I left a few ducats on the table before rising from the chair. My perception of the man had changed; he was no longer a possible meal, but someone that truly needed my aid, so my attitude shifted accordingly.
“I'll show you to the bridge. These things are never trustworthy.” I flicked my fingers at the travel guide and winked.
He waved his farewells the minute he crossed the bridge. And I, from the other side, remained impassive, waiting for his silhouette to disappear as he took the last steps of the Rialto Bridge.
Then it hit me. I had spared him from my fangs. Hmm... perhaps there was some good in me yet. Perhaps my soul was not as damned as I once thought.
A voice shined through as clear as dawn breaking in my brain.
“Do not fool yourself.”
I laughed in spite of my waking hunger. The devil, I was, proud enough to choose a prey that met my special requirements.
My victims lay in brothels and alleys; they prowled the streets as late as I did, concocting vicious plans that thanks to me would never see the light of day. I chose them because their fiendish blood satisfied my dark thirst in a way no other mortal could. Their struggle under my lethal embrace made me happy—no matter for how brief a moment.
Soon enough, I found a victim that met my needs.
Bemused beyond his senses, he drank from his bottle of wine, sitting by the fountain of a silent campiello.
With much ease, I lured him to the most remote calle, and only there, at the dead end, did I reveal to him my fangs before drinking every last drop inside his greasy body.
I sealed the wound with my unnatural blood and dumped the body by the campiello, next to the fountain. Just another drunkard lying on the street. Nicely done, or at least I thought so. But what would he think—the one spying on me ever since that moment, back at the Rialto?
His presence was strong. Undoubtedly, he wanted me to notice it. But why? Why keep track of my nocturnal pursuits? Why hide in the shadows? Oh, and he was no mortal man.
“You've had your fun. Now come out where I can see you...” I said under my breath.
He remained silent.
Doves flapped their wings on the rooftop of the house behind me. Their sudden flight caught my attention. I looked up.
There he was.
Crouched as a gargoyle, concealed in the shadows. With both knees bent and hands, like claws, he gripped the chimney top. As his body leaned downwards, his glistening eyes fixed their wicked stare at me. And in the dim lighting, I caught the white shade of his grin. That sardonic smile was enough to wake my anger.
“Do I amuse you?” I huffed.
“Non dovresti mai venire qui.” You should never have come here, the voice said. It spoke inside my head.
That’s it. Without giving it another thought, I clawed my way up the stone wall as fast as my unnatural speed allowed.
By the time I reached the roof, he was gone.
I stood next to the chimney top, frustrated as hell because the devil in question had left no clues of his trail. On that roof, I found nothing but the vast panoramic of many houses lining the canals and the bright crescent moon pending in the sky, high above.
The soft humid breeze played with my hair. The air cleared my senses, and the words came to my mind, hard and sharp like a pristine chime. It had been years since those words had crossed my lips.
“Sartie Mangiatori,” I mused.
I flung open the doors and stumbled across the hallway, my mind whirring infinite possibilities, clouded in my fury.
“Ivan, what is it?” She appeared at the end of the corridor, wearing an enticing dark blue gown. “What is all this noise?”
My instinct was to tell her everything, but one look at her sweet eyes filled with concern, and the thought simply drifted away. The worst of it was that if I told her my plan, nothing would stop her from following me, and I would never allow that to happen.
“Ivan, look at me...” her voice was soft and soothing as her delicate hands framed my face, searching an answer in the bottom of my pupils. “I want you to be calm and sit here with me. And then, you can tell me what causes you such distress.”
Though my mind raced with myriad worries, I did as she asked. With one deep breath, my heartbeat fell back into its normal rhythm. Everything became clear to me then.
They were not the monsters. In the Sartie Mangiatori’s eyes, we were the outsiders, the invaders of their hunting grounds.
Juliette's prescient words leaped into my brain. “Venice is plagued with them” she had said—with vampires! Why had I agreed to such a plan as setting our lair in Venice, knowing full well that at some point, we might be in danger from our own kind?
The answer was one that seemed foolish, and nevertheless, it was true.
I did it for her.
This was our one chance of rekindling our love. I cared little for anything else. And truth be told, had I the means to go back in time and make the decision again, I would choose her. I would always choose her.
In silence, Alisa held my hand.
“Is this the price to pay for an eternity of love?” I mused.
“I don't understand... What do you mean?”
“If it is,” I said, “I would gladly pay it again and again... I hold no regrets.”
“Darling? You're not making any sense.”
“I have loved you... enough that I would risk it all: society's good opinion, the resentment of my father, my own life even. I cared nothing for it because having your heart is worth so much more to me.
“I shared this Unnatural Gift with you because I know, if there is someone to whom I am destined for all eternity, it's you. It can be no one else. And I've known this for a very long time... Do you see what I'm saying?” I whispered as I smoothed my hands beneath her cheeks.
She nodded. Her shimmering eyes fixed on mine.
“I love you, Alisa. I will always love you. And, I would do anything to spare our love from harm.” My fingertips gently cleared the tears off her face.
Bemused, Alisa moved closer. Her lips pressed against mine, and her kiss filled my heart's every need, healing the old wounds, renewing my love with hope.
“I've missed you,” I whispered between lascivious kisses.
“I'm yours,” she said. “I've always been yours.” Her sultry voice only deepened the violence of my desire for her. Impatient, I took her in my arms and carried her inside, to the bedroom.
The minute the door shut behind us, I stripped off every shred of clothing that concealed her sensuous figure. Her hands glided underneath my shirt, drawing it open until it fell below my shoulders.
Our bare bodies entwined in an embrace I had often desired, and in that moment, we were mortal once again, with the same lustful hunger shining in each other's eyes, our throbbing hearts beating at a rapid pace, racing in anticipation.
Every curve of her seductive figure, I explored with unparalleled delight. My lips traveled her neck and shoulders in a trail of kisses.
My hunger for her had not changed. If anything, my needs grew deeper now that I was a vampire. I wanted her. I ached for the warmth of her body, and I ached for the taste of her blood too.
I lost my fingers in her dark locks of hair and in this delirious trance, my lips brushed the skin above her carotid artery. This blessed spot fulfilled my thirst like no other. As soon as my fangs met its walls, the shot of blood hit my palate, filling my mouth within seconds, giving me that first drink of ecstasy, of undeniable euphoria, paired with her body's complete surrender to my every whim.
Paradise.
In this rapture, I moaned. She became lighter as I drained her still, so I bit my tongue fast and poured the blood into her mouth, delivering her to unrelenting waves of delirium in the bliss of this Dark Kiss.
Meanwhile, outside our windows, daylight struck and painted the Venetian sky.
20
Sartie Mangiatori
With longing eyes, my gaze drifted away from the window and captured
the image of her exquisite frame lying beneath the covers. Her long wavy hair drew soft dark spirals on the plush white pillow, and her thick eyelashes were clasped tight in a soundless dream.
Once more, I stared at the Venetian scenery, more certain of my conviction than ever.
Miles away from the Grand Canal, the island waited—patient, dormant, and frozen in time, deprived of any human presence.
There, I would find him.
With the stealth imbued by my preternatural essence, I crept out of the room without making a sound.
The palazzo sunk in silence and shadows as I moved downstairs.
At the water gate, I stopped and glared at the small vessel and wooden paddles floating before me, reminiscing on my old aversion to sailing. It had taken me years, but my body seemed to have conquered its pitiful seasickness.
I stepped into the boat, convinced that my confrontation with that fiend would take place on that island. With nothing but my intuition and Marietta's old stories to rely on, I paddled across the Grand Canal and set my journey to that haunting lazaretto, home of the plague in its former years and now, lair to the blood-drinking demons people called Sartie Mangiatori, the Shroud Eaters.
It was not fear but anticipation which propelled my heartbeat as the menacing silhouette of its old housing and church bell drew on the horizon.
“Poveglia,” I mused.
The small vessel glided across a bank of thick gray mist before it reached the dock, but no sooner had I moored to the wooden pillars than a thousand voices penetrated my ears.
Wailing, weeping, and all sorts of disturbing cries crept into my brain and echoed in my skull. Women, children, men... each voice was distinct and overlapped one another in an unrelenting cacophony that overwhelmed my unnatural senses.
Last time I had been here, as a mortal, I had caught but a glimpse of the pain and suffering entrapped within this island. But this time, my heightened perception allowed me to hear uncountable laments— regrets and even outbursts of anger came from what I could only assume were ghosts, unfortunate souls that perished upon the merciless touch of the plague.
The minute my feet touched the dock, I took my hands to my ears and pressed them tight, begging for absolute silence. Whether such entities were able to respond to my commands remained a mystery to me.
The voices, shouting and demanding, rallied even more.
“Stop! Stop it!”
Defeated, I fell on my knees.
Think, Ivan!
I closed my eyes and focused my mind away from the loud agonizing calls. There had to be a way to make them stop; otherwise, I would not stand a chance of staying much longer on this island, and that went against my plans... But then, something happened. The voices stopped their clamors and folded back into silence.
It seemed to be the same principle as when I latched into my victim's thoughts, only the other way around. Unknowingly, by diverting my attention from their cries, my vampiric mind had somehow shunned their voices.
Poveglia now appeared desolated, as I had first encountered it.
Slowly, I opened my eyes.
Pitch-darkness sifted on the island, but it meant little hindrance to my unnatural sight. I removed my hands from my ears and stood.
Through darkened streets lined with decadent homes, I moved, uncaring of the many pale translucent faces lingering in the shadows, peering through the broken windows, with eyes fixed on my unearthly presence, however vacant they were.
They knew I was not human; they knew I belonged elsewhere, not with them. Did curiosity compel them even when they no longer took part in this world's dealings? I wondered.
In my brief years as a vampire, I had grown quite accustomed to the occasional sighting of specters, but not once had I ever encountered that of my brother—not after the night of my making. And I was rather relieved by it. Meeting his tortured spirit was the last thing I wanted—the mere thought of it made me shudder. But these ghouls and ghosts meant nothing to me. Souls trapped in-between realms, that was the extent of my explanation for their essence, latched onto this world.
I stopped.
It looked exactly as it had almost twenty years ago. The same wicker basket lay on the floor, filled with tattered clothes; the heap of old logs, reduced to dust.
As I stood in the middle of the piazza, my vampiric senses detected no mortals. However, his presence remained as strong as it did the night before at the campiello where I hunted and he hunted me.
“Where are you?” I whispered.
The scent of fresh blood lured me across the square and I followed it like a hound. He wanted to be found.
The path was one I remembered well. It had led me once to the site of a mass grave. My heart stomped faster as the memory of dozens of human remains rising from the earth leaped into my mind. And in spite of the fierce killer I had become, that dreadful image was one that did not appeal to me at all.
The field of high grass was wild and overgrown, as I remembered it. I cared little to discern the sight of bones, old blood—and perhaps even new—that lay on these grounds. It was enough for me to see his tall figure standing before the mass grave. His hands clasped behind his back as his eyes fixed on the heap of dirt, blood, and bones.
I stood behind him, in silence. And he, as an expecting statue, did not move an inch.
“I thought you said you would never return,” he whispered.
“I never said that,” I replied.
“Said, thought… it's all the same to me.” He turned and glared at me with his bright hazel eyes.
He wore an old black coat and breeches, covered in dirt. The minute his eyes landed on me, the Shroud Eater raised his chin and pushed back his shoulders; his towering figure inspired an air of command and even leadership.
“It is you!” I said, stepping closer. “You're Rinaldo Bianchi.”
His eyes lit with fury the minute I uttered his name. Too fast for me to see, Rinaldo disappeared before my baffled eyes only to reappear inches away from my face seconds later. He seized my shirt's collar and raised my body several feet high without any effort.
The sight of him became clearer. His skin, darkened as tanned leather, stretched against his facial bones, and his eyes gleamed with an unnatural fire of their own.
“I am no longer that man!” he hissed in my face.
Far from being frightened—as I should have been—Rinaldo's strength and abilities astonished me more than ever. Part of me was glad to have found him, even if he was no longer human. Whatever the means of his presence, he was here.
“How dare you call me by that name?” he added, pulling me closer to his blushing face. In that moment, I realized the scent of fresh blood I had perceived earlier had come from him. He had fed recently.
I blinked and snapped out of my fascination before he tore me to pieces.
“Don't you remember me?” I said.
He raised his upper lip while hinting a sardonic smile, showing me part of his sharp fangs.
“Should I?” he said, but not in a sarcastic way. Rinaldo actually pondered the possibility of him and I ever meeting before.
I remained silent.
“Yes, I know you...” His fury dissipated. He placed me on the ground once more. “Years ago, you came to the island,” he added. “You rescued Marietta.”
“You saw that?”
He smirked. “How could I not? They kept me prisoner in this wretched island for years!”
Prisoner? Had Marietta been right all along?
“If you were here that day, why did you not return with us? We could have taken you home to—” I dared not speak Valentina's name. “Were you locked somewhere, in a cell?”
Rinaldo shook his head. “I was free to roam this accursed island. Free to go to Venice whenever I pleased, as long as I returned.”
“Then why did you not say a word? I thought you were dead!”
He lowered his chin and his shoulders shook as an eerie laughter brewed inside his throat. Then rai
sing his gaze at me once more, he spoke.
“You are so anxious for my life,” he said. “Yet you're as dead as I am.”
I had not wanted to believe it. The minute I laid eyes on him, I had denied what my vampiric senses perceived. But it was true. He was no longer human. Rinaldo was one of them—one of us?
“Sartie Mangiatori,” he mused, aware of each of my last thoughts. “Just like you.”
“And where are the others? The ones who kept you prisoner, are they here?”
“I destroyed them all. It's only me now.” He paused. “Who are you? Why did you come here the first time? Why did you save Marietta?”
“Why didn't you?” I wanted to say, but held my tongue.
“I did not want her to see the monster I've become,” he whispered, reading my thoughts once again.
Good thing she never found him. Marietta's words echoed in my brain. “If he's one of them, then I shall kill him myself.”
“Who are you?” he said, impatient. “I will not ask this again.”
“My name is Ivan Lockhart.”
Rinaldo frowned and narrowed his eyes as he leaned closer.
“Master Ivan?” He raised his brow. Laughter again, dark and malicious. “For years, I worried, thinking you lay at Viktor's mercy... but look at you now, a powerful member of the Undead.”
My brother's name on his lips took me back to that damned lake.
White fields of perpetual snow, the red fox, Viktor's taunting games daring me to kill the poor beast; the frozen lake, my brother's widened eyes filled with horror the moment it swallowed him whole... and me, standing on that shoreline, watching him drown.
Rinaldo had latched into my brain and took from it whatever he pleased as I offered no resistance.
“Did you kill him, Ivan?” he said. “Did you kill your brother?”
Stupefied by my visions, I remained silent.
“The Thirst is overpowering. It can cloud one's senses, and it never sleeps... If you killed him—”
“He drowned,” I said, setting free from my memories. “It was a long time ago, before I became a vampire.”
Written in Blood: A New Adult Vampire Romance Novella, Part Two. (The Unnatural Brethren Book 1) Page 13
