Chapter 15
Chapter
Fifteen
JESSE
Iheld the brick wall in my mind as Caleb and I neared the opera house. Relief made it lighter than it might have been.
A hundred and thirty years of living and I’d still managed to make the same mistake twice.
Caleb had forgiven me anyway. I was a lucky bastard—one who would not be going for a three-peat.
As he’d bluntly reminded me, I didn’t control him unless he allowed it.
I didn’t even want to. But I’d used my protective instincts as an excuse to keep him in the dark.
I’d assumed he couldn’t handle information.
And my mate had showed his teeth and forced a course correction.
The opera house appeared ahead of us. The glass conservatory on the roof glittered in the morning sunlight.
My wolf paced in my mind, its hair standing on end.
The beast wanted nothing to do with the opera house.
Neither did I, but Caleb’s logic was sound.
The door had affected him in ways nothing else had.
Now Carlo and the other vampires were unconscious, their resting places guarded by their pets.
We might not get another chance to get close to Carlo.
As we crossed the street, Caleb looked at me with a question in his eyes.
“The ward is holding,” I said under my breath.
He nodded, and we slipped around the side of the opera house and headed toward the service door. A cat picking its way along the base of the building saw us and froze. Its whiskers twitched, and its tail turned into a bottle brush. After a second, it bolted.
Caleb smiled and murmured, “Guess we’re never gonna be cat dads.”
My heart did a somersault, the last word ringing in my mind. Fatherhood had always been something for other people. But now Caleb had said it, and the word landed in my head like it had been dropped out of the belly of a B-17.
The wall in my head crumbled.
Caleb gave me a quizzical look. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Just—”
A figure stepped from the shadows.
I put a hand on Caleb’s arm.
The man was human, but his scent was stripped bare. Carlo hadn’t replaced it. Nothing replaced it, which meant the man stood two feet in his grave. A light breeze would push him into it.
His gaze slid over us, recognition flickering in his sunken eyes. He knew what we were. Undoubtedly, he’d been briefed on both of us.
He might have been a big man at some point but he was frail now, his shoulders curved forward and his spine bowed.
Waxy white scalp showed through his thinning brown hair.
I’d seen pets in late-stage addiction before.
Carlo had bled him without replenishment, dragging him to the edge of usefulness.
The only thing that could restore him now was being turned.
Caleb was stiff as cardboard beside me, his revulsion a cold flow through our bond.
“Signor Tesoro is not receiving visitors,” the pet said in a voice much stronger than his appearance. He shuffled around like he meant to walk away.
I stepped forward. “We’re not here to see him.”
The pet turned back.
“We saw last night’s performance,” I said.
“We were so taken with it that we forgot our program. We wondered if we could pick one up.” I risked another step forward and conjured the smile that had worked on disgruntled restaurant patrons and hostile department chairs.
“I’m also a writer with contacts at several music journals. ”
It was technically true—as long as the pet didn’t ask which decade they were from.
The pet looked between me and Caleb. But he didn’t walk away.
“I’d love to pitch a piece on Francesco’s career,” I said. “Signor Tesoro will need a new tenor to replace him.” I took another step forward and lowered my voice. “If you helped discover that person…” I trailed off, letting the pet fill in the blanks.
He hesitated, his tongue darting out to wet his cracked lips. The gears turning in his head were almost audible.
“I’ll show the program to my contacts,” I said, hoping I wasn’t pushing too hard. But the pet licked his lips again, hunger gleaming in his eyes. I’d dangled immortality in front of him, and he was starving.
“Va bene,” he said. “Follow me.”
He took us through the same entrance Alessia had used the first time we visited. Caleb and I exchanged glances as we followed him from one dimly lit corridor to another. My wolf fretted, its growl rumbling in my mind.
Easy, I told it. Carlo was unconscious. His pets were almost certainly exhausted from the previous night’s activities. The weakened man ahead of us was no threat. We’d get the program and leave. Once we were home, Caleb could use it as a window into the opera house.
It was a good plan—and one I should have thought of before. With something physical, Caleb could practice his gift whenever he felt like it.
The pet led us into a grand foyer decorated with the same opulence as the performance halls.
Our footsteps echoed on the white marble.
Sofas upholstered in deep red velvet lined the walls, which were covered in gilded mirrors that multiplied the room and threw our reflections back at us.
Tasteful pieces of furniture occupied the spaces between the sofas.
Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling.
The pet told us to wait and disappeared.
Caleb crossed to a tall Baroque cabinet with carved wooden legs. I held my breath as he rested his fingertips on one of the doors. Several heartbeats later, he looked at me and shook his head.
I breathed again.
He wandered the room, touching tables and sofas. A Venetian clock with a painted lacquer case. Piece after piece, he came up empty-handed.
Frustration moved through my chest, the edges soured with doubt. The emotion flowed from him and puddled behind my sternum. He was trying too hard. Growing unfocused.
Footsteps echoed from the direction of the corridor. Fast. Too heavy and deliberate to belong to the pet.
Caleb rushed to one of the mirrors and touched the bottom of the frame. He turned white and sagged toward one of the sofas.
I reached him in two strides and pulled him upright. Pain sliced through my skull, the edge so hot and sharp that I just barely managed to stifle my groan. His pain, I realized. In locking down my side of the mate bond, I’d locked him out.
But now I could shoulder some of his burden.
“Steady,” I said in his ear. “I’ve got you, okay?”
He gave a shaky nod, already pushing from my arms. His jaw was set, the pain in his eyes hastily concealed.
A man strode into the foyer with the frail pet on his heels.
The newcomer was human, his scent faint but present.
Sunlight glinted on his bald head, which looked polished to a shine.
Bruises ringed his thick neck. His biceps bulged against the sleeves of his black T-shirt, and his waist tapered to nothing before flaring to a bodybuilder’s swollen thighs.
The frail pet clutched at his arm. “Forgive me,” he wheezed in rapid Italian. “They said they would write about Francesco.”
The larger pet flung him off. “Idiota!” He swung back to us. “What are you doing in here?” he demanded in English.
I stepped in front of Caleb. “What your friend said. I’m a writer—”
“Get out.” He pointed to the doors. “Now.”
Caleb’s pain and exhaustion tugged at my ribs.
“Of course,” I said, inclining my head. “We meant no disrespect to Signor Tesoro or his house.”
The pet’s eyes stayed hard. He said nothing as we crossed the foyer and went down the steps.
I put three streets between us and the opera house before I pulled Caleb into a vicolo so tight the buildings on either side appeared to touch above us.
“Talk to me,” I said, pressing him against the wall and feeling his forehead. “How do you feel?”
“I’m okay.” He tipped his head to the side, looking every inch the golden retriever he was. “Did you take some of that pain from me?”
I clasped his jaw and kissed him because I couldn’t help it. “Yes. I’m stupid for not doing it before.”
His lips curved against mine. “Guess you’ll have to spank me for it later.”
Laughing, I pulled back. “I don’t think it works that way.”
He shrugged, his color returning under his freckles. “Daddy can’t say yes if you don’t ask.”
He was going to make me hard on a Thursday morning in the middle of Rome. “What did you see this time?”
“Same thing,” he said, sobering. “Darkness and a migraine. And my strength was just gone, same as yesterday.” His brow creased. “But that frame was gold, not silver.”
“It could be silver underneath,” I said. “But that still doesn’t explain why we didn’t feel it the first time we met with Carlo. If it affected you that strongly, we would have noticed it the second we set foot in the opera house.”
“Are you going to tell Stefanos?” he asked.
“Do you think we should?”
He covered his surprise quickly but not before I saw it. He went quiet, his gaze on the wall over my shoulder as he thought it over.
“We won’t lie to him,” he said finally. “But we don’t have to hand him information just yet. Until we know more about what the Council is or isn’t telling us, I think we keep this one close.”
“Agreed,” I said.
He studied me, his blue eyes drifting to my mouth. “Just like that?”
“Just like that.”
We did a little more staring, the mate bond humming between us.
“Okay?” I asked.
He nodded. “Okay.”