Chapter Two

Rome, 1790

Kyle stood in the darkness, breathing hard. There were few things he hated more than confined spaces, and as he reached out in the blackness and felt the stone encasing him, he broke into a sweat. Trapped. Nothing was worse for him.

He reached back and with his fist and smashed a hole right through the stone. It shattered into pieces, and he shielded his eyes from the daylight.

If Kyle hated anything more than being trapped, it was being struck head-on by daylight, especially without his skin wraps on. He quickly jumped through the rubble and took shelter behind a wall.

Kyle breathed deep and surveyed his surroundings, disoriented, as he wiped the dust from his eyes. This was what he hated about time travel: he never knew exactly where he’d surface. He hadn’t attempted it for centuries, and he wouldn’t have now if it weren’t for that never-ending thorn in his side, Caitlin.

It hadn’t taken long after she’d left New York for Kyle to realize that his war was only partially won. With her still on the loose, with her tracking down the shield, he realized he could never rest at ease. He had been on the brink of winning the war, of enslaving the entire human race, of becoming the unilateral leader of the vampire race himself. But she, this pathetic little girl, was stopping him. As long as the shield was at large, he could not assume absolute power. He had no choice but to track her down and kill her. And if that meant going back in time, then that was what he would do.

Breathing hard, Kyle quickly extracted a skin wrap and wrapped his arms, neck and torso. He looked around, and realized he was in a mausoleum. It looked Roman, from its markings. Rome.

He hadn’t been here in ages. He had stirred up too much dust by smashing the marble, and the sediment hung thickly in the daylight, making it hard to tell. He took a deep breath, braced himself, and headed outside.

He was right: it was Rome. He looked out, saw the Italian Cypress trees, and knew he could be nowhere else. He realized that he stood at the top of the Roman forum, its green grass, its hills and valleys and crumbling monuments stretched out before him in a gentle slope. It brought back memories. He had killed many people here, back when it was in use, and he had nearly been killed here once himself. He smiled at the thought of it. It was his kind of place.

And it was the perfect place to land. The Pantheon was not far away, and within minutes, he could be before the judges of the Roman Grand Council, its most powerful coven, and have all the answers he needed. He would soon know where Caitlin was, and if all went well, have their permission to kill her.

Not that he needed it. It was just courtesy, vampire etiquette, the following of thousand-year-old tradition. One always sought permission for a kill in someone else’s territory.

But if they refused, he would hardly back down. It could make his life difficult, but he would kill anyone who stood in his way.

Kyle breathed deep in the Roman air, and he felt at home. It had been too long since he’d been back. He had gotten too caught up in being in New York, in vampire politics, in a modern time and place. This was more his style. He could see the horses in the distance, the dirt roads, and guessed he was likely in the eighteenth century. Perfect. Rome was urban, but still naïve, still had 200 years of catching up to do.

As Kyle checked himself, he saw he had survived the trip back in time fairly well. In other trips, he had been far more beaten up, had needed more recovery time. But not this time. He felt stronger than he ever had, ready to go. He felt his wings would sprout right away, that he could fly directly to the Pantheon if he wished, and put his plan into action.

But he wasn’t quite ready. He hadn’t had a vacation in a long time, and it felt good being back. He wanted to explore a bit, to see and remember what it had been like to be here.

Kyle bounded down the hill with his incredible speed, and in no time at all, he was out of the Forum and onto the bustling, crowded streets of Rome.

He marveled that even 200 years earlier, Rome was still crowded as could be.

Kyle slowed his pace as he blended into the crowd, walking alongside them. It was a mass of humanity. The wide boulevard, still made of dirt, held thousands of people, hurrying in every direction. It also held horses of all shapes and sizes, along with horse-drawn carts, wagons and carriages. The streets stank of body odor and horse manure. It was now all coming back to Kyle, the lack of plumbing, the lack of bathing – the stench of old times. It made him sick.

Kyle felt himself being jostled in every direction, as the crowd grew thicker and thicker, people of all races and classes hurrying to and fro. He marveled at the primitive storefronts, selling old-fashioned Italian hats. He marveled at the small boys, dressed in rags, who ran up to him, holding out pieces of fruit to sell. Some things never changed.

Kyle turned down a narrow, seedy alleyway, one he remembered well, hoping that it was still as it once was. He was delighted to find that it was: before him stood dozens of prostitutes, leaning against the walls, calling out to him as he walked.

Kyle smiled wide.

As he approached one of them – a large, buxom woman with dyed, red hair and too much makeup – she reached up and stroked his face with her hand.

“Hey big boy,” she said, “looking for a good time? How much do you have?”

Kyle smiled, draped his arm around her, and directed her down a side alleyway.

She gladly followed.

As soon as they turned the corner, she said, “You didn’t answer my question. How much do you got – ”

It was a question she would never finish.

Before she could finish speaking, Kyle had already sunk his teeth deep into her neck.

She tried to scream, but he clamped her mouth shut with his free hand, and pulled her closer, drinking and drinking. He felt the human blood rush through his veins, and felt exhilarated. He had been parched, dehydrated. The time travel had exhausted him, and this was exactly what he’d needed to restore his spirits.

As he felt her body go limp, he sucked more and more, drinking more than he could possibly need. Finally, feeling completely sated, he let her limp body drop to the floor.

As he turned and prepared to exit, a huge man, unshaven, missing a tooth, approached. He extracted a dagger from his belt.

The man looked down at the dead woman, then up to Kyle, and grimaced.

“That was my property,” the man said. “You better got money for that.”

The man took two steps towards Kyle, and lunged at him with the dagger.

Kyle, with this lightning fast reflexes, easily sidestepped, grabbed the man’s wrist, and pulled it back in one motion, breaking his arm in half. The man screamed, but before he could finish, Kyle snatched the dagger from his hands and in the same motion, slashed his throat. He let the dead body fall limp to the street.

Kyle looked down at the dagger, an intricate little thing with an ivory handle, and nodded. It wasn’t half bad. He tucked into his belt and wiped the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. He breathed deeply, and, finally content, walked down the alleyway and back onto the street.

Oh, how he had missed Rome.

Chapter Three

Caitlin walked with the priest down the aisle of the church, as he finished barring the front door and sealing off all the other entrances. The sun had set, and he lit torches as he went, gradually lighting its vast rooms.

Caitlin looked up and noticed all of the huge crosses, and wondered why she felt so at peace here. Weren’t vampires supposed to be afraid of churches? Of crosses? She remembered the White Coven’s home in the New York Cloisters, and the crosses that had lined the walls. Caleb had told her that certain vampire races embraced churches. He had launched into a long monologue about the history of the vampire race and its relationship with Christianity, but she hadn’t listened closely at the time, too enamored of him. Now, she wished she’d had.

The vampire priest led Caitlin through a side door, and Caitlin found herself descending a flight of stone steps. They walked down an arched, medieval passageway, and he continued to light torches as he went.

“I don’t think they’ll be back,” he said, locking another entrance as he went. “They’ll comb the countryside for you, and when they don’t find you, go back to their homes. That’s what they always do.”

Caitlin felt safe here, and she was so grateful for this man’s help. She wondered why he had helped her, why he had put his life on the line for her.

“Because I’m of your kind,” he said, turning and looking right at her, his piercing blue eyes boring through her.

Caitlin always forgot how easily vampires could read each other’s minds. But for a moment, she had forgotten that he was one of hers.

“Not all of us fear churches,” he said, answering her thoughts again. “You know that our race is splintered. Our kind – the benevolent kind – need churches. We thrive in them.”

As they turned down another corridor, down another small flight of steps, Caitlin wondered where he was leading them. So many questions raced through her mind, she didn’t know what to ask him first.

“Where am I?” she asked, and realized, as she did, that it was the first thing she’d said to him since they’d met. All her questions came pouring out in a rush. “What country am I in? What year is it?”

He smiled as they walked, the age lines bunching up in his face. He was a short, frail man, with white hair, clean-shaven, and a grandfatherly face. He wore the elaborate garments of a priest, and even for a vampire, he looked very old. She wondered how many centuries he’d been on this earth. She felt kindness and warmth radiate from him, and felt very at peace around him.

“So many questions,” he finally said, with a smile. “I understand. It is a lot for you. Well, to begin with, you are in Umbria. In the small town of Assisi.”

She wracked her brain, trying to figure out where that was.

“Italy?” she asked.

“In the future, yes, this region will be a part of a country called Italy,” he said, “but not now. We are still independent. Remember,” he smiled, “you are no longer in the 21st century – as you may have guessed from the dress and behavior of those villagers.”

“What year is it?” Caitlin asked quietly, almost afraid to know the answer. Her heart beat faster.

“You are in the 18th century,” he answered. “To be more precise: the year 1790.”

1790. Assisi. Umbria. Italy.

The thought of it overwhelmed her. It all felt surreal, as if she were in a dream. She could hardly believe this was really happening, that she was really, actually, here, in this time and place. That time travel really worked.

She also felt a bit relieved: of all the times and places she could have landed, Italy in 1790 didn’t sound too foreboding. It wasn’t like landing in prehistoric times.

“Why were those people trying to kill me? And who are you?”