Blood Bond

by Alicia Ryan

  “No, it couldn’t wait. How did he get here?”

  “By ship.”

  “Darren! This is serious.”

  Darren sighed. “I know. Roxanna’s in danger.”

  “Hang Roxanna. It’s you I’m worried about.”

  Darren looked at him again. “That isn’t very soul-like of you. But, to answer your question, I found him sitting out front when I returned last night.”

  “Last night,” Andrew said. “I knew no good would come of that Cranston business. Are you unharmed?”

  “Quite.”

  “And I trust your friend Cranston cannot say the same?”

  “No, he cannot.”

  “I don’t like it, Darren.”

  “So you’ve said. But it’s done, so there’s no point lecturing me now.”

  “I think there is. You’ve given that girl far too much influence over you.”

  Darren raised his brows. “Pietro is here, and you worry about Roxanna’s influence?”

  Andrew’s look turned sullen. “You’re right, of course. But his appearance can’t be coincidence—not after all this time.”

  “No,” Darren affirmed. “He said he sensed something from me—something new—and he’s come to slake his curiosity as to what that might be.”

  “So introduce them and send him on his way.”

  “You don’t know Pietro, so I’ll forgive you suggesting such a thing. Once.”

  “Of what are you so afraid where she’s concerned?”

  Darren sank back onto his pillow. “Pietro loves everything being a vampire allows him to do—corrupt, defile, kill. And he’s a jealous son of a bitch. He won’t stand by and let me have something to myself. He’d sooner kill her than see me happy.”

  “Just for spite?”

  “Yes, to punish me for turning on him. He’s been content, apparently, all this time he’s thought I was miserable with my decision.”

  “Have you been miserable?”

  “No,” Darren said, raising himself up on his elbows. “You know that. But...there has always been a level of pleasure, of contentment, that’s been lacking. Add the interminable boredom—and Pietro was perfectly willing to let me wallow in it.”

  “And Roxanna has changed all that?”

  “She has. And I need you to get a message to her—tell her what’s happened.”

  “Don’t you have other errand boys? Why do I get to be the lucky one?”

  “Because Pietro doesn’t yet know you exist, and, as you can evaporate into thin air, he can’t follow you or torture you to see where you’ve been. I wouldn’t put Harris in that kind of danger, but for you, it’s perfectly safe. And you can go undetected.”

  “So I’m to tell her what—that you’ve got an old friend in town and have returned to your old ways?”

  Darren growled at him, which brought a completely irrational look of fear to Andrew’s face. “Why are you being so damn obstinate about this? Just tell her something’s come up I can’t fix right away and I won’t be able to see her for a while. And don’t scare her. She hasn’t met you yet, but I have told her about you, so it shouldn’t come as a complete surprise.”

  Andrew pursed his lips. “We have met, actually. We had a short tete-a-tete during one of her previous visits.”

  “You what?”

  “I wanted to get my own sense of the woman.”

  “And what sense did you come to?”

  “That she’s very independent minded. And not short on colorful phrases.”

  That brought a laugh from Darren. “I’m glad you see it my way.”

  Andrew harrumphed. “I assume you want me to ask her to wait for you?”

  “Of course.”

  “You do realize she won’t wait forever. Hell, it’s not like she has forever to wait. Pietro could decide he likes London and wants to make camp here for a decade.”

  “Don’t say that. I won’t allow it to happen.”

  “But, as I understand it, there’s not much you can do outside your formidable powers of persuasion.”

  “No, a vampire can’t harm his maker—some kind of mental constraint. I tried it once and landed on my backside before I could lay a hand on him. Luckily, he was blood-drunk at the time and decided to find it hilarious rather than take offense.”

  “So you see my point.”

  “Of course I see your point!” Darren’s voice had risen to almost the level of a shout. “But I brought her here, didn’t I? I have to keep her safe, no matter how long it takes.” His voice dropped. “No matter how long it keeps me from her.”

  “And if she wants to go home? That would be the safest place for her. You know it.”

  Darren growled again. “Ask her to wait. Please.” His eyes closed. “But whenever she wants to leave, as soon as we can find a time when it’s safe to conduct the spell, I won’t stop her.”

  “Very well. I will deliver the message.”

  “You’re a devil sometimes, Andrew. I thought you were supposed to help me.”

  “If sending her away gets Pietro out of your life, I am helping you.”

  “Please,” Darren said. “Just go. Tell her whatever you like. Just don’t let her think I’ve abandoned her, and make it clear she’s not to come here.”

  Andrew nodded and disappeared. “As you wish,” he said from the ether.

  Darren groaned and tried in vain to get back to the solace of sleep.

  ***

  An hour and a half later, there came a knock at his door that he knew wasn’t Harris.

  “Darren,” Pietro called out, in that sing-song way of his that Darren hated. “Come, my friend, it is time we hunt.”

  He knew there would be no deterring him. “I’ll meet you downstairs,” he called out. “Half an hour.”

  “I suppose I’ll be forced to chat with your manservant while I wait.”

  “Alright. Fifteen minutes. Amuse yourself in the library.”

  Pietro laughed. “That’s better.”

  Fifteen minutes later, he opened his front door and followed Pietro out into the deepening twilight. He worried he’d had no word from Andrew, but he forced Roxanna from his thoughts. Even thinking about her too intently could give her away.

  “Where should we tour first, my friend?” Pietro asked. “I expect a full tour of your lovely...” He looked up at the cloud-covered sky. “Or not so lovely city. Really, I don’t know what you see in this place.”

  “Early nights,” Darren responded. “And lots of cloudy days. It’s practical.”

  “How very like you,” Pietro replied, “to be so practical. Suffice to say, tonight I do not wish to be practical.”

  “No killing, Pietro. I mean it.”

  Pietro gestured for Darren to join him on the sidewalk. “I make no promises,” he said.

  “That is of little consequence,” Darren replied. “I know well the value of your promises.”

  “Then let’s move on. I grow thirstier by the minute.”

  Darren knew that to be a lie. Pietro was fully able, if he chose, to go days without feeding. But he seldom chose to do so. He was greedier than he was thirsty. He thirsted for power as much as blood.

  “Back to the docks,” he said. “There’s a tavern there with especially... persuadable serving girls.”

  “Lead on, old friend.”

  Darren gritted his teeth to avoid telling his “old friend” just how much he hated that appellation.

  Unlike in the past, he led the way, rather than following Pietro, but it soon felt much the same—like being on the prowl. He didn’t need to look back to see the world through Pietro’s eyes. His memory provided that for him, showing him pulsing arteries in every passerby. It was a habit he thought he’d broken, always looking for his next meal. And he knew Pietro knew. The man’s uncharacteristic silence was proof he knew the effect his presence was having on Darren.

  At the Pheasant’s Feathers, the clientele consisted mainly of sailors, but also passengers waiting for ships to depart
or seeking a meal and an inexpensive bed at the end of a long journey. The concentration of men who’d been long at sea provided an opportunity for women, both those who ostensibly worked in the tavern and those who periodically passed in and out of its doors, to earn more of a living, though what kind of living Darren didn’t like to contemplate.

  At the door, Darren had to stoop to enter and then descended two steps into the main room. Furnished in spartan fashion with plain wood tables and chairs, the room was nevertheless larger than it appeared from the outside, for the building extended back away from the wharf much farther than could be seen until one had entered.

  The only light came from candles on the tables and two candelabras on the mantelpiece atop the large fireplace on the room’s far wall. The dim light was further darkened by a visible cloud being continuously inhaled and exhaled by smokers and non-smokers alike.

  Needing darkness more than warmth, they made their way to an empty table to the left of the door, rather than one of the two empties nearer the blazing fire. Heads turned to watch them. It wasn’t the first time nobility had been in this establishment, but it wasn’t a frequent occurrence. Darren knew their clothes and bearing made them subjects of curiosity and potential targets for the solicitations of women and robbery by ambitious sailors. The former was a convenience, the latter an annoyance, but, in the end, the curious always met the same fate.

  When a waitress approached, Pietro looked her over and then surprised Darren by ordering not just ale, but also bread and cheese.

  When it arrived, and Pietro paired a chunk of bread with a slice of cheese and popped it into his mouth, Darren reluctantly broke their silence. “I never knew you to be so image conscious.”

  “I’m not,” Pietro responded, mouth full. “I’ve found human food is no longer as distasteful as it once was. I’m able to tolerate it—in small amounts.” He washed his words down with a swig of ale from a pewter mug.

  Darren grimaced. “Good. You eat.”

  “One of the benefits of age, I suppose,” Pietro responded.

  Leaning forward, Darren said, “You may have turned me, but I know you’re not much older than I am. What is it—twenty-five years between us?”

  “Twenty-four. So think what you have to look forward to.”

  Apparently a mouth full of mushy bread made all the more gruesome in its viscosity by pairing it with ale while speaking, Darren thought. Oh, the future. Which made him think of Roxanna. Which made him frown and begin searching the room for real food—anything to keep his mind off her.

  Pietro, having drunk his entire mug of ale, waved the waitress over for another. Darren fought the urge to retch—once when Pietro leered at her over his empty glass and again when he ran a finger over the exposed skin of her upper breast when she leaned over their table.

  Unsurprisingly, Pietro’s overture was met with a coy smile. In spite of being an incorrigible monster, he was a handsome man. And some women appreciated his visibly lusty nature. Genna was one such woman. Darren had fed on her before, though of course she didn’t remember, but he’d lured her with the glimmer of coin.

  “She’s easy enough to convince,” Darren said when she’d scooted off for Pietro’s refill. “The owner of this fine establishment gets a cut of anything they earn, and you can pay for a room upstairs.”

  Pietro nodded. “Now to find one for you, my friend. Tell me, what tempts you these days? Is it still raven beauties?”

  Darren shuttered his gaze, but not soon enough.

  Pietro smiled a satisfied smile. “I see your tastes have changed. Tell me about her. Is she the reason you’ve become so much more interesting of late?”

  “No,” Darren responded.

  “No to which?”

  “No, I won’t tell you about her.”

  “That’s a hard way to treat someone who knows you as well as I.”

  “You don’t know me, Pietro. You never did, and you haven’t for decades.”

  “I know you never appreciated what I gave you.”

  “This is not a discussion I desire to ever have with you again.”

  The waitress returned. Her hair was light brown, nothing special, but she had warm blue eyes and the full figure Pietro preferred. He was whispering in her ear when Darren looked over.

  She glanced at Darren, smiled back at Pietro and nodded.

  Darren frowned and cocked a brow in question.

  “She’s finding a little something for you, my friend. I’ve no desire to sit here while you wait for hunger to force you to make a choice.”

  Before Pietro finished his second ale, a young girl had slid her petite form onto the bench next to Darren. He looked down to find her hand resting in the crook of his arm.

  “I’m Sabrina,” she said. “My friend thought you might enjoy my company.”

  So young, he thought. Blond, which he knew Pietro had done on purpose to try to get some reaction from him, but this girl was nothing like Roxanna. Her hair was nearly as pale as her skin, and she looked up at him with green eyes. Had they been emerald green, she might have qualified as beautiful—or grown into being beautiful, but, at best, they were mossy in color. She couldn’t have been more different from his fierce, golden goddess with the deep eyes. Which meant she would suit his purpose.

  “I believe your company would be delightful,” he said. God, he wondered, how old could she be? Fifteen? Fourteen? Not that it mattered. She’d never remember what he did to her, and she’d be well-compensated. He’d likely be her best customer for a long time.

  Pietro nodded at something over Darren’s shoulder.

  “It seems our hostess would like to show us upstairs,” he said, rising to his feet.

  Darren followed, offering his hand to the girl beside him. “Will you join us, Sabrina?”

  She smiled and took his hand, but didn’t respond.

  Upstairs, Genna opened the second door on the left and let them into one of the guest rooms. It contained the standard fare—bed, table, two chairs, a wash basin.

  Pietro brushed past Genna and hopped onto the bed, crossing his black-clad legs at the ankles. Then he smiled and patted the bed next to him. “Come, my sweet. I feel we have much to learn from each other.”

  Genna took no convincing. She was curled up under Pietro’s arm before Darren closed the door.

  Sabrina looked over at them, and then more hesitantly up at Darren. He took her hand and led her across the room, taking a seat in one of the chairs in front of the darkened window and leaving her standing in front of him, her back to the couple on the bed.

  “What would you like?” she asked.

  Darren loosened his cravat and dropped it on the table. Then he leaned forward and pulled her closer to him with a gentle grip on her hips. For a moment, the thin material of her dress concerned him, but he assured himself she must have a coat somewhere.

  She came obediently and climbed into his lap, straddling him, letting her dress ride up to her thighs. Darren put his hands there and relished the warmth of her skin under his fingers. She leaned forward, her tiny fingers toying with his hair, and began to kiss his exposed neck.

  Darren let her continue her ministrations and focused on his hunger. Soon there would be no Sabrina, no pale hair, no tiny hands—there would just be food.

  He heard Genna moan and knew Pietro had gotten some of his blood between her lips, one way or another. He also knew Pietro was waiting for him. He wouldn’t have Genna’s scream scare Sabrina off before he was ready. There was a certain etiquette they had established.

  But when, as he had so often in the past, he would have cut his finger and dragged it across little Sabrina’s tongue, he found he couldn’t do it. He didn’t want to share that pleasure with another woman. Ever again.

  Poor Sabrina, he thought, even as he sat up, opened his eyes, and bit ferociously down into the girl’s perfectly placed throat. Her scream wasn’t loud enough to draw attention in a place like this, but he heard Pietro immediately pounce on Genna.
Her cry was muted by passion, but the pain still resonated around the room.

  It further whet his appetite, and Darren drank greedily from his pale little bird. She only struggled for a moment before stilling and letting him have his way. As with so many of them who lived on the edge of society—resigned to death if it happened her way that day.

  He drank until she went slack in his arms and her heartbeat started to fade.

  Then he lifted his head and looked over her slight shoulder. He felt blood drip from his fangs down onto his lower lip. He licked it off, closing his eyes against the sweetness. He waited for the haze of pleasure and lethargy that usually settled after a deep feeding, but it never came. Perhaps it never would, he realized, not with anyone other than her. Her. Don’t think her name, he told himself.

  Pietro was looking quizzically at him when he opened his eyes.

  “You have some objection to the entertainment?” he asked him.

  Pietro continued to stare. “You’ve never done that before,” he said. “You always hated causing them pain.” He glanced down at Genna. “Hell, I fed her so as not to offend your tastes. You could have told me I needn’t have bothered.”

  Darren looked at Sabrina’s bloody neck, and then bent to lick it clean. “She won’t remember anyway,” he said. “What’s the difference?”

  “You tell me,” Pietro replied. “You never wanted to hurt them before. Now that you’re supposedly reformed, you attack them like a sailor to a leg of mutton?”

  Darren chuckled. “I would never be so undignified.”

  That made Pietro laugh as well. “Granted, my elegant friend. But my question remains.”

  “Forget me,” Darren whispered into Sabrina’s small seashell ear. And into her dress pocket, he placed a gold sovereign.

  “So your guilt has turned to gold?” Pietro asked, laughing. “I’m sure they appreciate the gold much more.”

  “Quite,” Darren said, allowing Pietro to think it was as simple as that.

  Pietro extricated himself from Genna, tossed a half-crown coin onto the bed, wiped his mouth, and looked at Darren. “Well, put the girl down, man. The night is young.”

  Darren picked up the slight Sabrina, laid her on the other side of the bed, and led Pietro out via the back stairs.