Fire Maidens: Venice Page 2
“See? Nothing to it,” Rocco whispered out of the corner of his mouth.
So far, Tony nearly muttered.
While Rocco headed straight for a huddle of young men, Tony edged toward a wall and studied the scene from there. One by one, he scanned every face, dividing the ballroom into quadrants the way the Foreign Legion had trained him to locate snipers or insurgents strapped with bombs.
This is carnival, not a war zone. He rolled his shoulders, trying to relax.
Still, that edgy feeling wouldn’t leave him alone. But his inner radar wasn’t drawn to anything in the ballroom, so he checked one adjoining parlor after another. Each was crowded with dozens of guests and a potpourri of scents. The sweet aroma of flickering candles. The overwhelming fragrance of perfume. The odor of briny water, especially in the rooms overlooking the Grand Canal.
He took another step without looking, and — whoops — bumped into someone.
Quickly, he straightened his mask, stifling a curse. But when his eyes met those of the other person…
He froze, and she did too.
Her eyes were a sea of blue with a hint of green and practically on level with his. She was that tall — basketball-player tall. Sturdy but athletic, with broad shoulders and strong arms. Not the kind of girl a man swept effortlessly into his arms and carried over the threshold on his wedding night. More like one a man could set off into the wilderness with, knowing he could trust her with his life.
His heart thumped harder, and his lion flicked its tail.
“Chiedo scusa,” she murmured, looking as dazed as he felt.
His lips moved, but it was a while before he managed to echo her apology. When he did, his voice sounded a hundred miles away, as did the sounds of the party. Her fresh, earthy scent wound around his body in a sultry dance, making his cheeks heat.
Lion shifter, his inner beast hummed. Just like me.
“I wasn’t looking,” she mumbled in Italian.
“It was my fault,” he whispered. At least, he thought he did. But it was hard to concentrate, what with all those butterflies fluttering inside.
She was fascinating in every way, from the light trace of an accent to the tight curls of reddish-brown hair escaping the bun she’d done it up in. Her carnival mask only covered her eyes, reminding him of a female Zorro. Same swashbuckling energy, same keen eyes. Her dress — golden-brown, a shade lighter than her hair — was modest, almost dull compared to those of other guests. No plunging neckline, no sequins or lace. Just the hint of an athletic figure and the coiled energy of a woman perpetually on the go.
His pulse skipped a few beats, and his hopes fast-forwarded into the near future. He would smile and introduce himself — using his real name, because a man didn’t lie to a woman who made his soul sing. They would get talking. Laughing. Maybe even dancing. Who knew where that might lead?
When she tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, then lowered her hand, he felt sure she would reach out and introduce herself.
Hello, I’m Zorra, he imagined her saying.
I’m Tony, he would reply. Pleasure to meet you.
It would be more than a pleasure. It would be fantastic. Amazing. Life-changing, perhaps.
But a caterer swept past, offering drinks. And just like that, the spell was broken.
“No, thank you,” she murmured.
The words were aimed at the caterer, but for some reason, Tony took them personally. At the same time, their surroundings swept back into his senses, reminding him where he was. Worse, who he was.
An accused criminal. A wanted man. A guy with no business being there at all.
As if on cue, a nearby man whispered to another, “Who is that?”
Tony whipped his head around, heart pounding. Had he been spotted?
Then he exhaled, because the men were peering out at guests gathered on the canalside deck, not at him.
He looked back at the woman — Zorra — but she had already disappeared into the crowd.
So, find her. Follow her. Don’t miss your chance, a voice in his mind urged.
He frowned, craning his neck. His chance at what?
Destiny, a faint chuckle sounded in his mind. Or was he just imagining something mixed in with the sounds of the festive crowd?
Chapter Three
Tony gave himself a shake and continued down the hall, though his lion fought every step.
Go back. Find her. Talk to her.
Sure. He could take off his mask while he was at it and prove what a fool he was to be here at all.
His lion lashed its tail. But this is our chance.
Right. A chance to blow his cover.
No. A chance to introduce ourselves, his lion insisted. To get talking. Laughing. Maybe even dancing.
A stab of yearning hit him. That would be so nice, but he wasn’t here to talk, laugh, or dance. He was here to discover what was afoot, because that feeling of impending doom still hung in the air.
So, he did an about-face, leaving the intriguing woman behind. His inner lion made him turn back a split second later, but she was gone. And anyway, he couldn’t see past the two men who were intent on the people outside.
“That woman in the silk gown is Julienne de Marbot. Don’t you know? The French countess.” One of the men pointed.
Tony followed the gesture to a woman. Or rather, to the people clustered around a woman seated in a regal pose. Mostly, he caught glimpses of a black dress with red highlights — that and the matching fan she snapped back and forth, more for show than for ventilation. As she did, a magnificent diamond glittered on her finger.
She fit the part of a countess. Of course, there wasn’t much nobility left in France, but it was hard to tell these days. Nobility was the new vogue, even in a land that prided itself on overthrowing its aristocracy two hundred years ago.
“Julienne de Marbot?” The second man seemed impressed. “The new owner of the Beluzzi Palace?”
Tony’s eyebrows jumped up. The Beluzzi Palace was one of the most sumptuous residences on the Grand Canal. Had another of Venice’s treasures fallen into foreign hands?
“I thought that Russian billionaire had an eye on the place. Did she outbid him?” the second man asked.
“From what I heard, she used other powers of persuasion.”
The man’s wolfish tone left no doubt as to what those charms were. The countess was putting them to work on the party guests, judging by the way her admirers fawned over her every move. When she made a lazy gesture, three men scurried to get her a drink.
That created a brief opening, and Tony spotted her face. The lower half, at least — the part not covered by a mask. Her features were fine, her lips full and thick.
The first man sighed. “She’s beautiful.”
“Confident,” the second man added, just as smitten.
Cruel, Tony couldn’t help thinking. She had the eyes of a viper waiting to strike. Just watching them flicker over the crowd made him tense.
Shifter, his lion growled.
A dragon, he guessed. The sheer intensity of that gaze gave her away, even if her scent didn’t. She’d hidden the latter with expensive perfume the way Tony had drowned his with cologne. But that was because he had something to conceal.
So does she, his lion growled.
He frowned. Then what was she doing flaunting her figure, her looks, her fortune?
When the crowd closed in around her again, Tony studied the most obvious shifters among them. Were they not concerned?
Apparently not. But that was Venice — a city accustomed to covering up dirty secrets with a glamorous veneer.
He paced to the next doorway, still studying the countess and her entourage. Everything about her rankled his working-class sensibilities, but the sense of foreboding that had drawn him to Venice didn’t intensify. So, he moved on, telling himself he would complete his surveillance of the ball, then check on the countess again.
Check on Zorra, you mean, his lion corrected.
Good plan, his lion decided. The sooner we’re sure this place is secure, we can find Zorra again.
Tony forced himself to move on, but it was impossible to shake the feeling that destiny was calling him back. Every step he took was like wading against a powerful current intent on washing him backward. But back where — to the intriguing lioness or that viper of a dragon on the deck outside?
He pushed on, checking the next few rooms. Each was packed with revelers sipping drinks and comparing costumes. Most were loud and gregarious, but none was overly suspicious.
He paused outside the next parlor. It was a music room with instruments crowding the walls and shelves. But no one present paid them any heed. They were entirely focused on a young woman in the middle of the room. She was barely more than a girl, really, at eighteen or nineteen. Her manners and jewelry spoke of old money. Even her hair was fashioned into a crown. She flashed an uncertain smile, working hard to be polite. Still, she seemed more interested in the magnificent glass chandelier and artwork on the walls than the people around her.
Pietro. Luigi, Tony’s lion murmured, recognizing the two burly men standing not-so-subtly to one side. Bodyguards. Not very attentive ones, though. Their eyes kept drifting to a couple of heavily made-up women who had danced into the room.
Once upon a time, Tony had kicked a soccer ball around the city’s piazzas with those two. Now, Pietro and Luigi had respectable work as bodyguards, and he was a wanted man.
He sighed and readjusted his mask. It was what it was. At least he got to visit Venice one more time.
One last time? his lion asked mournfully.
Tony did his best to push the thought away. Instead, he found a new angle and studied the girl in the center of the room. Who was she? Why the bodyguards? And why did she look so lonely, so out of place? So…so…
Familiar, his lion murmured, sniffing the air.
Then again, everyone seemed familiar in one way or another. Probably his mind was trying to create connections in all the memories stirred up by being back home.
Home, his lion sighed.
And just like that, an image of the first woman flitted through his mind.
Zorra. His lion chuckled.
He was so adrift in the memory that he barely registered someone brushing past. Then a second person did the same, and his inner lion growled, snapping him out of his reverie.
He tensed, suddenly alert. Every guest at the ball flitted between rooms merrily, seeing and being seen. Everyone but him — and those two men. Their steps were silent and purposeful, and they swiveled their heads, checking every room. Their costumes were as minimal as his, and their scents…
Wolves, his lion snarled.
The hair on the back of his neck stood. He had no problem with wolves, but something about those two screamed trouble.
The two shifters halted in their tracks, then turned. Tony sidestepped into the music room.
“Prosecco, sir?” a waiter asked.
Tony took a glass and retreated to a corner, where a tall, decorative silk screen provided some cover. From there, he watched as the two men stepped into the room, split up, and zeroed in on the girl. She was the very picture of naïveté and innocence. What did those two men want with her? And dammit, why were Pietro and Luigi so slow to react?
Probably because two buxom beauties had sidled up to them and turned on their feminine charms.
Tony nearly called into his friends’ minds, as most shifters could. But if he did, they would recognize him, and all hell would break loose.
The thing was, he had a sinking feeling all hell was about to break loose anyway. Something was up with those two men — and their target was the girl.
The countess’s shrill laugh drifted in from outside, and the two men exchanged curt nods. Was that some kind of signal or sheer coincidence? Tony coiled every muscle in his body, ready to intervene if necessary.
But then the girl spotted someone passing by the doorway. “Cara?” Her voice rose, and she squeaked in glee. “Cara!”
The two men who’d been closing in on the girl dropped back, and everyone in the room looked up. Even Pietro and Luigi, thank goodness.
“Fiorina?” another woman cried, then rushed in. It was her — Zorra, the woman who’d so captivated him before.
Cara, his lion hummed. Her name is Cara.
His blood rushed, and his soul sang.
The two women hugged in a flurry of greetings.
“What are you doing here?”
“What are you doing here?”
Both of you, get out of here, Tony wanted to say. Especially now that the suspicious men appeared to be closing in again.
“I had no idea you were in Venice. How long have you been here?” the older of the two women asked. Zorra — er, Cara — was about his age, while Fiorina was a decade younger at about eighteen.
“Only about a week. Oh my goodness! My mother will be so happy to see you.”
They went on in that vein for a while, voices rising and falling with every quick syllable. They both spoke the local dialect, but Cara’s Italian, while close to perfect, carried a hint of a foreign accent.
Tony coughed into Pietro’s and Luigi’s minds, trying to catch their attention. But the flirty women who distracted them were pros — literally, he suspected — and nothing worked.
Then shouts broke out from another room, and everyone froze. Even Pietro and Luigi snapped to attention. After exchanging uneasy glances, Luigi remained in the room, while Pietro stepped out to investigate.
No! Tony wanted to shout. The scene had all the makings of an ambush. His suspicions were confirmed when the flirty woman who’d focused on Pietro made a beeline for Luigi and joined her friend, blocking his way to Fiorina should she need help.
And…shit. With every passing minute, Tony was more sure the girl would need it.
“Help!” someone screamed.
Most of the guests in the parlor rushed out to see what was going on. Luigi ran past them, disappearing from sight. And at that very moment, the low hum of a boat engine sounded outside, approaching steadily, then throttling down to drift past the window.
No. It’s drifting into position outside the window, Tony’s lion warned.
He could tell by the pattern of waves slapping quietly against the outer wall. But no one seemed to notice except the mercenary types, who nodded to a third man at the door. The moment Zorra looked up and noticed them, she tensed.
Smart woman, Tony couldn’t help thinking. She knows trouble when she sees it.
More importantly, she took action, guiding Fiorina toward the piano in the far corner.
“Oh, shall we play?” Fiorina asked, ignorant of encroaching danger.
Tony flexed his fingers, ready to reveal his claws. But, damn. Showing his shifter side was absolutely, positively taboo.
Luigi! he yelled into the bodyguard’s mind.
But the man was somewhere outside, and he couldn’t connect with his old friend.
For God’s sake. Luigi! he tried again.
“Fire! Fire!” someone shouted.
Right on cue, everyone in the building panicked and ran for the doors. Everybody except for the three men making a beeline for Cara and Fiorina.
Tony looked around for help. If the bodyguards returned quickly, he wouldn’t have to get involved. They could deal with the intruders while he quietly slipped away. No one would be the wiser, and he would remain a free man.
But Pietro and Luigi were nowhere in sight. If Tony didn’t take immediate action, who would?
It was just like that awful night a decade ago, when everything had gone wrong. And now, like then, he had a bitter choice to make. Was he ready to trade his freedom for a stranger’s sake?
Chapter Four
One minute, Cara was filled with joy and a sense of possibility. And not just from her chance reunion with Fiorina, as nice as that was.
No — she w
as still tingling from her encounter with the man in the corridor. The big, broad one with dark hair and mysterious eyes.
Her heart was still revving madly, her blood on fire. Why?
She’d walked a full lap of the ballroom after bumping into him, touching the honey-colored topaz her landlady had insisted she wear for the evening. The gem was a big, clunky thing that reflected light wildly — so much so that she kept it tucked into the front of her dress most of the time. But the stone rubbed against her skin, making her chest burn.
Then that man had come along and made her burn in a whole different way. Her heart was skipping all over the place, and her nerves tingled like live wires. Why such a reaction to that one particular man? Especially one who wore a full-face mask, keeping his secrets carefully guarded.
Then she’d run into Fiorina, and whoa. Surprise number two — a truly joyous one.
But that had only lasted an instant, because a moment later, Cara’s mind buzzed with alarms. Three men were closing in with murder in their eyes. Why, she had no clue. All she knew was she had to act — fast.
“Quick. Move over.” She hustled Fiorina into a corner.
“But the fire…” Fiorina protested.
The girl was a sweetheart, and when it came to books, her mind was sharp as a knife. But in practical situations, well…
Cara glanced around for a weapon, sure the fire was a ruse. But to what end? And dammit, what was Fiorina doing out in plain sight — in Venice, of all places?
Cara didn’t know all the secrets of the family she’d once worked for as an au pair, but she knew they had always kept their identities carefully hidden and avoided the public eye.
“But…” Fiorina mumbled.
The poor girl looked around, as innocent as a fawn, and Cara had to shove her into the corner in the end. Then Cara spun around, raising her fists in a ready stance. Whoever those men were, they were after Fiorina.
Yes, we are, the merciless eyes of the nearest intruder announced. And we shall have her. If you dare get in our way, you will pay the price.
Cara sniffed. The man was a wolf shifter, as was one of his friends. The third was a bear shifter, judging by his woodsy scent and lumbering gait. That was in addition to a fourth shifter — a sharp-eyed man partially hidden by the screen in a corner of the room, watching their every move.