“You should have been there.”
That voice... It came from the parlor, but he was nowhere to be seen.
“Should have been where?” she said, scanning the room. Nope. No trace of him. Where the hell are you? Slowly, she got on her knees.
“At The Dungeon's Lounge…” he purred. His vampiric nature betrayed him with an enticing demeanor.
“And why would I do that—witness the mighty vampiric spell you cast over Antoine? No, thanks. I'm glad I stayed.”
At last, Ivan Lockhart emerged from the parlor. Standing in the middle of the hallway, he winced. “Well, when you put it that way, it takes away all the fun... It's disappointing, actually.”
Cassie smiled.
“I know your kind, Ivan. It's all a game to you,” she said, arms crossed over her chest, leaning against the brick wall. “You seek entertainment in every possible way. You need it desperately; otherwise, you'd be bored to death.”
He laughed. His velvety voice resonated across the hallway. The vampire moved into the living room, and there he stood, proud and alluring as ever.
“Bored to death,” he teased. “Your terms are endearingly simple.” Ivan leaned against the wall. He could not suppress a cynical smile. Within seconds, he recovered his gravitas. “Nevertheless, they ring true.”
“You know this game of yours will have to end at some point,” she said.
As Lockhart knelt beside her, she noticed a rosy hue beneath the paleness of his skin. He must have fed recently, which in almost every regard—save for the poor victim's—meant good news. At least he's not hungry.
“Listen, I really like Antoine,” he whispered. His voice and general demeanor conveyed a profound level of intimacy. Her cheeks grew warm. “I must be honest with you, Cassandra. I don't see myself discarding his company anytime soon…”
What?
This was not a trick, not one of his games. Authenticity came through his every word. Lockhart's revelation bewildered and disquieted her.
“I appreciate your honesty, Ivan. Truly, I do,” astonished as she spoke. The words came from her heart, and the heart never fails.
“I don't know how much you'll appreciate it after hearing the rest,” he mused, drifting his gaze.
“There's more?” She raised her brow. “What else is there for me to know?”
Lockhart sat on the floor and took a deep breath. Now, this can't be good.
“Well, I'm just going to say it.” He paused. “He's asked me for it. Antoine wants his share in immortality, and I—”
“Wha—? Wait. He knows?” Her eyes flew open. “No! Lockhart, you can’t!” Cassie clenched her fists. If only she could force him to do her bidding! Why would Antoine want to become a vampire?
“Have you deceived him—fooled him into wanting it with one of your vampiric tricks? Tell me the truth!” She got on her feet, but Ivan did not move an inch.
“I have not.”
“How long has he known—?”
“That I'm an evil creature that feeds off human blood?” He smirked. “I revealed my true nature to him little by little over the past few years, but I'm afraid he's always known. Somehow, he knew it before I ever confessed him my sin. And he’s asked me for it ever since.”
Her hand covered her lips. And as much as she wanted to be mad at Lockhart, she couldn't summon enough anger against him. This vampire had acted with more moral conscience than her beloved Antoine ever had.
“He can’t. There's no way he—” Why wouldn't he tell me? All these years he had wanted it, and she had been clueless.
“I’ve refused him more than once, Cassandra.” He rose from the floor. “I won't be able to keep doing this forever, you understand. I know you care for him.”
“I understand.” It didn't seem real, but it was, and she had to face it. “If he's that adamant on changing teams, nothing will deter him from it—he's that stubborn. And he'll find a way, with or without you... I just never knew—why are you here, Ivan?”
“Well, I wanted to come clean. It seemed to me you had a right to know—no matter what the outcome may be. And... I also want to know where we stand on the matter of the necklace. I could certainly understand if you refused to help me now that I've revealed to you my particular interest on Antoine.”
“I won't lie to you. I'm shocked, Ivan. But I'm even more astounded by the fact that I hold nothing against you—despite your perverse intentions towards my boyfriend.” She made that clear. “All my anger, all my hurt turns to him. He deceived me.”
The most uncomfortable silence brewed between them. One could almost touch the tension in the room.
“Tea?” he suggested.
She sighed. “Yes, please.”
Cassie followed him into the kitchen.
She had misjudged him. Lockhart was not an ordinary blood drinker. He was full of surprises. Honesty and empathy were but the tip of the iceberg... Perhaps not all vampires were the same?
Phillip
Disappointment built up in Phillip’s heart. He had wronged his maker, and Ivan’s reaction to the name Viktor proved it. Whatever stories Alisa had conveyed him with those images were incomplete. Surely, Ivan had his own version of what had transpired between them. Phillip should never have argued with him.
“Those terrible things I said…” he mused, stopping by the bedroom’s door. “Dammit, Alisa… What are you doing to me?”
A soft melody welcomed him as he walked into the room. The gentle fusion of sandalwood and vanilla poured from a few lit candles.
Marianne’s spontaneous appearances usually lasted less than a day. Without so much as saying goodbye, she would vanish at any given moment… But this time it was different. She had actually stayed the whole day with him. Phillip couldn’t help but feel hopeful. Perhaps this time she would stay for more than a few days, a year maybe?
Don't get your hopes up.
Marianne stepped out of the walk-in closet, dressed in one of Phillip’s white shirts. Her auburn hair was gathered in a high messy bun. She moved towards him holding an inquisitive stare. And leaning against the dresser, she crossed her legs—alluring as ever.
“Hey there,” he said. What was she up to?
She smiled. Gliding her hands over the dressing table, her legs uncrossed in the most suggestive manner. But Phillip wouldn’t fall for the trap, not yet.
He moved towards her, eager to smooth his hands over her toned legs. And just as he raised the shirt’s hem, Marianne avoided him, moving an inch back.
“What is it?” he said.
“Who is she?” Marianne asked.
“I don’t understand…”
She gave him a mirthless laugh. “You screamed her name earlier, remember? Alisa.”
He couldn't help but smile. Jealousy suited her quite well. “Yeah, I remember…” Phillip whispered with a hint of mischief.
“Who is she?” Marianne pressed.
Phillip bit the corner of his lower lip. For once, he had the upper hand, and boy was it fun.
“She's not you, sweetheart,” he said under his breath. “She'll never be you.” Slipping his fingers through her hair, he gave a quick tug to Marianne’s updo. Locks of auburn hair cascaded down and framed her blushing face.
Phillip pressed his body against hers. His hands closed around her waist. He went for a kiss that would silence all quarrels between them and open the door to a more pleasurable discussion. Marianne’s hands landed on his chest and glided upwards, stopping at the nape of his neck where she joined them.
“Phillip,” she whispered, inches away from kissing him.
“Yes?” he said, counting the seconds before he could remove that sole piece of clothing off her.
“If you think you can sweet-talk your way out of this, you’ve got another thing coming…” she purred.
“I’ll tell you everything,” he whispered. “Later.” He gripped her waist and carried her on top of the dresser. Cupping the sides of her face, he kissed her lips.
> “I swear, Phillip…” Marianne said. “If you weren’t so damn charming…” Her legs clasped around his waist and pulled him closer.
“You know that drives me crazy, right?” he said, delighted by her impulse.
“Yeah, I do.”
Phillip sniggered. He bit his tongue and pressed his lips against hers as the first rivulets of blood streamed from the wound. Locked in this Dark Kiss, he carried her away from the dresser and slammed her back against the wall. A little rough love wouldn’t kill her, she was immortal after all.
“Marianne...” he said with a guttural voice, sinking his face on her shoulder. “Do you think you could—?” Stay, he wanted to add.
“I can do anything…” she said in a sultry tone.
The doorbell rang.
Screw it.
He licked her neck, right above her pulsing jugular vein. Throbbing in his every limb, the need to immerse in her drove him to force open her shirt. He gripped her waist and sunk his sharp fangs into her neck. Marianne curled against his chest and moaned.
Warm and pulsing, a burst of blood shot into his mouth. And he took the first drink that would precede many others on the way to unparalleled ecstasy.
Damned noise!
Incessant, annoying—a car’s klaxon blared at the villa’s driveway. After a while it became unbearable… and distracting.
“Argh!” Phillip groaned, flustered as he parted from his lover's neck. “I thought he’d leave, but the man’s walking proof of persistence!” A quick pass of his tongue over his lower lip licked the remnants of fresh blood.
“Pay no attention to him…” she said. But no matter how tempting a thought that was, Phillip knew what he had to do.
“I must deal with him,” he said. “Otherwise, he’ll never leave… Wait for me?” Had this been a plea or a command? Perhaps both.
“Don’t be long,” she said. “I’m starving… Maybe we can grab a bite in a little while?”
“Sure, I’d love that.” Phillip kissed her beloved Marianne. He then headed outside, with no other thought in mind than to stop that maddening noise.
Phillip raised both hands, surrendering as he moved closer to the vehicle. “Come on, now. That's enough of that,” he said with frail tolerance.
It took the man a while until he removed his hand from the car's horn, latched onto the darn thing as if by a magnet.
With open arms and a lively attitude, the man stepped out of the black car. And thus, precious silence returned.
“Phillip, you know about cars,” he said, brown leather briefcase in hand as he went for a hug. “What do you think about my new Mercedes? Did you hear that horn?”
Phillip smirked and welcomed his embrace. “I believe the entire Island heard it, Edgar.”
Edgar Bolden had not an ounce of demure or discretion of his passion for luxury. In his mid-forties, he was a proficient lawyer at the height of his career. His relaxed attitude granted him a youthful air that took off him at least a decade. Disheveled light blond hair, a pale brown suit, blue shirt and brown loafers... He could get away with anything and still look handsome.
As they moved into the villa, he exuded a wonderful cologne that though fresh and distant from high citric notes left its aromatic trail wherever he walked... Perhaps he had applied it too freely.
“Would you care for something to drink?” Phillip opened the liquor cabinet. “We've got whiskey, brandy—or maybe I could interest you on some cognac?” He reached for the cabinet's door and took out the precious Baccarat bottle. “It's Rémy Martin's Louis XIII.”
Edgar dropped his suitcase on the spot and moved closer to catch a better view of the exclusive bottle. “That's over a thousand euros worth of cognac! Are you sure you should offer this to your guests? Unopened, pristine condition…” he mused as he inspected the tag and descriptions.
“Nah, I wouldn't offer this to an ordinary guest.” Phillip picked up the briefcase and placed it on the desk. “And, I'm sure you'd appreciate its taste better than me, Edgar. So please, go ahead. Open it.”
Edgar slipped on his bifocal glasses, holding the bottle at eye level. “As your financial advisor, I should protest... No one should drink from this bottle—no one but your financial advisor, that is.” He grinned.
“Who better to ascertain the quality of our investment?” Phillip said, amused as he opened the briefcase. He laid out the stack of documents over the desk, and upon consideration, he rearranged them in two piles.
“Is everything set, then?” he asked Edgar, who at this point knelt on the floor searching the cabinet for glasses.
“Yeah…” He groaned. “It's all there. I've already signed them, they just need your signature—you know what? There are no glasses here... I'll fetch them from the kitchen, if that's all right with you,” he said. “Meanwhile, you take a good look at those documents and if you have any questions, I'll be happy to oblige.”
Phillip nodded.
“Oh, I almost forgot.” Edgar stepped back into the room and pulled a folded piece of paper out of his jacket. “This was Ivan's special request. Give it to him for me, will you? I think he's still mad about—well, you know.”
“The hospital donation thing?” Phillip gave him a knowing look. “Yeah, a little bit. Sure, I'll give it to him.”
Edgar knew his way around the villa's grounds as he scheduled his visits on a monthly basis. Real estate, leases, licenses, landlord and property issues, stock investments, international money transfers... The list of his tasks went on.
Phillip preferred settling their affairs in the comfort of their home. Edgar had proven himself trustworthy over the years. More than the family's lawyer, Edgar was a good friend. Phillip cared for him. In fact, the Mercedes had been his idea of a bonus for a job well done.
He sat before the endless pile of documents and studied each of them with lightning speed—one of the perks of the Dark Blood.
He rarely revised documents in Edgar’s presence. Phillip’s quick grasp of legal aspects never stopped marveling him. But that was a given. He used to be a lawyer—way back when.
Within minutes, Phillip approved and signed every document.
What's taking him so long?
An hour had passed and Edgar hadn't returned. The wine glasses were in plain sight at the kitchen's cupboard… Had he ran into Ivan, maybe?
I better go after him.
All Phillip had to do was follow Edgar's trace of cologne. The scent led him straight to the kitchen. But as he reached the doorway, the strong fragrance changed.
Paralyzed, he stood at the entrance. A freezing wave rushed down his spine.
Overshadowing Edgar's powerful cologne, another fragrance filled the room. The perfume sat in the air, dense and penetrating.
Human blood.
Stealthily, he moved into the kitchen. The haunting sight of an empty glass over the table made him shudder. But it was as he took another step that horror gripped his heart.
Lying on the marble tiled floor, in a pool of his own crimson blood lay Edgar Bolden.
Dead.
Mona
Mona fastened her long black hair into a high ponytail. As she tightened it, her gaze wandered to the living room.
A large canvas hung on the opposite wall—their wedding portrait. André's close-cut grayish hair and ten-day beard gave him a worldly look of sexy maturity.
She slipped on an airy sports jacket, the perfect match for her hot-pink workout ensemble. A smile bloomed on her lips as she zipped it up.
A little over a year ago, she had married André—twice her age but the handsomest man alive and rich as Crassus. The first time Mona laid eyes on him, she knew he was the man she would marry. It had to be him.
They lived in a luxurious house atop Russian Hill.
André's work kept him away most of the year. His business forced him to travel abroad constantly on his private jet—their private jet.
In the beginning of their marriage, Mona joined him in his travels, but
it hadn't worked out the way she had hoped. André kept a tight schedule that left little to no time for her. So it really made no sense to go with him on those long business trips.
She picked up her EarPods from the coffee table and placed them around her neck. André had left for Paris a week ago. And although he stayed in touch as promised, it troubled her to know he would see her—Denise, his ex-wife.
Their two youngest kids lived with their mother in Paris while the eldest lived here, in San Francisco. Mona had made sure to drive her away from this house right after the wedding.
“Good riddance!” she mused. At twenty-four years old, she had no intention of becoming a stepmom to any of those kids. Cassandra, Mathilde, and... what was the other girl's name—the little one? She forgot.
“Josie,” she muttered. “How could I forget sweet Josie?” The little devil had brought a frog to the wedding rehearsal and set it free at the dinner table.
Mona tied her shoelaces and headed out for her evening jog.
Phillip
Horror crawled under his skin. Phillip turned into stone as with utter disgust he witnessed the harrowing scene.
Edgar’s body lay on the white marble floor, bright red blood curdling before his baffled eyes. And half an inch deep in that crimson elixir a pair of bare feet stood alarmingly still.
His gaze moved upwards, following the trail of smooth toned legs. They stopped at the hem of a white shirt—a familiar sight that could not be averted.
God, no… Please, no…
But the truth is oftentimes cruel. Drenched in blood, her quivering hands reached the shirt’s hem. Soft waves of light brown hair rippled under her shoulders, framing her face. She was an angel with blushing cheeks and red-tinged lips.
“M—Marianne?”
She jittered as he called her name. Her widened pupils held a vacant stare, drunk by the Kill’s thrill.
Call of Blood: A Novel of The Unnatural Brethren Page 8
