A lady in a beige dress looked up from the counter and smiled at Jude.
“Desidera?”
she asked.
A loaded question, Caro thought.
Desidera
from
desid-erare
, a desire for something or someone you did not have.
“Do you sell watches?” Jude asked.
“None that work,” the lady said, and gestured to an aged onyx rosary. “I specialize in antique jewelry. Could I interest you in a brooch or hat pin?”
Jude stared at the glittering objects that lay inside the case. His gaze stopped on an enormous red pendant. The stone was oval, rimmed by a gold border, and the intricate bale was tethered to a double strand of polished red beads. The woman removed it from the case, humming to herself as she arranged the pendant on a plush black pillow.
“Is it a gemstone?” Jude asked.
“Nephrite jade,” the woman said.
Caro leaned closer for a better look. “Jade is green. These stones are rusty red.”
“Green is the traditional color,” the woman said. “But it can be red, white, black, yellow, or purple.”
“Iron oxide makes it red,” Jude remarked casually.
The woman smiled at Caro. “Does your boyfriend always use strong words to describe delicate objects?”
“The Italians have a rather strong word for boyfriend,” Caro said. “
Fidanzato
sounds . . . beefy.”
A pink flush spread across Jude's cheeks. “I was merely trying to explain.”
“Jade has other qualities,” the woman said quickly. “It frightens foes and prevents bodily harm and symbolizes strength. That is because jade is very hardâperhaps the hardest of all gemstones.”
“It's tough because of tremolite,” Jude said. “That's a mineral.”
The woman touched the ornate gold loop that joined the beads to the oval stone. “The bale is formed by two serpents. Notice how they form a circle, as if they are swallowing themselves?”
Jude stiffened, and the pinkness washed out of his face. “Yes, well. Perhaps you can show me a necklace that doesn't have negative symbolism.”
Temptation. Eve and the apple.
Caro lifted an eyebrow. Definitely not his style.
The woman's eyes rounded. “No, no, no. You misunderstand. On jewelry, the snake motif has a respectable meaning. These serpents are guardians. They deflect evil. No thief will steal a pendant that is watched by these sentinels.”
“Perhaps I
do
like it.” Jude lifted the pendant and turned to Caro. She tried to control her breathing as he fastened the clasp. Except for the cheap bangles she'd bought today, she'd never owned jewelry. He stepped back. The pendant fell just above her breasts.
“Perfetto,”
the woman said.
“Sì,”
Caro said.
The woman's eyes went to the Band-Aid on Caro's neck. “He is desperately in love with you,” she whispered in Italian.
“Desidero,”
Caro said.
I wish.
“What did she say?” Jude lifted his eyebrows.
“That you'll be sorry if you leave me,” Caro said.
“Shall I wrap the necklace?” the woman asked.
“I believe the lady will wear it,” he said.
Caro looked down at the stone. It quivered on her chest like a beautiful ticking clock, each woeful beat pushing her away from Jude. They left the shop and turned down Calle Valleresso. A girl with blue-tipped hair squeezed through the crowd outside Harry's Bar. She lifted a giant strawberry daiquiri, and the contents sloshed over the edge of the glass.
“Scusa, scusa!”
she cried. She surged around another group and plowed into Caro. The glass flew out of the girl's hand and smashed on the cobblestones.
Italian words flew out of the girl's mouth as she leaped back. Caro glanced at her dress. A red stain covered the front, bits of ice clinging to the ruffled hem.
“Let's get you cleaned up,” Jude said, and steered Caro away from the shards, into the bar. They dodged a waiter and hurried down a staircase, into a dim hallway. A carved door stood ajar, spilling a wedge of light onto the terrazzo floor. The hinges squeaked as Jude pushed open the door and led her inside.
“We took a wrong turn,” Jude said. “This is the wine cellar.”
The walls were lined with corkscrews and dusty wine bottles. A long pine table stood at the far end, piled with napkins. Jude grabbed one and dabbed it against her collarbone. Their eyes met. She studied the brown flecks in his left iris. Oh, how she loved them. She pressed her hand against his cheek, the dark stubble prickling her palm.
“I'm so afraid you'll forget about me,” she asked. “Or maybe that's what you want.”
Where's your pride, Clifford? Let him leave. You'll pick up the pieces and put yourself back together.
He shook his head. “Never.”
“I can't get through this without you,” she said. He looked away.
She lifted his chin. A tear curved down the side of his nose, over his lips. She touched the tear and slipped her finger into her mouth.
“Don't do that,” he whispered. “Or I shall go mad.”
His broad Yorkshire accent had an intoxicating effect, like tossing down shots of whiskey. She walked to the door and bolted it.
“Unlock it,” he said.
“No.” She lifted her chin. “Make love to me,” she whispered. “One last time.”
“Here?”
She crossed the room and looked up at him. “Yes,” she whispered. She grabbed his belt and pulled him against her. His warm, wine-scented breath stirred her hair.
“You're seducing me,” he said.
She wrapped her arms around him and held tight. At first, he didn't move, and then she felt his hand slide over her back. His mouth found hers, and his tongue began moving in a slow, familiar waltz. He lifted her skirt and drew it over her thigh. The sweet dance picked up speed, and she felt dizzy. Her thoughts scattered like wild birds. All she knew was his touch, his kiss, his smell.
He unzipped his trousers and pushed them down. She stepped between his legs, feeling him against her hip bone. He led her to the oak table and raised her dress one inch at a time, his fingers gliding under the damp fabric, brushing against her bare stomach. His gaze dropped to her legs and moved up.
“Turn around,” he said. “And bend over the table.”
So that was how it was going to be. He didn't want to look at her face. He was drawing a bold line between sex and love. She leaned over and flattened her hands against the table, feeling the smooth grooves along the wood. She felt him move against the backs of her legs. He pulled up her dress, then grasped one edge of her lace panties and tugged. As he pulled them down, she felt his hot breath on the small of her back. His lips moved up her spine, each kiss searing her skin.
His hands dropped to the swell of her hips. “Spread your legs,” he whispered. She braced her feet apart. His body pressed close, and then he was inside her. The wine bottles started rattling in their wooden cradles. She wanted to see his eyes and fall headlong into the color blue; chips of sky, a swirling current in the Aegean, the haze of distant mountains, forget-me-nots scattering in the wind. He stopped, and the wine bottles quit rocking. She felt him move away from her, and she looked over her shoulder. Before she could ask what was wrong, his hand closed over hers, and he spun her around. He lifted her into his arms, her skirt billowing, and set her on the table, nudging her legs apart. He reached into the space between them, found her center, and entered her. She pushed her hands beneath his leather jacket and squeezed his chest, feeling dense muscles beneath his sweater.
“Please come back to me,” she whispered.
“I haven't left yet.” His lips crushed against hers. His hands flitted over her cheeks, shoulders, hips, breasts. Her hips rose from the table, and she wrapped her arms around his neck. The air around them seemed to ignite. She was running through fire, and there was no turning back. She arched her back and spread her legs wider, taking him deeper and deeper.
He gasped, then whispered in French, “I'm going to come, I'mâ”
His thighs trembled violently, and he pulled out of her. Something warm jetted against her thigh. He wasn't going to risk having a quarter-vampire bastard. He pressed his forehead against hers.
“I know you care for me,” she whispered.
“What if I do? You heard what Father Aeneas said. I can't satisfy you.”
“You just did.”
“It's not me.” He shook his head. “It's not. What if I'm keeping you from your true love?”
She smoothed back his hair. “You
are
keeping me from him.”
He looked down and groaned. He was growing. “Not possible,” he said.
A fierce arousal swept through Caro, and it had a scent, a musky, sugar-coming-to-a-boil smell. Her knees trembled. She grabbed the table, and the pendant skimmed over her damp chest. Clock's ticking, she thought.
“I've got to have you again,” Jude said. His pupils dilated as he took her with a ferocity that left them shaking. She collapsed against him, panting. He lifted her hair and blew on her neck.
The doorknob shook, and a man cursed in Italian. Jude and Caro pulled apart, adjusted their clothing, and walked to the door. Jude threw the bolt, and they stepped past a startled waiter. She started up the stairs, then reached back for Jude's hand. Static electricity crackled, and her fingertips buzzed. He pulled away. Had he felt it, too?
He stared at his palm and made no comment. They walked out of the bar and started up Calle Valleresso. At the corner, two men with short platinum hair strode down Salizada San Moisè. A burly redheaded man ran after them.
“Hold on, wankers,” the redhead yelled in a Cockney accent. “That's not the way to the San Gallo.”
Jude's eyes darkened with recognition. He wheeled around and seized Caro's arms; he pressed his lips to her ear. “Don't move,” he whispered.
“Why, what's wrongâ”
He silenced her with a kiss and his hands tightened on her arms. She tried to squirm away but he gripped her tighter. The wounds in her neck began to throb. Something was dreadfully wrong. Over his shoulder, she saw the redheaded man cut down Seconda Calle de la Fava, trailed by the skinny guys. They weren't looking at Caro, but she felt pulled in their direction. The holes in her neck thrummed. Vampires.
A girl in a green dress hurried down Seconda Calle de la Fava. Her high heels clicked as she turned the corner. The blond vampires shot after her.
“Leave it, you grot bags,” the redheaded man yelled.
Their footsteps faded to a distant clap as they ran after the woman. Jude's lips were still jammed against Caro's. “They're gone,” she said, her voice echoing in his mouth.
He pulled back. “Did you see those men?” he asked.
“Yes, of course. You know them?”
“The big ginger guy came to my lab in York. He held me down while the Bulgarians cut my tendons.”
“How did they track you to Venice?”
“They're not after me.” He grabbed her hand. “We've got to get to the hotel and warn Father Aeneas.”
“They're moving that way.” She pulled him in the opposite direction, down to Campo San Moisè, and stopped in front of the Hotel Bauer. Off to the side, gondolas bobbed in a narrow canal.
“Let's hide in the Bauer,” she said, pulling him toward the glass doors. The lobby was jammed with people. Jude and Caro stepped around luggage racks and angled to the pay phones. Caro dialed the Hotel San Gallo and tapped her fingers against the marble ledge while the operator connected the call. Jude walked over to a map of Venice that hung on the opposite wall.
“Father? This is Caroâthere's a lot of noise. Can you speak up?”
“Where are you?” Father Aeneas cried. “Demos has been looking everywhere.”
“We ran into a snag.” She explained about the vampires and their connection to Jude.
“Is he certain?” Father Aeneas cried.
“Yes.”
“But why are his attackers in Venice?” Father Aeneas asked.
“They're tracking me. You and Demos could be in danger, too.”
“I am not worried for myself.”
“Just be careful. We spotted the men by Saint Mark's Square. They were headed to Hotel San Gallo.”
“You are certain?”
“One of them mentioned it.” She wrapped the phone cord around her wrist.
“When are you coming back to the hotel?”
“I'm not. I'll just get a room at the Bauer.”
“Should Demos fetch the vellum sheets and icons from your room?”
“They're with me. I'll take good care of them, Father.”
“You are so like your uncle. Meticulous and brave. Sir Nigel would be proud.”
Caro glanced toward the map. Jude was tracing his finger over Murano, then out to the lagoon. “I'll call tomorrow.”
“Go with God,” Father Aeneas said.
She hung up and stepped over to the map. “The lobby is jammed. We shouldn't linger.”
“I found Isla Carbonera.” He touched a tiny dot on the map. “It's in the north lagoon. Between the airport and Murano.”
“Seriously?” She leaned forward, and a wild flutter moved up her spine. Sure enough, there was the island. She squeezed Jude's arm. “Let's go.”
“Now?”
“Why not?”
“Why not? Because those vampires are lurking. And we don't know if Villa Primaverina is on that island.”
“Let's ask the concierge,” Caro said.
“Twenty quid says she's never heard of that villa,” Jude said.