“And you are sired from water, too. As all in our family are. What more could I ask from a daughter?” The group around them seemed to titter at Livia’s quip. Beatrice glanced over her shoulder to see Giovanni roll his eyes slightly. She hadn’t thought about it before, but unlike the hum of energy at Penglai, Livia’s party had a very low energy signature except for a few bright spots. As they moved through the party, Beatrice began to take note of the strongest signatures, noting whom they belonged to and who was gathered around them.
There was a tall woman with strong Germanic features that held court with a group of tall vampires around her. She was stronger than most, but not as vibrant as Livia.
A regal man with ebony skin and a booming laugh caught her attention from one corner. His signature was very strong, but he didn’t feel very old. He also had an entourage gathered around him.
Another, quieter immortal drifted around the edges of the party. He stopped to talk to others every now and then before quickly moving on. He looked North African, his features a fascinating blend of Arab and African. His face was scarred, and he didn’t seem to attract much attention, but his energy swirled and drifted in a fascinating way. The vampire felt old. Very old. She noticed Giovanni hadn’t acknowledged him before her attention was drawn to a familiar voice.
“Signora De Novo, how did you like the restaurant?”
“Signore Conti,” Beatrice smiled. “It was lovely. How nice to see you again.” Beatrice could tell her familiarity with Livia’s rival came as a surprise to her hostess, but Livia’s eyes flickered for only a second before the happy mask descended again.
“You are acquainted, then? How lovely. Signore Conti is from one of the oldest families in Rome. Our people have known each other for centuries.”
“It is a pleasure to see you again, Beatrice.” Emil bowed again, this time kissing the back of her hand, a gesture common among the immortal men she had met. Every time it happened, she stifled a snicker as Giovanni’s amnis tightened around her waist as if he was a second away from pulling her back into his arms.
They continued to circulate for hours, and it was growing late when Giovanni finally pulled Beatrice from Livia’s company. He promptly gathered her under his arm and found a quiet corner.
“Are you ready to go? Please say yes.”
“I think we better if we’re going to make it back to the house before dawn.”
He nodded. “Stay here. She’ll draw you into another round of socializing until we’re forced to stay here at the castle. She keeps rooms for me here, but I don’t want to stay unless you do.”
“No.” She shook her head. “I want to go home.”
“Excellent. I’ll be right back.”
Beatrice watched him cross the party to speak to Livia, and the conversation of gestures began. She watched for only a moment before her eyes scanned the crowd again. She was hiding in the shadows, trying to avoid notice, but one set of eyes caught hers. It was the North African vampire with the pockmarked face. He gave her a deep, respectful nod before he seemed to disappear into the shadows on the other side. She searched for him, but did not see him again.
“All right. We’re free.” Giovanni pulled her under his arm, shuffling them along the edges of the party-goers and out the grand iron gate toward the car.
“So, when do we have to come back?”
He grimaced. “Wednesday. She’s hosting a concert here, and I somehow agreed that we would come.”
Beatrice chuckled. Something about Livia definitely bothered her, but at the same time, it was kind of funny to see Giovanni put at a disadvantage. Usually, he was unbending.
“I see you laughing at me, Tesoro. Watch out”— he pinched her thigh—“or I’ll be forced to assert my ‘bad-assedness.’”
She winked as he opened the door for her. “Promise?”
Beatrice heard him tap on the driver’s window. The window rolled down and Giovanni threw two hundred Euro notes at the man. “Drive fast.”
Chapter Six
Rome, Italy
May 2012
Giovanni almost missed telling the driver the last turn to the house, he was so distracted by his wife’s attentions. They had both discovered the benefits of having a lover with shared blood. As long as they maintained skin contact, they could send their energy over each other to tease their mate’s senses. It had become a kind of game for Beatrice, and she enjoyed trying to break his concentration in public. The car was almost as fun.
He was ready to tear her beautiful new dress by the time they got back to the house, and he almost snarled when they exited the car and heard the telltale skid of the football in the courtyard along with the low laugh of his old friend.
Beatrice blinked, as lust-hazed as he was. “Wha—who’s that?”
“Carwyn’s here.” He glanced at her red, swollen lips, knowing they’d have to pretend to be polite for at least a few minutes.
Damn priest.
Beatrice sighed and pushed the courtyard door open, only to immediately dodge the football that came in her direction.
“B, kick it back!”
She glared at Ben. “In these shoes? I don’t think so.”
“So fancy, you two.” Carwyn stepped from the shadows with a grin. “You didn’t really need to get so dressed up for me.” He walked over and embraced Beatrice. “You look lovely, though. I appreciate the effort. Oh, and you smell nice, too.” He only grinned when Giovanni growled at him. “You ready to run away with me yet?”