The Immortal Greek (13 page)

The man wore the same ring Tommaso had worn all his immortal life. “Paolo De Renzi.” Ravenna had met the man only once at an immortal party and only for a moment, then forgot all about him. Although Paolo had been turned around the medieval times, he was a friend of Tommaso. They belonged to the same immortal faction and had dabbled in Council politics until Tommaso’s death. She had known it would have meant a great deal to her brother if she had joined them, yet she had always refused to be part of their group since Malina was one of the affiliates. Tommaso had even commissioned a similar ring for Ravenna; it had her initial over two swords and the symbol of infinity. Exactly like the ring she was staring at.

For a while—during the eighteen hundreds—Paolo De Renzi had been Malina’s companion. Ravenna saw the pain etched in her ex-friend’s eyes and something moved inside of her despite all her anger and resentment toward the woman. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

Malina raised her chin to look at her and nodded. “That man over there”—she pointed at a caretaker who was talking to a policeman just outside of the yellow tape—“found him while he was cleaning this area.” She looked behind her at the open door of the three-story building at their back, then up at its roof. “Paolo walked the four flights of stairs, reached the roof landing, then leaped out of it to crash here. I checked, nobody moved him, and from the way he landed, I know he wasn’t pushed. He killed himself.” Malina raised her right hand to her face, and caressed it, pressing her palm over her eyes, then shrugged.

****

Alexander carefully followed the BMW as it left the Raccordo Anulare and entered Prati neighborhood. Once inside Rome, the car slowed down and merged with the Saturday night traffic. Among so many cars crowding the streets, Alexander had to redouble his efforts not to lose them. Once or twice he wondered if they had spotted him, but their pace didn’t show they had. The BMW soon entered Trastevere and turned toward the Ghetto.

A neighborhood block party was in full swing in the streets, and it was impossible to drive without stopping at every crossway for the sea of people strolling around. After unfruitfully waiting for more than ten minutes for the road to clear ahead of him, Alexander had to call off his chase and turned around.

A call chimed in as he was heading toward the Aurelia Road once again.

“Why aren’t you here?” Ravenna sounded pissed off.

“I knew you would miss me.” He heard a short intake of breath from the other side and imagined she was counting before answering back to him. He smiled. “Followed your tail for a while, but lost them. I’m coming.”

“Don’t bother. The coroner arrived and the corpse has been removed. There’s nothing else to do here.” The roar of the Audi’s engine came to life. “I’m going home. Good night.”

“Good night. See you tomorrow.” Disappointment hit him, but he took a right at the first intersection and turned around. Usually, driving was his cure-it-all approach to any of his moods. If he was happy, he would take one of his sports cars out for a fast ride through the countryside. Sometimes, he drove all the way to Amalfi, just to race up and down the Coast with his Lamborghini. If he was upset, he would reach for one of his Bugattis and drive up north to France or Germany. When he was mad, he would drive his Lotus to one of the many illegal nocturnal races that took place all over Rome, and test his reflexes until his whole body tired from the exertion of keeping his mind focused.

He hadn’t encountered a single emotion driving wouldn’t make better. Until that very moment, when he only wished to be home already. Once he left the Volvo in the garage, he strode to the cellar without entering his house, determined to relax despite himself and, if necessary, even sleep in the tuff brick chamber. He selected one of the vintage bottles he normally kept for Ophelia and briefly wondered if he should call her. A glance at his Rolex told him she wouldn’t be happy to receive his call at two o’clock in the morning. She was either sleeping alone or with company. Marcus would be wide awake, but equally unavailable, probably remodeling his house or busy in other mundane activities only couples would enjoy together. He opened the bottle and poured a discreet amount of it in a big tumbler better suited for whiskey. He let the deep red wine whirl around the glass, then heavily sat at the bar and tasted a few sips. The vintage was excellent, its bouquet the perfect combination of sweet and tangy. He could smell the orange blossom and the hint of sage. Another sip, then he let the tumbler down, unable to take any joy from degusting a wine made only in a limited amount, of which he had almost the entire production for the year two thousand and twelve.

“Sir?”

Alexander raised his head from the bar. He hadn’t heard his majordomo knock. “Pietro, I told you hundreds of times already. You don’t have to wait for me—”

Pietro pushed the door open and entered the cellar, a smile tugging the corner of his lips. “You have a guest waiting for you upstairs in the Japanese studio.”

“A guest?” Alexander’s head swam although he hadn’t even started drinking. He ran outside, and in passing Pietro, he remembered to thank him and send him to sleep. He flew up the stairs, his heart beating so fast, he could hear it in his throat. The moment he saw Ravenna standing at the door of the studio as if considering to leave, his senses overloaded.

“Alexander—” Her eyes were wide and she was panting. She was soaking wet. Outside, the downpour he had predicted was bathing Rome with buckets of water. Her black shirt was stuck to her skin and rose and fell as her chest heaved.

He closed the door behind him and strode toward her as she instinctively backed away and hit the desk. After having thought at length of all the things he would say to her, her sight was enough to make him forget all of it. His body demanding fulfillment, one look at her so vulnerable and frail, and he remembered why he hadn’t made her his earlier. Ravenna deserved slow and tender. He already knew this first time wouldn’t be that slow or that tender—and not even on a bed, but he would try, even if it killed him not to pin her beneath him and lose himself in her that same moment.

Containing his hunger with a force of will he didn’t know he possessed—he had never in his long life curbed his enthusiasm and always took what he wanted from a woman—he took Ravenna in his arms and leaned over her to take possession of her lips. She was soft under him and he explored her mouth, breathing through her, savoring her taste, trembling as she trembled. Her hands had circled his neck while he freed her shirt from the constraint of her unyielding pencil skirt, water running down in rivulets from between his shaking fingers. He reached under the shirt and traced the contour of her body, skimming the side of the thin lace bra he wanted to rip off. His want was so strong he couldn’t breathe anymore. She shivered and he lowered his mouth to her throat, then opened the first three buttons of her blouse and brushed the swell of her breasts. Again, he steadied his hands from tearing her clothes to pieces, his heart galloping fast. She pulled him closer, her movements frantic as she passed her hands all over his back, bunching his shirt.

At Ravenna’s moan, he yanked the hem of her skirt up over her thighs and pushed himself between her knees. Her eyes shot open and he saw his own raw desire reflected in them. He reached under her skirt with both hands and grabbed at either side of her panties to lower them past her knees, her calves, her ankles, as he left a trail of kisses on her shivering skin. When he stood, she sought his mouth for a searing kiss. Then she was tearing at his shirt, pushing down his jeans, pulling him toward her as she reclined on the desk. He hastily wiped the desk clear of the stationary set, the pens, the desk clock, whatever was behind her. Objects crashed loudly on the marble floor as he lowered himself into her. They gasped at the same moment. Their bodies reacted and sent them into a frenzied dance. He stroked her and she silently urged him to quicken his pace, their mouths hungrily devouring each other. She scratched his back with her long fingernails and buried her face against the crook of his shoulder, where she kissed and bit him, intensifying his pleasure tenfold. Discovering she could be as passionate and carnal as he sent him over the edge. He forgot about tender and slow, and let his body ride the wave of sensations that blinded him as she repeatedly screamed his name. One moment after her, he too reached a climax so intense his heart stopped beating for a count.

Afterward, they looked at the destruction they had created in the room and laughed. Then they kissed and caressed each other for a while, and soon they were ready to make love again. Despite Ravenna’s bites, Alexander managed to slow his movements enough to be able to whisper her name in between kisses. He felt her pleasure building and fueled his until they both screamed one another’s names. This second time, it took them several minutes to recover.

“I think I should go.” Ravenna had tried her best to compose herself, but both her shirt and her skirt were wrinkled beyond repair. Her hair was all tousled and her mouth was red and swollen.

“Stay.” He had removed his shirt altogether—she had torn it beyond repair—and raised his jeans up to his waist, but hadn’t bothered buttoning them. Then he had lowered himself on the leather chair, unable to stand. He reached out toward her and she accepted his invite and sat on his lap. His heart swelled with a sense of deep satisfaction at the rightness of the moment, and he kissed her softly, thoroughly and unhurriedly, until they relaxed in each other arms.

Later, he pulled her up with him, took her hand, and led her upstairs to his apartments. Taking a woman had never felt earth-shattering before. He always took care of his lovers, and took pleasure in return, but he had never felt his consciousness melt with the one person he was making love to. It seemed right that she was the first one to sleep in his bed.

At her puzzled look when he showed her the door opening into his private wing, he smiled. “I’ll explain later.” He erased her frown with an intimate caress that made her melt in his arms and had him hurrying upstairs, but it was to no avail. He pinned her against the wall before he reached his bedroom.

****

Ravenna woke with Alexander’s arms laid around her waist, his head nestled on her shoulder. She moved in the bed, trying not to disturb his sleep, and sat up to get a better look at him. He looked like an angel, his long lashes fluttering as he dreamed and smiled. She studied the tribal tattoo on his back and the band on his arm, and wondered about the story behind the massive ink, refraining from brushing the patterns with her fingertips. The warm rays of mid-morning sun bathed both of them, and she raised her right hand before her to see if she had changed as much as she felt she had. He had marked her with his own brand of love and she had treasured every moment of it. He was a demanding yet tender lover, and her body tingled at the memory of how he had taken her first in the studio, then on the stairs, and finally in his bedroom.

In the heat of passion, she had screamed his name, scratched, and even bit him and she hadn’t cared. She couldn’t remember if she had ever felt that way before. No man had ever unlocked that side of her. Her newly acquired wildness scared her. It was the opposite of who she thought she was. She lived in a world she controlled, not at the mercy of a man’s whim. Alexander Drako was the most beautiful man she had ever seen, and he had turned out to be compassionate and caring, but he was still
the
Alexander Drako who had bacchanalias celebrated in his house. And the playroom… How could she have forgotten about the playroom?

What would happen when she bored him? He would go on gallivanting as if nothing had happened, and she would be left nursing the heartbreak of all heartbreaks. Because he would tire of plain Ravenna. Yes, she had shown him—and herself—an unrestrained side of herself, but she wasn’t like the women he was normally seen with. He would seek the thrills of a more adventurous woman, and Ravenna would forever think of the nights they had shared. Because Ravenna was absolutely sure of one thing: she was in love with him. Head over heels in love. And it hurt her already to think of him kissing someone else. But it was in his nature and she did not share.

The memory of Malina in Livio’s arms intruded into her thoughts and left her breathless as if someone had punched her in the stomach. She felt the urge to flee and had to act upon it or she would have screamed. A moment later, she had gathered her clothes and hastily donned them. Heels dangling from her right hand, she gave Alexander one last look and ran away from him.

She had almost reached her home when she noticed the blinking numbers on her cell phone. Malina had called several times and left one message.

“Ravenna, I must see you as soon as possible. Call me.”

They had left each other the night before on relatively good terms, considering their past, and Malina had confided that she would talk with one of her informants early the next morning. She didn’t specify what race her informer belonged to, and Ravenna hadn’t probed. Informers usually came from the renegade fringes and preferred to remain invisible as far as the Council was concerned. And Ravenna represented the face of the Council in the paranormal community. In fact, she had never had the pleasure to work with informers. They were usually too scared of her.

“Malina?”

“Ravenna.” Malina sounded breathless. The noises associated with the commute traffic overpowered her voice. Honking, swearing, and the sound of hard braking almost drowned out her words. “Where are you?”

“Almost home. Where are you?” She drove her Audi to a stop before her house, parking between the two cars of the men who were there to protect her.

“Outside Caffè Greco. Can you get here?”

“Yeah, sure. Give me a moment, and I’ll hop back in the car.” She had already opened the door to her house.

“Take a cab or, better yet, the Metro. There’re three political rallies blocking all the roads from Via Veneto to the Spanish steps.”

“Okay.” Ravenna wondered what Malina was doing there in the first place, but the were-panther hung up before she could ask. She was in and out of the shower in less than ten minutes, combed her hair, then picked out a fresh shirt and skirt, and left the house.