Tribes Of The Vampire - Eternally Bound Part 15

"No,bella , Henry told him as much."

"I don't believe you," she said, but in truth she knew Marcello wasn't lying. He had no reason to deceive her in this. Henry's uncomfortable presence around her and some of the few words he said to her over the last years made sense with Marcello's explanation.

"S, you do believe me,bella mia ." Marcello again reached to stroke her shoulder. Until she'd awakened, she'd been lying in his arms, cuddling into his chest, making soft purring noises in the back of her throat. He wanted her back there.

"What else happened?"

"I told your father that you promised yourself to me and that I would be coming back to collect you." Marcello continued to lightly stroke her. She s.h.i.+vered beneath his hand. "I left instructions that you weren't to be touched, harmed, or given away to another man--no matter how long I stayed away from you. I told him I would come back for you and that I would take you away from him--forever. Your reputation was already tarnished by your own hand and there was Alice's death to consider. Your father had no choice but to honor your word to me."

Tatiana s.h.i.+vered, her body heating at the memory of her wantonness. Even now, she could feel her attraction for him stirring to great depths. Her stomach ached with need, fueled by the knowledge of how he felt inside her.

"I will admit I am rather tired,bella , but if you would like to climb atop me, I can accommodate you."

Tatiana gasped and moved to strike him. Marcello's hand shot angrily forward in the darkness to stop her. With a jerk, he hauled her body onto his.

Tatiana panted as her bared b.r.e.a.s.t.s pressed into his hard chest. He too was naked. Her body burned at his touch, heating to him. She whimpered in embarra.s.sment of her desire for him. She knew he could feel her body's response. Her nipples hardened against his smooth skin. She tried to pull away, but Marcello firmly held her wrist, wrapping his arm along her waist to trap her body to him.

"Vieni qui e baciami," he whispered, his accent rolling over her. 'Come here and kiss me.'

"I don't understand you. Just stop." Tatiana struggled against him. She hated when he spoke in his seductive language, tilted by his seductive voice. Her movements only served to torment her more. Her body rubbed against his. His knee moved slightly to press into her center, causing her to let loose a ragged gasp for air. "Please, let me go!"

"No,bella mia , you are mine. You bound yourself to me."

"Only until the end of my days," she whispered darkly.

Marcello read her intent easily and lashed out. Finding strength, he whipped her body beneath his. He shook her violently.

His thigh came to rest heavily over her naked legs, tangled in the silk sheets. The length of his hard arousal pressed into her, stirring her even as he scared her. His face came so close to hers that she could feel his nose alongside hers. "If you ever again think to take your own life, I will--"

"What, my lord?" Tatiana spat. "Slaughter innocent children? Kill my family? Come, now, what will you do? What new threat do you have for me?"

"Your brother's bride is pregnant,bella ," Marcello stated easily. He absently traced her arm with his finger. "She is not yet a member of your family. I could kill her and not break my promise to you. I could kill every woman your brother ever looks at.

Your family's line will die with him."

"You wouldn't!"

"Do you not remember,cara mia ?" Marcello leaned so his lips whispered along hers. "You have bound yourself to the devil.

Don't presume to know what I am capable of."

Tatiana gasped.

Marcello took the opportunity of her opened mouth to press a deep, hard kiss to her lips--claiming and conquering her. His tongue dipped inside her mouth, ma.s.saging along hers, circling in hard thrust that left her moaning in pleasure. His arousal jerked, wanting to mimic the thrust of his tongue with the thrust of his hard body. He'd dreamt of her endlessly over the last few years, wanting her back within his control. Now that he had her, it was hard to pull away.

Tatiana moaned again and, though she still struggled to be free of him, her lips responded and let him in. His arms didn't move, keeping her trapped beneath him. Of their own accord, his hips began to stir, restlessly rocking alongside her warm, soft hip.

"Tell me,bella mia , for I am curious," he whispered down to her, letting her catch her breath when he felt her become faint.

"What would you have told your beloved Thomas when he discovered another man laid claim to you? Do you think he could've loved you then?"

Tatiana listened, though her pounding heart made it hard to concentrate. His nearness was almost too much to take.

"Tell me," Marcello persisted, letting his mouth whisper along the seam of her lips. He traced the tip of his tongue delicately around the edge of her mouth, taking her panting breath inside himself. "Would you have been able to enjoy him between your thighs as you did me? Would you have begged for him,bella ? Longed for his touch? Forced him into your bed? Do you think that even-tempered lad would've known how to please you? Do you think he would've known how to put out the fire that burns in you even now? He wouldn't have made you happy,cara mia . You know that. You would think of me with him thrusting in you. You think to hate me, but your body wants me--calls to me."

"Be quiet!" Tatiana hissed. Tears came to her eyes, but her hands were still trapped and she couldn't brush them away. She couldn't see his face in the darkness. She was grateful for it. If she saw his eyes, she knew she'd be lost to him. "You are not fit to speak Thomas' name. He's a good man. A fine, decent man. And at least when he touches me I don't get chills!"

Marcello chuckled and purposefully turned her words on her, "My point exactly,bella . You wouldn't have trembled at his touch. You are too pa.s.sionate and he would've never been able to satisfy you."

"At least I could've loved him," she growled. "And he loves me!"

"How long would he love you after he discovered it was you who helped to bury his sister? That you helped cover the evidence of Henry's crime? Do you think he holds you in favor now, when he knows the truth of your brother?" Marcello spat the questions at her, purposefully cruel. He did not like hearing her speak of another man in such a fond way. Jealous rage welled inside him until he wanted to strike out at her. He controlled himself. His lips were still close to hers, his voice soft, though they argued. "Do you think he would understand how and why you did it? Why did you do it,bella mia ? Do you even know?"

The cold, eerie chill again came over Marcello and he glanced around. His eyes pierced the dark with predatory ease. They were alone, yet he felt as if a presence was near them, watching, waiting. He frowned.

"Who knows how or why we are able to do things? We just do them," she defended, her voice full of venom. "What should I have done? Don't you think that I miss Alice? Don't you think I want her back? She was more than a maid, she was my friend. I hate Henry for killing her. Is that what you want to hear? I hate him. I hate him!"

"Shhh," Marcello whispered. The cold presence seemed to retreat at his softer words as he comforted the woman beneath him. He leaned over and brushed his lips to Tatiana's cheek, tasting the saltiness of her tears and licking them away.

"Hush,bella mia , hush."

Tatiana gasped at his soft caress, so different than his claiming kiss. She was stunned by what she'd revealed to him. But, she did feel better having said the words aloud. Somehow, she got the impression Marcello understood her hatred for her brother and did not condemn her for it. Then, she snorted in self-loathing. Of course he didn't condemn her for it. He, himself, was a creature of hate and death.

"You are so quick to judge me," Marcello stated softly. His leg eased off of her body. He was too tired to keep fighting with her. The day was strong and he needed his rest. He fell onto his back on top of the soft bed and closed his eyes.

Tatiana held very still. When much time pa.s.sed and he did not speak again, she a.s.sumed he slept. Sitting up, she dared to brave the darkness only far enough to find clothes. However, she didn't want to brave a day lying naked by Marcello's side.

Memory served all to well to remind her of the fact that she was weak when it came to him. Not that any of it mattered now.

She was beyond society, in h.e.l.l as he put it. Like it or not, she was the demon's mistress.

Feeling around on the mattress, she found a discarded robe tossed over the foot of the bed. She pulled it over her arms, pausing to smell the lapel. It smelled of Marcello. She s.h.i.+vered, feeling her treacherous desire anew. Defiantly, she wrapped the robe around her body, pulling it close. Then, taking the covers, she burrowed beneath them. She was aware of Marcello's presence and the darkness of the room did not scare her. The only thing she feared was lying right beside her, as motionless and as unfeeling as a corpse.

Marcello was gone when Tatiana awoke the next night. A warm fire burned brightly, illuminating the chamber. Remembering that she was in the catacombs of Paris, Tatiana looked around. She laughed as she found herself searching for skulls and bones.

She found her robe of red silk draped over the edge of the bed. Marcello's larger robe swam over her body, falling past her hands. With a quick glance around, she changed back into her own clothing--if she could call the thin material clothing. There was nothing proper about wearing a robe around a man who wasn't her husband. Then again, there was nothing proper about her life anymore. The thought caused a frown to fall over her pale features. Taking his belt, she went before the large mirror and fas.h.i.+oned her curly black hair into a high bun the best she could.

Grimacing, she whispered to her overly slender, barely clad reflection, "You do look like a prost.i.tute. All that is missing is the red rouge."

Tatiana had to turn away. She couldn't bear to see herself. So, instead, she looked at the black angels beside the fireplace and stepped forward. For a long moment, she started at the solemn faces, wondering if she should just end her life. She had no doubt Marcello would keep his word and kill off her family line. Perhaps that would be the most just ending to this whole affair. Henry would lose, as he'd caused others to lose. Tatiana shook her head. No, she wouldn't wish Henry's crimes to be repaid with the death of others. Henry needed to be punished for what he did--only she didn't know what that punishment should be.

"Do you have the answers, I wonder?" she whispered up to the dark angel of death. The statue stared at her with an inky gaze that did not waver. Its arms reached down until she had the strangest urge to jump up and embrace it.

Tatiana reached out to touch the black angel's arm, curious to feel the warm stone. When her finger glanced over the surface, she tensed. An electric fire shot through her body. In a fog, she saw Henry. He looked older than she remembered him. A figure came from the darkness, limping over the stone, increasing with speed as he neared her brother. Suddenly, a shot rang out. Henry was struck in the side. She saw him falling over, into the snow that lined London's barren streets. Then, the dark figure turned and she saw Thomas' blue eyes looking directly into hers. His face was hard, his gaze deadly as he turned a second pistol on her. He fired his shot.

Tatiana screamed. She let go of the statue, falling straight back on the stone floor as the bullet found its mark in her chest. Her elbows s.h.i.+fted to catch her weight and she landed on them with a bruising thud. She ignored the pain. She panted wildly, blinking rapidly as she tried to make the images go away. Her hand clutched at her chest, shaking as she felt for blood. There was none.

"What did you see?" a voice demanded.

Tatiana blinked, not recognizing the haggard sound. The fog cleared completely. The accent was thick, hard. It grated like coa.r.s.e sand over her skin. It was a testament that the woman who spoke wasn't born in France, but somewhere more to the east.

From her place on the floor, Tatiana turned to see Marcello standing with an elderly woman. The woman's wrinkled hands reached for her, only to hover from far away. They were long and bony, jutting strangely out from her thin frame. The woman looked to be on the edge of death. Her robes were of mourning--black and plain. The severity of the color sucked the life from her already ashen, wrinkled features. Her graying hair was combed neatly onto the back of her head, pulled tight without any frills.

Tatiana got the impression that the stranger tried to sense her. The woman's light blue eyes were splotched with milky white, but she could tell that she saw her clearly. A chill went over her flesh, creeping along her spine in tingles. She suddenly felt sick to her stomach. She didn't want this woman near her.

Tatiana glanced at Marcello. He was again dressed as a gentleman in a black suit with a deep red waistcoat. A large red ruby glinted on his finger. As always he was breathtakingly handsome and perfectly adorned. His brooding mouth was set in a harsh line, but she could remember the texture of it against her lips. She wanted to kiss him again, but the woman's presence by his side stopped her from trying.

She turned her attention back to the old woman. Both of them stared intently at her. Suddenly, the woman lowered her hands.