The Shades of Time (3 page)

To his knowledge no one could voluntarily attain that state—it
required the assistance of another adept. In this time, in this
place, only one potentially had that skill—so said the Council
researchers. His adversary had a name, a fearsome
name—
Antonio de' Medici
.

Despite the
man's deserved reputation, and the potential for his thwarting the
Council's purposes, Andreas' plans could be better served now that
all the actors took their rightful places. However, the Monsignor
would not be pleased that the man known as the Dark One, the Demon
de' Medici, had insinuated his presence, though that was of little
consequence to Andreas' real mission. He would obey the directive
His Holiness so succinctly placed in his care for it serviced both
masters…

Follow.
Observe. Report.

****

Stefano and
Tonio pressed their backs against the rough walls inside the room.
The din of chatter outside their hiding place was maddening.
Footsteps and scrapes complimented the whooshing and whirling of
robes and capes beyond the sturdy door as the two brothers
shallowed their breathing. Veluria began to stir on the makeshift
cot. The Guards' return could not have happened at a worse
time.

"She mustn't
wake now!" Tonio growled in his brother's ear. "I have no wish to
confront our Uncle's guardians with only a half-assed explanation
for why we are here."

Tonio asked himself,
How the hell is
she coming out of it? That shouldn't be possible.

The brothers
watched her stir restlessly. Stefano knelt beside the tiny woman,
gently pressing his hand against her mouth lest she cry out. She
twisted her head away from Stefano's hand as the voices grew louder
just outside the door. Someone tested the door's handle, yanking
forcefully.

"La porta è
chiusa, il capitano."

Tonio
recognized the Corporal's voice. The soldier gave a desultory shove
to prove that the door remained firmly locked, then backed away as
his Commandant ordered him off. Pressing an ear to the door, Tonio
breathed a sigh of relief as hurried footsteps receded toward the
canal. Someone had instilled the fear of God in the Guard. They
were not known for having this much persistence.

"This place is
not safe, Tonio," Stefano hissed.

"I fear you are
correct, in more ways than one." Tonio frowned as he still sensed a
presence, one that had tickled that space in his gut that warned
him of danger. "We still have that stalker, and I am certain he is
not one of ours. We must proceed with care."

Drawing a bit of black velvet out of the pouch at his waist,
Tonio handed it to his brother and directed, "Tie this over her
eyes. She will stay under longer if she cannot detect light." He
let the
I hope that is the case
remain unspoken
.

Tonio scooped
the semi-conscious woman in his arms and strode to the door. They
were out of time and he had insufficient energy to place her
further under. And he tired of the cat-and-mouse game. He needed to
take control and secure the prize, for prize it surely was. The
woman had gifts, he could feel that as clearly as he knew his own
capabilities. His father's instincts were seldom misdirected.

Stefano slowly
pressed down on the latch and cracked the ancient door enough to
determine if the corridor was indeed free of prying eyes. Sensing
nothing, he opened the door a bit more as it groaned on its rusty
hinges.

****

Veluria braced
against the strong arms of her captor, her equilibrium severely
compromised from the onslaught of mental and physical intrusion.
Fighting the waves of disorientation and confusion, she catalogued
what little she did know: she was being transported somewhere at
speed, carried by … who? Not Stefano. No, this one had a scent she
didn't recognize, and it managed to overwhelm her with its sheer
maleness. She risked opening her eyes only to find them bound in
soft velvet.

Before she could reach outward with her compromised senses,
motion abruptly ceased, followed by a sensation of falling, then
swaying. She wished she could hear but the buzzing in her ears as
she struggled against whatever had trapped her into a state of
unconsciousness impaired her abilities, even her extrasensory
gifts. Damn, what had they … what had
he
done to her?

This, this…
thing that ensnared her with unforgiving strength, was he the one
who'd invaded her mind like a battering ram, inflicting such
excruciating pain she'd been hard pressed to defend herself? Like a
residual limb, the regret and dismay lingered, leaving her nearly
enraptured with the whiplash change of emotions. When he'd come
stealing once more, ever so sweetly, she'd allowed a boon, knowing
full well the intruder would already know, or have guessed, her
intentions.

He'd danced
with her psyche, the steps mimicking a macabre courtship—a sultry
rumba to a background rhythm of fear, desire and intense curiosity.
Such delicious enticements—she'd almost forgotten herself in the
rush of temptation to explore. Her last encounter with a Council
operative had been far less engaging, his brute force approach and
unrelenting machismo had proven no match for her training … and
very special gifts.

But her intruder had power, power
and
control, and perhaps something
more… One thing she knew for certain: the man was unique, and
dangerous. Someone of her time and place.

But the man who held her so carelessly, with such casual
strength, he
was
of
this time, of that she was certain, but as to how she could not
say.

The man spoke,
his voice a deep rumble against her breasts, "Get the lines,
Stefano," then with his breath fanning across her cheeks, he
murmured, "and let me make you a little more comfortable, M'lady."
He chuckled deep in his throat, "No point pretending. You're awake.
Mostly."

"Tonio,"
Stefano's voice came from her right and forward of their position.
"Where do we go from here? That stalker of yours ... he'll be
watching for us. If he is not alone it is possible that every route
will be closely monitored."

Stalker? That's interesting. So the intruder and this man are
not one and the same.
Relief seemed
foolish, given her current circumstances, but there it
was.

Fumbling with the knot, the man adjusted the cloth to sit
firmly against her eyes and said to Stefano, "Not to fear,
il mio fratellino
. The
Papàl Guards will clear the way. They will unwittingly be our
accomplices this night."

Keeping her
face secured to his massive chest, all she could feel on her
overheated skin was a leather jerkin and a few stray laces that
gouged her cheek.

Odd. He'd
called Stefano 'il mio fratellino', a surprising endearment. Could
he be…?

The man
continued issuing instructions to Stefano. "Head us to the Grand
Canal. We will take the traghetto to St. Mark's, just three
tourists seeking the pleasures of Venezia on this fine
evening."

Stefano clearly
did not like the plan, judging from his muttered curses, but
apparently he complied to her captor's satisfaction.

"I wish to sit
up," Veluria hissed into the leather jerkin, unsure if her words
were clear enough to understand.

Without a word,
the man released her from his grip, lifting and settling her on the
seat next to him. From habit she tucked the voluminous folds of her
gown about her legs, smoothing the rumpled fabric down and away
from the uncomfortable corseted bodice.

Damn, I hate
corsets.

The gondola
bobbed through a light chop, leaving her to guess they had exited
one of the narrow feeder canals onto the Grand Canal proper. From
the heat and angle of the sun on her exposed flesh, she knew she'd
lost an entire day to this misadventure. Sweat beaded on her
forehead, the gown far too hot for day wear. It would be a ruin in
no time, if it wasn't already.

Sweet Mother,
if you can hear my thoughts, please do not let my sisters know this
thing about me. Allow my vanity to remain unremarked, our little
secret.

Veluria choked
back a cough as acrid scents of refuse, smoldering lamps and the
unmentionable stench of too many humans packed into too tight a
space assaulted her sensitive nostrils. From the hubbub off to her
right, they'd be approaching one of the many protruding docks, busy
with commerce and Venetian citizens going about the evening's
activities.

The man cautioned, "Shush, M'lady. We will be at our
destination soon." His voice reeked of menace and determination.
"You will do as I say, otherwise I
will
bind and gag you."

Veluria nodded
she understood. She was in enough discomfort already that incurring
additional did not seem prudent. The more she learned about her
situation, the better her ability to react when the time came.

She wondered
about Stefano but from the sounds, the young man was busy securing
the gondola to the dock. Since she'd awoken from that bizarre
state, he'd been nothing but acquiescent to the stranger sitting
next to her, his shoulder brushing against the bare skin on her
forearm whenever the gondola rocked side-to-side. The sensation was
not unpleasant.

If this man was Stefano's brother, then which one? What little
intel Mother Superior had ferreted from historical records was
comprised of confusing rumor and supposition—and allegations of
dark magic. Nicolo was the middle son, skilled in diplomacy. The
other, the eldest, was Cosimo's right hand... and a merciless
enforcer of the Medici's will. Private Papàl correspondence
referred to that one as the Demon de' Medici. If
this
was that
man…

Damn her
luck.

Tonio stared at
the rigid set to the woman's face, her lips pursed in intense
concentration, a telltale tic in a prominent vein on her temple
giving away her desperate attempt to make sense of her situation.
That she didn't panic was to her credit. She was definitely
trained, but in what exactly had yet to be determined.

On a whim he
stroked her cheek, willing soothing energy to flow through his
fingers. He understood the nature of her confusion. It pleased him
no end that he could keep one such as this off-balance. Unlike his
hapless younger brother, he was not without skills.

Idly he traced
the curve of her chin and the long, swan-like neck, palest of pale
flesh, soft and inviting. The woman sank into the cushions, arching
away from his touch, quivering … though not from fear. Fascinated,
he followed the line of her bodice, cut straight across and
corseted to present soft bulbous mounds for his appreciative gaze.
He licked his lips, the action unconscious as sound receded,
replaced by his ragged breathing and the blood pumping hot and
needy in his veins.

Veluria
—he would think of her by name
now—feathered her breaths to long, slow inhalations, exaggerating
the line of her breasts. Whether deliberate or not the effect was
enticing. Her flesh glowed with inner luminescence, drawing his
face and hands inexorably closer.

Damn it to
hell. She was good. No wonder Stefano was smitten. It would take a
far better man than his hapless younger brother to resist the
charms of a French courtesan, especially this one.

Tonio rose
awkwardly from the cushioned seat and leaned to fend off the dock,
his jerkin rubbing seductively across her small breasts. She
tensed, her small hands fisted in the silken folds of her
skirt.

Two can play
that game, M'Lady.

Smokey oil
lamps spewed dank, choking fumes over the still water. They would
make their way across the Grand Canal to where night promised a
brief surcease as Venezia's citizens sought relief from the
stifling heat in the great square, all the better to mask their
passage.

"Over there,
Brother." Tonio pointed to the waiting ferry. He breathed a sigh of
relief that the Papàl Guard were not about, broadcasting to the
citizens that a person of importance was expected. Though the
Medicis had learned long ago that hiding in plain sight was often
the safer of many unsafe options in these troubled times, tonight
Tonio required anonymity.

"M’lady, I will
remove your blindfold." With a sweep of his hand, Tonio whisked the
soft cloth off the woman's delicate face. Wisely she kept her eyes
hooded, not allowing too much light in at once, as that would blind
her.

"Tonio, we must
hurry. Vel—" He choked off the word as Tonio gave him a sharp look
and made a slashing movement across his throat.

Tonio stepped
onto the dock and extended a hand to assist the woman as she
carefully gathered the rich fabric into a bundle, leaping nimbly
onto the creaky dock. Stefano followed quickly, tied the gondola
off and hastened to speak with the owner of the ferry.

Veluria
whispered, her voice subtly accented, "You are Antonio, then. My
cousin, Charles, speaks well of your abilities, Monsieur de'
Medici. He will be most … appreciative if you and I manage an
accord in this matter."

Tonio nodded, a
slight smile playing about his full lips. At half his imposing
height, she forced him to bend as if in supplication when he
breathed a reply, "Oh, I assure you Mademoiselle, an accord has
already been reached, about which you will have little input." To
his surprise she ignored his implied threat. Interesting.

Veluria glanced at Stefano impatiently waiting on the ferry.
It was a look of concern, and perhaps genuine fondness. When she
turned back to stare at him, slivers of ice tickled his spine.
Whoever she was,
whatever
she was, she'd just thrown down the gauntlet. If
she expected to control him the way she did his younger brother,
she was in for the shock of her life.