The Vampire's Protector (18 page)

Chapter 22

N
icolo held Summer to him as if to let go she might be swept away and he'd never see her again. The odds of that happening were far too great. He sensed another presence in the cavernous room. But he wouldn't turn to acknowledge the man who claimed to be his father yet who had never earned such a title. Every moment he now had with Summer he must remember. Her scent. The texture of her skin against his. The slide of her hair over his cheek. The possessive grasp of her hand clinging to his shirt.

Never had anyone meant so much to him, save his son. Why had he been given this second chance, only to have it so cruelly ripped away?

“I love you,” he whispered.

The silvery whispers in his head laughed a vile tone that curdled in his gut. It was what his father had been waiting for. A reason for Nicolo to bow before the devil Himself.

“Don't love me,” she said.

“Too late.” He kissed her then, wanting to embed one last impression of her onto his skin. To fix her to his memory.

The world lived in her kiss. The laughter and cocky attitude that made her exclusively Summer. The softness of her sighs and the wicked tease of her sensuality spilled over him, immersing him in love.

“It hurts,” she whispered.

“What? Did he harm you?”

“No, here.” She pressed a palm over her heart. “You make me feel so much. I know that's a good thing, but it's painful, as well. A good pain I hope to never lose.”

“I don't want to ever lose hold of you,” he said to her.

“Then don't play that violin.”

“If I do not, you will be sacrificed.”

“But, Nicolo...”

“Could you love me if I changed to that monster who lurks in the shadows?”

She nodded her head up and down, and then it moved in a sort of circle. Of course she could not love a monster. Who could?

“You won't become a monster. You are too kind. I have to believe that your goodness will overwhelm any evil.”

He'd like to believe that, too, but knew it could not possibly be true. With reluctance, Nicolo pulled away from Summer and helped her to stand. She hugged him, and he put his arm around her back to keep her close.

Only now did he search the shadows of the circular emporium for his greatest nemesis. The man who had given him life. Twice over.

The horns were the first thing he saw. He hated that Summer had been here alone with such a creature. But then he knew she was strong and probably hadn't flinched to stand before one so wicked. She hadn't sneezed since he'd arrived. He wasn't sure if that was a good or bad thing.

“So you finally have me where you want me,” Nicolo said.

“Is that your surrender?” Himself stepped forward. In his hand hung the black violin and bow. The creature held it before him. “Play.”

Heart dropping to his gut, Nicolo sucked in a breath when Summer squeezed him tighter about the waist and slid her hand to clasp within his. He looked down into her blue eyes. Mercy, he didn't want to lose her. She was all he had in this modern world. And if he never met another soul or made friends or walked onto the stage again then she would be enough.

“You guarantee Summer Santiago will leave here safely and never again be bothered by you?” Nicolo asked.

“I do. But you should ask she not be bothered by you again, as well. Would you wish her life be destroyed by your presence once you've stepped into your legacy?”

What sort of birthright was it to know he was demon and the son of the one thing in this realm most evil and reviled?

Summer clutched his hand tightly. “Don't say it,” she said softly. “We will see each other again. We must.”

Yes, he wanted that, too. He could not fathom never again holding her or feeling her soft skin against his.

“Just you,” Nicolo reiterated to his father. “Stay away from Summer Santiago. And her family and friends. Including anyone she cares about.”

Himself inclined his head. “Unfortunately, she cares about you. So that last request will be ignored. Deal?”

Nicolo sighed deep in his throat. His fingers ached to touch the bow. To feel the music once again. To own it. It pleaded for his submission. For his mastery. To be played and to finally sing the exquisite song it had been made for.

He'd always been a gambler. Time to make the greatest gamble yet.

Nicolo nodded. “Deal.”

Stepping forward, he stretched back his arm as Summer would not let him go. The look on her face was a mixture of dread and hope. At a moment when all hope was lost. He lifted his chin and dropped her hand.

“Ti amo.”
A simple “I love you.”

“Je vous aime,”
she reiterated in French.

Nicolo turned and crossed the dirt floor. From above, eerie illumination misted about the curved ceiling like a spacescape speckled with starlight. It beamed down far enough to light his shoulders but not the floor. His strides were slow, reluctant. And then he forced courage into his bones and straightened his shoulders and walked proudly toward the destiny that had been hounding him since his birth so very long ago.

Himself opened his taloned fingers, and the violin moved from his grip, through the air, to hover before Nicolo. Exquisite and sublime, the ebony body gleamed with promise. He lifted a hand to grasp.

“Come home to me, my son,” Himself said. “Take the throne beside me.”

A shiver traced Nicolo's spine. What throne? Was he to be seated in some vile Hell for all his days, expounding punishments and torture upon poor souls? What powers would he receive, exactly?

He dropped his hand.

“Tell me what I will have,” he said.

“Is it so important to know, when a refusal will see your lover's head torn from her body?”

Nicolo tightened his jaw. How dare he speak the cruelties they both knew would occur.

“She suffers enough as the Soul Piercer,” Nicolo said. “Never touch her. Ever.”

“Agreed.” And Himself shared an odd look with Summer.

“She should leave now,” Nicolo requested.

“No!” Summer called.

Himself shook his head. “She must be your witness. And then she will know you are not worth the risk should either of you attempt to reunite after today.”

“What is it to you whom I take as my lover? Will I not be allowed such after I have assumed this vile birthright?”

“Very well. Ruin her life. It is a good start actually. You must learn that being my kin has its requirements—lacking emotion and a willingness to hurt others at all costs.”

“Enough.” Nicolo grabbed the violin. “I will never be like you. No matter what I become. I promise you that.”

Himself hissed and stepped back. His eyes glowed red as he crossed his arms and waited.

Nicolo could feel Summer's anticipation, but he did not turn to face her. He could not. He wanted to remember only her kiss and the look of adoration in her eyes.

Instead he closed his eyes and felt the power of the violin hum through his system. It vibrated in his veins. Forged with a new power, he felt immense. His fingers curled about the bow, lightly taking their place. He put the base of the instrument against his shoulder and chin. It fit perfectly, the bone-hard chin rest conforming to the shape of him. He played the fingers of his left hand over the neck to summon muscle memory.

And then he could no longer resist the intriguing comfort and the one thing in this world that spoke for him. His voice. His heart. The soul he once had.

The first note, clear and long, opened the room with the spectacular presence. He would not play a composition, but instead follow the instrument's direction. It lured him into an A minor scale that rapidly trilled and sparkled with harmonics. His joy spoke, followed by his screaming terror. His spine arched and bent forward as his body began to dance to the music.

* * *

Summer fell to her knees. The terrible beauty in Nicolo's performance made her weep. It was exquisite. Monstrous. Sublime.

Diabolical.

The notes shivered in her heart. And she knew that with every note he bowed or plucked his very being was altering, changing, growing into that which made Himself smile so wickedly from behind him.

He played a song she did not know, yet also knew it belonged only to him and the black violin. It showcased his incomparable skill and musicianship. And it shivered a cold prickle into her neck.

And with a wicked run that spanned four octaves and ended in a dashing bounce of bow over strings, Nicolo began to change. As the music moved faster, rushing toward some wicked cliff, his body lengthened and his shoulders grew wider. His spine, bent and moving sinuously, suddenly arched backward. Nicolo cried out in pain. The bow didn't miss a note.

A rapid scale taunted his body into a side bend as hooves grew at his feet, cracking open the leather shoes he had so valued. Powerful thighs split his pants, and underneath the skin was red and then black and then a deep crimson to match the color of the blood which Summer loved to smooth over her tongue.

Nicolo shouted as a horn erupted from his temple and then the other. They grew to curves that looked so heavy they should bring him down. Yet he stood tall, still bowing, dancing wildly to the violin's command as he transformed into demon.

And when he spun about and met her gaze for a moment Summer saw the humanity in his pale gray eyes. And a teardrop. And then the irises turned red and he growled, revealing fangs within the deep maroon structure of the demon he had become.

He pulled the bow in one final dash across all four strings and flung back both arms as he shouted a final entreaty to the heavens. The shout turned to a growl and then a deep and rumbling cry of—not defeat, but rather triumph.

He reached out a taloned hand toward her. His jaw shifted, and then he pointed to her. “Out!”

Summer shook her head. She didn't want to leave. Not now when he must need her most. She would not leave him!

Himself stepped beside his son, his hooves stirring up the red dirt in clouds about their ankles. Nicolo had grown taller, and even more physically powerful. The twosome standing together presented a wicked and diabolical force that would make any man cringe and cower into the shadows.

With a flick of Himself's hand Summer found herself back in her own bedroom. Alone.

She fell to her knees and gripped the bedspread and began to cry.

Chapter 23

T
he moon was full. It had been four days since Summer had stood in the red-dirt emporium and watched Nicolo transform into something she still didn't know how to define. Would he stay away from her forever? She couldn't bear that.

Her gut ached and her skin itched. She needed blood. Had tried to ignore the hunger, and now she was desperate as she took the stairs down from beside the Pont Neuf to the sidewalk beside the Seine. It was well after midnight, and the summer beach parties had packed up and gone home. Only the derelicts and a few lonely souls remained out on the streets.

Here by the river she scented desperation and evil. Whoever walked ahead of her near the underpass for the next bridge had done something terrible. Who better to gift with madness?

No. She didn't want that for any person, good or bad. Truly, had every bite she had ever taken plunged that person into madness?

“That's wrong. I can't... I'm more evil than Nicolo could ever be.”

Tonight it didn't matter. In fact, she wanted to dowse herself in the darkness. Perhaps that would draw her lover back to her.

Stepping up behind a man dressed in jeans and a black hoodie, she put her arm on his shoulder just as he turned. Knife in hand, the blade stopped before it entered her gut. The man smirked and, seeing it wasn't someone he thought would cause him harm, he tipped his chin up at her. “Nice surprise.”

“Not for long,” she said and slapped a hand aside his face, tilting back his head.

She sank in her fangs and felt the knife blade dig in at her waist, but it didn't puncture skin as her teeth pierced his body. Vile cologne wafted into her senses, but was quickly muffled by the surprising richness of his blood.

The man's knees bent and he went down. Summer followed, drinking of him greedily and straddling his leg as she held firm to his chest to keep his neck at her mouth. Across the Seine the glint of a bonfire sparked in her peripheral vision, and the shouts echoed from late-night revelers, who were unaware of her stolen meal. Of the stolen life.

She could feel the man's heartbeats course through her, fast and then slower. His hand slapped the cobblestones. He moaned, falling into the overwhelming swoon. The Soul Piercer gave pleasure with a promise of everlasting madness.

She pushed him away. Blood spattered her chin and shirt. He fell in a splay of limbs onto the sidewalk and into the shadow of the overhead bridge.

Had she killed him? She'd drunk with incautious abandon. She'd only wanted to satisfy her dark hunger. Had not paid attention to his life slipping away. If he was truly dead then she'd take his nightmares into her and the macabre dreams would give her a taste of the madness she had gifted him.

To check for life, she pressed her fingers over his bloody neck. That reminded her she'd not licked the bite wounds. She bent and dashed her tongue over the two punctures, and in that moment felt the pulse of life.

“Mercy,” she whispered. “Rest well. I'm sorry.”

And she got up and ran off. She needed to get her head on straight. She needed...

Him.

* * *

The next afternoon Summer settled onto the couch in her parents' living room. Her mother was reading a cookbook for reasons Summer could not comprehend. They often sat in silence with one another, her mother browsing through photos on the iPad or working out new routines for her acrobatic skills act she performed with the Demon Arts Troupe.

After a few minutes, with a heavy sigh, Summer tilted to the left and collapsed in an angst-filled sprawl across the couch.

“Hey, sweetie,” Lyric said, setting the cookbook aside and pulling up her knees in the chair where she sat opposite her daughter. “What's the big sigh for? I haven't seen you like this before. Ever. It must be a man.”

Summer smirked. “Seriously? Am I that much an open book?”

“It was a good guess.” Lyric pulled back her straight blond hair and then released it in a swish over her shoulders. “I remember man troubles. I'm not that old, you know.”

“I can't imagine you and dad ever having troubles.”

“I knew many a man before your father.”

Summer thrust up a hand. “I don't want to hear about it.”

Lyric chuckled. “Oh, the stories I could tell.”

Her mother had grown up in a sort of Mafioso family that had been filthy rich and greedy. Fortunately, Lyric had gotten free from her mother's control and had managed to create a good life for herself.

Summer asked, “What's with the cookbook?”

“Baby food,” Lyric said.

“What? Who's pregnant? What baby?”

“Just wishful thinking. I saw it in the bookstore and couldn't resist. Kambriel and Johnny have to have a baby soon. I want to do the grandma thing.”

“Seriously?”

“You don't think I'd be good at it?” Her glamorous-without-any-makeup mother rubbed her knuckles against her shoulder. “I might be a damn bit better at it than Grandma Viviane.”

Lyric had never gotten along with her mother-in-law, the vampiress Viviane. A woman who had gone mad after being buried in a glass coffin beneath the streets of Paris, alive, for over two hundred years. When she'd been rescued, she'd been pregnant with Vaillant—Summer's dad—and Trystan, his twin brother. Although they both had different dads. And Trystan was a werewolf. Long story.

“You'd be great at the grandmother thing, Mom.” She did have a weird domestic bone that had put Summer in curls all through her childhood and even a few hand-sown dresses. Ugh.

“So when can I start dreaming about you giving me grandchildren?”

“I have to get married first. And you know me.”

Lyric sighed. “That long? I could be waiting centuries.”

“I don't know what tomorrow will even bring. Right now there's Nicolo.”

“The musician Johnny mentioned? He plays violin? I've always had a thing for musicians.”

“Did Johnny also tell you he's Nicolo Paganini, raised from the dead?”

Now Lyric stood and crossed the room to sit beside Summer. She stroked her fingers through her daughter's hair and shuffled back to allow Summer to prop her head in her lap.

“I think I've fallen in love,” Summer offered. “He doesn't have a soul, Mom. Do you know what that means?”

“I'd never make a judgment. You tell me what you think it means.”

“It means I can drink his blood and it doesn't affect him at all. He is clear and sane and isn't at all mad.”

“Wow.”

“Right? But Himself said I would go mad if I kept drinking from the soulless.”

“You spoke to— Summer?”

Summer sat up and turned to face her mom, whose beautiful green eyes had never looked more worried. “Nicolo is Himself's son. We had a run-in with the Big Guy the other day.”

“Oh, Summer, what have you done?”

* * *

“I've fallen in love,” Summer said later as she looked down over the Seine, twinkling with street lights reflecting on the water's surface.

She'd climbed to the top of Notre Dame and sat at the base of one of the buttresses along the nave. A favorite place for her to escape and get away from reality. But when her phone jingled, she checked the text. It was from Johnny.
You know Himself almost destroyed Kambriel. Nicolo will do the same to you. Walk away.

Word traveled fast in the Santiago family.

She didn't send a return text. Instead she broke the phone in two and tossed it into the river.

“I will never walk away.”

She just didn't know how to find him. If she called Himself to her would Nicolo follow? An insane desperation made her whisper Himself's name.

With the devil's name on her tongue for a second time she caught her head in her hands—and then said the name out loud.

Heartbeats racing, she imagined a reunion with her soulless lover and how they would live together ever after. Years. Decades. She growing mad with every drop of blood she took from him. Just like her grandmother Viviane.

Shaking her head, Summer did not say Himself's name a third time. Instead she jumped from the roof and landed in the pebbled back courtyard behind the cathedral and walked through the formal garden. A homeless woman sat against the stone wall connecting the Île de la Cité to the Île Saint-Louis.

Running her tongue along a descending fang, Summer advanced on the sleeping woman.

* * *

Summer wandered into her home and left the lights off. Normally she would feel refreshed and alive after drinking blood. And sure, she could sense that her body had received the vital nutrients it craved, but she was too down to care. She missed Nicolo. She wanted
him
at her mouth, not the neck of some stranger.

Pulling her shirt off as she wandered into the bedroom, she eyed the open bedroom window and couldn't even care that she'd left it open. The curtains blew in the breeze, lifting like gentle white faery wings. She tossed her shirt on the bed then sensed—she was not alone.

Spinning to take in the room, her eyes landed on the chair beside the window. A man sat there, palm to his forehead, observing her silently. No smile, or frown. But within his eyes worlds spoke. No, they screamed for the tragedy he'd had to endure and then wept for the nightmare that had resulted.

“Nicolo,” she said on a gasp. A smile stretched her cheeks, but too quickly she calmed herself with a hand to her racing heart.

When she rushed toward him, he said, “No. Stay there. Back by the bed. Sit, please.”

Summer slowly stepped back until her legs hit the bed and she sat. He merely looked at her. So she returned the curiosity. Dressed in velvet and lace, he looked well. Handsome and sexy, as usual. Not...evil. Or demonic. Or as if he'd been through hell the past few days. She could only imagine that he had been.

And she hadn't sneezed. Curious.

In an elegant glide of masculine strength, he stood and crossed the room, then stopped before her. He cupped her head with his hands and tilted it up to kiss her mouth. He kissed her deeply, seeking the core of her in that moment. And she let him inside willingly, desperately.

“You taste of near death,” he said and then pulled her up to stand, and in a move she didn't even see coming, lifted her by the thighs and turned to press her against the wall. “Delicious.”

As he kissed her hard, she wrapped her legs about him. His hands moved up to her bare breasts and tweaked her nipples. She moaned into his kiss. His intensity was urgent, wanting. He could take anything he wished. She would give him everything.

If only she could give him her soul.

She sucked his lower lip than gave it a playful bite. His eyes met hers in a defiant question. She smirked and dove to kiss his jaw, then bit there, without breaking the skin. He bent to kiss her breast and to roughly suckle at her nipple. Long fingers moved over her other breast, creating a symphony of moans and pleading murmurs in Summer's throat.

Tearing open his button-down shirt, she pushed it down his arms, her fingers clutching his hard biceps. He was solid and so hot. And it seemed he could not get enough of her in his mouth, for he fed greedily upon her skin, her lips, her breasts.

Summer rocked her hips, and he groaned with pleasure. Slipping down a hand, he unzipped and shimmied down his pants and then helped her off with hers. Cupping his hand between her thighs, his fingers danced over her folds. She gasped, encouraging him as he slickened her moistness over the head of his penis. The thick, hot intrusion of him within her burst as a shivering sigh. He hilted himself, thrusting rhythmically, quickly, faster and deeper.

She clung to his hair, head tilted back and sucking in her bottom lip. He burned her with his fiery desire, his incessant want. An insatiable quest to drive himself into her, to own her. She loved it. She loved him. She had to have him.

All of him.

Summer bent forward to bite his neck, fangs piercing deeply. Nicolo cried out a wanting shout as he held her to him, allowing her to feed as he continued to thrust within her. His cock rubbed her clit. His blood spilled down her throat. His fingers dug into her flesh, holding her to him, keeping her there. Wanting. Needing. Owning.

His body began to shudder, and he slammed himself deep within her, holding her head to his neck. As she took in his wickedly dark, thick blood, Nicolo tremored and came inside her. He pushed her back against the wall, meeting her forehead to forehead. Gasping, hissing, he moved a hand down to slick his fingers over her clit.

That simple move stirred her over the edge, and she shouted a cry of joy as the orgasm shimmered through her being. And then she clutched her head and laughed an unrecognizable and fearful chatter of madness.

“Yes, mine,” he said against her eyelid. He kissed her there. She giggled and purred for him to give her more. More blood. More, more, more.

His body pulsed one more time, jerking his hard, muscular form against her, and then he pulled her from the wall and spun to lay her on the bed. Crawling over her gasping, sighing form, he studied her face. “You are mine?”

She nodded and huffed out eagerly, “Yes. Always. But, Nicolo, I felt—”

“You felt my darkness. The exquisite prick of your own soul falling apart. Get used to it.”

“More,” she pleaded. “Drive me mad, lover.”

* * *

Nicolo stood before the open window, catching the rising sun on his naked body. The curtains wafted about his legs and thighs, tickling his erection. The neighbors may see him. He didn't care. He wanted to enjoy the light he had been without for what had seemed like years. Ages.

A monster's lifetime.

After playing the black violin he had descended to Beneath at his father's beckon. Himself had shown him his throne. Indeed, the vile thing existed. Metal and bone, and sheened with the dark lacquer of lost and abandoned souls. He had sat upon it and felt immense power surge up and fill his body.