Tribes Of The Vampire - Eternally Bound Part 23

As if sensing her, Marcello looked up. His eyes filled completely with red, demonic in appearance. Tatiana could hear the woman's l.u.s.ty laughter, could hear her cry of pleasure as Marcello continued to drink and ma.s.sage. His gaze looked right at her and he dared to smile against the woman's throat. A trail of blood made its way from the woman's neck at his slight movement, running crimson down her collarbone to the valley of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. He wanted her to watch him, wanted her to see.

She could see it in his red eyes. Audaciously, he winked at her.

Tatiana gasped, spinning on her heels and running in the other direction. She found herself lost amongst the flinging bodies on the dance floor. She pushed through the women, wanting to be free of the nightmarish dancehall. She hated these women.

She hated that Marcello had turned her into one of them. She wanted to faint, throw up, call out her powers in anger. Instead, she wept.

Suddenly, a chill went up the back of her neck and she stopped amidst a sea of moving skirts. Her eyes shot over the floor, looking around. She could see no one. She glanced over her shoulder. The pet.i.te blonde was still at her seat, looking dazed, smiling. Marcello was gone.

Tatiana began to run, desperate for escape. She pushed rudely through the crowd. They didn't pay any attention to her, continuing what they were doing. She made it across the hall, only feeling mildly molested by the bodies on the crowded floor. When she reached the entrance, the man in the checkered waistcoat stood. He tipped his head, watching her with bolder eyes now that Marcello was gone from her side. She nodded her head, as regally as she could manage in her panic, before rus.h.i.+ng past.

"Broderick," Marcello stated by way of greeting, coming up against the bar. He turned, sitting down on one of the cus.h.i.+oned stools. The bartender came toward him, but Marcello merely waved his hand before him. The bartender's eyes became gla.s.sy and he looked away, not seeing them anymore.

"I don't favor this hall of music," Broderick stated easily. The man sighed, turning his blue eyes to Marcello. His dark brown hair was cut in the height of fas.h.i.+on, and his skin didn't look as pale as the old vampire next to him. "What brings you to Paris, Marcello?"

"I live here," Marcello answered. His words were light, but he didn't completely trust Broderick.

"Ah, I am merely traveling through on my way to meet up with my clan. Heard of this," Broderick paused. He slowly waved his hand to encompa.s.s the club, as he finished, "Club of barbarians and wanted to see for myself."

"They are bohemians," Marcello corrected. He liked the music hall and the people in it. It was his fascination. Well, it had been until he'd met Tatiana. Now she was his fascination, his obsession.

"If you say so," Broderick laughed. "They are all barbarians to me. So primitive and short lived."

Marcello didn't answer.

"Ah, but I am old, tried. Many of my clan are going into asopor , hibernating. I have been elected to stay awake, guarding their den. They weary of the new century upon us and it hasn't even begun."

"It is a time of change," Marcello admitted. He played with the ruby on his finger.

"It has been prophesied that the new era will bring death for all of us," Broderick said. "A great wave is upon us, a wave of advancement and the death of the old. We, my friend, are the old."

Broderick turned. He grabbed up a little gla.s.s of stout liquor and drank it. Marcello watched in silence.

When he'd finished the drink, Marcello asked him, "Is Leandro journeying with you?"

"No, I travel alone," Broderick said. His vivid blue gaze looked over to the vampire at his side.

"Have you seen him recently?" Marcello asked. His eyes were dull, almost sad, but he kept his expressions blank, his voice bored.

"Yea, recently," Broderick answered. He would say no more and Marcello didn't pry. "Ah, I should go. I travel by train and don't wish to miss the next one out of Paris. I already grow weary of this city."

"You must visit if you get back this way," Marcello offered, knowing Broderick would never take the offer. He preferred to sleep away from other immortals.

"Thank you, my lord," Broderick said with a bow. "The offer is very kind."

Broderick's eyes flashed with golden fire. In an instant, he was gone.

Tatiana ran out of the music hall. Her lungs panted as she tried to catch her breath. The tight corset pressed into her skin, making her faint. Or was it the memory of Marcello with another woman that left her faint? The memory spurred her on and she began to run faster. She caught the blurring lights from the giant windmill overhead and ignored them.

It was late, but the streets were even more crowded with prost.i.tutes and drunken men. Shouts sounded, laughing ensued. It was all chaos in her brain, making her head pound and swim. The sounds stretched and m.u.f.fled wildly inside her, like a scratchy phonograph she had once heard in London. A familiar sensation washed over her and she knew what was to come.

She was going to have a vision and there was no way in h.e.l.l she was going to be able to stop it.

Tatiana panicked. Recognizing the street leading to Marcello's home, she began to run anew. Her heart beat violently. She vaguely heard a carriage coming up fast behind her. She saw the alley and ran straight for it, not knowing what she would do once she made below to the pitch black catacombs. She didn't want to go back to Marcello's home. She wanted to run away, far away from him. But this was Paris. She couldn't speak the language, couldn't prove her name or station--especially not in the dress she now wore.

Suddenly, a horse neighed loudly and a shout sounded. Tatiana turned, just in time to see a team of horses about to run her over. The vision loomed closer, blocking everything from her eyes. She froze. Out of nowhere, a pair of strong hands gripped her. She blinked as she flew through the air to the alleyway.

Her body landed with a hard thud, cras.h.i.+ng into a warm chest. Instantly, she knew it wasn't Marcello who held her. The body was too warm and smelled slightly muskier than Marcello's. She struggled to be free. The man let her go. As she crawled off him, her hand splashed into a puddle. She flinched in horror as the smell of urine wafted up from it. She gagged, instantly pulling on her glove. The vision had subsided in light of their fall.

When she looked at her rescuer, he stood above her. She was stunned to find the most vivid pair of blue eyes she'd ever seen. There was something animalistic to his nature, to the rough stubble on his face. Tatiana pulled off her wet glove and tossed it on the ground. The man held his hand down to her and she gladly took it.

As their skin touched, the chill that haunted her since the dance floor raced up her skin. She gasped for breath. A vision of the past hit her in the gut. She stared at the man's face, too afraid to move. No longer did he appear handsome to her. He snarled in anger, his blue eyes churning with liquid gold. Right before the vision took her completely, she uttered in horror, "Esprit Malin!Evil one!"

Marcello stretched out his senses, ignoring the unconscious n.o.bleman on the ground. He knew well the man would be taken care of by the owner of the club. Fear leapt in his heart, as he wondered what had happened to Tatiana. Feeling Tatiana's call to him, he stiffened. She was in danger. A coldness. .h.i.t his flesh, chilling the old vampire to the bone, which should've been impossible since he was naturally cold.

He sped from the club. Closing his eyes outside the entrance to the Moulin Rouge, Marcello searched for the smell of his marks on Tatiana's body. He caught her scent and sped with supernatural speed to the alley leading to his home. It didn't take him long to see her, lying on the pavement, her red dress ruined by mud, her glove discarded. Wisps of her hair had come loose and strewn lightly over the pavement like rivers of black silk. He heard her heart beating a steady pulse and relaxed by a small degree. She was alive.

His eyes scanned the alleyway, but it was empty. He could sense that someone else had been there, but it was too faint of an odor to tell who. Rus.h.i.+ng to Tatiana's side, he lifted her into his arms. The necklace glittered on her neck and he knew that a human couldn't have accosted her. If they had, the necklace would've been gone. It could only mean that she'd been accosted by an immortal.

Marcello couldn't know what had happened. Maybe she wasn't attacked at all. Maybe she was just running from him--again.

His eyes scanned her body for injury and couldn't see any. Her gown was wet and ripped. Her bodice was torn in such a way that a breast was close to falling out of it and he could see the material of her corset. With one hand, he moved the opening to the catacomb. With her held tightly in his arms, he climbed down the steep stairs. He managed to maneuver the lid over them once more without letting her go.

Within moments, he whisked her down the black pa.s.sageways of the catacombs to his home. He did not bother to light the torches, seeing his way easily in the dark. The front door to his home opened by the will of his mind and he rushed Tatiana down the stairs.

"Cesare! A bath!" he yelled, as he crossed over the front hall, not bothering to use the mindlink in his haste. "Now!"

Marcello rushed Tatiana to the safety of his bedchamber. Only when he had her draping body before the fire, did he allow himself to feel. Remorse flowed over him, as did fear and relief. He urged the fire higher until it burned hotly at her side. He lightly laid her down on the fur rug. Her skin was cold, too cold for a mortal woman. Her lips looked to be edged with blue.

Marcello stripped her of her stockings and shoes, throwing them into a pile behind him. Cesare came in with the tub and, as Marcello worked to get Tatiana out of the red dress, the servant filled the bath with hot water.

"That will be all," Marcello said as Cesare finished. The servitor bowed, his white eyes not taking in the scene before him. The man quietly left the bedchamber, shutting the door behind him.

Marcello pulled out of his clothes, until he too was naked. Then, lifting Tatiana up, he set her before him in the tub. He washed her body with great care, looking for wounds. His fingers couldn't ignore the soft texture of her flesh as he touched her. The memory of her sweet taste, of her sweeter body convulsing around his was still too new. He wanted her again, always. She stirred lightly, but did not wake.

Marcello felt as if his heart was in his stomach. He'd thought he lost her for a moment. Something happened to her that shut her off to him completely. It left him feeling hollow and alone. He squeezed her tighter. He never wanted to feel that way again. For better, and most likely for worse, she was his. She belonged to him. He needed her more than he needed to feed on blood. He knew that now. She was the only thing keeping a dying part of him alive. She was the only thing connecting him to his last thread of his humanity. If he lost her, he would lose that. And then he would truly be what she thought of him--a demon.

When he'd a.s.sured himself she was unharmed except for a few minor sc.r.a.pes and bruises, he lifted her out of the tub, dried her off, and carried her to bed. Stroking back her wet hair, which he combed for her, he whispered to her in his native tongue.

His words were soft, calling to her, urging her back to him, trying to lead her mind out of whatever vision had her trapped.

Tatiana s.h.i.+vered. She was so cold. The freezing water of the stream washed over her skin. When she looked down at her body, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s were too small to be her own beneath the emerald tunic gown she wore. A heavy strand of overlong red hair spilled over her face. Her body was weak--too weak to fight.

Tatiana felt drained, nearly lifeless. She tried to wake up, yelled that she must, but she couldn't. She couldn't move. She was tied to a secured log that dipped into the icy water. Her hands were tied behind her and she was sure her fingers were missing since they were so frozen. Snow covered the ground and dotted the icy stream where the earth rose above it. Her feet were bare, dipping into the frigid water, and she could no longer feel them either.

"Maighdlin."

Tatiana froze, knowing that to be her name in this vision. She tried to open her lids, not remembering how long they had been closed. Her eyes stung as the cold winter air hit them. She tried to speak, but her lips had frozen themselves shut.