Beatrice had realized soon after she learned Giovanni was a vampire that, as much as their strength and speed gave them physical advantages, the fact that vampires were housebound for half of the day put severe limitations on their immortal lives. Even older immortals like Carwyn who could be awake for much of the day were groggy and weak, exhibiting barely human strength and even less speed.
For Gemma to devote as much of her limited night hours to training Beatrice as she had—no matter how much satisfaction she got from beating her up on a regular basis—was not something Beatrice could forget, and she was reluctantly grateful.
She relaxed into the heat of the bath, wishing that she could share how sore she was with Giovanni, but knowing instinctively that he would not react well. He and Carwyn had been in France for a week, trying to determine what connections Lorenzo still had and meeting with possible allies. It was a delicate balancing act, since most of the French immortals seemed to hate Terry, Gemma, and all their people simply because they were English.
“Vampire drama,” she snorted. It still reminded her a little bit of high school.
She heard the door to the bedroom open and Giovanni’s voice when he walked in. Her eyes popped open. He was back early.
“Shit,” she whispered and stuck her bloodied hands under the water.
“Beatrice? I’m back.”
“Hey, just taking a bath. I was training tonight,” she called through the door.
Shit, shit, shit.
“How are you feeling? Gemma was quite complimentary of your determination when I talked to her. She says your speed is improving as well.”
He sounded impressed, and she hoped he wasn’t breathing too deeply.
“That’s good to hear,” she said and ran the soap over her knees, trying to clean the blood from her skin even though it made her wince.
Owwwwww.
“Beatrice?”
No!
She panicked and ducked under the water, remembering all the blood that had stained her hair from her broken knuckles. She heard him snarl from the other room.
“Why do I smell so much blood?”
Too late.
She surfaced to see an irate vampire standing over her.
“I’m naked, Gio! Naked! Get out of here.”
He ignored her, his eyes raking over her bruised form and bloody joints.
“What the hell is going on?” he roared. “You look like you’ve been attacked.”
“I was. On purpose. That’s kind of the point, isn’t it?”
She sat up in the bathtub and crossed her arms over her bare breasts.
“What has Gemma been doing to you? She was supposed to take care of you. She was supposed to make sure—”
“We’ve been training. And I don’t want her to go easy on me, that’s not helpful. Now will you—”
“I told her not to hurt you!” he yelled. “I told her to temper herself and make sure—”
“The last person in this house that’s going to temper herself around me is Gemma! That’s the only reason—”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
She finally realized he wasn’t going to leave the bathroom while they were arguing, so she swallowed her embarrassment and continued washing up.
“Do you really not know she’s in love with you, Gio?” she whispered, conscious of the sensitive ears that filled the house. She rinsed out her hair as Giovanni stood over her, glowering. “Gemma is in love with you. And you love me and she’s not going to cut me any slack in the training room. That’s the only reason I suggested training with her.”
He wore a furious expression when he finally spoke. “You’re being ridiculous and jealous, Beatrice. And this is beneath you.”
She stood up, water sloshing out of the tub as she grabbed a towel from the stand.
“I am not. Stop being a pretentious ass and get out of the bathroom right now.” She shoved his chest when she caught him glancing at her breasts. “We will argue about this when I’m dressed.”
He turned and stormed out of the room. She heard the bedroom door open.
“And do not go looking for Gemma right now!”
She heard a pause before the door slammed shut. His heavy footsteps paced the bedroom. Beatrice toweled off, grimacing at the broken skin on her knees, elbows, and fists. She ached badly but forced herself into her soft sleep pants and t-shirt without a sound. Finally, she grabbed her hairbrush and went to sit on the bed to work the tangles out of her knotted hair.
Giovanni had stopped pacing and was standing with his back against the door, the scent of smoke pouring off him.
“You better calm down. You’ll burn that shirt if you don’t.”
His jaw unclenched enough for him to speak slowly. “I am not interested in the state of my wardrobe, Beatrice.”
“Well, calm down anyway.” She started working the brush through her hair, but he darted behind her and sat with his legs on either side, running one hand down her arm to grab the brush.
“Let me,” he said in a gentle voice. “You’re hurting. Just try to relax.”
He started to pull the brush through her tangled hair, stopping to work out the knots as she tried not to wince. She was sore and beginning to get stiff in the cold room.
As if sensing her discomfort, Giovanni tossed small blue flames toward the grate, where they lit the wood that was waiting to be kindled. She sighed and tried to relax her shoulders.
He spoke softly as he worked. “Why do you say she’s in love with me? We were involved, but it was never serious.”