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

by Silvana G Sánchez

  Powdered with the tiniest motes of dust, twilight's beams pierced the shadows as they filtered through the bedroom windows. The oak's soft scent of the carved wall panels entwined with that of her skin's alluring perfume.

  I enjoyed nothing more as of late than to have her company early in the afternoon. I knew of no better way to start my evening. And by delighting this country house with her presence, its acquisition had fulfilled more than I ever expected.

  Nothing but her laced chemise stood in the way of my desire for her as she sat on my lap. With careful parsimony, I undid the ties of the chemise's front slit as she fiddled her fingers through my hair.

  “Any living creature under the realm of Darkness lays at your command...” her sultry voice whispered in my ear.

  “I like the sound of that,” I said and kissed her wrist. “But I wouldn't know how to do it.”

  “I can teach you,” she said under her breath, her eyes closed.

  “You've taught me so many things...” I mused. “I feel obliged to reciprocate. Perhaps I might teach you a few tricks of my own?”

  On a selfish whim, I bit her wrist. I did it quickly, and just enough to allow the gentle flow of her blood through the small wound. I sealed my lips around the bleeding cut and licked its precious red wine. An electrifying rush coursed through my tongue and spread to my limbs.

  I fixed my gaze on her and measured her reaction; a hint of delighted loomed in her smile, and that was all I needed to pursue this petite boisson.

  Her thighs tightened around my waist. She wanted more. I pleased my appetites; she would have hers satisfied as well.

  I slipped my hands beneath her gown and pulled her closer. Her lips pressed against mine, lustful and demanding. Her sensuous touch aroused every manly desire lingering in my body. Locked in this passionate embrace, I delivered her to the brim of ecstasy once and again.

  Blinded in this rapture, she moaned. And even though I could hear Alisa’s steps approaching fast down the corridor, I did not care. I wanted her to see, to open that door and witness the scene of our lovemaking.

  The footsteps stopped.

  Juliette relished the moment's exaltation, either unaware or uncaring of her presence. I closed my grip around her small waist and she moaned once more.

  My eyes loomed above her bare shoulder and with a defying gaze, they met Alisa’s figure standing by the door's jamb, stone-cold, undaunted before what her eyes beheld.

  Taking advantage of this moment, and without parting my sight from her, I sank my fangs deep in Juliette’s breast. She cried in delirium; the minute the first gush of blood surged from the wound, I pressed my lips against her skin and took that blissful drink that would deliver me to the gates of paradise.

  Immersed in my desire's satisfaction, I regretted missing sight of the expression on Alisa's face. The door slammed shut and her furious footsteps rushed down the hallway.

  Oh, no. You're not getting away that easily!

  I reached for my robe with haste and slipped out of the chair. Exhausted, Juliette sat in my stead, her eyes drunk with desire, the corner of her plump lips curling into the most enticing smile which I knew not how to interpret. Mischievous satisfaction, that much was clear. Whether it came from our evening together or was due to Alisa's grievous discovery remained unknown to me.

  I rushed out of the room and caught up with her at the top of the stairway.

  “Alisa,” I said, gripping the handrail tight. “Alisa!”

  She stopped at the foot of the stairs, without turning back. The minute I reached the last step of the staircase, she turned and fixed her bloodshot eyes into mine.

  “You should have killed her already,” she hissed while pointing her finger upstairs.

  I smirked. “And why should I do that?”

  “Because—because I do not like her. I've never liked her! She's a witch, Ivan. A witch!”

  “And we are vampires, which in my mind is by far the worst of both curses... Besides, I thought we had agreed to stay out of each other's prey.”

  “She's not your prey. Let's call her what she truly is. She's your lover!” she cried in an outburst of fury. “Kill her, Ivan... Kill her now!”

  My laughter echoed in the hall. “What is this?Jealousy?” I said. “It doesn't suit you. Perhaps it did once, but not anymore.”

  “Heartless!” she said under her breath.

  I frowned, bemused by her statement.

  “You've been away for too long, my love,” I whispered. “You extend your trips and take your lovers with you if and when it suits you... and yet, you would have everything remain the same at your return.” With the stealth of a wildcat, I moved around her until I stood between her and the doorway, and her gleaming eyes followed me as I did. “Am I expected to say nothing, to feel nothing... to do nothing about it?”

  “Why must you be so cruel?” she said with quivering lips. A tear rolled down her cheek, but anger—not pain—filled her eyes.

  “Heartless, cruel... I can only be so many things. Which one is it, dearest?” I shrugged.

  “Neither is what I want!”

  “What do you want from me?” I said, seconds away from losing my temper.

  “I want your cynical words to disappear! I want the man I once knew back in my life... I want us to be happy again.”

  Her words shook my heart. Life together in the last few years had consisted on discovering new ways to hurt each other. Love had been out of the question for a very long time. I had no idea her heart still harbored such feelings towards me. And with my sights fixed on perfecting my revenge, I barely recognized my true feelings at all.

  “I—I want that too.” I mused.

  “Then please, do something!” She held fast to my arm as tears continued to pour and tinged in red her pale face. “Win my heart back before it's too late!”

  For the first time in years, she conveyed her feelings with transparency. And in her eyes, I recognized the true desire to mend what had been broken between us long ago. But could this be done? Could the old wounds heal as quick as our unnatural bodies? Did we stand a chance at all?

  If there even was a slim possibility for our love to be rekindled, I had to try.

  “Tell me, what must I do to have your love once more?”

  “Give us a fresh start—away from Paris.” Away from Juliette, is what she meant.

  “I will follow you to the world's end if it might please you.”

  “That will not be necessary. Venice will do just fine.”

  “Venice?” I said.

  “Yes. Venice saw the first glimpse of our love, my darling. I cannot possibly think of a better place for you and me to start anew.” She clasped my hands between hers. “And I want to meet the one whose prodigious blood has granted us this immortal gift.”

  “Dristan?”

  “Yes.” She leaned her head against my beating heart. “I'm certain there is much we can learn from him, wouldn't you agree? He must be very powerful, indeed. And our search for him would certainly be a most adventurous way to pass the time... together.”

  “I—I think—”

  “Let's do it. Let's start over, my love... in Venice.”

  “Our Venice...” I mused.

  What is love, but a series of unexplainable bursts of anxiety enclosed within rapture and blinded by the heart's foolish whims?

  The minute I decided to comply with Alisa's desires, the faint possibility of recovering our withered love struck a beat of life once more. I did not know when I had begun to lose her; but for once, we had a chance to rekindle that which had cost us so much struggle and the defiance of everything stipulated by society. Such a precious love should not go to waste, and in my eyes, was worth fighting for.

  But life tends to require balance all too soon. And each time we win—or think we win—it also means we must lose. I won a fresh start with Alisa, my one true love who, though estranged, still had a hold of my heart and every right to its claim. But then, that meant I lost s
omething too, because by choosing her, I neglected Juliette's affection.

  For weeks, I avoided her. Until one evening, I forced myself into returning to that blessed Garden of Eden. I had waited for my last evening in Paris to seek her; otherwise, I would never go through with it.

  My feelings for Alisa were real, yes. I had loved her for as long as I had use of memory, though I did not understand it then. And no matter what hindrances stood between us, we would always beat them all because we belonged to each other. It was written in our souls.

  But Juliette and I shared something quite different, and it was not that her pleasures delighted mine—though that was one of the bonds that kept me in her thrall. With all, ours was a connection that eluded the planes of physicality, for within her I had discovered more than a desirable lover. She had guided my first steps in the vast wasteland of immortality. I owed much to her teachings, but it was not gratitude what compelled me to stay by her side... I could not pinpoint it, exactly. However, here I was.

  The moment I stepped into the darkened jungle, the sweet fragrance of her skin stirred my memories. I picked it out with no difficulty from the merging scents of the garden's exotic plant life.

  Barefooted, dressed in her delicate nightgown, she sat by the pond. Heavy locks of red hair glided from her shoulders and covered her face as she dipped her fingers into the rippling waters.

  Standing a few feet behind her, I made my presence known.

  “I gather you are leaving?” she said without parting her gaze from the clear waters.

  “I have to,” I whispered.

  “Do you?” She paused. “Do you, really?”

  “I must,” I said. “If I don't, I will forever be tormented by the thought of what could have been.”

  She removed her hand from the water and held its stone rim. “I would forever be tormented by your absence if you do.”

  My image appeared beside hers on the waters' surface, and through that reflection, I stared into her eyes.

  “I must try,” I said.

  Juliette held her breath for a moment before finally turning her gaze towards me. Her eyes, though serene, shimmered with contained tears.

  “I see...” she mused. “I cannot stop you.”

  Unable to restrain myself any longer, I sat by her side. My fingers gently pulled a lock of her hair behind her ear, revealing at last her sweet countenance.

  “What will you do?” I asked.

  “I will miss you terribly.” A bitter smile drew on her face, then she sighed. “I suppose I will have to marry... I wonder if Pritchard is still available,” she teased.

  I frowned in light of her dark sense of humor. “Whether it's him or another, I would never share you,” I whispered. “I'm a selfish fiend.”

  “Whereas, I would…” she said. “I would share you with her, if that kept you by my side.”

  Juliette's answer baffled me.

  “I—I cannot. She—”

  Her lips stretched into a painful smile.

  “I know.” Her soft hand caressed my face. And she studied me with prescient eyes that knew this moment would be one to hold onto, for it would be the last of our time together.

  Her hands glided to the nape of my neck, sinking her fingers in my hair as the distance between us shortened.

  In one precious instant, Juliette pressed her lips against mine. And I kissed her back with a devoted, maddening kiss—the kind that aches all through and through—all too aware of its ephemeral nature.

  Her kiss then drifted to my ear and finished in an enticing bite on my earlobe.

  “Never mind you all that, my love,” she whispered. “You and I shall always be together, one way or another. This, I know for certain.”

  Entranced by her words, as if they were indeed a spell, I remained paralyzed as she kissed my lips once more. She then stood and walked out of the jungle's clearing, into the depths of its rich foliage, never once turning back.

  I did not know whether she and I would ever meet again, but part of me hoped that her promise was true.

  19

  Venetian Sky

  VENICE, 1687.

  Dark blue waters rippled in a peaceful trance and the last strokes of the dying sun stained the clouded sky. Venice's pure nautical scent soothed me with its gusts of fresh wind as the boat smoothly sailed across the Grand Canal.

  Her hand clasped my arm and the most genuine of smiles drew on her face the minute my gaze turned to her. Happiness radiated from Alisa as I had seldom seen in the last ten years.

  It felt right. For once, my love had proven its commitment. Although it did cause me grief, I had chosen to leave Paris—however certain that a piece of my heart had stayed behind.

  This time, everything would be different. This time, our love would triumph against all odds. I knew it.

  “There it is,” I mused as the old palazzo's white walls loomed in the distance; its Moorish crenellations spiked upwards as flawless as the finest lace. Memories of Dristan and the night of my making poured into my preternatural mind in a copious rain of vivid images.

  “It's beautiful,” she said.

  The boatman docked at the palazzo's water gate. After I paid him, I turned to the mezzanine, where Alisa expected me.

  I hired no servants, for our needs had grown simpler with the passing years and I wanted as much privacy between us as possible, to be able to speak and behave as we pleased without the silent prying eyes of the service.

  “Impressive,” she whispered as we moved up the marble stairway and reached the piano nobile floor.

  The sight of frescoes decorating every wall, luxurious crystal chandeliers, and several marble ornaments in the room, was enough to take one's breath away. Indeed, Dristan's old lair displayed a sober yet classical taste with hints of luxury spread on any given corner.

  She stood by the quadriphora and admired the magnificent view of the Grand Canal at sunset.

  I drew closer to her and remained a step behind.

  “It's so quiet,” she mused.

  Of course, it was. Compared to Parisian life, this was peace itself.

  With all tenderness, I embraced her and whispered in her ear, “Are you happy, my love? Is this what you wanted?”

  A subtle smile drew on her lips. She reached my hand over her shoulder and pressed it warmly.

  Years passed by in a blink. Decades meant nothing.

  This was 1699, and coffee houses were Venice's newest popular addition. A long time had passed since the last time I had drunk coffee. I remembered its dark bitter taste and the ensuing heightening of my senses after having a cup in the morning, but the aroma of its freshly ground beans was one I held most dear.

  By the south side of Piazza San Marco, beneath the Procuratie Nuove's arcades, I found the perfect spot to spend the evening, never forgetting that hunting was my true purpose. Amidst the few passing groups of men and women, I expected to find a solitary soul that met my path—the ideal victim.

  After coming to terms with our difference of opinion regarding Alisa's hunting schemes, she and I agreed that each of us should hunt on our own. I could not change her ways, but I had no reason to witness them either. A strange quiet peace brewed between us ever since we had settled in Venice. Not at all what my heart had hoped for when we arrived, but harmony was as much as I could ask after almost twenty years of our alliance.

  The small cup of steaming coffee appeared before me and my eyes grew wide with excitement as I recalled the first time I ever tasted it, in Paris.

  My heart ached, stung by the pain of Juliette's memory, the harm I had inflicted on her with my sudden departure. But the choice was made and I bore no regrets... if only it stopped hurting. Each time I recalled Paris, my thoughts invariably led me to her shimmering green eyes and wavy red hair.

  “Anything else, sir? We are about to close,” the man said in Italian.

  “Sto bene, grazie.” I waved my hand dismissively. As soon as the waiter disappeared, I pulled the warm porcelain
cup closer and held it in my hands. The heat transferred to my cold palms and the coffee’s delightful fumes swirled in the air and reached my nostrils, bringing back a flood of memories of my mortal days under the sun.

  I missed it, of course—daylight—but not with a melancholic longing. I missed it as one misses the sight of the sea when living inland. The lingering desire for it dangled somewhere in my soul, but it grew fainter each passing year. Perhaps the time would come when I would not even remember my mortal life so vividly... who knew?

  “Monsieur?” His large brown eyes loomed into my visual field.

  As if driven away from a trance, I blinked and hit reality. I was in Piazza San Marco, at a wonderful coffee house, and before me was a Frenchman, who apparently wanted something from me.

  The stench of his cologne hit my nostrils violently; it pierced through the coffee's aromatic fragrance. I had longed for this moment too much for it to be interrupted. I frowned and stared at the man with an inquisitive expression.

  “Briton?” he said. “English?”

  I nodded.

  “Forgive me, sir,” he said, ashamed, I assumed, of his rude behavior. He extracted a pamphlet from his coat and laid it on the table. The moment my eyes landed on the map, I recognized the travel guide.

  My fiendish mind registered the signs immediately.

  Tourist. Alone. Lost?

  “I'm hoping you might help me,” he said with a nervous laugh at the end. “I'm sorry to say it, but I seem to be lost, sir.”

  Well, hurrah for my keen instincts.

  I smiled and ignored his rancid stench because what I pursued was much more important.

  “Where are you headed? I might be of assistance.”

  His eyes brightened with joy. “I need to get to the Rialto.”

  One look into his eyes and my mind latched into his thoughts.

  “At last! Five years of work have paid their rewards! She and I will be together. Married, at last!”

  Ugh! Too young, too innocent… I do not want you.