“Stop, I beg you. Do not speak another word.”
“Why must I? Can you honestly say you do not feel the same way?”
She fixed her teary eyes on mine and her quivering lips pronounced no words.
“Is this what you want, to torture me with your silence?” I said. “You find my pain amusing, is that it?”
“No! Of course, not!” she said. “Ivan, there's something you should know—”
“Hello, hello!” a voice said. As a haunting demon, his tall silhouette emerged from the palazzo's doorway.
Concealed beneath a heavy black greatcoat that dropped to his ankles, with a ruffled white collar, and wearing a white Medico della Peste mask, his black-gloved hand waved in the air and covered his head as he drew near.
“I never thought I would find you here, not in the rain!” he said in a cheerful voice. “Well, do you not recognize me?”
How could I? The man's costume covered him completely.
“Ha! You really have no clue of who I am, have you, Lockhart?” He took his hand to his waist and laughed.
His scornful laughter triggered a memory inside my brain. Not an image, but a feeling. A sharp sense of hatred poured out of my wretched heart at the sound of that hideous laugh.
“Pritchard...” I mused. And to my utter disappointment, my guess proved right the minute he lifted the mask from his face.
“Surprised to see me?” He removed the bird-like beak mask and patted my jacket's drenched shoulder. “I must say, what a taxing endeavor it would have been finding you amidst the crowd. Had Alisa not pointed out to me what her outfit would be for the ball, I would never have found you!”
“Alisa—?” I whispered. Confusion was an understatement of my present frame of mind. Bewilderment, shock, remained more suitable terms for my reaction—well that, and my brewing anger towards Pritchard.
“Of course! She told me everything about the Grand Ball in her last letter. 'I would not miss it for the world', I said. And here I am, amongst my dear friends once more!”
In her last letter? They corresponded. She asked Pritchard to come here. My eyes turned to Alisa. Words eluded her. I could tell of her discomfort but cared very little for it.
“Come,” he said. “We should go inside. Trust me, this weather will only get worse!”
I swept off his condescending hand from my shoulder and took a step back.
“I can't,” I said. “I—I have to go.”
What possessed me to utter such unintelligible words? I did not know. I only knew I felt wronged and needed to escape this dreadful scenario as fast as I could.
As I opened the gate, I prepared myself to become lost in the sinuous Venetian callis. But when I pushed the door, her hand clasped mine.
“Ivan, please!” she whispered in my ear. “I wanted to tell you!”
I turned back. Pritchard stayed behind, by the doorway.
“You should go back,” I said with a cold, detached voice. “He's waiting for you.”
My hand slipped away from hers.
With so many questions torturing my brain, demanding an answer, I should have wanted to stay. But the reasons for the hurt my heart experimented drove me further away. And as I moved towards the Piazza San Marco, caring for nothing more than finding a moment's peace, I knew no matter how much distance I placed between us, this hollow feeling would follow me wherever I went.
17
The Carnival
Drunk, I blundered through the hordes of men and women in maschera spread across Saint Mark's Square, until I slipped into a corner where I could lean against the wall and take a deep breath.
Not only did the wine cloud my thinking, but myriad emotions stirred within my heart and nothing—not even the blessed red elixir—could silence the pressing voice screaming in my mind the ominous words I dared not pronounce.
It's wrong. It's wrong in so many ways, but I cannot stop it. I have no control over it... And I don't want it to stop!
I threw the bottle away and took a few steps back from the mass of people laughing and chanting their bliss to the wind while I swallowed my misery. My hand guided me as it scurried alongside the wall; it kept me on my feet and led me to a silent narrow street, deprived of any other human presence.
I could finally yield into desolation's arms. And I would have, had the soft touch of a hand running across my waist not prevented me from weeping... An interested woman, no doubt. Someone who found my looks appealing enough in spite of my present distress, and wanted me for the evening.
“Mi dispiace...” I said. “I'm not good company, ragazza. Not tonight.”
“Sarai sempre la migliore azienda per me.” You will always be the best company for me, she said in flawless Italian.
The black Colombina mask… I recognized her instantly.
The corner of her luscious red lips curled into the hint of a smile as she drew closer, and the subtle yet luminous scent of her skin filled my lungs with its fresh notes of roses and bergamot.
It was then—as I held her in my arms and embraced her tight—that my inner turmoil grew silent. Her body yielded against mine as I pulled her close with a gentle swing. Her deep-blue eyes locked into mine, and I recognized in them the undeniable gleam of desire—perhaps even love.
“I have been dead for so long...” I whispered. “But whatever remains worth giving of my lifeless heart belongs to you, Alisa.”
She placed my hand on her chest. Her heart was racing.
“It’s ours, Ivan…” she mused. “Yours and mine.” The words echoed in my soul.
It was ours.
One blood. One beating heart whose entire purpose was to live for this, our obscure love. My heart had stopped eight years ago—frozen beneath the chilling waters of the lake where I had lost Viktor—and hers had sustained me ever since.
“Dolcíssimo amore!” I pressed my lips against hers and as I did, all of my fears were estranged and the haunting voices in my head fell silent. I knew peace in that moment, and I would be damned if anything would deprive me of it ever again!
The fiery touch of her delicate hands as they ran down my chest instigated my thirst for her. I cared nothing if it happened right there. I wanted her. All of her.
Locked in a passionate embrace, I kissed every inch of her skin, eager to unveil all shreds of clothing from her body. She pressed my hand as it neared her cleavage and smiled with mischief at my display of impatience.
“Come,” she whispered.
Across damp and narrow streets, she led me until we reached the inn's hallway. I slipped the pay over the counter with much haste, and we climbed upstairs of the vacant establishment as people gathered in the piazza for the Carnevale's celebrations.
Music filtered into the dim-lighted room. But all I cared about was taking her in my arms, and allowing my hands to travel across the forbidden lines of each curve of her glorious body. For too long had I released my unbrotherly feelings for her in the arms of many others, and these efforts had gained me little to no satisfaction every single time. But this time, it was different. This time, I had stepped into a world where such a dream would soon become a reality.
I held her warm hands as we stood before the window. A soft beam of the streetlight below landed on her face and filled her eyes with an amber gleam. She drew closer and kissed my lips with ardent desire.
“Wait.” I parted her gently.
I took a step back to capture her countenance as she stood before me—her blushing cheeks and brightened eyes. Alisa’s lips parted, plump and tender as a rosebud.
Slowly, I removed my Volto mask. My fingers glided on her neck and pulled the ribbon of her Colombina mask. I took my time revealing her precious face. This moment, I would hold dear in my heart for a very long time.
“No more masks...” I whispered.
She blushed once more and bit her lower lip. Her hungry eyes landed on mine.
I smiled. Dearly, I embraced her and kissed her with all the love I had gathered for her
in silence all these years.
Her bare body lay next to mine, faintly concealed beneath airy white sheets. Alisa slept, but I refused to. I would not—not on a night like this. Not when mere moments ago I had witnessed the release of her passion, both of us caught in the whirlwind of our long-withheld affections.
The clashing of my senses had rendered me helpless; however, my mind's eye retained every detail of our precious time together. I could not bear to lose a single speck of its memory, and therefore I lay awake, lost in the contemplation of her exquisite frame.
Freedom. The highest, clearest, sense of liberty boiled in my veins, for any prejudicial fine line standing between Alisa and me had been broken at last. And nothing more than utter bliss and freedom had risen from that prodigious rupture.
A sudden elation spread through my limbs, bursting to come out. I wanted to stroll by her side on the banks of the Grand Canal and scream to the world how much I loved her—how much I had always loved her. I realized then that nothing else mattered. My selfish sense of unworthiness, the guilt I carried ever since Viktor's demise... worthless, all of it.
I had love. And though it scared me to know within my reach such a frail treasure, it filled my heart with pride and something else my life had been missing in a long while... a reason to live.
A smile drew on my face and there was nothing I could do about it, nor did I want it to fade ever again.
I gathered my clothes and slipped downstairs for a drink.
The Carnival had turned Venice upside down and left its unequivocal trail inside the inn. No man stood behind the counter. A bottle of Bordeaux caught my eye, so I slipped a few ducats on the counter and took the bottle with me. It was on my way upstairs that I saw him walk by the inn.
At first, I thought it must have been my vivid imagination, or the result of last night's excessive drinking; but then he passed before the next set of windows and the bright red lining of his cloak caught my eye.
The red cloak.
The sight of it unleashed a series of images in my mind that I would have preferred remained buried deep down and long-forgotten. However, very little could be done now to prevent it. The broken ice, the chilling water engulfing me and pulling me down, my brother's horrified grunts as he struggled to survive... it all came back, smashed into one sordid memory. I surged from the freezing water fighting for my life and saw him as he stood several feet beyond the shoreline, wrapped under that heavy red-lined cloak, motionless, his eyes fixed on me.
I would never forget that man for as long as I lived.
Without giving it another moment's thought, I went after him.
As I followed his direction in the street and turned right, I stumbled upon a quiet campiello. Deserted as it was, the fog impeded my clear vision, and I had nothing but the sound of his footsteps as my lead in the chase.
I moved further across the small square and around its fountain, and as the fog dissipated, I caught a glimpse of his silhouette stepping into the small calle that lay ahead. The man stopped in the middle of the street, aware of my pursuit. He turned around and fixed his masked gaze upon me.
I held his stare.
“It is you…” I said under my breath.
A soft veil of steam advanced between us, and once it cleared, I realized the man had disappeared. But he had nowhere to go. The narrow street where he stood led to a dead-end and bearing this in mind my confidence built up as I moved forward.
I heard no more of his footsteps and found not a trace of his presence.
“Where have you gone?” I demanded as I scrutinized every surrounding wall.
I have lost him, again.
I clenched my teeth and tightened my fists and all but roared in my fury. How was this possible? How could a person simply vanish into midair?
And as I questioned every minute of my chase of this man, certain that his presence had not been a figment of my wild imagination, something pulled me back by my shirt. It grasped me so tight that it almost choked me. I could not move. His cold breath landed on my neck and two sharpened blades pierced my flesh.
The pain was unlike any other I had ever experienced; it overwhelmed my senses, and I lost consciousness.
18
The Gift
The intricate details of an oak tester's carving was the first thing I saw as I opened my eyes. I lay on a four-poster bed with red velvet curtains pending on both sides.
Forcing my mind to recall the events which had led me to this unknown place caused me great pain; every blood vessel in my head pulsed in agonizing blows that did nothing but hinder my recollection ability.
I need to get out of here.
I sent the order to my brain. I did it as clearly as I could, and the instruction was fairly simple. Move. But nothing happened. My arms and legs remained unresponsive, weakened to the extent of numbness. I wanted nothing more than to leap away from the plush mattress and run back to the streets I so much adored to roam in this late hour of the evening.
At one point, I gathered enough strength and managed the difficult task of moving my body upwards and leaning my head against the headboard. And as soon as I did it, I knew what a terrible mistake I had committed. Every single limb hurt as hell. And the worst part of it was I had not yet recovered a full state of awareness. My body claimed for sleep. For minutes, I drifted into unconsciousness, but my will instigated me to dismiss the compelling need of resting and urged me to open my eyes and move as if my own life depended on it.
The next time my eyes opened, I made my best effort to analyze every detail in the room, to obtain any shred of information concerning my location. I saw the bedside table, a full water pitcher, and a glass beside it; and the bedroom's window, its shutters closed, preventing any single beam of the upcoming dawn’s light from entering.
That's when I saw him.
His silhouette immersed deep in the shadows of the room, sitting on the chair in the farthest corner from where I lay. A stray ray of light filtered into the pond of darkness where he skulked. That’s when I caught a glimpse of his vacant eyes, their surface white and opaque, devoid of any speck of life. I narrowed my eyes and forced my focus as much as I could, and the rest became clearer: his blond damp hair pressed against his forehead, his long bony fingers dripping water as both arms rested on his knees; his clothes, ragged and wet and sticking to his limbs.
Fear pierced my stomach with its unrelenting blade.
“What do you want from me?!” I mumbled, petrified with horror.
He did not move one inch, nor did he speak. He just sat there, with empty eyes fixed on my convalescing body.
“You see him, don't you?” a voice said.
I turned and met his hazel-colored eyes.
“He's come for me...” I barely could pronounce the words, “because I killed him.”
“Can you see him?” I added
The man gave me a knowing smile. “I cannot. And yet, he is here.”
“The red cloak... you were there... that day in the lake,” I mused. “Who are you?”
My gaze returned to my brother's menacing figure. I would not take my eyes off him for long, crouched like a wolf as he was, ready to launch and attack me any moment soon.
“Who I am is not important, child.” He knelt by my side, closer. “What matters is whether you want to live.”
I stopped breathing. Paralyzed with fear, weakened beyond any possible explanation. I could not make sense of anything that was happening in this moment. Much like my body, my mind was numbed, slow and unable to respond as quickly as I wanted.
My memory retained little else, other than the blackout I had suffered in the street. Next thing I knew, I lay on a luxurious bed, in some palazzo probably, and my dead brother was here, and so was this man who offered me a way out... But that meant something else, did it not?
“Am I dying?” I said, and for the first time in a long while, I took my eyes away from Viktor's terrifying presence and gazed at the man kneeling beside me.
He raised his brow before speaking. “Do you want to die?”
His question echoed in my sluggish mind. For years, I had avoided death and became quite skillful at defying its tragic touch, but after Viktor's demise, everything had changed. I wanted death more than ever. I welcomed it with open arms. I had hoped for the plague or another vile disease to sweep me away from the hell my life had become, and now it seemed I had reached the end of the line. And Viktor was here, and he had come to claim his rightful vengeance.
With all my heart, yes! I wanted to say. But then, a flash of her smile, her deep-blue eyes and the memory of our first night together came crashing into my mind's eye. I had never known such bliss to be possible—or attainable, for that matter. And the words rushed out before I could weigh them any further.
“No,” I said. “I need to live. I cannot die now!” Not when I have found the true meaning of happiness in my life!
“Then I can make him go away,” he mused.
“But how?”
The heavy weariness my body suffered prevented my fear from turning into true horror as I glanced once more at the specter sitting on the chair in the room's corner; his skin, shrunken to the bone, damp and touched by a shade of blue... Was there a way for me to cheat death once more, even now, when it sent my dead brother as its emissary?
He stroked my hair away from my face. His fingers were as cold and hard as marble.
“You must drink,” he said. “Drink, and you will never die. You will never be as he is now...”
He slashed his wrist with his sharp fingernails and the blood dripped over my dried lips. I took that first taste of forbidden elixir and it filled my mouth with all the richness of wine; but as I swallowed that first drink, it surpassed any other wine I had ever tasted. Its warmth spread through my body. And as I held onto this precious fountain of bliss, I knew what true ecstasy could be.
Written in Blood: A New Adult Vampire Romance Novella, Part One. (The Unnatural Brethren Book 1) Page 17