Chapter 13 #2
I looked at Caleb, who watched the pet with an expression as close to neutral as he ever managed. We really had to work on his poker face—
“Sounds like a great time,” he said.
—and his diplomacy.
The pet’s polite smile didn’t budge. “This way, please.”
He led us from the theater down corridors that descended deeper into the opera house. The walls went from burgundy to plaster to gray stone. The air cooled, and candles gave way to torches nestled in sconces that probably predated the Plague.
Low strains of music drifted from somewhere ahead. As we rounded a corner, the hum of conversation joined it. The pet led us to a glossy black door that reflected the flames on the walls. When he pulled it open, the music and voices swelled.
We stepped into a room just as lush and unexpected as the theater.
Gilded topiaries rose from the center of tables, their flowers spilling onto the white cloth.
Curved booths with red velvet cushions lined the walls.
Musicians played in the corner. Barrel-vaulted ceilings were painted with scenes of bacchanalian revelry.
Smiling cherubs stretched toward nude men and women tangled together on beds of grapes.
Beneath it, pets in crisp uniforms moved among the guests. Most were human, but a handful of vampires sat at tables, their presence a blank space among the warm, wet heartbeats scattered through the chamber.
Carlo’s fledglings. Did they ever wonder how long he would permit them to live?
None seemed worried at the moment. They conversed with humans, fangs tucked behind smiles and curated expressions.
Two stood with a group of admirers clustered around Francesco.
He’d discarded his tie, and his open collar displayed chest hair the same dark brown as his beard.
A female pet carrying a tray of crystal flutes approached us. “Prosecco, signori?” she asked.
Caleb shook his head. “I’m a sobriety girlie.”
The pet frowned.
“No, grazie,” I told her. When she moved off, I looked at Caleb.
“I’m not getting vampire roofied,” he mumbled, darting a suspicious look around the room.
His instincts were good. Later, I’d tell him it would take a wedding’s worth of spiked prosecco to incapacitate us that way. If the vampires wanted us unconscious, drugs were the least effective way to accomplish it.
One of the vampires with Francesco looked toward an alcove where a male dancer twirled around a stripper pole mounted to a raised platform.
He was human and completely nude, his heart rate thumping with his efforts.
Oil sheened his skin, every flex of muscle reflecting the light.
His cock was half-hard, and the glistening shaft swung with his movements.
A trio of humans observed him from sofas arranged at the base of the platform.
Two were men in their seventies with silver hair and the kind of polish that money bought.
The woman was in her late forties, but excellent plastic surgery probably let her pass for a decade younger.
Dark hair fell around her shoulders in soft waves.
She turned her head, her gaze landing on me before sliding to Caleb at my side.
Elegant ruby studs winked in her ears, the deep shade drawing red highlights from her hair.
Tasteful lip filler gave her mouth a subtle pout.
Curiosity flickered in her gray eyes before she looked away.
“Lawyers from America,” Carlo said at my elbow.
I didn’t startle, but it was damn close. I hadn’t heard him approach.
He nodded toward the trio around the performer.
“They represent an oil company that pays your government to dump waste in the ocean. It’s a filthy business that requires a spotless public image.
” He turned to me, and his dark eyes appeared wet in the flickering candlelight.
The tips of his fangs showed between his lips as he added, “They come to us for other kinds of filth.”
The fangs were deliberate, just as his soundless approach had been.
“And you host them,” I said.
He lifted one shoulder, but the movement was slightly off—a quick up and down that robbed the casual gesture of its purpose. “They pay handsomely for the accommodation. If I don’t take their money, someone else will.”
I held Carlo’s stare. The vampires didn’t have a central authority.
No Council of Elders. No covens. They operated like the princes of the Italian Renaissance, each one ruling with absolute power until someone stronger came along and killed them.
No one stood in the way of Carlo entertaining wealthy humans and risking exposure every second.
He turned to Caleb. “What did you think of Francesco?”
“He’s a good singer,” Caleb said.
Carlo waited.
Caleb looked back at him, golden and unbothered.
After a long moment, Carlo offered us a thin smile. “Excuse me, but I must return to my hosting duties.” The smile thinned a half-inch. “I trust you’ll take care of your out of control wolf, Jesse. We don’t want that kind of problem in Rome.”
“I’m relieved to hear it,” I said.
Carlo’s smile didn’t budge. With a final flick of his eyes over Caleb, he glided away.
Caleb angled toward me and muttered, “Let’s get out of here.”
We were halfway to the exit when the music changed. Deep and sensual, it throbbed like a pulse. Bass thumped in my molars. A charge built in the air. Around the room, humans leaned forward in their chairs.
The pet who’d offered us prosecco set down her tray and crossed to a vampire seated at one of the tables. He smiled and reached for the buttons of her shirt.
Another male vampire stood, went to the stripper pole, and took the dancer by the hand. Fifty pairs of eyes fixed on them. The vampire led the dancer to a booth and pulled the man into his lap. The oil on the dancer’s back glistened as he straddled the vampire and tilted his head to the side.
The vampire bared long, white fangs. With a rattlesnake’s hiss, he plunged them into the dancer’s neck.
The dancer cried out, his body arching and his toes curling. The vampire gripped his ass, long fingers digging into the dancer’s buttocks, and urged the man’s hips into an undulating rhythm.
At the other table, the female pet was fully nude. She climbed over plates and wineglasses and stretched on her back. The vampire she’d approached pushed her thighs wide and buried his face between them. She squirmed, her lips parting on a gasp. A second later, blood trickled down her inner thigh.
She screamed, grabbed the back of the vampire’s head, and clutched him against her.
Another pet set down her tray and stepped out of her uniform. Then another.
And another.
Vampires pinned them against walls and tables.
A human woman rose and pulled her dress over her head.
The man next to her wriggled his suit jacket off his shoulders and yanked at his tie.
A female vampire leaned against one of the tables with her skirt bunched above her hips, her head tipped back and her fingers twisted in the long blond hair of the pet kneeling between her thighs.
One of the silver-haired lawyers had crossed the chamber and sat in a chair across from the vampire and the dancer, who rode the vampire’s thighs as the vampire drained him. Eyes on the dancer’s flexing buttocks, the lawyer pulled out his cock and began masturbating.
The pet who’d led us from the theater sank to his knees in front of Francesco and rubbed his lips over the tenor’s groin. Francesco observed him for a moment before unzipping his trousers and feeding his cock into the pet’s mouth.
Sighs and soft cries joined the music’s deep, insistent beat. My senses prickled, and I snapped my gaze to Carlo’s.
He stood in the shadows on the other side of the chamber with his thin smile in place.
With a single nod, he turned and walked to Francesco.
The pet at the tenor’s feet moaned and moved his lips to the bulge between Carlo’s legs.
Carlo leaned into Francesco and caught his mouth in an aggressive kiss.
The pet on the table sat up, swung her legs over the side, and stumbled toward them.
Blood and pink-tinged semen ran down her inner thighs.
Carlo reached for her without breaking his kiss. When she grabbed at his fingers, he seized her wrist and jerked her against him. The pet at his feet turned his head and lapped at the ejaculate between her legs. Francesco reached across Carlo and squeezed one of her breasts.
I put a hand in the small of Caleb’s back and guided him to the door. Alessia waited for us on the other side of it, and she said nothing as she turned and led us away from the chamber.
The thumping bass faded. Caleb caught my eye with anger and questions brimming in his.
We reached the side door that led to the alley. Alessia paused, her gaze on the floor between us. Nothing in her demeanor resembled the woman who’d delivered an invitation before vaulting a six-foot security fence.
“Buonanotte,” she said softly, then left in a whisper of fabric.
Caleb and I looked at each other.
“What the fuck?” he breathed.
“Come on.” I pushed open the door. He followed, bracing a hand against it as we crossed the threshold. He let out a low cry, and I spun in time to catch him as he crumpled.