Page 2 of Venice Vampyr: The Beginning

“What?” Was he trying to stop her after all?

“A rope. I’ll tie it around you.”

He expertly tied a rope around her waist while she scanned the dark waters for the man. His hands were gone. He’d slipped under the water. Only ripples remained on the surface. “Hurry.”

“Ready.”

Without a glance back, she jumped into the canal, feet first. The icy cold water hit her like a slap in the face. She held her breath and let herself be pulled into the depths of the canal’s murky waters. She felt the pull on the rope and knew Adolfo would make sure she was safe.

Isabella didn’t open her eyes—there was no use. All it would do was hurt her, but she wouldn’t see anything. It was too dark. Even by daylight, there was little chance that her eyes would be of any assistance in her search for the drowning man.

She kicked her legs and reached her hands out, feeling for resistance. Nothing. Frantically she dove deeper, turned to her left, then her right, stretching her arms out further. Finally, her fingers encountered some material. She grasped for it, her hand latching onto a piece of fabric, a coattail or a sleeve. The soaked woolen cloth was heavy. She pulled on it, and to her relief, the weight behind it confirmed that she had found him.

The pressure in her lungs built. She fought against her body’s instinct to come up for air, knowing if she dropped her hold on him and gave into her own need for air, he would be lost.

Isabella slipped one hand under the man’s armpit. He was heavy despite the buoyant quality of the water, heavier than she had expected. Gathering her remaining strength, she signaled Adolfo with a pull on the rope. She had just enough time to hook her second arm under the drowning victim’s and kick her legs before she felt herself being pulled upwards. The man in her arms was big. His massive body pressed against her, her arms barely reaching around his chest.

The moment she breached the surface, she sucked in a much needed breath of air, filling her lungs. The cold stung her chest, but she ignored it, just the way she ignored the dead weight of the man she was holding in her arms. Was he still alive?

“You were so long,” she heard Adolfo proclaim, his voice more tense than usual.

“He’s so heavy,” Isabella pressed out and tried to paddle toward the boat. But all she could do was hold onto the man and let Adolfo do the hard work. She figured a few extra Lira was due Adolfo as a bonus after this ordeal.

As her gondolier pulled on the rope, she felt the stranger slip from her grip. Without thinking, she spread her legs and wrapped them around his hips to hold him in a vice grip. It wasn’t ladylike, nor was it anywhere near appropriate, but the man was unconscious and certainly wouldn’t remember what she’d done.

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!”