The Shades of Time (40 page)

"Where the hell
have you been?" He rubbed his hands through his tousled curls and
glared at her. "I've been searching everywhere."

He reeked of
wine, sweat and panic. She wasn't sure whether she wanted to throw
a bucket of water on him or jump into his arms. He saved her the
effort. He was on her in a single stride, crushing her to his chest
and devouring her with hungry kisses.

Growling, "Turn
around," he tore at the laces, releasing the cumbersome device to
fall to the stone floor.

"Nico, we have
to talk…"

Ignoring her,
Nico carried her to the bed and dropped her unceremoniously onto
the brocaded coverlet. Stripping quickly, he mounted her slight
form, ready to plunder and dominate.

Veluria turned
away from his probing tongue and hissed, "I don't like you this
way."

The air
sizzled, cracking into a million bits, thin slices oozing fluids,
yellow pus-filled maws opening to the bone.

She twisted,
stilled, knowing the worst was yet to come—the violation so
profound she cowered in abject terror.

There was
nowhere to hide. No one to protect her. No one to care.

Alone. So
alone.

Rocking her in
his arms, Nico moaned, "Oh, my dear sweet Jesus, please … please
forgive me." She was only dimly aware of the man's tears pooling
against her cheek.

Somehow the
pain had been different, less real, more of a foreshadowing of
something worse—or better—to come. She'd been both repelled and
attracted, each episode offering an embellishment as if the
experience remained incomplete, unfulfilled.

Why? Why her
and why that singular incident, repeated endlessly in a purgatory
of pain chasing pleasure.

Wailing,
"Please, make it stop," she sobbed into Nico's chest, clinging to
the last shreds of her sanity.

Nico whispered,
"I will, I promise. Even if I have to kill him myself."

****

Andreas leaned
against the cold stone wall, immensely satisfied with his evening's
activities. The pup's bride had been surprisingly adept at
satisfying his needs, her sharp teeth a delightful accompaniment to
her equally sharp tongue. And she'd been more than willing to
supply him with the information he sought once he'd properly
motivated her.

Now he had the
excuse he required to stay in the duchy. The horse-faced bitch
would petition daddy for him to become her personal confessor. As
such he would have access to every part of the castle, including
the enticing 'parlor'.

The only down
side might be the drain on his stamina, something for which he must
guard against with the denouement of their dilemma approaching at
breakneck speed. However, it was a sacrifice he was willing to
make. While he'd felt it wise this night not to inquire about
Stefano, he would need to press the woman on their next meeting.
The players must all be present: Stefano, Friedrich, Nicolo de'
Medici. Somehow, one or more of those three men held the key.

The Sisterhood
and the Council both toiled to save their worlds from a coming
apocalypse. Given a choice, he would prefer salvation come from
rational mathematicians than the meddling matriarchal
geneticists.

Palming his
blade, he glided across the rough stone floor, feet bare, his cowl
pulled over his head—just a monk reciting matins, the liturgy
rolling with practiced ease off his tongue.

The Medici's
tail had gone off with his fellows to the town, whether or not with
his commander's blessing mattered little. Lacking anything new to
occupy his mind, he allowed a rare moment of introspection. Usually
Matteo, ever the theorist, asked the unanswerable, but on this
propitious evening, with his lusts sated, he was ready to explore
the anomalies he sensed.

His
timeline skewed in his own world,
the impossible made manifest with weapons and factions deployed in
a dizzying array, the onslaught so sudden and terrifying it held
them all hostage to fear.
Her
timeline manifested in the here and now,
corrupting and altering events.
He
was the audience watching events unfold,
she
was the actress on the
stage.

Matteo would
work it out, using complex mathematical functions. He had only his
gut instincts to guide him. The woman who consumed his thoughts and
commanded his desires, existed here as a physical entity. He was
but a shadow, an avatar. Yet both of them bore the consequences of
this wretched time and place. If the world was truly a stage, when
had it become improvisational, directionless?

The Sisterhood
bred and trained their novitiates for the difficult transitions
between shadow worlds. The Council more wisely used constructs to
achieve the same ends, assuring control and suitable outcomes for
mission parameters.

Changing
history might be unacceptable but he saw no recourse. There was a
cancer spreading in a time and place about which they knew too
little. The alliances, subtle shifts in power, who lived, who
died—such tiny details formed the weft and weave of fate gone
awry.

That the woman
was here, now, gave him the assurance he needed that he'd whittled
the possibilities to three. If it proved to be Nicolo de' Medici,
it would be his greatest pleasure to console her, transferring her
allegiance to its rightful recipient.

As he
approached his quarters, Andreas detected the first hint of burn, a
tingle of pain as his neural net registered agony of uncompromising
intensity. With a groan he sank to the floor, his back to the wall,
rocking back and forth, his head connecting with the unforgiving
stone, each crack an echo of her flesh splitting, tearing
apart.

Their worlds
ripping asunder, shadows in full retreat.

None should
suffer so.

I will stop it
even if I have to kill him myself.

With trembling
hand, he drew the blade across his thigh, slicing deep, following
the line of the vein, so close, so temptingly close. The stiletto
fell from his stiff fingers, bouncing soundlessly on his
blood-slicked robe.

Tomorrow. It
will be over tomorrow.

It was time.
Matteo would not approve … but he would understand. That was why
they chose him over all others.

Chapter
Thirty

Andreas watched
Stefano dismount in the courtyard below. The narrow enclosure was
crowded with the Monsignor's retinue preparing for departure. The
prelate exchanged a few words with the Medici pup, then turned away
to continue directing his men to carry the chests to the waiting
wagons outside the inner walls. Even from his great height he could
see the men's breaths misting in the chill morning air.

Wiltrud
demanded, "Come back to bed," her voice petulant, needy.

"Hmm, in a
minute." Andreas licked the blood off his lower lip, already
swollen and tender. He been sorely tempted to respond in kind but
he still had need of the woman's services.

He turned and
stared at her. Mumbling, "The apple didn't fall far from the tree,"
he girded himself for round two, not sure he'd gotten the best of
this particular bargain.

"Your husband
has returned."

Wiltrud
shrugged, clearly not caring one way or the other. He needed
information and had little time left for games. Unfortunately, this
one was not as stupid as she looked. He needed to play her
correctly or he would lose what little advantage he had.

"Will he come
here," he waved a hand to encompass the small bedroom, "or will he
report immediately to your father?"

The woman
snorted, "Here? Not likely." She glanced at him with a sly look.
"Why do you ask?"

Giving her his
best smoldering stare, he said, "Because I have something special
planned for our meditations this morning. It would be best if we
were not disturbed."

She smiled in a way that made his blood run cold. "Father
plans to meet with
my
husband
," her voice dripped with venom,
"later this morning. I assure you, they will be
occupied
for much of the
day."

Relieved he would not be under
that
kind of pressure he approached
the bed, assessing the woman's demeanor and calculating just how
far he could push her before she started screaming in earnest. She
would soon learn her sharp teeth were no match for his …
creativity.

Grabbing a hank
of hair, he twisted viciously, yanking her forward until she yelped
in pain. Her hands beat at his fist as he hissed, "Turn over." When
she failed to comply, he kneed her into position, pressing with his
full weight on the small of her back. She groaned, her body
vibrating with anticipation.

"Do you require
penance, my child?" He brought his palm down on her ass, hard,
leaving an angry red mark. With his left hand he irritably shifted
the bedding out of the way until he connected with her breast, his
fingers seeking and finding the taut nipple. With thumb and
forefinger he pinched and pulled until she cried out, her voice
muffled in the bedding.

Grimly he
cupped her chin, squeezing the corners of her mouth. "Say it."

She let loose
with a jumble of words in her native tongue, none of which he
understood. Squaring his shoulders he prepared to deliver another
blow, muttering, "I'll take that as a yes."

Grimacing, he wondered why, with their worlds running out of
time, there was time enough for
this
.

Andreas cradled
the woman in his arms. He'd managed to stem the sobbing with
soothing promises of her everlasting salvation, trading her kind of
hell for one that only he could deliver. Fighting the urge to end
the charade, he imagined Matteo counseling patience, knowing the
answers lay in the quivering mass of flesh under his control.

"Tell me about
Stefano." He struggled to remain neutral but annoyance tinged the
command.

Wiltrud
stuttered, "Wh-wha—?" Her voice echoed fear and confusion, but
still she moved closer into Andreas' embrace as if seeking shelter
from whatever demons stalked her. She mumbled into his chest, "What
do you wish to know?"

"Where did he
go?"

"To Corinthia.
Leopold and some of the Dukes were to meet in secret to discuss my
father's ascension to the Reichstag."

"Friedrich
already has Cosimo's blessing. His election is a formality. Why a
secret meeting?"

Wiltrud rolled
away but he squeezed her arm hard enough to make her flinch. She
gave him a calculating look, her plain features turning sharp with
distrust.

He purred, "I
can make it worth your while," as he probed her swollen folds.

"My father has
an understanding…"

"Yes?" He
withdrew his busy fingers and waited.

"Don't stop,
please." The strident tones of a woman used to getting her way were
replaced with the whining that told him he was close to getting
what he wanted.

"Tell me," he
wheedled, "and I will give you everything you want." He cupped her
soft mound and waited.

"I-I don't know
exactly. That's why he sent that pig to meet with the others. He
was to report back with their final decision."

Satisfied,
Andreas rose from the bed and slipped into his robe. Bemused, he
wondered at the woman calling Stefano a 'pig' given her own rather
draconian tastes. He would have thought it a match made in heaven
based on the rumors about the youngest Medici.

He motioned for
the woman to get out of bed and barked, "Get dressed."

"But…"

"You are going
to show me your secret passage. I need to know exactly what
information Stefano has to relay to Friedrich." When she showed
signs of balking he said, "Afterwards I have something very special
planned for you."

Palming the stiletto hidden in the folds of the rough cloth,
he thought,
very special
indeed
.

****

Nico slapped Paulo on the back and chuckled loud enough to be
heard in the far reaches of the courtyard. His men lounged with
careless disregard for the activity about them. The Monsignor and
his retinue had departed, leaving Friedrich's people to go about
their daily activities unencumbered by
those
demanding guests. As he
suspected, Andreas had remained behind.

Paulo muttered,
too low to be heard by anyone but him, "Your brother returned early
this morning. I was told he retired but will meet with Friedrich
for the midday meal."

"Is he with his
wife?"

"No, sire. Marco followed the Monk.
He
is with the duke's
daughter."

"Ah." Nico
wasn't sure what to think about that. There'd be a good reason for
the man's interest in Stefano's wife but what that was he couldn't
fathom. For the moment he had other pressing concerns.

"The carriage
is ready, Commander, but may I make a suggestion?" Paulo laughed at
something one of his men said and leaned in to have a word with the
man. When he turned back to Nico he whispered, "I think it best to
go mounted and leave the carriage behind."

Nico had to
agree, but with reservations. What concerned him was that Veluria
was their weak link, fragile from the blood loss and pain from the
episode the night before. He had no idea if she was strong enough
to ride, but restricting her to the slow carriage would guarantee
they'd not get far. Not with a mounted guard at the Duke's
disposal.