Chapter 7
Chapter
Seven
JESSE
The rental house was like something off a postcard. Three stories of peach-colored stone sat behind a wrought iron gate that cleared six feet by a comfortable margin. Ivy climbed to the third story and wrapped around a balustrade.
I punched in the code Stefanos had sent and pushed open the front door. Caleb followed me inside and turned in a slow circle, taking in the tiled floors, curved staircase, and ceiling medallions. The lemon scent of furniture wax lingered in the air.
“Wow,” he said. “The Council must be doing well for itself.”
I dropped my bags at the foot of the stairs and motioned for him to do the same. “They’ve been accumulating assets since before most countries existed. Stay here. I’m going to check upstairs.”
He frowned. “I should come with you.”
“I’ll be faster alone.” Although, maybe he worried I doubted his abilities. I crossed to him and gave him a quick, hard kiss. “I’ve been a werewolf a long time, baby. My senses are sharp. The house feels fine. I just want peace of mind.”
His shoulders relaxed. “Okay. I won’t wander off.”
I winked. “Try it, and I’ll cross oceans of time to find you.”
“Promises, promises.”
Smiling, I jogged up the stairs. The second floor held three bedrooms, each with tall windows shuttered against the afternoon light.
A master suite boasted a bathroom tiled in white marble with delicate gray veins.
The furniture was museum quality, with carved wood headboards and sturdy chairs upholstered in creams and midnight blues.
I checked the closets, but my nose told me what I needed to know: The house was empty.
A sweep of the third floor revealed two additional bedrooms and a study with a desk positioned to catch the light from a balcony overlooking the courtyard. Shelves held rows of old books and tasteful ceramics.
I headed down the staircase with the memory of the catacombs in my mind.
Ulfrik’s scent had been sharp and rotten—and then simply gone, as if a door had slammed shut.
In a hundred and thirty years of tracking, I’d never experienced anything like it.
A thorough sweep of the tunnels hadn’t surrendered an explanation.
I’d worked every corridor and combed every empty niche, turning up nothing but the dry, mineral ghosts of human bones and the fresher signatures of the living.
Layers of body lotion and wet wool and the chemical bite of hand sanitizer.
A maintenance worker’s cigarettes and a man’s expensive cologne.
Humans lingered everywhere, but the rogue had vanished.
I’d been honest when I told Caleb that rogues were unpredictable. Everything about them was erratic, including their scent. But it didn’t just evaporate.
So where had Ulfrik gone? He’d been in those catacombs. Where was he now?
My wolf shoved at my ribs, uneasy at the thought of Ulfrik on the loose. He’d turned Caleb. My Caleb. My beast wouldn’t be satisfied until Ulfrik was dead—for good this time.
Caleb was where I’d left him, his shoulders against the wall beside the front door. He pushed off it when he saw me, and my worry must have shown on my face because he darted a look at the stairs behind me.
“Everything okay up there?”
“Yes,” I said. “The house is secure.”
He studied me for another second, then crossed the foyer and took my hips in both hands. “You’re still upset about losing Ulfrik’s scent.”
Frustration nipped at me, and it leaked into my voice as I said, “I’m upset about losing him. We could have found him and put this whole debacle behind us.”
He held my gaze, his eyes the same shade as a cloudless sky on a hot July day. Unhurried, he leaned in and kissed me, parting my lips with his tongue. Warm and slick. His kiss was just like him—persistent and impossible to ignore. Impossible to resist.
I didn’t even want to try. So I let him in, tasting apples and a trace of the chocolate he’d stolen from me on the plane.
Tasting him, all sunshine and brash confidence that hid a soft, precious center.
My hands slid up his chest on their own, and then they were in his hair and I was taking control, stroking my tongue deep as I walked him to the wall.
He grunted into my mouth, which was how I knew his back had hit the plaster.
But he was just as needy as I was, his hips lifting and his hands finding their way under my shirt.
The scent of rain clung to him as he caught me by the waistband and yanked me closer.
Our erections met, and all the blood in my body pumped south.
He moaned against my lips before pressing his forehead to mine. “I want you to fuck my brains out, but I’m also really goddamn hungry.”
I pulled back and looked at him. His lips were wet and swollen, his blond waves mussed from my hands. And the tender satisfaction in his eyes was as much of a turn-on as his kiss. He’d reassured me with his body, showing me without words that he trusted me. Believed in me.
How had I ever lived without him?
“There’s an excellent outdoor market a ten-minute walk from here,” I said. “We’ll get groceries— ”
“Stop. I’m already hard.”
“—then I’ll see what I can do about your brains.”
His eyes went unfocused. “I’m not sure which part of your plan is sexier.”
Laughing, I pulled him away from the wall. “Come on, horndog. You’re going to lose it when you see this focaccia.”
The sun had chased away the rain, and the market was busy as Caleb and I wandered the stalls. Canvas awnings shielded piles of vegetables, towers of cheese, and rows of cured meats. The scent of garlic, citrus, and olive oil hung thick in the air.
Caleb stopped in his tracks and gazed lovingly at a cafe on the corner. “Coffee.”
I bought two espressos at the bar. Caleb stared at his like I’d handed him a thimble.
“This is it?”
“In Rome, yes.”
He knocked it back, then gave me an expectant look. “I played tight end. That was like a baby Tylenol.”
I turned to the man behind the counter, who watched Caleb like he observed an absurd but entertaining stage production. “Un cappuccino, per favore.”
We returned to the market, where Caleb moaned between sips while I loaded up on groceries. Tomatoes the size of my fist. Fresh basil in fat, fragrant bunches. A small jar of capers. Two bags of pasta from a woman who insisted I take a third.
When her eyes wandered to Caleb, she handed me a fourth and spoke so quickly that I didn’t catch everything. But I caught enough, and I smiled as I paid.
“What did she say?” Caleb asked when we’d wandered a few steps.
“She called you big.” I raised my eyebrows as I tucked my wallet away. “With muscles like Arnold Schwarzenegger.”
He turned back to the woman and grinned. “Tell her she has excellent taste.”
I raised my voice and translated. The woman, who was probably in her late seventies, blushed and called out, “Molto bello!”
Caleb’s grin spread. “I understood that.”
We moved down the stalls, and he charmed vendors like he was running for public office. A middle-aged woman in a floral apron offered him slices of parmesan.
Caleb pressed a hand to his heart as he chewed. “Best thing I’ve ever eaten,” he mumbled. He swallowed, then offered her a dazzling smile. “Grazie.”
The woman beamed and cut him several more slices.
“Did I say it right?” he asked when we’d moved away.
I suppressed a snort. “Yes. But I think you could have spoken Portuguese and she would have been okay with it.”
An olive oil vendor with a salt and pepper mustache served samples in little ceramic cups. When Caleb started forward, I caught his arm.
“You don’t have to drink—”
He grabbed the first cup and drained it. When he came up coughing, the man gave him an approving nod.
Caleb ran his finger around the inside of the cup and sucked it clean. “Damn, that’s good.” He leaned over the stall’s counter. “Got any others?”
Five minutes later, we walked away with three bottles. Caleb’s conquests continued, netting him paper-thin slices of prosciutto, wedges of cheese, and a heel of bread slicked with honey and sprinkled with rosemary.
He stopped in the middle of the street and closed his eyes, his jaw working.
“You okay?” I asked.
He opened his eyes. “We’re moving to Italy.”
I hefted the bag of groceries I’d purchased. “You’re not going to be hungry.”
“I’ll be hungry.”
Twenty minutes later, I’d secured fresh chicken breasts and two bottles of red wine. As we headed back to the house, Caleb pulled a cannoli from somewhere and ate half of it in a single bite. When he caught me looking, he swallowed quickly and wiped his mouth.
“The lady at the bread place gave it to me. She called me molto affasci-something.”
“Affascinante?”
He brightened. “That was it.”
“She called you charming.”
He shoved the rest of the cannoli into his mouth and spoke around it. “Can’t argue with that.”
I couldn’t, so I just shook my head. “You conquered Rome in a day. You’re more efficient than the Visigoths.”
“Goths?”
“Not that kind.”
We reached the house, and he punched in the code and held the gate. “Everyone was so nice. I’ve always heard that Europeans dislike Americans.”
“You’re easy to love,” I said as I passed him.
He said nothing as he shut the gate, but pink touched his cheekbones.
Inside, I sent him upstairs with our bags and told him to shower while I put away the groceries and took stock of the kitchen. It was as beautiful as the rest of the house, with a professional grade range, copper cookware, and marble countertops.
Within moments, I had pasta boiling on the stove. A smile tugged at my lips as I pounded chicken flat and dusted it with flour.
I fell into the rhythm of cooking, my mind going quiet as my hands stayed busy.
The kitchens I’d worked in had always been chaotic places, but cooking for myself was a meditative task.
No tickets piling up, no sous chef barking orders from the pass.
Just me, a sharp knife, and all the little steps that kept me from dwelling on things I couldn’t control.