Authors: Elizabeth Amber
Bastian (10 page)
“What are you doing in here, boy?”
She turned to see Ilari blocking the exit. His expression was suspicious, but likely no more than her own. “I might ask you the same. There's been thieving in this tent before.”
Looking on the verge of apoplexy, the man lunged for her. “You dare?”
“What the hells is this?” Bastian demanded, entering to find them at a standoff.
“Nothing,” Silvia said easily, putting down the book she'd been about to hurl. “Ilari and I were just bidding each other good night. I happened to mention to him that a shard had been stolen from this tent recently and he seemed to take exception to my statement. Very odd.” She left them to make what they would of that.
That night, she bedded down in the lee of the Arch, under the blanket that had mysteriously appeared the night before. She reached out and stroked Sal's fur. “I begin to think Michaela has made a good choice for herself. It takes a weight off me, knowing her Satyr's a good sort.”
The dog gave her hand a lick, then padded in a tight circle as if tamping down long grass as his ancestors had done in order to make a good sleeping place. Then he curled up alongside her, his back a warm comfort against her own. She drew the blanket over them both and snuggled in for the night.
Seeing the light go out in the tent, she lifted her head to watch Bastian emerge. He looked in her direction and she ducked. By the time she peered out again, he was wending his way upward toward Esquiline at the far side of the Forum valley. He would pass the night with Michaela in his bed. Press his cock inside her as she'd seen him do that first night. A turbulent emotion welled up in her and she sought to put a name to it.
Longing,
she decided after a moment. A longing to belong to someone as Michaela did to him and he to her.
Longing,
she decided after a moment. A longing to belong to someone as Michaela did to him and he to her.
Beside her, Sal whined, and she wondered if he longed to stay with her as well. She relaxed against him again, giving him a reassuring pat. Pets were the worst things about changing hosts. She'd once had to abandon a parakeet in London, and she still worried over it, though it was surely long dead by now. She sincerely hoped it had gone on to live out its natural life span, even as she'd gone on to live out her unnatural one over the centuries.
“Don't get used to this,” she warned Sal, yawning. “I can't keep you. I'm too much of a wanderer. But I promised Rico I'd find a good home for you, and I swear to you I will. In fact, I grow ever more certain that Lord Bastian might suit you perfectly, for he'll stay put here in Rome.”
7
One week later
A
t the sound of boyish laughter, Michaela paused just outside the large white tent in the Forum. A low, masculine chuckle came in response. Bastian. His amusement was followed by the boy's voice again, sounding piqued this time. There was something familiar about the timbre of that youthful voice. It bore the barest hint of an ancient accent. Unless she was very much mistaken, the owner of it would prove to be her closest female friend.
t the sound of boyish laughter, Michaela paused just outside the large white tent in the Forum. A low, masculine chuckle came in response. Bastian. His amusement was followed by the boy's voice again, sounding piqued this time. There was something familiar about the timbre of that youthful voice. It bore the barest hint of an ancient accent. Unless she was very much mistaken, the owner of it would prove to be her closest female friend.
It was an unseasonably warm winter day, and a canvas flap in one wall had been anchored upward, so that the tent was left open to the outside air. She peeked inside and was instantly certain she was right in her assumption. Certain mannerismsâa turn of the head, a shrug of the shouldersâwere distinctive enough so that she saw through Silvia's disguise. Delight soared in her, for the two people who were most dear to her in both the worlds had finally met. And even more promising, they seemed to be getting along famously. But damn it all, trust Silvia to obstruct her plans by taking a ragged young boy as host.
The pair sat in chairs drawn close at Bastian's desk, their heads close together as they pondered some archaeological puzzle. It appeared to be a damaged section of mosaic, with numerous pieces missing from it. It was laid out upon a flat board on the desktop, and they were reassembling loose tiles upon it, carefully recording the position of each piece.
“No, how many times do I have to tell you? Blues go there.” The boyish Silvia rolled her eyes and picked up a small blue glass tile Bastian had placed incorrectly among greens.
“My mistake,” Bastian said, reaching for a notebook on the far side of Silvia. “Why don't you assemble and I'll do the note taking? My old eyes aren't as keen as your young ones.”
Michaela's brows arched, for she had never heard that indulgent tone from him before. Her elation increased tenfold at what it might mean. Was it possible that her plans for the three of them might come to fruition once Silvia reverted to her true form?
Silvia guffawed, every inch the boy in that moment. “A fine idea. How the hells old are you, anyway?” She reached across him, repositioning the tiles he'd mislaid.
A hint of a smile touched the corner of Bastian's mouth. “Old enough.”
“Blind, though, that's for sure. Blue goes with blue. Red goes with red. Green with green. One wonders how you've gotten along in your work before I came. Where did you learn your arkeelogy, or whatever you call it, anyway?”
“It's archaeology, as you well know. And I learned it from my father.” Bastian's voice had gone abruptly toneless, as it always did when he was reminded of his parents.
“What happened to him?”
Bastian didn't respond.
But a new voice spoke up from behind Michaela and she turned to see that Sevin had arrived. “He died eleven years ago, shortly after we arrived in this world,” he supplied. “Bastian and our father began the excavations here, and since our father's death, Bastian has continued the work.” He nodded to Michaela, giving her the easy, dimpled smile that most female residents of the
Salone di Passione
fairly swooned over, and belatedly added, “Good afternoon,
cara
. You're looking well.”
Salone di Passione
fairly swooned over, and belatedly added, “Good afternoon,
cara
. You're looking well.”
Michaela smiled prettily in return, and both Bastian and Silvia rose as she stepped into the room. Poor Silvia looked so guilty. It took her a moment to realize the reason. Why, she was
attracted
to Bastian! More so than Michaela could recall her ever having been to any other man in all the centuries that had come before. But then, what woman wouldn't be attracted to him? she thought, her eyes roving his powerful frame. Even one disguised as a boy.
attracted
to Bastian! More so than Michaela could recall her ever having been to any other man in all the centuries that had come before. But then, what woman wouldn't be attracted to him? she thought, her eyes roving his powerful frame. Even one disguised as a boy.
Looking from one to the other of them, she was startled to sense a lack of welcome toward her. A Vestal Companion could always detect the smallest signs of a man's displeasure, and she noted the mild irritation in Bastian's glance. She'd only come here today because he had mentioned this boy to her several times over the past week, and it had made her more than a bit curious to see him for herself.
However, although she'd been with Bastian for months now and Silvia had barely known him a week, she suddenly felt like the outsider among them. The quality of their banter had suggested an easy camaraderie; a bond that sprang from interests shared. It was a closeness from which she was excluded by her lack of familiarity with Bastian's work. She had never been invited here, and had never expected to be. A man's work was a man's work, and she had little interest in excavations. Still, she didn't like feeling shut out of things.
“To what do I owe this unexpected visit?” Bastian enquired.
Michaela went to him, propelled by a sudden need to mark him as her own in front of the others. Going on tiptoe, she offered her mouth and he took it, kissing her, his warm hand steady at her back. She loved the way he held her. Even the most casual touch from him, such as this one, was a thrill in itself that she would carry with her into the ensuing hours.
“Are we interrupting?” she asked, her gloved hand stroking his nape.
When Bastian did not leap to reassure her, Sevin swept into the breach of good manners. “Not at all. My big brother and I have business. But it's always a delight to see you.”
Michaela smiled into Bastian's eyes, willing him to share his brother's professed delight.
Silvia nodded to Sevin, who'd come to perch on the edge of the desk next to her and pass a few moments helping with the puzzle. Chin resting on her fist, she chatted with him easily, for they'd met numerous times by now and had formed a tentative sort of friendship. “You're better at this than your elder brother. He has no sense of color sometimes.”
“Really?” said Sevin, suddenly watchful. “He's generally thought to be quite clever with pigments.”
“Hmph.” She made a scoffing sound, only half her attention on the mosaic as she openly observed the other two occupants of the tent. Analyzing the quality of their embrace, she realized something was off. Bastian had seemed pleased enough with Michaela that first morning when Silvia had seen them together in his bed. Yet, although Michaela was now employing all the usual tricks of her Companion trade, they appeared not to turn this man to mush as they did all other men.
Perhaps it was the fact that he didn't easily succumb to her wiles that made Michaela want him above all the other men she might have chosen. Or perhaps it was his wealth of masculine sensuality, Silvia thought as she watched him alter his stance with an easy shift of his hips. His back was to her and his every move tautened the fabric of his shirt and trousers over a splendid musculature that in Renaissance times would have rendered him a subject worthy of Michelangelo's chisel. If she'd had to design a male to stimulate the mind and delight the senses, she couldn't have forged a better one.
“Your attention is wandering, Imp,” Sevin murmured, and she saw he'd been watching her watch his brother. Blushing, she was chagrined to note her mistake in the mosaic. Correcting it, she turned her back on the couple she'd been studying, belatedly concentrating on the puzzle and doing her best to afford them privacy.
Over Bastian's shoulder, Michaela noticed and smiled to herself. Same old Silvia, avoiding emotional entanglements. Her spurt of jealousy had been misguided. Of course it was. What had she been thinking? This was Silvia, her dearest friend, not some competitor for Bastian's affections.
As Bastian released her, Michaela pretended to turn her attention to the boy for the first time. “And who is this?” she enquired, smiling.
“A thieving, ill-mannered Imp come to work for me,” Bastian announced casually, sprawling his big form into his chair again. His brother let out a muffled chortle as if accustomed to, and amused by, their sparring. Michaela's brows rose.
Irked, Silvia got to her feet and with all eyes upon her, executed a low bow in a manner that obviously came as a surprise to both brothers. They could have no way of knowing that she'd served as a valet in the French House of Bourbon in the 1600s and could effect perfect manners when required. Coming forward, she kissed Michaela's hand and greeted her in polished Italian accents.
“Incantato, signorina. Il mio nome è Rico.”
“Incantato, signorina. Il mio nome è Rico.”
“Who the hells
is
he?” Sevin asked, favoring Bastian with a bemused look.
is
he?” Sevin asked, favoring Bastian with a bemused look.
“A courtly Imp, apparently,” Bastian offered mildly, but it was plain that the mystery of her intrigued him.
Michaela touched her fingers to Silvia's cheek. “I think your manners are quite adorable, Rico. As are you.”
“One wonders where you learned them,” Bastian added.
Silvia shot him a mischievous glance. “From my betters.”
Sal wandered over to greet Michaela. Bending to pet him, she murmured to Silvia, “Don't think this disguise will foil my plans for you.”
Silvia grinned, realizing she'd been found out.
“I thought so,” Michaela whispered. “And who is this?”
“Rico's dog. Whom I'm trying to get your lover to adopt.” Then more loudly, she said, “Yes, Signorina, Salvatore is indeed a superlative dog as you've noticed. In fact, Signor Satyr pleads with me daily to part with him, for he has come to admire him greatly and desires to claim him for his own.”
Bastian glanced up from his conversation with Sevin. “What lies is he telling?”
Michaela laughed lightly, drawing the interested attention of every workman within hearing range outside the tent. “None. I find him quite amiable. In fact, if you could spare him, I'm going to the market and he would be a help with my packages.”
“Might not be a bad idea to have a scrappy, streetwise boy at your side, to act as protector.” Those sensuous lips curved sardonically as Bastian added, “And I can definitely spare him.” Dismissing them, he bent over the mosaic, examining her recent work.
“Don't touch it while I'm gone,” Silvia commanded worriedly. “Promise.”
Bastian raised both hands, palms outward to affect innocence. “Your mosaic is safe from me. Go.” He waved her off.
Sal trotted after Silvia and Michaela as they left together. Once they were outside and a distance from the tent, Michaela glanced back at Bastian, who was leaving with Sevin to inspect one of the digs. Watching her, Silvia frowned at the hungry way her eyes followed him. She only allowed them to light on him with this desperate longing when he didn't see.
“Is all well between you and Lord Satyr?”
Violet eyes blinked at her.
“Scusi?”
Michaela snapped her parasol open, appearing embarrassed and anxious to change the topic of conversation. “Of course. How go the digs? Neither of you seem to be overly anxious to reach the temple.”
“Scusi?”
Michaela snapped her parasol open, appearing embarrassed and anxious to change the topic of conversation. “Of course. How go the digs? Neither of you seem to be overly anxious to reach the temple.”
Silvia's brows rose. “His men do the digging. He only directs it.”
“Of course,” said Michaela, but Silvia had an odd feeling she really didn't understand what went on here.
“And that's just as well,” Silvia went on, trying to lighten the tension that had sprung up between them. “For you were right about your lover. He
is
slow. It has been just over a week since I showed him the location of the temple and his men have only dug one third of the way down to it. In spite of my continued instruction and nudging in the proper direction.”
is
slow. It has been just over a week since I showed him the location of the temple and his men have only dug one third of the way down to it. In spite of my continued instruction and nudging in the proper direction.”
Having found a stick he'd mislaid, Sal retrieved it and begged for a game. Silvia wound up and tossed it for him.
Michaela glanced at the dog, wrinkling her nose. She'd never had a fondness for pets. “Is finding a home for this mongrel another of your wish fulfillments?”
Silvia nodded blithely. “Rico's last request.” She was the only one of the Ephemerals who steadfastly insisted upon carrying out her host's deathbed wish. It was a matter of honor to her.
At the mention of Rico, Michaela shot her a stern glance. “I know you took this form on purpose, Via. So that I would not coerce you to lie with Bastian and me.”
“It would be somewhat inappropriate, don't you think?” Silvia teased. “Considering that I'm an impressionable child of twelve.” Sal returned with the stick. Silvia threw it even farther and he dashed off after it.
“But a boy?” Michaela
tsked,
shifting her parasol to her other shoulder so she could better glare at her.
tsked,
shifting her parasol to her other shoulder so she could better glare at her.
“I rather like the freedoms masculinity offers,” said Silvia. “Standing up to relieve myself. No husband or suitor bothering me for sexual favors. You have no idea how much effort it has taken to remain virginal over the centuries. I've dodged thousands of hands, make no mistake.”
“Well, you won't be a child for long. Another two weeks or so, and it will be Moonful. You'll have to take another host. Make it an adult female next time, will you?”
“Why?”
“Because I want him . . .” Michaela broke off on a frustrated sound.
“To know I'm a woman? Do you truly think it would be as easy as that to persuade him?” asked Silvia. “No, forget what you're thinking, Michaela. I annoy him. And I doubt it would be any different if I wore skirts.”
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