The Cursed by Blood Saga

by Marianne Morea

  She jerked her eyes away, keeping her gaze straight ahead and glued to the vampire leading them out. As the door closed behind them, the sound of Edward’s scream echoed through the hall. Justice had been served.

  ***

  Lily pressed her cheek into Sean’s chest as they sat arm in arm on the couch in her living room, her feet tucked up behind her. All she wanted to do was crawl under his shoulder and stay there forever.

  She had given her landlord notice, and by the end of the month she’d no longer be a New Yorker. Her choice had been made.

  “It’s really over isn’t it? Things can finally get back to the way they should have been in the first place, right?” she asked, her voice uncharacteristically small.

  Sean pulled her tighter against his chest and kissed the top of her head. “I hope so.”

  “I feel like I could sleep for a week,” she yawned.

  Tilting her chin up, he kissed her mouth. “You’re entitled. It’s been a tough one, hasn’t it?” She gave him a sleepy smile, burying herself even further into his chest.

  He glanced around the room, his eyes centering on all the pictures of her and Terry. “Are you sure you want to leave? You don’t have to, you know.”

  She looked up at him. “I know. And I’m not really leaving anything behind. Most of them are memories. Very portable.”

  “That’s not what I mean, and you know it,” he said, running his fingers through her hair.”

  “I know.”

  He shifted on the couch, pushing himself back so he could face her. “Did you mean what you said to Sébastien, that this is your world now?” he asked, drawing his fingers across her cheek.

  She took his hand and placed it over her heart. “In my heart, your world has been my world from the beginning, but you know me. My brain is stubborn, and it takes longer for awareness to sink in,” she said, tapping her temple with her other hand. “I want this, Sean. All of it. You, the Compound, everything.”

  “Does this mean what I think it means?” he asked, cocking his head.

  She nodded. “Yes.”

  He just looked at her.

  “What’s the matter,” she asked, suddenly nervous that her decision had come too late.

  “Nothing. I just have something I’ve wanted to do for a very long time.” He got up and went into the other room. When he came back, he sat on the end of the coffee table and took her hand in his.

  Into her palm, he placed a ring. It was silver in color, but from the sheen, Lily knew it was either white gold or platinum. The sides were scrolled, engraved with beautiful lettering, and at the center glittered a large, square cut diamond.

  “It’s gorgeous, Sean.”

  “It’s been in my family for over one hundred years. The lettering is an oath. It’s in Gaelic, so don’t ask me to pronounce it, but its literal translation is this—with my heart I love, with my body I protect, with my life I trade for yours, forever to keep.”

  “It sounds like a vow.”

  He closed her fingers around the ring, and then lifted her hand to his lips. “That’s exactly what it is,” he said, kissing her fingers. “It’s very precious.”

  Lily kept her hand in his for a moment, not saying a word. When she gently pulled her hand back, she opened her palm and stared at the silver glinting in the light from the side lamp. The diamond sparkled like the tears in her eyes. “Maybe this should be in a safe place.”

  Horrified, her eyes widened the minute the words left her mouth, realizing how awful they sounded. She only meant this was New York, and leaving expensive items like that in her apartment... oh crap. She swallowed hard, hoping he didn’t take her meaning the wrong way.

  His lips curled in a soft, closed lipped smile, and he took the ring from her left palm and slipped it on her finger. “It’s right where it belongs.”

  She stared at the glittering stone on her hand for a moment, then looked at him. “How does this work? Is there a ritual or some ancient rite that has to be completed? I want to make sure we do this right.”

  Sean nodded. “Yes. It starts with a single question,” he said, slipping down onto one knee. “Will you marry me?”

  Heat rushed to her cheeks. “That’s some question,” she said, then threw her arms around his neck. “Yes!”

  He pulled her to standing and cupped her face, kissing her deeply. “I love you, Lily.”

  “I love you, too.” With a crafty smile, she pulled back from him, taking his hand. “Come on,” she said, tugging on his arm. “I’ve got a sudden desire to be on all fours.”

  He lowered his chin, a playful smirk at the corner of his mouth “I thought you were tired.”

  “Yeah, but we’ve only got three weeks before the next full moon. Do you think you can have me ready to run with the moon by then? It might take some time and effort.”

  His smirk spread into a seductive smile and his eyes darkened with desire. With one fluid move he pulled her onto his lap on the couch. “Maybe,” he growled, licking her bottom lip.

  Straddling him, Lily ran her hand down his chest, hooking her fingers into the waistband of his jeans. His breath hitched, and the rumble at the back of his throat took on a dangerous, untamed tone.

  “Make that definitely.”

  Blood Legacy

  Marianne Morea

  Coventry Press Ltd.

  …For the Moms in my life…

  Angela and Norine,

  Without you, none of this would have happened

  Love is passion, obsession, someone you can't live without.

  If you don’t start with that, what are you going to end up with? Fall head over heels. I say find someone you can love like crazy and who’ll love you the same way back.

  And how do you find him? Forget your head and listen to your heart. I’m not hearing any heart. Run the risk. If you get hurt, you'll come back. Because the truth is there is no sense living your life without this. To make the journey and not fall deeply in love…well, you haven’t lived a life at all. You have to try. Because if you haven’t tried, you haven’t lived.

  William Parris

  From the movie, Meet Joe Black

  Chapter One

  Avalon

  Condemned church-turned-nightclub

  New York City, midnight

  Carlos pulled onto the street and seamlessly slid his black Jaguar XLR to the curb across the street from the club. He heard its pulsating beat from almost a block away, and his blood answered in anticipation.

  As he got out of the car, he noticed the ritual line-up of players and wannabes well under way behind the red velvet ropes. Most were teenagers out for an illicit night of fun, their excitement radiating from them like steam from a subway vent in winter. Carlos glided past and inhaled their mingled scent, savoring their collective flavor.

  With barely a nod of acknowledgement, he breezed past the bouncers and up the stairs toward the main doors. Avalon was an anomaly not unlike himself, a blend of the contemporary and the old world, of the sacred and the profane. His hand trailed lightly over one of the brass handles as he passed, lingering for a moment on the embossed cross still intact on the door pull. He couldn’t help but chuckle at the Hollywood irony.

  He entered the main level of the club. The place was so dim he wondered how anyone was able to see—that is, anyone without the help of preternatural senses. Winding his way past the people at the main bar, he paused for a moment at the edge of the dance floor. It had once housed the main body of the church, and aside from the bodies in motion, one could still feel the lingering shadow of the old pulpit.

  Carlos quickly scanned the upper galleries. He admired the gothic arches of the old steeple still intact, and the streamlined chrome and neon bar that now sat nestled in its arms, wondering for a moment what the owners had done with the organ that had originally occupied that space.

  Casually climbing the stairs to the upper level, he settled into a quiet corner in the back. Plush low couches and small tables covered the ent
ire area. The lighting was set low, like candlelight, still dim enough to be intimate, but light enough that you could actually see who you were talking to.

  So far, no one had sparked his interest, though from this vantage point he could survey the entire club. By New York standards the night was just getting started. A small crowd had already gathered in the gallery lounge, and it would certainly get more crowded as the night progressed. However, by then too many would either be too drunk or too drugged for his liking.

  No, he preferred the earlier crowd—the eager young ones who came looking for excitement, anticipating a taste of the forbidden. The youth of America went out every weekend looking for a thrill, and those who found Carlos usually got more than they bargained for.

  He smoothed the front of his black silk shirt. Dressed in a pair of dark grey jeans that molded his body, Carlos looked like a he belonged on the cover of GQ. He was dark and gorgeous with just a hint of mystery and underlying danger. He wielded his presence like a finely honed sword. With just one look, he could leave women breathless and men questioning their own sexuality. It didn’t take much to lure them in, but Carlos prided himself on being proper, always giving his chosen ones a choice.

  His little family, as he liked to call it, hadn’t had any “new blood” in quite a while. He grimaced. Just the thought of having to wade through the throngs made his head throb. There had to be a fire or spark of soul to the one he chose, something that left him wired with anticipation.

  Unfortunately, it appeared his efforts tonight were going to be a waste of time. He wasn’t just looking for another pretty face. If he were honest, he would have to admit he’d grown bored of the superficial, and jaded with the life he had built around himself. It had served its purpose, and for a while had filled a void. Lately he had been looking for more, craved it almost as much as he craved blood. Except now, even the blood couldn’t fill what was missing in his life, in him. He was looking for something much more, only he didn’t know what.

  “Can I get you anything?”

  Carlos looked up. The waitress stood over him, her pad and pencil leaning on a little round serving tray that had a few half-finished drinks on it. “Rum,” he said. “A tumbler, no ice…and leave the bottle.”

  She started to tell him she wasn’t permitted do so when he looked at her. He held her mesmerized for a moment, sliding a wad of cash onto her tray. “I think we understand each other. Comprendes…Susan?”

  The waitress mumbled something and walked away confused, shaking her head as if trying to clear a fog. Carlos just smiled a little as he watched her head back toward the bar.

  “Hi!” A pretty brunette chirped, walking up to where Carlos sat. “Mind if my friends and I share?”

  “The more the merrier. Por favor...” Carlos flashed them a suggestive and slightly predatory grin. He saw the brunette shiver and smirked at how easy the reaction was to elicit.

  “I, um, I…I’m Brandy,” she stammered, obviously flustered. She cleared her throat. “Whoa, and I haven’t even started drinking yet. Let’s try this again…I’m Brandy, this is Sharla, and this is Gwen.” They slid in one after the other, Brandy now flashing Carlos a brilliant smile. “Thanks for letting us join you.”

  He looked at each one of the girls. “De nada,” he replied, politely inclining his head with a just a hint of amusement crinkling the corner of his eyes. The girls were all fresh and beautiful. They couldn’t be much over eighteen, and their eagerness made the air around them taste faintly of electricity and perfume.

  The waitress walked over again. “Girls, I’m going to have to see some I.D.”

  As the girls fished nervously through their tiny purses, Carlos considered spelling the waitress again into letting them pass. However, as he watched them fuss, he admitted none of them truly interested him, so he let it go.

  “I don’t seem to have mine with me,” the blond one said innocently, giving the waitress a hopeful smile.

  “Sorry, then I can’t serve you,” the waitress answered with an apologetic smile of her own. “I think maybe you girls should go back downstairs.”

  They got up with disappointed huffs, and the brunette whined so peevishly that Carlos couldn’t help but chuckle. Jerking her head around, she shot him a look that had him laughing even louder, his hands up in mock defense.

  They said their goodbyes and walked toward the staircase, giving Carlos one last glance before disappearing down the stairs.

  The waitress stood there until she was sure they had gone. “I did you a favor, my friend. That was nothing more than disaster zipped into a miniskirt. Underage girls can get guys like you into a heap of trouble. I’ll get you your drink.” She nodded once and headed back toward the bar.

  Carlos raised an eyebrow as she left. However well-intentioned she might be, she was off by a mile. He was the dangerous one.

  She brought his order over and winked at him as she set the tumbler and the bottle on the table. “Will there be anything else?” she asked, pouring his first glass.

  “No…no, thank you, Susan.”

  She flashed him a warm smile that he had bothered to remember her name. “In that case, would you mind settling your tab at the bar? My shift’s up and my tables need to be closed out before I can leave.”

  “No problem,” he answered, handing her a credit card.

  “Thanks. I’ll be right back with your receipt.” With a nod, she turned back toward the bar, but stopped. “And thanks for the extra cash tip, I really appreciate it.” With a wink, she pivoted on her high heels and headed for the bar.

  Carlos laughed. Tip? Shrewd. Very shrewd. He lifted the glass, and the dark liquid hit his tongue, familiar and satisfying. He closed his eyes and inhaled through his nose, savoring the underlying scent of molasses and sugar cane. The rum did nothing for him though, neither the alcohol nor the taste. He loved its warm, sweet aroma.

  The scent brought back so many memories from his human life, memories he was glad weren’t lost to him. He had read somewhere that a person’s olfactory memories were the earliest and most poignant, the ones most likely to be preserved. He guessed that rule applied to his kind as well.

  He picked up the bottle and turned it in his hand, absently running his thumb over the label. He found it funny that of the limited choice of human fare he was able to consume, the one he liked the best had a black bat for its logo. He chuckled at the classic Boris Karloff irony.

  The club got crowded. The music pounded, and the bodies on the dance floor gyrated like so many disconnected arms and legs moving in time to the frenetic rhythm. Carlos took his glass and walked toward the railing that overlooked the downstairs.

  Leaning his elbows on the polished chrome, he watched the human drama below unfold like an unscripted reality show. So many different scents swirled past him, each one a tiny glimpse into a host of human thought and emotion.

  “What the hell?” he said to himself as he caught a slight variation in the air around him. His eyes narrowed and he pressed his lips together. “No way.”

  Closing his eyes, he lifted his head and inhaled. Reaching out with his senses, he scanned the club for its origin. His eyes snapped open and he growled low in his throat. It came from downstairs near the back bar across from the dance floor. “Young bloods. I don’t believe it,” he muttered under his breath.

  Inhaling again, he caught the scent of fresh blood. “No fucking way!” Pushing himself away from the railing, Carlos moved with such speed he was within five feet of them in seconds. Somehow, they managed to lure a girl to the back of the club near an empty stairwell. She was clearly underage, even more so than the three girls he had encountered earlier, and she was drunk.

  He saw them clearly. The two had constructed wards in a hasty attempt to obscure their activities from the humans, but they were clumsy and haphazard. Carlos clenched his fists. Had someone invited them? If so, who? Admittance to his territory was by invitation only. He wanted to shred their pathetic wards and tear them to piece
s, but years of experience told him he needed to watch and wait.

  Vampire politics was even more corrupt and fickle than anything the human world could imagine, and the consequences infinitely more brutal. He wanted to save the girl, and maybe even teach the two young ones a lesson they’d never forget, but he also didn’t want to incur reprisal against his entire family by being rash.

  The girl was on her knees. One of the boys had his fangs buried deep in her throat while the other had his cock buried deep between her legs.

  As the first one drank, Carlos could hear the sloppy, sucking sounds coupled with the girl’s moans. Blood dripped from the young one’s chin to the floor, splattering the gray tiles with red. With her miniskirt shoved up to her waist, the girl arched her back as the other sank his fingers into her soft flesh, jerking her hips back with each thrust.

  “Dude, don’t be a pig about it. Leave some for me,” the one nailing her from behind said as his hips slapped a rhythm against her bare ass.

  Jerking his head up, the other pulled his fangs out of her throat with an audible pop. “What are you complaining about? She’s not the only cock jockey out there willing to play. No one hunts here and no one patrols, so it’s all good.”

  Grabbing the girl by the hair, the one at her throat lapped at the blood smeared across her neck and chest. He licked it clean, scraping his finger across his chin the way a human child would lick cake batter from a mixing bowl. “Mmmmmm, sweet!”

  With a bloodstained grin, he picked up one of the girl’s shoes from the side of the bench and threw it at his friend. “Hey, man, this ain’t no porno film! Hurry up and shoot your load. My balls are turning blue just watching you. And don’t get any ideas—I fuck the next one first.”