Written in Blood: A New Adult Vampire Romance Novella, Part Two. (The Unnatural Brethren Book 1)
Page 16
She stood quietly by the Medici Fountain. Her analytic pale blue eyes lingered on the stone vases’ shy flowers, and she captured them on the canvas by her side in shades of pink and green oils.
At such a young age, the way she managed to shun the entire world away and focus on those flowers mesmerized me.
Her chestnut-colored hair was carefully arranged into soft graceful curls. I caught a glimpse of her delicate lips and took notice of her slightly fuller lower lip. High and rosy cheeks, soft, arched eyebrows, flawless fair skin… I found myself inevitably drawn to her. And by the time I realized it, I was already inches away from this beautiful young woman who was no more than seventeen years of age.
“It’s a beautiful fountain, mademoiselle… why not paint all of it?” I said in French.
She pressed her lips and blushed, apparently crossed by my sharp words of judgment. And although she did her best effort to conceal it, her reaction was transparent to my preternatural skills. This young pretty thing had a feisty temper… Hmm, yummy.
A brief exhalation escaped her lips before her piercing eyes landed upon me, and as they did, I got the harshest feeling that they went through me and learned every single one of my buried secrets. In truth, I must admit, her stare disturbed me a little.
“Do you dislike my painting, sir?” she said in a defying tone in perfect English, clenching her teeth.
I found her vexed yet polite demeanor refreshingly charming. “Quite the contrary, mademoiselle,” I replied. “I love it so much I wish there was more of it.”
A smile drew on her face, and it made my heart sing.
“You tease me, monsieur.”
“I would never—!”
“Justine!” a woman cried. “How can you paint in such awful light, child! Come along, it’s late. Your father will be worried!”
She tilted her head and gave me a hint of a forgiving smile. She was as sweet and innocent as a white dove, but the underlying mischief of her gaze remained undeniable.
“Je suis desolé, monsieur,” I'm sorry, she said. “I must go.”
“Perhaps I will see you tomorrow?”
“Perhaps…” she mused as she gathered her painting utensils.
“Pray, tell me. After whom shall I enquire if we should not meet again?”
With brightened eyes, she turned around. “Justine.” She held onto her hat as a gust of cool wind menaced to sway it away from her head. Meanwhile, her governess called her name from afar, begging they should go. And then, she added, “Justine Deveraux.”
Her answer rendered me helpless and beyond the brim of astonishment. I’m afraid I did little to conceal my surprise. She must have noticed the subtle change in my expression, the brief parting of my lips as I heard her speak her family name. But she paid little interest to it, perhaps too habituated with the usual response the mere mention of her powerful lineage aroused in the city.
And as her delicate figure diminished in the tree-lined promenade, a sudden burst of energy shocked my withered black heart and I swear I felt it come to life once more after so many years of forced slumber.
A new era was about to begin, and with it, the promise of the rekindling of my vampiric existence. I knew then that like the phoenix I would rise once more from the ashes, and life would go on because it had to, and there was no other choice.
I knew it from the moment I set my preternatural gaze on that sweet creature, Justine. I knew the fears of my past had been a lie, and that I had every means to take the leap into the changing world, and make the most of the gift I had been given.
Tomorrow was today. And there had never loomed a more promising sight on the perpetual horizon…
From Silvana G. Sánchez’s
CALL OF BLOOD
Dido & Aeneas
In great depths underground, a blazing hearth cracks the room’s pitch darkness. Within the licking flames, the memories of withered days breathe new life.
Useless to precise the moment when her mortal eyes had cast their gaze upon him under a different light. A sharp sense of belonging had bound her to him from a tender age, true, but it was on the brim of losing him that she’d discovered how much those feelings had grown.
Lying on the wooden bench, next to the fireplace, his drenched clothing stuck to his shuddering body. At this sight, her heart constrained in pain. And her deep-blue eyes widened as they captured the frame of a young man who appeared much older than sixteen.
Beautiful, even more so now that his short mane of black hair glistened, and his full lips—pale, with a tinge of blue—quivered. A few drops of melting snow rolled down his flawless face… The face of an angel.
He’s dying.
Father struck his cheek and got a few words out of him. With a low jittery voice, he pointed them to the lake. But Alisa knew the futility of Ivan’s message—Viktor was dead. Their brother would never survive the freezing weather, much less if he’d drowned, as was her suspicion.
Viktor is gone. But you… You cannot leave me. You cannot die. I can’t envision life without you.
“You will survive this,” she told him in a low voice, thinking all the while that those words meant to soothe her anxiety, more than to comfort his.
Ivan had survived. After a lifetime of success in avoiding death, he had escaped it once more. And the frailty of life then convinced her—more than ever—that it was time to act upon her feelings… a trip to Europe would do.
“Ivan,” she whispered, holding fast the gold locket pending from her neck. “I need you.”
Trapped, in the dark, a song echoed in her skull. The old melody’s basso continuo played in her mind, again and again. A broken record of sorts.
© 2020, Silvana G. Sánchez
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Call of Blood: A New Adult Vampire Romance, Part One.
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Also by Silvana G. Sánchez
Once Upon Another World, A Twisted Fairy Tale Box Set.
The Unknown, A Collection of 31 Creepy Micro Poems
CEA’s Greatest Anthology Written
About the Author
Silvana G. Sánchez writes monsters with a heart of gold, villains who are the heroes of their own stories.
She lives in Mexico City with her husband Eric, twins Iker (†) and David, and two Shih-Tzu puppies she lovingly calls her dragons, Wookie and Padme.
When not cutting eyes open in her practice as an Ophthalmologist, she's known to write dark fantasy novels in her writing den.
You can find her lurking on her Facebook page and the Reader’s Den, her reader’s group.
Make sure to stop by to say hello! She doesn't bite—not always, anyway.
For more information:
silvanagsanchez.com
sgs.author@gmail.com