Chapter 14
As the Prince approached the Gallery Hotel Art, he was careful to mute his anger. He’d spent centuries managing his rage and was practiced at doing so.
Darkness shrouded the city he loved, like a blanket. He felt it wrap tightly around him, feeding his pride.
It was easy enough to park his motorcycle around the corner from the hotel and stride down the street (unhelmeted) like a human. He scaled the back wall of the hotel and climbed onto the roof, taking a moment to enjoy the view.
If he could be said to have a lover, her name would be Florence. He adored the city and would do anything for her. In return, she pleased and comforted him like a devoted mistress.
He looked up at the stars and the slip of moon that shone above him. And he remembered Mrs. Emerson’s words about the stars. Words he’d remember forever, if he lived that long. Words he’d have to fight to forget after he’d had his revenge, just like the sound of her happy laughter.
Without remorse, he continued on the path he’d chosen, lowering himself to the terrace that opened from the penthouse. The Emersons had closed the doors that led to their bedroom.
He tried the door and found it locked, but with a sudden wrench, he removed the doorknob, effectively unlocking it.
He entered the bedroom soundlessly, stepping into the darkened room and closing the door behind him. He closed his eyes and inhaled.
And stopped short.
There was a combination of scents in the air but the two he was most eager to locate were noticeably absent.
In a flash, the Prince stood next to the large white bed, which was carefully made. And empty.
He scanned the room in the darkness, his gifted senses enabling him to see everything despite the absence of light.
When he didn’t find what he wanted, he toppled chairs as he strode to the walk-in closet, throwing the doors open.
It was empty of clothes.
He tore the room apart, tossing lamps and objects of art aside. He withdrew drawers from their dressers and cabinets, dumping them on the floor.
The room was empty, not just of human beings but of all personal effects. The Emersons had fled.
With a roar, he lifted the bed on one side and threw it against the wall. A lamp fell to the marble floor with a crash, shards of crystal skating across the cold marble surface.
The angry, malignant being leapt from the terrace to the ground below.
Without reflection, he entered the front door of the hotel and followed his nose to the front desk.
A man in a suit stood behind the counter.
At the sight of the Prince, the man trembled, trying desperately to keep control of his bladder. He pushed his glasses up his nose, not even bothering to fake a smile.
“Good evening, sir.” His voice cracked. “How may I assist you?”
“Where are the Emersons?” the Prince snarled in Italian, placing his fists on top of the counter.
“Um, I’m sorry, sir, but I cannot give away any information about our guests.”
The Prince gripped the man by his expensive tie and lifted him bodily off the floor.
The Prince’s gray eyes blazed, staring unblinkingly into the eyes of his victim.
“I am your Master. You will tell me what I wish to know.”
The man choked, his hands trying to slacken the forceful pull of the tie.
The Prince lowered his voice to a threatening, silken whisper. “Tell me where the Emersons are.”
The man stared back into the Prince’s eyes, his mouth falling slack as he stopped struggling.
The Prince placed the man back on his feet and released his tie.
The man continued to stare into the Prince’s eyes with a glazed look on his face, then his fingers moved to the keyboard of his computer.
He looked at the screen and tapped a few keys. “Professor and Mrs. Gabriel Emerson departed yesterday.”
The Prince’s eyes narrowed. “That’s impossible. They were scheduled to leave tomorrow.”
“Master, the computer says they checked out early for personal reasons.”
“Sard,” the Prince cursed, pounding his fist on the counter.
The wood split beneath his hand.
The man seemed unfazed by the destruction of hotel property and simply continued to stare into the Prince’s eyes, his expression and demeanor surprisingly placid.
The Prince growled. “Where is Emerson now?”
The man’s gaze dropped to the computer screen.
“They did not leave a forwarding address.”
“What addresses did they leave?” The Prince’s voice morphed into a bark.
“Three addresses, Master. One in Umbria, at a house near Todi. And two in America—in Cambridge, Massachusetts, and Selinsgrove, Pennsylvania.”
The locations sounded familiar to the Prince, as they matched the intelligence report he’d been given. But he didn’t know which residence the Emersons had departed for upon leaving Florence.
“Give me the addresses.”