Notturno (17 page)

“How could you do such a thing?” Donte’s anger wasn’t

entirely unexpected.

“It was just standard—”

“No.” Donte rose from the bed and twitched the drapes so

he could see into the garden from the safety of the shadows. “I

don’t want to hear it.”

“Donte—” began Adin.

Donte turned suddenly. “It’s bad enough that it’s out there.

It feels to me like…” He seemed to search for a word. “Like

the corpse of my lover. I’ve tried to keep it safe; I’ve carried

that journal for almost five centuries. Now you tell me you’ve

made an electronic copy. That tells me it can be propagated all

over the Internet like a…like a joke! I thought you might

understand. I thought you might see…”

“I do understand. I do!” Adin got to his feet. “Damn you,

stop yelling at me! My head hurts…” Adin wavered and fell

backward, but Donte caught him even before he could hit the

bed. “I’m sorry, Donte,” Adin murmured. He clung to Donte as

the man settled him on the bed. “I didn’t understand any of it.”

Donte sighed as he helped Adin with the covers. “I know,

più amato. I’m sorry I was cross.”

“How could I have known?” asked Adin. “How could I

have foreseen any of this?”

“Shh,” said Donte. He smoothed the hair back from Adin’s

face. “This will all still be there when you’ve slept.”

“How reassuring.”

“
Duro,
” whispered Donte, and Adin thought he heard a

smile in the voice. “Tough guy.”

NOTTURNO
115

“Duro
e sciocco
.”
Tough and foolish.

Donte shifted to rise from the bed, but Adin caught his

hand. “Stay.”

“Adin?”

“Stay with me.” Adin pulled Donte down to the bed next to

him. He held on to the large, elegant hand, interlacing his

fingers with Donte’s. “Will you? At least until I fall asleep.”

“Yes. Better the monster you know, eh?” said Donte,

sinking into the soft bedding and lifting his head onto an arm.

“This is a very small bed, Adin.”

“I noticed,” said Adin, turning on his side. He couldn’t

contain a grimace when he rolled onto a hip that had been

bruised by a booted foot.

“I promise anyone who touched you will answer to me.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“We can agree to disagree when you feel better, caro.”

Donte lifted his free hand to sweep a lock of Adin’s hair from

his eyes. “I am at war with myself, Adin. Part of me wants to

touch you, and part of me holds back because you need your

sleep.”

Adin’s lips formed a smile.

“What?” Donte asked.

“It’s official. I’m vampire catnip.”

When Adin opened his eyes, he thought Donte’s smile was

genuine. “Catnip. Yes. That’s it exactly, Adin.” Donte pulled

Adin into his arms and stroked his hair. “Go to sleep before

you say anything even more silly than that.”

Adin let out a deep breath. “I will.” He fell asleep, clutching

one of Donte’s hands in his, with the fingers of Donte’s other

hand combing lightly through his hair.

When Adin woke hours later, the drapes were open again

and the very last of the late-afternoon sun slanted through the

window. He could see the sunset bursting with brilliant hues of

every shade of red and gold. He rose and looked out the

window, and realized that he’d slept the entire day away. When

116 Z.A. Maxfield

he looked at the bureau, there were fresh jeans and shirts folded

neatly, along with a jacket, socks, underwear, and shoes. Boaz

was nothing if not thorough. His laptop case sat on the

nightstand where Adin left the tray earlier. He went stiffly

through the motions of dressing, knowing how much worse it

would have been without the shower and the medication, and

went to find his host.

Adin found Boaz in the kitchen, humming while he whisked

something together in a large bowl. Adin looked curiously over

the rim, saying nothing.

“Frittata,” said Boaz.

“I’m sorry my actions got you in trouble with your boss.”

“I should have known better. He’s admitted you might be

considered a handful.” Boaz grinned.

Adin shrugged. “Where is he?”

Boaz jerked his head toward a pair of French doors.

“Kitchen garden.”

“Ah,” said Adin, taking off in that direction. “I’ll find him.”

“Please remind him I need herbs if he’s planning to eat

dinner tonight.”

“I’ll remind him.” Adin exited the French doors and found

Donte right away, seated on a bench reading a book. He was

wearing the same robe but also had on a fairly large straw hat

and work gloves. There was a small basket and a pair of pruners

abandoned next to him. Adin walked over to him and sat,

enjoying the early-evening air. “Boaz said not to forget he needs

herbs.”

“Oh,” said Donte, closing his book with a snap. “Did he

send you to find me?”

“I was coming anyway.” Adin looked around. “This is a

lovely home.”

“Yes, it is, although it’s not mine. I borrow it when I’m in

town. The man who owns it spends very little time here. He

prefers Toronto, Canada. Can you imagine? Of course he’s

Russian and used to the cold.”

NOTTURNO
117

“Is he—”

“Like me? Yes, although not as old. Few vampires are as old

as I am, at least, here in America.”

“I see.”

“Shall we find Boaz his herbs?”

“He said only if you plan to eat.”

Donte gave him a pointed look. “Only if I plan for you to

eat.”

“Oh.” Adin looked back the way he had come. “Of course.

Well. Thank you. I am hungry.”

“You snap off a bit of that,” Donte said, pointing to a

rosemary bush. “And I’ll just get some of this basil and some

thyme.” He snipped them triumphantly. “I take it he’s making

eggs. That’s all he knows how to cook, but by all accounts he

makes them rather tasty.”

“He said frittata,” said Adin, following Donte back into the

house.

“Eggs, by any other name.” Donte dropped the herbs on the

worktop for Boaz, who was frying potatoes. Boaz nodded his

thanks. “Come, and we’ll find a wine to drink with this.”

Adin’s cell phone rang. “Tredeger.”

“Adin.” Tuan’s voice. He waved Donte on without him and

walked back to the French doors, exiting out into the garden.

“Tuan? Did you find
Notturno
?”

“Not yet, Adin. I’m calling about something else.”

“Edward?”

“No, he’s fine. He’d kill me if he knew I called you without

him knowing. I’m holding the sketch you did of the guy from

the restaurant. Good job, by the way.”

“Thanks. Listen, I was thinking that maybe I could pose as a

prospective buyer. Even really buy
Notturno
, if necessary.”

For a moment there was silence on the other end of the line.

“Adin, you need to give up on that manuscript.”

“What?” Adin couldn’t believe he heard Tuan right.

118 Z.A. Maxfield

“Right now. This minute.” Tuan paused. “I know more

about this than you think. I’m still trying to find it. But you

need to leave it alone. Not another word. Whatever you do,

don’t try an end run around me, because you’re going to get

hurt.”

“Tuan, what the fuck?” Adin felt tears sting his eyes again.

“You know I can’t just—”

“Adin!” Tuan snapped. “Look. I’m telling you for your own

safety. Let me handle the manuscript, stick with Boaz and don’t

invite
anyone
into your hotel room.”

Adin processed this. “Don’t invite… Tuan, are you telling

me you know what I’ve…?”

“I have to go. You
know
what I’m talking about. Just

remember it and don’t screw up.”

“Tuan!” Adin heard the click on the line.
Shit.
Tuan knew.

Having gotten a plate of food and a glass of wine from

Boaz, Adin followed Donte into the dining room, numbly going

over the phone conversation with Tuan in his head. Tuan knew.

He had to know. Why else would he…?
Donte stopped abruptly, and Adin walked into his strong back.

“What?” Adin asked. He looked around the impersonal

room. The long mahogany table glistened and reflected the light

from a chandelier. It must seat twenty-four, thought Adin,

looking around. The room was magnificent, stately. Perfect for

power dining.

“I hate this room,” said Donte, turning. “Do you mind if we

dine elsewhere?”

“Not at all.”

“Come. I like the garden best.” Donte led them back the

way they came. When they arrived in the kitchen, Boaz was no

longer in evidence and the dishwasher was running almost

soundlessly.

Donte pulled his straw hat off a hook near the door and

seated it back on his head. He opened the French doors and

indicated that Adin should go ahead of him. They walked

together to the stone bench where Donte had been reading and

sat side by side. Adin set his plate in his lap and placed his wine on the bench beside him.

“Perfect day,” Donte murmured. “Overcast enough to

venture out during the day, shady, not too cool. The sky…

What a sunset.”

Adin said nothing.

“Do you garden, Adin?”

“Not much, really,” Adin replied. He took a morsel of egg

onto his fork and tasted it. Donte was right, Boaz knew his way

120 Z.A. Maxfield

around an egg dish. “I have a garden in Washington, where I

live, but I’m gone so much of the time…”

“I think of all things…I miss the sun on my skin the most.

Lying naked and warm, stretched out on the earth in the

spring.”

Adin swallowed hard. He covered by taking a sip of wine.

“It must be hard.”

“I liked to garden. The irony is that I could have been a

monk, charged with tending the herb garden, drying and storing

plants for medicinal uses. Then my older brothers died, making

me the heir, which was a dreadful stroke of bad luck, although

you cannot know how many people congratulated me as though

I’d poisoned them myself. As if I would have chosen to go back

to San Sepolcro.”

Adin was silent, eating slowly and waiting for Donte to

continue. Donte did no more than sip his wine, refilling their

glasses as necessary.

“I did busy myself about the estate,” Donte continued. “I

cared about my father’s land and wanted to pass it intact or

better to my sons. Now it is as if that was the brief introduction

to an interminable passion play.”

Adin put his hand on Donte’s knee.

“I’ve told you more about myself than I’ve told anyone in

centuries. I don’t really know why. You have a stillness about

you that makes me confide.”

“Oh, I doubt that.” Adin laughed. “I don’t believe I’ve ever

been called still.”

“Perhaps it’s because you’ve been pounded into

submission.” Donte grinned. “Are you very sore?”

“No.” Adin shook his head. “I just feel foolish. It occurs to

me that the world is full of frightening things, and I’m the last

to know.”

“Oh, caro,” Donte said indulgently. “Surely not the
very

last.”

“How reassuring. Donte?”

NOTTURNO
121

“Yes?”

“Can you do that thing again? Make me see things the way I

did in the cemetery?”

“Ah,” said Donte with a genuine smile, putting his plate

aside. “You liked my little gift?”

“I did.” Adin wanted to share how much he’d liked it, but

didn’t have the words.

“Yes, caro.” Donte swirled the wine in his glass. Adin put

his plate down on the bench beside him as well and waited.

“Nothing would give me more pleasure than to amuse you

again.”

Adin held his wine and looked around as the subtle yet

significant changes began to take place within him. The first

thing he noticed was birdsong, notes of music he could pick

out, coming from everywhere around him. He could smell the

earth, mossy and cool beneath his feet, and the herbs, a

hundred, maybe more, different types of plant material and

flowers close all around him. Donte reached over and ran a

curious finger down the side of his neck, and Adin almost

moaned with the contact. He could feel his heart beating, feel

the slow, steady rush of his blood through his veins. He began

to sense Donte’s arousal, and although there was no answering

heartbeat, his own sped up, and he knew Donte could hear it.

He took Donte’s hand and placed it over his heart.

“I know, caro,” Donte whispered. “I can feel it. I can see the

pulse in your throat.”

Adin was suddenly aware of the smell of Donte’s skin,

faintly salty, faintly herbal. Adin could smell the coppery,

metallic scent of blood, and the faint traces of soap and

shampoo. Everything hummed and surged and teemed with life,

and Adin wanted to taste it on his tongue, to bite into it and

savor it.

“Donte—” he said, agitated, afraid of the vastness of the

space around him, the depth and breadth of the feelings he was

experiencing.

122 Z.A. Maxfield

“Shh,” soothed Donte, catching his hand. He pulled Adin to

standing and led him to a small private section of the garden,