Cara checked her watch and cursed. Six p.m. already?
Then she spotted another garishly costumed couple and groaned, remembering her plans for the night.
Not exactly our plans, her lioness grumbled.
She set off, scuffing the pavement. Parties weren’t her thing. Why had she agreed to attend a fancy ball tonight?
Because you only live once, Grazia, her landlady, had said. And you haven’t lived until you’ve been to carnival in Venice — properly, at the ball my friend is throwing at the Palazzo Marsetti tonight. Then Grazia finished with a broad grin. Don’t worry. I’ll find you a costume.
Cara looked back at the lion sculpture and sighed. She would rather be knee-deep in the lagoon’s mudflats, working the job she loved. Important work restoring delicate ecosystems. Parties just weren’t her thing.
Still, Grazia was right. Life was short, and she had to live hers to the fullest. Even if a ball in Venice wasn’t high on her bucket list, she didn’t exactly have better plans for the night.
She thumped the mud boots against her leg and squared her shoulders. Enough obsessing about beasts, legends, and wings. Time was short, and she had a ball to attend. And who knew? Maybe Grazia had been kind enough to get her a costume with wings.
She set off with a grin. A girl could wish.
Chapter Two
Tony strode through the streets of Venice, trying to convince himself this was a good idea. But as soon as he turned the corner to the Piazza San Marco, his steps slowed. All those people… All those years he’d spent away…
“Come on, already.” His cousin Rocco prodded him from behind. “When are you going to get a better chance to do this?”
Tony looked around, still soaking it all in. Venice, where he’d been born and bred. The only place he’d ever called home, and the only place he ever would.
But as a man framed for a murder he didn’t commit, he couldn’t risk setting foot there ever again.
Somewhere in the distance, the bells of San Giorgio Maggiore rang in the hour.
Bong… Bong…
He checked his watch, not so much concerned with the time — nine p.m. — as the sanity of his plan.
“Don’t worry,” Rocco said. “No one will recognize you. Not with that mask on.”
Tony glanced around, readjusting his full-face carnival mask — a black one with bronze highlights and a passive expression he couldn’t mirror inside.
For years, he’d dreamed of being back in Venice. But now that he was steps away from the glittering facade of Basilica San Marco, he barely noticed it. The piazza was crowded with people. Surely someone would recognize him?
On the other hand, many people were wearing masks and costumes — most more spectacular than his. No one would give him a second glance when they could gawk at the fully done-up carnevalisti. Rocco was right. It was the perfect time for him to sneak in to Venice, drink his fill of the city he loved, then sneak out again.
His inner lion growled. Shouldn’t have to sneak.
And just like that, the old ache was back. He was tired of hiding his identity, and he never wanted to leave. Venice, for all its problems, was home, and it was his duty to guard the place. At least, it had been, until everything had gone wrong.
He fiddled with his mask. “Maybe this isn’t a good idea.”
Rocco laughed. “Definitely not a good idea. But come on. Live a little.”
In many ways, Rocco was the twenty-year-old Tony had been a decade earlier. Bright. Hopeful. Invincible, or so he believed, because destiny was on his side.
Now, Tony knew better. In life, things could go badly wrong.
“The palazzo isn’t far now.” Rocco steered him forward. “Trust me. It will be fine.”
Tony wasn’t so sure, but an inexplicable sense of purpose propelled him along.
We have to see this through, his inner lion growled. We have to be there tonight.
His animal side had insisted on that for days, even weeks. It had started as a vague hankering for the sights, smells, and tastes of home. Of winding canals, briny air, fresh seafood, and good wine. Gradually, those vague wishes became images — not just of the past, but of the future. Of something terrible happening if he weren’t there to stop it. Gradually, those images had become more and more concrete, until he’d succumbed to the urge and covertly entered Venice. Not at any random time, but exactly that evening and at that exact address.
We have to be there, his lion insisted.
He scowled. That’s just what the beast had said a decade ago, and look how badly that had gone.
Wouldn’t change it even if I could, his lion growled. Would you?
Tony sighed. No, he wouldn’t. Saving three innocent lives had made it all worthwhile. If only he could have done so without the personal cost.
Still, he hated that sense of being a puppet to destiny — or that voice that sometimes drifted through his mind. The low, earthy one that growled, You, warrior, have not yet completed all I require of you.
Would he ever be done with destiny’s cruel games?
“Just a little farther…” Rocco led him across the piazza and under the arches of the Museo Correr. A few tight turns later, they stood before the brilliantly lit facade of the Palazzo Marsetti.
“Rocco, so good to see you,” the woman at the door gushed, waving the security men aside.
Rocco bounded up the steps, grinning. “The pleasure is all mine. Allow me to introduce Valentino, a friend of a friend from out of town.”
Tony coughed into his hand while growling into his cousin’s mind. Valentino? I thought we agreed on Alfredo.
Rocco shrugged. Whatever.
Tony ground his teeth. Obviously, his cousin didn’t understand how critical a consistent — and inconspicuous — identity was in undercover work.
“Valentino…” The woman slid her eyes slowly along Tony’s body, then touched her lips. “Piacere.” A pleasure to meet you. Her voice dropped to a sultry purr. “Enjoy the ball.”
Tony’s heart pounded as he stepped inside. God, this was it. He really was back among shifters he knew.
A dozen familiar figures jumped out at him right away — even some hidden by masks, because he knew them so well. Agosto Soranno was there, as were Franco Tucci and several others Tony used to hang out with as a kid. They looked older, of course, but still as carefree as the boys they’d once been. Then again, every civilian appeared carefree these days. A decade of service in one of the world’s elite military forces had a way of doing that to a man.
Tony peered closer. Was that Claudia Perrelli, hanging on Agosto’s arm? No surprise, he supposed — she’d always been a flirt. Giulia Cervelli was there too, flashing her trademark smile.
There were older folks he remembered too. Some hadn’t aged a day, while others looked shockingly old. And those were just the handful Tony recognized at first glance. There were others he recalled without being able to name, and still others that only sparked hazy memories. Of course, there were guests he didn’t know at all. The city’s nouveau riche, from Russian oligarchs to American socialites and French jet-setters, judging by the mix of accents all around.
Most of the guests were human, but some were shifters. Many were easy to identify, others tricky due to all that perfume hanging in the air. That woman with the unicorn costume and a whinny of a laugh, for example. Was she a human or a shifter? And what about the middle-aged man with a hooked nose and beady eyes? Eagle shifter or just plain human?