Chapter 13
Chapter
Thirteen
JESSE
“Ipromise I’m fine.”
Caleb said it like he was giving testimony under oath—which was exactly how he’d said it the previous dozen times since we’d returned home.
Now we had one hour until Francesco’s private performance. That gave me one hour to convince myself it wasn’t stupid to go.
I leaned against the doorframe and watched Caleb drag his electric shaver along his jaw.
A white towel rode low on his hips. The bathroom was still warm from his shower, and the buzz of the razor floated around the steam that hung in the air.
A tall glass of orange juice sat untouched on the counter.
Suits hung on the back of the door—his and mine, delivered while we were out.
The navy wool would look good against Caleb’s golden skin and even better on the floor.
He caught my reflection in the mirror. “Someone’s cranky.”
“We should skip the opera.”
He turned from the mirror with a frown, the shaver still buzzing in his hand. “Why? I saw some ancient Roman guys hanging out. It’s not a big deal.” He clicked off the shaver. “It means my gift is working. Isn’t that a good thing?”
It was the only good thing. Nothing else had gone in our favor since we landed in Rome.
We were no closer to Ulfrik, his scent trails kept cutting off, and every werewolf in Italy had apparently vanished.
The Council wasn’t concerned about the last part, which meant they were either naive, stalling, or privy to knowledge they didn’t feel like sharing.
And the elders weren’t naive. That left two options, neither of them good.
Worse, what if Caleb was right about a werewolf being responsible for Ulfrik’s return from the dead?
Stefanos had claimed he’d look into it. What if he already had, and now the Council was scrambling to find the traitor?
What if the Council itself was behind everything?
I’d followed orders for a century, and I had no reason to think the Council was compromised.
But I couldn’t allow myself to be naive, either.
Blind faith could put Caleb in danger, and I wouldn’t accept that.
I’d kept my doubts locked firmly behind the mate bond, and I could only hope nothing had leaked across. Caleb didn’t need more reasons to mistrust the Council.
Even so, guilt tugged at me. Was omission really that much better than an outright lie? He’d already chafed at me protecting him. What would he say if he discovered I was skeptical about the Council brushing aside the disappearance of Italy’s werewolves?
“Hey,” he said now. “You okay?”
I crossed the bathroom and picked up the orange juice. “Drink all of it,” I said, holding it out.
Exasperation flitted through his eyes. But he took the glass and drained it, throat working in a couple of impressive gulps. He dragged his forearm over his mouth. “Happy?”
“No.” My memory spun me back to France, where he’d climbed into my bed and studied me with blue eyes brimming with hurt. I’d lied to him for weeks about being a wolfseeker sent to track him down and kill him.
Don’t lie to me again, he’d said.
And I’d held his stare and answered: I won’t.
I’d promised. And now I was breaking it.
I had to tell him the truth.
His gaze went to the door behind me. “I really want to see you in that suit.”
“What if you have another vision at the opera house?” I asked before I could stop myself.
He shrugged, bare shoulders shifting in a way that put me in danger of forgetting what we were talking about. “I won’t touch anything.”
“That’s not practical.”
His smile was pure wickedness. “Then I guess you’ll have to carry me.” Gaze locked with mine, he adjusted the knot on his towel with the practiced tug of an athlete who’d done it a thousand times. “I’ll sit on your lap.”
Fuck. I rubbed my mouth as my eyes wandered to his plump pecs against my will. “I should put you over it,” I muttered.
“Promise?”
I grunted.
He stepped close, bringing the scent of my shampoo with him. “You’ll be with me the whole time. If a vision hits, we can dip.” He hesitated. “That means—”
“I know what it means, you little shit.”
He laughed softly. Then he spread his palms over my chest, and a hint of vulnerability flickered in his eyes. “The Council was ready to kill me before. Now they need me.”
My heart tore down the middle. He’d felt unwanted his whole life. Finally, he had something important. A rare gift. And I was about to walk him into Carlo Gesualdo’s opera house on the order of a Council I didn’t fully trust. But telling him now would rattle him at exactly the wrong moment.
And Caleb would absolutely insist on going. If I shared my skepticism, he’d go in angry and second-guessing every elder. The prickly jock from New York was always just under the surface.
After. I’d tell him after, when we were home and had time to talk without a clock hanging over our heads.
Caleb smiled. “Take me to the opera, Jesse. We’re in Rome to investigate. So we should investigate, right?”
“Right,” I heard myself say.
He kissed my jaw, then turned and went to the sink. “I knew you’d see it my way.”
“I want you to eat something before we go.”
He dropped his towel and met my gaze in the mirror. “Or you could.”
“Behave yourself.”
His eyes twinkled. “I always do.”
The theater surprised me.
I’d expected a rehearsal space or overflow room tucked behind the grander hall.
But Alessia led us into a jewel box with a low ceiling painted with cherubs and clouds the color of old cream.
Every available surface was gilded, from the carved moldings to the filigree on the sconces flanking the stage.
Red velvet curtains framed either side like the heavy skirts of a ball gown.
More red velvet cushioned our seats. The chandeliers had been converted to electricity but the scent of beeswax filled the air, the ghosts of thousands of candles lingering over the theater.
About fifty humans filled the rows around us.
I felt the vampires before I saw them. Six were scattered among the audience.
At first glance, they passed as ordinary Romans.
But a closer look gave them away. Their stillness was the tell.
Even the most composed humans were in constant motion: scratching an itch or adjusting their hair.
The vampires sat like mannequins someone had posed.
I leaned close to Caleb and pitched my voice for his ears alone. “You can sense the undead because their hearts don’t beat. Listen closely and you’ll notice the voids.”
He stilled, his attention sharpening the way it did when he drew upon his wolf. After a moment, he dipped his chin toward a dark-haired man in the third row.
“That one?”
“Yes.”
He settled back in his chair, satisfied, and I stopped looking for vampires and looked at him.
The navy suit did exactly what it had promised, turning him shades of gold and deepening his eyes to sapphire.
His clean-shaven jaw looked cut from granite, and the knotted tie resting against his Adam’s apple made me want to take him home and tie him to our bed.
More than one head turned in his direction, and my wolf bristled in my mind. I nudged it back, reminding it without words that Caleb was ours. Let strangers look. They could only imagine what was underneath his suit.
I didn’t have to. I knew exactly how his bikini briefs cut across his ass cheeks. How the thin fabric hugged his dick, begging to be pulled aside.
The knowledge sat in the back of my mind like an unlit match next to a can of gasoline.
The house lights dimmed.
Francesco walked onto the stage, and the crowd broke into applause. He nodded toward the maestro, who lifted his baton and launched the orchestra into a slow lament.
Puccini’s E lucevan le stelle. It was the perfect choice. The character sang of facing execution and spending his few remaining hours pining for the woman he loved and the life he left behind. Francesco’s voice soared to the ceiling and swelled through the theater.
The hair on my nape lifted. Then every hair on my body lifted. Two nights ago, Francesco had been extraordinary. Now he was otherworldly, every note pure and whole. He tilted his face toward the ceiling and closed his eyes, mouth stretched like he sang to heaven.
The humans in the audience went as still as the vampires. Beside me, Caleb’s lips parted. He stared at Francesco with rapt eyes, the soft light from the chandeliers gilding his lashes.
I reached over and closed my hand around his.
He squeezed my fingers without looking away from the stage.
Francesco finished, then launched into another aria from Tosca.
None of the humans in the audience could know he’d performed for Puccini himself more than a century before they were born.
Francesco was quite possibly the only being on the planet who knew exactly how the composer had wanted his creations to sound.
An hour later, he took his final bow. The crowd surged to their feet and filled the theater with applause. Before Caleb and I could slip out, a young man appeared at my side.
“My master would be pleased if you joined him for the reception.”
His accent was almost nonexistent. The high collar of his sleeveless shirt covered his neck—and any bite marks Carlo and the other vampires had left behind.
As if he sensed my hesitation, he lifted clear green eyes outlined with black eyeliner.
Black curls framed a bone structure I’d seen on every marble statue in Rome.
Pink gloss sheened his lips, and more blue, glittery makeup smeared his eyelids.
“The guest list is quite selective,” he added. “We are a small group tonight, Signore, with dignitaries from your country.” The pet’s mouth curved in a polite smile. “The kind of important people who would notice if two of their countrymen were attacked by creatures who aren’t supposed to exist.”
So Carlo had no plans to murder us and dump our corpses in the Tiber. Refreshing.