The Broken Angel (19 page)

Samuel entered the room and walked to the opposite corner, to the only occupied bed. A nurse holding a tray filled with medical supplies entered the infirmary from a second door, and angrily whispered at him, “Out. No one is allowed here.”

The majordomo called the woman outside. Samuel tuned out the raised voices and went to the bed where Duilio Carta was lying apparently unconscious and connected to several IVs filled with blood and labeled with the word
Claudius
. He leaned and pressed his hand on the vampire’s shoulder. When the man didn’t react, Samuel slapped his face.

The nurse ran back inside. “What are you doing? My patient is having a restorative treatment and can’t be disturbed. He has just gone through a harrowing ordeal. He barely escaped with his life and managed to come back—”

“This man is under arrest.” Samuel had had enough. “Wake him up.” His wings displayed behind him, creating a dark shadow that covered both the bed and its patient.

“I can’t—” the nurse stammered.

“Wake. Him. Up.” Samuel neared the bed, one hand reaching for one of the IVs.

The nurse’s eyes went wide as she turned to look at the majordomo. “I was given orders.”

The majordomo pointed at Samuel with his chin. “Do as he asks.”

The woman looked back and forth between her patient and the majordomo. “But, the master—”

Samuel grabbed the hose line and pulled, severing the connection between the bag and Duilio’s arm.

“No!” The nurse placed herself before the vampire, hands raised before her. “Please, let me. I’ll do what you say, but don’t injure him further.” She then whispered that her life was on the line, but went to a glass cabinet and retrieved a syringe with a long needle. With a last look at the majordomo, who nodded, she walked to the bed, leaned over Carta and plunged the syringe in his chest.

The vampire came alive, sputtering and spitting blood. When he regained full consciousness and saw Samuel hunched over him, his bloodied lips turned up in a mockery of a smile.

Samuel’s heart plunged as deep as the syringe had a moment ago. “Duilio Carta, you are under arrest for murder, kidnaping, assault, and drug dealing.”

The vampire slowly looked around and acknowledged the two immortals’ presence with a nod, then focused back on Samuel. “Master was right.” His words were barely above a whisper, but the satisfaction in the tone was unmistakable. “Master is always right.”

“Awaiting trial, you’ll be transferred to Castel Sant’ Angelo’s dungeon.” Samuel had thought to haul the vampire into Marcus’s car and drive him back to Rome, where he would’ve made sure to lock the man in the dampest cell and throw away the key. But now, he realized he had to call an ambulance or he would have dead vampire’s remains all over his friend’s Alfa.

The vampire’s movements were tentative when he shrugged, half completing the movement, yet, once again, he smiled. “I’ll pass some time in the prison’s infirmary and I’ll be out as soon as I’m well. You can’t prove anything.”

“If nothing else, you assaulted a liaison.” Samuel had the sinking feeling something was wrong.

“It doesn’t matter.” The vampire closed his eyes, dozing off a moment, then resumed his slurred speech. “Master will be pleased with my work. I did exactly as he ordered. You came as he had said.” He looked past Samuel’s shoulders as if looking for someone. “They came. That too my master had predicted.”

“We’re wasting time. Let’s—” Bits and pieces of what had been said by the nurse and the vampire all came together and Samuel’s heart froze. He reached for his cell phone as he shouted for Alexander to call Barnes.

He dialed Martina’s number. Then he dialed Ophelia’s. He called Martina again. “Answer—”

“It’s too late,” Carta cackled.

Rage blurred Samuel’s vision and he screamed and threw himself at the man on the bed. Two strong arms circled him.

“He isn’t worth it.” Marcus pulled Samuel back.

He blindly fought against the centurion as he maintained one hand firmly pressed over the vampire’s throat, his fingers digging into the man’s skin.

“Marcus is right.” Alexander joined forces and the two of them managed to budge Samuel away from Carta.

“Samuel!” Marcus called.

Samuel blinked, then looked at the red welts he had left around the vampire’s throat and realized that if his friends hadn’t intervened, he would have severed the man’s head with his bare hands. Carta sputtered and both the nurse and the majordomo ran to his side. Marcus touched Samuel’s arm and he stepped back.

“We have no time to waste.”

“Let’s hurry back to Rome.”

Alexander’s and Marcus’s voices reached him over the din of people yelling, cell phones ringing, and his own pounding blood.

He turned and left the infirmary, his mind a black pool of terrifying thoughts.

****

Pain exploded in Martina’s shoulder as the hand that had grabbed her shoved her to the side wall and kept her pinned to it at an unnatural angle.

“Let’s see your face, shall we?” A cold voice accompanied another squeeze of Martina’s shoulder, then the hold relaxed and she fell to the floor. “Turn.”

She turned, not because she wanted to, but because she didn’t have a choice. Her body moved without her consent.

“You are pleasant to the eye. I’ll give you that.” A man wearing a black opera coat with a silk white scarf looked at her. His facial traits matched his attire, elegant and intimidating. He brought a finger under her chin and moved her face to better study her. “You’ll be missed, I’m sure.”

She opened her mouth to scream for help, but he placed his hand over her lips, pressed down, and laughed a quiet laugh, as if amused. “You won’t speak above a whisper.” The quality of his voice had that calmness that betrays detachment from reality.

He removed his hand from over her mouth and she tried again to scream. This time, she felt a weight pressing down on her chest and gasped for air.

Still keeping her face in place with one hand, the man caressed her cheek with the other. “I’ve been told it feels like drowning.”

Martina gagged and black dots exploded before her eyes. Then, as suddenly as it had started, the episode ended, and she found herself staring at the man’s eyes.

“I give you permission to speak.”

Panting, she remained silent, too scared to formulate coherent thoughts.

“Ask your questions, human.” He pushed her chin up with a sharp nail.

She found herself talking. “Who are you?” Martina wanted to escape his touch, but she couldn’t move.

“Name’s Claudius.” His upper lip curved up, revealing long incisors. “Not that you need to know that. But I’m feeling generous tonight.” He canted his head, the half-smile still there, his handsome features distorted by the coldness he emanated.

Martina was frightened. The man was evil. She could feel his cruelty in the way his eyes pinned her down with an icy stare as effectively as his hand had done. “What do you want from me?”

The finger under her chin dug deeper into her skin. “
You
? Why would you think I could want anything from you?” He raised his eyebrow with an air of haughtiness. “You are nothing to me but a means to an end.” With a slow and graceful movement, he rose and stepped away. “When I’m done with you, your lover and his friends will suffer. And that is what I want.”

A wind gust entered from the broken window, and Martina scooted on the floor, Samuel’s shirt floating around her, letting cold air bathe her drenched skin. She shivered. An image popped uninvited in her mind. A black cat playing with a small, white mouse. The cat’s paws downed on the mouse, throwing the writhing body in every direction, only to stop and start the game every few throws.

“It’s fun, isn’t it? After all, I am entitled to a bit of sport. Don’t you think?” The man, Claudius, leaned and reached out his hand to her, his face void of any emotion, which scared Martina more.

Her eyes flickered to the door. The instinct to scream was still there, but her throat closed again, and for a moment, she felt like choking. The feeling was gone a moment later, yet the pain remained.

He grabbed her by her wrist and pulled her up. “The cub in the kitchen won’t be of any help.”

The finality of the moment hit Martina. With nothing else to hope for, she wished Ophelia wouldn’t decide to check on her. “Please, don’t hurt her.”

Claudius kept her at arms’ length. “You do realize you are in no condition to ask anything of me.” The man’s voice had reached a new level of coldness and his words hurt like a physical blow. “But, don’t worry. I won’t touch the werewolf. She’ll have to live a long life with your death on her conscience. That will break her more than any torture I could inflict on her exquisite body. Your lover will hate her for not having saved you, and that, too, I find to my taste.” He applied pressure on her wrist and broke it.

Eyes wide, she couldn’t let her tears out. Her open mouth remained silent. Agony possessed Martina as her tormenter methodically and swiftly mangled her. A few minutes later, he let her down to the marble tiles, where she lay still and positioned like a misshapen puppet.

He looked down at her, satisfaction showing on his face. “One last question.”

“Why?” She wasn’t sure the word had left her mouth, but Claudius’s eyes lit.

He crouched before her, the hem of his coat absorbing blood. Maybe it was her blood. He stared long and hard at her before answering. “Because I have several scores to settle with your lover and his friends. The fallen angel has interfered one time too many in my business, slowing down my army by sticking his nose in places he shouldn’t have. But mostly, he and the Greek helped my enemy escape. I can’t exact my revenge on them because they are protected by paranormal laws. But I can kill you, a mortal, and leave the scene without a trace. Nobody will know
I
was here. Sure, a vampire will be suspected of the crime, and I will provide one.” He paused long enough to take a look at his watch. “The centurions and the angel will know it was me, but the Immortal Council’s bureaucracy and the Peace Pact Alliance won’t allow them to persecute me for your death. For anything else, yes, but not for your untimely and horrific demise. The angel will never forgive his werewolf friend, and with time he will also blame Marcus for what happened to you tonight. The centurion will know Samuel is right. The Greek will be devastated by his friends’ hate for each other. They are all too good and so predictable. Your death will be the catalyst for so much pain and sorrow, the pleasure of it will last me a while.” He sliced Martina’s wrist with one of his manicured nails, then straightened his legs and rose. “You will not pass out from shock. They’ll find you broken, staring at them in death, your mouth open in a scream nobody heard.”

Martina felt her vital essence escaping through what was left of her blood trickling down from the cut on her wrist. Blissfully, numbness came to dull the pain.

Claudius looked at his watch one more time. “Your fifteen minutes with me are up. It was a pleasure.” He smiled, gave her a mock bow, then stepped out of sight.

Martina heard a whooshing sound, then silence, and she knew she was alone. She refused to let the monster win and die the way he had planned for her. After having experienced Samuel’s love, she wouldn’t die terrified and bitter. She filled her mind with memories of her angel and her heart soared above her misery.

Noises from outside the bathroom interrupted her loop of thoughts. Martina felt the vibrations on the floor.

One timid knock. “Martina?” Ophelia’s voice came muffled from Samuel’s bedroom.

More knocks. “Martina? Are you done?”

The
tick, tick
of Ophelia’s heels accompanied her questions as if she were pacing outside. “Is everything okay?” Then silence for a few counts. “What’s that smell?” The gentle knocks became loud pounding. “Martina! Open up!” The door rattled on its hinges.

Martina heard the door forced open and saw the werewolf enter her line of sight.

Ophelia screamed, then was at Martina’s side. “What happened? Answer me, please.” She touched Martina, pressed one finger on her throat, cried, and blathered in several languages. “Martina, please don’t die. Please, oh gods, don’t let her die. Oh gods—” Abruptly, she stood and disappeared.

Martina was alone for a few seconds before she heard Ophelia hurrying back to her side, talking to someone.

“Diana, answer me.” Ophelia’s voice was frantic. She touched Martina once again, then left her hand on Martina’s arm. “Diana, please answer me.” She sobbed and caressed Martina’s arm. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Please, don’t die. Oh, gods, no—”

Warm tears bathed Martina’s arm.
It’s not your fault. You couldn’t have done anything. Take care of my angel for me…

She saw Ophelia’s hand held her cell phone higher, and the woman’s face lit in hope.

“Diana? Thank the gods you answered. Hurry to Samuel’s apartment. Martina was attacked—” Ophelia paused a moment, listening to her interlocutor, then repeated the whole sentence a second time, and lowering her voice she added, “She doesn’t have much left.” She brought her free hand to her mouth, repressed a sob, breathed in and out, then made other phone calls, but only one person answered.

“Barnes, track down Samuel. I can’t find him and he needs to come back home.” Ophelia briefly explained what had happened to Martina. Then she sat down.

Thank you for not leaving me.
Martina would have squeezed Ophelia’s hand holding hers to comfort the werewolf. Instead, she was forced to listen to her anguished confession.

“I wish I could change you. But I can’t. You’re too wounded and you’ve lost too much blood, and you’d die before the next full moon if I tried to transform you into a wolf. And I can’t let you die. He loves you and I can’t let you die. Please, forgive me, but I can’t let you die.”

Martina heard her repeating the same sentences over and over again like a lullaby as Ophelia caressed her arms.

All of a sudden, the werewolf stood. “She’s here. Hang in there. Diana’s here to help.”

Martina heard Ophelia running out. A moment later, voices exploded all around her. One was familiar.