Written in Blood: A New Adult Vampire Romance Novella, Part One. (The Unnatural Brethren Book 1)

by Silvana G Sánchez

  “A carriage overturned right before my eyes.” I grabbed the glass of wine and poured it down my throat in one quick drink.

  “Not a pleasant sight at all,” she said.

  “It wasn't. But that's not it. You see, a woman was locked inside the carriage...”

  “How very dreadful!” Alisa covered her lips. “Did someone rescue the poor creature?”

  Her sympathetic label for the woman almost made me laugh! The poor creature was definitely not the phrase that came to mind as I recalled her.

  “I did.” I shrugged. “Hence, my disheveled appearance.”

  “Oh. I see,” she mused. “She must have been most grateful, what did she say once you saved her?”

  “What did she say?” I muttered. “Why, she blamed me for the entire incident!”

  “Impossible!”

  “Oh, it's true.” I raised my brow as I removed my dirty coat and rolled up my sleeves. “The nerve of the woman!”

  “How very peculiar... Who was she?”

  “I have no idea,” I mused, “some hoity-toity aristocrat, I should imagine.”

  “Well, I'm sorry it ruined your appetite.”

  I frowned. “Far from it!” I said as I plummeted on the chair. “Pass the bread if you please.”

  Delicious pain mollet. Round and small, light and airy with a hint of salt that heightened its taste... One bite and all was well in the world once again.

  “But enough of my day, how was your promenade at the Place Royale?”

  “Not nearly as interesting as your adventure, I'm afraid,” she teased. “Lady Cisseley has invited me to a Salon next Friday.”

  “A Salon? Is that one of those exclusive social gatherings for intellectually stimulating conversation?”

  “It is,” she said. “Lady Cisseley has pointed out that my talents on the Virginal should not go to waste, and that I should benefit from attending. It seems Friday's are reserved for the developing of musical arts.”

  “Monsieur…” Marguerite slipped the dish before me.

  “Merci, Marguerite.” Food. Thank you. I was famished. “I agree with Lady Cisseley. And I see nothing wrong with this plan, save for one minor detail.”

  Alisa dropped her knife on the table. “What?”

  “That I am not in it.”

  “What are you saying, Ivan? You've decided to become a Salonnière?” she teased.

  “God, no! It's nothing like that. It's just that... I'm afraid Lady Cisseley has absorbed all of your time ever since we got here.” I paused. How could I say this? “What I'm trying to say, while failing so miserably, is that I would like it if you and I could perhaps share more than a meal, some time or other.”

  “I would like that too,” she mused.

  “Good. Does the theater interest you?”

  “The theater sounds wonderful.”

  “Shall we seal this with a present?” I slipped my hand into my jacket's pocket and without revealing its contents, I placed my closed hand before her on the table.

  “Prepare to see something beautiful,” I said.

  I flipped open the case and turned it so as to capture her reflection within the looking glass.

  She smiled.

  “Take it. It's yours now.”

  Nestled against my window, the book slipped from my fingers and landed on my chest. For the fourth time this week, I abandoned all hopes of ever getting through John Milton's Lost Paradise. Adam and Eve would find themselves cast off Eden either way, wouldn't they?

  At the sound of clanking hoofs approaching, I looked out the window. Lady Cisseley's carriage stopped before our gates. I was in no mood to engage in conversation with her, but I did want to know how the Salon had turned out for Alisa. She had been expecting this day with much anticipation.

  I crept out of my room and skulked in the chamber's hallway. Alisa, Lady Cisseley and her younger sister walked through the door in chattering frenzy.

  “The Baroness's singing was extraordinary, I thought! Did you have a good time, dearest?”

  “A very good time, indeed,” Alisa said. “I particularly enjoyed Miss Rinehart's poetry reading—”

  “Miss Rinehart reads well,” the young girl said. “But do you know who reads beautifully, even more so than Miss Rinehart?”

  “I could not possibly guess. Do tell us, Esther.”

  “Mr. William Pritchard!” she said.

  “Esther, really,” Lady Cisseley intervened. “You have never heard the man read.”

  “No, I have not. But my friend, Mrs. Hamil has. She said Mr. Pritchard infused emotion in his reading of Shakespeare's sonnets and compelled all listeners to tears... Infused emotion, Cisseley!”

  “Would you like some tea?” Alisa said.

  All three women moved into the parlor, where they continued their conversation. Their clever arguments appealed much more to me than Mr. Milton's epic poetry. I moved out of my hiding place and went downstairs as soundlessly as possible.

  “Miss Lockhart, I so enjoyed hearing you play the clavecin!”

  “Thank you, Lady Cisseley. But I am afraid it has been a most humbling experience. Today, I have discovered how scarce my talent truly is.”

  “Modesty does not suit you, my dear.” Lady Cisseley sat on the chair by the hearth.

  “You played marvelously, Alisa,” the younger girl said with a pretense of maturity.

  “Thank you, both. The truth is I have yet to find my way around this clavecin,” she mused. “And on that note, thank you for pointing me in the right direction—”

  “M. Leduc is an excellent teacher. Your talent could not be in finer hands, dearest.”

  “M. Leduc plays marvelously... But do you know who else plays as marvelously as M. Leduc?”

  “Who, Esther dear?”

  “Mr. William Pritchard, of course!” she said. “And this I do know because I have heard him play myself!”

  “My, my, Esther. This Mr. Pritchard sounds too good to be true!” Alisa said. “A man who takes pleasure in poetry and excels in the clavecin's execution? Can he be real?”

  “He is quite handsome too—”

  “Esther!” Lady Cisseley said. “That is enough, dear. What will Miss Lockhart think of you?”

  “Only that she has discovered a man who defies the standards of our society! And I should envy you for it, Esther.”

  “You must forgive my sister's enthusiasm. She is prone to exaggeration,” she said. “Oh, but do not misunderstand me, Miss Lockhart; Mr. Pritchard does possess many amiable qualities. He truly is quite the catch—the elusive kind, if you get my meaning.”

  “Oh, I see,” Alisa said.

  “That does not bother me at all,” Esther said.

  “Esther, being miles away from him must be difficult for you. I am sure you cannot wait to return home and learn what Mr. Pritchard has been up to.”

  “Oh, but he left London years ago,” she said. “He lives here, in Paris. That is why I joined Cisseley and my brother, Robert, in their travels. It is a matter of days before I run into him! I believe I shall faint at the sight of his handsomeness. And then, I expect he will carry me home, sealing the beginning of our romance with one long heartfelt kiss...”

  “Really, child! I cannot wait for you to grow out of this romantic étape!” Lady Cisseley laughed under her breath.

  “The name Pritchard sounds familiar,” Alisa mused. “Perhaps I have met him before.”

  “I do not believe so, dearest.” Lady Cisseley said. “You could not forget him if you did.”

  The parlor maid approached down the hall with the silver tray on her hands, ready to serve tea. I intercepted her halfway.

  “Let me take this off your hands, Marguerite,” I whispered. “I will take care of it, thank you.”

  “Someday, I will marry him. I know it.” Esther continued. “He is the most handsome man I have ever seen—”

  “More handsome than me?” I said as I entered the room, carrying the tea tray.

  They
shared a subtle laugh, and the youngest blushed.

  “Forgive my intrusion, ladies. But I could hardly stay away from your lively conversation,” I said while setting the service tray on the table.

  “Ivan.” She reached her hands towards me.

  “Dearest Alisa!” I said, holding them fast. “I'm glad you are home.”

  “Mr. Lockhart, how good of you to join us,” Lady Cisseley said.

  “Lady Allen,” I bowed.

  “Please, I prefer Cisseley.”

  “Very well, Lady Cisseley.”

  “I believe you have yet to meet my sister in law, Miss Esther Allen.”

  “Enchanté mademoiselle.” I kissed her gloved hand. Esther pursed her lips and giggled. She must have been fifteen years old.

  “Perhaps we might convince Mr. Lockhart to join us for next Friday's assembly,” Lady Cisseley said. “There will be dancing...”

  “I thank you for the invitation Lady Cisseley, but I'm afraid I never dance if I can prevent it.” I bowed. “Well, then. Tea has been served and therefore, my meddling in your affairs has now ended. I shall leave you ladies to your prodigious scheming. Good day.”

  “Good day, Mr. Lockhart.”

  I closed the double doors behind me and could not avoid overhearing a few of their impressions as I stepped away from the parlor.

  “Is he your brother, Alisa?”

  “Yes, Esther. He is,” Alisa said. “Did you like him?”

  Silence in reply.

  “Why, dearest Miss Lockhart, I believe our Esther's affections have been transferred to Mr. Lockhart!”

  “Poor Mr. Pritchard!”

  Laughter echoed in the room.

  7

  The Red Devil

  Like shimmering mirrors scattered on the cobblestone street, my feet eluded ponds of rainwater as we left behind the Théâtre du Palais-Royal.

  This was Paris. The warmth of bustling crowds spread in our midst. Gas lamps lighted the way through rue Saint-Honoré. Twilight vanished and darkness spattered in patches of black and gray across the cloudy sky... Le Bourgeois Gentilhomme had lightened our moods; however, an imminent wave of nostalgia caught up with us as we were approaching our last week of stay in la Ville Lumière.

  The glaring gas lamps and the soft veil of fog oozing from the roads dabbed oneiric strokes to the street, painting an ethereal picture. And for a moment, I got the genuine impression of being inside a wonderful dream.

  Paris, the highlight of civilization. Beauty, progress, culture, and freedom made life sizzle in every corner and quaint café of the city. And I embraced this life as if it were the last breath before taking a plunge deep underwater.

  It was at one of those small crowded cafés that Alisa and I found refuge from the moist weather and engaged in a most revealing conversation.

  “But I must confess, I could not bear another minute in that house. Give me one more pillow to embroider, and I assure you, I would have screamed!”

  Her outburst of sincerity astounded me beyond words. Never once had I given thought to her daily routines back home, in Winterbourne. I had never stopped to question if she truly obtained any sense of accomplishment from such delicate feats as embroidery or playing the Virginals.

  “You've always been so talented,” I said. “I never thought you disliked it.”

  She pressed her lips with her fingers. “Forgive me, I should not have said—”

  “No, no. Please,” I said. “Do not mind me, Alisa. If this is how you feel—how you have always felt—then, by all means, you must say it.”

  She drank from her steaming cup of tea and fluttered her eyelashes for a second. “Surely you must know,” she mused, lowering her gaze, “I want so much more than what life offers to someone like me.”

  “Someone like you?”

  “A woman,” she said. “I fear that—”

  “Yes. What is it?”

  “I fear this tour might only serve two distinct purposes—none of which can ever be beneficial for me.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It's quite simple. Either this tour will turn out to be the pinnacle of my life, which is a rather grim prospect to envision—”

  “Or...?” I said.

  “Or, it will fuel my thirst for adventure and instigate my pursuit of freedom from the social chains that bind my sex... and we both know how disastrous that outcome would be.”

  “In that case,” I raised my drink, “let us toast to a Tour marked by disaster, in all shapes and forms!”

  After a brief minute of silence, we laughed in unison.

  “I am so sorry to intrude,” said a tall handsome man as he approached our table, “but I could not help overhearing part of your merry conversation. I am afraid your words' chime has lured me in like a moth to a flame... End my anxiety, and pray tell me, are you by any chance traveling from England?” Green sparkling eyes and an enchanting smile expected an answer.

  “Let me put your mind at ease, sir. You are not mistaken; we are traveling from England.”

  “I am so pleased to hear that!” He pulled a chair close and sat beside me. “William Pritchard is the name. A pleasure to make your acquaintance, monsieur...?”

  “You're William Pritchard… Sir Rowland Pritchard's son?” I raised one eyebrow, astonished by the privilege of such company at our humble café table.

  “That I am, sir,” he bowed his head in a gracious gesture.

  Sir Rowland Pritchard had commissioned Father's trading expeditions for years. I had even met the man once or twice when I was a child. I knew he had a son, but I never imagined our paths would ever cross, divergent as they were.

  “Ivan Lockhart,” I said, “and this is Miss Alisa Lockhart, my sister.”

  William's eyes gleamed with pernicious charisma as they landed on her. “Enchanté, mademoiselle.”

  Alisa's cheeks tinged with a pinkish hue, and she gave a hint of a smile when he kissed her hand.

  “Lockhart, ey?” he mused. “I believe our fathers have long been business associates, am I right?”

  I nodded.

  “Then I must count you amongst my friends,” he added as he lit a cigarette. “Oh, I am terribly sorry. Does it bother you, Miss Lockhart? I have them sent to me from Madrid, but I would put it out if it offends you.”

  “Not at all, Mr. Pritchard. If anything, I would like to taste it myself. But alas, the boundaries of propriety prevent me from it.”

  “This is Paris, Miss Lockhart. You are free to break those English boundaries here,” he taunted.

  “I thank you, sir,” she said. “However, it is not propriety itself what retains me, but that which would become of me once I am set free.”

  She gave him a mischievous wink, which bothered me somewhat. She had only met the man a few minutes ago, and already she granted him such a flare of intimacy. But rather than lingering on the subject, I dismissed it and focused on discovering the reason for Pritchard's presence at our table.

  He laughed at Alisa's feisty remark. “I can see we will get along quite well, Miss Lockhart. Oh, I like you!”

  “You honor us with your presence, sir...” I said.

  “None of that, please. Call me Pritchard, all my friends do.” He signaled the waiter and ordered a cup of coffee. “And as we are now friends, may I confide in you both?” Pritchard closed in on the table and lowered his voice as if he were about to reveal a great secret.

  “You may.”

  “For five years, I have made my home on Parisian soil, and not once had the thought of returning to London crossed my mind —not until tonight, that is. Somehow, you have rekindled my love for our motherland and reminded me of how much I have left behind.” He paused and put out his cigarette. “I believe my discourteous intrusion at your table serves as a testament to my burst of melancholia.”

  “Take care, sir,” Alisa said. “Your presence at this table might also serve as a testament to your nationality's transference. Such openness is seldom seen amongst stranger
s in our homeland.” She pierced him through with analytic eyes.

  Pritchard laughed.

  “Perhaps so, Miss Lockhart,” he said. “Perhaps I have lost my English manners. I do hope I may win your good opinion, in spite of it. Tell me, friends, what brings you to Paris?”

  “The Grand Tour,” I mused.

  “C'est magnifique!” Pritchard clasped his hands. “How long are you staying?”

  “We leave in one week.”

  “One week!” He raised his brow. “I am afraid we have met only too late... Where are you bound to next, if I may ask?”

  “Our next destination is Rome,” I said.

  “Oh, you must make sure to stop at Venice on your way there—”

  “Venice is definitely on the itinerary,” I said. It was the entire reason for our journey, but what did he know? “We decided to visit Rome first, for a couple of weeks, and then head out to Venice.”

  “You do not want to miss the Carnivale!” he said.

  This entire thread of conversation was beginning to irritate me, and patience was not amongst my scarce virtues. Alisa seemed pleased enough with him, though I found no reason for it. This Pritchard had turned into an inquisitor from the moment he sat at our table.

  “Of course, we would not miss it for the world!” She spoke for the first time in a while. Had she perceived my ill humor? Was this intervention a diversion to prevent me from my temper? I had no talent to conceal my annoyance, and she knew it.

  “It saddens me that you are to leave so soon... Have you set a date for your departure?”

  “Next Friday, I expect,” she replied. Good. Let her do the talking. I would hold my tongue for as long as possible.

  “Perfect. I would very much like to have your company for dinner before you go.”

  “We could not possibly accept that offer, Pritchard,” I said. “We would not want to impose. I am certain you have many social obligations far more binding than to have dinner with us Lockharts.”

  “Nonsense!” He slammed his hand on the table and smiled. “But we must do something sooner to celebrate our new friendship... Oh, I know! Meet me tomorrow at the Jardin du Roi, at noon. I will not take no for an answer!”