For some reason, the idea of killing a helpless animal seemed to break her. She slumped into Giovanni’s chest as his arms wrapped around her, and she shook with tears.
He held her close. “You survived, Beatrice. You survived. That is a victory. You and your father faced four opponents, and you survived. Even Baojia was gravely wounded by those men.”
“But my father didn’t survive.”
She heard him clear his throat and sniff. He pressed a kiss to her forehead and whispered, “I would take this pain from you if I could.”
“I need to go to my father.”
“Beatri—” Giovanni broke off and turned toward the forest. There was a rustling sound as a monk walked through the trees. Giovanni grasped Beatrice’s shoulders, holding her still as the scent hit her nose. Though the smell wafted over her, and her fangs descended, she had no desire to pursue the human.
“You should be with Zhang’s men,” Giovanni said.
The boy answered in Mandarin, and the two had a quick, heated exchange she couldn’t understand. She stared at the guard she had killed and the blood she vomited over his corpse. She imagined that it was Lorenzo’s head the lay next to the body. The thought brought her some comfort and a hint of satisfaction.
Beatrice felt Giovanni’s hands tighten on her shoulders.
“Tesoro, this monk has offered to feed you. He will hold out his wrist—”
“No!” Beatrice had no confidence that she could eat without harming the young man. He had come closer, and the churning in her stomach increased. Her fangs were sharp in her mouth.
“You will drink from his wrist, and I will make sure you do not take too much, but it is the best thing for you.”
“I’ll hurt him.”
“No, you won’t. I’m here. I won’t let you hurt him.”
“And I am, as well.” She heard Baojia approach. The two grasped her shoulders as she turned and faced the young man. He was no more than sixteen or seventeen, and his head was shaved like the monks she remembered from Mount Penglai. He wore saffron robes and a resolute expression. She hissed instinctively, but shrank back when she saw the look of fear enter the young man’s eyes. Still, he held up his wrist to her face, and Giovanni held her hair in his iron grasp as Beatrice leaned forward and latched on to the young man’s wrist.
It was heaven. Thick, sweet blood flooded her mouth, slid down her throat, and filled her angry stomach. She could feel the boy’s pulse, and she sucked in rhythm to it, watching him with hungry eyes as she struggled against Baojia and Giovanni’s grasp. She eyed the pulsing vein in the neck, watching it like a predator as she drank. Soon, she could feel the aching in her throat lessen, but she did not release. She could see the boy pale in front of her, and a surge of satisfaction ran through her as the hint of fear permeated the air. If she could just get free of their hands…
“Enough!” Giovanni’s fingers pinched her nose and pulled her away from the vein.
“No!” she snarled, lunging at him before Baojia pulled her back. Giovanni quickly healed the boy’s wrist and spoke quietly to him in Mandarin before the young monk disappeared into the forest. Then he turned to Beatrice, and Baojia released her into his embrace.
“We must go up to the monastery. Dawn is coming and Tenzin needs you.”
She blinked as her reason returned. She walked toward the stairs, holding his hand as they climbed the old staircase together. Baojia trailed behind them.
Beatrice turned and gave one last look at the clearing where her father had died. Though his body lingered, she knew Stephen’s soul had fled. She clung to the vision of his peaceful face the moment before he was killed. Whatever her father’s last vision had been, it had brought him joy, and she sent a silent prayer that his soul had found the home he had sought for so long in life.
She turned back to Giovanni. Her husband met her gaze, then bent down and picked her up, cradling her in his warm arms as they made their way to shelter.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Wuyi Moutains
Fujian Province
China
November 2010
They were ensconced in the library when dawn came. Giovanni carried Beatrice past the reek of blood by the door, guiding her to an alcove where low cushions lay scattered.
“Where are Tenzin and my father?”
“Here,” he said as he laid her among the cushions. “At the back of the library. Tenzin is with him.”
The monastery library was a long hall, dug deep into the mountain and carefully lined with shelves for the books and scrolls. Small alcoves branched off from the main hallway, most lined with low cushions and some with tables, the ideal location for quiet study and contemplation.
“I want to go to her.” Beatrice couldn’t explain it. It wasn’t just that she wanted to see Tenzin; it was as if she needed to. She felt a pull of longing past understanding, even as she fought against exhaustion.
“You need to rest.”
“Please, Gio.”
He knelt down next to her, studying her face before he nodded silently. He stood and walked down the hall. A low murmur reached her ears before a rush of air and then Tenzin was beside her. She placed her arm around Beatrice and lay next to her; the comfort was instantaneous. Giovanni silently paced the hall while Beatrice blinked back tears.
Tenzin spoke in a low voice. “It is his blood, do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“I will guard him today. You will help me prepare the body tomorrow night when you rise, as a daughter should.”