Call of Blood: A Novel of The Unnatural Brethren

by Silvana G Sánchez

“Do not patronize me,” he replied. “I am not a child.”

  Oh, but he was. Antoine’s intoxication suddenly lost all amusement to him. Ivan’s patience ran perilously thin.

  “Let me tell you one thing—”

  “Is this a joke, Ivan?” Antoine scowled. “Is this your way of refusing me? You would deny me what I want?”

  “Now, wait—”

  “J’en ai marre d'attendre!” Antoine tossed the champagne glass against the wall, instantly smashing it to pieces.

  “Fed up with waiting—are you?” Ivan said. Oh, he's in for it now.

  Within seconds, Ivan disappeared from the middle of the room and reappeared inches away from Antoine, whose face then turned pale as parchment. Ivan’s preternatural green eyes and the hint of his sharp fangs had scared him to death. Good.

  “Bon sang!” Ivan hissed, crumpling Antoine’s shirt in his fist. “I have spoiled you, so much so, that you are blind to the consequences of what you ask!”

  The kid lowered his gaze.

  “What I ask in return is nothing compared with the life you seek!” Ivan paused. “Don’t you see the high cost this gift entails?” He now spoke in a soothing voice as he released Antoine from his frightening hold. “Oh, but what am I saying? Of course you don’t…”

  Antoine remained silent, with arms folded over his chest, biting the corner of his lower lip.

  Ivan returned to the sofa. “How can I make you understand the true length of what you want?” His voice was so low, Antoine wouldn’t hear a word he said.

  He had never wanted it. Becoming a blood drinker had not been in Ivan’s plans three hundred years ago as he traveled through Europe, immersed in the many delights of the Grand Tour.

  Thanks to Ivan, Antoine knew the dark side of the spectrum. He had every advantage to make the right decision… But still, he chose darkness over light. What was so appealing about living an eternal life, endowed with unnatural powers and ever-lasting youth?

  Oh, right.

  Good thing the choice had not been his to make back then—another reason to be thankful to his maker. Ivan missed him dearly. What would the millenary vampire Dristan have to say about Ivan’s use of his immortal gift so far? The question would remain forever unanswered.

  Before his mind’s eye flashed the image of Dristan’s translucent body, his ripped throat, the gap that drew an eerie smile from side to side… Not a spark of life in his empty hazel eyes.

  There was no coming back from where his maker's spirit now roamed. And no one knew this better than Alisa.

  I must find her.

  “I just want to follow your footsteps, to be like you. Is that so bad?” Antoine's voice filtered once more into his ears. Was it so bad—being like him?

  “I cannot help but wonder,” Ivan mused. “Is it your true desire to become an immortal serial killer, or is this yet another conquest, another trophy for your entrepreneur's shelf?”

  “You cannot doubt me now.” Antoine pressed his hand. “Not after all these years.”

  “Bear in mind Antoine that... deep within this wondrous gift lays an inescapable paradox. The path to immortality is paved with nothing but death.”

  “I understand,” he whispered, sitting beside him. “What I don't understand is why you would ask so much of me in return. Why must you test me like this?”

  “Test?” Ivan frowned. “This is not a test, my friend. It's an offer. One I will not care to make again.”

  “Well, now you're just teasing me.” Antoine leaned back on the sofa, and closing his eyes, he sighed.

  Oh, Antoine. You're the one who teases me... Baring your precious neck before me like that.

  Ivan smiled, in spite of his present frame of mind. “Consider my offer,” he said. “And, take your time. I can wait... Time is all I have.”

  Antoine bent over his knees. “Agh… I don’t feel well,” he groaned.

  “Of course you don’t.” Ivan patted his back. “You’re drunk. Let’s go. I’ll drive you home.”

  “You’ll have to take my car,” Antoine said, pointing at the balcony. “Those two are long gone… I’m guessing Phillip took your car.”

  “He wouldn’t dare.” Ivan took the keys from Antoine. “He knows better than that.”

  3:55 AM

  “He’s going to be mad as hell…” Phillip switched gears and pressed the gas pedal. The engine's roar piqued his enthusiasm for speed. What if he pushed Ivan’s Ferrari to the limit? Marianne wouldn’t want that. She hated racing. Besides, Ivan’s car was practically new. He would never run a new engine right off the bat like that.

  “So what? He’ll be angry for a while… Big whoop.” Marianne raised her arms and smiled as the cool breeze swept her hair. “Why won’t he let anyone drive his precious car?”

  “Not anyone,” he said. “Just me. It’s my hands on the wheel that frighten him.”

  Marianne turned and lowered her violet sunglasses just enough to peer over them. “It’s the racing, huh?”

  Phillip pursed his lips. “It’s the racing…” He nodded. Over the years, Phillip had built a special reputation for racing sports cars. He'd been involved in the occasional car crash—not once, but several times.

  Villa Belle Vedere’s gates loomed ahead.

  “Wait. I thought we were going to your place…” Marianne straightened her back on the seat. She looked ready to jump off the car the minute he pulled into the driveway.

  “I’m staying here for a couple of weeks… Do you mind?” raising his brow.

  “I don’t know. It’s been so long…” she mused. “Didn’t you notice how skillfully Ivan avoided me back there at the Lounge?”

  “I know, but—” Phillip pursed his lips. “It’s not like you went over to say hello either…”

  “You’re on his side now?” She frowned and slightly moved away.

  Phillip turned off the car’s ignition. Are we back to square one, my love? He was afraid to ask.

  These walls contained dozens of memories, echoes of the purest ecstasy he’d ever experienced in Marianne’s company. But this home also reminded him of times of despair, countless heartbreaking quarrels between them as the night when she would leave drew near.

  His sole certainty was that after many years, Marianne was here… but for how long?

  “Listen,” he whispered, sliding his hand over hers. “I’ve wanted this for a very long time. I wouldn’t forgive myself if you walked out of my life again… Marianne—”

  “Stop.” Marianne cupped the side of his face and leaned closer with the promise of an imminent kiss. “I want this too, Phillip. I need to be with you… I don’t care where it happens. I’ve missed you too much.” Her lips pressed against his in the softness of a kiss. “Let’s take this slow and… we’ll see how it goes.”

  There was more to Marianne than met the eye. Her eighteen-year-old body sometimes fooled him. But she was no longer a child, more than ten years had passed since her awakening.

  “Yes,” Phillip mused. “Let’s take things slow. Slow is good.”

  Locked in a passionate kiss, Phillip swept Marianne off the floor. Her thighs clasped around his waist. He carried her down the hallway. With a kick of his heel, he shut the bedroom’s door behind them.

  Unbidden thoughts raced in his mind, the many ways in which he’d dreamt this exact moment. A hunger so raw stirred inside him, an unrelenting need to invade her and devour her with sultry kisses.

  The grazing touch of her fingernails ran down his back, pulling off his shirt. Her searing lips pressed against his neck and worked their way down. Phillip moaned, surrendering to the torment of this foreplay.

  “You’re gonna make me beg?” he whispered in a low guttural voice.

  “Yes,” she said with a smirk. “Now, beg.”

  “Sorry, sweetheart…” In one quick move, Phillip pinned her to the bed, gripping her wrists hard. “I’m not the begging kind.” Lowering his body against hers, he drew close enough to steal a kiss off her lips
. And just when his mouth lay inches away from hers, he stopped.

  Phillip released her from his grip, and smoothing his hands down her sides, he hinted a smile.

  “What is it?” Marianne sat on the bed. “Don’t stop.”

  He gave her a knowing look. “I thought you wanted to take things slow…”

  She pursed her lips. “I love it slow. Take all the time you need, but don’t ever stop.” Marianne sniggered. And taking him by the shoulders, she pulled him back on the bed.

  Marianne embodied his every hidden craving—both manly and vampiric. No thought aroused him more than taking her as any mortal man would and then plunging his fangs deep into her neck where that precious drink of unparalleled ecstasy waited.

  Sex and the Blood. Both entailed unfathomable pleasure, it would be useless to compare them. The thought of merging the two overwhelmed his immortal mind beyond the point of delirium.

  Marianne reached for her shoulder and tugged at her dress, ready to remove it.

  “No.” Phillip caught her wrist. “Stay as you are.” This moment surpassed his wildest fantasies, and he intended to fulfill them all.

  The words he longed to say would remain forever unspoken. Don’t ever leave again. It was an impossible dream. Marianne was a free spirit. No force on earth could tie her down.

  Pushing those thoughts to the back of his mind, Phillip pressed his thumb against her neck, tearing the skin with his fingernail. Crimson blood poured from the wound, a slight scratch to the carotid artery, not enough for its stream to jet out. He sealed the wound with his mouth and only then did he sink his sharp fangs into her skin.

  Blow after blow of ecstasy filled his mouth in this vampiric drink. His mortal body lost inside her and trembled with desire, overwhelmed by the rapture of her blood coursing through his every limb.

  Drunk in the bliss of this embrace, she moaned. And as her body relaxed, Phillip shuddered, satisfied, elated. A sudden sense of peace enveloped him. For once, he felt at home.

  Phillip

  Darkness and silence. Amidst the silence, a melody emerged. A soothing croon enveloped him in the highest state of serenity.

  The darkness cracked into the shadows of a dimly lit room. Paneled tall windows offered a view of the Grand Canal. Its darkened waters barely visible if not for a few passing vessels guiding their way with oil lamps.

  Salty air impregnated his surroundings. Shattered glass crushed beneath his feet as he drew closer to the windows. He stood before a broken windowpane, tinged in blood.

  The flickering light led him to the hearth. There, behind a green velvet armchair, she sat. Her long and delicate fingers combed the locks of her pitch-black hair.

  I’ve seen her before.

  “Alisa,” Phillip said.

  The melody stopped. The woman rose from the chair. Only then did he notice her lavish pale blue gown drenched in blood.

  Piercing blue eyes locked on him the minute she turned. Delicate nose and rosebud’s lips, a beautiful porcelain doll. But of course, she was no doll. She was a powerful vampire, over three hundred years old.

  “Phillip,” she said without parting her lips.

  Slowly, she raised her hand which had clasped the other over her gown moments before. As it turned over, her hand opened to reveal a pearl necklace with a sapphire brooch. A plaque shimmered behind the precious stone.

  Bloodied tears fell from her bloodshot eyes. From the hearth, a sudden blaze lashed into the room, blinding him for a second.

  Alisa screamed.

  Another blaze poured out of the fireplace, far enough for him to feel the wave of warmth spread on his body.

  “It burns!” she said.

  Shading his eyes with his forearm, Phillip stepped back. Her cold hand snatched his wrist and pulled him closer.

  “Please!” she said in the same silent voice. With pupils large as ponds of unfathomable reach, Alisa’s eyes compelled him into an unbreakable trance.

  Dozens of images flashed before him, a blur of continuous snapshots frozen in time:

  “Viktor drowned in the frozen lake. His shrouded body lay over the parlor's oak table. Mother and Father suffered his loss immensely. Backed into the corner of the room, I hugged my arms, struggling to keep the pain inside as it ate away my hopes in one slow and painful feast....

  “I loved Ivan. And from the start, I knew that ours was a dark forbidden love... I conceded to his will in the name of what's pure and honest devotion. My mortal thread snapped by his own hand, Ivan made me what I am. And on a whim, he betrayed me with the witch Juliette. He broke my heart... yet I loved him still…”

  “It burns!” she screamed, releasing him from her hold. “Find me!”

  “Alisa!” Trembling and panting, Phillip rolled on his back and opened his eyes. His heart raced beyond control. He pressed his hands over his heaving chest, a fine layer of sweat covered his body.

  Wherever she was, Alisa suffered greatly at Ivan’s expense. And more importantly, she was in danger. Phillip had to find her… But how? This was nothing but torture.

  The heat from the hearth still spread over his body. Alisa’s pain clung to his flesh, but her revelation had cast a deeper imprint in his heart.

  From the shadows of the room, a hand emerged and landed on his shoulder. Phillip seized it by the wrist and pulled hard.

  “What the—?” Bright amethyst eyes gleamed in the dark.

  “Marianne…” Phillip released her. “I thought you’d be—” gone. “You’re here.”

  “Are you all right, Phillip?”

  “I’m sorry about that. I—” He hurried to pick up his jeans from the floor and slipped them on. “I’ll be right back.”

  Marianne frowned and pulled the covers. “What are you saying, Phillip? The sun’s still up…”

  “Yeah… I know, sweetheart.” He leaned closer and kissed her forehead. “Go back to sleep.”

  At least one of us will have pleasant dreams.

  “Where are you?” he muttered on the way downstairs. And all the while, her voice echoed in his mind: It burns! Find me, Phillip!

  Fluttering amber light poured from the library's doorway. Phillip pounded open the door and stormed into the room. And sure enough, Ivan was there. He sat before the desk, with the cell phone in his hands.

  “Do this for me, Edgar. Discretion is imperative… No more mistakes.” Ivan pressed the dial and finished the call.

  “You lied to me,” Phillip roared. “Dammit, Ivan... You've lied to me all this time!”

  A pretense of shock loomed in his maker's face. Phillip had to hand it to him, his maker did a fine job at deception.

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Ivan scowled. “What do you mean—I lied? May I remind you, I’m the one who should be angry. You stole my car!”

  “Enough games!” Phillip slammed his hand on the desk. Sheets of paper flew in the air. But Ivan didn’t even flinch. Instead, his cold-blooded maker relaxed in the chair.

  Raising his eyebrows, Ivan gave him a knowing look. “Happy now?” he said, annoyed. “I’m willing to tolerate this sudden rage of yours. But be warned, my patience has its limits, Phillip—even for you.”

  “I saw her, Ivan!” Phillip muttered. That he even had to explain it was outrageous. “Alisa spoke to me.”

  “Oh, did she?” Ivan set the phone aside. “And what does she want now? Do you know where she is?”

  “I know she suffers.”

  Ivan's eyes widened, his face went pale as a sheet. For a second there, his maker stopped breathing.

  “Explain yourself.” Ivan fought to gather restraint, but Phillip could well see through him. With a deep breath, his maker regained his habitual detachment which was so damn infuriating.

  “She told me of her misfortunes,” Phillip said.

  “Her misfortunes?” Ivan flinched, folding his arms over his chest.

  “How you deceived her into becoming a blood drinker—”

  “Deceived her?” Ivan rose from
the chair. His trembling hands landed on the desk.

  “She loved you, and you betrayed her—for Chrissakes, Ivan! Your affair with that witch broke her heart. It’s been so long and she still suffers for it!”

  “Enough…”

  “How could you do that to her after all she’s endured?”

  “Oh… So she’s suffered greatly, has she?” Ivan sneered.

  “The tragic loss of her brother, Viktor—”

  “Don’t you dare speak that name in my house!” Ivan’s quivering finger pointed directly at him. His breathing raced, his face flared. Ivan’s self composed demeanor went out the window. Phillip had never seen his maker so upset.

  “You know absolutely nothing, Phillip…” he said in a calmer tone, though obviously rattled. “Go back to bed. You’ll see things more clearly in the evening.”

  “What about Alisa?” Phillip urged.

  “What about her?” Ivan said. “Until you discover her whereabouts, I can only rely on Cassandra to find that wretched necklace and be over with all this!”

  “Why must you keep these things from me?” Phillip paced in the room, running his fingers through his hair. He sighed as he stopped by the hearth. “Gah! I wish you’d trust me… I’d never judge you.”

  Phillip turned to his maker once more.

  He was gone.

  “But I did, didn’t I?” he mused, defeated.

  Cassandra

  Cassandra sat on a faux fur white rug before the hearth. It was a lazy Sunday evening. She listened to Charlotte Gainsbourg’s In the End. Meanwhile, she sketched the one face engraved in her mind over the past two years.

  Faithful to detail, she captured Antoine's dark brown eyes. Each slow streak of charcoal, a cherished memory. But no matter how many times she tried to portray his likeness on paper, the results always proved unsatisfactory. Something was amiss. She drew well enough, but she failed to reveal Antoine's malicious naiveté.

  “I don’t understand you, Antoine…” she muttered. Cassie flipped the pencil and erased part of his eyebrows. “Not in paper, and definitely not in real life—which is worse. Gah!” She dropped board and pencil, giving up on the sketch for the fifth time so far.