“Do you remember Vell always said it wasn’t safe to hang about one area for too long?”
“I remember.”
“Human minds are far stronger than we give them credit.” The vagrant chastised. “Why do you think Vale moved on, Rick stopped making films, Vincent staged his death, and Dom and Genie took to the cabin?”
Amado wearily closed his eyes. He wouldn’t mutter one more I know, realizing the words were useless. “Perhaps I’ve grown too comfortable with where I’m at.”
“You have.” The vagrant accused unwillingly. “Remember, familiarity breeds laxness.”
“This is perceptive advice from a vampire that’s been homeless for nearly a century.”
A slow smile creased his face. “My time in this guise is almost done. I’ll be asking Genie for suggestions to a whole new identity in a year or two.”
“You’ll go to Dominic’s wife?’ He couldn’t prevent his snort of amazement.
“She’s a gem, that girl, and has a brilliant imagination.” He chortled with glee, rubbing his hands together and considering the possibilities. “Maybe my next identity will be some rogue that hangs out at the newest dance halls, seducing those waif-like beings seeking the latest male conquest…”
Chapter Seventeen
Meghan was tired of feeling angry, since the emotion didn’t rectify anything, and only made her sick. Being furious wasn’t going to fix her house, replace her belongings, or still the anxious flutters in her stomach.
She raked her hands through her hair, her scalp still damp for the shower, before pressing her cheek to the window of the dance studio. The sun warmed her face from beyond the glass, and she sighed heavily. She had other matters to think over, she reasoned, which added to the pile dumped on her.
Statements had been given to the police, Sebastien helped her contact her insurance company, and her employer understood her dilemma. Inhaling deeply, she placed a hand on the glass, absently tracing little circles against its smoothness.
Remembering the damage wrought on her home, her imagination enhanced by the descriptions handed to her, and she shuddered. Someone, and she’d a gut wrenching idea who, decided her place was ideal for them to unleash their twisted antagonism. Her insides churned as she considered the off-handed possibility her ex-husband had reappeared, his mind and actions fueled by his intent to exact some sort of half-assed revenge on her for moving on in her life.
Why, after all these years, did he decide to return?
Because you moved on, her mind responded irritatingly.
What was she, besides a woman he’d enjoyed controlling every day of her life?
You’re the one that got away, the voice taunted.
Had he become so sick and twisted he couldn't move on, or start fresh elsewhere?
Always, the little voice reasoned.
Why return to Bentham, where the law wanted him?
He thinks he’s beyond the touch of the law, her brain continued to tease.
Why slash the mattress to her bed, and then leave the butcher knife in the folds of perfectly remade sheets?
Because another had stolen her heart….
She shivered at the unspoken implication in the action. There were too many questions flitting through her head and the jeering voice annoyed her. Meghan turned and faced the large windows, allowing the soothing warmth of the setting sun to flow over her. Whomever the culprit, she hoped the police managed to find him soon. The very thought he could be watching her, looking forward to a chance to finish what he’d started, was ominous.
Desperate to erase the dread Kevin’s memory evoked, she forced herself to calm, and focused on thoughts of Amado. Immediately, she warmed, remembering the ardent kiss he’d placed on her lips before leaving, silently promising her his heart. A sudden heat encircled her and she smiled secretively, reflecting on his touch and the feel of his body as he pressed himself close to her.
She regretted her impulsiveness this morning, having nearly bit his head off with her insecurity. She needed to explain to him when he returned, letting him know her confusion over the new emotions unraveling in her.
Realizing how she sounded, she scowled. She couldn’t just come right out and say she was falling in love with him, that he was the first man she’d touched in over five years. He’d think she was a love struck fool!
“Good evening?”
Meghan turned, startled by the sudden sound of another voice echoing through the dance studio. Her hand flew to her heart and the organ performed a betraying flip, confusing it with that of Kevin. Laughing uncomfortably, she realized the brusque tones weren’t from her past, and exhaled a relieved breath.
“Good evening,” she repeated and lowered her hand. Meghan tilted her head, mentally seeking the presence of the individual that had entered the studio. She scowled when she couldn’t pinpoint where the man stood, the spacious room making the task impossible. “If you're looking for Mr. Gianni, I'm afraid he's not here.”
“Amado will be here soon, if I know him,” was the husky response. She listened as he neared, and each step he took was precisely executed. “I suspect he’s unable to avoid your enticing presence.”
The voice was worryingly dark and Meghan sensed there was something left unsaid in the simply put comment. She wrapped her arms about her, apprehension creeping up her back and across her shoulders.
“Mister.….”
“Ah, my dear, don’t be alarmed.” The man soothed gently as he halted. She caught the aroma of expensive cologne and leather, the two scents wrapping around her like a suffocating blanket. “I’m an old friend of the instructor.”
“I don't know when he'll come back.” She responded with an uncomfortable chuckle. Offhandedly, she realized he neglected to provide his name.
“As I said, he'll return soon.” He continued silkily, each word stroking her frayed nerves. “Do you mind if I wait?”
Meghan didn’t know how to respond, suspecting she couldn't tell the man his presence wasn't welcome and demand he leave. She was Amado's guest, taking advantage of his hospitality, while he straightened things out matters at the police station. As it were, Chesca would be arriving in a few hours to take her to her apartment. All she had to do was bide her time until her friend arrived.
Contrary to her better judgment, she attempted a halfhearted shrug. “I don’t suppose there’s any harm in waiting for him.”
“Would it be against your better nature to supply me with some company, to take the edge off my boredom?” The faceless stranger asked casually.
At the formality of his question, she couldn't avoid the wry twist of her lips. She questioned who the visitor was, explicitly polite as he issued his request. She remembered Amado had told her he gave dancing lessons to senior citizens and mentally formed a misguided picture of one of the patrons.
“It wouldn’t hurt.” She murmured with forced civility, imagining someone the age of her grandfather, impeccably dressed in trousers sporting an exact knife crease, and a suit coat. “Have you known Mr. Gianni for very long?”
“Since he was a child,” he supplied nonchalantly.
“Are you one of his students?”
Her question made him laugh lightly, the sound filled with a hint of irony.
“It’s more like he’s a student of mine.”
“Oh?” She lifted a brow in amazement. Amado had forgotten to mention his own instructor was alive and well, and residing in Bentham. “Did you teach him how to dance?”
“Oh, darling, I didn’t mean I taught him those annoying little steps that amuse the public.” Wry amusement filled his deep-throated laugh. She couldn’t help scowling, her unease growing. “I’ve always lacked the grace, skill, and patience Amado exudes when he’s on the ballroom floor.”
Meghan realized there was a lethal edge evident beneath the off-handed praise. All of a sudden, she suspected the man wasn’t a close comrade of Amado, judging from the underlying note she detected in his words. Carefully, she walked
across the highly polished floor, her steps exacting. Reaching the center of the room, she stopped, and turned in the man's direction.
“Why are you here?”
She could almost envision his shrug.
“I’ve matters to discuss with our joint associate.”
Meghan wouldn’t exactly describe her relationship with Amado as an association, but she kept her thoughts to herself. Whoever he was, he made her nervous. She assumed there was an ulterior motive behind his visit, and worried what his true intentions were.
“Can you tell me how this place looks?” She had to keep him talking, assuring herself of his whereabouts, while she counted the minutes until Amado returned.
He remained silent and, for a moment, she wondered if he’d left. Abruptly, he spun about on his heel, his action causing a slight squeak on the polished wooden floorboards. Quizzically, she blinked and her arms fell to her sides.
“Are you still there?” She asked hesitantly.
“Yes, I am.” The visitor’s voice carried across the vastness of the chamber. He didn't move, remaining where he’d stood. “Why would you want me to describe the place to you?”
Her cheeks coloring slightly, but her reaction wasn’t the cause of embarrassment. Unease continued to trickle down her spine, and the fine hairs on her arms stood upright. Perhaps, a distant part of her mind whispered, she should have taken Sebastien up on his offer to stay in his apartment at The Mage. However, despite his persistence, she’d adamantly preferred Amado’s company, her heart winning to her better judgment.
“If you haven’t realized it yet, I can’t see what is around me.” Meghan supplied straightforwardly.
“You’re blind?” He asked in a tone that readily told her he already ascertained that fact.
She nodded.
“I apologize for my oversight.” He murmured gently and Meghan felt her stomach churn ever so slightly.
“There isn’t any reason to,” She shrugged as she brushed off his explanation, attempting to appear more confident than what she truly was. “I would just like to know, Mr.…..”
“Declan,” he responded abruptly.
“I’m sorry?”
“My name is Declan,” he supplied but his declaration quivered with an odd note.
Despite the chill tingling across her skin, she managed a tight smile.
“I’m Meghan Stanley.”
“Meghan,” the two syllables escaped him in a soft breath and the preconceived image she’d developed of an elderly man vanishing as quickly as it appeared. Somehow, she imagined Declan wasn’t much older than thirty. “That’s a beautiful name for an equally beautiful lady.”
Her chin shot up and she glared in his direction.
“Mr. Declan….”
“Simply Declan,” he interrupted smoothly. “There hasn’t been a title in many years.”
“Look,” Meghan’s fingertips touched her chest for emphasis, and she wondered if she should leave the studio.
“Stay and amuse me,” he whispered and those simple words swirl around in her brain, their tone slightly pleading.
“You can wait for him…”
“I’ll wait, my dear,” he soothed. “Though, I would prefer to have company.”
“I don’t know who you are, or what you want…”
“At the risk of sounding repetitive, my name is Declan, and Gianni and I are …acquaintances.” He interjected with relative ease. “Despite whatever messages your overactive little brain might be sending to you, I assure you I don’t harbor any ill will toward you.”
She must have glared at him skeptically, because he stifled an ironic laugh.
“I’m merely awaiting his return. Can you fault me for wanting to while away his time with an entrancing woman?”
Meghan dropped her hand, mentally fighting with herself as she struggled to come to terms with the world around her, and the day’s events. She remained where she stood, wondering if she were being unfair and judging every individual by Kevin’s standards.
“You asked me about the studio,” Declan’s question was nothing more than a husky whisper as it drifted to her. “Are you still interested?”
Meghan slowly nodded and took a few steps across the floor. Pausing, she lifted her face to the lofty ceiling and listened. Quiet greeted her, an absolute void unbroken by the sound of voices on the street outside or passing traffic.
She hated the silence.
She turned around, her expression filled with undeniable annoyance.
“I’ve a picture of what this place is supposed to look like, in my head.” Lifting a hand, she tapped at her temple. “Unfortunately, the image is from movies, and I don't know if I’m right.”
“Let me assure you, this is as close to any you could imagine.” He answered with an oddly warm laugh. “There’s one exception, though.”
“What would that be?”
“Amado doesn't have one of those irritating wall-to-wall mirrors against the cinderblock.”
“He doesn’t?” She questioned, amazed by the tidbit of information. “Why not?”
“Call it a quirk.” He responded casually. “Some….people are self-conscious about how others see them, especially when they dance. The lack of mirrors alleviates the unease, which makes everyone more comfortable.”
“I can understand,” Meghan mulled over his words, nodding before thinking of their earlier conversation. “Honestly, how long have been friends with Amado?”
“I’ve been acquainted with Amado for…ages.” Declan replied with a laugh, but there was a definite evasiveness in his voice.
“Exactly how long is that?”
“Darling, you’d never comprehend the amount of years.” He supplied mockingly. “Let’s just say, we met when the world still held certain innocence.”
His puzzling remark left her dumbfounded and she scowled. The man spoke in s riddles, and none made sense. Still, her curiosity taunted her.
“I gather you’ve known him since childhood?” Meghan questioned innocently.
He snorted. “You could call it his youth, if you wanted.”
“You’ve remained friends after all this time?”
He laughed, but the sound rang with irony.
“Is that so unbelievable?” Declan inquired. “Can we not have friends and associates who remain with us throughout our time on earth?”
Immediately, she thought of Chesca, and smiled warmly.
“I suppose we can,” she admitted. “I’ve a dear friend of my own.”
“Would she be the vivacious redhead running The Mage?”
At his odd question, cold chills ran over her flesh.
“How do you know about Chesca?”
“Everyone in Bentham is familiar with Chesca and her associate.” He countered easily.
Meghan couldn’t do much more than nod at his statement.
“As I said, Amado and I are associates. There isn’t much he does I’m not aware of, nor are there people he knows I haven’t personally met.” He sounded so abrasively self-assured to her tingling nerves and Meghan found herself wishing Amado would appear.
“Don’t believe a damn word he says, Meghan.” Amado’s interrupted from the doorway. “I’ll never count Declan among my friends or associates.”
Chapter Eighteen
“You wouldn’t, child of mine?” Declan laughed easily, appearing unconcerned as Amado stepped into the studio.
“Never, Declan.” He confirmed with a haughty lift of his chin. Swiftly, he approached Meghan, his footsteps nothing more than a whisper on the highly polished wooden floorboards of the structure. Pulling her into his arms, he searched her face, his expression intent. “Did he touch you?”
Meghan didn’t have an opportunity to respond, Declan’s powerful voice filling the still air about them.
“I was the perfect gentleman,” He assured with haughty dignity. “I merely stopped by to converse with your latest flight of fancy, and found that she’s absolutely charming.”
“I didn’t lie.” Declan’s smooth features remained deliberate placid. He turned his back to the other vampire, suspiciously appearing to goad him into a confrontation.
“He’s told you to leave her alone!” Amado’s voice was low and filled with anger.
“You might as well throw a gauntlet in my face, Gianni.” He mocked with relative ease. Appearing as if the entire conversation was blasé, he brushed an imaginary bit of lint from his shirtsleeve, before lifting dark eyes. “I could never resist a challenge.”
“What does he want?” Meghan asked, wondering precisely what sort of scene she found herself trapped in. “Why’s he here?”
Protectively, Amado placed her behind him, using his body as a shield from his nemesis.
“It does not matter, Meghan.” He assured her but she sensed he wasn’t being truthful.
Declan issued a hearty laugh, confirming her suspicions.
“Ah, Amado!” He exclaimed on a gasping breath. “Have you not told this darling little mortal what you are, even after sharing your bed with her?”
A vicious growl erupted from Amado’s throat, and Meghan stepped away from the protective shield of his back. Warning bells exploded within her mind as she realized the sound he issued wasn’t quite human. A pale hand crept up to her heart, and she clutched the silky material of her blouse between trembling fingers.
“Amado?”
Tears of Blood (The Blood Chronicles) Page 20