Venice Vampyr - The Beginning

When she heard voices drift to her from further down the canal, she prayed help was coming. Adolfo wouldn’t be strong enough to pull both her and the man into the gondola. For once, her prayers were heard.

Her limbs were frozen when she finally landed in the gondola, helped by a couple of friendly delivery men who dragged the half-dead stranger into the boat right behind her.

Adolfo instantly covered her with her cloak, but she knew she wasn’t the only one who needed warmth. Isabella scrambled closer to the man she’d just saved and wrapped the cloak around them both, holding him tightly to her soaked body to preserve any heat that was left.

She felt shivers go through his body and could only echo them. He was alive.





Chapter Two




Isabella tore the wet clothes off the stranger’s body as her maid Elisabetta stood by wide-eyed. “Don’t just stand there, get a fire going,” she ordered.

“Signora, shouldn’t you let one of the footmen do this?”

Isabella shot her an annoyed look. “There’s no time for modesty.” Already she’d wasted precious minutes by ridding herself of her own wet clothes and drying off before stepping into a chemise and a dressing gown.

Adolfo had helped get the stranger up into her own rooms and placed him on the divan in front of the fireplace. She’d instructed him to keep quiet about the man. Having a stranger who was neither her husband nor a close relative staying with her would start all tongues in Venice wagging. Still, she knew it was only a matter of time before one of her staff gossiped and spread the scandalous news.

Despite the fact that she’d grieved for her husband for almost a year without taking a lover, without so much as allowing any man to even woo her in the most acceptable of manners, even she, a respectable widow, would not get away unscathed. If anyone found out a stranger was at her home—worse, in her own bedchamber—she would have to deal with the consequences. They would be harsh. Were they worth it? She hadn’t craved a man’s touch or attention, only her husband’s. Until now.

As she gazed upon the tall stranger whose clothes she peeled away layer by layer, she was grateful for the fact that her maid was busy with stoking the fire, for she didn’t want to be watched as she devoured the handsome man with her eyes.

Isabella allowed her hand to travel over his muscled chest and felt the raw power he represented. She wondered what kind of work this man did to have such strength in his body. But she knew he wasn’t a common laborer who worked in the warehouses or on the docks. His clothes were too well made and too expensive for that. He had to be a gentleman, a very well-built gentleman.

The moment she opened the flap on his breeches, easing open button after button, her own body heated despite the chill she’d gotten in the freezing water. No man had ever been able to ignite that kind of response in her body, not even her late husband. They’d had a loving marriage, a very comfortable one, but she’d never lusted after him like she lusted after this stranger.

The fabric clung to him. She told herself that she needed to rip it off him so he wouldn’t die of a chill, but she knew better. The reason she tugged forcefully at his soggy clothes was so she could feast her eyes on what was beneath. She stripped him and dropped the wet garments onto the rug.

“Give me a bowl with warm water and a sponge.”

Behind her, Elisabetta shuffled closer. A gasp told her that her maid was looking at the naked man. Isabella shifted her body to obstruct her maid’s view. She didn’t want to share him. What a strange thought, she reflected. He wasn’t hers, yet she wanted to be the only one who saw him like this: vulnerable in his nudity.

“Signora! It is not decent!”

Isabella spun her head and snatched the bowl of water from Elisabetta’s hands. “Leave us. And not a word of this to anybody if you value your position here. Do you hear me?”

She nodded nervously and fled from the room. Isabella looked back at the beautiful naked man in front of her and took a deep breath. She should let one of her male servants do this, but she couldn’t bring herself to relinquish the intimate task.

With the sponge she bathed him, starting with his face. His dark hair, sleek and shiny as that of a raven, clung to his skin. As she gently washed his face, she wondered what kind of eyes lay behind those dark lashes. Were his eyes as dark as his hair? And would those lips smile at her if he knew what she was doing? She sighed. It had been so long since she’d touched another person. And to touch him felt more exciting than she could have imagined.