Eternally Bound

by Michelle M. Pillow

  “Is that a complaint, bella?” Marcello murmured, leaning forward to nuzzle her throat. The sound of his rumbling voice sent chills racking through her body, or perhaps it was the way his lips instantly found the base of her throat and began kissing.

  His tongue licked a wicked trail over her jaw to her mouth. Without thinking, she slapped him, viciously. He merely laughed, and she felt his body responding to her rough handling as he hardened beneath her.

  Realizing she sat indecently across his thighs, Tatiana tried to push away. His grip only tightened on her hips, and he refused to let go. His fingers slid around to press into the soft cheeks of her backside.

  Tatiana liked what he was doing, and it terrified her. Her body stirred to him, gravitating itself naturally closer. She couldn’t see his face, but she felt his rigid length. She hated him, despised him, yet wanted him desperately.

  Closing her eyes, Tatiana put herself far away from the carriage into a sunlit field. She felt the warmth of early summer soaking into her limbs. It was so different than the cold flesh of the vampire who held her trapped. Wildflowers dotted the landscape in magnificent yellows and blues, hidden beneath the rolling grasses of the plain. Everything was bright and beautiful.

  The air was fresh, fragrant, pleasing. She held herself very still in the field and felt the wind stir her gown and whip her hair over her shoulders. She felt calm, connected to everything around her. It was as if she could feel the earth moving, the flowers growing, life building naturally all around her.

  Tatiana smiled. The daydream was so real, so vivid. A cloud came from the sun, making her blink at the full cast of light on her features. A strand of blonde hair flew before her face, flowing long over her hips. With a start, she realized it was hers. How had her dark hair transformed into such a light shade? She turned her head down. Her toes were bare, and she wore a gown from centuries past. The dark blue tunic fitted tightly to her frame, pressing against her limbs.

  Tatiana’s breathing deepened. The feeling of connection was severed from the world around her. The ground began to shake with the steady beat of horses. She looked into the distance to see knights astride large, snorting destriers. They saw her and charged. Their swords rose high into the air. Tatiana screamed and ran from them. Her bare feet hit the ground. The field was so long, stretching for what seemed like miles. She glanced over her shoulder.

  “Esprit Malin!” one of the knights cried, pointing viciously at her with the tip of his sword. She knew they called her “evil one.” The horses seemed to charge faster at the man’s words.

  Tatiana couldn’t see their faces beneath their helmets. Her blonde hair whipped straight back from her head. The wind had picked up, hitting against her, slowing whatever progress she might make. The horses only grew louder. The leader pulled up alongside her. Suddenly, she heard the singing of a blade whistling through the air. Tatiana screamed, feeling the abrupt sting of the sword as it lopped off her head.

  Marcello felt Tatiana go limp and unmoving. Her fingers slid off his chest and didn’t lift to touch or fight him. Her chin fell, bouncing to the side. He tried to read into her, see what was happening. He could tell she’d removed herself from him, letting him have her body as he would, but not being there to witness or feel it.

  Suddenly, she stiffened on his lap. He felt her muscles tense as she arched back from him. He held tight, forcing her forward into his embrace. Tatiana screamed, a loud piercing yell of fear and outrage and helplessness. Marcello wasn’t worried about the noise. Cesare would hear it, but wouldn’t care or think to answer.

  Just as suddenly, her body relaxed, falling forward onto him. A light moan left her lips, brushing his neck, as she whispered, “Esprit Malin.”

  Tatiana blinked, coming out of the strange vision. Her body sang with life, with a current of strange and heady power. Her lips moved, panting and harsh. She felt the cool texture of silk against them. Arms held her closely, and a light, feminine moan of near contentment escaped her body. Realizing the silk was masculine flesh, she trembled.

  Marcello tensed as he felt her begin to nibble at his neck, biting him with her flat teeth. Pleasure shot through his sensitive flesh. His eyes rolled back in his head, dreamily. He didn’t know why she’d been trying to deny him. This was how he remembered her, dreamt of her.

  “Mmm, bella mia,” Marcello whispered, encouraging her. His body was ready to impale her flesh. His hands roamed over her lower back, grasping into the lavender silk of her gown. He couldn’t wait to get her home and into the new wardrobe he’d bought for her.

  Tatiana’s fingers curled around his strong shoulders, gliding over the black silk in a possessive caress. Her nails scratched leisurely into the neckline of his shirt, feeling the smooth grace of his skin. His texture was addictive. She began to lick, darting her tongue to taste him.

  Marcello’s hands lifted her skirts, easing them over her legs to bare her hips to his touch. A rip sounded as Tatiana sat back on his lap, tearing open his shirt. A grin tried to spread over his face, but as he saw her expression, the look faded.

  Her narrowed eyes looked crazily at him, glimmering from within their jade depths. Her lips parted as if to murmur. The words were ancient, chanting, droning. She lifted her fist as if she wielded a knife as if she would stab his heart. Bloodlust entered her expression.

  Marcello froze. He realized she hadn’t been kissing him but was still in a trance. The chanting became fiercer, her eyes wilder. With an irritated howl, Marcello shoved her back, slamming her body across the carriage.

  Tatiana hit the seat hard, knocking her head. Her eyes faded to normal. She looked into the darkness stunned, gasping for breath. Then, to Marcello’s surprise, she darted forward for the carriage door. Agony poured over him, confused and hurt. Her fingers found the handle, pulling at the latch to open the door.

  Outside the world flew past in a blur. Her body throbbed where she’d struck the seat. Her limbs were still weak from his attack on her blood. She needed to get out of the dark. She needed to escape the devil that kept her prisoner and made her have these horrible hallucinations. Marcello was a stranger to her, yet her body tried to convince her she knew him well.

  Without stopping to think, Tatiana dove forward, knowing that the fall would most likely break her neck. She didn’t care. Death would be preferable to these sensations in her body, her longing to kiss her tormentor. She felt herself falling forward to the earth. She braced for the impact.

  The impact came, but not from beneath her. A pair of strong, unforgiving arms wound around her waist, pulling her into a chest of steel. She gasped, knowing Marcello had come after her. Even as they fell, she fought him. His body turned, blocking the impact of their fall with his back.

  Tatiana heard him groan as she crashed on top of him. His body shielded hers from the brunt of the fall. They skidded across the ground. Marcello didn’t let her go. As their bodies finally stopped, she held still, dazed.

  Marcello jumped up, landing them on their feet. Instantly, he released her, pushing her roughly away. With a look of disgust, he examined his ripped cloak. The black material was destroyed beyond repair, torn through the blood red lining. He swung it off his shoulders and onto the ground. His shirt was ripped from where she’d jerked it open.

  Marcello didn’t read her thoughts, too angry with her at the moment to try, and not trusting his ability to resist biting her. He’d nearly drained her last time. If he were to taste her blood again, he knew he would finish the job.

  “Cesare!” Marcello bellowed to his servitor. He swiped at his dirt covered clothes in vain disgust. He was filled with a demonic rage. Angrily, he darted forward and gripped her arms, holding her tightly to his bared chest.

  Tatiana jolted in surprise, but her limbs were too shaky to do much else. The vision had taken so much out of her. She was hungry and so very tired. She swayed on her feet, ready to fall back down.

  The carriage whipped around, coming back at full speed to gather them. The fo
ur horses thundered, halting to a stop at the last moment. Cesare sat on top, calmly staring forward with his lifeless white eyes.

  Her face was level with his chest, her shoulders dwarfed by Marcello’s. She looked up at the vampire holding her, again able to see his face shadowed by moonlight. His heart beat strong and angry against her hand, beneath his cool flesh. In the darkness, she’d almost been able to convince herself that his beauty was imagined. His face held the eternity of youth, but with an overcast of wisdom and age and boredom.

  Her nerves stretched, treacherously reaching for him. Her hands tried to soak in the texture of his skin, recognizing it on a baser level that she tried to deny. She attempted to fight her longing, knowing it had to be a spell he cast over her. Even with his eyes filling with red and his fangs glinting like knives from behind his firm lips, she saw his handsomeness. It made her tremble. But, beyond that, his body had strength, a power that made her feel frail and helpless.

  The count tossed her back into the carriage. Tatiana made a startled sound as she flew through the air. With a supernatural speed, Marcello whipped around to the doors, locking her inside. She beat against her prison walls, but he didn’t release her.

  Furiously, Marcello glared at the carriage. Hunger made his stomach ache. He needed to feed and fast. Tatiana’s little show of defiance had nearly killed her and had weakened him. He planned on claiming her as his lover soon enough, but first, she was going to learn her place as his slave. She’d given her oath to obey him and obey she would. No more of her witch’s nonsense.

  Turning to Cesare, who had picked up and was smoothing out his master’s discarded cloak, Marcello ordered, “Stay here. I’ve got to hunt. I’ll be back in a moment.”

  In truth, her trance had amazed him. He knew what she was, but had no idea she was so powerful. Remembering the look of pure horror on her face afterward, he frowned. It was entirely possible she didn’t know how powerful she was. Best if he had her tempered back for now. He would take her to a crone and have her abilities magically bound.

  “Remain where you are, bella mia. If you even try to escape me, I will slaughter five innocent children every eve for a fortnight!” Marcello growled into the door, thundering mad. His eyes rimmed with red, raging at being denied blood and sex. He wasn’t a vampire used to denying himself or his passions.

  Inside the carriage, Tatiana heard the roar of the beast. She had no doubt that the count spoke the truth. She huddled on the floor in the black tomb of the carriage, and wrapped her arms around her legs. Supported by the seat, her head rolled back, weak, feeling completely drained. Refusing to cry, Tatiana waited, having no choice but to obey her new master.

  Chapter Twelve

  Paris, France

  Tatiana was too tired to pull back the curtain to the carriage window and look outside. She stretched her legs on the seat as she lay motionless. Darkness surrounded her, always surrounded her until she grew used to the blindness. Marcello sat across from her, silent and unmoving. He was always silent and unmoving, but she could always feel him as if he was next to her. And she hated him.

  Marcello barely talked to her, except to give her commands. She obeyed in silence. Going to where he told her to, and sleeping where he told her to sleep, which was always next to him. They spent the days in catacombs and graveyards, inside mausoleums and coffins. She would find herself pressed close to him, her back to his back as they slept. He didn’t touch her in passion again.

  Tatiana didn’t know how many nights had passed since he’d locked her in the carriage. When he came back, his face had calmed, the demon had faded from his eyes. She’d seen him briefly in the moonlight as he stepped into the carriage with her. His lips had appeared almost crimson. She imagined it to be blood.

  Tatiana heard the carriage wheels rolling over the unevenly paved roads. The steady clopping of the horses’ hooves beat in a lulling rhythm. She’d always heard stories of Paris and the dreadfulness of their uncouth Bohemian movement, but at the moment she didn’t care to see it. France had looked much like England to her. She would’ve been disappointed if she weren’t so hungry and tired.

  Outside the carriage, Tatiana vaguely heard the calling of foreign tongues, not understanding any but the most basic of French phrases. The sound made her feel even more isolated and alone. It was in the middle of the night, but the large city didn’t sleep. Music from seedy music halls drifted over them in uneven waves, faint and distant.

  Suddenly, an eerie glow invaded the dark tomb of the carriage. A thin trail of gold streamed in from outside, caressing Marcello’s face as he looked out to the city. His jaw was stiff. His eyes were hard. Tatiana gasped, amazed each time she saw him, to see how beautiful he was.

  At the light sound, Marcello’s eyes turned to look at her. He didn’t lower his hand, letting the light remain on him. Their gazes locked, held.

  “Come, bella mia, come and see your new home,” Marcello said quietly, motioning his head to the window. The long strands of his wavy brown hair spilled freely over his shoulders. His dark brown eyes called to her, flickering with depths of green. Tatiana had come to realize that his eyes turned in such a way only when he tried to read her thoughts or control them.

  Tatiana was too tired to move from her spot. Her stomach had long since stopped twitching in hunger and now sat hollow and small beneath her ribs. Her fingers moved ever so lightly as if to obey him. Then, as the carriage bumped over a rough patch of road, she began to roll. Her eyes observed the carriage floor coming rapidly toward her face before a bright, consuming light flashed.

  Tatiana gasped, sitting up. Her body was no longer weak. She felt young, carefree. The sun was warm on her face, the air sweetened with the perfume of flowers. Birds and insects chirped happily all around her. Her eyes squinted as she looked about in the bright light. She was home.

  Hearing a faint giggle, she turned. Behind her, dancing like a wood sprite, was Alice. Tatiana froze. She remembered this day and suddenly knew that she was dreaming again. Alice stopped and smiled at her. They were alone, at a picnic, hiding from Henry and his boisterous friends, who had taken over Eastwich Manor for the weekend.

  Tatiana couldn’t move. Seeing Alice, she could no longer feel young and happy. Her skin chilled, even though the sun still shone full upon them. Alice stepped near, holding out a garland of plaited flowers for her. Tatiana stiffened, shivering now as the maid kneeled before her.

  Alice’s blonde ringlets stirred in the breeze. Her bright blue eyes lost their natural gaiety. Suddenly, the woman frowned. She lifted the flowers as if to put them over Tatiana’s shoulders. A petal touched Tatiana’s cheek and dissolved into nothingness.

  The sky became dark, stormy. Alice’s hands fell to her lap, and her features began to pale and gray. The maid’s mouth opened to speak. Words sounded, fast and high, garbled as if the maid spoke in tongues. Alice cried, screaming so loud it shook them both, as her blue eyes filled with red. Her face caved in as if it struck by invisible blows.

  Tatiana couldn’t understand what Alice tried to tell her. She pulled back from her, scared. She jolted to her feet, turning to run. Her body was like lead. As she spun, she was no longer in the field but in the forest, standing in the doorway of the abandoned cottage. She got a glimpse of Alice’s pale corpse and heard a voice whispering.

  “Che macello, bella mia. What a mess.”

  “No,” Tatiana screamed.

  Again her body jolted. Her eyes blinked. Overhead she saw dark gray stones, flickering with the orange glow of firelight. Wondering if she was again in another dream, she laid perfectly still.

  Her body was surrounded by softness, comforting and cool. She had the odd sense of being safe, protected. There was a familiar security to her surroundings, to the look of stone, to the soft, enveloping feel beneath her. She was happy to be out of the bouncing carriage. Her arm moved slightly, and she felt silk along her skin. A calm sigh left her lips, and she was contented.

  When several minutes passe
d and nothing around her changed, she slowly pushed herself up. She was on a large, rectangular bed. The sheets were a blood red silk, the coverlet a thicker black. Many decorative pillows, some with embroidery, some with yellow fringe, covered a good portion of the top. Everything was rich, elegant, and instinctively she knew it was very Marcello.

  Gothic sconces were attached to the wall. Large, matching candelabras stood freely about the room. Long tapering white candles were in them, unlit, but with bits of dried wax curling over their sides. Nowhere did she see gas lamps or other devices of modern convenience.

  The firelight came from a giant square fireplace. It was carved from stone and large enough to stand five of her shoulder to shoulder and still have room for more. Two large, black angel sculptures graced each side of it. Their wings pointed up, and they seemed to be weeping, as they reached down toward some unknown point on the smooth stone floor.

  Tatiana shivered. The statues gave her the chills, reminding her of elaborate gravestones. She would know. She’d seen her share of gravestones over the last several nights.

  The room was calm, isolated. The stone walls were very plain with a castellated feel to the arches along the ceiling. Aside from the crackling fire, the room was silent. Tatiana could feel an uneventful peace. She’d felt the same mysterious calmness in the graveyards.

  A long, cushioned rug of elaborate gold and red patterns graced the floor before the fire. A large wardrobe of dark wood sat along the wall. The carved wood bespoke of elegance, more so than any she had seen before.

  Her feet slid over the side of the bed. Her limbs wobbled as she stood, reminding her that she’d not eaten a decent meal in days. Feeling the continued whispers of silk along her legs, she glanced down.