Venice Vampyr - The Beginning

Isabella nodded. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”


Raphael reached into his pocket and handed her a folded piece of paper. She smiled at him when she took it. Then she looked back at the Doge, who motioned her to approach.

When the man took the paper from Isabella’s hands, Raphael could fairly hear her heart pounding. She wouldn’t have to worry about anything. The ceremony as well as the priest had been genuine. The only thing he’d manipulated with his powers of persuasion was the date on the wedding certificate.

When the priest had signed and dated it, Raphael had sent his suggestions into the man’s mind and made him write a different date: one day earlier. That way, Massimo couldn’t claim they’d only gotten married after he’d discovered them in Isabella’s bedchamber. They could claim that Massimo had intruded the morning after their wedding night. The scandal would be all his.

After many long seconds, the Doge looked up and rose from his chair. He nodded to one of his attendants, who pounded a long staff onto the floor to ask for silence in the hall. The chatter of the crowd subsided.

“My dear friends, I would like you to join me in congratulating Signore and Signora di Santori on their recent nuptials.”

Gasps went through the crowd yet again, but before any kind of cheer could break out, a man pushed through. Raphael recognized him immediately: Massimo.

“That’s not possible!” he cried as he rushed toward them.

“Are you calling me a liar?” the Doge asked, his voice tight and threatening.

Instantly, Massimo bowed. “Of course not, your Excellency.” Then he straightened. “I am merely saying it appears rather sudden. And as a close relative, I was not informed.” He glared at Isabella, and Raphael tightened his grip around her arm to pull her closer.

“You are informed now,” was the Doge’s reply before he turned. “Dismissed.” The man had clearly lost interest.

When Massimo turned back to him and Isabella, his eyes were full of hatred. “You scheming, no-good—”

Raphael snatched the man’s throat so quickly he had no time to react. He ignored the stares of the people around him. “Say the word, and I will call you for a duel. Just to warn you, I’m an excellent fencer. So I would tread carefully now when you speak about my wife.”

He sensed a tightening of his jaw, evidence that his fangs itched to descend, ready to attack. Quickly, he dropped his grip and turned away from Massimo. He couldn’t risk public exposure.

“Isabella, would you like to dance?” Not waiting for her answer, Raphael pulled her into his arms and twirled them onto the dance floor. Her body pressing against him soothed his anger. He’d been close to killing her cousin right there in full view of everybody. It wouldn’t do. The man would die, soon, and without any witnesses.





Chapter Eleven




Isabella waited for Raphael to retrieve their cloaks and accepted another couple’s well-wishes. After a few dances with her new husband, during which he’d plied her ears with scandalous words not suitable to be repeated anywhere, he’d finally declared that they’d spent sufficient time at the ball and could return home.

She was relieved. Despite the fact that the Doge had declared their marriage legitimate, she didn’t like the stares people gave her. Was it her gown, or was it her husband they looked at? Or maybe it was the fact that she felt flushed, not by the warmth in the large hall, but by the words Raphael had whispered to her on a continuous basis. And by his hard length, which she’d felt while dancing with him.

She shivered when she felt Raphael’s hands on her shoulders, spreading her cloak over her, then tying it at her throat.

“You were the most beautiful woman at the ball.” His breath caressed her neck, and she tilted it slightly, offering it to him. He pressed a soft kiss against her skin, and she felt her blood warm. A moment later, he turned her to face him.

“Here, put this on.”

She looked down at his hands and took a mask from him. “Why do you want me to wear a mask?”

“I’ll explain later.”

He put his own half-mask on and helped her tie hers. It hid most of her face, but her mouth remained free and unimpeded. When she turned and looked into the full-length mirror in the hallway, all she saw was a stranger in a long red dress covered by a black cloak. The black mask made her face unrecognizable.

“Come,” Raphael urged her and led her into the night.

The streets were teeming with revelers, many wearing masks, some elaborate, others as simple as her own. Everybody was the same. Class was forgotten. It was how it was meant to be. During carnival, a pauper could be a prince. A noble could be a pirate. A whore could be a lady.