Page 2 of Light Fae's Love
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.