The Vampire's Protector by Michele Hauf Page B

down. Many female hands stroked his body as he pushed across the dance floor. He didn’t get any images from them as he had with the women in the tavern and Summer. Perhaps the touch had to be longer, more intentional. A good thing, or he might go mad if every tiny contact delivered him some information about a person’s life.
    Nicolo turned and eyed one particular redhead clad in black leather horizontal strips that revealed more than they covered. The undercurves of her breasts enticed. He wanted to touch everything. To inhale it all and fix it into his system.
    He filed through the crowd and into the backstage area and found Summer in a room cluttered with instruments and assorted stage gear. She stood over a table, violin case before her, cleaning the bow with a cloth. The violin in the case was remarkable. It was violet and...not solid.
    â€œWhat did you think?” Summer asked as he joined her side and looked over the violin.
    â€œThe band is quite remarkable. The music. My God, Summer, how is it that it was so wonderful?”
    â€œI bet it’s a lot to take in.”
    â€œNo, not at all.” He stroked his fingers over the outer edge of the violin and then was surprised. “It’s metal?”
    â€œAluminum,” she said. “Probably didn’t have that metal in your time. It’s very lightweight.”
    â€œBut there’s no body. No interior to amplify the sound. It’s been carved out. How does it work?”
    â€œThe pickup is here in the lower body.” She tapped the area of the violin that was solid and had small turnable pegs on it. “Like I said, it’s electric. Plug it in, and it rocks. I fixed the pickup for the acoustic violin Domingos is playing onstage now. He likes the deeper tones, he says, and prefers that one over the electric. The amp is crackling, though. I’m going to take it home and tear it apart. This baby is sweet, but she needs a new pickup, as well. Domingos’s cracked it when he smashed it against a column at their last concert.”
    â€œFor what reason?”
    She smirked. “Rock ’n’ roll, baby.” She tapped the violin. “Go ahead. The acoustics still work. Give it a try.”
    She offered the bow, and Nicolo quickly grabbed it. He hadn’t held such in...so long. Anticipation quickened his breath almost as a kiss from Summer had. He must have this. Now.
    â€œMay I?” he said of the violin.
    Touching another musician’s instrument was an honor. When she nodded, he stroked along the inner curves of the violin, where there was no body at all. The metal was sleek and cool. All of it had been cut out, save the neck and the right lower side that harbored small adjustable knobs.
    As Nicolo put the violin to his chin and shoulder the band members started filing in, slapping each other across the back and shouting kudos over a job well done. Ignoring them, for all that mattered was the curious instrument in hand, Nicolo pulled the bow over the E string. It sounded exactly as it should, only louder, and perhaps more crisp?
    â€œLovely.” He tried a few notes, then wiggled his fingers in vibrato. It was an easy play, and it felt natural in his hands. Not as if it had been a hundred and seventy-five years since he’d held one. He closed his eyes, allowing the notes to shimmer throughout his system. Music had once been his meditation, his voice, his anger and joy. It still sang to his soul.
    â€œHey, Summer, who’s this?” Kambriel said as she hugged Summer. The woman tugged off the demon horns, which left her long black hair tangled near her ears.
    â€œUh, his name is...Nick.”
    Nicolo flinched at that but did not stop bowing. She had warned him not to reveal who he was. Made sense. Until he got his footing, he could hardly go around claiming to be a dead maestro. But maestro he was. And he forgot the others who had gathered round to listen as he segued into a sonnet