The Cursed by Blood Saga

by Marianne Morea

  Carlos slumped down in the chair next to Dominic. Leaning back against the cushions, he ran his hand through his hair. “Again, why didn’t you tell me? I could have protected them as well.”

  Dominic picked up the bottle, pouring them each more wine. “And what would you have done? Been a permanent fixture in their parlor every weekend? Become the proverbial third wheel? Isabel and Jeffrey were married. How do you suppose you would have fit into that equation? Would you have been able to move on? Would they? The answer is no, my friend. Jealousy and resentment would have eventually eaten at you. If you take a moment and think about it, you’ll admit I’m right.”

  Carlos had no answer. He sipped his wine and stared out into the black sky. “Did you know their family? Their children?”

  Dominic spoke carefully; aware what he had to say would be painful for Carlos to hear. “No, not at first. They had already been together for twenty years, and by then were no strangers to tragedy and loss. I was there for the family that came afterward. I was there when their children were born, and there when they buried them. It wasn’t easy for them living with their legacy, especially for the children. But one daughter...her name was Lisette…became enamored with the glamorous illusion.

  “It was 1901. England was enjoying an occult revival, and the publication of Bram Stoker’s Dracula a few years earlier captured Lisette’s imagination. She held the fantastic notion that the vampiric world was somehow her birthright. It didn’t take long for her to find out she was wrong. She died horribly, and poor Isabel almost didn’t recover from it. It was because of what happened that Isabel’s other children ended up denying their parents…why Alastrine’s mother and grandmother kept themselves away.”

  Carlos’s head jerked up. “Alastrine? You mean Trina? You know about Trina?”

  “I’ve known Trina since she was a little girl and first came to live with Isabel. Such a beautiful, bright child, and so unafraid. I’m sad to say I haven’t seen her in years.”

  “Then you know about us…her and me?”

  Dominic nodded. “Julian called me before you even got on the plane to come here.”

  Carlos didn’t know whether to laugh or kill something. “Trina doesn’t know anything about this. There’s no entry about it in any of the diaries. Why?”

  “Isabel couldn’t bring herself to write about it. It was just too painful for her, sweet woman that she was.”

  Looking at the floor, the little muscle in Carlos’s jaw worked as he turned things over in his mind. Before she died, Isabel told him she had tasted both joy and sorrow during her life, yet when he kissed her goodbye, he had only tasted the joy. She had forgiven him. Had she also forgiven the vampire that took her daughter’s life? “Dominic, did you or anyone else ever find who it was that killed Lisette?”

  The older vampire hesitated. “Yes…”

  Carlos’s head snapped up. “Who?”

  Dominic just looked at his old friend, the sadness in his eyes palpable. “Sandro.”

  Carlos sat up slowly. Red fury coursed through his veins. “Sandro Mendoza? He and I knew each other back then. He had to have realized the connection. Isabel’s blood was saturated, you said so yourself, so her children inherited the same through her. Son of a bitch!”

  “Sandro’s always been a bad egg, completely self-indulgent. Why should that surprise you? He’s always been of a jealous nature, especially towards you. Didn’t you have an altercation with him on your territory not too long ago? Julian mentioned something…”

  Carlos’s mind reeled. “Trina! Oh, God, no! I introduced her to Sandro at the art exhibition at the Met. He made some kind of a veiled threat about returning my hospitality, and in my stupidity I thought it was about the club and his two young bloods…shit!” Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he pressed the touch screen to call Julian, but the phone buzzed. It was a voice mail from Margot.

  “Carlos! It’s imperative you call home as soon as you get this. Sandro sent a note inviting you to his estate. He said the entertainment would be well worth the trip and enclosed a picture of Trina. He has her, Carlos. Come home. We need you.”

  He pressed save, and then turned to Dominic. “You heard?”

  “Yes,” he said, getting to his feet. “I hope you realize it’s a trap.”

  “I know, but the alternative is unthinkable. I have to go.”

  Picking up the paring knife, Dominic turned it over in his hand. “I knew that’s what you’d say.” Jabbing the sharp tip into his wrist, he held it over Carlos’s empty wine glass, filling it with his own blood. “Drink this. I know you’re strong in your own right, and that Robert’s blood was strong when he made you, but mine is even older and stronger. Trust me; you’re going to need it.”

  Carlos drained the cup. “Where’s the closest airport?”

  “I’m not from here, remember? Nevertheless, I do know it’s about a four-hour drive from Valencia to Barcelona or Madrid, respectively. Either airport will do. I’ll arrange your ticket from here and have it waiting for you at check-in. I’ll have someone take care of your hotel in Valencia and collect your things in the morning. Go, don’t wait. However, when this is all over I expect you in Rome…with your questions and your young lady. Entiendes?”

  “Entiendo. We’ll be there.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  A scanner almost invisible to the naked eye sat camouflaged next to a nondescript door at the far end of the hallway. Maurizio slid his card through the slot and the door clicked open. A dizzying sense of déjà vu washed over Trina as she remembered the same kind of door leading down to the kid’s quarters at Carlos’s house. Was that why she was brought here? To be Sandro’s new pet?

  Maurizio led the way down and Trina’s stomach fell even more. At the bottom of the stairs, there was no great room, no bedrooms or video game paraphernalia. It was empty and it was cold. A circular marble floor inlaid with zodiac symbols and surrounded by Greek columns graced the lower level.

  In the center was a single plush, red velvet chaise, like a stage set for a monologue or a one-person play. Matching velvet curtains hung to either side, in effect the exit and entrance, and a single wooden chair was placed on the floor directly in front.

  “Ahh, Ms. Markham, how good of you to join me tonight,” a softly accented, and slightly familiar baritone called from one of the corners. The sound reverberated off the columns, echoing in the emptiness. “Please, take a seat.”

  With it clear in her mind exactly who and what Sandro Mendoza was, there was no way she would lay on that chaise like a hot buffet. The only other choice was the wooden chair, so she walked over and sat down. Maurizio was immediately behind her. She felt his hands slide onto her shoulders and his thumbs press into her back on either side of her spine. Was he planning on giving her a massage, or was he merely tenderizing dinner? Closing her eyes, she swallowed against the hysterical laughter bubbling up in her throat, shifting instead in her seat against his tight grip.

  Maurizio’s lips brushed the back of her ear and she stiffened, her fingers gripping the arms of the chair. Inhaling sharply, she could taste the clean, soft scent of his cologne.

  “Really, Ms. Markham, I thought you’d appreciate my attempt at alleviating some of your tension. But perhaps my skills would be better employed elsewhere on your body,” Maurizio murmured, nipping her earlobe.

  Jerking her shoulder up and back, she shrugged him off. “Who said I was tense? I haven’t done anything to warrant anxiety. Mr. Mendoza barely knows me,” she shot back, her voice shaking despite her false bravado.

  She had taken Cox’s advice and dressed for the occasion. The clothes fit like a glove. No surprise there. It was no surprise either to find makeup and accessories waiting for her when she returned to her room. She knew she looked good, and under any other circumstances, she’d revel in feeling this beautiful. As it stood, she just felt like dessert. Maurizio’s voice was low and rough, and she didn’t need vampiric senses to guess his desire. A horny vampire li
cking his chops at her was the last thing she needed.

  Maurizio chuckled behind her as if he could read her thoughts. Perhaps he could and was laughing at her, thinking she looked good enough to eat. Bad analogy, Trina, she thought, and heard him chuckle even louder.

  But Maurizio quieted immediately, clearing his throat. It was no wonder, as Sandro stepped through the curtain to the left. He appeared just as handsome and just as cold as the night Trina had first met him.

  Dressed in a silky smoking jacket and black trousers, he wore a pleasant but insincere smile. With the way he moved and his sycophantic, over-solicitous manner, he could be a candidate for office—even with the vindictive light in his eyes.

  Trina’s heart skipped a beat. What would make him look at her like that? They had barely it made through the initial small talk that night at the Met. All at once, it dawned on her. She wasn’t a player in Sandro’s game—neither the cat nor the mouse—she was the cheese! Something unspoken had happened the night of the art exhibition that set this whole thing in motion. Her nightmare had come true. Sandro’s cruel face was the one she saw in her last dream. She had sent Carlos away, and now karma was the ultimate bitch, using her to lure him back into a trap.

  “I see by your intuitive shock that you’ve finally figured things out. Brava, Ms. Markham. I’m impressed, but then again, Carlos’s tastes always did run toward the clever. At least this time his choice is as appealing on the outside as well.” Walking across the floor, he gestured appreciatively, stopping directly in front of her. “You look lovely, if I do say so myself. The effect is perfect.”

  Trina steeled herself and met Sandro’s gaze head on. “I think you should know Carlos and I are no longer together. I broke it off nearly three weeks ago. I know for a fact he’s out of the country and didn’t say when he’d be returning.”

  Sandro seemed uninterested. “You’re not telling me something I don’t already know. Do I appear to you to be some kind of tenderfoot? Carlos and I have been playing this game of wit and parry for nearly a century and a half. He’ll come, if only to save face. However, something tells me this time the stakes are much higher. Your presence will make things quiet interesting. So now, we wait, but in the meantime, I’ve arranged for a little entertainment, a demonstration, if you will, of what it truly means to be vampire. An experience you are sorely lacking…am I right, Maurizio?”

  “Indeed, sir,” Maurizio laughed, snapping his teeth together for effect.

  Sandro turned on his heel. With a clap of his hands, the blonde who had accompanied him to the art exhibition walked through the curtain to the right. She stood, striking a pose in the entrance, and Trina wondered what else was hidden behind curtain number two.

  The blonde seemed to glide across the marble floor. Her sheer robe barely skimmed the surface of her body, its translucent fabric creating the illusion of shimmering skin beneath its folds.

  “Ah, Elsa. Good.” Turning back toward Trina, he proceeded with the mock introductions. “Ms. Markham, I’m sure you remember Elsa from our delightful time together at the Met. Unfortunately, Elsa’s memory isn’t as keen as yours, but I assure you she has many other talents, as you will soon see.”

  The blonde with the vacant eyes sat on the edge of the chaise, her hands resting at her sides and her eyes staring blankly ahead at nothing. Sandro flashed a smile dripping with mendacity and malicious intent. “Boys!”

  The two young vampires Trina had seen raping and draining that young girl in the back stairwell at the club walked through the same curtain as Sandro. Her body immediately tensed, and she had to cross her ankles, squeezing her calves together to stop her legs from shaking.

  Sandro’s eyes glowed. “Ms. Markham, I’m sure by now you’ve grasped the concept that a vampire is born to a legacy of blood. However, it is much more than that. It is power and strength. Carlos has shown you the barest glimpse into our nature. He is nothing more than a prime example of what happens when a vampire cannot sever its human bonds. The vampire becomes limited, weak, and sentimental. Now it’s time for you to witness the vampire in all its preternatural glory. Behold our true form!”

  The boy’s faces contorted. Gone was the veneer of graceful elegance, their beauty and glamour replaced by hideous features. Their jaws seemed to unhinge, growing to accommodate fangs and rows of sharpened teeth. Their necks thickened with bulging veins, and their hands bent and clawed.

  Trina’s mind flew back to her bedroom and the way Carlos’s face had looked when they were making love. He had turned from her, trying to hide his face as it changed. But she had seen it clearly, and his face looked nothing like this. He had fangs and his features had contorted some, but he still looked human. His hands and his neck hadn’t become gargoyle-like in the process. Could Sandro be right? Was Carlos weaker because of his lingering humanity? What if Sandro was correct in his presumption and Carlos came to save her, was the battle lost before it had the chance to begin?

  The boys circled Elsa, licking their lips. A low hissing, like the sound of a snake getting ready to strike, emanated from their throats. Elsa lay down on the chaise with her robe open, its shimmering fabric draping to the floor in an ethereal cascade.

  One of the boys ran a single clawed finger from her clavicle to just above her pubic bone. Rivulets of blood dripped in vertical rows down her torso and around the soft, fleshy mounds of her breasts. Kneeling on either side, the boys licked at the trickles, their hands shoved into their pants as they worked themselves into a hardened frenzy.

  “Tommy and Dan are my latest protégés, and such naturals. Aren’t they beautiful?” Sandro’s voice was thick through obvious lust, but his pride was apparent. His eyes fixed on the two boys like an alpha lion watching his cubs make their first kill. Problem was lions sometimes ate their young.

  His head swiveled back to Trina’s horrified face. “They may be my newest additions, Ms. Markham, but Maurizio is my firstborn. My heir apparent, so to speak.” Turning toward Maurizio, who stood behind Trina’s chair, Sandro smiled. “Isn’t that right, my son?”

  “Whatever you say, sir,” Maurizio answered, his voice clipped with bloodlust.

  “Oh, dear. Forgive my bad manners, Maurizio. You may join the boys if you like, but I’d hurry if I were you. They do tend to be a little sloppy about things.”

  Maurizio’s voice was still rough, but composed. “I’ll wait for the prime choice that was promised me,” he replied from above Trina’s head, his hands sliding down from her shoulders to cup her breasts. She tried to struggle against him, but couldn’t move. With one swift pass, the creamy silk shredded in his hands, its jeweled beading falling to the ground like so many pebbles. Plink, plink, plink.

  “Careful now, mijo. We don’t want to spoil things for Carlos when he gets here.”

  Maurizio growled in response. He held her immobilized and no matter what she did she couldn’t lift her arms to protect herself. Grazing her nipples through the thin fabric of her bra, he slipped his thumbs beneath the appliqué and shoved the lace cups down. The full weight of her breasts fell into his hands. “You will taste as good as you feel when I sink my teeth into your flesh.”

  Trina screamed. Tears ran hot and fast down her cheeks, dripping onto her exposed breasts.

  “It’s useless to struggle, my dear.” Sandro laughed, spreading his arms in a conciliatory gesture. “You are quite powerless.” He walked around to the front of the wooden chair, his back to the sound of his other sons feeding. With his hands on Trina’s knees, he leaned in as Maurizio continued his play. His face was so close she could smell his blood-scented breath.

  “The reason why is rather an interesting story. Years ago, I came upon a girl very much like you. She made some absurd claim that she belonged with us, that her bloodline made her special. She was young and beautiful, and she was willing. I had to have her, so I did. Her blood was so potent, so out of the ordinary that I drained her, her heart stuttering to a halt beneath my hand. Yet, before I could retract my fa
ngs, her blood sizzled through my veins like liquid fire. It held a power unlike any I had ever tasted, and somehow my body absorbed it.

  “So great was this new ability that it unnerved me. It’s taken me a century to master it, and the last decade to pass it on to my progeny. We simply call it the voice, and with it we can hold our victims helpless. We can manipulate their senses, make them feel things, do things they would never do. It’s much more than a simple glamour or thrall. Maurizio is using it on you now. It’s amazing, isn’t it? And it even works on our kind. So far I’ve only tried it on young bloods, but tonight we’ll get to see if it works on a much older and stronger vampire.”

  At that moment, Elsa screamed. The boys were bickering, arguing, and swiping at each other with razor-sharp claws while the pathetic blonde writhed on the blood-soaked chaise, covered in bites and blood.

  The sound was so abject that even Maurizio and Sandro stopped to look. Slowly Sandro stood, turning toward the boys like a parent ready to admonish a pair of petulant toddlers. “Haven’t I warned you both about this before? Look at the mess you’ve made…and poor Elsa. Is the way you treat my gift? I thought you both ready for this, but I guessed wrong. Rival or not, it’s no wonder Carlos was moved to teach you a lesson. Strip that wet mess of a robe from her and let Papa show you how it’s done.”

  Sandro put his hand out, whispering softly in Swedish. Immediately Elsa was calmed. She pushed herself up on the chaise, and as he continued to speak, she sat up, arching her back. Her eyes were half closed, and she nearly purred with need. Pushing her high, firm breasts forward, she slid her fingers over her jutting nipples, her body slick with blood. Sandro’s face contorted, his fangs descending, and Elsa moaned in anticipation, leaning back against the curved edge of the chaise. Spreading her legs, she let her head fall back in an explicit invitation to both her sex and her throat.