As Giovanni’s energy grew and the flames rose, he could feel his chest ache and start to knit together. He glanced up to see Carwyn holding onto Beatrice with an iron grip. He turned and faced her, focusing on her dark eyes as he stood motionless and let the fire wash his injuries away.

He heard the hiss as his hair singed, and the acrid scent drifted to his nose. He kept himself focused on the sour smell of burning hair to counteract the heady sensation of power that threatened to overwhelm him. The blood rushed through his body and his heart raced, but the higher the flames grew, the stronger he became.

His power peaked, and Giovanni could feel his chest muscles stretch and smooth out. He flexed them, feeling only an edge of pain. He continued to stare at Beatrice as he let the fire fall back and finally dissipate into the cold salt air.

He gave a quiet grunt and fell to his knees as they rushed over. Beatrice put her arms around him, flinching from the heat that still radiated off his skin, but she only pulled him closer and rocked him as her hands tangled in his singed hair.

“That was…” She sniffed. “It was—”

“Cracking as always, Gio,” Carwyn said with a laugh. “By God, you’ll manage to kill me someday, but that’s absolutely brilliant.”

Giovanni sighed and slumped against Beatrice, burying his face in the cool skin at her throat and wrapping his arms around her waist.

“I hate getting shot.”

Chapter Nineteen

English Channel

March 2010

“Just the two left?”

“We were lucky to save those before Gemma got her hands on them.”

“And no trace of my son?”

“No, but he left his lackeys here. And he must have known we would take them.”

“Interesting and deliberate.”

Giovanni and Carwyn were walking up the stairs, Giovanni growing stronger with every step. He wanted to feed again, but didn’t want to weaken Beatrice more by asking. She was still limping, and her bruises were more vivid. It irritated him that he could do nothing more to heal her. She had been handling herself extraordinarily well, but he could tell she was starting to crash.

“Tesoro,” he said as he slipped a hand around her shoulders while clutching the blanket wrapped around his waist. “Will you stay with Jean’s men on the top deck while we question them? I’m sure you could handle it, but—”

“I’m okay with skipping the torture part, thanks.”

He nodded, relieved she had not insisted on being present for what would be, no doubt, a brutal interrogation.

As they walked through the melted door and onto the open deck, he saw Jean’s men securing what was left of the crew, and Gemma held two battered, young vampires by the throat. Terry tossed him a pair of black pants he found somewhere, and Giovanni turned to Beatrice as he saw the three vampires walk away with the captives.

He leaned down and kissed her. “I’ll be back soon.”

She threw her arms around his neck and whispered in his ear, “Don’t be too long. There are things to say.”

He nodded and gave her one more lingering kiss before he walked away.

The injured vampires were obviously disposable; Giovanni wondered why Lorenzo had even left them on the ship. They dragged them to the rear deck among the maze of containers the freighter carried.

“No one else?” he asked as he slipped on the borrowed pants.

Terry and Carwyn shook their heads.

“Jean’s men searched all the containers,” Gemma said, pounding on one that echoed in the dark. “Nothing. Not even a drained human or a bit of clothing.”

“Cazzo,” he muttered and turned his attention back to the vampires at Gemma’s feet. “Why did he leave you?”

“Are you the master’s father?” One croaked and took a deep breath of the salt air. Giovanni suspected they were both water vampires, turned by Lorenzo to replace the personal army he and Tenzin had destroyed in Greece. Both looked to be in their early twenties. One had an American accent, and the other sounded Irish.

Giovanni knelt down and braced one arm on his knee. “I am Lorenzo’s sire.”

“We have a message for you,” the American said.

“Thought you might.” He let the blue flames flare on his torso as the young vampires watched. The American, a young blond man with brown eyes and an innocent face, looked at Giovanni as if he had never seen anything more terrifying. The other wore a placid expression, and his hard, blue eyes did not flinch. “Well?”

It was the Irishman who spoke up. “Lorenzo says he will burn your books, take your woman, turn your child, and one day, you will call him master…and you will love him.”

Giovanni cocked his head. “He sacrifices your lives to boast?”

The young American vampire could not seem to look away as the fire grew. Again, it was the other that spoke for them. “We are his humble servants.”

Giovanni stared into the young one’s frigid blue eyes. He whispered, “Did you kill Ioan ap Carwyn?” He could feel Gemma and Carwyn looking over his shoulders. “Did you kill my friend?”

The young vampire’s calm mask finally faltered, and he stuttered when he answered.

“W—we are his humble servants.”

Giovanni grabbed him by the neck and took the knife that Terry held out. “You are nothing. But you will tell me everything you know.”

He slashed the vampire across the neck and the side, placing his burning hands on the wounds as the young one began to scream.