“Like I said, Meg,” Chesca hissed, “Give the man a chance.”
“Look, I don’t even know your name…”
He grinned and brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. As swiftly as he performed the deed, he lowered his fingers and pushed his hands into his coat pocket.
“I’m Amado Gianni, once of Sicily, now of Bentham.” He provided, wondering how his name would sound on her lips. He didn’t have an opportunity, though, as her friend snorted low and seductively. Abruptly, she shoved him with her shoulder, the cloud of her perfume filling his lungs.
“I knew you had to be Italian,” Meghan muttered, unaware her face revealed a huge dissatisfaction at the discovery. “Are you certain you’re not related to my hair-brained friend?”
“Miss Stanley, I’m not Italian.” He corrected firmly. “I’m Sicilian, not Italian. There is a difference.”
Meghan’s face flamed, and was aware Chesca was stifling her amusement.
“Second, I am, in no way, related.”
“I told you!” Chesca interjected snidely, coughing and wiping the tears away. “Way to go, tiger, with that name.”
Amado was uncertain whether to be offended by her outburst, and quirked a brow. “I beg your pardon?”
“Either your mother was a real romantic by naming you beloved, or your grandma had a thing for that movie actor Meg adores.”
An unaccustomed burning sensation crept across his face. “I’m afraid I’m lost.”
“What Chesca’s trying to say, in her normal in-your-face style, is the silent film star I used to watch was christened Amado Gianni?”
He stifled a harsh explicative. Forcing nonchalance he didn’t feel, Amado schooled his expression to reflect deliberate obtuseness.
“Gianni? This is a new actor?”
“No, no,” Chesca protested heartily. “He’s certainly not! He died nearly a century ago.”
Dread crept over Amado's cold skin. “How can he be an actor, yet dead?”
“Gianni was a star of the silent film era, back in the late teens and early twenties.” Meghan supplied tersely.
“Oh, yeah,” Chesca’s hand rose and she swatted at the air, the bangles on her wrist clamoring with the action. “He was Armand Gerino to the public, but any movie buff worth their salt knows he was born Amado Gianni. He’s nearly forgotten and, besides, Valentino stole his spotlight.”
“Then,” his lips formed a tight and icy smile. “I imagine my grandmother had distinct satisfaction in naming me.”
“That’s utterly fantastic and totally romantic!” Chesca gasped. “Picture that, being named after a film star!”
“It’s amazing to find someone who enjoys the silent films, Miss Stanley.”
“Key word, if you missed it, I used to watch.” She retorted bitterly. “It really irritates me that I’ve to keep reminding you I’m blind.”
Amado couldn’t prevent leaning in close, his breath an oddly warm caress as he used one finger to tilt her chin upwards.
“Let go of that crutch you have, Meghan Stanley, and enjoy life.”
“How dare you!”
“Damn, Amado Gianni,” Chesca criticized, linking her arm into his unexpectedly, and then grabbing at Meghan’s jacket. “You should take lessons from those old films!”
“Why?” The stunning redhead's chastisement puzzled him.
“For a man who saves my girl, offers to be a pure gentleman and walk us home, you certainly don’t recognize when to keep your mouth shut.”
***
“You need to learn to stop being a tight ass and loosen up some.” Chesca muttered as they stood in the doorway of her friend’s house. “Invite him in!”
Meghan peered blankly at the door, her face filled with conflicting emotions, outright rebellion apparent in her expression. Unhurriedly, she turned and her oddly blank gaze rested with unsettling ease on her friend, her growing lack of patience obvious.
“Chesca, you’re pushing our friendship.” She warned haughtily.
“Look, senorinas…”Amado attempted to interrupt, feeling he’d slipped into a melodramatic soap opera of snapping women and climactic drama.
“No, you listen.” Meghan’s tone was intentionally calm as she turned toward him, and straightened. “Despite what my lovely friend might say, I can be civil.”
“I didn’t think you’d be otherwise.”
Stiffly, Meghan inclined her head.
“Thank you very much for walking us home, but I won’t welcome you into my house.”
Amado realized Meghan Stanley was on the verge of bursting into a tantrum, if he could read her reaction well enough. He wanted to remind her he asked for nothing more than to be an escort, and Declan Balthazar hovered somewhere nearby, anticipating his moment to steal whatever he could from the duo.
The walk hadn’t been long, at the most forty-five minutes. In that short time, he discovered the attractive woman was a silent being, serious beyond a doubt, and preferred to keep her reflections to herself. Ghostlike, she’d walked alongside him, never touching him, her cane moving with exacting preciseness across the worn sidewalks.
Chesca, however, exploded with life. Constantly flipping her bright hair over her shoulders, the tiny bells on her wrists persistently jingling, she spoke in a steady and unrelenting stream. She didn’t keep her opinion to herself, as her friend did. In contrast, she laughed often, the world seeming to blaze around her like a shimmering bubble. While in their company, Amado realized she was the most vibrant of the pair, frankly vocal, and oh-so-mentally exhausting.
He suspected Chesca should’ve captured his attention. She radiated with vitality, and clutched at the world with both hands, savoring every moment of every day. She displayed mystery, passion, and an effervescence, which made many men want her.
However, he didn’t yearn for the vivacious redhead.
Amado preferred the woman standing at the top of the steps, defensive, quiet, but amazingly strong. She didn’t demand the spotlight, and examined the world with silent concern. She pulled at his senses, and tugged at a heart he’d long forgotten. Despite her lack of sight, he sensed she perceived her surroundings in a manner defying reason.
“Shall I remind you I didn’t ask to be invited, Miss Stanley.” He scanned her face and stared into her clouded eyes.
He didn’t know why he was attracted to her. All he understood was her pale and unsettling orbs settled with unerring accuracy on him and managed to draw at his ruined soul. There was something beyond the unseeing gaze and the serious features that he wanted, and he didn’t want to leave.
Clearing his throat, Amado continued, “I must bid you farewell, dear ladies.”
He turned and inhaled, waiting to determine if Balthazar’s scent lingered on the crisp night breeze. The air was miraculously clear of the aroma of his fellow vampire, although the odor of an unwashed male did linger on his tongue. His nose twitched and scanned the darkness, looking for the solitary figure. Easily, he dismissed the human as nothing more than a vagrant, seeking a peaceful night’s rest the park across from Meghan’s house.
“Chesca,” he turned slightly on the stoop, his expression congenial. “Would you allow me a moment with Miss Stanley?”
The woman bounced lightly on her toes, grinning brightly and nodding her head. Despite Meghan’s protest, she bounded down the steps and stood beneath a nearby tree, smiling inanely at the brilliant stars overhead.
Inhaling a useless breath, Amado approached the woman, her cane positioned strategically in front of her. Her expression remained defiant as she glared at him, aware he stopped a good foot away from her. Her jaw tightened and he realized she didn’t intend to make anything simple for him.
“Could I see you again?” Amado asked abruptly, remembering Declan’s words. He suspected the vampire’s comment wasn’t an idle threat, and imagined how his maker would toy with her, attempting to drive her to madness before draining her of blood. He wanted to protect her from the evil of the world, and
find a way to ensure she wouldn’t turn out to be an extra bloodless victim of the beast he detested.
“Why?” The word echoed with bitterness, and he couldn’t control his wince.
“I wish to become better acquainted with you.” He ground out sharply, lost as he stared into her eyes, and swallowed heavily.
“Oh?” There was a wealth of disgust, unease, and suspicion evident in the question. “The girl who can’t see caught your attention, and you’d like to get to know her?”
“The woman before me is entrancing.” Amado corrected, schooling his words to avoid revealing how much she unnerved him. Standing before her, he realized Meghan Stanley had a wall built around her, one composed of resentment and mistrust.
“I don’t need you messing up my life.”
“I didn’t ask to interfere,” he disputed calmly. “I simply requested the opportunity to get to know you better.”
“There isn’t anything as trouble-free as that,” she retorted hotly.
“Why are you such a cynical woman, Miss Stanley?” Amado demanded unexpectedly.
“I’ve my reasons.” Her response was evasive.
“Everyone in this world has plenty of reason to be bitter, including myself.” He almost snarled his retort, biting back on the displeasure seeping from the core of his cursed soul as the images of Declan and Louise’s face swam in his mind.
“Trust me. I don’t think anyone has regrets worse than mine!” She retorted.
“Events that have gone poorly in your life are only stepping-stones to your future, Meghan. We move on, and grow from the mistakes we make,” he uttered with sage firmness. “Your anger, your hate, it’s not my fault.”
“You don’t know me!” She hissed and he waited, wondering if she wanted strike him with her cane.
“No, I don’t,” He stressed, his tone low and soothing. “I want to cure that oversight.”
“You’ve neglected to tell me why.” Her gaze narrowed as she lowered them unerringly to his face. “Why do you want to become my friend, since I’ve got this supposed chip on my shoulder?”
“Because, Miss Stanley, I find you fascinating.” His eyes darkened as he looked into upturned features. “I look at you and see a beautiful, intelligent woman who I want to spend my time with, Miss Stanley.”
“You’re a damn fool!”
“I’ve been told that more than once in my lifetime,” he conceded with a rueful shrug. “In fact, you’re the third person who’s mentioned the fault to my face tonight.”
“Look,” she protested, shaking her head. “I don’t know you…”
“Are you involved with Chesca?”
His question caused her to reel back on her heel, and she looked at him quizzically.
“Involved?”
“Are you refusing because Chesca and you are lovers?”
Meghan chuckled. The throaty sound filled the night and drifted heavenward, while a crimson blush stained her pale cheeks. Tears formed and she pressed a hand to her heart, unwittingly drawing his attention.
Amado struggled to draw in a breath, the steady thud of the organ filling his ears, the coursing blood transparently evident. He bit at his tongue, his golden gaze darkening with the voracious desire to sink his fangs into her supple flesh.
Steadying himself, he exhaled and lifted his brooding regard to her face. As she struggled for her breath, he fought to regain his sanity, the urge to feast on her warm blood threatening to consume him.
“I love her, but Chesca and I are only friends,” she choked, unaware of the threat standing before her. “We’ve been friends for what seems forever. She’s been there when I’ve needed her, no questions asked, and has stuck with me. I can assure you, there’s nothing romantic involving us.”
Amado cleared his throat again and the unmentionable darkness seeped from his eyes. His hands curled into fists in his coat pockets and he sank a single fang into the soft flesh of his tongue. The sharp pain reminded him of whom he was, who he had been, and he calmed.
“If Chesca isn’t an obstacle,” he managed aloud. “What is?”
She exhaled and her shoulders slumped somewhat.
“I’ve a lot of…” she paused, seeking the word her friend would most use. “To put it crudely, I’ve a lot of shit in my life.”
“Don’t we all?”
“Oh, no,” distinct sadness filled her words. “The crap hanging around me I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy.”
“And this makes you distrust me?”
“Not just you,” she lowered her face. “My feelings are focused against every man I meet.”
He controlled his unpleasant smirk.
“Trust me, Miss Stanley. I’m not merely any man.”
He found himself swimming in the warmth of her pale blue eyes. As her sightless eyes fastened to a point just past his shoulder, he bit his lip. Perhaps she was correct, she did fascinate him, and he was starting to understand why.
Long ago, she’d have looked beyond the polished façade of Armand Gerino, and seen him.
“Let me into your world.” He pleaded.
Amado didn’t wait for her response. He turned and bounded down the steps, touching two fingers to his brow as he passed Chesca.
“The name is Meghan!”
The shouted declaration drifted up the sidewalk and Amado couldn’t contain his smile. She hadn’t said yes, but she’d given him an opening by the simple pronouncement of her name.
Chapter Eight
Fall’s cooling fingers had barely touched the quiet streets of Bentham, an unusual event for the East Coast. Normally, the trees sported bare limbs, while bright red and yellow leaves crunched underfoot. Yet, even during the beginning of October, touches of green remained hovering overhead.
The season hadn’t changed, as expected. Instead, the days were comfortable, requiring only a light sweater and jacket. The city’s inhabitants weren’t complaining about the lack of cold, and enjoyed their good fortune as much as possible.
Earlier in the day, people had filled the park located across the street from Meghan Stanley’s picturesque row house. Families held picnics on the neatly kept green lawns, and children played, and excited giggles and screams resonated in the air. Even bicyclists and joggers took advantage of the weather, determined to keep in shape.
Despite the unseasonable warmth, when the sun set, a decided chill swathed the city. While most people headed indoors, seeking comfort, others lingered outside. Dedicated athletes rigorously trained for some obscure track event scheduled in the spring, and simple romantics savored a twilight stroll, sharing secrets, exchanging kisses, and holding hands. Yet, several remained on the streets late into the night, and not by choice. They lacked a family or loved ones in which to share the evening. Many harbored understandable pride, and steadfastly refused to seek the local homeless shelter a few blocks away. Denying themselves the privilege, savoring their freedom, they slept beneath bridges, on vacant playground benches, or in dark alleyways.
One such individual, alone in the world, shivered against the cold. He pulled the worn material of his threadbare military jacket closer to his body to quiet the chattering of his teeth, frowning at the holes evident in his elbows and shoulders. Scowling, his fingers stroked the collar, remembering the time when he’d owned much finer items.
Those days were gone, though, but their memories he dreamed about late into the night. Recollecting fine clothes weren’t the only things troubling him….for people often intruded on his troubled slumber.
His ogled the row of houses. Sighing, his eyes softened as he centered his attention on one structure, his focus caught by the soft glow of lights shining brightly from a ground floor window. As he watched, the solitary figure of a graceful, blonde haired woman came into view, her outline obvious from behind the whispery lace of ruffled curtains. He watched as she parted the drapes and stared at the park with a wistful expression on her pale features. She appeared lost in thought, blinking slightly before she pressed her
fingertips to her face and wiped at her cheek. He studied her dainty form, biting his lip as his breath tightened in his chest.
Perhaps, he imagined her memories were what brought the solitary tear. He wished he had insight into her world, but assumed his thoughts were futile. She wasn’t the sort of person worrying over mistakes she’d made in her youth, and what might have been.
Instead, she scowled before dropping the gossamer fabric and stepping back. He watched, intent, as she closed the heavier drapes. The action blocked her from face from his view, removing the warm glow of light from his rapt regard.
Silent, he studied the window, holding his breath. Her slim figure was an indistinct outline against the curtains as she switched off the lights inside her home. He smirked slightly, wondering why she bothered. He’d watched her for long enough to know she didn’t need the light. The glow, meant to brighten a world for the sighted, was useless for the blind.
Even now, he was thankful for her deeply ingrained habits. He followed her progress through what he realized to be her living room, each lamp turned off and swathing it in utter darkness.
His smirk grew into an ugly and contorted smile, creasing the lines of his bearded face. He exhaled heavily, tasting the cheap whiskey on his tongue, and guessed she was climbing the stairs to the upper floor. In his mind, he assumed her bedroom was on the second level, the lightly perfumed chamber swathed in pale lavender lace and ruffles.
Tears of Blood (The Blood Chronicles) Page 10
