Ever After Dark, page 3
I’m not sure this is wise, Tino tried to warn his lion. It would not bode well for them if someone saw him in this form.
The lion assured him it would be a short excursion, he needed to run. Hadn’t been given that which shifters needed, space to run.
Thirty minutes later the sun set. After a short nap beneath the shaded canopy of an olive tree near the brick wall that surrounded the villa, his lion bounded to his feet and loped toward Tino’s apartment.
Slipping inside the doors, the lion stopped and turned to face the reflection in the now darkened room.
I can see in the dark.
The lion chuffed a small sound, then apologized.
For? Tino asked.
The agony they’d have to deal with, the lion said.
A tremor ran through Tino, a growl of pain came from his lion’s lungs as the planes in his face shifted, as his body adjusted, shrinking, realigning, pushing him back into his human form.
Tino looked down. He was fully human. Covered in his bloody clothes, except the clothing looked like he’d been wrestling with an army.
Felt like he had, too. His body ached; his head felt it was going to burst.
Are you there?
His lion responded with a low roar.
So the lion stayed inside?
You’ll always be in me?
The lion snorted his agreement, unless Tino resorted to having a witch suppress him again.
Never. Never again.
Tino opened his mouth to speak but all that came out was a dry hacking sound. He reached for a glass of water, downed it in a single gulp and then tried again.
“What the hell.”
He could talk!
Except his voice sounded like his lungs had been run through a cheese grater.
“We have a busy day tomorrow. We have to find our father.”
Marco Ricoletti could help him, teach him the way of the lion shifters.
6
Two days later, one day after he’d planned, Tino was on his way to find his father.
He was freshly shaven and showered and had paid the barber a visit, having him cut down the long hair and bring it to a more respectable buzz.
He’d found Marco Ricoletti’s address with the help of his mother’s attorneys. That extended the delay in getting to Marco’s.
I need to start thinking of him as my father, not as Marco.
Maybe later.
His father lived in a villa. In Rome.
All this time, so close, and yet I never knew.
Tino looked at the gates before him. Solid metal. In the distance on a slight hill, the villa glowed in the morning light. The sun’s rays highlighted the walls, glinting off the windows. He pressed the intercom button and when a voice answered, he spoke. “Cristiano Carrera.”
The gate swung open. Cristiano slipped into his coupe and nosed the car slowly up the drive, fighting the urge to floor it, anxious to meet the father he’d never known. Eager to ask questions about his relationship with his mother.
Sadness pierced Tino’s core at the thought of his mother. God. He missed her.
Would Marco miss her? Would he care? They clearly didn’t keep in touch—or did they?
No, he knew his mother wouldn’t have done that.
Tino put the car in park and bounded up the stairs two at a time. He paused in front of the door, deliberating if he should knock or ring the doorbell.
He didn’t have to make that decision. The door opened and a dark haired, green-eyed woman in a black, clingy, calf length dress studied him with a curious look in her eye.
The housekeeper?
“I’m Iniga.”
That didn’t tell him much. “I’m Cristiano Carrera. I was hoping to see Marco Ricoletti.” Tino glanced behind her, wondering where he was.
“The nature of your business?”
Tino frowned, that wasn’t her business. Or maybe she was his personal assistant or secretary.
“He’s here?”
Iniga shook her head. “He’s not. I’m his wife. He’s traveling. Away on business.”
Disappointment shot through Tino.
“Oh. Maybe I should come back at another time, Signora Ricoletti.”
“Oh, nonsense. Come in for some refreshments.” She tugged on his sleeve.
Why not?
She could tell him about his father. Maybe set up a get-together, break the ice, even.
Fifteen minutes later, on a plush wing chair, across from the attractive woman, Tino had drunk half the cup of coffee.
His lion snarled in Tino’s head. He pushed the lion away.
It’s a very good idea. I think she can help me.
The lion’s responding snarl was insistent, and loud.
Tino took a long draw off the coffee, then set the almost empty cup down.
“You never said what it was you needed from my husband, Signor Carrera.”
“I’m sorry, Signora.”
“Call me Iniga.”
“Iniga.” Tino rubbed his temple. His lion had quieted, but a strange wooziness had taken over.
Could he tell her? Should he? She’d find out sooner or later, from Marco later, if not from Tino today.
“It’s awkward. I don’t know how long you’ve been with Marco…” He wasn’t sure how to proceed.
She frowned. “Continue.”
Tino nodded, wishing he could shake the fuzziness away.
“Marco is—”
“Your father.” A grimace fleetingly crossed her face, then the sign of distaste was replaced with a blank expression.
“H—H—How—”
“How did I know?” The green in her eyes had a dangerous glint.
He nodded. Why was his tongue paralyzed?
“You look exactly like him. What else could you be? And you are a lion shifter. Were a lion shifter.”
Were? What did she mean? He opened his mouth but no sound came out.
“Your lion is taking a long, long nap, Cristiano Carrera.” She rose, her dress swishing as she took angry stilted steps, pacing about the room. “What makes you think I want an interloper ruining my plans?” She was holding a vial made of glass.
Tino watched the vial, transfixed as it caught and refracted light.
He was becoming disoriented. Her words were fading in and out as Tino struggled to remain focused.
Iniga knew about him. Knew about his lion. Then he realized. She’d sent his lion away. It was as if he—
Fuck. Fuck.
Tino tried to reach out to his lion. Nothing. No luck at all.
She’s a witch. That’s why my lion is gone.
“You fool—” She whirled around. “You will not ruin this. No.”
Tino couldn’t focus. She was a fast moving, fast talking blur.
And just like that, in the blink of an eye, before he could react, though he had no idea how he’d have reacted, Tino was gone.
He was there. He could see her but…
Everything faded to black.
7
Tino came to with a start. Except there was a problem. He was…
He tried to move his hands, arms, legs, they moved. But he went nowhere.
He opened his mouth.
Spoke. “Hey.”
Sound came out.
But…
Confusion set in.
A roar in his head.
His lion.
Glad you’re here.
The lion chuffed a soothing sound, but Tino could hear the anger in his tone.
“I can’t move.”
The sound of his own voice was comforting.
A noise came from nearby. Tino glanced around, recognizing the surroundings.
He was in Marco Ricoletti’s sitting room. But…
It took Tino a moment to put it together. He could move about in a small area but he couldn’t leave.
The sound came again. Soft laughter.
Suddenly, Iniga appeared in front of him.
“You should not have come. I won’t kill you and risk Marco’s ultimate wrath should he ever find out, but I will keep you here forever.”
“Where’s here?”
Her face was unmoving. Was it possible he could hear her and she couldn’t hear him?”
“Are you awake, lion shifter?”
She can’t hear me. Can’t she see me?
“I know you can hear me.” She paused, a look of uncertainty on her face. “If you’re awake.”
Tino beat his hands against the walls that held him prisoner, pummeling with all his might.
A frame fell off, smashed into several pieces with a loud crack.
Iniga laughed. “You are awake. You are!” She clapped her hands, as if she’d accomplished something major.
“Enjoy your new home, lion shifter.”
Tino was stuck. He was stuck in the walls of the villa, traveling about the mansion within the old stone walls, a captive to the witchery that put him there.
This can’t last forever, can it?
His lion was silent.
A shadow crossed the room.
Iniga.
“Since you won’t behave, I’ve taken your lion away. If you show me you can be trusted, you can have him back. Otherwise enjoy some alone time.”
“Iniga.” A deep baritone voice came from the other room.
She whirled around.
“Coming, my love,” she called out, then turned back. “You behave,” she whispered.
“Where were you? I’ve been gone two days and you don’t seem very excited to see me.”
Tino caught the glimpse of a man, broad shouldered, olive skin tone, before the man vanished from sight.
Tino’s acute hearing picked up their departing conversation.
“Of course, I’m excited to see you. Let’s go to the back veranda for some tea.”
Frustrated, Tino beat on the wall, causing a large painting to fall and crash into a small table, sending it flying.
“What the hell was that?”
Loud footsteps came from the hallway.
“Are you entertaining?” Marco Ricoletti’s tone carried suspicion.
“You are silly. Look.” Iniga appeared in the doorway. She waved her hands about the room. “See? No one. Only the mess from that picture falling.”
Marco appeared at the doorway.
Tino stared at the man who was his father. The resemblance was eerie.
Marco crossed his arms over a broad chest. “Hmmm. How did the picture fall then?”
Iniga stepped close to Marco and tiptoed her fingers up his chest to his neck. She wrapped her arms around him. “This place is haunted. I’ve been wanting to talk to you about selling it and moving.”
“Haunted? Are you…”
Iniga burst into tears, though from his angle, Tino could tell she was faking.
Tino beat on the wall to warn his father that she was putting on an act.
A curio cabinet rattled.
“See?” Iniga half-smiled, vindicated. “Haunted. I won’t live here. Not another day. Not a single night.”
“Cara mia, you know I don’t like to see you upset. We’ll move. Immediately. We’ll stay in my suite near the square, then find a suitable home for us. That isn’t haunted.”
Iniga’s smile was victorious.
PART II
8
Tino’s eyes opened, just as they had for months—or was it years, now?
He’d lost count of time. At least he had his lion for company in the solitary prison he called home.
At least the witch hadn’t done anything to make the lion go away again.
Shortly after Marco and Iniga had left, the lion returned.
The villa sat empty for most of the months.
Until one day, the sound of laughter filled the room.
Female laughter.
Tino’s sound deprived ears perked.
A couple walked into the room. A large hulking man and a blond woman with a short skirt and breasts like melons that were half on display.
Tino studied the two.
“What do you think, Melania”? The man smacked the woman on the ass.
“It’s lovely, Bruno. Your wife will enjoy it.”
“Do you know what I’d like to enjoy right now?”
The man pulled the woman close, then placed his hand on her head, guiding it down.
She lowered herself to her knees.
Tino averted his gaze when he heard the sound of a zipper, then the sloppy wet sounds followed by the man’s grunting and a loud bellow of release.
Great. This is who my new roommates will be.
It was later he learned that wasn’t exactly the case.
9
Ana pushed her mother’s wheelchair toward the garden in their new home. Her mother had become weaker and weaker since Papa’s death a year ago, and then even weaker after they’d left their home to come to the new villa on the outskirts of Rome.
It broke Mama’s heart that Bruno had decided they needed to move.
When he and the realtor Melania had shown Ana and Isabel the villa, Isabel had protested, but Ana had wisely kept her mouth shut. She was too familiar with her husband’s cruel ways when she angered him. She had the bruises on her body, where no one could see them, to show for it. She had the ripped and torn flesh between her legs where he’d mistreated her.
Thankfully he stopped that behavior when they’d arrived at the new villa. Now he performed a perfunctory duty with Ana, only when she was the most fertile, and even then only briefly.
Ana knew why she no longer garnered his attention.
Oh, yeah. She knew.
She knew there were other women. She saw the signs. But she was thankful, not jealous. She was thankful that his cruelties and passions were sated elsewhere.
“I miss him, Ana.” Mama’s voice was pitifully weak.
“I know, Mama. I miss Papa, too.”
“And I miss our home. That was our home all those years. Why did you want to move?”
Damn him, she cursed Bruno.
Bruno had lied to Mama and told her that it was Ana’s idea they move.
Ana hadn’t argued. She didn’t want her mother dragged into anything that would stress her more than her life already did.
But Isabel knew. Isabel knew way too much. She’d seen the way Bruno acted. She’d dragged Ana to their father’s lawyers and asked them what it would take to divorce Bruno and retain their father’s estate.
The lawyers shook their heads sadly. “There is no way. The paperwork was signed by your father. All of his property reverted to Bruno upon his marriage to you.”
“No. I can't allow you to do that. That can't be true.” Isabel wrung her hands.
“Oh, but it is. I have the paperwork.” One of the attorneys began to shuffle through papers and files.
“Give it up.” Ana rose to her feet, not one bit surprised.
After they had left the attorneys’ offices, Isabel turned to her, “What will we do?”
“Plan.”
Ana and Isabel went for coffee to regroup.
On the patio of a local café, under the shade of the canvas umbrella, Isabel and Ana sat next to one another, their chairs drawn close for privacy, even though they knew no one in the area.
“So what’s the plan?” Isabel asked.
“I will try to avoid getting pregnant. We will stay the course. We will make as few waves as possible. At least as long as Mama is alive.”
Tears glistened in Isabel's eyes. Her white tigress’s presence glowed silver flames in the depth of her eyes, angry at the helplessness of their situation. “I don't want to think like that."
Ana was thankful that Bruno was gone more often than he was at home. She didn't mind the new house, although it was spooky the way that things seem to fall off the walls every now and then. When she'd run into some neighbors, they had told her stories about the house being haunted.
Ana had laughed. She didn't believe that for a second.
“I hate the new home,” Isabel exclaimed. “I feel like I’m always under surveillance. Do you think he has the place bugged?”
Ana giggled, then sobered. “And the way things fall.”
“Haunted.” Isabel put down her coffee cup hard, liquid splashed over the top.
“Come on. You know ghosts aren’t real.”
“I know no such thing,” Isabel hissed. “Some think shifters aren’t real.”
“Point taken.” Ana dipped the biscotti in her coffee, watched it crumble when she’d left it too long, didn’t want to think of the parallel, what with how her own life had fallen apart. “We can’t do anything. We can’t upset Mama. She’s been through too much. Battling Bruno so that we could leave would wreak havoc.”
“I know.” Isabel frowned.
Ana didn’t like the look on her sister’s face. “What do you mean?”
“Do you think I don’t know what he does to you? How often he did it?”
Ana tightened her jaw, drawing her lips into a line. “I don’t care if he cheats.”
“I’m not talking about the cheating. I’m glad he does that. I’m talking about the raping.”
Ana gasped.
“How could you think I wouldn’t know?”
Ana couldn’t speak. She looked at the plaza, little kids playing soccer, pigeons pestering tourists, old women talking to each other, hands flailing for emphasis as they argued points in disagreements that she couldn’t hear.
Finally, she shook her head and looked into her sister’s eyes. “I didn’t know what to do.”
“You should have killed him.”
“And be charged with murder and punished if humans find out? It’s even worse if the shifters find out. That would leave you and Mama where and with what means? You can’t have his property if it’s gained because of murder. The Shifter Council would never let that happen. I’d be in front of the Shifter Supreme Court immediately. Then I’d be sent to Wyt’s Skerry.”
Wyt’s Skerry. An island, isolated, remote, where all shifters who were sentenced to life went—which was a long time for the shifters, since longevity was a shifter trait. Hundreds of years spent in isolation on an island.
