Marcello had redecorated his catacomb home for her, hoping she would find pleasure within the walls. It was his dream that she could forget the demon he’d become, forget that she lived her life with him below the streets in a large tomb, forget that he was undead, cursed.
Marcello had seen to everything as he waited to claim her. He’d even tried to give her a gift, the gift of a life of adventure that he could detect her longing for, since the first moment he saw her with Henry in the forest. He’d taken her to the Moulin Rouge, showed her another world and longed to show her more. If she loved him, he would give her anything, everything. If she could only love him, he would die for her, risk the flame of sunlight if she so desired. But she couldn’t love him. She couldn’t love a demon. And, try as he might, he couldn’t blame her for it.
Marcello’s lips parted, showing the tips of his fangs. Her eyes drew to them and rounded.
“Are you going to punish me?” she asked weakly.
As you punish me, bella mia? he thought sadly.
Marcello turned his back on her to face the fire, so that she could get dressed. His body was rigid. He didn’t trust himself to speak. The scent of her was in his head, tormenting him. He wanted her even now, despite the fact that she’d slept with his brother.
Tatiana eyed the count’s stiff back. She didn’t need the power of her ancestry to detect the anger in him, the disappointment, the raging beast that flowed beneath the surface. She slowly edged to pass near him. He’d left the door open, and she did the only thing she could think of, she ran.
Tatiana didn’t know where she was going, or what she would do wrapped only in a linen, dripping with water. All she knew was she needed to get away from Marcello. She didn’t recall her night with Leandro, but that didn’t mean nothing had happened. She’d seen the way Leandro looked at her. It was possible they’d slept together. But, she also knew, that if the choice had been hers to make, she wouldn’t have. She couldn’t even fathom sleeping with anyone but Marcello.
Tatiana knew she wouldn’t get far. Marcello’s hand gripped her arms as she reached the first step leading out of his home. A cry escaped her lips though his hold was gentle. At the sound, he instantly let her go as if his touched burned her.
Tatiana pulled back, crying. She saw his unmovable, handsome face, and it tore at her heart. She tried to hate him, but she couldn’t.
“Stop your tears,” Marcello ordered, his voice harsh and gravelly. The sound reverberated in the back of her skull, and she cried harder. He grimaced as if uncomfortable by her show of emotion. “I am not going to hurt you, bella mia.”
Tatiana didn’t believe him. She still felt his displeasure in her, his anger. She tried to back away, but her feet hit the stairs, and she fell back hard, still clutching the linen to her chest.
A loud howl of anger left him, and he roared viciously at her. Tatiana gasped, her tears instantly stopping at the sound. Her lips trembled.
His voice was fiery and raw, as he yelled, “What is it you want from me, woman?”
Tatiana thought about that. She didn’t know how to answer. There was no point asking him for something he couldn’t give.
“I don’t know,” she whispered, shivering. The fire provided light in the front hall, but little warmth.
His nostrils flared. “You tremble for me, bella? I would’ve thought you’d be sated by my brother.”
Tatiana flinched. He was deliberately cruel, and they both knew it. “I tremble from the cold, not for you. And I would’ve thought your little baldracca would’ve calmed the foul temper in you. Perhaps you should find her and demand a refund.”
“Unfortunately, your little stunt cost me my whore, and I have yet to be satisfied.” Marcello reached down for her, pulling her roughly up and straight into his deep kiss. She gasped in surprise. His strong arms wrapped around her, crushing her into his chest so she couldn’t struggle or escape. His tongue delved into her mouth, demanding a response. Her whole body answered the call, singing with an instant passion for him. His mouth moved roughly against her, slanting his kiss as he sucked the very will of her body into him.
His heated embrace stunned Tatiana and escaping him was the last thing on her mind. She wanted to cry at the onslaught of emotion she felt for him but knew he couldn’t return it. Her hands lifted, gripping his shoulders for support. The strength in him left her knees weak until she could only cling to him, desperate and wanting. Her lungs began to burn for breath. She moaned, trying to break free from the pressure of his mouth. Her eyes widened as she tried to inhale against his tight kiss.
Tatiana struck his shoulder. Marcello’s eyes narrowed as he whipped his head back, misunderstanding her refusal. She gasped for breath.
“Name your price then.” His features became blank as he stared at her. His dark eyes pierced forward into her, possessive.
“What?” she whimpered.
“Your price,” he stated again. His eyes dipped to her mouth, swollen with his kisses. He massaged her back, and pressed himself intimately against her hips. The length of him scalded her through his breeches and the thin bath linen. She gasped, suddenly not feeling so cold. “How much for the night?”
Tatiana knew that she should’ve been insulted by his question, and a small part of her was, but more of her was thrilled that he wanted her so much he was willing to pay for her company. Not knowing where the answer came from, she whispered, “Free Cesare.”
“Done,” came his instant answer, no hesitation.
Tatiana hadn’t expected agreement from him. Marcello obviously thought the negotiations were over, for his lips swooped down. His mouth was gentler than before, giving more than taking. She moaned lightly and felt him tremble in response. Her hands worked at his jacket, gliding it off his shoulders.
Marcello let her undress him. Her fingers fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, his waistcoat. He didn’t hurry her, didn’t help her. Tatiana moaned. The linen dropped from her body, forgotten on the floor.
His hands slid over her skin, pressing tender and firm. She gasped as he explored all of her back. Her fingers moved beneath his shirt, working it and the waistcoat from his shoulders. The clothing landed on the floor.
“I want to feel you,” she breathed, unaware that she uttered the thought out loud until Marcello groaned into her mouth. Her body rubbed against his. He tore his mouth away, biting and licking a soft trail down her neck to her collarbone. She arched against him, pressing her body into his. Her leg lifted, opening her body up to him.
Marcello let her go long enough to slip the breeches from his hips. She stepped back, panting, eyeing his perfect form. His arousal stood so tall and thick, displayed proudly.
Tatiana took a step back. Marcello smiled. His chin lowered as he came for her. His hand slowly lifted with liquid grace and the candles around the front hall lit with a soft glow. Tatiana gasped. It was as if stars surrounded them.
Suddenly, she burst forward. Her arms flew around his neck, and she kissed him deeply. Her hands delved into his hair before fitting to his shoulders. She braced herself, hopping up to wrap her legs around his trim waist. Pulling back, she kissed deeply along his jaw to his neck. She bit at him.
Without having to be asked, Marcello cut into his flesh with his nail, drawing a river of blood near her lips. Tatiana wiggled against his waist, searching for him with her hips. He grabbed her firmly by the waist and lifted. With a mighty thrust, he was buried deep inside the warmth of her body. She accepted him, stretching to take him. She drank lightly against this neck, liking the forbiddingly wicked taste of his passion in her mouth.
She pulled back and tried to move on him. Marcello walked her to the stairs, laying her down on the hard stone. She gasped to feel the coldness on her back, but as the position gave him leverage to begin his shallow strokes, she didn’t mind.
Tatiana passed her wrist by his mouth, watching his eyes. They swirled with an inner fire that drove her to distraction. She watched them light with a possessiv
e, needing heat as he licked her pulse. His hips still rocked into her, thrusting slow and deep. She writhed against him.
Marcello’s mouth hesitated. He looked deep into her eyes, tormented that he couldn’t just take her like a man without the thought of devouring her soul, her blood. But, then, she smiled up at him and pressed her wrist more firmly to his mouth. Her jade eyes glowed, and he knew at the moment she accepted his need for her blood and was giving it over willingly. He couldn’t resist and bit into her. The flavor of her burned into his very soul.
Tatiana moaned in excitement. She felt them connecting and couldn’t explain or fight it. Her feet braced as she met his thrust with her own. Her hand smoothed over his chest to his hip, liking the feel of his moving body. Marcello tore his mouth away. At the urging of her moans and whimpers, he gave her what she craved. His pace quickened. Tremors racked Tatiana’s body, and she cried out.
Marcello held back, riding her hard and fast until her body tensed and exploded in strained perfection. Her eyes closed. Her fingers gripped into the length of his hair, pulling slightly as she was brought to full release. Only when he knew she’d given him everything, did he allow his body to explode within her. Marcello let her take everything from him. He didn’t care anymore. She may not want it or realize it, but she owned his soul, whatever dark fragment was left of it.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Leandro looked over the city of Paris from his perch high on a rooftop. He liked the height, able to look down at the helpless wandering humans, watching them, studying or ignoring them at will, choosing his next meal from amongst them. Small lights danced over the distance, but his gaze stared at the strange contraption touching the sky. Feeling a presence behind him, he muttered, “I will never understand why Monsieur Gustave Eiffel was allowed to build such a monstrosity. They call it a monument commemorating the centenary of their Revolution. You must visit Rome with me, Broderick, or even Greece and the Cyclades. There you will see monuments built with skill and precision. And they are of beautiful marble, not this revolting steel.”
Leandro stood from where he crouched. His hair was pulled back, tied at the nape, so the long, brown waves were kept off his face. He turned his dark eyes to his friend and smiled. His look was charming, but Broderick wasn’t fooled. They had been friends too long for him not to know the pain that expression hid.
“I have told you countless times for decades. I won’t go near Delos. The Vampire Council wouldn’t take kindly to me stepping so close to their grounds.” Broderick’s voice was as smooth as silk, edged with the beginning tenor of a growl. It was a sound that caused mortal and immortal women alike to swoon. “The last time I was there it nearly cost me my existence and almost started a clan war.”
Leandro took one last look around Paris before tilting his head for Broderick to follow. He jumped down to the street below, falling from his great height and landing on the pavement. He turned to watch Broderick, and the man’s brown hair ruffled as he jumped down. He too landed neatly. They began to walk down the silent, abandoned street.
“I tasted my brother’s witch,” Leandro said. “Her blood is strong, intoxicating.”
“Ah, then you have made amends with your brother?” Broderick asked, though his words did not have much hope in them.
“No, but he was most aggrieved to discover her naked in my arms this eve,” Leandro chuckled, though it was a humorless sound.
“My sources believe she is truly descendent of the Addien line,” Broderick stated. Both men knew his involvement in this scheme was only duty, just as Leandro’s was personal. “I don’t doubt it myself. I have seen the jade of her eyes. I don’t wish to be involved in your feud. However, do you think that Marcello will turn the girl over to us willingly?”
“Not a chance,” Leandro said. “She is too powerful, her blood too addictive. Even now I yearn for another small taste of it.”
“Very well.” Broderick frowned. “Then we will take her from him. I have my orders. I will do it during the day so we can’t be tracked. It has been decided that we will test her sanity and her capabilities. I will help her to center her power if I can. If not, she’ll have to be killed.”
“It would be a shame to kill her,” Leandro mused softly.
“A shame indeed, for if her power can be focused, she’ll be a great ally to all immortals. Her powers of prediction would calm the fear of this new millennium we are upon.”
“I just want my revenge,” Leandro stated. “I will help you in your cause, old friend, but I am in this solely for the revenge.”
“I will take your help and gladly,” Broderick said. He bowed his head. “No matter the reason it is given.”
“I can be ready to leave Paris in three days,” Leandro said, nodding in return.
“Perfect. I will make sure all is ready for her. We cannot hesitate or her powers could kill us all.” Broderick jumped high into the air and disappeared.
Leandro sighed. All masks of amusement and charm faded from his pale, hard features now that he was alone. He knew it was most likely that Tatiana would die. He’d read the truth of it well in Broderick’s voice. The old vampire didn’t care. She suited his purpose more in death anyway.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Tatiana gasped for breath, looking over to where Marcello lay motionless next to her on the dining room table. Her body was sore, and she was sure she couldn’t move. Marcello had just made love to her in a dozen different places and in twice as many ways. His eyes were mere slits as he stared at the ceiling. His chest didn’t heave with the exertions, and she knew he wasn’t tired. He was sated, but not tired.
Taking her finger, she touched his jaw and delicately traced the line of it. He turned to look at her, his eyes questioning. She glanced up at the portrait of him, which stared eerily down at them. She shivered.
“I saw your past,” she whispered. “I felt what you were like as a human.”
Marcello visibly stiffened. He followed her eyes to the portrait.
“I saw you in a garden during the daylight. You, well I think it was you...you were wearing a blue coat and a cream waistcoat talking with a group of friends. You were happy. I’ve never seen you happy like that. And you were laughing. I can’t understand what you said, but I could tell it was a perfect day.”
Marcello said nothing, only looked at his likeness, at the demon he’d become. Her voice was soft, wistful. He was no longer that man of whom she spoke.
“The house was in the mountains. It was beautiful. I saw you twice, though it could’ve been your...” Tatiana hesitated, swallowing. Things were good between them at this moment. She didn’t want to ruin it.
“My brother,” he stated coldly. “He wore a red jacket, just like mine with the same waistcoat.”
“Yes,” she breathed. “What does it mean? Why did I see it?”
“There is no meaning.”
“There must be.” Tatiana sat up with newfound energy. She rolled, pushing up on her elbows to look at him. She laid a hand on his chest, over his steady heart. She wished his heart could still feel. But, as she looked into his dead, blank face, she didn’t believe it could. He never once gave her reason to hope and yet foolishly she did. “If you remember it...it must—”
“No, bella mia,” he interrupted. His hand lifted to stroke her flushed cheek. His eyes softened by a small degree. When she saw it, her breath caught in her throat. “The day is of no importance. It was just a day. I only remember it for it was my last day as a human. That night I died.”
“Was it painful? Your death?” Tatiana began trailing small circles over his skin, skating her fingers absently over him.
“Yes,” he allowed without passion. “It was.”
Tatiana shivered. “Did you sell your soul to the devil? Is that why you were made to be—”
Marcello’s chuckle cut her off. She tried to pull back, but his hand on her fingers stopped her. He pressed her palm flat against his heart. “No, bella, I did not sell my soul.
I wasn’t the seventh son of a seventh son. I wasn’t cursed by a witch, or born to a bastard. Those are old stories told to frighten children. I was merely chosen by one of the vampire kind, for he wished his life to be quickened once more. He saw Leandro and my youth, our nobility, our beauty and wanted it for himself.”
“Then, if you wanted, you could make someone to join you?” Tatiana asked, horrified by the idea and yet strangely intrigued. It was the first time they’d ever spoken without anger or fear between them.
“I have had no desire to make someone to join me,” Marcello said. “I can’t say that I won’t. Eternity is a long time, bella. Already, I have felt the strain of it.”
“And you’ll never die?” she asked.
“I never grow old, will never be sick,” he answered, “and, unless someone kills me, I will never die.”
“What if you stopped drinking blood?”
“I would go insane and attack,” Marcello said. Her eyes dipped away from his only to be drawn back. She shivered. Marcello lifted his hand, and the fire blazed hotter. She smiled, grateful. His voice low, he admitted, “No, bella, it is better to feed the beast than to deny him.”
“You won’t make me into what you are, will you?” she whispered.
Marcello saw the look on her face and frowned. “I give you my word, Tatiana, that even if you were to beg me, I would never curse you with what I am.”
She took him at his word. She laid her head down on his chest. Marcello stroked her hair back from her face, grazing his nails comfortingly over her scalp.
“Why was the man knocked unconscious in our booth? Was that why you were running away from me?” he asked softly.
“Mm, yes. He tried to buy me. I hit him over the head to escape,” Tatiana said. She stiffened. “Why? Is he…?”
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