A gaping silence followed his pronouncement. He could hear Carwyn’s soft prayers coming from behind him and suddenly, Giovanni heard footsteps.
Emerging from the smoke, the ancient fire vampire approached, his black eyes raking Giovanni’s blue fire and his amnis sparking in the air around him. Red flames licked along his ruddy brown skin, and long, black hair flew out behind him. His regal forehead needed no crown to speak its authority, and mysterious symbols were tattooed on the rise of his cheekbones. He wore brown leather leggings, but nothing else except an angry glare. He came to a halt a few meters above Giovanni, hands fisted on his hips as he examined the younger immortal in front of him.
“Did you really kill Andreas?”
Giovanni took a deep, calming breath and pulled his fire back further. “Yes.”
The vampire arched a black eyebrow. “And Ziri sent you?”
He took a deep breath and nodded. “Are you Arosh?”
Giovanni felt a fluttering wind behind him, and a vampire came to light behind the ancient one. The silent immortal crouched down and eyed him with a feral gaze. The fire vampire reached down and petted the wind vampire’s head as he would a beloved pet, and he calmed. Then the vampire looked at Giovanni, and his mouth turned up at the corner.
“Some have called me Arosh, but I am known by many names.”
“I seek Arosh, ancient king of the East, friend of Ziri of Numidia, and friend of Geber, the alchemist.”
There was a flicker in the old one’s eyes. “Geber, you say?”
“Are you the Arosh I seek?”
“I am.” Arosh craned his neck to look over Giovanni’s shoulder. “You may come out, holy man.”
Giovanni heard Carwyn call out, “Is the posturing done?”
Arosh looked amused. “Yes, for now.”
“Good.” Giovanni heard Carwyn stride toward them, packs clutched in his hands and wine tucked under his arm. “And, strictly speaking, I’m not a holy man anymore. But I do have wine.”
A smile broke over Arosh’s fearsome face. “Wine, my friend, is always welcome. I think I will like you. What is your name?”
“Carwyn ap Bryn. Son of Maelona of Gwynedd, daughter of Brennus the Celt.”
“You are well met, Carwyn ap Bryn. And you, Giovanni Vecchio, if you are who you both say. Come with me, my son will follow us.” He motioned to the wind vampire, who took to the air and circled above them. “I hope you brought no men with you,” Arosh said, “or Samson will kill them.”
Carwyn and Giovanni exchanged a cautious look. “We are alone.”
“Good. He doesn’t harm the girls, but he’s been trained to kill the men.”
“Understood. It’s just us.”
They walked up the mountain, their host skipping over rocks and rubble as he climbed. Arosh made no pretense of human speed, so they didn’t either. As they crested the summit, Giovanni could see a house in the distance. As they approached, they were met with a square tower surrounded by a lavish estate. Lush trees surrounded the home, and Giovanni could hear laughter and music coming from inside. The grounds were lit with torches and gravel paths ran through neat gardens. He could hear a fountain burbling somewhere and a murmur of female voices.
Their host yelled out, “Nothing to fear, my jewels.”
Suddenly, a bevy of women poured out of the fortress, tumbling and laughing over each other in their rush to greet Arosh. They gathered around him, nubile teenagers and lush women of all ages, all stroking his arms and hair as he walked into the house. He pulled them along, kissing their eager mouths and running his fingers through their hair as they made their way into the glowing home.
Giovanni and Carwyn both stood, gaping at the vicious fire vampire surrounded by the crowd of women. Samson, the silent wind vampire, landed behind them, cocking his head when they stared. He held out a hand and motioned them toward the house. They followed cautiously, and Giovanni’s eyes roamed the lavish house and the girls who came out to greet them, grabbing their hands to lead them into the house with cheerful smiles.
“Gio?”
“I’m as confused as you are, Father.”
“Why do I feel like we just found the vampire version of the Playboy Mansion?”
“Because I’m fairly sure we did.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Rome, Italy
October 2012
“Wow, look. It’s another priceless and culturally significant work of art.”
“Stop with your gushing enthusiasm. It’s embarrassing to walk next to you.”
“You’re the one letting yourself go.”
Dez turned and slapped Ben’s shoulder as they strolled through the Galleria Borghese.
“Shut up, you brat. I’m pregnant.”
“You may blame the baby, Dez, but I’m pretty sure the gelato has something to do with it, too.”
He laughed and ducked away as she swung her purse at him. The gallery was mostly deserted that Thursday afternoon, the summer crowds had dissipated to nothing, and the damp weather was making their usual stroll through the villa gardens less than attractive, so they had decided to take in the collection of paintings.
“I’m kidding! Sheesh, I’m kidding. You know you’re gorgeous. I’d still steal you from Matt if I thought I could get away with it.” Ben winked and threw an arm around her slender shoulders as she pretended to pout.
“You’re mean, Benjamin Vecchio.”