Eternally Bound

Tribes of the Vampire

ETERNALLY BOUND By

Michelle M. Pillow © copyright May 2005, Michelle M. Pillow Cover art by Jenny Dixon, © copyright May 2005 ISBN 1-58608-372-4 New Concepts Publishing Lake Park, GA 31636 www.newconceptspublishing.com This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author’s imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence. Chapter One

Eastwich Manor, England, Spring 1896 Tatiana Sinclair smiled dreamily at the stars as she fitted her gloved hand into that of a groom’s. The scent of wildflowers was thick on the air, perfuming the night with their intoxicating fragrance. The wind rustled gently over the land, perfectly cool to the warmth of the late hour. It stirred heavily against the higher limbs of trees until the sound of the crashing leaves sang out. It was a perfect night. The servant, Thomas, was dressed in the full livery of the Eastwich Manor staff. He lifted the back of his hand to help her down from her family’s brougham. The carriage shifted ever so slightly as she stepped onto the cobblestone drive. Tatiana barely paid the towheaded man any mind. Thomas tried to smile at her, murmuring a greeting in his low youthful voice. “Welcome home, Miss Tatiana. How was your evening?” Tatiana glanced briefly at him, frowned in his direction and waved him away. Thomas was two years older than her, but she still thought of him as a boy. He was handsome and polite, but that did not give him the right to address her. She would just have to speak to her father about having him replaced. It wouldn’t do for the servants to be seen addressing her so familiarly, as if they did it every day. Such a faux pas could kill her chances at a good marriage.

Well, Tatiana thought, feeling benevolent in her good mood. Her chin was proud, if not a little haughty, as her lips curled in contemplation. Perhaps, I should be lenient with him and only have him reprimanded. We did grow up together after all and tonight was such a lovely evening. Tatiana’s pale green gown of expensive silk and Brussels lace tangled in the breeze. Her face again turned to the wide expanse of stars twinkling brilliantly in the dark blue of the night sky. The heavy weight of her white petticoats rippled ever so slightly, showing the toes of her dainty slippers. Her black curls were pinned up with the utmost care, adorned with green silk flowers. She was at the height of her youth, dressed in the height of fashion. She was beautiful, rich and knew it. She had many suitors vying for hand. Everything was perfect. Her life was going according to plan. Thinking of it, Tatiana smiled to herself. If she managed it right, she could be married within a year’s time--or at the very least engaged. Suddenly, she noticed that her chaperone, a servant girl from the household, stood next to her waiting. Tatiana merely waved her to go along without her. The servant, whose dark eyes gave away the fact that she was exhausted, curtsied and rushed up the front steps to find her bed. Tatiana ignored her. Lightly, she hiccupped. It had been a delightful evening of dinner consumed. Surely, if her father discovered the excess, she would be forbidden from ever going back.à la russe. Tatiana blushed to remember how much of Lady Cottley’s ‘special’ punch she’d Sighing as the carriage was led down the long drive to the distant stables, she made the short walk up the front stairs of her home. Eastwich Manor was a modest home compared to the large renovated castles and estates of the local nobility. Nevertheless, the estate was very well maintained.

The square corners of the manor’s stone walls were smooth, dotted with just the right amount of shrubs and flowers to make it stately and elegant without being overdone. Tall windows lifted up the sidewalls with dark blue draperies showing from the inside. Most were drawn closed, but a little crack of light shone out from one onto the front expanse of steps. It was a very fine home indeed. Whereas, her father wasn’t titled, his income was quite sufficient as to cause much envy with the neighbors and to earn her their respect. Tatiana smiled a secretive smile. If she had anything to do with it, she would be titled soon enough. It was rumored that an Italian Count had let the old Glastonbury Castle not far from her very home. As a young girl, she’d been fascinated by the rundown pile of rocks surrounding the castle and had climbed over them often. The castle itself was in decent repair, though it desperately needed the care only a rich owner could give. Lady Cottley had been aflutter with the news of it, claiming to have met the ‘young and altogether too handsome’ nobleman the other night. Their carriages had crossed a narrow pass in the country roads. She said that he was very well spoken, for a foreigner, and very dashing as he leaned out the carriage window to answer her greeting. When Tatiana asked her to describe what the Count looked like, Lady Cottley couldn’t quite remember, except for the impression he was handsome enough to leave her lightheaded. The good lady was, however, sure the Count was in England searching for a wife. For, according to that same lady, there were a shortage of suitably marriageable women in Italy. “Tatiana! Wait!” Tatiana instantly froze on the bottom step leading to the front door. The very sound of her name expressed in such a way made her nervous. Recognizing the voice, she shivered, turning round to face her eldest and only sibling. Henry had not been available to escort her to the dinner service so she was dependent on a servant to be her chaperone. He’d claimed he was too ill to attend. It irked her that he would be out in such a condition, but Tatiana knew it was more than likely that he lied to get out of taking her. The crack of light shining through the long front windows was dim so she couldn’t see him too clearly, except from the vague impression of his features and the shadowed outline of his slender body. She gasped, immediately forgetting her irritation with him. His dark blue frock coat was covered with splatters of thick mud. Stepping back down the steps, she made as if to go to him. Henry stumbled forward, jarring her as he impatiently grabbed her arm. “Ow, Henry, stop,” Tatiana cried, trying to shake off the desperate clutch of his fingers. She swatted him lightly with her gloved hand. “You’re hurting me!” Henry’s grip only tightened as she tried to escape, bruising her skin with its fierceness. She stumbled, slow to react, her mind numbed with liquor from the punch. Her brother’s dark eyes narrowed and he struggled for breath. Tatiana saw that the same strange substance also splattered the pale skin of his features. Up close, it did not appear to be mud. Curious, Tatiana lifted her fingers to his check, plucking a bit of matter off him with her white gloves. Whatever it was, it was hard. “Whatever are you covered in, Henry?” Tatiana asked. He mumbled breathless, incoherent sentences. She couldn’t make out his words. Ignoring the pain he inflicted on her arm, she raised her gloved fingers to where the moonlight shone brightest to examine them. Her mouth fell open. It was blood. Henry, seeing her impending look of horror, grasped her other arm in his palm, pulling her to him. Tatiana shivered as his fingers seized over her mouth, shushing her startled scream. She could smell the coppery scent of blood on his hand, felt the drying stickiness against her skin where he touched her face. Blood marred his jacket, streaking onto her pale green gown, hitting against her arms, as he held her tight to keep her quiet. Gasping into her ear, he croaked in a low, hoarse tone that she’d never heard from him, “She’s dead.”

She! Tatiana’s renewed scream was muffled by his strong fingers. He pressed hard, cutting her teeth onto her inner lips. She tasted blood on her mouth and moaned weakly. She tried to answer him. Her wide desperate eyes studied his panicked face. She moaned in louder protest and he jerked her to an abrupt, rough silence. “It’s not my fault!” Henry insisted with a hiss, almost wildly. He shook her harder in his desperation to convince her. His words turned to a plea. “Do you hear me, Tatiana? She refused me. It’s not my fault. She had no right, no right at all. I didn’t hurt her. She fell. She was a bloody strumpet giving it out to every man. She was nobody. I will not be ruined for this!” “Henry.” Her voice was muffled through his parted fingers. Tatiana gasped, trying to peel her lips from his bloodied hand. She slowly shook loose of his tight hold to catch her breath and steady her racing heart. The strange, almost foreign smell of human blood--so curious and strong--slipped on her skin as she moved against him. It made her nauseous. A dark cloud threatened her already drunken brain and all she could think about was how this might ruin her chance at meeting the Italian Count, of gaining her title, of getting out of England and seeing the rest of the world. As soon as she heard the words Italian and Count coming from Lady Cottley’s lips, she’d formed the perfect plan. The Count wanted a wife and she would make a perfect wife. Henry got to go away on a grand tour like the rest of the gentlemen with whom she’d grown up. She was expected to stay home, in England, forever. She wanted to travel, to see things, to meet people. She wanted to touch ancient ruins. In all her eighteen years, she never wanted anything more. Now, in Henry, she saw her dreams plummeting to the ground. Tears entered her eyes. Now no one would ever want her after this. She was sister to a murderer! She would spend the rest of her days at

Eastwich Manor as an unloved, unwanted spinster. Glancing at the stone walls of Eastwich, they did not seem so lovely to her anymore, or the house so large and welcoming and fine. It now looked like a prison. “Tatiana!” Henry hissed, shaking her. “Are you listening to me?” Tatiana blinked. She hadn’t been listening. Her mind had been racing frantically until she felt dizzy. Seeing she wasn’t going to scream, Henry dropped his hand from her face, leaving her cheek cold as the breeze hit the blood. With an insistent tug, he pulled her away from the front steps. “Hurry!” Henry ordered, keeping her arm tight as he ran her around the side of the house. “We can’t let Thomas see us! If he knew what we did to his sister--” “Alice?” Tatiana looked at Henry with renewed horror. She tried to stop, but his hand wouldn’t let her. The matter and blood covering him was her maid, Alice? Alice with the golden ringlet curls so like her brother Thomas? Alice with the laughing blue eyes who always teased her awake in the morning? Alice who had played with her endlessly on this very lawn since they were children? “We can’t let him find out what we have done,” Henry insisted, running faster now that they were on the side lawn. “You know Thomas has a violent temper.” “We?” Tatiana squeaked, her voice unable to come any louder. Her world spun and crashed with each surreal step he forced her to take. Her legs stretched over the thick cushioned lawn, nearing the limits of her gown. The petticoats became heavier, tangling in her legs. Her corset was too unyielding against her lungs, making breathing hard. Her heart raced as she was yanked through the night. A slipper fell from her foot, but they did not stop. The full three courses of dinner, plus the entremets and dessert, waged a vicious war in her tight stomach. She would’ve fainted, if not for Henry’s insistent pull making her continue on. “Henry,” she begged, her voice hoarse as she gulped for air. Her narrow eyes tried to see through the shadows. The moon wasn’t full and bright, so it offered little help. Hearing her plea, Henry slowed, leading her into the shade of a large oak on the far side of the property. “I … can … not … breathe,” she gasped. She dropped her hand, clutching at her stomach, trying to pull her corset to loosen it by small degrees. It didn’t do any good. The gown was fitted too tight. “Ladies … do not … run.” Henry said nothing. He looked into the distance, standing silent and still. His hand trembled. Suddenly, she realized how scared her brother really was. After a moment had passed with only her heavy breathing sounding between them, she again straightened and threw back her shoulders. Turning wide eyes up to her brother, she saw that he didn’t even look at her. Fearful, she demanded, “Please tell me this is a prank, Henry. Please, tell me you didn’t hurt Alice. Where is she? Is she hiding in the trees? Is she to jump out and scare me? Is that why we wait?” Henry looked stunned at her words. Slowly, he looked down the front of his frock coat and flicked wearily at a chuck that clung to him. Tatiana flinched as it landed unintentionally on her gown. Looking herself over, she saw that the dress was ruined. “We must go,” Henry stated, sniffing. He again reached for her, grabbing her arm. “Where are you taking me?” Tatiana whimpered, scared of her brother. She never knew him capable of hurting anyone. Though, if truth be told, she didn’t really know him at all. They’d been closer as young children, but he’d been away for so long, first to school at Cambridge and then his grand tour. Now she hardly ever spoke to him, except in dutiful letters her father made her write. “What’s happening?” “I need you to take care of it,” Henry said, matter-of-factly, like a lord directing his servants. “Take care of what, Henry?” she asked in horror. Tears filled her eyes and the long line of her mouth stretched back, pulling against her teeth. “I need you to clean it. You’re a woman, surely you know how,” Henry stated. He dragged her through the shrubs. The thorns tore at her skin, scratching her, ripping her delicate evening gown beyond repair. “No one can find out about this.” “I’m not a servant--” she began, only to be cut off by his vicious jerk and hard glare. “You will do as I say if you value your station in life!” His wild eyes grew all the more desperate. “Would you see our family ruined for the sake of a maid? Would you see me imprisoned? Father so shamed he’d be forced to do himself in? You abandoned, turned out in the streets to fend for yourself as an unfortunate?” “But I did not do anything … that,” Tatiana protested, her voice growing somewhat louder. Henry growled, raising his fist as if to hit her. He hesitated and she knew he couldn’t strike. Lowering his trembling hand, he gathered her forward into his embrace and lovingly kissed her forehead.

“Please, help me, Tatiana,” Henry whispered into her dark hair. He rubbed his cheek reverently over her silky locks, dislodging the flowers adorning them. “It’s too late to take back. I don’t know what to do. I need you. You were always the practical one, so smart. Please, Tatiana, don’t abandon me now when I need you most!” Something snapped in Tatiana’s brain at his plea for help. The shaking in her limbs subsided and her heart slowed. She swallowed. Her world became a dazed dream. Lightly, she blinked, steadying her swirling vision. She ignored the smell of blood filling her nose, as she knew that her brother was right. She had to protect her family. Taking a deep, calm breath, she silently nodded. Henry was honorable most days and this indiscretion was just an unfortunately bad day. It was too late to take it back. She wouldn’t see her family ruined by the death of a mere servant girl. She hadn’t done anything wrong. She wasn’t going to do anything wrong--not really. She was just helping her brother clean up a mess, a minor indiscretion. All fine gentlemen were allowed their little indiscretions. “Show me, Henry,” she answered, her tone flat, dutiful. “Let me see what it is you have done.” **** Dark eyes pierced easily through the shadows of the dense trees. The lone figure stayed silent, in the darkness, watching the pair pass close by him. Curiosity caused the old vampire to stop and watch the brother and sister as they entered the forest. He’d smelled the carnage of blood easily as he whisked his way home. His sensitive ears detected their whispered words without difficulty, just as his eyes saw every detail of their forms. The girl was slender, new into her womanhood. Her features appeared as if they had only just emerged from the chubbiness of youth--so fresh was her complexion, so unmarked by mortal time, even if it was marred by the crimson streaking of blood. Her face was pale from her late night tryst into the forest, but he could tell it would be the color of peaches once her color returned. Her dark green eyes could mesmerize any man. The man, Henry, was taller, slender in such a way that was popular with mortal men of this era. He carried himself with an air of importance, but the vampire could smell his fear--and not just fear of this night, but of all nights, all things. He was a timid creature, frail and a failure. He reeked of implausible ideas and never realized dreams. He was a drifter--a man who would float through his life on his family’s money. This was a man who would never accomplish anything of importance. The blood within Henry’s veins would taste just as insipid as the man himself. The vampire had no interest in the man, content to let Henry have his half-existence. However, the woman was a different matter altogether. She was definitely the more interesting of the two. The vampire turned his attention back to her. Her eyes were glazed with an eerie light. Closing his eyes, he tried to read into the woman’s thoughts, hear her secrets. Her mind was blank, numb. This interested him. She agreed to help her brother, but she did not have the raging, incoherent thoughts of a killer. On the other hand, her mind did not drown in cynicisms as one use to witnessing such dire acts as was the case with Bobbies in London. She was a pampered girl, spoiled no doubt by the look of her rich gown and yet here she faced that which most men couldn’t stomach to do. The vampire frowned, moving stealthily to walk behind the brother and sister, knowing they led the way through the trees to an abandoned cottage. The man hurried, desperate to run from the mess he had made, eager to have the woman--to have anyone--take care of it for him. The mortals’ feet crunched lightly on the fallen twigs and leaves of the forest floor. The woman stumbled, her foot left only to the protection of a tattered stocking. He could smell the blood on her foot as she walked, the temptingly sweet scent stirring up from her. She didn’t make a sound. It was a short walk to the cottage. The vampire kept himself hidden from them with the will of his mind. He concentrated, hearing the heartbeat inside the woman’s chest. He’d just eaten and yet he had the urge to feed again. The need was overwhelmingly strong. Her blood would be pleasant against his tongue, strong, pure, vigorous, erotic. It would fill him with energy and life. He smelled its intoxicating potency and wasn’t disappointed. He wanted her. He wanted to drink from her slender neck, her ample breasts, her opened thighs. It had been too long a time since his body had been quickened by the smell of his food. The vampire breathed deeply of her scent, moving to whisk by her neck. He felt chills rise on her flesh as he passed by. She sensed his nearness. He let her. **** Tatiana shivered, feeling as if something brushed by her neck. She swatted her skin, jumping nervously as she looked around the dark forest. Henry turned to glare at the noise she made. She swallowed, looking at her brother. “Did you hear that?” “It’s nothing, just the wind,” Henry said, though his eyes looked around to see if she was right. “Father will worry if we’re gone too long,” Tatiana said. “No. He’s probably asleep.” “The servants--” She tried not to look at Henry’s frock coat or his face.

“Don’t care what we do,” Henry interrupted. He again grabbed her arm. But, instead of leading her forward this time, he pushed her in front of him. “In there.” “I can’t see,” she whispered, growing weak again. “There is a lantern by the door,” Henry whispered, not going to help her. He turned his back on her, listening, unable to watch. “On the floor.” “Henry,” Tatiana whined. “You’re not going to leave me here, are you? Please, I don’t want to be alone.” “One of us should go back. I need to get cleaned off. I’ll come back for you,” Henry said. “Henry?” “Just get it taken care of, Tatiana,” Henry ordered, stopping only long enough to hastily whisper, “I’ll come back to get you. I’ll bring a change of clothes. We’ll have to burn your gown.” “Henry, wait.” She made a move to reach for him, but he hurried away. To herself, she added, “Please, Henry, don’t leave me here alone.” Tatiana swallowed. She looked around the forest. It seemed so much more ominous now that Henry was gone. Taking a deep breath, she slowly moved toward the cottage door. She smelled the same horrific odor she’d detected on Henry’s hands, only stronger. Carefully, she got onto her hands and knees. Blindly, she felt forward for the lamp. Her heart hammered fiercely in her chest. Hitting a chunk of wood, she flinched and pulled back. “Alice?” Tatiana called softly, peering into the dark as she again felt around inside the door for a lamp. She shivered, feeling so alone and deathly afraid. She was forced to crawl forward into the darkness, searching the floor. “Alice, can you hear me?” **** The vampire stood back, behind Tatiana, watching. He could hear her winded breath, feel her thudding heart. Her bravery surprised him, pleased him in some small way. He was close enough that, if he wanted, he could rush forward and grab her up into his embrace. He could protect her, help her, comfort her, kill her. Instead, he held back, just watching to see what would happen with passionless eyes. His gaze pierced the darkness of the cottage, seeing well the lifeless, mangled corpse that awaited her discovery. He lingered with a sick fascination to see what would happen when Tatiana discovered the maid’s body. Would her bravery falter? Would her mind slip from her forever? The corpse had been there for some time. Sniffing, the vampire would guess an hour at least. Henry must have hid, waiting for his sister to come home. Tatiana called out again and the vampire stepped closer, drawn to the young mortal. Alice wouldn’t be answering her call. Tatiana’s fingers hit upon the lantern. She grabbed it up, pulling back from the dark insides of the cottage. She panted heavily, taking up the old tinderbox. Her fingers trembled as she tried to strike the flint with steel to alight the little piece of linen. A spark hit again and again, but it did not catch fire. The vampire took pity on the girl, rising his hand as she struck to light the lamp from behind. He waited, prepared for her to scream, to run away in fright. To his surprise, she stayed strong and did nothing. **** Tatiana gasped to see the flame, but she did not question its appearance. Her mind was too numb, too frightened. She took a deep breath, closing her eyes tight, before looking inside the one room cottage. The lamplight fell over the walls. It didn’t take her long to see Alice’s motionless body in the far corner. A wide, lifeless eye stared out from the maid’s grotesque, bashed features. Her golden ringlets were strewn over her once beautiful face, the locks bloodied until their color was barely recognizable. She could see the inside of Alice’s skull and was glad that the light from the lantern cast a harsh shadow to hide the worst of it from view. A feeling of disgust and pity overwhelmed her as she looked at the girl. “Alice?” she whispered, hearing the girl’s laughter clearly in her head. The drawn, pale, almost blue face wasn’t laughing now. Tatiana had to look away. Her eyes automatically fell on a long wooden post, broken in half and covered with the same substance Henry had on his frock coat. “Henry? Why?” “Che macello, bella mia,” came a soft hush from behind her, carried gently on the wind. Tatiana froze, feeling a presence emerging as if from the darkness. A chill came over her, racking her skin with tingles and goose bumps. Her body felt as if she was struck by lightning, flowing with tremendous energy. She couldn’t hear any footfall around her in the forest. Her ears strained--leaves rustled softly, the wind whined a lonely song. All was quiet. Suddenly, it was as if a hand caressed the back of her head, running fingers along her neck--so cold, yet gentle and caressing in their tenderness. Tatiana gasped, trembling violently. She didn’t dare look, hoping that whatever it was would just go away.

“What a mess,” the wind repeated, louder, as chilled lips seemed to brush the back of her ear. Tatiana’s mouth fell open to scream. She didn’t recognize the voice, only that it was a man. She turned, horrified that someone would see what Henry had done. But, as she moved, her world spun out from beneath her. She felt herself falling into inviting blackness. She welcomed it, clung to it. The voice continued to move in her head, sounding as if it came from within. She couldn’t understand it, couldn’t make out what it told her and she was suddenly too tired to care. **** Tatiana’s black world drifted by in a haze so sweet it had to be a dream. She felt things as if a cloud protected her. Nothing was real. Nothing made sense and yet she clung to the madness of her illusions. Hands, as cold as snow, lifted her up, touched her face and neck, stroked her with what felt like fingernails. They peeled back her corset and she felt her lungs fill with air, basking in the liberating freedom. “La tua pelle e’ come seta, bella mia,” a voice whispered. Hands slid beneath her chemise where her corset had pressed its form into her skin. They were rubbing her smooth flesh, massaging the blood to the tingling surface, touching her intimately. Fingers ran up between her breasts, stroking back down, feeling her, cupping and testing the weight of her breasts in cool palms. Fingers rubbed her aching nipples in tight circles. A tongue flicked the base of her throat. “Your skin is like silk.” She tried to open her eyes, to find a face to put with the dark voice, with the bold hands. She felt the man caressing her, his body not so cold as before, but warm and wet. His fingers glided over her flesh. All of a sudden, she knew she was naked. She couldn’t care. The hands felt so good, making her ache with pleasure wherever they trailed. It was a dream so it didn’t matter that a moan left her weak lips. “Tu sei bellissima,” the voice persisted in its lullaby, lingering and soft. He was washing her hair, lathering soap against her body. Fingers covered her mouth and nose as she was lowered beneath the bathwater. She wasn’t afraid. She trusted the luring melody of that voice. “You are very beautiful.” Her eyes drifted open, seeing a fireplace of stone. It burned brightly. She closed her eyes once more. Softness brushed along her skin, the water gone. She was on a bed--soft, enveloping. A sigh left her parted lips. Her eyes drifted again. This time she saw silk as red as blood and she shivered. A pale hand reached for her, lifting for her face as if its bearer lay next to her on the stuffed mattress. The weight of her damp hair was lifted from her cheek. The darkness closed in again.

“A presto, il mio tesoro,” the voice whispered to her. Tatiana felt a brush against her lips and tingling sensations shot in hot waves down her body. “Very soon, my darling.”

Chapter Two

“Bella mia….” With a sharp gasp, Tatiana sat up in bed. A strange, ragged panting came from her throat. She looked around at the all too familiar surroundings of her bedroom. Her waist length hair sprung out from her head, curling naturally over her shoulders in a tangled mess. It fell over her face and she brushed it back in annoyance. She caught her reflection in a mirror. Her usually glowing features were pale and dark circles formed beneath her eyes. Tatiana blinked, rapidly searching the morning shadows that stretched across the ornate wood paneling of the walls and small fireplace. The sun seemed abnormally bright as her gaze drew over the pale yellow decor, past the dark wood of her large armoire, wardrobe and matching washstand. Not an item was out of place. She was home, in her bed, alone. Feeling a chill wash over her flesh, she moaned, pulling the thick coverlet close to her chest. Her ears buzzed until she felt she couldn’t hear. Suddenly, it was as if hands pressed into her throat, crushing her, tearing her with claws. She blinked, gasping in growing desperation, as the vague memories of a dream tried to surface--a bathtub filled with blood, a blue eye lifelessly staring at her, watching her. “Miss Sinclair?” Tatiana blinked to hear her name and let loose a high pitched sound of surprise. The sensations left as suddenly as they came. She turned to look at her bedroom door, meeting the brown eyes of a maid. Blinking again, she was unable to place the woman’s name in her mind. She stared vacantly at the woman, letting her gaze roll over the tidy uniform, the small white cap artfully placed on brown curls, the pristine white apron. All she could come up with was Alice. “Oh, bless us! You’re awake, miss!” the woman said, pressing her hands together in excitement. “Where’s Alice?” Tatiana breathed. Her voice was hoarse and sounded gravelly, as if she’d screamed for hours. She reached for her head. It felt dizzy. “Send me Alice. I want Alice.”

“I … I,” the maid stuttered. The woman paled, all pleasure draining from her face. She looked down at her hands, which twisted in her apron. “I can’t, miss. Alice is gone.” “Gone?” Tatiana suddenly felt ill. Again a swarm of memories tried to invade her thoughts, but she blinked them away. They were dark, evil thoughts--images of blood and fangs, of death. Her voice brutal in its rough tonality, she said, “Gone where? She didn’t tell me she was leaving.” “We were hoping you could say, miss.” The maid took a step forward and then stopped. She reached for a bowl on the washstand and held it out. “Are you to be sick, miss?” Tatiana waved away her concern and threw the covers from her body. Her limbs felt strange, almost like silk.

‘La tua pelle e’ come seta, bella mia.’ Tatiana flinched, hearing the words clearly in her head. She glared at the maid. A little harshly, she demanded, “What? What did you say to me?” “I asked if you were to be sick, miss.” The woman’s expression paled and she seemed almost frightened by the heated look she received in return. “Shall I--?” “After that,” Tatiana demanded. She tried to stand but her legs wobbled. The woman motioned helplessly to the side, as if she would turn to get help. “You said my skin was like silk.” “No, miss,” the woman returned. “I did not.” “Then, who?” Tatiana asked, looking around the room as if someone else was there. The words had been so real. She felt as if someone was inside her brain. “No one, miss,” the maid said weakly, inching toward the door. “No one spoke of silk.” “Where’s Alice?” Tatiana didn’t know why, but she was desperate to have her servant come to her. Alice always woke her in the morning, doing it just right--softly touching her shoulder, speaking gently, then teasing her when she refused to move. The brown haired maid merely stared at her, motionless, helpless. Her voice rising, she cried out, “Send me Alice!” The maid blinked and Tatiana knew she was stunned to hear the usually mild spoken woman yell at her. She bobbed a half-curtsey, tripping over her feet to get out of the bedroom. Tatiana breathed deeply, struggling for breath. She didn’t know what was wrong with her or why she was so panicked. She felt numb, scared. Her limbs shook violently. Her fingers twitched and flexed, just beyond feeling.

‘Hush, hush, bella mia.’ Tatiana heard the low words clearly in her mind. Her body weakened. With a loud sigh, she dropped unconscious to the bed. **** “Yes, what is it?” Mr. William Sinclair grumbled, looking up from his desk. He’d been staring absently at the polished wood, his hands firmly planted on his dark, graying hair. He met the matching gaze of his son, sitting across the very masculine study, before turning to the door. Standing, he smoothed his tousled hair and waited. “Mr. Sinclair, sir,” Lydia said. The maid gave a light curtsey. “Miss Sinclair is awake. I just left her.” William studied the woman. She refused to meet his eye. “What did she say?” Henry demanded. Standing up from his chair, he stepped before his father. The large picturesque window let in the light from outside, haloing him in an eerie light. Lydia swallowed, her eyes darting up briefly only to come back down to the thick rug beneath her feet. “Not much, sir.” “She didn’t speak?” William frowned, his stomach in knots. His eyes turned up to where his daughter’s bedroom was above his head. “She spoke of silk, sir.” Lydia words were soft, barely audible. “And she asked that I send her Alice.” Henry paled and turned his back on Lydia. William studied his son’s reaction, covering his own reaction better. His wife had claimed to have seen visions--visions that were amazingly accurate sometimes--before she died and he was worried his daughter might soon suffer the same lunacy of her mother. It was always his fear that it should happen. He’d never told anyone, as he loved his wife and wanted to protect her. There was a moment of tense silence. “Did you tell her of Alice’s departure?” William asked carefully. “Did you tell her that the woman ran away the same night she was

attacked?” “No, sir,” Lydia said. “I thought it best to stay out of it. It is not my place to say, sir.” “Very good, Lydia, thank you. You did well,” William said at last. He waited until she left before speaking to his son, his words a hurried whisper. “Good God, Henry. She doesn’t remember what happened.” “Women are delicate, Father,” Henry stated carefully, calmly. He reached into his pocket and removed a silver engine turned snuff box. Releasing the delicate clasp, he took a pinch and sniffed it violently into his nose. As he slid the case back inside his jacket, he asserted, “Who knows what spurred her to harm Alice?” “We don’t know for sure if Alice is dead.” William was unconvinced of his own words. He’d known the girl and her family all their lives. Alice wasn’t the type to run off without a word. “All we have is the word of that … that….” “Count,” Henry supplied. He couldn’t meet his father’s eyes. “He is a Count.” “Yes, yes, that Count,” William returned, feeling a shudder of dread crawl across his spine. His shoulders slumped, remembering the nobleman’s strange late night visit all too well. Tatiana had been missing for nearly four days when the foreign nobleman brought her home, carrying her intimately in his arms. The servants, recognizing Tatiana, had invited him in. When William first laid eyes on the stranger, the man had been placing his unconscious daughter on the couch. William got chills when he thought of the man’s pale face and heated eyes. Something about the Count made his blood run cold with fear. It was as if he stood in the presence of the devil. And when the man spoke, he knew that indeed the devil had come to Eastwich to visit. William had not slept since. “We can’t give your sister to that man,” Mr. Sinclair said, dejected. His eyes searched about him, as if his furniture or book-lined walls may have an answer. “I don’t think we have a choice, Father,” Henry said with a toss of his dark hair. He looked very dignified with his hands threaded behind his back. “You heard what the man said. You saw the dress. He has evidence that Alice has been murdered. He found Tatiana at the cottage with her. Would you have our family’s reputation ruined for Tatiana’s mistake? Would you have us destroyed? Even if he can’t prove it, just the fact that a Count says such a thing would be disastrous. As disagreeable as it may be in nature, the Count’s proposal is a decent one. I would rather she go to him than to a prison. He is rich and can well afford to take care of her.” “Then, you think he does mean to marry her?” William asked, unsure. “Certainly,” Henry said, lying through his teeth. He didn’t meet his father’s eye. “Besides, word must have gotten out that Tatiana was missing for four days. We can’t ignore the implication of her staying alone with him in that castle for so long.” Mr. Sinclair sent his son a hard look. “He’s a nobleman, sir,” Henry said. “Certainly, he wouldn’t suggest he come to claim Tatiana without meaning to marry her. I am confident, in his translation of our English words, he simply misspoke … or more to the point didn’t speak of it at all. I’m positive that such a nobleman would assume we knew his intentions were purely honorable. More to the point, one can hardly protest the advantages of such a good match. Tatiana has always wanted to travel and the Count said he’d take her away from here. He promised to give her protection. He must have developed some tender feelings for her if he would go to such lengths to--” “I just can’t believe that … they were so close, those girls,” William broke in, almost lost. “Your grandmother, on your mother’s side, always claimed to be descendent of powerful witches. Perhaps….” “Let us not give credence to that family history, please, Father. Grandmother was certifiably insane. She held conversations with the air.” Henry swallowed, guiltily. His father’s eyes turned down. Henry forced his heart out of his throat. Everything was working out, he wouldn’t ruin it. Smoothing down the straight lines of his dark green jacket, he muttered, “Perhaps we should go up to see her.” “Yes,” William said, standing tall once more. “Yes, Henry, I think you’re right.” **** Tatiana moaned. She awoke to discover her father’s worried face leaning over her. He tapped at her cheek with the tips of his fingers. She grimaced, jerking away slightly as her mind tried to clear. Blinking, she laid still and listened for the voice in her head to come back. To her great relief, it didn’t. Mr. Sinclair pulled away, standing tall at his daughter’s bedside. He thrust his hands into the pockets of his heavy cotton jacket, hooking his thumbs over the outside edge. A deep sigh resounded from him as he looked her over. “Father? What are you doing here?” Tatiana asked weakly. She sat up on the side of the bed, studying his face before turning to Henry.

Henry couldn’t meet her gaze. She frowned. “Have I been sick? I don’t feel like myself this morning.” “You don’t recall?” William asked. His eyes roamed over her almost innocent face. She was perplexed, but that was to be expected. Her wide green eyes stared up at him trustingly. She was pale. “Recall what?” Tatiana asked, rising to her feet. She turned to them in confusion. “Has something happened?” Henry finally deigned to look at her. “You don’t remember the Count bringing you home?” “The Count? What Count?” Tatiana frowned. What were they talking about? Her head lightly throbbed and she rubbed warily at her temple. The thick folds of her nightgown flowed as she crossed her bedroom. Finding her silk robe thrown over the back of a chair, she threaded it over her arms. “What are you talking about?” “Tatiana….” William hesitated. “Perhaps you’d better sit.” Henry placed a meaningful hand on his father’s arm, briefly squeezing in reassurance. Tatiana automatically sat in the chair that so recently held the robe. She waited, watching them both expectantly. “Alice is gone,” William said carefully. Henry cleared his throat. William stopped talking at the interruption and looked at his son. Henry merely sighed, giving a pained glance to the floor. “She ran away,” Henry said. William nodded, agreeing with his son’s choice of words. It was clear Tatiana had no memory of what had happened. And, until they were sure or had evidence, they couldn’t accuse her of killing the woman. Neither man had been brave enough to charge the Count with the hideous crime. All they’d seen was the large amount of blood on her ball gown the Count had given them as his proof. Since Tatiana wasn’t cut, they could only assume the blood wasn’t hers. Then again, there was no proof the blood was even human. “Alice, run away? Impossible,” Tatiana said with a dismissive chuckle. She began to stand. “Go find Thomas. He is sure to know where she is.” “She’s gone,” William stated, ending the discussion. “Thomas has looked everywhere for her, as has her family.” “Well, it’s only been a day.” Tatiana stopped as her father shook his head. “Five,” Henry stated. “Impossible, just yesterday….” She looked from father to brother then back again. “Tatiana,” Henry said sternly, addressing down to her as if she were a small child, “You’ve been at the old Glastonbury Castle for the last four days with an Italian Count. You don’t remember it? He took care of you.” “No, no he … he was a dream,” Tatiana denied. Her head pounded harder. Did they think she was compromised? Memories that couldn’t be her own tried to surface within her mind. “Lady Cottley told me of an Italian Count who let the old … and I must have dreamt … him….” She stopped. Henry was shaking his head in denial. Why was he looking at her like that? Why was her father eyeing her as if she’d gone mad? Delicately, William said, “It wasn’t a dream. The Count saved your life. He’s found himself quite attached to you and has asked me for your hand. I have granted it.” Tatiana’s eyes narrowed suspiciously, not understanding. “You are to be married to him,” Henry inserted. “Married? But, I don’t know him,” Tatiana protested, though she didn’t find the prospect of being a Countess all that objectionable. She’d confessed as much to Lady Cottley, hadn’t she? “Does this man have a name, or is he just a Count?” There were more questions she wanted to ask, but seeing her father’s expression, she thought better of it. Was he handsome? Kind? Did he carry himself well? Did he say anything about her? She wanted every detail of their discussion. She wasn’t going to get it. “There was a lot of confusion. You’d been gone for four days. It was late when he brought you home to us. He’s Italian. I could only understand about every three of his words,” her father said. “Conte Spoleti, I believe he said,” Henry supplied.

“Count Spoleti?” Tatiana repeated. The name made her go weak. His must have been the voice she heard in her head. Lightly, she whispered, “Belle mia.” Both men watched her carefully, wary of her changing expressions. “When?” she whispered, not sure how to feel. Her whole world was spinning out of her control. Nothing made sense. This morning should’ve been a day like any other. Yesterday she’d been at a dinner party and now she was engaged, compromised, and missing four days from her memory? It was impossible to believe such a wild contrivance. And yet, seeing her father’s and brother’s faces, she knew it was true. “He said he would come for you when he is ready,” her father answered. He took a hesitant step forward and laid an awkward hand on her shoulder. Tatiana wondered at his cautious look. It was almost as if he was afraid of her. He moved away, backing toward the bedroom door. Suddenly, he was gone, not saying another word. Tatiana could hear his footsteps rushing off. When she could hear her father no more, she turned her eyes to Henry. He was regarding her carefully. “He’ll come for me? When might that be, Henry?” she questioned. Her words came out in a hush now that they were alone. She stood to face him. Her hands reached out to take up his. “You saw him, didn’t you? What did you think of him? Will I at least meet him properly first? Did you like him? Was he kind? What did he say?” “What happened?” Henry whispered, studying her face for a sign of the truth. “I went back to the cottage but you were gone. Everything was gone. What did you do with it? Where did you go? How did he find you? What does he know?” “With what?” Tatiana asked, confused by the fierce nervousness in Henry’s ever-changing expressions. She didn’t understand what he was talking about. “What cottage? What was gone? I don’t understand.” “You really don’t remember?” Henry asked, part in wonder, part in apprehension. “Remember what?” Tatiana asked. “This is like a nightmare. I expect to wake up at any moment. You say I am engaged. When will I meet him? Why didn’t he ask me himself? Why didn’t he stay to speak to me if he is taken with me? What is going on, Henry? Please, I beg you to tell me.” “It is how he wished it,” Henry said. “He’ll make you a fine husband, Tatiana. Trust in Father’s decision for you. It’s a fine match.” “You say that I’ve met an Italian Count who wishes to marry me and that I spent the last four days alone with him,” Tatiana mumbled, still trying to wrap her mind around the facts. She barely heard her brother’s answer. “Why can’t I remember him? I don’t remember him, Henry. I--”

‘Bella mia’. Tatiana stiffened, feeling a possessive caress down her spine. It was like a ghost walked behind her back. She shivered, cold. Her eyes closed, as if she could ward the feeling off by her determination. She felt like weeping. Henry saw the light fade from her features, replaced by a pale haze over her eyes. He took a step back from her. Her skin turned dramatically to an ashen grey, draining all the beautiful life from her complexion. Her eyes almost appeared to darken into emeralds before turning lighter into jade. “Good God!” Henry shot, gasping for breath, staring at her as if he saw a dead woman standing before him. “It’s true.” Tatiana looked at her brother. He signed a cross over his chest, moving away from her like she carried a pack of demons on her shoulders. He stumbled into her wardrobe, bumping into it with a loud bang. “What?” Tatiana tried to lift her arms to him, but they stayed heavy at her sides. “Your eyes, Tatiana, they’ve changed,” he expressed, horrified. “Grandmother was right.” “What are you talking about, Henry?” Her words sounded garbled in her brain. It was like water washed over her ears. She felt lightheaded, dizzy, distant. “You’re a witch,” Henry said with a shudder. Tatiana watched in a daze as he ran from the room, tripping over his legs to get away from her. Turning, she met her reflection in the mirror. Her eyes glowed with an eerie green light. She shivered, fainting dead away. **** A year passed with no word from the Count. After the first few months, Eastwich Manor faded into the mundane existence it had before Miss

Sinclair’s disappearance. Alice did not come back and soon even the servants grew bored with speculating what happened to her. The only thing that did not return back to normal was the Sinclair family. William did not speak of the Count or his daughter’s marriage to Tatiana again. He busied himself with work, barely making time for his children. He drank too much, ate too little until his once broad frame showed rapid signs of aging. Henry was withdrawn, leaving Eastwich for great periods of time. When he came home, usually for only a day or two before being driven away by his own demons, he would take his sister for walks through the garden, never going back to the forest or the cottage. He’d watch her carefully, never saying a word of importance to her, usually saying nothing at all. He would never touch her, never offer his arm, and she didn’t move to claim it. Mostly, he studied her eyes, searching them. They didn’t glow again, but he was sure their color was changed to a lighter green than before. Now, the round, sad orbs looked almost like cut jade. Tatiana was no longer the carefree girl she’d been before the night Alice disappeared. The servants tiptoed around her, treating her as an invalid. She couldn’t recall what happened and finally gave up trying to remember. Bits of memories surfaced about the Count, though they were vague and few. Finally, she decided that most of what she remembered was her fanciful imagination. Tatiana did not leave the house, except a few times to visit friends. The news of her engagement spread fast throughout the countryside and she was regarded with looks of jealousy and awe. No one, not even the gossiping Lady Cottley, had any information on the Count beyond that which she’d already given. Once, Tatiana rode out to the old Glastonbury Castle. It was abandoned. She didn’t have the strength to explore its rooms too deeply. The house was locked up tight, so she spent the afternoon poking around the outside gardens. None of it seemed real. She felt as if she walked in a dream and had yet to wake from it. The strange lethargy carried her from day to day, keeping her numb to pain and heavy contemplation. At times, she could convince herself that she wasn’t engaged to be married. All she’d have to do is see her father’s disturbed face and she’d know she definitely was. Many nights, Tatiana was haunted by more or less the same dream. She was warm, her body naked, enfolded in red silk. She couldn’t really see anything beneath the blackness of her eyelids, but somehow she knew the silk was red. A fire burned hotly on her side, warming her back. It crackled, the only noise around her. She felt safe, protected. The dream world felt more real to her than the day hours, which she spent roaming the manor. When she slept, she was sure she was awake. When she was awake, she knew she was awake, but she felt asleep. In the dream he would come to her. She’d feel the bed shift with his weight. The warmth of the fire would die, leaving her chilled, so very cold. All thoughts of safety fled. There was a dangerous thrill, an odd pleasure, in the man’s presence. Sometimes, he would just sit, studying her. Other times, more rare, he would touch her and she could feel nails scratching lightly over her naked back, pulling down the silk coverlet. She looked forward to those nights with an odd sense of longing and fear. When he touched her, she felt as if her body soared. ‘Bella mia,’ he would whisper softly to her, right before she woke up.

Chapter Three

Eastwich Manor, England, Spring 1898 Tatiana yawned delicately behind her gloved hand, as she gazed lazily around the expansive lawn and gardens of her home. The spring air was warmer than it had been for days, though it did carry a slight chill when the breeze stirred. Her morning dress pulled close up to her throat. The light blue material was plain and trimmed with just the barest amounts of silk. The sleeves puffed at the shoulders, as was the fashion, tapering tighter as they worked down her slender arms. Her hair was pulled up high on her head, pinned compact and neat against her scalp. “I thought I might find you here, Miss Sinclair.” Tatiana let a light smile line her tired face. Blocking the afternoon sun with her hand, she looked up from her chair to see Thomas. He was dressed simply, out of his livery. His suit was of dark brown and he appeared less comfortable in it than in his uniform, especially when standing before her. “Good afternoon, Thomas,” she said lightly. “Do join me if you have a moment.” Henry’s visits to Eastwich Manor became more and more infrequent over the last year. News arrived that he was to be married to a dutifully proper woman from a very good family. Since Henry’s absence and her father’s withdrawal, she’d found herself inclined to sit with Thomas. There was a melancholy to him that she was oddly drawn to be around. It was as if he too lived in a dream world, though a dream much different than hers. Thomas nodded, walking around the small table set up in the lawn. Tatiana waited quietly as he was seated. The man appeared stiff, but

she pretended not to notice. “Are you thinking of Alice?” Tatiana asked quietly. Her eyes did not stray to his. Her body didn’t move. There had been no word from the woman. At first, Thomas had tried to press her for information about the night Alice disappeared. Finally, he came to realize that Tatiana remembered nothing beyond him helping her out of the carriage. “Yes,” Thomas said, easily. He found no reason to lie to her. It wasn’t the first time they had spoken thus. “It has been almost two years with no word. I know she wouldn’t do this to us. I think she is dead.” “I wouldn’t have you lose hope, Thomas,” Tatiana said softly. She too thought Alice must be dead, but she didn’t have the heart to tell him. It wasn’t like the sweet girl to disappear. Perhaps, giving him hope was crueler, but she couldn’t make herself form any other words. “You must try to picture her happy.” “I picture her, but it is never happy,” Thomas said, bitterly. His short blond hair tossed about his head as the chilly breeze picked up. Tatiana glanced at him, not turning her face lest any watch them from the windows. Thomas always kept a respectable distance. Sometimes he would read to her from books from her father’s library. He had a nice, pleasant voice that would soothe her. He didn’t seem to mind it, actually maybe even enjoyed it. Occasionally, she’d catch herself thinking of him as the closest friend she’d ever had. In fact, aside from Alice, he was. His eyes dared to look directly into hers. There were so many questions that he needed answered. Tatiana swallowed. She didn’t know the answers and had given up trying to find them. “You look tired,” Thomas said, concerned. “Did you have the dream again?” “They seem to be getting more frequent and more real.” Tatiana suppressed another yawn. “I try to stay awake, but they always lure me in. I don’t know what it is. I think I must be punishing myself.” The dreams had gotten steadily worse. Always, the same man came to her, but no longer was she trapped in the silken covers of a warm bed. Sometimes she was chained to a dank stone wall, the manacles of iron gripping into her flesh, as if she was to be punished. It was so real. She’d wake up with her wrists aching. Other times, she would be on what felt like a fur rug. She’d be dressed in a strange costume. Fingers were on her body. If she opened her eyes, all she would see is her reflection looking back at her, appearing so close that her nose would be inches away from its likeness. Wounds would open on her throat, blood trailing quickly out of her neck until she weakened to the point she woke up. Tatiana shuddered, taking a deep breath. “Is it your marriage that you fear?” Thomas inquired. He appeared busy studying the calluses on his hands, before turning them away, almost as if he was embarrassed by them. Fine gentlemen didn’t have callused hands. Tatiana blinked, turning to look at him. He never once mentioned her marriage to her without her saying something first. “Everything was fine until that night,” Thomas said bitterly. “Now this whole manor reeks of darkness and despair.” “I didn’t realize you were this upset about Alice. I’m so sorry, I….” Unbidden, her hand reached out to him, intent on soothing him somehow. He saw her gesture and pulled back in surprise. He reached for her hand, hesitating before taking it in his. He held her for a moment, staring deeply into her soft green eyes. “It’s not Alice,” he whispered, his fingers unmoving, as if he was afraid she’d snatch her hand away from him. He took a deep breath. “What is it then?” she inquired, growing concerned. His blue eyes dipped ever so slightly to the ground. He looked so handsome, youthful and pure, in the bright afternoon sunlight. “You can tell me.” Thomas took another deep breath. Then, falling to the ground on one knee, he said, “I want you to marry me. Let me take you away from here. Let’s just go, right now. Let’s leave this world behind us.” Tatiana sat up, shocked. She glanced around the lawn to make sure they were alone. “Get up, quickly, before anyone sees you.” “I don’t care,” Thomas said, though he did sit back in his chair like she requested. His face shone with boyish excitement and hope, though fear lingered there too. His hand gripped hers. She didn’t pull away. He grew emboldened by her silence. “I’m leaving here, for good. I want you to come with me. Don’t wait around for the Count. Whatever is causing your nightmares, he is the root of it. Please, I love you, Tatiana. I always have since we were children. I know you never loved me like I do you, but we are great friends and I know you care for me. I’m content with that. I’ll provide for you and protect you. I can’t give you a house like this, but I can make you happy. I will make you happy. Don’t go to the Count. I know if you do you’ll regret it. Don’t ask me how I know, I just do.” Tatiana’s mouth fell open at the confession. She knew they had become friends, but she had no idea his feelings had been so much deeper. How could she have missed it? It was as if part of the cloud cleared from her mind. As she thought of leaving her home, leaving her engagement

behind, she felt lightened--almost free. “Yes,” she breathed to both of their surprise. Hearing his voice, so soft and calm, she couldn’t help but say it. He was right. She didn’t feel for him as he did her. But, she didn’t feel fear at the very sound of his voice. The idea of him as a husband didn’t make her heart race. It didn’t bring to mind images of pain and blood and tormenting ecstasy. Her head began to clear of the fog she’d lived under for the last two years. “Yes, Thomas.” She felt the Count’s strange hold on her slipping. Colors swam in her vision, as if she was near freedom. She stood up, panting, looking all around her. Energy and life snapped throughout her limbs, heating her. Thomas was stunned by her answer and was slower to join her on his feet. She watched him, her wide jade eyes blinking. ‘Bell-a mi-a,’ a voice threatened sharply in her head. It wasn’t the normal gentle caress of words, but a hard forewarning. She tried hard to ignore it. “Tatiana?” Thomas questioned. A smile struggled to form on his face, but it was hesitant, as he watched her subtly changing features. Her skin paled ever so slightly, not that she’d been dark to begin with. “Your eyes, Tatiana,” Thomas whispered. “They glimmered.” Tatiana reached up, feeling her face to see if it had changed. Seeing his look of awe, she began to cry. Feelings rushed inside of her, overwhelming her with grief and fear. “No, Tatiana, it’s all right,” Thomas soothed. He looked around before moving as if he would touch her arm. “My mother always said your family was blessed with gifts. She said yourmother was also a natural witch. It’s all right, truly, don’t cry. Please, don’t cry.” “She wasn’t a witch, Thomas, my mother was touched,” Tatiana whispered. A strangeness flowed in her veins and she wasn’t sure the presence inside her mind was gone. She felt as if he lingered, listening to her, waiting to see if and how she would betray him. “She used to say she saw visions of what was going to happen. She claimed a maid was going to steal silver or someone was going to drop her favorite vase. So she fired the maid and wrapped the vase in pillows. She made me promise not to say anything, but I always knew she wasn’t right in the head. And I must be touched, too. That is why I have these dreams.” “No,” Thomas denied. “You are very sane. I just think you need to get out of this place. Your dreams are trying to warn you to run. They are telling you that all is not right with the Count. What sort of gentleman would ask for your hand and then take his leave of you without…? It’s not right. You mustn’t wait for him. Please, Tatiana, say you’ll still marry me. We’ll run away tonight. I’ll take you far away from here! I promise he’ll never find you. I’ll keep you safe. I’ll protect you with my life.” He sounded so sure of his plan, so sure that he wanted her. Tatiana had no such sureties. Slowly, she nodded. She couldn’t speak. Thomas grinned. He looked so happy. “Kiss me,” she whispered, fighting the demon’s hold inside of her. She could feel the Count trying to get in, trying to pull her back into the dream world he kept her locked inside. She fought him, stiffening her resolve, trying to be free of him. Thomas couldn’t resist. He surged forward, his lips parted to obey her command. He’d dreamt of kissing her, holding her for so long. To hear her say the words was like fire to his blood. Tatiana felt his hands on her arms, pulling her into his chest. There was no rush of feeling in his touch, not like in the hands of her dreams. But she did feel something, a gentle kindness, a comfort to which she wasn’t opposed. She knew she could easily let Thomas touch her, wouldn’t mind his kisses or his bed. A part of her even began to long for the safety of it, of him.

‘Bella!’ The voice came, furious, like a demon emerging from the depths of hell. Thomas’ eyes only saw her face. He did not look around, didn’t care if any saw. He wanted this more than anything. He wanted her. Tatiana could see it in him. She could detect his emotion radiating in each subtle gesture of his jerking body, making her feel. She sensed his sincerity, his good heart. His lips pressed forward, warm, tender. Her mouth parted, ready to accept him. The moment his mouth brushed along hers a pain so intense shot through her system. She gasped, wheezing for breath. She thought his touch would kill the beast inside her, but it only infuriated it. She trembled, arching stiffly back from Thomas’ lips without ever knowing the full press of his kiss. She heard screaming in her head, coming from inside. It was her voice calling out in pain. She couldn’t tell if the sound escaped her lips, or only echoed in her mind, but it wouldn’t stop. ‘Appartenete a me, bella mia!’ the demonic voice snarled. The tone wasn’t tender like in her dreams. It was hard, monstrous, possessive and so very angry with her. The words racked her through her core, tightening coldly on her throat until she nearly swooned for lack of air. ‘You belong to

me! You are mine! You will never escape me!’ She stopped screaming, realizing that she hadn’t moved her lips. The fight had been inside her. Outside, she’d stayed perfectly still. The shaking in her body stopped as the cloud was yet again over her mind. She felt the numbness invading her senses once more. She did not have the

strength to stop it. Gasping in surprise, she peered at Thomas. He no longer held her. He was on his back, lying on the ground, panting for breath as if she’d struck him. “Thomas?” she breathed, frightened. His eyes looked up at her in pity, but he did not go to her again. He struggled to stand, his legs weak. She pulled back so he couldn’t reach for her again. He didn’t try. “What happened? What did I do to you?” “Tonight,” Thomas returned, brushing himself off. His eyes softened as they took in her face. Whispering, as if they could be overheard in the abandoned side lawn, he said, “Tonight I will come for you. I’ll get you out of here, Tatiana, I promise.” Tatiana nodded, not understanding what was happening to her. All she knew is that she wanted the voice inside her to stop. She watched Thomas’ back as he slowly walked away from her. He didn’t chance to look at her as he rounded the side of the house. Tatiana swallowed, wondering in amazement how he could still want her, that he could’ve ever wanted her at all. Almost ashamedly, she recalled the night all the strangeness started. One of her last memories before drawing a blank was Thomas handing her down from the carriage. His exact words were lost on her, but she remembered him speaking kindly to her. In return, she’d contemplated turning her lifelong friend out on his ear. She shook her head. What a fool she’d been, so young and stupid. She was still young, but it was amazing what two years of living in a nightmare could do to a person. **** Tatiana lifted a sturdy shawl and tossed it around her bare shoulders. Her gown was of the richest silk, a fine but simple lavender with trimmings of Honiton lace, looped with silk flowers. Her hair was adorned with a single matching silk flower, coiffured high and fashionable. The dress was perhaps one of her finest and not very suited for traveling. She didn’t care. Ignoring the wave of guilt that tried to overwhelm her each time she thought of marrying Thomas, Tatiana knotted the shawl firmly over her shoulders before reaching to pull on her long gloves. If Thomas was going to marry her, she would endeavor to look her best for him. He would make her a fine husband. He was a hard worker, a gentle soul, a very decent man. As far as attraction, she’d felt some for him. He was handsome, quiet, yet charming. With him, she would have a life with laughter and contentment. Looking around her beautiful bedroom, dark now that she’d put out the fireplace and turned off the gas lamps, she knew that her days of luxury were more than likely over. She wondered if her father would forgive her the embarrassment she would cause by running off with a servant. He hardly spoke to her anymore, though she caught him looking warily at her from time to time as if afraid. Crossing over to the curtains, she drew them back. It was evening, the sun having set about a half of an hour past. Pressing her face onto the pane of glass, Tatiana let it cool her heated forehead. She saw the shadowed outline of the forest reach into the distance from her second story room. She never went to the forest anymore, never knowing why her feet didn’t carry her there to explore as they had when she was younger. She was going to miss Eastwich Manor, but she knew it was time to leave. Suddenly, the chill from the window shot down the side of her face, trailing over her back. She froze, tense and waiting. She didn’t have to wait long. ‘Bella mia,’ the voice said, almost with a sulk. She tried not to listen to it, tried to think of a song to block it out of her mind. Nothing came. ‘Non

avete pensato per fuoriuscirli?’ Tatiana pressed her lips tightly together. She was really beginning to hate that accursed language. Strangely, though, she always seemed to know what he said to her without really understanding the words completely. “Then I will speak in English for you. You didn’t think to escape me, did you?” The low words were thick with an Italian accent, but very real, more real than the phrases in her head had been. Tatiana took a sharp breath, holding it. Her fingers twisted up into the curtains, clinging fiercely to them as if they could protect her. She willed him to go away. She waited, feeling him behind her, unable to see him just like in her dreams. Her body shook. Tears entered her eyes as she panted raggedly against the window pane. Her hot, nervous breath hit against the glass, fogging it. She couldn’t hear him move, but somehow knew that he drew closer, reaching out to touch her. Time seemed to suspend itself into an eternity of anticipation, longing for that first bit of contact, dreading it even more. Her skin pulled. Her nerve endings tingled as if they recognized the one who approached. She felt a peculiar power flowing in her blood, just like earlier when Thomas said her eye glimmered, just like years ago when Henry claimed the same. She hadn’t expected the Count to come to her, but she wasn’t surprised. “You don’t speak?” the Count murmured. Lips whispered close to her ear. Cold breath hit her skin, causing her to tremble as goose bumps rose up on her flesh. Tatiana stiffened, gripping the curtains tighter. It was as she thought. The Count had drawn close. Her eyes darted over the side lawn, searching desperately for Thomas, praying he would see her in the window and come save her. She couldn’t move to save herself. She was petrified.

“That boy can’t protect you, bella mia,” the Count whispered, next to her other ear, causing her to jerk in surprise. She felt a light brush against the back of her ear and wasn’t sure if it was his lips or his nose that skimmed by her. The slight touch sent shockwaves rippling throughout her body. Tatiana had not felt him move. Her eyes lifted, traveling slowly up the glass to see if she could catch his refection behind her. She saw nothing, not even her own face. She was too afraid to turn and look. After so long, she wasn’t sure she wanted to see the demonic man from her nightmares. “You thought to run out on me,” the Count continued, scolding, clicking his tongue as if she were a naughty child. She could tell he was angry with her, though his soft voice did not let on. Tatiana knew there was no point in denying the fact. Her voice when she answered was barely audible. “H--how could you know that?” The Count heard her words easily, as was evident by his answer. It was a low, sardonic laugh that mocked her fear of him. She wondered why he didn’t touch her. Nevertheless, she was trapped to the window, looking out at the moonlit gardens below. She knew that he would stop her if she tried to dart past him. “I love Thomas,” she said quietly. “I want to marry him. Please, just leave me be. I don’t know what you said to my father to make him agree to our-” “You don’t love the boy,” the Count broke in, his cryptic words rolling out harsh. Her declaration of love grated against his very nature. “You pity him the loss of his sister.” Tatiana knew his words were true. She didn’t love Thomas as a woman loves a man, but as a friend loves another friend. She was drawn to him, his pain, his good heart. That was enough for her. “I’ll be happy with him,” Tatiana defended. “Never mention him to me again, bella mia,” the Count stated, dismissing her words with his order. “Now, come, it is time for us to go.” “I don’t want to go with you, I won’t,” Tatiana declared. Her fists grabbed onto the curtains with a renewed strength. The Count’s chuckle was deadly. “I’m not leaving with you,” she screamed, frightened by him. She closed her eyes tight, trying to dredge up every bit of her courage. “I’m staying with Thomas!” A hard, loud growl echoed in the bedchamber. Tatiana felt a cold hand gripping painfully into her shoulder. Her body sparked with life at the touch. He jerked her back with that one hand and sent her flying across the room. The curtains ripped noisily from the wall and she was forced to let them go. She screamed in surprise as she flew through the air. With a hard bounce that left her breathless and dazed, she landed with her back on the bed. She pushed up on her elbows, her chest heaving for air. Her eyes automatically searched for him in the darkness. It didn’t take long for her to find the tall figure with broad shoulders outlined by blue-white moonlight. She couldn’t see his face, though a memory of it pulled at her. His hair was unfashionably long, waving in what appeared to be light brown strands about his shoulders and back. Her shoulder stung where he’d touched her. Her body felt alive with the power of his nearness. She hated the feelings he stirred so wickedly in her chest. She felt him in her mind, probing her, digging into her with his control. She concentrated on throwing him out of her. Her eyes began to shine, glimmering as she stared hatefully at the devil before her. Suddenly, the sensations of his probing mind stopped. He seemed to pull back, though he didn’t move. She felt him grinning at her. “Ah, so you have finally balanced your power,” he stated to her. The idea seemed to please him greatly. Slowly, as if he glided rather than walked, he approached the bed. She stiffened as he sat next to her. Her eyes hungrily devoured the shadows for a hint of his features. “I tasted that you were close.” At his enigmatic words, she screamed. Pushing past him, her hand hit hard upon a chest formed as if from steel. With one snap of his arm, he could’ve subdued her, but he only moved to follow as she rushed from the bedroom. Tatiana ran, tripping down the stairs in her haste to be rid of him. As she came to the front hall, she saw her father coming from his study to investigate the noise of her escape. Her gaze flew over the hall, desperate to find a place of sanctuary. She threw the thick door open, hearing her father coming fast behind her. He called out her name, but she didn’t stop. The night air hit her like a chilly, foreboding blast. She flinched, blinking rapidly as moisture stung her cheeks. She hadn’t realized tears escaped her eyes as she fled the Count. Seeing a carriage readied at the bottom of the steps--a black, enclosed, imposing affair of rich elegance--she ground to a halt. Four black horses pawed nervously, feeling her tense intrusion into their midst. The animals were dressed in black, as if in

mourning. Their heads bobbed at her in protest. “Tatiana,” called her father’s voice behind her, stern. “What is the meaning of this?” “Tatiana,” sounded another call, more fervent, yet gentle. Her eyes left off looking for her father to find Thomas. Suddenly, she was very afraid for him to be there. “Thomas--” Her words were cut off by a resounding smack and a groan of pain. She found Thomas lying on the ground in a daze, his mouth and nose bleeding. Standing above him, unmoving and unaffected, was the Count. Tatiana gasped, seeing the Count’s face clearly for the first time. He was caressed by moonlight, so pale and beautiful. She’d been sure her demon would be deformed. But, instead, he was like a God standing amongst mortals. His face could’ve been chiseled from stone, for all he moved. His brooding gaze of dark brown pierced forward to her, waiting patiently as her eyes roamed him, taking their fill. His hands were folded neatly, intertwining and relaxed before him. His clothes were of fine silk, cut from the darkest of blacks and reds. A wide black cape, lined with blood red velvet, hung over his shoulders, sweeping with ease around his body as the breeze stirred it against his muscular calves and thighs. She wasn’t sure she’d seen his particular manner of dress before. His style appeared old, out of fashion, and yet suited him admirably well. A silver chain, belonging to what could’ve been a pocket watch, dipped over one side of his waistcoat. His body was lean, firm, commanding. Her skin tingled, almost as if it could remember the feel of him to her flesh. Her neck ached, remembering the brush of lips and teeth on its tender threads. The sweet smell of him engulfed her, the scent of earth and mint. She wanted to touch him, to have him touch her. A flash of blood came to her eyes, a long crimson trail over pale flesh. The sight did not scare her, but sent chills of anticipation and pleasure throughout her body. A sound of pain resounded over them. Tatiana recognized her father’s voice crying out. Vaguely, she thought to hear him pleading to the saints in heaven to protect them from the devil. She ignored him. The Count’s lips moved, turning up slightly on one side, a gentle lift of bored seduction. Tatiana gazed at him, feeling him all around her, possessing her. She took a hesitant step forward, drawn to be near him. Her fingers twitched as if they could already feel the silken strands of his brown hair gripped within them. A light moan left her. Her eyes invited him to her. Her lips offered themselves over the distance. She knew he wouldn’t come to her, but would make her walk to be with him. “Tatiana, no!” Thomas screamed, struggling to his feet. “You must resist him!” Thomas made a move as if to stop her progression. The Count struck out his hand without even turning to look at the mortal man, clamping his strong fingers about Thomas’ neck. Thomas, who was by no means a weakling, struggled against the hold. The Count’s longer nails bit into the man’s tender flesh, drawing droplets of blood. The man’s throat gurgled as he fought for air and his bright blue eyes searched for her. “Tell him, bella mia,” the Count urged in his low, sultry voice. The tone was so familiar to her. It washed over her dazed senses. She could only see him, hear him, smell him, feel him inside her. “Tell him you are mine.” “Tatiana,” Thomas managed to gasp, his word pleading her to deny it. Tears welled up in his eyes, spilling over his cheeks. Tatiana opened her mouth to speak as he bid her. A hand darted to her cheek, wrenching her eyes away from those of the creature who enthralled her. She blinked, suddenly realizing that the Count’s eyes had been glowing with a yellowish-green, somehow controlling her will. Her father pulled her into his chest, pressing her face into her shoulder, as if that would protect her. “I don’t care what you’ve done, girl,” William said. “I can’t send you with him. I can’t give you to the devil.” A dark laughter filled the evening air. All eyes turned to the Count. He still held Thomas by the throat. The man was beginning to lose his struggle. Tatiana clung to her father, too afraid to move. She trembled in his arms. “Foolish man,” the Count stated. His hard gaze shone with dark merriment. “You can’t keep her from me. I only let you have her back because I promised to let her say goodbye to you in return for her pledge to be my eternal slave. She traded her soul for the protection of your son.” “Henry?” William gasped, not understanding. “It was your boy who murdered the servant and, like a coward, he begged his sister--a woman--to protect him,” the Count spat in distaste. A slight curl of disgust rose on his upper lip. The words sunk into the man beneath the Count’s hand. Thomas struggled anew, clawing viciously enough to draw blood from his captor’s hand and wrist. To Tatiana’s horror, she saw the wounds heal almost as instantly as they formed. She hugged tighter to her father. “No,” she whispered, shaking her head. “I never would’ve given myself to you. You lie. Henry would never murder Alice. You lie. You lie.” In his mounting annoyance, the Count finally turned to study Thomas. He pulled the man in front of him. His lips parted revealing a set of deadly

fangs. His hand forced Thomas’ head to tilt over to the side. His mouth opened wide as if to bite. “No, please, don’t,” Tatiana screamed. She tore from her father’s arms to defend her friend. Thomas was so good, so kind. He didn’t deserve this. Not because of her. Her voice fading to a hush, she begged, “Please, my lord, don’t harm him. Don’t harm any here.” The Count stopped. His eyes took her in. His mouth closed. “Come fulfill your promise to me, bella mia, or this boy will die,” the Count stated. “Honor your pledge and I will give his life to you. Consider it a gift.” “I….” She bit her lip, looking at Thomas. His lids fell heavy over his eyes. He was near unconscious. “Yes. I will come. Only don’t hurt anyone else. Please, let him go.” Instantly, the Count’s hands released Thomas. The man fell to the ground in a stupor. Tatiana reached down to help him up. The Count’s gentle hand on her face, tenderly cupping her cheek, stopped her. “No, bella mia,” the Count warned. His nails scraped lightly over her features in a dangerous caress. “Who are you?” she asked, trying not to cry. “What are you? Why do you do this?” “You may call me Marcello,” he stated coolly in his crisp Italian tone. His hand ran over the cords in her neck followed by his seductive, hungry eyes. He then glanced behind her to her father. Louder, he stated, “You heard your daughter. She is mine now. Forget her.” “Tatiana, no,” William began. Thomas still lay on the ground, too stunned to move. Red claw marks bled from his throat. “You don’t have to do this! Please, I beg you, stop. Take me instead, my lord, please, not my daughter--not my daughter.” “Get in the carriage, Tatiana,” Marcello ordered, his eyes coolly turning to his newest slave. His piercing gaze didn’t move over her face. His body was stiff and unmoving. “But, my belongings, my clothes….” Tatiana trembled. His tender hold kept her before him more effectively than a vice. “I have new clothes for you,” Marcello said. His expression made demands of her that she didn’t understand. “There is nothing left for you here. I let you have your time with your family. I hope you used it well for you won’t be seeing them again.” Tatiana shivered at the finality of his confident words. She thought of the last two years spent being ignored by her father. Suddenly, it all made sense. Her father had thought she killed Alice. This monster must have led him to believe…. “I will not tell you again, bella,” Marcello ordered, hard and annoyed. “Get in the carriage.” She looked over her shoulder as she heard the carriage door opening. A servant, dressed all in black, stood holding the door. She hadn’t seen him before that moment. The man’s eyes were glazed, almost a milky white, and he did not seem to really look at her though his gaze pointed in her direction. She noticed how young and tall he was. He was a pretty man in almost an effeminate way. Turning her eyes from the servant, she again eyed his master. His face had not changed. She took a step back. Marcello’s chilled hand fell from her face. She didn’t make the mistake of moving to help her fallen friend. Spinning, she turned on her heels and rushed to her father before the Count could stop her. She flung her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. William gripped his daughter to him, stunned by what was happening, by what he saw, by the demon who was taking his daughter from him. His old eyes seemed unable to comprehend that she was innocent and his own son, his boy, had lied to him about Alice. But, they all read the truth in the demon’s eyes well enough. Henry had let him believe Tatiana was crazy, that she could’ve committed murder and now she was lost to him because of it. “Take care of Thomas as if he were your son. He’s a good man,” Tatiana expressed. She could feel Marcello’s pull on her back. He was getting very impatient. Not wanting to risk his temper, she pried herself from her father’s arms. “I will write to you if I can. I love you.” “No, no, no,” William repeated, over and over. His eyes turned pleadingly to the dark carriage. His hands reached out to follow her as she pulled away, but his legs didn’t move. “Not my girl, please, not my daughter.” She refused to let her tears fall. When she turned, Marcello was already in the carriage waiting for her. She peered into the dark interior, unable to see anything within the inky depths. As she came to the door, she felt as if she reached the gates of hell. Her heart hammered in her chest. She paused. A pale, strong hand reached out from within. She took it in hers, not having a choice. Tatiana let him help her up the narrow stairs as she stepped in. Her lavender silk gown swished as she moved. Trying to adjust her eyes to the dark, she voiced weakly, as she came through the door, “You never told me what you were, my lord.” “Vampiro,” Marcello stated, his accent thick and heavy as it lingered on that one word for what seemed like an eternity. He dropped her hand as

she came inside. The carriage door slammed shut behind her, leaving them in total darkness. Tatiana felt her way to a seat across from where he sat, careful not to get too close. “I am a vampire. But, more importantly, I am your master.”

Chapter Four Tatiana pulled back the thick red velvet curtain hanging over the carriage window. The carriage jolted, pulling slowly away from her home. She could hear the clopping of horses’ hooves on the gravel drive. She saw her father staring blindly after them, his mouth gaping open, his eyes insensible and confused. Through a daze, she heard Thomas yell for her. His blue eyes were tortured as the raw scream left his throat. She saw him struggle to his feet, his handsome blond hair whipping around his young face. A melee of servants poured out the front door, clamoring to see her departure. It was as if they watched the whole scenario while hiding away. Tatiana resented the servants. She was sure that, if they would’ve come to their aid, all of them together could’ve taken down the vampire who now claimed to own her. A dark chuckle erupted from across the carriage interior. Her eyes turned sharply to the vampire. The drawn curtain allowed moonlight to cast his features in a ghoulish manner that made her shiver. His eyes gleamed with an inner green light before fading to darkness. She realized he’d been in her head, reading her thoughts. The horses turned the carriage so that the house pulled from view. Thomas was running after them, stumbling and weak. Tatiana said nothing, was too numb to motion to him. She knew that the image of Eastwich Manor, fading into nothingness and out of her life, would always stay with her. Letting her hand fall to her lap, she sat back in her seat. The curtain fell once more into place, making the darkness an impossible tomb. The carriage rolled along, racing under the team of four strong horses, whisking them over the countryside for what seemed like hours. Tatiana didn’t move, save to yawn once into the back of her hand. She let a lethargic pull come over her limbs so she didn’t have to feel anything. Now that he had her in his grasp, she wondered if the dreams would finally stop. **** “Tu sei bellissima,” Marcello whispered into the darkness of the carriage. He didn’t know what made him speak the thought out loud, though he had been thinking it since they left the manor. Perhaps, he wanted to see her reaction to his words. He meant them. She was very beautiful to behold. He’d done well in finding her. His vampire eyes watched her stiffen. She’d held silent for a long time, not searching for him in the shadows. He knew she couldn’t see him in the blackness, yet she didn’t complain, didn’t ask him to give her light. He nodded to himself, pleased by her bravery. It wasn’t many mortals who could sit so quietly before a devil. He took his leisure studying her, though the lines of her were memorized since their first night together. Her body was small, but not so slender as to make her reedy. He enjoyed the gentle bend of her hips, the sloping curves of her larger breasts. He eyed her chest beneath her silk gown, displayed with a hint of cleavage. Those were breasts just meant to be touched, licked, bitten. Marcello was a little disappointed that she wouldn’t show more emotion for him. He found he’d missed her emotion since being parted from her. Though, two years was hardly anything to him. He’d known where she was, who she talked to, read into her thoughts--not all of them, but enough. He’d known when she’d accepted the boy’s proposal and thought to escape him. He frowned. It was the reason he raced to Eastwich to claim her. If not for that, many more years might have gone by before he thought to bring her to be with him. As much as he wanted her, the dream of her had been sweet anticipation to his senses and it was the kind of torture he didn’t mind drawing out. The smell of her was a sweet perfume. Her blood was strong and he found himself yearning to taste it again. The first time he felt the silky texture of her against his tongue, he knew he wouldn’t be letting her go. He’d marked her as his, pierced her lip with his fangs to do it. In doing so, he’d made sure no other vampire would ever dare touch her. It was part of the old code for his race, part of the sacred laws set out by the council of elders. You didn’t touch another’s indicium. Marcello could feel the dawn approaching, only a little over an hour off. Tatiana hadn’t moved to acknowledge his comment. Her lids started to droop and he knew that she was tired. He wanted her to stay awake so she would sleep through the day with him. He couldn’t have her running about while he couldn’t get to her--at least not yet. He wanted her to learn her new role first before he afforded her that trust. “Bella mia,” he murmured in his sultriest of voices. He watched her eyes blink at the loud statement. Her jade gaze turned to look for him. She didn’t see him. “Come here, next to me.” Marcello watched her swallow in fear. She pulled back from him, pressing her body into the carriage seat to get as far away from him as she could. Her breath caught. He could feel her trying to sense him. She had a lot of strength in her. It pleased his vanity greatly to own her.

“Why did you say such cruel thing about Henry to my father?” Tatiana whispered, ignoring Marcello’s bidding. She’d seen well that her father had believed the vampire’s lies. “They were not lies, bella,” Marcello answered. When he continued, she heard the barely contained amusement in his words. “Your brother couldn’t function as a man should. He killed the woman for laughing at him.” “I don’t believe you,” she said, her tone uncertain of her own words. “Come,” Marcello urged. “You must be tired. Come rest in my arms.” “I can’t,” she breathed, after a long silence. “It isn’t right. We have yet to be married.” Marcello chuckled, thoroughly amused. “Married, bella?” “We aren’t going to be, are we?” she asked, as if suddenly struck by lightning. Marcello eyes narrowed, not liking the relief he felt in her at the statement. It stung him. He ignored his feelings. He never intended to marry her. His kind didn’t marry. When you lived for an eternity, ‘til death do you part took on a whole new meaning. However, many of his kind did vangare--and often. His eyes roamed over her body and he felt his shaft growing hard with desire. Tatiana pressed her eyes tightly shut, willing him to go away and leave her be. Her soft, disillusioned laugh joined his. She really should’ve known better. When her father had told her of her engagement, she took it as the truth. Every line of his body was memorized and, when she closed her eyes, she saw him clearly. She much preferred his eerie silence, or even the dreams he’d given her. Being alone with him, in the dark, was almost too much. However, when he spoke to her with his achingly sweet voice, it was hard to resist. “Then what,” she began. Her heart nearly slowed until it stopped beating altogether. “What am I to be to you?” “You will be whatever I want you to be, bella.” Tatiana could almost hear the dismissive wave of his hand in his voice. He showed no remorse, as he admitted boldly, “My servant, my slave, my dinner, il mio amante.” Tatiana didn’t need to speak his language to know what his last phrase meant. The connotation dripped from his gravelly voice. He translated for her anyway. “My lover, bella mia.” Marcello’s hand reached forward, finding hers easily in the dark. His chilled fingers held so much controlled strength that they made her shiver. He pulled her insistently forward, not letting her escape. The long line of her lips parted in breath and he wanted to feel them against his body. He wanted to feel her mortal warmth soaking into his cool flesh. His teeth wanted to sink into her so that he may again taste her blood. Tatiana’s body stirred and tingled at his words. He drew her across to him and she couldn’t resist. Her mind screamed at her, but her body didn’t listen or obey her will. Her control slipped into his chilled grasp. She couldn’t stand in the carriage, so she leaned over to sit next to him. Marcello leered at her cleavage, grinning in masculine pleasure. It had only been three nights since he last took a woman to his bed, but his body felt starved. With an artful twist of his hand, he maneuvered her off-balance so she turned. His arm dipped behind her back to catch her as she landed sideways on his lap, entwined within his arms. His fingers curled possessively on her hip, as the others gripped lightly into her shoulder. A gasp of surprise escaped her lips. At the weak sounds she made, her lips parted and he took full advantage. He did not wait to test her response as he lowered his mouth fully onto hers. A light moan of pleasure left him, followed by her yelp of surprise. His tongue forced its way between her lips, probing deeply into the silken warmth of her mouth. He moved with the expert skill of a practiced lover and she was too untried to resist the new rush of sensations he caused to flow within her. His tongue massaged against hers, sucking it into his mouth when she tried to move it away from his searching. Tatiana moaned. To her great surprise, she felt her fingers winding up to his long wavy hair. The texture of him was just like she imagined. His hard chest pressed its formed muscles into her softer body. Marcello’s hard thighs parted, causing her bottom to fall between them to the seat. She felt a strange hardness stirring by her hip, drawing heat from her and returning it tenfold. Then, his fingers moved, gliding over her waist to cup her ample breasts. Her head jerked back with a gasp, unsure whether she was encouraging or protesting his intimate hold. She wiggled against him, her body seeming to understand what happened much better than her protesting mind. As her lips left his, his deep kisses didn’t stop. He moved them along her jaw to her earlobe. Her breath was ragged against the silence of the carriage. His tongue swirled the rim of her ear as his thumb lightly circled a nipple with the same tantalizing slowness. She moaned again, a low and throaty sound, as she arched into his hand. Marcello felt a deep hunger calling to him, primal with need, with bloodlust. Two years without a taste of her was too long a time to wait, even for one as old as he. His hand glided higher, off her breast, to press flatly against her collarbone. He held her down with his powerful

strength, continuing his sweet torture on her ear, trailing his lips down to the drumming pulse at her neck. His fingers found hold on her jaw as he turned her head from him. His eyes lit onto the delicate artery protecting her sweet life’s essence from him. “Beg me again to drink from you, bella mia,” he whispered to her throat, poised to sink his teeth into her. His mind was feverish with his longing. He smelled her desire, knowing it would be flowing in her blood like a drug. Tatiana heard the words as if in a fog. She blinked, stiffening in horror to find herself thus against him. Her hands were in his hair, tangling it in her passion. She jerked them to his chest, pushing to be free. “Let me go,” she cried in dismay. She beat her fists weakly against him. His hold on her jaw loosened. Her chin snapped down, trying to protect her neck. The feelings he caused in her were confused and raw. She screamed again, louder. “Please, Marcello, don’t do this. I have done nothing to you. Just let me go. I don’t want to be with you. I hate you. I hate you!” Marcello’s face contorted with anger at her denial of him. His body was hard. It needed to find its release. But, worse was his need for blood. With a growl, he sought to punish her for denying him. His fingers again grabbed her jaw, easily wrenching her head back. She screamed again, crying out for pity, for mercy. The Count had none. Angrily, he latched his mouth to her neck, puncturing her throat with his bared fangs. Marcello groaned in ecstasy as the ripened flavor of her passed his lips. His mind was cut off to everything but the appeal of drinking her. His lips began to move along her throat as he swallowed, licking with intense fascination at the wound. The passion of her blood turned to sudden fear, which surprised him. However, fear was no less sweet of an emotion to partake of and his lips sucked all the harder. Tatiana clawed at him, trying to find his eyes, wanting to scratch them out of his head. She hit him, bucked her body hard against him to be free. White hot fire shot through her neck at his bite, painful and burning as the agony worked down her shoulder and arm. “Marcello.” Tatiana felt herself weakening as she had in the dream. Her body felt limp in his unyielding embrace. Her arm draped along side his legs, flopping with the slowing movement of the carriage. All around her was dark, but her mind began to join it, losing all memory of the moment, all sense of where she was, what was happening. She felt freedom in the death that called to her. She felt peace and sleep within the dreamless void that would come. Marcello heard a light whisper. It was his name. All of a sudden, he pulled back, eyeing the wound he’d made on her throat. Her mind urged him to continue, to finish her. She didn’t want to live anymore, not as his slave, not as a witch. Instantly, he bit his thumb and rubbed it along her neck. The wounds he created healed themselves. As he looked at her, he was ashamed of his lack of control. Her face was pale, her lips edged with blue. The echo of her heart was faint. Too much longer and she would’ve been dead in his arms. “Argh, bella,” he growled, not sure if his anger was directed at her or himself. The delicious power of her strong bloodline swirled in his limbs, a heady pleasure he couldn’t deny. He knew they neared their first place of rest. Dawn would be upon them soon. No one would find them within the old graveyard, not that anyone would think to look. Angrily, he lifted her in his strong arms and laid her down across from him on the carriage seat. Then, not waiting for his human servitor to open the door, he lifted the latch and pushed his way outside. Turning, he lifted Tatiana into his arms. She flopped like a piece of cloth. Her pale lips parted in even, shallow breath. Again, he cursed himself and her. “Cesare, go to the inn down the road and see to the horses,” Marcello stated to his servitor in their native tongue. “Come back for us at dusk.” The tall man bowed and said nothing. A lock of his short, brown hair fell over his white-glazed eyes. He shut the carriage door as Marcello carried Tatiana into a small graveyard. He swept past the old stones, some weathered horribly by time, until coming to a large mausoleum. The mausoleum was an old one, marked on the outside door as a safe haven for vampires. Humans did not recognize the ancient symbol, thinking it an old religious emblem. The building would never be entered by mortals, who were too afraid of desecrating the dead. The corpses for whom they were built were long since discarded elsewhere in the churchyard. Tatiana’s eyelids lifted ever so briefly as Marcello jostled her in his embrace. The eerie presence of a small church stood tall against the horizon several yards away. The dark of night had faded to the purplish hue of early morning and its large cross showed ominously in the lightened heavens. Vaguely, she heard the pounding of hooves as Cesare drove the carriage away, leaving her alone with her vampire master. Tatiana shut her eyes, almost too weak to comprehend that Marcello took her inside the grave with him. Before passing out altogether, her mind let loose a dark chuckle. It was a very fitting place for them, because she was sure that both of their souls were damned. Marcello felt Tatiana slipping in and out of consciousness. He adjusted her weight in his arms, maneuvering easily with his vampiric strength as if he carried air. He’d stayed in this mausoleum once before and knew it would accommodate them easily. Inside, spider webs hung in the corners. A large stone slab sat over a vault. With a push, Marcello thrust the stone aside. Within the vault was a large mauve coffin, plush with fine silk padding. Gently, he laid her within the coffin’s fold, before coming above her. For a moment, he paused, letting his legs thread within hers. He was

still eager to claim her in the most physical of ways. With a quick flip of his body, he turned them so she was facing his chest. Her leg rested intimately over his hip and he smiled slightly. He adjusted her arm about his waist and the other beside her cheek on the pillow. Then, reaching for the lid, he closed them within the coffin and shut his eyes to sleep. **** Tatiana’s body jerked weakly, bouncing repeatedly in heavy thuds. Her limbs felt numb, cramped. With a gasp, her eyes flew open and she sat straight up. The jostling didn’t stop. Blinking through the darkness, she realized she was again in the carriage and it was night. Had she dreamt about being taken into a graveyard? “Buònaséra, bella mia.” Tatiana flinched at the calm voice, feeling peckish and tired. Her body ached as if she’d slept for weeks and eaten for none of them. Then, remembering Marcello’s vicious bite that had almost killed her, she reached for her neck. The skin was smooth, but the memory of what he did came back full force. Feeling a chill behind her back, she realized he’d laid her head on his lap to sleep. “You … insufferable demon,” she hollowed, outraged and unable to think of anything better. Turning on him, she lashed out, extending her fingernails like claws. She went for his face in the darkness, or at least where his face should’ve been. Her hands hit the empty cushions. She couldn’t see in the dark, but she could hear his mockingly obscure chuckle of amusement. Tatiana was too angry to stop. She screeched loudly, jumping to catch him on the opposite seat. As she landed, she again hit an empty seat with a thud. “Hold still, you coward,” she hissed. “So help me, when I get my hands on you, I’ll--” “What? Kill me?” Marcello laughed, thoroughly enjoying her anger. She was spirited and he found he liked it very much. His words held much humor, as he said in the most irritatingly logical tone she’d ever heard, “Il mio amante, I am already dead.” “I’m not your lover,” Tatiana growled. She pounced again and this time her hands hit the black silk of his shirt. She really hadn’t expected to catch him and hesitated when she did. To her amazement, she realized he wore no waistcoat or jacket. The folds of his muscles were revealed easily beneath the soft glide of material and she found her fingers exploring the feel of his hard body. Marcello wasted no time as he grasped her hips and pulled her to straddle his lap. “Is that a complaint, bella?” Marcello murmured, leaning forward to nuzzle her throat. The sound of his rumbling voice sent chills racking through her body, or perhaps it was the way his lips instantly found the base of her throat and began kissing. She gasped to feel his tongue licking a wicked trail over her jaw to her mouth. Without thought, she slapped him, hard. He merely laughed and she could feel his body responding favorably to her rough handling. She gasped, feeling him harden beneath her. Realizing she sat indecently across his thighs, Tatiana tried to push away. His grip only tightened on her hips and he refused to let go. His fingers slid around to press into the soft cheeks of her backside. Tatiana liked what he was doing and it terrified her. Her body stirred to him, gravitating itself naturally closer. She couldn’t see his face, but she could feel his hard length. She hated him, despised him, yet wanted him desperately. Closing her eyes, Tatiana put herself far away from the carriage into a sunlit field. She could feel the warmth of early summer soaking into her limbs. It was so different than the cold flesh of the vampire who held her trapped. Wildflowers dotted the landscape in magnificent yellows and blues, hidden beneath the rolling grasses of the plain. Everything was bright and beautiful. The air was fresh, fragrant, pleasing. She held herself very still in the field and felt the wind stir her gown and whip her hair over her shoulders. She felt calm, connected to everything around her. It was as if she could feel the earth moving, the flowers growing, life building naturally all around her. Tatiana smiled. The daydream was so real, so vivid. A cloud came from the sun, making her blink at the full cast of light on her features. A strand of blonde hair flew before her face, flowing long over her hips. With a start, she realized it was hers. She turned her head down. Her toes were bare and she wore a gown from centuries past. The dark blue tunic fitted tightly to her frame, pressing against her limbs. Tatiana’s breathing deepened. The feeling of connection was severed from the world around her. The ground began to shake with the steady beat of horses. She looked into the distance to see knights astride large, snorting destriers. They saw her and charged. Their swords rose high into the air. Tatiana screamed and ran from them. Her bare feet hit against the ground. The field was so long, stretching for what seemed like miles. She glanced over her shoulder.

“Esprit Malin!” one of the knights cried, pointing viciously at her with the tip of his sword. She knew they called her ‘evil one’. The horses seemed to charge faster at the man’s words. Tatiana couldn’t see their faces beneath their helmets. Her blonde hair whipped straight back from her head. The wind had picked up,

hitting against her, slowing whatever progress she might make. The horses only grew louder. The leader pulled up along side her. Suddenly, she heard the singing of a blade whistling through the air. Tatiana screamed, feeling the abrupt sting of the sword as it lopped off her head. **** Marcello felt Tatiana go limp and unmoving. Her fingers slid off his chest and didn’t lift to touch or fight him. Her chin fell down, bouncing to the side. He tried to read into her, see what was happening. He could tell she’d removed herself from him, letting him have her body as he would, but not being there to witness or feel it. Suddenly, she stiffened on his lap. He felt her muscles tense as she arched back from him. He held tightly, forcing her forward into his embrace. Tatiana screamed, a loud piercing yell of fear and outrage and helplessness. Marcello wasn’t worried about the noise. Cesare would hear it, but wouldn’t care or think to answer. Just as suddenly, her body relaxed, falling forward into him. A light moan left her lips, brushing his neck, as she whispered, “Esprit Malin.” Tatiana blinked, coming out of the strange vision. Her body sung with life, with a current of strange and heady power. Her lips moved, panting and harsh. She felt the cool texture of silk against them. Arms held her closely and a light feminine moan of near contentment escaped her body. Realizing the silk was masculine flesh, she trembled in delight. Marcello tensed as he felt her begin to nibble at his neck, biting him with her flat teeth. Pleasure shot through his sensitive flesh. His eyes rolled back in his head, dreamily. He didn’t know why she’d been trying to deny him--this was how he remembered her, dreamt of her. “Mmm, bella mia,” Marcello whispered, encouraging her. His body was ready to impale her flesh. His hands roamed over her lower back, grasping into the lavender silk of her gown. He couldn’t wait to get her home and into the new wardrobe he bought for her. Tatiana’s fingers curled around his strong shoulders, gliding over the black silk in a possessive caress. Her nails scratched leisurely into the neckline of his shirt, feeling the smooth grace of his skin. His texture was addictive. She began to lick, darting her tongue to taste him. Marcello’s hands lifted her skirts, easing them over her legs to bare her hips to his touch. A rip sounded as Tatiana sat back on his lap, tearing open his shirt. A grin tried to spread over his face, but as he saw her expression, the look faded. Her narrowed eyes looked crazily at him, glimmering from within their jade depths. Her lips parted as if to murmur. The words were ancient, chanting, droning. She lifted her fist as if she wielded a knife. Bloodlust entered her face. Marcello froze. He knew well the look of bloodlust. Her hand rose as if she would stab his heart. Growling, he realized she hadn’t really been kissing him, but was still in a trance. The chanting became fiercer, her eyes wilder. With an irritated howl, Marcello shoved her back, slamming her body across the carriage. Tatiana hit the seat hard, knocking her head. Her eyes faded to normal. She looked into the darkness stunned, gasping for breath. Then, to Marcello’s surprise, she darted forward for the carriage door. Agony poured over him, confused and hurt. Her fingers found the handle, pulling at the latch to open the door. Outside the world flew past in a blur. Her body throbbed where she’d struck the seat. Her limbs were still weak from his attack on her blood. She needed out of the dark. She needed to escape the devil that kept her prisoner and made her have these horrible hallucinations. Marcello was a stranger to her, yet her body tried to convince her she knew him well. Without stopping to think, Tatiana dove forward, knowing that the fall would most likely break her neck. She didn’t care. Death would be preferable to these sensations in her body, her longing to kiss her tormentor. She felt herself falling forward to the earth. She braced for the impact. The impact came, but not from beneath her. A pair of strong, unforgiving arms wound around her waist, pulling her into a chest of steel. She gasped, knowing Marcello had come after her. Even as they fell, she fought him. His body turned, blocking the impact of their fall with his back. Tatiana heard him groan as she crashed on top of him. His body shielded hers from the brunt of the fall. They skidded across the ground. Marcello didn’t let her go. As their bodies finally stopped, she held still, dazed. Marcello jumped up, landing them on their feet. Instantly, he released her, pushing her roughly away. With a look of disgust, he examined his ripped cloak. The black material was destroyed beyond repair, torn through the blood red lining. He swung it off his shoulders and onto the ground. His shirt was ripped from where she jerked it open. Marcello didn’t read her thoughts, too angry with her at the moment to try, and not trusting himself not to bite her. He’d nearly drained her last time. If he were to taste her blood again, he knew he would finish the job. “Cesare!” Marcello bellowed to his servitor. He swiped at his dirt covered clothes in vain disgust. He was filled with a demonic rage.

Angrily, he darted forward and gripped her arms, holding her tightly to his bared chest. Tatiana jolted in surprise but her limbs were too shaky to do much else. The vision had taken so much out of her. She was hungry and so very tired. She swayed on her feet, ready to fall back down. The carriage whipped around, coming back at full speed to gather them. The four horses thundered, halting to a stop at the last moment. Cesare sat on top, calmly staring forward with his white lifeless eyes. Her face came to his chest, her shoulders dwarfed by Marcello’s. She looked up at the vampire holding her, again able to see his face shadowed by moonlight. His heart beat strong and angry along her hand, beneath his cool flesh. In the darkness, she’d almost been able to convince herself that his beauty was imagined. His face held the eternity of youth, but with an overcast of wisdom and age and boredom. Her nerves stretched, treacherously reaching for him. Her hands tried to soak in the texture of his skin, recognizing it on a baser level she tried to deny. She attempted to fight her longing, knowing it had to be a spell he cast over her. Even with his eyes filling with red and his fangs glinting like knives from behind his firm lips, she could see his handsomeness. It made her tremble. But, beyond that, his body had strength, a power that made her feel frail and helpless. Roughly, the Count tossed her back within the carriage. Tatiana screamed as she flew through the air. With a supernatural speed, Marcello whipped around to the doors, locking her inside. She beat against her prison walls, but he didn’t release her. Furiously, Marcello glared at the carriage. Hunger bit his stomach, making him ache. He needed to feed and fast. Tatiana’s little show of defiance had nearly killed her and had weakened him. He planned on claiming her as his lover soon enough, but first she was going to learn her place as his slave. She’d given her oath to obey him and obey she would. No more of her witch’s nonsense. Turning to Cesare, who had picked up and was smoothing out his master’s discarded cloak, Marcello ordered, “Stay here. I’ve got to hunt. I’ll be back in a moment.” In truth, her trance had amazed him. He knew what she was, but had no idea she was so powerful. Remembering the look of pure horror on her face afterward, he frowned. It was quite possible she didn’t know how powerful she was. Best if he had her tempered back for now. He would take her to a crone and have her abilities magically bound. “Remain where you are, bella mia. If you even try to escape me, I will slaughter five innocent children every eve for a fortnight!” Marcello growled into the door, thundering mad. His eyes rimmed with red, raging at being denied blood and sex. He wasn’t a vampire used to denying himself or his passions. Inside the carriage, Tatiana heard the roar of the beast. She had no doubt that the Count spoke the truth. Gulping, she huddled on the floor, wrapping her arms around her legs in the black tomb of the carriage. Supported by the seat, her head rolled back, weak, feeling completely drained. Refusing to cry, Tatiana sat, having no choice but to obey her new master.

Chapter Five

Paris, France Tatiana was too tired to pull back the curtain to the carriage window and look outside. She stretched her legs out on the seat as she lay motionless. Darkness surrounded her, always surrounded her until she grew used to the blindness. Marcello sat across from her, silent and unmoving. He was always silent and unmoving, but she could always feel him as if he was next to her. And she hated him. Marcello barely talked to her, except to give her commands. She obeyed in silence. Going to where he told her to, sleeping where he told her to sleep, which was always next to him. They spent the days in catacombs and graveyards, inside mausoleums and coffins. She would find herself pressed close to him, her back to his back as they slept. He didn’t touch her in passion again. Tatiana didn’t know how many nights had passed since he locked her in the carriage. When he came back, his face had calmed, the demon had faded from his eyes. She’d seen him briefly in the moonlight as he stepped into the carriage with her. His lips had seemed almost crimson. She imagined it to be blood. Tatiana heard the carriage wheels rolling over the unevenly paved roads. The steady clopping of the horses’ hooves beat in a lulling rhythm. She’d always heard stories of Paris and the dreadfulness of their uncouth Bohemian movement, but at the moment she didn’t care to see it. France had looked much like England to her. She would’ve been disappointed if she wasn’t so hungry and tired. Outside the carriage, Tatiana vaguely heard the calling of foreign tongues, not understanding any but the most basic of French phrases. The sound made her feel even more isolated and alone. It was in the middle of the night, but the large city didn’t sleep. Music from seedy music halls drifted over them in uneven waves, faint and distant. Suddenly, an eerie glow invaded the dark tomb of the carriage. A thin trail of gold streamed in from outside, caressing Marcello’s face as

he looked out to the city. His jaw was stiff. His eyes were hard. Tatiana gasped, amazed each time she saw him, to see how beautiful he was. At the light sound, Marcello’s eyes turned to look at her. He didn’t lower his hand, letting the light remain on him. Their gazes locked, held. “Come, bella mia, come and see your new home,” Marcello said quietly, motioning his head to the window. The long strands of his wavy brown hair spilled freely over his shoulders. His dark brown eyes called to her, flickering with depths of green. Tatiana had come to realize that his eyes turned in such a way only when he tried to read her thoughts or control them. Tatiana blinked, her body too tired to move from her spot. Her stomach had long since stopped twitching in hunger and now sat hollow and small beneath her ribs. Her fingers moved ever so lightly, as if to obey him. Then, as the carriage bumped over a rough patch of road, she began to roll. Her eyes took in the carriage floor coming hard toward her face before a bright, consuming light flashed. Tatiana gasped, sitting up. Her body was no longer weak. She felt young, carefree. The sun was warm on her face, the air sweetened with the perfume of flower. Birds and insects chirped happily all around her. Her eyes squinted in the bright light, looking about. She was home. Hearing a faint giggle, she turned. Behind her, dancing like a wood sprite, was Alice. Tatiana froze. She remembered this day and suddenly knew that she was dreaming again. Alice stopped and smiled at her. They were alone, at a picnic, hiding from Henry and his boisterous friends, who had taken over Eastwich Manor for the weekend. Tatiana couldn’t move. Seeing Alice, she could no longer feel young and happy. Her skin chilled, even though the sun still shone full upon them. Alice stepped near, holding out a garland of plaited flowers for her. Tatiana stiffened, shivering now as the maid knelt before her. Alice’s blonde ringlets stirred in the breeze. Her bright blue eyes lost their natural gaiety. Suddenly, the woman frowned. She lifted the flowers as if to put them over Tatiana’s shoulders. A petal touched Tatiana’s cheek and dissolved into nothingness. The sky became dark, stormy. Alice’s hands fell to her lap and her features began to pale and gray. The maid’s mouth opened to speak. Words sounded, fast and high, garbled as if the maid spoke in tongues. Alice cried, screaming so loud it shook them both, as her blue eyes filled with red. Her face caved in as if it struck by invisible blows. Tatiana couldn’t understand what Alice tried to tell her. She pulled back from her, scared. She jolted to her feet, turning to run. Her body was like lead. As she spun, she was no longer in the field but in the forest, standing in the doorway of the abandoned cottage. She got a glimpse of Alice’s pale corpse and heard a voice whispering. “Che macello, bella mia. What a mess.” “No!” Tatiana screamed. Again her body jolted. Tatiana’s eyes blinked. Overhead she saw dark gray stones, flickering with the orange glow of firelight. Wondering if she was again in another dream vision, she laid perfectly still. Her body was surrounded by softness, comforting and cool. She had the odd sense of being safe, protected. There was a familiar comfort to her surroundings, to the look of stone, to the soft, enveloping feel beneath her. She was happy to be out of the bouncing carriage. Her arm moved slightly and she felt the coolness of silk along her skin. A calm sigh left her lips and she was contented. When several minutes passed and nothing around her changed, she slowly pushed herself up. She was on a large, rectangular bed. The sheets were a blood red silk, the coverlet a thicker black. Many decorative pillows, some with embroidery, some with yellow fringe, covered a good portion of the top. Everything was rich, elegant, and instinctively she knew it was very Marcello. Gothic sconces were attached to the wall. Large, matching candelabras stood freely about the room. Long tapering white candles were in them, unlit, but with bits of dried wax curling over their sides. Nowhere did she see gas lamps or other devices of modern convenience. The firelight came from a giant square fireplace in the wall. It was carved from the stone and large enough to stand five of her shoulder to shoulder and still have room for more. Two large, black angel sculptures graced each side of it. Their wings pointed up and they seemed to be weeping, as they reached down toward some unknown point on the smooth stone floor. Tatiana shivered. The statues gave her the chills, reminding her of elaborate gravestones. She would know. She’d seen her share of gravestones over the last several nights. The room was calm, isolated. The stone walls were very plain with a castellated feel to the arches along the ceiling. Aside from the crackling fire, the room was silent. Tatiana could feel an un-stirring peace. She’d felt the same mysterious calmness in the graveyards. A long, cushioned rug of elaborate gold and red patterns graced the floor before the fire. A large wardrobe of dark wood sat along the wall. It was carved and bespoke of elegance, more so than any she had ever seen before. Curious, her feet slid over the side of the bed. Her limbs wobbled as she stood, reminding her that she’d not eaten a decent meal in days. Feeling the continued whispers of silk along her legs, she glanced down.

Tatiana gasped, instantly looking around for a mirror. Seeing an oversized mirror within a gilded frame beside the wardrobe, she hastened forward. The pale, thin creature that stared back at her was a stranger. Her cheeks were sunken ever so slightly in her face, making her jade eyes appear wider than usual. Turning her head, she looked at her neck. It was unharmed, thin but unharmed. Then, in horror, Tatiana realized she was naked beneath a long black robe. The silk was belted at her stomach, tied into a delicately hanging bow. Lapels of red, slashed down from her neck, adding a splash of color to the dark, and showing an indecent hint of flesh in between her breasts. She shivered. The black made her appear all the more deathlike. Then, turning to the bed, she realized that she was dressed the same as all of Marcello’s belongings. The carriage, his clothes, and now his bed--they all bore the colors of blood and midnight. The knowledge left her speechless. Tatiana turned back to the mirror, eyeing her long waving black hair. It needed to be washed and combed. Her hand lifted as if to touch her reflection, when suddenly, she stopped. Catching the image of Cesare sitting quietly in a chair, watching her--or more correctly, watching through her--Tatiana gasped and turned to him. The young man sat in a chair, hidden by shadows, next to the warmth of the fireplace. She hadn’t seen him from the bed for his body was partly hidden by one of the large angels. “Cesare?” she asked, her voice coming out in a croak. She gripped the robe tightly before her chest, hiding her body from him. The servitor didn’t move, only blinked his slow lids over his white-glazed eyes. Tatiana glanced around the bedroom, before crossing over to the man. She’d never been left alone with him before and had only caught glimpses of him as they climbed in and out of the carriage. Taking her hand, she waved it before his face. He didn’t move, not even to flinch “Cesare? Can you hear me?” she asked weakly, snapping her fingers. Boldly, she touched his cheek. His skin was warm, human. He didn’t move. Tatiana fell to her knees. She couldn’t remain standing. Her limbs were too weak. Keeping her eyes on the servitor, she whispered, “Why does he keep us? What does he want with us? What will he do to us?” As the pretty man didn’t answer, only continued to sit, breathing softly, Tatiana knew she was jealous of him. Wherever he was, it had to be much better than the reality they lived in. Wearily, her head drooped forward, pressing into Cesare’s bony knee. “It would appear that I’m not the only one the Count is starving,” she whispered, eyeing his thin calves in her line of vision. To her surprise, she felt his hand lift. He stroked her black locks as if she were a kitten. It was the first touch of kindness she had received since Thomas tried to kiss her. She held very still, soaking the contact in. Tears came to her tired eyes. She wanted to weep, but she was too tired for even that. Just as abruptly, the stroking stopped. Cesare’s knee shifted. Tatiana fell back, reluctant to let him go, but too frail to protest. Her head fell forward to rest on the seat, still warm from his body. “Cesare?” she asked, biting her lip to keep from crying out. She wanted him back, listless or not. He was a stranger and yet she felt as if he were her only friend. “Please….” The servitor didn’t stop, didn’t look at her. She watched as he lethargically walked to the thick oak door in the stone and pulled it open. His arms hung at his sides, his fingers relaxed. She caught a glimpse of another long room with floor to ceiling red curtains and long dining table of dark mahogany wood. Past the curtains, there was a row of stone steps leading up. Cesare shut the door behind him. A chill swept Tatiana’s body and she knew why Cesare had left her. Their master had come home. She wondered if Marcello left the servitor to guard her. “No, bella mia,” came the Count’s voice. “I left him to watch over you while I was out.” Tatiana shivered. She knew better than to ask what he’d been out doing. She could well imagine--had well imagined. “Sì, I did feed,” he said without apology. Tatiana could hear him moving behind her, but was too weak to move. “But, I also went to get you help.” “Help?” Tatiana whispered, wondering what he was talking about. “Sì,bella mia,” came a familiar whisper next to her ear. Tatiana didn’t know he’d come so close. She felt his warm breath on her skin. Her eyes drifted closed, almost dreamily. She didn’t know how long she rested with him near. “I brought someone to help bind your powers so you will not feel so weak,” Marcello said. He gently lifted her off the floor. His tenderness surprised her. “A chef?” Tatiana asked, beyond laughing at the joke. Her eyes looked up, seeing his handsome face. Every time she saw him, he took

her breath away, leaving her longing for the dark. At least at night, she could imagine him as the monster he was. A light moan came from her lips as he carried her effortlessly in his arms. Tatiana watched the fire contrasting his features. When he didn’t smile, which was often, his face looked stern and foreboding. He stared deeply into her eyes and stopped walking, as if suddenly only hearing her words. “A chef?” he repeated. His eyes roamed her and he smiled, as if to himself. Tatiana gasped. His firm lips curled up. He looked breathtaking. She wanted to kiss him. His hands tightened on her hip and side, as if he knew her reaction to him and was pleased by it. “You are hungry,” Marcello stated, as if the thought had just occurred to him. He chuckled softly. “Why did you not say? I’d forgotten that about humans.” “What?” she asked, trying her best to remember that she hated him. With his strong arms so securely wrapped around her it was hard. “You forgot you needed to feed your pets?” This caused him to frown. “You are not my pet, bella mia.” Tatiana snorted. “I’ve been preoccupied with other things. I would’ve been more prepared for your comfort, if you had not betrayed me with the boy,” Marcello muttered defensively under his breath, his voice hard and accusing. “I may be your slave, vampire, but I don’t belong to you.” She would’ve struggled, but she felt trapped by the steel grip of his arms. Suddenly, the silk of her robe was too thin. His fingers were clutching at it, digging into her. She felt the angry scrape of his nails, but they didn’t cause her to bleed. Marcello studied the aggravating woman in his arms. He could read her mind, knew she wanted him to release her. He couldn’t. Something inside of him made him hold onto her. It was the same force that made him mindlessly go to collect her when she thought to give herself to Thomas. He knew then, as he knew now, that he could’ve waited. He could’ve stolen her from the man whenever he was ready. But the mere idea of her lips and her body intimately pressed into the mortal’s drove Marcello mad with jealousy. Seeing her lips, drawn and parted, Marcello couldn’t resist. Her body was warm, sliding erotically beneath his fingertips. He’d been waiting to get her powers bound before touching her again. It had been a hard carriage ride, with her so close, yet untouchable. Her curves called to him, beckoning him into carnal madness. He lowered his head, intent on sweeping up her mouth to his embrace. Tatiana moaned in surprise, her body jerking. His lips were soft, warm, as they brushed against her. Without thought, her fingers traveled over his strong neck, tangling in his hair. His mouth began to move. His lips parted to taste her. Before she understood what was happening, his fingers slid over the black silk of the robe. Her feet landed on the floor and his arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her into his chest. His kiss deepened. His fangs lightly brushed across her mouth as she opened herself naturally to the exploration of his tongue. Tatiana sighed. Marcello’s kiss was deep and familiar, as if she’d felt it in another life. She didn’t think to protest him when he held her tighter. Marcello pulled back to look at her. Her eyes were closed to him. He wished she would look at him when he kissed her. He wanted her to see who it was she desired. “You don’t kiss me back, bella mia. Why?” Her eyes opened, but they were not the soft gaze he’d been hoping for. “I hate you, devil,” she said darkly. “I want nothing to do with you.” At her declaration, he let her go. Tatiana stumbled on her feet, sinking tiredly to the floor. Without having to speak, Marcello summoned Cesare. The man appeared, carrying a tray laden with food. Tatiana’s head lifted at the smell of roasted meat. She did not think to ask how Cesare had gotten it. Cesare came forward and set the tray on the floor before her. Tatiana didn’t care about manners, didn’t care that she was about to eat off the floor like a mongrel dog. Marcello turned his back on her, walking to study the flames in the fireplace, as she grabbed the slab of meat with both hands, ignoring the utensils. She bit hungrily into it, driven by the primal need to survive. Cesare turned to leave them. Tatiana saw him move from the corner of her eye. She looked fully at the man’s slender frame. His servant livery of black breeches and a red waistcoat over a white linen shirt seemed to drape on him. “Cesare,” she mumbled over her stuffed mouth. At the sound of his name, the man stopped. He didn’t turn around. Tatiana wondered if it was Marcello’s will that he stopped or if the man heard her and reacted. She tore a hunk of meat and bread. Struggling to her feet, she carried them to

Cesare. “Here, eat.” The man didn’t move, did not even react as if he smelled the food being placed before his thin face. Tatiana took up his hand, trying to give it to him. The hand didn’t grasp, only fell to his sides. She tore a piece, sticking it into her own mouth before lifting a piece to the servitor’s lips. He didn’t bite. Turning to glare at Marcello’s back, she demanded, “Tell him he can eat, you monster!” Marcello turned to look at her. His face was blank. Her eyes dipped over his clothes, seeing them for the first time. The black breeches were of the highest quality, no doubt made by the finest tailors in all of Paris. She’d noticed that about him. He always dressed fine, wearing his clothes with an affected power and ease. His shirt was white, whiter than his pale skin, skin that almost looked healthy in the glow of firelight. A dark blue waistcoat clung to his waist and chest, buttoned and perfect. Tatiana blinked. She was momentarily distracted by the fact he wore something other than red and black. For a man, he was well put together. His very presence indicated wealth. “Look at him. He’s nothing but bones!” Tatiana screamed, coming to her senses. Her stomach clung to the food, drawing an instant strength from the nourishment. It shouldn’t have been so, but her body was recovering quickly--too quickly. She felt a power surging in her limbs, building like the day Thomas had kissed her. She somehow knew her eyes would be glowing brightly. She didn’t care. Her voice was hoarse, as she yelled, “You’re killing him.” Marcello looked leisurely down at his hands, seeming to study the long lengths of his nails. Tatiana wasn’t fooled. She knew he listened to her. “My lord,” she began in hard warning. “Eat, Cesare,” Marcello stated lightly. Instantly, the servitor grasped the food from Tatiana’s hand. She watched him, satisfied as he bit into the meat. His teeth tore in large bites and he swallowed without stopping to savor. Tatiana saw Marcello’s dark eyes roaming over her robe. She needlessly clutched it to her chest. Glaring at him, she said, “I need a bath. I need a change of clot--ah!” Marcello was to her in an instant, gripping her arms as he lifted her off the ground. Her feet dangled in the air, kicking lightly as they searched for a foothold where there was none. To her horror, he drew up until they were suspended far from the stone floor. If he was to drop her, she would most certainly break her neck. Tatiana screamed, trying to grab Marcello. He held her away from him, letting her squirm. His eyes simmering with red, he growled, “Just because I let my servitor eat, doesn’t mean you can command me. You will bathe when I say. You will wear what I say. You will do and go and act how I tell you to. And, if you aggravate me, you will wear nothing at all but the skin on your back as I drag you through the slums of Paris! Capite?” “Yes,” Tatiana cried, losing all bravado. She searched his face in terror and his red gaze seemed almost to soften. “I understand. I understand, Marcello. Please, bring us down.” Tatiana gasped in surprise when Marcello’s arms whipped tightly about her. She screamed, as he whirled her about in the air. Her arms worked their way around his neck, squeezing him tight. The soft strands of his loose hair hit against her arms and shoulders. Her silk robe fell open, leaving the lower half of her body bare, as her legs wrapped around his waist. The apex of her thighs pressed intimately into his hips. Fearful, she squeezed him closely to her. Marcello felt a cold breeze whip past his skin, as if they weren’t alone. He protectively grabbed Tatiana to his chest. Glancing around, he saw nothing unusual, but the sensation wouldn’t go away. Only Cesare was there with them, devouring his meal in silence, ignoring the floating couple above him. Marcello’s eyes went to her face as he felt her feminine heat on his shaft. He had already been half aroused just being near her--he was always half aroused when near her. His body lurched to full attention, craving freedom from the prison of clothes. Her cheek burrowed into his shoulder and he could feel the whispers of her panting breath on his neck. Her black hair spilled over her thin frame. “Please,” Tatiana begged. She refused to open her eyes. She felt his body harden beneath hers, but she did not understand it. The stiff material of his breeches offered little protection to her sensitive flesh. She was too afraid of falling to let him go. “Please, my lord, please let us down. I said I understood you. I’ll behave.” Marcello forgot the sensation of cold as he slowly lowered her to the ground. With his mind, he ordered Cesare to draw them a bath. The servant stood, doing what he was commanded without complaint. Marcello allowed the man to eat as he walked from the room. Marcello’s feet touched the floor. They were near the large bed. His eyes looked longingly to it. Cesare came back, carrying a bathing tub on his back. He set it effortlessly on the floor next to the fire. Then, leaving once more, he went to get water to fill it.

Tatiana didn’t realize they landed as she continued to cling to the solid mass of Marcello’s body. Her heart beat rapidly in her chest, racing her blood around in her veins at a dizzying speed. She was lightheaded from his nearness. Marcello let her hold herself to him, liking the feel of her soft body to his. His hands still wound around her, edging closer to her backside to help hold her up. Then, swallowing, he affected a look of complete calm. “Not that I mind your attentions, bella mia, but if you would like to bathe soon it would be best if I help Cesare prepare it.” Tatiana opened one eye to study him. Seeing the wall behind his shoulder, she relaxed. Her body slid off of his and she became all too aware of his nearness. Instantly, she pushed away from him, rushing around the side of the bed to put distance between them. “You flew,” she whispered, accusingly. Tatiana tried to tell herself that she trembled out of fear. But, as Marcello turned from her, her gaze strayed to his firm backside, mesmerized by the way his body moved. Marcello said nothing as he whisked gracefully from her presence. Soon he and Cesare were back, hauling large buckets of hot water with ease. She watched them from the side of the bed, refusing to move as they worked and before long steam curled from the full bath. Cesare moved to leave. Marcello followed him to the door. To Tatiana’s horror, Marcello shut the door, staying in the room with her. When he turned, his eyes glittered with silver and she could tell that the vampire had a specific purpose in staying. “Tu sei bellissima, Tatiana,” he murmured, looking her boldly over. A slow smile came to his brooding features. “Remove your robe.” Tatiana gripped it tighter, backing away. Her round eyes narrowed as she furiously shook her head in denial. “Need I remind you that you are mine? You have given your word to obey me.” He frowned. She could feel his anger. “Now, remove your robe.” “Turn around,” Tatiana whispered, fearful, not sure she wanted to see his reaction to her naked body. Marcello began to laugh. “Bella mia, I have seen you--all of you. I have tasted you, felt you. I have been inside you. What do you think to hide from me now?” “You lie,” she stated, mortified. “You don’t remember?” Tatiana got the impression that he was hurt, perhaps even amazed. Then, shaking her head, she knew better. This lifeless, emotionless creature before her didn’t have a heart to hurt. He only thrived off of fear and pain. He was a demon. “You don’t remember inviting me to conquer your silken depths? You don’t remember how you begged for me? How hot and wet you were for me?” Marcello asked. His words were low, almost a whisper, but she heard them perfectly. “Do you not remember how you begged for me to drink of your blood?” “You lie,” she repeated, incapable of saying anything else. “Bella,” he scolded, not looking offended. “I am wounded.” “You don’t have the feelings to be wounded.” Her defiance made him laugh. Marcello looked to the fire in contemplation. When he seemed to arrive at a decision, he turned back to her. “Perhaps, too much was blocked from you about our time together,” Marcello mused. His jaw lowered. “Perchance, it’s time I gave you the memory of it back.” Tatiana pressed her lips together, trying not to cry. She shook her head. “No, I want nothing from you except my freedom. Please, my lord, let me go home. Let Cesare and I go. You don’t need us.” “You are home, Tatiana. The sooner you realize it, the better it will be for you,” Marcello said. His dark look screamed at her, though his rough voice was deadly in its calm. “You are mine now.” “Why … why do you want me? What did I ever do to you?” Marcello thought about that for a long moment. He didn’t want to tell her. How did a vampire with a condemned soul suddenly say that she made him feel for the first time in nearly a century? The very idea perplexed even him.

“This is the last time I will tell you, bella mia,” Marcello warned. “Undress and come here.” Tatiana could see that she’d defied him one time too many. Averting her gaze, she looked at the floor. She pulled the loop at her waist. The silk whispered as she pulled it free from her shoulders. It pooled around her on the floor. “Come,” Marcello whispered, holding his hand out to her. He didn’t hide the fact that his eyes looked at her, taking in every nuance of her form. He saw her large breasts that would overflow in his palms, smother his face when he buried himself in them. They fit well with the curves of her hips. Though, he did suddenly regret not feeding her earlier. Her body had become too slender. Tatiana took a step forward. His gaze caught hers as she moved. She saw his eyes churning with hints of green fire and knew that he tried to read and control her. She could feel him entering her mind, swirling his presence in her blood as if to claim every piece of her body for his own. She fought his control. He might own her body, but she wouldn’t give him her mind. Marcello frowned as she kicked him out of her thoughts. He held it still. Her hand didn’t lift to take his. She glanced at his fingers then to his face, refusing. Slowly, he smiled. Tatiana grew scared. Marcello’s hand went to his waist and he removed his waistcoat, one slow button at a time. “I don’t want to be your lover,” she said, frightened. “Please, don’t do this, my lord. If you ever had pity … if you ever had a soul, don’t do this.” “You will come to me, bella mia, rest assured of that. And it will not be by force.” “You’re forcing me now to be with you.” Marcello merely smiled. “It’s too close to dawn for me to heat more bathwater. I wish to bathe the travel from my body and you are too weak to bathe alone. I wouldn’t want you to have another one of your spells and drown.” Tatiana held very still. To her shame, she watched his fingers moving as he unveiled his naked body to her. She tried, but she couldn’t look away. Her blood heated at the sight of him. The waistcoat slipped from his shoulders and he tossed it over to the wooden chair by the fireplace. Next he pulled the linen shirt from his breeches and began giving its buttons the same slow attention he had the waistcoat. His fingers were long, elegant like a gentleman’s. A sapphire ring glinted on his index finger. Tatiana had noticed that the Count owned many jeweled rings, matching them to his clothing. His arms moved with liquid grace as he leisurely pulled the linen shirt from his shoulders. She gasped. His muscles rolled beneath his pale skin. “You may touch me, bella mia,” the Count said. His hands moved to his waistband. “Your eyes tell me you want to.” “My eyes say nothing, my lord,” Tatiana answered quietly. During his show, her lips parted to accommodate her quickened breath. She snapped her jaw shut, daring to turn her back on him. The long waves of her black hair curled down her back and she wished it was longer to better hide her body from the vampire’s view. There was a whispering of material sliding over flesh. Tatiana tensed, knowing Marcello’s breeches slithered to the floor. She wanted to look, was nearly dying inside with the need. She held perfectly still and waited for him to touch her. To her shame, she wanted him to touch her. Her nerves screamed out for him. Her mind tried to betray her with images of his naked form, with the memory of her dreams. A cool stroke sent shivers from her wrist to her shoulder. She looked down, seeing that Marcello was already in the bath. She hadn’t heard him get in. His usually unaffected brown eyes looked up at her with an emotion she could only guess was longing. He wanted something from her. She could see that easily enough. Tatiana knew the Count could feel nothing for her and didn’t try to convince herself otherwise. It was impossible that he could feel. There was no tenderness in the demon before her, no matter how deceiving his looks were. Marcello’s fingers wrapped around her wrist and pulled her insistently to him. Tatiana stepped into the bathwater. It was warm, inviting. Unbidden, a sigh left her mouth as the heat soaked up her leg. When she merely stood above him, Marcello pulled her down. Arching his arm over her head, he kept ahold of her wrist, causing her to turn her back to him. Tatiana found herself sitting naked before him. His legs spread to the edge, allowing for her hips. She could feel the rough hair of his thighs touching her, rubbing intimately against her skin. The water made his usually cool touch warm. Closing her eyes, she imagined that he felt like a man should. Her body shivered in response and she hardened her resolve against him. Before she could react, Marcello lifted her hair and tossed it over her slender shoulders. He grabbed a bar of soap and lathered her back. His strong fingers massaged into her, rubbing her skin. Tatiana trembled. Marcello let a small smile come to his features. He knew she tried to resist him. He could feel her fighting her body’s reaction to his touch.

The faint scent of lavender came from the soap and he breathed deeply of it. She’d smelled of lavender that first night in the forest. On a whim, he’d bought bars upon bars of the scented soap to please her--and to please himself. Tatiana held still, wondering at his gentle touch. His long nails occasionally scratched her skin, but did not cause her harm. Marcello’s fingers urged her to go beneath the water, wetting her hair. With the same precision he showed her back, he washed the dirt from her locks. When she rinsed, his hands again grabbed the lavender soap and he began cleansing her arms. His fingers pushed about her neck, lightly hitting across her collarbone. Tatiana sighed deeply, intoxicated by the nearness of him, by the relaxing smell of the soap. Marcello gently pulled her back into his body. His hands continued to move, exploring and remembering the feel of her. He leaned forward, running his palms over her breasts. His fingers glided over her nipples, massaging deeply as he caressed her. Tatiana arched into his hands. His expert fingers circled her nipples, budding them, teasing them, grasping them. She grew weak and fell into his body. The hard muscles of his chest pressed firmly into her. The hard, full length of his arousal dug into the soft flesh of her backside. Her feet worked against the bottom of the tub, digging in as she sought to get closer. The soapy water caused their skin to glide as she restlessly rubbed against him. Tatiana’s arm rose, searching for him. She found the soft, dry locks of his hair. Her eyelids became heavy and she let them close. A loud sigh of pleasure escaped her lips. His touch was like lightning, shooting through her body, heating and electrifying it. Marcello’s hands grew bolder, stroking down her ribs, leaving trails of hot pleasure in their wake. He kissed her ear, sucking the lobe gently until her head fell leisurely to the side. His dark eyes narrowed as he saw her throat. He could feel her hips searching for him and did not deny them. His hand drew a haphazard path over her stomach, moving to curl into the top arch of her wet center. Tatiana cried out in surprise and pleasure. She was beyond thought, beyond words. Her mouth opened wide as she gasped for ragged breath. “Ricordisi di,” Marcello urged in a whisper to her flesh. “Remember, bella, remember.” Marcello’s lips parted as his teeth sunk into her neck, piercing her. Tatiana gasped, arching into him in complete offering. The satisfaction of his touch opened her mind and let him wander in. His hand glided up from her hot center, curling naturally around her breast as he held her still against his deep, fiery kiss. Marcello drank lightly against her throat. Red swam in his liquid gaze as he tasted her strength, her passion for him. His body jerked, nearing what felt like an orgasm. He knew she was ready. Taking his fingers, he did not stop drinking, as he ran his hand before her face. Tatiana felt a pull to her senses. She felt him inside her mind, calling to her lost memories. They struck her in gentle waves, crashing into her with the soft promise of a pleasant dream. Her body stopped moving, growing peaceful. Marcello’s lips left her neck. “Sì, bella mia,” he whispered. His tongue reached for her ear, licking around the rim in a slow caress, as he urged her to remember their past. “Yes, remember….”

Chapter Six

Two years earlier… A cold breeze whipped against Tatiana’s skin and she shivered. When she opened her eyes she was in the dark, standing before the old cottage in the forest near Eastwich Manor. It felt familiar and real, though she knew it was a vision of the past, a memory she couldn’t fully remember making. A soft light fell over the ground, over what had been her favorite pale green gown. Lady Cottley had just thrown a dinner à la russe. It had been a delightful evening, the last she could remember having. Looking down, she noticed that a lamp was in her hands. Tatiana frowned, retracing her steps, trying to remember how she got to the forest. Henry had come to her. He was covered in mud and was very upset. He brought her to the forest. “What a mess,” she heard Marcello whisper behind her. Her ears strained for more--leaves rustled softly, the wind whined a lonely song. All was quiet. Tatiana turned in a daze to look at Marcello. His body was tall, stately, bored. His face was calm as he stared past her. It was as if he didn’t see her standing next to him. She followed his piercing eyes back to the cottage. Already, she knew what she would find when she stepped into the door frame. She didn’t want to look, didn’t want to remember it. She wanted Alice to be alive. Tatiana couldn’t control her feet as they stepped forward. Her arm lifted with the lamp. She gasped to see Alice’s corpse, the

grotesqueness of her bashed face, her missing eye. The maid’s blonde ringlets were covered in blood and gore.

Henry? Why? It was her voice that had said the words. She looked around, but the memory was whispered in the wind and she couldn’t find her past self. Henry had led her there to the cottage to clean up his mess. Marcello hadn’t lied. Henry did indeed kill Alice. How could she have forgotten that? Tatiana froze and waited. She wanted to cry out. She didn’t want to relive this, not now, not ever. She shook. A blackness had consumed her that night, as she stared at Alice’s corpse. An energy had flowed into her body, making her powerful and numb. It hit her again now, full force. She knew that was the moment her change started. She could feel the intensity of it within her body. Suddenly, the memories came back to her in a rush. To her shame, Tatiana realized she’d done what Henry asked of her. She felt herself picking up the pieces of the woman who’d been her lifelong friend. Tatiana didn’t cry for Alice as she numbly did her task. But, she wasn’t alone. Marcello was with her, whispering to her, giving her instructions, helping her hide the body. It was Marcello who dug the grave for Alice and Marcello who lifted the corpse down into it. She’d barely seen him that night in the darkness, but she’d been thankful for his help, his morbid skills, his quiet presence. The strange energy that grew in her body had fed off of him, leaching his strength until she could feel him in her blood. It was her body that called out to him, her power that mesmerized him to her, not the other way around. That night, he had been her slave, doing her bidding. Tatiana felt her lungs panting for air. She’d been on fire, watching his strong body move in the dim lamplight as they went about their grim task. Her hands itched to touch him. Her flesh felt like it was pierced with the sharp sensations of prickling needles. Even as she found herself fascinated with Marcello, she’d been sorrowful over Alice’s death. In a voice that was shaky, she tried to say something as Marcello pushed dirt over the maid’s body. “Alice,” Tatiana heard her voice whisper. Her lips moved, but she couldn’t control the words. “I would that you came back to me.” Tatiana was shocked. It was a horrible eulogy for a woman she’d loved as a sister. How could she have said so little? “What else would you have of me, bella mia?” Marcello asked. His tight body came to her, covered in a light sprinkling of dirt. She controlled him, but barely. She could feel the constrained presence of a beast beneath his skin. He was fighting her will, angry at her control. Tatiana held strong. Marcello’s eyes followed hers down over his large frame clad in black and she could sense that he was annoyed by his dirty clothes. He hated the fact that she made him dig the grave. He wanted to strike out at her in anger, but her will kept him from moving. Tatiana looked at her gown. It was ruined, torn and covered with Alice’s blood. A strand of blonde hair clung to the mess and she shivered, growing weak. “Come,” Marcello urged softly. He touched her cheek, drawing her forward to his chest. The voice was gentle, persuasive, and she found she wasn’t scared to be in his embrace. Her body thrived on his nearness, strained for it. “Let us wash this unpleasant night from our bodies.” Tatiana was confused. She knew she would’ve never gone with him willingly, but she had. She knew that she controlled him that night in the past as much as he controlled her in the present. The power that built inside her wasn’t of his influence. Suddenly, she felt her mother. The stories that she’d been told since girlhood came back to her. How could she have forgotten them? Grand bedtime stories of witches and warlocks, told to her by a mother that hushed them like secrets. Tatiana always thought the woman did it to entertain and fascinate her. A moan of wanton pleasure left her lips as Marcello pulled her close. She’d closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around his strong neck. Knowledge came to her with the power and she understood what her body wanted from him. Her face burrowed into the bend of his neck and she remembered feeling the tickle of his soft hair on her cheek. He smelled of earth, from where he’d dug, and of the wind. He’d lifted her, carrying her easily in his arms as he sped over the countryside. When she again lifted her head to look, he let her go. They were in the courtyard of Glastonbury Castle, where he lived. The piles of rocks surrounding the castle made strange images in the dim moonlight. The garden flowers were in bloom and they perfumed the air. Taking her hand in his, Marcello led her into the castle. She didn’t fight him, didn’t try to pull away. She’d wanted to be with him. The air inside was stale and unmoving. Cobwebs hung from the ceiling, dancing eerily amongst the rafters, as they stirred to the presence of those who entered. There were no servants in the Count’s home, no sounds of life. The castle was nothing like she’d pictured seeing it from the outside. Outside, it looked to be in decent repair. Inside, it showed nothing but the influence of time and neglect. The front hall was empty. There were signs of renovations, though the project had been abandoned long ago and never completed. The marble floor was cracked, as was the large fireplace. The walls were bare. “This way, bella,” Marcello said softly, drawing her attention away from the hall.

Tatiana followed him without question and with a vague sense of excitement, as he led her up an old stone stairwell. It too was broken and chipped. As they neared the top, she noticed that a light glowed from above. The orange framed Marcello’s body in stark relief, dancing and licking the walls with the reflection of fire. Without knowing what possessed her, her hands lifted to touch his back. She ran her fingers over his dusty overcoat. Marcello stiffened at her daring touch. He paused at the top of the stairwell as her fingers met his shoulders only to turn back down. Tatiana’s breathing deepened. It might be a memory, but she could feel him on her hands, as if he was before her, and he was exquisite. “Bathe me,” a voice demanded from her throat. It sounded like her, a low, seductress version of her. A groan left Marcello. Before Tatiana knew what happened, she was in a room before a blazing fireplace. Marcello’s chilled hands were on her body, undressing her. She stood very still for him, letting him touch her skin, begging him to with her eyes, commanding him with her mind. His fingers peeled back her corset and she took a deep breath, filling her lungs with air. “La tua pelle e’ come seta, bella mia,” he whispered. She liked the way his lips formed the words, moving over his fangs. She’d heard that phrase endlessly in her dreams of him. “Your skin is like silk.” Tatiana liked the way his eyes looked at her, longing for her, fighting her hold over him. She was giddy with power. Her body moved by its own will and she stood naked and bold before him in a bath. Marcello’s hand dug beneath her chemise, pulling it up. Fingers ran over her large breasts, stroking them. He pinched her nipples, causing them to ache with need for him. Tatiana’s head fell back and she moaned. Marcello’s tongue flicked over the base of her throat. She instinctively knew what he was--a vampire--and didn’t care. Her fingers lifted, touching him, wantonly pulling him to her body. His dark voice whispered seductively to her. She couldn’t understand all his words and didn’t care. It excited her to hear him speak. Marcello’s hands roamed her, urging the remainder of her clothes from her body. Tatiana realized she was naked before him, that he looked at her. His touch made her ache with longing and need as he groaned his masculine excitement against her. “Tu sei bellissima,” his voice persisted in its lullaby, lingering and soft. The memories of him sped and slowed without reason or warning. Marcello washed her hair, lathered soap against her body, bathing her like she’d commanded him. Fingers covered her mouth and nose as she was lowered beneath the bathwater. She wasn’t afraid. She trusted the luring melody of that voice, knew that she could control him and that he couldn’t hurt her. “You are very beautiful.” When her head surfaced, Tatiana was no longer in the water. Her skin was dry, warm. Her hair was damp. A stone fireplace burned brightly. The fire crackled, the only noise around her. She felt safe, protected. She wondered why she hadn’t bothered to look around while in the tub. All she saw was Marcello and his worshipping hands. The bath was gone. She must’ve slept for she felt rested. Tatiana lay on a bed--soft, enveloping. The softness of crimson colored silk brushed against her skin. The mattress was stuffed with the softest of feathers. A sigh left her parted lips as her gaze drifted around her. The room was clean, yet barren. The Count hadn’t lived in it long. The poster bed was large and stood in the center of the room, dominating it. A fur rug lined the stone floor. A chair sat in the corner. Its dark cushioned depths appeared very comfortable. Tatiana was alone and she didn’t want to be. Marcello had been touching her and she wanted him to come back to her. Suddenly, she felt the bed shift though she hadn’t moved. She smiled and turned her head to the side. A pale hand reached for her, lifting to smoothly caress her cheek. A ruby glistened from the ring on his finger. The weight of her tangled, damp hair was lifted from her neck and lips. Tatiana shivered in anticipation. Marcello wore only a black silk robe. She could see his naked, pale chest underneath. She looked at him, unashamed by her own interest in seeing him. She liked that he watched her looking at him. Her breathing deepened and she let him see her desire. “You beckoned me to you, bella mia?” he whispered. Marcello’s hand roamed down her neck. Her skin was sensitive to him, feeling and reaching for him. Every whispering caress shot her with desire until she was hot and ready for his claiming. His hand continued down, parting the seam in the silken front of her robe. He smiled a truly wicked smile as his nails grazed the valley between her breasts. Tatiana held still, urging him on. His gaze moved to follow the movements of his hand. Slowly, he pulled a breast free. Already the nipple was hard, waiting for him. He brushed it lightly. Tatiana moaned in delight, wanting him to hear what he did to her. She didn’t close her eyes, liking the pleasure on his face as he touched her. Marcello’s face lowered to give her a gentle kiss. His damp hair tickled her skin. His mouth was warm as was his hand. Tatiana knew that he’d recently fed. It didn’t repulse her as it should have. Her mouth opened to his, allowing him inside. She didn’t stop to think. Didn’t know how

she knew what to do. She moved on instinct, on the primal knowledge passed down to her from her mother’s people. She wasn’t afraid of passion. She embraced it. It was natural. It fed and nourished her body and her powers until she didn’t need food or air to survive. Marcello’s tongue massaged along hers, sucking her gently into his mouth. Tatiana’s tongue ran along his fangs, liking the danger they presented. She couldn’t stop moaning as she panted for breath. Her fingers did not move to touch his delectable body. This was her game. He was the slave--her slave. Marcello’s hand moved to her waist, pulling at the belt that hid her body from him. His fingers moved over her hips, as if fascinated by the feel of her. He touched her thighs, her knees, before answering the call of her center heat. She was moist when he touched her, passionate and ready. Tatiana’s hips jerked against his hand, wanting him to test her depths. Her lips pulled away so she could cry out. No man had ever touched her there and she suddenly felt deprived. She wondered what had been wrong with her to never seek a man’s touch. “Stand for me, Marcello,” she ordered her slave. Marcello groaned in protest, but had no choice but to obey. Tatiana pushed up on her elbows, letting the robe stay open to reveal her nakedness to him. Marcello walked to the end of the bed, standing dutifully before her. She looked him over with interest, licking her lips as if she were about to devour him. “Undress for me, Marcello.” Marcello pulled at his belt, shameless and immodest. His black robe parted and he let it slide from his shoulders. He had a thick neck that molded well into his shoulders. His upper body was very strong, excitingly so. His arms moved gracefully beneath the burden of their muscles. His stomach was flat, muscular, smooth. Tatiana’s green eyes strayed to the thick member jutting from between his hips in a soft bed of hair. “Turn for me,” she ordered quietly, enjoying her first real peek of the male form. Marcello obeyed, turning around slowly so she could see all of him. The edge of the bed hid his legs from view, but she could see his powerful thighs, moving up to a very firm backside, to a back that rippled with as many muscles as his chest. Being a vampire, he was in perfect shape, without a measure of fat to mar his delectable frame. When he came full circle, his eyes pierced her from their fiery depths. Tatiana knew that he wasn’t used to being commanded in such a way. This was a man who wasn’t accustomed to following orders--especially from a human woman. “You may come to me, Marcello,” she said to him, smiling a catlike smile. She didn’t move as he crawled up on the bed, moving over her on all fours. His eyes only darkened as he drew near, becoming almost black. In a brief moment of clarity, he demanded, “Release me, witch.” Tatiana grinned, having no such intention. Pursing her lips, she looked over his fine features. Just looking at him made the ache he’d stirred in her body worse. She laid back. Her hair spilled around her head. Lifting a finger, she delicately traced a line from his neck, along his collarbone and along the middle of his chest. Marcello groaned. His eyes closed. “Obey me,” Tatiana ordered quietly, daring him to try and fight her. Her hands lifted to his shoulders, feeling his texture, his warmed skin. He didn’t breathe, holding still like a statue. She explored his body, flicked his nipple, giggled as she watched him jerk in pleasure. Caressing down his stomach, she walked her fingers in a torturous trail down to his erection. His whole being stiffened as she ran her hand onto him. Tatiana gasped. It was harder, smoother than she expected. She bit her lip and her composure wavered slightly. Her hold slipped just enough so that Marcello could bring himself forward. His lips met hers. His hair streamed alongside hers on the pillow--the dark brown mingling with her vixen’s black. This time when he kissed her, he wasn’t so gentle. He poured his desire into her. His fangs nicked her lips and he tasted the flavor of her blood. Tatiana moaned. Her fingers left his arousal to grab his face and hold him to her. His body covered hers, rubbing pleasurably along her softness, as his legs expertly threaded between her thighs to part her to him. Marcello kissed her long and hard, exploring her mouth as he stole her breath. When her lungs felt as if they would explode, Tatiana tore her face away, gasping for breath. His knees pushed forward, opening her wide for him. His hands braced his weight as his mouth went to a breast and began sucking. His teeth grazed her, his mouth working in desperation. He wanted to bite her. She could feel his jaw straining as she denied him the impulse. Her power over him kept him restrained. So, instead, he kissed the nipple rough and hard. Marcello growled. His erection dipped close to her wet heat. He felt it against him, calling him into her ready body. Roughly, he pushed into her. Tatiana screamed out in surprise at the rough entry. Her mind faded away from the moment. She blinked and the pain of that time was gone. But, the past wasn’t done with her. Marcello wasn’t done with her. As he withdrew himself, she opened her eyes. They were on the chair before the fireplace. She sat astride him, riding him hard. She impaled herself onto his thick shaft until he stretched her insides past the brink of her inner depths. He fit fully inside her, so deep she was sure it wasn’t possible. She was sore, but the pleasure of it outweighed everything else.

As she rose to thrust again, her memory flashed and Marcello entered her from behind on the fur rug before the fireplace. His strong hands grasped her hips and pulled as he slammed her mindlessly back into him. His loud grunts of approval came out of him in little animalistic noises until she realized that she too howled like a beast. Marcello took her in endless positions all over the room, including once on the stairwell and once in a room fitted with his spacious coffin. With each thrust of his tight body, she remembered each and every time they came together--the ceiling, the floor, the bed, against the wall, the window. He rode her from behind, from above, twisting her body in positions she’d never thought of in a million years. The aching in her hips grew, demanding fulfillment. She didn’t want it to stop, she wanted more, was so hungry for him. Tatiana knew she’d made him come to her. She’d think of him and he would be beckoned to her, dropping everything to be at her side. Each time he tried to resist and each time she commanded him to their pleasure. Her powers fed off of him, growing strong, needing his body’s sexual energy to root itself inside her. It had been dormant for so long and it caused her to drink greedily of his passions, milking his body’s orgasm again and again. And when the impossible happened, when his male shaft could take no more, needing to recover, she’d take him in her mouth, sucking on him until he grew hard. She would then command his lips and fingers between her thighs so that his mouth could bring her to pleasure. She’d spent four nights like that, letting him have his rest in the day hours while she took hers. Without warning, the thrusting of their bodies slowed. They were once again on the bed. She could feel him inside her, rocking his hips into her. A wicked longing came to her then and she wanted to let him drink from her. She could see the bloodlust in him when he looked at her, when he thrust himself into her body. Marcello was up on his hands, working his thick member in the deep little circles he’d discovered would make her scream in delight. She felt the passion building again. Her mouth opened with a pant. “Marcello,” she called. His dark, piercing gaze met her controlling green one. Weakly, she commanded him, “Drink from me, ah, please. I beg you, drink. Taste me. I want to feel what it’s like.” Marcello’s body tensed at the words. His eyes turned a bloody red almost instantly. His hips didn’t stop as he struck out at her. He bared his teeth, opening his mouth wide. The beast within him had been tempted and tormented by her for many nights. Now, with her words, it wouldn’t be stopped. His teeth sunk into her neck. Tatiana gasped in surprise to feel it. She felt them connecting. His bite stung, but didn’t hurt. Marcello drank deeply of her. Her blood was like nothing he’d ever tasted before. He could taste the ancient power of her bloodline--strong within her cause it had been lying dormant within her witch’s clan for so long. The story of her past was in her blood, a lineage of her ancestry. She was powerful, but he already knew that. She’d have to be powerful to be able to control an old vampire. The more he drank, the weaker her hold on him became until he could break free of it altogether. Marcello tensed, stopping in his easy thrusting. His mouth tore from her as he glared down at her. Tatiana’s hands were weak at her sides. A crimson trail ran over her pale flesh from the puncturing wound. Her eyes opened, the lashes fluttering lazily. He could see the dazed confusion in the depths. Marcello’s nostrils flared in anger. She’d dared to keep him prisoner to her? She dared to command him? Make him a slave? His member was still hard, embedded deep. He’d met glorious release in her depths many times, but it had not been under his control to do so. She’d not been under his control and the idea of it drove him mad. He was a vampire. He liked his sex raw, touched with a bit of pain. Pleasure and pain were so closely drawn for his kind and the beast in him wanted its turn. With a demonic growl, he took over their lovemaking, turning it into something more primal and aggressive. His hips thrust anew, only this time he was wild and hard as he pounded himself into her. Tatiana gasped at his rough claiming, but her body was used to his size after the countless hours he’d spent inside her and he didn’t hurt her. She quickly learned his new rhythm, opening herself to him as she met the fierce thrust of his hips. Her body jerked each time he came into it. His force pushed her up on the bed until her head struck against the solid oak headboard. Marcello didn’t stop. Tatiana screamed as a violent release racked her body and her muscles spasmed and clenched tightly around him. It was like nothing she’d ever felt before. The combination of blood loss and intense pleasure left her weak. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t feel her limbs. Marcello grunted in agony and pleasure as he came hard inside her body, heavily releasing himself. He felt her strength inside of him, stolen from her body. Angrily, he whipped out of her, lurching back off the bed to land on his feet. Tatiana could only blink as she watched him. His pupils turned black as he stared at her naked, motionless body. She could see his rigid form, his fists clenching and unclenching as if he would strike her. When he opened his mouth only a roar of rage came out. He screamed violently, causing her to tremble. She pulled her legs up to her chest, but couldn’t sit. Her body still sung with gratification and reason was slow to come.

When the roaring stopped, Tatiana blinked. She felt herself coming out of the daze she’d spent the last several days in. In horror over what she’d done with him, she’d screamed--a high pitched bloodcurdling sound. Marcello’s demon eyes turned to her. She was confused, bewildered, as she looked at his naked body then hers. Could they really have come together? Did she just…? Tatiana gulped. Her limbs still remembered the feel of him. Her lips still carried the wicked taste of him. Her skin smelled of him. Tatiana was propelled into action. She grabbed a silk coverlet and hid herself from view. Her hair was a wild, unruly mess over her shoulders, matching the untamed look of the vampire. In shock, she saw his fangs, saw blood staining his chin--her blood. Tatiana reached for her neck. It was sore. She screamed again when her fingers came back bloody. “Silence!” Marcello yelled, slashing his hand through the air. He’d wanted her, but that wasn’t the point. She’d tried to take his will from him. She had the impudence to command him--make him clean up her brother’s mess. He thought with disgust how she’d commanded him to dig a grave and bury the body. For that, she would pay--dearly. Tatiana instantly snapped her mouth shut and didn’t move. Her wide eyes looked at him. He was still naked and didn’t seem to notice.

“Porca miseria! Mi fa specie di te!” he growled at her. “Baldracca!” Tatiana trembled. Her lips quaked, as she said weakly, “I don’t understand.” “I can’t believe you did this to me!” he clarified. “You dare to try and control me, you whore?” With each word, his voice grew louder until he howled viciously at her. Tatiana jerked, huddling back on the bed. How could she have let him inside her? How could she have demanded he come to her--again and again? She grew nauseous. His words were right. She was a whore. Whatever had come over her? It had been a spell, black magic. That was the only logical explanation for it. “Please,” Tatiana begged. Tears came to her eyes. “I want to go home, now. Please, give me my clothes and let me go.” “You will go home, baldracca,” he stated darkly. “And I will take you there as you are.” “No, please, my lord,” she begged. Tatiana thought of how low she’d become. She couldn’t let this Count drag her back. The lingering effects of her ancestry stirred within her, but were tempered back. It was the witch in her that made her act with such wanton longing. It was the woman in her that now revolted against it. She hated the part of her mother’s people that grew inside her. She knew she’d never again let it to the surface. She wished her voice was stronger, as she said, “Please, I will go alone. I can walk. I know the way.” “No,” he said. His body was still tight and he hadn’t moved, except to blink. “I will teach you the folly of trying to control me, baldracca--” “Quit calling me a whore,” she screamed. “Just stop!” Marcello darted forward. He grabbed her about her neck and squeezed. Tatiana cried out in horror to see the blurring speed with which he moved. His grip tightened and it became hard for her to breathe. “I am going to tell everyone what you’ve done. I will expose Henry for a murderer,” Marcello whispered in deadly passion. His accent became thicker as he spoke. “Your family will be ruined, bella mia. You will be ruined. You will be a … battona … a prostitute.” “You can’t,” Tatiana pleaded. His hand was on her throat, but it had loosened to a firm grip. Even now, she could feel her body responding to him. She hated him for it. She hated herself. “Look into my eyes, bella, and tell me you don’t see the demon I am.” Marcello’s laugh was cruel and taunting. “You mesmerized the wrong vampire.” “I didn’t mean to,” she whispered truthfully. “I didn’t….” Marcello’s dark eyes drifted down to her lips as she spoke. No emotions showed on his handsome features. He studied her for a long moment. “Please,” Tatiana whispered, disconcerted by the intense look on his face. “I swear I didn’t mean to do it. I don’t know what happened. I’ve never had … I’ve not … been like that. Please, my lord, let me make it up to you. What must I do to earn your silence? I’ll do anything.” As soon as the word ‘anything’ was out of her mouth, Tatiana wished she could take it back. Marcello smiled at her, a dark and twisted smile full of malice. “Bind yourself to me, bella mia,” he whispered. “Make yourself my slave.” “I can’t--”

“Shhh,” he ordered softly. Marcello’s hand tightened on her neck to keep her from protesting. “You’re a natural witch. If you say you are mine, it will be so. You will not be able to recant your word. Bind yourself to me and I promise you my silence.” Tatiana sensed a trap. But as she looked into his eyes, she knew she had no other choice. It was either him or seeing her whole family in ruin. Her head spun at the very notion. “What is your answer?” Marcello asked coldly. “I’ll do it, if you meet my conditions.” Tatiana drew her eyes away from him, but she couldn’t look away long. “Name them,” he said. She could see that he was ready to deny her. He held all the power here and he knew it. “I would have you promise not only your silence, but also your protection,” Tatiana said. “Protection?” he asked, intrigued. “Who would you seek protection from, bella mia?”

You! I would be protected from you! Tatiana couldn’t help the thought. Instead, she said, “I would have your promise that you won’t harm my family or any from their line. You won’t touch them and if it is in your power to protect or help them, you will do so. Also, you will leave this area. Promise me that and I’ll agree. Oh, and you must promise to let me see my family again. I wish to say goodbye.” “Done.” Tatiana blinked in surprise that he would agree so readily. “Now, your pledge, bella mia,” he ordered. Anticipation was raw on his face. His eyes narrowed, waiting. “Say you are mine ‘til the end of your days.” “I’m yours ‘til the end of my days,” she repeated simply, mesmerized by his eyes. A strange curling sensation came to her limbs. Any remaining power she had over him left her. As she watched his face twist with pleasure and greed, she tensed. What did she just do? How could she have bound herself to the devil? “Keep your word, my lord, take me home.” “You didn’t specify when I had to bring you.” Marcello chuckled maliciously under his breath. “But--” Tatiana said in terror. She looked him over. How could a man who looked so handsome, who’d touched her with such tenderness be so cruel? Her body shivered to remember it. The tenderness had been forced. Her mind condemned her for it. “Ah,” the Count hushed. His hand rose from her neck to stroke her cheek. There was no point in restraining her. He had her word. She’d restrained herself, given him power over her. “Don’t worry so, bella mia. I’ll bring you tomorrow at dusk. You’ll have your goodbyes with your family.” Tatiana nodded. Her lips trembled and she wanted to cry. She held back. This monster before her wouldn’t be swayed by her tears. **** Tatiana’s memory again wavered and slid through time. She remembered that she didn’t sleep throughout the next day. Marcello’s warning had been clear. If she weren’t there when he awoke, he would slaughter her father’s household. Huddled on the bed, she watched the flames dancing in the fireplace. The hours had passed by too slowly. That evening, as soon as darkness fell on the land, Marcello came for her. He threw a simple gown of brown wool on the bed. She didn’t dare ask him where he got it. She tried to slip the dress over her body without dislodging the coverlet she used to hide her nakedness. This obviously amused Marcello immensely, who only laughed at her. Soon, she was home, looking up at Eastwich Manor. Her whole body stung. When she moved to step up the front stairs, Marcello’s grip on her elbow stopped her. Tatiana blinked, looking up at him. His eyes glowed and she felt herself going weak in the knees. His eyes dipped to her lips and she knew he meant to kiss her. But, instead, when his mouth lowered, he pierced her lip with his fangs, drawing a hint of her blood. Tatiana recoiled, trying to pull away. Her mouth opened to scream at him. His words stopped her. “I’ll leave you here, for now, bella mia. You’ll suffer, never knowing when I’ll come. Each night with be a nightmare for you.” Marcello lifted his finger to her bloody lip. Wiping it gently, he added, “This is my mark. With this, I’ll always find you. You’ll never escape me. Each night, touch your lips, remember me--your new master.” “I wish not to remember any of this--nothing about you!” Tatiana growled, passionately. Suddenly, she grew dizzy. Her head spun in furious circles. Falling forward, she felt herself caught up in Marcello’s arms.

Chapter Seven Tatiana screamed. Her body lurched forward as the memory released her. Her hands flung into the air, wildly searching through the darkness. When she was met with silence, she stopped. A cool hand found her arm, running up to the back of her neck. “Let go of me,” she gasped, disoriented. The memory had been so real. Glaring through the darkness, she tried to find Marcello in it. She slapped back his hand. Feeling the intimate brush of silk to her nakedness, she shivered. “Where are my clothes? What have you done to me?” “You were lost in the memory for a long time,” Marcello said. Tatiana thought she heard him yawn. She wondered if it was daytime and if so, why were they on a bed and not in a coffin? Marcello chuckled and answered the thought, “We are below the streets of Paris in the catacombs. This whole place is the grave. Though, if you like the idea of being pressed so intimately close to my body, I can send Cesare for a coffin.” “Get out of my head,” Tatiana ordered, hating that he could always read her. “Why should I when you think so openly?” Tatiana didn’t answer. Was he being playful? She tried to edge away from him. But in the pitch black of the room, she had nowhere to go. She was too afraid to venture far from the bed. Her body shook. Had she really done all that? Had she forced Marcello into her bed? It didn’t make sense and yet she knew it had been real. She’d felt that it was real. “I see you remember our time together,” Marcello said, though the idea brought him no pleasure. “I had no idea that little spell you cast worked so well.” “What spell?” she whispered. “When you said you wished not to remember.” Marcello shifted on the bed. It was around noon in the outside world and his vampiric body was tired. “With the dreams you sent me, I thought you were sure to remember it.” “Dreams?” Tatiana asked, confused. She had sent him no dreams. The room was cool, but not too cold. She wondered how much of her he could see. She angled her body so that her back was to him and curled her knees into her arms. Marcello chuckled. He long had her body memorized and her modesty before him now amused him. He didn’t wish to discuss their shared dreams with her. She’d made him endlessly relive their four nights together until he was wildly searching for any woman to slake his desires. It was hell and Marcello had thoroughly enjoyed being tormented by his lovely slave. Being a vampire, he’d acquired a few depraved pleasures in his long life. “What happened after I cast the spell?” Tatiana asked with forced lightness, when he spoke no more. She liked listening to him talk. His voice was calm and, when she heard it, she knew where he was. “I carried you to your father.” Marcello reached for her and pulled her down beside him. He was pleased when she weakly obeyed. But, as he moved to touch her naked arm, she stiffened and scooted her body to the far end of the bed. “I showed him your dress and told him of Alice’s grave. After admitting you’d spent many nights alone in my company--” “You promised your silence,” she broke in, horrified. “You didn’t tell him that…?” “I gave my silence,” he growled. “I didn’t say what we did. Your father assumed the worst in you, bella mia.” “You let him believe I killed her,” she whispered, accusingly. “No, bella, Henry told him as much.” “I don’t believe you,” she said, but in truth she knew Marcello wasn’t lying. He had no reason to deceive her in this. Henry’s uncomfortable presence around her and some of the few words he said to her over the last years made sense with Marcello’s explanation. “Sì, you do believe me, bella mia.” Marcello again reached to stroke her shoulder. Until she’d awakened, she’d been lying in his arms, cuddling into his chest, making soft purring noises in the back of her throat. He wanted her back there. “What else happened?” “I told your father that you promised yourself to me and that I would be coming back to collect you.” Marcello continued to lightly stroke her. She shivered beneath his hand. “I left instructions that you weren’t to be touched, harmed, or given away to another man--no matter how long I stayed away from you. I told him I would come back for you and that I would take you away from him--forever. Your reputation was already tarnished by your own hand and there was Alice’s death to consider. Your father had no choice but to honor your word to me.”

Tatiana shivered, her body heating at the memory of her wantonness. Even now, she could feel her attraction for him stirring to great depths. Her stomach ached with need, fueled by the knowledge of how he felt inside her. “I will admit I am rather tired, bella, but if you would like to climb atop me, I can accommodate you.” Tatiana gasped and moved to strike him. Marcello’s hand shot angrily forward in the darkness to stop her. With a jerk, he hauled her body onto his. Tatiana panted as her bared breasts pressed into his hard chest. He too was naked. Her body burned at his touch, heating to him. She whimpered in embarrassment of her desire for him. She knew he could feel her body’s response. Her nipples hardened against his smooth skin. She tried to pull away, but Marcello firmly held her wrist, wrapping his arm along her waist to trap her body to him. “Vieni qui e baciami,” he whispered, his accent rolling over her. ‘Come here and kiss me.’ “I don’t understand you. Just stop.” Tatiana struggled against him. She hated when he spoke in his seductive language, tilted by his seductive voice. Her movements only served to torment her more. Her body rubbed against his. His knee moved slightly to press into her center, causing her to let loose a ragged gasp for air. “Please, let me go!” “No, bella mia, you are mine. You bound yourself to me.” “Only until the end of my days,” she whispered darkly. Marcello read her intent easily and lashed out. Finding strength, he whipped her body beneath his. He shook her violently. His thigh came to rest heavily over her naked legs, tangled in the silk sheets. The length of his hard arousal pressed into her, stirring her even as he scared her. His face came so close to hers that she could feel his nose alongside hers. “If you ever again think to take your own life, I will--” “What, my lord?” Tatiana spat. “Slaughter innocent children? Kill my family? Come, now, what will you do? What new threat do you have for me?” “Your brother’s bride is pregnant, bella,” Marcello stated easily. He absently traced her arm with his finger. “She is not yet a member of your family. I could kill her and not break my promise to you. I could kill every woman your brother ever looks at. Your family’s line will die with him.” “You wouldn’t!” “Do you not remember, cara mia?” Marcello leaned so his lips whispered along hers. “You have bound yourself to the devil. Don’t presume to know what I am capable of.” Tatiana gasped. Marcello took the opportunity of her opened mouth to press a deep, hard kiss to her lips--claiming and conquering her. His tongue dipped inside her mouth, massaging along hers, circling in hard thrust that left her moaning in pleasure. His arousal jerked, wanting to mimic the thrust of his tongue with the thrust of his hard body. He’d dreamt of her endlessly over the last few years, wanting her back within his control. Now that he had her, it was hard to pull away. Tatiana moaned again and, though she still struggled to be free of him, her lips responded and let him in. His arms didn’t move, keeping her trapped beneath him. Of their own accord, his hips began to stir, restlessly rocking alongside her warm, soft hip. “Tell me, bella mia, for I am curious,” he whispered down to her, letting her catch her breath when he felt her become faint. “What would you have told your beloved Thomas when he discovered another man laid claim to you? Do you think he could’ve loved you then?” Tatiana listened, though her pounding heart made it hard to concentrate. His nearness was almost too much to take. “Tell me,” Marcello persisted, letting his mouth whisper along the seam of her lips. He traced the tip of his tongue delicately around the edge of her mouth, taking her panting breath inside himself. “Would you have been able to enjoy him between your thighs as you did me? Would you have begged for him, bella? Longed for his touch? Forced him into your bed? Do you think that even-tempered lad would’ve known how to please you? Do you think he would’ve known how to put out the fire that burns in you even now? He wouldn’t have made you happy, cara mia. You know that. You would think of me with him thrusting in you. You think to hate me, but your body wants me--calls to me.” “Be quiet!” Tatiana hissed. Tears came to her eyes, but her hands were still trapped and she couldn’t brush them away. She couldn’t see his face in the darkness. She was grateful for it. If she saw his eyes, she knew she’d be lost to him. “You are not fit to speak Thomas’ name. He’s a good man. A fine, decent man. And at least when he touches me I don’t get chills!” Marcello chuckled and purposefully turned her words on her, “My point exactly, bella. You wouldn’t have trembled at his touch. You are too passionate and he would’ve never been able to satisfy you.” “At least I could’ve loved him,” she growled. “And he loves me!”

“How long would he love you after he discovered it was you who helped to bury his sister? That you helped cover the evidence of Henry’s crime? Do you think he holds you in favor now, when he knows the truth of your brother?” Marcello spat the questions at her, purposefully cruel. He did not like hearing her speak of another man in such a fond way. Jealous rage welled inside him until he wanted to strike out at her. He controlled himself. His lips were still close to hers, his voice soft, though they argued. “Do you think he would understand how and why you did it? Why did you do it, bella mia? Do you even know?” The cold, eerie chill again came over Marcello and he glanced around. His eyes pierced the dark with predatory ease. They were alone, yet he felt as if a presence was near them, watching, waiting. He frowned. “Who knows how or why we are able to do things? We just do them,” she defended, her voice full of venom. “What should I have done? Don’t you think that I miss Alice? Don’t you think I want her back? She was more than a maid, she was my friend. I hate Henry for killing her. Is that what you want to hear? I hate him. I hate him!” “Shhh,” Marcello whispered. The cold presence seemed to retreat at his softer words as he comforted the woman beneath him. He leaned over and brushed his lips to Tatiana’s cheek, tasting the saltiness of her tears and licking them away. “Hush, bella mia, hush.” Tatiana gasped at his soft caress, so different than his claiming kiss. She was stunned by what she’d revealed to him. But, she did feel better having said the words aloud. Somehow, she got the impression Marcello understood her hatred for her brother and did not condemn her for it. Then, she snorted in self-loathing. Of course he didn’t condemn her for it. He, himself, was a creature of hate and death. “You are so quick to judge me,” Marcello stated softly. His leg eased off of her body. He was too tired to keep fighting with her. The day was strong and he needed his rest. He fell onto his back on top of the soft bed and closed his eyes. Tatiana held very still. When much time passed and he did not speak again, she assumed he slept. Sitting up, she dared to brave the darkness only far enough to find clothes. However, she didn’t want to brave a day lying naked by Marcello’s side. Memory served all to well to remind her of the fact that she was weak when it came to him. Not that any of it mattered now. She was beyond society, in hell as he put it. Like it or not, she was the demon’s mistress. Feeling around on the mattress, she found a discarded robe tossed over the foot of the bed. She pulled it over her arms, pausing to smell the lapel. It smelled of Marcello. She shivered, feeling her treacherous desire anew. Defiantly, she wrapped the robe around her body, pulling it close. Then, taking the covers, she burrowed beneath them. She was aware of Marcello’s presence and the darkness of the room did not scare her. The only thing she feared was lying right beside her, as motionless and as unfeeling as a corpse. **** Marcello was gone when Tatiana awoke the next night. A warm fire burned brightly, illuminating the chamber. Remembering that she was in the catacombs of Paris, Tatiana looked around. She laughed as she found herself searching for skulls and bones. She found her robe of red silk draped over the edge of the bed. Marcello’s larger robe swam over her body, falling past her hands. With a quick glance around, she changed back into her own clothing--if she could call the thin material clothing. There was nothing proper about wearing a robe around a man who wasn’t her husband. Then again, there was nothing proper about her life anymore. The thought caused a frown to fall over her pale features. Taking his belt, she went before the large mirror and fashioned her curly black hair into a high bun the best she could. Grimacing, she whispered to her overly slender, barely clad reflection, “You do look like a prostitute. All that is missing is the red rouge.” Tatiana had to turn away. She couldn’t bear to see herself. So, instead, she looked at the black angels beside the fireplace and stepped forward. For a long moment, she started at the solemn faces, wondering if she should just end her life. She had no doubt Marcello would keep his word and kill off her family line. Perhaps that would be the most just ending to this whole affair. Henry would lose, as he’d caused others to lose. Tatiana shook her head. No, she wouldn’t wish Henry’s crimes to be repaid with the death of others. Henry needed to be punished for what he did--only she didn’t know what that punishment should be. “Do you have the answers, I wonder?” she whispered up to the dark angel of death. The statue stared at her with an inky gaze that did not waver. Its arms reached down until she had the strangest urge to jump up and embrace it. Tatiana reached out to touch the black angel’s arm, curious to feel the warm stone. When her finger glanced over the surface, she tensed. An electric fire shot through her body. In a fog, she saw Henry. He looked older than she remembered him. A figure came from the darkness, limping over the stone, increasing with speed as he neared her brother. Suddenly, a shot rang out. Henry was struck in the side. She saw him falling over, into the snow that lined London’s barren streets. Then, the dark figure turned and she saw Thomas’ blue eyes looking directly into hers. His face was hard, his gaze deadly as he turned a second pistol on her. He fired his shot. Tatiana screamed. She let go of the statue, falling straight back on the stone floor as the bullet found its mark in her chest. Her elbows shifted to catch her weight and she landed on them with a bruising thud. She ignored the pain. She panted wildly, blinking rapidly as she tried to make the images go away. Her hand clutched at her chest, shaking as she felt for blood. There was none. “What did you see?” a voice demanded.

Tatiana blinked, not recognizing the haggard sound. The fog cleared completely. The accent was thick, hard. It grated like coarse sand over her skin. It was a testament that the woman who spoke wasn’t born in France, but somewhere more to the east. From her place on the floor, Tatiana turned to see Marcello standing with an elderly woman. The woman’s wrinkled hands reached for her, only to hover from far away. They were long and bony, jutting strangely out from her thin frame. The woman looked to be on the edge of death. Her robes were of mourning--black and plain. The severity of the color sucked the life from her already ashen, wrinkled features. Her graying hair was combed neatly onto the back of her head, pulled tight without any frills. Tatiana got the impression that the stranger tried to sense her. The woman’s light blue eyes were splotched with milky white, but she could tell that she saw her clearly. A chill went over her flesh, creeping along her spine in tingles. She suddenly felt sick to her stomach. She didn’t want this woman near her. Tatiana glanced at Marcello. He was again dressed as a gentleman in a black suit with a deep red waistcoat. A large red ruby glinted on his finger. As always he was breathtakingly handsome and perfectly adorned. His brooding mouth was set in a harsh line, but she could remember the texture of it against her lips. She wanted to kiss him again, but the woman’s presence by his side stopped her from trying. She turned her attention back to the old woman. Both of them stared intently at her. Suddenly, the woman lowered her hands. “You’re right, vampire, she is strong,” the old woman stated, her voice nearing a cackle. Tatiana flinched. The woman’s teeth were rotted and stained yellow. “The blood within her has been dormant too long. It seethes with the need to release. You did well to unite her to you. Her visions will be powerful, strong.” “Do you have the ability to bind her power, crone, or not?” Marcello asked, as if Tatiana wasn’t there before them, listening to them. “Bind it?” the woman repeated, nearing disbelief. Her eyes didn’t turn from Tatiana on the floor. “This witch will foresee many things. Give her to me, vampire, if you can’t control her. I will teach her how to use her gifts. Long have they been dormant and neglected. Can’t you smell it on her--the ancient blood of her ancestors? It was a strong breed that came before her. She is one of the old ones.” Marcello snarled. His eyes filled with red as he turned to the old woman. The crone seemed unconcerned with the vampire’s anger, as if she’d been in the presence of many demons before him. “She is mine!” Marcello growled possessively. The witched laughed, lifting up her bony hands unconcerned. “It makes no difference to me, vampire.” Tatiana watched them from the floor. As their attention was drawn from her to each other, she began to edge back. Her elbows throbbed from her fall, but she didn’t care. Her robe parted at her movements, baring her legs. Marcello and the old woman turned back to her just as she covered her legs from view. “Give me your hand,” the crone said. Tatiana shook her head furiously. The closer the woman crept, the uneasier she felt. Her wide eyes turned to Marcello, pleading. He frowned, seeing her look, but said nothing. “My lord?” Tatiana insisted, staring at Marcello. She began edging back from the old woman. “She will take those visions away,” he stated simply. Tatiana had to admit that it was a tempting offer. She didn’t relish the idea of getting her head lopped off by a knight’s sword or seeing Thomas with a gun pointed at her chest again. Still, as the woman came for her, she flinched. The crone began to mumble in her withered voice. A breeze swept up around the room, stirring her dress against her legs. Marcello stood still behind her, watching. His narrow eyes bore into Tatiana in concentration. Tatiana felt a chill washing over her skin. The nausea grew steadily worse, causing her to moan. She could feel the old woman trying to sap the energy out of her. She felt the woman pulling. A feeling inside her snapped and pain rolled over her limbs. Her mouth opened, letting loose a terrified scream. Marcello’s hands gripped into his arms as he watched. He saw Tatiana becoming pale, her lips edging with blue. Then, all of a sudden, her body flew upward until she was standing on her feet. Her eyes bore forward to meet the old witch he’d found to bind her strength. The jade orbs glimmered and Tatiana mumbled back, fighting the curse. The old witch grew angry, raising her voice louder. Marcello could feel the snap of electricity and fire in the room, igniting between them. The fireplace lurched with flames. Their clothing stirred with wind. Unexpectedly, the witch fell back toward the ground, clutching at her chest as if she’d been kicked. Her mouth worked, a thin trail of blood coming from her withered, cracked lips. Marcello looked down at the crone and then to Tatiana. Tatiana still spoke, droning and low. He knew she was protecting herself from the woman’s magic.

The old woman gasped, clutching at her chest, digging her fingers toward her heart. Her milky blue eyes turned to Marcello. Her words were accusing, as she gasped out, “You did not say she was guided by spirits, vampire.” Marcello glanced down at the witch. His eyes narrowed to see her face. She was dead. Tatiana’s words stopped. Marcello didn’t dare touch her. He felt the eerie cold swimming about the air of the chamber. It was the same sensation he got every time Tatiana felt threatened. He frowned. The crone was right. There was a spirit haunting his slave. Marcello was already dead and knew the ghost could do him no real harm, but the spirit could make a nuisance of itself if it so choose. “How dare you!” Tatiana screamed. She ran angrily at Marcello. Her gaze shot out in livid sparks of fire. Before reaching him, her body stopped, as if running into an invisible wall. She stood, panting, glaring her hatred at him. “Bella mia,” Marcello said calmly, unafraid. He knew she couldn’t hurt him. Tatiana blinked at the soft sound of her name. Looking at the floor, she saw the old woman was dead. She gulped. When she turned back to Marcello, her eyes had lost their fire and her lips trembled violently. “I killed her,” Tatiana whispered, before crumpling into a heap onto the floor. **** Tatiana opened her eyes with a start. She’d been dreaming of Alice in the field of flowers. It was the same thing as before. When Alice touched her, the flower ring melted. And when the woman tired to speak, the words were muddled and insensible. Tatiana again lay on Marcello’s bed. The vampire Count was next to her, stroking back her hair with his cool fingers, as if it were the most important task in the world. His other arm draped possessively around her ribs, suspiciously close to the underside of her breasts. He appeared almost bored as he continued to absently stroke her as if she were his pet. Tatiana pushed up from the bed. Marcello dropped onto his back to watch her, letting his fingers slither off of her body. Her eyes automatically went to the floor. The body was gone. “I killed her,” Tatiana whispered. Marcello didn’t move. “Sì, it would appear so, bella mia.” “Don’t call me bella mia,” she cried. “I just killed that woman!” “She killed herself. She wasn’t strong enough to go up against you. She shouldn’t have tried.” “I don’t expect you to understand it,” Tatiana whispered in dejection. She looked down at her hands. They were shaking. She didn’t want this--any of it. She wanted her life back and, if she couldn’t have it, she wanted her life to end. “What is done is done, bella,” Marcello said in a quiet voice. “The woman was old. It was her time to go.” “Is that how you justify taking a life every night, demon? By saying it was just their time?” Marcello’s eyes narrowed in outrage. He had not taken a life since meeting her and had rarely done so before her. He knew what she thought of him, could read it in her easily enough. He knew she believed him to be a devil. He knew she blamed herself for all that happened to her-because she’d wantonly lain with the devil. He stubbornly refused to correct any of her misconceptions, pretending not to care what she thought of him. “Don’t blame yourself, bella,” Marcello whispered. His hand rose to stroke down her arm. He wanted to touch her, to feel her body against his once more. His patience was wearing thin. “I don’t,” Tatiana said to the Count’s surprise. “I blame you. You are the one who brought her here. You’re the one who told her to bind me.” “I asked if she could,” Marcello corrected lightly, not raising his voice in anger to join hers. His lids dipped lazily over his eyes as he stared at the curve of her hip. Unable to resist, he touched it. “I did not tell her to do it.” To his disappointment, she stiffened. “Vieni qui e baciami,” he whispered gently, though the words sounded like command. “Come here and kiss me. The night is young. Let us make love through it.”

“Is that an order?” “Call it a request. One I know you want to fulfill.” “I don’t want you, my lord. I want nothing to do with you,” Tatiana lied. She wanted him desperately. Every time she was near him, she wanted him. The primal lust was getting harder and harder to ignore. “And whatever has happened or will happen between us will never be called love.” Tatiana refused to look at him, but his anger was palpable. She could feel it in their connection. There was a long moment of deadly silence. Only the sound of fire could be heard in the chamber. “So be it,” came his cryptic answer. Marcello stood from the bed. He did not look at her as he crossed to his wardrobe. Reaching inside it, he pulled something from within and slid it into his pocket. Tatiana flinched, but he did not come for her again. She watched him silently walk to the door, gliding gracefully over the old stone floor. She swallowed, nervous. “You are free to walk my home, but don’t leave it.” Marcello opened the door and left her staring after him. **** Marcello’s catacomb home was the most beautiful, most unique, most tasteful place Tatiana had ever seen. Past the bedroom door, which she hesitated in opening, was a long gothic styled chamber of gray stone. The old inlets along the walls were devoid of skeletal remains. She was secretly glad for it. In place of bones, there were a collection of fine vases, Faberge eggs from Russia, exotic figurines of naked women, and even an old Italian wine bottle tucked in the corner. On the peeling, faded label, Tatiana made out the words ‘Spoleti’ and ‘Toscana’. She gasped, pulling back. Spoleti was Marcello’s family name and Tuscany was in Italy. It must have been his in his human life. She wondered why he kept it. Then, it struck her how old he really was. She couldn’t read the year on the bottle, but could only imagine it was well over a century. In the middle of the chamber a fireplace had been built along the wall. It was much like the fireplace in the bedroom, only wider. The even stone rose up on both sides in columns. Along the center was a dark dining table carved with gothic patterns in the mahogany wood. The table was lined with stately rows of matching chairs, perfect for large dinner parties. Three unlit candelabras set across the gleaming wood surface. Above the fireplace was a portrait of the Count, looking very formidable and brooding. He was painted in his customary black and red. She got chills just looking at it. It was too lifelike and she felt as if he would soon speak to her and scold her for staring. “Or ask me to kiss him again,” Tatiana whispered quietly to herself. She stared a moment longer at his lips. Whoever the artist was, he’d captured the bend to them perfectly. Tatiana still wore the silk robe. Marcello had yet to supply her with suitable clothing. Part of her was afraid to ask him about it. Her bare feet landed soundlessly on the clean floor as she walked on. At the far end of the chamber were two large curtains, sweeping down from the high arch of the ceiling, separating the dining room from what she could only call the front hall. They were of a dark crimson with fine gold embroidery along the bottom. Past the curtain the fire did not shine as bright, but she could still see in the dimness. The front hall was more of the same, only open and wide. A thick row of stone steps led up the side to a door. The floor was large enough to hold a ball. An elegant chandelier hung from the ceiling, with long tapered candles. More candelabras graced the sides of the room along the walls with red and gold chaises and cushioned chairs near them, perfect for guests. Smaller scones lined the walls in symmetrical patterns. Again, there were no gas lamps, just candles. She imagined that it would be quite beautiful to see them all lit. “How often would a vampire entertain guests?” Tatiana mused out loud. Oddly, the sound of her own voice, in a chamber devoid of everything alive, was comforting. Tatiana saw that there was another door beneath the stone steps. She moved forward, curious. But, when she pulled on the latch, she found that it was locked. The fact annoyed her more than anything. Seeing movement, she jumped in fright. Then, recognizing the silent Cesare, she laughed nervously. The servitor ignored her, as he came from another small door. It was in the side of the hall. She could only guess it was his bedroom and maybe a kitchen. “You scared me, Cesare,” she said, hoping for a flicker of acknowledgement from the man. She got nothing. She even tried to use her ‘magic’ to draw him out of his trance, concentrating on him as hard as she could. All she managed to get was a glance in her direction before he set about dusting a candelabrum. Marcello’s hold on him was too strong. Tatiana sat on the steps and watched Cesare clean. He worked without pausing. When the servitor started on his third large candelabrum, Tatiana sighed heavily and muttered in discontent, “I’m starving!”

To her surprise, Cesare stopped cleaning, tucked his dust cloth into his waistband and left her. Within moments, he came back from the back rooms carrying a tray. He took it to the dining table, set out a bowl of soup and some bread, and pulled the chair from the table for her. Tatiana hesitated before sitting down. Cesare turned to leave, pulling the rag from his waistband. She watched him for a moment, before saying in a commanding voice, “Cesare, stop doing that, get yourself some soup, and eat with me.” The servitor disappeared behind the door only to come back with his own tray. Tatiana stood, grabbing a seat next to her hand pulling it back for him, so he wouldn’t go far. He dutifully sat and, without comment, began to eat. Tatiana sighed. It wasn’t perfect, but it would have to do. After their meal, Cesare cleaned up without having to be asked. Tatiana wandered her way back into the bedchamber. She was tired and wanted to sleep. Crawling into bed, she sighed. She watched the glow of flames dancing on the ceiling for a long time. Before finding her rest, she could feel that Marcello had not come home. **** Marcello looked down at Tatiana sleeping in the middle of his bed. Her dark hair fanned beautifully over her rosy features. Her slender body was outlined by pools of silk. It hugged seductively to her curves, driving him mad with lust. He wanted to wake her, but he didn’t. Instead, he slowly undressed, laying his clothes neatly over a chair as he’d done almost every night for an endless century. His movements were more out of habit than thought. When he was naked, he motioned his hand at the fireplace. The flames instantly smothered and darkness fell over the chamber, leaving them in complete and utter blackness. Marcello could still see Tatiana perfectly. Dawn was close and he needed his rest. He crossed to the bed, climbing in beside his sleeping temptress. He sat next to her. His eyes stared at her as he listened to the hypnotic sound of her breathing. The strength of her blood, the smell of her, the sound of her heart, it all called to him. He wanted nothing more than to wake her up with his soft kisses and spend the day making love to her, touching her, holding her, listening to her breathe. “Stiamo freschi, bella mia?” he whispered lightly. Marcello’s hand lifted, hovering over her dark hair. He knew if he touched it, her hair would be as soft as the silk she laid upon. ‘And now what, my beauty?’ Her denial of him had been blatant. She did not want sex from him and he couldn’t bring himself to take her by force. The seductive and erotic dreams she’d sent him during the years they were parted still lingered in his mind. And, as he lay down, he wondered bitterly why she’d tormented him with them, only to deny him now.

Chapter Eight A week had passed since the death of the old woman. Tatiana’s nightmares and visions did not go away, though she’d not expected them to disappear. She was sure she was being punished for sleeping with the devil and for desiring him still. It shamed her to admit that, if Marcello were to touch her and ask her to kiss him, she would do so most willingly. Marcello kept his distance, hardly speaking to her but in commands. She got used to his cold silence and his absences. She took to his schedule, sleeping by his side during the day hours, staying awake at night. Cesare was her only friend and she liked to think they were getting closer--for their type of relationship. He never spoke to her and she talked to him as if he could hear, pretending that he listened. Regardless, she felt better when she was near him. They would eat together and afterwards Tatiana would help him clean up. It wasn’t exciting, but it kept her busy. Sometimes, if she asked him, Cesare would fetch a bath for her. She’d lay there for what felt like hours until the hot water cooled. Then, drying off, she would wrap into one of the several silk robes she found in Marcello’s wardrobe. They were all her size. Most were black and red, but there was one of emerald green--her favorite--and a soft creamy white. Then, when all was done, Cesare would rest motionless in a chair. Tatiana would sit by his leg and lay her head against his knee. Only then did he move to touch her, petting her head as if she were a cat. “Isn’t this just cozy?” Tatiana froze in horror. Her eyes flew to the long red curtain leading from the dining room to the front hall. Marcello stood in the entrance, looking very much the lord of the manor with his elegant black suit and crisp white shirt. In his gloved hand, he held a top hat. Tatiana shivered to see him. She could usually feel when Marcello was close by, but she’d been so deep in thought that she’d not felt him come in. His eyes were roaming angrily over her green silk robe to where her bare legs peeked out from the front opening. Then, seeing Cesare’s hand on her hair, he actually snarled. His eyes swam with threats of red.

Cesare stood at Marcello’s hard words. Tatiana’s neck was relaxed and her head fell hard onto the seat of the chair, knocking her temple. She yelped in pain, pressing her hand to the side of her head. Marcello said something to Cesare in their native language of Italian, his voice dark and cruel. The servitor did nothing. He didn’t even flinch at his lord’s wrath. Marcello flung his hand in the air, motioning behind him to the front hall, toward Cesare’s room. Cesare bowed and walked dutifully away. “I had no idea he was to your tastes, bella,” Marcello said, turning his narrowed eyes to her. They burned with an inner passion she could feel from her place on the floor. Gingerly, Tatiana got to her feet. She returned his glare. Her lips pressed harshly together. She refused to dignify him with a response. When Marcello merely stared at her, saying nothing, she turned to walk away. As she reached the bedroom door, she felt him directly behind her, though she hadn’t heard him move. “You know he can feel nothing for you,” Marcello whispered, his warm breath hitting the back of her neck. The words sounded spiteful. “Even less than your Thomas.” Tatiana knew his hand hovered over her lower back, just inches from touching her. Her head fell back slightly and she swayed on her legs. Swallowing nervously, she whispered, “Neither can you.” Tatiana opened the bedroom door and stepped in. Marcello was right behind her. The door slammed, uncharacteristically loud in the quiet catacomb home. Tatiana jumped, startled, and turned to where Marcello stood. His eyes swam in anger and she gasped to see it. He was usually so calm, collected to the point of eerily so. “Get dressed,” Marcello stated darkly. “We are going out.” Tatiana blinked in surprise. It was the last thing she’d ever expected him to say to her. She clutched the robe to her chest. She didn’t have anything else to wear. Marcello, reading her thoughts, crossed over to the wardrobe where he’d stored the dresses he had made for her. She was still sleeping that evening when the delivery had come and it was obvious she hadn’t seen the gowns. His movements were stiff and he seethed with jealousy over the affection she so easily showed his servitor. He knew Cesare would never treat her as more than a friend, but Tatiana’s affection for the man radiated off her very body. He’d sensed it the moment he arrived at his front door. And he hated her for it. Opening the wardrobe, the Count looked in. Then, grabbing a gown of red satin, he tossed it meaningfully on the bed before turning back to the wardrobe. Within moments, he pulled out a corset, chemise, stockings, and slippers. “Get dressed,” he stated again, when she refused to move. “I … I can’t wear that,” Tatiana whispered. The gown was simply indecent, nothing a proper lady would be seen in. Marcello laughed. His dark brown eyes echoed with amusement. “Still clinging to that past, bella? You are no longer the proper lady.” Tatiana blinked and saw that he now stood before her. She hated when he read her thoughts. She hated herself for slipping and letting him. His body was close. She wanted to touch him but refrained. His hand lifted to stroke her cheek. A ghost of a smile came to his features. “I know,” she stated harshly. Her eyes hardened to him, hiding her need to cry out. “I am your whore.” Marcello chuckled in his dark way. His face leaned closer. His eyes swam with meaning. “Is that what you are waiting for, bellamia? To be paid for your services?” Tatiana gasped and tried to slap him. He let her, not even moving to stop her, though she knew he could have. Her palm landed flat across his pale cheek. He smiled an interested smile as his eyes turned almost dreamily over her. He was enjoying himself. “You’re demented,” she said, drawing back. She thought to see a glistening of pain filter through his dark gaze at her words. In an instant, it was gone. “We are above that life of humans, bella mia.” As Marcello said the words, his fangs poked with meaning from behind his lips and his eyes filled in almost to a complete black, letting her see a hint of the beast inside him. The demon was in his voice, as he said, “We don’t live by their rules. And we are not encumbered by their restraints.” “You don’t live by their rules, my lord,” Tatiana corrected. “I am still human.” “No, bella, you are a witch--my witch.” Marcello’s hand lifted to hover near the top of her head, only to keep distance as it followed the line of her waving hair. His ruby ring glinted in the firelight. “You belong to me.”

Tatiana swallowed and her eyes filled with tears. She didn’t want to be a witch. She didn’t want to be his slave. But, even as she told herself that it was true, she knew it wasn’t. She did want to be with him--at any cost, even that of her soul. She was attracted to him, drawn to him, fascinated and terrified by him. He was the only man who had ever made her blood race and her heart pound with excitement and fear. He was the only man who had ever made her feel--really feel. His eyes softened by a small degree and his hand moved to rest on her shoulder. His touch was warm and she knew he’d just fed before coming back to the catacombs. She could feel him trying to search her thoughts. She concentrated on keeping her mind blank. Marcello frowned and turned his back on her. The Count pulled a pocket watch out of his waistcoat. The silver china gleamed in the firelight. His long hair spilled handsomely over his shoulders as he looked down at it. Quietly, he said, “Either you wear the dress or that robe. It makes no difference to me. Either way, we leave in five minutes.” Tatiana gasped. She hastened to the bed, having no doubt that Marcello would parade her around all of Paris in her robe just to make his point. Keeping her robe over her shoulders to hide her body as she dressed, she slid on the stockings. They were of the finest silk, so light and airy. She shivered to feel them on her skin. It seemed like an eternity since she had a dress of any kind. Then, doing her best to stay hidden, she slid on her chemise beneath the robe, working it on with much difficulty. It too was beautiful and fine, with lace trim around the hem. She knew Marcello paid dearly for them. She wondered in half fear, half excitement, what he would want from her in return. “Senza complimenti. This modesty will never do, tesoro mio.” Marcello’s husky whisper came from directly behind her back. Tatiana’s arms were trapped beneath the chemise and she couldn’t stop him as he pulled the robe from her shoulders. As the silk pooled around her feet, his fingers found hold on her hips and began to massage her through the thin material of the chemise in small circles. Marcello’s nose rubbed against the back of her ear. Tatiana shivered and began to pant. She knew it was wrong, but she wanted him desperately. His delightfully bold fingers did not falter as they slid up to the empire waist of her chemise to cup her breasts in his palms. At the same moment, he sucked an earlobe between his teeth. “I thought we had to leave,” she panted, breathless. Her eyes closed dreamily. She fell back into his solid chest. The memory of what he felt like was strong within her and she wanted to turn to him and touch him. She wanted to kiss him, could almost taste him on her watering mouth. Marcello’s hands slid down over her waist and found hold on her hips. The longer length of his nails scraped over her lightly. He chuckled along her neck, taking his kisses to her throat and shoulder. The dark sound sent chills over her skin. “Padronissimo.” “Speak English,” she commanded him. “I can never understand you.” “I said, as you like,” he murmured, letting her go. Tatiana nearly fell to the floor as his strength left her. Her body hated her as she forced it to finish getting dressed. She was hot for him, aching. She threaded her trapped arms out of the chemise to free them. There had been something pleasurable about having him kiss her as she was trapped. Her limbs shook because she knew he watched her. She kept her back to him as she fastened the corset over her waist and slid the deep red gown over her head. The dress fit tightly over her body. The sleeves were mere slips of material capping her shoulder. The back dipped slightly and the front bodice was cut daringly low. She felt Marcello’s hands on her back, pulling the crossed laces tight. With a light command he told her to lift her hair. As soon as he finished lacing her gown, he draped a necklace of rubies and diamonds over her throat. Slowly, she dropped her hands to her narrowed waist. The corset pushed her breasts up to full advantage and the necklace dropped just above the top curves of them. Tatiana walked to the large mirror. She gulped, looking at the pale version of herself. The gown was beautiful, as was the necklace. It went well with her dark, curly hair. She stood, frozen, staring at herself. Marcello came up behind her. The top of her head just made his chin. She watched his reflection, waiting for a glimpse of what he was thinking. “You look beautiful,” he murmured in pleasure, his gaze roaming freely over her body. Tatiana could see that he wanted her again--always wanted her. She wondered why he held back. He was a demon. Surely a sense of propriety didn’t keep him from attacking her and demanding her body. What strange game of seduction was he playing at by giving her this expensive gown and jewelry? “I look like one of your possessions,” Tatiana answered, dejected. She turned from the mirror and walked to the bedroom door. Marcello watched her leave him, feeling as if she ripped out his heart and stomped on it. Nothing he did seemed to please her. He let a blank, cool mask of indifference come to his features. Inside, his emotions raged a terrible war. Why not just force her, indeed? Why not claim her? She was his to do whatever he wished with. No one would stop him.

The eight tribal elders and his vampiric father were the only beings to whom Marcello had to answer, and they wouldn’t care, might even encourage him. He’d never met the elders, but knew they existed. He’d felt their presence once when he was newly made. They were powerful beings, ones he wouldn’t want to come across again. Luckily, the council of elders ruled their vampiric race with indifference, so long as the few sacred laws weren’t broken. The vampire elders lived out their own endless centuries, away from their vampiric children. Even with the freedom he had, something held Marcello back. He wanted Tatiana to want him again, as she had in Glastonbury Castle. He wanted her to need him so much that she summoned him from sleep to come to her--that she tried to use her power to make him her slave, forced him to be her lover. She’d felt for him then, as she refused to feel for him now. And he craved some sentiment from her, any sentiment that wasn’t tainted with a sense of duty, enslavement, or fear. He was jealous of the affection and attention she showed his servitor, and the attention she bestowed on the human man, Thomas. Tatiana continued on to the front hall. Cesare was there, cleaning dutifully in his lifeless way. She stopped by the steps leading from the home where she’d been held prisoner. She was excited to get out into open air, but Cesare wouldn’t be going, wouldn’t be feeling anything but the need to obey and please their lord. She studied the poor man with a sense of pity and sorrow. “He can’t know you are next to him, bella,” Marcello said darkly. “He can’t know you exist.” “Let Cesare go, Marcello,” Tatiana said quietly, still watching the young man. She couldn’t stand it any longer. She’d sealed her own fate by her own hand, but deep down she knew Cesare didn’t deserve to share in their hell. “He is young and will have a life far away from here. Please, let him go.” “Why do you care?” Marcello asked. Tatiana didn’t answer. She didn’t want the servitor to go. His presence gave a small measure of comfort. But she wouldn’t be selfish. No one deserved to have their life stolen and lost in such a way. It wasn’t right. “Who will drive the horses? Who will clean? Who will make your dinner?” Marcello asked logically. Tatiana’s head turned slightly to him, to study him over her shoulder. Her jaw rose, as she stated, “I will. I will do his duties.” Marcello laughed at the very idea. “No, bella, I own him. His fate is none of your concern, as is his debt to me.” “Then at least give him back his mind!” she demanded, turning to look fully at him. She stood on the bottom step, which brought her to his height. “Surely, he has a family who loves him, misses him! I know this means nothing to you, for you can’t possibly understand what it’s … like … to….” Tatiana sniffed, blinking back her tears. She tried to stand strong before him, closing her mind and emotions off so he couldn’t use them against her. She missed her father desperately. She’d been parted from him before--longer than this, in fact. But, knowing that she’d never see her father again, that she’d never be able to confront Henry or explain to Thomas, made the loneliness worse. Marcello came forward to stand before her. His hand lifted, lightly stroking her neck. “Your fate for him is much worse than mine, bella. Right now he dreams of sweet music and lovely women. Would you have me take that from him, so that he can suffer as you feel to suffer in my presence? Are you so eager to have him know you that you would take away his happiness and make him a true slave--unhappy, mournful, tormented?” Her jade green eyes lowered beneath the sweep of her black lashes. She swallowed timidly. Weakly, she said, “No.” Reaching into his suit, Marcello pulled out a pair of long white gloves. He handed them to her. “You forgot to put these on.” Tatiana looked down, amazed. This vampire thought of everything. Then, pulling a couple hair pins from his jacket, Marcello took up her hair and began fashioning it on her head in a quick style. “There, much better,” Marcello murmured, liking the way the long line of her neck was exposed to him. “Where did you learn…?” she began, lifting to touch her hair. She could tell he’d done a good job of it. Marcello leaned into her, a grin curling on the side of his lips. “I once ate a Queen’s hairdresser.” Tatiana paled, not realizing he joked. “Ah,” Marcello sighed. “Always so serious. Relax, bella, one as old as me is bound to pick up a few tricks.” “Dressing women’s hair is a trick you’ve had to pick up?” Tatiana asked, wondering why she suddenly felt like her cheeks flamed with jealousy. “Yes,” Marcello answered, unashamed. “Amongst other things.”

Tatiana did not want to know what those ‘other things’ were. Her fingers curled, wanting to claw the amused look off his face. She held back, realizing he’d probably enjoy it if she attacked him. “Jealous, bella mia?” Marcello whispered to her, leaning close to her pursed lips to let her feel his nearness. “I don’t care what you do, or who you do it with,” Tatiana spat. “Now, are we going to go, or do you wish to stand here all eve staring at my chest?” Marcello frowned. He’d actually had been staring at the pulse in her neck. She smelled so sweet and he knew she’d taste even sweeter. His eyes rimmed with red, but he kept the desires in him back. Slowly, he tilted his head to the door. His words were hard, as he said, “After you, bella.” Tatiana turned to lead the way. Cesare came forward, handing Marcello his long black overcoat and top hat. She did not look at the servitor again. Soon they were beyond the front door, into the darker maze of the Paris underground. Tatiana stumbled to a halt as the door to Marcello’s home closed behind her. She’d seen a long tunnel before her, but was now in almost complete darkness. “Lost already, bella?” Marcello’s amused voice from behind her. “I can’t see, vampire,” she answered dryly. “My eyes are human, not demon.” Marcello chuckled. Instantly, torches lit along the underground path. Tatiana gasped, seeing his hand lowering back to his side. She’d never actually seen anyone start or smother the fires in Marcello’s home, but she’d never expected he’d done it by will alone. “How…?” Tatiana began, her eyes turning to him in fascination. “How did you do that?” Marcello merely smiled. “You--” “Tu sei bellissima,” he broke in quietly. You are very beautiful. “Thank yo--” Tatiana began. She frowned, looking him over. “I understood you.” “Come, we will be late,” Marcello said. He took her arm to glide her over the tunnel. Tatiana lifted the hem of her gown out of old habit so it wouldn’t touch the stone floor. She noticed that, as they walked, the torches behind them sputtered out and the ones before them lit. She said nothing, letting Marcello lead her over the long walkway of smooth stone. Coming to an incline, they began to climb. Tatiana stumbled in her dress slippers and fell slightly forward. She glanced up in instant apology as she used her hold on Marcello’s arm to stop her fall. “Allow me, bella,” Marcello murmured. The Count leaned over and swept her up to his chest, fitting his arms beneath the bend of her knees and length of her back. Tatiana couldn’t help but relax into him as he carried her with ease. Her hand strayed lightly to his chest to rest against his heartbeat. It was strong and slow against her fingers. Now, as he did not wait for her to walk with him, he sped faster. Tatiana shivered as they passed a round chamber filled with old bones. The bones were stacked into neat piles, separated by type. Along the tops of them were endless skulls. “Why would someone display them in such a way?” she asked, eyeing the orderly bones in fear and fascination. She hugged her arms around Marcello’s neck, not wanting him to let her go. She felt safe in his arms. “The Parisian graveyards were overrun with the dead, so they moved them below the city streets to make room for others,” Marcello answered. It was still silent as a grave where they walked. Tatiana hugged closer to Marcello’s chest and she felt him gripping her body tightly in response. Her wide eyes watched over his shoulder, as the torches faded into unyielding black. As they came to a narrow row of stairs Marcello set her down. He climbed, lifting his hand above his head to move a block of concrete from above, opening an entryway to the streets of Paris. Almost instantly the sounds of Parisian nightlife wafted down from above. Marcello stepped back down. The orange glow of the torches faded, replaced by the softer light from the streetlamps above.

Marcello stepped aside, offering his hand as he began to lead her up the narrow stairs. Tatiana’s gown was tight and she tried to step sideways and keep her balance. Marcello chuckled and wrapped his arm about her waist. She gasped as he pulled her into his strong chest. She felt the hard length of him against her body and shivered in needy response. “Hold on,” he whispered. Tatiana’s gaze moved to his lips, wanting to kiss him, at the perfect angle to do so. Marcello jumped lightly and they flew up, emerging from the catacombs. Tatiana gasped as her feet hit pavement. The narrow side street was wet and the air smelled like it had just rained. She blinked looking around. The city air wasn’t as fresh as the country, but it was better than the stillness of the catacombs. Realizing she still held onto Marcello, her wide green eyes turned up to him. He was looking down at her, an openly curious expression on his features. His hands stayed around her lower back, kneading her lightly. She became all too aware of his thick erection pressing into her stomach. He was ready for her. With one command, she knew she could have him take her there on the dank city street. Tatiana pushed back, ashamed by the thought and her brief consideration of it. Marcello let her go, a frown marring his brow as if to say ‘very well then, bella mia’. He placed the concrete back over the hole. “What is that music?” she asked. “Where are we?” “We are in Montmartre, home of the wonderful bohemian movement of Paris,” he answered. Tatiana was surprised to see the wave of interest cross his face as he offered her his arm. If she didn’t know better, she would’ve thought he was excited. She began to go to him, only to pull back. “Wait, Marcello, I can’t go about Montmartre. My father said that it is full of heathens--women of low morale, poverty stricken artists and writers who have no respect for the old rules of nobility and propriety and … and--” Tatiana looked at him helplessly, only to stop when she realized what she’d said. Her nose burned almost instantly in tears to know he would bring her to a place such as this instead of a Parisian opera or ball. “Oh,” she sighed. Dejected, the light in her eyes looked as if it died a little in that moment, as she finished, “And I am a woman of low morale, am I not?” Tatiana sniffed and nodded her head. She tried to smile, but the effort was weak. She couldn’t meet his steadfast gaze. “Tati--” “Lead the way, my lord,” she said calmly. Marcello took her arm and led her out from the alley into the busier city street. Tatiana’s eyes couldn’t help but widen as they looked up into the night sky. She gasped in amazement and wonder. Above them turned an illuminated windmill. Gentlemen stepped out of grand carriages, looking as fine and respectable as Marcello did on her arm. They wore their black suits, top hats, and pristine white gloves. Their presence did not comfort her, for there were no women of gentry with them. But, there were women on the boulevard de Clichy--women brightly painted, women who wore vivid colors, women who called out to the gentlemen in their swarthy French accents and brazen laughs. Tatiana could make out a few of their words, but she did not need a full translation to know what they said. The shameless movements of their worn bodies, as they grabbed their breasts and wiggled their hips enticingly, said it all. A few of the women they passed by on the street stopped to point at her. She heard their mocking laughter as she pulled closer to Marcello’s arm. Tatiana’s eyes turned down, as she tried not to stare. She saw the vividness of her own dress and knew they thought her to be Marcello’s courtesan. How could she blame them? How could she deny it? Even though he’d not pressed her to again be with him, she knew it would only be a matter of time before she submitted. Marcello looked around with interest, loving this section of Paris. He displayed the beautiful woman on his arm proudly, knowing he would be the envy of all the men at the Moulin Rouge. The nightclub was the perfect representation of the artist movement of the modern time. It was a dance hall, a cabaret of the senses, an underworld of discovery. Energy flowed in excitement over the air, crackling it with life. The music hall was a great achievement of the time. It housed a gallery and a large dance floor surrounded by a hall of mirrors, lit by gas lamps. There was an outdoor stage in the gardens, along with a giant wooden elephant where you could climb to its top. There you would find a howdah of glass that let you see the sites below. Or, hidden, in the elephant’s belly, you would find an opium den. To Marcello, this one place embodied all that humans were capable of--their love and hate of each other and of themselves. Their grand dreams were represented in the amazing buildings and structures. Their nightmares were in the tired faces of the drug addicts lining the streets,

hallucinating on absinthe and numbed by morphine and opium. There was the gaiety of entertainments--street performers, exotic dancers, sideshow freaks, tamed monkeys, the infamous can-can dancers, music, comedy. But, there was a darkness lurking beneath the bright lights and brilliant colors. For a price, a gentleman could buy any dark desire, feed every deviant pleasure. Marcello had explored it all, feeding off the dancers and patrons alike, but always leaving them alive. He did not have to hide himself here, as he watched it all in enthrallment. He was looked at as another grand eccentricity, a gentleman rogue of the night. Life here was like a play set before him and it amused him greatly to watch it. That is why he wanted to bring Tatiana. He wanted her to witness it as he witnessed it. He wanted her to see things as he saw them. He wanted to share his fascination of it with her. And, truth be told, he wanted her stirred by it as he was stirred by her. He wanted the excitement, the danger, the thrill of this underworld to hammer her blood and to again stir her darkest desires for him. He wanted to show her that there was more to life than the proper, stifling upbringing she’d been fed since birth. He could feel a burning need within her, a need to break free, a need to discover and learn. Curiously, Marcello glanced down at Tatiana. She’d said nothing since they’d left the alleyway. He expected her to be looking around in amazement. He expected her mouth to be agape with wonder and awe. Instead, he found her face toward her shoes. A wave of intense misery flowed out of her and into him. He felt her deep pain. He felt the squeezing of her heart. Her agony was dizzying and it left him feeling sick. He blocked it quickly. He was tormented that she could feel such next to him in light of the gift he tried to give her--the gift of truly being able to live, to see, to experience. “Bellamia?” he asked quietly. “What is it? What is wrong?” “I am ashamed,” she answered. He could feel the honesty within her. Marcello’s face hardened and some of the pleasure left him to be replaced by anger. She insisted on thinking him a demon. She was ashamed to be seen with him. Well, if she wanted think of him as a monster, who was he to stop her? Grabbing her arm, he pulled her roughly forward. Perhaps, he’d just have to show her just how much of a monster he could become!

Chapter Nine Inside the Moulin Rouge was extravagantly decorated, and not only the dancehall. The entertainers were just as excessive, if not more so, than the building itself. They danced in brightly colored patterns along the dark wood floor, enticing and entertaining the noblemen in their scanty gowns and rounded skirts. The hall was loud with music from an orchestra mounted over the stage. Long, sweeping curtains plunged over the private booths and stage front. Smoke curled from thick cigars and the smell of beer was heavy on the air. To Tatiana’s surprise, Marcello was recognized instantly at the door and ushered past some of the other noblemen awaiting a seat. She wasn’t unaware of the jealous, yet openly curious stares the Count received. The man, who led them to one of the large private alcoves along the wall, smiled at her brightly. He wore a checkered waistcoat of bright green and yellow, which looked absurd over his rounded belly, and he spoke in rapid French. Tatiana watched in fascination as Marcello easily answered the man in kind. The vampire’s voice sent chills over her skin and she wondered just how many languages he could speak. She studied him in a new light, noticing how intelligent he seemed, how refined he moved, how well spoken. Tatiana began to wonder if she judged him too harshly. If he wasn’t the true demon she’d made him out to be, then what exactly was he? And why did he keep her? She was so confused. True, Marcello threatened her with the death of innocents and ordered her about in a menacing, gravely voice, but he’d never really harmed anyone that she saw. He never really harmed her. Well, aside from the time he drank from her neck. And there was the small matter of him nearly starving her and trying to bind her new powers with the old witch. To his credit, though, he’d taken care of her afterwards. As they passed the occupied private alcoves, Tatiana noticed that some of their curtains were pulled for privacy. Through a thin strip of one of such drawn curtain, she saw the bare breasts of a naked woman being pressed into a gentleman’s face as his friends watched. Tatiana turned red, but did not look away as fast as sheshould. One of the celebrating gentlemen, with an abnormally large nose, caught her looking and audaciously winked at her. Tatiana hastened past, drawing closer to Marcello as she clutched at his arm. The Frenchman stopped and bowed with flourish as he arrived at their booth. Marcello stood by the table, taking off his overcoat and handing it to the man. Next, he lightly motioned for Tatiana to sit along the cushioned seat of red velvet. She did, moving over to give him room. Marcello slid easily next to her, placing his hand on her knee to stop her when she would have moved farther away from him. She tensed and he let her go. Tatiana was all too aware of Marcello’s body close to hers. He did not look at her, but instead around at the acrobats and dancers on the main floor. She took the opportunity to study the ominous set of his jaw. He was handsome, devilishly so. She licked her lips, suddenly enthralled by the smooth texture of his skin. The long sweep of her black lashes fell lazily over her eyes. She could feel a stirring in her limbs, knowing it to be the same longing that had made her enslave him to her years ago. The man in the checkered waistcoat came back, carrying a bottle of wine and two empty glasses. He spoke to Marcello for a brief moment

before laughing heartily and parting with an exuberant wave and another bow. Marcello took up the wine bottle and poured a dark red liquid into one of the glasses. Tatiana stared at the ruby ring on his hand, more interested in the elegant finger it clung to. Marcello held the glass out to her and she took it hesitantly. His finger brushed along hers and even with their gloves she could feel a shockwave racing through her body from the touch. “Will you not…?” she began, looking at the glass left empty. “I mean, can you not drink anything but…?” “But blood, cara mia?” Marcello provided when she faltered. She met his serious eyes and nodded. A sad smile moved over his lips and his answer came out a soft, “No.” “Oh,” Tatiana breathed. She looked at the glass and lifted it to her nose, smelling it. “What is it?” “Chianti.” Marcello watched her with the same interest he’d shown the dancers on the floor a moment before. “It is made near where I was born, in Toscana, near Firenze.” Tatiana blinked at the admission. “Where you became a … a vampire?” Marcello blinked, studying her. He’d meant his human birth. Slowly, he nodded, smiling wryly. “Sì, that too.” “Do you mi--” Tatiana stopped herself. Do you miss being human? She took sip of the wine. It was delicious. She smiled slightly and set the glass down. “Do you ever go back?” she asked. “No, there is nothing for me in Italy,” Marcello said. His voice was calm, but she could tell he didn’t want to speak of it. He turned from her to a row of dancers coming out onto the floor. A wild cheering went up in the music hall and it became so loud that Tatiana couldn’t hear anything else above the racket. She flinched, taking a longer, unladylike drink of wine when Marcello wasn’t looking. The liquor curled in her stomach, instantly warming her. She set the empty glass down, moving to look around his shoulder with interest. Even as she was hurt by the fact Marcello brought her as a courtesan to show her off, she was fascinated by what she saw. If she were still under her father’s care, she’d never have a chance to see what the ‘bohemian’ lifestyle was all about. Suddenly, the idea of another opera paled and she was secretly glad Marcello brought her with him to such a place. It excited her, though she hated to admit it. She felt safe being anywhere with him and knew she’d never have come on her own. “What are they doing?” Tatiana asked quietly, more to herself than to him. Her stomach was empty and her body soaked the comfort of the wine quickly into itself. The tension eased from her muscles and she began to relax. Marcello turned, hearing her easily over the loud hall. He leaned to her ear and answered, “They will perform the can-can. It is a favorite dance of Paris.” “Oh,” she breathed, shivering as she felt the unintentional brush of his lips against her lobe. Marcello turned and silently refilled her wine glass for her. He set the bottle down and shot her a brief smile before turning back to the show. The cries died down and were replaced by loud music. To Tatiana’s amazement, the girls began kicking their legs violently to the frantic rhythm, reaching them nearly as high as their shoulders in a straight line. Absently, she grabbed the wine glass and began to drink. She edged closer to Marcello to get a better view. Marcello glanced over his shoulder as he felt her near his back. Her wide eyes stared forward, captivated. Her hand slowly crept up his spine, a delicate whisper of a movement. “Do you like it?” he asked her, his voice soft. Tatiana blinked, hearing it more in her head than her ears. She blushed. “It’s different. I did not know the leg could go up so high.” Her tone sounded so thoughtful, that Marcello couldn’t help but laugh. Without thought, he took his arm and set it about her shoulders. She didn’t tense at the contact, keeping her eyes fixed on the dancers. “Would you like me to pour you more wine?” he whispered down to her, wanting to draw her captivated attention back to him. It worked. Tatiana blinked. She felt his arm around her shoulders. His fingers curled near her waist. She swallowed nervously. “I would like to try some of that green drink with the cubes of sugar.”

Marcello blinked, following her eyes to a nearby table close to the dance floor. The men were drinking absinthe. He frowned, shaking his head in denial. He’d seen what that liquor did to people. It made them see visions. He could just imagine what it would do to his witch. “No, tesoro mio, it is bitter. The wine is better.” “But--” “I said no,” he stated, frowning. His voice coming harsh, he stated, “You stay away from that drink.” Tatiana’s heart sped slightly at his commanding tone. She pulled out of his arms, suddenly feeling as if her corset was too tight. She grabbed the wine bottle and poured a full glass, gulping it down. Marcello watched her for a brief moment, before moving his gaze away to the dancers. Tatiana took a deep breath as she set the empty glass down. Her head spun lightly. Suddenly, she couldn’t take it any longer. “Ah, bloody hell!” she swore. Marcello started to turn to her, surprised by the heat in her words and her uncharacteristic choice of language. He wasn’t even fully around when Tatiana grabbed his face and wrenched it around to hers. Tatiana moaned lightly in anticipation, pushing her lips onto his. Her mouth parted, automatically wanting the kiss to be deep. Marcello’s gasp of surprise soon turned to a passionate moan. He took control, pulling her waist near, forcing her breasts into his hard chest. His tongue darted inside her mouth and she sucked it eagerly as he explored her. In his passion, his fang nicked her lip, mingling the taste of her blood with the wine in her mouth. She moaned, not caring, excited beyond measure that she was finally giving in to him. Marcello easily lifted her up with one arm, sliding her sideways over to his lap. His thick arousal pulsed violently into the tender cheeks of her backside, begging to be set free. She shivered, rocking herself lightly against him. She grabbed his face with her gloved hands, tangling her fingers into his hair, assuring he couldn’t escape her kisses. Suddenly, the wild music stopped. A loud laughter shot over the hall. Tatiana pulled back, panting for breath. She looked around, turning a slight shade of pink as she remembered where they were. “Bel--” “Draw the curtains,” she broke in, hoarse and panting. Her heated gaze bore into his darker one. She began to move from his lap, but he gripped her tightly. To her amazement, he lifted his fingers and made a small motion in the air. The curtains slid shut without him touching them. They were left in the soft illumination of the fake gas-lighted candles. “Better?” he asked, a devilish grin forming on his handsome face. The light brilliantly contrasted with his features. “Yes,” she answered softly. Tatiana picked up where she’d stopped, lifting her fingers back to his face and leaning in to kiss him. “Ogni volt ache ti bacio dimentico dove sono,” he whispered along her lips. His tongue moved to lick at the seam of her mouth. Tasting her blood where he’d cut her, he bit his own tongue and massaged his blood to the wound. Her lip healed shut, as did his tongue. Tatiana moaned, loving his accent, his deep voice, the vibration of it to her soft lips. “What did you say?” “Every time I kiss you I forget where I am,” he breathed against her. Tatiana gasped in feminine pleasure. Her body ached for him. She wanted him inside her. It had been too long. “How do we…?” she breathed, looking helplessly over the table and velvet seat of the private alcove. Outside the wild calls of the crowd still sounded and the lively beat of the music still played. It excited her to know the crowd was there, unaware of all they did within the privacy of their booth. Marcello grinned. Taking his hand, he pushed the table away from them, giving them more room. Then, his fingers on her waist, he urged her to stand before him. His palms slid over the satin of her red dress, smoothing over her body. Tatiana looked down at him, eyeing the top of his head. Her breathing deepened, pressing her chest and stomach hard against the corset until she was almost lightheaded. She saw the long wavy strands of his hair spilling over his masculine shoulders. Marcello looked up at her, from beneath the silky length of his lashes. He watched her reaction as his hands slid down her legs. Taking the hem of her dress, he worked her skirt and chemise up over her hips, brushing his hand over the stocking covered length of her calves to her thighs. Tatiana shivered, taken aback by his gentleness. His forehead slowly lowered, coming close to her corseted stomach. His cheek settled by her waist, rubbing lightly against her.

“Monsieur…?” Marcello’s head snapped up, his eyes flashed with red anger, as he turned to the curtain with an animalistic sound starting in his throat. The man in the checkered waistcoat jumped back in surprise. Tatiana didn’t move. The man looked at her, then to the Count. Marcello growled at him, ordering him away in low French that sounded deadly even to Tatiana.

“Excusez-moi!” the man said quickly, bowing from the room. Marcello looked back up at her, as if he expected her to have changed her mind. Tatiana wiggled her body against his fingers, urging him to continue. He smiled, again setting his cheek along the curve of her waist. His fingers continued to slowly explore her hips and thighs. Tatiana shivered. She didn’t want him to be slow, or gentle. She felt the restraint in him and she wanted him to let it go--like he had the last time they’d been together, when he drank her blood and her control over him slipped. Tatiana thrust her fingers into his long hair, pulling his head back from her. His dark eyes sought hers. She hesitated slightly before leaning over to find his lips. She pulled his face up to meet hers. She kissed him once, twice, before pulling back. “Please, Marcello….” Almost too embarrassed to say the words aloud, she closed her eyes, panting against him for a long moment. Whispering, she managed, “Please….” “What, bella, what is it?” he asked softly. “Please, make love to me,” she whispered. Her eyes opened to him and she knew he could feel the battle that raged inside her at the admission. She didn’t care. She let him feel it, let him feel her. She was tired of fighting him, of fighting herself. “Please, Marcello, make love to me like you want to, not like this--like you want to do it. I can feel the restraint in you. I can feel you holding back. I don’t want you to.” “I will not act the beast for you, bella mia. I will not ravish you so you can hate me and blame me later for it.” Marcello’s eyes hardened and his hands gripped tighter to her hips. To her surprise, she understood why he was holding back. He didn’t want her using this against him? Why did it matter to him? Why didn’t he just take her? Why all this waiting? Why this seduction? Most baffling was the question, why would he care what she thought of him? Tatiana’s body throbbed with need. She was hot to the point of being feverish with desire. Boldly, her fingers shaking, she reached down to his hand. She pulled it from her hip and drew it down so he could feel her desire for him. She swallowed nervously, but whispered, “I would think you cruel if you did not act, my lord.” Marcello’s fingers slid forward at her push. She gasped, leaning back as his fingers slid into the soft opening of her body. She thrust her hips toward him, encouraging, needing. Marcello growled. The last bit of his restraint faded. With a flick of his fingers he hit the nub of her passion. She trembled in instant pleasure. “Hold onto the table,” he ordered. Marcello waited as she obeyed. Leaning slightly back, she gripped the table for support. He took one knee and lifted it up. At the same time he knelt before her on the floor. Hooking the knee over his shoulder, he said, “Come sei bella. How beautiful you are.” Tatiana moaned in anticipation, delighted by his words. They felt so sincere. Marcello lifted her dress over his head. She knew he didn’t need to breathe and could stay buried beneath her skirts forever. His kisses started on her lifted thigh. He kissed her in light trails until she shivered. Then, his tongue found her, tasting her flesh in long, hard strokes. She pushed her hips forward, searching for his mouth, wanting him to continue his kisses until he came to the fiery center of her need. She knew she was wet for him, knew her body was more than ready. “Marcello!” she gasped, not caring who heard. Outside the party still raged--loud and unaware. His fingers moved, teasing her center lips open so they could stroke deeper. His mouth came closer. She could feel his teeth along her skin, dragging slightly. She wanted him to bite her, wanted to feel the pleasure of his claiming. She wanted to feel her life draining into his. Both times he drank from her the connection between them had been deep. She wanted it to be so again. Tatiana’s fingers gripped the table. Marcello worked a long finger inside her, stroking and testing her lightly. Her body was tight from denial and she knew it pleased him to discover it, for he groaned against her sensitive flesh. She bucked against his hand, throwing her head back in passion. A new song began beyond the curtain--modern and new to her senses, hard and pounding. Its beat swirled dangerously in her head, drowning out everything. Tatiana felt another kiss whisper past the bend where her thigh met her aching center. When she felt the brush of his fangs, she pushed forward into him, purposefully nicking herself. She heard Marcello’s moan and felt him licking the wound. She pressed her leg around his back, drawing him closer. To her delight, Marcello’s teeth sunk into her leg.

Tatiana cried out. Marcello’s fingers began stroking her to a frenzied passion as he drank along her thigh. She rocked her hips into his hand and her leg against his mouth. His thumb circled in tormenting pleasurable strokes against her sensitive nub. Her body began to quiver and tense, peaking hard and fast. Beneath her skirt, Marcello’s eyes were closed. He drank at leisure, able to taste her passion for him. As she climaxed against his hand, her blood released an intoxicating flavor into his lips. He could taste her potent release and knew he had to stop soon or he wouldn’t be able to. Biting his lip, he used his blood to heal the wound he made on her. Her hot, wet body still quaked, tightlyclutching his finger. He released her, coming out from beneath the red of her skirt. Tatiana’s eyes were dazed. She was lightheaded from the strength with which he brought her to completion. But, it had been a long time and she was still starved for him. She wanted more. She wanted to feel him quivering as she did. She wanted to feel him deep, where he belonged. Tatiana knew she was lost to him. At the moment, she couldn’t think to care. Even if she didn’t enslave herself to him, she was still his, would always be his. No other man quickened her blood. No other man made her insane with need. And she knew that no other could ever calm the insanity inside her as he did. As he stood, Tatiana moved her hands, brushing his hair back from his face. Her leg fell to the floor from his shoulder, weakened. She smiled at him, eyeing his firm lips. She saw a smudge of crimson, knowing it was her blood and not caring. Then, catching the red fill his eyes, she shivered. She wasn’t scared of him, not really. Marcello lowered his lids, as if he would look away from her. She didn’t let him. Her hand firmly on his cheek, she drew him back to her. Keeping her gaze steady, she ran her fingers over his hard chest. She released a button on his red waistcoat, and then another, another still, mischievously smiling wider as each came free. His eyes darkened as he watched her, letting her take the lead. Discovering his firm waist, she ran her nails lightly along his waistband, feeling the texture of skin beneath linen. As she freed him from his breeches, she saw that he still wore no undergarments beneath his clothes. She shivered, hesitating only slightly as she reached inside to feel him. Her hand came into contact with his smooth erection. Marcello did not move away as he pierced her with his stare. She could feel his connection to her. He was part of her, and she of him. She gasped, her mouth falling wide as she began to pant heavily. Begging, she whispered simply, “Marcello.” At his name, his mouth shot forward to claim hers. His lips were wild, wreaking havoc on her mouth--tasting, claiming, massaging with the silken depths. Not to be outdone, she returned the full force of his kiss, exploring him as he did her. Her hands moved to his hips, gripping tightly as she pulled him forward. Her lungs began to burn. She couldn’t breathe and tore her lips away. Marcello’s mouth didn’t stop. He nipped her ear, her neck. He licked the pulse racing the blood in her veins and she let him, unafraid of his bite. He sucked the skin along her collarbone, beneath the heavy fall of her ruby and diamond necklace, following the expensive jewels along her chest until he came to the sensitive skin of her breasts, thrusting up for his attentions. As his lips journeyed, so did his hands. He stroked her skin, ran his nails over the back of her neck, her shoulders, her bare arms, pulling down her gloves. His long fingers cupped a corseted breast--rubbing and teasing the globe up to his mouth. His finger dipped below the tight bodice, coming back with an erect nipple. He groaned moving to lick at it with ferocious urgency. “Speak to me,” Tatiana demanded in a fervent whisper. “What would you have me say, bella mia?” he asked, not once stopping as he discovered her other liberated nipple and gave it the same excruciatingly pleasurable treatment. “Ahhh-ah, just speak.” Tatiana was being consumed by him. Her hands ran over his tight buttocks, squeezing his cheeks hard. She felt his body tremble and suddenly remembered his excitement when she was rough with him. With a growl, she pushed his chest, sending him flying into the bench seat. Marcello’s eyes narrowed. His hands balled into hard fists. She knew he was instinctively ready for a fight. But, when he looked up at her heated expression, full of passion for him, he stopped, holding very still. Tatiana’s eyes traveled over him. She smiled slowly, wickedly. Taking her skirt, she lifted it as she moved to straddle him on the seat. The music stopped, cheers alighted all around them. She brought her body onto his, rubbing herself intimately against him. Marcello moved slightly, shifting down in the seat to give her better access to his body. “Le tue labbra sono dolci come il miele,” Marcello whispered. ‘Your lips are as sweet as honey.’ Tatiana gasped, leaning over to kiss his neck. Her tongue trailed hard over him and she stopped to bite him hard with her flat teeth. She didn’t break the skin, but she felt his body lurch. His hand moved to her back, grasping her hips. “La tua pelle e’ come seta.” Marcello’s hands lifted her body up. ‘Your skin is like silk.’

Tatiana’s lips sucked hard against his smooth flesh, licking to soothe the bite she gave him. She groaned, loving his voice, hearing the power in it, feeling it in him. His strong hands brought her up, over his body. She felt the hot tip of his thick, long arousal and couldn’t hold back. She pushed down, needing him. Marcello groaned as he was imbedded deeply into her willing body. She was like he remembered her--ready, hot, wet, all for him. Her body shook, readjusting to his size after so long. She could feel him deep inside, pushing at her core until she thought to explode from the depth of him alone. “Tu sei bellissima,” he said on a moan. ‘You are very beautiful.’ A primal control took over Tatiana and she began to move atop him, thrusting her body over him in deep, hard jerks of her hips. It felt so good, she couldn’t stop. Her body was made for him, only him. His strong hands held onto her hips, urging her wild ride. The beat of the hard, pounding rhythm of the orchestra got into her veins and she kept tempo with the feverish pace of it. Tatiana felt a cry leaving her lips, loud, joined by the shouts of the crowd. The closer her body came, the harder she rode him, the deeper she thrust him into her. Her body ached, but it was with pleasure. Her head fell back. She gripped his shoulders for support, pumping faster, faster, harder, deeper. Marcello’s mouth latched onto a nipple, biting and sucking at it. She was sure she would explode, dying in the pleasure of his touch. “Bite,” she commanded him, wanting to feel herself within him once more. Marcello growled, rising to gently pierce one of her breasts. His kiss was deep as he sucked along her flesh. Tatiana moaned in pleasure and approval. “Yes, Marcello,” she cried softly. “Yes … oh … yes!” She rocked her body against him hard, impaling herself on him in a glorious burst of pleasure-pain. Her stomach quivered, she couldn’t move as the intense pleasure of their joining flooded her limbs. It was the first time they came together without one of them in control of the other. His hands jerked her in shallow thrust on his shaft, milking her body for all it could give him. His body responded to the quaking in hers, violently spilling his release up into her. Tatiana collapsed against him. Marcello was still deep inside her body. Her head fell forward, finding support on his shoulder as she tried to catch her breath. He was eerily still beneath her, though she thought she could detect his heart racing in his chest. She moaned lightly, pulling back to study his face, searching his blank features for approval. His dark eyes were soft, though they still pierced into her. They were rimmed with the red of her blood. She looked down at her chest. A small bead budded over one of the marks on her creamy flesh. She lifted up. Pulling her body from his, she stood and turned her back on him to right her bodice and smooth her skirt. Marcello bit his finger and, reaching around her from behind, he healed her skin before grabbing a handkerchief and wiping off the remaining blood. She shivered to find him so close to her back. He dropped the dirty handkerchief on the table next to the wine bottle, which was still amazingly stood right side up. Tatiana’s knees were weak, but her body soared. The small room smelled of him, of what they had done, and it was intoxicating. “He placed a small kiss on the back on her long neck. ‘Vorrei trascorrere tutta la mia eternità con te,” Marcello whispered, leaning close to her ear. Tatiana couldn’t understand him, but she shivered nonetheless. I would like to spend all of my eternity with you.’ **** “So it is true, Leandro,” a dark voice mused. Broderick’s vivid blue eyes did not move to study his long time friend, as he looked past the chaotically flying skirts of the dancers and the rowdy movements of the lecherous men. “Marcello has gotten himself a witch. Interesting.” “Do you sense anything about her?” asked Leandro quietly, his eyes boring forward to the curtains with an odd mix of jealousy, curiosity, and hatred. Broderick closed his yellowing eyes and sniffed the air, concentrating, sorting through the potent smell of sweat, beer, and cigar smoke. He hated the hall, hated the smell of humans. “Well?” “He takes her blood now,” Broderick whispered. His breath caught and he let the smell linger in his head. “It is potent. She is of the ancient Egyptian lines, but her power is uncontrolled, unused. I would say that she is only new into it, perhaps a few years at most.” “What does it mean?” Leandro asked. “I would have to taste her to be sure, but the blood smells as if she is of the Addien. If she is of that old family, it must mean the powers just

came back to her. Generations ago, the Addiens fought an ancient evil that cursed the land. The battle was thought to have killed their powers completely. The witches were left defenseless and were slaughtered by humans in the name of the church. One woman nearly escaped, but she was captured in the end. I knew her. She was very beautiful and had hair like wheat, eyes the color of jade. I have never seen the like of it again. She was said to be the last of the line. Although it was rumored she had a child, but the babe was never found.” “You think this witch is a descendent of that child?” Leandro asked. His dark brown gaze narrowed in concentration, but he couldn’t smell so well as his friend. He knew what Marcello did with the witch behind the curtains. He’d seen the woman kissing her vampire lover, moving indecently onto Marcello’s lap. “It is possible. For centuries the line was sought after but never found. If the magic has been gone from her so long, it will be rested and ready. She may be unstable. Marcello might not know what it is he has found.” “Ah, then I will have to save the fool from himself,” Leandro said. “I shall take her for my own. I will taste of her power and then I will kill her.” “Have you no love for Marcello, he--?” Broderick began. “No,” interrupted Leandro coldly. “I have no love at all. Vampires are not meant to love, only lust and feed. It is our way, our destiny.” “Such a cold view,” Broderick said, though his tone did not necessarily disagree with the assessment. As they watched, the curtain drew back slightly. Marcello stepped through, only to turn and leave his witch lover hidden safely behind. Leandro saw her hand briefly as she followed Marcello’s arm out of the curtain. “Why don’t you go and greet our old friend, Broderick? It would be rude not to pay our respects whilst in Paris,” Leandro mused, his eyes narrowing in on the curtain. “I should like to get a closer look at this witch.”

Chapter Ten “Don’t take too long, my lord,” Tatiana whispered, following Marcello with her eyes as he stepped to the opening of the private alcove. They were again dressed, looking as if nothing happened, except for the rosy hue to Tatiana’s flushed features. But, that could’ve easily been explained away by the heat of the club. Tatiana’s eyes shyly dipped down when he turned to study her in question. When she looked back up, she swore she saw a ghost of a smile on his handsome face. “Stay in here, bella mia. Here you will be safe,” he promised. He leaned down to brush his lips against her softly, before pulling back. Tatiana moaned lightly, reaching to him for more, but he was already ducking through the curtains. With a dreamy sigh, she patted her cheeks. Seeing one of her gloves still on the floor, she laughed and threaded it on her hand. Her body sung with pleasure and she felt better than she had in a long time. Her body felt calm, her mind more so. Lifting the wine bottle, she began to pour. The curtains ruffled behind her and she smiled. Turning around, she expected to see Marcello coming back to her. “My lord, back so soon--?” “Mademoiselle, comment j'ai voulu vous recontrer!” Tatiana felt herself shiver in apprehension. She gripped the wine bottle in her hand. The Frenchman looked vaguely familiar. His gaze raked boldly over her form. She looked carefully at his face, and then suddenly, she knew. He was the man who had winked at her from the other booth, the man who watched his gentleman friend with the prostitute. “Sir, I am afraid you have the wrong--” Tatiana tried to speak, but his chuckle of amusement cut her off. “Ah,” the man said. His accent was thick as he spoke the English words. “You English women are all alike, eh? Always the business first and the love later. So be it, English flower. How much--?” “Get out,” Tatiana ordered. She didn’t move. The man swayed dangerously on his feet before her, looking as if he was ready to pounce should she try to run past. Marcello had pushed the table during their love play and now it blocked her only other route of escape. She could already tell she wouldn’t be able to overturn the thick wood. “Ah, how I do enjoy these games, flower.” The man’s laugh grated her nerves, sounding more like a crow’s squawk that a man’s laughter. His hands went to his pants and he began to undo them. “Come, I can pay you well, eh?”

“Get out,” she croaked, not as forceful as before. Tatiana tried to brave a step forward but, as she suspected, he moved into her way, refusing to let her pass. “Monsieur,” she warned. “My lord, the Count, will not like this!” “Don’t worry, chéri.” The man pulled a wad of cash from his pocket and threw it on the table. “I can well afford you. And your Count is busy with another woman. He will not be back soon.” “Marcello?” she whispered, horrified. She didn’t want to believe him. Marcello wouldn’t go to another woman, not now, not after what they just did! Questions raced in her brain. But, then where did he go? Why did he have to leave her alone? He never really said where he went or why, just that he had to go and for her to stay here. Did he send this man to her? Did he think to sell her as a whore to the highest bidder? Is that why she was brought here tonight--dressed up like a doll for his amusement? Did he sell her like a whore? Is that how this disgusting pig of a man knew which alcove was hers? Is that why he didn’t look scared of Marcello’s wrath? Tatiana felt sick, but she turned it into fire, calling forth all her energy as she gripped the wine bottle and swung it over her head. With a

clink, the bottle hit the man across the temple. Red wine ran cool and sticky down her arm, staining her white glove like blood. The man looked dazed, his drunken mind reacting slow to her rejection. His eyes rolled and his body crumpled on the floor. Tatiana gasped in fear, panting wildly for a long moment. Then, propelled into action, she rushed to the curtain, drawing it back slowly. She knew she couldn’t stay by a fallen nobleman, not with the evidence of her attack staining her gloves. Outside, the chaotic world of the Moulin Rouge raged on. As she left the booth behind, she pulled the curtains shut. She stood for a brief moment, looking around. Her heart pounded in fear, choking the air from her throat. The dance floor was a circus of pandemonium. Tatiana felt dizzy. Remembering where the door had been, she started for it. Then, seeing the unconscious gentleman’s friends emerging from their alcove, she decided to switch directions. Her heart pounded as she worked through the crowd. She walked with purpose. A hand reached out to pinch her backside and she turned in affront. The man, a harmless little drunk with a long beard and paint covered shirt, lifted his hands and murmured to her in drunken French. His friends clapped him on the back, hauling him back into his seat with ease. Tatiana, seeing a woman flirting with a table and not wanting to draw attention to her escape, tried to smile as she mimicked the woman’s teasing wiggle of the finger. The bearded painter laughed, clutching at his heart as a comrade handed him a glass of the bitter green drink. Their eyes all turned from her to the dance floor. Tatiana breathed a little easier, trying her best to blend in, but acting as if her steps had purpose. When, in fact, they did. Their sole purpose was to get her out of the music hall with much haste! Suddenly, she came to a halt. Her face paled dramatically. Her green eyes widened in her head and she blinked, trying to erase the vision from them. Marcello was at a nearby table, in the corner, nearly hidden by a falling shadow of a curtain, but not completely so. She would know his face anywhere. A petite blonde with painted features sat firmly on Marcello’s lap, wiggling her backside invitingly against him. The woman’s dress had worked down from her shoulder, baring a plump round breast for all to see. Marcello’s hand cupped her breast, kneading the naked globe in his hand. His long dark hair spilled over her shoulder, as he sucked along her neck. Tatiana couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. The pain of seeing him with another woman hit her like a blow to the gut. She tried to tell herself it wasn’t real. That it didn’t feel like Marcello. But her eyes did not deceive her, for no matter how many times she blinked, he was still there. As if sensing her, Marcello looked up. His eyes filled completely with red, demonic in appearance. Tatiana could hear the woman’s lusty laughter, could hear her cry of pleasure as Marcello continued to drink and massage. His gaze looked right at her and he dared to smile against the woman’s throat. A trail of blood made its way from the woman’s neck at his slight movement, running crimson down her collarbone to the valley of her breasts. He wanted her to watch him, wanted her to see. She could see it in his red eyes. Audaciously, he winked at her. Tatiana gasped, spinning on her heels and running in the other direction. She found herself lost amongst the flinging bodies on the dance floor. She pushed through the women, wanting to be free of the nightmarish dancehall. She hated these women. She hated that Marcello had turned her into one of them. She wanted to faint, throw up, call out her powers in anger. Instead, she wept. Suddenly, a chill went up the back of her neck and she stopped amidst a sea of moving skirts. Her eyes shot over the floor, looking around. She could see no one. She glanced over her shoulder. The petite blonde was still at her seat, looking dazed, smiling. Marcello was gone. Tatiana began to run, desperate for escape. She pushed rudely through the crowd. They didn’t pay any attention to her, continuing what they were doing. She made it across the hall, only feeling mildly molested by the bodies on the crowded floor. When she reached the entrance, the man in the checkered waistcoat stood. He tipped his head, watching her with bolder eyes now that Marcello was gone from her side. She nodded her head, as regally as she could manage in her panic, before rushing past.

**** “Broderick,” Marcello stated by way of greeting, coming up against the bar. He turned, sitting down on one of the cushioned stools. The bartender came toward him, but Marcello merely waved his hand before him. The bartender’s eyes became glassy and he looked away, not seeing them anymore. “I don’t favor this hall of music,” Broderick stated easily. The man sighed, turning his blue eyes to Marcello. His dark brown hair was cut in the height of fashion, and his skin didn’t look as pale as the old vampire next to him. “What brings you to Paris, Marcello?” “I live here,” Marcello answered. His words were light, but he didn’t completely trust Broderick. “Ah, I am merely traveling through on my way to meet up with my clan. Heard of this,” Broderick paused. He slowly waved his hand to encompass the club, as he finished, “Club of barbarians and wanted to see for myself.” “They are bohemians,” Marcello corrected. He liked the music hall and the people in it. It was his fascination. Well, it had been until he’d met Tatiana. Now she was his fascination, his obsession. “If you say so,” Broderick laughed. “They are all barbarians to me. So primitive and short lived.” Marcello didn’t answer. “Ah, but I am old, tried. Many of my clan are going into a sopor, hibernating. I have been elected to stay awake, guarding their den. They weary of the new century upon us and it hasn’t even begun.” “It is a time of change,” Marcello admitted. He played with the ruby on his finger. “It has been prophesied that the new era will bring death for all of us,” Broderick said. “A great wave is upon us, a wave of advancement and the death of the old. We, my friend, are the old.” Broderick turned. He grabbed up a little glass of stout liquor and drank it. Marcello watched in silence. When he’d finished the drink, Marcello asked him, “Is Leandro journeying with you?” “No, I travel alone,” Broderick said. His vivid blue gaze looked over to the vampire at his side. “Have you seen him recently?” Marcello asked. His eyes were dull, almost sad, but he kept his expressions blank, his voice bored. “Yea, recently,” Broderick answered. He would say no more and Marcello didn’t pry. “Ah, I should go. I travel by train and don’t wish to miss the next one out of Paris. I already grow weary of this city.” “You must visit if you get back this way,” Marcello offered, knowing Broderick would never take the offer. He preferred to sleep away from other immortals. “Thank you, my lord,” Broderick said with a bow. “The offer is very kind.” Broderick’s eyes flashed with golden fire. In an instant, he was gone. **** Tatiana ran out of the music hall. Her lungs panted as she tried to catch her breath. The tight corset pressed into her skin, making her faint. Or was it the memory of Marcello with another woman that left her faint? The memory spurred her on and she began to run faster. She caught the blurring lights from the giant windmill overhead and ignored them. It was late, but the streets were even more crowded with prostitutes and drunken men. Shouts sounded, laughing ensued. It was all chaos in her brain, making her head pound and swim. The sounds stretched and muffled wildly inside her, like a scratchy phonograph she had once heard in London. A familiar sensation washed over her and she knew what was to come. She was going to have a vision and there was no way in hell she was going to be able to stop it. Tatiana panicked. Recognizing the street leading to Marcello’s home, she began to run anew. Her heart beat violently. She vaguely heard a carriage coming up fast behind her. She saw the alley and ran straight for it, not knowing what she would do once she made below to the pitch black catacombs. She didn’t want to go back to Marcello’s home. She wanted to run away, far away from him. But this was Paris. She couldn’t speak the language, couldn’t prove her name or station--especially not in the dress she now wore. Suddenly, a horse neighed loudly and a shout sounded. Tatiana turned, just in time to see a team of horses about to run her over. The

vision loomed closer, blocking everything from her eyes. She froze. Out of nowhere, a pair of strong hands gripped her. She blinked as she flew through the air to the alleyway. Her body landed with a hard thud, crashing into a warm chest. Instantly, she knew it wasn’t Marcello who held her. The body was too warm and smelled slightly muskier than Marcello’s. She struggled to be free. The man let her go. As she crawled off him, her hand splashed into a puddle. She flinched in horror as the smell of urine wafted up from it. She gagged, instantly pulling on her glove. The vision had subsided in light of their fall. When she looked at her rescuer, he stood above her. She was stunned to find the most vivid pair of blue eyes she’d ever seen. There was something animalistic to his nature, to the rough stubble on his face. Tatiana pulled off her wet glove and tossed it on the ground. The man held his hand down to her and she gladly took it. As their skin touched, the chill that haunted her since the dance floor raced up her skin. She gasped for breath. A vision of the past hit her in the gut. She stared at the man’s face, too afraid to move. No longer did he appear handsome to her. He snarled in anger, his blue eyes churning with liquid gold. Right before the vision took her completely, she uttered in horror, “Esprit Malin! Evil one!” **** Marcello stretched out his senses, ignoring the unconscious nobleman on the ground. He knew well the man would be taken care of by the owner of the club. Fear leapt in his heart, as he wondered what had happened to Tatiana. Feeling Tatiana’s call to him, he stiffened. She was in danger. A coldness hit his flesh, chilling the old vampire to the bone, which should’ve been impossible since he was naturally cold. He sped from the club. Closing his eyes outside the entrance to the Moulin Rouge, Marcello searched for the smell of his marks on Tatiana’s body. He caught her scent and sped with supernatural speed to the alley leading to his home. It didn’t take him long to see her, lying on the pavement, her red dress ruined by mud, her glove discarded. Wisps of her hair had come loose and strewn lightly over the pavement like rivers of black silk. He heard her heart beating a steady pulse and relaxed by a small degree. She was alive. His eyes scanned the alleyway, but it was empty. He could sense that someone else had been there, but it was too faint of an odor to tell who. Rushing to Tatiana’s side, he lifted her into his arms. The necklace glittered on her neck and he knew that a human couldn’t have accosted her. If they had, the necklace would’ve been gone. It could only mean that she’d been accosted by an immortal. Marcello couldn’t know what had happened. Maybe she wasn’t attacked at all. Maybe she was just running from him--again. His eyes scanned her body for injury and couldn’t see any. Her gown was wet and ripped. Her bodice was torn in such a way that a breast was close to falling out of it and he could see the material of her corset. With one hand, he moved the opening to the catacomb. With her held tightly in his arms, he climbed down the steep stairs. He managed to maneuver the lid over them once more without letting her go. Within moments, he whisked her down the black passageways of the catacombs to his home. He did not bother to light the torches, seeing his way easily in the dark. The front door to his home opened by the will of his mind and he rushed Tatiana down the stairs. “Cesare! A bath!” he yelled, as he crossed over the front hall, not bothering to use the mindlink in his haste. “Now!” Marcello rushed Tatiana to the safety of his bedchamber. Only when he had her draping body before the fire, did he allow himself to feel. Remorse flowed over him, as did fear and relief. He urged the fire higher until it burned hotly at her side. He lightly laid her down on the fur rug. Her skin was cold, too cold for a mortal woman. Her lips looked to be edged with blue. Marcello stripped her of her stockings and shoes, throwing them into a pile behind him. Cesare came in with the tub and, as Marcello worked to get Tatiana out of the red dress, the servant filled the bath with hot water. “That will be all,” Marcello said as Cesare finished. The servitor bowed, his white eyes not taking in the scene before him. The man quietly left the bedchamber, shutting the door behind him. Marcello pulled out of his clothes, until he too was naked. Then, lifting Tatiana up, he set her before him in the tub. He washed her body with great care, looking for wounds. His fingers couldn’t ignore the soft texture of her flesh as he touched her. The memory of her sweet taste, of her sweeter body convulsing around his was still too new. He wanted her again, always. She stirred lightly, but did not wake. Marcello felt as if his heart was in his stomach. He’d thought he lost her for a moment. Something happened to her that shut her off to him completely. It left him feeling hollow and alone. He squeezed her tighter. He never wanted to feel that way again. For better, and most likely for worse, she was his. She belonged to him. He needed her more than he needed to feed on blood. He knew that now. She was the only thing keeping a dying part of him alive. She was the only thing connecting him to his last thread of his humanity. If he lost her, he would lose that. And then he would truly be what she thought of him--a demon. When he’d assured himself she was unharmed except for a few minor scrapes and bruises, he lifted her out of the tub, dried her off, and carried her to bed. Stroking back her wet hair, which he combed for her, he whispered to her in his native tongue. His words were soft, calling to her, urging her back to him, trying to lead her mind out of whatever vision had her trapped. ****

Tatiana shivered. She was so cold. The freezing water of the stream washed over her skin. When she looked down at her body, her breasts were too small to be her own beneath the emerald tunic gown she wore. A heavy strand of overlong red hair spilled over her face. Her body was weak-too weak to fight. Tatiana felt drained, nearly lifeless. She tried to wake up, yelled that she must, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t move. She was tied to a secured log that dipped into the icy water. Her hands were tied behind her and she was sure her fingers were missing since they were so frozen. Snow covered the ground and dotted the icy stream where the earth rose above it. Her feet were bare, dipping into the frigid water, and she could no longer feel them either. “Maighdlin.” Tatiana froze, knowing that to be her name in this vision. She tried to open her lids, not remembering how long they had been closed. Her eyes stung as the cold winter air hit them. She tried to speak, but her lips had frozen themselves shut. She made out the blurry vision of the man in the alleyway that saved her from being struck by the carriage, only he looked younger, much younger. His vivid eyes shone out tortured from a youthful face. They were red. He’d been crying. His lips moved to speak, but Tatiana couldn’t hear what he said. Her lips broke apart as she forced them open and began to bleed. A voice that wasn’t her own whispered past her throat, in the same language she couldn’t know, not even in her vision. Whatever she said upset the young man with blue eyes, for he screamed at her. Then, taking his knife from his belt, he yelled at her angry and raw. He waved the blade before her face, screaming at her over and over again. She yelled back. This only upset him more. Suddenly, he lunged for her. His hand found her face in a strangely soft caress as the blade found her heart. Tatiana gasped, feeling the piercing heat of the blade inside her chest. Her mouth opened wide and the young man kissed her bloodied lips. He stepped back, leaving the blade embedded in her. He turned his back on her and she watched him walk away as she died. He did not look back. **** Tatiana’s eyes shot open in surprise. The rounded orbs searched wildly, glimmering with the strangeness of an inner light. They focused on the first thing she saw, Marcello’s handsome face, contrasted by firelight. His lips moved, but she couldn’t hear what he said. “Bella … corvo … il….” Tatiana gasped, finally able to breathe. Marcello smiled widely at the sound. He almost seemed relieved to see her awake. She was so glad to be back, back where she felt safe--next to him. She forgot all that was between them, about the woman at the music hall. Her arms lifted up and eagerly wound around his neck. She forcefully pulled him down to her, needing him close. Marcello’s body stiffened in surprise and he moved as if he would pull away. Tatiana’s body was cold and she needed his warmth. The thought left her breathless--holding a vampire for warmth. At any other moment she would’ve laughed at herself. As he pressed against her once more, she felt that they were already naked. Her hair was wet and she instinctively knew he had bathed her again. He seemed to like bathing her and Tatiana found she liked him doing it for her. Feeling came back to her limbs and it was the feel of him pressed tightly to her. The texture of his strong body pushed into her softer flesh, making her conform to him. Her hands began to roam, addicted to the glide of his muscles and she couldn’t feel enough of him. Her body rubbed along his, intertwining his legs, pressing her stomach into the scalding hardness between his thighs. Lifting up, she roughly captured his lips. Tatiana couldn’t think. He was so warm. His arms were so protective. She wanted to feel him on her, in her. She wanted to feel anything that wasn’t the ice cold of the stream or the white heat of a blade to her heart. Suddenly, she began to laugh. It was a wild sound. Marcello pulled back from where he devoured her neck with biting kisses to look at her. Tatiana shivered to see his eyes flaked with purple and silver flecks. She chuckled again, unable to help it as she thought of the irony. For her to feel alive she had to embrace death--she had to embrace Marcello. “Too gentle,” she ground out at his confused look. Her lovemaking turned rough. She knew instinctively what he would want, what he would like for her to do to him. He wanted her to quicken him--with pain, with pleasure. It was all relatively the same, so close in nature were the two emotions, so raw and full. Tatiana pushed him and he let her, rolling on his back. His hand reached for her and she stopped him, grabbing his wrists and forcing them over his head. She smiled a wicked smile, looking over the pale, smooth line of his chest. He was perfect, sculpted. His lips parted and she saw the tips of his fangs peeking out at her. Holding him down, she leaned over and licked at his teeth. His mouth lightly bit the air as she pulled back. She could feel his pleasure flowing toward her. His heavy erection sat along the back of her buttocks, pushing at her. Her body was wet for him, sliding along his stomach as her hips naturally moved in small circles. Marcello’s penetrating gaze raked over her breasts and neck. Her black hair spilled over them wet and clinging, a cool shock against their

heating skin. As she watched him lick his lips, her body jerked along his firm stomach, nearly climaxing at the heated intent in his expression. Tatiana wanted to devour him, pleasure him, torment him. She raked her nails over his wrists, scratching him hard as she moved over his arms. He didn’t move to stop her, throwing his head back instead and moaning in pleasure. Red trails were left in her wake as she scratched his arms, moving down to his shoulders, over his arching chest. She stopped close to his small erect nipples. Leaning over, she let her body rub intimately along his arousal as she bit her flat teeth against his collarbone. Again, he moaned loudly as she left a mark on him. His hands didn’t move, staying where she put them. When she bit his nipple, his body jerked violently. She licked it hard only to bite him again. She let her nails have at his sides, scratching hard over his stomach. “Do you like that?” she whispered along his lips. Her tongue reached out to trace the line of his mouth, flicking against his sharpened teeth. Marcello quickly sucked her tongue into the hot depths of his mouth. Only his lips moved as he penetrated her with his tongue, exploring the depths of her mouth, claiming every inch of it as his. When he pulled back, he demanded harshly, his eyes glowing with hot fire, “More.” “I want to taste you as you taste me,” she whispered, moving to his strong neck. She bit him hard, but couldn’t break his tough skin with her teeth. Pulling back, her eyes begging him, she whispered, “Let me taste you Marcello.” Tatiana leaned over to him again, sprinkling her light kisses over his jaw and cheek, refusing his mouth when it searched for her. Her hands again found his wrists, needlessly holding them down, liking the feeling of control. Marcello’s knees rose behind her. His hips lifted, pressing himself more fully against her, digging his erection into the soft cleft of her backside. Tatiana moaned in delight, flexing her hips back so that he was forced to rub against her body. Her kiss again turned to little bites as she moved along his flesh. “Let me cut you,” she whispered nipping his earlobe. “Just a small cut.” Marcello groaned. He easily freed his hand from her hold. Tatiana frowned in momentary disappointment as he escaped. She liked being in control of the beast. The power was exhilarating. However, her disappointment was short lived as he took his own hand to his chest. With a quick slash of his finger, he opened a wound next to his heart. “There, bella mia,” he whispered. She could see he was awed by her request. “Drink your fill of me.” Tatiana’s gaze moved down. She opened her mouth to kiss him and then hesitated. Blinking, she looked at him, turning serious in her momentary panic. “It will not change me?” she asked. Marcello’s eyes clouded. They both knew what she asked. She did not want to become a vampire. “No, bella, no harm will come to you, only pleasure.” The answer was good enough for her. She leaned down and licked the salty trail. She instantly groaned, feeling him like she’d never felt him before. She didn’t think it possible, but her body wanted more of him. Her lips sucked hungrily at the wound, licking and tasting. Her body became restless as if his desire was now mixed with hers. “I want you to take me,” she whispered hoarsely. Her jade eyes glowed in pleasure. She kissed him fiercely with her crimson stained lip, letting him taste himself on her. “I want you to take me there.” Marcello followed her finger. She pointed at the ceiling. “I want you to take me hard,” she demanded. “Now, Marcello! I need to feel you, all of you.” Marcello couldn’t deny her, she knew it. Almost instantly, his eyes filled with black, burning out the white as they darkened. He growled an animalistic sound. His hands shot forward and their bodies lifted up off the bed. He kept her on top of him, easily defyingthe earth as he pressed her body, letting her ride him as they neared the ceiling. Tatiana felt her back hit cold stone and shivered. Her legs draped along his waist, falling down as she sat on him. Marcello growled. His body angled itself. The smell of her womanly perfume was in his head. His member was hard and pulsating, ready to conquer. He angled his body to hers, holding her above him. With a hard thrust, he plunged himself inside her slick cavern. Tatiana screamed in surprise. Her back hit the stone with the force of his claiming. Her cry only spurred him on. She saw the beast in his eyes, called out by her to play. Marcello kept her suspended, pumping his naked body into her as he clutched the ceiling by either side of her head so she couldn’t fall. The floor danced beneath her vision, making her heart beat faster at the dangerous thrill.

Tatiana couldn’t move, couldn’t return his thrust in such a position, but it didn’t matter. His strong hips moved enough for the both of them, reaching a furiously supernatural speed, pounding her hard and deep until she was sure he bruised her insides. The pleasure of it was intense, like nothing they’d ever done before. Marcello didn’t hold back, didn’t wait for permission. He took her, forcing her body to accept all of him and more. Her muscles quivered, stretched to the brink by the size of his shaft. His mouth opened wide and he bit into her, drinking her passion from her neck. Tatiana screamed again, lost to him. He rode her harder, faster, deeper. Her body tensed, so close, so close…. “Ahhhh!” she cried, sure that all of Paris could hear her. Her body jerked so hard on his that his mouth was pulled free of her neck. The feel of her quaking was more than Marcello’s body could take. The pressure of his need burst from his body, spilling his release into her, leaving him drained. The hard tips of her breasts rubbed into his chest as she panted for breath. Tatiana fell against him. Marcello wrapped his arms around her, lowering their bodies to the ground. With a sweep of his arms, he lifted her and laid her on the bed. He looked down, seeing the smudge of his own blood on his chest. It matched the blood on her chin. His wound was completely healed and he bit his finger to do the same for her neck. “Ah,” was all Tatiana could manage to say as her body stretched beside him. “Yes, ah indeed.”

Chapter Eleven “What happened to you tonight, bella?” Marcello asked, turning to lay his long length next to her. “Why did you run?” Tatiana blinked, only now remembering why she’d tired to escape him in the first place. Hardening herself against him, she jerked when his fingers reached to stroke at her exposed breast. Her body was covered in a light sheen of sweat. His was not. Tatiana pulled away from him. Crossing over to the wardrobe, she grabbed a silk robe and tugged it over her body. When she turned around, Marcello was still on the bed, watching her. His eyes were blank, his face passionless. “I hope you enjoyed yourself, my lord,” she spat at him, incensed. “For that is the last taste you will ever have of my body--blood or otherwise.” “What are you speaking of, bella?” he asked, his gaze darkening to a demonic blackish red. “I own you. I will taste you whenever I wish. Besides, you weren’t complaining as you urged me deep inside you, begging me to fuck you hard.” Tatiana wasn’t sure what the word ‘fuck’ meant but she knew she wouldn’t like it. She gulped, turning red in her outrage. “Why don’t you go

fuck one of your whores at the music hall! They looked to be more to your taste, vampire.” Tatiana thought of his hand on the petite blonde’s breast, his lips sucking her neck, his eyes boring forward to her, wanting her to watch him, trying to make her jealous. Well, it had worked beautifully. She was jealous and she hated him for it. But, she hated herself even more for wanting him as she did. “What are you--?” “I saw you. You know I saw you.” “Bella--?” he tried again. His eyes darkened even more so in warning. She could feel the tension radiating off him, though he held his temper back well. “No. You can never call me bella again. I’m not your bella mia. I’m not your anything, except your whore,” Tatiana screamed at him. Her body still sung with the aftermath of his touch and it only made her angrier to have to feel it. “That is what you think of me, isn’t it, my lord Count? That is why you brought me to a bordello tonight, isn’t it? You wanted to show me that I was nothing more to you than a prostitute. Well, my lord vampire, if I’m a whore then I expect to be paid for my services rendered. Because anything I gave you did not come from any tender sentiment. For your soul and your heart are dead. And even if they weren’t, I would want nothing of them. I want nothing of you. I detest you. I despise you. You disgust me. I hate you.” Marcello shot up from the bed in anger. He flew toward her, gripping her arms in a bruising hold. His nostrils flared as he slammed her into

the wardrobe. The contents inside the furniture crashed at the jarring motion. Tatiana breathed heavily, but she did not back down. Her red robe fell open, showing him the valley of her breasts, her flat stomach, the curls of her nether hair. She waited for him to kill her, her pulse racing. She could see that he wanted to. His eyes were lit with demonic fire. To her surprise, he forced his fingers to uncurl from her throat. He let her go. His hands slowly pulled back and the strong lines of his brooding features became a dead mask. “Padronissimo, baldracca,” he stated. “What--?” she began, not understanding him. “I said it will be as you wish, my whore.” Marcello voice was dark as he turned from her to look at the floor. Tatiana’s eyes devoured the strong, proud line of his naked back. The taut play of his muscles worked gracefully as he moved. She bit her lip, watching his hips, his tight buttocks. All too readily did her body remember the feel of him against her. Her nerves stung, reaching for him. She wanted him back against her flesh, wanted him deep inside. Her body ached, swirling with the fantastic sensations that only he could arouse inside her. Marcello took up the necklace he’d bought for her as a gift. With a toss of his wrist, threw it at her feet. The heavy strand of gemstones wrapped around one of her ankles before sliding to the floor. “Consider your services paid for.” Tatiana gasped, suddenly unable to move. “Sleep, baldracca, it has been a long day of work for you. Tomorrow, you will reorganize the mess you made in my wardrobe.” Marcello nodded over her shoulder. Tatiana glanced behind her, seeing one of the doors had opened and there was a trail of clothing strewn out onto the floor. “This baldracca,” she spat, “doesn’t clean.” “Ah, but my slave does!” he mocked cruelly. “You are duty bound as my slave to obey me, Tatiana. Being a whore was your choice.” Suddenly, she was very tired. She turned her back on him, knowing she couldn’t sleep by him tonight. Her heart squeezed painfully in her chest. She blocked herself from him, refusing to let him feel her. Looking down at the gemstones at her feet, she lifted them up. She weighed them in her hand. She’d been touched by the gift, but now the pleasure of necklace was lost on her, now that it represented payment. She thought of the man he sent to her booth, the big-nosed Frenchman. Marcello said nothing to her about him. Did he think she performed for the man? Did he care? If the French authorities sought her out, she would welcome them. Let them hang her. But, feeling Marcello laying on the bed behind her, she knew he would never let them take her. She was his possession and this vampire wouldn’t willingly share his toys. It would take more than the armies of France and England combined to get her away from him. Her only release would be death and Marcello might not even let that take her. “No, my lord.” Tatiana gripped the necklace so tight her fist turned white. Bitter tears burned the back of her eyes, twitching her nose, but she did not let them fall. Her voice lower than a whisper, she said, “When you brought me to that place tonight, you made me a whore.” **** Tatiana slept on the floor before the fireplace. Marcello did not bid her to move and for once the flames remained lit all night. She was plagued by nightmares so horrific that she would jolt awake only to see the contrasting faces of the black angels above her. Their solid eyes bore into her, reaching down with their arms. She stared at them so long, the orange firelight dancing on their smooth skin, that she felt as if they moved. Tatiana refused to touch them again, remember the vision she had of Thomas and Henry. The nightmares were mostly about Alice--Alice in the cottage, Alice in the field braiding flower rings, Alice waking her gently and laughing, Alice doing any number of things. But, each dream ended the same, with Alice’s garbled voice and bloodied face. Tatiana knew the girl tried to tell her something, but she couldn’t understand her. At first, she tried to run from her only to wake up in a panicked sweat. By the third dream, she tried to speak to her, tried to make her slow down so she could understand. And, by the end of the night, when Alice’s lips opened, she only understood one terrified word the woman whispered--danger. **** “Oh, m’lord! Yer home is just ‘eavenly! ‘Ey, who’s she?” Tatiana froze at the odd sound. That whiny voice of the London slums did not belong in the sanctuary of the French catacombs. She felt Marcello’s presence behind her like a cold chill. He’d been gone when she awoke, cramped and aching on the floor. It was just as well. She hadn’t been in the mood to see him. Tatiana slowly rose from the wardrobe where she just finished placing the last of Marcello’s clothing into place. The pale blue skirt of the simple gown she’d found in the wardrobe swished slightly as she moved. It was amongst many gowns Marcello had gotten for her, and by far the most

decent of them. It covered most of her chest, all of her arms, and did not push so tightly at her cleavage. Tatiana took a deep breath, willing the voice away. She wasn’t so lucky. “Mm, a servant,” the whiny voice continued. Tatiana nearly threw up, as the woman again giggled. “I’ve always wanted a servant o’ me own!” Tatiana slowly turned, flinching at the giggling that ensued after the woman spoke. Marcello’s eyes were dark as they studied her. He ignored the brassy redhead he’d brought home, as he crossed over the floor to where Tatiana stood. She tensed as he drew near. His hand lifted and she trembled, momentarily lost in the depths of his piercing stare. His hand moved past her to the wardrobe and she knew he went to inspect her work, looking for any excuse to show displeasure in her. She had not given him one. Tatiana frowned, hating herself for being disappointed that he did not come to her. The self-hatred didn’t last long as she again saw the prostitute. The woman was eyeing her with a menacing glare, chewing her thick bottom lip stained to the brightest of reds. Her pink and black gown was an awful affair of gaudiness and cheap taste. Tatiana let a small laugh escape her throat, pretending to be unconcerned by the woman’s presence. The woman misread Tatiana’s smile and returned one of her own. Tatiana guessed that this woman would have no problem sharing the handsome Count, so long as she was paid. Seeing the woman’s bold green gaze moving over her body with a look akin to a dog salivating over food, she shivered. No, this woman would definitely have no problem with sharing the Count with her. “I shall leave you and your lovely guest alone, my lord,” Tatiana stated coolly. The wardrobe door shut with a decisive thud. Tatiana jumped slightly in surprise. Marcello only made such loud noises when he was displeased. Usually, he walked with no more sound than a ghost through air. “No,” he commanded, his voice calm. He walked past her and Tatiana saw that he’d changed to a long jacket of black silk. It buttoned at his lean waist and flowed open around his breeches when he walked, bellowing out beautifully in the air. The lapels fell open over his white linen shirt and red waistcoat. He looked elegant. His voice lowered into the timbre that sent chills over her spine. “You will stay. My guest may have need of your services.”

Oh, so that is how you want it, vampire! Tatiana thought, gritting her teeth. Affecting a calm her racing heart did not feel, she stated, “Very well, my lord, as you wish.” Marcello’s eyes whipped around to her, searching and hard. Tatiana scratched the back of her head and yawned for good measure. She knew he had not expected her to react with such disinterest. “Oh,” the brassy redhead gasped, nearly trembling with excitement. Her round green eyes looked Tatiana over. The prostitute giggled as if she was suddenly declared Queen of the underground crypts. “I should like some more wine, my lord.” Marcello let a smile curl the side of his mouth. His brooding expression stayed intact. His eyes looked almost bored as the turned to Tatiana. “You heard her, baldracca, go fetch my guest some wine.” “Bald’acc!” the prostitute with a snorting laugh shouted. “What sort of name is Bald’acc?” “Baldracca is what Marcello, sorry,” Tatiana bowed her head piously, though her eyes stayed with the challenge of Marcello’s gaze. “It’s what my lord the Count calls all women. For we are all baldracca to him, are we not, my lord?” “Oh,” the woman bit her lip again, confused. She eyed Marcello and then Tatiana. “What’s it mean?” Tatiana’s lips curled into a smile, daring him to answer the woman. He stayed quiet, just watching her speak, as if he waited to see what she would do. She suspected he brought the woman here to make her jealous. Damned if it hadn’t worked, but it didn’t mean she had to let him know he’d succeeded. “It means we are all lovely flowers--unique, fragrant, just waiting to be plucked,” Tatiana said poetically. Marcello’s eyes darkened and she wasn’t sure if he was going to shout at her or laugh. “O’, well I like that!” the woman said, her voice a mere purr. She moved herself against Marcello’s stiff body, curling her fingers onto the arms that were crossed over his chest. She didn’t seem to mind that he didn’t return her affectionate embrace as she began exploring the front of his hard body. And she definitely didn’t mind that Tatiana stayed to watch her. Tatiana’s eyes narrowed slightly, as she watched him. His gaze lit with challenge, a smile curling to the side of his lips. Slowly, he leaned down and placed a kiss on the woman’s lips. The woman moaned. Tatiana stiffened. She let the side of her lip curl up to match his. Not taking her eyes away, she curtseyed deeply as if to royalty. “If you will excuse me, my lord, my lady, I will go see to the wine. I think something old, from Tuscany.” The woman giggled a whiny, high-pitched annoyance. Marcello’s nostrils flared at Tatiana in warning. Tatiana saw the woman grab Marcello’s

member, squeezing it boldly. Tatiana walked away, forcing dispassion in every step. As she opened the door, she swore she heard him cursing at her in Italian in her head. She pretended she couldn’t hear him. Once the door was shut softly behind her, trapping Marcello and his new woman behind the door, Tatiana began to pace. Her heart let loose in her chest until she wanted to destroy everything around her. By all that was undead! She was insanely jealous. She wanted to scratch out the woman’s eyes who dared to look at him. She wanted to cut off her unworthy hands that dared to touch his chest, his body! She wanted to rip out her throat for daring to talk to him. And she wanted Marcello to watch her as she did it. Tatiana stopped. She wanted to destroy something, something beautiful, something that would make Marcello hurt as she hurt. Her eyes flew around the dining room. She skimmed the curtains, the candelabrum, the sconces on the wall. She eyed the portrait of Marcello above the fireplace. The painted eyes and brooding expression affected her almost as strongly as the man. Her body twinged, wanting him even as she hated and cursed him. She felt the roots of her hair beginning to tingle and stand on end. It was as if someone stood next to her, touching her shoulder, trying to give her comfort. For a moment, she thought it might be Cesare. She began to turn, needed to hug him, wanting to feel any type of comfort and contact-even if it was from a man who didn’t see or feel her. She turned and blinked in surprise. No one was there. Tatiana let loose a heavy sigh and began rubbing her temples. She was so tried of it all--the unexplainable visions, the strange feelings, her dark attraction to a vampire who could feel nothing but contempt for her. She swallowed, trying her best to rekindle her anger, fighting the sorrow the best she could. As she stared forward, her eyes saw the old wine bottle sitting in its place along the wall. Her eyes narrowed. Her fingers twitched. Glaring at the closed door, unable to see what Marcello did with his new woman, she hissed her breath at them. Her mind imagined them thrusting together. She clung to the thought, letting it spur her. With a low growl, she crossed the floor to the old inlet. She reached for the wine bottle, ready to smash the relic into the stone. But, as her fingers curled along the neck of it, she gasped. Her arms pulled the bottle close, hugging it protectively as she fell onto the floor. Tatiana panted in shallow breaths. The vibration of the bottle was strong. She tried to drop it, but her fingers were frozen. Her eyes stared up at the ceiling drawn to the dark portrait of Marcello. As if watching a play, she saw the portrait move to look at her. She tried to scream, but her throat was tight and all she could manage was a painful whimper. Slowly, his pale features filled with life. The brooding of his expression melted into a boyish smile of grace and utter beauty. She felt his youth, his life. Her lips trembled and her eyes teared. She heard the faint laughter of a voice in her head, so carefree, so light, so … so human. “No,” she croaked, closing her eyes to it, not wanting to feel the rush of emotion coming from the past. But instead of the relief of black beneath her lids, she saw a tall vista standing bold within the mountains. As if she blinked, she saw a garden full of life, of beautiful young ladies of gentry and handsome young men of refinement. She was like the wind, gently flowing past them, ruffling skirts decorated with ruche and pleated silk, round with thick petticoats. The dress bodices were stiff and flat. Some of the women waved fans, some walked with stiff movements through the crowd, bobbing their heads adorned with tiny caps. Both the men and women wore wigs, with thick curls like two sausages held tight to the head above the ears. The men carried walking canes instead of fans, leisurely swinging them back and forth, tapping them on the toes of their soft leather shoes. The tight fit of their breeches only went to their knees and their calves were fitted with fine silk stockings. The laughter and talk played like a song in Tatiana’s head, back dropped by the old music of violins. She felt the gaiety of the day, the warmth of the Italian sun. Suddenly, her body stopped drifting and she felt herself collecting as if to materialize and stand on the rough stone. She looked forward, seeing the people around her fade like ghosts, translucent and pale, misty. In the garden lounging on a bench was Marcello. His long dark blue coat with braided trim hung open with a practiced carelessness. His waistcoat was buttoned high, as was the fashion around him, and was made of the palest of creams. Even as a human, he’d been well put together. He looked different in his wig, but he was still breathtakingly handsome. He spoke to a group of friends, all young and striking men of such an age and station as to be flirtatious and carefree. They were the type of men who always drew the eye at the party, always fluttered the heart of women young and old. Tatiana walked to him, drawn to do so. She wanted to touch him to see if he was real. His handsome face pressed up into a bright smile. He was untroubled, young, stunning. His dark gaze roamed about the garden and he motioned at a group of ladies. When he spoke, his voice unhampered with the burden time would bring to it, the words sent a chill over her. Tatiana reached for him, wanting to touch his face, wanting to see what he would feel like with his tanned flesh warmed from the sun, prickled with just a hint of a shadowed beard. She reached for him as he tilted his head back in laughter. Her hand whispered over his cheek, falling through him, unable to detect more than a passing stillness. Marcello blinked, jolting slightly. His friends laughed at him. He smiled a wide smile, said something to make them laugh harder, and swatted the air by his face as if to be rid of a pest. Tatiana stumbled back from him, aching. She had no idea what this vision of the past was. Like all her visions, she had no idea what she was to

do with it, what she was to learn from it. Perhaps she was being punished. Perhaps this was her curse for sleeping with the devil. Perhaps this was just another way for Marcello to torment her. Tatiana turned to escape him, feeling the rush of the crowd around her as she moved, but she couldn’t escape him. She blinked seeing Marcello walking toward her. His coat was now red, but his waistcoat nearly the same. She froze as he walked right through her. Tatiana gasped, opening her eyes. She trembled before the portrait of the vampire above her. It was as it should be, dark and brooding. She shook violently, trying to push up. She felt a hand on her arm, helping her. Thinking it again to be Cesare, she began to turn and mumble her thanks. Tatiana nearly screamed in fright, but her voice didn’t make it past her constricted throat. It was Alice on her arm, gripping her with translucent hands, holding on tight. Tatiana was too terrified to shake her off so she sat still, frozen. “Run,” Alice’s voice whispered, though her lips did not move. Her wide blue eyes shone out in fear. The image of Alice faded, as if it had never been there, and Tatiana’s arm was released. Tatiana gulped, shuddering. Slowly, she crawled across the stone floor, clutching the old wine bottle protectively to her chest. She placed the bottle back in its spot, leaving it unharmed, and swore she would never touch it again. **** Marcello pulled away from the annoying prostitute in disgust without bothering to touch her, as Tatiana shut the door to his bedroom. His eyes burned with liquid fire. He glared after Tatiana. How dare she? Suddenly, he stopped, cruelly mocking himself for the thought. How dare she what? How dare she not care to see him with another woman? How dare she not be bothered by the idea of him taking another woman to his bed? How dare she not be jealous? What had he expected? It wasn’t like she had tender feelings for him. “Is she yer wife, m’lord?” the brassy redhead asked. A frown was on her parted lips. Marcello turned his cold, dispassionate eyes to her. The woman came forward, lightly stroking his arm. Her eyes looked over him in appreciation. “It’s not the first time I’ve been used to make a frigid wife jealous, m’lord,” the woman said, her accent strong as she spoke. “And it’s not the first time it didn’t work.” Marcello barely moved as she spoke. Suddenly, the prostitute was too unbearable. He’d picked her absently out of a crowd, hoping to make Tatiana envious. He should’ve known it wouldn’t work. Staring at the woman now, he only had one more use for her--and it wasn’t to sate the arousal Tatiana stirred in him. Marcello lifted his hand to stroke the woman’s painted cheek. To the outside world she looked young, beautiful, but Marcello could see more. She was so ugly, worn beneath her caking of powder and rouge. His eyes drifted to her stained lips, so unnatural. He smelled the overuse of her body, the dried sweat of her trade. The woman dreamily smiled up at him. Marcello’s gaze shifted, edging with green as he easily mesmerized her to him. His finger lightly pressed her cheek and she instantly turned to offer her neck to him. He watched the artery beneath her skin, seeing the pulse beat in a beckoning rhythm. His mouth opened out of habit. He needed to feed. The hunger was beginning to bite at him. The prostitute moaned weakly as his lips touched her heated skin. He bit and she gasped, instantly moaning as if she climaxed in his arms. She began to pant. Marcello drank fast, leaving her head weak. Suddenly, he pulled back, hating himself, his desire for blood. The woman saw the red in his eyes that he didn’t hide. She saw his fangs and began to scream in terror. She lifted her hand to her neck where he’d touched her. Her shaking fingers came away covered in blood. Marcello let her scream. No one outside the catacombs would hear her. She stumbled, feeling faint. Her legs made a wide arch as she tried to rush past him to the bedroom door. She fumbled with the handle. Marcello lifted his elegant hand and motioned. The door flew open at his command. The prostitute gasped in horror, but did not stop to consider it as she ran through. The Count walked slowly behind her, like a stalking beast. The dining room was empty as she stumbled past. He frowned, his senses ignoring the potent smell of her fear. He searched for Tatiana. “Cesare!” Marcello yelled. The man instantly appeared in the curtained entryway, bowing low. The prostitute screamed again, high-pitched and piercing, to see the servitor’s milky white eyes. Marcello frowned in annoyance and waved his hand at her. The woman fell back, hitting hard into the brick wall. She hit her

head, falling unconscious to the ground. Marcello knew she still lived, could tell by the beating of her heart. “Take her back,” he growled as he passed Cesare. The servitor nodded and went to gather the fallen woman into his arms. He lifted her dispassionately over his shoulder, as if she were but another chore to be done. Marcello hurried into the front hall. In his anger, the candles lit with a passionate fire as he passed by them. His body flew through the passageway, smelling the remnants of a burnt torch. But, more potent, was the smell of Tatiana. He began to run, looking desperately for her. **** Tatiana didn’t know where she was going when she emerged from the tunnels beneath the catacombs. But, as she wiggled through the little space she managed to make with the heavy blockade over the entrance, she was stunned. She never really expected to make it as far as she did. Tatiana was again in Montmartre, close to the Moulin Rouge. She could hear the loud celebration raging in the distance. Morning had to be close upon them, if not a mere hour away. If she could last until sunrise she’d have a better chance at escape. She frowned, glaring down the tunnel. Marcello might not even notice she’d left him, not with the things he was probably doing with the prostitute. Able to picture it vividly, she winced. It strengthened her resolve. The torch glowed on the bottom of the catacomb floor. She had to leave it, unable to climb her way out and carry it at the same time. Besides, once outside, she didn’t want to draw attention to herself by carrying a large flame above her head like a beacon. She looked down, listening for Marcello and knowing she would most likely not hear him if he were to come. Taking a step, she began to run toward the alleyway’s entrance. “Beautiful night for a walk, is it not?” Tatiana stiffened. Her eyes glanced up just in time to see a strong chest in her line of vision. She lifted her hands, crashing into it. She jumped back. Her eye rounded in horror. “Marcello,” she whispered, seeing his familiar face. She shivered. There was something different about him. His face was the same, though she did not readily recognize the expression on it. He seemed to be … pleasant. She frowned, distrusting the look instantly. “Bella donna,” Marcello mused in a peculiar way she’d never noticed before. His dark eyes roamed her face. Tatiana shivered. He examined her intimately, studying her every curve, inspecting her. His dark gaze lingered on her beasts until she had the insane urge to slap him. His lips twitched up as she thought it and she knew he’d detected the urge. “What new torment have you planned for me now, my lord?” she spat. Her jade eyes narrowed in displeasure. Her hands came to her hips. “Exquisite,” he murmured. “So much passion.” “Not for you,” she spat. In truth, Tatiana was terrified. She did not like this side of him. She liked him brooding and dark, not smiling and pleasant. This version was much more dangerous. Marcello threw back his head and laughed. His words dripped with sarcasm and disgust, as he exclaimed, “So much fire!” Tatiana stiffened. He began to pace around her, still studying her, looking her over like a prize mare. “Would you like to see my teeth?” she asked sharply, when he had come full circle. “Or perhaps I can lift a hoof off the ground for you.” To her amazement, he laughed again, a wild sound and seemed to find amusement in her blatant distaste for him. Tatiana pulled back. Her heart began to beat slightly faster, edged with fear. Had she pushed him too far by trying to escape, by trying to break her words of loyalty to him? In a movement so swift, he darted forward, sweeping her into his embrace. She shivered, opening her mouth to speak. A tingling went up her spine, not pleasant, but not bad either. She looked up at him, still thinking how strange he appeared. “Ah, bella donna,” he whispered. His mouth brushed close, but did not claim hers. His lips pushed out softly and his eyes glimmered with an eerie green light, as he hushed, “Shhh.” Tatiana moaned, feeling a lethargic spell cast over her limbs. Instantly, she fell asleep.

Chapter Twelve

Somehow, Tatiana knew that she’d slept through the whole of a day before she ever opened her eyes. Yawning, she stretched. Something wasn’t right, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. Tatiana yawned again, opening one eye, as the loud sound escaped her throat. Instantly, she shot up in bed, clutching wool sheets to her chest. That is what had been off--the bed. It wasn’t soft or covered in silk. She wasn’t in the catacombs. The room was small, looking like inside of a tenement or boarding house. The wooden walls were rough planks. The fireplace was dusty and crumbling and barren. On the floor was a coffin. She frowned to see it. As she moved her head, her hair tickled her spine, causing her to shiver. She froze. She was naked. “Oh, God,” she whispered. She closed her eyes tightly. “I am having another vision. When I open my eyes, it will all be gone.” A low chuckle was her answer. A cool hand worked its way over her spine. She turned, wondering how she’d missed Marcello sitting behind her. She tried to edge away from him. Perhaps his power over her was wavering. She did not feel the same depth of attraction to him she had before. Perhaps seeing him with the prostitute had somehow freed her from him. He was still attractive, still handsome. Just looking at his body made her excited on a baser level, but the intensity was gone. Marcello wore only a tight pair of black breeches. His chest was naked--pale and strong. His arm flexed with agility, feeling his cool fingers along her back, making her skin tingle. His eyes flashed with his dark power. His fingers curled along her side, barely touching the edge of her breast before stroking down over her hip. “Why are we here?” she asked, weak. “Ah, this,” Marcello mused quietly, looking around with that unfamiliar expression of amusement. His deep voice was strangely lighthearted. “I am afraid there wasn’t much time to procure better arrangements last night. This place was an unfortunate necessity.” “Why didn’t you just go back to the catacombs?” she asked, frowning. “I have my reasons,” was all he said. His finger lightly moved to touch her bare shoulder, trailing over her arm. “You are so warm, so soft.” She stiffened, closing her eyes tight. His voice dripped with sugary meaning. “Where are my clothes, my lord?” “I took them off. I wanted to see you, touch you. I must say, you are very beautiful, bella donna.” His voice was completely without remorse. “You didn’t … you and I … we didn’t?” she gulped. She again tried to jerk her arm from his touch, pulling shyly from him. He merely followed her with his hand, continuing over her back where he could reach. “Does it matter? If you can’t remember it, it is all the same to you, is it not?” Tatiana knew he was right. He’d seen her before, bathed her, touched and kissed her. One more night wouldn’t matter. It was just as well she didn’t recall it. She had enough memories to fight. “I saw you,” she whispered. “I saw the human you.” Marcello stiffened. His fingers stopped. “You were in a garden, in a house in the mountains. There was this party and you were talking with a group of friends,” she said. “You had on this cream colored waistcoat and a dark blue jacket and a brown wig--at least I think it was a wig because everyone wore them. You couldn’t see me, but for a moment I think you might have felt me. Then I turned and I saw you again, only you were wearing a red jacket.” “Why do you tell me this?” Marcello asked, continuing his fascinated exploration of her back. He moved to test her response to his lightly scraping nails. She shivered. “Because I want to know what it means. I want to know why I have these visions. I want to make them stop,” she whispered. She still gripped the sheets to her chest. “Please, do you remember it? Do you remember anything about that day I describe?” Marcello shrugged. “It could’ve been one day out of many or many days made into one. How am I to know?” “I want them to stop,” she whispered. Tears came to her eyes, stabbing her in the chest with the agony of what she confessed. “I don’t want to see anymore. Please, find another witch. This time I will gladly bind my powers. Please, just find a witch. I don’t want to see anymore. I don’t want to feel them anymore. I saw … Alice … she was dead … and….” Tatiana couldn’t finish. She began crying, sobbing wretched tears. She flung her body forward into Marcello’s arms. She didn’t feel their strong connection and it killed her to lose it. She never realized how much she relied on the thin hope of her feelings for him. If she lost them too, no matter how illusory her feelings were, she’d be completely alone. She would have no one left. She felt his naked chest pressed to hers, divided by only the sheet. Remembering the pleasure he’d given her, she kissed him.

Marcello started in surprise as her arms wound across his neck. But then, a low chuckle of satisfaction left his lips and he began kissing her back in a way he’d never done before. She shivered, pulling away, tasting her lips as she studied him. “There is something different about you,” she whispered in confusion. “I am what I am,” Marcello answered. His eyes were dark, narrowing in an unfamiliar way. Was she beginning to see him clearly? Was some spell she lingered under coming to an end? Marcello grabbed her to him once more, flinging her down on her back as he began to roughly kiss her mouth, devouring her, perhaps even punishing her. His fingers ripped the sheet from her chest as his lips moved to her neck. He began massaging her large breasts in his palm, circling the nipples in bruising strokes until they were budded and hard. Tatiana gasped for breath. He was smothering her. Usually Marcello had a bit of gentleness to his touches, even in his roughness, but now he was just taking what he wanted--emotionlessly and cold, driven only by the physical need for release. She began to strike his shoulders. His kisses became rougher, too forceful. She felt his mouth opening to bite. She started to scream, but she never had a chance. Suddenly, a shadow came across her face. She blinked, as if dreaming. Her hands stopped moving as she stared. Teeth pierced her flesh and she jolted to feel a mouth sucking against her neck. “Marcello?” she whispered, stunned. Above her, standing with his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes spouting fire, was Marcello. Or was it? She screamed, loud and long, hitting the man who bit into her. Her nails lashed out at his naked back like claws, scratching his skin to bleeding. The wounds healed instantly, leaving the vampire unharmed. The vampire at her neck pulled back, smiling at her. He licked his lips, crimson with her blood. He, too, looked like Marcello. Tatiana screamed again. She grabbed the sheet, scurrying away from them. She felt a trail of blood running over her neck and didn’t care. “Two,” Tatiana whispered, faintly. She looked from one man to the other. They were a perfect match, down to the squareness of their jaws to the shape of their handsome, deep set eyes. Even their arms looked to be the exact same build. The only difference was their expression. The half naked Marcello’s eyes gleamed with great humor and mischief. The other Marcello was brooding and raw. Looking at the newest Marcello, she asked, “Marcello? What is going on…?” “So you do know me,” Marcello murmured, his expression growing darker. “You weren’t tricked into my brother’s bed, but went willingly. Tell me, baldracca, did he have to pay for you to spread your legs or did you just do it to spite me?” Tatiana’s mouth fell open. She noticed that they both stared at her, never once looking at each other. There was no affection shown between them, no kind greeting. These two were enemies. Weakly, she repeated, “Two?” The half naked brother began to laugh. He was enjoying himself. “I found your little witch out roaming the streets. I smelled your mark on her, brother, and I merely thought to keep her safe for you. You must admit, she’s hard to refuse, once she offers her body so … passionately.” “I thank you for returning my property, Leandro,” Marcello stated with darkness to his hard tone. Tatiana felt as if he’d slapped her. She felt so low, so pathetic. Her heart squeezed. Her lips shook. He practically snarled at her, as he commanded, “Come, bella.” “Bella donna,” Leandro said, his eyes alight with a wayward charm. “Thank you for the immense pleasure of your taste.” Tatiana cringed as Leandro licked his lips in meaning. Her hand automatically lifted to her neck, feeling the warm stickiness of her blood. Leandro bowed low before her. His dark eyes flashed with a peculiar blend of red, reflecting her stolen blood back to her. Tatiana flinched. Marcello said nothing, but finally moved to glance at his brother with disdain. Leandro smiled at him and Tatiana had a feeling there was more to their feud than her presence in Leandro’s bed. Whatever it was, she did not want to be in the middle of it. “Please,” Tatiana said softly, breaking the tension building between their eyes. “Can I have my clothes?” Marcello tensed. His jaw hardened. Leandro smiled, an absolutely charming smile, which Tatiana felt herself oddly drawn to. “But of course, bella donna,” Leandro murmured. His tone was deep and seductive. She flinched wishing his words hadn’t sounded so intimate. Leandro leapt lightly into the air, flying across the small room with slow ease to land next to her. She gasped, pulling back. Marcello just watched, saying nothing. “But first,” Leandro said. He bit his finger and wiped his blood over the wound on her neck so it would heal. “I wouldn’t want you to bleed to death.

It would be a pity to lose one such as you.” Tatiana shivered, knowing there was more to that statement than Leandro let on. She turned her face from him, not wanting to see him so close. It was eerie how much he looked like his twin. She should’ve known it wasn’t Marcello. He didn’t feel like Marcello did to her. “Ah, thanks,” she stammered. Then, hesitantly, she asked, “It was you I saw kissing that woman at the music hall, wasn’t it?” Leandro bowed, nodding his head in confirmation. He crossed over to a small dresser hidden by a dark corner. Her dress lay on top, neatly folded. He handed the pile to her, undergarments and all, and smiled. Tatiana took them, backing away. She watched Leandro and Marcello wearily. Going from dark, brooding eyes to merry brown ones and back again, she shivered and demanded, “Turn around.” Leandro laughed happily. Marcello snarled. It was Marcello who answered. “Why does it matter, Tatiana? We have both seen you. We have both tasted your charms.” Tatiana flinched. She didn’t think it was possible for Marcello to make her feel more like a whore than she already did, but he had. She sunk to an even deeper low. Pressing her lips tightly together, she lifted her chin and dropped the blanket, standing completely naked. Moisture welled in her eyes, but she was too proud to let it fall. She dressed quickly with both of them watching her every movement. Once she was in the chemise and covered, it was easier to move. She slipped the dress over her head, forgetting the corset and hose. Then, as she reached to lace her gown in back, Leandro whisked forward to help. “Allow me,” he murmured. His eyes danced with pleasure, but she was too tired to stop him. When she was laced, she turned to Marcello. He’d turned to the door and was staring at the wood as if he could break it with his will. His fists were clenched tightly at his sides, but he didn’t speak. Leandro picked up her hand and drew it to his lips before she could protest. But, instead of kissing it, he turned her wrist to his mouth and licked the pulse lightly. In a whisper, he said, “We shall meet again.” “That will not be necessary, Leandro,” Marcello stated in a dark whisper. “We are leaving Paris. Your services will not be required. There is no reason for you to try and protect my property.” “You can’t leave Paris, brother,” Leandro said. “An old friend comes to visit. I expect you’ll entertain us. He is so looking forward to see you again.” Tatiana saw Marcello tense. She got the feeling they spoke privately with their minds so she wouldn’t hear them. She didn’t care at the moment. All she wanted was to get out of the small, dingy room and away from both of them. “Very well,” Marcello stated at last. His voice full of authority, he stated, “Come, Tatiana.” Leandro didn’t move out of her way. A slow, seductive smile curled on one side of his firm mouth. His eyes dipped down to the floor and he bowed his head to her in farewell. Tatiana shivered, pushing past him. Marcello was already out the door and she had to run to catch up to him. She rushed through the dim hall of the boarding house, followed by the eerie sound of Leandro’s mocking laughter. **** Marcello paced the length of his dining room. The fire blazed angrily, feeding off his emotions as he passed it. He motioned his hand absently to tame it down to a gentle roar. Tatiana was in his bedchamber, taking a bath. In fact, he insisted upon her taking one. His brother’s scent was all over her, though in truth, he couldn’t tell if Leandro had fucked her, or if he merely touched her. But, remembering the position he’d found the two in, it wasn’t hard to deduce that Leandro had. Marcello hated Leandro for it, but he couldn’t blame him. Tatiana was too much of a temptress to resist and her strong witch blood was like a drug to his kind. He himself couldn’t get enough of it or her. When he discovered Tatiana missing, he’d been terrified. He’d run up into the alleyway, had tried to detect her within the nearby streets, but she’d vanished. Then, as dawn had come, he’d been forced to find his bed. It had been the longest day of his life and sleep did not come to him easily. His eyes narrowed as he stared into the fire. His fingers lifted, gripping into the hard stone of the mantel. What was happening to him? What was she doing to him? He was losing his mind. The woman was absolutely driving him mad! His ears detected the sound of Tatiana standing from the bath. He tensed, easily imagining droplets of water, shining gold from the firelight, clinging to her flesh. How he longed to lick the moisture from her hard nipples, to touch her body with his, letting it glide against him.

Before he knew what he did, he was across the dining room and pushing open the bedchamber door. He gulped, finding Tatiana drying herself off with a bath linen. A low growl came from his throat. His body was starved for her. Tatiana blinked at the sound, instantly moving away from him. Marcello was sorry for her fear, but did not know how to alleviate it. He’d lived a century and had learned many things, but it would seem he’d forgotten some things as well. He’d forgotten how to comfort with words and acts. He’d forgotten what it was like to be looked at in happiness and pleasure, pure emotions that weren’t induced by his enthrallment over his victim. They could be happy together, he knew they could be. It’s why he took her from her home. He wanted her to be with him. He wanted her happiness, her pleasure in his company. But, he couldn’t force something that wasn’t there. The well of loneliness opened inside his chest. It poured out over him stronger than ever before, causing him to snarl viciously at her. She flinched and he could smell her fear of him. He hated that fear. All he wanted was for her to love him, and she didn’t even like him. He’d tried to force her to love him, tried to manipulate her into it. Nothing he’d done had worked. He’d bought her the best gowns in all of Paris--beautiful, expensive gowns made by the most exclusive of seamstresses. He’d bought her the jeweled necklace and in fact had many more for her, but was reluctant to give them over for fear she’d take them as payment for the services of her flesh. He wanted her to be with him willingly. Marcello had redecorated his catacomb home for her, hoping she would find pleasure within the walls. It was his dream that she could forget the demon he’d become, forget that she lived her life with him below the streets in a large tomb--forget that he was undead, cursed. Marcello had seen to everything as he waited to claim her. He’d even tried to give her a gift--the gift of a life of adventure that he could detect her longing for since the first moment he saw her with Henry in the forest. He’d taken her to the Moulin Rouge, showed her another world and longed to show her many more. If she loved him, he would give her anything--everything. If she could only love him, he would die for her, risk the flame of sunlight if she so desired. But she couldn’t love him. She couldn’t love a demon. And, try as he might, he couldn’t blame her for it. Marcello’s lips parted, showing the tips of his fangs. Her eyes drew to them and rounded. “Are you going to punish me?” she asked weakly.

As you punish me, bella mia? he thought sadly. Marcello turned his back on her to face the fire, so she could get dressed. His body was rigid. He didn’t trust himself to speak. The scent of her was in his head, tormenting him. He wanted her even now, despite the fact that she’d slept with his brother. Tatiana eyed the Count’s stiff back. She didn’t need the power of her ancestry to detect the anger in him, the disappointment, the raging beast that flowed beneath the surface. She slowly edged to pass near him. He’d left the door open and she did the only thing she could think of, she ran. Tatiana didn’t know where she was going, or what she would do wrapped only in a linen, dripping with water. All she knew was she needed to get away from Marcello. She didn’t recall her night with Leandro, but it didn’t mean nothing happened. She’d seen the way Leandro looked at her. It was possible they’d slept together. But, she also knew, that if the choice had been hers to make, she wouldn’t have. She couldn’t even fathom sleeping with anyone but Marcello. Tatiana knew she wouldn’t get far. Marcello’s hand gripped her arms as they met the first step leading out of his home. A cry escaped her lips, though his hold was gentle. At the sound, he instantly let her go, as if his touched burned her. Tatiana pulled back, crying. She saw his unmovable, handsome face and it tore at her heart. She tried to hate him, but she couldn’t. “Stop crying,” Marcello ordered, his voice harsh and gravelly. The sound reverberated in the back of her skull and she cried harder. He grimaced as if uncomfortable by her show of emotion. “I am not going to hurt you, bella mia.” Tatiana didn’t believe him. She still felt his displeasure in her, his anger. She tried to back away, but her feet hit the stairs and she fell back on them hard, still clutching the linen to her chest. A loud howl of anger left him and he roared viciously at her. Tatiana gasped, her tears instantly stopping at the sound. Her lips trembled. His voice was fiery and raw, as he yelled, “What is it you want from me, woman?” Tatiana thought about that. She didn’t know how to answer. There was no point asking him for something he couldn’t give. “I don’t know,” she whispered, shivering. The fire provided light in the front hall, but little warmth. His nostrils flared. “You tremble for me, bella? I would’ve thought you’d be sated by my brother.”

Tatiana flinched. He was being deliberately cruel and they both knew it. “I tremble from cold, not for you. And I would’ve thought your little

baldracca would’ve calmed the foul temper in you. Perhaps you should find her and demand a refund.” “Unfortunately, your little stunt cost me my whore and I have yet to be sated.” Marcello reached down for her, pulling her roughly up and straight into his deep kiss. She gasped in surprise. His strong arms wrapped around her, crushing her into his chest so she couldn’t struggle or escape. His tongue delved into her mouth, demanding a response. Her whole body answered the call, singing with instant passion for him. His mouth moved roughly against her, slanting his kiss as he sucked the very will of her body into him. Tatiana was stunned by his heated embrace and escaping him was the last thing on her mind. She wanted to cry at the onslaught of emotion she felt for him, but knew he couldn’t return. Her hands lifted, gripping his shoulders for support. The strength in him left her knees weak until she could only cling to him, desperate and wanting. Her lungs began to burn for breath. She moaned, trying to break free from the pressure of his mouth. Her eyes widened as she tried to inhale against his tight kiss. Tatiana struck his shoulder, hard. Marcello’s eyes narrowed as he whipped his head back, misunderstanding her refusal. She gasped for breath. “Name your price then,” he whispered, hoarse. His features became blank as he stared at her. His dark eyes pierced forward into her, possessive. “What?” she whimpered, confused. “Your price,” he stated again. His eyes dipped to her mouth, swollen with his kisses. His hands massaged at her back and he pressed himself intimately into her hips. The length of him scalded her through his breeches and the thin bath linen. She gasped, suddenly not feeling so cold. “How much for the night?” Tatiana knew that she should’ve been insulted by his question, and a small part of her was, but more of her was thrilled that he wanted her so much he was willing to pay for her company. Not knowing where the answer came from, she whispered, “Free Cesare.” “Done,” came his instant answer, no hesitation. Tatiana hadn’t expected agreement from him. Marcello obviously thought the negotiations were over, for his lips swooped down. His mouth was gentler than before, giving more than taking. She moaned lightly and felt his body tremble in response. Her hands worked at his jacket, gliding it off his shoulders. Marcello let her undress him. Her fingers fumbled on the buttons of his shirt, his waistcoat. He didn’t hurry her, didn’t help her. Tatiana moaned again and again. The linen dropped from her body, forgotten on the floor. His hands slid over her skin, pressing tender and firm. She gasped as he explored all of her back. Her fingers moved beneath his shirt, working it and the waistcoat from his shoulders. The clothing landed on the floor. “I want to feel you,” she breathed, unaware that she said the thought out loud until Marcello groaned into her mouth. Her body rubbed against his. He tore his mouth away, biting and licking a soft trail down her neck to her collarbone. Tatiana arched against him, pressing her body into his. Her leg lifted, opening her body up to him. Marcello let her go long enough to slip the breeches from his hips. She stepped back, panting, eyeing his perfect form. His arousal stood so tall and thick, proudly displayed as he came for her. Tatiana took a step back, panting heavily. Marcello smiled. His jaw lowered as he came for her. His hand slowly lifted with liquid grace and the candles around the front hall lit up only to mellow to soft glows. Tatiana gasped. It was as if they were surrounded by stars. Suddenly, she burst forward. Her arms flew around his neck and she kissed him deeply. Her hands delved into his hair before fitting to his shoulders. She braced herself, hopping up to wrap her legs around his trim waist. Pulling back, she kissed deeply along his jaw to his neck. She bit at him. Without having to be asked, Marcello cut into his flesh with his nail, drawing a river of blood near her lips. Tatiana moaned, wiggling against his waist, searching for him with her hips. He grabbed her firmly about the waist and lifted. With a mighty thrust, he was buried deep inside the warmth of her body. She accepted him, stretching to take him. She moaned, drinking lightly against this neck, liking the forbiddingly wicked taste of his passion in her mouth. She pulled back and tried to move on him. Marcello walked her to the stairs, laying her down on the hard stone. She gasped to feel the coldness on her back, but as the position gave him leverage to begin his shallow strokes, she didn’t mind. Tatiana passed her wrist by his mouth, watching his eyes. They swirled with an inner fire that drove her to distraction. She watched them light with a possessive, needing heat as he licked her pulse. His hips still rocked into her, thrusting slow and deep. She writhed against him. Marcello’s mouth hesitated as he looked deep into her eyes. He swallowed hard, tormented that he couldn’t just take her like a man

without the thought of devouring her soul, her blood. But, then, she smiled up at him and pressed her wrist more firmly to his mouth. Her jade eyes glowed softly and he knew in the moment that she accepted his need for her blood and was giving it over willingly. He couldn’t resist and bit into her. The flavor of her burned into his very soul. Tatiana moaned in excitement. She felt them connecting and couldn’t explain or fight it. Her feet braced as she met his thrust with her own. Her hand smoothed over his chest to his hip, liking the feel of his moving body. Marcello tore his mouth away. At the urging of her moans and whimpers he gave her what she craved. His pace quickened. Tremors racked Tatiana’s body and she cried out. Marcello held back, riding her hard and fast until her body tensed and exploded in straining perfection. Her eyes closed. Her fingers gripped into the length of his hair, pulling slightly as she was brought to full release. Only when he knew she’d given him everything, did he allow his body to explode within her. Marcello groaned loudly, letting her take everything from him. He didn’t care anymore. She may not want it or realize it, but she owned his soul--whatever dark fragment was left of it. **** Leandro looked over the city of Paris from his perch high on a rooftop. He liked the height, able to look down at the helpless wandering humans, watching them, studying or ignoring them at will, choosing his next meal from amongst them. Small lights danced over the distance, but his gaze stared at the strange contraption hitting the sky. Feeling a presence behind him, he muttered, “I will never understand why Monsieur Gustave Eiffel was allowed to build such a monstrosity. They call it a monument commemorating the centenary of their Revolution. You must visit Rome with me, Broderick, or even Greece and the Cyclades. There you will see monuments built with skill and precision. And they are of beautiful marble, not this revolting steel.” Leandro stood from were he crouched. His hair was pulled back, tied at the nape so the long waves of brown were kept off his face. He turned his dark eyes to his friend and smiled. His look was charming, but Broderick wasn’t fooled. They had been friends too long for him not to know the pain the look hid. “I have told you countless times for countless decades. I wouldn’t go so near Delos. The Vampire Council wouldn’t take kindly to me stepping so close to their grounds.” Broderick’s voice was as smooth as silk edged with the beginning tenor of a growl. It was a sound that caused mortal and immortal women alike to swoon. “The last time I was there it nearly cost me my life and almost started a clan war.” Leandro took one last look around Paris before tilting his head for Broderick to follow. He jumped down to the street below, falling from his great height and landing on the pavement. He turned to watch Broderick, his brown hair ruffled as he jumped down. He too landed neatly. They began to walk down the silent, abandoned street. “I tasted my brother’s witch,” Leandro said. “Her blood is strong, intoxicating.” “Ah, then you have made amends with you brother?” Broderick asked, though his words did not have much hope in them. “No, but he was most aggrieved to discover her naked in my arms this eve,” Leandro chuckled, though it was a humorless sound. “My sources believe she is truly descendent of the Addien line,” Broderick stated. Both men knew his involvement in this scheme was only duty, just as Leandro’s was personal. “I don’t doubt it myself. I have seen the jade of her eyes. I don’t wish to be involved in your feud. However, do you think that Marcello will turn the girl over to us willingly?” “Not a chance,” Leandro stated honestly. “She is too powerful, her blood too addictive. Even now I yearn for another small taste of it.” “Very well,” Broderick said, frowning. “Then we will take her from him. I have my orders. I will do it during the day so we can’t be tracked. It has been decided that we will test her sanity and her capabilities. I will help her to center her power if I can. If not, she’ll have to be killed.” “It would be a shame to kill her,” Leandro mused softly. “A shame indeed, for if her power can be focused, she’ll be a great ally to all immortals. Her powers of prediction would calm the fear of this new millennium we are upon.” “I just want my revenge,” Leandro stated. “I will help you in your cause, old friend, but I am in this solely for the revenge.” “I will take your help and gladly,” Broderick said. He bowed his head. “No matter the reason it is given.” “I can be ready to leave Paris in three days,” Leandro said, nodding in return. “Perfect. I will make sure all is ready for her. We cannot hesitate or her powers could kill us all.” Broderick jumped high into the air and disappeared. Leandro sighed. All masks of amusement and charm faded from his pale, hard features now that he was alone. He knew it was most likely that Tatiana would die. He’d read the truth of it well in Broderick’s voice. The old vampire didn’t care. She suited his purpose more in death anyway.

Chapter Thirteen Tatiana gasped for breath, looking over to where Marcello laid motionless next to her on the dining room table. Her body was sore and she was sure she couldn’t move. Marcello had just made love to her in a dozen different places and in twice as many ways. His eyes were mere slits as he stared at the ceiling. His chest didn’t heave with the exertions and she knew he wasn’t really tired. He was sated, but not tired. Taking her finger, she touched his jaw and delicately traced the line of it. He turned to look at her, his eyes questioning. She glanced up at the portrait of him, which stared eerily down at them, and shivered. “I saw your past,” she whispered. “I felt what you were like as a human.” Marcello visibly stiffened. He followed her eyes to the portrait. “I saw you in a garden in daylight. You, well I think it was you … you were wearing a blue coat and a cream waistcoat talking with a group of friends. You were happy. I’ve never seen you happy like that. And you were laughing. I can’t understand what you said, but I could tell it was a perfect day.” Marcello said nothing, only looked at his likeness, at the demon he’d become. Her voice was soft, wistful. He was no longer that man of whom she spoke. “The house was in the mountains. It was beautiful. I saw you twice, though it could’ve been your….” Tatiana hesitated, swallowing. Things were good between them at this brief moment. She didn’t want to ruin it. “My brother,” he stated coldly. “He wore a red jacket, just like mine with the same waistcoat.” “Yes,” she breathed. “What does it mean? Why did I see it?” “There is no meaning.” “There must be.” Tatiana sat up with newfound energy. She rolled, pushing up on her elbows to look at him. She laid a hand on his chest, over his steady heart. She wished his heart could still feel. But, as she looked into his dead, blank face, she didn’t believe it could. He never once gave her reason to hope and yet foolishly she did. “If you remember it … it must--” “No, bella mia,” he interrupted. His hand lifted to stroke her flushed cheek. His eyes softened by a small degree. When she saw it, her breath caught in her throat. “The day is of no importance. It was just a day. I only remember it for it was my last day as a human. That night I died.” “Was it painful? Your death?” Tatiana began trailing small circles over his skin, skating her fingers absently over him. “Yes,” he allowed without passion. “It was.” Tatiana shivered. “Did you sell your soul to the devil? Is that why you were made to be--” Marcello’s chuckle cut her off. She tried to pull back, but his hand on her fingers stopped her. He pressed her palm flat against his heart. “No, bella, I did not sell my soul. I wasn’t the seventh son of a seventh son. I wasn’t cursed by a witch, born to a bastard. Those are old stories told to frighten children. I was merely chosen by one of the vampire kind, for he wished for his life to be quickened once more. He saw Leandro and my youth, our nobility, our beauty and wanted it for himself.” “Then, if you wanted, you could make someone to join you?” Tatiana asked carefully, horrified by the idea and yet strangely intrigued. It was the first time they ever spoke without anger or fear between them. “I haven’t,” Marcello sated. “I can’t say that I won’t. Eternity is a long time, bella. Already, I have felt the strain of it.” “And you’ll never die?” she asked. “I never grow old, will never be sick,” he answered, “and, unless someone kills me, I will never die.” “What if you stopped drinking blood?” “I would go insane and attack,” Marcello said. Her eyes dipped away from his only to be drawn back. She shivered. Marcello lifted his hand and the fire blazed hotter. She smiled, grateful. His voice low, he admitted, “No, bella, it is better to feed the beast than to deny him.” “You won’t make me into what you are, will you?” she whispered.

Marcello saw the look on her face and frowned. “I give you my word, Tatiana, that even if you were to beg me, I will never curse you with what I am.” Slowly, she nodded, taking him at his word. She laid her head down on his chest. Marcello stroked her hair back from her face, grazing his nails comfortingly over her scalp. “Why was the man knocked unconscious in our booth? Was that why you were running away from me?” he asked softly. “Mm, yes. He tried to buy me. I hit him over the head to escape,” Tatiana said. She stiffened. “Why? Is he…?” “Alive? Very much so. Though, if I had known he’d attacked you, I might not have left him as such.” Tatiana yawned, relaxing once more, feeling a wave of pleasure wash over her at his possessive tone. Her eyed closed dreamily. “I’m so tired. I don’t think I can walk.” Marcello rolled, wrapping his limbs around her. She smiled, looking up at him through her lowered lids. She felt their bodies move with supernatural speed. The next moment, they were lying on the bed and Marcello was pulling a thick coverlet over their bodies. “Get the light, would you?” she murmured sleepily. Marcello smiled. The look made her heart catch. It was the last thing she saw as the fire was smothered. The bedchamber was thrown into complete darkness. Marcello lay on his back, not touching her, placing his hands behind his head. Tatiana sleepily gravitated toward him. He stiffened in surprise as she wove her leg over his thigh. Her hand crept up onto his chest and her head burrowed into his side. Instantly, she was in a deep sleep. Marcello swallowed, almost too afraid to move. Hesitantly, he lowered his arm, letting it settle protectively over her back. She moaned, snuggling closer. He felt her naked body, so soft and warm against him. A small smile of contentment and wonder came to his lips. For the first time in over a century, he imagined he was almost completely happy. **** Marcello’s eyes narrowed in anger as he stared at Tatiana. She pulled away from his arms and sat up with the sheet wrapped around her body. His happiness from the night before faded into black oblivion as he watched her. She showed no sign of affection toward him, gave no indication that anything happened. “Will you keep your word and free Cesare?” she repeated louder. Her back was to him and her dark hair wildly spilled over her shoulders. Bitterly, Marcello beckoned his servitor. He glared at her back. Anger and hurt made him say, “A professional would’ve collected the debt up front.” Tatiana gasped and he was almost sorry he allowed the words to pass his lips. Her round jade eyes turned to him. She swallowed visibly. “Then, you will not keep your word?” The door opened. Tatiana jolted in surprise. Marcello stood and crossed over to the wardrobe. He was well aware of Tatiana’s eyes on his naked body, but did not care. He grabbed a black silk robe and lightly pulled it over his arms. Cinching the belt, he turned to Cesare. “I release you, servitor.” Tatiana watched in amazement. Cesare began to bow only to stop. He blinked. The whites of his eyes filled in with a dark brown, as if stroked to life by an artist’s brush. The man jolted in surprise, his mouth agape as he looked all around. Cesare looked at the half naked woman in surprise. Tatiana blushed, trying to see if recognition dawned on his face. There was nothing. Marcello watched in silence, noting Tatiana’s hopeful expression. Cesare glanced down at his hands. He knew the man expected them to be old and wrinkled. They were only aged five years, still in the prime of youth. The man looked around in wonder only to turn to the vampire once more. In a very fast Italian that Tatiana couldn’t understand, Cesare said, “Conte Spoleti, my term with you, it is over?” Marcello motioned to Tatiana but did not look at her. In the same tongue, he answered, “Sì, she has taken your debt for you.” Cesare lifted his hand into the air. First, he went to Marcello. He took the vampire’s hand and bowed over it. Then, leaning up, he kissed his cheeks in gratitude. “Thank you, thank you,” Cesare murmured. “Thank you for the life of my sister, Conte. Bless you, bless you.”

Marcello glanced at Tatiana. She didn’t understand the man and only stared on in confusion. Cesare then turned to Tatiana. He smiled kindly at her, took her hand, and kissed it enthusiastically. “Grazie!” Cesare kissed her hand another time, squeezing and shaking it in his enthusiasm. “Grazie, angelo!” Cesare turned to leave them, looking for the door and rushing to it in his excitement. “Wait,” Tatiana said. Marcello watched her carefully. The servitor turned at the sound of her voice, his eyebrows furrowing, worried. She looked at Marcello. Softly, she said, “You should tell him where he is at and give him some money so he can get home.” Marcello quietly relayed her words. Cesare frowned but nodded. Marcello turned to the wardrobe and grabbed a little bag of coins. He tossed them to the man and waved him away. “Grazie, Conte, grazie!” “Tatiana?” Marcello asked hesitant. Her face was turned, but he could see she cried. “He didn’t know me,” she whispered. “You were right.” Marcello frowned. Anger and jealousy curled inside of him. He slipped out of his robe and dressed with much haste. When he was finished, she hadn’t moved. “Stay here tonight, bella. I go to hire servants and arrange a dinner. Tomorrow, we will entertain my guests.” Tatiana gasped, turning to look at him. By the time she found the door, he was already gone. She began to cry. Marcello freed Cesare like she asked and, though she was happy for the man, she couldn’t help her tears. The honorable vampire had settled his debt. Marcello had paid his whore. She was nothing else to him. **** Marcello didn’t come home until early morning. He barely said two words to her as he climbed into bed. She wore only a silk robe. Marcello slept in the nude. He did not move to touch her, though she waited. The next evening when they awoke at dusk, Marcello slid silently out of bed. He crossed naked and unashamed to the wardrobe and, without making a sound, began laying out a dress for her to wear. Tatiana watched him in silence, yawning, still a little fuzzy from sleep. She rubbed her eyes, blinking wearily as she stared at the gown. “Get dressed,” Marcello said. His eyes studied her briefly before turning to the wardrobe. “We must greet our guests.” Marcello stretched his naked arms over his head. His dark hair spilled gorgeously over his shoulders. Tatiana’s heart fluttered in her chest and she forced her eyes away. “They are your guests, my lord,” she answered quietly, though she did stand to do as he ordered. “And you are my….” Marcello hesitated, not sure how to finish. He stopped moving, his hand stayed on a linen shirt in the wardrobe. “I am your whore,” she flatly stated for him. Marcello closed his eyes, but did not correct her. The gown he laid out for her was a dark green satin, much like the red, only more ornate with wrap over panels on the narrow skirt. The skirt flared lightly at the hem and hugged tight along her waist. There was one thick strap going over her shoulders and two smaller ones falling over her arms beneath it. Long white gloves reached past her elbows. Tatiana sighed, going to look at herself in the mirror. Marcello stepped up behind her. He was fully dressed. His green and gold waistcoat matched the shade of her gown, giving him a hint of color beneath his jacket. His breeches and jacket were black. His hands lifted to her hair, as if he would style it. She shook him off. “I can do it,” she stated simply. Tatiana thought to see disappointment in his gaze, but he bowed and stepped away. She grabbed a brush and hairpins from the wardrobe and made quick work of her black locks. When she was done, her hair was tight to her head and adorned with green silk flowers flecked with gold. “Here,” Marcello said, his voice soft. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a heavy emerald necklace. She shivered as he slid the cold stones around her throat. The beautiful necklace hugged tight to her neck. Tatiana wanted to cry, but instead lifted her chin. “Another payment, my lord?” Marcello tensed and she instantly saw her mistake. His nostrils flared, his hands fell stiffly to his sides as if he would like nothing more than

to strike. A low growl escaped him and he did not touch her. “I expect you to be on your best behavior tonight. These guests will not put up with your rash tongue as I have. Insult them, bella mia, and they will rip your head off,” Marcello’s narrow gaze glared out at her. Tatiana nodded. Breathless, she whispered, “I understand.” “Good.” Marcello turned from her and left her alone in the room.

**** Tatiana sat at the head of the formal dining table. Marcello was at the other side. Only if she leaned over could she see him around the large vase of blood red roses in the middle and the dancing flames of candles. To her left were the humans. To her right were the vampires. It hadn’t been hard for her to pick out which of their guests were humans and which were not. Only the humans ate the meal and drank the wine set before them. And they seemed completely oblivious to the fact that their undead companions did not. The humans were bloated noblemen who spoke with authority on many topics, but knew nary a thing about one of them. They spoke in English, which was thickened by French accents, in deference to Marcello’s ‘courtesan’. Marcello had not flinched as he boldly introduced her as his lover. Tatiana was stunned by the easy way her station eased from his lips, but she kept her face blank the entire time they received guests. She was just thankful he called her il mio amante and not a whore. The bloated noblemen all sat with their mistresses. They were women of lower standing, though they were richly decked in baubles from their benefactors. They wore dresses of expensive silks and satins, trimmed with lace and gaudy amounts of pleats and tucks. The noblemen showed the lovely women off with pride--like a doll maker shows off a porcelain masterpiece they have dressed up and put on display for the world to see. The women didn’t seem to mind their place and in fact flaunted it openly with laughing gaiety that made Tatiana sick to her stomach. The vampires were more severe in nature and gave her constant chills. Their eyes looked about with a peculiar inner glow that seemed almost green at times. Tatiana knew from experience that they read the mortal guests, listening to their thoughts. A few turned to her and she was careful to keep her mind blank. Luckily, out of respect to their host, the vampires left her alone. All except the distracting Leandro, who openly stared at her, smiling in a way that left her cold. Leandro had greeted her with a warm, charming smile and a liquid gaze that dipped over her body as if he knew it intimately. Marcello had stiffened under her hand, but said nothing and did not move to stop him. Tatiana’s heart had fallen in disappointment. Part of her wished he cared enough to be jealous. The other vampires were mainly an entourage of one vampire who Marcello introduced as Gio. It seemed Gio was in Paris on business and, being as he was from Tuscany like Marcello, he thought to pay Marcello a visit. Gio came laden with many bottles of wine, which they presented to the human guests. Tatiana wasn’t sure she liked Gio. Though the old vampire was polite, his eyes had a hardened glint to their black depths. His long, straight hair touched his waist and when he smiled she could see dimples on both cheeks. Tatiana could feel he was powerful. He was tall, towering over Marcello by about four inches, and very slender. Like Marcello, he was at the height of impeccable dark fashion. The conversation was light, but Tatiana ignored it as she forced herself to take small bites of the roasted chicken and even smaller sips of the strong wine. She spent most of the evening fighting off the advances of a man they simply called Lord Adolfe. His small, beady eyes stared at her chest more than her face to the point his dark beauty of a companion was beginning to take notice. On her other side was Gio. His long fingers tapped on the tabletop, smoothing out the wrinkles he made in what could’ve been perceived as boredom. Tatiana sensed better. He seemed only to be biding his time. “You don’t drink?” Tatiana blinked in surprise. Her jade eyes moved at the low, sultry sound of Gio’s voice to meet his black eyes. They appeared almost amused with her. She shivered in response. “Don’t worry, child, for your drink is not tainted.” Gio shot her a ghost of a smile. “You belong to Marcello. None here would dare to harm you.” A cold wave of fear shot through her as she looked at the unsuspecting humans. She began to speak, when she felt a hand rubbing its way up her thigh and froze. With a frown, she grabbed her fork and delicately slipped it beneath the table. With a hard jab, she stabbed Lord Adolfe in his meaty hand. He yelped in pain, turning to glare at Tatiana as he shot up in this chair. Instantly Marcello stood, his dark eyes narrowing in from across the table. His actions prompted the rest of the vampire guests to stand. The humans stopped talking, their smiles fading at the seriousness of their host and his pale friends. ‘Bella mia?’ Tatiana heard Marcello’s voice in her head and she jolted in mild surprise.

I’m fine, she thought, trying to direct it at him but not knowing if it worked. She leaned over to meet his eyes. He smiled at her and nodded, signifying he’d heard her. Tatiana was surprised to discover it had worked. One by one the vampires took their seat, following Marcello’s lead. To Tatiana’s surprise, the humans took up again like nothing had happened. Gio smiled at her and winked. Leandro nodded his head when he caught her gazing in his direction. She couldn’t get over how much Marcello looked like his twin. But, as she studied them, she realized subtle difference that made him so much different. Marcello leaned on his fist, his elbow planted firmly on the arm of his chair. He studied her quietly over the distance. She could feel his dark gaze moving over her and shivered. Taking up her glass, she took a long drink. The wine curled in her stomach and loosened her tight nerves. By the time servants came to remove the plates, the humans were nearly falling over drunk. The vampires just smiled, watching them, talking pleasantly with them. A sick sense of dread came over Tatiana. She had a feeling she wasn’t going to like how this night ended. “Tell me, Marcello,” Gio said. “Have you seen my old friend, Jirí?” Marcello slowly shook his head and Tatiana saw Leandro look down to study his longer nails. The brothers looked uncomfortable. “No, not for many years now.” “Who’s Jirí?” Tatiana asked, before she could stop herself. “She doesn’t know?” Leandro asked, turning curiously to his brother before leaning to address Tatiana. “He is our father.” Marcello stiffened. He dropped his arm and motioned his fingers to an attendant standing motionless behind him. The servant bowed and turned. Suddenly, the sound of violins drifted in from the other room. Gio smiled. His dark eyes narrowed on the dark beauty before him. Without him having to say a word, she stood and walked around the table to him. Gio rose, taking her arm. Lord Adolfe’s mouth fell open slightly, but he didn’t dare protest as Gio shot him a look of warning and led the woman to the front hall for a dance. Lord Adolfe blinked and turned to her. His smarmy grin again lit his lecherous face and he seemed to forget all about her stabbing him. It was obvious he wasn’t used to being refused. “Mademoiselle, would you do me the honor of--” he began. “No,” Tatiana stated loudly with a hard finality. Lord Adolfe gasped. She ignored him, instead turning at the soft sound of laughter behind her back. Tatiana looked up at Marcello. He gave her a half smile and bowed to her. Lifting her hand into his, she let him lead her from the seat. She noticed that other couples had gathered on the dance floor--mainly the vampires stealing away the drunken men’s women. The human men were lethargic, nearly asleep in their chairs. Tatiana shivered, drawing closer to Marcello’s chest. He tried to dance with her, but she couldn’t move. She looked earnestly up at him, her round jade eyes trying to be brave. “Please,” she whispered. “Let me retire. I don’t want to watch this.” “Watch what, bellamia?” Marcello asked. At his insistence, she allowed him to lead her to the gentle, beautiful music. I don’t want to watch you kill these people, she thought, hoping he’d hear it. He did and stiffened. “You really do think me a monster, don’t you?” he mused quietly. He didn’t speak again, pulling her closer to his chest as they danced. As the night wore on the dancing didn’t stop. The men still sat with their eyes in a stupor. The wine in her veins made her forget all but Marcello and the movements of his lithe body close to hers. He didn’t speak as he wove a spell around them. She almost forgot there were others in the room. “Marcello, here.” Tatiana blinked, turning to see a blond vampire who came with Gio. He was offering his dance partner’s wrist to Marcello as if it was most natural to do so. She glanced around, seeing that the other vampires fed on the drunken women. The women moaned, rubbing themselves against the immortal creatures who kept them enthralled. Some of them had several bite marks in various places. Almost in a trance, the vampires would switch partners, only to drink from a new victim before switching again. Tatiana had no desire for the other vampires to drink from her. She moved closer to Marcello. “You must drink,” the blond one said. “You must try her. Gio’s wine is strong in her veins.”

Marcello looked uncomfortable. Without knowing where the words came from, Tatiana pushed the woman’s wrist away from them and said, “He already has a meal.” Marcello stiffened in concealed surprise and turned to her. The blond vampire smiled in appreciation of her boldness. His eyes edged with a bit of jealousy until she realized he’d actually wanted Marcello to switch partners with him. Tatiana kept her eyes on the blond vampire, more out of fear than anything else. To prove her point, she wrapped an arm around Marcello’s neck and pulled him to her throat. Her fingers wound into his silky hair. Marcello had no choice but to bite her. The others stopped dancing at her comment to watch. She smiled slightly at them, letting them see she belonged only to one of them. She wouldn’t be traded about. Leandro frowned at her and turned away. She didn’t have time to think about it as he climbed up the stairs and disappeared out the door. A light moan escaped her as Marcello’s lips caressed and sucked at her neck. He pulled back at the sound, biting his lips to heal her, before lifting his cheek in a soft nuzzle against her face. When he pulled back, his gaze was rimmed with the red of her blood. Looking deeply into her eyes, he murmured, “A fine vintage indeed. My compliments to your winemaker, Gio.” Tatiana shivered in pleasure as the heated words rolled over her. She looked up at him, dreamy-eyed. Leaning over, Marcello kissed Tatiana’s cheek lightly. “Go to our room, bella mia, and await me there.” Tatiana stiffened. Her eyes opened wide as if to protest. She swallowed nervously before nodding in agreement. She saw the look on Marcello’s face, begging her not to cause a scene. She gave him a small curtsey and turned, making her way along the empty side of the table. When she was gone, Marcello felt a presence beside him. “She is a very beautiful mortal,” the blond vampire said. Marcello felt the restlessness of his vampiric guests. Tatiana was a tempting treat whom they all wanted to taste. He would’ve asked them to leave, but he couldn’t be rude and kick them out of his home. Instead, he smiled, turning to look at the blond vampire who had asked to taste his witch. “Sì, Gereon, she is beautiful, but she is not so special.” Marcello grinned widely. At Tatiana’s dismissal, the vampires began spilling over toward the men to drink from them. Others disappeared with women down the hall where Cesare once slept to slake their other desires. Others, still, lounged on the chairs by the wall, sipping their oblivious, drunken meals at leisure. “She is possessive, jealous. It amuses me to indulge her. Just as it will amuse me to break her heart.” Gereon laughed. “Now,” Marcello said, letting his green tinted eyes fall on the woman Gereon held. He reached for her, entrancing her to him. Lifting her wrist to his mouth, Marcello bared his fangs. “How about that taste?” **** Tatiana waited in the bedroom for Marcello to come to bed. She was too afraid to change from her dress, though she did take the silk flowers out of her hair. She also put the emerald necklace away in the wardrobe along with her gloves The visiting vampires didn’t leave until it was nearly dawn. She felt them more than she heard them outside the door. When the door to the bedchamber finally opened, Tatiana sat up on the bed. Her wide eyes turned to Marcello. His gaze looked a bit glassy. “Are you…?” she began, coming to her feet in worry. “Drunk,” he stated easily. Tatiana was confused. “But, you can’t drink win … oh. Oh!” His meaning dawned on her and she recoiled from him. “Yes, oh,” he chuckled. “You mean you … you…?” Tatiana studied him carefully. “I sent the humans home in their carriage. They will sleep for about a day, but will be fine.”

“You did?” she asked, surprised. “We are not always monsters, bella,” he sighed. Marcello shrugged out of his jacket and laid it over the chair. She watched him in open interest as he undressed. “Are the vampires gone?” she asked. “Yes,” he stated easily. “And they will not be back anytime soon.” “How come you never told me of Jirí?” “He has nothing to do with you,” Marcello answered, unbuttoning his white shirt. “He has little to do with me.” “Oh,” she sighed. Her eyes found a spot on the floor and she stared at it to keep from looking at the unintentional seduction his undressing had become. “I didn’t know you could get drunk off of blood.” Marcello chuckled. “Only with a certain blend of wine that is very potent on humans. Don’t worry, bella mia. You were not given any.” “Oh, yeah I know.” She dared a glance. Marcello pulled his shirt off and kicked off his shoes. She shivered with longing. Trying to sound nonchalant, she asked, “So … who did you drink from? One of the women?” Marcello’s eyes whipped around to her and he stopped in his task of freeing himself from his breeches. Striding across the bedchamber with supernatural grace, he stood before her. She knelt on the bed and didn’t move as he raised his hand to her chin. Softly, he asked, “Why all the questions, bella mia?” “No reason,” she lied. “Just curious.” “Would it bother you to know that I drank from another woman?” he persisted. His dark eyes searched her. Tatiana gulped. Try as she might, she couldn’t look away. She didn’t answer. “Are you jealous, bella mia?” “No,” she lied. His eyes narrowed in on her knowingly, searching. His hand moved to her throat, gauging the racing speed of her pulse. Weakly, she admitted, “Perhaps a little.” Marcello’s gaze lit with pleasure. A slow smile began to curl his lips. “Oh, don’t look at me like that!” she cried, pulling away in anger. “You don’t have to laugh at me. I don’t care for it anymore than you do. Fine, I said it. I’m jealous. I wanted to rip all of their eyes out of their pretty little heads. Happy? I’m jealous and I’m tired and I hate it. Oh, quit looking at me, I hate you too.” Marcello’s smile only grew, not so quick to believe her as she crawled over the bed. Making a wide arch to the wardrobe so she wouldn’t have to go near him, she began to undress. “You have no reason for jealousy, bella mia,” Marcello stated. He came slowly up behind her as she tugged out of her gown. She gasped to see him so close and held her gown before her in a maidenly act that amused him. “They are only food to me. I did nothing else with them.” “You didn’t?” she asked, her jade eyes wide and vulnerable. She’d imagined him with them in so many ways. Tatiana frowned. What was suddenly wrong with her that she couldn’t keep her mouth shut? Her face hardened, as she forced out, “You should have. I don’t care what you do-or who for that matter. Go sleep with them all, I really don’t care.” She wore only her chemise and corset, clutching her gown to her chest. Realizing how ridiculous it was to hide from him, she laid the gown aside and grabbed a red robe. “Tatiana,” Marcello’s smooth Italian accent came from behind her. “What?” she demanded in irritation. “Come here to me.” She forced a heavy sigh. “It is almost dawn and you will undoubtedly be out soon and I am exhausted from fighting off Lord Adolfe--” Marcello’s warm body pressed into her back stopped her rapid flow of words. His strong arm snaked around her waist and pulled her into his tight, naked body. His warm lips pressed along her neck in a delicate kiss that weakened her knees and caused a soft moan to escape her

lips. “Tell me I am enthralled by you,” she whispered. Her hand lifted to touch his face, encouraging his kiss. “Tell me everything I feel for you is a dream, like what you did with Cesare.” “No, bella mia, you are very much awake,” he whispered, licking at the delicate cords buried in her throat. Tatiana turned in his arms, ready to receive his kiss with one of her own. She pressed her body into him, accepting his length along hers. There was no point in denying what they both wanted. It’s not like it mattered or like anyone cared what they did. Before her lips met his, she whispered, “I was afraid of that.”

Chapter Fourteen Broderick looked over the dawn tinted streets. Paris looked much different in the light of day. No longer the bright wondrous nightlife of wicked pleasures, it now looked dirty and stale and reeked of human sweat and trash. Drunken humans from the night before snored in the gutters and alleyways. A few awoke to the kicks of patrolmen, only to stumble their way home, cursing and sputtering in slurring protest. His vivid blue eyes gleamed with amber gold as he lifted the entry to Marcello’s catacomb home. Glancing behind him, he saw his carriage was ready and waiting. Broderick took a pouch from his waist and opened it. Inside was a light brown powder. Taking a handful, he blew the powder down into the opening and began to whisper an ancient spell in a language long dead to the human world. Broderick closed his eyes and concentrated as he spoke. A slight breeze whipped his fashionably short dark hair around his head. He wore simple clothes, a light jacket. The morning sun had yet to reach overhead and the streets were shadowed because of it. He hated this deceit, hated that he must kidnap Tatiana, but knew no other way to lure the witch out. **** Tatiana yawned. She blinked but couldn’t see in the pitch black around her. Feeling the dead weight of Marcello’s arm over her waist, she knew it must still be daytime. She sighed, feeling content in his arms. Then, frowning, she smelled a faint odor of flowers and dirt. Without stopping to think, she worked herself out from under Marcello’s arm. He tried to hold her closer, pulling her snug against his naked body. She lightly kissed his jaw and patted absently at his neck. The smell reminded her of spring, of home, of happiness and girlhood pleasures. She felt Marcello shift and this time, when she tried to move, he let her go. Her body was sore from the vigorous pleasure of Marcello’s claiming. He may be a vampire with tireless passions, but she was only human and could barely keep up. Though, truth be told, she’d wanted to try desperately. Even now, her body wanted him--always wanted him. It was crazy how much she longed for him--the creature, the demon who held her prisoner. And yet, as she thought of freedom and escape, she did not long for it. Instead, the idea suddenly horrified her. She was content to remain forever his slave. Absently, she felt the end of the bed and pulled on her silk robe. She walked to the bedchamber door, slipping out into the dining hall. The scent of flowers grew stronger and she heard a low male voice singing in her head, soothing words she couldn’t understand. There was peace in that voice, soft and tender. Her mind became numb with the single-minded purpose of following the smell and finding the bearer of the golden, silky voice. She walked through the dark, instinctively moving around furniture and up the stairs to the catacomb mazes above. Her bare feet swished lightly on stone. The smell of flowers grew stronger with each step, calling her forth. She smiled, her limbs felt like those of a child. Whatever the smell, it made her feel good--young and innocent again, pure. Her steps began to lighten and skipped past the dark piles of skulls and bones, unable to see them, not caring that they were there. She cut through the darkness with ease, moving on instinct rather than sight. Seeing a dim light, Tatiana giggled and moved toward it. Her wide eyes stared up from the dark, seeing sunlight for the first time in a long time. The warmth of the day hit her and reminded her of how much she loved lying in a bed of flowers warmed by sun. “No,” she heard a whisper from behind. Tatiana blinked, confused. She looked into the dark and saw a pale hand reaching for her. She gasped in fright, backing away into the light. The hand didn’t stop, but followed her into the sun. It was a woman’s hand, frail and slender. Soon, Alice’s face emerged from the darkness to look at her. The bright blue of the dead woman’s gaze stared into her. Tatiana panted for breath, wishing the woman would leave her be. Alice tried to reach her, coming closer. Tatiana began to cry, the big, scared tears of a child unable to move or scream. Her features twisted in violent terror. Alice withdrew at the look and Tatiana calmed enough to look at her. “Alice,” Tatiana mourned, staring into her face. “Alice, forgive me. I am so sorry. Please, forgive me.”

Alice’s eyes turned up toward the light and again the ghostly whisper sounded, “No.” Suddenly, Alice faded completely. “Ah-ha! There you are, my lady.” Tatiana screamed. A firm hand latched onto her upper arm and she felt herself being lifted into the air, wrenched from her place on the steps. She flew out of the opening, into the air, as if she were no heavier than a feather. With a thump, she landed in a thick pair of arms. Her silk robe parted and offered little protection from her captor’s gaze. The heat of his body soaked into her. “You,” she gasped, recognizing the man from that very alley. She struggled to be free. He didn’t even flinch. “What do you want? Who are you?” “I am Broderick,” he answered. She tried to kick, but his arms held more strength than should’ve been humanly possible. “What do you want with me? I demand you put me down!” she cried, pounding at him. His eyes flashed with gold. His mouth elongated slightly and he gave a vicious snap of his teeth. With a frightened gasp, she instantly froze. Broderick took advantage of her sudden stillness and tossed her up into the carriage. Her robes flew open revealing the long line of her naked legs and stomach. She gasped, trying to cover herself before she’d even landed. Then, calling an order to the driver, Broderick followed her inside. Seeing her clutching her robe, he chuckled in mild amusement. The carriage took off at a fast pace, jostling them on their seats. “Are you a demon?” she asked, fearful. All too well she remembered the pain of his blade in the frozen witch’s heart. “Nay, my lady, I am but a friend,” Broderick stated, his voice soft as he tried to soothe her, “if you but let me be.” “You are not human and you can’t be vampire,” she breathed. “You walk in the sunlight.” Broderick smiled. He bowed his head, settling comfortably on the carriage seat. Relaxing his large body, he studied her from under the veil of his lashes. “Yea, you are right on both counts. I am a lycan--a werewolf.” Broderick laughed. He let his eyes flick again with a dangerous gold. Tatiana gasped, shaking her head in heated denial. And, with a series of horrified pants, Tatiana did the only thing she could. She fainted. **** Marcello heard the scream echoing in his head. He knew Tatiana was in trouble. With supernatural speed, he chased after her. He caught the strong scent of her in the catacombs mixed with an unfamiliar blending of herbs. As he saw the stream of sunlight from above, he skidded to a stop, inches away from his fiery death. He pulled back. His heart pounded wildly and never had he cursed his vampiric weakness as he did in that moment. His skin tightened, threatening to turn to ash should he stay too long in the sun’s presence. The light burned his eyes to look at it and he had to turn away before he went blind. He was forced back into the shadows. Hopelessness overwhelmed him as he made his way back into the darkness of his catacomb home. He yelled in outrage, beating his hands bloody upon the stones. Tatiana was gone. **** Broderick didn’t stop the carriage until dusk. To Tatiana’s surprise, Leandro stepped inside. For a moment, her heart leapt in hope to see him. But, as he settled into the seat next to Broderick and said something in a language she couldn’t understand, her hope went crashing to the ground. Leandro smiled widely at her, his eyes lighting in slight interest to see her clad only in a silk robe, and simply acknowledged, “Bella

donna.” Tatiana pulled her robe closer to her body, grabbing it about the neck to hold it closed. Outrunning or outsmarting a werewolf was one thing--but a werewolf and a vampire? Tatiana knew she didn’t a stand a chance. Maybe if she knew more about her powers, she could’ve fought them off. As it was, she didn’t even know if her powers could fight them off. They traveled hard throughout the night. Broderick provided a basket of food. Leandro turned away while they ate, staring out the window. “I thought werewolves ate humans,” Tatiana said, eyeing Broderick with a look akin to suspicion. Leandro glanced back to them and laughed. Broderick grimaced slightly. “Only when they deserve it,” Broderick answered, his words echoed by a low growl. “So considered yourself warned, my lady.”

“They prefer to be called lycans,” Leandro said. A cloud passed over his eyes as he looked at her and he again turned away.

Splendid, Tatiana thought, sensing that she might have insulted Broderick. I’ve been kidnapped by easily offended brutes. Remembering Broderick’s last comment, she muttered under her breath, “You already killed me once. I shouldn’t wonder that you will do so again.” Broderick’s vivid blue eyes whipped around to stare at her. He narrowed his gaze as it flickered with gold fire. “It’s no use,” Tatiana said. She glanced at the bread in her lap, absently tearing it into small crumbs. “I’ve learned to block my thoughts. You’re just going to have to ask me what it is you wish to know.” Leandro chuckled, but did not turn his attention away from the night. “Fine,” Broderick said easily. His tone was light, but his gaze was aggressive and his grin wolfish in intent. “What do you mean I killed you once?” “I saw it that night in the alleyway when you touched me. I think it was a past life. I have been seeing many past lives. I was in an icy stream, tied to a tree. I had long red hair and you called me Maighdlin, right before stabbing me in the heart.” “There is no way you could recall that,” Broderick whispered in horror. Leandro glanced curiously at his friend. “Who is Maighdlin?” “No one,” Broderick said. His reaction wasn’t what Tatiana would’ve expected, not from a cold hearted killer. If she wasn’t mistaken, his eyes looked sad, hurt, horrified. “I remember her and I remember another. I was in a field and knights charged me. This time my hair was blonde. I tried to run but they lopped my head off,” said Tatiana. Offhand, she whispered, “That was probably you too. You have the knight’s build.” Broderick paled. Tatiana gasped to see the look. She trembled. The bread fell from her lap as she inched away from him. “What manner of death do you have in mind this time, lycan?” she inquired in fear. “I don’t seek to kill you, my lady,” Broderick said. His expression was earnest, but she was hard pressed to believe him. She could still feel the blade to her neck and the knife in her heart. “I don’t believe you,” she said. “What are you? A witch hunter? Is that why you have come for me?” “I did not kill you,” Broderick stated instead. “What you see are your ancestors. The blonde witch was supposed to be the last of your line, but a child survived her. You are a descendent of her child. Magic is in your blood and that is why you see these things. Your powers were tapped out long ago and just recently must have built the energy to come back to your line. The life force of your ancestry had to wait for an opening, a trauma if you will. I imagine seeing a vampire was your trauma.” Tatiana paled. No, seeing what Henry had done to Alice’s body was her trauma. That is when it had come to her. “Your blood is trying to reunite you with your power and your past,” Broderick continued. “So, my lady, you see, I didn’t kill you. Just a few of your ancestors.” “That makes me feel so much better,” she stated wryly. She hated that he seemed to know more about her gifts than she did. Tatiana frowned. Could she call them gifts? They were more like a curse. “Not all witches are good,” Broderick stated in defense. “Just as all lycans and vampires are not purely evil--just as humans. Have you not heard of your Jack the Ripper, slicing through London only a decade ago? You would do well to remember that he was human and he killed for pleasure not survival. And you would also do well to remember that, though you see us as demons and monsters, so do others see you as such. Do you consider yourself to be evil, witch?” “No,” Tatiana whispered. “Ah,” Broderick stated, as if he’d made his point. “But, I don’t kill humans for blood,” she said weakly. “I don’t kill to live.” “And neither does many of our kind,” Leandro put forth with a growl. “Honestly, could you imagine the kingdom of corpses that would amount if every vampire, every night, killed one or two humans? We could wipe out Paris in a year’s time. Don’t you think notice would be

drawn?” Tatiana thoughts turned to Marcello and her breath became heavier. She’d not actually seen him kill anyone, only assumed he did so. He never corrected the assumption. Broderick chuckled as if at a private joke. “And you do kill for food, or rather have animals killed for food. Is it not the same thing?” “No,” Tatiana said weakly. She blinked, looking at the hard piece of dried meat in her lap with a newfound respect. She pushed it away. Broderick and Leandro both began to laugh at her. It wasn’t a joyous sound, but embittered and mocking. Warily, she asked, “So we are no more than sheep to you?” “If you prefer to look at it in such a way,” Broderick said, still chuckling. “Where are we going?” she asked to change the conversation. “Away from Paris,” Leandro answered, his cool voice nonchalant. “Why?” Tatiana persisted. “Because there are too many distractions in Paris,” Broderick said. Tatiana wondered why they bothered to reveal so much to her. These didn’t appear to be typical kidnappers. But, what was she thinking? She was in a coach with a vampire and a lycan. Nothing in her life was typical anymore. “Shouldn’t we stop soon?” Tatiana put forth, eyeing Leandro with a forced smirk. “Before the vampire here alights into flames?” “Your concern, bella donna, is overwhelming,” Leandro mocked. Their voices stayed pleasant, but the tension in the small space was palpable. “Don’t live on the false hope that Marcello will find you. This way is well hidden from him by some of the oldest of magic. He’ll not be able to sense you this far from Paris.” Tatiana frowned. He was right. She’d hoped Marcello would find her. Were her feelings for him that transparent? “Careful, my lady,” Broderick murmured. “Your thoughts betray you.” Tatiana gulped at the gentle reminder. She turned her eyes to her lap and forced herself to eat the bread. It wouldn’t do for her to starve. She’d need her wits about her if she was to escape. Then, frowning, she wondered where she’d go if she did escape her captors. Back home? She thought of Marcello first and then her father. When had that happened? When had Marcello become home to her? She shivered.

To England, she resolved. I will go home to England. Tatiana refused to listen to the little voice that mocked her from within. It told her that, though she might not go back to him, she knew Marcello would come for her at Eastwich. **** Tatiana tried to escape her kidnappers every chance she got, until it became a twisted game between them. Once, she’d nearly gotten a mile down an abandoned country road, only to be accosted by Broderick in full wolfen form. Thinking at first that he was a large, rabid dog, she’d screamed in fear. Broderick’s paws were massive as he lunged at her on all fours. His body was covered with a gray fur that stood on end as he snarled and snapped at her. Only when she saw the vivid blue of his eyes gleaming with their strange yellow, did she realize what the creature was. He looked truly vicious with his sharp teeth brandished in his elongated mouth like razors. Tatiana never expected him to change fully into an animal. In amazement, she’d almost tried to pet him. He shook off her hand and nipped at her. He then forced her to walk the whole mile back by his wolfen side. Another time, under Leandro’s guard, she’d nearly made good her escape. It had been easy to slip away. They were at a road side tavern and the vampire was too busy seducing a young dairy maid to pay her any mind. He’d been so enraptured by the girl’s creamy flesh and feminine giggles that Tatiana had walked right past him and out the door. If not for the stupid girl’s interference, she would’ve made it too. The dairy maid pointed her out to Leandro, causing him to whip out the door after her. She only made it two steps before finding herself tied up in a carriage for the rest of the night. They traveled nearly continuously, only stopping for brief periods for supplies and to change horses. Leandro and Broderick made a point of emotionally distancing themselves from her, though they sat next to her each night. They did not again speak of things like they had that first night.

During the day, Leandro slept in a coffin tied to the back of the carriage. Tatiana wondered how he could stand to sleep bouncing around. But, having witnessed the deathlike state that came to Marcello during the day, she could well guess he didn’t notice it at all. Her nightmarish visions had all but faded until they were gone completely. Her dreams were dark voids that pulled her into their mindless depths. She missed Marcello terribly, though she never once mentioned him to her captors. She tried to communicate with him using her mind, but could never hear if he answered back. To occupy her time, she would think of clues along the way to help him find her. She tried to memorize names of places they passed, so that if she did escape, she may find her way back to him. After little over a week by carriage, they stopped in Strasbourg, on the eastern border of France. Tatiana had always wanted to see the world and, although this wasn’t how she envisioned doing so, she couldn’t contain her excitement as she saw the Cathédrale Notre-Dame. Her captors let her wander the narrow streets of the charming city at will and she did so gladly, happy to be able to stretch her legs. The narrow streets led past newer bourgeois buildings, parks, older timbered houses, shopping districts, hôtels particuliers, until finally they reached the banks of the river Ill. Tatiana looked over the waters, so silent and peaceful beneath the stars. It was a calm night. The sky was clear and perfect. Only a small breeze filtered up from the shore. “Where are we going?” Tatiana asked softly. Both men turned to her, looking down from their taller heights. She hadn’t dared to ask it since that first night in the carriage. But, she was dying to know what they planned for her. Whatever it was, she knew it wasn’t good. She waited, but they didn’t answer. In irritation, she persisted, “If you want me dead, would it not just be easier to kill me? What sick game do you mean to play?” As her anger rose, so did the power inside her. Broderick glanced at Leandro as the water along the banks began to churn. Dark clouds pulled over the sky. Tatiana’s jade eyes looked at Leandro. Every time she saw him, her heart ached for his brother. Her arms ached to hold him. Her eyes ached to see him. Her body ached to make love to him. She missed Marcello and she hated her traveling companions for taking her away from him. The feelings in her chest surfaced, overwhelming her fiercely and suddenly. Leandro glanced over his head and nodded. Tatiana frowned. She turned only to see Broderick grabbing a leather pouch from his waist. On instinct, she lifted her hands. A surge of energy came forth from her limbs, knocking the lycan in the chest and pushing him back. He flew several yards before landing on his back in a roll. Instantly, he sprung to all fours, crouching. Tatiana lifted her hand to Leandro and sent him flying as well. Only this time she flicked her wrist toward the water. Leandro landed in the cold river with a loud splash. A grin curled Tatiana’s features and she began to laugh. Then, feeling Broderick coming for her, she again turned. Only, she hesitated too long. Broderick blew dust into her face. It smelled like the flowers that lured her from Marcello’s home. Her hands dropped to her side. A slight smile found her as she blinked, in a daze. Through the fog of her mind, she heard Leandro climbing out of the water, cursing bitterly in Italian. She didn’t care. Her body was calm. Her heart beat so slow and steady she couldn’t feel it working. It was as if she were caught in a gentle dream. Broderick grabbed her arm and pulled her behind him. Tatiana followed quietly and with no protest. She felt someone take up her hand. She blinked, seeing it was Alice. Alice smiled at her. Tatiana smiled back. “What did you do to her?” Leandro asked in irritation. “Why is she smiling like that?” Broderick turned to see Tatiana indeed smiling into thin air, looking aimlessly at nothing. “I blew the enthrallment into her face to keep her powers calm. It could be causing her to hallucinate. I’ve never used it up close before.” Leandro chuckled. He waved his hand through the air before her eyes. She only blinked. Tatiana’s lips moved and she seemed to whisper. Leandro shook his head. “Let’s just get going,” the vampire said. “We need to get to the train.” Broderick nodded, pulling Tatiana along faster. Both men ignored her. Tatiana didn’t hear them speak. She smiled again at Alice. How good the maid looked, with her clear complexion and bright blue eyes! So much better than the corpse she’d envisioned her being as of late. Alice’s lips parted, but no words came out. Tatiana leaned to her and mouthed, “Find Marcello. Tell him to come for me. Stay by his side and protect him.” Alice frowned considerably, moving to shake her head in denial. “Please, Alice,” Tatiana begged. Alice nodded, silently agreeing, though her eyes seemed to doubt her task.

“I love him, Alice,” Tatiana whispered in a moment of complete clarity. Suddenly, her smile fell. She knew it was true. She’d fallen madly in love with a vampire. The thought did not give her pleasure, for she didn’t know if he could ever love her in return. In fact, she tended to doubt he was capable of loving anyone. He was a demon. All she knew is that without him, her soul felt as if it faded. She didn’t like the visions, but without them she felt as if a piece of herself missing, as if she were dying inside. Her blood did not quicken without Marcello near. Being with him might be torment, but she knew that not having him at all was slowly going to kill her. Alice nodded again, sad, and faded into nothingness. It was as if the spirit hadn’t been there at all. **** Before reaching German soil, they were on a train heading east. Tatiana no longer saw Alice. The spirit had faded and did not come back. As her mind slowly cleared from the numbing effects of the enthrallment, she began to think straight and doubted she’d seen the girl at all. Every day became a stagnant routine. Broderick would goad her into eating. Leandro would tell her where to sleep. None of them spoke much beyond that, but her two captors kept a steady eye on her at all times. There was no need for their watchfulness. She had no idea where her power to defy them had come from and she didn’t know how to call it back. In fact, after using it, she only felt weaker and more drained. With each mile the train moved over the countryside, her heart beat weaker and weaker. Germany’s landscape was much like France, from what Tatiana could see looking out into the dark skies as they passed. A few times she thought to detect mountains in the dusk laden sky, but she wasn’t sure. It didn’t matter. The landscape couldn’t capture her interest. Wherever she looked, Marcello wasn’t there. The feelings of loneliness were made worse by the reminder Leandro’s face was of him. She missed him terribly. And she was beginning to suspect she might never see him again. ****

Carpathian Mountains, Slovakia, Austro-Hungarian Empire Tatiana looked around the rugged landscape. She never felt so far from reality as she did looking over the beautiful mountains devoid of cities and other signs of human life. The nearly full moon shone bright over the peaks and valleys of the mountains. They’d traveled for what seemed like a lifetime, until time itself no longer had meaning. Each day and night blended in Tatiana’s mind until it was all but an endless journey. From train they went back to carriage, from carriage they went to horseback, and finally from horseback they went to hiking by foot. She wore a sturdy dress of light wool that Leandro had stolen off a train. They stopped in boarding houses along the way, paid for with stolen money and vampiric charm, so that they could rest and bathe. None of the peasants appeared to pay any mind to the three strangers passing through. Tatiana’s legs were tired. They had been climbing up a steep incline for nearly an hour. She was sure Broderick and Leandro could’ve moved over the rough terrain a lot faster if she were not along. She didn’t care that she slowed them down. It wasn’t her choice to come with them. Suddenly, Broderick stopped and let loose a long howl. Tatiana stiffened in shock. The mountains had been so quiet until then. The call was answered as the baying of wolves sounded over the distance. Turning, Broderick said, “They are expecting us.” Tatiana stared dumbly at his back as he moved further up the mountain. She felt Leandro take up her arm and turned to look at him. He smiled slightly and nodded that she was to follow. Tatiana wasn’t comforted by his smile. He wore them too freely to hide whatever it was he really thought. Without warning, Broderick’s back disappeared into the shadowy side of the mountain. Tatiana stopped, glancing at Leandro. “Where did he go?” As if to answer her, Broderick’s hand struck up from the ground. He waved them forward. Looking into a narrow entryway into the side of the mountain, Tatiana frowned. She shook her head. “I can’t go in there,” she whispered. “It is all right, bella donna,” Leandro soothed from behind her. His lips whispered past her ear and she shivered to feel his cool breath on her skin. His mouth was close to her neck and she wondered if he had yet to feed. She did not see him with anyone. His hand pressed firmly on her back and he gently pushed her forward. Past the narrow cave opening was a larger room of dark brown earth. Even the taller Broderick could stand easily within it. A slight whistle came from the narrow opening as a breeze drifted past the sharp rocks. Other than that, the cave was unmoving and silent. It reminded her of the catacombs, only now she didn’t feel so safe. She again thought of Marcello.

Feeling the desire to run, she made a dash for the opening. Leandro sensed her hesitance and caught her to his chest. He hugged her as she trembled violently in his arms. Tatiana let him hold her. She pretended he was his brother. The feeling couldn’t last. He had the same hard feel to his chest that she remembered in Marcello. He had the same strong arms. But her body wouldn’t be fooled again by him. Her nerves did not sting at his nearness. Her stomach didn’t lurch. Her heart didn’t speed. Tatiana roughly pushed away from him. Glaring, she demanded, “Kill me and be done with it. I have had enough.” “Kill you?” a voice she didn’t recognize asked. It was soft, rolling gently like a babbling stream. “We have no wish to kill you, child. We only wish to harness you.” Tatiana was too afraid to move. She felt a cold chill sweeping her body. Leandro’s eyes were boring into her, searching her to the depths of her soul. Her will slipped and for a brief second, he was inside her head, her heart. He gasped, pulling back from her as if she burned him. His arms lifted as if to protect himself from her. “What did you see?” the rolling voice asked. “Nothing,” Leandro said, obviously lying. “I saw nothing of import.” Tatiana felt a gentle hand on her shoulder and was forced to turn. Her gaze met with the light grey eyes of the stranger. Broderick stood proud in the background, unmoving. “I am Domin,” the stranger said. He had hair as white as the purest snow. It fell long and straight to his waist, like gossamer cobwebs--so fine and thin. His grayer beard lay against his chest, not long but not trimmed short either. He looked to be older, fifties perhaps. But, seeing him, Tatiana knew he was like Broderick. She detected the same sensation from his body. It was as if she could read him. So very like the vampires, yet just different enough she could tell them apart. “Are you trying to read me?” the old lycan asked, as if amused by the thought. His words stayed gentle, but Tatiana knew she would have to be careful around him. This one saw too much. “No, I was just sensing that you were a lycan.” Tatiana tried to keep her tone light. Broderick and Leandro exchanged brief looks. Domin studied her for a long moment, trying to detect if she lied. Slowly, he smiled and Tatiana wondered how much he saw. “I am sorry that we have to meet again under such dire circumstances,” Domin said, stroking her cheek with this soft wrinkled hand. His large knuckles glanced over her skin. He was very warm. “But you see there is no time for pleasantries. Your powers grow and are uncertain.” “What do you mean again?” Tatiana asked warily. “We have not met before.” “No, not in this form,” Domin said. “But your gifts and I are old friends and old enemies. It all depends on the carrier.” Tatiana shivered. “And what are we now?” “We shall see, won’t we, child? Your future is blocked and forked.” Domin turned to look at Broderick. “Well done. You would’ve made a great seer, Broderick. It is as you expected. She is of the Addien line.” “What are you talking about?” Tatiana asked. She wondered if the old lycan was crazy. “I was born Sinclair. Tatiana Sinclair. You must have me confused with someone else.” Domin frowned. His grey eyes turned sharply to Leandro, who he’d been ignoring, and then to Broderick. “She truly has no knowledge whatsoever? Who has guided her? Who has trained her?” Broderick merely shook his head, indicating no one. Domin froze. “It is worse than I feared.” Tatiana felt the coldness of the cave creeping back into her limbs as Domin’s hand left her face. She tried to shrug his hand from her shoulder, but it didn’t move. His grip tightened slightly on her and she knew his frail body held more strength than it looked to. “My mother,” Tatiana whispered. All eyes turned to her at the feeble sound. “She used to tell me stories about our ancestors.” Domin sighed, looking mournful. “All that greatness reduced to mere fairytales. You would’ve been proud of all you accomplished.” “It wasn’t me,” Tatiana said. “It was my ancestors.”

“Ah, but it is your blood. Your life’s history is in your blood. They are a part of you. They call out to you to remember. Can you not hear them in you head? Have you listened to them?” Tatiana looked at the old lycan and debated. He seemed the only one so far who knew what she was and understood it. She took a deep breath. “I’ve seen them, felt them as if I was them.” “Ah, visions of the past,” Domin said, nodding smartly. “They happen to all with the gift. We learn not to trigger them, but alas it is a burden we must bear.” Tatiana almost felt relief that she wasn’t alone. She knew she could learn a lot from Domin, if he would be willing to teach her. A war waged inside of her. As much as she wanted to control her gift, she wanted Marcello by her side more. She had a feeling he wouldn’t be so welcome here. She felt the tension in Leandro standing behind her. She noticed how the lycan elder and the vampire did not speak directly. “Can you tell me of my ancestors? You seem to have known them.” Tatiana’s voice wavered slightly. She was almost too scared to know the truth of it. “Were they good witches? Why did they lose their powers? Why did I get them back?” “They were great and powerful witches, but like all species they were both good and evil. The power just is, but its intention lies within the intent of the carrier. The power was tapped out and had to renew itself. When it was ready, it found an opening so that it may be reborn into you. I would imagine it has been leaking back to your family for generations now in mild gifts of intuition so easily explained away by others, but real nonetheless.” Domin began to walk deeper into the cave. His cool eyes glanced at Broderick and Broderick nodded in return. Tatiana was lost in thought and absently followed the hand on her arm. “You, like those before you, possess the power of foresight and hindsight. Once your mind is focused, if it can be focused, you will be able to see and understand a great many things.” “And if it can’t be?” she asked weakly. They were walking through a rough stone passageway. Tatiana shivered. It grew colder the deeper they went into the cave, but she was the only one who seemed to notice it. The floor of the passageway was damp and slippery. She concentrated on finding footing as they passed by long, striped ribbons of dripstone. The cave was a peculiar subterranean world that Tatiana was sure was just as supernatural as the creatures that dwelled in it. “Then you will go insane. The images will get worse. You won’t be able to distinguish between reality, the past, and the future.” Domin stopped. They were by a large cavern filled with spectacular crystals that gave off light. Rimstone stretched over the ground like frozen, brown water-shiny and smooth. In places it was as if a miniature mountain range of stalactites and stalagmites existed over the rock surface. Tatiana had read of caves as a young girl, but the descriptions did not do it justice. “How do I focus?” she asked, staring at a particularly long stalactite sticking up from the ground like a stone stake. “Ah, there is only one way that I know of,” Domin said. His eyes rose over her shoulder and he nodded his head. “And for that, I am truly sorry.” Tatiana began to turn. She never made it around. Broderick’s fist hit the back of her head and her whole world went dark as she tumbled blindly to the floor.

Chapter Fifteen It was just like Tatiana’s dream from when she was at Eastwich Manor--the dank stone walls, the manacles of iron gripping into her flesh, causing her to bleed as she struggled against them. And yet, it was more real than her dream of it had been. When she closed her eyes, she didn’t escape it. When she opened her eyes, she saw only her hell. Her arms prickled until she could no longer feel them. Her wrists throbbed and ached. Time slipped and passed with mindless calculations until she no longer knew if she’d been held prisoner a year or a day. When she did sleep, the nightmares would come--more of the same horrific images, only more vivid and real. Sometimes, when the worst of her nightmares would come, she’d wake up sweating, and she would think of Marcello. Just the memory of him before her balanced her out and made the trembling stop. She could feel him, as if he was in the next room. Hearing movement behind the thick iron door, Tatiana tensed. Her wild eyes lifted, expecting to see the female lycan who always came to feed her. The young, dark woman would sit, not speaking as she placed--sometimes forced--food and drink past Tatiana’s chapped lips. She’d tried to bathe her once with soft linen and a bowl of water, but Tatiana had begun chanting the words to an ancient curse. The woman had grown pale and run away. As the door opened and bright torchlight was brought inside the cave prison, Tatiana turned away, closing her lids tightly in annoyance. “It shouldn’t have lasted this long.”

Tatiana heard Domin’s voice. His visits were rare and always he left her feeling frustrated and angry. “Has she gone mad?” Broderick asked. His words were barely audible, hoarse. Tatiana blinked, looking up from her place on the floor to stare at him. He was crouched before her, his dark brow furrowed in concentration. She laughed weakly, sounding very much the madwoman. “I dreamt of this.” “She is crazy,” Broderick stated, standing. A heavy sigh whispered past his parted lips. “I dreamt of this prison before he came for me,” she continued. Her eyes widened as she spoke. “I saw this place, felt these chains.” Domin frowned. He lightly touched her cheek and she jolted wildly back from him as if his touch stung. Weakly, she spat at him. He wiped it from his face with his sleeve, not reacting to her anger. “Watch your emotions in here, Broderick,” Domin said softly, soothingly. “Until she is balanced, she is very delicate to how we react.” Tatiana’s jade eyes glowed eerily as she glared at Domin. He smiled back at her. She felt herself responding to his calm. She felt them connect as if he was in her blood. “Go get the vampire, bring him,” Domin ordered softly, not taking his soft grey eyes from Tatiana’s wild ones. When they were alone, he continued, “Do you know where you are?” “In hell,” she growled, her eyes narrowing. “Some would say you are close to it,” he chuckled. “No, you’re in the Den of the Lycan. Do you remember?” Tatiana moaned. She could feel him moving as if she were part of him. It was a strange sensation. Her body reached for him, but not to touch him or hold him, but to join to his soul. “Yes, child, we are connected now. I have been feeding you my blood.” Tatiana grimaced and tried to shake her head. Domin lifted his sleeve, showing the many scars on his arm that were slowly healing. She gagged, trying to pull away from him. “I don’t want to be like you,” she gasped, horrified, rocking back and forth in agitation. “You won’t be, child,” Domin answered, not insulted by her words. “It is my bite that you must fear, not my blood.” “Why … would … you…?” “Several reasons,” Domin answered honestly. “My blood marks you and protects you from my kind. It joins us so our powers may always call upon each other.” Tatiana shivered. She knew he spoke the truth. “Yes, so there will also be no lies between us.” “Why?” she ground out. Her voice was hoarse. “Why chain me? Why do this? Why not just ask me?” “You don’t remember?” he asked, not at all surprised. “It is a painful joining, for both of us.” Domin lifted his wrists, showing that he too had been shackled. Red rings of flesh, scabbed and scarred, wrapped him like bracelets. “I was just now released.” “I don’t understand,” she cried. Tears started coming down her face. Her body rocked weakly, back and forth, back and forth. “I don’t want this. Please, I don’t want this. Let me go back to the country. Let me marry Thomas. I don’t care about the parties or the money or the big house. I don’t care that I don’t love him. He loves me. He loves me. He’s the last one, only one, to completely love me. Please, please, please….” Domin frowned at her words. She was losing her sanity again, warring with the madness inside of her. His mind pulled heavily at her. She stopped rocking. Domin forced his thoughts into her, soothing and warm in her brain. It was like the summer sun on her skin, glowing in her body. She smiled and relaxed. “You are destined for more, child, much more than Thomas,” Domin whispered. His hand stroked her cheek and this time she did not jerk away. Tatiana knew he read her feelings and thoughts as she passed over the memory of it. “There is a reason you sent your thoughts to your vampire. There is a reason you did not let Thomas kiss you, why you pushed the witch away from you.”

Tatiana waited on his every word, breathless. “You are destined for more, child, so much more. You are a seer. But, your line has been dormant too long. Because of the strength of your ancestral birthright, you are confused. This is why I have taken some of your pain and why I have given you some of my strength. It is this connection that will save you. I can handle your insanity as my own and you in turn will be balanced by my wisdom and strength.” “Why would you care? I’m just a witch,” she mumbled. “Just a witch, a witch, just a little witch.” “No, not just a witch,” Domin said. His eyes glassed over. “I saw of your coming long ago. I was there the night the Addien powers drained. Your ancestors fought a great evil force--a Goddess who would slaughter all of mankind with her hunger and greed. They paid the price with their lives. They were exposed and left weak. Humans, fearful of them, slaughtered them like animals. They took the sacrifice, knowing what would happen to them.” “Broderick,” Tatiana whispered, remembering him in most of her visions. “Yes, as a human he killed in the name of his church. He rid the world of much evil. But, he also rid it of good. Humans can’t distinguish between the two sometimes when it comes to our kinds. You must not blame Broderick for his human ignorance. He has blamed himself enough over his long centuries, he blames himself still.” Domin sighed and stood. He looked weak and Tatiana knew he was still feeling the after effects of what he’d done for her. She knew it was quite possible that he saved her life. If the powers were to continue to grow uncontrolled, she wouldn’t have been able to understand or stop them. “You did not find me in time,” she whispered sadly. “I still feel it. I still feel the madness.” “Yes, I know.” “You are to kill me, aren’t you? I can read the thought. You are to kill me if I can’t be balanced.” Tatiana smiled, nodding her head. “I should be killed, killed. You must do it and soon. That is what you are thinking, always thinking, burn the witch.” “You’re right. I am to destroy you and all your kin if you can’t find balance.” Domin sighed. His head perked up and he looked to the open door. “But, I have felt you find your balance. Tell me, what is it you think of when you calm yourself? What is it you are hiding from me and yourself?” Suddenly, Broderick’s thick frame filled the door. Stepping aside, she saw Marcello’s pale face. “Marcello,” she whispered, a soft light entering her eyes at the word. Domin glanced at the vampire and then back at the woman. A deep frown creased his features. “Is there something you forgot to tell me about this woman and her vampire?” Domin asked. “I thought you said she was a slave to him, bound unwillingly?” “She was,” Broderick said. “She never mentioned him once while we traveled. I caught her on more than one occasion trying to escape his hold. It is why we kidnapped her, to get her away from him.” “Then how do you explain this?” Domin raged, jerking his hand back at Tatiana. His voice boomed in a mighty roar and Tatiana could feel his anger inside her as if it was her own. She felt herself getting mad. She began to scream at the top of her lungs. Domin’s eyes flashed with gold and he turned to her. She could feel him forcing a calm over his limbs for her sake. She stopped screaming, lowering her chin to glare at Leandro. “What?” Broderick asked. He followed her gaze over his shoulder to Leandro. Domin frowned and waved Leandro inside. Leandro looked over Tatiana’s restrained from. A look of sadness and regret passed over his eyes. “Talk to her,” Domin ordered, watching closely to see what would happen. “Touch her.” Leandro obeyed. His hand lifted to her cheek. “Bella donna?” Tatiana’s face wrinkled in pain and she shook her head, making a weak noise in the back of her throat. Mournfully, she cried, “You are not him, you are not him.” She began to weep, horrible, loud sobs that poured her emotion out over them. She missed Marcello, needed Marcello, loved only Marcello. Without him she was lost. Leandro recoiled from her, stepping back. Her feelings were unmistakable and pure. “You fools,” Domin said. “That is why she is not whole. The process worked. It is her heart that is broken. That is her insanity. You took her from

the one thing that balances her.” “She really loves him,” Leandro whispered weakly. He stumbled back, as if he’d been kicked in the gut. He turned, storming away, leaving a surge of outrage in his wake. Broderick let his friend go, knowing he had his own demons to face. He took a deep breath and looked at Domin. Domin nodded his head toward the door, quietly telling Tatiana that they would be back soon to release her. “Are you sure?” Broderick asked when the door was shut and they were alone in the cave passageway. “Yes,” Domin said dolefully. “She loves that damned vampire, Marcello. But she also thinks to know he can’t return her love. That is her torment. That is why she can’t focus to see beyond herself. Yet, despite this heartache of unrequited feelings, she knows that she must take him anyway she can to be happy.” “Why did it have to be a vampire?” Broderick hissed. “She could’ve done great things for our kind. Let me turn her. I will take her as my mate, regardless of this love. I promise to make her forget him.” “That is not your promise to make,” Domin said, “for you can’t keep it. Besides, though she has taken my blood, there is no guarantee she’ll survive your bite. Beyond a sense of duty and passing respect, you don’t care for this woman. Your heart is led by guilt from your human past. Mating yourself to her is not the way to redeem what you have done. In time, I foresee you as friends, but not close. No, she is not destined to be a lycan. But, with my blood, she’ll be our sister. That is the best we can hope for. With my connection to her, if she were to foresee the demise of our race or the reemergence of the vampiric gods, we can only hope I will see it too.” Broderick held still. “I will stay awake as the others sopor,” Domin said. “The mystics have been torn on our future. But their visions are never very clear. Some say we will end with this next century if we don’t hide, other still say nothing will change.” “What do you think?” Broderick asked. “I think that, with time, whatever is meant to pass will pass,” Domin said, very tired. He rolled his neck, cracking it. He turned to the door. “Release the witch, heal her, and have Leandro take her from this place. There is nothing more we can do for her. There is no reason to keep her longer.” “And what of our other prisoner?” Broderick asked warily. “What of Marcello?” Both eyes turned to the cell where he was kept, right next to Tatiana. The vampire had been brave, storming into the den days after Tatiana’s arrival to try and save her. He’d courageously taken on most of the lycan guard to get to her. It was a fool’s mission, but suddenly Domin understood that Marcello might not have been able to do anything else. Perhaps his reasons were not out of injured pride as Domin and the others first suspected. Perhaps the vampire felt more for his witch than he let on. However, vampires were tricky creatures and hard to read. They learned deceit quickly after turning. “Give Leandro a head start with the girl,” Domin said. “Don’t tell him we have his brother, just that he must take the witch far away from him. My connection with her grows and it is not wise to leave us so close together for too much longer. We feed too readily off each other’s emotions and she doesn’t have the control yet to fight it. After Leandro’s been gone for a few days, send Marcello out after them. I care not to interfere with their personal war. Besides, if she has a need of me, I will hear her call and, in time, she’ll hear mine. The rest, Broderick, is up to the Mistress of Fate.” **** Broderick unchained her from the wall and walked her by her elbow though the stone passageways as if nothing had happened--as if they had not kept her prisoner for she-didn’t-know-how long, as if they hadn’t kidnapped her. He reached into his shirt and pulled out a bundle of cooked meat and bread. Handing it to her, he said, “Take this and eat it when you can. It is normal that you wouldn’t be hungry for several days. Domin’s blood is very strong. It is possible for you to live weeks on it. But, if you eat food, you will feel more like yourself.” “I don’t even remember what myself feels like,” she chuckled bitterly. Tatiana took it and clutched it to her chest. She didn’t feel like eating. A rock was fitted in her stomach. All she wanted was to lie down and sleep for an eternity. Instead, she followed the lycan through the caves. She was silent until they reached the opening, leading up onto the earth. Broderick stopped, his vivid eyes looking her over. “You are free to go. I have done for you all I can.” Tatiana stared at him, sensing he wanted to say more. She was too tired to ask, so she merely waited. “Say the word and I will give you my protection,” Broderick stated. His eyes dipped over her thin, pale frame. There was only a mild attraction in his gaze when he looked at her--an animalistic lust that had nothing to do with tender feelings. “I don’t understand why you brought me here for this,” Tatiana muttered. “I don’t know why you would’ve tried to balance my powers instead of just

killing me. It would’ve been more humane of you to kill me and be done with it. Right now, I’d much prefer death to living.” A small smile lit his immortal face. He bowed to her, a short, dutiful movement of his head. “As do we all, Miss Sinclair, as do we all.” Tatiana wondered at his tone. Broderick pointed up toward the opening. “Leandro awaits you,” he said. “Where you go from here is up to him.” Tatiana watched Broderick turn on his heels, disappearing into the cave. She had a small vision of him in sunlight standing before a dark haired woman and thought that perhaps this wouldn’t be the last time they met. A dark, humorless chuckle escaped her chapped lips. Holding the food bundle with her teeth, she weakly climbed up and out of the den. She stood, letting the night breeze hit her skin. It pushed her body to delicately swaying. Just the air made her feel better as she reached out with her senses. Feeling a presence behind her, she turned. Leandro sat on a rock, studying her with his unmoving face. For a moment, his brooding expression reminded her of Marcello. “You are not taking me back to him, are you?” she asked. “No.” Leandro stood and swiftly glided past her, beginning the long journey down. “I will never give you back to my brother.” “Why?” Leandro stopped. Turning his head to her, his body soon followed. In an instant, he was before her. His face leaned close to hers, not touching. Tatiana gasped. His fangs showed between his parted lips as he spoke. “That, bella donna, is between Marcello and I. It has nothing to do with you really, but an old debt I seek to repay.” “Debt or revenge?” she asked. Leandro smiled at her observance. “It is all one and the same.” His eyes flashed, turning black with an emotion so dark and raw it made her nauseous. She began to pant, feeling the demon Leandro hid so well from the world behind his normally careless smile. The vast emptiness of his soul screamed at her, gripping her with his hatred. “You are my revenge, bella donna,” Leandro said softly. He blinked and his eyes cleared back to familiar brown as if his intent had never been there. His smile was again careless. “Come.” Tatiana trembled. She didn’t know why seeing Leandro’s demon would’ve surprised her. She was a fool not for suspecting it earlier. But, if she was wrong about him, was she wrong about Marcello? Did Marcello’s soul glisten as black as his brother’s? She thought of the young Marcello in the garden from her vision, all bright and youthful, encased by sunlight. Was she a fool to think humanity could survive in the body of a demon? That the young man he’d been could dwell inside all forms of darkness and hell and survive for over a century? Leandro’s sinister, mocking laughter answered her. She didn’t move and he waited for her follow him, his eyes reflecting the blue moonlight. All around them it was peaceful, quiet. Without knowing of it, one would never suspect that lycans roamed beneath their feet in caves, or that a vampire walked along the surface of the beautiful mountain. For a moment, she felt as if the world stopped moving and everything around her felt dead. The dark night added a rotted death to the trees and ground. It made the shadowed earth appear charred and cold. “A tutto c'è rimedio, fuorchè alla morte,” Leandro whispered to her. His pale hand lifted with liquid grace, reaching for her from the distance. His long fingers curled, motioning her toward him and she felt her legs obey him, following the silent command. ‘There is a cure for everything,

except death.’ **** Marcello lifted his head, not bothering to fight his restraints as he sat on the floor. His hands were chained to the stone wall of the prison within the lycan den. Seeing an old lycan, he sniffed, smelling the man’s ancient years. He carried with him the odor of knowledge and death. But, there was a fainter scent clinging to his skin. It was the smell of Tatiana. “Where is she?” Marcello demanded with a growl. His eyes leapt red with outrage. He pulled at his bonds, nearly breaking the chains from the walls. “I sense her on you.” “So possessive of a mortal,” Domin said to the vampire. His light blues looked Marcello over. “Why would you care what happens to a bound human?” “It is none of your concern, lycan. I marked her. She is mine.” Marcello’s gaze was dark and bloody, battling for control.

Domin looked around the prison, frowning. “Is there something else here with us?” Marcello smiled ruefully, looking over at the corner where Alice stood. The translucent woman had shown herself to him one night, whipping around him in cold drafts and waving incessantly until he realized she showed him the way to Tatiana. He’d noticed her as the cold presence that surrounded Tatiana whenever she felt threatened. The ghost never spoke to him, only looked at him with her solemn, dejected blue eyes. He had no idea why she stayed with him, even after he pushed through her to storm inside the lycan den. Alice had not wanted him to go into the cave systems. But, what else could he have done? He’d sensed Tatiana within them and had to try to save her. It was a fool’s mission, he knew that going in. He’d fought hard and in the end it had taken twenty of the elite lycan guards to bring him down. Domin followed the vampire’s eyes. His senses detected new death, though he only saw the wall. “She with you?” “She is harmless,” Marcello said, easily. As much as Alice’s hovering, endless presence bothered him, he wouldn’t say anything to get her exorcised. “A child who wandered too far from her grave and now mindlessly follows me about like a puppy.” Marcello saw Alice grimace at him with a forming pout of affront. He ignored her, turning his eyes away. Domin obviously didn’t feel threatened, because he turned his back and ignored the spirit. “I have come to let you go, Marcello.” Marcello didn’t move. “Give me your word you will leave here more peaceably than you came. There are those who wouldn’t hesitate to have your heart and your head for the insult you have done us in coming here.” Domin pulled an old key from his pocket and held it up. “I will not leave without Tatiana. She is mine and I mean to keep her,” said Marcello in warning. He knew the old wolf would sense his lie so he didn’t bother. “Even more reason for you to go and quickly,” Domin said. “The witch is no longer staying with us. I helped her to balance her gifts what I could. She now travels away from here with your brother.” “Leandro,” Marcello whispered. His skin prickled in fear. If she was with Leandro she was in even more danger than in the lycan’s keep. Domin knew Marcello would cause no more trouble and lifted the key to release him. “They have three nights’ journey on you. I suggest you hurry.” Marcello nodded. Inside he was desperate, broken. He needed Tatiana back--longed for her with every beat of his undead heart. He wasn’t whole without her. Immortality had become an unbearable curse, more so than before. He went straight for the door, passing Domin without a second glance. The old lycan’s words made him pause. “And take Alice. I am sure she misses her mistress.” Marcello nodded again without turning. He felt Alice flitting behind him as he sped with blurring speed through the stone passageways. One thought swam in his head, pushing him onward. He must not fail Tatiana. **** A month passed since leaving the lycan den, as Leandro took Tatiana with him to Austria and finally to Italy. He forced her to sleep with him in various coffins along the way, though he did not move to touch her in all the times they lay together. She felt a coldness within him that wouldn’t be suppressed now that she’d seen inside his dark heart. His face no longer held the charm it had before. Leandro wasn’t discreet with his human meals in front of her, as Marcello had been. He did not try to hide his feeding from her, often taking her with him while he drank from some young woman’s neck. His victims would moan and pant, clinging to him in passion, begging him with their hands until they could no longer lift them from their sides. Tatiana knew he got some sort of perverse pleasure making her watch. He’d leave the women, near death, but with a chance still in their bodies. Once, when she dared to ask him why he bothered, he merely smiled and answered enigmatically with a pitiless look in his eyes, “If they are strong and deserving of life, bella donna, they will live. If they are too weak for this world, then they will move on.” On those rare nights, when there was no meal readily available to him--which always had to be a young woman of a certain prettiness and age-Leandro would feed from Tatiana. Her blood was still strong from the lycan’s gift and the vampire did not need to feed on her as deeply as he did the others. During those moments, he tried to mesmerize the pain of his bite from her, but Tatiana always held him out. His sharp teeth stung, piercing into her flesh. For some reason, her refusal to let him dull the pain caused the vampire to pull back quickly. He’d grumble darkly about her

stubborn pride, her foolish ways, appearing almost sorrowful and hurt that she refused what little comfort he did offer. However, Tatiana had seen the darkness in him and wasn’t fooled by this sentiment. She had to admit she felt calmer now that the visions slowed and her body balanced. Domin’s connection to her calmed her and she could feel him lingering just on the edge of her consciousness. Not that he listened or intruded into her thoughts, it was just like a part of her, there and waiting. When she slept, the dreams lessened and when they started, she had more control over them. There were times, though rare, when she was left alone. Only then did she feel safe thinking of Marcello. Her heart ached for him. Her body missed his. She longed for him, to feel him, kiss him, make love to him in endless ways--rough, sweet, bitter, tormented, passionate. It wouldn’t matter so long as she could feel him inside her, next to her. Whenever she thought of Marcello with Leandro near, the vampire would sense it and grow irate--though never directly mentioning her thoughts as the cause. Tatiana’s mind still called to Marcello, refusing to give up hope. But, as time wore and he did not come, she could only assume that he did not search for her at all.

Chapter Sixteen

Spoleti Castle, Province of Florence, Tuscany, Italy, Fall 1898 A long paved drive led up the side of a small mountain, nestled in the valley of the larger surrounding range. Leandro’s carriage rode easily over the road, hardly jostling as the horses pulled it over the smooth stone. The clopping of hooves echoed over the silent distance, a lonely sound in the dark night. Tatiana leaned out the window and gasped when she saw the structure looming brilliantly in the light of the full moon. The chilled wind whipped her face, almost stinging with cold. She didn’t care as she breathed deeply of the fresh night air. Built in the medieval period, Spoleti Castle had seen few modern renovations to its structure, except a few conveniences and repairs. It was maintained with the greatest of care and indeed made for an imposing fortress, an inescapable prison. Small, stone buildings lined the paved road, surrounded by forest on one side and a long valley on the other. Tatiana thought to see an orchard hidden in the shadows, but couldn’t be sure. As they came closer to the castle, she detected the distinct lines of a vineyard. People looked to be outside picking grapes. “Why do they pick at night?” she wondered aloud, staying within the shadows of the carriage as the workers turned to watch them pass. She saw a few marked their chests with a sign of a cross, their lips mumbling a silent prayer, but most just held completely still as they waited for the carriage to roll by. “The sun can dry the grapes out, makes them small. Night is the best time to pick them,” Leandro answered wistfully. He looked over the vineyard, seeming almost at peace. His long pale fingers curled over the blue velvet curtain, stroking it absently in a gentle caress. Tatiana shivered, unconsciously moving further away from him. She wouldn’t be fooled into thinking him anything but a monster. But, as she saw his ashen features soften, almost sad with longing, she began to doubt the demon in him. “Whose land is this? Another friend?” “It is my home,” Leandro said. “Marcello received the title, I received the land. It is an agreement between us. He has no use for it. He refuses to come home to Italy.” Tatiana swallowed. Leandro’s eyes turned to her, full of meaning, as if to say, he will not come here for you, bella donna, don’t even wish

for it. Tatiana opened her mouth to speak, but Leandro turned back to the window and motioned his hand slightly for her to look. She again leaned over, gazing out into the night. A large arch loomed over the roadway, constructed into a wall and vining with lush, green plant life. An iron gate was pulled high overhead to let the carriage pass under it. Inside was a large courtyard with magnificent gardens, paved cobblestone paths, wondrous sculptures. The blue moonlight danced over little fountain pools of water, rippling softly. The light molded over the hard stone until it looked soft and alive. It was a fairy tale world. She dared a glance at Leandro, wondering how a demon could maintain such beauty. She wondered why he’d even care. “You may have insight, witch,” Leandro said, not looking at her. “But some things you are too young and too mortal to understand.” Tatiana felt a feeling akin to grief wash over her. The carriage stopped and, before she could question him further, the door was opened. A gloved hand reached inside and Tatiana took it, letting the elderly servant help her down. He didn’t pay her much attention, not even looking over her drab woolen dress and unkempt hair that made her look more like a peasant than a lady.

Tatiana stretched her arms, instantly detecting the servant to be human. His eyes were clear and brown and he seemed unaffected by the sight of his master, the vampire, stepping down the carriage steps. The servant bowed low to Leandro. “Ettore, this is Miss Sinclair,” Leandro said. He motioned to Tatiana before murmuring to the man in their native tongue. Ettore dutifully bowed to her and motioned his hand to the driver. The carriage sped off to the nearby stables. “He’s human,” Tatiana said when Ettore turned and walked up the narrow row of steps to the house. She thought of Cesare and his milky white gaze. “You don’t have to make him a servitor?” “Don’t think that because he is human he’ll help you,” Leandro said. He brushed his hand absently over his black jacket. Tatiana shivered. There were times when he looked so much like his brother she wanted to weep. Leandro tended to pull his brown hair back from his face in a queue and his gestures had subtle differences in them. When she was near him, she didn’t feel him as she did Marcello. She didn’t want him as she did Marcello. She didn’t ache for him as she did Marcello. “Don’t pine for my brother, bella donna,” Leandro said bitterly. “He can’t feel for you. Believe me, I know. You were merely a woman to warm his bed and a hot place to stick his manhood. The rest was only an illusion he made you believe because he could.” It wasn’t the first time he’d said such things to her. Tatiana tried to ignore him, but the seeds of doubt were beginning to wear on her. What if Leandro was right? What if Marcello could never feel for her? It wasn’t like he’d claimed to love her. “I had a vision of you, Leandro,” Tatiana answered, her voice light. Her eyes narrowed leisurely on him. “You were bursting into a ball of flames in the sunlight and you were screaming in such agonizing pain.” Leandro’s lips curled into a pleasant smile. “A vision or wishful thinking, bella donna?” Tatiana stretched her arms, yawning as she looked around. She didn’t bother to answer him and she knew he wasn’t concerned with what she had said. The grey-white stones of the castle home were beautiful, built high from the ground. The large square-shaped keep was encircled by the long stone wall, which lapped around not only the house, but the garden and outbuildings. What looked to be an old chapel was nearby, a bell tower set high above it. A watch tower reached even higher on the opposite side of the immense yard. “It’s beautiful,” Tatiana whispered in awe. Leandro paused, frowning slightly at the pleasure in her voice. He took her arm with a growl and roughly led her forward, up the stairs to the front door. His fingers were cold against her arm, even through the wool of her simple dress. The door opened by the mere motion of the vampire’s hand and he dragged her into the gorgeous marble lined hall. Leandro paused and she saw his eyes roam around his home, taking it all in as if it were the first time he looked at it. She felt a contentment enter him, which he quickly hid from her. “The household had no warning that I would bring a guest so there is no chamber ready,” Leandro stated with an emotionless mask over his features. “You will sleep in my chamber tonight.” Tatiana stiffened, causing him to laugh. “Bella donna,” he scolded. His hands threaded behind his back and he looked ever so much the handsome gentleman. “Have you not slept by my side for nearly a month? Are you afraid your will against me is weakening? I know how passionate witches are, especially those with such gifts as yours. You are a natural creature. Your body feeds off that which is around you. But, sex and passion is the quickest way for you to churn your powers. It’s been a few months for you, eh? Is your power growing dim with nothing to feed it? I felt you trying to glean off me, bella donna, but I am dead and my body can only offer you energy in two ways--directly through my blood, or through the milking of my male sex.” Leandro stepped up to her and lifted the back of his hand to her cheek. It was a rare gesture of tenderness and it scared her. He stroked her lightly, his smile devilishly charming in his handsome face. Her body was treacherous with physical ache, but it longed for Marcello, not him. His cool fingers crept into her skin. His dark gaze lowered to her parted lips and he leaned closer. Leandro’s cool mouth came to her cheek, brushing along her warm skin, as he whispered, “Would you like me to ease that ache in you,

bella donna? I promise I can bring you as well as my brother. I will even let you scream out his name, if that is your desire.” “You’re sick,” she whispered, not daring to jerk away from him. Leandro threw back his head and laughed. His lips parted at the sound and his fangs glistened in the orange glow of the torch and candlelight of the hall. He turned to her, gripping her on the arms and lifting her up before him. Their bodies rose to hover several feet above the ground and he held them there easily. “How long did you resist my brother before you spread your legs for him?” Leandro asked in a low, bitter tone. His eyes again moved to take in her face, caressing her with his heated gaze. “How long will you make me wait until you do the same, witch?”

“You … I thought we…?” she whispered, thinking of that dreadful night Marcello had discovered her in Leandro’s arms. “If I fucked you, bella donna, you would remember it.” Leandro’s lips snarled, almost cruelly. “You would still feel it the next morning in your battered thighs.” Tatiana gasped. She tried to wiggle out of his arms. He gripped tighter, bruising her. He was being deliberately cruel. He tried to scare her, perhaps tried a little too hard. A true monster wouldn’t threaten, he would take. Or was he just playing with her? Enjoying his threats, before he finally had his way with her? “Let me go, Leandro,” she whispered, stopping in her struggles to hang as dead weight. “You are home now. You have no use for me. Just, let me go.” “I have much use for you,” he said in foreboding. A feminine shriek of alarm sounded beneath them, echoing the hall. They ignored it. His hand lifted, stroking with mock adoration over Tatiana’s face as his eyes swirled with dark passions. “You are my vengeance.” “You were human once, Leandro.” Tatiana’s face pleaded with him, though her tone was soft. “Have you no feeling left in you?” “Ah, but I’ve been vampire longer,” he chuckled, much amused by her defense. “How can I explain? If you worked one day of your life shoveling dung, would that make you a dung shoveler for an eternity?” “Another one of your beloved sayings?” Tatiana spat, snarling back at him. “Wherever can I write this down?” “My lord?” Tatiana and Leandro’s eyes turned down to the floor. A nervous young woman no older than sixteen stood there. Her auburn hair was pulled neatly back from her very white face. She trembled violently, eyeing the floating couple. Tears poured over her cheeks. “I … I was told,” the girl mumbled in an English thick with Ireland. She made a weak sound. “I was told I must let you … drink my … feed.” “Go away!” Leandro roared, his voice sounding as if the devil were carried over in it. “I have no use for you tonight.” The girl jolted in alarm and took off running the way she’d come. Tatiana felt the girl’s fear and also her relief. When Leandro’s eyes turned back to her, she said mockingly, “You act like quite the God, don’t you, Leandro? Such the all powerful vampire having to have little girls brought before him like human sacrifices. Tell me, for I have yet to see you take a grown man with your fangs. Can all you do is frighten women and children?” Leandro snarled at her. Then, glancing down, he grinned--an evil, wicked look of malice. Tatiana’s eyes widened right before he let her go. Her body fell onto the hard marble floor with a loud smack. She lay there, sore but not broken, glaring up at the vampire who floated contemptuously above her. **** Marcello looked around the dark mountain ranges of Tuscany. They looked as he remembered them, though he had not seen them since the time immediately after his rebirth. Some of the old houses were there, altered a bit by time and generations, but still standing in ruin. Other things had changed--a paving of an old country road where he used to race his horse against Leandro, trees where an old cottage had been, modernized buildings that detracted from the beauty he’d known in his human youth. A chill swept through him and he turned to Alice with a grimace. The spirit simply wouldn’t leave him be. If he wasn’t mistaken, the transparent face glowered back at him. Usually Alice was serene, merely fading and materializing next to him at odd moments, never speaking. He’d grown used to her, finding bored amusement in swiping his hand through her until she’d get so irritated she’d leave him alone. Once, in a fit of frustration over just having missed Tatiana and Leandro, he threw a vase at her head. She’d disappeared for a week and he had almost doubted she would return to him. But return she did, keeping her distance. It was odd, seeing his homeland after nearly a century of being away. But, even after so long a time, he could still feel the connection his spirit had to the land. The rich soil was in his bones, the fresh mountain air in his blood, and not time nor death could take it from him. He felt the land of his mortal youth calling out to him, welcoming him back. Marcello sighed. The vampire had finally come home. **** Tatiana’s jade eyes stared listlessly into the large mirror before her. The cream colored gown Leandro gave her to wear sent a wave of apprehension over her. Beneath the rich silk, over the thin chemise, she wore a tight corset reinforced with stiff whalebone. A maid had laced it up the back, so tight she was sure she was going to faint. The bodice was square and deep, leaving nothing of her cleavage to the imagination. The back of the gown was simple, with a long capelike piece of material flowing from the square cut neckline to the floor, giving no hint of her shape from the back view. The sleeves were tight from shoulder to elbow, fanning out in silk pleats over the top of the forearm. It was an antiquated style, one she remembered from her vision of

Marcello’s past. The large, belled skirt fanned out from her hips. It was heavy and she felt weighted down by the numerous petticoats, which were held out to the sides with a hooped petticoat support of bent wood. The gown’s skirt was decorated with elaborate pleats of silk. Due to the unfamiliar shape of the skirt, Tatiana was afraid she would have to walk sideways through the narrow doors of the castle’s top level lest she get wedged between the frames. Tatiana turned her eyes, watching the silent maid’s old wrinkled hands on her hair. She’d stuck a pad beneath the locks, building them high up top and pinning tight curls to the side in horizontal rows. The maid was human, as was all of Leandro’s staff. The servants didn’t seem to mind their place within his home. It was a curious thing. Whereas they showed no pleasure in their master, they also showed no fear. None of them spoke to her above a few polite words. Occasionally, they would look at her with a curiosity that they soon hid beneath their blank gazes. Tatiana grimaced at her reflection. She lifted her fingers to touch her pale face, made even more so by the dark contrast of her hair. She felt like a porcelain doll, dressed up for the vampire who now controlled her like a child commands a new toy--with fascination and selfish pleasure. “Leave.” Tatiana jumped up in surprise at the command. Only then did she realize the maid was finished with her hair. The woman curtsied and walked from the room without a backward glance. Leandro’s eyes were expressionless as he let them roam over her attire. Slowly, he nodded. “What sport is this?” Tatiana asked. Instead of answering, his eyes turned to the bright fireplace casting an orange glow about his bedchamber. Though he bid Tatiana to sleep by his side during the day, he had yet to force himself on her. Instead of a master bed, there was a large coffin upon a platform. She’d been shocked to see it, though what else should she have expected? A large fur rug lined the stone floor, a chamber that was richly designed with medieval influence. Unlike the rest of his home, this room still had the appearance of what it once was--the chambers of a long dead Lord of the Manor. Instead of paper or paint, the walls were lined with dark blue tapestries, woven with designs of golden thread. “It is almost time,” Leandro whispered, a small look of hesitance coming to his face when he turned back to her. The declaration brought him little pleasure and she was sure she saw a little pity in his dark eyes when he looked her over. “Ah, bella donna, how beautiful you look like that.” Tatiana frowned. “Come here, before the fire. I wish to take a closer look at you,” Leandro said. Tatiana’s frown deepened. “Yourvampiric eyes can see me just fine.” “Come,” he ordered, harder. “I will have you dance with me.” Tatiana knew there was little escaping his bidding. Still, she didn’t move. There was something about the way he looked at her with sadness and regret. “Come, so that I may finally release you.” Tatiana wondered at the cryptic way the words came from him. His long dark hair was pulled back from his face. His eyes swirled with green as he tried to read her. She held her mind closed to him. Slowly, she took a step forward and then another. Stopping, she stood before him on the rug. “Stop with the pretense. We both know you don’t mean to dance with me,” Tatiana said. “You are right, bella donna,” Leandro said. He lifted his hand to slowly caress her pale cheek. A small sound came from his throat. “How beautiful.” Tatiana turned her eyes toward the fire so she wouldn’t have to look at him. It was a mistake. Leandro’s eyes turned a blood red as he saw her neck. His lips parted, revealing his fangs and he struck the thin layer of her flesh, piercing through it with razor sharpness. Instantly, he began to drink, pulling deep against her with this mouth. Tatiana gasped in surprise at the suddenness of the harsh attack. There was no pleasure in his deep hold. His hands gripped into her arms as she tried to push away. A whimper of surprise left her throat. Leandro drank deep and strong, sucking her life in large gulps of blood. The strength of her struggle soon turned into weak thumps against his solid chest. The light began to fade from her eyes and she knew she was going to die. Leandro drank deeply, draining her life with a swift skill and speed that only a century of death could bring. Only when her limbs dropped listlessly to her sides, did he stop. His mouth opened wide as he felt the pleasure of her blood inside him--so potent and strong, making his body rage with

powerful emotions. She hung in his arms, her mouth slack. Gently, he laid her body on the floor. Her heart still beat in his ears--so faint and light. Tatiana looked up at him from her place on the fur rug. She saw her nose reflected clearly in the liquid depths of his red eyes. She felt the sticky blood on her throat, trailing along her skin in slow, slithering paths. His mouth was red, a testament to his rough feeding. He had not taken it easy on her as he had in the past. Fire burned from the wound and she wanted to cry, but she couldn’t form the tears. She was helpless, feeling her heart become faint. Her lungs expanded, using every last bit of energy she had left to keep moving up and down in shallow pants. “I am truly sorry for this, bella donna,” Leandro whispered, his voice hoarse with the demon inside him. His eyes, still full of her blood, looked odd in their tenderness as he stroked her hair from her face. “But you will die in his arms as she died in mine. Only your death will be gentler, for I could never force that pain on you.” Her rasping breath was his only answer. Leandro frowned in confusion. His eyes darted to the doorway. “Where is he, belladonna? Why does he not come to save you?” Leandro looked down to her in question. In outrage, he growled at her. “You block the way from him? Why?” A slight smile tugged her lips in response. “Argh!” Leandro screamed. “You will not deny me my revenge! I have waited too long for him to feel the pain as I have. Call to him. Call him to you!” Tatiana refused and he knew it. “Then you leave me no choice.” Tatiana’s smile faded. Leandro’s mouth, still stained with her blood, ripped into the flesh at his wrist. Tatiana tried to rouse, but she was too close to death to move. She felt the peace of it calling to her and insanely she wasn’t scared of it. But, as Leandro thrust his pale skin to her mouth, she became terrified. The blood poured down her throat and at first she couldn’t even choke on it. Her body welcomed him inside her as her mind rejected and hated him. Suddenly, she gagged. The will to live became so strong that she began to drink deep and hard, feeling herself returned in his blood, empowered by it. She became mindless in the rush of pleasure and feeling. Her fingers gripped onto him. Her red eyes met with his dimming ones. His lips opened and he shouted in dark pleasure as her lips suckled him. With a growl, Leandro pulled his wrist away from her to cradle it in his arms. The gash slowly healed. He stepped back, watching Tatiana. At first, she merely laid on the rug, gaping at him, hands on her chest as she gasped for breath. A pain shot through Tatiana’s body and she screamed in agony. The intensity of it took her by surprise. Her limbs shook, convulsing violent and strong. The door burst open and her eyes flew to it. Marcello stood before her, looking as he did in Paris--so handsome, just as she remembered him. Her eyes took him in, drinking as heavily of the sight of him as her lips had of Leandro’s blood. She saw his eyes round in confusion, taking in her quivering body and bloodied neck before moving to study Leandro. Leandro bowed to him, turned his back, and walked to the narrow slit of a window. Marcello rushed forward to kneel by Tatiana. His pale face filled with horror as he looked at her. She screamed again. He grabbed her hand and began to murmur soothing sounds to her, incoherent thoughts of comfort and helplessness. Then, turning to glare at his brother, he demanded in their native tongue, “What did you do, Leandro?” “She is dying,” Leandro stated in kind, though his words were a contrasting calm. “Don’t you remember the look of death, my brother? Has it been so long that you could’ve forgotten it? Now we are even.” “You call this even?” Marcello growled. Tatiana’s screams began to lessen as her organs died one by one until only her heart was left beating. Her lungs stopped filling with breath. “You call this just?” “I will let you have your moment with her. Use it well. For when she turns completely, she’ll belong only to me. I am her master and I will not relinquish the control of my benighted child. Please, feel free to use my coffin tonight. I am sure she would prefer to share it with you.” Marcello watched helplessly as Leandro left them alone. His stricken gaze turned down to Tatiana. He saw her dress, now stained with her blood. An eerie remembrance came over him of another time, another life, another death. The crimes of his past were visited upon him in this act. Finally, he was punished. Only Tatiana wouldn’t live in his memory. She would live in his dark world. It didn’t matter. Memory or benighted child to Leandro--either way she may very well be lost to him. Leandro gave her the demon they all carried. How much of her would be left once it was done? “Marcello,” Tatiana’s pale lips whispered. She felt him on her hand, holding her. She felt his pain over what was happening to her. Suddenly, a vision flashed and Marcello’s face dimmed. She saw the past.

A long line of her ancestors gathered beneath the stars. A stone altar was before them, drenched with the blood of an immortal stretched and writhing upon it. She saw a carving of a bird on the base of the pedestal. She felt her ancestors inside her and was connected to her past once more. Long, reddish brown hair fell over the vampiress’ pale, beautiful features as she slowly turned to look at Tatiana. The immortal’s lips parted, screaming at the witches in an ancient language, cursing their bloodline. The power surged up around Tatiana, strong. But it drained quickly and she knew that this was the moment the Addien powers went dormant. She felt cold, as she watched the vampiress slowly turning to ash before them. Her ancestors lay on the ground, shivering, crying out in pain and loss. She felt it too, buried deep within her blood’s memory. Tatiana gasped, convulsing again as she tried to break free. But the vision wasn’t finished with her yet. No longer was she in the past, but the future--a far distant future with tall structures and strange moving lights. It was daytime--bright and sunny. Her head spun and she smelled a strange smoke that choked her lungs. Giant photographs, strange in their lifelike colors, lined a long paved road with painted lines. The women grinned provocatively, as they smiled down from above, indecently clad in less than a corset and chemise. Long meaningless phases were painted underneath the portraits. The streets were filled with inexplicably dressed humans, marching between the tall buildings and the moving street. Suddenly, someone stopped walking and looked right at her. Tatiana’s heart stopped. It was the vampiress. She was very much alive and in daylight. But, how? Tatiana felt herself trying to walk after her, but the woman began to run. When Tatiana would give chase, the vision disappeared and she was left staring at Marcello’s concerned eyes. “It is only a vision,” Marcello soothed weakly. His fingers hovered helplessly over her, as if afraid to touch her. “They happen to us all when we are reborn. Try to remember it, bella mia.” Tatiana’s lips opened, but no words came out. Her body shot forward as she vomited on the fur rug. It wasn’t much as she hadn’t eaten that night. Marcello let her stomach empty of the last of her human food before pulling her into his arms. Her limbs were too weak to cling to him so she just let him hold her, as she hung limp like a rag doll. “It is almost over,” he crooned, pulling pins from her hair. The dark waves spilled over her shoulders once more and he removed the padding that held it high. “Almost over.” Tatiana didn’t move, merely stared insensibly over his shoulder. Her neck was healing itself, but she didn’t feel it, didn’t feel anything but the numbing after effects of a hard death. Marcello lifted her skirts, pulling at the wooden petticoat support until it came free. She didn’t need to breathe anymore, so he left the corset. Then, lifting her weak body in his arms and laid her down in Leandro’s coffin. She was limp and did not protest him, though her dazed green eyes followed his every movement. Going to the fur rug, he rolled it up and set it outside the bedroom door. Without a word, for he couldn’t speak, he crawled in beside her and pulled her into his arms. Her eyes closed as he bid her gently to find her rest. It was early yet in the night, but he knew he wouldn’t be leaving her alone--not like this, not when she needed him. Kissing her forehead, he whispered, “I am sorry, bella mia, so very sorry.” **** It was Marcello’s strong arms that held her. Tatiana had missed him so much and now he had her close to him. It didn’t matter that her body lay dying in his arms or that she’d changed. She didn’t care. He was back and he was with her. It was all that mattered. Tatiana felt whole again. Her body was calm, her power settled. She never realized how lost she felt when he wasn’t near. Her life had carried the same lethargy, which had settled over her those two years parted from him at Eastwich. She realized it now. Without him she was numb. Trying to open her eyes, she felt a strange weariness in her limbs.

I am dead, she thought, as she saw Marcello’s eyes clearly in the dark tomb of the coffin. Every detail was as clear as day and she drank it in. “Yes, bella mia,” he whispered.

I’ve missed you’ Tatiana blinked, unable to move her frozen lips. Marcello’s answering look was sad. “Forgive me.”

There is nothing to forgive. This was my fate. I know that now. This was the fate of my line. The evil will return and I must be there to fight

There is nothing to forgive. This was my fate. I know that now. This was the fate of my line. The evil will return and I must be there to fight it. She’ll walk in daylight. “You saw this?” His nose edged closer to hers. Aside from his whispered voice the coffin was silent. Her breath no longer stirred between them.

Yes, I saw it. I was cursed before I even met you--cursed by my own blood, cursed by an ancient spell to become what I am now. But, it is I who am sorry, Marcello. I never knew you could feel. I didn’t understand the helplessness you must have felt in that moment of death and undeath. You truly have no choice. The body wishes to live, to drink of the demon. It doesn’t wait for permission. As she thought it, Tatiana felt another voice scratching to get in her mind. She pushed it away. She was with Marcello. All she wanted to see was his face. All she wanted was to feel his body, hear only his voice. Can you forgive me for judging you? “There is nothing to forgive,” he whispered. His hand roamed over her hip. He wanted her so badly, had missed her so much.

How did you find me here? “Alice came to me. She led me to the lycan den where you were held captive,” he said. “I tried to come for you, but there were too many. They locked me away in a prison. Domin told me Leandro had you. I knew he would come here. He always comes here.”

And yet, you don’t. “No, until now, I have not.” Marcello touched her paling cheek. Her body was cold but did not shiver. “I am sorry I couldn’t save you from this, from Broderick or Leandro, from Domin. What did they do to you?”

You couldn’t have saved me. It was my fate to go and so I went. If not Broderick and Leandro, I would’ve gone another way. This life is my curse, not your doing. My destiny was sealed long before my birth, long still before your death. Domin helped me. He gave me his blood and balanced me and now I am connected to him. Tatiana’s wide green eyes studied him. She tried to smile, but failed. “A vampire connected to a lycan?” Marcello’s lids dipped over his gaze in thought. Tatiana could detect subtle hints of an expression, little changes unknown to her human eyes, but now unmistakable. He was hurt, sad, worried. What is it? “The vampires and the lycans merely tolerate each other, but they are most generally not friends. I wouldn’t say what you are to anyone, Tatiana. It could put you in danger. Some of the old will not take kindly to you being connected to the lycan. They remember the old wars and bear no favor with the wolfen kind.”

Lycan. Vampire. Witch. The sardonic laughter was in her thoughts--bitter and cold. Which one of us is the demon now? “You are no demon, bella mia. Don’t think it,” he whispered. Tatiana tried to nod her head, hearing the desperation in his voice. She didn’t know what she was anymore--only that she was trapped in a place between life and death, a place that she would remain for an eternity. Her eyes drifted closed and soon she welcomed the dreamless black sleep of a corpse.

Chapter Seventeen Tatiana flinched. Something bit at her lip and the flavor of blood entered her mouth before she was even fully awake. With a light moan of pleasure, she stirred, swallowing the blood. One hand hit upon the hard edge of a coffin, the other found the steel-like muscles of a chest. Almost instantly, she gasped. “Marcello?” she breathed. She licked her lips, feeling the poke of her fangs. She’d bitten her own lip. Her blood had a strange, but gratifying taste to it and she again swallowed. Instantly, her body cried out for more. “Are you really here?” Tatiana’s fingers crept up his sturdy chest. Her eyes pierced through the darkness and she could see every detail of him. Feeling his cheek, she pushed the long brown hair from his face. He was turned toward her. His hand was on her hip, massaging her gently. “Sì, bella mia.” Tatiana fell forward, pressing her body along him, gripping him to her. His body was as she remembered it, so strong. Her skin tingled with nerves and she could feel him like never before. She was too weak to act on her impulses. “You came. Leandro said you wouldn’t come for me-that you would never come to Italy. I’m sorry I ran away from you. There was a lycan, Broderick, and he had some powder that … anyway, it

smelled like flowers and I couldn’t resist it. But, we spoke of Broderick last night, or was it a dream? It’s so fuzzy, I can’t remember it all. But, you came, you came. I hoped that you would.” “How could I not come?” he whispered into her hair, breathing in her scent. He could smell the dried blood on her, the musk of the grave so new to her flesh. The knowledge that he’d not been there in time to save her from her fate ate at him. Tatiana misunderstood his cold tone. She pulled back, hurt. “Yes, my lord, of course. You had to come and retrieve your slave, didn’t you now? It was a matter of honor. Leandro--” “Don’t say his name to me,” Marcello growled. “I don’t wish to hear what it is you have don--” His words were stopped by the coffin lid being lifted. Leandro stood over them, grinning devilishly. “Ah, brother, thank you for looking after my woman for me. I do so hate the first night of changing. It is so … unbearably dramatic.” “I am not your woman,” Tatiana spat, pushing up from the coffin’s depths. Her head felt as if it spun about on her shoulders and she held completely still until the queasiness passed. Her limbs were full of a strength she’d never known. Her eyes focused too quickly, seeing too much. In an easier tone, she said, “I am nothing to you.” “Oh,” Leandro said, his tone mocking in its gentleness. He reached his hand out to caress her cheek. Marcello’s fingers shot up as he latched his hand to his brother’s wrist, stopping Leandro from touching her. His nails dug into cold flesh. Little droplets of blood dripped down from the wound he made on Leandro’s arm onto his face. Neither brother flinched. Their matching eyes locked in silent battle. “Your eyes look hungry, brother. You should’ve eaten last night,” Leandro said calmly. “Open your lips. I will be happy to feed my guest.” “She is mine. I found her. I made her my slave. She is bound to me until the end of her days,” Marcello growled. “Don’t touch her again.” “I made her. She is my benighted child. I am her master until I release her, brother,” Leandro spat. “She is no longer human. Her slavery has ended.” Tatiana slowly tried to edge away from them. Their eyes glittered almost black, filling in until no white was left. Their fangs were bared, ready to strike out. Red trails ran over Marcello’s pale cheek. As she started to climb over the side of the coffin, both sets of dark eyes turned to her. Both eyes were equally possessive in their claim to her. She shivered, pausing only briefly before leaping out of the coffin. She was weak and fell to the floor instead of landing gracefully on her feet. Her voice was hoarse, as she shot, “I don’t belong to either of you. Not anymore.” From her hands and knees she looked up at them. Her hair spilled over her shoulders, so dark against her nearly white skin. Her green eyes shone like two beacons, so very captivating in their depths. Her lips were red, almost crimson. Marcello dropped Leandro’s arm and moved from the coffin, hopping out. Brother stood by brother, in front of her. Their faces were flawless reflections of each other, save for the drops of blood on Marcello’s pale face. Even their clothes were the same in cut and fashion-Marcello’s waistcoat in blood red, Leandro’s waistcoat in dark blue. She thought it strange that they would dress in opposite of their human selves, for their last day alive Leandro had worn red and Marcello blue. She wondered if it meant anything and then decided it was coincidence only. The only other difference between the twins was the style of their hair. Leandro tied his dark locks back to the nape and Marcello let his hang long about his shoulders. Tatiana saw their demonic gazes and wondered at it. She looked down. Dried blood stained the cream gown at the shoulder from where Leandro had taken her life. Without the petticoat support beneath it, her skirt fell limp around her hips, dragging on the floor along the sides. A strangeness was in her body as she looked at them, something she couldn’t control. She was hungry, aroused. She wanted to feel Marcello inside her. She wanted Leandro to feed her. She wanted them both to drink of her. She looked at one brother and then the other. They were both handsome. They were both connected to her--Leandro by the dark gift, Marcello by her heart and soul. Both were equally powerful bonds. Without thought, she felt her body drawing them forward, beckoning them to her side. Both brothers stepped to her at the same time, coming to her slowly, in question, in anticipation, in anger, in jealousy and desire. They felt each other without touching, a circle that bound them together--not in love, but in something deeper. It was a bond of fate, destiny, death and blood, in the undeniable eventuality that such things had no choice but to come to pass. They were eternally linked in such a way that nothing could sever the tie. Tatiana was confused. She did not love Leandro, though she couldn’t bring herself to hate him. Whatever past deed spurred him to revenge, she knew she already forgave him of it. He’d been as helpless as she. If any were to blame, it was her ancestors for sealing her fate long ago. They turned her into a vampire with their deeds. She was a witch by birthright, vampire by destiny. Her eyes closed and her lips parted to reveal her new fangs.

“You can’t have us both,” Marcello stated. Though their voices were the same, she knew the brooding in him well. “Then she will have me, for she is mine,” Leandro stated. His voice was lighter, almost pleasant in its boredom. “She was mine first. You know the tribal laws. You may not take another’s bound,” Marcello said. “She has sworn herself to me for the rest of her days.” Leandro’s chuckle sounded over the room. “And you also know the laws. I turned her. Therefore, she is my responsibility until I relinquish her.” “Relinquish her to me. I will train her.” Marcello stepped forward, reaching to touch Tatiana’s cheek. Her eyelids fluttered and she looked at him. Her gaze filled with red. She was hungry. Tatiana barely heard them. Her lips parted wider and she turned toward Marcello’s wrist. He stopped stroking her cheek as she bit into him. He held still, letting her taste him. A light moan came from her lips. The taste of him filled her mouth and she sucked greedily. The connection between them grew stronger. “How does she drink of vampiric blood?” Leandro asked stepping forward. “Such a thing shouldn’t be possible, not to such an amount, and certainly not by one so new.” At his words, Tatiana broke her hold on Marcello. He too looked confused by what she had done. Her eyes were completely crimson with his essence. Her fangs almost seemed longer, sharper, deadlier. “She is strong, different,” Marcello said. “Perhaps that is why she can drink of me.” Tatiana gave Leandro’s hand a meaningful look, as it hung motionless at his side. He smiled and lifted his wrist to her in offering to see what she would do. Tatiana took it and bit with greedy pleasure. A light gasp sounded from Leandro. Marcello watched in jealous anger. Tatiana drank just as much of him before breaking her hold. Closing her eyes, she tilted her head back, offering up her neck. Instinctively, both men stepped forward. At the same time, they leaned over and bit into the tender flesh of her throat. Tatiana moaned. Hands found her waist as they held her still. She began to pant, her body hot, orgasmic with pleasure. They tasted her, her desire for them. She started to quake, brought swiftly to release by their deep, drinking kiss and light touch. With growls of pleasure, the brothers pulled back to stare at her in wonder. Her neck healed, but not before four crimson trails flowed over each pale breast into the valley between. A light sound left her and she trembled, her body racked in shivers. “Bound,” she whispered. Both vampires looked at her, saying nothing. She could feel their possessive jealousy and did not like it. “Pray, don’t stop playing on my account.” All eyes turned to the door. The words came from a vampire with light brown hair. The locks fell about his shoulders in perfect waves, trailing down his slender back. His voice was thick with an accent unfamiliar to Tatiana and, when he stepped closer, he walked with authority. Tatiana knew this vampire was older than Marcello and Leandro. He was gorgeous in his masculine grace and appeal, but his eyes held a dangerous light and she knew he would be deadly in his purpose. He came forward to examine her carefully. Tatiana watched, stunned, as no one stopped him. The intruder lifted a finger to her chest and ran it over the four trails of blood. Then, lifting her taste to his lips, he sighed. “Tsk, tsk,” the old vampire said. “It is quite a situation you boys have wrought. Ah, I do wonder why I even bothered to change the two of you. Methinks Servaes never gave me such a headache.” “Jirí?” Tatiana whispered, understanding him to be her vampiric grandfather. Tatiana swore she saw Marcello’s eyes roll in his head at the vampire’s reprimand and Leandro snarled. Jirí smiled and bowed to her in greeting. “You are the witch.” Tatiana shivered. Jirí’s eyes flashed with green as she had seen the others do when they tried to read her. Only with him, she felt him digging past her defenses with greater ease. “I had to listen to their bitter arguing for years,” Jirí murmured absently, as he pried into her thoughts. “Always battling like mortal children. There were some nights I would’ve been content to drive a stake through their hearts, if only to end my own suffering.” The probing of Tatiana’s thoughts was over as soon as it began. Without warning, Jirí lifted his hand into the air. Leandro flew backward across the room, slamming hard into the stone wall, cracking it with the impact. When he looked up from the floor, blood ran from his mouth in a torrent, pouring over his chin.

“I have warned you about the dangers of changing a woman.” Jirí growled. He turned to look at his fallen son, unconcerned that he left his back open to Marcello and Tatiana. “Even a woman such as this. They are unable to last the centuries without going mad from it. Why do you think most of our kind is male? There is reason for this.” Tatiana glanced at Marcello. He said nothing, did nothing, only watched. Jirí crossed over to Leandro and reached down for him. Lifting his child gently to his feet, Jirí brushed off his coat for him. It was as if no anger had passed over the old vampire’s features. Taking a handkerchief from his pocket, Jirí tenderly wiped the blood from Leandro’s mouth. His face shone with love as he looked at his benighted child. “It is not well done of you, Leandro,” Jirí said. “You shouldn’t have stolen one marked by Marcello. But, what is done is done.” “I don’t relinquish my mark on her,” Marcello stated. “Nor do I,” Leandro said, meeting the challenge in his brother’s gaze. “Don’t I have a say?” Tatiana asked. All three men turned to her, amused. “No,” Jirí said simply, dismissingly. Then, to the brothers, he said, “There is no other choice in it. You will share her until one or the other relents.” “I will never relent,” Marcello said. “Nor will I,” Leandro said. “Then, witch, it would appear you have two guardians.” Jirí laughed and Tatiana saw that he was greatly amused by her situation. The dark sound did not give her hope. Jirí looked them all over. “I don’t know who I pity more of you three. Her, because she is bound to listen to your arguments as I once had to hear. Or you both, for her Moroi blood combined with her witch blood will make her strong and hard to control. It is a job I don’t envy.” “Moroi?” Tatiana asked. “Yourvampire tribe, my child,” Jirí stated. “Don’t worry. You have two masters that shall explain your new world to you. I shall imagine your visions will grow, for our line is adept at reading people.” Tatiana grimaced. She didn’t want her visions to grow. Jirí frowned, tilting his head. “I smell new death and not of the grave.” “It is her spirit,” Marcello said quietly. Tatiana realized it was the first time he spoke since Jirí’s arrival. She studied his hard face, but he did not look at her. “It follows her.” “Ah, I can see why you were weakened into changing her, Leandro. She is truly an oddity, is she not?” Jirí sighed. Then, looking around at the group, he shook his head in what looked like pity. “I go to speak with the tribal council. I will tell them of this. They will not be happy. Don’t give them cause to voice their displeasure, or me mine.” With that warning, Jirí turned and walked out the open door as if he’d never been there. “Will … will he be back?” Tatiana asked, shivering. She edged closer to Marcello. He blinked in surprise. Looking down to where her hand gripped his arm. “No. So long as we don’t give him cause,” Leandro said. He looked at her hold on his brother and scowled. Instead of commenting, he stated darkly, “I will have food brought to us and separate chambers readied. It appears as if we will be living together for a long while.” When they were alone, Tatiana turned to look up at Marcello. “Let’s go. Let’s just run away from here.” “We can’t,” Marcello stated. His hard expression relented some when he gazed into her tormented vampire eyes. “To do so would mean our deaths.” “You would have us stay here? With Leandro?” Tatiana asked. “Please, let’s go back to Paris and start anew or to England, to my home. Let’s just leave. With your knowledge and strength combined with my heritage, surely we can defeat--” “All the tribal leaders? The only known start of us all? Eight of the most powerful vampires known to exist in this world?” Marcello asked. “No, bella mia, there is no escaping. Eternity is too long a time to run.”

**** Leandro stepped down the front steps of his hall, moving with liquid grace and beauty. His hooded eyes fell on Jirí. He wasn’t surprised to see him. He’d heard the old vampire’s beckoning in his head. Leandro was loath to leave Marcello and Tatiana alone, having felt the spark of desire between them, which they both tried to suppress from the other. Just as he knew she loved his brother, Leandro knew she would never love him. He did not want her love, but he jealously did not want Marcello to have it. It was the only reason he kept his hold on her. “What is your old saying? Ah, yea,” Jirí said. “Bacco, tabacco e Venere riducono l'uomo in cenere. Wine, women, and tobacco reduces one to ashes.” “So does a stake,” Leandro mused softly, reaching the bottom step and stopping to study his vampiric father. Jirí chuckled. “So true. You were always the funnier of the two, my son.” Leandro’s thoughts turned to his brother. However, he remained still, watching the motionless Jirí stare back at him. “The past must die,” Jirí said. His hands threaded neatly behind his back. They were both elegant, graceful creatures--well dressed, poised, handsome, eternally in the prime of their appearance. “He was too young to know better. The hunger had been denied too long. Marcello couldn’t help that he killed her. Besides, why pine for a whore?” “She was mine,” was all Leandro said. He knew his eyes filled red with blood, just as he knew the demonic showing wouldn’t give Jirí a moment’s pause. For a brief instant, the last bit of his humanity stirred in Leandro. Revenge. Anger. Hatred. That was all he had left from his human self. If he let it go, he would surely lose that last shred of emotion that kept him alive. Then his life would turn as hollow as his grave and twice as empty. He needed his hatred, his rage, his bitter thoughts. He needed Tatiana, for possessing her quickened him. For so long as she was his, Marcello couldn’t have her completely. “I can’t force you to give up your benighted child,” Jirí said, “but I can warn you against her. She is not for you, my son. Her strength is rare, strange.” “And she won’t be for him,” Leandro said, his voice hot, but ever calm and deadly. “He won’t have that which I was denied.” “He has what you never had,” Jirí growled. His graceful body plowed forward, grabbing Leandro by the arms in a rare act of desperation. “She was a whore, a common whore. If Marcello had not killed her, I would have. I wouldn’t have let you keep her.” “She was my fiancée!” Leandro said. When he looked at his vampiric father he felt many things--love, hatred, admiration, bitterness, resentment. “You took me the same night I proposed to her. She was mine.” “I saved you from a mediocre existence and a short, pointless mortal life,” Jirí said, gently, tenderly, almost lovingly. “I gave you immortality, power. Because of me, you have known more than any simple mortal could. I gave you life.” “No, my father, you gave me death.” “Yet, you don’t resent me for it,” Jirí stated, with a knowing look. He set his hand on Leandro’s shoulder, lightly touching him in the closest thing to an embrace either vampire would allow to pass between them. “No, my father, I don’t resent you. Death has lent itself nicely to my nature.” “The same can’t be said for your brother.” Jirí’s eyes moved up to the ceiling where he could sense Marcello. “Until now. She brings peace to him. Surely you have felt it. Methinks it wasn’t wise to have changed her, but her presence does calm Marcello’s demon. It is odd, but I felt it immediately. If I had a human’s heart, I should be jealous of it.” “Yes,” Leandro said. “But that is no reason to acknowledge his claim. She is dead. His bond on her is broken. She should be mine.” Jirí’s smile was grim. “I would agree, but for one thing. I felt Marcello’s affect on her too. When you took her to the den of the lycans she was crazy, was she not?” “How--?” “I saw it in you and in her when you drank from her vampiress neck,” Jirí said. “I read it in her mind. She is strong, but I saw her secrets. Without Marcello, she is broken. If you take her from him, I fear there will be no controlling her. My first impulse was to kill her, and I would’ve, but for one thing.” “What?” Leandro asked, needlessly. His eyes were hollow as he looked at his maker. “The lycan blood in her. To kill her when she has the protection of both councils--the vampiric and the lycan--would be most foolish. She is protected. Besides, she is the last of her witch’s line. If the powers have returned, so then must the evil they have faced. There is reason this has

all come to pass. The future is uncertain for all. The only thing I know for sure is that we will all be around to see it.” “Come, you must stay awhile in my home. The council will wait. What is another day or two for those who have an eternity?” Leandro moved, forcing Jirí’s hand to drop from him as he walked across the hall floor. The orange glow of candlelight burned bright around them. Leandro did not like the modern use of gas lamps. He did not like change and longed for his lost human world with every beat of his immortal heart. That is why he preserved his family home, never changing it, but for necessity. “For a few days,” Jirí allowed. “Ah, then it is settled,” Leandro said, his voice turned light, as if nothing more than a simple greeting had passed between them. He pushed open a door where Ettore stood. Cool brown eyes studied him from the human face. Leandro said, under his breath, “Bring the girls.” Ettore bowed and left, knowing his duties. Leandro let the door shut once more and turned to Jirí. “I will have a room readied. Please, feel free to have your pick of my stock. I have their loyalty. There is no need to mesmerize them, unless you wish. They are all most willing to feed and attend our kind.” “Such a gracious host,” Jirí murmured in approval. Leandro smiled. The door opened behind him and a long line of servants came through to stand before the vampires. They were all young, beautiful. Some smiled boldly, meeting the pale creature’s eyes with excitement. Others watched their feet, shy and embarrassed. A slender, fairhaired woman was the only to tremble in fear. Jirí smiled to see her. Leandro instantly stepped forward. Taking the frightened woman by the arm, he said gently, “Come, show my guest to his room.” Her wide blue eyes looked up at Leandro before turning to Jirí. She swallowed nervously. When it became clear she wouldn’t move on her own, Jirí’s eyes glimmered and she instantly went limp. “Come,” Jirí whispered. His expression was tender as he held his hand to her. She took it, walking up to him without thought or hesitation. “Go with them,” Leandro said to an amply curved redhead. “Yes, my lord,” the woman answered with an inviting smile. He watched as Jirí led the two women up the stairs, his arm about the slender blonde’s narrow waist. Then, turning, Leandro said, “You three, stay with me.” The unchosen women turned to go, leaving the way they came. Leandro let a slow smile curl his lips in invitation. He spread his arms and the three women he’d picked rushed to him with feminine pants of excitement. Their hands grabbed hold of his body, willingly touching and caressing him as if he were a God. He did not lead them from the hall, knowing they wouldn’t be disturbed. One very pretty girl wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her breasts firmly against him. Feeling his arousal, she moaned and settled her hips into it. With a twist she offered her neck. “Take what you need, my lord,” she whispered in a sultry vixen’s tone. “I offer it to you freely.” Leandro bit into her neck and she moaned, loud and long. His fingers tore the gown from her breasts, baring them. His cool fingers curled around the globes, feeling their weight, massaging passion into her blood so that he may taste of it. The second woman moved along his back, hugging herself to him as she ran her fingers over his shoulders, chest, into hair. The third servant knelt, moving herself between Leandro and his meal. Her hands ran up his thighs to his waistband only to free his long erection to view. She instantly took it into her mouth, sucking her master with pleasure. Leandro groaned, euphoric, drinking deeper. **** “Did you miss me at all?” Tatiana stared at Marcello, wondering where the question had come from. She did not mean to say the words aloud, but now that they were out, she couldn’t take them back. Marcello looked at her, eyeing her pale face, so changed, so beautiful still. Slowly, he turned his back to her and whispered, “Yes.” Tatiana felt as if her heart was about to fall from her chest. There was so much she wanted to say, to know from him. At the moment, she couldn’t force the words past her lips. None of it mattered. Not her death and rebirth, not the past between them. She needed him as he needed her. They were connected. She felt his blood within her, stirring her passion, her longing. “Marcello,” she whispered, going to him. She took his arm and pulled. His eyes met hers in a locked embrace. “I am glad it wasn’t you who killed me.”

He started to pull away, but Tatiana refused to let him go. She rose up on her toes, thrusting forward so hard that she knocked him back across the floor. He remained on his feet, skidding over the hard stone as she kissed him with fiery longing. Her fangs nicked his lips and she deepened her assault with a moan of pleasure. “I love your taste,” she whispered passionately into his mouth. “I want more of it. I want all of it. Give it to me.” Marcello growled and pushed her roughly back. He glared at her, the red of blood filling his gaze. She could see that he wanted her, but was torn. “You taste of my brother’s blood. You reek of him!” “It was destiny for the three of us to join. Leandro has taken my mortal life. You have everything else of me,” Tatiana said. Her lips trembled and she would’ve cried if her eyes had been able to tear. They stayed steady and dry, though there was sadness in them when she looked at him. “I have nothing left for myself.” Marcello looked at her. Her body was slender, stronger. Her black hair had grown longer, falling down over her hips. Her jade eyes sparkled with their power--more power than before. He wondered how she wasn’t mad with it. “I am mad,” Tatiana said, answering his thought. “I can feel it in me, the insanity, just at the corner waiting for me to stumble. I hear the voices of the past knocking in my brain. They want to show me what it is they have done. They want to show me their deaths. I dreamt of them last night--so many, so much, too much. I don’t want them there. I don’t want to see them. I want to go home again. I want to go to a party in my green silk dress and I want to come home to find Alice sitting in my room waiting for me to tell her all about it. I want….” She stopped talking to look him over. Quietly, her heart breaking because she loved him and couldn’t have him, she asked, “But, I can’t have what I want, can I, Marcello?” “There will be parties,” he said quietly. “But, they will not be the same. You will not glean the same simple pleasure from them. There will be as many green silk dresses as you wish, changing in make and style as the time changes around you. But, they will not give you the same feeling they once did. There will be Alice to whom to speak, but she is now dead and lingering. She is lost, trapped, because you wished it of her that night we buried her. That thought will drive you to distraction, eating at you. As to home, you are home, bella mia. There will be many more homes for you. Many crypts and coffins, countries and places--much more than you could ever image now.” Tatiana screamed, hating him for his words, knowing them to be truths. Her expression changed from sadness to anger. Her eyes darted around. Seeing a knife on the wall, she grabbed it and rushed at him. Her eyes bled with tears and her lips quivered as the sound of the beast surged forth in her words, “Why did you have to come that night? Why did Henry have to kill her? I want my life back. I don’t want any of this. Give me back my life!” Tatiana slammed into him, wielding the blade near his heart. Marcello didn’t fight. She shoved him into the stone wall, knocking the tapestry loose with the force. It fell on them. Tatiana jerked him forward, pulling free of the heavy material so she could see his face. She slammed him into the wall again and again, threatening him with the knife, as she yelled, “Give it back. Give it back.” “Do it,” Marcello growled. He ripped open his jacket, waistcoat, and shirt in one pull. Buttons flew, but they didn’t care, didn’t hear them. Their eyes warred. Growling, he ordered her, “If my death will bring you peace, then do it. Finish me!” Tatiana screamed again, loud and piercing, shaking the furniture with the force of her torment. With a slash, she cut him, ripping into his flesh so that it bled deep. Marcello flinched, but did not move to stop her. His eyes closed as he waited for death. “Into the heart,” he said. “Then drag me into the sun. That is how you will kill me. Do it, bella mia. Do it!” With a low grumble coming from deep within her, Tatiana dropped the knife and licked his wound instead. His chest tensed and his eyes opened in pleasure to watch her tongue flicking across him. “I can’t,” she whispered, moaning in pleasure to feel him inside her mouth, next to her sensitive skin. “To kill you would be to kill myself.” “What are you saying?” Marcello tensed. She shivered as she stood before him, his crimson blood staining her lips. The wound on his chest healed. “I’m saying I need you,” she whispered. Her hand rose to his face, rubbing in long strokes over his cheek. “I’m saying I want you. Will you not kiss me now? It is your taste on me, not Leandro’s.” Marcello leaned forward, kissing her gently as he pulled her to him. Tatiana moaned against his lips and he could feel her pleasure rushing inside of him. He’d been heartbroken to discover that he’d been too late to save her from this fate. He never wished for her to carry the burden of an eternity. But the choice had not been his to make. It was beyond them. She believed this to be her fate, so he knew he must believe it too. “I am sorry, bella mia,” he whispered to her mouth. “I should’ve let you marry Thomas.” “No, I wouldn’t have let myself marry him. I know that now. I didn’t love him, could never love him. My fate was sealed long ago.” Tatiana’s fingers wound up into his hair. “Make love to me, Marcello. I have been so cold without you. The months have been too long.” “What of my brother?” he asked.

“Nothing happened between us. Nothing ever happened between Leandro and me. He just wanted you to believe--” Marcello didn’t let her finish as he pulled her forward to his mouth. He groaned into her, letting her fall hard into his arousal. He wanted her, needed her. Without her, he had not been whole. Their fangs tangled as they kissed, nicking the tender tissue of their lips. Neither vampire cared, for the wounds healed as soon as they were made. Their passion welled between them, almost desperate for fulfillment. The gown was ripped from her body, the corset torn away until she was naked before him. His hands touched her, remembering her feel, the texture of her skin. Tatiana’s flesh tingled, so sensitive in her new state. Each stroke was like fire to her soul and she burned for him like never before. It was too much. Her vampiric blood boiled in a way that shouldn’t have been possible. When she looked at Marcello, her eyes glowed with her strength. His passion matched hers as they joined with their minds. Soon he too was freed from the restraints of his clothing. The tapestry was crushed beneath their feet as he spun her to the stone wall. Tatiana pushed up, reveling in her newfound strength as she wrapped her legs about his hips. Her heat called to him, warmed him. Her mouth opened wide. Her lungs did not seek breath. She watched him intently as he thrust up into her body. When he was embedded deep, she stopped. “This is our eternity. You belong to me.” Marcello was stunned by her possessive statement, but he couldn’t deny it. It was true. From that first night, she’d controlled him--made him want her, need her, thirst for her. It was her power that brought them together, enslaved him. It was her power that allowed him to bind her, control her. And it was her power that enslaved him once more. “You are mine, vampire,” she whispered, keeping her body still on his. The ache was almost unbearable, the need torturous and strong. “And I am yours, whether you wish it or not. Fate has chosen you to help carry my burden.” Tatiana kissed him again. Only this time, she poured her energy into him, letting him take the burden of her soul into himself. He could’ve stopped the kiss, stopped her accursed gift, but he accepted it, accepted her. He felt what she felt--the voices, the pain of the past. As his torment grew, hers lessened. He weakened slightly as she pulled back. Her eyes cleared by small degrees. “I am sorry, Marcello,” she whispered. “It is I who has cursed you--more so than your vampiric father. Can you forgive me?” His answer was a hard thrust of his body into hers. He continued to pull out only to push back in, hard and ramming. She screamed in pleasure. His hips moved in a frantic pace and she met him eagerly. Their desire had been put off too long. It didn’t take long for their bodies to build as they writhed and thrust against each other. Tatiana trembled, clenching him in every possible way, urging him to hurry his release to join hers. The bodies quaked in the violent outburst of their climax. A slow clapping sounded over the bedchamber. Tatiana’s eyes narrowed as she hugged Marcello to her, keeping him embedded deep. Her eyes found the door as she glared at Leandro. Her vampire maker watched them with hooded eyes that glimmered, a testament to the fact that he had not just arrived, but had seen all of it. “My turn, bella donna?” Leandro asked with a small smile pasted cruelly on his lips. Marcello hissed as he turned to look at his brother, craning his neck as he pulled Tatiana possessively against his chest. “I’d curse you to hell,” Tatiana answered. “But we already live here. You took my human life. Marcello has what is left of my human body--all of it.” “So I see,” Leandro smirked, though she could feel he wasn’t amused. “Take your jealousy elsewhere, brother,” Marcello said. “We have no wish for it here.” “Ah, but I have come to collect my child,” Leandro said. “I am duty bound to train her in our ways.” “I will train her!” Marcello yelled, his body rigid. “Ah, that I can’t allow. As she said, her human life was mine, her body yours. Come, Tatiana, you know what I say is true. Marcello can’t be the one to train you. He is too attached to you. He will allow your weaknesses whereas I will not.” Tatiana closed her eyes and nodded. She waved him away with an arch of her hand. Leandro bowed and backed from the room. “You will find gowns in the wardrobe, bella donna,” Leandro said, before shutting the chamber door. “He is right,” Tatiana said. “You will make allowances for me because you can feel as I feel. Leandro must be the one to train me in my new

vampiric ways. And, when the time comes, I will be trained as a witch and by the lycans. It is the only way I can be strong enough. My ancestors were many. I am merely one. If the evil comes back, I will fight it alone.” “You are not alone,” Marcello answered. He set her down gently and took his body from hers. Turning, he walked to the wardrobe to get her clothing. “For, as long as I walk this accursed earth, you will have me.”

Chapter Eighteen

Spoleti Castle, Fall 1899 Leandro walked beside Tatiana through the fairytale gardens of Spoleti Castle. Many nights had passed since her changing, though none who lived within the walls bothered to count them. Their immortal lives fell into a routine, like that of a family--Marcello, her lover and Leandro, her teacher. Both were her friends--dark and twisted as their friendships were. The brothers still fought their ancient battle, but they did so silently. No words were settled between them. Tatiana knew old feelings were deeply buried and she did not force them into each other’s company too often. She knew Leandro well enough to feel his pain beneath his smiles and cruel remarks. She felt his anger and jealousy each night she came from Marcello only to leave for him again with the dawn. Marcello had dreams with her, vague impressions of the past. Hers were more real-sometimes riddled with meanings they couldn’t interpret and sometimes clear in their message of death. “It is time,” Tatiana said. “We must go to England.” Leandro nodded as they strolled through the garden. “I know.” “I have seen the future of my line through Henry’s child. I must go to save the boy,” Tatiana said. “Henry’s son is weak and is dying. I must give my nephew my blood to make him strong, to connect the mortal line to me.” “Do you think it wise?” Leandro asked. “Your blood is potent--too potent for mortals and he is only a young one at that.” “I have seen it,” she said quietly. “I have seen more of it than I wish. There is no choice. If I don’t do it now, the line could be lost. I must connect myself to it. If the boy dies, the line dies with him.” “Your brother may have more children,” Leandro said. Tatiana looked up at the stars and sighed. Clouds dotted over the heavens, blanketing beneath a bright moon. Over the months she’d come to see the night as she had the day. Its faces were many, ever changing, always beautiful and mysterious. “How many are there, do you think? The stars?” Leandro nodded, not prying more. He knew well that Tatiana’s visions were her own. He turned to the heavens. “I have thought often of counting them, studying them, learning their names. But, in the end, I never do. I prefer to have them unknown to me. I would see my own pictures in their depths, not some ancient Greek’s imaginings.” “Domin spoke to me last night. All is well with the lycans. The last have gone into sopor. Only Domin and a handful remain awake to guard the others,” Tatiana said. “Domin is weary and wishes to find his rest, but will stay awake, hidden from the world. He agrees that I should go to London.” “Are you asking me to release you?” Leandro asked. A sadness passed over him to her. “No, I am not asking to be released. We will never be free of each other,” Tatiana said. “My only hope is that you will make peace with Marcello. You are of the same blood. Don’t discount that.” It wasn’t the first time she’d tried to bury what was between them, and it wouldn’t be the last. “You know I don’t want him to have you, bella donna,” Leandro said touching her cheek in brotherly affection. “But, I would give you to him if

you asked it of me.” “I don’t,” she stated. “However, I do ask you to come with us to England. I have need of your strength and guidance.” “You have little need of my guidance,” Leandro laughed. “Ah, but I have need of your friendship,” she answered. “Come with us.”

Leandro nodded. “Very well, bella donna, very well. I have taught you what I know of our ways. In truth, Marcello can tell you the rest. You should seek out the witches next and learn of their craft.” **** Marcello glared across the carriage at his brother. He did not like Leandro’s hold over Tatiana. The short year spent together had not changed their feelings. What he knew to be a long time to Tatiana was only but a brief instant to him and Leandro. A year was nothing when compared to the century they had lived. He knew Tatiana thought his brother sad and lonely. That is why she insisted he come with them to England. She did not want him left alone. Her kindness amazed him in light of what she was. Though, he knew it shouldn’t have. He felt her desire for him each day as they slept, as he shared the burden of her dreams. He couldn’t get enough of her and his only regret was that he would never give her all that she should have--a normal life. “I don’t wish for one,” Tatiana whispered, opening her eyes from where she lay against his chest. He pulled her tighter against him and she nuzzled along his steel frame. Suddenly, Leandro tapped his cane against the roof of the carriage. Tatiana looked at him, confused. Marcello stiffened. The carriage rolled to a stop. Leandro stepped out. “What…?” Tatiana began, looking deeply into Marcello’s eyes. Marcello frowned, following his brother into the night, ready to fight him. To his surprise, Leandro stood by another carriage. A servant opened the door to it and Leandro motioned that he should go inside. Tatiana came up behind Marcello, holding his arm. “Leandro?” she asked softly. “What is the meaning of this?” Servants began moving Tatiana’s and Marcello’s trunks from one carriage to the other. Leandro waited until they were finished. Then, going to Tatiana, he ignored Marcello. Leaning over, he kissed her lips and held her to him for a long time. Marcello’s hands balled into fists. Leandro pulled back. His hand lifted to her cheek, rubbing it softly beneath his knuckles. “I release you from me. Never come back to Spoleti Castle. You are no longer welcome there.” “Leandro?” Tatiana questioned with a gasp. “What is this? What have we done?” She reached for his arm, moving to stop him as he tried to climb into his carriage. He turned to her only to glare at her hand. His eyes were red with the beast he carried inside him, a beast they all carried. Demonically, he growled, “I have released you from me. Go! Before I change my mind and spill Marcello’s blood.” “Leandro?” she said again, weak, breathless. “Tatiana.” Marcello’s voice was calm as he pulled her back. Leandro shut the door on her and the carriage sped off into the night, going back the way it came. “What is the meaning of this?” Tatiana asked. “He doesn’t like lengthy farewells.” Marcello’s humorless expression followed her gaze to the departing carriage, watching it. “But why do this at all?” Tatiana let him guide her into the new carriage. Marcello frowned, not liking the hurt look on her face and the pain in her voice as she gazed after Leandro. Suddenly, he gripped her arms and shook her hard until she faced him. “I thought you would be happy to be rid of him. Just what exactly does my brother mean to you?” “He … I … nothing,” Tatiana said. The lie was weak and written all over her face. “He means nothing.” “You love him,” Marcello accused. “I can feel it.” “As a brother, yes, I love him as my brother, my father, my friend,” Tatiana said. She could feel the jealousy in him and was sorry for it. “Leandro has my loyalty, but not my heart. He is a necessity. His friendship is something I need. I’ve felt that it is. You are something I choose, something I want, but also something I need if I am to survive. I understand if you feel your heart is dead. I don’t demand your love, I never have. I only demand your presence with me if it is freely given.” Marcello said nothing, only listened. His face was cautiously blank, as he hid his emotions from her. “I know what you took from him. I know about the woman you killed--his woman.”

“He told you that?” Marcello asked. “He didn’t have to. I felt it,” Tatiana said. “Despite what she was, he loved her. She was his humanity. You killed that in him. I only wish to see him have it back. That is why I wished for us to stay with him. He needs a family. He is so alone. We are all alone. Being alone together makes it not so bad.” “He doesn’t want us,” Marcello spat. “He has banished us from him.” “You never once offered to bridge the gap. You never once said you were sorry for killing that woman,” Tatiana said. She stepped up into the carriage. Marcello followed, sitting across from her in the darkness. He hit the ceiling, signaling for the driver to go. “I don’t regret the fact that she died. He knows that. Any words I say would be false,” Marcello answered when they were moving. “Tell me, then. Why did you do it? Did you not wish him to have her? Please, tell me you were not so cruel as to torture your own flesh and blood for a sick moment of pleasure.” “I was different. Jirí was a harsh master. He didn’t have our regard for human life. I starved myself until I could no longer fight the hunger. I didn’t know what I had become or why. The woman was a whore. She’d been sleeping with almost every man in the village for years, from old farmers to young servants. Leandro wouldn’t believe anyone but her. He was happy only in ignorance. He wanted to change her to be with him. I felt that he did. He protected her, gave her money, jewels, clothing--anything she wanted. If she wanted revenge against someone, he would take their life. She was an evil, cruel woman who discovered Leandro’s immortal secret and used it. So I went to her to tell her to go away. I was going to pay her off. But she kept offering her neck to me, taunting me. I was so hungry. I bit her. So help me, I bit her and I drank the life from her.” “You really killed her?” Tatiana asked, breathless. “The woman he loved?” “She wasn’t worthy of his eternity.” Marcello looked out the carriage window. “Eternity is a long time to hold a grudge,” Tatiana said. “Are you sure there isn’t more to it?” Marcello’s sadness and regret clouded over them, as he continued, “Only afterwards did I remember her wanting me to change her. For some reason Leandro had refused up until that point. Now, I think he must have known his blood was too weak to do it.” “What happened?” Tatiana moved across the carriage seat and gently cupped her hand on Marcello’s jaw, drawing his eyes back to her. She kissed him lightly, unable to hold back. Soothingly, she stroked his hair. “Leandro saw what I had done and tried to save her. He forced me to give her back her blood mixed with mine. She drank it greedily, almost draining me completely and I let her have it. Her body died a horrible, painful death that went on for days. We sat and watched it like two confused children wondering what we had done wrong. Leandro refused to end her suffering and so we waited. That morning, before dawn, we carried her to the graveyard and stuck her in a coffin. Jirí expected us back in our own beds. Now, I think, he must have known what we had done, but he said nothing to us.” “And the next night? When you went to get her? She was a vampire?” “No. She was still there, screaming in agony. She’d ripped gashes into her skin and pulled out all her hair. Leandro tried to feed her, but she wouldn’t drink of blood, wouldn’t partake of human food. She just kept clawing at her flesh and screaming, crouching on the ground in a corner. After that, Leandro refused to leave her again. I was forced to tell Jirí what had happened. Jirí told Leandro to put her out of her misery, to kill her. He refused. She stayed like that for about a week. In the end, she didn’t change. I was too young to change anyone, the vampiric blood in me too new. He stayed by her side the whole time. And when it was finally over, she was reduced to ash in his arms.” Tatiana continued to caress the side of Marcello’s face. “That is why you promised never to change me.” “Sí, bella mia,” Marcello said, reaching to press his hand over hers. “I have never changed anyone. Leandro has never forgiven me for it. He said that I killed his love for me that night. It has not grown back since and after dead so long a time, I doubt it will ever grow back. We are not the boys we once were. Jirí saw to that.” Tatiana leaned up and kissed him gently. The year had passed for them, sleeping in each others arms, making love. But, neither of them spoke of their hearts. Hers beat his name in a constant rhythm, but she hid it from him. She couldn’t bear to have her love unreturned so she kept it quiet. But to sense his pain--so fierce inside him--she only loved him more. The truth of it choked her until she wanted to cry. She pulled her lips back. “And yet, he released me to you,” she whispered quietly. “That is something.” “Sometimes, bella mia, when you face eternity alone, you have to hold onto certain things in order to survive the years. Leandro has embraced his revenge, his anger, his hatred of me. It gives him something constant to hold onto when the world about him changes in ways he can’t understand. You saw his castle home. It is the same from when we were boys. He doesn’t wish to change with the times. And now he has changed you to punish me--or that is at least why I believe he did it. Perhaps his revenge is my looking at you and knowing what path I led you

down, knowing the demon inside you is my fault as much as his. I could’ve left you in Eastwich. I should have. I should have let you marry Thomas, regardless of how your heart felt for him. I think you would’ve been better off.” “And you, Marcello? What do you embrace?” “I embrace you, bella mia,” he whispered, touching her gently. “And before me?” Marcello pulled his hand back, answering in a thoughtful tone, “I embraced humanity. I watched it, studied it. Like the Moulin Rouge’s underworld lifestyle. I watched and listened. I looked at art, architecture. I lost myself in the pleasures of human emotion and experiences. I watched children grow up, some to become great men, others mediocre men who amounted to nothing, did nothing but live out their lives. I watched the darker side too--every hatred, every sin, every possible secret. I’ve seen murders, watched them like plays. They fascinated me the most, for those men were worse than I. We are creatures designed to kill for food. They killed for sport, to feed a demon worse than my own. It was in such a mood that I stopped to watch you and Henry. You fascinated me that night.” “You watched and did nothing?” Tatiana asked, a little horrified. “I did not see Alice’s death,” he allowed. “I would like to think I would’ve intervened. But I will not lie to you, bella mia. I did watch murders without offering assistance. Occasionally, I would punish the murderer after the deed, but I didn’t always stop him. Sometimes, the killer had good reason to do what he did.” Slowly she nodded her head in acceptance of what he said to her. Her fingers dropped from his face to rest motionless in her lap. Mournful, she whispered, “I miss the simplicity of human life. I think I would’ve been contented in a mediocre life. I miss the ignorance of the girl I once was. I think I shall always miss it.” ****

London, England, Winter 1899 The air was cold, but Tatiana couldn’t feel it. The blood of her victim warmed her undead body. As she drank against a strong neck, she peeked into the man’s thoughts. He wasn’t a bad man--a hard worker, loving father, devoted husband despite a few indiscretions. She could even taste his innocent fear of the new millennium that would be upon them soon. Tatiana was pleased. She hated the taste of evil on her lips and in the city, where they often hunted, evil abounded. It was different having to hunt for food. She’d grown used to Leandro’s home, where the meals came to her freely. It hadn’t taken long for Marcello to teach her how to feed without drawing attention or causing pain. She had to eat, so there was little choice in the matter. Marcello’s quiet lessons surprised her. They way he spoke of his victims, with respect and a sense of appreciation, amazed her. It was as if he talked of fine art--each human different, their taste unique, flavored by their heritage, their passions, every one of their emotions, their food and drink. “Their story is in their blood, bella mia,” he had explained. “Take the human heritage. German blood is strong, perhaps a bit bitter. French is sweet like wine. English a little tart. African hearty and stout, wild like that country. Then, when they are blended together … ah, you will see. You will come to know them all.” Tatiana discovered that Marcello rarely killed, unless the victim was so evil they didn’t deserve life. Mostly he took what he needed from one or two a night and let them on their way. Though a strange feeling of fatigue usually plagued them afterwards, his victims were almost always completely unaware of what had happened to them. Using all her skill, she let the man’s thoughts drift in a dreamlike state of euphoria. In his mind he walked through a dark garden, his feet trudging endlessly through the fresh winter snow. When she felt full, she let go and bit her lip. She used her blood to heal the wound so no evidence could be brought about later. Marcello was insistent that they not draw attention to the existence of their kind. Reaching out with her senses, she felt beyond the narrow alleyway and detected it was safe. She guided the man by his arm and whispered, “Go home to your wife.” The man tipped his head at her without really seeing her, hugged his coat around his waist, and trudged away, watching the wet ground as he passed over it. Tatiana shivered, feeling movement behind her. She wore only a gown of blue linen--fashionable and plain. Her cheeks were flushed with stolen warmth. Snowflakes fell lightly over her head and she looked up into them. A few of the man’s lingering thoughts processed through her head, thoughts stolen in a deep kiss. Marcello stepped up from behind her and gently placed a dark blue cape over her shoulders. “You forgot this, bella mia,” he said quietly.

“I have no need of it,” she answered back, turning to look at his handsome face. No matter how often she saw him, her heart still fluttered at the sight of him, her body still trembled at the sound of his deep voice. “Ah, but you do,” Marcello said, taking up her arm, “for we can’t risk drawing attention.” Tatiana gave a light chuckle. “They will not see me unless I wish to be seen.” “Ah, even the oldest of us can slip,” Marcello said. “Indulge me in this.” “Very well.” She let him lead her over the long, endless brick sidewalks, past wrought iron gates and fences, past pretty little homes nestled in their perfect little yards. This section of the city was for the middle class, a great improvement from the overcrowded boarding houses of the inner city masses. “Has Alice come back to you?” Marcello asked. “No. I have not seen her,” Tatiana sighed. Alice’s spirit was still earthbound. Tatiana could feel it. But the presence had left them as they entered English soil. She wondered if Alice did not like coming home, as she herself did not like coming home. Tatiana thought she would be happy to be back in England. But this was no longer the England of her youth. She saw it for what it was--for its flaws. No longer did she feel pride when thinking of her birthplace. It was like remembering a room from childhood, a room that was so big and so awed innocent eyes. To visit that same place years later, with the critical contemplations of an adult, the room could never compare to the image remaining from your childhood thoughts. After that moment, a bitter feeling would erupt from the disillusionment of childish dreams, the disappointment of adult memory. That is how Tatiana saw England. “This place is not all flawed, bella mia,” Marcello said quietly. “You must learn to look for the beauty amongst the thorns.” “It is in the winterand there is no beauty within the dormant grove of this city,” she whispered. She stopped in front of a house. The small structure wasn’t special. It had an area set aside for a garden. White blanketed the ground, trampled by the running of little feet. Children had run circles and patterns in the snow earlier in the day. Now, their footprints glistened in a field that sparkled like blue diamonds in the moonlight. Tatiana followed the trails with her eyes and felt sadness. She could almost hear the children’s laughter in her head. This was something she would never have. Marcello stood, watching her in silence. Her gloved hand reached forward and brushed snow from a fence post. “This is not the England of my girlhood. It pains me to see it, for I will never belong here,” Tatiana said. “Never again.” Marcello didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. “Let us finish our business.” Tatiana sighed. “I care not where we go from here, only that we do go.” “We must find you a witch.” Marcello lifted his hand to her shoulder and squeezed. “You must train.” “Ah, yes. Tell me, why should I train to save all of this? Why save a world filled with so much?” Tatiana asked. “Why save a world I will never belong in again?” “You don’t need me to answer that.” Tatiana patted the hand on her shoulder. Turning to him, she gave a slight smile. Her arms wrapped around his neck and she lifted to place a small kiss against his cool lips. The snowflakes landed on her eyelashes and she blinked rapidly to see. “Pay me no mind, Marcello. I am in a mood this night.” He nodded, hugged her to his chest, and let her go. With a sigh, he offered his arm to her. She took it and they again walked, speeding faster as they moved. “I understand,” Marcello said. “We shared the same dream. You will go for him tonight.” “Yes,” she whispered. “Tonight.” **** Three and a half years he waited for this night--the night he would avenge his sister’s death. Thomas hugged his long, wool coat tight around his body, ignoring the holes in his elbows that couldn’t protect him from the cold. His hunched shoulders lifted and fell as he sighed with weariness. He was tired, so tired. The shadowing of a beard marred his once boyish face. He knew he looked old for his age. Hell, he felt old for his age. His red brimmed eyes stared forward. Though his body reeked of liquor, his feet walked steady and sure.

Three and a half years. Three and a half years. The words repeated themselves over and over again in his head. It was too long of a time to wait for vengeance. It was too long a time to image what Henry Sinclair had done to sweet, innocent Alice. At night he could still hear her laughter in his head. She’d been such a sweet girl, so happy no matter what life had dealt her. Such a good soul didn’t deserve a harsh death. He’d lost every woman he’d ever loved--Alice to a murder, his mother to grief after he’d told her the truth of Alice’s death, and Tatiana to a monster. After he avenged his sister and his mother, he’d go for Tatiana. He would learn the truth of her involvement. He was torn with what he would do when he saw her. Alice had been her friend and yet she’d helped to hide the body? Every one of the dark creature’s words filtered in his head.

‘You can’t keep her from me,’ the creature had said to Tatiana’s father. ‘I only let you have her back because I promised to let her say goodbye to you in return for her pledge to be my eternal slave. She traded her soul for the protection of your son. It was your boy who murdered the servant and, like a coward….’ “And like a coward, he’ll die,” Thomas whispered, letting the rage kindle anew as his pace quickened. He knew the way well, had watched Henry Sinclair for months, waiting for the time he’d be alone. ‘No,’ Tatiana had answered the demon. He could still hear the sweet confusion in her voice. She was to have been his wife that night. He’d been so happy. She was all he’d ever dreamt about. But then, the demon had come for her. ‘I never would’ve given myself to you. You lie. Henry

would never murder Alice. You lie! You lie!’ “She didn’t know,” Thomas said. “It is not possible for her to have known. She loved Alice--loved her dearly. She wouldn’t have allowed….” Thomas frowned, shaking his head in doubt. “No, no, she couldn’t have known, could she? But why bind herself to the demon? Why agree to go with him? She was tricked. She must have been tricked. She would never have helped Henry hide Alice, never, never, never….” Thomas rounded a corner and continued to trudge up a small hill. His feet slipped, causing him to fall forward on the hard pavement of the sidewalk. His ankle twisted and he landed on a knee with a jolt of pain. He muttered in anger, pushing back up. He kept going, trying to keep the same pace though he now unconsciously limped. The uneven clop of his boots was the only sound in the stillness of the city night. “No, Tatiana loved her,” Thomas whispered, glad that no one was around to witness him talking to himself. Nevertheless, the sound of his whispered words eased him in his task and he felt a small sense of comfort in his reasoning. “I will find her. She is not dead. I will find her. I will find her and make her my wife.” Even as he said the words, Thomas doubted the eventuality of his plans. Who knew what hell Tatiana had lived in since the night the devil came to Eastwich? She could be broken of spirit and of mind. He himself was broken and lost. “No,” Thomas said in a hiss. He stopped and looked at a small house set back in a lawn. “We will live here in this very house. I must remember this house, this street. She will have my children and they will grow to be great men. We will be happy. We must be. We have to be.” **** “There,” Tatiana said, pointing up to a high window on the second story of the brownstone house. “My nephew is there.” “Tatiana?” asked Marcello, hearing the sound of her longing. She’d been in a strange mood all night and it bothered him. “What is it?” “Nothing.” He knew she lied. “Is it what you want? Children?” “No, yes. I don’t know. I can’t help but think of all I missed, all I will miss. I resent that I’m being made to pay for Henry’s crime, though it isn’t completely Henry’s fault. I wouldn’t have had a choice either way. And, yet, I am jealous of him. Look at this,” Tatiana stopped to wave her hand at the house before gesturing up to a window. “I will never have this. I will never know the joy of a family, of watching a sunrise or sunset with a husband who loves me.” Marcello felt a pain wash over him. He wasn’t good enough for her. She didn’t love him, but was with him out of necessity, out of a shared loneliness. She’d said as much to him before. It was why she wanted to stay with Leandro, too. She wanted a family, a semblance of normalcy in her life. How could it be any other reason? Since her changing, there was only honesty between them--well, honesty in most things. He hid his feelings for her, so as not to burden her with what she didn’t want. She didn’t love him. Her desire for him was strong, tireless, but she did not love. He wished more than anything he could give her this life, give her a home, a child. She had a good heart, deserved so much more than living beneath the ground like a corpse, her soul rotting as her body never would. Would she grow bored of him? Would she soon find another to replace him, someone new to quicken her powers? How long would it take? A year, a decade, a century, a day? “Ah, but why complain to you about this? You and I are the same in this way,” she whispered.

Si, bella mia, he thought. His heart slowed until it was a lifeless thud that only brought him pain. We are very much the same. Though, I am not with you just to ease the loneliness of a long life, for I could make peace with our existence, if only you would accept my heart. “What?” Tatiana turned to look at him. Her pale face studied him, her jade eyes blinking curiously. “I didn’t understand.” “I said nothing,” Marcello murmured, taking more care with his thoughts while he was around her. “But, I think that perhaps I will go with you up to the window.” **** “What … who…?” came the trembling voice of Henry’s wife. Tatiana looked at the woman. She could smell the woman’s fear. She was a frail, thin creature. Her light brown hair fell over her long white nightgown. The woman shivered, standing with her baby in her arms. She hugged the infant tighter, blinking as she watched the two vampires before the open nursery window. “It … it can’t be,” the woman whispered. Her eyes teared and she hugged her child tighter, causing the sleeping infant to squirm in her arms. Nearing a panic, she tried to make it to the nursery door. “Please, they said you were dead. Please, don’t take my baby, not my baby. Take me instead. Don’t come for my baby.” “You know who I am?” Tatiana asked in surprise, looking over the light blue walls of her nephew’s room. It had the sweet smell of baby in it, tinged with a hint of illness. The baby was sick. Her vision wasn’t mistaken. “Yes, yes,” the mother said. “Yes, I know. You are Henry’s sister. I saw your portrait. Mr. Sinclair, your father, said you were dead. Please, don’t take my baby.” “Dead?” Tatiana asked in surprise. She glanced over her shoulder to Marcello. His eyes bore into her, giving her comfort. Slowly, he nodded for her to continue. “I see the death in your face. Your eyes … they are … you’re…. Please, leave us in peace, spirit. He is young, too young to go with you. Please!” The woman cried, rocking her child in her arms almost desperately. “I … I think he recovers. The doctors are wrong. He’ll live, I know it. Today he opened his eyes.” “You love your child,” Tatiana said with an approving nod. She was jealous of the woman, but felt her good, albeit weak, heart. “Yes, yes, with all my soul,” the mother whispered. “What is his name?” Tatiana asked, stepping closer and reaching out her hand. She could hear the mortal woman’s heart racing in fear and was sorry for it. “Wil--William,” the woman stuttered softly, fighting to catch her breath. “And I am Mary.” “Ah, Mary,” Tatiana said soothingly. She lifted a hand to pull back the blanket, hiding the pale little face. The soft skin was warm against her fingertips. “Such a sweet face. I don’t see my brother in it.” “Yes, he … he looks like your father.” Mary tried to pull the blankets back and hesitated as her hand brushed Tatiana’s. She jerked back, taking her child with her. “You’re as cold as a corpse.” “Yes,” Tatiana dismissed. “But I don’t bring you death, Mary. I bring you life.” “Life?” the woman whispered, disbelieving. “Let me hold him?” Tatiana asked holding out her arm. “May I see my nephew?” Mary shook her head, sinking into the wall as if it could protect her. She cried harder. “N--no.” “Shhh,” Tatiana hushed, letting her mind comfort the woman. “I will not harm him.” Mary instantly calmed and reached out with her arms. Tatiana took the babe and brought him to her chest. Looking down at him, she whispered, “Ah, sweet William, open your eyes so that I may see them.” The baby listened, twitching and fussing as he fought to awaken. Mary came close, hovering protectively with her arms ready to strike should anything happen. Tatiana ignored her. William’s eyes opened, the blue orbs so clear and bright in his small head.

“He’s beautiful,” Tatiana said, looking up at Marcello. A strange emotion crossed his face and he nodded. To her surprise, she felt him stiffen as he turned his back to gaze out the window. Holding the child with one arm, she lifted her finger to her mouth and bit it. A drop of blood surfaced. Mary paled as Tatiana offered her finger to the baby. “What are you doing?” Mary demanded. “Shhh,” Tatiana told the woman and Mary instantly went silent and calm. “Come William, you must drink. Look into my eyes and drink.” The baby took the finger in his mouth and began to suckle. Tatiana watched health and color come over his features. He began to wiggle and squirm, drinking greedily. Tatiana pulled her finger back and the child protested with a loud yelp of anger. “Shhh,” Tatiana hushed him and he quieted. She watched her blood swimming in his eyes, turning them red. When her blood left them, they were no longer blue, but jade green. “There you are William. Now I will always be able to find you and yours.” “What did you do?” Mary asked weakly, looking at her son. She saw his strange eyes and gasped. “I saved him,” Tatiana answered simply. She did not want to let him go, but she really had no choice. “Keep him from all sunlight for a week if you wish him to live. After that, he will be as he was born, albeit strong and healthy. Tell no one of my coming. If William has need of me, I will know. Until that day, if there is such a day, don’t reveal to him my existence.” “Yes,” Mary said in awe. She felt her son moving in her arms and began to cry tears of happiness. “You have my word. But, what of Henry? Your father? Surely they--” “No one,” Tatiana repeated sternly. Mary nodded her head. “Yes, no one. I promise. Please, tell me how I can repay you for the life of my son?” “I demand only this,” Tatiana said. Marcello still had not turned from his place. “Raise him well and tell him grand stories of his father, our family.” “What … what do you mean?” “Remember, keep him from the sun for a full week,” Tatiana said, turning her back on Mary and William. She reached up for Marcello’s shoulder. He turned and wrapped his arms about her. They crossed to the opened window and jumped. “Wait!” Mary called, running after them. When she reached the window, they were gone. Tatiana stood by Marcello’s side, hidden from Mary as they watched her close the window. A smile of hope was on the young mother’s features, as they saw her swaying happily with her revived son.

Chapter Nineteen “Why don’t you go on ahead,” Marcello said quietly. “I will be along shortly.” Tatiana turned from the window to study him. Her heart fluttered in her chest, beating rapidly. She was overwhelmed with emotions. Her arms could still feel the gentle weight of the baby, his warmth. Her gaze dipped to his mouth. “It isn’t finished.” Marcello sighed. “I know. I will take care of it. I have given you my word when you bound yourself to me that I will protect your family and I will. No harm will come to Henry this night.” “You saw the dream? How come you didn’t say?” “How come you never told me of it, bella mia? Is it because you still feel for Thomas?” Marcello’s expression was blank, but she could feel more in him. “I feel sorry for Thomas,” she admitted weakly. “I don’t wish to see him harmed.” “I promise not to harm him. I will merely dissuade him from his task.” Marcello began to walk around the front of the house. In the distance, they both detected Henry’s carriage. “Now go! There is no need for you to see this.” “No, Marcello,” Tatiana whispered. The carriage neared and she grabbed his arm, stopping him.

“There is Thomas,” Marcello said, making as if he would go after the man and stop him. “No,” Tatiana repeated, her voice soft. “But, bella? I promised you. I will not let harm come to your family.” Marcello tried to shake off her arm. She gripped him tightly. “No. Don’t interfere.” Tatiana’s anguish poured out of her as she saw her brother step out of his carriage. He looked as she remembered him and a part of her loved him still. Her voice caught, as she said, “It is justice. What must be done, will be done.” “Are you sure?” Marcello asked. Tatiana read his concern and threw herself into his arms. She buried her face in his sturdy, unmoving chest. Snowflakes fell gently around them. A shot rang out. Tatiana stiffened in Marcello’s embrace, frozen for an instant before she pushed away. She turned and allowed herself to be seen as she stepped forward. She could feel the households around them stirring at the noise of the gun. For a moment, Thomas blinked. He looked old, worn, no longer the handsome youth he’d been. Time had been most cruel in its treatment of him. Henry moaned on the ground. “Tatiana?” Thomas breathed. “How … how can it be?” Tatiana’s sad eyes turned to her brother. She knelt beside him and took his hand in hers. He was cold, but not nearly as cold as her. Henry blinked, gasping for breath. “Tatiana … help.” “Shhh, Henry. It will be over in a moment,” Tatiana said. She stroked his hair from his face. Gasping sounded and his throat choked as he coughed up blood. The dark liquid stained along his face, dotting the pure white snow. “Hush, now. It’s all right.” “Tat--” Henry’s eyes dulled and she felt the last breath slip out of him. Slowly, she stood. She knew that they were watched from windows. She could feel the eyes gathering. Thomas held his gun, his hand trembling. He looked at her with his worn blue eyes. “Tatiana?” “Thomas,” she said. “You should go.” “Tatiana, is it really you? How? I haven’t seen you with Henry. How is it you have come to be here?” “Go,” she insisted. Her eyes glittered in her meaning. “Now. Before you are seen.” “How did you escape the devil?” he asked, shaking. “I never meant for you to see this. He killed my sister. Please, forgive me. It is justice that I seek this night. Pl--” “Shhh,” Tatiana hushed. “Go.” “Come with me,” he urgently whispered. He moved toward her, limping on his bad ankle. She took a step back, shaking her head. Her lips parted. She let the shadowed light fall on her mouth, tipping her white fangs. Thomas gasped. Reaching into his coat, he pulled out a second gun. He pointed it at her, his hand wavering in fear. “What has happened to you?” he asked, shaking his head in desperation. She could’ve charged him, disarmed him. Instead, she merely watched. “What has that demon done to you?” “I helped Henry, Thomas. I cleaned up his mess. I hid Alice’s body. I didn’t deliver the death blow, but I am as guilty as he. I remember it clearly now,” Tatiana said. “I’m sorry.” “So it’s true?” the man hissed. “You helped to murder my sister?” “Yes, forgive me,” she whispered. She knew they must hurry. More and more eyes moved to look out at them. It wouldn’t be long before the authorities arrived. “How could you!” Thomas yelled. Then, he began to cry. Hot tears rolled down his cheeks. “She loved you. I loved you. I love you still.” “The woman you love is dead. You will move on to find happiness. This I promise. Now, end me, Thomas,” Tatiana whispered. She felt Marcello behind her, felt him stirring. She willed him back, willed him to trust her.

When Thomas didn’t move, Tatiana let the bloodlust enter her eyes. Baring her fangs, she charged him. Thomas gasped in horror to see the creature she could become. Lifting his gun, he fired. The bullet hit her in the chest, sending her flying back. Tatiana gasped at the fiery pain blazing inside her. Her body slid across the snow, stopping in a twisted mass of limbs near Henry’s corpse. Thomas stood frozen. Marcello materialized out of thin air with a growl. Thomas saw him and dropped his guns. He turned, running away from the house. Marcello looked down were Tatiana lay in the snow. Her body wasn’t moving, save for her red and jade eyes. With a worried frown marring his brow, he knelt down and gently lifted her up into his arms. Mary’s face stared out at them from the window, pale and drawn. He ignored the mortal woman, turning his back on her. A desperate curse left his throat, as he pulled Tatiana close to his chest. Tenderly, he swept her lifeless body back to their crypt. **** Marcello was forced to dig his fingers into Tatiana’s chest to retrieve the bullet. She screamed in agony, unable to lay voice to a coherent thought. In her mind, it was the same, nothing but torturous suffering. He could feel her pain washing over him like it was his own. He tried to mesmerize her, but she wouldn’t let him and he knew she punished herself for Alice. When the bullet was finally out, he made her drink from the wrist of an enthralled prostitute he’d plucked from the nearby streets. He cut the woman open, letting her life trickle into Tatiana’s gasping lips. She swallowed, only because she had no choice. It was going to be a slow and painful recovery, but her body would eventually heal itself. After taking the prostitute and dropping her off, blocks away from the graveyard they rested in, Marcello opened their shared coffin. He set Tatiana’s tired body inside. Her pale eyes stared up at him in her pain. He swallowed over the lump in his throat, crawling into the darkness with her. “You are a fool,” he whispered darkly. Only then did he allow the shaking fear to enter his body. He pulled her close, holding her tight. For a brief second, he’d thought he would lose her. When the gun fired and she flew back, he’d waited, frozen in terror, for her to turn to ash. Thankfully, the bullet struck too far right and only punctured her lung--an all but useless organ to her. “He could’ve pierced your heart. You are young. It could’ve killed you. If you were weakened in such a way, he could--” “I have done what needed to be done,” Tatiana broke in against the searing pain. “I have repaid my debt. I have given Thomas his revenge and his peace.” Marcello growled, hugging her tighter. She flinched, but he didn’t let her go--couldn’t let go. Weakly, as he watched her eyes close into the void of her dreams, he whispered, “Perdonami amore mio. I could’ve lost you. I shouldn’t have let you face him, cara mia. I could’ve lost you. I could’ve lost you.” Tatiana stirred but did not waken. “Perdonami amore mio,” he whispered over and over again, kissing her temple, breathing deeply of her scent. ‘Forgive me, my love.’ **** Tatiana opened her eyes and was met with the shadowed ceiling of the stone crypt. It was a dank place, one she knew Marcello did not like staying in. He’d only come to London because of her. She knew that and was grateful. Stretching out with her senses, she tried to feel for him. She could detect him near, wandering about amongst the graves. Slowly, she sat, looking around. She felt a small chill. “Alice?” she whispered, looking through the darkness. Tatiana climbed out of the coffin. “Alice?” She felt a wavering presence beside her and turned. Alice’s transparent form stood before her. Her pale features smiled as her hand lifted gracefully to touch Tatiana’s cheek. Tatiana felt the maid’s energy next to her, though the hand wasn’t solid against her skin. “I am sorry, Alice,” Tatiana said. “I’m so sorry. I … I shouldn’t have helped Henry to hide you. I shouldn’t have beckoned you to me. I’m sorry.” Alice’s hand drifted down over her chest to hover near the bullet wound. Her face turned sad. “Henry’s gone. Thomas has avenged you. It’s over.” Alice closed her eyes and nodded. Tatiana heard the woman’s words whispered in her head, “Thank you.”

“I release you from this world, Alice,” Tatiana whispered. Alice had been her best friend in her past life, but this was a new life and it was time to let her go. “I release you.” Alice opened her eyes--eyes that shone in a bright blue happiness and peace. She nodded once and slowly faded. Tatiana was left with a hollow feeling in her chest. Alice was truly gone. Walking out into the winter night, she ignored the sting of the cold wind on her cheeks. She couldn’t feel it anyway. Her chest ached as she walked, but she ignored it. The worst of the physical pain was over. Seeing a figure leaning tall against an old gravestone shaped like a cross, she sighed. Marcello. She shouldn’t have bound him to her. She realized that now. The burden of her future wasn’t for him to bear. It wasn’t fair to him. And, though she was sure it might kill her to do it, she would release him from her. In doing so, he would then be able to release his hold on her. He would again be free. “Marcello,” she whispered, sad. He held up his hand to her and motioned her forward. She stepped closer, only now sensing the smell of a human. She leaned, looking around his shoulder to where he pointed. There, huddled and shivering, was her father. “Father?” she gasped. She began to step forward, but stopped to see the look of apprehension on his face. “What did you do, Marcello?” “He’s done nothing,” William Sinclairsaid to his daughter. He was thin, frail, a man aged by years more rapidly than he should’ve been. “I--I came on my own. I searched for you. I--I wanted to see you.” “How…?” Tatiana asked. “I know what you are,” he whispered, looking up at Marcello. “I know you saved my grandson.” Tatiana frowned. “Mary didn’t tell me,” he said, raising his hands in defense. “She’s a good woman, Henry’s wife … widow.” William tensed, a wave of grief passing over his face. Tatiana felt it as well. He looked at Marcello then Tatiana. Tatiana tried to turn away in shame. Her father’s words stopped her. “You did what I couldn’t,” he said. “Your brother … I couldn’t cover up for him anymore. He was mad.” Tatiana frowned. She stepped closer, her eyes glimmering as she read into her father’s mind. She found his love for her and his fear of what she was, though he was trying hard to overcome it. She also found his shame over his son. She saw how her father discovered Henry’s passion for prostitutes, a passion that ended in violence and death. But he had no proof of the crimes, only his suspicions, gathered together by little facts and clues--a bloodied glove, an odd comment, a lustful look. Suddenly, Tatiana tensed, feeling the heat of a vision swimming before her eyes. She saw a woman’s body, strangled by Henry’s hand. She saw another beaten bloody like Alice. Another still stabbed. Another hung. Another … another … another … endless. “How long have you known?” she whispered in horror. “How long?” “After Alice, after you left us, I went to London to speak with him. I mentioned you and he seemed relieved. I looked into his eyes and knew. A father should know his son, but I didn’t know mine. I had him followed, watched.” William began to sob, running his hand in his hair as he fell to the ground in grief. Tatiana went to kneel beside him. She felt Marcello moving away to give them privacy. She watched him stroll down the long line of gravestones before turning to her father once more. “How did you find me?” Tatiana hesitated before reaching out to touch him. She ran a light hand over his shoulder. “I was at Henry’s home. I saw you through the front window. This morning, I saw my grandson and knew by Mary’s face you’d been there.” “How is William?” Tatiana asked softly. “Well. Very well.” Her father smiled. “Strong. Handsome.” To Tatiana’s surprise her father darted forward and gave her a big hug. She felt his shiver as he pressed his warmth to her cold. “I’ve missed you, girl. Please, come home. I don’t care what’s happened to you. I don’t care. So help me, I don’t. Just come home. Come back to Eastwich.”

Tatiana looked at Marcello. Their eyes locked from across the distance. Slowly, he nodded his head at her. “Yes,” she whispered, realizing that was what she wanted. She couldn’t have a little family of her own, or a normal life. But this was her family. This is what she wanted. She wanted her father nearby. She wanted to watch baby William grow to be a good man. She wanted Marcello. William’s face broke out into a smile. He grabbed her face in his hands, kissing her cheeks in enthusiasm. “I’ve kept your room, just as you left--” “I am a vampire father and a witch. I can’t live at the house with you.” Tatiana motioned meaningfully to the graveyard. “Oh, yes,” William said, a little disconcerted. Then, shaking himself, he swore, “It doesn’t matter. We’ll make arrangements. I just want you home.” Tatiana kissed his cheeks, urging him to his feet and back to Henry’s home before he caught an illness from the cold air. She watched in silence until he faded from sight. Then, silently she drifted toward Marcello, who waited patient and still for her. The blue moonlight cast shadows of the graves. Tree limbs stretched and danced along the dark sky in eerie streaks. Stopping before him, she felt her heart break. “I release you from your bond to me,” Marcello said softly. He didn’t move to touch her. “You’re free to go home.” He turned to leave. Tatiana cried out, reaching to stop him. “Marcello, wait.” Marcello stopped, studying her carefully. She couldn’t read him. Never had she wanted to more desperately. “Just ask me, bella mia. Ask what it is you are trying to pry from my mind,” he whispered. “I will not lie to you.” “Come with me,” she said in a rush. “Not because you have to, but because you want to come. I should never have made you take part of my burden. I should’ve let you go that night we buried Alice. Forgive me, please, say you forgive me.” “There is nothing to forgive,” he said through the tremors. “For you have also saved me, Tatiana.” “Saved you?” Tatiana dared to step closer. He was her lover, her best friend. She would have him be more. She would have him be her everything--for he already was. Without him, she wasn’t sane, wasn’t whole. “It is you who balance me, Marcello. Please, say you’ll come with me. I--I love you. I’ve loved you since Tuscany, before Paris, since before England. I’ve loved you since before my birth. You, so much more than the rest of this nightmare, are my destiny. Please, say you’ll come with me to Eastwich. We can let Glastonbury Castle, make it our home. We can be a family--us, my father, Mary, baby William. We’ll have a home.” Marcello swept forward, pulling her instantly into his arms. He kissed her, deep and long, pouring his soul into her. He broke free only to hold her tight, cupping the back of her head into his chest. His lips whispered next to her temple, as he said, “Whatever love this heart of mine can feel is yours. It always has been. If we are cursed, then so be it. We will be cursed together.” “Then you will come with me?” She looked at him in awe, in hope. She felt the truth in his words and all barriers were lost between them until there was no more doubt. “Yes, yes, bella mia, I will follow you anywhere. Let us go to Glastonbury and make it our home. Together we will guard over your family line and keep them safe.” Marcello lifted her up and again tasted her lips. “I had imagined my heart as dead for so long. Only when seeing you in the forest with Henry, did my heart truly beat for the first time. You were so brave, so strong, so beautiful. I love you.” Tatiana shivered at his hoarse words. “We are eternity, my love, forever.” Marcello grinned, swirling her around happily in his arms, dancing her up into the night air as they lifted above the gravestones closer to the stars. The distance of the city spread out beneath them, but they couldn’t see it. They could only see each other. “Yes,” Tatiana whispered, happier than she’d ever been in her whole life--mortal or undead. She grinned at him, holding his face gently in her hands. She wrapped her arms around his thick neck and held on, content to let him carry her. “Il nostro amore e’eterno,” he said against her lips as his kissed deepened. “Yes, our love is forever,” she translated, understanding his words perfectly as if his language, his soul, were her own. Tonight, forever, she belonged only to Marcello. “We are bound for all eternity.” The End

To read more excerpts from Michelle M Pillow please visit her website www.michellepillow.com and be sure to sign up for her mailing list to hear about her new releases.