Little Mate (Fate's Bite Book 2), page 4
The Salernitano breed is a strong one. It can withstand an enchantment and live longer than the average stallion and travel far without pause. They’ll be how we move away from the city—human dwellings—and back into our beloved forest near Messina.
Onyx is my favorite of the three being taken care of by a coven loyal to the crown until our return. They’re a little out of the way, but if my father trusted them, then so do we. That, and it was through their help that we reached the boat traveling to England and boarded safely.
Our uncle didn’t help. The port closest to us was also being watched.
That longer route gave us the cover we needed.
The screeching of brakes pulls my attention to the present, and I nudge Leo’s shoulder. He’s up with an alarm, sitting up quickly and eyes darting around. Once he notices we’re not in danger, my brother relaxes a bit and yawns. “We’re here.”
“We are, drools.” He glares at my jab but wipes his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt. Gross. “Isa grabbed some wet towels earlier. They’re in the basin next to the door. Clean up a bit.”
“Are we having breakfast or fetching the horses?”
“Breakfast first. We have a long day of travel up ahead,” Isa answers for me, her tone tense. Not that our brother catches this, the last dredges of sleep making him unable to notice the glassiness in her eyes and twitch of her hands. She’s seeing something. “Please be ready in ten.”
Before she’s done, he’s already swiping the cool cloth across his face and then neck. And knowing his attention is occupied, I turn to look closer at my sister. She’s watching me too, her lips stretched into a thin line while that barely perceptible nod sits like lead in my stomach.
One nod: bad news.
Two nods: clear passage.
Motioning with my head at the door, I exit and walk toward the back where there’s an empty caboose with a glass windowpane door. It’s large enough for us to look through, the door to our cabin not far and accessible.
Isa doesn’t make me wait long, and before the door closes behind me, she’s stepping through.
We stand side by side, both looking out onto the vast landscape and busy city to the left of the train tracks.
“What is it?”
“We’re walking into a bloodbath.” A harsh shiver runs through her, the grip she has on the railing turning her knuckles white. “The vampires are getting closer.”
“There’s something else, isn’t there?”
“My sight is being shielded, but yes. Your path is intertwined with his, Gabby.”
At her response, I choke out a gasp. This is bad. “How can this be?”
“Which one?”
“Both.”
Isa shrugs, but I’m not buying the nonchalance. Her worry is palpable. “My guess is a powerful witch, but not stronger than the Moore bloodline. I’ll break whatever they’ve cast.”
Nodding, I mull that over. With so many coming for our heads, it’d be easy to have someone help him. “What’s his plan, though? Why does the king of vampires need a sorceress?”
“Sadly, you’ll ask him personally soon enough.”
Fuck. “How much of a window, sister? Do we have time to get Leo to Uncle Roberto’s?”
“Three moons.”
“Are you sure?” This doesn’t leave us much room. I’ll barely be back home in that timeframe. “You just said you can’t see as clear—”
“The path might change, but the destination doesn’t. Fate is a determined bitch.”
“She is.” She led us here again.
“We’re safe for now but must move fast.” Turning to look behind her, she watches the door of our cabin. “Uncle Roberto is not far from here, just a short coach ride, and we’ll stay until late evening to rest. I don’t know when we’ll see Leo after this, Gabby. The future is blurry; I see a lot of red, but the paths haven’t deviated.”
“I trust you.”
“Thank you.”
Squeezing her shoulder, I turn and face the same door as her. “We can’t tell him any of this. Not yet.”
“Agreed.”
“And no hiding anything from the other. We face them all together.”
“I’ll never purposely keep something from you again.”
“Purposely?” I ask, flicking my eyes in her direction. She’s already looking at me. “Mind explaining that one?”
“Sister, I can’t hide what I don’t see.” Her statement is simple, but I get it. All magic is susceptible to corruption—all except mine. The god of death doesn’t allow interference nor deceit. He’s not a merciful being, and neither are those closest to him.
Death has many faces.
The taker. The collector. The keeper.
You steal from one, and hell will rain down on your head.
“By blood and pact,” I say, extending a hand out for her to hold. Our fingers intertwine, grip tight, and I feel her emotions—experience the wariness in her soul. “We are one.”
“We are one.”
“Welcome, children. You must be exhausted,” Uncle Roberto greets us at the door of his home in the city a few hours later. After getting off the train, we stopped to eat at a small café serving those exiting the station. It wasn’t much, a few croissants with coffee and milk, but it held us over while walking toward the center of Naples where he stands with his long robe overshadowing his thin frame. His resemblance to our father is minimal; all they share is the same height, hair color, and the one mole just below his left eye. He’s also a non-practitioner. No magic, but a great teacher. “Please, come in.”
The guards look over at me and I nod, giving them the okay to resume our preparations; one will stand guard at the front while the other two grab our horses after a small break. They need the respite just as much, and the road ahead is uncertain.
We have to leave today, there’s too much to do to delay this any longer.
Our uncle watches the exchange silently, but I see the questions in his eyes. Not that we plan to give him answers, and instead, Isa and I pass him after a quick kiss to the cheek. Leo, however, is another story. His attention is already on the delicious scent of food coming from deeper in the large home.
“Where is she?”
“Silla’s in the kitchen, kid.” His chuckle is loud. A bit forced. There’s also tension around his eyes—a slight rigidness in his posture. “She’s been cooking all day…said we’d have visitors today.”
“Guess she was right.”
If he senses any reproach in my tone, our uncle hides it, keeping his attention on Leo. “Go on…” his head tilts in the direction of the kitchen “…go surprise her.”
Leo, though, looks back at us and waits until we nod. The kid’s smart. Knows more than people think. “I’ll be back.”
“Go stuff your face, but if she made bombolone, back off.”
Rubbing his hands like a villain, he begins walking backward toward our aunt and food. “I make no promises. Sweets before salty.”
“Try me.” Taking a threatening step toward him, the kid turns and runs. His footsteps can be heard, the slapping of the soles loud against the terrazzo flooring. We were quiet for a few minutes, my sister pacing behind me. She might just be angrier than me but hides it better.
“I’m sorry.”
My eyes snap to his, but before I can answer, Isa’s hand moves in my line of sight, and I look over. My sister isn’t looking at me, though. Her sole attention is on him. “Are you?”
“More than you will ever understand, Isabella. He was my brother.”
“Then why did you give his children your back when we needed you the most?” As she talks, I’m taking in the glossy texture of her eyes, and it has nothing to do with tears. She’s here with us, yet she’s watching—experiencing what the universe wants her to. That’s how her visions work; at any time or place, when they come you have no control. Can’t pick or choose. No time to prepare. “And don’t tell me you didn’t have the chance to reach out. Each of our guards came through here—on the to and from of their journey—and while you gave them housing, not once did you send back word.”
“You’re hurt, and I accept that, but—”
“You missed his ceremony,” I interrupt, gripping my sister’s arm to halt her steps forward. “Not that we were able to give him much of one, not with having to run and hide for days on end until reaching the nearest port and taking a ship out of the country. All we could do is pray to Thanatos and ask him to make his journey easy. Not that your brother listens; he still lingers, you know. Waiting. Unable to rest, even after my mother joined him. Her body’s resting beside his, but neither was given the rightful burial they deserve from those who love them.”
“Doesn’t surprise me.” Isa’s laugh is tinged with sadness. “They’ve always been needy and unable to rest without our family being complete.”
“Will you be there for that ceremony? To say goodbye and send them off with peace and love?”
“I don’t know yet.” But it’s not grief I sense in him. It’s guilt. Why?
“What are you hiding, Uncle? Speak now; please don’t force my hand.” The tingle starts at the tips of my fingers, traveling up my arm to my shoulder, and then spreads. It’s an awakening in my senses, everything becoming clearer, and I no longer see the man in front of me as family.
He’s an essence I can manipulate.
And I do. A red haze fills my sight as I stretch out my fingers. The movement calls to his soul, that part of him that keeps him alive. Because an organ can fail, can be healed by the right person or doctor, but without your spirit, you are nothing.
A shell. Empty.
My uncle’s face becomes ashen when I draw out a little of his being, just a smidge, and that small tendril salutes its master with a warm caress of my fingertips. Then more. Enough that he sways, hand clutching at his chest while the word no slips past chapped lips.
It would be so easy to end him.
“Please.”
“Veritas.” One word. A command, and he stumbles back a bit. I’m tempted to force him to his knees, but Isabella opens my hand and intertwines our fingers. My hold on him is still there, but not as choking, and had anyone else touched me, I’d kill them. But not her. Never my siblings. “The truth, Uncle. Why do you feel so much guilt?”
“I’ve made mistakes I can’t take back, Gabriella.” He rubs his throat, coughing a bit. “Nothing I will do or say will fix it.”
“What things?” Isa speaks from beside me, and I look over. She’s a bit more relaxed now, and I’ll ask her why later. Her reaction before and the still half-gloss effect in her eyes tell me she saw something important. “Who did you hurt?”
That catches my attention, and I flick my eyes back to our uncle. Immediately they narrow at his fidgeting. “Answer her.”
“Your father asked me not to get involved. Not until it was time.”
“Time for what?” Our uncle opens his mouth to answer but pauses with his sight set on something behind us. For a minute or two, no one speaks, but my patience is thin, and I snap my fingers together, causing him to grimace. I still hold a small part of him within my grasp. “Pay attention and answer the question. No more of that vague—”
“Enough of the heavy, my family,” Aunt Silla speaks from behind me and I loosen up, yet my glare remains in place. Everything about this conversation is making me suspicious of a man my father loved dearly. “Please come and eat. Let’s save the hard conversations until we’ve all cooled off a bit and you’ve seen the horses.”
“They deserve to know—”
“You have them?” Isa and I say in unison, but it’s the surprise in her tone that I focus on. She didn’t see this. “Since when?”
“Your uncle picked them up a week ago. We’ll explain after lunch.”
“Now, amore. They need to—"
“I said after, Roberto.” She’s talking to all of us, yet when I look back, her eyes are on her husband. Warning him to defy her request. “We are all hurting right now. We need each other.”
He nods, and so do we.
We’ll let it rest for now, but I’m not leaving without answers.
Why would my father ask him to abandon us?
Why so much secrecy?
5
THEODORE ASTOR
VAMPIRE KING
“She isn’t here, my lord,” Brodej says, his foot kicking the back of the knees of this coven’s supposed leader. Those same kneecaps hit the ground hard, and his grunts of pain make me smile. “Though the horses out in a small stable wear the royal Wiccan crest. They’re meant to appear as such, at least, and yet these are not the ones used by the late king. They’re not his.”
“Interesting.” My eyes survey the scum. His demeanor is proud and he has a false sense of entitlement in his stare, and yet he reeks of fear. He’s also young and impertinent, killing his father for the rights to the family home a little over four months ago. A dispute the royal house didn’t get involved in, even if the old witch was someone Moore trusted.
That’s where his idiocy began. His downfall.
Giving those under your command certain liberties—to feel as though they have a say or are equal—leads to revolt. History always repeats itself.
No group in my kingdom has a leader or voice; I am their God. My word is the law.
The wizard looks away from me, his eyes turning toward the others in the room: his brother-in-law with his wife, his mate holding their small child close, and lastly a woman whose glare is grating on my patience.
Some of these people are innocent. Some are greedy. Reckless.
The latter had been part of Moore’s death—engaged in more than one sit-down with a few of the smaller tribes and three others who he fails to name in a documented accord I found inside his desk. The same desk where his father agreed with the fallen king many years ago for a plot of land the older Mariano wanted, before either man had children, in exchange for serving as a high-ranking member of Moore’s guard.
I was here for that one as a witness. As an impartial signature.
Something the asshole in front of me isn’t aware of.
After every king ascends to power, all others convene. Every race.
An amicable pissing contest to fortify power and amend alliances. We don’t have to like each other; I despise all of them…except Moore. Him, I could tolerate.
He understood the pecking order, and after such a meeting, I helped with this small matter during that visit.
“Where is she?” At the sound of my voice, the others cower back. Even my men take heed, but none more than the woman and child shaking a few steps from their supposed leader. Their fear is palpable, chokes the room, and he finally reacts.
In our world, males are protective over their mates and offspring—an ingrained reaction.
It’s why their king came to me. I’m the only one who can protect Gabriella, even if my intentions are morally grey.
“Let them go.”
“Tommaso, I won’t ask again.”
“Vaffanculo.” He grits out before spitting at the floor near my feet. His disrespect will cost him. “I’ll never tell you.”
“Cover her eyes.” From my periphery, I see the woman rush to follow my command. Crouching, Tommaso’s wife turns the child and hugs her tight, keeping her cherubic face away from us. Then, I’m in front of him before he can react, my hand on his jaw. The bones protest under my grip, grinding a little harder when I squeeze, and I can just make out the subtle crack on the left.
The sound never gets old.
Not enough to hinder his use, but it will hurt throughout our little conversation.
“Let him go, you filthy—” The glaring old bag doesn’t get to finish. The female guard standing behind her doesn’t think twice and smacks her mouth, the teeth break a little—the cut on her lips and gums jagged and very messy. Her screams are garbled, the blood pooling in her mouth before spilling down her chin.
“She smells putrid.” My nose scrunches up in disgust. “Her sickness has spread.”
“We’re doing her a favor.” Josephine eyes the woman with nothing but animosity. Her husband, Brodej, does much the same, except his eyes are on the terrified couple. “Once a cunt, always a cunt.”
“Personal, Josephine?”
“Not the first time we’ve met.”
I don’t ask anything else. Instead, I refocus on the man on his knees before me who tries to speak past my grip. “Something you want to say?”
“Please,” he chokes out, body trembling. “My mother—”
Yanking him up by the hold I have on his jaw, I lift him to eye level, feet off the ground. “She’s earned the privilege to be here. Would you deny her that right? To be acknowledged for her deeds?”
“Don’t hurt her.”
“I’m not the one touching her.” Before he can speak again, I flip his position so he can face them all. My hand on his neck keeps him in place. His pulse thrums under my fingers. “Yet, her fate is in your hands.”
“W-what…” he pauses, swallowing hard “…What do you want from me?”
“You’re going to answer a few questions and if you lie, there will be consequences.”
“I would never…fuck!” Pain-filled screams rend the air a second after I sever his thumb from his hand, the snap of bone from joint loud inside the room while his flesh tears as if it were fabric. One small tug, and it gives under my strength while his body thrashes in my hold, the pain pulsating through every processor.
“Who was involved in the killing of Paolo Moore?”
“If I tell you, I’m dead.”
“Wrong answer.” Looking over at Josephine, I nod, and she grips the back of Tomasso’s mother’s head, ripping the white shoulder-length hair half off. From just above the nape of her neck to the crown, the tear is clean, and the missing flesh is now in my guard’s hand, a hand that flexes a few times in front of the sobbing, old lady’s face. “You’re already dead, Mr. Mariano. The torture you receive beforehand, though, is up to you.”
