The Vampire's Protector (20 page)

“Stop playing that,” she said testily as she pulled into the garage and stopped the car.

He set the violin in the open case in the back seat then pressed a palm to the dashboard as he eyed her with that all-knowing gaze that was darker now. Had his eyes changed from gray to black? Or maybe a blackish red?

“Do I repulse you now?” he asked plainly.

She knew that his playing had transformed some souls to demon during the concert. How it had happened was some kind of diabolic magic surely only possible through the devil's hand. Or the Dark Prince's music.

“You could never repulse me,” she said, and meaning it. Because really, she was the Soul Piercer. “But you do frighten me. Are those from the audience I noticed whose eyes went red truly demon now?”

He opened the door and put out one leg. “My music summoned incorporeal demons and allowed them to enter new hosts. It is what I do, Summer.” He got out and closed the door, striding toward the kitchen without another word.

She did not like his new talk little, fuck a lot, attitude. Okay, so she did like having sex with him. Was the love she felt for him merely lust? No, she'd fallen in love with him, and it hurt her heart to see how he had changed. Perhaps he was aware of those changes and chose to walk away from her to hide the remorse he felt when acting that way around her?

“I won't give up on you, Nicolo,” she muttered and followed him into the kitchen.

He turned and pinned her wrists to the wall. His kisses were demanding and rough, and he quickly stripped away her dress, dropping it to the floor around the high heels. He slapped her thigh, indicating she should lift it, and as she did so, he lifted her, fingers clutching her ass, and bent to lash his tongue across her breasts.

She could succumb so easily. Fall into the perfect connection their bodies formed and then drink of him and wake in a blissful dream. But it wasn't that easy now that she'd seen him at work, leading souls toward desolation.

“Wait.” She wriggled her hips as he moved to push his cock within her. “Is this how it's to be now? Just slam me against the wall, take what you will and then off to Beneath or wherever it is you lurk?”

He lifted a hand to slap her, then stopped. Slipping out of her, he stepped back and gripped his head with both hands. Bowing before her, he shook his head. “I'm so sorry, my Brightness. I would never harm you. I didn't mean to upset you.”

She bent and pulled up her dress, securing the straps over her shoulders. “I know things must be difficult for you now, Nicolo.”

“You will never know.”

“Then tell me.”

He shook his head and zipped up the fly of his pants. “If you do not want me, I will leave.”

She jumped before him as he stepped toward the door and pressed him back against the wall. “I want you. I love you. And I will not regret it as you think I will. I do understand you have commitments to being the Dark Prince. I won't question that. I know it wasn't your choice. You did it to save my life.” Her voice wobbled as she stated his great sacrifice. For her. He'd done this for
her
. “It's all my fault. I should have never opened the violin case that day I found it.”

He gripped her by the neck and kissed her. Softly. Then firmly. And then she was falling, spreading out her arms and surrendering to his will. Wanting to belong to him.

He kissed her top lip, then her nose, then pressed his cheek aside hers and a palm to her other cheek. “I do it for you. I do everything for you. So you will never be harmed by Him.”

“What do you mean? Did Himself threaten me? If you don't do what he asks?”

Nicolo nodded against her. “Don't worry. I will always protect you.”

“But that's not fair. He's got you under his thumb. At his side. Why make it so difficult for you?”

“Because he knows my heart belongs to you. And that is a threat to him.”

“Then maybe you shouldn't love me? If you could break away from him—”

He pressed his fingers over her mouth and shook his head. “Too late. I am this...
thing
now. I am filled with the souls of those I have damned. If only I could release them to move on. But it is my punishment for resisting my birthright for so long.”

Summer swallowed. She couldn't imagine what he must have endured.

“Only promise you will give me a few moments of brightness when I can steal the time to be with you?”

“Of course, Nicolo.” She hugged him and they stood there, bound by blood and a cruel curse. “I will always be here for you.”

“Thank you, my sweetest Summer. Brightness of my life. You can't imagine what holding you means to me. Feeling you. Smelling you. Being inside you. I must leave soon. I am being called.”

“No, not yet. Please, I need more time with you. Will we ever have a life together?”

“I want that. Yet I'm not sure how to make it happen beyond these sweet moments.”

“I'll figure something out.” Like stealing his precious
il Cannone
and making him play it. It had to work. She had to try. She slipped the shoulder straps off, and her dress glided to the floor. “Take me, then. Fill me. Give me your blood.”

“But you have all of me, flesh and blood, and love.”

“And those souls...” She started to ask, but didn't finish. Something about his mention of souls inside him resounded with her, but she couldn't explain why. So instead she kissed him as if she would never see him again.

Chapter 25

L
eaving Summer's embrace was torture, far worse than anything Himself could inflict upon him. And yet, the torture had been perfectly orchestrated by his father, knowing well that she was the only thing that Nicolo lived for.

If he could manage the pain on his own, he should toss her aside, empty out his cold and evil heart and never think of her again. It would be best for the both of them. And he feared that as the ages passed and his slavery as the Dark Prince continued, he would lose all emotion and the ability to love Summer would slip away. But he would cling to it for as long as he was able. She was the only thing that kept him sane.

Imagine that. The Soul Piercer granting him sanity.

Sitting upon his throne of metal and bone, Nicolo watched as the souls of innocents were counted and their demons given new life. Each connection infused him with the soul in a burst of pleasure he wanted to deny but ultimately could not.

It was impossible not to allow his mind to wander to Summer's brightness. But he must correct that wandering desire. Not allow her to invade his thoughts while Beneath, participating in such despicable tasks. For he would taint her memory, and Himself would know his heart ached.

In but a few more mortal days he would rise and tour the world. The concerts had been announced. Himself eagerly awaited all the souls Nicolo would collect along his travels. Soul collecting had become both his freedom and his curse.

* * *

Summer read the concert listings online for Nicolo's performances. The name worked for him. She had to laugh a little. He was debuting in Milan tomorrow night as the toast of Paris, a new force on the rock-violinist scene. Some compared him to the soloists David Garrett or Mark Wood, who toured with Trans-Siberian Orchestra. Most compared him to Paganini. The Devil's Violinist Risen had been one of the headlines.

If they only knew the truth.

She clicked out of the internet app on her phone and sat back in the chair. No doubt, while touring the world and playing for the masses, Nicolo would be collecting souls for Himself. He probably hated it. She hoped he hated it. A small part of him might be resigned to the evil task. Perhaps another part of him might even take to it with relish.

Anything that allowed him to play the violin must feel all right to him. The man may reason that he had been given the gift of touring and performing in exchange for something more horrible.

And who was she to continue to pine for a man she knew was no longer kind or even innocent? Loving Nicolo was akin to admitting a love for the devil Himself.

Only, she knew better. He may have been born to the position as Dark Prince, but he'd never asked for it.

“As for those souls...” She thought again of her lover's explanation how he was now filled with the souls of the damned. It niggled at her for an inexplicable reason.

Her cell phone rang. Johnny wanted her to stop by the club tonight and hang out, she and her boyfriend.

“I can't, Johnny. I'm headed for Italy.”

“I see your Nicolo is headlining already? How did that happen?”

“The guy is talented.”

“Sure, but that was literally an overnight thing. Is it something to do with his rising from the dead? I thought you were going to stay away from him, Summer?”

“No, Johnny. I got it under control.”

“I should come over.”

“Johnny, I'm on my way out. Don't worry about me. Whatever is going on with Nicolo is for me and him to handle. He's going to be fine.” She shuffled out a sigh. “Johnny, I love you.”

“Ah hell.”

“I mean it. I don't say it often enough. Nicolo showed me how awesome love can be. Just leave it at that, okay? I'll call when I get home!”

She hung up before he could protest.

* * *

Summer was not a thief. She didn't know if she could pull off a heist. But it had to be done. And in daylight. With museumgoers all around. Because the clock was ticking. Nicolo must be in Milan right about now, preparing for the concert. Summer had to steal the violin and get to Milan before it was over and he left town. Because likely, he wasn't driven to and from his concert locations. He probably just appeared when needed.

The advantages of being the Dark Prince.

She had to work with being a plain vampire. She couldn't fly or mist in or out of a place. Couldn't even shift to a wolf and lope across the lands, such as Dracula. About all the talent she had was to enthrall a human as she sipped from their neck, allowing them to forget she'd ever been there. If only that could stop the madness.

So as she stood in the gallery that featured the Guarnerius violin behind glass, she formed a crazy plan. If she could enthrall everyone in the room—currently only four people—to ignore her, she could walk up and take the violin. As for the security staff, she'd meet that risk when it was presented.

Walking up to the glass, she pressed her fingers to it. Behind that protection, another large glass box encased the violin, which sat on a steel pedestal and which was held up by a metal frame and encased in even more glass.

This was going to get noisy.

Looking about, she was thankful two people had left the room. Only two left and no guards save for the one she'd nodded to about thirty yards down the outer hallway. He'd been half-asleep. The remaining twosome walked up beside her to look at the violin. The woman commented on its luster, the varnish obviously having been touched up from when Paganini had owned it, for surely it would have been worn to the wood after such frequent use.

“It's lovely, isn't it?” Summer said and turned to make eye contact with the man. “Hold her hand,” she said deeply and focused her persuasion on him. He blinked yet did what he was told. “You won't remember me. Step over there and kiss. Yes, show her how much you care about her.”

The woman lured him aside, and he bent to kiss her.

And Summer smashed her fist through the glass.

* * *

Nicolo bowed before the audience, who cheered profusely and shouted “Bravo!” and begged for more. He did have more. One final song that would call in the demons to occupy those souls open and willing enough to harbor the host.

Touching the bow to his forehead, he gave a salute to the crowd and then bounced it onto the strings in the beginning to “The Devil's Trill.”

* * *

Summer walked casually to the museum's front door, the violin tucked under her sweatshirt jacket. She almost made it out of the museum unremarked, when one of the patrons screamed, “She's stealing the Guarnerius!”

That outburst set three hefty guardsmen on her ass. But they'd likely had donuts for lunch for decades, so the prospect of outrunning them didn't bother her. She ran down the museum steps and turned down the wrong street. Her car was parked in the opposite direction. But with the guards close, she wasn't going to make a U-turn.

Damn it, she was new at this midday-thievery thing. Her fingers bled from the broken glass. It had been easy enough to bend the metal frame holding the violin and take it out. Now she held the neck and bow in her left hand and pumped her right fist to pick up speed. She could outrun these guys.

But probably not the patrol car that flashed its red lights up ahead on the street. Damn those walkie-talkies. Perhaps she should take this higher and leap onto a rooftop?

She took a sudden right turn and rejoiced when she saw the thick forest ahead. Some sort of city park. New plan. Stay on the ground. She could lose them in there.

* * *

Nicolo could feel the souls shiver as their human hosts welcomed in the incorporeal demons. A bitter shock initially, and then they resumed their role as concert-goers, clapping and cheering. Subtly aware that something wasn't right. And soon enough they would surrender and lose all human consciousness. Memories, lifetimes, free will. They would be called to Beneath as soon as he left the stage. And there Himself would induct them into the flames.

He had but to take the bow away from the strings, refuse to play the song, and those souls could be saved. But it was unthinkable. He'd trade them all for Summer's soul.

* * *

Realizing, as she raced through the thick park woods, that this was getting her nowhere fast, Summer paused at the edge of the forest and looked over the violin. She wouldn't have time to drive to Milan and place it in Nicolo's hands. She needed him here. Now.

There was one way to do that.

To use his title of the Dark Prince or his name? She shook her head. No question.

“Nicolo Paganini. Nicolo Paganini. Nicolo Paganini!”

* * *

Nicolo felt the summons and quickened his pace off the stage. He slammed the dressing-room door behind him, and then before he could decide whether or not to answer such an abrupt call, he was swept to the caller merely by fact of his inexperience with controlling the beckon to such a call. The afternoon was gray with overcast clouds. The air was fresh and smelled thick and green. A pond sat close by, for he heard the chatter of ducks and the splash of wings that must have taken fright by his sudden arrival.

Feeling the horns grow out from his temples, he fought to prevent the transformation and halted it just as talons curled from his fingers and about the bow he still held. The black violin was not to hand. He must have set it down in the dressing room. But who had called him here? His father?

A pale-haired woman stepped from within the dark shelter of trees, or rather, ran toward him.

“Brightness,” he whispered. “What are you—”

She shoved a violin into his grasp and tugged him across the lawn and around the pond. “Quickly. They're chasing me!”

“What is this?” It felt familiar, and yet so distant. Like something he had once cherished. Too light. Too...innocent.

“The Guarnerius. Play it! Now!”

This was
il Cannone
? Yes, of course. It had been so long. Far longer than Summer could ever know. He'd asked her once if he could visit it. He'd forgotten that conversation. And she had not because it had been but a few days for her.

“But why?” he asked.

She pulled him into the shadows behind a fieldstone wall and shoved him to a stop. Huffing and looking like a tattered doll with dirt smudging her cheek and hair wild about her shoulders, she said, “It's a theory. And we did discuss it about a week ago. Remember? That we thought it might reverse the curse?”

A week ago? Try an eternity.

Nicolo lifted the violin. Indeed, this was his precious
il Cannone
. He could feel it in his veins. And it was an odd feeling. Distasteful. His body wanted to reject it, knew it was not in his best interest, and so—he flung it away from him.

Summer caught it with a dive that landed her on the ground, one hand grasping the violin body before it could shatter against the stone wall behind them. She rolled onto her back and jumped up to stand. “What the hell?”

“I don't want that abomination. That...innocence,” he spat.

“It is your salvation. I know it. It has to be. You said Himself hated it. That it was the balance between good and evil. Nicolo, do this for us.”

She held up the violin. He sneered and growled, taking a step back from her. Part of him wanted to reach for it, place it at his shoulder and dance the bow across the strings. But a larger part, that dark part he'd been born to, would crush it to tinder if she so much as placed it too near him again.

“I can't,” he confessed. “Too late. I am this thing now.”

“You don't have to be.”

Oh yes, he did have to be.

“Look at me!” he cried. He tilted his head, knowing the horns were monstrous and evil. Had he shifted any further he would be wearing hooves and a tail, as well. “I am the Dark Prince!”

Her shoulders dropped, the violin falling beside her leg. Panting—she had been running—she shook her head. “I know you want this. Us. Don't give up. Please? Nicolo...I need you.”

He did not want to give up on them, but if he voiced that desire, it would only give Himself more power over him. The time had come for him to walk away from that which he most adored. To keep her safe.

From behind them shouts sounded, and out of his peripheral vision Nicolo saw flashing red lights.

“The police,” she said. “I had to steal the violin. We haven't got much time. If you love me you will play the violin.”

“If I love you I should walk away from you and never return. Consign myself to what I have become.”

“Too late.” She used his words. “Because I'll never let that happen. If I have to call you to me continuously, to look at me, to kiss me, to touch me, I will speak your name all day, every day. I'll stand before Himself and show him that I am unwilling to give you up. That bastard
can
be defeated. We've done it before, my brother and I. We can do it now.”

Nicolo could not find words to protest. But he should.

She thrust the violin forward. “Play.”

Nicolo glanced over his shoulder. Three policemen tracked across the park lawn toward them. And his fingers curled, as if about the violin neck. When the closest officer took out his pistol and called for them to put up their hands, Nicolo did so. He turned, facing the officers, and backed up to stand alongside Summer. Bullets were no match for him.

But he couldn't reveal himself to them. The horns—hell. He stepped back into the shadows and willed his horns away. Hopefully they had not seen them.

And when the first officer shouted for Summer to set down the violin, a twinge of defense tightened Nicolo's muscles. They would grab the instrument, unknowing how to handle such a delicate thing. They could ruin it. Break it, surely.

It had been so long since he'd held
il Cannone
. He'd told his son Achille to ensure it went to the city of Genoa after his death. Ah, Achille. He could only be thankful he'd not fallen to the brimstone bargain when his son had been alive. For if Achille were to have seen him in demonic form and to know...