Raphael (The Immortal Youth Book 1) (5 page)

In between tales, the boy, Marek, confessed he had run away from his camp because his older brother was mean to him, but he missed his mum and da and wanted to go back. He had ended up at the Mattatoio infirmary after a close encounter with a speeding car. Fortunately, Marek was agile and had escaped from the accident with just a bruise or two.

Two hours later, Raphael put down the pencil at the sound of soft snoring. “And they lived happily ever after.”

“You are a natural.” Looking down at the sleeping boy, the doctor gave Raphael a pat on the shoulder.

Taken by the narration, Raphael had shut down his senses and hadn’t heard the man approaching. “What’s going to happen to him?”

“We alerted all the nomad camps in Rome and already talked to his father. He’s on his way to pick him up.” The doctor smiled at Raphael.

“Good.” Pressing his hands on the bed, Raphael pushed himself up. He felt lightheaded and fell back on the stool with a thud.

“Easy.” The doctor raised one finger to signal he should stay put and briskly walked to the kitchenette. A moment later, he strolled back with a fuming cup of espresso. Judging from the size of the mug, the doctor had filled it with a double or triple.

“Thanks.” Raphael accepted the coffee and the three sachets of sugars the doctor produced from one of the pockets in his scrubs.

The doctor waited for him to drink the beverage, then said, “You’ve done enough. Go get some sleep.”

Several nurses turned to thank Raphael as he exited the infirmary for the second time that night—now early morning. The cold air outside kept him awake when he would have otherwise laid his tired body on the bench at the bus stop and slept. The empty bus arrived twenty minutes later, at three in the morning. By the time he reached his studio, it was too late to sleep and too early to take another bus and go to the office. Opting for a cup of strong espresso and a scorching hot shower, he made himself presentable for Iris.

Despite Raphael’s efforts to greet Iris at the door when she arrived to open the office, the secretary still complained about his groggy demeanor. His day didn’t improve when Quintilius showed up later in the afternoon, and Iris pointed out Raphael hadn’t finished his morning tasks.

Passing by the hallway, Quintilius paused at Raphael’s office, and called him from the open door. “What’s up with you?”

“Nothing, sir.” Hands folded over his chest and jaw clenched, Raphael tried to relax his stance. His wolf was restless, and Raphael worried he would challenge the alpha. Close to full moon, only two days before the monthly shift, his wolf was already acting out, demanding to run.

“You look like crap.” Quintilius entered the room and advanced toward Raphael’s desk. “Another sleepless night?” His intent eyes roamed over Raphael.

“No, sir.” He unfolded his arms and placed his hands palm down on the smooth surface of the table.

The alpha frowned. For a moment, Raphael worried the man could see through his lie, but then Quintilius asked, “Are you okay?”

Confused by the question, Raphael was tempted to confide in him, but he saw Iris spying on them from her desk. She had it conveniently angled so she could see inside his office that was to remain open at all times per her request.

Raphael stifled the urge to talk and plastered a smile on his face. “Perfectly fine, sir. Thanks for asking.”

Quintilius sighed, turned and walked out, but at the entryway he whispered over his shoulder, “Don’t let me down, kid.”

At the alpha’s parting words, Raphael’s midsection cramped. The same RYS psychologist had told him it was how his body responded to uncomfortable situations. In the past, throwing up had usually followed the cramps, and migraines would start soon after. Uncomfortable situations sucked big time.

When the clock in the hall chimed five in the afternoon, Raphael escaped his office and cleared the
personnel only
exit before Iris could say anything. Running down the steps at breakneck speed, he reached the garage, then grabbed his bicycle and left the building. He passed the gym, but even sparring wouldn’t calm his nerves, so he kept pedaling, zigzagging through cars and pedestrians, and earning a few insults in the process.

His stomach still hurt, but his mind had cleared by the time he reached the Mattatoio. A whole different shift was in charge of the infirmary that evening. He nodded at the man at the door and asked for Carla.

“She was feeling much better and moved to the shelter.” The man pointed out at the hallway and at the door opening to their right.

Raphael thanked him and headed toward the shelter. Built inside the Mattatoio, like the medical facility and the infirmary, the youth homeless shelter helped paranormals without mortals being the wiser. Possibly the only tenet keeping all paranormals united, renegades knew how important it was to keep their true identities concealed at all costs. So, it wasn’t a surprise that Carla had opted out of the infirmary and gone to the shelter.

“Hi.” He found her in the common area where the kids were entertained with craft projects.

“Hi.” She waved at him from her low chair. Sitting at the small kid table, she was playing with a little girl with curly hair. “This is Lara.”

The girl bounced on her seat and Raphael smiled at her. “Hi, princess.”

The girl made a smack sound with her chubby hand over her lips.

“She’s her daughter.” Carla tilted her chin toward a group of teenage girls milling in the corner by an industrial stove.

The little girl was human and so was her mother, the one teenager with curly hair the same color of the girl’s. When you lived on the streets, problems were the same no matter the species one belonged to. Paranormals were more resilient, but they were susceptible to the same heartache as humans, and to the lure of drugs. Pregnancies happened.

Lara raised her short arms toward Raphael, and he took her in his embrace, then spun her around as she giggled louder and louder, asking him to go faster. Her mom came a moment later with a bowl of mashed potatoes and accompanied her to a nearby table.

“Her father is in jail,” Carla said when mother and daughter were out of earshot.

Raphael was surprised there was a father at all. “She’s lucky.” He sat on the little chair, his legs straight in front of him.

Carla tilted her chin toward Lara’s mom. “From what I heard, it seems he’s actually in love with her.” Carla’s voice had a sad tinge to it, she then turned to Raphael, leaned over the table and grabbed his hand. “What if I’m pregnant?”

“I can get a pregnancy kit for you, but if you ask any of the nurses, they can test you now.”

“Okay.” But she didn’t sound like she was going to act on that.

“Talk to a counselor. There’re nice people here. They can help you.” He squeezed her hand.

“They’ll ask details.” She shook her head. “No, I don’t want to talk to anyone about what happened to me.” She avoided his eyes and took her hand away from his.

“You’ll do it when you feel like it.” A cramp hit his stomach. “Do you want me to bring the kit tomorrow then?”

She nodded, her eyes on the maroon veneer peeling from the table.

“Do you have a place to go?” Raphael looked around.

Designed to give teens a few days respite from the trouble they were trying to escape, the social center was a temporary house. Social workers would be called soon for Carla; their mission to help her find a place in mortal society.

“No, I don’t.” She hunched over the table and hugged herself, slowly rocking on her chair. “And I don’t want to go to RYS.” Her eyes widened and her lips trembled as she said, “Please, don’t report me to the Controller. I heard what happens there—”

Raising one hand, he stopped her. “It isn’t as bad as it was before at RYS, but I’d never report you.”

She heavily sighed and stilled her chair. “Thank you.”

“You still need to be out of here by tomorrow. It’s a full moon in two nights.” He released his ponytail and played with the black rubber band.

“People might be looking for me already—” She paused for a breath, then added in a whisper, “I escaped from the Reds.”

“The Reds? You mean the street gang?”

She nodded.

Having stretched the rubber band to its limits, it stung his fingers when he accidentally released it. “Shit.”

She shivered. “They won’t stop until they find me.”

“I heard they’re resilient.” In his past life on the streets, he had the misfortune to meet the Reds a few times, and they weren’t happy memories.

The Reds were one of the most aggressive bands of lawless thugs that had ever darkened the streets of Rome. Werewolves who had decided to defy Quintilius’s power and desecrate his city, one drug deal at a time. They didn’t mind dirtying their hands with the occasional human trafficking as well. Despicable and ruthless, the Reds would hurt Carla until she would try to kill herself again.

Raphael had no doubts she would succeed next time. “There’s a place you could go.” He pushed the chair aside and offered her his hand.

She looked up but didn’t move. “What? Now?”

“It would be for the best.” He glanced at the clock on the wall shaped like a Mickey Mouse silhouette. With a smile he forced in place, he stretched his hand further toward Carla. “And it’s still early enough for me to accompany you there and be back to my apartment before midnight. I might get some sleep tonight for a change.”

Seemingly unaware of his attempt at lightness, she resumed the rocking. “What if the Reds catch us in the streets?”

“I know where their turf is, and we’ll be moving in the opposite direction. Plus, the place where I’m taking you is underground and accessible through the Promenade. So we won’t be out for long.” Tying his hair back, he tilted his head toward the exit. “Not lots of adults around at the moment. There won’t be a better time to leave the Mattatoio.”

Twisting on the chair, she gave the room a brief glance, then faced him and stood. “Okay.”

He put both hands in his jeans pockets and strolled toward the exit opening to the internal courtyard. With a side glance, he checked she was following and saw her take a big breath and exhale as she closed the distance between them.

Lights and sounds from one of the Mattatoio internal chambers, the auditorium, spilled into the courtyard. The social center was famous for its music festivals. Groups from all over Italy donated their time to raise money for the homeless youth shelter. Several teens were hurrying past them toward the auditorium, and Raphael inwardly thanked the Great Wolf for the lucky break.

Grabbing Carla’s hand, he pulled her forward and into the chamber filled to the brim with a swirling, singing, jumping crowd. It took them several minutes to cross the whole length of the room, and Raphael lost Carla when the lights went out and lasers cut the blackness in a dramatic song finale. Several long heartbeats later, after the lights were turned back on and temporarily blinded him, he found Carla frantically spinning around and shoving people away. Raphael took her hand and led her out through the closest emergency street exit. The next song had started, and no one heard the alarm blaring.

“Where are we going?” she asked, pulling at him when they rounded the corner.

“To retrieve our ride.” Without slowing his hurried pace, he reached the building side where he had chained his racing bicycle to a lamppost. The rust and general discoloration of the paint on its old frame worked like an anti-theft magik spell, but he was still relieved to find his bicycle where he had left it.

She gave his most precious possession a raised eyebrow. “Where should I sit?”

“In front of me, with your feet on the bar.” He patted the top tube.

Canting her head, she read out loud the words he had stenciled in red letters on the aluminum body. “Nimbus Two Thousand.” She gave him a second raised brow, this one higher up on her forehead. “Really?”

With a shrug, he mounted the bicycle. “Huge fan of the series.” He held out his arm and signaled her to come closer. When she hesitated, he tilted his chin to the spot behind her where several people were walking in their direction. “We should hurry.”

She followed his eyes and shuddered, then swung one leg over the bar and tried to find her place between Raphael’s and the front of the bicycle as she anchored her boots to the down tube. “I
so
don’t like this.”

Raphael didn’t feel comfortable either, but placed his arms around her, and grabbed the handles. “It’s just a short ride.” One boot on the pedal, he pushed the Nimbus out of the curb. Their combined weight and less than ideal visibility made the bicycle sway as soon as the wheels hit the worn cobblestones. “For the record, I’m not trying to get too personal, but you must lean back against my chest.” He didn’t want to touch her more than necessary, but with her head in front of him he couldn’t see anything.

She must have realized his predicament because she did as she was told without complaining.

“Thanks.” The new arrangement still wasn’t enough to guarantee them a smooth ride, and he nestled his head over her shoulder. When she tensed, he said, “We only need to reach the closest Promenade entry.”

Despite the awkwardness of the ride, a few minutes later Raphael was locking his bicycle in one of the many underground garages dotting the Promenade, but only relaxed when they slipped inside the Den of Rejects. A few words in private with Angel to explain Carla’s situation, and the girl was an official Reject in less than an hour. An impromptu celebration ensued, and Raphael found himself spending yet another night with little or no sleep.

Around seven in the morning, mindful of what Iris would say the moment he set foot in the office, Raphael stopped at his apartment for a quick shower and changed into clothes that were clean but not ironed. A few days earlier—time was a blur for him—he had thrown the contents of the washer on the drying rack and forgotten about them, but, besides being wrinkled, the white button-down shirt and the dark jeans didn’t smell.

On his way to the office, he stopped at a coffee shop to drink an espresso, and bought a croissant he ate on the go. Relieved he had made it on time, he entered the office only to be welcomed by the secretary’s raised eyebrow, and a finger pointed at the clock on the wall behind her desk.

“Ten minutes late. For it, I’ll detract a percentage from your salary. It’s only fair.” Iris resumed tapping on the keyboard of her laptop, a smile tugging at her lips. “I’ve given you enough slack already.”

“My phone says I’m two minutes early.” He waved the screen before her face.

With a hateful glare, the woman paused her typing. “Don’t you dare encroach my personal space ever again. I’ll report that you attacked me if you do.” She placed her manicured hands on the desk, and tilted her head to the side. “You also get a fine for coming to work not properly attired.” Relaxing against her chair, she folded her arms under her chest. “Would you like to say something else?” Her eyes went to his long hair. “You know we’ve been talking about your education with Quintilius—”

Raphael couldn’t help but notice the proprietary tone she had when she mentioned the wolf’s name. Had she realized how Quintilius was not into her, she could’ve moved onto something more productive. Like growing a heart.

“I’ve recommended the alpha to send you to the military boarding school in Naples, next September. Structure and discipline would do you a world of good. He has enough clout among the board for the school to open a spot even for someone like you.” With a finger, she lowered the glasses down her nose and gave him the same disgusted look she had been regarding him with since the first time they met.

Raphael bit down his retort, as the croissant he had just ate traveled upward his throat with a side of bile. Pivoting on his boots, he loudly marched down the hall and entered his office. The moment the door slammed against its frame, he regretted that he didn’t take care to accompany it. Not even a minute later, as he had expected, a mail arrived with a detailed account of all the fines he had incurred in the last week. That month, his paycheck was already halved.

To make things worse, lately, he was paying for all his meals. Quintilius had been working on a merger with a Swedish shipping company, and he wasn’t around much to take Raphael out for lunch. In fact, their time alone had dwindled to nothing which—independently from the free food—saddened Raphael, because he liked talking to the wolf.

Besides the merger, Iris’s lies were the reason for the alpha’s detachment, but Raphael couldn’t do anything about it. Twice, he had tried to call Quintilius to talk to him, but the alpha was busy and both times told him he would call him back. He never did.

The next day, Iris gave Raphael hell for a stain on his shirt. He had tried to clean an ink smudge and smeared it all over the fabric by mistake. The day after, he came in late after the monthly run. Although, in that occasion, Iris was magnanimous—he imagined she must have had a good run—and didn’t reduce his salary. She sent away the janitor, and ordered Raphael to clean the bathrooms instead.

Needing the money and not wanting to go back to RYS, Raphael did his best not to ire the secretary. He succeeded for a day or two, then she proceeded to ruin the next week for him. And the next month. He tried to ignore her antics, but it wasn’t easy to shrug everything off, especially when she involved Quintilius. Those few times the alpha made an apparition in the office, Iris found a way to blame Raphael for some wrongdoing or another.

It didn’t help Raphael’s cause that he was always tired at work. Most of his nights were spent at the Mattatoio, helping the center. After he managed to lie through his teeth and deny any involvement in Carla’s disappearance—he said he had seen her last at the concert and had plenty of witnesses supporting his words—the staff decided not to investigate the matter further and welcomed him back as a volunteer. Meanwhile, several other renegade shifters found their way to the Den of Rejects, but Raphael smuggled them out of the shelter without anyone being the wiser. After all, homeless teenagers weren’t known for staying still in one place.

In the following months, Raphael went to visit the rejects every two or three weeks and checked on Carla. After realizing she wasn’t pregnant, she decided to join the den permanently and to help with the children. One Sunday afternoon, the five of them, Raphael, Angel, the twins, and Carla went to the lagoon. At the end of July, temperatures had risen to a record high all over Italy, and the den resembled a sweltering sauna. One of the warlocks, a guy named Caelum, who was a friend of the rejects, had insulated the cave walls by casting a spell. Magik made sleeping at night possible, but during the day even light activities took lots of energy, and the den usually relocated to the lagoon.

“About that girl you asked me about—” Carla abruptly said.

She and Raphael were sitting aside from the rest of the group. The lagoon was stormed by people engaging in all kind of activities, resembling one of the beaches along the Roman coast, too crowded and too loud with every bit of rocky ground covered by towels. The blue waters swarmed with rejects working out the steam. Some played water polo. Others preferred splashing everyone around. A few minded their own business and swam in long circles. Couples looking for privacy stayed out of the pool, and occupied more secluded spots.

Raphael and Carla sat on a ledge overlooking the lagoon. Neither of them wanted to remove their shirts for different reasons. Until now, they had been silently watching their friends having fun.

Raphael straightened up from his slouched position against the wall. “What about it?” Once, soon after Carla had settled in the den, he asked her if she had ever met Luisa on the streets. Carla had shrugged and told him she hadn’t.

She pointed at the spot, several meters below, where Angelo and the twins were swimming. “I was talking with Patrizia—” Then she angled her body toward him. “And she told me that this girl is very important to you. Is that true?”

“Yes, it is.” Raphael drummed his fingers against his thigh. “Why do you want to know?”

Carla bit her lower lip, then lowered her eyes to her feet. “So, is it also true that you only saw her twice, and yet you’re in love with her?”

The question took him by surprise. “Yes, that’s true. She’s my mate and I love her.” He waved a hand before her face. “Can you look at me?” She slowly raised her gaze to him, and he asked, “Why the third degree?”

Her shoulders rose as she gave him a small smile. “Nothing—”

“It’s not nothing.” He scooted closer to her. “Why do you want to know about Luisa?”

At Luisa’s name, Carla winced. “I wondered why you never…”

“I never what?”

Carla’s smile morphed into a grimace, and she made circles with her feet. “I told Patrizia I thought you liked boys, and she told me you don’t, and how you rejected Angel because of a girl.”

“It’s not that I like or don’t like boys. I already had a mate when Angel—” Frowning, he tried to connect the dots. A fuzzy picture emerged of the reason why Carla might have had that conversation with the twin. His head and his stomach hurt already. Not sure of what to say next, he waited for her to resume the conversation.

Her feet stilled, her whole body seemed to freeze, and she averted her eyes once again. “I might know of her.”

Carla’s whispered words hit Raphael like a shout. “What do you mean?”

“I think I know where your girl is,” she said louder.

“But you told me you didn’t know of her—”

“When you asked me, you only mentioned that this girl lived in the streets and was a renegade—” Carla raised one finger to stop him from interrupting her, and continued, “Then, talking to Patrizia, a few more details came out about this Luisa of yours, and I remembered of a girl living at the Reds—”

“The Reds?” Raphael felt cold all of a sudden.

Carla nodded. “I told you that I only lived with the Reds for a month, but, soon after I arrived, a girl who had escaped was brought back to the harem. Her name was Luisa, and no, I don’t know her last name. She had been hiding at the Mattatoio for a few days before Rico found her. I meant to ask her how she had managed to leave the compound, but she was still locked in a cell when I decided I couldn’t stand it anymore and tried to kill myself.”

With his heart galloping in his chest, and too many questions fighting for predominance, Raphael blurted out the first that came to mind. “Who’s Rico?”

“Rico is one of the big brothers and Luisa is his. Tancredi gave her to him.” Carla’s voice was low and the ambiance noise was getting louder—two teams had formed in the pool and the kids who weren’t playing the huge game of water polo were shouting to the top of their lungs, cheering their friends—and Raphael had to move closer to her, despite his wolf ears.

“And who’s Tancredi?”

“Tancredi is the Reds’ alpha. Sometimes, he gifts the girls from the harem to the big brothers.” She shivered despite the rising temperature.

Carla’s words made Raphael sick. From the look on her face, reminiscing wasn’t agreeing with her either. “That’s what happened to you?”

Her mouth closed in a straight line, she nodded.

Knowing how memories had the power to hurt even after years, he didn’t press the matter, but his mind was whirling with scenarios straight out of his nightmares.

She patted his hand. “I’m sorry I didn’t put the pieces together sooner.” With a sigh, she added, “And it might not be her at all. Luisa isn’t that rare as a name.”

“You’re right, it isn’t.” He placed his hand over hers and gave it a squeeze, then leaned toward her and brushed the crown of her head with his lips. “And I’m sorry—”

“It’s not your fault you don’t feel anything for me.” A small smile appeared on her mouth.

“But I do care for you.”

She leaned forward until their foreheads touched. “I know that you care for me as a friend.”

“Carla—”

She placed her head over his chest. “It’s okay. I’ll survive.”

Several hours later, he took his leave from Carla and his friends, and headed back to his place. A plan had slowly formed in his mind, and, the more he thought about it, the more it made sense to him until he couldn’t see any other option. Next morning, he would knock on the Reds’ door, hoping it was recruiting season.

****

After a sleepless night Raphael spent convincing himself of the righteousness of his actions, he left his apartment. Before running away at the first lights of dawn, he cleaned the place, threw the garbage out, and wrote a note for the alpha, twice. And twice, he walked back in to get rid of his farewell messages.

At his favorite coffee bar at the corner of Vescovio Place, he ordered a sumptuous breakfast and ate until he felt sick. Not the best of ideas, but he had discovered he was a nervous eater when he had enough money to splurge on food.

Devouring his last croissant with abandon—he had asked the barista to fill it with extra nutella—Raphael realized he had just eaten away what remained of his last paycheck. As painful as the thought was, he felt also liberated. Guilty for having betrayed Quintilius’s trust and generosity, but liberated nonetheless.

Full and sleepy, he jumped on his Nimbus and left the security of the alpha’s protection without looking back once.

Rome in the early hours of the morning looked full of promise. Running his bicycle in the streets that would be soon crowded, he breathed in the scent of wet asphalt after the rain of the night before. Neighborhood after neighborhood, he shed parts of who he had been for the last four months and a half to become the perfect prospect for the Reds.

His past brushes with the street gang had taught him to avoid their territory at all cost. To the point that, when he worked as a courier, he would circumnavigate the whole city to skirt Red headquarters. Even if that meant adding precious time to his route. Once, one of the gang’s thugs caught Raphael delivering around the corner from their place, and demanded he opened the parcel he was carrying in the back of his bicycle. When Raphael refused, the Red slapped him hard with his ringed hand. For days, he sported the gang sigil on his lower lip. But he hadn’t opened the package. Instead, he slipped away from under the shifter’s nose and completed his delivery in time.

Now, he was walking straight into their lair. Life was full of irony.

He had his speech ready, but rehearsed the words in his mind as he pushed on the pedal and ran faster toward EUR, the futuristic neighborhood that housed several modern buildings, and, unbeknownst to the mortals, also the Reds’.

When he arrived at his destination, a four-story complex shaped like a sail with glass walls and an external staircase resembling a black mast, he had the first doubts about his plan. But he promptly squashed them, thinking of Luisa kept prisoner by the Reds.

One shaking hand on the lion-shaped brass knocker, he breathed slowly for a few counts, then lowered the ring attached to the lion’s nose to the plaque. As expected, the thud emitted by the knocker reverberated inside the building.

What Raphael didn’t expect was for the door to open right away, revealing a big werewolf wearing a chef apron over combat gear.

“Yes?” the Red asked, looking down at him.

With a rolling pin in his hands, and dusty-white handprints all over his black wife beater, the man looked comical. But one look at his bulging muscles, and Raphael’s urge to laugh died a sudden death. In fact, he remained speechless for a moment too long, and the shifter harrumphed and started closing the majestic door in Raphael’s face.

“Wait! I’m here to pledge as a prospect.” Raphael wasn’t sure about the vocabulary, but hoped to pass at least as deferential.