The Lonely Wolf (10 page)

As the two animals became more intimate in their playmaking, the girl’s eyes widened, then she blinked, and he could swear she was blushing. “I’m Jasmine,” she hoarsely whispered, which did nothing to calm Lupo’s ardor that matched his wolf’s.

“Of course you’re Jasmine.” No other name would have described his girl.

“You’re mine too,” Jasmine said, taking him by surprise.

Slightly loosening his hold on her, Lupo leaned away and smiled. “You can hear my thoughts.”

“Of course I can. How would I know you were here otherwise?” She raised the most perfectly sculpted eyebrow.

“I was wondering about that.” That wasn’t true.

Beyond touching her, his brain couldn’t manage even the simplest of thoughts. The danger he was in soon discarded as inconsequential, because he was about to burst for want of her. But he kept his touch light, when all he wanted was to raise the black garment and discover the treasures beneath.

“You were so loud, I couldn’t think.” She tilted her head, then mischief lit her eyes. “Remember, I can hear your thoughts.”

He was now the one blushing, and he removed his hands from her. “I meant no disrespect.” Then he realized he couldn’t hear her thoughts.

“Purist privilege,” she said, placing her hands over his chest.

Heart throbbing as if he was running for dear life, Lupo blinked. “What’s that?”

Shrugging, she tilted her head, her long veil cascading over Lupo’s hands on her back. “It’s a one-way communication channel only women in our tribe have, a survival trait passed through generations, I was told. I can hear you, and I can send you my thoughts.”

“Cool. It must come in handy at times.” He thought of a situation or two where he could have used mind reading to get away from thorny circumstances. Knowing if a girl had a fiancé would have helped him decide if she was worth the trouble.

“How would I know?” Her body tensed. “And stop thinking about bedding were-skunks.” She made to stand, but he stopped her, grabbing her wrists in a soft but unyielding hold and pulling her down to him.

“I apologize for my impure thoughts.” He grinned and pressed her united hands over his galloping heart. She moved her fingers in small circles and her touch burned his skin. “What do you mean by ‘how would I know?’ You just told me it’s your super power.”

“I’ve never used it before.”

“And why is that?” In need of a moment of respite, he readjusted the position of his legs and slid her away from his lap, holding her by her waist. To her raised eyebrow, he sheepishly smiled. “I’m a wolf.”

“Indeed.” She shook her head. “I can’t believe my panther has chosen you.”

“I could say the same, but I’ll be the better shifter and admit I can’t stop thinking about you since the day we met.” He raised an eyebrow. “How about that, my mighty panther?”

She tilted her chin up. “You are cute.”

“Thanks. I think you’re swell too, but I’d love to tear away that ugly, shapeless blanket you wear so I can see you whole.”

“You’d like that, ah?” Before he could say or do anything, she stood and grabbed the hem of her tunic.

With his back to the stained glass window, Ludwig stared at the elegantly decorated room. The absurdity of his current situation was such that he didn’t know if he wanted to laugh or cry.

He was a guest of Claudius, a wanted criminal, impatiently waiting for an audience with the vampire. His hand had been forced, but, as a loyal servant in the Immortal Council and as the archangel, Ludwig should have been beyond blackmail.

After Claudius’s majordomo had ordered him and Quintilius to surrender their cell phones, they had been escorted to the manor’s wing facing the lake and surrounding rolling hills.

“I should’ve sensed Claudius right away.” Quintilius was pacing the room, his anger filling the space.

“He flew over in raven-form, its body smeared with your gardener’s scent,” Ludwig repeated for the third time, but knew better than to comment upon the futility of their conversation.

He had been so focused on Quintilius, on finally kissing him, that he had not heard the vampire until it was too late. If someone was culpable it was Ludwig, whose job was to keep the paranormal world free of menaces like Claudius. The fact that the vampire had disguised himself as a bird and covered his species’ scent didn’t excuse Ludwig. Angel senses were the most refined among paranormals. Ludwig could hear, smell, and see better than anyone else on Earth. He could also kill the whole of Rome if he only opened his mouth and let his Wrath free.

Yet, here he was, at the mercy of a vampire who had disappeared the moment he had leapt to grab him, leaving him staring at the empty night sky like an idiot.

“I’m sorry I dragged you into this mess,” he whispered.

“What are you sorry for? I am the strongest alpha in all of Europe, and I was ambushed in my own home.” Quintilius spun on his boots, and without pause, punched the stuccoed wall. Bits of plaster fell to the floor, one of the upper garlands decorating the wall broken beyond repair. With renewed anger, he kicked the wall twice. “I was caught unaware like a green cub.” Then he swore a crude blasphemy, and afterward said, “In. My. Own. Home,” punctuating the words with punches, until his knuckles bled. After uttering several more swearwords, he moved away from the wall he was about to demolish and resumed his pacing.

For all his shouting and venting though, Quintilius still hadn’t said a word about his gardener’s fate.

They both knew the old werewolf was dead, and Ludwig wanted nothing more than to comfort his wolf, but knew that Quintilius wouldn’t appreciate the gesture. So he did the only thing he could do given the circumstances, he listened.

After a long moment of silence, Ludwig walked to one of the high back chairs and perched himself on it, his frame too large for the furniture.

Quintilius paused his furious pacing and faced him. “What does he want from us?”

“Who knows with Claudius? It could be anything.” Ludwig had been wondering the same since the vampire made his dramatic entrance in Quintilius’s garden, and the raven told them they could pay him a visit in his nest or face public shaming.

By the time he and Quintilius reached the manor in Castel Gandolfo—the flight had taken less than ten minutes—Claudius’s majordomo informed them his master had retired to his chambers, but they were to wait for him to wake.

“If you leave, Master will release this video to the Holy Council,” the majordomo added, then reached for a cell phone and proceeded to play a recording for them. It showed Quintilius and Ludwig, in the gardens at
Casolare del Lupo
, in a compromising embrace. He could have explained the intimate gesture, but his wings lit like a billboard gave away his sentiments without a doubt.

Blackmailed into staying, they had been waiting the whole day. Different servants had come with refreshments every few hours, but other than that they had been left alone and unguarded.

“Lupo—” Quintilius started, then fell to the chair beside Ludwig’s and brought both hands to his face.

“He’ll understand when we explain what happened.” Ludwig was distracted by the sight of the dark and silver stubble shadowing Quintilius’s jaw, aching to caress it. He knew that if his wolf didn’t shave twice a day, sometimes three times, he would grow a full, messy beard in less than forty-eight hours. Quintilius always joked his testosterone came with its own mustache.

Ludwig missed Quintilius’s jokes. His wolf used to be fun and light. Sometimes, guilt overcame him for having robbed his lover of his cheerfulness, and he felt responsible for what had happened to Camelia. Had he not been in the picture, maybe she and Quintilius would have married. Their union might have been political at first, but they were both good people and would have learned to love each other as a couple. Sometimes, Ludwig thought of the cubs Quintilius should have by now, and imagined how happy his wolf could have been.

“You told me he isn’t that fond of me already. I don’t think being stood up will improve his opinion.” Quintilius swore.

“We couldn’t help it.” Ludwig regretted his choice of words right away. “I apologize.
I
couldn’t help it. Thank you for standing by my side once again.”

Among the two, the only one needing protection from a public outcry was Ludwig. Quintilius had stopped caring about being exposed as an angel-lover long ago. Every day, Ludwig had to remind himself that he wasn’t denying himself and Quin the happiness they deserved out of cowardice.

For the last two millennia, I’ve been sacrificing what matters the most to me for the greater good of my race,
was his mantra.

Even now, the shame and guilt he felt at not having contacted the Immortal Council with Claudius’s current address was only mitigated by the knowledge that, in protecting his reputation, he was protecting the Holy Nation as a whole.

Without me, there will be another Arariel.

“You know I’d do anything for you.” Quintilius shored his elbows on his knees, and rested his chin on his palms. “Even if we are no longer together, it doesn’t mean I’ve stopped caring about you.”

“I don’t deserve you.” Sadness filling his heart, Ludwig fought the urge to cover Quintilius with his wings. “I’ll do everything I can to smooth things between you and Lupo.”

Quintilius acknowledged him with a nod, then they sat in silence. They had never been a couple of many words, neither of them the talkative types, but they had shared much in their lengthy relationship and they understood each other. It pained Ludwig to be so close to Quin, his sentiments intact, and not be able to touch him and communicate with him in the language they had created for each other. Both carnal creatures, they needed physical contact to express what they couldn’t in words.

This silent closeness was agony for Ludwig. Mere centimeters apart, and yet as divided as they had never been before.

The warm light of a pink sunset illuminated the room, a servant brought a tray with a light supper, then the majordomo arrived and announced, “Master will see you shortly.”

Ludwig didn’t need any food—same with sex, angels only ate because they greatly enjoyed the process—and he couldn’t think of eating anything at the moment, but he watched Quintilius nibbling at the
tramezzini
, the small triangular sandwiches that came with the black tea. The fact that his wolf hadn’t devoured the whole tray was a statement of how distressed Quin was.

The majordomo came back accompanied by two vampires, and the trio escorted them out of the room and through a maze of corridors. They descended three flights of stairs in uncomfortable silence, only the majordomo’s heels echoing in the narrow rooms with high ceiling. After they entered yet another hallway, they stopped before a portion of the wall decorated with a drop-leaf table and several paintings depicting bucolic landscapes from the Roman countryside.

Although the art was particularly pleasant to the eye, Ludwig wondered why they had paused before them. Before he could ask, the majordomo pushed the left corner of the painting on the right, and the whole wall flickered and disappeared, as if it had been turned off. To Ludwig’s surprise, beneath the projection, something completely different emerged, an ornate door made of stainless steel and wrought iron. Working with the Immortal Council, he was privy to the latest technology, but never before had he witnessed a holographic projection so lifelike.

The majordomo pulled a lever, and the door opened with a whoosh, sliding inside and revealing how thick the surface was. Ludwig estimated the door to be more than fifty centimeters deep. It resembled the entrance to a crypt and emanated a dark, malevolent vibe.

“Please.” The majordomo extended his arm to the side and invited them to pass the threshold.

Once they cleared a small vestibule and crossed into the room proper, a minute vampire welcomed them.

“Follow me,” she said in a Turkish accent.

Ludwig gave Quintilius a side glance, and the werewolf nodded back. The vampire walked at a brisk pace, leading them farther away from the entrance and down a large set of marble stairs leading to an underground garden.

Bordered by ornate Corinthian columns, a reflection pool graced the center of the vast space, while on its perimeter were padded benches and large couches. On one of the couches, Claudius reclined, a curvaceous mortal kneeled before him. The woman’s neck was arched and her throat was exposed to the vampire.

At seeing Ludwig and Quintilius, Claudius raised his chin and gestured for them to join him. “Illustrious guests, what a pleasure to see you.”

Ludwig couldn’t help but wonder if the unnaturally still woman was a willing feeder.

“Vegan, twenty-three years aged. One fine vintage.” Claudius passed one razor-sharp nail over the woman’s delicate throat. When a red line appeared on the white skin, he dipped and licked the blood. “What a delicacy.” He sighed, then looked back at his guests, his gaze lingering on Ludwig. “I would share my repast with you, but I know that you wouldn’t appreciate it.”

“What do you want from us?” Ludwig asked.

By nature, vampires were prone to mind games, but Claudius was famous for his deviant sense of humor and his tendency to play with his victims. Patience had never been Ludwig’s strongest suit, and the presence of the woman was unnerving him greatly, especially after a day spent at the mercy of Claudius’s caprices, mulling over what would happen. But that was psychological warfare at its best, to let them stew from morning to night until they would act against their own interests, and Ludwig had to remind himself to remain calm.

“Always so direct, archangel.” Claudius lowered his fangs, but didn’t feed. Instead, he pierced his thumb and smeared a drop of his blood on the woman’s skin, sealing the cut. “To ruin such an excellent meal would be a sin.” He patted the woman’s head, and she slowly rose, walked a few steps, then kneeled again, facing the rest of the room. She adjusted her position once, lowering herself to the floor so that her bent legs remained by her side, and smiled.

Relieved that the feeder wasn’t in imminent danger, Ludwig focused back on the vampire who had made himself comfortable, lying with his legs on the couch, one bent elbow supporting his head. Reclining like a true Roman, Claudius was elegant, aristocratic in his lazy ways. His dark, tailored suit fit his slim, yet muscular body to perfection, making him handsome despite the severe facial traits.

“You ask me what I want before even asking me how I fare—?” A slow grin exposed Claudius’s teeth, but he kept his fangs in check in a show of restraint.

Ludwig’s temper on the other hand was about to snap, and he elected to keep his mouth closed.

Last time he had used his Wrath as a weapon and not for training, an entire village had been erased from existence. The hamlet’s inhabitants had committed heinous acts against children and deserved to die. At the sight of the carnage, Ludwig had rejoiced, but he never used his power so recklessly afterward. To be able to melt internal organs by releasing ultrasounds wasn’t something to trifle with—like Arariel had done anytime he was displeased.

Nonetheless, Claudius’s mere existence provoked in Ludwig a primal desire to unleash his Wrath. Knowing that it would be a clean kill only added to the lure.

Only few—and among them Quintilius—were aware that Ludwig could aim his voice at a specific target, without harm to bystanders. Not even the mighty Arariel had known how to channel his power so precisely. After his last mass killing, Ludwig had trained himself to achieve a more intelligent use of the Wrath and succeeded. If Claudius kept on irritating him, he might have a use for his more refined weapon before the night ended.

****

Breathless, Lupo watched as Jasmine raised the garment over her head and tossed it to him, only to remain wearing yet another shapeless blanket that covered her from head to toe.

At his bewildered gasp, she started laughing. “Did you really think I would strip for you?”

“It would’ve been nice,” he choked back.

“Put it on, before someone sees you.” She waited for him to don the tunic, then she appraised him for a moment before saying, “I liked you naked much better, but this is the only way to sneak you into my room.” Then, without further explanation, she headed toward the building. “Nobody is around. Hurry,” she called from her building’s entrance, holding the big glass door for Lupo.

Hampered by the headpiece that only uncovered his eyes and the tunic that reached his knees, Lupo ran toward her and cleared the threshold.

“This is awful.” He tugged at the veil. “How can you bear to wear it?”

“Without complaining.” She grabbed his elbow and walked toward the elevator.

“How do you plan to sneak me in your house?”

“You’ll see, don’t fret too much.” She entered the elevator cabin, and he followed her inside.

“May I ask you something?”

“Shoot.”

“You’re a Purist and all that… I mean, you could be in big trouble over this, right?”

“It’s not like I have a choice in the matter, and I knew you were coming.”

Lupo let her first statement pass, but couldn’t help to comment on the second. “How would you know that?”