The Hidden Demon Read online

  ****

  Peter watched as the forensic anthropologist worked on one of the two skeletons, balancing her lithe body on two stiletto heels. He knew her. She was Drako’s friend and frequented his gym, and he had noticed her. A woman that tall was impossible to ignore. She was also beautiful. With her mocha skin, chocolate eyes, and tight-coiled tresses trailing on her back, she had commanded his attention at first sight. They had crossed paths a few days before at the gym, and he had seen her looking at him. Her dark eyes had held his stare without flinching. Her chin up, she stood proud, as if she didn’t care to be caught stealing glances at him. As if she didn’t care what society thought of him. For the briefest of moments, he had put aside the notion he was considered the scum of the paranormal world and contemplated the idea of talking to her. Then Barnes had called, the dead had claimed Peter’s life once more, and he had shrugged at his own foolishness. But now, anticipation ran through him.

  He stepped closer to the yellow tape and raised his badge for the human cop standing guard, while the immortals watched the other corner. In the human world, he was enlisted as coroner, and as such, was expected to be there. The man gave him a nod and let him in. Peter walked to the grave, careful to make enough noise to announce his presence to the forensic anthropologist seemingly too focused on her task to notice anything else. He watched as she scraped away a layer of hard soil from the upper part of one of the two skeletons, then brushed away the dust, uncovering the dome of a skull. Feeling like an intruder, he stopped just behind her. She was still unaware she had company and kept alternating tools in her hands, slightly moving the weight of her body from one bent leg to the other.

  The skull was almost free. When the woman haltingly paused her movements, then gasped, the brush she was holding fell at her feet. From the other side of the makeshift fence, a young man with a cell phone snatched a picture. The forensic anthropologist stood and in two steps reached for the man’s cell phone, but someone else from the crowd, a journalist, judging from the microphone at the ready and a cameraman at her heels, got hold of the man and they disappeared amongst the crowd.

  The forensic anthropologist let out a streak of profanities the likes of which Peter hadn’t heard in a long time, then she turned to look at him. If eyes could set things aflame, he would have burned on the spot. At her fury, a smile tugged at his lips.

  He extended his hand toward her. “I’m Peter—”

  “I know who you are.”

  He automatically bristled at her cut, but kept still, waiting for her to add to the insult while disappointment settled deep in his heart. Being used to the paranormal society’s scorn didn’t make it easier to swallow the little hope he had that she was different. But then, they had only exchanged glances once.

  She didn’t look at his hand, instead tilted her head over her right shoulder, her whole body shimmering in rage. “That idiot just gave Lena Chiosi the first documented image of a vampire skeleton.”

  It took Peter a moment to fully understand what she was saying, and even when he did, her words still didn’t make sense. “A vampire skeleton?” Then he looked down at the skull behind her and saw the long fangs. Despite the concrete evidence of the truth, denial set at first in Peter’s mind. “That’s impossible.”

  She snorted. “If only.”

  He swore, rivaling her previous outburst with a few additions of his own. One look at the thick crowd full of humans and he knew he couldn’t stop the journalist without causing a scene.

  “We’re screwed.” The forensic anthropologist squatted on her hunches and hastily threw some of the soil back on the skull, covering the fangs. “Call Barnes.”

  Peter was already on the task. “Ludwig? We got a situation. You must come.” He then sent a text to Arariel as he walked closer to the skeletons. “Which magazine does that journalist work for?”

  The forensic anthropologist looked up at him. “The Roman Chronicles.”

  Peter racked his brains, but couldn’t visualize the magazine. “I don’t think I’ve ever read it.”

  Her lips turned up into a smile. “Which makes me think better of you already. It’s a tabloid. The worst kind. They have a habit of starting nasty rumors about celebrities, but recently their standards have lowered and they’re dabbling in alien stories as well.”

  “Then maybe we aren’t completely screwed.” He breathed a sigh of relief. “I still don’t know your name.”

  “Ophelia Neferet.” She pulled herself up, dusting her hands off on her tight skirt. “I saw you yesterday at Alexander’s.”

  Peter was pleasantly surprised by her directness. “Nice meeting you, Ophelia.” He looked around, then his eyes went to the grave. “What are we going to do about that?”

  Her chin slightly tilted up, she seemed to study him, her eyes riveted on his. “We’ll try our best to hide the truth.” Then her gaze slid down to his mouth.

  He noticed how on her heels she almost reached his eyes, and how her lips were soft and red. “As we always do.”

  Ophelia was distracted by a sudden commotion happening behind him and her expression became angry. “But that bitch isn’t going to make it easy for us.”

  Peter didn’t have to turn to see who Ophelia meant. The journalist’s voice was a high screech rising above the crowd’s muttering and echoing all around the cavernous walls of the Promenade.

  “Ophelia Neferet, what can you tell us about this incredible discovery! The Roman Chronicles has the exclusive of the image revealing vampires are real and among us—”

  Peter moved in front of Ophelia before she hit the woman. “Come with me.” He stepped to the side, nodded when she moved in his direction, then shouted at one of the immortal guards. “Code one.”

  “Right on it.” The man turned and called his colleagues around the grave to prevent the journalist and anyone else from getting any closer.

  Peter lingered a moment to be sure the immortals were following protocol, and when the two skeletons were safely covered under a sturdy canvas, he walked away. He didn’t listen to Ophelia’s curses and didn’t stop until they were around the corner and safely hidden from the journalist’s eyes.

  She crossed her long arms under her chest, and one of her tresses fell over her face. She blew it away and scoffed. “Now what? We wait for the bitch to get bored? I assure you it won’t work because I know for a fact that she’s nothing if not persistent.”

  He couldn’t help but smile at her outburst. “Now, we make our exit. Look.” He pointed over his shoulder at the wall behind him.

  She scoffed. “That’s magik territory over there, mister.”

  He cocked his head. “Thanks for the geography lesson, but I know this part of the Promenade like the back of my hands, and I’ve also traveled through most of the tunnels built by the Magik Nation under the Tiber. We’ll take one of their underground corridors to escape the press. ”

  She gave him a raised brow. “Are you insane? We can’t just leave—”

  “Not only can we, but we have to per Immortal Council protocol. The immortal guards have the situation under control,” he responded with a grin, then faced the wall and whispered an incantation given to him by his warlock friend—the only man he thought of as a friend—Caelum. One moment they were looking at a slate of vertical rock, the next there was an arched entry before them. He turned to her.

  “You’re a privileged one, I see.”

  The admiration in her voice affected Peter and made him rethink his earlier assessment about her disrespecting him for what he was. He wasn’t used to being appreciated.

  ****

  Ophelia looked up at the imposing, dark demon staring at her as if she had sprouted wings. For her, having to raise her eyes to talk to a person was a novelty. Only two men had ever required that of her, Quintilius, her putative father, and Samuel. With the angel, that quality had elicited an attraction at first sight. She loved that he was bigger than her. With the exception of Quintilius, whom she had put on a pedestal an
d above the male species, she had never felt protected by men until she had met the fallen angel. How she had dreamed of being enveloped in his arms, covered by his wings. She had longed for deep kisses and passionate words from Samuel, only to be held and talked to as a sister. Or a daughter, exactly like Quintilius treated her.

  “Let’s get out of here.” With gloved hands, Peter showed her the entrance to a long corridor.

  In the dim light of the blown-glass chandeliers hanging from the vaulted ceiling, she eyed the brick walls as the cellar’s smell mixed with the scent from dried herbs and flowers drifted to her nose. “Is it safe?” She didn’t dare take a step farther inside. People didn’t enter magik territory without having a good reason and a warlock escort at the ready.

  Peter gave her the same raised eyebrow she had seen on his face earlier. “I am welcome here.”

  Again, she sensed he was testing her. “You seem sturdy enough, and maybe you can even fend off an attack, but I don’t care for an additional set of arms or a third eye in the middle of my forehead.” All things that had happened in the past to paranormals who had left the safety of the Promenade for the thrill of danger.

  As a liaison for the paranormal community, Samuel had more than once taken care of such misunderstandings between species and told her all about it over a glass of beer.

  “No, I wouldn’t care for that to happen to you either.” The demon’s eyes traveled over her, stopping along the way at her chest. His straight, black hair fell to the side over his right shoulder when he slightly tilted his head, a lazy grin touching his fleshly mouth.

  Ophelia straightened her back. “Like what you see?”

  Peter’s lips curved in an open smile, and his eyes lit with amber fire as they lingered on her mouth. “I do.”

  She wanted to see who would lower the gaze first. “Do your eyes change color at will?”

  “No. Not at will. I can’t control their reaction.” He stepped closer to her, the amber in his pupils almost orange. “Now, I’ll be happy to answer all your questions, but I suggest we move.” He pointed at the right wall that was slowly moving toward them, prompting her to walk.

  “Right.” She liked the firmness of his voice and how he was in command of the situation. She wasn’t used to people standing up to her. Women were threatened by her mere presence and men usually didn’t dare talk to her if she didn’t start the conversation first.

  “So, what else do you want to know about the big, bad demon?”

  She couldn’t see his face as he was half a step ahead of her, but heard the smile on his lips. “Are you that bad…?” She bit her lower lip, unable to resist teasing him. “And that big?”

  His sure gait imperceptibly halted, only to resume the stroll a moment later, but she saw the moment he froze as if he was taking a breath in. She wished she could see the color of his eyes then.

  He turned and canted his head, flashing white teeth and just the tip of his tongue. “Only one way to find out.” Red fire illuminated his face as he laughed. “You better run.”

  She hadn’t realized how close both walls were, but it was a good thing she wasn’t claustrophobic; otherwise, she would have been screaming by now. The tunnel quickly pressed in on them as they moved toward the exit, now in sight. She followed his suggestion by sprinting forward before the walls entombed them. They had almost cleared the corridor when a low brick wall sprouted before them, barring the exit. Peter jumped over it without breaking stride, but it was at Ophelia’s waist when, a fraction of a moment later, it was her turn to jump. She hesitated and the wall was already at her chest.

  Seemingly without any effort, Peter reached down from the other side of the wall, hooked his arms under hers and raised her over the wall, then deposited her to the floor, flush with his body, his hands back to his side. She felt electricity travel from where he had touched her down to her toes and gasped, suddenly dizzy. So close, she could feel his chest rising and falling against hers. She looked up and was rewarded by the fieriest red in his wide eyes.

  He blinked, then slowly stepped back. “You sure can fly on those heels.”

  “You sure know how to handle a girl.” She inched toward him. The night before, she hadn’t found release and her body, now made too aware of him by his fleeting touch, hummed with energy she had to spend.

  He didn’t move toward her though. She was annoyed by it; usually, men didn’t need much encouragement when she made her intention clear. The outside breeze reached her. She noticed his eyes weren’t red anymore, but a muted maroon. A horn honked, and someone swore. Rome had intruded on the moment, and Ophelia’s mood changed. She looked beyond Peter at the wrought iron gate opening into the city, and saw a lateral alley bordered by tall buildings.

  “I guess we can only wait for Barnes to call us.” Eager to leave the magik territory behind, she reached for the gate, and although she had seen his hand move toward the handle, she didn’t wait for him to open it for her.

  “See you later.” His voice raised at the end, making the statement sound like a question.

  She nodded and entered the alley when she heard his cell phone ring. When she turned, he waved good-bye and gave her a smile, then proceeded to take his call. Her wolf whining, she walked into the sun and was temporarily blinded by the much-too-bright light, but shielded her eyes with both hands and looked around the small square to get her bearings. She strolled toward the opening between two of the buildings on her right and read the name of the street on the plaque affixed high on the stucco façade. Not sure of where she was yet and not wanting to go back and ask Peter for directions, she took the alley and reached a bigger artery dominated by medieval buildings and a church she recognized as Santa Prassede on the Esquilino Hill. Knowing she was in Rione Monti, she called a cab to drive her to Navona Square where she had planned to see Ravenna for lunch. She was already late and didn’t have time to go back to the Castel Sant’ Angelo’s underground garage where she had left her Kawasaki Ninja.

  The short ride was made excruciatingly long by the lunch-hour traffic and she regretted not having gone back for her bike. She also had time to reflect on her reaction to the demon, and by the time she met Ravenna outside the small café facing the Fountain of Neptune, she had decided she was happy Peter hadn’t accepted her blatant offer. They were colleagues and it was highly unprofessional to have a fling with him. Yet, a fleeting image of Peter removing his gloves gave her shivers.

  “How are you?” Ravenna kissed her on both cheeks, then held Ophelia’s hands a moment longer.

  Ophelia shrugged, but didn’t free her hands. Ravenna’s friendship was recent, but Alexander’s companion had already conquered an important place in Ophelia’s heart. At first, she had regarded the black-haired beauty with suspicion, mostly because Ophelia had been friends with Malina since before World War One, and Malina and Ravenna had unsavory history between them. Then, Ravenna had met Alexander and buried truths had been uncovered, revealing Malina had been as much a victim as Ravenna in a convoluted Renaissance drama of lies and deceit. Soon after, Ophelia had gotten to know the enforcer better and realized she was the perfect woman for Alexander. Now, a day didn’t pass without Ophelia or Ravenna calling several times to check on the other’s wellbeing.

  “It hurts like a mother—” Ophelia sighed. “I’ll be fine.”

  “I wish things were different but—” Ravenna gently squeezed her hands, then hugged her again. “I’m so sorry.”

  Ophelia felt her eyes swelling up. Despite what she had just told her friend, she doubted she would ever be whole again. “Have you heard from Samuel? How is she doing?”

  Ravenna stepped out of the embrace and looked at her. “Martina is fine, thanks to your fast thinking.”

  Ophelia willed her lips to turn into a smile. “Diana saved her.”

  “You have a big heart.” Ravenna’s eyes shone with tears too.

  “And you’re hormonal.” Ophelia forced a small laugh, then ruined the effect by sniffing. A small g
rowl escaped her mouth next. Be quiet!

  Ravenna gave her a puzzled look. “Is your wolf acting out?”

  “She’s restless.”

  “But it’s not that time of the month yet—” Ravenna gave her wrist watch a brief glance.

  Ophelia had gifted it to her. It was one of those pieces with the lunar phases. She didn’t need one to know there were still a few days to the next full moon. “No, it isn’t.” She sighed. “Nothing that a good old run at the Reserve won’t cure in any case.” Although she doubted anything could help her at the moment, she should have gone to her clan’s private park already, but the estate was fifty kilometers north of Rome and she hadn’t found the time.

  “You’ve been under a lot of stress lately.” Ravenna patted her hand. “I’m sure she is affected by what happens to you.”

  “This too will pass.” Ophelia put her free hand over Ravenna’s. Now more than ever she was thankful for her friendship. “I’m hungry. I haven’t eaten in forever…”

  “And I can eat for four.” Laughing and caressing her round belly, Ravenna led the way to a table covered by a rectangular red umbrella. “Any excitement at work today?”

  “You could say that.”

  ****

  Peter opened his eyes to look at the sunset. He had been lying on the brown sand since he had returned home and, now, finally, felt full. His body synthetized sunrays the same way angels’ did, but in his case, it took longer to feed. His bare hands buried in the sand, he relinquished the feeling of the warm grains slipping through his fingers.

  After talking with Arariel, he had gone after Ophelia, only to see her entering a cab. Despite dismissing her earlier, he had wanted to spend a few more minutes with her, but realized his foolishness and let her go. He then had walked back to the underground garage under Castel Sant’ Angelo, opening the corridor once again and passing through the whole length of the Promenade. Ludwig Barnes wasn’t there, and he hadn’t wanted to wait. Instead, he had left Rome and taken the Aurelia Road toward Tarquinia, the ancient Etruscan city in the vicinity of which he had bought several hectares of land bordering the Mediterranean Sea. In the middle of a natural reserve, he had built a small stone cottage of three rooms, his safe haven, far away from the hustle and bustle of the city. But mostly, far away from any other human or paranormal being. A place of his own where he was free to remove his gloves without the onslaught of emotions.