Fire Maidens: Venice Read online

  Fire Maidens: Venice

  by

  Anna Lowe

  Billionaires & Bodyguards

  Book 7

  Fire Maidens: Venice

  Copyright © 2021 by Anna Lowe

  [email protected]

  Editing by Lisa A. Hollett

  Proofreading by Donna Hokanson

  Cover art by Kim Killion

  This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in articles or reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons is purely coincidental.

  Sincere thanks to my team of star beta readers who once again took time to make a good story great. Linda, Colleen, Renee, Jen, Cindy, and Jean — thank you all so much!

  Other books in this series

  Fire Maidens - Billionaires & Bodyguards

  Fire Maidens: Paris (Book 1)

  Fire Maidens: London (Book 2)

  Fire Maidens: Rome (Book 3)

  Fire Maidens: Portugal (Book 4)

  Fire Maidens: Ireland (Book 5)

  Fire Maidens: Scotland (Book 6)

  Fire Maidens: Venice (Book 7)

  Fire Maidens: Greece (Book 8)

  Fire Maidens: Switzerland (Book 9)

  visit www.annalowebooks.com.

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  Contents

  Other books in this series

  Fire Maidens: Venice

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Epilogue

  Sneak Peek: Fire Maidens: Greece

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  Fire Maidens: Venice

  Carnival, canals, and cunning enemies… Do you dare enter Venice’s shifter side?

  Ten years ago, lion shifter Tony Pelligrini was forced to flee Venice after being framed for a murder he didn’t commit. But now, a mysterious force is drawing him back. Is it the feeling of a ticking time bomb only he can defuse? Or is it the call of destiny, promising true love?

  Wetlands ecologist Cara Alari would rather stand knee-deep in mud than dress up for a fancy ball. But in the course of one crazy, carnival night, a family she loves is imperiled, and she is unwittingly drawn into a dangerous world of power, politics, and royal intrigues.

  Before Cara knows it, she’s putting her black belt to use as a bodyguard — and teaming up with a hunky lion shifter straight out of her dreams. The chemistry between them is off the charts, but there’s no time for amore. Somewhere in Venice, an enemy lurks, targeting the royal shifter elite. Because carnival masks can disguise faces — and evil intentions — nothing is as it seems. All Cara can be sure of is that her heart — and a young woman’s life — are at risk.

  Chapter One

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  * * *

  Cara tossed her mud boots from the boat to the dock, then followed them with an easy jump. Picking up her boots, she turned to bid her colleagues goodbye.

  “Are you sure you don’t want a ride?” one of them asked. “It’s a long walk all the way across town.”

  She hid a smile. Most people would consider a walk across Venice a dream come true. Even now that she got to do it every day, it never got old. Well, dodging tourists had its trying moments. But after four months in Venezia, she’d memorized the maze of backstreets to see the city at its finest.

  “I’m fine, thanks. A domani.”

  Her colleagues waved, echoing her words. “See you tomorrow.”

  She watched the boat motor away then shouldered her backpack and set off down the waterfront promenade.

  Ferries crisscrossed the Canal Saint Marco, and sleek black gondolas bobbed along the quay. A handful of locals walked their dogs, while tourists snapped selfies. All in all, just another beautiful day in La Serenissima.

  Then Cara spotted a couple in eighteenth-century garb and wavy wigs. Oops — right. It wasn’t just any day. Carnevale had just started, so the city was buzzing with excitement — and jammed with visitors. A good reason to avoid the main drags, but Cara walked one more block before cutting into a side street. As always, her favorite monument called to her, and she couldn’t resist visiting it once more.

  Even from a block away, she could make out the monument commemorating Italian unification in the 1800s. But as Cara approached, her eyes moved from the equestrian statue on top to the fierce female warrior glaring out from the east side of the monument. The sword the woman brandished was broken from a hard-fought battle, yet her expression was one of sheer determination and inner power.

  Cara took a deep breath, channeling her inner Amazon. Did she have it in her to be that tough if necessary?

  Pray you never find out, her mother would probably say.

  But be prepared, just in case, her wary uncle would have thrown in.

  Cara’s chest rose and fell in a sigh. Some people were born in times of epic struggle and heroic deeds. Others, like her, had the luxury of living in modern times.

  Crazy times, her inner lioness murmured.

  Cara sighed, agreeing with her hidden, shifter side. Then she let her gaze drop to the massive bronze figure at the warrior’s feet — a male lion chewing on symbolic chains of oppression. The sculpture was so vibrant, Cara could practically hear the sound of snapping steel.

  Cara gazed at it a moment longer, then circled to the far side of the monument. The lion on the east side was amazing, but the one on the west side always took her breath away.

  Literally. She paused and stared.

  “Wow. Nice lion,” a passing tourist said to a friend.

  Cara nearly snorted. Nice wasn’t the word. More like ferocious. Proud. Powerful.

  Triumphant, her shifter side murmured.

  Cara moved her lips, whispering, “Buongiorno.”

  Grrr. She imagined the bronze lion replying in a Halt! Who-goes-there? roar.

  Was it silly to talk to a statue? Possibly, but she couldn’t help it. The lion seemed so alive. So breathtaking. So…so…important, somehow.

  She was a lion shifter herself, but still — that lion was like none she’d ever seen. He faced the lagoon, snarling at an invisible enemy. His ears and whiskers lay back in fury, and his tail stuck straight out in warning. His eyes were laser-focused on some point in the distance, and lines of muscle rippled along his flanks. His mane shook with fury, and his wings…

  Cara’s heart thumped. Wings…

  A soul-deep yearning filled her
chest, and she nearly reached out to touch the feathers etched into bronze.

  Bronze, she reminded herself. Just a sculpture. Someone’s fantasy, based on a legend. Nothing more.

  But what if… her lioness whispered.

  She closed her eyes, imagining how that might feel. Not just shifting the way she usually did — by dropping to all fours, dipping her head, and letting her skin give way to smooth, tawny fur — but adding one more step. The itch she often felt on her back would become a burn, and wings would suddenly appear. Big, beautiful wings, making her feel strong. Regal, even. Instead of trotting around on terra firma, she could take to the air.

  It was so real, so clear in her mind. The brief burst of pain as her wings formed, the whoosh of air when she snapped them open. The tickle of wind through her feathers, and the change of perspective from high above.

  Then a passerby bumped her, and she opened her eyes to reality. No wings. No lion at all. Which was a good thing, since she was out in plain sight. All shifters knew never to reveal their animal sides. Humans had no clue, and it was better to keep things that way.

  Imagine if we could fly, her inner lion rumbled, still fixated on those mighty wings.

  It was all too easy to since she’d dreamed of flying often — all the more since moving to Venice.

  Her smile slowly faded as she remembered the ridicule she’d been subjected to as a kid.

  Someday, I’ll fly too, she’d announced to her siblings.

  They’d hooted. Sure. A flying lion. Can’t wait to see.

  She’d run away, red-faced, and collapsed into tears.

  Now, as then, she forced herself to keep her chin high. Being able to shift into lion form was special enough, and she ought to be grateful for that ability. Why wish for more?

  But somehow, she couldn’t help it. Not just wishing or dreaming but yearning from the depths of her soul. If only those dreams would come true, giving her wings just like the statue before her.

  She forced a little smile. Just like it — but without the mane. She was a female, after all. Plus, her curly human hair was hard enough to manage, so she could do without the mane.

  And the other hardware, her lioness giggled.

  She resisted the urge to check how anatomically correct the sculpted lion was.

  Just then, the bell tower across the water at San Giorgio Maggiore rang in the hour.

  Bong… Bong… Bong…

  Cara checked her watch and cursed. Six p.m. already?

  Then she spotted another garishly costumed couple and groaned, remembering her plans for the night.

  Not exactly our plans, her lioness grumbled.

  She set off, scuffing the pavement. Parties weren’t her thing. Why had she agreed to attend a fancy ball tonight?

  Because you only live once, Grazia, her landlady, had said. And you haven’t lived until you’ve been to carnival in Venice — properly, at the ball my friend is throwing at the Palazzo Marsetti tonight. Then Grazia finished with a broad grin. Don’t worry. I’ll find you a costume.

  Cara looked back at the lion sculpture and sighed. She would rather be knee-deep in the lagoon’s mudflats, working the job she loved. Important work restoring delicate ecosystems. Parties just weren’t her thing.

  Still, Grazia was right. Life was short, and she had to live hers to the fullest. Even if a ball in Venice wasn’t high on her bucket list, she didn’t exactly have better plans for the night.

  She thumped the mud boots against her leg and squared her shoulders. Enough obsessing about beasts, legends, and wings. Time was short, and she had a ball to attend. And who knew? Maybe Grazia had been kind enough to get her a costume with wings.

  She set off with a grin. A girl could wish.

  Chapter Two

  Tony strode through the streets of Venice, trying to convince himself this was a good idea. But as soon as he turned the corner to the Piazza San Marco, his steps slowed. All those people… All those years he’d spent away…

  “Come on, already.” His cousin Rocco prodded him from behind. “When are you going to get a better chance to do this?”

  Tony looked around, still soaking it all in. Venice, where he’d been born and bred. The only place he’d ever called home, and the only place he ever would.

  But as a man framed for a murder he didn’t commit, he couldn’t risk setting foot there ever again.

  Somewhere in the distance, the bells of San Giorgio Maggiore rang in the hour.

  Bong… Bong…

  He checked his watch, not so much concerned with the time — nine p.m. — as the sanity of his plan.

  “Don’t worry,” Rocco said. “No one will recognize you. Not with that mask on.”

  Tony glanced around, readjusting his full-face carnival mask — a black one with bronze highlights and a passive expression he couldn’t mirror inside.

  For years, he’d dreamed of being back in Venice. But now that he was steps away from the glittering facade of Basilica San Marco, he barely noticed it. The piazza was crowded with people. Surely someone would recognize him?

  On the other hand, many people were wearing masks and costumes — most more spectacular than his. No one would give him a second glance when they could gawk at the fully done-up carnevalisti. Rocco was right. It was the perfect time for him to sneak in to Venice, drink his fill of the city he loved, then sneak out again.

  His inner lion growled. Shouldn’t have to sneak.

  And just like that, the old ache was back. He was tired of hiding his identity, and he never wanted to leave. Venice, for all its problems, was home, and it was his duty to guard the place. At least, it had been, until everything had gone wrong.

  He fiddled with his mask. “Maybe this isn’t a good idea.”

  Rocco laughed. “Definitely not a good idea. But come on. Live a little.”

  In many ways, Rocco was the twenty-year-old Tony had been a decade earlier. Bright. Hopeful. Invincible, or so he believed, because destiny was on his side.

  Now, Tony knew better. In life, things could go badly wrong.

  “The palazzo isn’t far now.” Rocco steered him forward. “Trust me. It will be fine.”

  Tony wasn’t so sure, but an inexplicable sense of purpose propelled him along.

  We have to see this through, his inner lion growled. We have to be there tonight.

  His animal side had insisted on that for days, even weeks. It had started as a vague hankering for the sights, smells, and tastes of home. Of winding canals, briny air, fresh seafood, and good wine. Gradually, those vague wishes became images — not just of the past, but of the future. Of something terrible happening if he weren’t there to stop it. Gradually, those images had become more and more concrete, until he’d succumbed to the urge and covertly entered Venice. Not at any random time, but exactly that evening and at that exact address.

  We have to be there, his lion insisted.

  He scowled. That’s just what the beast had said a decade ago, and look how badly that had gone.

  Wouldn’t change it even if I could, his lion growled. Would you?

  Tony sighed. No, he wouldn’t. Saving three innocent lives had made it all worthwhile. If only he could have done so without the personal cost.

  Still, he hated that sense of being a puppet to destiny — or that voice that sometimes drifted through his mind. The low, earthy one that growled, You, warrior, have not yet completed all I require of you.

  Would he ever be done with destiny’s cruel games?

  “Just a little farther…” Rocco led him across the piazza and under the arches of the Museo Correr. A few tight turns later, they stood before the brilliantly lit facade of the Palazzo Marsetti.

  “Rocco, so good to see you,” the woman at the door gushed, waving the security men aside.

  Rocco bounded up the steps, grinning. “The pleasure is all mine. Allow me to introduce Valentino, a friend of a friend from out of town.”

  Tony coughed into his hand while growling into his cousin’
s mind. Valentino? I thought we agreed on Alfredo.

  Rocco shrugged. Whatever.

  Tony ground his teeth. Obviously, his cousin didn’t understand how critical a consistent — and inconspicuous — identity was in undercover work.

  “Valentino…” The woman slid her eyes slowly along Tony’s body, then touched her lips. “Piacere.” A pleasure to meet you. Her voice dropped to a sultry purr. “Enjoy the ball.”

  Tony’s heart pounded as he stepped inside. God, this was it. He really was back among shifters he knew.

  A dozen familiar figures jumped out at him right away — even some hidden by masks, because he knew them so well. Agosto Soranno was there, as were Franco Tucci and several others Tony used to hang out with as a kid. They looked older, of course, but still as carefree as the boys they’d once been. Then again, every civilian appeared carefree these days. A decade of service in one of the world’s elite military forces had a way of doing that to a man.

  Tony peered closer. Was that Claudia Perrelli, hanging on Agosto’s arm? No surprise, he supposed — she’d always been a flirt. Giulia Cervelli was there too, flashing her trademark smile.

  There were older folks he remembered too. Some hadn’t aged a day, while others looked shockingly old. And those were just the handful Tony recognized at first glance. There were others he recalled without being able to name, and still others that only sparked hazy memories. Of course, there were guests he didn’t know at all. The city’s nouveau riche, from Russian oligarchs to American socialites and French jet-setters, judging by the mix of accents all around.

  Most of the guests were human, but some were shifters. Many were easy to identify, others tricky due to all that perfume hanging in the air. That woman with the unicorn costume and a whinny of a laugh, for example. Was she a human or a shifter? And what about the middle-aged man with a hooked nose and beady eyes? Eagle shifter or just plain human?