1. History

1

HISTORY

H istory is everything to a Vampire. History and bloodlines.

Staring up at a massive painting tonight, I contemplate history as I take in the incredible work of art before me. The painting I’m looking at devours an entire wall of the underground Hall of Histories here at the Vampire-run Red Letter Hotel Florence; no small thing, because this hall is enormous. Gothic stone vaults with gargoyles and demonic carvings stretch far all around me, lost to the underground space. Massive like an entire wing of the Louvre, this hall is deep beneath the Florence Hotel.

The space necessary to properly catalogue Vampire-kind’s ancient past.

Lit by a dozen spotlights that flood down from the Gothic stone vault above, the painting is an enormous antique map of the world. Crimson lines like blood—that might actually be blood, enchanted to never fade or lose its deep red lustre—flow all over the map, annotated with dates. A catalogue of Vampire migration around the globe, the dates on the painting span fifty thousand years, the epicenter of that migration in Italy.

Rome—the origin of Vampire-kind’s undead bloodlines .

I feel my Vampire Master Quindici DaPonti’s power flow through my veins now as I contemplate his ancient kin. A descendant of an exceedingly old Vampire bloodline here in Florence, Quinn has become my Master, my bound lover, and finally my friend these past few months I’ve been in the Twilight Realm. We’ve gone through hell together these past weeks to stabilize my opening Dark Fae power.

And his Master Vampire’s abilities—pushed to new heights by the bond we now share.

I feel him smile from across the hall now, as he notices I’m thinking about him. Quinn makes his way through the throng of Masters that are here for the last night of the Meeting of the Havens, an event that has been a resounding success this past week, and joins me at the painting.

I drown in him as he arrives, smiling down at me. His full lips were made for smiling, and his tall, dark, and Italian hotness shines tonight in his deep cobalt tux with its black, rounded satin lapels. Onyx and gold men’s rings adorn his fingers, matched by a Rolex and cufflinks; they shine in the overhead spotlights as Quinn strokes my fingers.

His touch is like a cold-hot burn, his skin always hot somehow even as it is Vampiric and cold. Quinn’s dark brows are level and his cheekbones are high; as gold and red hi-lights shine in his dark auburn hair, I see how his austere beauty cuts like a blade.

Except for the warmth I feel from him, streaming into me via our bond.

The way he smiles is subtle with pleasure, as if we share a secret no one else knows. His cheeks flush now, two spots of color on his pale alabaster skin that we’ve drowned in each other so long out where his ally Masters can see. I love it, though, and don’t break our moment as we linger before the painting.

Quinn threads his long, pale fingers through mine.

Holding my hand as power breathes between us in the night.

It’s like that sudden wave of magic breaks our spell on each other, however. As I’m finally able to look away from his alluring gaze, we glance up at the painting. Where once Quinn would have pulled away from me, never holding my hand out where others could see, we settle into a comfortable silence now.

As we trace lines of Vampire migration across the globe, I reflect on how a major magical blowout recently outed me as his bound Dark Fae and lover. Keeping our relationship quiet is now a moot point. But our real togetherness is private, for us to share when we’re alone.

And we do.

As he feels my thought through our bond, a sexy glint takes Quinn’s dark onyx eyes. A flare of his old Summer Fae fire flickers through his smoke-and-shadow Vampire aura as he leans over, kissing me lightly on the lips.

Letting it linger in front of all the Masters that fill the hall tonight.

“Incredible, isn’t it?” Quinn says as he pulls away, though his dark eyes flash with crimson-gold fire now from our kiss. I thrill from head to heels that he kissed me; not only because he did it in public, but because Quinn used to be a Courtier here at the Hotel. He can somehow make even the simplest kiss burn with passion; as he nods up at the painting, I take a moment to get my shit together.

Though I still love watching how the spotlights catch in his hair—and in those beautiful dark eyes that flash with fire for me.

“It’s the Vampire’s Migration, isn’t it? After the Ascendant’s Fall?” I ask, as I’m finally able to look back at the map. I gesture at the massive painting with my glass of chianti, though most Vampires in the hall have chalices of blood.

The Ascendant’s Fall is the origin of Fae and Vampire-kind, and Dark Fae like me. Both Vampires and Fae are a distant offshoot of the Ascendants—powerful Archangels who Fell to earth in the area that is now Rome, ages ago.

Vampires are the dark side of that most potent magic, called the magic of the Night. Fae are descended from the Light side of the magic from those same progenitors. As a Dark Summer Fae, I’m a balance between the Light and the Night.

Something like the original Ascendants—though some call my power an abomination.

“This map shows what we Vampires call Bloodlines.” Quinn nods up at the painting as he gestures to it with his red wine now. “Lines of direct blood-inheritance from certain Ascendants who Fell and became Descendants, limited to only the magic of the Night without the Light they once had. Those Descendants migrated around the globe, spawning Vampire-kind over the generations.”

Like me, Quinn’s not drinking blood tonight, even though he’s a full Vampire. Ever since we bonded the Summer Fae Prince Lucca Bellari into our trio a week ago, Quinn has had less appetite for blood. He still needs it, but I’ve only seen him drink it occasionally this past week, and only in small sips. I’m certain it has something to do with Lucca’s Summer Fae Light magic in our mix now, though Quinn and I haven’t discussed it.

But no one knows the Fae Prince Lucca is in our bound trio just yet.

No one except our closest allies, of course.

And certainly not most of the Masters in this hall right now.

“The line that goes to Florence is one of the oldest. The Descendants came here right from the beginning.” I note, reaching out and tracing the dark red line that leads from Rome to the area that is now Florence, with a date 49,000 years back. A name is written in an ancient, stylized script along that line, and I read it aloud.

“Staphylogenes.”

“Our first Florentine Master.” Quinn nods as a haunting smile curls his full lips. “Little is known about the Descendant Staphylogenes, for the records from back then do not survive today. Our oral lore here in Florence notes he was a lover, however, not a fighter. He Descended and remained on earth because the pleasures of the flesh were far too glorious for him to rescind. Thus, our Florentine line was born. ”

“With a focus on pleasure and eros.” I lift an eyebrow at Quinn, though a teasing smile lifts my lips. Quinn’s Florentine Vampires love their coffees, wines, chocolates, aphrodisiacs of all kinds, and, of course, sex. I used to think all Vampires were horrible Nosferatu that would kill as soon as look at you.

Until I came here and discovered Florentine Vampires—who are most definitely lovers, though they can also fight.

“Indeed,” Quinn says, though from a man who was a Courtier here at the Red Letter Hotel Florence for centuries, he makes even his small smile drip with sex as his onyx eyes glitter.

Suddenly, I feel a dark wind sweep over me where we stand. Quinn’s magic, he keeps it tightly controlled where we linger together at the painting, so no one else feels it. Even though other Master Vampires wander nearby, chatting and gazing up at the enormous portraits and historical art that devour the catacombs, I feel like the hall disappears as I stare into Quinn’s eyes.

He’s mesmerizing me with his magic; I can feel it through our bond as soothing fingers like wraith-smoke ease into me, encouraging me to fall into him. Their song is like a lullaby in my mind; though it used to bother me, it doesn’t anymore.

I don’t shake off the intimacy Quinn creates between us now as I drift closer to him, our hands still intertwined. As he reaches up to stroke my cheek with his knuckles, I feel his heart beat, slow and steady, through our connection. It’s something other Vampire’s hearts just don’t do; Quinn’s does, however, for me.

And it’s been growing stronger, ever since our bond to Lucca a week ago.

Love you. I hear Quinn whisper in my mind, where no one else can hear.

Love you more. I think back impudently.

Suddenly, he laughs.

Quinn’s laugh is like a surprised bark and a musical glory all at once. As it disrupts the hall, our mesmerization breaks—and I see how many Masters watch us where we stand at the painting, holding hands.

I know why they’re interested. Not only is it rare for a Master of Quinn’s age to show emotion, but even more rare for them to demonstrate what others might consider a weakness and show affection out where others can see it.

Quinn’s not holding back now, though, as he grins so wide the last points of his fangs show. Normally, his fangs are put away; this is a demonstration for the other Masters watching us—that he’s a powerhouse to be reckoned with, no matter how much favor he shows me.

Because we did something impossible with our bound magic a week ago at the opening gala of the Meeting of the Havens. We returned over thirty Vampire Revenants to their right minds and flesh; something no other Vampire has done—ever. It’s put us on the map as Masters stare at us now, or gossip in hushed tones all around. We let them, feeling our love flow through our bond, even as it flows to the third of our trio.

The Fae Prince Lucca Bellari—as we get a bright smile and a flow of loving power back from him, somewhere far away.

The moment breaks, however, as Quinn’s Second in the Dark Haven of Florence steps briskly to his side. The statuesque supermodel Vampiress Devina Scarlotti clears her throat impatiently, lifting a perfect eyebrow at Quinn in her no-bullshit Italian way. Dressed in a tight little red dress with badass black platform heels festooned with silver spikes, Devi runs the greater portion of the Red Letter Hotel Florence and the Dark Haven of Florence for Quinn.

She’s got a schedule to keep tonight.

And won’t let us break it for any reason, as she stares us down.

“Quinn. It’s time for your closing speech.” Devi is short now as she lifts her chin at him and crosses her arms, tapping one long crimson fingernail on her arm.

“Of course. Thank you for the reminder, Devi.” Quinn is the consummate gentleman as he unwinds his fingers from mine, preparing to go do his thing at this final gala for the Meeting.

Before he goes, however, he lifts my hand to his lips. He pins my eyes with his, drowning black now with flickers of crimson and gold fire in their depths, and leaves the softest kiss on my hand. His dark aura is like a promise of later pleasure as it sweeps through me.

Lingering and pressing that kiss upon my lips where no one else can see.

“Ariana,” he says, the tiniest smile haunting him.

“Quinn,” I say back, shaken and flushed by his sexy, secretive ways.

As always.

Quinn has duties to attend tonight, though; he bows over my hand then turns, moving away with Devi. As he goes, I take a moment to regroup, smoothing a hand down my sapphire blue and gold gown. The gown is Vampire-made and drapes low in the back, and the silk has a sleek 1930s cut, beaded across the shoulders with freshwater pearls that cling to my every move.

As I accept a fresh glass of wine from one of Quinn’s Vampire servers, glancing around the underground hall at the historical portraits of Vampires festooning every vault, my gaze lands on one nearby. As I migrate over to get a better look at it, however, the woman’s presence seems to drag me towards her. Though it’s just a portrait, I find I can’t look away, transfixed by her likeness. It’s as if the 1200s painting has been imbued with the Vampiress’ magic as I stare up at her sensual, belladonna beauty.

Dark-haired with eyes nearly as black as Quinn’s, she’s of Italian descent as she stares down at me as if she can see me watching. Though her features are perfect, her cheekbones wide and high, her lips full, and her mysterious poise statuesque like Elizabeth Taylor or Sophia Loren, something cruel lingers about her. Perhaps it’s in the eyes as I gaze up at her, unable to look away. Like the Mona Lisa but wicked, something evil is in her gaze as she stares down at me. Something that wants to kill me, if she could.

Or make me suffer—until everything good inside me dies.

“Emiliana DiClario.”

A clear tenor voice like silver bells makes me turn, and I see Quinn’s Third in the Dark Haven of Florence, Curio Silverfrost, gazing up at the portrait with me. Dressed in one of his elegant white and silver 1800s outfits, Curio looks like a Victorian gentleman about to go riding with his vest’s high collar and sleek silk cravat, silver-grey riding breeches, and tall boots.

Though Curio’s old Winter Fae wind swirls around me, brisk and pepperminty like always, I feel it lance like daggers now as his pale blue-white eyes stare up at the woman’s portrait.

Fury in his ancient, icy gaze.

“She was your Master also, wasn’t she? As well as Quinn’s?” I ask Curio now, a friend here at the Hotel and Dark Haven, and one of the people I trust most among Quinn’s Vampires.

“She was.” Curio is uncharacteristically solemn as he sips a red wine like me tonight, not blood. Pure, vicious hatred still seethes through him for the woman in the portrait, however, and I know why. Emiliana DiClario abused everyone in her Dark Haven, before Quinn killed her just over two hundred years ago.

And none suffered more than her favorite protégé and whipping-boy.

Quinn.

“How did she die?” I’ve never heard this story from anyone in Quinn’s Dark Haven, particularly not Quinn.

“Devilswood stake, enhanced by silver Faeanic runes.” Curio is brisk now as he turns to me with a wry smile, saluting the portrait as if toasting her death, then downing his wine. “Quinn had prepared it some time before he actually used it on her. They were Faeanic runes of his own design, based on ancient Summer Fae runes that would carry the power of pure sunlight directly into her heart when he staked her. You wouldn’t know it, but Quinn is an inventor, Ariana; he’s particularly good at inventing with Summer Fae runes, which shouldn’t be possible with him being a Vampire now. He should only be able to wield Vampire Bloodsigns. Quinn is an enigma in Vampire culture, however, and always has been.”

“He is.” I muse, thinking about all the ways my Master Vampire differs from other Vampires I’m surrounded by daily, living and working at the Red Letter Hotel Florence as I do now. “How did he find his moment?” I ask, wondering how Quinn got the drop on a Vampire many hundreds of years his elder, Quinn only six hundred years old and only four hundred in his Vampire life.

“She trusted him.” Curio shrugs now, a vicious but pleased gleam in his eyes. “And her trust undid her. Quinn was her top lieutenant, her Second in the Dark Haven of Florence before it became his. He was her utterly ruthless protégé, and she called him to her bed nearly every night when she was done tormenting others. She slept beside him when day came. Quinn can daywalk, though; his strength does not diminish with the sun’s rise, it strengthens. After countless mornings of laying awake as our Mistress slept, reliving all the horrible things she did to him and to everyone else around him… Quinn snapped. One day he just got that stake out of the bureau where he’d hidden it, walked over to her enormous bed, and thrust it right through her heart. That night, when the rest of us woke… we were liberated.”

“Only a few of you who were Emiliana’s became blood-oathed to Quinn after that, though, via his Master’s Kiss.” I note, knowing that part of the story at least.

“Yes.” Nodding, Curio gives me a dire eyebrow lift. “Many who enjoyed tormenting people left to go to other Dark Havens, ones that are not as egalitarian as Quinn’s. Several others who had been too abused simply left, unwilling to remain here where our lives had been such a nightmare. Those with grit and heart remained to build this place anew. With love, beauty, and most of all, consent. Which is how it is now, and forever more shall be.”

“As long as Quinn runs it.”

Another Master has joined our group now, and I glance over, knowing that ocean-smooth baritone voice. The Master Vampire-Siren Arturos Morregain has drifted to us, staring up at Emiliana’s portrait also as he sips from a chalice that is definitely blood, not wine.

Arturos is resplendent tonight in a modern pearl-white tux jacket with rounded midnight blue lapels and black pants. His platinum and pearl men’s cuff around his left wrist, the Vampire-Siren wears no bowtie but has the collar of his tux shirt open, an ornate torque of platinum and pearls curling around his collarbones to match his cuff.

Men’s rings of pearl and platinum are on a few fingers tonight. Combined with the rakish style of his tux, he looks like a prince of the waves striding right out of the sea as he comes to stand beside me.

Arturos’ ocean-blue eyes are deep as they pin me. His hair a dark chestnut, his features are such a handsome perfection, even far more than Quinn’s, that I can’t help but stare up at his tall gorgeousness.

As Arturos reaches out, lifting my hand and brushing the barest kiss over it, he keeps me locked in his gaze. His rolling oceans pummel me in his ancient, darkwater aura as it swirls and eddies all around me. Unlike he once did, Arturos doesn’t try to take me with his magic, or try to pull me away from Quinn. Desire is still in his gaze as it penetrates me, though. I shiver, caressed by his dark oceans.

And reclaim my hand, giving him a nod.

“Arturos.”

“Lady Ariana Summers.” He is formal with me, though I don’t deserve such a title. Arturos glances at Curio, then nods at the portrait. “Emiliana is dead and dusted, but we live on. Tonight is about solidifying allies to Quinn’s new way of leading his Dark Haven, and perhaps the world, if we can manage it. For it’s time Vampires came into a new age and Quinn is the one to lead us there. If he’s strong enough. ”

I have no time to ask what Arturos means, however, as Quinn steps up to a podium erected in the center of the underground space. As he receives a chalice of blood now from Devi, rather than wine, the entire hall turns to him. Smiles are on most faces, or what can be called smiles, as most elder Master Vampires don’t smile anymore.

A few of Quinn’s allies beam at him as he takes center stage, though; most notably Curio, Devi, and the gorgeous Mistress of Britain, the Lady Eiseth Pendragon, standing near the podium in her bright silver armor and midnight blue Arthurian gown.

But the night is Quinn’s as he raises his chalice, gazing around the hall. Like living fire and wraith smoke, his tremendous magical aura seethes from him, boiling through the underground space. Like a lake of fire, it looks like oil curling with blazing flame as it spreads around us, shimmering with my dark rainbows in its depths. There’s also light from Lucca in Quinn’s power now, though, flickering like gold and silver sunlight as he takes us all in.

He lifts his chalice in a toast.

Then begins his speech, to claim our Vampire allies in one last moment of solidarity tonight.