Ivan
He wasn’t supposed to be here. He was supposed to be hunting in the nastiest boroughs, seeking his drink for the evening.
Ivan turned off the car’s ignition and opened the door. He leaned against his red Ferrari Spider, staring into the place through its window. The lights were off, but she was there.
What on earth am I doing here?
The question popped into his immortal mind, but why would it matter where he was—where he had chosen to be at this moment?
It wasn’t important really, why he roamed inside the little bookshop. The fact that he had decided to pursue her—now that was a more interesting subject for his vampiric gray matter to analyze. But he wouldn’t give it another moment’s thought.
The fact of the matter was that he had invariably driven into her street. He had found it impossible not to stop by and wander in this quaint and lovely spot of Little Italy.
It had been too long since he’d seen her last. Ivan had tried to maintain a prudential distance from her—though why, he could not tell. He knew of Elizabeth’s passion for his kind—perhaps his presence would lure her even more into his vicious brethren’s circle? Who knew why he did what he did! The thing was, he was here now—to hell with prudence and measure!
Ivan moved further inside through a narrow corridor. A wooden door lay at the end, slightly opened. A small beam of light poured through the gap. He slowly pushed the door and stepped outside, to the small terrace.
Beautiful white string lights pended from the tree’s branches around him, creating a delightful and almost magical atmosphere.
He found her sitting before a round table, scribbling away into some journal. Elizabeth had been so engulfed in this activity that she hadn’t noticed Ivan’s presence, even though he concealed it no more.
“Dreaming away in your writing?” he playfully said.
Her shoulders jumped a little as she heard his velvety voice interrupting the silence of this sacred garden—her refuge from the world.
“It’s been a while, Ivan.” She smiled. “I’ve missed you.” The words went shining through into his brain.
He sat on the chair beside her. “Am I interrupting?” What was it that she wrote with such intense commitment? He wanted to know, but he figured it would be rude to ask the blunt question, so he didn’t. Look at me, concerned about propriety and social conventions. That’s a first!
She closed the notebook and slid it aside. For a moment, Ivan fancied clasping that diary and prying upon its content with selfish elation. It would only take him a couple of minutes to learn its secrets.
“You’re not interrupting,” she said as she poured herself a glass of red wine. “I’m guessing you’ll pass?” Elizabeth gestured a swift offer with the bottle in her hand. Ivan nodded. “What brings you here?”
For too long I’ve lingered upon the thought of offering you the Dark Blood, he wanted to say. He craved the company, what with everything in his world reaching the brim of collapse—Antoine’s detachment, Marianne’s independence, and most important of all, Phillip’s own troubles of the mundane, pulling him each time farther away from his maker.
“You,” he said simply. “Is a vampire not allowed to make social calls now and then?” A brief smile.
“It’s something else, isn’t it? I can see you’re troubled. What worries you?” Elizabeth knew nothing of tiptoeing around issues. She went straight to the point. Ivan liked that about her, and she could tell he did.
“What is this, some talk-show exposé of an Immortal’s deepest concerns?” He smiled. “But yes, you’re right. I am troubled. I do not wish to dwell upon the reasons for my unsteadiness at this time, however. I come here seeking the exact opposite—a deliverance from those issues that torment my preternatural mind. And you my dear are the perfect remedy to draw my attention elsewhere—somewhere prettier, if I may say.”
Elizabeth granted him half a smile. “I’ll take that compliment.” She reached over the wooden table and pressed his hand. She must have noticed it was terribly cold.
“You know, I’ve often thought about that night, at the hospital…” he said. “Do you remember?”
“I will never forget it for as long as I live.”
“How frail you seemed to me as you lay on that bed—your injured body on the verge of death,” he mused. “When I saw you, I have to say, the thought about turning you crossed my unnatural mind… and I didn’t even know you.” A brief gasp of amazement.
“And why didn’t you?”
“I honestly don’t know.” He shrugged. He was being completely truthful. “I have often wondered about it myself—what stopped me from doing it, what redirected my thoughts into healing you with my ancestral blood instead… I’m sorry I cannot give you a better answer at this moment.”
She dismissed his worries with a slight shake of her head.
“I’ll tell you another thing.” He leaned over the little table and spoke into her ear—a deliciously intimate gesture that sent a rush of excitement through her every limb. “I realize you’ve had a taste of my blood—more than a taste, in fact—however, I have not been that lucky regarding yours… and I cannot help but wonder…” He slid further and brushed his silken lips against her earlobe.
Ivan’s appetite for her was undeniable. For too long he’d refrained his desire for a brief drink of her blood—just a simple drink, nothing more. Phillip wouldn’t mind, would he? Ivan was, after all, her rescuer from death. That would account for something, wouldn’t it?
“So… what do you say?” he whispered beckoningly. Another first for him. Normally, he would take what he wanted—no questions asked. But then something happened that struck him even more. It was her answer to his mischievous proposal.
“Who’s stopping you?” she said.
Ivan smiled and uttered a short quiet laugh. She was quite the little devil. He liked her for it. He then slid his hand behind her neck, gently. His lips brushed once more her warm enticing skin. And then, his sharp fangs slowly pierced it through.
Elizabeth cried a low moan. Swiftly, he tore open the pulsing artery and took that obscene drink of bliss that would deliver him from all his worries.
It had been just a taste—even though he’d wanted to pursue this delicious drink. But he had kept true to his promise, and restrained his voracious appetite, for once.
He bit his tongue quickly as he parted from this wondrous spot of glory in her neck, and once his blood poured, he sealed her wound with it while licking her precious skin.
Elizabeth trembled with pleasure. Ivan smiled. This was exactly what he had wanted—unparalleled satisfaction on both ends. “And now we’re even,” he mused as he caressed her gorgeous auburn hair and parted from her.
“Yes… We are.” She must have been a bit dizzy after experiencing such ecstasy. Elizabeth relaxed in the chair. Her hazel eyes closed, and she drifted into a profound sleep.
Antoine & Cassandra
A loud ongoing murmur dulled his senses as Antoine moved through the jostling crowd, making his way to the screens. The flashing sign of Departures caught his eye.
Flight AF3058 to Paris … Boarding
Pushing people aside, Antoine made his way to the security checkpoint. He stopped before an imposing female officer, tall and broad shouldered, with the unfriendliest expression in the planet.
“Excuse me, sir…” the woman said, knitting her brow. “Do you have a ticket?”
Vampire skills… do your thing. He’d seen Ivan do it a million times, it should be easy enough. “I do not need a ticket… You will let me pass.” He spoke the words, confident in his persuasion ability.
The security officer furrowed her brow even more. “Uh… yeah, you do need a ticket, sir. And no, I will not let you through without one.” She all but snapped at him.
“I don’t understand…” he mused. Why didn’t it work?
“You heard me,” she said with a scowl. “Now, you either show me a ticket or step aside, sir.”
“Ugh! Fine…” Antoine muttered. “I’ll get you a ticket…” And I’ll get a bite off your carotid artery later.
Minutes away from boarding, Cassandra turned the cell phone in her hand. She checked the screen… No messages. No calls.
“Are you expecting a call, Cassie?” Dad said, standing in the boarding line.
A nervous titter escaped her. “No, Dad…”
“You can’t wait to get home, can you?” Dad gave her a candid smile. “I bet you’ll love the new house—”
“Yeah, about that…” biting her lower lip. “I probably should have said something earlier, but um… Jeanette is picking me up at the airport. I promised her we’d spend the weekend at the house in Saint-Tropez.”
“Le Jardin du Paradis,” Dad said with a pensive tone. “Hmmm… All right. You deserve a getaway for helping me with the moving boxes.”
Cassandra sniggered.
“Excuse me, sir,” a man said, patting Dad’s shoulder. “Aren’t you André Lefevre, the famous architect?”
Here we go… Another fan of Dad’s. He loved the attention—he especially loved talking about his work.
The boarding line moved forward, and so did Dad along with his new friend and chitchat companion for the entire flight.
She took a deep breath. A new life lay before her, and all she could think about was him—Antoine Somerset.
Everything had changed between them—they had changed. Antoine had turned into an immortal being that drunk human blood to survive, and Cassandra had been pushed into a new reality as heiress of the Deveraux’s legacy… They couldn’t pick up where they’d left off. It was impossible for them to be together. Witches and vampires were a bad mix, everybody knew that.
Oh, but no matter how unsuitable their match, Cassie loved him. With all her heart, she wished to see him once more.
“Next, please.” The woman behind the counter waved her hand.
Cassandra stared at the boarding pass with eyes full of longing. “This is it,” she said, heaving a sigh. She took a step forward when a tug at her arm pulled her out of the boarding line.
“Hey!” she growled, but her anger soon faded. Large dark eyes, rosy lips stretching in a pleasant smile… He was the most handsome blood drinker she’d ever laid eyes on. “Antoine!”
He wrapped her in his arms. “I had to see you,” he whispered in her ear, cupping the sides of her face as he parted from her.
She blushed. “I—I stopped by your place. I wanted to tell you…” that I love you, that I’ve missed you, that I know somehow we can make this work!
The corner of his lips curled in an enticing smile. “I know, chérie,” he whispered. Antoine’s eyes gleamed with excitement. “I don’t care where you go or how long it takes to see you again… My feelings will never change. With every beat of my immortal heart, I love you.”
“I love you too…” Cassandra squirmed.
Pulling a lock of hair behind her ear, Antoine drew closer. His warm lips landed on hers in a tender kiss. He slipped his tongue into her mouth, pressing his body against hers, and parted from her fast.
Butterflies fluttered in her stomach.
“I’ll call you…” she said with a bashful smile. Her hands glided away from his. She stepped back towards the empty gate, ticket in hand. And her heart raced with excitement because this was better than picking up where they’d left off. This was their new beginning.
The gate’s jetway closed.
Antoine slipped his hands into his jeans pockets. Heading back to the parking lot, his mind whirred every step of the way.
The bittersweetness of their farewell clung to his heart. Of course he was glad to have caught her before she boarded that plane, but seeing her go… “Oh! I’m so sorry!” Antoine bumped against someone, he was so distraught. “Are you all right?” he asked, pressing the man’s shoulder.
“No harm done,” the man replied. Within the shade of his flat cap gleamed light hazel eyes. About six foot two, he wore an Oxford gray wool sweater and dark denim pants.
“Are you sure about that?” Antoine insisted. The man must have been in his late thirties, youthful and strong. “I bumped pretty hard against you. Let me make it up to you.”
“Hmmm…” The man smirked, narrowing his eyes. “All right. How about a drink?”
“Funny you’d say that.” Antoine sniggered. “I happen to own the best nightclub in town… I could take you there right now. Are you up for it?” God knew he could use the company.
“Sounds like a good offer,” he said, pleased.
“Let me help you with that.” Antoine picked up the man’s briefcase. “My car’s this way.”
“Nice automobile…” The man smoothed his hand over Antoine’s new silver Porsche.
“Thanks.” He dropped the briefcase on the backseat and jumped behind the wheel. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”
Meeting this man had been truly serendipitous. It took his mind off the torture of knowing the love of his life thousands of miles away.
Antoine owed his peace of mind to a complete stranger, buying him a drink or two was nowhere near showing his appreciation.
Was he here on holiday? Was he visiting family? Perhaps this was a business trip—he carried no luggage, after all.
Antoine sped down the interstate on their way to The Dungeon’s Lounge. The man had kept silent since they’d left the airport. The bay’s flickering lights held him in a trance.
“Ever been to the city before?” Antoine asked.
The man shook his head. “I’m new in town.”
“Business or pleasure?” An unavoidable question.
He took his time to answer. “A bit of both, I suppose.”
“Both is good,” Antoine said, driving into the Bay Bridge. He couldn’t help but smile. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”
“My name is Dristan,” he replied, amused.
“I bet you’ll love it here, Dristan,” Antoine said.
As the heart of San Francisco loomed on the horizon, Dristan’s eyes filled with wonder. And turning to Antoine, he flashed him a smile.
“I’m sure I will…”
From Silvana G. Sánchez’s
CAST IN BLOOD
Water
There is water in the tiled wood floor. The trail leads to a door. That door is closed. My hand reaches out and pushes it open.
In the corner of the room, partially concealed amidst the shadows, I see him. Damp blond hair, piercing blue eyes that run me through, drenched white shirt sticking to his arched back, water dripping from his fingertips.
Fear as sharp as my damned fangs slushes through my racing heart, tightened throat—pressure clenching my stomach. Shuddering, I step back and stop at the room’s threshold. Never once parting my sight off him, I lean against the door that then shuts behind me.
There is no time to question reality, no time to argue with my reason. The fact is that he’s here and over three hundred years have passed since last we’ve seen each other.
My quivering lips part and utter the name of fear itself.
“Viktor?”
A sardonic smile in reply.
I close my eyes, and like a child, I pray—for the first time in three centuries, I pray to God that my dead brother disappears.
One shallow breath and I open my eyes only to discover that my brother is not gone. He’s no longer in the chair. He stands but a few feet away from me—skin tight and shrunken to the bone, the pale luminescence of death as his halo… but he’s no angel.
Copyright © 2018 by Silvana G. Sánchez
About the Author
Silvana G. Sánchez weaves the paranormal into historical and contemporary romance. The possibilities for the unexplained spring the worlds of her creation, including The Unnatural Brethren series and the saga of the Deveraux Witches.
Her endless fascination for travel and historical research deliver an evocative prose that transports readers centuries back and enfolds
them in pristine European landscapes where ancient cities become characters themselves.
She lives in Mexico city with her loving husband Eric, their twins Iker(†) and David, and three adorable Shih Tzu puppies: Wookiee, Padme, and Pandita.
When not cutting and healing eyes in her medical practice as an Ophthalmologist, she may be found lurking on Twitter or Facebook. Make sure to stop by, she doesn’t bite—not always, anyway.
Contact:
silvanagsanchez.com
[email protected]
Acknowledgments
This book happened because of you, Eric.
I’m forever grateful for your endless support.
You’re D1.
David, writing this book was a wonderful challenge.
You are no longer a baby that sleeps most of the day, but a restless curious thirteen-month-old toddler.
Thank you for keeping an eye on me 24/7, making sure whatever time I had left went to you or to finishing this work.
Special thanks to my dear friend and fellow author, Julie Jude Cocaigne for her invaluable aid and support.
Je te remerci beaucoup, ma chère!
Also by Silvana G. Sánchez
The Unknown, A Collection of Thirty-One Creepy Poems.
Written in Blood, A Novel of The Unnatural Brethren.
Call of Blood: A Novel of The Unnatural Brethren Page 32
