“Did you know that something like that could happen? Had you ever heard of it within your research?”
“No.” Haruka rests back against the armchair. “It was the first time I had ever heard of such a situation and I have yet to find anything like it.”
Nino remembers the empty section at the end of the Lore and Lust manuscript. Broken Bonds. When he’d read the words, they hadn’t made sense to him. It was like reading “sober drunk” or “angry peace.” How could these two words exist side by side? It emphasizes how profoundly ingrained the lore of bonding is within the vampire psyche. Within their culture.
“The result of the infidelity,” Haruka says, his deep voice quiet, “was immense pain. A profound shooting, almost stabbing sensation in the depths of my nature within me. We decided to formally absolve our relationship, and for the following six months, my body… very harshly rejected Yuna’s nature from within me. Even with the passing of my parents, perhaps that was the most horrific experience of my life. I—I did not think I would survive it. I did not want to… To this day, I truly do not understand why I did.” Haruka brings his fingers to the top of his head, twisting his hair as he slumps. He clenches his eyes shut as if he’s still in pain.
Nino quietly crawls off the bed and takes the few steps necessary to reach him. Once there, Haruka blinks his lovely eyes open. Nino bends down, placing his palms against the armrests. He leans into Haruka, softly pressing their foreheads together. He closes his eyes. Haruka briefly tenses from his nearness, but as Nino extends the warmth and peace of his aura further outward, Haruka relaxes.
Soon, his friend’s breathing is slow, in perfect rhythm with his own. Nino opens his burning eyes and lifts his head. Haruka’s eyes are still closed, his face calm.
“Are you okay?” Nino asks.
When Haruka opens his eyes they’re glowing scarlet. Beautiful. “I am… My apologies…”
Nino steps back and extends his hands, offering to pull him up. “My father has an old library on the southern side of our compound. Would you like to spend some time there today?”
Haruka’s eyes widen as they slowly shift back to their healthy burgundy color. “I would.” He places his hands within Nino’s, allowing himself to be firmly pulled upright. Once they’re both standing, Nino steps into him and fully wraps his arms around his shoulders. He isn’t sure if this is okay—if he’s overstepping a boundary. But as he holds Haruka close, he turns his face into the silkiness of his hair at his temple.
“I’m very grateful you survived,” Nino says quietly. “Thank you for sharing that with me. I know it wasn’t easy.”
Haruka slides his hands around Nino’s waist, embracing him against the length of his body. Nino’s eyes widen in the hug, but he quickly closes them and holds his friend a little tighter.
“Thank you for listening,” Haruka says. “I have never… spoken of it aloud. Not once.”
How long can they stand together like this—embracing each other in the soundless, golden sunlight? The solidity of Haruka in his arms, and the gentle rise and fall of his breathing swelling against his chest. Nino has no clue. But he could do it all day. Even then, it wouldn’t feel long enough.
Twenty-Four
The following night, and as per Cellina’s insistence, Haruka accompanies Nino in meeting one of Milan’s most esteemed aristocracy members. Francesco Moretti is curator for the Galleria d’Arte Moderna. Based on Haruka’s admittedly shallow research, Moretti has held the prestigious title for the past two centuries and is best known for his personal relationship with Pompeo Marchesi.
Upon their arrival, Haruka and Nino are escorted down a long marbled corridor washed in dim, romantic lighting. Classic European artwork set in golden antique frames adorns the walls—Trivulzio Madonna by Mantegna, Portrait of a Warrior by Dossi. Moretti has a blatant affinity for priceless Renaissance-era artwork.
The hallway ends at a set of oak doors. The maidservant escorting them pulls one open and steps aside. To his amazement, there is a large atrium set behind Signor Moretti’s home.
The space is a rectangle lined with lush, deep green landscaping. Everything is drenched in the beautiful color: twisting cypress trees along the inside perimeter and thick, manicured grass running throughout the garden like a luscious emerald carpet. Strings of clear light bulbs are beautifully hung above a long table on the brick patio set in the center of the glass house. The modern lighting casts a soft, almost dreamlike haze.
During the ride to Moretti’s estate, Nino was uncharacteristically quiet. Haruka knows that his friend loathes these types of formal events, but he isn’t exactly sure why. It is only a dinner party and Nino isn’t in any danger. The only true threats are boredom and the uncomfortable barrage of flowery compliments.
They walk toward the table and all the vampires there pause to stare. When an older male at the head of the table stands, everyone follows his lead. From his Internet search on Nino’s laptop, Haruka recognizes the leader as Francesco Moretti. The older vampire’s thick silver curls glisten under the soft light of the atrium. His face is chiseled and attractive with a strong jawline. Clearly, he is dignified and well-groomed.
“Younger Bianchi, it is a pleasure to have you join us for dinner in Lord Bianchi’s absence.”
Signor Moretti opens his arms wide and Nino awkwardly steps into his embrace. The older vampire neatly kisses him on the cheeks before drawing back and looking him in the face. “Such a stunning young vampire you’ve grown into. Perhaps I haven’t seen you since before you came of age? Pity.”
“Maybe.” Nino smiles, but the gesture doesn’t reach his eyes. “Signor Moretti, this is my friend Haruka Hirano of Kurashiki, Japan. He’s visiting with us for the week.”
“I have heard.” Moretti beams as if Haruka is a large bag of rare gemstones. He offers a slight bow from his waist. “Impressive purebred you are. Welcome to Milan, Master Hirano.”
“Thank you, signore,” Haruka replies, nodding politely. “Please simply call me Haruka. It is a pleasure to meet you.”
“Your Italian is beautiful, Haruka. Please have a seat and make yourselves comfortable.”
Moretti goes around the table to introduce each of his guests—their rank, age, profession and any noteworthy distinctions they have achieved. It is tedious. And pointless. Based on his experiences across European aristocracies, no one else will talk at any length tonight. The host always dominates, rarely letting the other guests get a word in edgewise.
Nino pulls his smartphone from his pants pocket and discreetly checks it underneath the table. Haruka doesn’t need to ask why. Cellina is not here yet.
Signor Moretti calls for Haruka’s attention and he straightens his back, preparing for the inevitable onslaught of questions.
Wine is poured. Warm appetizers are served. Just as Haruka had anticipated, much of Signor Moretti’s focus has been on him. His background, his opinions, his breeding, his interests. The conversation is engaging if not slightly wearisome.
Nino has barely said a word since they arrived.
Signor Moretti takes a long sip of wine, then diverts his attention toward Haruka yet again. “We are all well aware of the younger Bianchi’s… troubles. But may I ask—what with your intellect, alluring aura and poise, why have you chosen to remain unbonded?”
Haruka blinks. Troubles? He casts his disbelieving gaze over to Nino, but he avoids his eyes and casually picks up his glass of water—as if nothing untoward has been stated. Haruka takes a deep breath and focuses on Signor Moretti. He quickly reverts to his canned answer. “I have not yet found a vampire that I am compatible with.”
“Perhaps that will change whilst you are in Italy?” He grins, mischievous. The elder gentleman already has someone in mind for Haruka. Perhaps a few someones. They always do. Simultaneously, Nino exhales a quiet groan.
“The younger Bianchi is… inexperienced and ignorant of our social hierarchy.” Moretti lifts his chin. “It is the elder Bianchi, Giovanni, on whom you should focus your precious attention. He is an exceptionally shrewd businessman and well known all across Europe—truly the pride of our region. There is also a ranked female in Rome—”
“Amore, you are being discourteous.” Lilliana, Moretti’s mate, gently smacks his shoulder. She offers an apologetic smile to Nino.
“Are my words untrue?” Signor Moretti says proudly, lifting his large hands in a yielding gesture. “Nino has not acknowledged nor properly engaged with any of us in his lifetime. How can he know? And do you still privately consort with that leech Cosimo De Luca?”
Nino’s jaw drops in naked shock. “No. How do you—”
