There were a few people at the bar, but no Christian or Michel. The bartender was a tall, moon-faced boy with strawberry blonde hair that just touched his shoulders. As she approached he turned his electric blue eyes on her and she felt herself shake. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.
“Hi, I’m looking for Christian or Michel.”
He scanned her from head to toe, and Amanda wondered if he thought she was from the IRS or some equally terrifying entity.
“And you are?” He asked in a soft voice with a touch of a French accent
“Amanda … Amanda Perretti,” she replied slowly, annunciating each syllable. A lacy shirt framed his pale chest covered in numerous necklaces. She thought it odd for a man, yet there was nothing feminine about him.
He dropped the towel on the bar and disappeared without a word. She turned away and studied the small group of dancers on the dance floor and the few patrons at the bar. What’s the worst that could happen, he yells at me again? She glanced down at her watch just as the bartender approached her again.
“He’ll be right out. Can I get you a drink?”
“Sure, a glass of Merlot would be great.”
She watched him pour, not sure who he was referring to but too full of pride to ask. “So are you a friend of theirs as well?”
“We all go back a long way.” He smiled and handed her a drink.
“Keep your money, it’s on me.”
Amanda shoved her money back into her pocket. “Thank you. And you are?”
“Sabin.” He nodded, wiping the counter but never taking his eyes off her.
“Bon jour, Ms. Perretti.”
She turned to find Michel approaching her. He was wearing a short black jacket and black jeans with each pant leg cut horizontally below the crotch, exposing his long white legs through the shredded black fabric. The look was strangely erotic.
Michel leaned against the bar, studying her. “So, you’ve come back for more.”
“Is he not here or is he avoiding me?”
He smiled down at her. “Both, actually.”
“I have to see him again. You’re his friend, can’t you talk to him?”
Michel laughed, spinning a clean beer glass on the bar.
“If you knew Christian the way I know him, you would understand that once he makes up his mind there is no changing it. What is so important that you can’t stay away?”
Amanda took a sip of her wine and a deep breath.
“This may sound crazy but my fate is tied to him.”
The beer glass slipped out of his hands and rolled toward her wine glass. Michel tried to grab both glasses before they shattered, but he was too late. Wine spilled and glass flew everywhere as a large chunk sliced his palm.
“Oh my god, you’re hurt.” Amanda fumbled for a napkin as Sabin tossed him a towel.
Michel wrapped the towel around his hand. “I’ll be fine, Amanda, its okay.”
Sabin rushed to clean up the broken glass before she could help.
“You might need a couple of stitches. That is one nasty cut.”
She tried to take a look, but he pulled his hand away.
“Now where were we my dear?” He sat down next to her, tossing the towel down on the counter.
She impulsively grabbed his hand and turned it over; there was no blood and no gash. “That’s strange. It seems to have stopped bleeding.”
She looked from Michel to Sabin who said nothing.
“How is that possible?” She tried to get up but Michel grabbed her hand.
“Don’t make a scene.” He dragged her away from the bar and down a dark hallway. “We must talk privately.”
Before she could put up a fight Michel opened a door and gestured for her to enter. “I will answer all your questions. Please step inside… this is our office.”
Amanda’s heart was racing and she suddenly felt nauseous. This can’t be happening, but it is and I knew there was something different about them. No one’s hand can heal like that unless. …
Amanda scanned the dark office, keeping an eye on Michel. “I think I need to sit down.”
He gestured toward the couch. She took in the modern furniture and the prints of the world’s two most famous parks. They were beautiful, but the room was too dark and cave-like for her tastes.
The ticking of the desk clock pulsed in her ears. “How did your hand heal so fast?”
His silence unnerved her as he sat on the edge of the desk. He seemed to hesitate and then he smiled down at her. “I am a vampire, Amanda.”
She chuckled nervously as the images of Antoine snarling at her with visible fangs and Lucien tasting her brother’s blood came to mind. As unbelievable as it seemed to her, it was the only explanation that made sense.
“Are all of you…. I mean Antoine, Lucien….and Christian?” She forced the words out, fearing the truth.
“Don’t forget Sabin.”
“Oh my God.” She stood up, but he beat her to the door.
Her voice caught in her throat. “What do you want from me?”
His strong hands held her steady by her shoulders. “Perhaps the question is what is it you want from Christian?”
She was mesmerized by his green eyes, not sure if trusting him was a good thing, but she had been searching for answers for so long now. “Why did that vampire kill my brother?”
Michel hesitated. “That is not for me to tell you.” He brushed a strand of dark hair from her face.
“I need to talk to Christian but since he isn’t here I have a letter for him. Will you give it to him..?. Do you really drink blood?”
“We need very little to survive at our age.”
She had so many questions; her head was spinning, but she could not formulate the words. To ask questions mean to confirm a reality that both intrigued and terrified her. Amanda had felt as if she had been living a dream since that night in the tunnel. This really can’t be happening to me. Michel looked no older than she did, but his eyes spoke of pain and experience way beyond the comprehension of a twenty-seven-year-old.
She heard the questions come out before she could suck them back. “How old are you? Where did you come from?”
He paused, staring past her. “Christian and I took our last breath in Meudon, France, on March 3, 1757.”
“March third? That’s my birthday.” Amanda shook as she opened her purse. “Will you take this for me?”
She held a letter in her hands.
“How badly do you want him?”
She felt herself blush as if he had read her mind. “I need to see him Michel.”
He ran his fingers through his hair. “Nineteen East 83rd Street. It’s a limestone townhouse. Drop it in the brass mail slot. He’ll get it. Now go.”
Amanda handed the taxi driver the fare and jumped out of the cab on the corner of East 83rd Street and Fifth Avenue. Pulling her coat closer in an attempt to shield herself from the biting wind, she began to walk back up the street. Like a predator stalking its prey, she passed number Nineteen then stopped at the brick townhouse next door. This block was her usual route to the subway, one of the most beautiful streets on the Upper East Side. She passed his house again. He lives here, she thought, gathering the nerve to finally stop in front of the gate.
The limestone townhouse was narrow, fitting the architecture of the time, yet elegant with three sets of ascending windows supported by alternating Doric and Corinthian columns. Both the windows and the columns got smaller at the fourth floor, which Amanda presumed was an attic. Its small windows looked like eyes peering down at the passersby.
A room on the first floor was lit up, as was a room on the third floor. For a second she thought she saw Christian peering down at her, framed in the second floor window, but the image was fleeting and she guessed that perhaps it was wishful thinking on her part.
Catching her breath, she opened the wrought iron gate and climbed the three steps. She pulled the letter from her purse and went to slip it in the mail slot,
then stopped herself.
What harm could it do to ring the bell?
Amanda hesitantly rang the front door bell. Running her tongue over her lips to check if her lipstick was still on, she took another deep breath. She was shivering, although she wasn’t sure if it was the cold or her nerves. Oh my god, suppose he answers the door. What do I say? She took another deep breath as the front door opened.
“Hi,” she smiled, not sure who she was expecting on the other side. He was not much older than she was, with fair skin and faint traces of acne scars on his cheeks. Thin, dirty blond hair that almost matched his skin tone fell to his shoulders. He wore all black with a large silver hoop earring in his left ear.
“Hi, I was wondering if Christian was home. My name is Amanda Perretti. I was just at the Grey Wolf and Michel thought I should drop by to see him in person.” She clutched her shoulder bag for support and extended her gloved right hand.
He stood in the doorway, blocking her entry into the warm foyer. “What is it you want?”
“I told you, I want to see Christian if he’s home. Please, it’s cold out here.”
She pushed past him into the dimly lit foyer. The large crystal chandelier looked well over a hundred years old. Light reflected off the crystals onto the shiny, cherry-wood floor, covered with a lush oriental carpet. Marbleized sea green walls surrounded her and the room smelled like an old bookstore, a scent Amanda found familiar.
This is the most beautiful house I have ever been in. It is like a museum.
Lining one wall were some tiny paintings by old masters such as Bernardo Strozzi, Salomon Van Ruysdael, and Jean-Francois De Troy. She stopped in front of a massive still-life painting that hung over a Queen Anne side table. A bust by a French sculptor sat on the table along with various shapes and sizes of ceramic vases.
The waif who let her in came up behind her, leaving the front door open. “You can’t come in here. No one is allowed—”
She looked him right in the eye. She had come too far to be turned away by anyone, especially a kid.
“Is he home? If so, get him.”
“Who the hell do you think you are to order me around?”
“I’m not leaving until I see him, so scat.” She could not believe how brazen she was being, but she was desperate and this kid was not going to scare her away.
She suddenly felt a presence roll up against her, like someone had just turned on a fan. As she turned around there he was standing behind her.
“It’s alright, Tony; now close the door, its cold.”
Tony sauntered toward the front door and slammed it shut with the back of his hand.
“Hello.” He whispered in a soft, deep voice. He was dressed in a pair of brown jeans and a long sleeved white shirt. She noticed that he wore cowboy boots. His clothes appeared so average compared to last night that she had trouble believing what Michel had told her. Maybe he was just a guy with a trust fund that allowed him to collect antiquities and fine art, but she knew better. He was different. The glow from the chandelier illuminated his hair which hid half his face in shadows
“Tony, would you please show Ms. Perretti into the library.”
Tony rolled his eyes and led her through a set of French doors into a sitting room with overstuffed furniture, a roaring fireplace, and one entire wall filled with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. He was gone before she had a chance to chide him for his rude behavior.
Amanda could not get over all the old books. She felt like an addict unable to get enough. First she took one book off the shelf to skim, and then reluctantly put it back, only to grab another to leaf through. There was a book on the French Revolution that she recognized by the title, and another on Marie Antoinette that caught her attention. It did not matter that they were all in French. They called to her from another time and place.
Out of the corner of her eye, Amanda thought she recognized a book she had found on her desk last March. It was written anonymously about the intimate lives of King Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette. She had used it in her research. She impulsively grabbed it off the shelf, wondering if there could be two editions of such a rare book.
She began to flip through it, remembering how difficult it had been to get translated. Her boss Cole had helped her a bit, but had left her with most of it to translate on her own. This was before she had met Thomas, and it had been a difficult project for her. As she turned another page a small yellow piece of paper fell out of the book. It floated down to the carpet like a feather.
Amanda muffled a gasp as she realized that the yellow post-it note had page notations written in pencil in her handwriting. She stuffed the yellow post-it note in her pocket and closed the book, and suddenly, she knew that his presence in her life was not an accident.
Chapter Sixteen
AMANDA WAS ONLY the third mortal ever to come into his home, and he felt strangely vulnerable. He was still trying to wrap his mind around the fact that she was not connected to him by blood and so he no longer had any obligation to protect her. Only his feelings for her kept him bound to her so he would see this through to the end, no matter the outcome.
In his heart, he knew it was about more than a promise he had made to Josette. He wanted Amanda—not her powerful blood, but her love. Now that his conflict over her lineage and his lust was resolvable, he had to protect her and kill his enemy.
Christian stopped just inside the doorway, afraid to come any closer. He folded his arms across his chest and watched her as she put the book away and stepped closer to the fireplace. She was shivering, which he attributed less to the cold and more to nerves. Amanda slowly took off each of her gloves and shoved them in her coat pockets. She rubbed her hands together as she watched him approach.
“Now I understand your reaction to me at the Grey Wolf, but like I told you, I’m not afraid. I just want the truth. I wanted to thank you for saving my life.” She continued rubbing her hands together. “Everyone tried to convince me that you didn’t exist, but I knew better. I had given up on ever seeing you again, but I always thought of you as my protector, my guardian angel, but Michel tells me differently. He tells me that you are….vampires. Is he joking?”
He was moved by her candidness, her insight, and her seemingly controlled vulnerability. She was like Josette, who despite an arranged marriage and the birth of a child, had managed to maintain lovers and her own independence, all with little fuss. The confines of eighteenth-century life had done little to control her.
“What happened to those other vampires?” She met his gaze as she asked him.
“Antoine turned to dust and Lucien got away.”
She nodded, still staring at him. “How is it I was on the grass and not in the tunnel with Ryan?”
“I caught you when you fainted and set you down on the lawn.”
He thought she looked poised but ready to bolt at the slightest provocation, so he purposely sat down on the loveseat nearest the fireplace. Christian told himself that if she ran he would not stop her. He thought she was doing a good job of holding herself together. It was not every day that one met a vampire.
“Why did you lie to me at the police station? You don’t understand, I thought I was going crazy. No one believed me about ….everything that happened that night.”
“Amanda, I apologize but I only did it to protect us both.” He flipped his hair behind him. It was so long that it brushed against the sofa seat. “It’s not often that mortals come here. In fact, you are only the third person who has been allowed in since 1901. Tony is instructed to act as our guard dog, so forgive his rude behavior. We guard our privacy with a vengeance.”
Christian paused, afraid of scaring her away. He weighed every word carefully.
“You were right about Ryan coming into contact with something unusual. He met up with … us. He needed money, and there were vampires more than willing to pay him for the one thing they needed: his blood.”
“My brother’s death was not a random act of violence, was it?” H
er question hung in the air between them. Damn Michel for sending her here, and damn him for allowing Amanda into his world. He could not blame Michel; he had tempted her, had led her right to him, and it felt good having her here, as if she belonged with him.
“No, it was not. You need to trust me, as hard as that might be for you. I can’t tell you much more about it without exposing you to more danger. Running into you last night was an accident,” he lied. “You need to go about your daily life and let me—”
When she touched him he was reminded of how lonely he was, how he missed physical contact and warmth. “Christian, maybe I am missing something here … I mean obviously the danger you are trying to protect me from is already here, isn’t it?”
Her perception rendered him speechless.
“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be flip. It’s just hard to wrap my mind around vampires walking among us, living in New York. I mean … all the way here in the cab all I could think about was Michel cutting his hand on a glass and it barely bled, then healed leaving no scar. It all happened in a matter of seconds. Why did this happen to you?”
He picked up a strand of hair and began to twirl it. He liked the way she phrased the age-old question. No one had ever asked him why it happened, yet that was the complicated part, the essence of her question. He liked that about Amanda. She tried to get to the core of a person or a situation. Not that she was judgmental; she just needed to understand him.
“We were two young men who were seduced by the charms of a beautiful woman until it was too late to turn back.” He remembered both his and Michel’s fascination with Gabrielle. We were so naïve, he thought and his mind drifted to one day in particular.
“Did that really happen?” Michel moaned, lying naked across his bed. The early morning sunlight played across his sculpted face and shoulders, making his light green eyes appear to glow.
“All of it and more,” Christian said with a smirk. He sat on the end of the bed and tugged at his leather boots. Their eyes locked, and both young men smiled.
Immortal Obsession Page 11
