Beatrice leaned into Giovanni’s shoulder. “Where is home, Tywyll?”
He winked. “Here and there, girl. The river, that’s my home.”
Giovanni tossed a few pounds on the table and they rose to leave. They walked out of the dark pub to see their car and driver waiting a block away and a long, wooden skiff tied up to the side of the floating pub.
She looked at the cagey vampire, who had given her more clues to her father’s whereabouts than she’d had in the five years she’d searched for him.
“Thank you, Tywyll.”
“Yer welcome, Mariposa. He gave me that name, you know. I have a feeling he thought you might come looking for me.”
“Smart man.” She heard Giovanni murmur.
“Smarter vampire,” Tywyll said.
The river surged beside them and Beatrice heard a glass fall to the floor and shatter inside.
“Why on Earth did you want to meet here?” Beatrice asked as she looked from the ramshackle bar to the old water vampire. “This bar is just…” She curled her lip as the strange man chuckled.
Tywyll stood on the dock, his hands tucked in his pockets, and she could feel the sudden energy that charged the air.
“Oh,” he said, “it has its features.”
Looking over his shoulder, Beatrice noticed the boats moored nearby begin to drift to the bank. There was a soft ripple, and a squawking rose as a flock of ducks took off from the center channel. In the distance, she saw a fishing boat begin to change course. Then Beatrice gasped as the The Cockleshell pub itself began to rise as the river pushed it up and toward them.
Beatrice could only gape as the whole of the River Thames waited at attention for the old water vampire. He rocked back and forth, and the river, and everything floating, mirrored his small movement.
“Wow,” she whispered.
Finally, Tywyll shrugged and the river seemed to heave a sigh before the boats drifted back downriver, and the current flowed out toward the sea. The pub settled back into its slip and the ducks landed over the rippling reflection of the moon.
He winked at her. “I like the beer, too.” Tywyll walked toward his skiff and stepped aboard. He untied the ropes and stood watching them as the boat began to drift away.
“Find yer father, Mariposa. He needs ye.’ And Giovanni Vecchio, don’t let your arrogance blind ye to the schemes of others.”
Giovanni frowned. “What aren’t you telling me, waterman?”
“Oh…” he chuckled. “A lot.”
Tywyll tipped his hat toward Beatrice as she clutched Giovanni’s hand. “Ye’ know more than ye’ realize, girl. Yer father wants ye’ to find him.”
Tywyll drifted away, and the moon rippled in the quiet wake. Beatrice and Giovanni stood on the dock and she wrapped her arms around him, burying her face in his chest and inhaling his dark, smoky scent. She could feel his arms embrace her, and she tilted her face up for a kiss.
“Do we believe him?” she whispered.
His eyes narrowed as he searched the inky night. “I think we do.”
“We’ve got a lot to think about.”
“Yes, we do. But not here.”
She paused and held him tighter as the exhaustion ate at her. She could feel his arm holding her up as they began the walk back to the car.
“Gio?”
“Yes, tesoro?”
“I want to go home. Take me to Cochamó.”
Giovanni looked down and met her tired eyes. She saw a flare of excitement in his gaze and a smile teased the corner of his mouth. He nodded. “We’ll leave tonight.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Santiago, Chile
March 2010
He stared at her profile in the dim light of the theater, admiring how the lights from the stage caught bits of red in her hair and made her skin glow. Giovanni had seen the play before, but Beatrice had not, and she stared at the actors with a small smile flirting around her mouth.
She must have caught his gaze from the corner of her eye.
What? she mouthed.
“I finally took you on a date,” he whispered.
She laughed silently, and he reached across to cup her cheek before he bent and pressed a kiss to her mouth. He felt the curl of her lips against his own as she smiled and placed her cool hand on his jaw. He pulled away so she could continue to watch the performance of the Lorca play, and she felt for his hand, laying it on her lap and knitting their fingers together.
Beatrice was stunning in a black silk dress, her neck and shoulders bare. He could see the flutter of the pulse in her neck, and a flush rose in her cheeks. He made no show of hiding his hungry stare. Her dark eyes kept glancing between his rapt face and the stage; he could hear her heartbeat quicken as his amnis reached out to her. The air was lush with her scent in their corner of the dark theater. After another twenty minutes, she silently rose from her seat and took his hand, pulling him up and out the door. As soon as they reached the dark hallway, she pressed him against the wall and lifted her mouth to his as he met her in a passionate kiss.
The blood had already begun to pulse in his veins when she whispered, “Take me back to the hotel.”
Giovanni said nothing as he wrapped an arm around her waist and escorted her down the stairs of the theater and into the starlit night.
They rushed through the lively streets of the Providencia district, ignoring the flow of pedestrians and the call of music from the clubs, stopping only at lights where they kissed without thought of the people around them. It was eleven o’clock, and the warm streets of Santiago were still filled with late summer crowds, but they ignored all distractions as they hurried back to the private entrance of their hotel.