She heard the door shut quietly, but she kept staring at Giovanni as the life returned to him. The warmth continued to spread over his skin. His hair, which had been completely burned off, began to grow before her eyes. First his eyelashes. His eyebrows. A faint stubble covered his jaw.

She felt an odd sensation under her fingertips and looked down. She couldn’t stop the smile when she realized that Giovanni had chest hair, probably for the first time in five hundred years. She bit her lip, then laughed and buried her face in his neck. His scent wasn’t exactly right, but his skin was warm. His amnis hummed, and she could feel the lively energy when she put her hands to his temples.

Beatrice laughed more. Then she curled into his side to wait until he rose.

When his eyes flickered open hours later, they immediately sought her own. She sat next to him, grinning down at his confused face.

“Where am I?” His voice was hoarse.

“At the house in Rome.”

He kept blinking, looking around. A curl of hair fell into his eyes, and he frowned in confusion.

“What happened, Tesoro?”

Beatrice leaned down and brushed the hair from his forehead, tangling her fingers in the curls. She traced the shell of his ear before she pressed her lips to his in a gentle kiss. His arms reached up and held her to his chest, and Beatrice could feel the slow, steady beat of his heart.

“You found your way back to me, Jacopo. That’s what happened.”

Chapter Thirty-Four

Crotone

Spring 1509

“What is your name?”

He looked up from tightening the fastenings on his leather jerkin. His father was standing at the door observing him as he dressed in the fine traveling clothes he’d been given. Tonight, he would leave the cold stone fortress. He was no longer Andros’s student. He was his son. He no longer wore the clothes of a servant or the scraps of cloth he’d scrounged during his training. His jacket was richly embroidered, and his boots were made of the finest leather. His immortal body was strong and healthy. He had conquered the fire that burned within.

Andros stepped into the room and smiled at him. He asked again, “What is your name?”

The young vampire smiled back, amused by the old game his sire played. “Whatever I want it to be.”

“Why?”

“Because I am superior to mortals.”

Andros smiled at the rote answer and asked another question.

“Where is your home?”

“‘Ubi bene, ibi patria.’ Where I prosper is my home.”

“Do not forget.” Andros stepped close to him and put a hand on his cheek, smiling up at the child who towered over him. “Nothing endures, save us and the elements.”

The young vampire smiled, feeling a surge of warmth for his sire. “I remember, Father.”

Andros patted his cheek fondly before he stepped back and walked to the desk, paging through the books piled near his trunk. He carefully placed a few inside.

“You do need a name, though. You’ll be introduced as my son, but the name you choose is up to you. You need something other than your mortal name. It was a peasant name, and you are a prince.”

He ignored the old ache and pushed it aside. “I may choose it?”

“Of course.” His father shrugged. “Haven’t I taught you this? Your name is whatever you want it to be. Keep in mind that you will be introduced into the Roman court, so make sure it is something appropriate.”

Andros began listing names. Aristocratic names. Fine names that would be acceptable for a rich merchant’s son. A faint, human memory rose to his mind. The sweet burst of an apricot and the sound of trickling water in a stone fountain. He heard the buzz of bees in a summer garden and a woman’s tinkling laugh.

“Giovanni! My Giovanni, sing me a song.”

He could hear the echo in his mind. His uncle’s lover teasing in a laughing voice before she was joined by another, who sang a childish tune. A song about a cricket that made a small boy giggle.

“Giovanni!” She laughed out his name. “My love…”

The young vampire blinked and looked up. His father was staring at him with calculating eyes.

“My name will be Giovanni,” he said.

Crotone

December 2012

No one visited the cold stone building that jutted into the sea. Old women who passed by made the sign of the cross, and small children peeked at it from behind their parents’ legs. Daring boys climbed the rocks that surrounded it to impress their friends, but no one ventured inside except a lone caretaker who visited the old fortress every few months. He slipped in silently then left after a few hours. The heavy locks that hung in the door were always in good repair.

Giovanni walked down the rocky path leading to his birthplace. The sound of the sea filled his ears, and the salt spray tickled his nose. It was a clear night, and the black outline of Andros’s fortress rose ominously from the waves that rose and fell under the full moon. He walked to the front door, noting the broken lock, and pushed it open. Then he tucked his hands into the pockets of his overcoat and walked in.

He could feel the faint energy trace as soon as he entered. Giovanni took a deep breath and closed his eyes, then he followed the energy down the stone stairs. Down. Down. Until the damp walls around him pressed in and the haunting memories filled his mind. Childish voices seemed to echo off the walls.

“Paulo, give me back that book!”

He followed the hallway toward the ancient classroom, and he heard the mischievous laugh echo off the walls along with his steady footsteps.