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

by Silvana G Sánchez

  “You see, I had known Eliza for a very long time. We first met as I became her English tutor...”

  English? Truly? The man taught English?

  “After some time, we both realized how much in love we were with each other... l'amour, monsieur...”

  “Ah, mais oui... L'amour.”

  “Four years ago, we became secretly engaged. You see, M. Rinehart would never approve a liaison between his daughter, une dame de la société, and me, a humble tutor from Lyon.”

  “I see...”

  “The thing is, monsieur, three days ago, we learned M. Rinehart had promised Eliza to another man, a duke, nonetheless...” He raised his brow and smiled, unable to believe his own luck, I would say.

  “I was willing to break the engagement if it so pleased Eliza, but she was determined to fight for our love...” His eyes shimmered. “Last night, we eloped and got married at Saint Gervais...”

  I was beginning to see the light at the end of this story.

  “Your sister, Miss Lockhart, was kind enough to serve as witness to our matrimony. I'm afraid we came rather unannounced and in a hurry, late in the evening; surely, you must have noticed...”

  “Go on,” I said.

  “Eliza and I are set on leaving the country, monsieur.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “But today, as we took the road, she confessed to me your sister’s most generous and noble action.” Bellard extracted a velvet purse from his pocket. “I believe this belongs to you, monsieur.”

  I took the purse and poured its contents on my hand.

  Twenty Louis d’Or.

  “I had no idea she had given Eliza the money. As my wife tells it, Miss Lockhart hoped to help us manage a good start in our new life with her gesture, seeing that Eliza had no dowry to offer, nor the support of her family,” he said, ashamed. “I turned the coach back the minute I learned this. I assumed the money must be yours, and therefore, should be restored to its proper owner.”

  My hand covered my gaping mouth. What a fool I had been... I should never have doubted her.

  “I am most grateful for your honesty.” I put the money back inside the bag and drew its laces shut as I stood.

  “But I disagree with Miss Lockhart... This money is by no means a helping hand for a young couple in love,” I paused. “This, monsieur, is a wedding gift.” I placed the purse in his hand. “Please accept it, along with our best wishes.”

  Bellard’s eyes flew open. “Monsieur—!”

  “Please, I am sure your wife awaits.”

  The man smiled. “Merci, monsieur!” he said, shaking my hand. “Thank you, both!”

  10

  The Breath of Life

  The clock's rhythmic ticking echoed in the darkened hall.

  The door creaked as it opened, and so did the wooden floorboards as she reached the staircase's landing. Amber light bathed her face when she raised the candle to eye level.

  She found me sitting on the steps. On this very spot, I had awaited her return for the last half hour.

  Alisa's inquisitive eyes landed on me. Her hand touched the railing. She tilted her head to one side. She did not speak.

  “Good evening,” I said.

  “I didn't expect to find you here,” she answered, her voice cold and detached.

  “I know. You've been avoiding me for the last few days...” I rose from the stairs.

  “I want no more quarrels with you, Ivan...”

  I slipped my hand on the rail until it stopped over hers.

  “My feelings exactly,” I mused as I pressed it. “Come.”

  We moved upstairs. Once we reached the end of the corridor, I pushed the wall's wooden panel and opened the servant's hidden doorway. “This way,” I whispered, pointing at the narrow staircase.

  “Where are we going?”

  “You'll see, soon enough.”

  She raised the candlestick and lit the way upstairs until we reached the door on the other side.

  “Go on.”

  A gust of cold wind filtered through the passageway when she opened the door. She stepped outside and stood on the rooftop, motionless as she discovered a table setting for two with a bottle of wine and two glasses, and a small wooden box in the center.

  Shimmering city lights dispersed on the horizon, like flickering stars pending low at the reach of our fingertips. The air was crisp and the evening clear. And her glistening eyes told me I had not been mistaken when I planned this special evening, our farewell from Paris.

  At last, I had found a way to her heart. But I would not be so bold as to claim her forgiveness—not yet.

  “Ivan, this is—”

  “The least I could do, after everything you've done for me.”

  She turned and smiled, confused. “I have done nothing.”

  I moved towards the table and pulled her chair back. She sat without parting her bewildered eyes from me. In that moment, I got the sense that tonight marked the true beginning of our journey.

  “I was dead, and you've given me the breath of life,” I said as I poured the red wine and filled our glasses. “For this, I will cherish you always... Santé!”

  “Santé.” She raised her glass and drank. “But I thought… last night…”

  “I am no longer crossed with you, dearest.” I smoothed my hand over hers. “I know what you did... I can only hope you forgive my burst of anxiety.”

  “How did you find out?”

  “I received a visit from M. Bellard, Miss Rinehart's husband,” I said. “As soon as he learned of the money, he rushed to return it to my hands... quite an honest man.”

  Sadness glimmered in her eyes.

  “Oh, don't worry. I didn't take it. It is our wedding gift to the happy couple, after all.”

  She sighed, relieved. “Thank you,” she mused.

  “Your immaculate heart never ceases to amaze me,” I said. “Please, tell me I'm forgiven.”

  “There's nothing to forgive,” she whispered, avoiding my stare with fluttering eyelashes.

  “I have a gift for you.” I slipped the box before her with my fingers.

  “What is it?”

  Her delicate hands held the case. She drew it closer and studied its enameled surface. Exquisitely painted on its lid were two oval-shaped miniature portraits framed in gold—hers and mine. True to detail, both figures faced each other with a discrete glance from either side of the lid.

  Upon our arrival in Paris, I had commissioned the work in secret to a most recognized Italian jeweler. M. Mirabile had performed an outstanding job in its craftsmanship.

  “It's beautiful, Ivan!”

  “It is. However, the box is but your gift's wrapping. Open it.”

  Slowly, Alisa raised the lid. Inside, she discovered a black velvet purse. She drew back the strings and poured its content into her hand. With a slight push of my fingertips, I moved the three-branch candelabrum closer, granting her a better view as she opened her hand.

  Her eyes flew open. “This is… this is too much!”

  Pending from her hand, the pearl choker’s sapphire brooch beamed an ethereal sparkle as the candlelight refracted into myriad multicolored rays. Embedded with shimmering diamonds, the precious stone's blue shade matched Alisa's eyes.

  “Do you like it?”

  “How could I not? It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen!”

  “Shall I?”

  She nodded.

  As I reached for the necklace, my hands faintly quivered. Blaming the wine did little to appease my anxiety. The scent of roses and bergamot filled my lungs when I drew near. Her soundless pupils could have swallowed me wholly of their own volition.

  My fingers clasped at the nape of her neck. The warmth of her breath landed on my face. My pulse beat harder and faster. I grew certain she could listen to my racing heartbeat. A sudden wave of warmth spread through my body and reached my neck, my cheeks... The compelling rush urged me to move even closer. A breath apart from her luscious lips, I fastened the necklace and th
en moved away quickly.

  Without a doubt, Alisa's long and delicate neck complemented the piece of jewelry and not the other way around.

  “It suits you,” I mused.

  “I'm at a loss for words,” she whispered, her eyes shimmering to the point of tears.

  “Then, do not say a thing.” If such powers rested within me, I would have stopped time right then and relished on the sight of her radiant beauty.

  “Ivan, about Pritchard—”

  “Please,” I said. “Tonight belongs to you and me, and no one else. Tomorrow, we leave for Rome. And after that—”

  “My Venice…” she mused.

  “That is all I want you to think about tonight.”

  She gave me a teasing smile.

  “What is it?”

  “I'm afraid you've made that a difficult task,” she said, amused. “This evening remains to be outshined by any other.”

  “Oh... really?” I smiled suggestively.

  11

  A Promise in Rome

  The towering structure loomed on the horizon as we crossed l’Arco di Tito. We stopped and filled our eyes with the Colloseo's majestic dimensions. Amongst heaps of dirt and grass, it surged from the earth—a precious jewel of history, eroded by the sands of time.

  Three weeks had passed since our arrival in Rome, and in that brief period of time, Alisa became fast friends with other Grand Tourists, most of them females of great wealth traveling from Spain, England, and France.

  This morning, I had managed to snatch her for myself right after breakfast, hoping to avoid the scorching midday sun during our petite promenade.

  “I'm afraid this walk has drained the life out of me!” Alisa's reddened cheeks proved her words true.

  “There's a small café just ahead,” I said on the brim of laughter. “Do you feel up to the challenge, or shall I carry you instead?”

  “I will no longer be tortured!” Alisa closed her parasol and banged my arm with a playful smile. And I loved it.

  I recoiled from her canopy and laughed. “I'm the one being tortured!” Unable to clear the smile off my face, I walked a few feet ahead and called a coach to ride the remaining distance.

  With a self-composed demeanor, she sat at the shop's table. I was certain she would have plummeted on it had she not thought it distasteful. Always abiding by the rules... I would have to remedy that.

  “Green tea, please,” she said to the waiter standing beside her.

  “Quite an expensive taste, you have,” I mused. “A glass of red wine for me will suffice.”

  “I like tea,” she said. “I doubt your preference for wine has anything to do with its cheaper value.”

  I shrugged off her remark.

  “'A man has no better thing under the sun than to eat and to drink and be merry',” I said.

  She stared at me, puzzled. “Where have I heard that before?”

  I smiled. “Master Bianchi. Remember him?”

  “Barely…” She sighed. “But tell me, have you fallen in love with Rome as much as I have?”

  “I have given a good deal of thought to the matter,” I said, straightening my back on my crooked chair, “and I have concluded, Paris is the city for me.”

  “Why would you say that?” The smoking cup of tea appeared before her, and her eyes fixed on its swirling fumes. “Does Rome disagree with you?”

  “No, of course not. Indeed, I find its ancient appeal quite endearing. But Paris has cast an indelible charm over me... I fear no matter how much I may travel, I'll always return to its beckoning arms.”

  “I don't care much where we go, as long as we travel,” she said with a sullen tone and a vacant stare. “I've discovered an unfathomable sense of freedom while being abroad... I cannot possibly go back home.”

  “I know what you mean.” I reached for my drink. “Sometimes, I find it hard to believe we are truly here. I haven't gotten over the fact that Father would agree to this excursion.” I laughed under my breath.

  How could I not laugh? For the first time in years, I was genuinely happy. Happy to leave England and its dreadful memories behind, happy to travel and discover new lands; thrilled as I drank a glass of wine in the Eternal City with Rome's ancient hills as our exclusive panoramic. And most of all, it was bliss to share this long adventurous journey with her. She was the key to the change in my heart, without question.

  It was thanks to her that we had embarked on the Grand Tour with Father's blessing—or at least his financing. But then, he would have done anything to rid himself of my presence.

  “How did you do it?” I said. I finished my glass of wine and waved for another. “How on earth did you convince him?”

  “I simply reminded him that…” She fluttered her eyelashes, “…the Grand Tour was the perfect opportunity for us to broaden our horizons.”

  I raised my brow and held my tongue for a minute. “Alisa, I must say, I’m troubled by your answer… was that the best lie you could come up with?” I covered my mouth with the napkin, halfway hiding my sardonic smile.

  “You're a terrible liar!” I added. Oh, how I laughed!

  “Honestly, Ivan. Sometimes, you can be so rude....” she said under her breath and turned away, concerned someone might have heard my last remark. Well, boohoo.

  “I'm sorry, but you should have told me the truth in the first place.”

  Her eyes narrowed as she leaned closer to me over the table. “If you must know,” she said, “I told Father I had my mind set on meeting my future husband on this tour... He agreed to it immediately.”

  Her revelation astounded me. Of course, Father would have agreed to that! Sweet Alisa, a mastermind, capable of concocting such a vicious ploy, who would have thought?

  “Brava!” I clapped. “There might be hope for you still!”

  She laughed. I raised my glass and took another drink.

  “How would I ever do without you?” I mused and slipped my hand over hers.

  In that moment, the terrifying emptiness of a life without her became a tangible possibility. And the hideous question came to my mind. What if she meant every word she had said to our father? What if, contrary to what Alisa showed, she truly intended to find a husband?

  The threat of loneliness built up inside me as a heavy burden that tightened my chest.

  “God...” I mused. “I do hope you were lying.”

  Her laughter came to an abrupt stop. Alisa's face turned into a mask of seriousness. I knew what would follow, and there was nothing I could do to prevent it.

  She withdrew her hand. She pushed back the chair and got on her feet. I stood up too, feeling like a fool for saying such stupid words.

  “Alisa–”

  “Look,” she said, “there's Miss Sinclair…” Within seconds, she regained her self-possessed poise. She waved to her friend, who now approached our table, along with a pair of young ladies.

  They greeted each other, introductions were made, but all this time, I knew I had wronged her. And I knew my words would have a greater impact than she would ever dare to show.

  “I think I shall take Miss Sinclair's offer and join them.” Her blue eyes appeared in my visual field. “What do you think?”

  “Yes,” I said. “By all means, join them.”

  “Too expensive,” I said. I held the ring at eye level, noticing the mounting's poor quality. The stone, however, was genuine and its condition, acceptable. Yellow Topaz. I could have it set on a more respectable piece of jewelry.

  “Guarda, guarda...” Look, she said. The girl reached for the ring and slid it on my finger. “Mi piace tanto a te...” I like it on you so much.

  A pearl necklace and several pairs of earrings were displayed on a piece of tattered brocade, but it was the ring that had caught my eye as I stood by la Fontana dei Quattro Fiumi. Lured by the central piece of the Piazza Navona, I had moved closer to appreciate the colossal sculptures when, by the corner of my eye, I had caught the topaz's yellow shimmer.

  By
the long clean brushed hair, trimmed fingernails, quality clothing, and composed demeanor as she sat on the dirt pavement, it was apparent the girl was no merchant.

  I knelt on the floor and returned the ring to her.

  “I don't believe for one second you're a tradesman's daughter,” I mused, knowing the business myself. “Come, I'll take you to your home.”

  We moved amongst the hurried crowds through narrow streets. Bells chimed by my side. I turned and the Pantheon stood before me; a unique gem, hidden amidst many shops and tall buildings. Both bell towers had been added recently by the Pope, bearing Bernini's impeccable design—a true work of art, though in my eyes, it clashed with the Pantheon's natural ancient beauty.

  I wanted to derail from my route and walk through those doors, to stand beneath the Pantheon's imposing dome and glare at the sky through its impressive oculus... But then I saw the timid girl of no more than twelve years old. Her hazel eyes glared at me with such innocence... I had to deliver her to her family. The streets were dangerous enough for a grown man, more so for such an infant.

  “Is it farther still?” I said in Italian.

  “Siamo quasi a casa.” We're almost home, she said.

  A few minutes later, the throngs of merchants and tourists vanished from the streets. We moved through a long narrow pathway until we reached an iron-forged gate. Beyond the corridor lay a private courtyard with a small yet impressive fountain at the center. My jaw dropped as I turned around, absorbing the spectacular surroundings. This peaceful villa stood carefully concealed from the city's chaotic rumble.

  We walked to the front door.

  “Do you live here?” I asked.

  Her large innocent eyes fixed on me. She nodded.

  I knocked on the door.

  A servant came to answer. She wore a white tunic and was barefoot. I noticed her gold ankle bracelet—servants made a good living here, by the looks of it. Her hair, long, black, wavy and loose, reminded me of one of those gypsies who roamed the streets reading fortunes and cursing whoever dared reject their service.

  The servant's dark eyes widened when she looked at the girl beside me. In one quick move, she seized her arm and pulled her inside the house with a rough tug.