dangled as he was held by the throat. Blue fire licked along Giovanni’s hands, and the cuffs of his oxford shirt began to smoke. As the flames grew, she noticed they were almost immediately quenched as the moisture in the room was drawn to the nameless man who wore a twisted smile.
Giovanni stood there, completely still with his fangs bared at the intruder and a low growl emanated from his chest, as the vampires’ elements fought their silent battle. Beatrice looked on in horror, completely unsure of what she should say or do.
As if reading her mind, Giovanni growled, “Beatrice, stay back. Take both the letters and lock yourself in the stacks.”
“Oh, why shouldn’t she stay, Giovanni?” the blond man mocked in an eerily melodic voice. “After all, this concerns her, too. Plus, she smells as delicious as her father.” The vampire’s eyes strayed to hers, and she found herself baring her own useless teeth. He only laughed. “I wonder if she tastes as good as he did!”
“Shut up, Lorenzo.”
“But, Papa, I do so love telling secrets!”
Chapter Fifteen
“Papa? As in-what the hell?”
Giovanni ignored Beatrice, keeping his eyes and his hands on his son, who was still hanging a foot off the ground and laughing at him.
“Papa, don’t you want to introduce me to your little toy?” Lorenzo sniffed the air. “She smells delicious when she’s afraid. Her father was, too, you know. Such a perceptive human he was. Clever, clever man. Is she clever, too?”
“Stay quiet and stay still,” Giovanni growled. He had always been stronger than Lorenzo; even when they were human, the boy could never have bested him. With their comparative elements and the strength of their blood now, it was still no contest.
“Hey, vampires,” he heard Beatrice say. “Just letting you know that the library is still open. Granted, this isn’t the most hopping place on the fifth floor, but there are people who could just walk in.”
The two vampires continued to stare at each other, and small flames burst out periodically over Giovanni’s hands and were quickly extinguished by Lorenzo as he manipulated the moisture in the air.
“She’s lovely, too. Is she good in bed? She’s American, I bet she is.”
Giovanni tightened his grip on the other man’s throat as he held him up, but Lorenzo only let out a rasping laugh. “They can be so feisty. But she’s young! I can’t imagine she knows what she’s doing yet,” he choked out.
He snarled at the laughing man, part of him wishing he could simply tear his son’s head of and be rid of the problem. Until he had his books, however, it wasn’t something he wanted to risk.
“Seriously,” Beatrice spoke again. He could hear her voice shaking. “I think I heard the elevator ding just now. So either kill him quick, Gio, or let him down so no one calls security.”
Her words finally registered, and he lowered Lorenzo to the ground, but didn’t release him from his grip.
“By the way, ‘Dad,’ can I just say, thanks a bunch for living in this lovely humid climate?” Lorenzo affected a flat Middle American accent. “Makes it so much easier for me to put out the little love sparks you throw off. Whatever you do, don’t move to the desert, it would just throw me off.”
Giovanni angled himself so he was between the delicate blond man and Beatrice and the letters. “Why are you here?”
“Can’t I just come for a visit? It’s been-what? One hundred years or so? Time just flies when you’re building a business empire. Sorry I forgot to send Christmas cards.”
“He’s really your son?” he heard Beatrice ask.
“In a manner of speaking,” Giovanni muttered, glaring at the mocking vampire.
“That hurts, Dad. Really, it does.”
“Shut up.”
Lorenzo peeked over Giovanni’s shoulder and winked at Beatrice. “He can just be so cross about sharing, you know? Hello, by the way. I’m Lorenzo. You must be the lovely Beatrice. I’ve heard so much about you, my dear.”
“You killed my father, didn’t you?” Beatrice whispered.
Giovanni wondered when she had figured it out. He was betting that Lorenzo’s words tonight had only confirmed her suspicions. He had suspected that his son was Stephen’s sire months ago, but hadn’t wanted to say anything to her.
“Kill is such a harsh term. And not really all that accurate; after all, I sired him as well. He’s alive and well…I think. Naughty boy, that Stephen, running away from me like that.”
Though his tone was teasing, Giovanni recognized the cold light in Lorenzo’s eyes that had only grown stronger in the last hundred years.
“I want to know why you’re in Houston. I’m assuming you sent the letters, didn’t you?”
“Oh,” Lorenzo’s eyes lit up, “are we telling old stories? Does she know all about us? Did you tell her our little secret? Does she know about old Nic?” He grinned slowly when he saw the slow burn in Giovanni’s eyes. “Oh, I just bet she doesn’t, does she?”
“Why are you here?” he roared in Italian. Blue flames flared on his arms, and he felt the scraps of his sleeves turn to ash and drift to the ground. “Is this some sick game to you? Tell me your purpose, boy, and leave!”
Lorenzo looked as if he had won a prize. “Oh, she’s wonderful…or is it your books? What has finally caused Niccolo’s perfect boy to lose his temper? It’s too beautiful for words.” A sick, dulcet laugh burbled from his throat.
“Gio?”
He tensed when he heard the tremor in Beatrice’s voice. He could tell she was terrified and trying to hide it. He wished he could reach out and calm the race of her pulse. Its frantic beat was starting to distract even him, and he knew that if he could feel the delicious burn in his throat, then Lorenzo must have been aching to feed from her.
He took an unnecessary breath, hoping the habitual action would calm him, and slowly the blue flames were absorbed by his skin. Lorenzo also took a deep breath, and his nostrils flared as he scented the air. A slow smile grew on his son’s face, and his eyes closed in satisfaction.
“She does smell like her father,” he purred. “You would have loved his taste, Giovanni. So pure-like a cool drink of water on a hot day. Do you remember that? So refreshing. But again, I spend too much time reminiscing.”
Lorenzo opened his eyes and attempted to straighten his charred jacket. “I do believe I have an appointment at seven o’clock. If you could allow Beatrice to get my document for me, there’s no need for you to linger.”
“Go to hell,” Giovanni said in a calm voice. “Why are you here? I obviously know you have my books, you lying bastard. So what else do you want?”
“The girl, of course. I need her to get her father; he’s become quite the problem child.” Lorenzo clucked his tongue and shook his head. “So typical for adolescents, I’m afraid. You were lucky with me, Giovanni. I waited almost fifty years before I began to give you headaches.”
Lorenzo looked over his shoulder again and winked at the terrified girl. “It’s just a phase, my dear. No need to worry about your father. I’ll have him back into the fold in no time.”
Giovanni stepped away from Lorenzo and went to position himself closer to Beatrice, who stood guarding the letters on the table like a mother hen. “The girl is mine. Leave.”
“Is she?” Lorenzo cocked his head. “Is she really, Giovanni? That would be something, wouldn’t it? Quite out of
