifteen feet away from the red carpet and even Cáel could feel the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. But the fans had all passed security checks.

“Vampires!”

“Blood suckers!”

“Keep it cool,” Cáel murmured. “We were expecting this after Brenden’s clip.”

Ryan lurched forward. “Watch out!” he snapped. His hand shot forward and down, like a baseball player catching a ball. Something red crossed Cáel’s field of vision, too fast for him to see it properly.

Ryan caught it and lifted it up. He snarled toward the fans. His teeth had descended.

Brenden moved. Cáel
felt
it, because he moved so fast the air displacement left by his abrupt departure created a tiny whirlwind that plucked at Cáel’s jacket tails and hair.

Brenden reached over the rope line and closed his fingers around the throat of one of the fans.

Instantly, a dozen camera lights were turned on him.

Ryan was staring at the fan struggling in Brenden’s grip, while he held his hand up in the air. He squeezed and what looked like blood dripped from between his fingers. His incisors were still visible as he snarled at the fan in Brenden’s grip, fury etched on his face.

Screams went up from the crowd.

Cáel closed his eyes.

“It’s tomato juice,” Nayara said calmly. “They threw a tomato at me.”

“That’s not what it looks like on the cameras, though,” Cáel replied, feeling sick. “Let’s just get inside.”

* * * * *

“You were protecting Nayara,” Cáel said. “It’s your nature. I get it. It’s done now. Let’s just move on.” He was sitting on one of the uncomfortable wrought iron chairs at an angle, his arm propped on the back of it, while he rubbed at his forehead.

Nayara studied him. He wasn’t tired, because both she and Ryan had been monitoring his sleep patterns and knew he was getting at least adequate amounts of sleep now. So what did the stressed note in his voice mean?

Yes, this was bad. But there was something deeper working away at Cáel that she didn’t understand.

Ryan turned his chair around backwards and straddled it, resting his arms on the back and his chin on his arms. “Well, you said humans needed to get to know our real natures. They just got a great demonstration of our real natures, up close and personal.”

Cáel gave a half-laugh, then another, that turned into a low series of chuckles. He turned on his chair to face the table properly and sighed. “Let the chips fall where they may?” He reached for the champagne. “Pity you guys can’t enjoy this stuff. For champagne it’s not so bad.” He lifted his glass. “
Salute
!” He drank deeply, then pushed back his jacket sleeve to consult an old fashioned wrist watch. “There’s someone I want you to meet. They should be here any time soon. Where is Brenden, anyway?”

“Dancing,” Nayara said.

“He found someone who will dance with him?”

“Lots of someones,” Nayara replied. “He’s a novelty. He just donated a million dollars to the charity. Money buys all sorts of popularity.”

Cáel peered around the curtain drape that gave their table a little bit of privacy from the main dance floor. “I believe he’s getting the hang of this. Ah! There he is.” He stood up and waved. A man with actual reading glasses and street clothes weaved his way around the tables, heading toward them. He had blonde curly hair and sharp earnest brown eyes and he was carrying a satchel.

Cáel took him by the arm. “This is Lyle Bean. He’s a writer and researcher. He’s going to write your biographies.”

Nayara blinked. “What?”

“Are you fucking kidding, Cáel?” Ryan exploded, sitting up.

Cáel calmly pushed the nervous Lyle Bean onto a chair and sat back down himself. “You’ve declared yourselves public figures tonight. How long do you think it’s going to take before the muck-raking biographies hit the market? You have to get your own out there before they do. The real version. Not sanitized, not sweetness and light. It will be hard-hitting, no holds-barred truth. An honest and fair look at your lives. We want humans to know you and vampires. This is the perfect way for them to know all about you.”

Fear bloomed deep inside her. Nayara shook her head. “No, Cáel. I can’t. You don’t understand. We’re not talking about a simple eighty years, or even a second generation’s worth, like you. Do you know how many bad memories, sorrows, hurts...how many old friends we’ve had to bury and deal with over our lifetimes? You’re asking us to dig all that up.”

Ryan shot her a glance. She read gratitude in it.

Cáel glanced at Lyle. “Give us a minute.”

“Sure.” He clutched his satchel to his chest and hurried away.

Cáel turned back to face them both. His gaze was steady. Calm. “I know exactly what I’m asking for.”

“Do you?” Ryan insisted.

“You think I don’t know about Salathiel?”

Nayara flinched.

“About Eire, Ryan?”

Ryan drew back, his face shocked.

“About the fact that you’re really Basque, Nayara, although you let people think you’re from the Mesopotamian basin?”

Nayara couldn’t stop her gasp of shock. “No one knows that, except...” She glanced at Ryan and saw that he was staring at her. She shook her head. “I don’t tell people because...” She stopped. How could she even speak the words?

“Because then you would have to explain that you came to Constantinople as a slave, not a free woman,” Cáel finished softly. “And you bargained your way out of the slave pits using your body and sex. But by then, you were already a vampire.” He glanced at Ryan. “A slave’s life was a harsh one.”

Ryan exhaled heavily. His knuckles on the back of the iron chair were white.

Nayara gripped the rich cloth on the table. “But how do you know that?” she demanded of Cáel.

Cáel shrugged. “Lyle Bean. I said he was a researcher. He’s very good at his job.”

“He’s
already
done the research?” Ryan said.

Cáel nodded. “I just want him to put the...well, the human face on the facts and figures now. He has to tell the story that they make up.”