Love?
“Impossible,” he whispered. “I vowed years ago I would never allow a woman into my heart again. For I can not bare to watch a loved one die by my own hands.”
He stepped quickly down the spiraling stairs, his suede boots scruffing across the stones in echoing spurts. But he could not dispel the uneasy quavering that resounded inside his chest.
A feeling not all together unlikeable. In fact, it even felt good.
***
You must ask him. You need to know.
Esmarelda twisted the band about her finger, wondering for perhaps the thousandth time today just how many women before her had worn it. She knew in her heart it was not jealousy that prompted her uneasiness. No, it was a partial fear, a sadness for the victims of Adriano’s unfortunate curse.
How many times had he been forced to watch his wife die? Of course, he had said he did not feel anything toward any of them. He had steeled himself to think of them only as sustenance. Food. But if so, did he not feel anything toward her? He had to. Her gut instinct told her he did.
For if he did not, how could he be so loving in their bed chamber?
A wave of sulfur whispered past Esmarelda’s nose as the garden torch was tormented by the increasing wind. She was the only one sitting in the garden this evening. She had come to notice that most of the castle inhabitants kept inside during the hours of the evening when the sky was at its darkest. They were all simply afraid.
So why did they remain? Why did they not leave the castle and venture out on their own? It wasn’t as if there wasn’t enough of them to start up their own village. Paquita was constantly putting her master down. But she never once mentioned leaving. Did he have a hold over them? Some power that held them enchanted in his grasp? Did he have the same hold over her?
Is he making me fall in love with him?
No. He had told her love would only complicate things. Perhaps he hadn’t any powers beyond the few simple tricks he had shown her. But that still did not explain why the castle inhabitants remained.
A dark shadow crossed over her face, startling her. “Adriano.”
“Forgive me, my lady. It looks as if I’ve pulled you from heavy thoughts.”
“Oh, well…” Could he know? Esmarelda plunged into her husband’s arms. His touch was cool, though a comfort. The feel of his strong embrace, a seductive temptation.
“Is something amiss, my lady?” He tilted her chin up.
Esmarelda gazed into his eyes, red with the torch’s fire, hot with desire and the need to be satiated by her blood. “Nay, er… I have been thinking. It is terrible really.”
“What is it?” He gestured toward the stone bench and they both sat. Esmarelda smoothed her black skirts out over her legs as a means of preoccupying her worried thoughts. She turned her forefinger in the thick gold link of the chain that hung loosely about her hips.
Could she ask him? It wasn’t really her concern. What the husband had done before she came into the marriage was not her business. Her wifely duties included the here and now and the future…
A future that was to be cut short.
“Adriano,” she burst out. “How many…I mean…am I the—” She could not help but twist the silver band on her finger. It had developed into an unconscious yet vexing habit. “What I mean is…”
“You wish to know how many others there were?” He nodded and looked to the ground, seeming to know this question would arise sooner or later.
As Esmarelda took his hand he said in his deep voice, so low she barely heard. “You are the forty-third. They have never lasted longer than a month, maybe two if they are strong. But you are different…” he said suddenly. He gazed upon her face, lit warmly by the torch. “I shall be very sad when you die.”
***
Scarlet jerked herself awake from the gentle sleep she’d dozed into. Gentle, yet strangely visited by dreams that featured two very familiar people.
“Oh, my god.” She pushed up on the velvet settee where she’d fallen asleep while browsing through the new diary Vince had given her. The leather book lay flat on her stomach, closed. She traced her fingers over it. “Forty three wives before Esmarelda. But…I didn’t read that. Did I?”
She carefully opened the diary and fingered the yellowing page as she mouthed the French-written script. “I shall be very sad when you die.”
Quickly she thumbed back a few pages. “This is where I last finished reading. But how could I have dreamed the exact words that are in here?”
A sudden clicking against the windowpane had Scarlet on her feet in seconds. It was only a raven perched outside, tapping at stray seeds tossed about by the wind. The bird took flight as Scarlet started toward the window.
The leather diary was cool and musty, yet it burned like fire in her hands.
“I dreamed the next part of the diary,” she said incredulously. “How did I do that?”
“Chèrie?”
“Sebastian.” Scarlet hugged the diary to her breast. “I didn’t notice you come in.”
“Of course not, you’re breathing the life out of that damned book.”
Had he woke up on the wrong side of the coffin this afternoon, or what? “What’s your problem? You seemed in a good mood earlier,” she said, noticing with a fleeting memory of their early morning encounter the faintest whiff of cherry Jell-O still clung to her hair.
Sebastian sighed. He looked disheveled and worn in the soft flannel shirt he wore. He much preferred silk and velvet to flannel, but he donned it occasionally when working.
“I’m sorry chèrie.” He blew out a shivering breath and raked his fingers through his hair, exposing one narrow gold hoop earring. “I have a feeling it’s going to be a very long night in the studio. I’m practicing for tomorrow night’s benefit concert. You will come, won’t you?”
“I promised Vince I would do this for him, but that won’t keep me from seeing you perform. Actually, something very strange just happened.”
“Really?”
“Sebastian, you won’t believe this, but I just dreamed the diary. I fell asleep for a little while and when I woke I had dreamed the next section of the diary I hadn’t yet read.”
“Are you sure?” He sat next to her, his back facing her and shrugged his shoulders. A subtle hint. “Perhaps you did read it and merely were reliving it in your mind.”
“No, I know I didn’t.”
“But why would that happen? For what purpose?”
“I don’t know.” She kneaded down along his spine, planting delicate kisses into the heat of his neck. “But I feel as if...well...as if someone wants me to know these things. I have this feeling I’m getting somewhere with this diary, Sebastian. Not that I’ve learned much in ways of the vampire, but I feel connected somehow. Like this is the path I seek.”
His sigh reduced her joy to a gentle sadness.
“I’m sorry, Sebastian. You can’t worry about this. I love you.”
She kissed his jaw, smooth of stubble and walked around in front of him. “So how are things coming with your album?”
“We’re just getting started. I’ll be laying down the tracks to Moonlight Fantasy tonight before rehearsal.”
“Moonlight Fantasy? Mmm, sounds like you.” She traced his lips with her finger. “You’re tall, dark, mysterious…every woman’s fantasy.”
“Really?” He drew her hand back to his lips, kissing her knuckles as he measured her reaction. “Am I your fantasy?”
Scarlet closed her eyes. An unexpected flash of naked flesh and golden hair sent a chill down her spine. “Yes,” she faltered, “…you are.”
She pressed her palm to the warm flannel over Sebastian’s heart, hoping he would not sense her distraction. Why the hell had Vince’s image come to mind?
“Are you going to be around the castle today, or are you going over to Gary’s again?”
Glad he had changed the subject, she slipped her arms around his neck and kissed the minute shadow forming above his
lip.
“I think I’ll lounge around and read for a while, maybe help Anthony in the rose garden. It’s starting to shape up nicely since he’s been working on it. I’m so glad we hired a green thumb.” She pressed her body against his.
Sebastian moaned his desire. “Yes, it will be nice when the yews have grown tall enough and the maze is well-shaped for moonlight strolls, eh?”
A hopeless romantic. Sebastian DelaCourte, possessed of an eighteenth century mind, living in the body of a twentieth century rock star. “That would be nice.”
The artificial sound of the telephone jarred them both and Sebastian nodded swiftly as he backed out of the room. “That’s probably the studio. Tell them I’m on my way, chère. Au revoir.”
He blew her a kiss and disappeared.
Scarlet picked up the phone on the third ring. “Yes?”
“So did you guys talk the other night?”
“Gary?” She twisted the cord around her finger and fell back into the damask pillows tossed across the settee. “Hello to you, too. How was your night? Or dare I ask?”
There was a pause. “I really like this chick, Scarlet. She’s different from the rest, not so concerned with what I do for a living as what I do to live. I think I’m gonna start seeing her more often.”
“Gary, that’s great! I’m happy for you. What’s her name?”
“Lisa. But what about you and Vince, did you have a chance to talk to him?”
“Mmm, yes.”
“So?”
Suddenly, Scarlet felt more like a spy sent behind enemy lines than Vince’s friend. She was amazed that Gary was so perseverant of his friend’s new habits. He and Vince were best friends. Couldn’t he accept him for what he was and get on with things?
“Gary, how do you expect Vince to act? Like you? He’s not like you anymore. And neither am I.”
“And what is that supposed to mean?”
“It means…just lay off Vince, all right? He’s fine.”
There was a rustle on the other end of the line and Scarlet knew Gary chawed his gum top speed. A sure sign he was pissed off. “You call killing innocent people fine?”
“He’s a vampire, Gary! That’s what vampires do. They drink blood.”
“But they don’t have to kill. Baz told me.”
“Just lay off the vampire crap, will you? I’m in no mood.” She rubbed a finger across her pounding temple. Why was she defending Vince?
“What’s happening to you, Scarlet? Did Vince do or say something to you last night? All of a sudden you seem to be taking his side instead of mine.”
“Gary, I’m not taking anybody’s side. Vince…is a good guy. I wish you could see beyond your own fears.”
It was forever before Scarlet heard Gary swallow his gum and finally speak in the meekest of tones. “Would you kill, Scarlet? Like Vince?”
“No.” She clenched her fist. “But the fact you asked really pisses me off.”
“So after talking to Vince for a few minutes after a concert you decide everything about him is cool. I know better, Scarlet. I’ve been on the road with him and I’m telling you, Vince is one severely fucked up guy. Can’t you see? Or are you as blind to his good looks and rock n’ roll hair as all the rest of the women?”
“Give me a little credit, Gary.”
“I’m sorry.” His sigh traveled the phone line. “I shouldn’t be doing this. Ah, I’m all riled up since Vince called earlier. He’s met this Rico guy. He’s not gonna be here tonight to go over the tapes, which is imperative. Man, I don’t know, lately I think Vince is more trouble than he’s worth.”
Scarlet ignored her brother’s whining. “So who is this Rico?”
“I don’t know, I guess he lives in an elaborate mansion. Vince says he feels close to him, as if he was a brother or something. Do you get that? All of a sudden Gary Rose does not exist anymore. Our ten years of friendship has been completely wiped away thanks to some guy he met in some alley. I tell ya, Scarlet—and don’t say anything to Vince—but I’m seriously thinking about asking him to leave Wild Child.”
“Gary!”
“Don’t say a word to anybody. I said, I’m just thinking about it. But if Vince keeps pullin’ crap like this I don’t know what I’ll end up doing. Whenever we’ve got work to do he’s out carousing around. Hell, it’s not like he’s never thought about leaving. He’s made threats about it before. Wait. There’s my call waiting. It might be Lisa. You gonna come over?”
“I was thinking about coming by later, but if you’re going to be busy—” “No, I can’t do anything without Vince, he has to go over the voice tracks. Come on over. I gotta go. See ya later.”
Scarlet clicked the receiver but her hand barely left the phone before it rang again.
“Yes?”
The voice was deep and husky, almost lewd. “Are you frightened of me now?”
Thinking it an obscene call at first, Scarlet was ready to slam the phone down, but she quickly realized it was Vince. Her heart plunged to her throat as anticipation jittered through her body. “Vince. No, of course…not. Why—”
“Have I peaked your curiosity?”
Scarlet’s brows grew tight. He spoke about last night. “About killing? Vince, you’ve got to be kidding.”
“Is Sebastian around?”
“No, but—”
“Come to me, Scarlet. Bring the diaries along and read to me. Please.”
She toggled a fingernail across the top of the diary. He didn’t want to hear her read the diary, she knew that from the daring tone of his voice. No, he wanted to entice her into his world, a world she had been forbidden to explore.
Scarlet stood and studied her face in the mirror. The remains of her mortal innocence were still there. Somewhere. “I don’t think so Vince. Not…yet.”
Chapter Nine
Spain, 13th century
Another week passed. Since arriving at the castle, the moon had reached its fullness twice. Esmarelda waited upon the crimson coverlet for Adriano to arrive. She normally waited by the door with arms open to embrace him, but lately it was all she could do to rise from the bed and use the chamber pot, let alone stand long enough to allow her maid to dress her.
Her end was near. So very near she felt sure death whispered just on the other side of her door. A cold and haunting whisper, shallow, yet deep with the centuries of lost souls entwined about its vocal cords.
When she looked up she knew it was only Adriano who whispered at her door. Death used him as its disguise.
“Take me as you will, beloved husband,” she offered weakly as he began to strip the clothes from his lanky frame. He flipped the flowing veil of blackness over his shoulders and she wished she had the strength to reach out and pull its softness to her face so she could nuzzle into it. “I am too weak to do much for you myself.”
As Adriano lowered over her she thought she saw a tear in the corner of his eye. Maybe.
“You give me life, and in turn sacrifice your own with so little question,” he said. “For this I shall be forever grateful.”
He did not part her legs and take her as he so desired. She was too weak. Instead he bit carefully into her flesh and drew into his body the elixir he needed.
And when he was finished and sated for the night, Adriano sat back and looked upon the pale angel that lay dying beneath the crimson velvet. Her hands lay like dove feathers, so colorless and graceful. So precious her lips were. Pale as a life-drained rose. He wanted to kneel down, to kiss her, to give of himself totally. To grant her the simple kiss she so often requested. She had slipped into the swoon that always followed his extractions, but something struggled to remain. Her eyelids moved minutely. She struggled to pull herself from sleep.
“Do you love me?” she whispered, her eyes still closed, though one dove-winged hand now reached blindly for him.
It was as if an explosion detonated inside his chest. Tears rolled down from the darkness of Adriano’s eyes and he pressed his forehead to hi
s lover’s breast. “Sí…” he sobbed. “I do. I confess I cannot help myself. I have loved no other as I do you, Esmarelda. God have mercy, I shall suffer for this throughout eternity. Why? Why could I not prevent it?”
Esmarelda pressed a palm to the back of his head and smiled, just slightly. “You truly love me?”
“With all my heart,” he pleaded into her breast. “I thought it never possible for a beast such as myself. But my heart…it aches so when I am away from you. As soon as my feet take leave of this room I wish only to turn and run back into your arms. Oh, Esmarelda, what have I done?”
“Listen to me, my beloved. I am weak and so near death.”
“What is it? If there is anything I can do to make it easier for you you must allow me.”
“I will die soon,” she whispered. “But…I have been thinking…perhaps…maybe, if you were to not come for a few days…I would have sufficient time to recover your deadly kiss.”
Adriano jerked his head up. The deadly kiss of the vampyre. The only kiss he had ever granted her.
“Perhaps two or three nights,” she continued. “I feel sure I might gain the strength I need to persevere this curse you bare. For I bare this curse also and I am proud to call myself your wife. I love you, Adriano de Trastamara. Please, if you love me, grant me this one chance to prolong my life.”
“Anything that may extend your life so we may enjoy our love for another a bit longer.”
“You’ll do it?”
“I must. If…if I can.” He stood and pulled his clothes quickly over his blood-warmed body, shaking his fingers back through his sweat-tangled hair. He made to leave but paused in the doorway. “I shall stay away for two nights. By the saints, I promise you my heart wants this. But you must know my body will fight it with a strength even my heart may not stand up to.”
“You must try.”
“Very well. But you must do one thing for me. If you can.”
“What is that?”
“Bar the door and do not open it for me. I shall be mad for your blood and will not be in control of myself. No matter what I say to you do not open the door. For without your permission I cannot cross this threshold.”
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