Tribes Of The Vampire - Eternally Bound Part 22

She rocked her body against him hard, impaling herself on him in a glorious burst of pleasure-pain. Her stomach quivered, she couldn't move as the intense pleasure of their joining flooded her limbs. It was the first time they came together without one of them in control of the other. His hands jerked her in shallow thrust on his shaft, milking her body for all it could give him.

His body responded to the quaking in hers, violently spilling his release up into her.

Tatiana collapsed against him. Marcello was still deep inside her body. Her head fell forward, finding support on his shoulder as she tried to catch her breath. He was eerily still beneath her, though she thought she could detect his heart racing in his chest. She moaned lightly, pulling back to study his face, searching his blank features for approval.

His dark eyes were soft, though they still pierced into her. They were rimmed with the red of her blood. She looked down at her chest. A small bead budded over one of the marks on her creamy flesh. She lifted up. Pulling her body from his, she stood and turned her back on him to right her bodice and smooth her skirt.

Marcello bit his finger and, reaching around her from behind, he healed her skin before grabbing a handkerchief and wiping off the remaining blood. She s.h.i.+vered to find him so close to her back. He dropped the dirty handkerchief on the table next to the wine bottle, which was still amazingly stood right side up. Tatiana's knees were weak, but her body soared. The small room smelled of him, of what they had done, and it was intoxicating.

"Vorrei trascorrere tutta la mia eternita con te," Marcello whispered, leaning close to her ear. Tatiana couldn't understand him, but she s.h.i.+vered nonetheless. He placed a small kiss on the back on her long neck. 'I would like to spend all of my eternity with you.'

"So it is true, Leandro," a dark voice mused. Broderick's vivid blue eyes did not move to study his long time friend, as he looked past the chaotically flying skirts of the dancers and the rowdy movements of the lecherous men. "Marcello has gotten himself a witch. Interesting."

"Do you sense anything about her?" asked Leandro quietly, his eyes boring forward to the curtains with an odd mix of jealousy, curiosity, and hatred.

Broderick closed his yellowing eyes and sniffed the air, concentrating, sorting through the potent smell of sweat, beer, and cigar smoke. He hated the hall, hated the smell of humans.

"Well?"

"He takes her blood now," Broderick whispered. His breath caught and he let the smell linger in his head. "It is potent. She is of the ancient Egyptian lines, but her power is uncontrolled, unused. I would say that she is only new into it, perhaps a few years at most."

"What does it mean?" Leandro asked.

"I would have to taste her to be sure, but the blood smells as if she is of theAddien . If she is of that old family, it must mean the powers just came back to her. Generations ago, theAddiens fought an ancient evil that cursed the land. The battle was thought to have killed their powers completely. The witches were left defenseless and were slaughtered by humans in the name of the church. One woman nearly escaped, but she was captured in the end. I knew her. She was very beautiful and had hair like wheat, eyes the color of jade. I have never seen the like of it again. She was said to be the last of the line. Although it was rumored she had a child, but the babe was never found."

"You think this witch is a descendent of that child?" Leandro asked. His dark brown gaze narrowed in concentration, but he couldn't smell so well as his friend. He knew what Marcello did with the witch behind the curtains. He'd seen the woman kissing her vampire lover, moving indecently onto Marcello's lap.

"It is possible. For centuries the line was sought after but never found. If the magic has been gone from her so long, it will be rested and ready. She may be unstable. Marcello might not know what it is he has found."

"Ah, then I will have to save the fool from himself," Leandro said. "I shall take her for my own. I will taste of her power and then I will kill her."

"Have you no love for Marcello, he--?" Broderick began.

"No," interrupted Leandro coldly. "I have no love at all. Vampires are not meant to love, only l.u.s.t and feed. It is our way, our destiny."

"Such a cold view," Broderick said, though his tone did not necessarily disagree with the a.s.sessment.

As they watched, the curtain drew back slightly. Marcello stepped through, only to turn and leave his witch lover hidden safely behind. Leandro saw her hand briefly as she followed Marcello's arm out of the curtain.

"Why don't you go and greet our old friend, Broderick? It would be rude not to pay our respects whilst in Paris," Leandro mused, his eyes narrowing in on the curtain. "I should like to get a closer look at this witch."

Chapter Ten.

"Don't take too long, my lord," Tatiana whispered, following Marcello with her eyes as he stepped to the opening of the private alcove. They were again dressed, looking as if nothing happened, except for the rosy hue to Tatiana's flushed features.

But, that could've easily been explained away by the heat of the club.

Tatiana's eyes shyly dipped down when he turned to study her in question. When she looked back up, she swore she saw a ghost of a smile on his handsome face.

"Stay in here,bella mia . Here you will be safe," he promised. He leaned down to brush his lips against her softly, before pulling back.

Tatiana moaned lightly, reaching to him for more, but he was already ducking through the curtains. With a dreamy sigh, she patted her cheeks. Seeing one of her gloves still on the floor, she laughed and threaded it on her hand. Her body sung with pleasure and she felt better than she had in a long time. Her body felt calm, her mind more so.

Lifting the wine bottle, she began to pour. The curtains ruffled behind her and she smiled. Turning around, she expected to see Marcello coming back to her.

"My lord, back so soon--?"

"Mademoiselle, comment j'ai voulu vous recontrer!"

Tatiana felt herself s.h.i.+ver in apprehension. She gripped the wine bottle in her hand. The Frenchman looked vaguely familiar.

His gaze raked boldly over her form. She looked carefully at his face, and then suddenly, she knew. He was the man who had winked at her from the other booth, the man who watched his gentleman friend with the prost.i.tute.

"Sir, I am afraid you have the wrong--" Tatiana tried to speak, but his chuckle of amus.e.m.e.nt cut her off.

"Ah," the man said. His accent was thick as he spoke the English words. "You English women are all alike, eh? Always the business first and the love later. So be it, English flower. How much--?"

"Get out," Tatiana ordered. She didn't move. The man swayed dangerously on his feet before her, looking as if he was ready to pounce should she try to run past. Marcello had pushed the table during their love play and now it blocked her only other route of escape. She could already tell she wouldn't be able to overturn the thick wood.

"Ah, how I do enjoy these games, flower." The man's laugh grated her nerves, sounding more like a crow's squawk that a man's laughter. His hands went to his pants and he began to undo them. "Come, I can pay you well, eh?"

"Get out," she croaked, not as forceful as before.

Tatiana tried to brave a step forward but, as she suspected, he moved into her way, refusing to let her pa.s.s.

"Monsieur," she warned. "My lord, the Count, will not like this!"

"Don't worry,cheri ." The man pulled a wad of cash from his pocket and threw it on the table. "I can well afford you. And your Count is busy with another woman. He will not be back soon."

"Marcello?" she whispered, horrified. She didn't want to believe him. Marcello wouldn't go to another woman, not now, not after what they just did! Questions raced in her brain. But, then where did he go? Why did he have to leave her alone? He never really said where he went or why, just that he had to go and for her to stay here. Did he send this man to her? Did he think to sell her as a wh.o.r.e to the highest bidder? Is that why she was brought here tonight--dressed up like a doll for his amus.e.m.e.nt? Did he sell her like a wh.o.r.e? Is that how this disgusting pig of a man knew which alcove was hers? Is that why he didn't look scared of Marcello's wrath?

Tatiana felt sick, but she turned it into fire, calling forth all her energy as she gripped the wine bottle and swung it over her head. With aclink , the bottle hit the man across the temple. Red wine ran cool and sticky down her arm, staining her white glove like blood. The man looked dazed, his drunken mind reacting slow to her rejection. His eyes rolled and his body crumpled on the floor.

Tatiana gasped in fear, panting wildly for a long moment. Then, propelled into action, she rushed to the curtain, drawing it back slowly. She knew she couldn't stay by a fallen n.o.bleman, not with the evidence of her attack staining her gloves. Outside, the chaotic world of the Moulin Rouge raged on.

As she left the booth behind, she pulled the curtains shut. She stood for a brief moment, looking around. Her heart pounded in fear, choking the air from her throat. The dance floor was a circus of pandemonium. Tatiana felt dizzy. Remembering where the door had been, she started for it.

Then, seeing the unconscious gentleman's friends emerging from their alcove, she decided to switch directions. Her heart pounded as she worked through the crowd. She walked with purpose.

A hand reached out to pinch her backside and she turned in affront. The man, a harmless little drunk with a long beard and paint covered s.h.i.+rt, lifted his hands and murmured to her in drunken French. His friends clapped him on the back, hauling him back into his seat with ease. Tatiana, seeing a woman flirting with a table and not wanting to draw attention to her escape, tried to smile as she mimicked the woman's teasing wiggle of the finger. The bearded painter laughed, clutching at his heart as a comrade handed him a gla.s.s of the bitter green drink. Their eyes all turned from her to the dance floor.

Tatiana breathed a little easier, trying her best to blend in, but acting as if her steps had purpose. When, in fact, they did.

Their sole purpose was to get her out of the music hall with much haste!

Suddenly, she came to a halt. Her face paled dramatically. Her green eyes widened in her head and she blinked, trying to erase the vision from them. Marcello was at a nearby table, in the corner, nearly hidden by a falling shadow of a curtain, but not completely so. She would know his face anywhere.

A pet.i.te blonde with painted features sat firmly on Marcello's lap, wiggling her backside invitingly against him. The woman's dress had worked down from her shoulder, baring a plump round breast for all to see. Marcello's hand cupped her breast, kneading the naked globe in his hand. His long dark hair spilled over her shoulder, as he sucked along her neck.

Tatiana couldn't move, couldn't breathe. The pain of seeing him with another woman hit her like a blow to the gut. She tried to tell herself it wasn't real. That it didn't feel like Marcello. But her eyes did not deceive her, for no matter how many times she blinked, he was still there.