The Cursed by Blood Saga

by Marianne Morea

  The manservant opened the door tentatively and choked at the horror in front of him. He cleared his throat, and in a strangled voice replied, “Yes, sir?”

  “I need you to tell me everything you know about Robert, how he lived, and if there are any more of…of…his kind…around.”

  Jeffrey just nodded, seemingly afraid to open his mouth for fear of inciting whatever wrath had caused all this mayhem.

  “Tell me, did Robert tell you of his plans?” Carlos swept his hand around the room. “Did you know that Isa—” His words cut off. He couldn’t bring himself to say her name. “That the woman was attached to me?” he finished, his face heartbroken as he looked down at her.

  Jeffrey shook his head quickly. “No, sir. I only surmised it when the lady was so concerned about finding you, about your welfare. It was then I guessed what Sir Robert had planned. He knew you wouldn’t be able to control yourself.”

  “Thank you, Jeffrey,” Carlos said softly as he knelt once again at the side of the bed. He wrapped his hand around Isabel’s lifeless one and kissed it.

  Stunned, Jeffrey stared at Carlos, watching him in his grief. In all the years Robert had been his master, he had never once seen him show any depth of emotion, only cruelty and self-indulgence. “Sir? There still may be a way to save your lady.”

  Carlos’s head whipped around. “What do you mean?” he asked suspiciously.

  Jeffrey shuffled back a little toward the door, his eyes widening in fear. “Forgive me, sir, but you would have to give her your blood,” he said, wringing his hands.

  Carlos pulled his lips back over his teeth and hissed. “What, and damn her to this same monstrous existence? She’s better off dead,” he snarled.

  The poor man put his hands up in front of him and spoke swiftly. “That’s not what I mean, sir. If she takes some of your blood, it might be enough to heal her.”

  Carlos climbed to his feet and took a few steps toward the man. “What do you mean might heal her?”

  Jeffrey answered slowly, calmly, not wanting to give Carlos any reason to attack. He knew the man’s humanity hung by a thread and didn’t want to do or say anything to cause it to snap. “Please, sir. You asked me to tell you what I know, and I know this—if there’s even a spark of life within her, and she takes your blood, it will heal her enough that she might be able to survive on her own.”

  Carlos took a deep breath, not only to check his control, but to further evaluate the man’s statement. He tasted the man’s fear in the air and knew he spoke the truth. “Explain. How do you know all this?”

  “Sir Robert,” Jeffrey replied quietly, his eyes downcast. “I was a manservant in his father’s house. Upon his death, everything, including the staff, transferred to Sir Robert. He had been gone for years, and when he returned to claim his inheritance we found him…much altered.” Jeffrey hesitated, his face pallid as he spoke. “Of course no one knew for sure what had happened to Sir Robert, and though his proclivities were hushed, they were widely known amongst the staff. We lived in fear of him. One night his attentions turned toward me. I tried to run but…” Jeffrey’s words froze, not sure whether to continue.

  “Go on, Jeffrey, please. I will not harm you,” Carlos encouraged.

  Jeffrey cleared his throat, and when he spoke again his words were a mere whisper. “As punishment for refusing him, he nearly drained me, and when I was near death he forced me to take his blood. Only a few drops, not enough to cause a conversion. It took a while, but his blood allowed me to heal over time. I’ve been bound to him and to secrecy ever since. Until now.”

  Carlos looked at the man and felt pity. How many other lives had Robert ruined? How many others like himself had he made into living monsters?

  “How long ago was this, Jeffrey?”

  The poor man’s hands shook as he wiped his brow. “The year of our Lord 1667. I was seventeen years old.”

  Carlos’s face was blank for a moment as he took in the basic statement. The man in front of him seemed no older than Carlos’s own father, but in fact was closer to ninety! If what he claimed was true, then not only could he save Isabel, but also give her the chance for a full life. Perhaps God would hear him after all. He prayed silently.

  Carlos bent over Isabel and tenderly kissed her cold lips. He offered up another silent prayer that there was some spark of life left within her. He listened with his new hearing, trying to decipher any hint of a heartbeat, praying that God would grant him the strength to do what had to be done.

  He slid his arms behind her neck and shoulders and lifted her slightly off the pillow. Her head fell back, plainly exposing her ravaged neck, and he swore.

  Trying to move her as little as possible, he rested her head on his forearm and bit down lightly on his wrist. Jeffrey had warned him only a small amount of blood was required, and that too much would cause her conversion. He raised his hand above her mouth, and as the blood welled, it trickled into her mouth a little at a time.

  Moments passed like hours and Carlos looked toward Jeffrey in frustration. “Be patient, sir. Her injuries are grave,” the man answered nervously.

  The vampire snarled at him in response, and the poor man backed himself against the wall.

  The slow trickle ran over Isabel’s chin and down toward her throat, mingling with what was left of her own blood. Carlos slid his finger over the tiny rivulet, and then brought it to his mouth, licking it clean. He jerked his head to the side, ashamed that even now, while trying to save what was left of Isabel’s life—if there was anything left to save—the call of the blood was almost irresistible.

  He turned to Jeffrey, who still cowered in the corner of the room. “Talk to me. Tell me what else you know about the life I now lead. Am I as alone as I feel?”

  They talked as the minutes passed, each man glancing furtively to where Isabel lay motionless as stone while they spoke. Jeffrey told him all he knew about Robert and the life he led, but admitted his knowledge was limited to only what he had witnessed and overheard.

  “Are there more like me?” Carlos asked, his voice a mere whisper.

  “All I know is that Sir Robert did associate from time to time with others of his kind. He would throw amazing galas, dinner parties and invite all manner of guests. The next morning the staff would find…well, you can imagine what we found,” he said, glancing around the room.

  Carlos inhaled deeply and closed his eyes. “Then it’s true—he made me into an inhuman monster,” he murmured sadly.

  They sat there in silence, the only sound the slow drip, drip of blood into Isabel’s mouth. Suddenly Carlos’s eyes snapped open. “Jeffrey, if this is successful, I will need you to bring Mistress Isabel home immediately. I cannot trust myself to be around her—or you, for that matter. When you leave here with her you must not return.”

  Jeffrey nodded. “Will you take my blood before I go?”

  “Why in heaven’s name would I do that?”

  “So that if you ever need me you can find me. It will be the same with your lady. From now on you will always know where she is.”

  “Jeffrey, I have no idea what kind of monster I am. Terrible rage tears at my mind, while a gluttonous craving gnaws at my insides. The only thing keeping me from the blood in your veins is the woman in my arms, and my need to save her. You will leave, or you will die. It’s as simple as that.”

  Carlos closed his eyes as he felt the thirst begin to rise. He gritted his teeth, concentrating instead on Isabel’s pale face and blood-matted hair. Without realizing it he squeezed his fist, forcing more of his blood to flow into her mouth. As it gushed forward, Isabel’s hands sprang up, clutching his wrist.

  She fastened her mouth over the wound and sucked. She took long, deep pulls and Carlos could feel his blood rush from him. He growled low in his throat and felt his groin thicken. His sex grew more engorged with every drop she took.

  He snatched back his wrist, sealing the wound with a swipe of his tongue as Isabel sagged against the pillow. Holdi
ng his wrist to his chest, he breathed raggedly, trying to regain his control. His body felt as if it were about to burst. He backed away from the bed and turned toward the windows. The realization this was the same kind of frenzy Robert had wrought on him left Carlos gulping for air. His chest constricted and his mind raced. This was to be what encompassed his new life: blood and sex, together with violence. He wanted to die.

  Carlos swung his gaze back toward Isabel. He forced a deep breath and willed himself into control. At least some good would come of this horror. Isabel would live. She was weak, but she was alive. Her cheeks were still chalky, but they had lost the gray tinge of death, and the raw edges around the wound on her neck had somehow mended together.

  Though far from healed, the scent of death no longer clung to her. Carlos instructed Jeffrey to fetch clean blankets from another room and to ready Robert’s carriage for the ride into Valencia.

  Isabel’s eyes were closed, but Carlos knew she didn’t sleep. He ran his fingers down her ashen cheek and her eyes fluttered open at their touch. “Carlos,” she croaked her voice a weak whisper. “I thought I dreamed you…that I was dead.”

  “Shhh, Isabel, close your eyes. You need to rest,” Carlos said, turning from her. He didn’t trust himself to speak.

  She looked at him, and even in her weakened state she knew he wasn’t the same. “Are you an angel or a demon?”

  “I don’t know what I am anymore, but I know this—you are going to live and for that I will be forever grateful.”

  “Will I ever see you again?”

  “No.”

  Isabel struggled to sit up. She reached for Carlos, pulling him down to her. “No, Carlos? Why? I don’t understand!” She sobbed against him, her tears dripping to her breast as her blood had done earlier.

  “Isabel, please. I can’t tell you more because I don’t even know myself. I will always love you, but my life as I knew it is over. What should have been between us is gone and can never be again.”

  She clutched him tighter to her breast. The scent of her this close and the thrum of her heart, even weak as it was, had his body trembling with thirst. Carlos had to turn his head as his incisors lengthened. Pressing his lips together, he fought the urge to tear into her flesh. His teeth pricked his bottom lip and the taste of his own blood was once again sharp on his tongue.

  He breathed slowly, registering each breath as he clamped an iron fist around his control. When he felt sure, lifted her hand to his lips, kissing it before finishing what he had to say.

  “This I vow: I will hear you if you call and I will come no matter where I am. With your last breath, I will kiss you and taste the true joys of your life. I will know then my own life had meaning in that I gave you the chance to live—even if I could not.” With steely reserve he brushed her lips with his, sealing his promise.

  The door to the bedroom opened and Jeffrey came in with blankets and a small bundle of clean clothes and some food. Gently he helped Isabel ready herself for her journey as Carlos stood at the window.

  From the corner of his eye, he saw a faint glimmer of gold at the edge of the bed. He frowned as he bent to retrieve it. It was Isabel’s locket. The once delicate ribbon used to fasten it around her neck was now torn and bloodstained. Scowling, he swiftly discarded the remnant, pulling a thick, silken cord from the tattered curtain and threading it through the delicate gold in its stead.

  “We’re ready to leave, sir,” Jeffrey said, with Isabel safely ensconced in her blankets. “Will there be anything else before we leave?”

  “Just this,” he replied, fastening the locket around Isabel’s neck where it belonged.

  She reached up and touched it as she did just two weeks before. Two weeks. That was all it had been, and now it would be an eternity.

  Jeffrey carried Isabel out. She turned and looked at Carlos one last time, her hand still on the locket. “I will keep it always,” she whispered as they disappeared around the corner.

  Carlos reached into his bloodstained shirt and held the tiny portrait against his chest, “As will I.”

  Chapter Six

  Trina rolled over, her arm flung carelessly across her eyes as she breathed a contented sigh into the stillness of her room. Behind her eyes a familiar and longed-for scenario took shape once again. Even in her sleep she smiled as she took her first steps along the known narrow path, her eyes closed in anticipation. Somewhere in the back of her mind she had been afraid her dreams would cease now that she had met Carlos. But here she was again, as always, and her pulse raced as she moved quickly toward her spot by the water.

  When she got to the pool she sat down on the same boulder and breathed in the fresh, clean air. She opened her eyes, expecting to find nothing but darkness, but instead had to shield her eyes from the blinding sun glittering off the water.

  She blinked a few times as her eyes refocused. She could see! Everything was so beautiful, so vivid! She reached down to touch the soft down of the willow as it dipped into the water. It reminded her of a young girl’s hair cascading into a soft pool. Smiling, she turned to take in her first view of the woods, trying to match the images with the familiar sounds that had surrounded her in the blackness.

  Suddenly she was nervous. Would he still come? If she could see, did that mean things had changed? Trina couldn’t help but wonder if meeting Carlos was the reason why tonight’s dream was different.

  Without warning she was on the other side of the pond, yet could still see herself sitting on the boulder, waiting. It was as if subliminal roles had changed and now she was outside herself, a spectator in her own dream.

  She watched herself turn, startled by a noise from the forest, following as she saw herself stand and walk toward the trees. She smiled to herself, expecting to see Carlos step out of the darkness with his arms outstretched.

  Suddenly the dream shifted, and Trina was back in her body, but there was still someone watching her from across the pond. Shielding her eyes, Trina squinted. She could see the familiar woman standing there across the water, watching her as she had just done. Everything across the pond seemed a mirror image of where Trina stood, but something was wrong.

  It was then she realized the woman across the water was her great-grandmother. For a moment Trina froze, stunned. Instead of an old woman, her great-grandmother was youthful and vibrant as she was in the pictures Trina had seen as a child.

  Her great-grandmother laughed and held out her hand, but when Trina tried to move, she couldn’t. She was frozen in place. From across the water she yelled to her for help, but her great-grandmother just shook her head and smiled. Turning toward the trees she laughed again, and the sound was like the tinkling of bells, flirtatious and playful, and it seemed a strange sound out of place and time.

  A man stepped out from behind the trees, and his face was one Trina would recognize anywhere. Carlos. He walked with a seductive grace towards her great-grandmother, pulling her into a lover’s embrace, stroking her hair and whispering to her.

  Her great-grandmother whispered back, placing her hand lovingly on his cheek. From her distance in the dream Trina strained to hear, but couldn’t.

  She called to them, but they seemed not to listen. Carlos slowly slid his hand around to cradle the back of her great-grandmother’s head, gently running his fingers through her hair. He leaned down, and when he kissed her mouth she went limp in his arms.

  Trina watched as he gently laid her on the ground. Her great-grandmother’s face had changed. She was no longer the youthful beauty she had once been, but instead the old woman she was now—and she was dead.

  Trina screamed and Carlos whirled to see her standing on the other side. He reached out his hand beckoning. He smiled calling to her, but just as she took a step toward the water’s edge his face distorted, morphing into the face of a stranger. His smile was hard and cruel, and she suddenly felt cold, tiny fingers of fear brushing across her skin. She turned and ran, tripping over roots and fallen branches, running in terror as if somet
hing followed close behind.

  Trina woke in a sweat with her head pounding. Stumbling from her bed into the bathroom, she groped for the tap and splashed water on her face. Panting, she stood in the dark with her hands on the edge of the vanity. “What the hell was that?” she whispered, trying to catch her breath.

  She stood there for a moment trying to shake herself back into reality. After drying her face, she opened the medicine cabinet and took two aspirin before she walked back to bed.

  “Freaky, weird-ass dream.” she said, and climbed back under her covers, mumbling about late nights and fried chicken. Tossing back and forth, she rearranged her pillows a few times, but knew there was no getting back to sleep.

  Leaning over, Trina looked at the clock. Nine thirty a.m. She’d gotten only four hours of sleep. Flopping back onto her pillows, she stared at the ceiling. Four hours. If she didn’t take a nap at some point this afternoon she would look like the bride of Frankenstein when Carlos came to pick her up this evening.

  Carlos. She chewed on her bottom lip, and wondered what he’d think if she told him about her dream. As if her life wasn’t strange and tragic enough! From the time she was very small she’d heard warnings of how their family was under some kind of curse. Her great-grandmother swore it was true, and even her great-grandfather, of whom she had only vague memories, had believed it too.

  Trina’s grandmother had lived with Nanita’s crazy notions all her life, even after she married. When Trina’s mother was born, the family had more or less broken all ties with the house in Gramercy Park. Trina could only remember seeing her great-grandparents a handful of times…until her great-grandfather’s funeral. That was when everything changed.

  She lay there and remembered how they all had flown in for the memorial service; her mother and grandmother barely speaking to her great-grandmother, and the hushed arguments that ensued over the next few days.

  Trina could still remember peeking around the corner into the dining room, hearing her grandmother tell Nanita never to call or speak to them again. The woman stormed out of the room, leaving Nanita in tears. As far as Trina’s family was concerned, that was the end of it, and they wasted no time leaving that very evening for the airport.