“The Mage,” the name left him in a soft rush, and he fixedly refused to return his attention to the bay windows.
“That’s Chesca’s store, where she sells her potions and gives readings.”
“I know.” Amado lips curled churlishly. He didn’t know what else to say, fearing his uneasiness would be obvious in his words. He liked Chesca, but didn’t care for the occult, despite his own damnation. “Who is the man in the window?”
Meghan’s cheeks brightened and she lifted her face to the sun. A pink flush stained her face and her smile took on an impish quality before she turned towards the shop.
“Is he tall, blond haired, excessively handsome, and faintly intimidating?”
“I couldn’t give you any input on the excessively handsome bit,” he snarled as a sense of red-hot insecurity twisted at his condemned soul. “Although, I can tell you he fits the other descriptions.”
“That’s Chesca’s co-owner, Sebastien.” Absently, she raised her fingers and waved in the direction of the man. Amado didn’t look at the store, preferring to ignore the figure.
“What is he?” His jaw trembled as he tried to control his irritation.
“What is he?” She repeated his question, her attention rotating back to him.
For a moment he was speechless, amazed by the transformation engulfing her serious face. The shadows of whatever she held in her, the bitterness making her so cautious in the everyday world, disappeared. Her expression radiated with a sparkle capable of whisking mortal breath away, and he stared at her in dumbfounded adoration.
Her troubled soul cried out to him seductively and made him forget his curse. Even as his gloved hand cradled the warmth of his untouched coffee cup, he wanted to seek an escape from the existence that Declan inflicted on him. He wanted so much, he admitted, and none included ending her life.
“Yes, what is he?” He managed in a strangled voice, closing his eyes to vanquish her laughing features from his mind.
“He’s nothing more than a man.” Meghan choked as she tried to stifle her disbelieving laugh.
“How is he Chesca’s friend?” He inquired suspiciously.
“When The Mage first opened, there were several protests in town. You know, the whole occult store complaint flung by righteous types thinking Chesca was plying the devil’s work.” She leaned in close as she spoke, her comment a husky whisper. “Her first week was a disaster, between the protesters, the rocks thrown through the front window, and death threats, Chesca thought she’d have to admit defeat. She was ready to close before the place got off the ground.”
“So, what happened?”
“Out of the blue, he showed up at the store.” Meghan’s declared. “Chesca never had any idea where Sebastien came from, or what his past might have been. For all she imagined, he could’ve been a serial killer or an outraged theologian out to pound some sense into her.”
“What made her change her mind?”
“He made her a proposition she couldn’t refuse.”
“What was the offer?” Despite his better judgment, Amado was spellbound.
“He offered to protect her, but the protection came with conditions.”
Amado blinked, amazed. “What were his terms?”
“Sebastien asked to be made co-owner, and allowed full reign with redecorating and changing the overall image of The Mage.” Meghan sat back, and took a long sip of her coffee.
“I can’t imagine your friend surrendering.” He scoffed.
“Oddly enough, she did.” She gave him a mysterious smile. “There seems to be…” she foundered, searching for the correct word to describe the sensation people experienced. “There’s something about him that made her give him everything he wanted, and more.”
“Judging from the crowd outside the store, he managed a miracle.” Amado found it difficult to keep the skepticism out of his voice.
“He did,” she responded warmly. “Within a month, the demonstrators were gone, the death threats ceased, and Chesca’s shop was thriving. From what she’s told me, Sebastien’s skill with the interior and exterior of the store should be highlighted on a home improvement channel.”
“You don’t have any idea how The Mage looks?”
“I’ve none.” She declared downheartedly. “I can imagine what Chesca has described to me, and envision the place looking like it slipped out of the pages of a book. You know, where a wizard would brew mysterious potions…”
“You’re a romantic at heart, Meghan.” He accused tenderly.
“That’s the last thing I am.” She scoffed. “But….”
“What?” He asked.
“Does The Mage look like I imagined?”
He couldn’t help smiling at the contemplative note in her tone.
“The store is that, if not more so.”
“I would’ve never known so many people were interested in having their fortunes told, or wanted naturally made and infused creams and lotions.”
“Many have fallen back to the simple ways of life.” Amado noted, although his gaze narrowed as glanced anew at the building. “Tell me, Meghan, have you ever met him?”
“Ever met who?”
Patiently, he exhaled an unnecessary breath. “Have you met Chesca’s partner.”
“I have, and on more than one occasion.” She volunteered readily.
“So, what’s your impression of him?”
“Sebastien DeClerq is….” She paused, seeking the exact word to describe Chesca’s co-worker, her cheeks flaming as she considered her choices. “He has a presence everyone loves, which makes people enter the store, buy an item from the shelves, even if they don’t believe in their wares.”
Amado remained silent. Sebastien DeClerq…the name was as unusual as his own was. Perhaps there was a reason behind the oddity, though, he mused. Immigrants filled the city and produced small ethnic communities in Bentham. The Brotherhood was one such group, but he controlled his sardonic smirk at the thought.
He imagined the term immigrant didn't apply to the league of vampires filling the city.
Nonetheless, DeClerq was a different matter. Watching him from the corner of his eye, Amado sensed the man wasn’t a simple immigrant seeking prosperous shores, or a better life. The man reeked with a sense of calm, but an underlying current of electrical energy radiated around him.
“What do you know of him?” He dared to ask.
She shrugged, her lower lip jutting out as she frowned.
“Not much, except what Chesca has told me. He’s a man of mystery, lacking a past.”
“What’s he to your friend?”
Meghan sat back in her seat, her frown deepening as she considered his question.
“You certainly seem interested in Chesca.”
He caught the censure in her tone. Over time, he’d forgotten how the wrong words could be misconstrued. His mouth tightened into a rueful line as he shook his head.
“I’m merely curious, Meghan.” Amado supplied caringly, employing the full use of his most suave of tones to convince her of the untruth. “I don’t wish for Chesca to be keeping company with…questionable characters.”
Oddly enough, Meghan laughed aloud, the sound rich and deep in the morning air.
“Trust me, Amado, Chesca can handle herself. She’s a big girl, and has been in more scrapes than you can ever imagine!”
“Although…”
“Amado, if you care for Chesca so much,” the merriment disappeared and her expression became decisively somber. “Go ask her out, and stop wasting my time.”
Immediately, he bristled.
“I value Chesca’s friendship, but it’s not her to whom I’m attracted.”
Strangely enough, a heavy weight lifted with his admission. Pleased, she lowered her chin, and an unfamiliar and warm glow uncurled in her. As quickly as the flame appeared though, it vanished, replaced with her usual outlook on life. Unhappiness welled up in her as she thought about Kevin, and shook her head.
“I don’t think you want to be involved with me, Amado.”
“Tell me why not, Meghan?”
She loved the way he said her name, each syllable soft and breathy.
“I come with excess baggage.” She managed abruptly, a dark cloud casting a shadow over her features.
“What human doesn’t?”
“You don’t understand.”
“Then tell me.” He coaxed.
“I can’t ever let you into my life.” Meghan cleared her throat as she made the declaration, her expression changing. She had to push him away, but her heart wanted to pull him close. Battling with herself, she was thankful she couldn’t see his face, for she wouldn’t have cared for his penetrating stare. “I want so much to let you into my world, to permit myself to…”
“You’re afraid to feel?” The question echoed with bitterness.
“Yes, for lack of a better word.” She admitted reluctantly.
He leaned across the table, his gloved fingertips clasping hers. “You don’t allow yourself to feel, because you choose not to. You’re sequestered in a world of coldness and shadows, remaining unloved, and by your own making.”
“And what are you going to offer me?” She quipped with a sarcastic lift of her brows. “Are you going to present me fairy tales, of knights in shining armor, where I’m your princess? Do you vow you’ll take care of me the rest of my life?”
He didn’t know how to respond to her bitterness.
“I’ve already heard that bullshit, Amado.” Her harsh words quivered. “I’ve been promised the moon and stars, all for being smacked around when I pissed someone off.”
“Meghan…”
She didn’t wait for him to continue. “I’m blind because of a man’s love! Do you think…?”
“You’re causing a scene.” He chastised, aware of the numerous eyes turning in their direction. Shamefacedly, Meghan bit at her lip, inhaling deeply as she smoothly pushed her coffee aside.
“I don’t want to be bitter.” Her tone lowered. “I want to know love, but I’m not ready, and don’t know when I’ll be.”
He rose from his seat, his jaw clenching and unclenching, his expression defeated.
“You never allowed me the opportunity.”
“I can’t destroy your life with my problems.”
“You aren’t capable of spoiling my life any more than it is, Meghan.” He stated beneath his breath.
“But I will.” She protested. “My history hasn’t only scarred me. Events in my messy life have damaged whatever I have left. If I let you in, you’ll fall into the same mess I have to live every day of my life.”
“You’re the one that doesn’t understand.” He leaned in close, his warm breath caressing her cheek. “I don’t have a life without you. I’m a shadow, and not one you can readily imagine. I...”
Meghan’s hand rose and, with realizing she did so, she touched his face. Startling iciness greeted her and she blinked, a lone tear slipping down her cheek.
“You’re cold.” She stated, as her fingers moved on their own accord, affectionately tracing his cheek.
“The…air is a chilly.” He managed gruffly.
Unable to think, the contact bewitched her with each passing moment. Drawn to the strange frigidity of his skin, the tips of her fingers tingled as they lingered on the long lashes. Her heart sputtered and her words caught as she mentally attempted to etch his features into her subconscious.
“What color are your eyes?”
He exhaled needlessly, leaning into her touch, savoring the warm and oh-so-forbidden contact.
“My eyes are gold with flecks of black.” he choked tensely.
“Don’t you mean brown?” She inquired faintly.
“One would say nearly amber.” He swallowed tightly, his thoughts twirling at her touch.
“Where are you from?”
He chuckled and wondered why she had so many questions. “Sicily, as I told you once before. Why?”
“The way you speak made me wonder.” She disclosed with a slight twist of her lips.
He bristled somewhat, the subject always a touchy matter.
“What’s wrong with my English?”
“I didn’t say there was anything wrong with it.” The aroma of coffee lifted into the air as she exhaled. “It’s merely different.”
He quirked a brow at her and his facial muscles tightened.
“I didn’t mean it as an insult.” Meghan hurried to explain. “It’s just your speech is slightly accented, a few words are archaic, and your pronunciation on others is way off.”
Amado wanted to jerk away from her, but found he couldn’t. Her sightless scrutiny entranced him, and he felt himself whirling into a bottomless void, slipping into a web only she could weave, the ethereal strands pulling and drawing him deeper into a world, he didn’t understand. Faintly, in a distant portion of his thoughts, he surmised if this was what his victims once experienced.
“I didn’t offend you, did I?” She asked quietly.
“No.”
“Good.” She wondered why he felt so cold, the only sense of warmth slipping from his breath on her hand as she traced his lips.
Amado broke the warm contact. Impulsively, he rose from the table and moved with silent grace until he stood in front of her, his shadow covering her. He stared down at her, quiet, watchful, before he did what she least expected.
He whispered her name tenderly, each syllable hauntingly captivating and drawing her attention. Leisurely, knowing she could sense his every movement, he leaned over her. Meghan felt the soft rustle of air just scant seconds before he placed his cheek to hers. He sighed, savoring the warmth seeping from her. Listening to the rapid increase of her heartbeat, Amado closed his eyes, and a touchingly ecstatic expression changing his tense features.
Torn, he realized the hunger raging in him was far different from the one he suffered. Weak, hungry in a sense that didn’t require the taste of blood, his chest constricted with forgotten emotion. One more unnecessary breath slipped from him, vibrating with the faint sound of her name.
Sultry, smooth, Amado recognized he had her full attention when she didn’t pull away from him.
Meghan savored the rich woodsy scent of sandalwood surrounding her, her fingers aching to touch him. Her palms itched and her flesh tingled, and pleasant warmth uncoiled in her. She clenched her legs together, her calves flexing tightly, and she whetted her lips. Conspicuously silent, she stayed motionless, wordlessly waiting.
“Meghan, you haunt me, the demon that I am.”
He murmured the odd words as he smoothed stray strands of hair from her neck with unsteady fingers. Despite the coldness of his touch, his breath was deliciously warm. Uncertain, knowing her pulse was pounding she closed her eyes. Right away, the heat of the morning sun caressed her face as gently as the words filling her ear.
As he spoke, a rich and decadent hunger shot into her body. Unable to control her reaction, every word causing her to tremble, and she flexed forward. Her fingers traced his neck, reveling at the firm feel of his flesh, his scent seeping into her lungs. Despite the chill on his skin, she felt the oddest flutter beneath her sensitive touch. She blinked, pulling her cheek from his, but not releasing her hold.
“Whether you want me to or not, I do intend to kiss you.”
“I don’t… you shouldn’t…”
Unable to think, the haunting temptation of his words filled her. Her lashes quivered as a low moan of compliance fell from her mouth. His teasing, full lips stroked her upturned face, the gentleness of the kiss a light and velvety touch.
“For once, try not to think.”
“Amado.” She was barely capable of pronouncing his name, her voice sounding distant and foreign.
“Let me taste you, mi bella.” He begged from the anguished depths of his tortured soul, his hunger apparent in every word.
Meghan’s heart caught as his lips moved lazily across her face. Her quivering fingers trailed over his shoulders and n
eck, before hesitating on the curve of his cheek, desperately attempting to memorize the feel of him. She she’d forgotten the simple joy of a kiss, the enticement the pressure of one’s mouth could invoke, and slipped further into the spell he wove with his hushed words. One part wanted to smack away the smug smile she guessed he wore before claiming an additional kiss. The other silently pleaded for him to take her into his arms, and to reveal everything she’d missed in her lifetime.
The irrational part won, and Meghan’s quivering fingers trailed over his shoulders, relishing the texture of his smooth leather jacket, crunching the material in her shaking hands. She vibrated with need, and felt herself spiraling as the kiss deepened. She arched upwards, savoring his taste, wanting and yearning for more than she ever believed possible.
“Amado…”
Meghan clutched at him more desperately, and his name was a minute vibration of breath, escaping her in a trembling rush brimming with forgotten need. As his tongue traced the elegant bow of her lower lip, she quivered, indescribable heat rushing through her. A fine gleam of sweat dotted her brow, and her womanhood ached.
“Meghan…” He began.
He halted and the rest of his thoughts vanished. Issuing a ragged breath, Amado turned, and mutely accepted her touch.
Her heavily dilated eyes flew wide as the tip of his tongue traced her sensitive palm. The heat increased, combined with an agonizing ache wanting satisfaction, every throbbing nerve craving more of his subtle contact. Her pulse thundered and she couldn’t form a coherent thought, bewildered by his touch. The hand she held pressed against the smooth leather of his jacket moved convulsively, clutching at his shoulder before moving upwards, and stroking his hair. Her fingers tingled, relishing the feel of each thick strand, before sinking deep.
Tears of Blood (The Blood Chronicles) Page 12