“You believe your existence is your own?” Declan’s brief bark of laughter lacked humor. “Shall I remind you that you’re nothing more than a beast, walking on a clearly defined path to Hell?”
“I’m not a beast!” He ground out, and his gaze darkened as he nearly shouted the denial. “I’m capable of changing…”
“What you’ve done since your turning cannot be altered.” Declan’s sinister eyes glittered with frightening life. “The blood running through your veins is mixed with mine and isn’t worthy. Face the facts, Gianni, your soul is poisoned!”
“I choose not to spend my days in the shadow of the eternal condemnation you’ve granted given me!”
Declan smirked, his dark eyes glittering. Amado glared at him, hating, and wishing he could end his existence. Instead, he remained silent, biding his time. There’d come a moment in the future, he suspected, where he’d exact his revenge.
Unaware of the vengeful thoughts flitting through Amado’s mind, Declan lifted his face to the night sky. “I took whatever life you had on a night much as this, nearly a century ago.”
“You’re right,” Amado exhaled irritably, his lip curling with disgust. “I lack a life. I’m a shadow, a fiend of the night, an abomination to everything sacred.”
“If it weren’t for me…”
“I would’ve died a weary old man, possibly penniless.” Amado finished cynically.
Declan managed to smile more tightly than before, and Amado slipped wistful eyes to the pair of young women strolling down the sidewalk. He longed to walk with them, to savor their conversation, to forget who he was, and what he’d never be.
“Poor Amado Gianni,” Declan crooned mockingly, following the direction of his gaze. “You’d have died without recognition, impoverished, perhaps in a retired actor’s nursing home on the West Coast. You’d have had nothing but memories of your golden days, when women wanted you for the image you portrayed, and nothing more.”
“Anything’s preferable to this!”
“I gave you a gift, although death was a part of the exquisite wrappings,” He smirked and his malicious eyes glittered in the light escaping the store windows. “As well as the opportunity to know thousands came to you funeral, heads of states, the president, all in tribute. Your memorial service outshone that of your compatriot and fellow actor.”
“The fame, the notoriety, never mattered to me.” Amado retorted tightly.
“Did you forget I made you the greatest film legend in history, more so than that irritating upstart?”
Unable to control his reaction, Amado cringed. Even now, television sets played his films late on Friday nights. New fans celebrated his cinema graphic achievements with annual festivities, and bouquets of white roses blanketed his unoccupied grave on the anniversary of his death. However, at the mention of the man once his rival in Hollywood, he tensed. After every one of these years, he felt the uncomfortable niggle of jealousy rip through him.
“Do you think I truly care for this world you’ve thrust me into?” He asked, his mottled eyes glittering with bloodlust. “Do you imagine I find joy in existing as this creature that I am, remembering my history, knowing I’ve nothing in the present, and an empty future?”
“Stop whining, Gianni, and enjoy every second you’ve been granted.” Declan chastised in a smooth drawl. He drew in a breath, the action unnecessary for one of his disposition, and appreciatively eyed the backsides of the departing women. “I gave you everlasting fame and plenty of time to perfect your atrocious English, so don’t complain.”
Amado’s fury rose and, if the street would’ve been vacant, he’d have lunged for Declan’s exposed throat.
“As it is, I’m too preoccupied with this entrancing little city. If The Sanctum wishes to chastise you for your insubordination, they can do it on their own time. I did my job, I collected you.” He shrugged and a low whistle of appreciation left his lips as the pair of women began to disappear from sight. “I think you’re becoming lax in your old age, my man. You never answered my question, did you?”
“What question?” Amado inquired in a furious tone.
“The tiny blonde would be delicious, don’t you think?”
“Leave her alone!” He growled, uncaring as several curious people turned in their direction. “I don’t want you near her!”
“Oh, come!” Declan’s shadowy eyes glittering wickedly in the night.
“Declan…”
“Tell me the truth, Gianni,” he ignored the warning pronunciation of his name. “Isn’t there a wicked part of you thirsting for her? Wouldn’t you savor the taste of that tender morsel, knowing she’d feel the agony and rapture? You couldn’t coax her into compliance, or entrance her with a look. Visually impaired women can’t stare into your eyes, or fall captive to your persuasive charms.”
“I’m warning you…”
“In fact,” Declan continued mercilessly. “She’d experience every moment of the pain as you took her. Imagine, Amado, you could drain the life from her and savor her flesh and fear, all at the same time.”
He grunted, rage simmering beneath the surface, his eyes burning. “You’ll never identify with me, Balthazar. I’ll never be the demon you want.”
Declan clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth.
“For shame, Gianni,” he scolded roughly. “I held high hopes for you, and dreamed we'd run an empire together.”
“I don’t want an empire with you, nor will I be a part of your infamous Sanctum.” Amado spat. Purposely, he kept his features composed as people turned to stare at the two of them, realizing their conversation was drawing attention. He suspected they made a striking pair, one so dark, and the other light, beneath the glow of the street lamps.
“It doesn’t matter. I’ll allow the elders to handle you in their own way.” Declan responded suavely.
“Why not find a task you enjoy doing, Balthazar?” Amado suggested bleakly. “Why not take up a hobby, move away from killing humans?”
“Are you serious?” He smirked. “I thought, after almost a century, you knew me better.”
“I could hope.” Amado scowled as he muttered the statement. “Perhaps even the hopeless might be worthy of salvation.”
“Is that the real reason you moved to this quaint little city, instead of staying in Chicago?” Declan questioned. “Did you think the fabled Brotherhood would find a way to redeem you, and wash away the innocent blood tainting your wretched soul?”
An involuntary action caused Amado to exhale as he looked at the sky. His nemesis suspected exactly why he had journeyed to Bentham, and the reason was to escape the sins he committed on the darkened avenues of the Illinois city.
Declan Balthazar had been a miserable monster to change him when he did. The older vampire left him soon after his transformation to wander the streets, the need for blood ripping at his stomach. Starving for food, he attacked randomly, leaving a trail of innocent victims behind, and hating every second of his new existence. His unholy sire appeared when he wanted to torment him, mocking, and forever tempting him with a fresh morsel to quench his ever-growing thirst.
During the moments of his anguish, rumors trickled through the streets. He heard the murmurs of outlandish tales, the whispers of a society where even the most cursed could redeem themselves from their damnation.
Hope, despite his curse, made him long for everything else stolen from him.
Amado found solace in those legends and left Chicago behind, seeking the ones capable of making his eternity a more meaningful endeavor. After years of searching, wondering if The Brotherhood of Blood truly existed, they located him. Tentatively welcomed into their secret unit, he didn’t intend to return to the fold to which Declan was a proud and age-old member.
“Do you think mortals believe in redemption, more than those cursed by blood?” Declan inquired mockingly. He turned and scanned the crowd leaving the bookstore, a slow smirk curving his cheek.
“There are those that aren
’t lost, and seek to do right.” Amado protested.
“You’re a fool.” He laughed outright, the sound lethal. “At this moment I could take any person I wanted, and there isn’t a single individual that will attempt to save him.”
“There has to be one heroic soul…”
A short and bitter bark of laughter interrupted him and he scowled at the vampire.
“You still hold those damn beliefs some redeemable soul will intervene?” Declan shook his head in disgust. “I’ve walked this earth for more than three hundred years and can tell you valiant individuals become less and less with each passing year.”
“You’re a skeptic, Declan.”
“I’m a realist.” The vampire interjected with a chilling smile. “I could attack and all would turn away, wishing not to be involved. They’d scurry like rats, seeking the safety of their homes, allowing me to feast…”
“Enough!” Amado nearly shouted, his eyes darkening as he ground his teeth. “I’m weary of hearing how much you despise the human race, how you think there isn’t a person worthy of redemption!”
“Ah, there’s that word again.” His mockery was heavy. “You think it’s the answer to the problems plaguing these disgusting mortals!”
“Have you ever sought forgiveness for the blood you’ve taken? Have you ever regretted the unsullied lives you’ve stolen?” Amado managed in a gentle tone, his gaze sweeping the sidewalk and alighting on the pair of women moving away from him.
“Not a single damn day in my life.” He chortled lightly. “I appreciate being what I am, and I relish every drop of blood I steal from the living. I love the fear I inflict, the thrill of the hunt, and the feel of victory.”
“I pity you.” Amado whispered sorrowfully. He was unaware of the bleak shadow of remorse in the eyes of his nemesis as he moved away.
“Pity me all you want, Gianni. Pity me until The Sanctum commands me to end your existence and scatter your doomed ashes to the wind.” Declan snarled, watching the vampire’s retreating figure. “Most of all, pity me when I sink my teeth into that delightful little morsel you lust after.”
Chapter Seven
“You can, at least, give him a chance.” Chesca’s tight-lipped encouragement caused Meghan to frown. She screwed her lips into a tight line and glowered, unaware the man in question paused to watch the pair.
“You set me up, didn’t you?” She scowled ineffectively in her friend’s direction.
“Why, whatever do you mean?” Chesca countered innocently.
“He’s one of those smooth talking Italian friends of yours, isn’t he?” She accused. “Better yet, is he a cousin from the old country?”
“Why ever do you assume that?” Chesca questioned artlessly, blinking as she did so.
“I remember your cousins, and they’re a wild bunch.” She muttered. “They just ooze that damn Italian charm of theirs on every woman who walks past, then can’t understand why they need protective orders afterwards!”
“Okay, so some of them have had fatal attractions, but you can’t blame them for being a Pagliatti.” Her tone held a hint of undeniable pride. “Besides, why would you think he’d be one of my cousins?”
“He’s identical to those damn boys! He’s too smooth and his voice practically drips honey.” Meghan countered hotly.
“Drips honey?” She hummed the phrase, and then broke out in a laugh. “I’ll have to ask my next conquest if my voice drips honey!”
“Oh, damn it!” Meghan huffed. “Stopping in midstride, she controlled the urge to stomp her foot. “I’m being serious!”
“So am I! I can assure you he’s not one of my lady-killer cousins.” She stated with undeniable sincerity. “Since he isn’t, you could give the man a chance.”
“I don’t have the faintest notion who he is or what he wants,” Meghan grumbled, her expression obscured by the overhanging limbs of a naked tree. She listened to the sounds of oncoming traffic, aware there wasn’t another soul out on the street except for them.
“Maybe he thinks you’re one hot little number and wants to get to know you better.” Chesca suggested and giggled as a burning flush flooding Meghan’s face.
“I couldn’t care less about getting to know any man since my ex!” She objected heatedly.
“Hell, woman!” Disgusted, Chesca moved up the sidewalk, a trail of her sweet perfume wafting in the night air. “You’d think you died with your divorce, instead of moving on.”
“I don’t want to get involved any man!”
Turning, Meghan tapped her cane across the pavement, every well-measured tap assuring her of her steps. Chesca had been too eager to accept his offer of walking with them after he caught up outside the bookstore, her winded approval causing Meghan to wince. She didn’t care if he heard her, and she wanted him to understand his intrusion was unwelcome, on her part.
“You should give this one a chance. After all, he did save your life.” Chesca reminded.
“I can’t figure out if he did or not.” Meghan chafed at the reminder. She was faintly aware he had begun to follow them anew, but his steps were so silent. Obviously, the conversation clearly didn’t concern him, and his soft-soled tread was slow and purposeful.
“What would you call it, Meg?” She replied. “He shows up when these two ass-holes decide they want to rape you for their amusement, runs them off, and helps you file a police report. He even waited around until I showed up, making sure I was a friend and not one of those horrid gawkers that like to snap pictures with their damn cell phones. Tell me, how much more could you want?”
Meghan stopped again, and the cold pressure of his hand steadied her as she struggled to keep her balance. “I…”
“Please tell, Miss Stanley.” He interrupted smoothly and she wondered about the expression on his face. His hand left her shoulders swiftly and his breath was oddly warm as it brushed her cheek.
“I…I…” she stuttered as if she were an idiot, and. a heated blush crept under her breasts and rise to her throat. Annoyed, she remained silent.
“Yes, please tell, Meg.” Chesca chimed.
“Let me help you,” he offered, ignoring Chesca’s jovial laugh as he placed her chilled hand in the crook of his arm.
“I don’t need your help!” Meghan snapped, yanking her hand away and glaring at him with dim eyes.
“In this case, you do need my help.” He soothed. “Your friend’s correct, as much as you don’t care to hear it.”
“I told you!” Chesca interjected childishly.
“Shut up, Franchesca!” Meghan retorted crossly.
“I don’t have any ill planned for your friend or yourself, Miss Stanley.” His voice was smooth and silky, almost hypnotic to her violently spinning senses. Meghan tightened her lips and allowed him to continue; unaware her annoyance was patently apparent. “I merely wanted to escort you home, to ease any fear you may have on the streets at this time of night.”
“I’m perfectly safe….”
“Any woman, even those walking in pairs, isn’t safe from the evil of man. Did you forget the men that attacked you?” He remarked with chilling ease.
“I’m not likely to forget!” She rejoined irritably. “I don’t want to be reminded of it any more than necessary!’
“Remind you, I must.” He persisted and she wanted to stomp her foot again. Of course, she hadn’t forgotten, still waking in a cold sweat in the middle of the night, remembering strange hands tugging at her body, their intent obvious. If she hadn’t been with Chesca tonight, she’d have chosen to take a taxi home, instead of walking.
“I don’t want to hear or remember that night!” Each word she spoke weighed heavy with displeasure.
“I wouldn’t either,” he assured with more calmness than she could draw up in her own life. “There are times, though, when our memories, our mistakes, should warn us of the horrible things and people in the world. There are fiends of all sorts that could be lurking in the shadows, waiting for one slip on your part.”
“You’re crazy!” She protested fiercely. “There’s twisted people with warped little minds out to cause harm to whoever they feel is the most defenseless.”
“I can’t argue,” he supplied, inhaling the air around him. “In my time, I have seen many take advantage of the less fortunate, feeding on the pain lingering in one’s heart like monsters…”
“I don’t believe in monsters.” She interjected, but her words lacked heat.
“No?” He queried gently.
“Monsters are found only in fairy tales, and the movies, not in real life.”
He shook his head, more for Chesca’s benefit than hers. “There are monsters in the world, Miss Stanley. More often than not, it’s the monsters you don’t suspect, or believe in, that will hunt you down. “
“Oh, that’s absolute nonsense!” However, the faint image of Kevin did intrude.
“It could be, but then, maybe it’s not.” She imagined his careless shrug. “I did save your life, Miss Stanley.”
“You don’t have to remind me.”
“Perhaps I need to, on occasion?”
She managed to look shamefaced and lowered her head. He had rescued her, she admitted, and she was grateful. Although, when she reflected on that actual night, she wasn’t certain of the exact details. One thing she couldn’t refute was her assailants vanished as swiftly as they appeared, because of this man.
“Miss Stanley,” he interrupted. “What’s wrong?”
“You make me nervous.”
Afraid he’d laugh at her growing sense of unease, she turned toward the glow of a street lamp. The bright light that lit the avenue was a misty shadow in her damaged vision, but she latched onto it in an attempt to prevent hearing any snide comment that might slip from him.
“My presence shouldn’t make you anxious.” He observed as Chesca retraced her steps and joined them. “If I had any ill will intended, I’d not be standing here, trying to persuade you of my innocence.”
Tears of Blood (The Blood Chronicles) Page 9