21 Shades of Night, page 434
It took a reasonable amount of skill and a good degree of balance to get the thing moving in a straight line, but this wasn't the first time he'd had the privilege of rowing one. Handling the rocking gondola with care as he initially pushed it away from its mooring, he soon got them moving with a long stroke and a smooth rhythm. The oar was heavy. It was a thirteen-foot pole of solid beech, and whilst this normally wouldn't have been a problem, today his hands shook against it, even though he held it loosely. It couldn't be helped. Pulling the paddle back and letting it slice silently through the black water, he headed for the Rio de San Zulan, which would cut through to the Grand Canal in relatively short order. He moved as fast as he could. He knew his strength was going to diminish rapidly as his body tackled the burns that littered his lower legs. Once they were in the car, his lack of strength wouldn't be a problem. Thankfully it was an automatic and all he would need to do was sit and stare for just over two hours. Propelling a gondola was another matter entirely. It was hard work if the journey was anything over ten minutes, and theirs certainly would be.
The Bridge of Sighs sped behind them, spanning two buildings and stretching high above the canal. The sad and angry stone faces carved upon it stared into his back, but he didn't let it worry him overmuch. He could remember a time when convicted prisoners would be marched from the old prison in the Doge's Palace across to the new prison on the other side, and they were not happy times for all concerned. Executions at the hands of the inquisitors were messy, bloody, and nasty affairs, much like the deaths Violetta had lately favoured and which she had probably planned for him this evening, except she was now on the losing end of the equation. He watched the slow rise and fall of her chest as the gondola quietly threaded a path through the water, and wondered where his revenge would take him.
She had picked a bad time to try and kill him. At the moment he was still consumed by grief for Adelise, who had passed away exactly ninety-one days ago. The last of his family had died the most hideous and painful death at the hands of this huntress. From the deepest place imaginable, he had grieved and it ravaged his body and mind to the point of madness before he managed to come out the other side. He had tried to let it go, let it pass through him so it would leave him intact if not insensible. She had been the last of his line and the oldest, bar him. When she died, it felt as if something central to his being had been ripped away, never to return. He had lost a part of himself that day, something so intrinsic to his being that he would never be the same again. A cold carcass of a man remained, where before there had once been love and light. That would never return. No being on earth could give him back that. He would have walked into the light and killed himself seconds after her death had that been an option, but he had known. While he had tried to deny it, even to himself, he knew what kind of a beast he had become. He had been granted the ultimate gift of immortality and power, but for him the cost had been too high - far too high. He felt tears pool in his eyes and blinked them away. This was not the time or place for them. He had an agenda and come hell or high water, the chit would pay for what she had done to his family. The only question was, would he show her more mercy than she had shown the other members of his brethren? What would be a fitting course of revenge for the woman who had removed every single colour bar black and white from his life? Oh, and red, of course. Every night he dreamt in varying shades of blood-soaked red.
Chapter 12
Memories
BY THE TIME he managed to reach the Piazzale Roma, the time was approaching two a.m. and the journey had taken longer than he'd anticipated. Though his body was now visibly quivering all over, he knew the worst was yet to come and he had not a moment to lose.
Thankful that the streets were virtually empty at this time of night, he slung his comatose prisoner over his back once again and hopped onto dry land. His legs were shaking, but they were able to make the short walk to the Santa Chiara Hotel without giving way beneath him, even with the sack of potatoes on his back. Why, oh why hadn't he fed before this evening's proceedings? But he already knew the answer to that one. He would need to be on permanent guard around her, and that was always easier when there was hunger in his belly. A sated vampire was a sloppy one.
Spying the coach park beside the hotel, he immediately headed towards it, which was where his Audi S8 had been parked. He always carried the key chip in his pocket and tonight was no exception, so all he had to do was place his finger upon the door handle, wait for the release click, and pull. Dumping her unceremoniously on the back seat, he pulled her knees up to her chest and breathed a sigh of relief. She would have to make do without a seatbelt, just this once. He wasn't sure he had the necessary energy or coordination in order to get her into one. His eyes zoomed in on her face and he bent down to check her pulse once more. His normally acute senses, which should have been able to read these things, were becoming more and more muddled with the loss of blood.
Reaching down, he bent her neck gently to the side, allowing him access to her carotid artery. He compressed it. A reedy, fluttery beat met the tips of his fingers and her face was deathly pale, but he suspected she'd make the drive up to the mountains in one piece. She had to. There was no other option. For the moment he needed her alive. His sanity depended on it. Slamming the rear door shut, he moved to the front of the car. Sliding into the black Valcona leather seats, he fired the engine up and listened to the deep monotone roar as the car sprang to life. Hugging the steering wheel tightly he sat up straight and moved the gear selector lever to drive. It was time to hit the road.
The roads, much like the streets of Venice, were eerily quiet at this time of night. All he had to do was set the cruise control, sit back, and enjoy the ride. If that were at all possible in the state he was in, which it wasn't. To keep himself occupied on the long journey home, while the car's twenty-inch alloy wheels ate up the motorway, he fiddled with numerous dials and switches until the radio came on. It wasn't long before he was in a world of his own. He always listened to classical music when driving. It relaxed him, and as of late, life had been much more stressful than usual.
Beautiful strands of orchestral music soon began to weave in and out of the surround sound Bose speakers and they wrapped their calming influence around him. It helped. Little by little his grip upon the wheel lessened, although the shaking of his hands did not. And then Verdi's Messa da Requiem began to pour from the stereo and he was spirited far, far away, to a time and place where this mess had all begun.
It hit him then. Hard. He relived each of their deaths every day, one by one. Whilst he supposed he should have been grateful that their suffering had finally ended, his anger increased tenfold with each soul that departed from his grasp. These were his brethren, those who had stood by him in both good times and bad, some for many hundreds of years. The first death that Violetta had doled out to his youngest son was about to re-enact itself in his brain for the umpteenth time, and it was not going to be a pleasant affair. Rubbing a tired hand over his forehead, as if it would help erase the memory, he then banged his head against the seat rest, as if the action might prevent what was about to happen. It was wishful thinking. He'd never managed to escape one of his flashbacks, and tonight would not be any different.
Gilles had been handpicked for Violetta's first assignment, probably because he was the youngest and most inexperienced of all Martinet's children. He would have been the easiest target for a huntress earning her wings, and indeed he had been. The huntress had come at him with virtually no experience whatsoever and it should have been an easy win for the vampire, except for the fact that he had been actively seeking death for the better part of the last decade.
Gilles had been the sensitive one. He would look at you with soulful, caramel eyes and instantly know what you were thinking. That had been a human trait which became much more pronounced as he was turned. It made him an excellent companion, as he knew when to provide company and when to stay away. He always had just the right words to offer and the gentlest touch of his finely boned hands would provide comfort. It wasn't often you found that in a vampire. He could also keep his mind quiet, and for that alone Martinet had been eternally thankful. As head vampire, his mind was always full of chatter and babble, and sometimes trying to concentrate on the simplest of tasks could become an impossible feat. All of his children had a constant presence inside his head and whilst he knew how to shut them out, it required plenty of energy and concentration that he didn't always want to expend. Gilles seemed to quiet the voices inside him, and lull them into submission, for a few minutes at least. It had made the weight of several hundred years of existence considerably lighter.
Violetta had stalked him in the streets of Paris and he had made the job considerably easier for her by moving at the speed of a human, rather than using the impressive velocity he had been granted as a vampire. The man rarely used the preternatural traits he had acquired, unless they were for the benefit of others. It had been his trade-off and had enabled him to cope with the new life he had been given.
He hadn't wanted to be turned, but Martinet refused to feel guilty for acting. Gilles had been condemned to death and was suffering with terminal cancer when they crossed paths. That was bad enough in itself, but made much worse by the fact that he was a doctor, and an oncologist to boot. He knew exactly what was coming for him and how the man hadn't gone crazy was anybody's guess. Stoically, he had worked up until he was barely strong enough to stand before taking to his bed. That had been Gilles all over - selfless to the core.
At first there had been a debt between the pair. The doctor had helped his family, having a background in Haematology and he'd kept their secret. He carried Martinet's venom, of course, so he could be checked upon at all times, but he never betrayed their kind. Quite the opposite, in fact, because he actively tried to help them with his research and though nothing conclusive had ever been found, the debt remained. Gilles had been one of the good guys and Martinet would have protected him with his life. The trouble was, his life was of no use to him. The disease ate away at his body with an appetite for destruction that was unstoppable and no matter how many specialists Martinet bankrolled or how much money he threw at the problem, a problem it still remained. Death had come for him and there were only two answers to that question.
When Gilles had long since given up the pretence of eating, Martinet ensured that a nurse was there at all times to make him as comfortable as possible. There had been no visitors and he had no family to speak of, so the evenings had been Martinet's alone. Keeping a vigil beside the dying man's bedside, he had sworn not to interfere with the last days of the doctor's life. Gilles wouldn't have let him in the house under any other terms, not that he could have physically stopped him. Given no choice but to succumb to a dying man's last wishes, Martinet had little option but to agree with his request. This he did willingly, but he hadn't counted on several things back then. He hadn't known that his affection for Gilles would increase exponentially every damn day, and he certainly hadn't reckoned on how much pain would be heaped upon a dying man's body or how long and drawn out his death might be. After thirty days of agonised suffering, something inside Martinet snapped. Unable to bear another minute of Gilles’ tormented cries, he bit him, paying no heed to the man's pathetic attempts to stop him. It was his own mind he had been concerned about. If he let him die and slip away never to utter another sound again, he would have endured endless guilt. Rebirthing the man in the manner of a vampire gave him a chance at proving there was another way, a better way, for his friend to exist. It had been a risk worth taking.
Gilles had never forgiven him, of course. For the first few years of his new life, he sought death with a vengeance, which had Martinet following him night and day. The amount of times he'd had to scrape the young vampire up off the floor, dust him down, and smile politely whilst giving him the necessary blood and space to heal had been appalling, but it changed nothing. He would have done it all again for as little as just one extra day of his life.
If he'd known how short the vampire's life was destined to be, he might have rethought his actions, but it was far too late for recriminations now. Martinet had rebirthed a gentle and honourable man into a vampire, sparing him one awful death only to deliver him swiftly into another. For Violetta's first assassination attempt had been a gruesome affair and, unfortunately, that was exactly where his mind was headed and there was no avoiding it.
* * *
THE VERY FIRST time he had set his eyes on the huntress, Gilles had been feasting in one of his favourite brasseries in Paris, bemoaning the fact that the exquisite French food he'd just eaten had been worse than tasteless in his mouth. He still could not get over the idea that the only sustenance he would ever find truly appetising was the fine vintage of freshly decanted blood. It amused Martinet to no end. In the first few years of his life as a vampire, Gilles had trawled all over the world searching for the most renowned eateries and the most elegant dining establishments in the hopes that something would tempt his taste buds. A rare and bloody steak had been about the only thing he had enjoyed, and the pleasure derived from it was less than half of what it had been when he was human. He was not to be discouraged in his search though, and Paris remained his favourite haunt for gourmet fair. If he was not destined to enjoy it, he had decided he could at least admire the artful presentations that appeared on his plate, and the wine wasn't so bad either.
The huntress had sat at a table opposite him. He thought she had been waiting for her date and immediately felt sorry for her, thinking, 'The stupidity of man knows no bounds.' He had admired her discreetly, when he could tear his eyes away from his plate, and even though women were not his first choice for sexual partners, he had felt the sway her body held over his. Gilles had found it disturbing. Her beautiful fiery waves had been arranged in an elegantly long ponytail and tied back with a gold barrette at the nape of her neck. Her eyes had been smouldering under the weight of eyeliner and mascara heaped upon them, and those violet irises... when he'd caught her gaze accidentally, he wanted to open his mouth in awe. She had been so disturbingly beautiful that he quickly finished his half-hearted attempt at eating and, flinging his napkin down in dismay, rushed from the restaurant to re-evaluate his sexual preferences.
That had been partly Martinet's fault. Although Gilles was unaware of it, the younger vampire was able to feel the emotions of his master if they were left unchecked. They rarely were. Martinet could disguise nearly all his reactions through many years of careful practice. Sexual chemistry such as that Violetta provided couldn't be masked on a moment's notice. It was something that happened far too rarely. A raging torrent of desire had hit him upside the head, and it wouldn't have hurt more had a hammer been raining down blows upon him. His chest had just discovered a weight that truly hurt, yet was lighter than air. Her presence immediately wrapped itself inside his body, and it felt like liquid fire running through his veins. Goosebumps erupted over his skin, which was crazy, considering he was nowhere near her. What the hell had just happened?
Keeping himself a firm but silent presence inside Gilles' head, Martinet had tried to search for her to no avail. Gilles was walking fast and purposefully kept his head low. All Martinet managed to get was a detailed view of the concrete pavement and it was more than a little frustrating. He couldn't very well order Gilles to look around, because that would indicate his interest in little Miss Redhead, and he hardly wanted to declare it to the world at large. He would have to bide his time and wait and see if she crossed his path again.
The wait, as it happened, was a lot shorter than he had anticipated.
Gilles had been headed home to the attic apartment in Saint Germain-des-Prés. Martinet had owned it for more than three hundred years, and its value was now astronomically ridiculous. The neighbourhood had been home to all sorts of famous personages, such as Pablo Picasso and Oscar Wilde, and the characterful streets and expensive designer boutiques had provided much amusement for his family over the years.
Punching in the entry code, Gilles wrapped his beige mac high around his ears to keep out the chill wind of a December night and his brow wore a furrowed frown. He was annoyed that he couldn't get the startlingly clear image of the redhead out of his mind. Her violet eyes had burned a path of glittering fire inside his head. A sliver of unease overtook his body. An older vampire would have recognised it for what it was: a warning. Gilles put it down to the lateness of the hour and thought no more of it.
Hearing the lock click, he opened the tall white wooden door only to find a tendril of vividly bright auburn hair draped over his shoulder. He had turned around in shock, thinking he had been seeing things, and there was Violetta. The avenging angel had marched straight past him, the tails of her long red wool coat trailing behind her, and the scent of Chanel No. 5 wafted delicately in her wake. Gilles felt himself harden at nothing more than the view of her receding posterior. He almost swore out loud.
'Who are you?' He let the door behind him slam shut and stood still as a statue, silently assessing his uninvited guest. Curling both hands into fists, he waited patiently for an answer. It was just as well he had all the time in the world, because she took an eternity to turn around. Martinet remembered that much very clearly, because he had been hungering after the slightest glimpse of her and time almost crept to a standstill as the first sight of elegant cheekbones came into view.
She began to undo the large red buttons that decorated the length of her, from neck to mid-thigh. Shrugging out of the heavy coat, she draped it over the side of an ancient Chesterfield sofa.
