Deep Desire: The Deep Series, Book 1 (13 page)

Chapter Twelve

“You’re sure about this,” Boaz asked again as he took Adin’s things out of the trunk. He looked tired.

It had taken Adin most of the rest of the day to make arrangements, and then he’d taken the time to get in touch with Edward and Tuan to say good-bye. They’d suggested meeting for dinner, but he’d demurred, knowing there was no good way to explain his current physical state.

Exhausted and ready to admit defeat, he held his case close to his side as Boaz closed the trunk. They stood in the passenger drop-off zone.

“There’s nothing for me to do here. I’ve filed the insurance claim on
Notturno
, and the university president wants to see me in person.” He pursed his lips. “I imagine I’ll enjoy a brief period of self-pity, after which I’ll start teaching classes again. Who knows? Maybe the next time I find something interesting, only leprechauns will get pissed off. Surely I can take a leprechaun.”

“I see the self-pity has begun early,” Boaz remarked as he slapped a garment bag at Adin.

“Why are you so angry at me?” Adin picked up his things. “Everyone is telling me that at least two horsemen of the apocalypse are after that book, and I have no business anywhere near it. I’m taking their advice. I’m taking my fragile fucking
human
ass home where I can lick my wounds in private.”

“Mr. Fedeltà—”

“Mr. Fedeltà will be relieved.” His gaze met Boaz’s warm brown eyes. “Tell him I hope he
gets the manuscript. Tell him—” He shook his head. “Just tell him I
really
want him to get it back, okay?”

“Okay, Dr. Tredeger. I’ll tell him.” Adin left Boaz in the loading zone with the limo.

He checked his luggage and went through security. It was early for his flight, but he’d had to check out of the hotel room, so he’d brought his laptop and planned a large liquid meal before boarding. He gathered his belongings from the gray rubber tub, then walked the short distance to some chairs so he could put on his shoes. While he was rearranging his things and putting on his jacket, he firmly reminded himself that he loved his cottage on Bainbridge Island. He’d nearly convinced himself what pure pleasure it would be to return home again.

Adin found an airport bar where he ordered a nondescript whiskey; then he spread out and retrieved his laptop, setting it up to work. When his phone rang, he assumed it was probably his sister returning his call.

“Tredeger.”

“Caro.” Donte’s voice was grim. “I understand you’re leaving San Francisco?”

“Yes,” Adin replied. “I’m going home.”

“Was it true? What you told Boaz?”

“What?”

“That you hoped I would retrieve my journal.” Donte hesitated. “Did you mean that, più amato?”

“Yes.” Adin’s voice cracked. There was a silence on the other side while Donte digested this.

“I have it. I took it from the man who stole it from you. He will not be stealing from anyone again.”

Adin closed his eyes, trying not to think what that might mean. “I’m glad you have it.” He cleared his throat. “I guess the end justifies the means.”

“I’m not sorry for my actions. I had to render you unable to interfere.”

“You scared me.”

“You should
always
be scared.” Donte sounded angry. “I can’t comprehend why your ignorance persists despite what you know, despite what you’ve seen with your own eyes.”

“My ignorance.”

“There are more monsters in the world than you can imagine, and you must know there are those who would see you dead because of your connection with me. You can no longer claim ignorance. You must abandon its false security.”

“I don’t claim to
be
ignorant, Donte.” Adin rubbed at his temple with a finger while he tried to make sense of his feelings. “I have faith—which I am certain is misplaced—in my ability to continue my life even given this new knowledge. And I have faith, Donte, in you. Even after your many attempts to eradicate it.”

“
Adin,
” Donte growled in his ear through the phone. “What the
hell
do you use for brains?”

A plane took off beyond the glass windows. The noise sounded shocking and loud. “Sorry. I’m very happy for you. I hope you know—” Adin opened the images of the diary on his computer. “I hope you know that.”

“Perhaps I’ve been harsh—”

“Look. Spare me any further lectures, all right? Thank you for letting me know about the journal. I really am very glad you have it.”

“I see. You’re welcome. Take care of yourself, Adin.”

Adin sighed. “Don’t forget to use sunscreen.” He hung up, savoring the rich timbre of Donte’s laughter.

Adin ordered a double of whatever he was drinking.
Notturno
was out of reach, and with it, Donte. He knew he should feel, if not good, at least philosophical about his loss. No one would be happy at the university, but the manuscript was insured. He was going home. Soon the sucking blackness in his heart would be just a dim memory. He continued to read and drink.

Renata has somehow ferreted out our secret, my love, yet you are far away and I am here. I keep this journal where she cannot find it as she has destroyed the others. I don’t care what she thinks, and I’m certain she cares not at all what we do, as long as we are discreet. She has the children, both boys, and if she chooses she can take a legion of lovers and have more or none at all. It is not a hardship to be Renata. That she was angry surprised me more than I can tell you, though, because she has been willfully unkind since the day we married and I thought she liked me not at all. I should have thought she’d be pleased to be rid of my unwanted attentions and glad to have my protection. Who can tell with women?

Now I am free to spend all my time in dreams of you. I hear your wife has given you a son! My beloved, congratulations, I know how you will love him. My own sons are growing strong, the eldest once again is on a reign of terror with the animals, taking his passion out now by chasing after the horses. He will be a fine horseman, as he shows no fear whatsoever. It fills me with pride to ride with him before me and to teach him to sit a horse. Something you can look forward to teaching your Cristiano.

I look forward only to gazing on your beautiful face and giving you all the love I’ve held within me. As Renata refuses my company, I am entirely at your service and ready to fly at you like a harlot. When shall I see you? I have control over much, but you are the master of my heart.

My darling, I dream of you and pray this means you are well. I sent a letter to you last full moon, yet I wonder if it arrived. Renata plans something. I do not understand her. She has been secretive and spying, and has brought foreigners into our home that I cannot like. They feast all night and lie about stupid with wine in the daytime. They dance and drink and put on indescribably terrible plays. The last contained a veiled reference to us, my love, and it has made me cautious. I worry that she is unhinged. It is late summer, and I wish I could sit with you and savor the scents of the garden where I know you spend your time.

There has been so little time, has there not? It is not what I promised you at all. I hope that because you are an angel from heaven you will forgive me. The time of year makes me feel so empty without you. Far better when the land reflects my sorrow, as it does in the icy depths of winter when I do not expect to be happy. But in the late summer evenings, with the scent of the sweet blossoms in the air, I cannot tell you how completely dead I feel inside. My boys are the only joy of my life, and I love them fiercely. It is for this reason alone that I have not killed their mother. Are you shocked? You shouldn’t be.

You know that I am only a man, perhaps less than that if you look at me in the light. You are the angel, and I should never have aspired to bring you to the earth with me when I did, that first time. Once you lay with me, we were both damned. I’m sorry. I love you. Forgive me. I fear that you have been my very soul, without which, I am no more than an animal.

My beloved Auselmo, tonight I have the privilege once again of watching you as you sleep. Forgive me for coming to your home, but I could not bear for one more day to wait and watch and wonder how you fare, while Renata and her foul friends take over my home and strip it of every comfort I have left.

How beautiful you are! You are made even more magnificent when you hold your son. He is fine and strong, and I’m sure he’ll believe that you are the very god who holds the sun in the sky, as I do. I pray for him daily as I do my own sons, and hope his life is a charmed and happy one.

While you lie next to me in tangled linen, I plot how I will take you next, and what I will do, and I find I have only to run a finger down your cheek and you turn, ready for me. Tomorrow, I think I shall blindfold you and put a cloth about your ears so that you feel only what I give you to feel, and think only of me. Perhaps I shall bind your hands and touch you everywhere, so that you shiver with anticipation and anxiety and need. I am truly a monster, a devourer of innocence, and you, my love, my sustenance.

If you were not the very purest sweetness of my life, I could probably let you go, but all my life I will hold only you sacred, and be damned for it.

When the buzzing began, at first Adin didn’t know what to make of it. To him, it was an annoyance, like a gnat or a bee that continued to circle his head even though he had brushed it off. Adin blinked as the sound came nearer and looked around to see if anyone else was bothered by it. No one seemed to notice it. Then he realized the sound was inside him whispering the same Spanish words that had so caressed and then assaulted him before at the nightclub. Before he even knew what he was doing, he was shutting down his laptop and shoving it into his case. His keys fell to the floor and when he went to retrieve them he saw an exquisite pair of Italian leather loafers peeking out from under trousers tailored to a perfect break and creased to a knife-edge.

“Well, hello,” said a deeply masculine and richly cultured voice. “I must say I’m rather surprised.”

“I beg your pardon.” Adin rose to his full height.

“I thought you would be more—” The man frowned.

“More?” Adin’s eyebrows rose in question.

“Just more.” He smoothed his flawlessly white shirt collar and shot his cuffs. “I need to discuss the
Notturno
manuscript with you.”

“I’m sorry. I no longer have it.” Adin turned to leave, anxious to get away from this man, anxious to find his gate and maybe hide until he could board his plane and return home.

“Yes, I know.” He caught Adin by the elbow and propelled him out into the terminal.

Adin attempted to pull his arm away, but the man who held it in a viselike grip looked no more inconvenienced than if Adin had been a child. “Donte Fedeltà has it. Unfortunately that was the worst possible outcome, and I am now forced to make other plans.”

“I can’t see how that could possibly have anything to do with me, Mr….?”

“Santos.” He looked distracted. “I’m Cristobel Santos, and I’m afraid it has everything to do with you…”

“What?”

Santos smiled a convivial smile and leaned in as if to speak with him privately. The next thing Adin knew, Santos pulled him close and clamped down on his neck with razor-sharp teeth, sinking so deep he gasped. Adin struggled, but it was no use. Santos held him in an iron grip and fed from him. There was no pleasure with Santos. As Adin’s life drained out of him the effort to keep his eyes open became almost impossible.

Santos’s mouth glistened with drops of Adin’s blood. “Do as I say or die.”

Santos snapped his fingers and several men came up from behind him. They surrounded Adin. His knees buckled and he sank to the ground.

Santos raised his voice so everyone around them could hear. “I told you not to drink on the plane… The altitude makes the alcohol that much stronger.”

To the casual onlooker Santos and his friends appeared to be retrieving a drunken companion from the airport. Adin stumbled along, unable to lift his head or to utter a single word to help himself. Someone took hold of his case, which dropped from his numb fingers. They continued until Adin felt the crisp outdoor air, and then he was unceremoniously dumped into the backseat of an SUV. He let his head fall back against the cushions and held his tongue.

“That was good, Adin.” Santos took hold of Adin’s hair and yanked his head up. “Good boy. Now. Let’s see if you’re worth all this.”

To the driver he said, “Go.”

Chapter Thirteen

The car came to rest and Adin was dragged from the back where he’d been wedged between two large men. His head felt heavy and at the same time detached, as if it were floating like a balloon.

He could hardly keep it from flopping over onto one shoulder or the other. He was unbearably thirsty.

Two men had him by the arms. They pulled him none-too-gently up a long walkway to a massive neo-colonial home. One carried his case and others followed. He had no idea where he was, no clue how long they’d been on the road. He smelled the ocean but couldn’t see or hear it. It crossed his mind that he’d missed his plane, and he almost laughed at how insignificant that ought to seem to him.

Once inside, he was taken down a hallway and dropped into a chair in a room that looked like an office or a library. Someone went through his pockets and then his briefcase, tossing his papers and personal effects onto a large ebony desk and handing his laptop to the man named Santos. Santos toyed with Adin’s light-emitting safety device before shoving it into a drawer in his desk. He then casually yanked the flash drive from Adin’s laptop and tossed it to him. Adin made a grab for it and failed, then reached over to pick it up off the floor.

Adin almost succumbed to the dizziness he felt, but someone said, “Don’t quit your day job,” and it made him so angry he sat up.

The adrenaline of rage cleared his head.

“Is anyone going to tell me why I’m here?” Adin looked at each man in turn. They were similar in height and build and could have passed for brothers. They had dark hair and eyes and light skin. One was heavily pockmarked, but the others were smooth and pale. The suits they wore made them look like bad mob stereotypes or Vegas rat-pack wannabes. The room itself was large but closed in, walled on three sides with books, and it stank of cigars. Adin recognized one of the men as the businessman who had smiled up at his hotel window.

“You are here,” said Santos, “because for several hundred years I’ve been trying to track down and kill the man responsible for the death of my father. I thought the
Notturno
manuscript would at last bring him within striking distance.”

Santos picked up Adin’s laptop and smashed it on the side of the desk like a toy, breaking it open and shattering the screen. Keyboard letter tiles flew like confetti. Adin put his head in his hands. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Let’s say I like to break other people’s toys. Donte Fedeltà showed you a more-than-passing interest,” said Santos, sweeping debris off his desk with a casual hand. “And as I can no longer entice him with the journal, which I understand is now in his possession, I believe I have little choice but to change my strategy and offer him something else he values.”

“Me?” asked Adin incredulously. “I’m a McDonald’s hamburger to him. What’s to stop him from just going to the drive-through and ordering another?”

Santos motioned to the man standing to his right, who appeared to be his second in command. Some unspoken communication passed between them.

“Gio will show you to a room,” said Santos. “We will speak more of this later. May I say, though, for an intelligent man you show a remarkable inability to recommend yourself as a valuable hostage, and if you think about it, that shows a lack of insight.”

“Can’t argue with that.”

Gio pulled Adin to his feet. He stumbled, still weak and banged up from before, although he was trying to muster as much dignity as he could.

He was a hostage? They thought Donte would trade his journal for
him
?

Not a chance
.

Adin didn’t have a chance in hell.

They led him to a small room with a twin-size bed and bars on the windows. It was serviceable, as if for a maid, completely devoid of any personality. He went straight to the bed and lay down, giving his host a nod of his head.

“Food will be provided later.” Gio crossed his arms over his chest. “There’s no way to escape this room, so don’t waste your time.”

“Thank you.”

“You won’t be harmed tonight.”

Adin looked up then to see the man’s face. It was implacable, a blend of skin and oblivion.

“I see. But tomorrow?”

“You would have to ask Mr. Santos that,” said Gio. “But I wouldn’t, if I were you.”

He left the room.

“Hey!” Adin called after him. “Can I get some water?”

He didn’t know if Gio heard him. He lay on the tiny bed, thinking, mostly of Deana, who probably thought he was home on Bainbridge Island by now. It wasn’t fair. She’d had so much loss already and now she’d have to suffer another. No matter what kind of spin Santos put on it, Donte would never risk himself for a human. Now that he had the manuscript, there was nothing Santos could use to lure him into a confrontation.

Deciding to at least seem like a more valuable hostage—Adin decided to keep that information to himself. He already regretted the words he’d blurted out in Santos’s office.

He tried to find sleep but succeeded for only a few brief moments at a time, dreaming fitfully, waking sweaty from disturbing and erotic dreams.

The shame Adin felt was compounded by the fact that, even in his current situation, he found these dark, amoral predators compelling.

He awoke, hard and hungry, from a particularly vivid dream of the five men downstairs using him by turns and all at once. A young man—almost still a boy—stood over him, a pitcher of water and a tumbler in his hands.

“Oh shit.” Adin sat bolt upright. “You scared me.”

The boy looked down and laughed shyly. He placed the water on the nightstand. “You asked for water?”

Adin regarded him closely. “Thank you. What is your name?”

The boy seemed bashful. “Elian.”

Elian still wouldn’t look at him, and Adin realized it was because he’d thrown off the sheet and was visibly hard, even leaking, under his lightweight trousers. He sat up and rearranged himself as discreetly as he could.

“Sorry.” Adin sighed. “That wasn’t a conscious thing.”

“No, I know.” Elian finally met Adin’s gaze. Despite his youth he was tall and appeared very strong. “Boss doesn’t like us to—”

“Surely you’ve been around the block a few times, Elian. How old are you? How do you say it? Something like, ‘I’m having the four hundredth anniversary of my nineteenth birthday’?”

Thick lashes lifted to reveal eyes as dark as black coffee. “I’m nineteen. I’ve only been with Santos for two years.”

“Why would you even—”

“He said I was a blood relation and convinced my parents to let me go with him. He told them I would be educated.”

“And he made you like him?”

Elian nodded.

“Didn’t you want what happened?”

“No. I didn’t know about that. None of us did.”

Unreasoning anger built within Adin on the boy’s behalf. “But being the top of the food chain can’t suck, can it?” Adin tried the joke, but it fell flat.

“I didn’t want that. Wouldn’t have agreed if I’d been asked.”

This then, was the worst they could do. This violation of trust—the destruction of a young man’s humanity without his consent. Death would be easy compared to that.

“I’m so sorry.”

Elian shrugged. He didn’t leave.

“Is there something else?” Adin asked.

“What were you dreaming about?” the boy asked, his eyes going once again to Adin’s crotch.

Adin flushed. “Oh, well, dreams. You can hardly remember them, and once they’re over they don’t make sense, do they?”

“Boss doesn’t like it—men who like men.”

“Then why is he trying to get that manuscript? That makes no sense.”

“He wants it destroyed.”

Adin’s heart caught in his throat. “He can’t. It’s a work of art. It’s priceless…”

“He’s going to destroy it. Nothing you say can stop him, if that’s what he want to do.” Abruptly, Elian sat next to him on the bed. He placed a timid hand over Adin’s erection. “Oh. You’re… It’s like you’re on fire.”

Adin slapped his hand away. “Elian, I’m hardly in a position to—”

“What better position could you be in?” Elian asked. “You’re going to be dead tomorrow.”

Adin shoved him. “While that thought is truly a lot less than comforting, it doesn’t mean I’m giving up.”

Elian’s gaze met Adin’s. “You’re beautiful when you sleep.”

“Thank you,” said Adin sincerely. Elian caressed his collarbone, brushing a thumb over the ridge of bone.

“Stop it.” Adin caught Elian’s hand again. “You’re half my age and imminent death? Is not the biggest aphrodisiac for me.”

“Your body makes you a liar.” Elian’s dark gaze caressed him.

“That was a dream, Elian. Awake I would never—”

“Elian!” A shout came from below.

Elian gave a guilty start.

“Go on.” Adin smiled.

Elian got up and crossed quickly to the door. He turned back. There was fear and something else, something like longing, in his eyes.

Then he left, locking the door behind him.

Night was gradually falling. The shadows on the floor lengthened. Adin couldn’t smell anything cooking at all, even though it was dinnertime, and then he remembered that the men who held him wouldn’t be likely to need food, per se.

Finally, in a pique of self-pity the likes of which he was rarely guilty, he wondered what it was going to be like to be eaten,
drained
, by the vampires downstairs. He wondered if anyone besides Deana would notice he was even gone.

A key turned in the lock on his door, and Gio came inside. He motioned for Adin to get up and took his arm to lead him back to the office.

Santos held up Adin’s cell phone. “You are going to call Donte Fedeltà. He demands proof of life.”

“Am I?” asked Adin, and one of the guards, not Gio, backhanded him across the face, knocking him down. He picked himself up. “I don’t have his number.”

“As it happens, I do,” said Santos, handing him a piece of paper with a phone number written on it. “Please don’t waste any more time. I’ve sent Elian to get you something to eat, and I should think you’d want to get this over with so you can enjoy it.”

Santos smiled, and Adin felt a frisson of fear.

Reluctantly, he took the phone and walked to a chair situated by a small table and lamp, presumably for reading. If he dialed this number, he could speak to Donte. Longing filled him, so fierce it took his breath away. Yet there was no way Donte would trade the manuscript for him. Adin barely had the words to ask it of him.

Adin Tredeger, ordinary human, lover of art and old books and fine whisky, would die this night.

“Put it on speaker and place it on the table,” said Gio.

Adin did as he was told. The telephone rang, and Adin thought of a thousand ways that Donte might answer.

“Adin?” Donte’s velvet voice came from the tiny phone.

The last thing he expected was for Donte to say his name. All at once Adin was incapable of speech. He glanced toward Santos. Gave a shake of his head.

“Speak,” Santos ordered, but a burning pain blocked Adin’s throat to prevent him.

“Adin?” asked Donte again.

“Tredeger, speak,” Santos snapped. Gio caught Adin by the back of the head, twisting his hair. Adin shook his head again.

“Donte Fedeltà,” Santos began in a grim voice. “I have something that belongs to you.”

“I doubt that very much,” came the sardonic reply. Adin would have smiled at that, but Gio gave his hair a vicious yank, and pain drew him up short.

“Speak or die, Tredeger. This is your last chance,” growled Santos as Gio pulled Adin’s head back to expose his neck. Adin looked into Gio’s eyes and saw death waiting.

“Adin,” Donte urged. “Surely you can’t think I’d want to hear you die over the phone.”

Adin gave a strangled laugh. “No, Donte. I’m sure you wouldn’t want that.”

“What do you want, Santos?” asked Donte.

“I want you to bring me the manuscript, by midnight, so you may retrieve your…snack.” He rolled his eyes at Gio, who smirked.

“I see,” said Donte quietly.

Adin saw a tiny glimmer of hope and ruthlessly crushed it. “They don’t want the manuscript. Santos is after revenge.”

Gio hurled Adin to the ground.

“Is this true, Santos?” Donte sounded as if they were discussing the weather. “Are you still trying to make me pay for your father’s death?”

“I want the manuscript,” Santos said firmly.

“And what will you do should you suffer a disappointment?”

“I will console myself by breaking your pretty new toy in the slowest way possible.” Santos ground out. “By midnight, Fedeltà!”

Gio disconnected the call.

“What did you hope to gain by that?” Santos asked Adin.

“What do you hope to gain by destroying the manuscript? Revenge? He may have killed your father, but you of all people know vampires kill. You can’t blame a shark for being a shark.”

“While you might be the only human I’ve ever met who held this view, you are wrong. Donte did not kill my father. His wife, Renata, did. And because of Donte Fedeltà, my father died unshriven and lies nameless in unconsecrated ground. Things are more complex here, Tredeger, than you imagine them to be. I am truly sorry that you became involved.”

Adin had a wild thought. Cristobel.
Cristiano.
“You are Auselmo’s son? Cristiano?”

“I am. Although I go by Cristobel Santos now.” Santos’s eyes narrowed. “Therefore any impassioned plea you make on Fedeltà’s behalf will fall on the deafest of ears. Donte Fedeltà, the illustrious Niccolo Pietro di Sciarello, ruined my father as completely as if he had burned him alive. He has played hide-and-seek with me for nearly five centuries. You are one small piece of equipment in a game between giants. I’m sorry for you, but your life matters little to me.”

“Donte Fedeltà loved your father,” cried Adin, “and you.”

“Donte Fedeltà
made
me what I am,” spat Santos. “And by heaven he
will
pay for destroying my family with his vile perversions. And since he is the one who makes it possible for me to spend immortality in the quest for vengeance? As the fairy story is told, ‘All the better to
eat
you with, my dear.’” Santos grinned again, and Adin turned away.