Ever After Dark, page 2
Then before my very eyes you became a lion cub.
My child. My son. My baby was now a lion cub.
You growled at the bushes, and a red fox darted out and ran away.
Then you began a process of switching back to your human form. Again with the creaking sounds, the body changing, stretching, contracting.
You were crying, inconsolable. I can only imagine it must have been sheer agony. I held onto you, as confused as you, watching my child suffer, suffering alongside you.
I glanced up at Rina, ready to beg her not to tell anyone what she’d witnessed, unsure what would happen if she did, ready to do whatever I had to in order to protect you.
Rina’s gaze was steady. “You didn’t know,” she said to me matter-of-factly, as if she knew I didn’t know. As if it wasn’t important that you’d turned into a lion cub, but rather that I didn’t know you’d done this.
I shook my head at her. “I did not. What—do—where—how—?” I had so many questions, but I couldn’t compose a single one.
Rina wrapped her arms around you and me. “Your little one is a lion shifter. His father must have been one.”
One thought ran through my mind. If your father was the same thing as you were, when he turned into an animal, he would be a full grown, very dangerous lion.
I decided at that moment I had to keep you a secret from him. He’d want you. He’d claim you. I’d be powerless to keep you from him.
Your father, you see, is the very wealthy shipping magnate, Marco Ricoletti. And clearly, he’s a lion shifter.
Oh, as that sweet baby that you were, sobbing in my arms while my tears merged with yours, one thought came to me.
Protecting my son. I looked up at Rina, and I knew she could see the resolve in my eyes.
Rina nodded. “We will take care of this. We will protect him.”
That was all Rina had to say. Then she took me to her cousin, Esme. Esme, dear Tino, was a powerful witch. With Esme’s assistance, a spell was cast upon you that kept your lion at bay.
You were now a “normal” baby. And you grew into a “normal” child, and then later, as you are now, a “normal” man.
So why am I sharing this with you?
With me gone, there is no one to get the spell renewed. Esme’s spell, which kept your lion away, had to be recast every year.
She couldn’t—or wouldn’t, I’m not sure which—make the spell permanent. So every year, I’d visit her. Yes, when I told you I was going to the country for a weekend with the girls, I was traveling to Rome to visit Esme and pay her for the extension of the witchcraft that kept you from being your father’s son.
It’s your decision now, if you want to be what you have been, or if you want to explore the world of your father. I wish I knew more about it, but Rina didn’t know and Esme said that shifters kept to themselves and kept their ways and secrets private.
Cristiano, forgive me, sweet son. Forgive me for my deception. Forgive me for never bringing it to light. Once started, I never knew if I should keep it a secret from you, or make it part of your life.
I hope I chose correctly. But in the event I did not. I apologize and seek your clemency. Be merciful and know, when you judge me, that everything was done out of love.
Your loving mother. Always.
Tino sat back in the chair; the arms seemed to almost reach around him, as though trying to embrace him. He held the letter at arm’s length, eyeing it like one would a dangerous snake.
Lion? He glanced at the downy hairs on his arms. Hardly hairy enough to be a lion man. His mother was talking about this as if he could be a werewolf. No. Not werewolf. That would be a werelion.
A scoffing laugh escaped him. As if that shit really existed.
He knew his mother had been sick, she’d been stricken with cancer and it had progressed quickly, fiercely, and mercilessly to her brain.
Maybe Mom wasn’t all there when she wrote this?
He pushed the thought aside. Who wanted to have a thought like that.
More than ever, now he felt the need to be alone. Rising to his full height, well over six feet, he tucked the letter in its envelope, folded the envelope in half, and slipped it into his pocket.
He’d read it again. Later. When he was alone.
4
Ana crumpled the tissue into her fist and leaned against the dark wood of the desk her father had always used for business in their library at home. She let her eyes trail over the books. All of Papa’s books.
Who will read them now?
The doctors had performed last rites on Papa. And yet, as close as he was to death, he had the resolve to keep asking for one thing.
One thing, and one thing only. And Ana had granted him that one wish.
What else could I do? He’s on his deathbed.
Her mother’s crying and praying that Ana would relent hadn’t helped Ana’s dilemma.
Ana relented.
Begrudgingly.
Very much so.
She shredded the tissue moistened with her grief and sorrow.
Grief over her father’s impending death.
Sorrow over her looming nuptials.
“He’s here,” Isabel whispered, eyes glued to the rain-misted window.
Outside, the weather was dreary, rain falling in half-hearted spurts, just enough to ruin a day.
Even the weather’s miserable, just like me.
Ana peeked around Isabel’s shoulder. Sure enough, without an umbrella, walking as if he owned the place, Bruno Vergo, the bull shifter, in an expensive, tailored brown suit, shouldered his way up the walk leading to their front door.
Following Bruno was a smaller man, clad in black, not nearly as expensive, but holding an umbrella above his balding head.
Seconds later they were out of sight, under the covered front door, and a demanding rap of knuckles on wood echoed in the front vestibule.
A shudder rippled through Ana, she tugged the gray skirt down, smoothing the non-existent ripples out.
“At least you’re not wearing white,” Isabel snickered.
Bruno would be pissed. He’d asked—ordered—that Ana be in white.
Ana had donated every article of clothing in her armoire that was white. She’d be damned if she was going to give into his demands.
A loud roar of a laugh came from just outside the library, followed by another laugh that sounded more like a crow’s caw.
“Where’s my lovely bride?” Bruno’s voice came closer.
Bile, viscous and thick, rose up Ana’s throat. She pushed it back.
Isabel wrapped her arms around Ana. “At least we’ll be together.”
Together. In hell.
Bruno had “graciously” agreed to let Isabel and their mother stay with them. He’d agreed to give them a home, though the home would be the family home she grew up in.
“Why,” Ana had hissed at her mother two months ago, after ensuring that her father was asleep. “Why does Papa insist on this?”
“He wants the family to have a man. A protector.”
Her tigress had growled at the insult of the old school ways.
As if I can’t take care of myself.
Just because society here was patriarchal and made women second-class citizens didn’t mean that Ana couldn’t handle the family businesses.
She’d opened her mouth to protest, but her father’s groans of pain had ended the conversation.
So she yielded. She’d be the bull shifter’s mate.
The shudder was back. Ana’s teeth chattered, but not from cold, no, not in the spring.
Spring is supposed to be a time of hope.
“There she is.” Bruno was standing in the doorway.
The lecherous look he gave her bothered her, but when he turned that look onto her sister, Ana’s tigress roared, pushing for a shift, wanting to hurt the bastard.
He better not ever, Ana thought. Or I will let my tigress loose on him.
She didn’t want to stress her mother, especially not with Papa so close to death’s door, so she plastered a smile on her face.
Bruno turned his gaze back to Ana. His eyes narrowed as he took her outfit in—clearly looking for the white she was instructed—ordered—to wear.
Luckily he didn’t say a word, as seconds later, from the hallway came the sounds of her mother’s wheelchair.
“Bruno. Welcome.” Mama’s voice came from behind Bruno.
He whirled his bulk around. “Madame Valenti. Thank you.”
“My husband is just up from his nap. This would be a good time. I see you brought—”
“Filippo will be officiating,” Bruno cut her off.
Seething, Ana took a step forward. Isabel grabbed her hand, squeezed, shook her head when Ana glanced at her.
“No,” Isabel hissed in a whisper.
Isabel was right. It was important to her parents that she go through with this. So that her father could feel that she would be taken care of. That the family would be taken care of.
As soon as I can, I will have this annulled and take control of our companies. If he doesn’t run them into the ground with his bullheaded ways.
“Let’s go.” Bruno’s order was rough.
Isabel winced and shook her head.
Consider yourself lucky you won’t have to share the nightly bed with him.
Another shudder racked Ana’s body.
The ceremony was brief, thankfully. They clustered about Papa’s bed, and vows were made.
Vows that Ana didn’t believe, and could hardly utter in agreement.
Yet, that’s exactly what she did, with Isabel holding her arm tightly, reminding her that they were in this together. They hadn’t spoken about it much. Isabel had been gone, preparing her ballet students for their recital.
And if Ana were to admit it out loud, she didn’t want to talk about it. She had wanted to pretend it wasn’t real.
But it is real.
She was now Signora Bruno Vergo. She glanced at the ring Bruno had wrenched onto her finger with his thick stubby hands. A heavy white gold creation that felt like a shackle had been placed on her hand, an even heavier one had wrapped itself around her heart.
As Isabel, Ana, and Mama had been shuffled out the door, a group of men were waiting outside Papa’s room.
Ana recognized his lawyers. But she didn’t know the other four men. Though they seemed to know Bruno.
She glanced at her mother, a questioning look in her eyes.
“Men’s stuff,” her mother said. “Your father is seeing to our wellbeing.”
As if that answer was good enough.
Ana frowned at Isabel, noting her sister was frowning as well.
“I’m tired.” Mama’s eyes were glazed with fatigue. “I’m going to close my eyes in the sitting room for a short bit. Will you let me know when the lawyers are gone? I’d like to sit with your father.”
She didn’t say it, but Ana knew she wanted to be there for his final hours. The doctors said no more than twenty-four hours. At the most, thirty-six.
“Maria, let’s go.” Mama indicated to her nurse/helper who waited by the door. “Take me to the sitting room. On this gloomy day, I’ll nap next to the window.”
As soon as their mother was out of hearing range, Isabel leaned in to Ana. “What do you think the lawyers are there for?”
Ana grimaced. “Helping Bruno find ways to screw Papa over.”
“Hellfire.” Isabel stomped her foot. “Not if I have anything to say about it.”
Ana bit back the morbid laughter bubbling in her throat. As if Isabel could do anything against a gathering of shifters. Being a white tigress shifter meant nothing when faced with a roomful of shifters at a Shifter Council meeting.
“I’m sure everything will be fine.”
5
Tino had read and reread the letter his mother left him.
He returned to his solitary apartment next to his mother’s villa in the countryside, and delved into his sculpting until his hands were aching and bleeding. He’d ignored attempts his friends made to get him to come out. He sent the help away and told them to worry about the main house and leave him alone.
His hair grew long; his mind went blank. He tried to process the information his mother had left for him. How could this be?
He didn’t believe it for a second. He couldn’t.
Tino should have been paying better attention. God knows, you don’t sculpt and use sharp instruments to carve into the clay, with half your mind elsewhere.
But he wasn’t.
A sharp pain signaled the sliced skin on the inside of his arm.
Blood spurted forth.
The stinging pain was one thing, but the blood flowing from his body was another.
He tried to staunch the flow. He tied a belt around his forearm hoping that would lessen the blood loss.
To no avail. He watched the crimson life-giving liquid leaving his body and pooling on the floor.
As if mesmerized, he couldn’t move and didn’t think to seek help.
He had no death wish. This wasn’t the problem. By now he’d lost enough blood that he couldn’t think straight.
The worst part was recognizing that, but being too weak to rise to his feet to go to the villa for assistance from the help.
Are you fucking kidding me? I could die because of this?
An anger seared through him, followed by a roaring sound. It felt like a wildlife show turned to full volume. The bellowing roars filled his head, made his ears ache, and his skull felt on the brink of imploding.
A new stinging sensation on his fingertips took over, diminishing the throb from the cut. It felt like someone was yanking them out with pliers.
Wondering why his fingers would hurt, Tino glanced down.
He released a primal yell that drowned out the roaring in his head.
“No. No.” The words were a grunted growl.
His fingernails had changed. They’d grown darker and were lengthening into claws.
This had to be worse than an acid trip.
He fell to his knees, caught his fall with his palms and stayed there, on all fours, staring at the black claws that extended from his fingertips.
Are you fucking kidding me?
That thought was interrupted by a creaking and stretching noise that sounded as if it were coming from within him.
He doubled over in pain, landing in a fetal position, his eyes closed against the sheer agony of the experience.
This had to be what it felt like to be drawn and quartered.
Or stretched on one of those medieval torture machines.
He released a yell that turned into a scream that brought to mind a scene from a movie, where a man had his still-beating heart ripped out of his torso.
Tino raised his hands to his torso. Except—
That wasn’t what happened.
He didn’t have hands anymore. He had furry paws attached to large-knuckled legs. Lion legs.
The pain continued, ripping through him with the force of a tornado holding a nail-gun.
And suddenly—
It was over.
Just like that.
The pain was completely gone.
And life was normal.
Except—
He glanced at the reflection in the large doors that led to the veranda.
A fierce lion, dark-maned and broad chested stared at him.
Only that lion was him.
A flash of fear coursed through Tino, but instantly vanished, and he couldn’t imagine why his fear of the beast went away.
Tino shook his head in confusion.
In the reflection, the lion shook his head, mighty mane flowing from the effort, as if it were being windblown.
Tino opened his mouth to talk, but all that came out was a chuffing sound.
God. Now I can’t talk?
What if the help came in?
I’m so screwed.
They’d call the authorities and—
Dead lion.
Dead Tino.
Tino sat back on his haunches—correction: he sat back on his lion’s haunches.
Now what?
The lion cocked his head at the reflection.
Wait. I didn’t do that. He did it. You did it. Tino addressed the lion in his head.
The lion roared.
And crazy as it sounded to Tino, and he’d have no way to explain it if anyone ever asked, he understood exactly what the lion said.
The lion asked if he was ready to listen to him.
I am.
Hours and hours passed. While Tino was in his lion’s form, the blood stopped flowing and his body healed, as the lion explained, was the way shifters healed.
He told Tino about a hibernation process that would heal him, even if he was on the brink of death, in his lion form.
The lion told him how he’d been suppressed by the witch’s spell and kept at bay. The witch’s spell had deteriorated enough so that when Tino was weakened, the lion could come forth.
Now what? Tino asked the lion, confused about this unchartered territory.
His lion told him he’d rather not be buried anymore.
I don’t know how to handle this, you, me, all of it.
The lion grunted a chuffing sound, told Tino to find someone who could help him.
Like who? Tino studied the full-maned beast half of himself in the reflection. Who the hell could help me with this without wanting to kill me?
The answer came to Tino before his lion could tell him.
My father.
Of course, a lion shifter could help him with his lion shifting. With how to handle this, how to manage being both a man and a feline.
In the reflection, the lion’s eyes glowed amber with pleasure.
I’ll find him first thing tomorrow. Right after I get a haircut and make myself presentable.
The lion growled.
Tino was pulled from his thoughts, wondering what troubled the beast.
Before he could ask what was wrong, the lion had leapt to his paws, and was making for the other side of the room, heading toward the open French doors.
