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

by Silvana G Sánchez

  Lying on the grass, I buried my face in my hands and sobbed as those memories struck me with unforgiving powerful blows, one after another.

  I wanted those visions to stop, but they poured before my mind's eye, unstoppable as a waterfall.

  His bright hazel eyes fix upon me as my life pends from a thread. I reach the embankment and slither away from the merciless chilling waters. With panting breath, my face hits the snow. I weep.

  His tall figure, covered by the red-lined cloak, stands several feet away from me. Dristan's eyes do not change. His inexpressive demeanor remains as chilling as the lake. But then, he moves. He takes Lucifer's reins and sets them loose. Holding him near, Dristan whispers in his ear and then pats his back. Lucifer comes towards me. The warmth of his nose lands on my face and brings me to my senses.

  “Take me home,” I say. And sliding over his back, I let him take me away from those wretched waters.

  “He released Lucifer,” I mused. “Dristan saved my life.”

  He saved my life for a reason. His preternatural eyes had kept close watch on me for many years, for all I knew.

  Amidst hundreds of men, Dristan had chosen me as his heir, or so he had said. And in that pursuit, he gave me another life. What did I intend to do with it?

  My heart's every desire rested in my hands. I could travel and see the world, with no ties holding me back. The promise of centuries to come, spared from the unrelenting touch of age lay on the horizon for me.

  Dristan had ensured I possessed every means to procure safety and happiness for me, but he had failed. He had missed one important piece for my new life to be complete.

  I wanted her. But did she still want me? Would I simply let her love slip away from my fingers?

  Past midnight, I moved through the fields leading to my old home as I had done many times before under the scorching sun.

  There was light at her window.

  Once more, I turned into that moving gargoyle and climbed to her bedroom.

  The candle's flame flickered as it reached its last bit of wick.

  She lay on the bed, wide awake, her eyes fixed on the ceiling. I dared not read her thoughts. I truly believed that if tried, she would become aware of it, somehow.

  With all the stealth I could summon, I crept into the room.

  Last time I had been here, we had quarreled. I never thought I would return, yet here I was. I followed the whispers of my tainted heart.

  “I thought I would never see you again,” she said to my surprise. I guess I had done little to conceal my presence.

  “I thought so too.” I hinted a smile.

  She sat on the bed and gazed at me. “You must forgive my reaction that night, Ivan. I—”

  “I understand.”

  “I know you do,” she mused. “I wish I could too.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Alisa took a deep breath, pondering her following words.

  “You came to me with all this knowledge, speaking of mythical creatures, ancestral blood, and immortality... and you expected me to fathom all of it in a single evening.” She paused. “It's unfair, Ivan. You've had enough time to consider it and even make your peace with it.”

  “I see...” I whispered.

  She was right. I had demanded her immediate acceptance. I had expected her to skip the denial, the pain, and every mile of the dark road I had walked months ahead of her before I came to terms with my vampiric condition.

  “My mind cannot grasp this change in you because it cannot possibly imagine what you're going through,” she said. “Please understand, it will take time.”

  “Apparently, time is all I have.” I gave her a bitter smile.

  The most uncomfortable silence brewed between us.

  “They must know you're alive, Ivan. Father, William... everyone thinks you died in Venice—”

  “I did,” I said with a self-righteous tone. I paused and held my breath for a brief moment. “I'm sorry that you've failed to see it. But the one you traveled with through Europe, who drank and danced by your side—I am not him.”

  “I refuse to believe it,” she said as she stood before me.

  “Be that as it may—”

  “I am to be married in a week,” she mused, tending to the dying candlelight. “I expect you to be there.”

  “I will not.”

  “What on earth do you mean by that?”

  “I may have caused you great pain once, Alisa... and for that, I deserve your resentment. But please, do not mock me. Do not expect me to put a stop to my feelings, to carry on with life as if nothing had ever happened between us!”

  “But I thought—”

  “That it was a game, I know,” I mused. “Keep lying to yourself if you can, but do not expect me to do so as well!”

  “Please!” She stepped back, and all but collapsed on the armchair. Burying her face in her palms, she wept in silence. “Don't say that...”

  “Three days... that's how long it took for you to give your love to another.” I paused. “If my heart were as fickle as yours, then perhaps I could show such detachment as you do!”

  “You know nothing of my heart! You don't have the faintest idea of how I've suffered!

  “For the last eight years, I have held my breath, keeping my emotions bottled up inside, unable to tell a single soul that at last, I had found my one true love; tormented by keeping my affections secret from the one destined to receive them!

  “My heart has been steady and true through it all, so don't you dare call it fickle!”

  I knelt before her and held her warm hands.

  “Alisa... you've held your breath long enough,” I whispered. “If your heart is truly destined to Pritchard, tell me so, and you shall hear no word from me ever again. If it is not, however, and I might have reason to aspire to yours, please say it now.”

  Tears rolled down her cheeks. “It's yours, Ivan,” she said. “My heart has always been yours.”

  Those words delivered me to heaven itself. A powerful wave of warmth flooded my being and my eyes filled with tears.

  Bearing an irrepressible smile, I smoothed my hands beneath her cheeks. Our brows touched as I drew closer. My eyes got lost in the large dark ponds of her pupils. I kissed her delicate hands. With undying care, my fingers cleared the tears from her face and only then did I kiss her lips.

  She returned my kiss, breaking free from all sense of demure. Free at last. Her soft fingers glided on my neck and tangled in my hair.

  I parted from her just enough to speak the words my heart could no longer contain.

  “I love you, Alisa. With body and soul, I love you.”

  “Let's run away, Ivan,” she said. “Let's go far away from here and start anew!”

  “Are you certain that is what you want, my love?”

  “I am.”

  “Then we shall leave.”

  I would do anything in my power to please her.

  Glowing with happiness, she kissed my lips once more, and the taste of her unreserved initiative took my breath away.

  “I'll only take with me what's necessary,” she said as she reached for her trunk.

  I smiled. “You mean for us to leave right now?”

  “Why, yes. The sooner, the better.”

  “Alisa, please...” I stopped her hands over the trunk's lid. “This is too sudden, even for me, and I've wanted it for too long. We must plan this carefully.”

  “There is no time,” she said. “My marriage to Pritchard has been arranged to take place within a week. I cannot possibly stay here a minute longer!”

  “I understand, my love. And I assure you, there will be no marriage, but I need to take care of our traveling arrangements, and I'm afraid such affairs I can only settle after sundown... what with my condition.”

  “Oh, I hadn't thought of that,” she mused.

  “That is not to say it will not be done, dearest. It shall, but there's little time for it right now. Talk to Pritchard, break up the enga
gement, and I shall come for you tomorrow.”

  “I will.”

  “Tomorrow, we shall have our fresh start.”

  Beggars are easy to find. One must simply choose a road, and invariably they will be met.

  The one I had chosen this afternoon was an old man, and old men's blood is thicker than the blood of younglings. The drink takes longer with them. Death takes its time until every single organ has shut down. Whereas with the young, it happens all too quickly, and those drinks of ecstasy I struggle to make last.

  But at last, I had taken care of my vampiric needs. My preternatural thirst would not interfere with our travels.

  As soon as nightfall, I took Alisa to the house I had leased as my lair. She had tea at the parlor while the coachman carried the luggage and checked on the horses of our four-in-hand carriage.

  I had not slept well, what with the excitement of beginning this adventure, our life together, at last. In a few hours, the road would set us free from Winterbourne and deliver us into the heart of London.

  With her, she carried the small book of sonnets.

  “I remember those,” I mused with a playful tone.

  “I know you do,” she said. “But we'll have no more games of chance, not this time.”

  “I will abide by your rules,” I said. “But still, he was right, you know.”

  Amused by my words, she took another drink from her cup.

  I rose from the chair and moved towards the doorway.

  “Where are you going?” she said wearing a frown. “We're leaving soon, aren't we?”

  “Of course,” I said. “But before we leave, there's one thing left for me to do... I'll be back before you know it.”

  13

  The Prodigal Son

  The hearth's licking flames rose and receded as crumbling logs turned into cinders.

  Holding my breath, I stood at the parlor's threshold. My eyes landed on his imposing silhouette. He sat before the fireplace. The darkness of his form rhythmically fluttered with orangish light, granting an almost spectral quality to his presence.

  In the flash of a second, I traveled years back. Viktor had recently died and Father was expecting me, holding the scorn of his words, ready to toss them at my face the minute I appeared before him.

  But no longer was I the young boy of sixteen who strived to uphold Father's expectations. I no longer cared for his opinion—or at least, I hoped it would be so.

  Who was this man, who had traded his principles for the benefit of his position? Not my father, certainly. The man I knew as a child had upheld his convictions with much courage, no matter how unpopular they might have been. This man, however, had gone against every single one of those principles by engaging in slavery and selling his daughter to the highest bidder, and that was enough for him to deserve my disdain.

  Two bottles of red wine rested on the table beside him. Both of them empty. My father did not drink as a habit, and this man had somehow managed to finish both bottles by himself in the course of the evening, leaving but half-full the glass gripped in his hand.

  Stepping out from the shadows which engulfed the parlor, I moved but an inch closer to his visual field, allowing him to capture my image by the corner of his eye.

  “The prodigal son has returned...” he huffed with a cynical tone.

  “No,” I said. “A prodigal son would seek a place at his father's dinner table once more, whereas I do not. He would also come bearing gifts, and I'm afraid I have come only to take more from you.”

  “More? Haven't you taken enough?” he mused. “You have cost me greater losses than any man could bear. You took your brother away from me... and now, your mother too.”

  “And how exactly did I manage that, sir?”

  “Insolent creature!” he said without moving an inch from his seat. “Do you deny leaving Viktor to die in that lake? Do you deny breaking your mother's heart with your capricious travels?”

  “I can attest to leaving Viktor's corpse in the lake's frozen waters. And perhaps you're right; perhaps deep inside, after suffering years of his unending abuse, I wanted him dead... but I did not kill him.

  “As for my mother, I am more than certain that her death cannot be pinned on me either. For if there had ever been one who always encouraged me to see beyond the gates of this house, it was her. She urged me to go. She wanted me to fill my eyes with wonder and get a taste of the world—the one thing you denied her. But surely, your conceit would blind you to this particular reality.”

  “I will not sit here and listen to such poppycock!” he said, putting the drink aside. “Say what you came here to say... and then leave this house forever!”

  “Oh, I intend to,” I said. “Pray, attend to this. As of this evening, you will no longer set eyes on Alisa. I am taking her with me.”

  For the first time, he moved from the chair. He rose with clenched fists on his waist. And the minute he turned and pierced me with his hateful eyes, his jaw tightened before speaking.

  “You—what? How dare you?!” he roared. “She's to be married in a week!”

  “There will be no marriage. She has already refused Pritchard.”

  “No, no, no...” he mused. “You cannot do this! You, fiend! You curse everything you touch! You've been damned since the day you were born and done nothing but cast doom to the fate of this family ever since!” His face tinged with red, and perhaps it was due to his fury, but the wine helped as well.

  I remained silent. And in this brief breath of a pause between us, his anger did not wither; quite the contrary, it grew.

  “You are cursed, I have always known it. But the moment you murdered your brother your damnation took its toll on this family. It cost me my pride and ambition, the loss of everything I held dear and what I have strenuously fought to achieve... all that mattered in my life, I have lost because of you.

  “And now, you would cast damnation onto your very own sister. You would snatch Alisa away from her one hope of happiness!”

  “Happiness, sir?” I replied withholding my temper. “Of whose happiness do you speak, hers or yours?”

  “You're a fool...” he mused. “William Pritchard is more than a fine match! He excels both in rank and fortune. And he does not care a thing about our family's downfall or the inferiority of your sister's conditions!”

  “Be that as it may... she does not love him.”

  “Love?” He gave a bitter laugh. “What folly! Understand, no one will take her after this! She will be ruined!”

  “Alisa is a strong and independent woman,” I said, impassible. “She does not need him or you... or any man to succeed. I'm quite convinced.”

  “You will not ruin this for her! I will never allow it!” Stumbling as he stepped back, he reached behind the chair and took the flintlock musket he hid there for safety.

  With no more thought than what perspired in a second, he pressed the firearm against his shoulder and pulled the trigger. A heavy shock pounded on my chest. The blow pushed me back and my body struck the wall. A blotch of blood stained my shirt near the right shoulder, and with baffled eyes, I watched it grow. Immeasurable pain expanded throughout my chest; it burned my skin in wave after wave until the fire crawling over it came to a frozen stop.

  He shot me. The old man shot me.

  Disappointment came over me first, but sadness took its place quick.

  The pain disappeared. I opened my shirt and it slipped beneath my shoulders. The wound bled no more. Gunpowder and blood stained the white fabric, and fixed around the torn skin. But then, before my unnatural eyes, the bullet surfaced from the wound, clanking on the floor's wooden boards as it fell. Within seconds, my flesh healed, leaving no bruise behind. The hole was gone.

  Gone too was all sadness from my being. It did not take long for anger to brew in my belly.

  He shot me! His own son!

  Panic filled his eyes. The smoking gun fixed in his grasp quivered with his shaking hands. His lips barely parted, but he swallowed his s
creams.

  “The wine in your blood fails your aim, as it does your better judgment, sir,” I muttered. “I urge you, shoot again! But this time, do not fail... Make haste, sir!”

  In one furious motion, I opened my shirt and stepped closer to him, close enough to secure his aim.

  “What are you?! Get away from me, demon!”

  Stricken with horror, he bolted a step back and stumbled on the table behind. The glass of wine fell onto the floor and its remnants splashed into the fire. Cinders flew and plummeted over the Turkish rug. The drugget caught fire quick, but neither of us cared.

  “You are not my son! You're cursed! Cursed!”

  Terror blinded him, so much so, that he took one more shot.

  My shoulder jilted back as it received the blast's full blow. The bullet bore my shoulder through and through. But this time, I remained still, on my feet as blood poured from the wound and its flowing warmth dripped down my arm. And once again, the blood dried quick, and my skin healed as if nothing had happened.

  Fright set deep into his widened eyes.

  Oh, yes... Be afraid.

  Pleased at the expense of his chagrin, I moved close enough for him to catch a glimpse of my gleaming eyes, and even gave him a hint of my fangs.

  “You're right,” I whispered, taking the musket off his trembling hands. “I am not your son. You are no longer my father... And yes, I am cursed. Or is it a blessing?”

  Fear paralyzed him and he spoke no more.

  An infernal blaze rose behind him, and yet, he did not move.

  “You may do with your wretched life as you please,” I said. “Stay here and die, or live and remarry. Sell slaves, if you will...” I laughed under my breath as I moved towards the doorway. “But she goes with me.”

  The minute I walked through those doors, I tossed the gun aside and with it, I cleansed my hands of whatever fate that man chose for himself.

  14

  Welcome to Darkness

  Years flew by in each other's company. London proved to be the ideal town for us to establish and build a life of our own.