Chapter 4
Chapter Four
NICOLO
“You are going out again?”
Nicolo looked up from his wrist where he was fixing his cufflink, blinking innocently at his mother where she stood in the doorway to his bedroom.
Priscilla Mancini was a beautiful woman, Turned in her late thirties, as gorgeous today as the day she was made a vampire centuries earlier.
Red hair piled high, porcelain skin a delicate translucent hue thanks to her undead nature, with lush red lips and eyes that glowed a deep amber, currently flashing red with emotion.
She was a curvy woman, and dressed to accentuate her generous form, this time wrapped in a sleeveless gold silk sheath that fell to the floor in a dramatic flourish.
“I want to see Camden, Mamma. Make sure he’s alright, that the incident didn’t put him off unduly. I refuse to lose him over this.”
She sighed dramatically, and he grinned, unrepentant. “And so you’ll leave your worried mother behind, all alone? You frustrate me, child! Why must you be so stubborn?”
“I take after you, Mamma.”
She left the doorway of his room and came to him, her high heels clacking on the floor.
She could walk silently in heels, she was a vampire, after all—but she enjoyed the sound too much.
“If you’re going to be seducing a man, do make sure you look your best,” she lectured, and took over fussing with his cufflinks, straightening out the fabric and tugging on his sleeves.
The silver cufflinks glittered in the light.
“There, much better. Are you going to fix your hair?”
He looked in the mirror that sat over his dresser, frowning. “What’s wrong with my hair?”
“It looks as if you had an adventurous time in bed, darling.”
He grinned, seeing nothing amiss. “Exactly.”
He hadn’t, of course, but that was the current style.
She sighed again, despairing of him. She looked as if she were preparing to seduce a bishop—she had before, a few times—so she was one to talk of appearances. She meant nothing by it, though, it was merely their dynamic after centuries together.
“You like this boy,” she said, less a question, more a statement of fact.
“I do,” he agreed. “I like him quite a bit.” He paused, looking down at her, but she wasn’t meeting his gaze. “Is that a problem?”
She finally looked up and frowned at him, gently smacking his arm. “No, of course not! You’ve never been so intent on another before. You’re different about this young man.”
“I love you, Mamma.” He pressed a kiss to her hair, the scent of her lilac perfume filling his senses.
She wore it all the time, and the scent reminded him of years past and the joys and difficulties of being the only child of Priscilla Mancini.
She was a touch possessive of him, but he wasn’t worried about her giving Camden any grief.
She occasionally pushed him to find a mate, and he hoped that he finally had.
“I don’t seek to replace you. I have room enough in my heart for both you and Camden. ”
“I know, my dear boy.” She brushed at his shoulders, checking him over for nonexistent flaws, smiling softly. “You’re so handsome, charming, and a true gentleman—go sweep this young man off his feet. He won’t know what hit him.”
“Yes, Mamma.”
NICOLO
He received a text from Achilles, asking him to come by the shop.
He was going there regardless—he wanted to see Camden and assure himself that the incident didn’t put Camden off seeing him again.
He replied that he was on his way, leaving the Tower just before sunset from the underground garage, Gary not driving this time, having been given a few days off after being attacked.
His new driver was also a vampire, one of the recently Turned security guards. Vincent was his name.
Vincent was armed, too, the scent of gun oil permeating the town car, but Nicolo wasn’t bothered.
The City Master of the Bloodclan had given orders for all drivers to be armed in case of future attacks.
Nicolo wasn’t sure he was the target—it didn’t make sense, not with the strange vampire going after Camden with such intent—but he wasn’t going to skirt around orders from the City Master, and so he agreed to the extra precautions without a qualm.
Nicolo had a dagger, a simple plain affair that he kept in a tactical release holster at the small of his back, though it would only come in handy against someone armed with a blade—he preferred a sword, but he wasn’t carrying one of his delicate antiques around with him in case of a future altercation.
His swords were his treasures, but they were old, and would break under any strenuous use.
He kept them under lock and key for their protection.
He grew up in a culture where duels were common, swords were carried by nobles and commoners alike, and swordfights broke out daily. Before he was Turned, he’d engaged in many a duel, settling squabbles and matters of honor with the thrust of a blade.
Vincent parked the car outside Res Antiquae, the shop lit up like a beacon. Nicolo saw the security guard standing vigil through the glass doors, eyeing the town car with suspicion. Seemed the staff were on high alert. Good.
“Do you wish for me to wait for you, or come back?” Vincent asked.
“I plan on being here for a while, so I’ll text you. No need to wait for me.”
“Understood. Be careful, sir,” Vincent said as Nicolo got out of the car.
“I plan on it,” Nicolo replied, lightly shutting the door and turning to the shop.
The doors burst open, and he suddenly had an armful of happily vibrating, excited earth mage—Camden’s arms wrapped around his neck, and Nicolo hugged him back with enthusiasm, careful not to crush ribs. He buried his face in Camden’s hair and breathed in his delicious scent and warmth.
“You came back,” Camden said, voice muffled in Nicolo’s scarf.
Nicolo chuckled. “Yes, of course. I wanted to see you.”
Camden burrowed in closer, cold nose against Nicolo’s neck. “I was worried after last night that you wouldn’t be interested anymore.”
“A few villains aren’t enough to keep me from you,” Nicolo swore, meaning it.
He was irresistibly drawn to Camden, and he had spent the entire day impatiently waiting for the sun to go down.
He’d wanted to text Camden, but was afraid to wake him, not sure about Camden’s sleep schedule.
It would take some getting used to—dating someone who slept regularly.
At least, he hoped they would be dating.
Camden shivered and Nicolo realized the poor man wasn’t wearing a coat. “Come, let’s go inside before you freeze to death.”
Camden let him go reluctantly, then took his hand and led him through the glass doors, the security guard holding the doors open for them. Nicolo gave the man a nod in thanks, and then suddenly they were inside the brightly lit shop, face to face with Achilles.
Achilles Feybourne was one of his oldest friends in the city, and he knew well the cranky expression on that perfect face. Achilles was prickly and demanding, but utterly loyal and protective of those he called friend. Achilles looked him up and down, sniffing once. “You look intact.”
Nicolo chuckled, then hugged Achilles around the shoulders with his free arm, the other holding fast to Camden. “I am well, my friend. Not a scratch on me.”
Achilles briefly hugged him back, then pulled away, arching a slim brow. “I shouldn’t have expected otherwise. But enough chitchat—Camden has a surprise for you.” He turned to Camden, gesturing toward the back of the store. “I’ll man the floor while you show Nicolo his surprise.”
“Thank you, Achilles,” Camden said, blushing a bit. He gently tugged on Nicolo’s hand. “Come with me?”
“I’ll follow you anywhere, tesoro.”
He very maturely ignored the snort of amusement from Achilles, and followed the sweetly blushing Camden through the maze of the shop.
They reached a door that said Private on it, and Camden unlocked it with a touch and a softly murmured Latin word, the spell releasing.
He carefully followed Camden through the doorway into what appeared to be a large storage room with towering racks of items and crates.
The door clicked shut behind them, and the lock reengaged with a soft snick.
There was a long table near the door, and Camden led him to it.
A long wooden box lay on the table, the wood polished to a high sheen, smelling of linseed oil and magic. It was about three feet long and a few inches high, with a bronze latch on the front. Camden turned to him, still holding his hand, and took a deep breath before speaking.
“Nicolo, I wanted to thank you for saving me. You went above and beyond. I have no doubt I would have been seriously hurt or even killed last night if you hadn’t been there. You barely know me, and yet you saved me.”
He squeezed Camden’s hand. “I will always save you. And you need not thank me. It was my honor and my privilege to protect you.”
He meant every single word. He hoped Camden believed him.
A soft smile curved those lush lips and Camden blushed hot, though he met Nicolo’s earnest gaze and held it. “I want to thank you, regardless. I hope you’ll accept this gift. It would mean a lot to me.”
“Alright,” Nicolo murmured. “I would be honored.”
Camden put Nicolo’s hand on the box over the latch. He spoke again in Latin, in the tone of an incantation, and there was a soft buzz along Nicolo’s hand and up his arm.
“What was that?” he asked, curious.
“I conveyed ownership of the item to you. It will open now. Go ahead.”
Camden let go, leaving Nicolo’s hand on the box.
Nicolo carefully opened the latch and lifted the lid.
He stilled, hand on the lid, gazing down in wonder and some disbelief.
It was a sword, pristine, flawless, unmarked by time or use. Just under three feet long, double-edged, with a sharp point. It had a simple crucifix hand guard and a short ricasso within the guard, allowing for an advanced grip.
“Una spada da lato,” he murmured in Italian, letting go of the lid to lightly run his fingers along the hilt and guard, feeling a soft hum of energy.
His experienced gaze took in the maker’s mark under the guard on the blade, and if his heart was capable of beating it would’ve been skipping along in excitement and awe—Francesco Missaglia had been one of the most celebrated armorers and swordsmiths in the 1500s.
To have a Missaglia blade was an impossible dream, but he was standing in front of one now.
It was an Italian side sword, popular during the latter half of the 16th century, and a weapon that was a direct precursor of the rapier that came a century later. It was a dueling sword, meant for everyday wear for self-defense and settling matters of honor in duels.
He had worn one for many years, a long time ago. That sword was lost to the depredations of time and use, reduced to scrap metal centuries earlier. It was a glaring hole in his collection.
“How did…” He paused and took a deep breath. “How did you know?”
“Achilles helped me pick it out.” Camden shrugged one shoulder.
“I also recognized the sword forms you used last night, even fighting with a baton. I’m no sword fighter, but I know one when I see one.
I’ve studied a lot of European sword forms so I could more effectively sell the swords we have in the shop.
I pieced that together with what you told me of your time period when you were Turned, and the location. It was an easy assumption to make.”
Camden paid him that much attention? He listened and watched and cared about what he learned. Nicolo was in trouble; he wanted more from Camden than a few dates and some kisses. The sword in front of him was a testament to Camden’s care and consideration.
“How is it so pristine?” He was afraid to lift it from the velvet cushions it rested upon, hand hovering over the blade. He wanted to lift it free very badly, but caution had him hesitating. The blade was as old as he was, and possibly quite delicate.
Camden grinned. “Magic.” He gestured to the sword, stepping back several feet.
“The spells on the blade come from the maker—the blade will never chip, break, warp, or grow dull. The metals will never corrode, rust, or decay. The sword can still get dirty, and I’d wipe it down after use, but nothing will harm the integrity of the sword, not even time.
” Camden waved his hands at the sword. “It’s safe to touch, to use. Go on, pick it up. See how it feels.”
Nicolo shed his coat and scarf, laying them on the table beside the box. He slid off his suit jacket and did the same, rolling his shoulders to loosen his stance and clothing before reaching for the hilt.
The sword fit perfectly in his hand. Barely two pounds, it felt light as a feather to his enhanced strength.
He backed away from the table and Camden, old habits rising to the fore as he settled into an easy guard stance, testing the balance of the sword.
He went through a basic attack form, feet silent on the concrete flooring, the subtle whoosh of sharp steel through the air the only sound he made as he followed old patterns.
Camden watched him with wide eyes and the heat of attraction in his gaze. Nicolo tried to curtail his vanity but part of him preened under the appreciative gaze of a beautiful man. He stopped, came out of the form, and gently returned the sword to its box.
“Did you like it—” Camden squeaked when Nicolo gently took him by the shoulders and leaned down for a kiss. Camden hummed in delight and wrapped his arms around Nicolo’s neck, kissing him back with fervor.