The Cursed by Blood Saga

by Marianne Morea

  “Still brooding, Carlos? Why am I not surprised? So sad, really, how you still refuse to live for the day and the pleasures it can bring.”

  At the sound of the deep, baritone voice behind them, both Trina and Carlos turned. Stifling a gasp, Trina could only stare. The gentleman was imposing, and the resemblance he shared with the man Carlos had morphed into during her dream unsettled her to no end.

  Carlos frowned. “Sandro. I didn’t expect to see you here tonight. You don’t usually make appearances at these types of social gatherings. To what do we owe the pleasure?” Carlos inclined his head, and though his voice betrayed nothing but courtesy his eyes were suspicious.

  “You’re not the only one with a penchant for history, or with a taste for beautiful things,” the man answered as he turned the weight of his full gaze toward Trina. “Speaking of beauty, aren’t you going to introduce me to your lovely companion?”

  Trina could see Carlos’s jaw clench. The undercurrent of hostility between the two men was palpable, and she couldn’t help but wonder where it stemmed from. She gave Carlos a puzzled look as she waited for him to introduce her.

  “Sandro, this is my friend Trina Markham. Trina, this is an old…friend, Sandro Mendoza.”

  Carlos’s stilted introduction was polite but strained, and she had caught the other man’s cocked eyebrow at being dubbed an old friend. However, Carlos was nothing if not gracious, and she would be the same.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said, extending her hand. Sandro slid his fingers beneath the soft curve of her palm, lifting her hand to his lips. Trina stiffened, taken aback by the gesture. She was immediately uncomfortable. When Carlos kissed her hand the gesture was simple yet unbelievably erotic, but this felt off. For some unknown reason the man made her skin crawl and she had to resist the urge to pull her hand away.

  Sandro kept her hand in his. “And how are you enjoying the show, Ms. Markham?” he asked, his lips twitching a little as if he could sense her discomfort and enjoyed it.

  Straightening her shoulders, Trina eyed him boldly. “Very much, Mr. Mendoza. Carlos’s collection is as beautiful as it is vast, and he’s extremely knowledgeable about every one of his pieces,” she said, successfully extracting her hand from his.

  Carlos hadn’t taken his eyes off Sandro. They had narrowed to mere slits as if he were trying to read the man’s thoughts, and if Trina didn’t know better she would have sworn she heard him growl.

  “I brook no argument there, Ms. Markham,” he said with a smile that didn’t quite sit true on his face. Sliding his eyes to the side, he met Carlos’s glare and chuckled. “In that, it seems he and I are of like minds. Our natures are such that we both have appetites for the rare as well as the beautiful. However, that wasn’t always the case, eh, Carlos? It’s nice to see that you’ve finally improved your…tastes.”

  Carlos took a step forward, clenching his fists.

  “Touchy, eh?” His gaze fell back to Trina. Cocking his brow, he smiled knowingly. “Well, I’ll have to try to remember that in the future.”

  Sandro’s veiled threat wasn’t lost on Carlos. “Aren’t you going to introduce us to your companion, Sandro?” he said before the man could turn and walk away.

  Sandro turned back toward Carlos, his eyes narrowing for a moment before he plastered another not-quite-right smile on his face. Glancing dismissively at the golden-haired beauty on his arm, he shrugged. “There’s no need, really. She’s merely decorative and of no consequence to me, unlike your lady friend,” he said pointedly.

  Trina gaped. Shocked to her toes by the man’s outright disdain, she couldn’t help but look at the pretty blonde. Pretty didn’t go far enough. The woman was absolutely stunning, from her curvy body and flawless face to the thick mass of gold crowning it all. Everything about her was perfect—until Trina looked in her eyes. They were vacant.

  “Goodbye, Sandro. I hope you enjoyed yourself tonight.” Carlos’s words were gracious, but he made it clear the conversation was over. His face and his tone were flinty as he spoke, almost as if he were gearing up for a fight.

  “Oh, yes. It was very...enlightening. By the way, my boys wanted me to say hello if I happened to run into you tonight.”

  “Yes. It was, to use your word, enlightening when last I ran into them. Please remind them for me of my last invitation.”

  “Oh, we haven’t forgotten your hospitality, nor will we. Until we meet again, then,” he said with a flourish, but his eyes stayed on Trina.

  Trina took an unconscious step closer to Carlos. There was something about Sandro that had her body’s alarm system blaring. He was handsome, but his underlying cruelty was palpable, and Trina shivered instinctively.

  Sandro walked away with the blonde in tow and Trina let out the breath she didn’t realize she been holding.

  “Carlos, who the hell was that? I don’t mean to be rude, but there’s something definitely not right with that guy. Talk about your tense situations. What did he mean by that bit about never forgetting your hospitality? It sounded more like a threat to me.”

  Carlos exhaled, shaking his head. “Sandro and I go way back. We met in Spain when I was first…” he hesitated for a moment. “Well, let’s just say when I was much younger than I am now. We used to run with the same crowd, but then we had a falling-out over a mutual acquaintance and haven’t seen eye to eye since.”

  Carlos scowled at the empty spot where Sandro had stood. His mood had soured, and Trina felt a little awkward just standing there.

  “I bet your disagreement was over some hot little chica,” Trina teased, elbowing him lightly in the ribs trying to make him smile.

  It worked and he gave her a half smile. “No, it wasn’t. But it doesn’t matter anyway. It was long past. Unfortunately, my problem with Sandro now is that I don’t agree with the way he chooses to live his life. I know that on the surface that makes me sound like a snob, but trust me, it’s much more complicated than it seems.”

  “I know. What was all that business about his date being of no consequence? Can you believe the way he treated that poor girl? Either she’s really as dumb as the stereotypes say, or she has absolutely no self-esteem. I can’t imagine allowing anyone to speak like that about me. I feel bad for her. She looked completely clueless.”

  Carlos didn’t comment.

  “Come on, let’s get out of here. If you like Spanish antiques I’ve got a few at my place that might interest you,” she said, seeing his face cloud over again.

  “Well, I wouldn’t exactly call you an antique, querida, but interest me you do,” he said with a chuckle.

  “Very funny,” she said tugging on his arm. “Let’s go.” Linking her arm in his, they made their goodbyes and headed out.

  Chapter Eight

  Carlos turned onto Trina’s block, and luck was with them as they found a parking space two doors down from her brownstone. Trina talked, trying to keep Carlos from dwelling on what happened at the museum.

  “My great-grandmother’s family was originally from Spain, though I’m not really sure from where. She left when she met my great-grandfather and the two moved to England when they married. Her stories about what it was like for her growing up filled my whole childhood. Her horses and her dogs, how she loved the sea and the smells of the square on market day. She sort of romanticized the Spanish culture for me, so when I had the opportunity to search for some of her original furniture, I jumped at the chance.”

  Trina unlocked the front door and they went inside. The house was dark, so she went ahead, turning on the lights as Carlos took off his coat and draped it over the railing. The banister was polished mahogany and it shined like black ice.

  The whole house was warm and inviting. He inhaled, taking in all the different scents lingering throughout the house. Trina’s was the most prominent, but there was another, much older and much fainter, but familiar. It puzzled him.

  He took another step into the foyer and stared, open-mouthed. Intricately carved t
iles formed a mosaic pattern on the floor he recognized as one from the Alhambra Palace in Granada, Spain. He smiled at the memories it brought back.

  Trina came back in after turning on the lights in the kitchen and parlor. She saw the look on his face as he stared down at the floor.

  “Nanita loved visiting Granada as a child. She told me she used to run ahead into the palace when her family would visit there on holiday and dash from room to room and courtyard to courtyard. She’d run her fingers over the tiled walls and fountains imagining she was a Moorish princess, eating pomegranates and dates as her suitors filed past,” Trina giggled as she reenacted her great-grandmother’s childhood fantasy for Carlos.

  “It’s beautiful. Did your great-grandfather have it copied for her?”

  “Yes. He loved her very much. It was obvious, even to a kid, although I have vague memories of family arguments, ugly moments. My great-grandfather was a good man, but family drama claims he wasn’t the love of her life, that Nanita had been very much in love with someone else, but something happened, and they couldn’t marry. From what I gather, she never quite got over it, even though she did learn to love my great-grandfather. He understood her.”

  Trina led Carlos into the parlor and stood in the middle of the room, her arms out to her sides. “Well, this is it. These are the pieces I was able to find. What do you think?”

  Carlos looked around the room. It was obvious from the way the polished walnut gleamed that Trina truly loved these pieces from her family’s past. He looked at the ornately carved writing desk in the corner with its pawed feed, the Spanish baqueno chest with its ivory and ebonized wood, and finally the papelera, or Spanish secretary, with all its little hand-carved drawers and ivory inlays. But it was the small religious box sitting on top of the mantel that caught his attention. He walked up to the fireplace and lovingly ran his fingers over the carved images of St. Francis of Assisi and St. Anthony, and the delicate ivy and flowers intertwined around the top.

  “I knew someone many years ago who owned something similar to this,” he said, his voice almost a whisper. Lost for a moment in a memory, he cleared his voice and looked over at Trina. “The furniture is impeccable, Trina. You must have been ecstatic to find pieces in such good condition.”

  His reverie wasn’t lost on her and she wondered what he too had to leave behind in his life, just as her great-grandmother had to do. Taking him by the hand, she led him back into the foyer. “Come upstairs. There’s one other thing I want you to see.”

  She didn’t say a word as she led him upstairs into her bedroom. Carlos sat on the end of her bed as Trina lifted the top lid to her standing jewelry case and took out a wide, black velvet box. She brushed her hands across the top as if dusting it off before turning around with it.

  She walked over and sat next to him, putting the box gingerly on his lap. “Go ahead, open it,” she said excitedly. “It’s really old, but totally cool.”

  He hesitated a moment, and Trina nodded, pushing the box toward his hands. “It’s okay, go ahead. I want you to open it. I know you’ll appreciate it for what it’s worth.”

  Carlos ran his fingers over the velvet. The clasp on the box was beautiful in its own right and he gently pushed the little gold release. The box opened a crack and he carefully lifted the lid. Staring back at him was a gorgeous antique tortoiseshell mantilla. It was in perfect condition, not a scratch.

  “Beautiful,” he whispered. “Where did you get this? Was it your great-grandmother’s?”

  “No. I found it in at a flea market downtown, if you can believe that. I bought it for a song—they didn’t even know what it was. I had it appraised. It’s genuine and it’s more than two hundred years old.”

  “Try it on.”

  “What? No. I wouldn’t even know how to fasten it in my hair. Besides, I’d be too afraid I’d snap it in two, it’s so delicate.”

  “Allow me,” he said and before she knew it, he’d gathered her hair and pulled it back, fastening the antique to her hair like it was something he did every day.

  “You, señorita, are the most beautiful thing I’ve seen in a long time,” he said, leaning over to kiss her gently. “See for yourself if you don’t believe me.”

  Carlos turned her around to face the large, full-length pedestal mirror on the other side of the bed. He grabbed the delicate lace wrap she had worn with her dress and carefully draped it over the mantilla.

  Trina’s eyes widened at her reflection. The warm glow from the floor lamp shimmered against the bronze satin of her dress, and her hair cascaded down her back in soft curls. The mantilla fit perfectly, and the way the lace fell around her shoulders made her feel like she was meant to wear it.

  Trina stood, trailing her fingers along the fragile edge of the lace. Carlos stood behind her, and when she looked at their mirror image, it was as if they belonged to another time and place. His fingertips brushed against her neck as he gently moved back the lace. Leaning down, he kissed her bare skin, his lips traveling the length of her shoulder. His arms came around her waist and she leaned against him as his mouth continued to feather kisses along her neck.

  She turned in his arms and her lips found his. His arms were still around her waist and back, gripping the satin of her dress as his mouth devoured hers. She met his kiss with a hunger all her own and gasped when he finally broke away.

  Carlos reached up and undraped the lace shawl, tossing it casually over her bedroom chair. Taking the mantilla from her head, he let her hair fall around her shoulders in loose waves, running his fingers through the curling mass. His hands lingered for a moment as her pulse beat erratically beneath her soft skin before placing the mantilla back in its box and resting it on her nightstand. He didn’t say a word as he went about it, then just as quietly turned back to Trina and gathered her into his arms.

  Kissing her, he laid her on the bed, his hand traveling the length of her leg passed the curve of her hip, sliding once again around her waist. Trina sighed, sliding her foot in, her silk stockings rubbing softly against his pants. Her fingers trailed along the edge of his shirt as she bent her knee, the smooth satin of her dress slipping past and pooling at her hip exposing the thin lace of her thong.

  Carlos ran his finger under the thin edge of the dainty elastic and with a single twist tore it in two. Pulling the shredded material from under her, his fingers trailed along her delicate skin, the rough edges of his fingers brushing between her legs, and she moaned.

  “I want to look at you, Trina. I want to see all of you,” he said, his voice thick.

  Trina turned her head away, her hair fanning out against the pillow. She smiled secretly; her body humming with pleasure, but not only from his touch. His words made her feel beautiful, wanton, and more desirable than she’d ever felt and the fact that he wanted her so much made her almost giddy.

  Trying to be sexy, she slid off the bed. Still facing him, she moved a few steps back and turned around. Reaching behind her, she slowly unzipped the strapless satin, letting it fall to her hips. She shimmied out of the rest till it fell to her feet. Standing there in just her thigh highs and heels, she stepped out of the pool of satin and turned to face him.

  Carlos got off the bed and went to her. “Dio. You are exquisite,” he whispered as his hands skimmed her narrow waist and cupped her breasts. He leaned over and licked the puckered nipple on one, while his hand teased the other. Trina arched her back and moaned low in her throat.

  Carlos stepped back and shed his own clothes. With a sweep of his hand, he cleared her dresser, lifting her onto the polished surface in a single move. He sucked and teased her breasts while his hands explored every inch of her body. Her skin felt like electric satin as she shivered under his touch.

  He kissed her, his lips and tongue teasing her mouth as he slid his arm around her. His free hand glided slowly over her breasts and belly before stopping at the soft curls between her legs. With feather-light strokes, his fingertips circled and grazed her sensitive skin till she
arched into his hand, craving more.

  With an almost violent stroke, he delved into her slick cleft, his fingers pushing deep and hard. She was panting as her hips struggled to match his pace from her high perch. Shoving her knees apart, he dipped his head between her legs and tasted her, his tongue laving and swirling till she grabbed his hair in her fists and ground herself further into his mouth.

  She came hard as his tongue delved over and over, and as her body rocked with the aftershocks, he picked her up and carried her to the bed. He knelt in front of her, his cock long and thick as she crawled toward him. He fisted his hand around his shaft and squeezed.

  A tiny pearl shimmered on the edge of his head, and with a wicked smile, Trina licked it clean. She sucked in his head and swirled her tongue under its ridged edge, and as his breath hitched sharp and quick, her lips twitched slightly in a tiny smile.

  She slid her mouth entirely around his cock and slowly took it fully into her throat, sucking and squeezing till he growled. He flipped her onto her stomach, his voice jagged as he whispered in Spanish, pulling her hips up and back roughly, and then entering her with a single thrust. Pumping his hips, his balls slapped against her swollen sex. He rode her hard and fast and she met him thrust for thrust until she cried out, climaxing again.

  Carlos felt himself tighten and his head bulge as he pounded faster, harder. His face contorted and his fangs lengthened as the need for her blood swelled along with his cock. He snarled, and in the last moment turned his head, struggling against his nature so as not to reveal too much too soon as he exploded, pouring himself into her.

  It was too late. Trina pulled away from him, her eyes wide with terror as she choked on her scream. She had seen his face change in the same mirror he had turned her toward only a short while ago. Instead of seeing something out of a dream, it was something out of a nightmare.

  Shaking her head in confused horror, she scrambled back toward the headboard. Her eyes so full of desire only moments before now looked at him in fear as his come dripped down her thighs.