Marked

by A.N. Meade

could not ignore the dark shadow that followed him. It was a calm pervading sadness. It settled over him, and he felt so much a part of it. He owned it, and somehow it seemed to only enhance the power of his presence. He looked directly at Marc. “Good evening, Marcus.”

  Marc looked directly at him, never breaking eye contact, even as he bowed. “Good evening, Damian.” The air was tense and smothering. The pause that followed their hellos was long and uncomfortable.

  Damian broke contact with Marc and looked directly at Aimee who was standing behind her. “What is she wearing?”

  “It’s Valentino. We were at the Eiffel Tower when you called.” Marc was quick in his reply.

  “It’s too short.” He looked behind his shoulder and spoke to three women standing behind him. “Take her upstairs to change. She can meet us in the parlor when you’ve found her something,” there was another short pause before he continued, looking directly at her “More agreeable.” His eyes scanned her body. He hadn’t even given Marc time to introduce her, nor did he seem to care. She was annoyed at his tone. What did he mean by that? She liked the dress, and who was he to tell her to change? Even so, for Marc’s sake she bit her tongue.

  The women were attentive to every word that he spoke, beautiful, but there was something about them too that was off. “Of course.” They must comply with his every command. What had he done to gain such devotion? Damian led Marc into the parlor and she followed the women upstairs. They never said a word to her the whole way up the winding grand staircase. They were wearing evening gowns, like the woman at the door. Their hair was done perfectly, and around each of their necks was a different precious jewel, coordinated with their eye color. It seemed Damian’s tastes were consistent. The women could have graced the cover of any fashion magazine, but there was a horrible darkness about them that made Aimee cringe. They led her to a room at the end of the hall full of gorgeous gowns. Immediately they began going through the dresses before deciding finally with one another on a strapless burgundy gown. “Here we are, this one is perfect.”

  Normally Aimee would have said thank you, but she was in no way grateful to be treated like she was, and they didn’t seem like the kind to care about being polite anyway.

  “Take that off.” Now, they were barking orders at her. She waited for them to leave, but they didn’t move. “Take that off.” Reasserting their order let Aimee know that they did not intend to go anywhere and that they expected to be obeyed. Grudgingly, she complied. It was embarrassing standing in front of them like that, whit them able to stare at her. The room was large and a cold draft swept through, causing her to tremble. It made her mad that they could think she was afraid. She was not afraid of them. Perhaps she should have been. After taking off her dress, one of the women picked it up. Another of the three told her, “take it downstairs with her other things.” The woman with the red hair disappeared from view with her black Valentino dress that she loved. This left her in front of the remaining two women, naked and shivering. They picked up the burgundy gown and helped her to put it on. When they were finished, they began to fuss with her hair. They left it half up and half down, in a way that was similar to their own hairstyles. Lastly, they pulled a large amulet from a drawer in the armoire. It echoed her eye color when she fed. It had blue undertones with a flash of vibrant lavender. After they fastened the amulet around her neck and it was time to go back downstairs Aimee followed behind them. Her heart was heavy with an unshakable sense of dread about the evening to come.

  While Aimee was upstairs, Marc seized the opportunity to have a one on one with his once dear friend. “Why have you asked us to come here?”

  “We’re friends aren’t we?” Damian picked up a bottle of jack and began pouring two drinks into thick glasses that sad on the bar. Marc did not answer. It was very obvious that their friendship had deteriorated. They had broken company with one another many years ago.

  “What is it that you want, Damian?” Marc got straight to the point.

  “I want to have a nice evening together, Marcus. It’s time we catch up.”

  “Don’t be coy.” Marc was in no mood for games.

  Damian squared his frame toward Marc, handing him a glass of the jack. He rather enjoyed games, but if Marc was in a poor mood, he could get down to the wire too. “Do you have any idea what it’s done to my reputation, letting you live there in the Americas separate from the covens? I have been very gracious. And now, here you are in Paris, with her, playing tourist.”

  The mention of Aimee made Marc fiercely protective. “You of all people must know what she means to me.”

  Damian ignored the comment about Aimee, another issue had drawn his attentions. “You lived there in those mountains all that time without so much as even sending me a postcard. That hurts my feelings, Marcus.” He took a drink of his liquor and then looked at Marc. “Tell me, did you think that I was ignorant of your little arrangement? It’s a mockery. It is not our way!” Damian raised his voice. Not to a yell, but loud enough to clearly convey his displeasure. His glass slammed hard onto the side table.

  “What is it that you want, Damian?”

  “I want what belongs to me.” He ran his finger around the edge of the glass as he thought, and then he leaned forward and looked up. His eyes met Marc’s. “I want respect. I want obedience. I want glory. This world is ours for the taking, and as you know, I am not one to slumber when opportunity knocks. First though, I’m going to clean house.”

  Fear shook through Marc. He knew the meaning behind Damian’s cryptic messages. He had delivered the punishment to those who displeased his maker. He may have bent to his will had he been alone, maybe even offered some kind of homage. He was not alone. Aimee was here, and he had brought her into this den of wolves. He would get her out. “I have meant you no disrespect. I obeyed your commands, fighting by your side for centuries. I have bled for your glory. Have I not earned some peace?”

  “Not until I am finished.”

  “Your thirst will never be quenched.” Marc knew the depth of Damian’s depravity. He would not be pushed into that world again. He had more to live for. He had Aimee. He would not keep her near Damian.

  “It does not mean that I can’t try.” Damian laughed to himself. He had always enjoyed inflicting pain. “Besides, dear friend, there is so much pleasure yet to be had.”

  “I don’t want what you want, Damian. I just want to be left alone.” Marc knew that Damian did not like to be refused, but there was no other answer than no.

  “Then you should have died there on that field. Where is your hunger, your desire for life? Where is your passion? For her? You’re dreaming. Love is fleeting. Power and respect, those are eternal, Cwn Annwn. You are still the Hellhound, aren’t you?”

  Damian knew his darkest sins. He would not come when called, not this time. “If you truly felt that way, then you don’t know the bond I have with her.”

  “There is no bond that cannot be broken, and no union lasts forever.”

  “Have you never loved?” It was strange that in all the time they had known each other, Marc had never asked that question nor had the answer been happened upon on its own. He knew very little of his savior, of his mentor. He assumed that Damian’s lineage had originated in Romania, since he had taken him there after he was turned. He could have also come from Spain, since that was where his main home was at the time. Damian had never spoken of his distant past, before he became a vampire, and Marc had never before pressed him for it.

  Damian paused longer than usual. He seemed uncomfortable. “Once. That is how I know that love, like many things, is relative.”

  Just then, Aimee walked through the doors. Marc rose to his feet, as did Damian. “He has some manners then at least,” Aimee thought to herself.

  He looked her over, and then spoke to the women who had accompanied her. “She looks beautiful, thank you.”

  Aimee was beginning to get used to him talking past her. She hated the way that he looked a
t her. He made her feel like she was standing there naked. She could tell that he was used to having people cater to his enjoyment.

  Marc must have been pretty fed up with things too. The irritation was written across his face. His jaw was clenched, and his eyes had grown hard and cold. “You’re wasting time, Damian. It’s getting late, and I am growing tired of your games.”

  Just then, the doorbell rang. Damian flashed an eerie smile, and began walking toward the closed parlor doors. Looking back at them he answered, “On the contrary, our guests are just arriving.”

  Aimee could hear the sound of footfalls in the next room. Busy voices had gathered around the visitors. She listened intently to all of the “Oh, hello’s,” the “so glad you could come’s" and the “thank you so much for having us over’s.” When she reached the doorway, she could see that it was a group of young men and women. They looked nice, all dressed formally. They were enthusiastic about being there in the house, smiling and laughing. Everyone sat around the living room and started having cocktails, served of course, by the trio of beautiful women who had assisted her earlier. They appeared to be mostly from the local colleges. They had been invited by some of Damian’s followers, or “friends” as he called them.

  “This house is incredible,” she