“Well, obviously it wasn’t for you, but from the way she looks at you, it was for her.”

“But I never felt for her what I feel for you. I have an affection for her; I consider her a friend.”

“And I’m not trying to interfere with that, Gio. I understand, I’m just—”

“Did she beat you like this because I love you?” he asked in a whisper.

Beatrice stopped his hands and turned so she could look him in the eye. She placed one hand on his cheek. “No. We were sparring, and she’s a good teacher. My sensei in L.A. would have treated me just the same. Well, if he was a vampire.” She shook her head. “It wouldn’t do me any favors for her to go easy on me. I need to know how to fight.” She turned back around to face the fire, and he continued to brush her hair out.

He finally spoke again. “Is this because you don’t trust me to stay? The fighting? Is it because you think I’ll leave you again?”

Was it? It was a fair question, but the more she thought about it, the more she realized that even if Giovanni didn’t leave, she would still feel like she needed to be able to defend herself.

“You can’t be with me all the time. You have to sleep during the day, and I don’t want you following me around all night, either. We’d both go nuts.”

He put the brush down and laid his hands lightly on her waist.

“Maybe I’ll lock you in with me during the day,” he said in a teasing voice, pinching her waist and putting his chin on her shoulder. “I think I could keep you occupied.”

She rolled her eyes. “You wouldn’t dare. I would draw all over your face while you slept. I’d write, ‘I’m a pretentious ass’ on your forehead.”

Beatrice felt him chuckle and his skin was cool, so she knew he was no longer angry.

“Where does it hurt, tesoro? Let me help.”

“Can your blood do anything? What if I drink a little?”

“Unfortunately, it only works on open wounds for humans.” He turned her and rolled her pants up to her torn knees. He bit his finger and started rubbing the blood into the cuts. She felt a tingle as it spread over her skin; then she saw the wounds start to knit together before her eyes.

“That is wicked cool.”

He smirked. “If you were a vampire, some of my blood would help heal your bruises, too. But your human metabolism would break it down before it could take effect. It will help on any open wounds, though. Give me your hands.” He held out his hands and she placed her palms into them as he bit his thumbs and spread the healing blood over the cuts there, as well.

“Thanks.”

He shrugged and finished looking over her arms, healing, then cleaning any wounds he found. Finally, he tilted her face up and she saw him pierce his tongue. He licked from her chin, mending the cut there before he traced along her bottom lip. She could feel the tingling before he caught her lips in a gentle kiss.

Giovanni sighed into her mouth and wrapped his arms around her. Even though his embrace was gentle, Beatrice winced when he touched her shoulder, and he backed away.

“Sorry, sorry,” she muttered. “I’m still pretty sore.”

He picked her up and laid her down on the bed, stretching out beside her and rolling up her shirt.

“Don’t apologize. Just tell me where it hurts.”

“What are you—”

“Heating pads for hands, remember? Tell me where it hurts.”

She slowly relaxed as he kneaded her sore body, making his hands almost painfully hot at times to treat the battered muscles. By the time he was finished, she was limp as a rag and half-asleep.

“Tell me what happened in France,” she murmured.

“Shhh. Tomorrow, Beatrice. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“Okay…night.”

He wrapped his warm arms around her, and she drifted away.

Chapter Fifteen

London, England

February 2010

The Swan with Two Necks was not a pub where tourists would venture. In fact, as Giovanni looked around, he thought even the fiercest of immortals would balk at entering the dark bar in London’s Docklands, if for no other reason than to avoid tasting a human with Hepatitis, which was never a pleasant experience.

But the dark pub was the known meeting place for the canny water vampire he and Gemma were finally meeting that night. Tywyll only had one name, as far as anyone knew. And his name was the only thing most humans or vampires knew about the dark vampire whose skiff moved up and down the River Thames, trading and controlling the valuable flow of information Giovanni needed to access.

He had brought Gemma along because Terry had jokingly informed him the night before that Tywyll had a rather unexpected, and very unrequited, infatuation with his old friend. He had been avoiding spending time alone with Gemma since Beatrice’s revelation of Gemma’s feelings for him.

“So, ye’ want to know whether yer boy ha’ been on the river, do ye’?”

Tywyll took a gulp of the porter in front of him. He was a small, dark man with an enigmatic middle-aged face that indicated he could have been turned anywhere between ages twenty and fifty, depending on when he had lived his mortal life.

Giovanni had long suspected Tywyll could give Tenzin competition in the age department. He glanced at Gemma, nodding toward the old vampire.

“If you had any information about Lorenzo, Tywyll, we’d be most grateful for it.” She smiled. Gemma was perched precariously on the bench in the small booth where they had found the man, and her legs were pressed to his as she scowled at Giovanni across the table.