The idea of helping you undress takes my breath away.
There was a short silence. Antonietta draped her blouse over the back of a chair. Her fingers trailed over the silk, wishing she were touching Byron’s chest. The idea of him helping her undress robbed her of breath, too. Of speech. She couldn’t think straight. Dragging the tie from her hair, she began to pull out the weave as she crossed to her bathroom.
I am searching the palazzo to see what the intruders were up to and examining your cousins to make certain they were not fed poison or drugged. A much more interesting question is, what are you doing?
I’m taking the braid out of my hair.
Byron closed his eyes and inhaled sharply as if he could drag her scent deep inside his body. There is something very erotic about a woman letting down her hair. Have you removed your slacks?
My blouse. She admitted it without hesitation. It was part of her dreamworld. He was far away and it was a harmless game. And it distracted her from thinking about the terrors of being nearly killed. Of someone hating her enough to want to kill her. Antonietta’s fingertips moved across the swell of her breasts. She ached for his touch. She had never wanted a man more. It doesn’t make sense.
It makes perfect sense.
She had never talked with any man this way, not even a lover. She had never blushed or stammered or deliberately tempted a man. Byron never once had given her an indication that he was interested in her as other than a friend. She might even be making a fool of herself, but it didn’t matter. He was an obsession.
As she made her way across the tiled bathroom floor, colored images leapt in front of her eyes without any warning. Shades of vivid red and yellow. She cried out, closing her eyes instinctively. The colors were so intense they hurt her, made her feel ill.
What is it?
She was disoriented, frozen to the spot, unable to tell exactly where she was in her own bathroom. I see something. Colors. Red and yellow. Like heat images.
Take a deep breath, your heart is beating too fast. It is nothing. Let the images go. You may have been seeing what I was seeing. Our connection is strong. Byron bit back the ominous growl in this throat, hackles rising. He shifted shape back to his human form and bent over her sleeping cousin.
Cautiously, Antonietta opened her eyes and saw the comforting darkness. That made me sick to my stomach. How strange. Rather than use the centuries-old bathing pools, now modernized, Antonietta filled her private bathtub and tossed in scented salts. She wanted to feel beautiful tonight. She needed to feel beautiful.
Where are you? She didn’t want to be alone. In spite of her bravado, she was frightened by the events of the evening and wanted the comfort of Byron’s powerful presence. She peeled off her damp slacks and laid them carefully on the vanity. The simple act of removing her lacy bra and panties made her feel sexy. A tempting siren.
She stepped into the bath, sank into the blessedly hot water, and allowed her head to fall back against the side of the tub.
I am standing over your cousin Paul. He is sleeping deeply, and I do not think it is a normal sleep. I must spend a few minutes examining him. Are the windows in your rooms closed and secured?
Her breasts floated on the scented water as she relaxed. I didn’t think to check. I will before I go to bed.
Have you smelled a strange odor? A wild cat. Large breed.
Antonietta sat up straight, the water beading, rushing down her skin. Why would you think that? What made you ask me that?
Byron was silent, analyzing her voice. There was fear in her tone. Fear in her mind, but her barriers were intact and strong. For a moment he considered pushing through to get the information he needed, but she was his lifemate, and he had learned, all too well, the danger of trying to force and manipulate. Patience, he reminded himself. Above all, a Carpathian male could endure.
Antonietta could not escape him, now that he found her. He had not counted on danger in her own home.
Byron? Why would you think I would smell a wild cat?
She sounded very anxious. For the first time he wished he could see images around her through her eyes. He felt textures through her, but there were no images to aid him. He had to use feelings. Emotions were still somewhat alien and overpowering. It made him dangerous and near the edge of control.
I smell a cat here, in this room. And also I smelled the same creature in your grandfather’s room. He answered truthfully because she was his lifemate, but his instincts told him she knew something he did not.
Are you with Paul or Franco?
Paul.
There was another long silence. He tuned his acute hearing to finding her room. Bathwater splashed as if she were agitated. He closed his eyes with a small groan, picturing her lush body naked and floating in the scented water. Her silky hair would be surrounding her, an allure he would never be able to resist.
His entire body tightened, hardened to a painful ache. Antonietta. How much he wanted her. How difficult it was to wait. He savored every moment with her. And his creativity, so long gone, was returning, thanks to her.
Is it Paul? Does he have the scent of a cat? There was reluctance to her voice, as if she might be betraying someone…or something she held dear. And there was an underlying note of fear. She tried to hide it, but it was there.
Byron leaned over Paul, examining every inch of him, paying attention to his fingernails, his arms, looking for scratches, for any telltale sign that would indicate he had been a party to the attack on Don Giovanni and his granddaughter. There was one long scratch along the inside of his left forearm. It looked raw and angry.
Byron! Please, does he have the scent of the cat?
The Scarletti palazzo and the family dwelling there had nearly as many secrets as his own people. Byron inhaled deeply. The scent of the cat permeated the room. It was difficult to tell if Paul had the scent or not. I have no idea. It reeks in here of the scent. If it is not Paul, the cat has been here. Do you keep large cats or know someone who does?
A slight noise downstairs distracted him immediately. Byron’s head snapped up, and his black eyes flashed with instant menace. Someone was making their way up the long, curving staircase. Soft, stealthy footfalls. Furtive. The whisper of material against the thick banister sounded overly loud to Byron. A small, wolfish smile softened the hard edge to his mouth. Not bothering to scan, he simply waited in the darkness for his prey to come to him.
Of course not.
The footsteps were at the top of the first landing. Whoever it was hesitated, then turned toward Paul’s suite of rooms. Byron shrank back into the shadows. His lengthened incisors were exposed, and when the door opened just a crack, the dim light from the hall turned his eyes a fiery bloodred.
He knew her instantly. Antonietta’s trusted assistant, Justine Travis, stepped cautiously inside the room, closing the door behind her. She took several steps into the middle of the room but stopped, not attempting to cross to the bed.
“Paul?”
Silence greeted her. The man in the bed didn’t stir. Byron was certain he had been drugged, but it was necessary to check him. Either way, it didn’t make him innocent. A smart man might try to commit murder and drug himself to make it appear as if he were in danger, too.
Hunger stirred, a dark and terrible need that welled up sharp and overpowering. Byron had not fed, and he had used considerable energy saving Don Giovanni from the cold depths of the sea. Healing had drained him, driving out the poison from the fragile system, and now he craved and needed. He could hear the call of the rich, hot blood rushing through veins bursting with the life his shrunken cells needed. He moved, a blink of the eye, no more, and he stood behind Justine. Her hair was drawn up into a simple ponytail, pulled away from her neck and leaving her throat exposed. He could see her pulse beating rapidly.
Justine sighed and wrung her hands together in obvious agitation. “Paul, wake up. I have to talk to you. I’m sorry we fought, but you have to understand I can’t risk my job.”
Justine touched her throat with her palm, a defensive movement as if she sensed the predator so close to her. “You know I’ll do anything to help you. We’ll find another way to get the money. I’ll help you, I will.”
Paul didn’t respond but continued to lie motionless on the bed.
Justine sobbed softly. “I didn’t mean it when I said we were over. I’ll find a way to help you, Paul. Don’t do anything rash until I figure things out. You know you would feel so awful if you did anything that would harm or betray your family.” She waited a moment. “Please, Paul, answer me.” When Paul didn’t answer or turn toward her, Justine jammed her fist into her mouth to muffle her weeping.
A dark shadow fell across her so that Justine shivered and half turned, her eyes widening with terror. The predator in the shadows spoke softly to calm her, whispered a command even as he enfolded her in his arms. She tilted her head and gazed up at him with blind rapture.
Byron looked down into her face. Her mind was chaotic, filled with thoughts of Paul. Of how she loved him, how she didn’t want to betray Antonietta but…He smiled, and there was no humor in that smile, only a showing of fangs. “It is in you to be treacherous, and you have chosen the wrong alliance.” His voice held a whip of contempt so that even under his dark enthrallment, Justine winced. Byron bent his head, teeth sinking into soft flesh, and drank.
Antonietta stepped from the bath, wrapping herself in a thick towel. It was precisely ten steps to her vanity, and she sank into the chair and reached for the brush that was always in the right corner. The handle was cool and smooth and fit in her hand as if made for her. It was an heirloom from the past, but she loved it and used it nightly to brush her hair. As she pulled the brush down the length of her hair, her neck throbbed and burned right over her suddenly wildly pounding pulse.
Startled, Antonietta dropped the brush and covered the spot, reaching for Byron automatically. She found not her calm, tranquil poet but a beast, raging with demonic hunger, feasting, drawing energy and vitality from a warm, living creature. From a human…Abruptly, the connection was broken.
Antonietta choked, her hands fluttering to guard her throat while her mind tried to grasp the implication of the dark, shadowed beast roaring for release. Had she somehow connected with the wild cat Byron had scented in her cousin’s room? Was her imagination simply playing tricks on her?
She was tired and frightened and wanted comfort. Where was he? Why hadn’t he come to her? Byron! She called him sharply, terrified of needing him so much and torn between wanting him to come to her and hoping he would stay away. She was weak tonight, she might not be able to resist him. The last thing she wanted to do was destroy their friendship by making a fool of herself.
Byron heard Antonietta’s beloved voice echoing through his mind. Touching his heart. Pulling at his soul. Awareness of where he was and what he was doing hit him. Immediately, he swept his tongue across Justine’s throat to close the tiny pinpricks and slowly lifted his head, making every effort to pull back from the heady rush the infusion of fresh vitality gave him. For Antonietta’s sake, because Justine was someone she cared for, he was gentler than he might have been as he lowered the woman to the floor and helped her to rest against the wall.
I am here.
Antonietta couldn’t believe the relief sweeping through her body, through her mind. For a moment I thought something was terribly wrong. She felt along the floor for her brush. Her fingertips found the smooth handle. The towel unraveled, leaving her body exposed to the cool air. Outside, the rain began to pour against the stained glass windows. Antonietta walked across the floor. The marble tiles were cool on the soles of her feet. Her body was hot and flushed at the idea of him walking in on her unexpectedly. She had no idea why just the sound of his voice made her feel sexy. Made her want to tempt and entice him. He was always so cool and calm, and she wanted to drive him out of control.
I find I’m edgy and moody tonight, Antonietta admitted. She stood naked in front of the stained glass window, listened to the rain pouring down, and lifted her arms upward as an offering to the gods of fantasy. Of dreams. “Bring him to me. Let him come this night. Let me know he has looked at me as a woman and not as a bank account.”
You should be in bed. Beneath the warmth of your covers, not flitting about your room. The idea was to keep you healthy.
How could a mere voice affect her so much? Set her body on fire, aching and needing and craving just one man. It made little sense to her. Antonietta turned from the window and moved unerringly to the tall dresser. Some time earlier in one of her moods of generosity, Tasha bought her a white lace nightgown, one Antonietta had never worn. It slithered over her skin, almost alive, heightening her senses and her body’s terrible needs. It was a gown meant to lure. To tempt. It clung to every curve and showed off her skin. It made Antonietta feel a beautiful temptress.
Keep me healthy? How very prosaic.
You are edgy and moody. So am I. That could be a dangerous combination.
Antonietta braided her hair, reveling in the way the lace material caressed her skin. Do you think so? You’re probably right. I’m in a strange mood and hardly recognize myself. She sighed as she pulled back the covers and slipped between the sheets.
Byron leaned down to check Justine’s pulse. She was fine, just dizzy. He whispered to her, a soothing chant, planting the idea to go back to her room with no memory of her visit to Paul. Justine obeyed like a sleepwalker, falling under his hypnotic spell and going out, even quietly closing the door behind her.
It is no wonder, Antonietta. I am certain you will be unsettled for some time to come, and rightly so. Byron once more bent over Paul. Her cousin. A betrayer who might be plotting to take Antonietta’s life. For a moment the urge to crush him beneath the strength of his hands rose up and nearly overwhelmed him. He bent closer, his incisors lengthening as he neared the pulse beating strongly in the neck. If he took Paul’s blood, it would be easy enough to read his mind.
Byron! Antonietta’s voice was sharp and frightened. I have a terrible feeling you are going to hurt my cousin. Promise me you aren’t.
Byron closed his eyes, took a deep, calming breath to settle the demons roaring for release. There was too close of a connection. She would know. She would feel him. Your imagination is running away with you, Antonietta.
Why is it you always call me Antonietta? Everyone else calls me Toni.
Byron concentrated on the sound of relief in her voice. Antonietta, his lifeline to sanity and control, when his emotions were as powerful as the raging sea. Your family calls you Toni. Everyone else calls you Signorina Scarletti, a title of great respect.
That does not tell me why you won’t call me Toni.
Antonietta is your name, and it is beautiful. He said it simply, with no embellishment.
Antonietta allowed her lashes to drift down. She was tired, and the steady rhythm of the rain was making her sleepy. Byron didn’t say anything particularly romantic or brilliant, not even poetic, but she thought of it that way. Your voice is hypnotic. I could listen to you forever.
That is a good thing. It is nice to know we are making progress.
Well, I don’t know why I’m suddenly telling you. I knew it the first time I heard your voice. I could just sit and listen to you forever. And after you leave, I hear the music playing in my head and through my body, and I know it’s your music. It belongs to you more than it belongs to me.
That is the nicest compliment anyone has ever given me. Byron left Paul’s room and made his way to the third floor where Franco Scarletti resided with his wife and two children. I have decided you need a dog, Antonietta.
Antonietta burst out laughing. Only you would think I need a dog. I’m blind. How would I care for a dog? And don’t suggest a Seeing Eye dog. I don’t know the first thing about animals. They’ve always shied away from me.
He could hear the interest in her voice in spite of herself, and he smiled. You have not met the right dog. The animal world is
unique and astonishing. The right dog is an invaluable companion. They can be devoted and loyal. The right dog picks you, bonds with you, and works with you.
What kind of dog do you suggest is right for me?
Byron bent over the little girl sleeping so innocently and peacefully in her bed. The thought of an intruder harming the child had a snarl rising in his throat. The scent of the wild cat was strong in the room. Once Byron determined there were no drugs or poison in her system, he examined the windows for points of entry. Someone could have rappelled from the battlements above. Or a cat might have leapt from the battlements to an open window. He could find nothing to indicate entry in either child’s room. He moved to the parents’ room, taking the precaution of becoming unseen to the human eye.
The borzoi, of course. They are renowned hunters, and the breed has stayed true throughout centuries. They have been owned by royalty and certainly would be at home here in the palazzo. The borzois hunted wolf packs. Once, as a young Carpathian, not quite yet in full power, practicing his shape-shifting with Jacques, his best friend, two borzois had spotted them as they shifted to wolves in a field. The borzois were swift and silent hunters, running them down relentlessly. Neither were very fast at shifting at the time, and they barely made it to the trees, managing to clumsily shift shape and scramble for the high branches. Jacques had nearly fallen out of the tree laughing. It had taken them both several minutes to slow their heartbeats and connect with the borzois. Byron had a high respect for the animals ever since that time. They had the heart of a lion and the gentle nature of a lamb.
He had never seen an animal quite like the borzois and thought Queen Victoria very smart for wanting the creatures in her royal palace. It saddened him immensely when there was a wholesale slaughter of the intelligent, lethal, though gentle animals when the peasants rose up to destroy anything that could possibly have the mark of royalty. Perhaps he identified with them, as his species was hunted and they, too, could be both lethal and gentle. Byron didn’t know the reason, but the borzois had always remained in his mind. More than anything, he wanted Antonietta to experience the bonding and loyalty as well as receive the protection of such a fine animal.