Traveling to Venice is usually a romantic dream come true, but for Abigail, it's anything but. After accepting an art-restoration internship at a Venetian museum, all she has on her mind are late-baroque paintings. For her, the romance of Venice can...
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Matteo
The pounding in my head wouldn't cease.
Damn it.
I pressed my fingers against my forehead, caressing the spot in my skull that ached. Charming humans was useful, but damn was it a pain in the ass.
I walked Abi to her Mestre flat, making sure she wasn't followed by the Mietitori. She didn't speak much, but I couldn't blame her. Healthy fear was a smart choice when dealing with vampires. And this human was smart. It didn't take her long to put together what the Mietitori were—and subsequently—what I was. Vampires were dangerous, and even more so when we got to talking. So silence was the best route to take.
I placed my hands in my pockets as we walked along the streets. It'd been years since I set foot in Mestre and it was unrecognizable. At least Venice still had a bit of its original charm. I followed her down streets with blinking lights, passing rebellious teens on scooters, and wine bars filled with loud patrons.
Wine. Something I longed for in a past life. That, and my mother's homemade bread. I should've asked for her recipe before she died, just so I could smell it again.
Abi stopped at a crossroads and I glanced up. It was an old building remodeled to look modern, floors split into tiny studios for students and temp workers. As we paused, she didn't look at me but instead stared at her feet. Did I terrify her that much?
"Will I see you again?" she asked.
"I'll see what I can do," I replied. "I'll keep an eye on things, make sure the Mietitori aren't on your trail. But I'd keep your head down for a while. Wear some men's cologne."
"Why men's cologne?" she asked.
"Throws them off your scent." I shrugged a shoulder.
"Scent? Like a dog?" She paused, her mouth twisting in confusion. "What do I smell like?"
"Do you want me to take a whiff?" I asked.
Abi took a step back and wrinkled her nose, making me laugh. The truth was, she smelled like many girls I knew back in the states. She was mostly healthy, yet a little out of shape, despite her slim figure. Ate too much chocolate, maybe. Yet, I could sense she didn't drink or smoke, nor did she have an underlying illness. Abi's blood would be refreshing—like water caught from spring rain.
It was tempting.
Human blood was the only thing that could stop my constant headache, but it wasn't the time or place. Instead, I'd have to wait until I was back on the island. Find a drunk tourist who would forget without a charm.
I smiled.
"Goodnight," I said with a wave.
"That's it, just...goodnight?"
"Do you want something more?" I flashed a sharp canine, and I watched with interest at her reaction. Fear rose in a wave over her body. Abi's face paled, shoulders tensed, heart fluttered. It was kinda cute. She threw her hands up in defense, as though that could stop me from biting her.
"No! I mean...there's a whole world out there that I didn't even know existed until tonight. I should be asking you a million questions, but all I can think about is the gunfight. The blood."
She was an American girl. Always drawn toward danger, a new adventure, even if it put her in harm's way. She reminded me of ladies from the old west. Hell, I missed my gunslinging days.
Even if she was brave, as I glanced at her youthful expression, I knew that I couldn't leave her this way. She was a type who'd get herself into trouble only to curb her curiosity.
I moved closer, fast enough so she couldn't step away in time. From a human perspective, unnaturally fast. A breath caught in her throat. My hands gripped her forearms to feel a steady pulse beneath pale skin. I focused my energy on that pulse as my eyes met hers. They are a deep gray-green, like the lagoon on a stormy day. I cleared my throat and fell into a trance with her. My head felt like it was going to split and the pain worsened with each second.
"You got lost on your way home," I said.
"Oh?" she replied, her body swayed ever-so—back and forth like a metronome.
"You're feeling unwell, it's best to stay home for a few days."
"That's unfortunate, I have so much work to do," she sighed. The way her soft lips curved into a frown tempted me to kiss them. But I fought the urge. I'd sworn off playing the Cassanova when I was seventy.
"Tonight was only a bad dream."
"Such a strange dream..." she said, her eyes enchanted by mine. She shook her head, her strong will fought against my charm. Feisty.
It was all I could take. My head felt like it would explode if I enchanted her any longer. With one last effort, I motioned her toward the flat and willed her away. She turned from me, walking up to the building like an automaton.
I watched the woman, hoping the charm stuck as the door shut behind her. It seemed like enough, but it'd been a few days since I had a proper feeding. Travel left me weary. It was difficult to feed on planes, and our route had been long to follow the night. Jet lag was a bitch for the undead.
My phone vibrated for what seemed like the hundredth time that night. With a flick of the wrist, I checked the screen.
It was my maker, Gaius. His nickname on my phone was 'Pest.'
Pest: hey
Pest: heyyyy
Pest: Where r u?
Pest: please come back to the hotel. Claude annoys me. :(
Pest: heyy
Pest: the night is young hellloooooooo
On and on it went, ad infinitum. Text after text—poking and prodding me for attention. I longed for the days when letters took weeks to send through the post. Even back then, Gaius sent messages with unending fervor. I swore under my breath, the older my maker grew, the more childish and petty he became. The texts would pile up until I returned to the nest.
I needed another cigarette, but I had a better idea. Instead of reaching for the smoke behind my ear, I massaged my temple and turned down the street. My body kept to the shadows. Canines flashed.
