The Shades of Time (24 page)

He spoke
softly, almost to himself, "We'll be fine, Corporal. There are
tasks best done away from all distractions." He looked around the
rustic tavern and shrugged. "This will suit for now."

Mario rose and
saluted his commander with the ancient Roman fist to breast. Once
more he said, "Sir," and turned to leave.

Tonio watched
his man exit the taberna and murmured, "Godspeed, Mario."

The innkeeper's
serving maid came to the table and waited for him to notice her.
She was not terribly attractive—Nico might have used the word
'slovenly'—but her curvaceous hips and bounteous breasts reminded
him that he still had an itch to scratch. Letting his eyes travel
slowly over the woman, from head to toe and back again, he felt his
cock thicken in anticipation. He'd been prepared to seek solace
beyond prying eyes and see to his needs, but this opportunity was
too good to pass up.

Pushing away
from the table he rose to his full height, enjoying the small gasp
and admiring stare as the wench's eyes zeroed in on his straining
codpiece. She winked and indicated he should follow her. The
innkeeper looked on with avarice in his eyes, no doubt tallying up
a suitable charge for the additional 'services' being provided.

Following the
sway of ample hips, he sighed with regret as she led him to a small
copse of trees nestled in a gully behind the taberna. There would
be no soft feather bed for this coupling, no satiny skin and a
delicious scent of honey and lavender, no sizzle of nerves when
their energies twisted and twined in a mad dance of lust. There
would be no Veluria.

With a grimace, Tonio watched as the wench lifted her skirts
and pirouetted for his benefit, singsonging, "
Você gosta do que vê, senhor
?" Sidling
up close she bent her head back and licked her lips.

No, I don't
like what I see. Dear God, I can't do this, not with this foul
creature.

Before he could
move away, the wench settled to her knees and quickly unbuttoned
the codpiece, exposing his raging erection to her eager mouth. She
tongued the tip then followed the vein to the base and back, her
thick fingers squeezing his balls until he gasped.

It was too
much. He needed release, his baser nature demanded it. Bracing
against a tree trunk he thrust his hips, driving his thick length
deep into her throat, again and again until his blood threatened to
boil and he came on a roar.

Weak in the
knees he allowed himself to sink to the ground next to the woman
who was arranging her skirts and preparing to leave.

He grasped her arm and hissed, "No,
senhora
. I am not finished with
you."

The woman
grinned and slid the peasant blouse down, revealing heavy bulbous
breasts. Palming a generous mound of flesh, she flicked at the
thick brown nipple until it hardened. Antonio groaned as his cock
responded.

How much is
this going to cost me?

He knew the
answer … and convinced himself he didn't care.

****

Veluria's pulse raced at the knock on the door. She quaked
with dread at seeing Antonio so soon after her retreat to her safe
place. It had been sudden and unexpected … and had nothing to do
with him and everything to do with the abuse she'd suffered at the
hands of his depraved younger brother. All he'd done was
think
of Stefano—it had
set off a chain reaction of terror, loathing and panic that sent
her fleeing in desperation away from all memory of the suffering
the pervert had inflicted on her body and her mind.

The tapping
came again, insistent. She realized that Antonio would not bother
to politely knock so it was likely a maid servant bringing her
breakfast.

She called out,
"Come in."

A heavy set
woman in her early thirties pushed through the door. She braced a
basket with fruit, cheese and dried meats on her hip.

"
Senhora
?
Where do you wish…?"

Veluria waved to a small round table in a corner of the room.
"Over there,
por favor
." When the woman set the basket down, Veluria asked, "Could
you assist me? The buttons…"

The woman nodded and made quick work of securing the bodice.
When she finished she asked, "Is there anything else,
senhora
?"

"No, thank
you." Before the woman could leave she said quickly, "Wait, there
is one thing. Could you tell—" She was about to say Antonio's name
but choked it back, not because saying it out loud cut her like a
knife, but because they were in a strange country with potential
enemies all about. Anonymity seemed prudent. She continued, "Please
tell my gentleman friend that I do not wish to be disturbed."

The maid gave her an odd smile and mumbled,
"
Sim, senhora
," and
left her to deal with her troubled thoughts.

Food was the
last thing on her mind but she forced herself to nibble at the
fruit, the tang of the orange and the burst of sweetness enough to
jump start her appetite. She couldn't remember the last time she'd
eaten. She carefully removed the stiletto from its niche in her
skirt and sliced bits of cheese and what looked like a savory
sausage. Other than the bed and the small table there were no other
pieces of furniture in the room. She gathered a handful of nibbles
and sank onto the bed to mull over what she must do next.

That was almost
enough to undo her again. Antonio's huge body had cradled her with
such exquisite gentleness that she'd allowed his probing, knowing
it to be a gift he offered her—a glimpse into the inner man. In one
fell swoop, she'd violated all her training, set aside every tenet,
every precept to which she'd sworn fealty.

It was
impossible to know precisely how Antonio interpreted the secrets
she'd shared, but she knew for a fact that he understood them to be
outside of time and space as he understood the concepts. He'd cast
an image of a shadow existence—his way of making sense of something
that would be alien to everything he knew about his world. He
recognized the potential for catastrophe without understanding the
consequences. And the thing that terrified her was his awareness
that their situation, their relationship, was forbidden, that they
were fated to return to their own worlds. But Tonio refused to
accept that fate, vowing to do whatever was necessary to keep his
heart's desire. For the first time in his life the Demon wanted
something for himself alone. Something he never had before—a woman
to love.

Me. He wants
me.

The thought
filled her with elation and sorrow. They were more than simple
star-crossed lovers, they were figments of each other's
imaginations, living in a castle built on sand. And the inexorable
incoming tide would sweep that shaky edifice out to sea, taking
hearts and souls with it.

The Sisterhood
would see to her cleansing and she would bury the memory and move
on to serve and protect, for that was their way. Antonio de' Medici
had no such safety net. He would remain in this world, a shell of a
man, stripped of his humanity. There would be nothing left to
temper the violence and brutality.

Have I created
the monster? If Antonio is indeed the key, is my presence here the
trigger that will release the hell on earth that will reverberate
through all time and space?

She trembled
and sobbed, "What have I done, dear Reverend Mother, what have I
done?"

Chapter
Seventeen

Antonio leaned
against the stuccoed wall, grateful for the hint of cool against
his shoulders. The heat of the day, and his exertions—he grimaced
in remembrance—had left him drenched in sweat and foul of
temper.

So much for
relieving an itch.

"
Senhor
?" The
innkeeper advanced warily, the flagon extended with unsure hands.
He gave a slight gasp as Antonio ripped the jug from the terrified
man's hands and drained it.

"More," Tonio
growled and threw the jug against the far wall. He was deep in his
cups as Nico would say and he didn't give a shit.

The taberna's
resident whore gave him a wide berth as she set about preparing for
serving the evening's meal. With dissatisfaction he observed her
shuffling movements, her discomfort evident. He'd been merciless in
his demands—on her body and his own—but nothing sated the hunger
that sat heavy in his gut, a hunger that grew with every passing
hour.

Idly he
wondered how Veluria had spent her day while he'd fucked himself
into a stupor. Why did he even care? She was nothing more than a
commodity now, something he would take home to Cosimo for his
father's research.

Ah, research, is that what it was? What exactly did they
research, what did they wish to discover? What kind of secrets
could a siren possibly hold other than a singular gift for grabbing
a man by the balls and twisting until he surrendered his
heart
and
his soul,
burying him forever in lust and desire.

Well, no need
to worry about that—she'd slammed that door in his face. But he was
not without the means to self-destruct. Not at all. Now he could
drown himself instead.

Well, Nico,
what do you think, my brother? Do you approve of my solution? You
warned me, didn't you? I should have listened.

Another flagon
appeared at his elbow.

"This is a fine
vintage," he announced to the empty room and tilted the vessel to
admire the rich red color.

Research was
it? Well, I can do research. I don't need to wait for Cosimo to
work his magic. I have magic of my own. If the Frenchwoman has
secrets then I damn well will be the one to dig them out of her
traitorous head.

Draining the
wine, he let the flask slip to the scarred wood floor where it
bounced on the rushes and came to rest out of sight. Antonio pushed
the heavy table away and rose awkwardly, his head swimming.

Somewhere to
his right he heard, 'Senhor, are you ill?' but the words echoed and
retreated so quickly he could not be sure if someone spoke or he'd
imagined it.

With uncertain
steps he staggered toward the door but halted as an influx of
patrons barged through, chittering and laughing uproariously at
something one of their party had said. The raucous noise set every
nerve on high alert. With a sideways glance, the leader of the
group side-stepped past him and led his friends to the rear of the
small establishment.

Something about
the man seemed familiar but he wasn't able to think clearly enough
to remember.

With his head
threatening to explode, he needed to find silence away from the din
and the candlelight that sent shards of pain through his eyeballs.
Mario's quarters were in the rear of the taberna but not out of
earshot. He didn't relish taking refuge in the stables but his
choices were limited. Unless…

"
Desculpe-me, senhor
," the serving woman husked as she brushed past
him carrying a basket with a bit of cloth hiding the contents. She
reached for the door latch but he managed to get to it
first.

The tang of fresh fruit and the sharp bite
of cheese assaulted his nostrils. The whore'd been tasked with
taking an evening repast to their guest. How convenient.

Tonio blocked the woman's way and held out
his hand, secretly pleased it remained steady while all about him
images and sound swirled in a dizzying dance that set his gut
reeling.

"
Senhor
, I must..."

Tonio grasped her wrist with his right
hand and pinched it tight until she relinquished her burden with a
gasp of pain. He felt the familiar sensations wash through him ...
power followed by an emptiness he could not fathom, nor
explain.

This woman is not your enemy.
Do not give in to what they wish to make of you. Make your own
future, Tonio.

Nico's words ... or his own? What did it
matter? He had the excuse he needed.

"
This is for the
senhora
?" It was more a statement than a
question.

The whore nodded and rubbed at her wrist
absently as she backed away, her heavy breasts bobbing with each
mincing backwards step. His cock seemed to appreciate the show,
rising to the occasion and pressing against the codpiece with
lustful insistence. The woman's eyes widened with dismay, obviously
remembering when he'd said, "That will do ... for now," and slipped
coins into her pudgy hands.

With a feral grin, he staggered through
the door and made his way to the outer stairs leading to the second
floor suite of rooms. With no memory of climbing the rickety steps,
he paused on the narrow landing with the basket clutched to his
waist.

What the hell am I doing here?
This isn
't
right.

Before he could
set the basket down and beat a hasty retreat, the door opened.
Veluria stood framed in the backwash of candlelight, her features
masked in darkness. It was like staring down a well—a bottomless
chasm that would trap him for an eternity.

There was no barricade in place, no wall
against which he could bash his head in a fruitless attempt to gain
access. She was just standing there, soft and welcoming, ripe for
the plucking. There would have been nothing to stop him had he not
rendered himself impotent with his indulgence in drink ... and
other things.