The Shades of Time (23 page)

A lightning
bolt of energy coursed up his arms, then down his torso. She felt
it too—he could trace the path of the energy, first centering in
her belly and spreading to her thighs, leaving her unsteady and
grasping his arms as she mouthed a strangled "Oh". The vibrations
set every nerve alight and threatened to bring both of them to
their knees.

Antonio moaned,
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to do that."

Veluria gasped,
"I will be fine. Just, please, not like that. Not yet." He had no
idea what she meant. Before he could ask for an explanation, she
hurried on, "I'm afraid you are right. I am still weak."

"Let me put you
to bed. You need to rest." With that he lifted her easily and
carried her into the bedchambers where he placed her on the bed and
covered her with the quilt.

He avoided touching her as he feared sending another energy
surge. It had been an unconscious act, his body reacting to hers,
to the ache in his groin and the throb of his now swollen cock.
That it came from him, not from her, caused him some consternation.
He'd
never
had this
reaction to any woman. Had he been right about her, had she touched
that sacred inner core that he kept hidden from everyone, even
himself?

He would need
to distance himself, not so much fearing she would breach his
defenses but that he could do her harm. That was something he could
not bear.

He said, "Rest
for now," and turned to leave.

The last thing
Veluria wanted was for the man she called a demon to leave her
side. Without him close she was vulnerable—from without and
within.

She pleaded,
"Don't leave, Tonio. Please. Lie with me. I need to be held
tonight."

Veluria moved
over to make room for the man who would own her heart, praying he
could overcome his own deep-seated fears. To her surprise he
quickly stripped his clothes and slid next to her, wrapping her in
his strong arms and clutching her with a desperation borne of years
of longing.

Veluria admired
the restraint, the consideration, as he held her close. She knew in
her bones that he struggled not to let his hands wander, keeping
his needs contained so as not to inflict any more damage than her
battered body had already sustained. She wished he would lose that
struggle. She wanted his hands to pinch and fondle and seek out her
secret places.

She could
compel him, unleash her special talent as the Reverend Mother would
say, but she did not want him under false pretenses. She craved
authenticity, a term in currency in her timeline, as so much of her
culture rested on artifice that the inner being seemed somehow
hollow, a mere shadow of itself. Not unlike now, she realized with
a start. It was no wonder the Sisterhood chose her for this
assignment. She was the penultimate mask, a pure construct, a
reflection of the world in which she existed for the briefest of
moments.

Lies, deceit,
and misdirection—she existed as a puppet in the service of the
greater good. No different than the man of cruelty and violence
cradling her with such tenderness, a man who danced to the demands
of family and country, eschewing his own needs, burying them so
deep it required alien powers—hers—to release the sensual man. It
made their bond unique and desperately tenuous. Neither would
falter in their chosen path, neither would sacrifice that which
they held so dear. She understood that the Dark One's path and hers
intersected at a single moment in time. He did not have her
perspective, could not possibly understand the stakes, yet she knew
that, for now, their futures were linked.

She and the
Sisterhood had been wrong. They had set her to search for an
artifact, a device, something concrete, real. She had indeed found
what she sought, though she still struggled to understand the why
and the how. The way forward was couched in mist, indistinct, but
the man next to her was more real than anything had ever been in
her shadow existence. Joined now, they hurtled toward some
cataclysmic event that could disrupt both their worlds.

As she drifted
into dreamless sleep she thought of castles in the sand and an
in-rushing tide, and all of them powerless to stop its advance. She
prayed for guidance, some hint at the future, but the only clue was
that the lock on her heart had been breached.

She knew only
one certainty: Antonio de' Medici was the key.

Chapter
Sixteen

Antonio drew
the frail form close, reveling in the warmth and clean scent, the
tangle of hair soft as velvet on his chest. He trembled at the
arrhythmic pulsing of her energies, and an erratic heartbeat that
so mirrored his own. He wished for nothing more than to plunge into
her depths, to fill her, plunder and ravage and claim her for his
own. He knew how to take with violence, how to master and control
yet his very core fought against his nature, cautioned him to
exercise restraint. She would not be conquered or owned or
manipulated. Veluria would require that which he gave to only two
others: his heart and his soul. That neither seemed worthy of her
he was in no doubt, but it was all he had to offer.

Filling his senses with her essence, he understood the
conflict and uncertainty coursing through her mind. He shared the
confusion, the sense that they existed in some time out of place,
in a shadow world where reality and its reflections switched places
randomly, and by some miracle he and she had ended up sharing a
piece of that reality. That it would not last, that events would
conspire to drive each of them back into the worlds that spawned
them, on this he could wager his family's fortune. But he was not a
betting man, and he was no longer willing to forego his own
desires. He had finally found that missing bit to his soul, lying
next to him, curled against him in sweet slumber. Tonio
knew—
knew
—this
would turn his world upside down and inside out. And it didn't
matter. He would let his essential nature, his Demon half, do
whatever was necessary to hold onto this most precious thing in his
life.

He passed the
long hours shrouded in mist, neither asleep nor awake, gathering
his reserves. He sensed the catastrophe awaiting them, its outlines
still faint. Much depended on their decisions made in the light of
day, the multiple paths diverging, each leading to an uncertain
destination, all fraught with peril. This was unfamiliar territory
for him—this internal debate. Unlike Cosimo who seemed to relish
the mental exercise of what ifs, he avoided that quagmire of plots
and counter-plots by favoring a simpler approach … but not this
night.

Reluctantly he
pushed the conflicting images and demands to the background. He
would let matters take their own course. In the interim he would
guard his woman and keep her safe. He would deal with the future if
and when it emerged from the shadows.

The cool light
of dawn filtered through filmy gauze curtains—accompanied by the
distant sound of birdsong and activity in the courtyard
below—punched through Antonio's consciousness. He had finally slept
despite his best intentions. Veluria still lay curled in his
arms.

"M'lady? It is
time." Antonio murmured in her ear.

Veluria
stretched and turned over, a smile lighting her face, her dark eyes
flecked with gold and crinkled with mirth.

"M'lady? You
dare to call me M'lady?" She snorted and slapped his chest, leaving
a red mark that tingled and burned and fired his lust to red
hot.

"I believe it is a sign of respect …
mia donna
." Antonio leered as he
fingered where her touch had lit the torch that threatened to
explode in a conflagration he would not, could not,
control.

"I think perhaps you show too much respect,
signore
."

He felt his
face flame, half embarrassed at the banter—something he rarely
engaged in, even with his brothers, most certainly never with a
woman. He had no idea how to proceed. Getting it right, pleasing
her, pleasuring her had taken on such import he hesitated to touch
her intimately. Despite his experience he was unschooled in the
niceties of lovemaking, accustomed only to relieving his itch with
a minimum of fuss.

How would he
compare to Stefano, assuredly the most accomplished of them all?
Would she…?

With a start he
realized Veluria had withdrawn from his embrace, the coverlet
pulled to her chin despite the balmy breeze filtering through the
narrow window. She gazed at the ceiling with a blank stare. A cold
emptiness replaced the warmth of her presence. She had shut down,
shut him out.

What happened?
Mio dio, cosa ho? What have I done?

Veluria had
more than closed an imaginary door, she'd locked herself away in a
cell, leaving a residual wash of thinly veiled disgust and
distaste. He prayed he was mistaken but his powers were such that
he was seldom wrong. No, she had looked into his soul and found him
wanting. He had feared how she would react when he revealed his
more vile nature. He should have known better.

I guess the
Demon got what he deserved.

Antonio slipped
from the bed and gathered his clothes lying scattered about the
rough wood floor. Angry at her, angry at himself, he dressed
quickly and stalked to the door.

Keeping his
voice carefully neutral, he said, "I will see to a light repast.
When I return, we shall discuss our next steps." He did not wait
for a response.

Tonio bounded down the stairs and entered the main part of the
tavern. The driver and Mario lounged in a far corner looking
slightly the worse for wear. While he'd been playing the adolescent
with a full blown crush, they'd apparently amused themselves with
the inn's wine … and likely female companionship. He'd have been
better served to have joined
them
rather than give in to his foolish
whims.

He slid onto
the bench next to the driver, his face set in a scowl dark enough
to make the men cringe. Mario was more accustomed to his moods so
he simply nodded and leaned against the stuccoed wall, looking
resigned to his fate. The driver opted to bolt for the door,
muttering he needed to see to the horses. With an unsteady gait,
the burly man made for the rear entrance to the taberna and
disappeared from view.

The innkeeper approached and inquired, "What may I get for you
and the lady,
senhor
?"

His temper
getting shorter by the minute he growled, "I don't give a fu—" but
caught himself when Mario gave him a strange look. He took a deep
breath and said, "Whatever you have," then waved the man off.

With unctuous concern for his guest's comfort, the innkeeper
pressed, "And for you,
senhor
?"

Tonio gritted
his teeth and hissed, "Nothing." The man took the hint and turned
to go.

Tonio called
out, "Wait."

"
Senhor
?"

"I shall require other accommodations." He had both men's
undivided attention. Hastening to clarify he said, "For myself.
The
senhora
will
stay in her quarters upstairs."

The innkeeper stumbled over his words, "I-I-I am
sorry
, senhor
. This
is but a humble establishment. We have no other…"

Tonio
interrupted, "Fine, I will use," he waved in the direction of his
corporal, "his space."

The innkeeper
shrugged and mumbled, "As you wish," and left.

Mario stared at
him in confusion for a moment, then said, "I will move to the
stables. The weather suits."

Tonio was aware
that the 'stables' were nothing more than a lean-to shelter, normal
for these dry climes. However, Mario would not be so inconvenienced
since he had an errand for the man that would take him back to
Spagna and away from witnessing his further humiliation.

"I need for you
to take a message to my brother, Nicolo, in the Albayzín." Mario
raised his eyebrows but listened attentively. "Tell him…" he paused
and thought furiously that he was about to make a monumental
mistake, but rushed on, "…tell him we will not require transport to
England."

"Sir?"

"See if the
innkeeper can secure a mount. I need for you to make best
time."

"What then,
Commander?"

What then,
indeed. He had no idea. From a ridiculous lovesick fantasy, he'd
been cast once more into the role of safeguarding Medici interests
above all else. Interests which were no longer clear.

He should have known better than to let her in. He was the
biggest kind of fool. She'd seen into his black heart and been so
filled with disgust, she'd … what? Denied him? It was more than
that yet he could not explain the devastation to his soul. Yes,
even with all his avowal of having been born without one, the truth
of the matter was that he
did
have a soul—a dark desperate entity that filled
him with purpose. He wished to God it were different.

With a sigh he
answered Mario's question. "Go home, Mario. Just go home." He
handed the man a pouch filled with coins. "This should be
sufficient to book passage on a merchant vessel back to Roma.
Father will have returned to Florence. Join him there and do his
bidding as you would do mine."

"But, sir, what
about you and the woman?"

"Do not concern
yourself." He spoke firmly yet Mario still looked ready to protest.
He clearly did not wish to leave his commander alone in a strange
country without protection. One thing about his people—they were
intensely loyal to him and his house.