Raphael (The Immortal Youth Book 1) (2 page)

Raphael knew they wouldn’t be both able to escape. “Remember I love you.” He fished inside his messenger bag, looking for the ten euros he had saved for his birthday meal; two slices of pizza at his favorite place, and a beignet filled with custard from the pricey bakery near Termini Station.

Stepping out of the walkway, he put two fingers in his mouth and called a cab. “That’ll be enough for a short ride.” He pressed the euros in her hands.

One yellow car pulled over. Luisa shook her head as Raphael opened the passenger door and pushed her inside, while looking over his shoulder.

“Come with me,” she pleaded and his heart broke.

The Controller and two of the security guards exited Coin at the same time. A second cab was slowing down, the driver expectantly looking for clients. Raphael didn’t have any money left to send the second cab away. If he got in with Luisa, the demon would follow them.

“You were right two years ago, splitting is the smart move.” Raphael then asked, “Where do you live?”

Luisa’s eyes went to the side, then back on him. “At the Mattatoio.”

“What’s your last name?”

“Caroli.”

“Luisa Caroli. I promise I’ll find you.”
With a pat on the ceiling he closed the door. “I’ll always find you,” he mouthed.

The cab left the curb as the Controller grabbed Raphael by the shoulder.

“Mr. Letta, we meet again.” The demon’s hand kept Raphael in place as he automatically struggled—he couldn’t help it.

“Not by choice.” Waiting for the taxi to be out of sight, he only relaxed when he was sure Luisa was safe.

Only two months at the Renegade Youth Shelter, and Raphael had tried to escape countless times.

On top of the fence, his right leg swinging on the other side, he heard shouts and heavy steps and looked ahead. The Reserve stretched out for acres, but a vast plain between the shelter’s grounds and the forest hindered Raphael’s dreams of freedom. Only low shrubs dotted the expanse of green pasture. Nowhere to hide for a kilometer or so.

Raphael had waited for the adults to look away from him, and snuck out of the cafeteria while the other kids had breakfast. His pockets full of croissants and small sandwiches, he hurried down the hall and out of the main house. As for any of his other attempts, he had no plan.

“Get back here!”

The shout made him turn and look down at the two burly guards. Both were-pumas, the two men hadn’t even broken a sweat chasing him. Healthy food and a good exercise regime must work for those shifters.

“Come on, kid. You know you have nowhere to go.” The one with a pair of impressive sideburns shook his head, and pointed at the ground with his stun gun.

Noticing the second guard had his stun gun pointed at his nether regions, Raphael climbed down and followed the shifters back to the shelter. A dose of electricity applied anywhere on his body wouldn’t have been pleasant, something he knew from experience. And it wouldn’t have helped his cause. A scrawny werewolf seizing on the ground would not be able to stand up and run anytime soon.

The RYS rector, Mr. Valdi, one of the new additions to the place, looked at him with a scowl on his large face. The werewolf was bigger and more menacing than the guards who escorted Raphael into the dark office. Mr. Valdi sighed, shook his head, then splayed one of his massive hands onto the marble surface of his antique desk, a mammoth piece of wooden furniture with sturdy columns for legs. “I must confess I am at a complete loss with you. We all want to help you here—”

The lecture was old. The Controller had imparted a similar speech on Raphael during their long ride from Rome to that strip of Latium bordering Umbria where RYS was located. Raphael scoffed and shifted on his chair, an equally large wood and metal structure which resembled a torture device more than something one would sit on.

“I know what happened to you, but things have changed. The man who mistreated you—”

Raphael looked straight into Mr. Valdi’s eyes. He steadied his hand on the armchair, and gripped it until his knuckles became white.

Raphael was roaming the shelter looking for an early-morning snack, when he rounded the corner just out of the kitchen and heard whimpering and the sickening sound of flesh being hit. The tuff brick walls of the old
casolare
, the main building of the compound, were thick, but not thick enough to cover what was happening in the pantry.

Upon Raphael entering the dimly-lit room, Mr. B, a majestic werewolf and RYS’s counselor, looked up at Raphael and sneered, one hand firmly grabbing the waistband of Darla’s pajama pants. “Go away, if you know what’s good for you.”

Kept on the floor by the counselor, the girl looked up, fear and shame in her eyes, then lowered her head. As if it was her fault.

“Leave her alone.” Bile travelled from Raphael’s stomach to his throat and propelled him forward. His anger exploded in a punch aimed at Mr. B’s jaw and he managed to kick the man once, before the counselor rose and spun around, taking Raphael down with a single slap of his beefy hand. Blood welled up inside Raphael’s mouth and he spat it out, aiming up at the looming figure.

The man kicked him in the chest, then threw him around. Raphael landed in the corner and hit his head, blacking out. Once he opened his eyes, he found himself facing the floor, his back bare and Darla rocking on her haunches a few steps from him.

“I’ll teach you a lesson, you good-for-nothing bastard.”

“Let her go.” Raphael heard the familiar rustle of a belt being freed from someone’s pants. When he looked over his shoulder, Mr. B had the punishing device high over his head and ready to strike.

“What are you going to do, runt?”

Raphael refused to cry out when the hard leather hit his bare back.

“Nobody’ll believe you.”

The belt whistled in the air and hit Raphael a second time. The pain compounded. He knew the third lash would be hell, and the fourth would make him bite his tongue. If he were lucky, the man’s arm would tire soon. His father’s never had, but he’d had years of practicing on Raphael’s back.

The little girl screamed. Raphael looked at her and slightly shook his head.

“You won’t talk.” Mr. B hit him again.

Darla’s sobs redoubled. She was maybe eleven years old. Small. All skin and bones. She liked to draw rainbows and hearts. Raphael knew because he had found a carefully folded piece of paper under his pillow a few nights before. His name was inside an oblong heart, scrabbled alongside hers.

“Stop,” he mouthed, hoping she would see his lips moving under the cascade of tears and hair. He couldn’t faint again. He had barely halted Mr. B from abusing her.

The grandfather clock in the hallway chimed the hour, five o’clock in the morning, and Mr. B stopped hitting Raphael. “You’re a lucky son of a bitch.”

The first light of the pale morning illuminated the pantry from the skylight nestled between the large wooden beams in the ceiling. The kitchen staff would arrive soon.

“Talk, and I’ll finish what I started.” Mr. B kicked Raphael to make him turn and face him. “Do you understand?”

Raphael didn’t answer. Remaining awake past the tenth lash had required all his strength. Darla had stopped crying, but stared at him with glassy eyes, her small body shaking.

The man grabbed Raphael by his forearm and pulled him up. “Go.”

His back was wet with blood, and every movement amplified the pain. Shaking, he reached down to help Darla and his skin ripped around the multitude of cuts as he took her small hand in his. “She comes with me.”

“I don’t think so.” Mr. B walked the few steps separating them, and towered over Raphael.

Unbidden, a growl escaped Raphael’s throat. His wolf had decided to make his presence known.

Mr. B inflated his chest, stepping closer until mere centimeters separated them. “Are you challenging me?” He planted a finger on Raphael’s forehead and pushed.

Raphael swatted the finger away and kept his eyes on the man, without flinching. His wolf growled louder, while he kept his hold on Darla’s hand. Steps resonated from the end of the hallway.

With a jerk, the counselor turned, and Raphael lowered his free elbow aiming for the werewolf’s groin but hit his abdomen instead. Not an incapacitating blow, but enough to make Mr. B recoil and step out of the way. Raphael sprang forward and pulled Darla with him. Muffled conversation reached them and he froze. His heart sank when he recognized the voices of two of the kitchen staff who were friends with the counselor.

Mr. B’s focus switched from Raphael to Darla, a sneer on his mouth. “Whatever you say I did, they’ll say I didn’t. And tomorrow night, I’ll come back for you.”

Darla whimpered and Mr. B laughed. Helped by the added strength of his wolf and without letting go of her small hand, Raphael sprinted through the arched exit and ran, passing the kitchen staff and reaching the
casolare
wing that opened into the gardens. He didn’t stop until he reached a thick copse, where he lay down, but not before making sure Darla was all right.

The following night was a full moon. He shifted into his wolf while unconscious and woke the morning after with the majority of his wounds healed. Darla wasn’t at his side.

“The former rector should’ve managed the whole situation better,” Mr. Valdi said.

Raphael wasn’t listening to him. The memories of that night, two years before, were etched on his mind, even though the flesh had healed one full moon at a time.

“They should’ve believed you.” His monologue ended, and Mr. Valdi looked at Raphael.

“But they didn’t.” Raphael was accused of spreading lies about the counselor.

Darla told the rector that Raphael had asked her to follow him to the pantry with the promise of a treat, and Mr. B had saved her from Raphael. As soon as his solitary confinement had ended, he ran away.

Street smarts had kept Raphael away from the shelter for two years.

“Anyway, I can’t change your past, but I’m trying my best to make your future brighter by working on your present.” Mr. Valdi’s eyes went to the door at Raphael’s back.

Raphael felt a prickle of worry as he realized that heavy steps had paused outside the rector’s office. “I won’t go anywhere with the Controller. I’m a minor. You can’t send me to Regina Coeli.” His biggest fear was to end in the adult correctional facility for paranormals. Strong men died in there.

The rector looked back at him and blinked. “Why would I send you to Regina Coeli?”

A knock on the door prevented Raphael from answering, “Aren’t you?”

“Please, come in.” Mr. Valdi looked back at the door. His voice had softened and his eyes betrayed eagerness.

Raphael turned on his chair to face the newcomer, and was surprised when the rector sprang up and walked around the desk to greet a giant of a werewolf.

“Mr. Quintilius, it’s always a pleasure to have you here.” With his head bowed in submission, Mr. Valdi waited for the man to make the first move.

At hearing the guest’s name, Raphael understood the reason for the rector’s demeanor. Lucius Seneca Quintilius was the alpha of the largest werewolf pack in Rome, but his empire extended beyond the capital’s borders. His influence reached well beyond Italy to the far corners of Europe. Some shifters would have considered themselves fortunate to be in the same room with the alpha.

Raphael wasn’t some shifters and couldn’t help his visceral reaction to authority figures in general, and werewolf alphas in particular. With an inward groan, Raphael adjusted his lanky frame on the chair, letting his back slouch as he kept his eyes on the men.

The werewolf took the rector’s hand in his for a vigorous shake, releasing the man from the formal show of respect. “Likewise, Rector Valdi.” With an easy smile, he patted the rector’s shoulder.

Mr. Valdi motioned for the man to sit on the chair beside Raphael’s. “This is the young man you wanted to meet.” He gave Raphael a raised eyebrow that Raphael decided to ignore.

If the rector wanted to bow and show throat to the big wolf, that was his business. Raphael was no pack member and wouldn’t submit to another wolf. He’d had enough of that under his father, his alpha, the man who should have taught him the way of the wolf. With a shrug, he blew his bangs away and made a mental note to get a haircut.

As Mr. Quintilius descended on his chair, making the structure whine as if it would crack and break any moment—the man was even bigger than the rector—he offered his hand to Raphael. “Hi, Raphael. How are you?”

Surprise made Raphael’s eyebrows shoot higher up his forehead. He wasn’t accustomed to being treated with kindness, and wondered in which way these two adults would take advantage of him.

“He isn’t the talkative kind, is he?” Mr. Quintilius’s baritone voice was pleasant to the ear, another detail that put Raphael on edge.

On the street, flattery usually equated with requests that were sexual in nature. Raphael, whose features were too delicate, as his father had often told him before or after a beating—his attempts at parenting were misguided—knew what older men and sometimes women wanted from him when they softened their voices and paid him compliments.

Mr. Valdi sat back behind his desk and crossed his arms with a loud sigh. “No, he isn’t.”

“Well, he has his reasons.” Mr. Quintilius distended his legs in front of him and relaxed against the back of his chair.

Once again, Raphael noticed how the man dwarfed the large structure. For a wolf, Raphael was small. Not so much in height, although he probably wouldn’t reach the alpha’s chin on his tiptoes, but in size. Abundance of food of the healthy variety wasn’t part of a street urchin’s diet. Before the Controller sent him back to the shelter, he sometimes went days without a whole meal.

Mr. Valdi turned toward Raphael. “As you might know, Mr. Quintilius is RYS’s patron—” He let the sentence trail, maybe expecting an acknowledgment from Raphael that didn’t come.

Mr. Quintilius raised his hand and continued, “I’m truly sorry for what Mr. Beltrami did to you. RYS should be a safe haven for renegade kids, and when that girl finally spoke up for you and denounced the counselor it was one of the most terrible days of my life. I know I can’t make it up to you for what happened, but I would like to make you an offer.”

“What kind of offer?” Gasping for air, Raphael leaped out of his chair. Since the werewolf had entered the room, Mr. Valdi’s office had become progressively smaller.

Memories of groping hands and lewd whispers came back to Raphael, and his stomach contracted, adding nausea to the claustrophobia. One of the first nights in the street after he ran away from home, he was lured into a dark alley by two couples and barely escaped theirs clutches. Those people who had tried to take advantage of him had looked like the alpha, nice and polished. Since then, he never trusted elegant, well-spoken people again.

Mr. Quintilius motioned for him to sit down. “Relax, kid. I’m talking about a clerical job.”

Even standing up, Raphael wasn’t much taller than the sitting alpha. Cocking his head, he planted his booted feet on the marble tiles and folded his arms across his chest. “And what would that be?”

“Raphael—” Mr. Valdi’s low growl echoed in the stuffy room.

With a chuckle and a wave of his hand, the alpha interrupted the rector. “It’s okay.” Then he smiled at Raphael, all white teeth and eyes lit with mirth. “You remind me of someone else with an alpha-complex. And I hold her very dear to my heart.”

“Is that so?” Automatically, Raphael showed his teeth too and his wolf snarled.