The Broken Angel (18 page)

“Something clean.” He showed Martina the clothes and sat on the couch, his body angled to face her.

She looked at him, cocooned in the coverlet and still too pale, then she extricated one arm to take the change he was holding out. “Are they gone?”

“You’re safe now.” He gave her a reassuring smile, but inside he was still shaking. “How do you feel?” He reached his hands inside the coverlet and caressed her neck and shoulders.

“I don’t know how I feel.” Her eyes watered. “Will they be coming back?” She struggled to don the shirt.

“No, they won’t. I’ll make sure of it.” He opened the coverlet and uncovered her. “Let me help you.” He lowered the shirt over her head and raised her arms one at a time to slide them into the sleeves. Once on her, his shirt reached past her thighs. He made her step over the shorts and pulled the legs up. Even tying the shorts’ string didn’t make them stay up on her trim waist.

She sat on his lap, her arms around his neck, her head under his chin resting on his shoulder. “I want this night to end.”

“I’ll end it. I promise.” He was furious with himself for having put her in danger’s way soon after her ex-husband had almost kill her. “I’m sorry—”

“None of this is your fault.” She raised her legs and snuggled closer to him.

Samuel rested his cheek over her head. “It doesn’t feel that way.”

Martina kissed the hollow of his throat. “Don’t say that.” She brought her hands down to his chest and pressed them on his heart. “I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you.” She murmured a few more words, then relaxed in his embrace and drifted to slumber.

He waited for her breathing to become regular, placed her on the couch, grabbed the coverlet from where it had landed on the floor and covered her. Then he called Barnes. “I’m going to Castel Gandolfo after the vampire who fled from my apartment. Clear my way of any bureaucracy crap,” he said after summarizing the attack. Finally, he made the most important call. “Ophelia, I need you to watch over Martina as Marcus, Alexander, and I take care of something.”

“Samuel—”

“And please, could you bring a complete change of clothes for her?”

Ophelia’s answer wasn’t immediate. After a moment, she said, “Anything for you.”

Samuel thanked her, and closed his eyes in the knowledge his friends would arrive soon. In his long life, he had never asked for help. Used to solving his own problems, he had never experienced the solace only a friend can bring in times of trouble. After a millennium spent in exile, he had forgotten what it meant to be part of a group. Despite what Martina had seen in him, a man surrounded by friends, he hadn’t realized oneness could be found in the arms of a lover or in a, “Yes, I’ll be there for you,” from someone who cared what happened to you.

When Alexander and Marcus arrived, Samuel had worked out a plan of action he explained to them.

Martina dozed on and off the whole time Samuel spoke to his friends. She heard the knocks on the door and the greetings, but she was too tired to keep her eyes open. Samuel sat by her and caressed her back as he, Alexander, and Marcus waited for Ophelia to arrive. She wasn’t sure she wanted the werewolf to babysit her, but what had happened earlier proved she didn’t have a chance should any other paranormal show up uninvited. She mused about that particular myth being unfounded after all. In real life, vampires didn’t need permission to enter someone else’s property. In a moment of lucidity, she also realized she was in deep shock. Otherwise, she would be as scared as Samuel sounded. Instead, she could only focus on his nearness and his touch. Brief anxiety possessed her when he moved and she didn’t feel his hand on her, but he was soon back, and she relaxed once again.

“My love? Ophelia is here.” The words were followed by a gentle pressure on her arm. “Martina? Open your eyes just for a moment.” Soft lips skimmed hers. “I’ll be back soon.”

At that, Martina woke as if a bucket of ice had been thrown over her head. “Don’t go.” She sat and felt dizzy right away.

Samuel’s hands were on either side of her face. “Rest. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

She made to protest, but he shushed her with his finger on her lips, then he lowered his forehead against hers.

“Do this for me. You won’t even notice I’m gone.” He kissed her softly. “And if you need anything, Ophelia is here. She won’t leave your side until I’m back.”

“Okay.” Martina still didn’t like the idea, but wanted to put him at ease. Despite the fact he was trying hard to hide it, she could see how worried he was beneath the façade he wore for her. His fingers trembled when he caressed her, and his eyes were haunted. She had felt his heartbeats skip when he had cradled her to him.

“Thank you.” He sighed out loud.

“Just hurry.” She tried to infuse some levity in her order, but it came out as a plea.

Samuel kissed her one last time, then stood and turned toward Ophelia.

The werewolf nodded in response to something Samuel might have whispered to her. “Don’t worry. I won’t let anything happen to her.”

Samuel thanked his friend, then looked down at Martina, his eyes bright. “I—”

“Go.” Martina mustered a smile, and pointed at the door.

Alexander and Marcus patted his back and showed him the way.

Before exiting, Alexander said, “We’ll take care of him.”

She waited for the door to close and click, then couldn’t help but sob.

Ophelia, a black bag with the Valentino logo in one hand and a much smaller La Perla lingerie bag dangling from the other, gave her a sympathetic look. Then tilted her head toward the lingerie tote. “I brought you something.”

Martina looked down at Samuel’s shirt covering her like an oversized dress and at the shorts pooling at her ankles. She then looked at the formidable woman before her—all dressed up and with a perfect maquillage—and felt once again extremely insecure.

Ophelia walked toward the couch, her legs balancing on vertiginously high heels. “So, I suppose you know everything there’s to know about us.” She placed the two bags on the couch by Martina’s reach.

“Maybe not everything, but enough.” Martina looked up at the woman.

Ophelia lowered herself to the opposite couch, and motioned for Martina to open the bags as she said, “Good. You know I am a werewolf then.”

Martina nodded, her hands on her lap, her fingers nervously playing with the hem of Samuel’s shirt.

“Don’t look so scared. It’s not the full moon yet and I’ve already eaten.”

Martina’s eyes must have grown two sizes and she had to make an effort to close her mouth.

Ophelia laughed, then sighed, finally shook her head. “I’m kidding, woman. Relax.” Her face composed into a more somber expression, she leaned back, and hugged herself.

For a moment, Martina thought Ophelia looked vulnerable. And it might have been a trick of the illumination in the room—or her addled brain—but beneath the woman’s foundation lighter strikes were visible. As if the werewolf had been crying recently. She was about to ask if Ophelia was okay, but she spoke first.

“Don’t you want to take a look at them?” Ophelia pointed at the bags once again.

“Of course. And thanks—” She grabbed the Valentino bag, and was surprised there was an actual Valentino inside. A prêt-à-porter garment, but a Valentino nonetheless.

“That’s a knitted piece. It’s a simply cut sheath dress. I wear it short, but it should fit you just fine.”

Martina stared at the dress for a moment, taken aback by the woman’s generosity. “I promise I’ll have it dry cleaned and send it back to you tomorrow.”

“No need to hurry. I’m pretty sure you’ll have better things to do than return dresses.”

Martina couldn’t ignore the innuendo and blushed, unable to come up with any comeback.

“And I brought you underwear as well, in case you needed it. It’s brand new. Bought it and forgot about it. Don’t worry.” She waved her hand in the air. “Of course I don’t need that back.”

The way Ophelia said it, Martina thought she would find a sport bra and matching cotton panties inside the second bag. Instead, for the second time, the logo on the tote matched the brand of the fine garments inside. “You brought me La Perla.” Pearl-gray lacey bra in one hand, she looked at Ophelia trying to understand if she were for real.

Ophelia’s eyebrow shot up. “That’s the only brand I buy. Sorry.”

“You misunderstand me. I can’t borrow this—” There had been a time when Martina had only worn La Perla herself, but she couldn’t accept anything that pricey, knowing it wasn’t appropriate to give it back. The flimsy thing hooked on her finger was worth half her monthly salary. Her salary wasn’t much to begin with, but still.

Ophelia shrugged. “If you prefer to go commando, suit yourself.”

“It’s not that.”

“If it makes you feel better, I don’t like that bra on me, and I never wear mismatched underwear.”

Again, Martina had the feeling something was off with the werewolf, but thought better than to argue further. “Then thanks. If it fits me I’ll gladly accept your gift.”

“Good. It’s settled then.” Ophelia abruptly stood and walked to the kitchen. “Go change. I promise you’ll immediately feel better. I’ll brew some espresso for us. What do you think?”

“Perfect, thanks.” Martina threw both underwear and dress in the smaller bag and headed toward Samuel’s bedroom. She saw Ophelia rummaging with familiarity through the cabinets as she passed the kitchen island, and couldn’t help but feel the woman was very much at home. A sound akin to soft crying made her stop in mid-hallway, but when she retraced her steps and peeked from around the corner at Ophelia, she had her back to her.

Ophelia extended her long, athletic arm toward the higher cabinet. She opened it and closed it without retrieving anything, but kept facing it. “Forget something?” She lowered both hands to the counter, her shoulders hunched over, her back rising and falling.

Martina blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “I remembered I wanted to take the coverlet back to Samuel’s bedroom.” She hurried to retrieve it from the couch. “I think I need a long shower,” she said as she walked toward the hallway.

“Take your time.”

In Ophelia’s answer, Martina heard the same relief she felt at having an excuse to escape the other woman for as long as possible.

Once in the bedroom, she looked for a place where she could take a breath for a moment, but the room was soiled by the vampires’ remains and the lingering smell of cooked meat and rotten eggs made her gag. She skipped the bedroom and entered the bathroom where darkening blood created a sick pattern on the tiled floor. All the fatigue she had felt earlier caught up with her once again. The brief interlude with Ophelia had distracted her from reality, but she couldn’t escape it any longer. And with the ghastly sight came back her fear for Samuel’s wellbeing. Dizziness overcame her and made her run outside. She remembered about the guest bathroom, but she never made it past the door. A cold hand grabbed her shoulder and forced her back inside.

****

Upon Alexander’s and Marcus’s insistence, Samuel had agreed not to drive, but was now regretting his decision. Not because Marcus was a bad driver. In fact, the centurion knew how to drive his black Alfa Romeo at breakneck speed without giving the impression he was doing so, smoothly hugging every curve of the windy, narrow road leading to the Roman Castles Hill, flying by hamlet after hamlet until they became a blur. The problem with Samuel was that he wanted to arrive at their destination already.

Thankfully, it was late at night and the road to Castel Gandolfo was empty. From the way Marcus held the wheel and focused on the road, Samuel realized the road trip must have felt like déjà vu for his friend. Less than two years ago, Marcus had driven on that same road to rescue Diana from Claudius. Alexander, Samuel, and a small army of paranormals had come to help. Marcus barely talked about the events that took place that night, but the few times Castel Gandolfo had been mentioned the centurion’s pained expression had prompted everyone to change topic.

The ride was silent. No one seemed in the mood for idle conversations. Sitting in front—even without his wings, his frame was too large to be contained in the back of the sleek Alfa—Samuel was preoccupied with all the details of his hastily sketched plan, and hoped Duilio Carta had followed the vampires’
modus operandi
and reached for his nest to draw strength and heal from his wounds. His cell phone chimed and his heart jumped in his ribcage. One look at the screen and he breathed when he saw it wasn’t Ophelia calling. Leaving Martina behind had felt wrong. He had to put an end to their persecution, but she had looked so small and frail and he would have rather stayed with her than hunt vampires.

“I got you permission to prosecute Carta and search Claudius’s nest’s premises.” Ludwig Barnes’s voice had never sounded so pleasant to Samuel’s ears. “Sending you the warrant.”

“Thank you.” As Samuel hung up, his cell phone’s screen lit again with a new mail notification. He opened the message containing the Immortal Council’s official sigil and stared at the image, whispering to himself, “Remember who you are. Stick to the plan.” He had asked his friends to accompany him because he needed to be kept in check. He worried that once he was in the vampire’s presence he would forget his role as a liaison and kill Carta for having threatened Martina’s life. Samuel had had to let her ex-husband go, and only Martina’s plea had stopped Samuel from murdering him. And now, he wasn’t sure he could refrain from exacting revenge on the vampire. He occupied his mind with images of Martina waiting for him, but wasn’t able to push the dark thoughts away.

As Castel Gandolfo’s medieval walls came into view, Marcus’s driving became faster and in places reckless, but nobody complained. When the Alfa screeched to a halt before a small palace overlooking the lake, Samuel breathed in and out, his hands shaking.

From the back seat, Alexander gave Samuel a pat on his shoulder. “Ready to rock and roll?”

“Let’s finish this once and for all.” He must have repeated that like a mantra dozens of times since he had left his apartment.

Marcus walked ahead and knocked on the massive wooden door. Samuel stared at the intricate carvings on the surface for a second too long and was about to smash down yet another door, when a majordomo with a weary expression on his seasoned face opened it.

The man looked at them with clear distaste, then he lingered on Marcus, and something akin to fear showed in his eyes. “My masters don’t receive tonight.” He stepped back, his hand on the handle.

Samuel’s foot shot forward to stop the man from closing the door in their faces. “Move aside.” He raised his hand holding the cell phone and pushed the lit screen close to the majordomo’s face.

The man paled in recognition of the warrant and without another word opened the door wider to let them in.

Alexander moved before Samuel and Marcus. “We are looking for Duilio Carta.”

“Master Carta isn’t in residence tonight. I’m sorry, you’ll—”

Samuel stepped forward causing the man to step back in haste and bump against a round table sporting a big vase with a floral arrangement made of orchids. The vase rattled and the majordomo pivoted on his heels and saved it from falling.

“A Murano glass vase from the mid-seventies. A piece from the Brothers Toso’s ancient foundry, if I am not mistaken. Beautiful, unique piece. Irreplaceable.” Alexander walked closer to the table, picked up an orchid that had landed on the black and white marble floor, then placed it back in the floral arrangement, pushing the bud deeper when it stuck out. “We have the Immortal Council’s permission to search this place, all of this place, as we see fit, until we find the vampire we’re looking for. You must decide if your employer cares more about the scumbag we’re after or his elegant abode. Either way, we’ll only leave with Carta in our custody.” Alexander moved before the majordomo and dusted away powdery pollen from the lapels of his livery. “Your choice.” He tilted his head and gave the man a raised eyebrow.

The majordomo’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he gulped down. “Please, don’t break anything.” He opened his arm to the side and indicated an archway on his immediate left leading out of the foyer.

As they followed the man into a series of elegantly furnished hallways, Samuel gave Marcus a puzzled look and the centurion shook his head.

“I don’t know where he’s taking us.” Marcus looked around at the gilded mirrors and at the glass chandeliers hanging from the high, vaulted ceilings. “I was upstairs and down in the dungeons, but never here.”

They walked around yet another corner before the majordomo finally stopped before a door. “The infirmary.” He sighed before lowering the brass handle, then stepped aside to show the inside of the room, comprised of a row of beds and hospital-like furniture. “I would appreciate if you could attend to your business without disrupting the house’s decorum.” He then gave them a last look that betrayed how little he thought of them.