A Venetian Vampire

Chapter 1 (#u57d38c74-ed4c-58c0-9675-8c89814c3ebc)

Dante D’Arcangelo insinuated himself into the Cannaregio Casa d’Aste with an ease that had come from more than 160 years of existing along the edge of the shadows. No one paid any mind to the tall stranger as he walked the Venetian auction house’s marble corridor to the back room, where key arrangements for the event were being performed. Tomorrow evening’s gala auction would feature dozens of valuable art items on the block. It was being hyped with celebrity fanfare. A media blitz.

The star of the show was a Fabergé Imperial egg called the Nécessaire. It had officially gone missing in 1952, after the last known buyer had been recorded only as: A Stranger. A month ago, it had suddenly reemerged in the art world. Dante intended to remove it from the auction house tonight. No hard feelings. It was just that the egg belonged to him. And the very fate of his kind—vampires—required he get it back.

As he took in the layout of the bustling auction house, the placement of the dinnerware stacked and ready for service in the grand ballroom where a celebratory dinner was to be held, counted the employees and marked their various uniforms, noted security cameras and entrance keypads, Dante noticed one woman stood out from them all.

Rather, she didn’t quite fit in.

A woman of medium height and more than a few delicious curves, she stood apart from the workers possessed of blasé European disinterest, slender frames and suntanned skin. A tourist who had wandered in from the streets? Doubtful. Her actions were purposeful. She moved along the edge of the activity, which hummed like a busy office expecting the district manager to show up at any moment to fire one and all. She was dressed all in black, and over that she wore a snug maroon apron like those on the auction house employees. Her dark hair was pulled into a ponytail.

Waiters and others who most definitely belonged in the mix shuffled to and fro, intent on their specific duties. Some spoke into earpieces; others checked details on clipboards or iPads. A pair of lanky busboys hustled clattering cases of wine toward the bar area set up along one wall.

The woman with the dark hair and mysterious presence kept her head down, yet her kohl-lined eyes took in everything—except the people. She did not miss a creased seam where wall met wall, nor a crimped electrical cable running from a computer along the floor and into a dark, attached room. Near her thigh, her fingers moved as if counting, slowly. She was marking her footsteps across the room.

Dante smirked. Was she actually casing the place? Well, he knew she was because he was. Only he had much more stealth, despite the fact he wasn’t a professional thief. Although his life experiences did tend to put him in larcenous situations from time to time. He picked up necessary skills with ease and interest. And he never hesitated to commit a criminal act when he knew it could ultimately serve the greater good.

Such as obtaining this particular bejeweled prize.

When his shoulder was bumped, he turned and offered apologies to a slender blonde woman holding a stack of bid cards and offered to help her carry them. She thanked him and in mellifluous Italian said she was capable. And then she smiled widely as she stared at his face—a few seconds too long.

Dante was accustomed to that dreamy look. And honestly? It gave him a visceral thrill. Women gave him a thrill. All of them. All shapes, sizes and colors. Could a man ever get enough? So he touched her cheek, brushing aside some strands of corn-silk gold hair over her ear. She blushed and looked to the cards clasped in both hands, then fluttered her lashes as if she couldn’t decide whether to look back up at him or clutch those blank cards tighter.

He needn’t exercise his vampiric persuasion on her. If he wanted her, he could have her. But flirting with an audience present was gauche. And he didn’t want her. He simply enjoyed the triumph of knowing she would fall sighing into his arms should he give her the permission to do so.

Dante bowed, gesturing she had the right of way. That gentlemanly move stirred her from her adoring gaze. She cleared her throat, blushed even deeper and nodded quickly. As she passed, he inhaled her perfume. A note of freesia vied to rise above the alcohol base. He did not care for unnatural chemical scents. Still, he did admire the warmth that continued to redden her skin.

Enough distraction. Where had the mystery woman gone? Ah, yes.

He crossed the room to the hallway into which his suspected thief had entered with carefully placed—and counted—footsteps. Immediately he noticed an armed guard in front of a closed door at the far end of the hallway. A walkie-talkie was clipped to his chest pocket. No gun at his hip, but the gleam of a carbon nightstick flashed from the holster at his waist. A badge would be required to enter what Dante guessed was the room where the auction items were being prepared to go on the block.

Halfway down the hallway, between Dante and the guard, the woman in black suddenly checked her wristwatch and stopped. After turning, she backtracked. Dante dug out his pocket watch and bowed his head as she passed him. He picked up no perfume scent from her, though was that a hint of salty sweat? She was nervous? Poor girl. Had she not done this before? Such a pity she would fail. It was in his best interest to ensure she did.

He’d have to adjust his schedule for this evening. Didn’t want to run into her bungling her way through a hopeless theft. And he’d hate to see the disappointment in her eyes when she arrived on the scene to find whatever she sought was missing. Had to be the egg. It was the only item on the auction list that could possibly attract a thief. Missing from circulation for almost seventy years, the Nécessaire Fabergé egg was a showstopper.

Yet, it had been missing from his care for only twenty-five years. He hated to admit to himself, but he’d let it slip through his hands some time before the turn of the century.

And then a thought occurred as he confidently stopped before the guard and allowed him to scan the badge he’d lifted upon entering the establishment half an hour earlier. What if?

Yes, what if?

“Immettere.” The guard granted him entry.

“Grazie,” Dante said and strolled inside.

Two men dusting a bronze statue of a dandelion looked up as he entered, and again Dante bowed his head over the 1790 pocket watch he’d been gifted as an eighteenth birthday present. Four silver skulls were situated in the center beneath the brilliant copper hands. He wouldn’t dream of destroying the line of his suit with a cell phone.

He wasn’t going to remain in this room long enough to be asked questions. And the cursory glance he’d taken had confirmed only one camera in the opposite corner. The far wall displayed a digital lock beside the door, same as near the door through which he had entered. Inadequate security, as his advance research had reported while on the jet to Venice. Not that he’d surfed the information highway himself. He knew people who knew far too much about technology and ways to infiltrate security systems.

This auction house was small, finding its feet after decades of near failure. The egg was to be its ticket out of the red. Pity it hadn’t boosted security for its big show. If a thief could get past the security sensors on the first floor, the reward for making it that far would be in this simple room.

He put up a finger to gesture as if he’d forgotten something. “I’ll be right back,” he muttered and left the room, tucking away the watch. He offered a gracious ciao to the guard as he strolled back down the hallway.

He didn’t see the woman in black again. Didn’t need to. He’d marked her as no threat.

As Dante made his way toward the front of the building and stepped out into the fresh summer air, he returned to the what-if scenario. He might consider it a fortune that another thief was slinking about his turf. Would she go after the object he wanted? It was the most valuable and unique of the auction’s offerings. There was always the risk she was not at all interested. Perhaps bronze dandelions were her thing?

“Foolish not to take the egg,” he murmured. “And if she does?”

He smiled a wicked smile that had caused many a woman to strip off her lace-and-silk unmentionables and beg him to take her.

“I’ll let her take the egg for me. It’ll be a great diversion.”

He did enjoy diversions. Especially those involving a beautiful woman.

* * *

Many hours after her visit to case the art house, Kyler Cole again left the building, but this time, on the sly.

Nabbing the Nécessaire Imperial egg had been too easy. So easy, in fact, that Kyler kept rubbing her palm over the black nylon backpack in which she’d placed the egg to reassure herself she’d actually done it. She had snuck into the Cannaregio Casa d’Aste and absconded with a nineteenth-century artifact that was worth millions. Go, girl!

And why had she, a thief who had only ever stolen to survive, taken on such a task? Because hidden within the egg was a spell that promised eternity, and that would give her freedom from worry and fear.

It had been a harrowing adventure—and entirely new for her—but well worth the risk. Her body hummed and tittered as she walked swiftly through a dark alleyway and toward the buzz of a crowd mingling at an outdoor bar near the Grand Canal’s sparkling waters. The Venetian nightlife bubbled with laughter and music from a live acoustic band. The air was rife with smells of salty seawater, fried seafood and sweet spices. Her mood compelled her toward the celebration.

Kyler’s toes barely hit the ground, and she propelled herself so lightly she thought someone might see her lift off from the pavement and fly at any moment. But she remained grounded by keeping one eye out for the local police, whom, she had noted earlier, dressed in gorgeous black-and-white uniforms and, with the addition of crisp, clean white gloves, looked like fashion models. Yes, she had a wandering eye for a well-dressed man.

She’d not tripped any alarms while in the auction house. The security had been lax. As well, she’d spied an open window on the second floor. She avoided the risk of setting off the alarms on the first floor, and a leap had allowed her entrance. Such skills she possessed! And once perched upon the windowsill, an interior scan had assured her no cameras were in the room.

If her luck continued to play well, no one would discover the theft until the final inventory preceding tomorrow night’s auction. She intended to leave Venice as soon as she got the call for the handoff, which she expected sometime tomorrow. The man she’d stolen the egg for would arrange for someone to meet her here in Venice to take it off her hands, but she didn’t have the details yet.

Right now, she could use a glass of wine, perhaps even champagne. Yes, a celebration was due! It had been a long time since she’d felt so elated. So ready to embrace the possibilities life now offered her. And some well-deserved merriment would wipe the tarnish from the crime, yes? She’d committed petty theft before. A few swiped cosmetics when she was a teenager, and the obligatory bottle of wine from the liquor store while her friends distracted the cashier. Stupid stuff. Last year, she’d upped it to food and pharmaceuticals when caring for her dying mother. Funds had been low. She hadn’t had any other choice.

The crime she’d committed this evening felt...not so terrible, now that it had been accomplished. What was contained within the egg would give a certain man the reassurance he needed—for her, as well.

She insinuated herself into the crowd of partiers milling about an ivy-draped patio and eyed the open-air bar. A few bar stools were empty, so...why not? Sliding onto a stool, she kept the backpack slung over a shoulder.

“Prosecco,” she told the bartender, and the bearded drink-jockey winked before turning to pour her a goblet.

She didn’t speak Italian, so she was thankful that a word here or there served to get by in this country. Born and raised in Iowa, her first trip overseas had been six months earlier. And she hadn’t looked back since.

“Celebrating?”

Kyler took in the side profile of the man who’d asked her the question in English. Chiseled cheekbone and a thick black brow. A blade of a nose and the hint of stubble darkening his upper lip. His hair was cut short, hugging a perfectly shaped skull, and was the same inky color as hers. She’d taken hers out of the ponytail after exiting the auction house. It was one of her best assets, and she now swung the thick mane over a shoulder as her sensual instincts screamed for her to get the guy’s attention—and keep it.

“Yes. I’ve had a good day.” She sipped the chilled prosecco. Beaming from the high of her accomplishment, she tilted her glass toward him.

He tipped his glass against the thin crystal. “My wine won’t match your bubbly, but I toast you all the same. To good days.”