Written in Blood: A New Adult Vampire Romance Novella, Part Two. (The Unnatural Brethren Book 1)

by Silvana G Sánchez

  “Aam fixed atween th’ devil an’ th’ deep brine...”

  “I'm afraid you are, Captain.”

  “Everyone knows of yer brother's tragic fate.”

  “They say I killed him?”

  “No! Not that...” He raised his hand to soothe my temper. “That ye were with him when he...”

  “When he died. Yes, I was with him. What of it?”

  “They say yer cursed ever since, laddie. They say ye brooght th’ curse tae yer family. An’ that everythin’ ye touch will come soon tae its end.”

  “That's folly!”

  “Look at what happened to yer father, laddie... He had a bad run fur a while, broke an’ disheartened as he was.”

  “Yes, but that was grief. And he's much recovered now, I hear.”

  “Aye. An’ he’s got back his wealth. But at what cost, laddie… at what cost?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Dornt ye ken, lad?” He furrowed his brow. “He changed trades, yer father. He deals slaves now.”

  My eyes widened in disbelief. I could never expect this coming from him—not Father. The man was a monument of righteousness and had always declared his disdain towards slavery.

  “It cannot be true,” I mused.

  “But it is,” Gallagher said. “It's th’ curse, laddie. He bargained with th’ Devil an’ his riches took their toll on yer mum's health.”

  Words eluded me.

  “As suin as tragedy knocked on yer duir, Ah changed sails... An’ look at me now. I've become a prusperus gent.”

  “Indeed, you have.”

  I would have sunk my fangs deep into his chest, had it not meant the risk of driving the rage of every sailor over me. And so, Gallagher got to live.

  8

  The Beast

  Hunger as I had never met strained my every limb.

  I reached London with such blood thirst that it overpowered my senses. Randomly, I strolled street after street, my blundering footsteps led by acute desperation.

  Pain delivered heavy blows, one heartbeat after another. Every blood vessel in my body constrained and pulsed, demanding the dark blessed drink that would deliver my damned body from its accursed starvation.

  The stench of rotten food and soiled streets warned me of my whereabouts.

  Drury Lane.

  The Theatre Royal had long closed its doors, and the scum of London society lingered in its corners.

  Amidst whores and beggars, I found myself at home. I followed the street with lagging steps while capturing the scene of misery surrounding me. A couple of hours earlier and I would have caught sight of the drastic mishmash of mortals as the theater's doors released the public to the street. Pristine velvet meshed with tattered rags, expensive perfumes entangled with the stench of poverty's fumes clinging to their languid bodies...

  “Give us some love, ey?” She pulled my arm and lured me into the alley.

  A breath apart from the girl, I cleared the greasy hair from her face and captured my reflection upon her soundless wide pupils.

  With much ease, I caught her thoughts. She worked as a flower-girl by day, but times had been rough and she could barely make ends meet. The sadness in her eyes accounted for this life of misery; it was not what she expected, but there was no way out of it.

  “I know nothing of love,” I whispered, “but I can give you something even better.”

  With no more preambles, I seized her. At first, she quivered under my hold but I calmed her anxiety with a bit of vampiric persuasion and shushed her like a child.

  The moment my fangs hit her carotid artery and that first gush of blood filled my mouth, I knew I would not stop until I drained every last drop of her young blood. And as soon as her heart stopped feeding my devilish whim, I dropped her dead body and moved on to the next miserable life form that crossed my path.

  I told myself I did it for their own benefit; that it came as a blessing that someone in my field of expertise should step into their wretched lives and grant them salvation, a reprieve from the hell of their existence.

  In the depth of shadows, I snatched my victims, one after the other. After a while, I took so many that my immortal brain scarcely retained the image of their frightened faces; they were nothing but masses of meaty flesh, warm and thriving with the precious pulsing wine my vicious nature demanded.

  Ruthlessly, I killed; slashing throats, wrists and ripping their skin off with my keen canines as if I were peeling the ripest of fruits. Their dead bodies piled on the street, with no one to give a care for their ill fate, no one to weep for them now that they were gone.

  The imminent rainstorm would carry away any blood I might have left behind; it would cleanse their bodies before their souls reached the gates of heaven—and that could be nothing but a good thing.

  I tossed my last kill of the evening to the side of the street, and a flash of her green eyes and mischievous smile tortured me all the way through the dismal alley. The hunt had consumed most of my strength, but it was her deception what made my heart so weary.

  Lightning struck, illuminating the cobblestone street. For hours I roamed, until I could no longer go on.

  Without a trace of hope, I leaned against the wall and the toll of my sins caught up with me then. My hands were covered in blood. I opened them and let the rain wash out the stains. And although my heart had been quickened by the hunt and I felt more alive than ever before, guilt crept into my soul for the merciless killing spree I had left behind.

  I sat on the muddied pavement and wept. A beggar amongst beggars. Perhaps another vampire would cross my path and unleash his fury on me, although in my brief year as a blood drinker I had never met another of my kind—except for Dristan, of course. But then, he disappeared as soon as he bestowed this gift upon me. There was the legend of the Sartie Mangiatori, but I had never seen one during my stay in Venice.

  My sobbing cries muffled beneath the raging thunderstorm. It was in this perfect moment that I realized how out of place I was in the world.

  Through many hardships, I had learned that love eluded me like no other creature because I was no longer human. The love I had met as a vampire had taught me that if endangered, it might as well choose to grieve by disappointment. This love knew its boundaries; it was callous and self-aware of its needs. It was selfish and guided by fear.

  It was this love, the one reason behind Juliette's betrayal, the main force which drove Alisa to her sudden engagement to William Pritchard.

  I realized then the vanity of my illusion; to think that love could have been found in either heart was folly. It had been just a dream and nothing more.

  I belonged nowhere.

  Not in Paris, as the perfect plaything for Juliette's devilish schemes. Not in Winterbourne, where my mother fought illness and Alisa was soon to be married... How could the thought of marriage suddenly become so appealing to her? Her utter disdain towards the entire concept had clung to her for as long as I could remember. Alisa had vowed never to marry; she and I would be devoted to each other for years to come... Had that been a lie too?

  But surely some of it was real. The night of the Venetian Grand Ball, that one true moment of bliss and release to the freedom of our hearts... It was pure and free from fear. It had to be real.

  There was only one way to find out. And I had to know before it was too late, for tonight I had foreseen the beast lying within my fiendish nature. Alienated from what I knew, an outcast of the mortal world, this vicious creature dwelled within my soul and ate bits and pieces of my frail humanity, threatening to barely leave but a trace of the man I once was.

  The thought of centuries to come without finding my place in the world caused me great anxiety. I could not breathe.

  Was there hope for me still? Can the damned truly be redeemed? Was I worthy of aspiring to love even when I had become this monster?

  I did not know what determination guided my path—whether it was turning to my mother's side in her hour of need, or
the fear of letting love slip through my fingers as Alisa vowed her life, body, and soul, to another man. Whichever the case, my heart could not bear it.

  I needed to find some solace in this desolation, a familiar face to ease my pain and give me comfort. And I knew where to find it.

  Beneath the pouring deluge, I stood, my clothes so drenched that any more water soaking them hardly made a difference.

  There I stayed, motionless, entranced as I gazed at the house's dilapidated facade. After a while, the storm receded, and moments later, it stopped raining altogether. Birdsongs and soft gusts of cool breeze announced the upcoming dawn.

  Her silhouette appeared behind the darkened window. A shadow amidst shadows, easy for my unnatural eyes to perceive.

  Candlelight filled the room; its amber gleam called to my need of warmth. My pursuits were far from physical. I sought the nearness, the touch of a human body to remind me of what I used to be.

  The door creaked as it opened and her inquisitive green eyes peered through the crevice. The minute she looked at my face, the door opened wider. She tossed an embroidered shawl over her shoulders and stepped outside.

  “You’re back,” she said, a subtle mist escaped her lips as she spoke.

  “How can you tell I'm the one you think?” I'm no longer him. I'm not human.

  “Your lonesome eyes...” Her hand smoothed over my jawline. “I would recognize them every single time.” She paused. “Well, that and your fancy for rain. Look at you, My Lord! You're soaking wet. Had I known it was you standing here, I would have called you in hours ago.”

  Hours?

  I rubbed my eyes and cleared from my face the strands of drenched hair.

  She took my hand. “Come inside, love.”

  An immediate sense of relief embraced me when I crossed that threshold. The house was warm and inviting. A painting in the parlor depicted the Rialto Bridge. The bedroom furnishings, intricate and richly decorated, reminded me of Venice.

  The mesmerizing flames of the fire lured me closer.

  She went towards the window and opened its shutters, welcoming the first morning beams of light into the darkened room.

  “No light!” I scowled. “I detest the light.”

  “As you wish, My Lord.” She closed the shutters and my blessed darkness returned.

  Lucia’s delicate fingers glided beneath my coat and removed it. She then undid my shirt. Hasty to begin, her hand reached for my breeches, but before she carried on with her purpose, I seized her wrist and stopped her.

  Her widened eyes revealed a mixture of confusion and pure outrage.

  “Take no offense,” I whispered. “But is there any hurry?”

  “There is, My Lord.” A self-righteous tone. And there it was, the same air of entitlement I had recognized in her a year ago. “I would have you at your best, not hindered by a cold.”

  I bit my lower lip to prevent from bursting into loud laughter. A cold? Did Immortals endure such struggles?

  “Bene. Va bene.” All right, I said in a soft voice to soothe her burning temper. The smile that bloomed in her lips told me it worked.

  “How far did your travels take you?” she said while slipping my shirt away.

  I sat on the chair by the hearth. “I’ve been to Paris, Rome, and Venice…”

  The mention of her motherland amused her. “Tell me about Venice.” She knelt by my side and unfastened my breeches. “Did you find it pleasing?”

  “I'm not entirely sure I did,” I mused.

  “Something troubles you, My Lord?” Her eyes met my vacant gaze.

  “Change,” I said under my breath. “It’s crept into my life. Relentless, unwavering… I cannot steer it’s pace, nor its direction.”

  A brief knowing smile drew on her pink lips. “Everything’s always changing.” With delicacy, she removed the last shred of my clothes. Lucia then got on her feet and stood before me while her gown glided off her sensuous figure and dropped to the floor. “It’s useless to resist change… It’s as pointless as trying to resist me.” Her smooth thighs clasped my waist as she sat on my lap. Lucia’s familiar warmth set my whirring mind at ease.

  The morning went by swiftly as I yielded to her sultry kisses, losing my senses in her passionate embrace. Exhaustion caught up with us both, and we slept in each other’s arms.

  It was early in the afternoon. I called the carriage.

  I left a generous amount of money on the dressing table and slipped out of the bedchamber as Lucia lay asleep.

  Winterbourne lay but a few miles ahead. How strange it seemed—me, an outsider, taking the road back home with not the slightest intention of remaining there longer than necessary.

  The road to Winterbourne was one I had wished to avoid, and even dreaded; perhaps more so now because of what lay ahead. Facing my beloved mother’s illness was a most harrowing thought. And still, this moment could not be averted.

  A knock on the carriage's roof, and my journey commenced.

  9

  Winterbourne

  Kissed by the last reddened rays of the dying sun, vast planes of green fields extended far beyond the eye's reach, where ancient woodlands met flourishing pastures. A soft veil of gray sifted over the village ahead, with heavy dark clouds and gusts of cool breeze announcing the impending rain.

  The old dirt road, bounded by thick hedges, led me to my family's home as it had done so many times before. But this time, it was different. I was different.

  After the vampiric killing spree I staged in London, there was no desire left in me for the hunt. Not a trace of hunger clung to my unnatural body. But no matter how silent my lethal instinct remained at this point, it changed nothing of whom I was or what I did in order to survive.

  Captain Gallagher's ominous words echoed in my skull: I was cursed, everything I touched tarnished beneath my rotten fingers.

  And the painful reality was that even though they were but ridiculous rumors devised by people's ignorant superstitions, they also happened to be true. I was damned. I was in liaison with the Devil—a very particular kind of devil, a most enticing one with strawberry-red hair and piercing green eyes—and everything I touched did wither.

  Perhaps this was the reason why Dristan had chosen me, amongst so many others, after centuries of fruitless search. I had every means to become the blood-sucking, night-prowling vicious killer that I was. Everyone had seen it clearly from the start. Everyone, but me.

  Realizing this made me question my entire motives for being here.

  I had to face reality. I was no longer human. I was damned and corrupted and the embodiment of everything that was dark and malicious—which she was not and would never be.

  What could I possibly offer to Alisa that was worth taking?

  The answer came quickly.

  Nothing.

  At the end of the steep dirt road, the town was an imminent destination.

  I came to terms with it right then. I would not interfere between her and Pritchard. I would only seek whatever precious time I had to comfort my mother in her last breaths, concealed as ever, in the shadows. No one needed to know of my presence here. No one in this town would even recognize me, I was sure of it.

  A sudden flapping noise pulled me out of my abstraction.

  A flock of crows. Restless, they fluttered their wings over the cow byre's wooden fence. The sound of their ruffling feathers and grating caws reverberated in the town's stillness. It would be dark soon, and most of the townsfolk destined this time for their supper and later on prepared for bed.

  A few miles behind me, the church bell struck its low mournful toll. Grave and sullen, the haunting sound dissipated in the land, along with the swaying crows fleeing to the fields. The bell's toll lingered in the air a few moments before it chimed again.

  I turned back and took one hard look at Saint Michael's Church, uphill.

  The dreaded call made every nervous fiber in my being sizzle, for although it was Sunday, the time for service had long passed.
This was not a call that alluded such a purpose, this was a call that announced death.

  Holding back my fears, I walked further and soon reached the footpath that led to the house. For a second, I thought I had made a wrong turn, mistakenly stumbling on a cobblestone road; but as I glared a few miles beyond the gates, I confirmed it was my parent's home.

  As I wished to remain unnoticed, I stayed clear from the path and moved through the fields, reaching the house from its eastern side—where I would find Mother's bedroom window.

  While I moved through fields of tall grass, a pressing grip took over my heart. Panic crept in. I pushed it to the back of my mind and soon emerged from the tree-lined field.

  I stopped before the house's shrubbery.

  The blood in my veins froze as with glazing eyes I captured the frightful scenery laid before me.

  Four Belgian black horses draped in black leather harnesses with a crest of black feathers pulled the hearse out of the driveway. The languid clanking of their hooves as they struck the stone pavement pierced my brain, but then, a distant thunderclap muffled the dreary noise.

  “N–No,” I mumbled. My lips quivered. “No, this cannot be.”

  The gates screeched as they opened, allowing the funeral hearse to pass, and in that instant, my fears materialized. Father walked behind the carriage, Alisa held his arm but he swung it away, refusing her aid. William Pritchard moved fast and locked her arm around his.

  I was too late. Mother was gone.

  My heart shuddered in short flickering spasms that hindered my breath. In one split second, my world collapsed.

  I hoped being an immortal creature would spare me from feeling such pain, but it did not. My spirit shattered into a thousand pieces, each one a sharpened dagger piercing my body through and through.

  Overwhelmed by grief, my knees bent and landed on the lawn. Unable to run after the funeral procession, defeated by Death itself, I buried my face in my hands and sobbed like a child.