The Vampire's Protector (11 page)

“You got it.”

Nicolo dodged a young man focused on his witchbox. Was he having sex right there in the open? “I would like you to show me how to work the book of face when we return to your home.”

“Why? You want to hook up?”

“No. I prefer a woman in my arms not on some screen. But perhaps there is a means to find fellow musicians? You said it connects people?”

“It's possible. But let's start small with you and technology. You have to own a phone first. And in order to do that you have to earn an income.”

“And in order to do that, I need a violin. Or a guitar. I wonder, would your brother allow me to sit in on some of his concerts? Play the guitar?”

“Really? You would want to do that?”

“It would be a pile of rocks!”

Now her smile showed no reluctance. And when she leaned up to kiss him he felt as if this new life could not get any better. So long as he could protect Summer from the evil that ever simmered within him.

* * *

Summer did not try on the lingerie for him in the shop, but Nicolo could already imagine the pink lace caressing her slender hips and tiny breasts. She didn't need one of those fancy brassieres for support, but she pointed out that it would be a crime to break a matched set of bra and panties. He had to agree. But he also believed when he finally did see her in the set it likely wouldn't remain on her for long.

Three cheers for the modern woman and her spare items of clothing!

They strolled down the street, bags in hands, dodging tourists. Summer sported sunglasses, and Nicolo desired a pair for himself. The esthetic value of looking “cool,” as she'd explained, appealed to him. She pointed across the street where they could purchase a pair of the dark spectacles, and next to that stood a shop that sold cell phones.

“A witchbox of my own. Then it's home to see what those pretty nothings look like on you?” he asked eagerly.

“I thought you wanted to go to the opera. I checked tickets. There's a will call an hour before the show. If there are any cancellations we can get the tickets then. There's a symphony orchestra performing twentieth-century composers tonight.”

“Really?” All thoughts of exploring lace on skin vanished. “I should like to hear the new composers. We must attend!”

“Hold your horses, big boy. We're headed to Verity's place after we fix you up with some technology.”

“Verity is the witch?”

“Yep.”

“From vampires to witches in less than two days. Truly this new life is not without wonder.”

Chapter 12

V
erity's place was on the way home, and when Summer called while Nicolo had been in the dressing room, the witch had encouraged her to stop by. She was home alone this evening. Her lover, Rook, was tending hunting matters.

Vampire hunting. Rook was a knight for The Order of The Stake. But Summer didn't fear him. He was an okay guy. The Order only went after those vampires who presented a real threat to human lives. Summer was ever polite when drinking blood. Just a small sip. Because anything more... She didn't want to go there. And Rook would never know about her bite imparting madness into her donors.

Though she bet Nicolo's blood would be an interesting taste. First, she wanted to ensure he was not a zombie. For as little as she knew about zombies she figured their blood could mess up a vampire. But if he was anything else, and not a human, he could be a possibility.

She was trying to think of anything and everything besides that hot sex in the shower. And on her bed. It had been as if she were making love with the only man who existed for her. She'd had her share of men. Never had the sex made her so melty and mindless. And made her forget everything around her. And want to tear his clothes off right then and there. Which she had. And then he'd wanted to give her pleasure. Which he had.

Whew! Her skin was prickling with heat thinking about it again. She flicked the air conditioner up a notch.

And what was with her inability to mark it off as just another hookup? The fact he was still there, right beside her, was one thing. She could smell him, earthy and aged like a prize whiskey. He wasn't like any other man. And that made her want to keep him, to clutch him to her and see if he would stay. Because...

Because the idea of him staying felt right.

“The city has grown large,” Nicolo commented as she navigated a street between business buildings and restaurants. This outer arrondissement was not such a tourist trap. Only a few people walked the sidewalks. “The buildings are all so, hmm...inelegant. What has become of the exquisite architecture?”

“It's around.” Yay, a conversation not about sex to distract her thoughts. “Haussmann, at Napoleon's command, tore down a lot of the original architecture and put up his own designs.” That was about as much as she knew about the Paris city design.

“Yes, I recall a lot of construction going on in my time. I wasn't so curious about it, though, since I did not spend a lot of time in Paris.”

“The city has managed to preserve a lot of its history. But, yes, the newer buildings are kind of boring. I'll have to drive you by La Défense. The Grande Arche is pretty cool.”

“What is that jutting up on the horizon? Is that a lighthouse?”

Summer thought back to his date of death: 1840. She had to smirk at him calling it a lighthouse.

“They erected that up in 1889 to celebrate the World's Fair. It's called the Eiffel Tower. It's remarkable, but is constantly clogged with tourists. If we drive through the inner circle of the city I'm sure you'd recognize a lot of monuments.”

“Does the Opéra still exist?”

“The Palais Garnier? Yes. There's the Opéra Bastille, as well.”

“The Bastille was torn down when I was a toddler. The site boasts an opera house now?”

“Yep.”

“What about my casino? The Casino Paganini?”

She eyed his gesture, which indicted they move forward. “That one didn't survive the ages. Did you ever play there?”

“Violin? No. I was rather sickly in my later years. Unable to stand on stage for so long. But, because of my fame and sheer number of patrons who merely wished to be seen with me, I was paid to make appearances at the gambling tables. It was a swell gig.”

“I bet. You may have been one of the first Kardashians.”

“A what?”

“Celebrities who are famous merely for being in the right place at the right time, popular because people simply want to see them. I think I read you weren't such a lucky gambler.”

“Indeed.” He shrugged. “I cannot be a master at everything.”

Summer smirked at his ego. No, indeed, he'd been a maestro and a handsome man who had a way with the women. Of course he'd require a bête noire such as gambling.

“Let us visit the Opéra,” Nicolo said. “I want to listen to music played live and not through the car.”

“Fine, but let's see what Verity has to say about you first.”

“Ah, yes. You think she will know something about me?”

“Let's cross our fingers.”

* * *

Verity Van Velde was a violet-haired fire witch whom Summer had met when she was a baby. Not exactly
met
. More like, Verity, along with fellow witches Libby Saint-Charles and Zoë Guillebeaux, had helped Summer's brother, Johnny, to get her away from Himself's clutches. She'd stayed in touch with Verity over the years, and the Santiagos always invited the witch and even her vampire-slayer lover over for summer parties at the family mansion. Rook, her lover, rarely accompanied her. Summer assumed it was because he'd rather not attend a party populated by vampires. But he was a good guy. Polite, and incredibly sexy. And as her father, Vail, often said, there was nothing wrong with having a vampire hunter in your pocket.

Thinking of sexy, she turned to the darkly gorgeous man who stood behind her on the stoop before Verity's home and gestured to him as she made introductions, “Verity, this is Nicolo Paganini.”

“Very pleased to meet you.” Nicolo bowed gracefully. If he'd had a hat, he might have pressed it to his chest so elegant a move it was. The velvet jeans were perfect on him. The touch of lace at his cuffs? Romantically masculine. “I take no offense to witches. Or vampires, as you can see from my lovely assistant here.”

“I'm your assistant?” Summer asked with as much doubt as she could muster.

“You are assisting me through this new world.”

“Whatever.”

“Come in, you two. I've been waiting.” Verity stepped aside. The light in the hall fell across her hair, highlighting the brilliant violet tones that wove through the dark brown strands. That was no hair dye; she had faery blood in her family.

Summer stepped in, followed by Nicolo, and as Verity closed the door behind them, she exhaled and then announced, “Well, that didn't tell me much.”

“What do you mean?” Summer asked.

“Before you arrived, I warded the threshold for every species possible—save vampires, of course. If you would have been repulsed, Nicolo, I could have read which ward had done so and we could have determined your nature.”

“So maybe I am just a regular human,” he said. “Not a thing wrong with that.”

“Not at all. Or you could be vampire,” the witch offered with a thoughtful tap of her finger to her lip. “Follow me. I've tea.”

They filed down the hallway, through the kitchen and into a living room, where Nicolo would not sit until he was allowed to help Verity carry in the tea tray. He set it on the coffee table, and only after Verity and Summer had sat did he take a seat on the couch beside Summer. He sat close enough that their legs touched, and Summer resisted running her hand along his thigh.

“This is a lovely home,” Nicolo offered. “I don't feel so out of place in time here.” Verity had a decidedly art deco decorating esthetic, with some older pieces in dark woods that surely might have been in vogue during the musician's time. “Though I suspect that large box on the wall is similar to Summer's witchbox? What did the barkeep call it? A televisor?”

“Television.” Summer tugged out her cell phone and waggled it as Verity laughed. “He's most impressed with the music that comes through my witchbox,” she offered.

“Wow,” Verity said, “I can't imagine stepping forward in time as you have, Monsieur Paganini. You'll have much to learn.”

“So I've been told.” He sipped the lavender tea. “Exquisite. As is my hostess.” His wink only made Summer stifle another giggle. The man did like to flirt.

“Summer tells me you've been summoned from death?” Verity asked over a sip of tea.

“I heard the sound of the violin's song, and I rose. I cannot explain how or why. I only know that I emerged from the top of the grave, turned and saw a bust of my head carved out of stone. It was a nice likeness, really,” he said to Summer. “And then, well, here I am.”

“I'm familiar with your history. That you made a deal with the devil. Was that true?”

“I never accepted the deal. But it was offered. I used to call it the brimstone bargain. Though I consider it more a curse than an advantage gained through a bargain or deal made.”

“What was the bargain, exactly?” Verity asked. “It might help me to determine what's happened to you.”

“It was issued to me more than a few times throughout my life. By the devil, er...the Big Guy. You know who I'm talking about?”

Both women exchanged looks. Had it not been for Verity, Himself might have killed Summer when she was a baby. They certainly knew who Nicolo was talking about. “Yes, go on.”

“He always put forth the black violin and said should I play it I could have the power I was destined to own.”

“Destined?” Summer turned to him. “You never said anything about destiny. What does that mean?”

Nicolo shrugged and splayed out his hands as he offered, “Have you heard the term
hexensohn
?”

“That's German for witch's son,” Verity said. “Was your mother a witch?”

Nicolo nodded. “It was something I was aware of but never wanted to fully accept. She kept it very under the table. Is that how you say it? And my father—the one I'm sure the history books note—was actually my stepfather. My mother died when I was a teen. I know there were some who knew what she was because they used to whisper
hexensohn
when I would walk through town.”

“I read about that in your biography,” Summer said. “I thought it was merely hearsay. An epitaph. Something they didn't believe but pinned on you as a means to explain your incredible skill with the violin.”

“Well, there was that, too. The news sheets and gossips spoke often of my making a deal with the devil. I always thought it ironic that they spoke of it as if they believed it. I mean, who believes the devil is real and appears before people to make deals with them? I took great pleasure in feeding those rumors, actually. It was easier for me to make play of it than to face reality. If they had only known that it was true, or at least, partially true. The bargain was presented to me. I just never accepted that deal.”

“Which was?” Verity prompted.

“If I should play the black violin then I would have all the power.”

“Yes, right, your destiny,” Verity confirmed. “I don't really understand that. Are you a witch like your mother?”

“No. I've always and ever been human.” Nicolo stood and paced the living room between the couch and the wall where an original Mucha lithograph in emeralds and gold hung. “Instead of destiny, I should use the word legacy. Of course, the legacy thing does apply to my father.”

“He was a witch?” Summer asked.

“No.” Nicolo turned and shoved a hand at one hip. “You've told me that you've met him,” he said to her.

“What?”

He splayed up a hand and said, “He's the devil Himself.”