A Venetian Vampire. Michele Hauf

may hate him, but she still wanted him. And she freely held his hand now, trailing behind him as they neared a diminutive metal bridge arching across the narrow canal.

      The scent of wolf assaulted his nostrils like a rotten egg. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled. This was not a stale trail they followed.

      Dante pressed Kyler to a stop. “They are close,” he whispered. “Can you scent them?”

      She nodded and closed her eyes.

      And he was able to pick up voices...most likely belonging to the wolves.

      “When do we leave Venice?”

      “Tonight. We gotta get out of here before news of the theft will make leaving the city difficult. And there’s the full moon. You smell that?”

      “Uh...oh, yeah. Like musk and...blood. Vamps!”

      “Shit.” Dante pushed Kyler toward the narrow stone steps that descended into the clear green canal under the bridge. “They’ve picked up our scent. Get in!”

      “But—” She didn’t continue the objection. Instead she stepped quickly down and sank under the surface, and he followed.

      Kyler didn’t utter a word as the cool waters tugged them downward and he directed her to swim under the bridge. Their movements were sinuous as they glided underwater. Vampires could breathe for extended periods underwater; werewolves had about as much skill with that as humans.

      They resurfaced beneath the bridge. Treading water, Dante pressed his finger over her mouth. Her bright blue eyes held such trust, not a bit of worry. Why trust him? According to her previous reasoning, he was the guy who had tricked her and stolen the egg. Perhaps she was so far out of her element even she didn’t know what or whom to trust. Poor little girl. He really would like to be that kind of man—the one a woman could trust—but it wasn’t coded into his DNA. He’d never trusted women, so why shouldn’t they return that favor?

      They averted their eyes upward as footsteps gained the bridge, and the familiar scent of werewolf kept their cautious movements to tight hand swishes and steady kicks to keep their ears above water.

      On the bridge a male said, “I thought I smelled vampires. I know I did.”

      “Yeah, but they’re not this way. Maybe it was around that other corner? Doesn’t matter. We should head back to the vampire’s palazzo in San Marco. Have stakes. Will kill vamps.”

      “We were told not to kill anyone.”

      “You complain too much.”

      “And you think you smell vampires everywhere.”

      “Yeah, well, they are nasty bloodsucking longtooths. And who’s going to know if we stake ’em?”

      “I do feel an itch to dust a longtooth. Let’s go.”

      The footsteps tromped off the bridge.

      Dante’s eyes traced Kyler’s face from her crimped brows to her sucked-in lower lip. Now she sought reassurance in his gaze. He could offer false security, tug her into his arms and supply some hopeful words, but it always ended in seduction. And right now he wanted to get out of this smelly water and onto dry land.

      After a few more minutes of treading water and listening, when he felt sure the wolf scent had faded, they swam to the opposite shore and he boosted her up out of the water and onto the narrow sidewalk.

      Legs dangling over the edge and into the water, Kyler tilted her head against a metal plate riveted onto the side of a building and closed her eyes. “That was close. And did you hear? They want to stake us.”

      “Yes, and they are returning to my palazzo. Guess I’ll be staying elsewhere for a few days until I can assure myself it’s safe to return. Damn.” He tugged off a leather shoe and emptied the water into the canal, then followed with the other. The trousers clung to his ankles. “This shirt is silk.”

      “Really? You’re worried about a shirt when it could have been your heart at the point of a stake?”

      “But it’s Zegna.”

      He could sense Kyler rolled her eyes, so he laughed softly. “There are very few material goods I value in life beyond a well-tailored suit. I will survive, though. As you’ve said, it beats taking a stake. How do you fare?”

      “Just cheap leggings and an ugly shirt I picked up for the job. I never wear black. Ugh. I need color.”

      “Don’t you wear black on your other heists?”

      “Uh...none of your business. So now what?”

      Was that none of his business because she committed so many other heists she couldn’t keep them straight, or because this particular thievery venture was new to her? Instinct told him to go with the latter. Interesting.

      “Shall we make our way to your hotel for some dry clothes?” he asked.

      “I don’t think you’ll find a change of clothing at my place.”

      “So you’d prefer I return home and walk in on two werewolves with stakes? You bruise me, Kyler. I thought the sex we shared was, at the least, spectacular.”

      “It was awesome. But it didn’t make us besties.”

      “Fair enough. Though we are in this adventure together.”

      “But—”

      Rain suddenly spattered the canal and the sidewalk where they sat, and Kyler burst out in laughter. Dante could not find the humor in being soaked even more. Had he been on his own he might have returned to his neighborhood, tracked the wolves from his palazzo to their hideout and found the egg. But having to protect a woman?

      She most certainly could not do this on her own.

      “Fine. We’ll go to my hotel room,” she said. “But don’t get any ideas, Casanova.”

      “You think I’ve seduction in mind when I smell like the canal? Absolutely not. I want to regroup and then find that egg.”

      “As do I.”

      * * *

      Dante was surprised Kyler offered to let him accompany her back to the hotel room. There was that blind trust again. But it worked for him. Perhaps it wasn’t so much trust as an innate openness and willingness to try new things. He decided she was an adventurous woman striving for full-on boldness. But with the loss of her stolen prize, adventure had turned and snapped back at her.

      They wandered into the hotel foyer, shoes squishing and clothing clinging to their skin. The rain had escalated to a downpour, so they hadn’t needed to worry about explaining why they were soaked. Everyone was wet.

      Kyler pointed to the elevator bay, but Dante veered toward reception. “Hang on.” At the reception desk he took a piece of paper and a pen and wrote down his name and the name of his tailor. “What’s your room number, Kitten?”

      “Three twenty.”

      He wrote that down, as well, then handed it to the concierge. Fortunately he had a few folded bills in his trouser back pocket, but they were pitifully wet. He stretched out a fifty and handed it over. “Call Signore Galleti. Give him my name and tell him I’ll need a complete suit and shoes. Quick as possible, per cortesia.”

      “Very good, signore. I’ll have someone bring it right up when it arrives.”

      “Grazie.” He turned and led the way to the elevator, feeling Kyler follow behind him. He was accustomed to having things go his way, but a niggle at the back of his neck wanted her to walk beside him, not behind.

      Once in the elevator, she said, “You have élan.”

      “I’ve had a good century and a half to practice.”

      “You were born with it,” she decided.

      “Furthest from the truth