The Elemental Mysteries: Complete Series (42 page)

Beatrice didn’t know where Giovanni was, or how he was going to get them out of their current predicament, but she certainly wasn’t going to give Lorenzo any clues, so she said nothing, curling her lip as tears fell down her face.
 

“Oh,” Lorenzo said with a condescending smile.
 
“Look how clever she is.
 
No useless whining or begging for her.
 
I like her; she reminds me so much of Stephen.
 
He never cried or begged, no matter what I did to him.”
 

He cocked his blond head, examining her before he smiled again.
 
“So admirable.
 
He was one still acquainted with honor.
 
And that, my dear, is why you’re such a wonderful prize!”
 

Gavin rolled his eyes.
 
“Really, Lorenzo, it’s not as if—”

“Oh!
 
I hear Giovanni,” Lorenzo broke in with an almost childish giggle.
 
“He’s almost to the gate.
 
Listen, B—that’s what your friends call you, correct?
 
You and I get to solve a mystery tonight.”
 

He scooted over next to Beatrice and put an arm around her, drawing her close to his side and stroking her long hair.
 

She noticed he made no effort to heat his skin as Giovanni and Carwyn did, and his clammy fingers made her skin crawl.
 
She heard the soft growl of the car engine as it came up the drive, and she tried to dry the tears on her cheeks.
 
She sniffed as Lorenzo watched her.
 

“Look at her.
 
She’s trying to be brave.
 
Do you think she loves him, Gavin?” Lorenzo said.
 
“It’s so precious.”
 

Gavin let his head fall back into the chair.
 
“Shut up, you little prick.
 
Why do I have to be here?”

“Witnesses, my dear man.”
 
Suddenly Lorenzo’s tone took on a more serious bent.
 
“I’m making a deal with my father, and I need an impartial observer.
 
Everyone knows your reputation, Wallace.
 
That’s why you’re here.”
 

“Fine,” the Scotsman huffed.
 
“But I’m pouring myself another drink.”

The room was quiet, except for the clink of Gavin’s glass, and Beatrice could hear Giovanni’s steps cross the courtyard.
 
He paused before the door opened, and she wondered what he was planning as he looked at the bodies of the men he had hired to keep her safe.
 

Lorenzo gave her another giddy smile, and she was reminded of a Botticelli angel again.
 
She looked away from him and glanced toward the dining room where she and Giovanni had eaten her cake the night before.
 

Instead of the usual candles that decorated the table, she saw stacks and stacks of books, bound in an assortment of dark leathers, spilling onto the chairs, even some that lay on the ground.
 
They were assorted sizes and appeared to be different ages.
 
There were scrolls and stacks of loose vellum, along with a series of large, identical books with a small stack of parchment on top of them.
 

“
The books,
” she whispered.
 

Lorenzo followed her eyes.
 
“Oh, you’ve spotted my surprise!
 
I thought you’d appreciate them.
 
I brought all of Papà’s precious books.
 
Now we will see why he was so excited at the library, won’t we?”

Beatrice looked at the vampire, confusion evident in her face, but he only smiled at her, his eyes burning with delight.
 

She turned when she heard the door from the kitchen open.
 
Giovanni walked in, and she could see the flush on his cheeks indicating he had fed.
 
His eyes swept the two strange vampires in his living room, and he examined the stack of books on the dining room table with only a curious eyebrow before he turned to Gavin and Lorenzo lounging in front of the fire.
 

He curled his lip at his son then looked at Gavin, before finally, he let his eyes wander to her.
 
He wore the same blank expression he’d often worn when they first started working together.
 
She bit her lip, hoping to quell the tears that threatened to surface.
 

Giovanni walked to the sideboard and poured himself a glass of scotch before he sat down in his armchair.
 
Gavin sat across from him, looking bored, but nodding politely toward his host.
 
Lorenzo sat on the couch, almost bouncing in excitement, and Beatrice sat frozen next to him, willing Giovanni to give her some sign they would be okay.
 

“Why were you sitting in my chair, Lorenzo?” he finally spoke.
 
“You know I hate that.”
 

Lorenzo let out a shrill laugh.
 
“I know, but I had to try it.
 
Your scent and the girl’s were all over it.”
 
He winked at Beatrice.
 
“Naughty human.”
 

“What do you want?
 
I’m tired.”
 

Lorenzo looked at the clock over the mantel.
 
“It’s barely nine-thirty!”

“Let me clarify.
 
I’m tired of your company.”
 

“Fine,” Lorenzo said.
 
“But you take all the fun out of everything.”
 

“What do you—”

“I do wonder,” Lorenzo interrupted, and took a moment to brush the hair away from Beatrice’s neck, keeping his eyes on Giovanni as he leaned closer.
 
“Where do you bite her?
 
I’ve been looking and I can’t see a mark on her.”
 

“None of your business.”
 

He paused to inhale at her throat and his soft blond curls brushed her chin, making her shudder and tense.
 

“Because you do bite her, don’t you?
 
I mean, why else would her scent be all over your house?” Lorenzo ducked his head back to her neck and took another predatory breath.
 
“And I do mean all over,” he said in a hoarse growl.
 

Gavin interrupted.
 
“Lorenzo, I have things to do.
 
Get on with it.”
 

Beatrice was still blinking back tears, staring at the motionless Giovanni, who gave her no sign or acknowledgement.
 
She bit her lip to hold in the cry that wanted to escape when she felt Lorenzo’s hands.
 
The cold that had started in her stomach when she saw the murdered guards had spread to her chest, and a chill crept across her skin everywhere he touched.
 

“I’m just wondering where you bite her.
 
But maybe that’s not your favorite place?”
 
He smirked and stared into Giovanni’s impassive gaze.
 
“How about her wrists?”
 

Lorenzo made a show of checking both wrists.
 
“Nope, nothing there…and nothing on her neck that I can see.”
 
A cold finger ran up her neck, starting at her collarbone and reaching her jaw.
 
She jumped and a small whimper left her throat.
 

“And what a lovely neck she has,” he whispered.
 
Beatrice could no longer hold back, and tears began to trace down her cheeks.

“You curly haired git,” Gavin groaned.
 
“Hands off the blood until you make the deal.
 
She’s not yours, so stop acting like an ass and get on with it. Or I’m leaving and I’ll let him burn you to a crisp if he wants.”
 

But Lorenzo didn’t stop, and nausea roiled in her stomach as his cold hand approached her thighs.

“No…”
 
She gritted her teeth and tried to squirm away, but he held an arm around her shoulders.
 
“Don’t touch me!”

She kept looking between Lorenzo and Giovanni, expecting him to stop his son—to at least object—but he continued to stare at the vampire next to her with a completely impassive expression.
 

The tears fell faster when she realized Giovanni wasn’t going to stop him.

“Maybe you like biting her down
here
,” Lorenzo giggled, trailing a finger along her knee.
 
“Shall we take off her skirt and find—”

“He doesn’t!” Beatrice finally shrieked, pushing him away, unable to take the thought of the vampire’s cold hands touching the skin of her thighs.
 

“He’s never bitten me!
 
There are no marks,” she cried as she squirmed out of his grasp and scrambled to the other side of the couch.
 
“Leave me alone!
 
Don’t touch me.
 
Please, don’t touch me again.”

No one answered her.
 
She began to cry angry tears; she felt like an object in the room.
 
“Why aren’t you making him stop?”
 
She sniffed again and pulled her legs into her body, trying to make herself as small and casting her eyes around the room, looking for escape.

“For fuck’s sake,” she heard Gavin mutter.
 

Lorenzo scooted away from her, seemingly uninterested in her further discomfort.
 
“So, not your property after all, is she, Giovanni?”

Giovanni sat, coldly sipping his scotch in the armchair.
 
He glanced at Gavin.

“Why are
you
here, Wallace?”

“Shite, I’m here to witness a
supposed
business transaction that your little boy here doesn’t seem to want to complete.
 
Stop the gabbing, Lorenzo, and just do it.”

“Fine!” Lorenzo sat back and crossed his legs.
 
“You two are so boring.
 
I’m going to allow that she’s yours,” she saw Gavin open his mouth to speak, but Lorenzo continued, “even though we all know I could press the point if I wanted to.
 
Still, possession is nine-tenths of the law, or something like that.”
 
He shrugged.
 
“Anyway, Papà, I do have a proposition for you.”
 

He waved his hand toward the dining room table.
 
“Over on the table, I have your books, the entire Pico collection.
 
Manuscripts, letters, scrolls, blah, blah, blah.
 
What I’m proposing—since possession is nine-tenths of the law—is that
you
give me the girl, who I have use for, in exchange for your books, which I don’t.”

Her stomach dropped.
 
He wouldn’t…

“The entire Pico collection is there?” Giovanni asked.
 
Dread twisted in her stomach when she saw the interest light up his eyes.
 
He glanced over toward the table and then let his eyes flicker to her.

“No,” she whispered, but no one seemed to listen.

“Yes, yes.” Lorenzo rolled his eyes. “All of it.”

“And Andros’s books?”

He snorted.
 
“How valuable do you think she is?”

A sense of panic began to crawl over her skin the longer Giovanni looked at the books on the table.

“No,” she said a bit louder.
 
Still, no one even glanced at her.

“I’ve grown tired of lugging them around, so I thought I’d just throw them in this lovely fire if you don’t want them.
 
After all,” Lorenzo leaned forward, “they are
mine
.
 
Like the girl is yours.
 
I can do with them what I want.”

“What?” Beatrice looked around the room.
 
“I don’t
belong
—”

“Giovanni?” Gavin cut her off with a glare.
 
“What do you think?
 
He’s offered a fair trade, property for property, do you want the books or the girl?
 
It’s up to you,” Gavin said, as he played with a thread on his cuff.
 

“Gio,” Beatrice started in horror.
 
“No!
 
You can’t—”

“No trade,” Giovanni murmured, finally looking at her.

Beatrice relaxed into the couch, leaning her forehead on her knees as she took a deep breath; her heart rate, which had been pounding erratically, started to calm.
 

“Unless you have Giuliana’s sonnets.”
 

Her head shot up.

She stared at him in horror.
 
“What?”

He was looking at Lorenzo.
 
She shook her head in disbelief.
 

“No,” she said again, even louder.

Lorenzo reached over, drawing a thin book, bound in red leather, from the side table.
 
It was small, no bigger than the size of a composition book, and the binding was intricately tooled; she could see the finely preserved gold script on the cover.