Dane (13 page)

Eva said something more. But she seemed far away, her words coming from a tunnel. Dane frowned, a feeling of disquiet slipping down his spine. What was happening to him?

I want to go home.

“Who‟s there?” he demanded. “Dante?”

“What?” Eva asked blankly.

But Dane knew the answer to his question with a terrible certainty.

Dante only served a carnal function and had gone now. There was someone else inhabiting him. Someone he‟d been unaware of until this moment. Another part of him, hidden all this time, deep within the recesses of his fractured brain.

He stepped back, pulling out of her. His nape prickled with fear, and he glanced around, feeling hunted. The sensation of someone chasing him speared terror down his spine, but there was no threat here. He was remembering something. Something from the time he‟d been abducted.

This new part of him had knowledge of that time, could help him find Luc.

“Where‟s Luc?” he demanded. But he got no answer. And then Dane was ebbing away, his sense of self washing out with the tide.

Drowning in the murky swamp of his suddenly over-populated mind.

Eva peeked up at Dane as he pulled from her, feeling almost shy with him now. Her pulse was still racing, her knees still quaking. Her lover—how good it felt to think of him in that way—stood there, big and strong and handsome.

He glanced down at himself, seeming bemused to find his trousers around his knees. Yanking them higher, he tucked his manly parts inside and quickly fastened them, staring at her intently all the while.

As if he didn‟t recognize her.

A strange tension fell between them, and her smile faded. She studied the halo of light around him, as was her habit when she required clues to someone‟s emotions. Throughout his visit here today, his aura had been dazzling, all molten silvers, strong steels, and flashes of gold.

These colors had come and gone, fluctuating, first one dominating and then the other. At times, they‟d mingled and sometimes warred as well.

But now his aura was changing yet again. This time to an entirely new moody gray. Never had she witnessed so many differing components in one person‟s aura.

An oddly boyish expression touched his features. He seemed younger. Young. A flush tinged his cheekbones. And then his head was jerking back from her, his eyes wild and shocked as they took in the room.

She straightened, letting her skirts drop, feeling suddenly unsure. It was as if he‟d become a stranger. “What‟s happening to you?” she whispered “Your aura. It‟s. . different. . again.”

Without a word, he made for the door, flinging it wide. Lingering at its threshold, he paused to look back at her. Sudden urgency filled his expression. “Bona Dea,” he said obscurely. The words burst from his lips, running together in an almost unintelligible way and seeming to surprise even him.

She blinked. “What?”

But he‟d already quit the room, slamming its door behind him.

Eva stared at the door, feeling completely disoriented. Her very first flesh and blood lover had just rushed off after coitus with her as if fleeing the hounds of hell. What was she to make of that? She ran her fingers through hair disheveled by his passionate hands and lay a palm over a breast still tender from the pull of his mouth.

She shifted her weight and her private flesh gently trembled with an echo of the profound orgasm he‟d given her. A tiny dribble of his spill trickled down her inner thigh, and her breath tripped. She stared ahead with unseeing eyes, remembering how wonderful it had felt to hold the length of him so deep inside her. Remembering the hard thrust of him.

The warm feel of his body. He‟d determined the tempo of his stroke, had held her as he wished, done with her as he pleased. She‟d felt the throb of his balls at her bottom, felt the heat of his seed flashing through the long vein in his male member. Then had come his hot, wrenching spurts, the slippery warm flood of his seed. The first a man had ever given her.

It had been perfect, beautiful, just as she‟d always dreamed it might be. He‟d been so, so much better than an ethereal Shimmerskin.

Another slow trickle followed the first high along the inside of her thigh. And a tear of joy coursed down her face, keeping pace.

She tightened her inner muscles, finding them weary, chafed, well-loved. Hugging his seed and the memory of him close.

Him. His seed. She wanted more.

7

A snaking line of a six men followed Gaetano through the twisting, dimly lit tunnel. All were human and known to him, and each willingly held his bound hands before him as they navigated the uneven ground with a difficulty that, at times, caused them to curse and mutter.

Threaded through a ring at each wrist was a long cord that stretched from the first man to the last, preventing hands from reaching upward to remove the blindfolds Gaetano had given them.

Unfettered, he held one end of the cord like the leadstring a mother used to keep her children from roaming too far. They were some of the most powerful men in Rome, but on these special nights, they were like eager children.

Gaetano held the sole lantern, and for some time their path continued on, rough and irregular, but it would smooth out ahead. He‟d explored this extensive labyrinth from childhood, and knew it well.

Although there was only one true path to their destination, he took them on a number of detours. He chose a varied route every month, so none would learn the way.

One of the men behind him stumbled and sputtered an oath. “Is all this secrecy really necessary?”

“A small price to pay for your evening‟s entertainments, don‟t you think?”Gaetano replied.

“Si, count your blessings,” said another. “We could‟ve been forced to spend an evening in the company of our wives upstairs.”

“Wouldn‟t mind it once,” someone muttered from in back. “Like to see what they get up to while we‟re down here.”

“Have you ever dared?”asked another of his charges.

The question was directed at him, Gaetano knew. He shrugged, refusing to say. He‟d been glad enough to be quit of his home tonight, though. He had news to share that would bring his family‟s ire his way and he was in no hurry to incur it.

Another answered in his stead. “He values his life too much, no doubt, like the rest of us. The ladies guard their secrets dearly.” There was a general rumble of agreement.

“Ah, here we are at last.” Coming into a large circular area tiled with beautiful, timeworn mosaics, Gaetano hung his lantern on its bronze hook. Several torches burned in sconces placed around the underground room. Long ago, it had been vented so none here would suffocate. He‟d made a survey above ground in his youth but had been unable to determine where the smoke eventually exited. The ancients had been superb architects, and he had the greatest admiration for them.

“Sergio, the rope,” he said, by way of announcing their arrival to the blind attendant. By dint of long practice, the grizzled man groped his way along the line of men and unfettered their hands.

“Welcome, Sons of Faunus. You may remove your blindfolds,”

Gaetano instructed, although they‟d all done so already, upon being freed.

But this was the traditional announcement made to begin these nights, and calling them by their group‟s official moniker was a way of empowering them. Now they were no longer attorneys, businessmen, and politicians. They‟d become ordained Sons, free to engage in activities that would never be condoned by society.

Sergio wound the cord around his wrist and on his way back to his perch, he tossed it onto a hook on one wall. Just below it stood a chipped stone table upon which sat a large bowl, bottles of wine, and goblets.

Sybaritic statues of marble and granite graced the circumference of the room, placed at intervals between the nine doors that encircled it. All were closed, save one that opened to a room that was currently occupied only by a narrow bed and a few other furnishings. Beyond the other doors, a similar room extended from the central salon, like spokes from a wheel hub.

A tenth opening had no door and led to a short hallway, and beyond that was a smoking room with periodicals, a selection of erotic devices and literature, more liquor, and cards. A gentleman‟s room, for later.

Drinks were poured and cigars handed about to those who wished to partake, and there was desultory conversation. Several perched on the chairs that sat here and there around a platform about the size of a breakfast table in the center of the room. What they would do here tonight wasn‟t important in itself. But it was a time-honored ritual their wives insisted on each month as a companion to their own secret rites upstairs.

“Anything new on offer?” one of the men enquired.

At the question, a new energy permeated the atmosphere. Eager eyes sought the doors.

“Of course,” Gaetano answered in his silky, cultured voice. He unlatched and opened one of the doors off the central room and swung it wide.

The young woman seated inside the cell calmly registered his arrival, blinking her brown eyes at them. He gestured her forward.

“Come, girl.”

Obediently, she stood, a ghost of a smile shaping her lips. When she came to him, he led her out into the room, assisting her up the steps to the small platform in its center.

Then he left her there to be gawked at and went to pour himself a drink and speak to Sergio, the attendant. “Any trouble today?”

“None. Calm as lambs, the lot of them,” he was told.

Gaetano had long since ceased wondering what this grizzled fellow got up to, stuck here day and night. Sergio had kept his mouth shut for nearly two decades of service. That was enough to suit him and the family.

Behind them, the gentlemen prowled around the female like hungry lions. She stood there, docile and unconcerned, wearing a shift of translucent fabric.

Much later, after he guided these men back upstairs, Gaetano would return here to sleep. He‟d far rather have his own bed upstairs, but it wasn‟t his decision. Like a mole, he must come here every night while Sergio slept, keeping watch on things. This situation had earned him a reputation among the house servants, who‟d speculated and spread rumors that he spent his nights in the beds of a variety of ladies all over town. He relished his undeserved reputation, and it provided him with a convenient alibi. For if word ever got out as to where he actually spent his nights, the polizia would have something to say about it.

The girl on display behind him barely registered it when one of the voyeurs lifted her forearm. His fingers slid across the blue veins at her inner elbow, like he was a playing a stringed instrument. “You‟ve drugged her?” he asked, noting the punctures.

“As always,” Gaetano replied.

“What with?” Adie Arturo was one of the most skilled physicians in all of Rome and always asked the same fool questions. As if Gaetano would reveal their methods!

He tried to keep the irritation from his voice when he answered, “It won‟t affect her performance.”

“You know better than to ask,” admonished another man. Ridolfi.

A high-ranking member of the Arma dei Carabinieri, one of the military escorts of the state sovereign.

“What is she?”Arturo persisted, eyeing her skeptically.

A strange question, but all here knew what he meant. Gaetano took a sip of wine before replying, “She‟s whatever you wish her to be.”

For over a century, several generations of these gentlemen‟s families had shared the secret of this place. Shared the knowledge that their world had been invaded by creatures from another. They took great pains to ensure that no one else discovered this secret, for they viewed ElseWorld beings as subservient only to them and wished to reap the benefits of their servitude without hindrance.

Arturo chomped on his cigar. “You know what I want.”

Gaetano shook his head. “They don‟t exist. Female satyrs are a myth. Besides, I can tell you that if we ever find such a creature, we won‟t loan her out.” He gestured toward the girl on the platform. “Why not try this one instead?”

“She‟s fey. I thought you had something new for us,” Arturo pouted. Such an annoying man.

“She is new. Very new.” Gaetano paused for effect, then, “An innocente verginale.”

A frisson of avidity lit the eyes of the group. Ridolfi rubbed his palms together briskly, his voice keen. “Let‟s get to it, then.”

Going to the table, Gaetano lifted the bowl from it. It was passed around and each man removed an identical ring from the smallest finger of his left hand and dropped it inside.

When six rings had been collected, Gaetano drew one out. He read the initials inscribed inside the ring and handed it to its owner. “Arturo.”

Arturo rocked on his heels. “First pick. My lucky night.” He lifted the girl from the pedestal with both hands at her hips. “Sorry, friends.

You‟ll have to make do.”

T he others watched enviously as he took her inside her little cubicle and kicked the door shut behind them.

“Sergio!”At the snap of Gaetano‟s fingers, the guard stood and then made the rounds of the circular room, unlocking five other doors in turn and pushing them wide. As if they were zombies, the occupants of each room came to loom in their respective doorways at his summons.

Some were male, some female, and one was a little of both—a hermaphrodite. Like the girl, their lips bowed upward in vapid smiles, and their eyes were dreamy and drugged.

Another name was chosen, and another man chose a partner and a room. And another and another.