Tribes Of The Vampire - Eternally Bound Part 2

Her eyes drifted open, seeing a fireplace of stone. It burned brightly. She closed her eyes once more. Softness brushed along her skin, the water gone. She was on a bed--soft, enveloping. A sigh left her parted lips. Her eyes drifted again. This time she saw silk as red as blood and she s.h.i.+vered. A pale hand reached for her, lifting for her face as if its bearer lay next to her on the stuffed mattress. The weight of her damp hair was lifted from her cheek. The darkness closed in again.

"A presto, il mio tesoro,"the voice whispered to her. Tatiana felt a brush against her lips and tingling sensations shot in hot waves down her body. "Very soon, my darling."

Chapter Two.

"Bella mia...."

With a sharp gasp, Tatiana sat up in bed. A strange, ragged panting came from her throat. She looked around at the all too familiar surroundings of her bedroom. Her waist length hair sprung out from her head, curling naturally over her shoulders in a tangled mess. It fell over her face and she brushed it back in annoyance. She caught her reflection in a mirror. Her usually glowing features were pale and dark circles formed beneath her eyes.

Tatiana blinked, rapidly searching the morning shadows that stretched across the ornate wood paneling of the walls and small fireplace. The sun seemed abnormally bright as her gaze drew over the pale yellow decor, past the dark wood of her large armoire, wardrobe and matching washstand. Not an item was out of place. She was home, in her bed, alone.

Feeling a chill wash over her flesh, she moaned, pulling the thick coverlet close to her chest. Her ears buzzed until she felt she couldn't hear. Suddenly, it was as if hands pressed into her throat, crus.h.i.+ng her, tearing her with claws. She blinked, gasping in growing desperation, as the vague memories of a dream tried to surface--a bathtub filled with blood, a blue eye lifelessly staring at her, watching her.

"Miss Sinclair?"

Tatiana blinked to hear her name and let loose a high pitched sound of surprise. The sensations left as suddenly as they came.

She turned to look at her bedroom door, meeting the brown eyes of a maid. Blinking again, she was unable to place the woman's name in her mind. She stared vacantly at the woman, letting her gaze roll over the tidy uniform, the small white cap artfully placed on brown curls, the pristine white ap.r.o.n. All she could come up with was Alice.

"Oh, bless us! You're awake, miss!" the woman said, pressing her hands together in excitement.

"Where's Alice?" Tatiana breathed. Her voice was hoa.r.s.e and sounded gravelly, as if she'd screamed for hours. She reached for her head. It felt dizzy. "Send me Alice. I want Alice."

"I ... I," the maid stuttered. The woman paled, all pleasure draining from her face. She looked down at her hands, which twisted in her ap.r.o.n. "I can't, miss. Alice is gone."

"Gone?" Tatiana suddenly felt ill. Again a swarm of memories tried to invade her thoughts, but she blinked them away. They were dark, evil thoughts--images of blood and fangs, of death. Her voice brutal in its rough tonality, she said, "Gone where?

She didn't tell me she was leaving."

"We were hoping you could say, miss." The maid took a step forward and then stopped. She reached for a bowl on the washstand and held it out. "Are you to be sick, miss?"

Tatiana waved away her concern and threw the covers from her body. Her limbs felt strange, almost like silk.

'La tua pelle e' come seta, bella mia.'Tatiana flinched, hearing the words clearly in her head. She glared at the maid. A little harshly, she demanded, "What? What did you say to me?"

"I asked if you were to be sick, miss." The woman's expression paled and she seemed almost frightened by the heated look she received in return. "Shall I--?"

"After that," Tatiana demanded. She tried to stand but her legs wobbled. The woman motioned helplessly to the side, as if she would turn to get help. "You said my skin was like silk."

"No, miss," the woman returned. "I did not."

"Then, who?" Tatiana asked, looking around the room as if someone else was there. The words had been so real. She felt as if someone was inside her brain.

"No one, miss," the maid said weakly, inching toward the door. "No one spoke of silk."

"Where's Alice?" Tatiana didn't know why, but she was desperate to have her servant come to her. Alice always woke her in the morning, doing it just right--softly touching her shoulder, speaking gently, then teasing her when she refused to move. The brown haired maid merely stared at her, motionless, helpless. Her voice rising, she cried out, "Send me Alice!"

The maid blinked and Tatiana knew she was stunned to hear the usually mild spoken woman yell at her. She bobbed a half- curtsey, tripping over her feet to get out of the bedroom. Tatiana breathed deeply, struggling for breath. She didn't know what was wrong with her or why she was so panicked. She felt numb, scared. Her limbs shook violently. Her fingers twitched and flexed, just beyond feeling.

'Hush, hush, bella mia.'

Tatiana heard the low words clearly in her mind. Her body weakened. With a loud sigh, she dropped unconscious to the bed.

"Yes, what is it?" Mr. William Sinclair grumbled, looking up from his desk. He'd been staring absently at the polished wood, his hands firmly planted on his dark, graying hair. He met the matching gaze of his son, sitting across the very masculine study, before turning to the door. Standing, he smoothed his tousled hair and waited.

"Mr. Sinclair, sir," Lydia said. The maid gave a light curtsey. "Miss Sinclair is awake. I just left her."

William studied the woman. She refused to meet his eye.

"What did she say?" Henry demanded. Standing up from his chair, he stepped before his father. The large picturesque window let in the light from outside, haloing him in an eerie light.

Lydia swallowed, her eyes darting up briefly only to come back down to the thick rug beneath her feet. "Not much, sir."

"She didn't speak?" William frowned, his stomach in knots. His eyes turned up to where his daughter's bedroom was above his head.

"She spoke of silk, sir." Lydia words were soft, barely audible. "And she asked that I send her Alice."

Henry paled and turned his back on Lydia.

William studied his son's reaction, covering his own reaction better. His wife had claimed to have seen visions--visions that were amazingly accurate sometimes--before she died and he was worried his daughter might soon suffer the same lunacy of her mother. It was always his fear that it should happen. He'd never told anyone, as he loved his wife and wanted to protect her. There was a moment of tense silence.

"Did you tell her of Alice's departure?" William asked carefully. "Did you tell her that the woman ran away the same night she was attacked?"

"No, sir," Lydia said. "I thought it best to stay out of it. It is not my place to say, sir."

"Very good, Lydia, thank you. You did well," William said at last. He waited until she left before speaking to his son, his words a hurried whisper. "Good G.o.d, Henry. She doesn't remember what happened."

"Women are delicate, Father," Henry stated carefully, calmly. He reached into his pocket and removed a silver engine turned snuff box. Releasing the delicate clasp, he took a pinch and sniffed it violently into his nose. As he slid the case back inside his jacket, he a.s.serted, "Who knows what spurred her to harm Alice?"

"We don't know for sure if Alice is dead." William was unconvinced of his own words. He'd known the girl and her family all their lives. Alice wasn't the type to run off without a word. "All we have is the word of that ... that...."

"Count," Henry supplied. He couldn't meet his father's eyes. "He is a Count."

"Yes, yes, that Count," William returned, feeling a shudder of dread crawl across his spine. His shoulders slumped, remembering the n.o.bleman's strange late night visit all too well. Tatiana had been missing for nearly four days when the foreign n.o.bleman brought her home, carrying her intimately in his arms. The servants, recognizing Tatiana, had invited him in.

When William first laid eyes on the stranger, the man had been placing his unconscious daughter on the couch.

William got chills when he thought of the man's pale face and heated eyes. Something about the Count made his blood run cold with fear. It was as if he stood in the presence of the devil. And when the man spoke, he knew that indeed the devil had come to Eastwich to visit. William had not slept since.

"We can't give your sister to that man," Mr. Sinclair said, dejected. His eyes searched about him, as if his furniture or book- lined walls may have an answer.

"I don't think we have a choice, Father," Henry said with a toss of his dark hair. He looked very dignified with his hands threaded behind his back. "You heard what the man said. You saw the dress. He has evidence that Alice has been murdered.

He found Tatiana at the cottage with her. Would you have our family's reputation ruined for Tatiana's mistake? Would you have us destroyed? Even if he can't prove it, just the fact that a Count says such a thing would be disastrous. As disagreeable as it may be in nature, the Count's proposal is a decent one. I would rather she go to him than to a prison. He is rich and can well afford to take care of her."

"Then, you think he does mean to marry her?" William asked, unsure.

"Certainly," Henry said, lying through his teeth. He didn't meet his father's eye. "Besides, word must have gotten out that Tatiana was missing for four days. We can't ignore the implication of her staying alone with him in that castle for so long."

Mr. Sinclair sent his son a hard look.