But tonight, I swallowed those tears. I was determined to find out the truth and face it no matter how much it hurt me.
This time, she had not slept home for a week. I had an inkling of where she might be. And as the manor drew on the horizon, I pulled my mare's reins and stopped.
“Le sort en est jeté,” I said under my breath. The die is cast.
I walked through my country home's threshold. She was here. For reasons that eluded my understanding, Alisa's thoughts remained shunned to me ever since I had given her the Dark Drink, but I was still able to detect her presence. She could have concealed it from me, as I now did from her—but what did it matter, we would meet at some point.
As I moved into the solarium, a room which I held most dear because of the memories it evoked of the Garden of Eden, I noticed him. He was standing by one of the conservatory’s sculptures of Greek gods that emerged from the masses of wild but contained vegetation. This one, in particular, Apollo Discharging his Arrow, kept the young man enthralled. He studied it with absolute devotion… What did he see in it?
I pried into his thoughts but got out of his mind the minute Alisa's face entered the picture.
Lovers.
That was all I needed to see.
“You like it, don't you?” I mused, walking around him. My hands clasped on my back as I examined his appealing complexion. The hunter in me was much intrigued. Dark blond hair and light blue eyes; so pure... no wonder she chose him.
His youthful cheeks blushed the minute our eyes met. I took this gesture as an invitation and drew closer setting my gaze on the sculpture.
“Marmoreal perfection,” I mused.
Apollo. He was the god of light and truth, whereas I was another kind of god, the god of darkness and lies. Both sides of the same coin.
“Some would say he and I share some similarities...” My fingertips smoothed the sculpture's face. “Would you agree with—?”
His bold fingers touched my face before I could finish my question. He took one more step, shortening the distance between us, and with marveled eyes, examined every detail of my facial features. And I allowed him such liberties because I wanted him dead. As a devious spider, I had knitted my web and now patiently waited for my prey to fall.
“No…” he whispered, entranced. “He is beautiful, yes. But you... you are perfect.”
His fingers glided away from my lips and followed my jawline. I could almost taste his salty skin. Vengeance eluded my mind for a moment—the sole pleasure of this kill would satisfy me enough; retaliation was but an added delight. Oh, I wanted him…
“I see you've met my brother,” she said.
He stepped away. Every fiber of my being went rigid at the sound of Alisa’s vindictive voice. In spite of it all, I held my tongue.
“Too bad he's leaving us so soon,” she added.
Confused, his innocent eyes landed on me. “You're leaving?” he said, transparent in his disappointment. “But you just got here. I thought you would spend the weekend with us.”
My gaze pierced her through and through, crossed as I was. Damn you, Alisa.
“I'm afraid I can't,” I said, never removing my sight from her. “I must be off. My party awaits me.”
“That's too bad, sir. Too bad, indeed… I do hope to see more of you in the future.”
Future? I could have laughed. He had no future.
“Oh, I highly doubt it,” I whispered as I passed by her side. My voice was so low, he did not hear a thing. “Yes, I would like that.”
“Let me see you to your horse, brother.”
Brother. She used the word with every malicious intent on vexing me. She knew how much I hated it. God only knows how many words I swallowed on my way to the entrance, but I would not give her the satisfaction of bearing my wounds for her devilish eyes to see.
To hell with it.
The minute we stepped outside, all my contained spite rolled off my tongue. “Is this what you do now?” I said. “Bring your prey to the country for a week, play with them until you've become bored, and then kill them?”
Alisa looked right through me as if I were nothing but an old specter haunting the premises. “We must not meddle with each other's quarry,” she said, fixing her eyes on me, for once. “Promise me, Ivan.”
My blood boiled at her choice of words—concerned for the fate of her meal, more than for that of my own. I clenched my jaw and held in every bit of fury before it burst out of my mouth. I couldn’t reach the reins and mount my mare quickly enough.
“Do what you will,” I muttered. “But never in my house again!”
Alisa's countenance turned pale as snow. She knew I played no games. Good.
“Heeyah!” I pulled the reins and my mare reared, but I steadied her and galloped away from that house as fast as I could.
17
The Pleasures of Deceit
Had these been the days of my mortal youth, I would have drowned my sorrows in the first brothel I laid eyes upon. And although such delights still appealed to me, they remained overshadowed by the Unnatural Drink. Such an ecstasy unparalleled by any other pleasure I had ever known lay in that drink.
My preference for killing in the shadows of the lowest burrows had not changed; but the hunger was striking fast and deviated me from my dining plans towards the manor of a good man, an acquaintance of mine who happened to host a ball this very evening.
Earlier this week, I had declined his gracious invitation, but as I found myself in the country, far away from my hunting grounds, I saw no reason why I should not attend after all.
Torchlight guided the way towards the manor's entrance. The soft melody of violins and a harpsichord drifted outside and traveled with the warm wind.
I needed this. Amidst the ball's attendants, I would find the most corrupted hearts and prey upon them. Tonight, deceit suited my palate like nothing else.
Music engulfed me the minute I stepped inside the room. Youth and the compelling fragrance of fresh blood lingered in the air—these things lured me beyond control.
Gustave Dreik's white and bushy eyebrows rose the minute he acknowledged my presence from the other side of the crowded ballroom.
Between multicolored yards of silk and waving fans, he glided. And as he reached a few feet from where I stood, with open arms, he set out to embrace me in the most welcoming hold.
His reddened nose and cheeks spoke of his drunkenness—just enough to be socially acceptable.
Gustave had become one of my most trusted financial advisors at an early onset as I settled in Paris. It was following his suggestion that I had invested in the promising venture of Parisian developments. “Construction is a gold mine,” he had said back then. And his words had proven true the minute I received three times my investment in profits. It only got better from there on.
Indeed, although Gustave's great wit had amassed him quite a fortune, the man's background was rather humble. He possessed no rank and lacked any suitable connections—except for mine, of course, the Baron. And even when there were those families who still opposed socializing with anyone inferior to their standards, the ballroom held guests from one end to another. And if my friendship could help him improve his way up the Parisian social ladder, then I was more than pleased by it.
“Wonderful!” he said. “You came after all!”
“A change of heart,” I mused.
“Well, I'm glad of it!” He patted my back. “Make yourself at home, Baron. Enjoy the evening!”
“I think I will.”
“See how many beauties are gathered in this room? Oh, my good friend, I would see you married! The sooner the better!” he said, his glistening face moist by a thin layer of sweat.
His heartfelt request made me smile.
“Come, come!” He pressed my arm. “Dive in there, I know you want to. And never worry. You needn't say a thing, good man. Just one look at you and they will adore you!”
“M. Dreik,” a man said as he approached him. �
��There seems to be a problem with the flutist.”
Gustave turned back towards me with a grimace of worry. “Where is Mme Dreik when I need her, hmm?” He shrugged. “I'll see you in a few moments, I hope!”
I nodded.
The minute he disappeared in the crowd, I moved away from the dance floor and from the many hungry eyes set upon me. But before I managed my escape, a hand closed on my arm and tugged me towards another direction.
“As soon as I saw you enter the room, I told myself, 'Is that not Mr. Lockhart?’” an earnest but gentle voice said. “'Why, yes,' I said, 'Yes, he is!' I simply had to say hello!”
My lips parted, but I uttered no sound. Golden brown hair arranged in heavy locks, small yet inquisitive eyes and the most endearing smile free of pretense... Did I know her? She certainly seemed to know me.
“Forgive me, I—”
“But of course, you cannot possibly recognize me, Mr. Lockhart... or should I say My Lord?” she said with a flick of her fan. “It's been too long, and I'm afraid I've grown up a lot since then. Twelve, thirteen years? Dear Lord! How time flies! However, you look as handsome as ever. And I may say that, as I am a married woman. And as you well know, married women can get away with almost anything!” She gave a short lively laugh.
My eyes analyzed her as I tried to put a name to that eager young lady's face.
“Let me put you out of such misery,” she finally said. “Miss Esther Allen,” her hand reached for my kiss. “Mrs. Pritchard to you, now.”
With widened eyes, I scarcely concealed my amazement. Her two remarks impressed me greatly. Esther Allen, little Esther, had grown into a delightful woman who was now in her mid-twenties. And then, there was the other declaration: Mrs. Pritchard.
“Sweet Esther, I hardly recognize you!” I said with genuine delight. “Mrs. Pritchard, I mean. Is he here with you?”
“Why yes!” she said. “He would never leave my side, not for anything! You'll find Mr. Pritchard back there, with the rest of our party.” She signaled with her closed fan towards the end of the room.
My gaze swept every face in their small gathering and found no trace of him.
“I'm sorry,” I said. “But I do not see William amongst your party.”
“William? Dear Lord, you'll never see him there! He's gone off to Florence. After Alisa—well, he's lived there ever since.”
“I don't understand,” I mused. “I thought you said you had married him.”
“Oh, Lord. No! Not William Pritchard,” she said concealing her smile beneath her waving fan. “I married his younger brother, Thomas Pritchard. There he is, the blond god in the group!” She laughed.
The young man turned and fixed his eyes on us. And after capturing Esther's attention, he tilted his head and beckoned her to rejoin their party.
“Oh, look at him,” she teased. “He's already jealous... I must go to him.”
“It's been wonderful to see you again,” I said in all honesty and kissed her gloved hand.
“Such a gentleman...” She sighed. “Send my regards to your sister.”
“I will.”
The train of Esther's golden gown glided across the dance floor through the crowds until she reached her party. Boasts of laughter were inevitable the minute she joined them. Such an endearing creature...
“I wish he would ask me to dance.”
I caught the thought. It came from the young lady standing behind me. With expectant eyes, she fluttered her white fan as my gaze landed on her. I stepped back, planning to avoid her—and anyone who had the slightest intention of dancing with me. I had steered away from balls for the last decade for this very reason.
Moving a few steps back, I sought comfort in the blessed darkness of the next room and claimed it my lurking spot from that moment on.
In the pitch obscurity, the air was even cooler and free from the poignant perfumes that saturated the ballroom.
“I hear you never dance nowadays, My Lord... Is that true, or part of your mysterious allure?”
Her voice, sensuous and low pitched, appealed to me. I turned back and gave a quick glance to the darkened room until my eyes met her figure. She stepped out of the shadows, into the pool of light that poured from the ballroom.
I caught a glimpse of her dark green silk gown. Beneath the paned sleeves, her delicate hands, soft and fair as porcelain, clasped together as she moved further. The exquisite emerald ring she wore shimmered, and as I looked up, I could only compare its brightness with that of her sharp green eyes as they pierced the dark.
The moment my eyes met her face, I lost my breath.
She moved closer.
Twenty-eight years old, and Juliette was still as captivating and mystifying as I remembered.
Time had worked its charm upon her delicate frame, which was once youngish and tender, and now sensual and womanly... a true delight to behold. Even her voice had changed; it was deeper and more resonant. Did the pain of our last goodbye account for it? Yes, I once broke her heart. But then, she broke mine too.
“I—I never expected to find you here...”
“As always, frugal with words,” she said. “But I cannot decide, in what way do you mean those words, My Lord? Are you appalled or delighted by my presence?”
“More than that,” I said. “I'm afraid I'm enthralled by it.”
She tilted her head and moved even closer, stopping inches away from my face.
“You must not tease me, Ivan, for that alone is my talent,” she said in a sultry voice.
Her nearness bewitched me beyond control. Her powerful presence compelled me to break the distance between us and claim a passionate kiss from her luscious lips.
“I know we parted on bad terms, Juliette...” I whispered and my body leaned towards her seeking the promise of her kiss.
“My heart knows nothing of resentment, it never has.” She turned away and moved towards the unlit fireplace.
More than a decade of practicing the Hunt had taught me a thing or two in the arts of seduction; but in her presence, I discovered all of it was futile. My heart pumped its vicious blood faster and stronger, the overbearing thirst lay minutes away from awakening, and I had little patience for these games now.
Without losing sight of her, I moved to where she stood. My hand went for the chimney's marble mantel and I leaned my body's weight against it.
The more my eyes feasted on her enticing presence, the more I wanted her.
I took a deep breath and pulled the reins on my hastiness.
“Time becomes you,” I whispered. The hint of lascivious determination escaped my lips.
She flustered. With fluttering eyelashes, she turned away. At last, I had managed to break her self-composed demeanor.
My hand reached for hers and concealing my hurry, I unbuttoned her glove. The soft touch of my fingers challenged her poise's integrity once more.
“I hope you bear me no ill will,” she said and her voice tinged with anxiety. “I was young, after all... and in love.”
The silken glove rolled down her arm beneath my fingers.
“And have you grown out of it... this young love?” My lips landed on her soft hand.
She gave the hint of a mischievous smile. “Why don't you read my mind and find out for yourself?” she said.
“Be careful now, I've become quite proficient at it.”
“But has there ever been a time when you were not skilled at anything?”
A rush of warmth rose to my face. Only she could have made me blush.
I smoothed my hands behind her neck and following her suggestion, I pried into her thoughts.
In them, I discovered wholehearted happiness. Finding me inside this room had been the highlight of the past twelve years of her life. With patience, Juliette had waited for this moment, knowing one day it would come. And now that it was here, she could not believe such bliss ever escaped her precious fingers.
Countless images poured before my mind's eye; every moment by her s
ide, frame by frame—from the first time I laid eyes on her the day her carriage overturned at l’Île de Saint-Louis, to the unforgettable delirium of what became our first and last night together.
“Juliette, tu me manques... Tu me manques terriblement!” I miss you, I said. I miss you terribly!
The words, like a powerful spell, demolished all shred of her composed demeanor and in her shimmering eyes loomed joyous tears.
My lips went to recover her long-lost kiss, but the touch of her fingers stopped me from fulfilling my ardent intentions.
“I have waited more than ten years for this moment,” she whispered. “But you have not said it, Ivan. I need you to say it.”
“What would you have me say?” I answered. “Whatever you want from me is yours.” My burning desire demanded satisfaction.
“Have you truly forgiven me?”
“It's all past,” I mused, holding her in my arms. “This is what matters to me—you're here, and I could not have wished for a more wonderful sight.”
A tear rolled down her cheek.
I pulled her close in my embrace and pressed my lips against hers, devouring her in a long passionate kiss. Juliette's body yielded to my arms. And I relished in this moment because I had dreamed of it in secret for a very long time.
18
The Taste of Revenge
Some say revenge is sweet, but I differ with that assessment.
Revenge has a slow pungent flavor; it builds up from the deepest bitterness. It requires time for its stale taste to wither and evolve into a richer palatable savor. And once acquired, its pleasant aftertaste turns ineludible, enticing, as its pure succulence enfolds and blinds our senses into begging for more…
Two years of blissful revenge had passed, and I could not get enough of it.
After a while, I think its purpose lost all meaning. Alisa's absences had increased but I no longer cared, not as long as I had Juliette in my life.
Written in Blood: A New Adult Vampire Romance Novella, Part Two. (The Unnatural Brethren Book 1) Page 11