The Vampire's Protector (19 page)

And it had felt right.

And oh, so wrong.

He'd gotten back to Summer as quickly as possible, but though it may have been days for her on this realm, she might never fathom how long he had been away from her. And he would never tell her the horrors he had witnessed or that he had come to participate in. Because he could not bear to fall in her eyes. It was a hope he had clung to. So long.

Of course, he had allowed her to bite him last night. He only hoped she would not learn all the evils that had been born of his hands through his blood. And if his knowledge of the Soul Piercer had any validity he hoped the giggles had not been a precursor to her soul losing grip on reality.

For as long as he could remain here, in her presence, he felt he could fight the call to serve his wicked father. But already that skin-tightening buzz that moved across his scalp warned he had work to do. Tonight. It would begin onstage. He had a few hours yet.

A few hours of bliss that he would never take for granted and would commit to memory for all his days when he must be away from his Brightness.

She rolled over on the bed, one arm outstretched. Her pale skin was as marble, and her breasts were topped with hard, rosy buds. He'd pushed himself inside her relentlessly. Still he wanted more. He needed to fix her scent inside him, inoculate his blood with hers...

Yes, perhaps he could do just that. Take the taste of her with him. Because he had the fangs. He could do whatever he wished with them. And he'd used them to snarl, cut and defile so many times. Ah! He mustn't think of it when in Summer's presence.

Without opening her eyes, she smiled. Her fingers curled, gesturing him to come to her. And Nicolo followed, a willing sycophant. He knelt on the floor before the bed, looking over her gorgeous figure. With a finger he traced from her wrist, up to her elbow. Her smile clued him it must tickle her. He'd been rough with her earlier. He'd forgotten softness. Now, he was compelled to know her softness. For just a moment.

And then forever.

Up her arm he glided his fingertip, memorizing the silken fabric of her skin, the hard dash of her collarbone and sweet rise of her breast. And when he touched the rough, ruched nipple, he could no longer hold back the urgent desire to have her inside him.

Willing down the vile fangs that had initially frustrated him—how to speak and open his mouth?—now he was expert with them. With first a gentle kiss, he then bit into her breast.

Summer lifted her head. “Goddess, I didn't know you could— Oh...”

Her erotic murmur played music in his ears. As did her blood perform music in his veins. It danced into him hot and slick and rushing. No souls with this taste, a respite for him. Simply Summer. He could not compose a finer melody. Greedily he fed upon her, squeezing her other breast and kneading at it. He moved onto the bed, and his erection fit against her thigh. She spread her legs and directed him inside her. Pierced at breast and between the legs, she was his, pinned and taken.

“Nicolo,” she cried as a brutal orgasm rocked her body beneath him.

He pushed up with one hand, blood dripping from his mouth to land on her pale breast. The air felt light. His cock was engorged. The high of her blood dizzied him. He didn't need to come. For her essence running through him gave him so much more. It bonded him to her. He felt he would always know her now. Wherever she went, her heartbeats belonged to him.

And perhaps even...her soul. Had he taken part of it into him?

“I've never been bitten,” she said as she came down from the shuddering orgasm. “That was so freakin' good.”

A virgin to the bite? And it had been his first bite, too. The first one performed out of love and not evil. Poetic, for the Dark Lord's son.

He'd been crowned the Dark Prince by his father. It was a title that reviled him. Yet at the same time, he'd worn it well and would continue to do so. He must. For if he did not Summer Santiago would die at his father's hand.

Chapter 24

T
hey'd showered together, and with but a shake of his head as he wandered into the bedroom to gather his clothes, Nicolo's hair dried.

“Now that's a trick I would love to have,” Summer said. She pulled on a black silk robe, and her wet hair clung to her upper back.

He smiled briefly as he pulled up his pants. She suspected smiles were not easy for him anymore. He seemed so serious. Didn't say much. Just...took. Which had been entirely all right for her, the past hours of wild and adventurous sex.

Oh man. Being bitten. That was fifty kinds of all right. And maybe they had bonded. She hoped so. The brief moments when she'd lost a handle on herself and wasn't sure to laugh, cry or shout, had passed. She felt sane. She would remain so.

Fingers crossed.

She sat on the end of the bed and watched Nicolo button up the black shirt, wanting to pull aside his hair for him, but really she just felt exhausted and relaxed and so deliciously worn out.

“You going to stay?” she asked.

“I've a concert at the opera house in a few hours. You will come.”

“I will?” Of course she would! But it had been a command. Even if she was happy to see him she didn't take well to orders. “How'd you manage a concert? You've only been gone a few days and— When did all this happen?”

“It's been arranged,” he provided simply as he turned to retrieve his shoes. They looked similar to the bespoke ones he had valued. Slipping his feet into them, he then combed through his hair with his fingers and flipped the dark tresses over a shoulder. “You will come?”

“Of course. But I'm not sure I can get a ticket this late.”

“That has also been arranged. Pick up your ticket at will call. I'm eager to perform.”

“I bet you are.” She traced his body up from his feet to the powerful thighs, and there at his hips he'd propped a hand as he stood before the window, eyes closed, taking in the daylight. Not a creature, she tried to convince herself. Still good. “So are you going to talk to me, Nicolo?”

“Isn't that what we are doing?”

“About what you've been up to. What's happened since you played the black violin? Have things...changed for you? I want to know what's going on. You're different.”

“How so?”

“You're distant.”

He lifted a brow that undressed her and pushed his cock inside her
like that
.

“Yeah, I know, all that sex was not distant. But you, you've changed. You seem set aside. Is it the bargain? What
are
you now? You drank my blood. Which was freakin' awesome. But—”

“Summer, please. I don't want you to know the Dark Prince. I simply want you to know Nicolo.”

“I do know Nicolo. I love Nicolo. But the Dark Prince? Where did you get that name?”

“My father gave it to me. If you should ever need me, call me three times.”

Yikes. Just like calling Himself. And he'd said it as if he were resigned to accept the title. Not even resigned. He owned it.

Avoiding eye contact, he murmured, “You will regret loving me.”

“Never. I will always love Nicolo.”

“But not the Dark Prince?” Now he met her gaze defiantly, shoulders squared. “Does he scare you?”

She shook her head. “I've not met him. Or maybe he's standing before me right now. I don't know. Yes, I suppose I have met him. He's the stoic, silent guy who won't talk to me. He is also the man who took me relentlessly until I collapsed in bliss from utter exhaustion. Do you still love me, Nicolo?”

His jaws tightened, and he clasped a hand into a fist.

“We're quite the pair now,” she said. “The Dark Prince and the Soul Piercer.”

His gaze glanced away from hers as he nodded. But he couldn't speak it.

She wouldn't press. Maybe he couldn't? Was he under some sort of demonic surveillance? She had no clue what his life was now like. And he apparently wasn't willing to share.

“The concert then,” she said.

“Yes. Be there. You will be my focus. I won't be able to do this without you.”

Her jaw dropped open, but she couldn't find a reply as he strode out of the bedroom. She didn't hear the door open and close, but knew he had left the house.

“The Dark Prince,” she whispered. And a chill rippled across her shoulders.

* * *

The concert was in less than two hours. Summer browsed through her wardrobe rack of jeans and tops and the one dress he'd already seen her in. Well, there was that other dress she kept in plastic. She owned that dress because her sister-in-law, Kambriel, had insisted she buy it so she could at least
do the sexy
once in a blue moon.

With a sigh, she tugged on the red velvet cling dress that had spaghetti straps and dipped to reveal her breasts, but wasn't so low in the back. It stopped midthigh.

“I can do the sexy. And it's the color of blood.”

She teased her tongue along the bottom of a fang and then pressed her palm over the breast Nicolo had bitten. The wound had healed, but she could still feel him there, luxuriating in her, taking her in, making her his. He'd indulged in her life's blood.

Two vampires could bond over sharing blood. They simply had to agree, like a sort of marriage contract. But what about a vampire and the Dark Prince? She had no clue. Did she want a clue? It was good to have a clue.

“Maybe not,” she muttered as she dug about for some high heels. The black leather Louboutins were plain, but the red sole matched her dress perfectly. “Ready.”

He'd told her to be there tonight. Hadn't asked her nicely or requested she attend. He'd commanded she be there to be his focus. And that had felt grand. Like he'd needed her. She wouldn't let him down.

“So does this make me the Dark Prince's girlfriend?”

She wasn't sure if she should smile or cry.

* * *

The opera house was filled, yet somehow Summer had garnered her own private box with seven empty seats around her. She felt guilty for the indulgence, and then she felt special for the gift Nicolo had given her. Or had he?
It's been arranged
was what he'd told her. By whom?

Probably best if she didn't know the answer to that one.

Looking down over the audience on the main floor, who were enraptured by the up-and-coming Nicolo—as the placard had advertised—she wondered how many of them would guess he was the great Paganini. Certainly none of them had in mind to suspect a dead legend had returned to the stage. They may make comparisons, for though he played new compositions his style was definitely the same, but they should only mark him a genius, the next Big Thing.

For the first half of the concert he avoided playing his own works, and he'd even slipped in a Bitter/Sweet song that no one might recognize for the allegrettos, harmonic runs and trills he'd added. He was a master and she admired his talent.

His eyes met hers frequently. She was his focus, and each glance quickened her desires. Yes, those glances seemed to gleam red instead of his usual gray irises. It had to be the stage lights.
Please let it be the stage lights.

But she wasn't stupid. Summer knew exactly who she was dating. And she was mostly good with that. Because he seemed like the same guy. What could have possibly happened to him in the few days he'd been gone? He hadn't turned evil yet. She prayed for that.

And thinking of his talents, she settled back against the soft velvet seat and closed her eyes to the music as memory of his fingers on her skin warmed her all over. She pressed her legs together, squeezing tightly to summon the curl of an orgasmic hum at her clitoris. Nicolo could fuck her with that sound. And she allowed it to flow through her and master her senses.

Softly, she sighed as an orgasm high up in her clitoris vibrated a sweet reaction. She'd have to do the fangirl thing and take this musician home with her. She wouldn't be completely satisfied unless she did. But she wondered now, as she again glanced about the audience and noted the women leaning forward in their seats, how many were also swooning. Dreaming of the same thing as she: winning the sexy violinist's regard.

The man on the stage was truly Nicolo. He had to be. No trace of the Dark Prince lived in those dancing fingers and swaying body. Music was his substitute soul. It was his anchor to this realm. And she had to make sure he stayed anchored and did not fall into the pit of darkness his new title would surely lure him toward.

How to break the curse of his birthright? Was it possible now that he'd transformed? Did he want it broken? He'd resisted it so valiantly in his previous life. Much as he would say he'd consigned himself to his fate now, she would never believe. He'd sacrificed to save her. She had to stay strong for the both of them.

The black violin, which he now played, would surely transform him into something else. She wished he were playing anything else, even the purple electric violin owned by Domingos.

“The Guarnerius,” she whispered. His favorite violin, the one he called
il Cannone
. Nicolo had said something about Himself not liking that violin because it was innocent. And what else? “He'd called it his balance,” she murmured. “A balance between good and evil?”

Could playing that revered violin return Nicolo to the man he most wanted to be?

It was currently displayed in a museum in Genoa. They'd not had the opportunity to stop and visit it during their train trip as Nicolo had wished—because the whole musician-becomes-the-Dark-Prince thing had happened. But a visit was certainly in order. Perhaps even a heist. If she could put that violin into Nicolo's hands...

She had to do it. To see if it might transform him back to a simple man. Without a soul.

The audience suddenly straightened as the next song began with a rising and falling series of scales, each time the highest note stretching higher, his fingers stretching farther, his control over the audience increasing until he broke into a furious dash.

He played “The Devil's Trill,” a Tartini sonata, much faster than normal. It moved erratically, irrationally, impossibly quick. He beat his own speed, racing, luring as he walked to the edge of the stage and bent forward as he played to the crowd. Come, listen, follow me. Marvel over my skill.

The whole performance had a Pied Piper touch to it. Weird.

And they did listen and marvel. Some audience members stood and held their hands to their chests in awe. Others called out
“salut!”
and “bravo!” And as the song was over too quickly and the applause began, Summer noticed something strange within the audience. As the people looked to one another to comment about the performance, she could see their faces. Red eyes flashed here and there. Like demon eyes.

A sneeze tickled her senses, and she suppressed it with a finger to her nose as the applause increased. But she could not hold it back and she let it loose, sitting back quickly so no one could spot her. Nicolo's eyes fixed to hers. She shrugged, yet he didn't return a whimsical “eh, just a sneeze” look. The man's gaze gleamed like coal.

Quickly looking back over the main floor, she counted dozens of people with red eyes. Was it a trick of the lighting?

A deep knowing chilled her to the bone. Had Nicolo's performance somehow changed those audience members to demon? Or had it enticed demons into unsuspecting human bodies?

“No.” She gripped the balcony railing to keep from falling to her knees.

* * *

Out back of the opera house, cars zoomed by, yet Nicolo could not see beyond the bevy of women who held out programs for him to sign. They ranged all ages, appearances and colors, and he loved it. And each so easy to tempt. He could feel their degree of compliance in the auras that surrounded them. Not a single implacable body in the bunch. Though these bodies had not taken on a demon.

Those had left as soon as the music had stopped. They'd been called to their greater master's bidding. His father would be pleased. And Nicolo was merely thankful for the release to this realm to play his music.

Yes, he could do this. Travel the world as Nicolo. Just the single name. Some may compare him to Paganini. As they should. But he had moved beyond that with this performance. And with the black violin in hand he could create anything and summon many to the depths of Beneath.

He closed his eyes briefly, handing a program back to someone with grabby hands, and tried to scent Summer. That sweet, musky after-sex scent he had vowed to never forget. Had he scared her away? She must know. She had seen the results of his performance. In that moment when the final note had been bowed, their eyes had met, and he had read her dread. Her knowing.

He could feel no guilt for the act he had committed on stage. It was what he did. What he had done for so long.

“
C'est magnifique
, Nicolo!” Before him a woman in body-hugging black lace and high heels fainted into her partner's arms.

Typical. It had been a long time since he'd stood amongst the adoring and devoted. Nothing had changed.

“Nicolo.” The tiniest voice spoke behind him, but he felt her move into him and skip in his blood. For he wore her blood in his veins. And a trace of her soul.

He turned and swept Summer into his arms, leaning down to kiss her before all. A roar of cheers and applause rose, and he felt her flinch but only deepened the kiss. She belonged to him. She would not deny his followers this affectionate display.

When he pulled from the kiss, her eyes flashed a warning and she said, “I saw what you did.”

“It is what I do now,” he said plainly then turned to the crowd, thrusting up a triumphant fist. “
Merci! Merci!
I am humbled by your adoration.”

* * *

Summer drove home while Nicolo plucked the strings of his violin. That vicious, wicked black violin created by Himself. She must put the Guarnerius into his hands. But she needed a plan.