“Where’s mama duck? Is she coming by today?”
“No.” Nino rolls his eyes. “Cellina has interviews today, but she’ll come to lunch tomorrow after Haruka arrives.”
“You smell like him,” Giovanni says without looking up.
Nino draws back. “Really?” He lifts his arm and sniffs his pit.
“Faintly.” Giovanni sits straight and rests his back against the chair, finally giving Nino his full attention. “You’re carrying another purebred’s scent, but he must not be feeding deeply from you to mark you as his. He hasn’t pulled your aura.”
A statement of fact. Not even a question. “No, he hasn’t.” Every time Haruka feeds from him lately, the longing for him to drink deeper practically cripples Nino—like blazing heat sparking in his abdomen and shooting wildly up and down the length of his body.
He accepts the nature of their relationship. Completely. But Nino is also reaching a point where he would give just about anything to have Haruka release his aura from his body. Never having experienced it before, he doesn’t know exactly how it would feel. Whatever the result, his body wants it. He wants it. His nature craves more from Haruka with each intimate feeding.
Nino likens it to having an intense itch deep within his body that he can’t scratch on his own. Only Haruka can reach it.
“We’re just friends.” Nino firmly stamps down on his unruly instincts. “We don’t have any intention to bond. Haru has pretty strong opinions about it.”
Giovanni leans forward, picking up his papers again. “How boring. And you say he’s around your age?”
“Yes.”
“The two of you get along? You enjoy each other’s company?”
“Of course.”
“Is he physically appealing to you?” Giovanni asks.
“Y-yes…”
“So what the hell is the problem? Why would two young, attractive purebreds be dancing around each other in this day and age? Give me a fucking break. Does he know that he’s the first vampire you’ve ever offered yourself to?”
“That doesn’t matter, G. Like I said, we’re just friends.”
“It matters.” Giovanni picks up a pen from his desk and writes on his paper. “It’s taken you almost a hundred years since you came of age to offer yourself to someone, Nino—it’s a big deal. I’ll be here to greet your boyfriend, but then I’m flying to Paris tomorrow evening. I hate Paris. I’ll be back in two days unless I can get away sooner.”
“Alright,” Nino says, not even bothering to correct his brother. He turns to walk through the archway, but Giovanni’s boisterous voice makes him pause and look back.
“Go sit with Father,” he says plainly. “I already told him his golden child was arriving today, so he’s expecting you.”
Nino nods obediently, sensing his brother’s palpable bitterness and knowing better than to challenge it.
Twenty-One
Haruka travels across land and sea to reach Italy. He marvels—not because of the geography (although it is indeed impressive). If someone had told him three months ago that he would acquire a genuine friend and purebred source, and that he’d willingly leave the comfort of his home to travel and see that person… he would have rather made a sizable investment in goggles for flying pigs—which would have been the more believable option.
Life has surprised him. Just when he thought he understood the cruelties of the world—the greed, injustices and hopelessness therein—the universe has thrown him a curve ball and he’s taken it directly in the gut. In the best possible way, of course.
When he arrives in Milan and to Nino’s family estate, the morning weather is cold and breezy, but bright under a perfectly clear sky. The grounds of the Bianchi compound are a sight to behold—cypress tree–lined paths lightly dusted with snow, neatly squared hedges and brownstone villas standing in perfect harmony with their natural surroundings.
Haruka is greeted by Nino and his brother when he arrives at the main house of the estate. Giovanni is older but still young. He’s at least three inches taller, his build muscular with broad shoulders. He wears a sharply tailored heather-gray suit and a black shirt underneath. No tie. The raindrop shape of his eyes is similar to his younger brother’s, but Giovanni’s irises are more hazel and with flecks of green instead of Nino’s pure, golden amber. He has a clean but rugged, very masculine essence to his countenance—a designer warrior.
The two brothers guide Haruka down a vaulted hallway beautifully lined with sand-colored brick and shiny terracotta flooring. They step inside a warm botanical sun-room off the back of the main house. The room is cylindrical with a domed ceiling. Glass walls offer an almost three-hundred-and-sixty-degree view of the wintery garden and surrounding brush outside.
Giovanni settles in a chair directly across from Haruka at the intimate table centered in the room. “It’s an honor to have you visiting with us. Do you speak Italian? Or should we continue in English? Unfortunately, my Japanese is severely out of practice.”
“Thank you for the kind welcome,” Haruka says politely. “Italian is fine.”
Giovanni gives a short nod of approval. “Gradite uno spritz o un bicchiere di vino mentre aspettiamo?”
Would you like some appetizers or a glass of wine while we’re waiting? Haruka nods. “Sì, certo, per me uno Spritz va bene. Dividiamo un tagliere di salumi e formaggi?”
Giovanni smiles, impressed as a maidservant appears in the doorway and moves toward them. “Maria Laura, cocktails and appetizers, please.”
“Haruka can speak and read a ton of languages.” Nino beams, looking at Haruka fondly with his warm eyes. “He has Gilgamesh in its original Akkadian form, and a whole section of books in his library written in Hebrew and Latin. He also has an Armenian version of the Bible.”
“The Bible, huh?” Giovanni smirks. Haruka rubs his palms against his thighs. He is accustomed to perpetual remarks about his appearance—he’s even developed canned responses for efficiently deflecting the comments. Being praised on his actual skill and effort is something new.
“I enjoy languages, philosophies and cultures,” Haruka says, returning Nino’s smile. “It aids me with my research and cultural record-keeping.”
“Nino told me that your realm is in western Japan,” Giovanni says. “Considering you live in England, who is currently overseeing your community?”
“Presently… another local purebred is assisting the members of my aristocracy,” Haruka admits. Although Asao tells him the situation is far from ideal and Haruka’s presence is greatly missed.
The maidservant reappears and places a colorful board of grapes, meat and cheese on the table—mortadella, prosciutto and sliced salami. Taleggio and parmesan along with a simple bruschetta topped with diced peppers and a sampling of olives. A second servant appears with their cocktails.
Giovanni picks up his glass and brings it to his lips. “Interesting. And how long have you left your realm with this substitute purebred?”
“It has been nearly seventy years,” Haruka says, feeling shamed. Yes, he has experienced something unimaginably painful, and yes, the stress and humiliation of it nearly broke him. Nearly killed him. But there is no true reason for him to have stayed away from his home this long. If he must identify a reason, maybe it’s apathy?
