Felix had lived for centuries and had lived all around the world and still, somehow, always came back to Italia… Rome, usually or Milan. He enjoyed the fashion, the food, the wine and the beautiful men and women.

What he didn’t enjoy were the uppity and older strega nonnas who had no patience for others like the wolves, vampires and so many others. It was one of the many reasons he fell out of contact with anyone else of his line, that lack of understanding and care for anyone else except for what they want.

Life for most was far too short for such pettiness and for those of his family? Don’t you get to an age where such differences don’t matter anymore? Apparently not.

Felix sat at an outdoor cafe that evening, a leg crossed over the other with a book open on his lap with a glass of wine sitting in front of him. He barely looks up when he hears the old woman curse at the werewolf and sighs when she walks off in a snit. He didn’t know her in particular but had known the family.

“You’ll have to forgive my Italian brothers and sisters, they have no manners,” he says with a not as thick Italian accent but the accent sounded older perhaps, something belying his age.

Felix lifts his gaze to the man who walked over for napkins.

Oh but he was beautiful.

“Ah and on such nice shoes as well. I can give you a recommendation of a cleaner should you wish.”