Dark Symphony (4 page)

 "You never take your eyes off of her," Don Giovanni said approvingly. "That is good. I wanted a man like you for her. She's strongwilled, Byron." The red-rimmed eyes regarded him steadily. "You could hurt her."

 "Not me, Don Giovanni. Never me." Byron helped the old man to stand. "Lean against me, and we will make our way to the shower."

 "I'm too weak to stand by myself," Don Giovanni admitted, ashamed.

 "I will not drop you, old friend," Byron encouraged gently. He allowed the man to take staggering steps to cross the room to his private bath rather than arbitrarily lifting him. Instinctively he knew Don Giovanni's pride would insist on that small independence, even if his body were too weak to walk without assistance. "It has been quite a night. You are aware, of course, that both your life and that of your granddaughter are in danger. She needs protection, as will you."

 Don Giovanni sighed as he reached with gnarled fingers for the glass door to his shower. "She's a stubborn one. I've relied too heavily on her, and she feels responsible for all of us now. She won't want to hire a bodyguard."

 "I know." Byron helped the old man shed the last of his clothing and adjusted the temperature of the spray. "But it will be necessary. I cannot be here during most of the day. Why would someone want you both dead?"

 Don Giovanni turned his face up to the spray while jets of water helped to heat the rest of his body. Byron was very matter-of-fact about standing with him in the shower, allowing the old man to hang on to him while the water poured over them. He waited until the don had stopped shivering so violently before he turned off the hot jets of water and enfolded the elderly man gently in a towel.

 Carpathians regulated their own body temperatures, and it took a heartbeat to dress in dry domes. The don hardly noticed as Byron helped him to put on his pajamas and crawl into bed. "Go to her, Byron. See that she comes to no harm."

 "I will," Byron assured. "Sleep now, and do not worry." He used his hypnotic voice to persuade the don.

 "What of the others? My other grandchildren? You were going to check on them for me. And my great-grandchildren?" Don Giovanni slurred his words.

 "Sleep now." Byron gave him another gentle push with his mind. He drew the covers up to the older man's chest

 Because the elder Scarletti was restless even in his sleep, Byron chanted the ancient healing ritual aloud as he worked on ensuring all traces of poison were driven from Don Giovanni's body. It took longer than Byron thought it would, mostly because he worked on strengthening internal organs. "You cannot die for many years, old friend," he murmured as he rose. He looked around carefully, allowing his senses to flare out and reach the corners of the suite of rooms. "I have only recently met you, Don Giovanni, but you are important to me and to your granddaughter. I have great respect for a man such as you." He leaned very close, put his lips close to the don's ear. "You will live and be strong."

 Someone had been in Don Giovanni's room recently. Someone who may or may not be of Scarletti blood. The scent permeated the room. Byron took his time, thoroughly canvassing the room for anything that could be lethal to Don Giovanni. He detected no living thing, not even a poisonous spider. The intruder had dragged the don from his bed. It would have taken only moments to overpower the old man. The intruder must have returned to the room after he had flung Don Giovanni from the cliff. And he was either a family member or servant, sleeping in the palazzo, although the scent wasn't familiar, or the intruder had left immediately after returning to the room, which didn't make sense.

 Byron shifted shape, taking the form of a large wolf with dark reddish-brown fur. He lifted his muzzle to scent the room again. At once his lips drew back in a snarl. The odor was subtle but there. Wild. Feline. A predator. That explained the quick escape. Was a vampire involved in some act against the Scarletti family? A vampire would have taken the old man's blood, not simply thrown him into the sea. Vampires were wholly evil, wanting those around them to suffer endlessly.

 The wolf began to search throughout the palazzo. How had the intruder come into the house without triggering the elaborate alarm system? Byron simply became mist in the way of his people and streamed through a partially closed window in one of the many unused rooms. Any vampire could do the same. The wolf trotted up the curving staircase on the east side of the palazzo where Antoinette's cousins made their home.

 Antonietta shoved open the door to her rooms with the flat of her hand. She had moved much too quickly and was grateful the children hadn't left their toys out where she could trip over them. Ordinarily, they were very good about such dungs, but little Vincente sometimes forgot. More than once Antonietta had suffered a minor bruise and damaged pride stumbling over one of his trucks. Once, she would have tumbled down the stairs if Justine hadn't been with her to catch her. Vincente denied he was playing with his toys on the forbidden stairway, but his father. Franco, had punished him all the same. Marita, Vincente's mother, wrung her hands together and wept aloud for the terrible treatment of her son, but for once, Franco prevailed, furious that Antonietta had nearly tumbled down the marble stairs.

 Thoughtfully, Antonietta closed the heavy door to her suite and leaned against it as it occurred to her that Vincente might have been telling the truth. Someone else could easily have put his toys at the top of the stairs in the hopes of causing an accident Dam you! You have me thinking conspiracy.

 There was a small silence. Byron was shocked that she had used the intimate form of communication between life mates so easily. She was a strong telepath—and more. She often called him to her with her music, yet she seemed unaware of it. You are finally coming to terms with what is happening around you. Deliberately closing your eyes to a possible threat is not wise.

 Antonietta began to slowly slip the small pearl buttons from the fastenings on her blouse. Her fingers were shaking with cold and maybe fear, so it was difficult to manage.

 I could come and help you.

 Antonietta gasped, looked around her room as if she might glimpse him there in her world of darkness.

 His laughter was soft. Flirtatious. The night belongs to me. I come out of the shadows. I can be anywhere. Even there in the room with you right now, helping you to undress. There was a drawling caress in his tone that sent liquid fire racing through her body and pooling low into an aching need.

 I always know when you're in the room with me, and you're not at this moment. Antonietta realized she was beginning to stop trembling, and she was smiling in spite of the events of the evening and the serious situation. Byron was deliberately wanning her, making her relax. I don't think helping me undress is a particularly good idea. What are you doing?

 The idea of helping you undress takes my breath away.

 There was a short silence. Antonietta draped her blouse over the back of a chair. Her fingers trailed over the silk, wishing she were touching Byron's chest. The idea of him helping her undress robbed her of breath, too. Of speech. She couldn't mink straight. Dragging the tie from her hair, she began to pull out the weave as she crossed to her bathroom.

 I am searching the palazzo to see what the intruders were up to and examining your cousins to make certain they wire not fed poison or drugged. A much more interesting question is, what are you doing?

 I'm taking the braid out of my hair.

 Byron closed his eyes and inhaled sharply as if he could drag her scent deep inside his body. There is something very erotic about a woman letting down her hair. Have you removed your slacks?

 My blouse. She admitted it without hesitation. It was part of her dreamworld. He was far away and it was a harmless game. And it distracted her from thinking about the terrors of being nearly killed. Of someone hating her enough to want to kill her. Antonietta's fingertips moved across the swell of her breasts. She ached for his touch. She had never wanted a man more. It doesn't make sense.

 It makes perfect sense.

 She had never talked with any man this way, not even a lover. She had never blushed or stammered or deliberately tempted a man. Byron never once had given her an indication that he was interested in her as other than a friend. She might even be making a fool of herself, but it didn't matter. He was an obsession.

 As she made her way across the tiled bathroom floor, colored images leapt in front of her eyes without any warning. Shades of vivid red and yellow. She cried out, closing her eyes instinctively. The colors were so intense they hurt her, made her feel ill.

 What is it?

 She was disoriented, frozen to the spot, unable to tell exactly where she was in her own bathroom. I see something. Colors. Red and yellow. Like heat images.

 Take a deep breath, your heart is beating too fast. It is nothing. Let the images go. You may have been seeing what I was seeing. Our connection is strong. Byron bit back the ominous growl in this throat, hackles rising. He shifted shape back to his human form and bent over her sleeping cousin.

 Cautiously, Antonietta opened her eyes and saw the comforting darkness. That made me sick to my stomach. How strange. Rather than use the centuries-old bathing pools, now modernized, Antonietta filled her private bathtub and tossed in scented salts. She wanted to feel beautiful tonight She needed to feel beautiful.

 Where are you? She didn't want to be alone. In spite of her bravado, she was frightened by the events of the evening and wanted the comfort of Byron's powerful presence. She peeled off her damp slacks and laid them carefully on the vanity. The simple act of removing her lacy bra and panties made her feel sexy. A tempting siren.

 She stepped into the bath, sank into the blessedly hot water, and allowed her head to fall back against the side of the tub.

 I am standing over your cousin Paul. He is sleeping deeply, and I do not think it is a normal sleep. I must spend a few minutes examining him. Are the windows in your rooms closed and secured?

 Her breasts floated on the scented water as she relaxed. I didn't think to check. I will before I go to bed.

 Have you smelted a strange odor? A wild cat. Large breed.

 Antonietta sat up straight, the water beading, rushing down her skin. Why would you think that? What made you ask me that?

 Byron was silent, analyzing her voice. There was fear in her tone. Fear in her mind, but her barriers were intact and strong. For a moment he considered pushing through to get the information he needed, but she was his hie mate, and he had learned, all too well, the danger of trying to force and manipulate. Patience, he reminded himself. Above all, a Carpathian nude could endure.

 Antonietta could not escape him, now that he found her. He had not counted on danger in her own home.

 Byron? Why would you think I would smell a wild cat?

 She sounded very anxious. For the first time he wished he could see images around her through her eyes. He felt textures through her, but there were no images to aid him. He had to use feelings. Emotions were still somewhat alien and overpowering. It made him dangerous and near the edge of control.

 I smell a cat here, in this room. And also I smelted the same creature in your grandfather's room. He answered truthfully because she was his life mate, but his instincts told him she knew something he did not.

 Are you with Paul or Franco?

 Paul.

 There was another long silence. He tuned his acute hearing to finding her room. Bathwater splashed as if she were agitated. He closed his eyes with a small groan, picturing her lush body naked and floating in the scented water. Her silky hair would be surrounding her, an allure he would never be able to resist.

 His entire body tightened, hardened to a painful ache. Antonietta. How much he wanted her. How difficult it was to wait. He savored every moment with her. And his creativity, so long gone, was returning, thanks to her.

 Is it Paul? Does he have the scent of a cat? There was reluctance to her voice, as if she might be betraying someone… or something she held dear. And there was an underlying note of fear. She tried to hide it, but it was there.

 Byron leaned over Paul, examining every inch of him, paying attention to his fingernails, his arms, looking for scratches, for any telltale sign that would indicate he had been a party to the attack on Don Giovanni and his grand-daughter. There was one long scratch along the inside of his left forearm. It looked raw and angry.

 Byron! Please, does he have the scent of the cat?

 The Scarletti palazzo and the family dwelling there had nearly as many secrets as his own people. Byron inhaled deeply. The scent of the cat permeated the room. It was difficult to tell if Paul had the scent or not. I have no idea. It reeks in here of the scent. If it is not Paul, the cat has been here. Do you keep large cats or know someone who does?

 A slight noise downstairs distracted him immediately. Byron's head snapped up, and his black eyes flashed with instant menace. Someone was making their way up the long, curving staircase. Soft, stealthy footfalls. Furtive. The whisper of material against the thick banister sounded overly loud to Byron. A small, wolfish smile softened the hard edge to his mouth. Not bothering to scan, he simply waited in the darkness for his prey to come to him.

 Of course not.

 The footsteps were at the top of the first landing. Whoever it was hesitated, then turned toward Paul's suite of rooms. Byron shrank back into the shadows. His lengthened incisors were exposed, and when the door opened just a crack, the dim light from the hall turned his eyes a fiery bloodred.

 He knew her instantly. Antonietta's trusted assistant, Justine Travis, stepped cautiously inside the room, closing the door behind her. She took several steps into the middle of the room but stopped, not attempting to cross to the bed.

 "Paul?"

 Silence greeted her. The man in the bed didn't stir. Byron was certain he had been drugged, but it was necessary to check him. Either way, it didn't make him innocent. A smart man might try to commit murder and drug himself to make it appear as if he were in danger, too.