Czytaj książkę: «A Venetian Vampire»

Chapter 1

Dante D’Arcangelo insinuated himself into the Cannaregio Casa d’Aste with an ease that had come from more than 160 years of existing along the edge of the shadows. No one paid any mind to the tall stranger as he walked the Venetian auction house’s marble corridor to the back room, where key arrangements for the event were being performed. Tomorrow evening’s gala auction would feature dozens of valuable art items on the block. It was being hyped with celebrity fanfare. A media blitz.

The star of the show was a Fabergé Imperial egg called the Nécessaire. It had officially gone missing in 1952, after the last known buyer had been recorded only as: A Stranger. A month ago, it had suddenly reemerged in the art world. Dante intended to remove it from the auction house tonight. No hard feelings. It was just that the egg belonged to him. And the very fate of his kind—vampires—required he get it back.

As he took in the layout of the bustling auction house, the placement of the dinnerware stacked and ready for service in the grand ballroom where a celebratory dinner was to be held, counted the employees and marked their various uniforms, noted security cameras and entrance keypads, Dante noticed one woman stood out from them all.

Rather, she didn’t quite fit in.

A woman of medium height and more than a few delicious curves, she stood apart from the workers possessed of blasé European disinterest, slender frames and suntanned skin. A tourist who had wandered in from the streets? Doubtful. Her actions were purposeful. She moved along the edge of the activity, which hummed like a busy office expecting the district manager to show up at any moment to fire one and all. She was dressed all in black, and over that she wore a snug maroon apron like those on the auction house employees. Her dark hair was pulled into a ponytail.

Waiters and others who most definitely belonged in the mix shuffled to and fro, intent on their specific duties. Some spoke into earpieces; others checked details on clipboards or iPads. A pair of lanky busboys hustled clattering cases of wine toward the bar area set up along one wall.

The woman with the dark hair and mysterious presence kept her head down, yet her kohl-lined eyes took in everything—except the people. She did not miss a creased seam where wall met wall, nor a crimped electrical cable running from a computer along the floor and into a dark, attached room. Near her thigh, her fingers moved as if counting, slowly. She was marking her footsteps across the room.

Dante smirked. Was she actually casing the place? Well, he knew she was because he was. Only he had much more stealth, despite the fact he wasn’t a professional thief. Although his life experiences did tend to put him in larcenous situations from time to time. He picked up necessary skills with ease and interest. And he never hesitated to commit a criminal act when he knew it could ultimately serve the greater good.

Such as obtaining this particular bejeweled prize.

When his shoulder was bumped, he turned and offered apologies to a slender blonde woman holding a stack of bid cards and offered to help her carry them. She thanked him and in mellifluous Italian said she was capable. And then she smiled widely as she stared at his face—a few seconds too long.

Dante was accustomed to that dreamy look. And honestly? It gave him a visceral thrill. Women gave him a thrill. All of them. All shapes, sizes and colors. Could a man ever get enough? So he touched her cheek, brushing aside some strands of corn-silk gold hair over her ear. She blushed and looked to the cards clasped in both hands, then fluttered her lashes as if she couldn’t decide whether to look back up at him or clutch those blank cards tighter.

He needn’t exercise his vampiric persuasion on her. If he wanted her, he could have her. But flirting with an audience present was gauche. And he didn’t want her. He simply enjoyed the triumph of knowing she would fall sighing into his arms should he give her the permission to do so.

Dante bowed, gesturing she had the right of way. That gentlemanly move stirred her from her adoring gaze. She cleared her throat, blushed even deeper and nodded quickly. As she passed, he inhaled her perfume. A note of freesia vied to rise above the alcohol base. He did not care for unnatural chemical scents. Still, he did admire the warmth that continued to redden her skin.

Enough distraction. Where had the mystery woman gone? Ah, yes.

He crossed the room to the hallway into which his suspected thief had entered with carefully placed—and counted—footsteps. Immediately he noticed an armed guard in front of a closed door at the far end of the hallway. A walkie-talkie was clipped to his chest pocket. No gun at his hip, but the gleam of a carbon nightstick flashed from the holster at his waist. A badge would be required to enter what Dante guessed was the room where the auction items were being prepared to go on the block.

Halfway down the hallway, between Dante and the guard, the woman in black suddenly checked her wristwatch and stopped. After turning, she backtracked. Dante dug out his pocket watch and bowed his head as she passed him. He picked up no perfume scent from her, though was that a hint of salty sweat? She was nervous? Poor girl. Had she not done this before? Such a pity she would fail. It was in his best interest to ensure she did.

He’d have to adjust his schedule for this evening. Didn’t want to run into her bungling her way through a hopeless theft. And he’d hate to see the disappointment in her eyes when she arrived on the scene to find whatever she sought was missing. Had to be the egg. It was the only item on the auction list that could possibly attract a thief. Missing from circulation for almost seventy years, the Nécessaire Fabergé egg was a showstopper.

Yet, it had been missing from his care for only twenty-five years. He hated to admit to himself, but he’d let it slip through his hands some time before the turn of the century.

And then a thought occurred as he confidently stopped before the guard and allowed him to scan the badge he’d lifted upon entering the establishment half an hour earlier. What if?

Yes, what if?

“Immettere.” The guard granted him entry.

“Grazie,” Dante said and strolled inside.

Two men dusting a bronze statue of a dandelion looked up as he entered, and again Dante bowed his head over the 1790 pocket watch he’d been gifted as an eighteenth birthday present. Four silver skulls were situated in the center beneath the brilliant copper hands. He wouldn’t dream of destroying the line of his suit with a cell phone.

He wasn’t going to remain in this room long enough to be asked questions. And the cursory glance he’d taken had confirmed only one camera in the opposite corner. The far wall displayed a digital lock beside the door, same as near the door through which he had entered. Inadequate security, as his advance research had reported while on the jet to Venice. Not that he’d surfed the information highway himself. He knew people who knew far too much about technology and ways to infiltrate security systems.

This auction house was small, finding its feet after decades of near failure. The egg was to be its ticket out of the red. Pity it hadn’t boosted security for its big show. If a thief could get past the security sensors on the first floor, the reward for making it that far would be in this simple room.

He put up a finger to gesture as if he’d forgotten something. “I’ll be right back,” he muttered and left the room, tucking away the watch. He offered a gracious ciao to the guard as he strolled back down the hallway.

He didn’t see the woman in black again. Didn’t need to. He’d marked her as no threat.

As Dante made his way toward the front of the building and stepped out into the fresh summer air, he returned to the what-if scenario. He might consider it a fortune that another thief was slinking about his turf. Would she go after the object he wanted? It was the most valuable and unique of the auction’s offerings. There was always the risk she was not at all interested. Perhaps bronze dandelions were her thing?

“Foolish not to take the egg,” he murmured. “And if she does?”

He smiled a wicked smile that had caused many a woman to strip off her lace-and-silk unmentionables and beg him to take her.

“I’ll let her take the egg for me. It’ll be a great diversion.”

He did enjoy diversions. Especially those involving a beautiful woman.

* * *

Many hours after her visit to case the art house, Kyler Cole again left the building, but this time, on the sly.

Nabbing the Nécessaire Imperial egg had been too easy. So easy, in fact, that Kyler kept rubbing her palm over the black nylon backpack in which she’d placed the egg to reassure herself she’d actually done it. She had snuck into the Cannaregio Casa d’Aste and absconded with a nineteenth-century artifact that was worth millions. Go, girl!

And why had she, a thief who had only ever stolen to survive, taken on such a task? Because hidden within the egg was a spell that promised eternity, and that would give her freedom from worry and fear.

It had been a harrowing adventure—and entirely new for her—but well worth the risk. Her body hummed and tittered as she walked swiftly through a dark alleyway and toward the buzz of a crowd mingling at an outdoor bar near the Grand Canal’s sparkling waters. The Venetian nightlife bubbled with laughter and music from a live acoustic band. The air was rife with smells of salty seawater, fried seafood and sweet spices. Her mood compelled her toward the celebration.

Kyler’s toes barely hit the ground, and she propelled herself so lightly she thought someone might see her lift off from the pavement and fly at any moment. But she remained grounded by keeping one eye out for the local police, whom, she had noted earlier, dressed in gorgeous black-and-white uniforms and, with the addition of crisp, clean white gloves, looked like fashion models. Yes, she had a wandering eye for a well-dressed man.

She’d not tripped any alarms while in the auction house. The security had been lax. As well, she’d spied an open window on the second floor. She avoided the risk of setting off the alarms on the first floor, and a leap had allowed her entrance. Such skills she possessed! And once perched upon the windowsill, an interior scan had assured her no cameras were in the room.

If her luck continued to play well, no one would discover the theft until the final inventory preceding tomorrow night’s auction. She intended to leave Venice as soon as she got the call for the handoff, which she expected sometime tomorrow. The man she’d stolen the egg for would arrange for someone to meet her here in Venice to take it off her hands, but she didn’t have the details yet.

Right now, she could use a glass of wine, perhaps even champagne. Yes, a celebration was due! It had been a long time since she’d felt so elated. So ready to embrace the possibilities life now offered her. And some well-deserved merriment would wipe the tarnish from the crime, yes? She’d committed petty theft before. A few swiped cosmetics when she was a teenager, and the obligatory bottle of wine from the liquor store while her friends distracted the cashier. Stupid stuff. Last year, she’d upped it to food and pharmaceuticals when caring for her dying mother. Funds had been low. She hadn’t had any other choice.

The crime she’d committed this evening felt...not so terrible, now that it had been accomplished. What was contained within the egg would give a certain man the reassurance he needed—for her, as well.

She insinuated herself into the crowd of partiers milling about an ivy-draped patio and eyed the open-air bar. A few bar stools were empty, so...why not? Sliding onto a stool, she kept the backpack slung over a shoulder.

“Prosecco,” she told the bartender, and the bearded drink-jockey winked before turning to pour her a goblet.

She didn’t speak Italian, so she was thankful that a word here or there served to get by in this country. Born and raised in Iowa, her first trip overseas had been six months earlier. And she hadn’t looked back since.

“Celebrating?”

Kyler took in the side profile of the man who’d asked her the question in English. Chiseled cheekbone and a thick black brow. A blade of a nose and the hint of stubble darkening his upper lip. His hair was cut short, hugging a perfectly shaped skull, and was the same inky color as hers. She’d taken hers out of the ponytail after exiting the auction house. It was one of her best assets, and she now swung the thick mane over a shoulder as her sensual instincts screamed for her to get the guy’s attention—and keep it.

“Yes. I’ve had a good day.” She sipped the chilled prosecco. Beaming from the high of her accomplishment, she tilted her glass toward him.

He tipped his glass against the thin crystal. “My wine won’t match your bubbly, but I toast you all the same. To good days.”

“Most definitely. I feel great. Life could not be better at this moment.”

“Ah? I feel your enthusiasm. It is written on your face and in your movements.” His eyes glinted from a flash that carried from the overhead swag of Christmassy strands of white lights. And his European accent? Kyler felt the deep tones melt about her heart. “You visiting the city or a resident?”

“Just visiting.”

Her leg bobbed beneath the bar, and she cautioned her sudden nervousness. Nix that. She wasn’t nervous; she was exhilarated. And talking to a sexy stranger only heightened that amazing sensation.

Would it be ridiculous to consider a celebratory roll between the sheets? Not at all. She deserved a handsome man kissing her, whispering sweet nothings to her, tasting her...

“You?” she asked with a perkiness that felt false. She was trying not to lean too close to him. He might see her drool. Not that she’d ever drool. Oh, mercy, his voice.

“I live in the city,” he said, “but not year-round. Just arrived in Venice for a few days’ visit, actually.”

“Me, too. I’m here for a few days, that is. Might try to do some sightseeing in the morning.”

“You haven’t been yet?”

“Uh...nope.” She sipped again. Gotta watch what she said. She concentrated on the man’s gorgeous blue eyes. Wow. They were unreal in color, and he looked directly at her. His intense scrutiny of her lit a fire in her core, and she straightened her shoulders, which lifted her breasts. Attention from an attractive man? Go, Kyler.

“Forgive my manners. An introduction is necessary. I’m Dante D’Arcangelo.”

Really? If that wasn’t a sexy name, Kyler didn’t know what was. And the man certainly did resemble a delicious dark angel. Mmm...

He waited for her to respond.

“Oh, right. Me. Kyler Cole.” She shook his proffered hand, and at the sudden, scintillating, electric shimmer that shot through her fingers and up her arm, she tugged away and gasped. “Oh.” And then, as she settled into the realization of what the man who sat beside her was, she repeated her exclamation in a more sensual tone. “Oh.”

That shimmery feeling that had raced over her skin? It occurred only when one vampire touched another. Now she was definitely on board with a hookup. Because really, she hadn’t met many others like her in the few months she had been vampire.

“Oh, indeed,” he echoed in an equally sensual tone.

He turned on the bar stool to face her with his body, his knee hugging her thigh. Enchantment twinkled in his eyes as he took her in with undisguised wonder. It was as though he had discovered a diamond sitting among common pebbles. Kyler could eat up his attention for breakfast, dinner and supper.

“A like soul,” he said. “Refreshing to find another here in Venice. Shall we toast to one another?”

“Absolutely.”

Kyler had a tendency to trust most people, but a sudden moment of uncertainty emerged. To have walked straight up to another vampire like this? It was weird. Or possibly coincidence. Had to be coincidence. He’d already been sitting at the bar when she had arrived. Wasn’t like he’d been following her.

She sighed and sucked in her lower lip as she tapped a fingernail against the goblet stem. He seemed harmless. Too handsome, for sure. A man as sexy as he was would not be by himself. Not for long, at least. And yet the appeal of him being vampire could not be disregarded. She’d not been with another vampire, between the sheets, or to share blood. And she’d been wondered what both would be like.

“I’m sorry. I don’t like to see a woman looking so distraught. Have I said something wrong?”

“Uh, no,” she said quickly. Distraught? Try “making up her mind about whether or not to pursue her illicit wonderings.” Tangled sheets and bloody bites? She didn’t need to consider it long. Yes, please!

Tilting back another swallow of prosecco, she clutched her backpack strap, assessing the weight of its contents. Quite heavy for the silver and gemstones that made up the object. “I, uh...didn’t expect...”

“It’s a nice surprise when it happens,” he offered casually.

“Yes, it is. I’ve just never met another...” She cast a glance aside. The bar’s patrons were all chatting in Italian. “Another...you know, in such a casual manner. You startled me.” She leaned forward and her thigh nudged his knee, but she kept herself from touching his leg with her hand. “But it was a good startle.”

“Excellent. We understand one another from the get-go. No masks to wear. And don’t worry—I’m not after anything. Though I would be lying if I didn’t admit that I followed you since right about there.” He pointed down the street. “At the corner by the flower shop. I couldn’t stop myself from following you. You’re gorgeous, Kyler. And your demeanor is so attractive. You walk as if on air.”

A shiver of her previous excitement returned, and Kyler wiggly gaily on the bar stool. “Like I said, good day. Probably one of the best I’ve had in a while. What about you?”

“My best good day? Hmm, that was probably...”

She leaned forward in anticipation of his explanation. Abandoning her caution, she wanted the banter, some good conversation and another glass of prosecco. She indicated to the bartender to refill.

“My best day must have been when I met Pablo Picasso and got to shake his hand.”

“That’s awesome. Early twentieth century?”

“It was 1972, actually. He died a year later. I’ve been around a while.” He shrugged in a manner that drew her eyes to his well-fitted suit. Tailored perfectly for his lean shape and broad shoulders. “But the years don’t show on my face.”

“You’ve a handsome face.”

He bowed his head as he grinned, then tipped his glass to her refilled goblet. “Salut!”

“Salut!” And she tilted back the entire goblet. Then felt compelled to say, “This is exciting for me. Talking to another of my kind.”

“Is that so? You don’t associate with others of our species?” He leaned toward her, and she scented not cologne but something primal and innate. His essence, perhaps. A warm, leathery scent.

“No, I haven’t had opportunity. I just transformed six months ago.”

“I see. New blood. Well, don’t worry. I won’t bite. Unless you want me to.” He winked. “That’s a tired joke, but I couldn’t resist.”

She smirked, which turned into a genuine chuckle. “You never know—I might like a bite.”

She could seriously entertain the idea of wrapping her legs about his hips and sinking her fangs into his neck—

“What have you come to Venice for, Kyler?”

Tugged out of the fabulous fantasy of lapping at the man’s neck, she gave him a blank look. What had he said?

“Vacation or work?” he asked.

“Oh, uh...a search and find actually. For a friend.”

“And did you find what you were searching for?”

“Oh, yes. It was actually a piece of art. Pretty.”

“Something famous?”

She shrugged. “Could be. I’m not much of an art enthusiast. I wouldn’t recognize Picasso if he sat down before me with one of his works in hand. I prefer music.”

“I do, as well. All sorts, but I am partial to jazz. Do you like to dance?” he asked.

“I do, but I don’t know how. I’ve always wanted to learn something like the tango.” She hooked her fingers on the backpack strap. The hardy weave and weight reminded her not to lose all caution. “I was on my way back to the hotel when I stopped for a quick drink. Not really dressed for dancing or partying. I’ll take a rain check, though.”

“Rain checks often go untended. How about another prosecco?”

“You’ll get me drunk.”

“Do you get drunk?”

“Not usually.” Vamps could consume a lot of alcohol with little affect on their sobriety. “But whiskey, straight from the vein, does make me sick. I learned that one the hard way.” She touched her chest. Never had she confessed such a personal detail about herself. It was too easy to be open in his presence. Relaxing into the conversation felt like stepping into his arms and settling in for a nice long snuggle.

“Vodka is my bête noire,” he offered. “I can’t stand a drunk bite. I prefer them healthy.”

“Me, too,” she agreed. “But I’m still learning, you know.”

She straightened and slid her hands down her ribs and to her waist, a weird habit she’d developed after putting on thirty pounds following her mother’s death. She still hadn’t lost the weight, but she had learned to embrace her curves. And use them to her best advantage.

A glance at Dante confirmed he was studying her with those mesmerizing eyes. Interested? If only she’d worn something more revealing than the pedestrian black turtleneck shirt and black leggings. Wow. Did she totally look like a cat burglar? What had she been thinking? Should have brought along a bright red scarf to tie around her neck after the deed had been done.

“So, tell me more about you, Dante. You are Italian, but I think the words you just used were French?”

“I am both. Italian on my mother’s side and my father was French. But I don’t mind speaking English. It is an interesting language.”

And her only option. “Where are you living?”

“I own a palazzo a short walk away, in the San Marco. It’s a vacation home. I spend most of my time in Paris. Though at the moment I am homeless in the City of Light. Sold my barge and waiting for my property agent to send me some new and interesting finds.”

“You lived on a barge? That sounds...actually, kind of smelly and wobbly.”

“You get used to shifting with the waves. And the Seine doesn’t smell that bad. It’s the tourists peeking in the windows all the time that made me decide to sell. This time of year they are like patrons peering in at the lone captive animal.”

Kyler laughed and leaned an elbow on the bar. Her body nudged closer to his. Their thighs hugged now. There was something electric about him, and it wasn’t the shimmer she’d felt with their handshake. The man oozed confidence and élan. Physically, he wasn’t her type. While muscular and seemingly strong, he was too pretty, too perfect. He could model for a top magazine, and women the world over would swoon.

She much preferred a man who looked average, acted average and wasn’t concerned about what others thought of him. An average Joe. Probably because that was all she’d ever dated. She’d never thought a man as handsome as Dante would give her a second glance. Yet she’d never ruled out flirting with any and all men. It made her feel sensual and alive.

“How long did you live in Paris?” she asked.

“Are you fishing about for how old I am? You can simply ask.”

She shrugged. “Okay. How old are you?”

“I was born in Paris in 1860. Well before Picasso.”

She quickly did the math quickly—over 150 years old. “I find it fascinating that immortality ages a person so slowly. It’s an amazing gift, isn’t it?”

“It is.”

“But immortality does not mean you—we—can never die.”

“Yes, a healthy fear of stakes does serve a vampire a longer life. I am a youngster as far as living centuries goes. I love to experience everything. There are never days I would bemoan my existence.”

“I agree. Vampirism rocks.”

“There is so much to do in this world,” he continued. “So many adventures to be had. So many women to love.”

Of course, a man as attractive as him would not want for a girlfriend. But could he possibly be between lovers? “You have...many lovers?”

“At one time? Never. I am always exclusive. But if you are counting years, then of course I’ve had my share. I never kiss and tell, though. Each woman is a memory I forever cherish.”

“Sounds like I’ve met Casanova in the flesh.”

“Eh, he was too boisterous. Couldn’t stop himself from writing about his sordid affairs and sharing them with anyone who would listen.” He skated a finger around the rim of his glass, and Kyler sucked in a corner of her lip. The movement reminded her of a fingertip circling skin. “I’ll keep my secrets, thank you.”

Kyler was suddenly all about learning secrets. Or making new ones with a certain irresistibly sexy vampire. Her elbow slipped, and the backpack slid from her shoulder to the crook of her elbow.

“Shopping?” he said with a nod to the backpack.

“Sort of. Just a few trinkets.”

When she made to slide the strap back up her arm, he touched her again, wanting to help, and hooked the wide black strap over her shoulder. “That’s heavy for trinkets.”

“I should probably go,” she offered. Though the idea of walking away from such an intriguing man felt wrong. She enjoyed talking to him. But really, she shouldn’t risk sitting around with a valuable piece of art in her backpack. Or have him ask more questions she wasn’t willing to answer. “It’s getting late.”

“It’s just past midnight. Do you sleep much?”

She shrugged. “A few hours a night. I still cling to some of the more satisfying human rituals.”