Eternally Bound

by Michelle M. Pillow

  Ignoring the wave of guilt that tried to overwhelm her each time she thought of marrying Thomas, Tatiana knotted the shawl firmly over her shoulders before reaching to pull on her long gloves. If Thomas were going to marry her, she would endeavor to look her best for him. He would make her a fine husband. He was a hard worker, a gentle soul, a very decent man. As far as attraction, she’d felt some for him. He was handsome, quiet, yet charming. With him, she would have a life with laughter and contentment.

  Looking around her beautiful bedroom, dark now that she’d put out the fireplace and turned off the gas lamps, she knew that her days of luxury were more than likely over. She wondered if her father would forgive her for the embarrassment she would cause by running off with a servant. He hardly spoke to her anymore, though she caught him looking warily at her from time to time as if afraid.

  Crossing over to the curtains, she drew them back. It was evening, the sun having set about half an hour before. Pressing her face onto the pane of glass, Tatiana let it cool her heated forehead. She saw the shadowed outline of the forest reach into the distance from her second story room. She never went to the forest, not knowing why her feet didn’t carry her there to explore as they had when she was younger. She was going to miss Eastwich Manor, but she knew it was time to leave.

  Suddenly, the chill from the window shot down the side of her face, trailing over her back. She froze, tense and waiting. She didn’t have to wait long.

  “Bella mia,” the voice said, almost with a sulk. She tried not to listen to it, tried to think of a song to block it out of her mind. Nothing came. “Non avete pensato per fuoriuscirli?”

  Tatiana pressed her lips tightly together. She was really beginning to hate that accursed language. Strangely, though, she always seemed to know what he said to her without understanding the words completely.

  “Then I will speak in English for you. You didn’t think to escape me, did you?” The low words were thick with an Italian accent, but very real, more real than the phrases in her head had been. Tatiana took a sharp breath, holding it. Her fingers twisted into the curtains, clinging fiercely to them as if they could protect her. She willed him to go away.

  She felt him behind her, unable to see him just like in her dreams. She trembled. Tears entered her eyes as she panted raggedly against the windowpane. Her hot breath hit against the glass, fogging it. She couldn’t hear him move but somehow knew that he drew closer, reaching to touch her.

  Time seemed to suspend itself into an eternity of anticipation, longing for that first bit of contact, dreading it even more. Her skin pulled. Her nerve endings tingled as if they recognized the one who approached. She felt a peculiar power flowing in her blood, just like earlier when Thomas said her eyes glimmered, just like years ago when Henry claimed the same. She hadn’t expected the count to come to her, but she wasn’t surprised.

  “You don’t speak?” the count murmured. His lips whispered close to her ear. Cold breath hit her skin, causing her to tremble as goose bumps rose on her flesh.

  Tatiana stiffened, gripping the curtains tighter. It was as she thought. The count had drawn close. Her eyes darted over the side lawn, searching desperately for Thomas, praying he would see her in the window and come to save her. She couldn’t move to save herself. She was petrified.

  “That boy can’t protect you, bella mia,” the count whispered. She felt a light brush against the back of her ear and wasn’t sure if it was his lips or his nose. The slight touch sent shock waves rippling throughout her body.

  Her eyes lifted, traveling slowly up the glass to see if she could catch his reflection behind her. She saw nothing, not even her own face. She was too afraid to turn and look. After so long, she wasn’t sure she wanted to see the demonic man from her nightmares.

  “You thought to run out on me,” the count continued, scolding, clicking his tongue as if she were a naughty child. She could tell he was angry with her though his soft voice did not let on.

  Tatiana knew there was no point in denying the fact. When she answered her voice was barely audible. “Ho-how could you know that?”

  The count heard her words easily as was evident by his answer. It was a low, sardonic laugh that mocked her fear of him. She wondered why he didn’t touch her. Nevertheless, she was trapped against the window, looking out at the moonlit gardens below. She knew that he would stop her if she tried to dart past him.

  “I love Thomas,” she said quietly. “I want to marry him. Please, just leave me be. I don’t know what you said to my father to make him agree to our—”

  “You don’t love the boy,” the count broke in, his cryptic words rolling out harsh. Her declaration of love appeared to grate against his very nature. “You pity him the loss of his sister.”

  His words were true. She didn’t love Thomas as a woman loves a man, but as a friend loves another friend. She was drawn to him, his pain, his good heart. That was enough for her.

  “I’ll be happy with him,” Tatiana insisted.

  “Never mention him to me again, bella mia,” the count stated, dismissing her words with his order. “Now, come, it is time for us to go.”

  “I don’t want to go with you, I won’t,” Tatiana declared. Her fists tightened on the curtains with a renewed strength.

  The count’s chuckle was deadly.

  “I’m not leaving with you,” she screamed, frightened by him. She closed her eyes tight, trying to dredge up every bit of her courage. “I’m staying with Thomas.”

  A hard, loud growl echoed in the bedchamber. Tatiana felt a cold hand gripping painfully into her shoulder. Her body sparked with life at the touch. He jerked her back with that one hand and sent her flying across the room. The curtains ripped noisily from the wall, and she was forced to let them go. She screamed in surprise as she flew through the air. With a hard bounce that left her breathless and dazed, she landed with her back on the bed.

  She pushed up on her elbows, heaving for air. Her eyes automatically searched for him in the darkness. It didn’t take long for her to find the tall figure with broad shoulders outlined by blue-white moonlight. She couldn’t see his face though a memory of it pulled at her. His hair was unfashionably long, waving in what appeared to be light brown strands about his shoulders and back.

  Her shoulder stung where he’d touched her. She felt alive with the power of his nearness. She hated the sensations he stirred so wickedly in her chest. She detected him in her mind, probing her, digging into her with his control. She concentrated on pushing him out of her. Her eyes began to shine, glimmering as she stared hatefully at the devil before her.

  Suddenly, the sensations of his probing mind stopped. He appeared to pull back though he hadn’t moved. He grinned at her.

  “Ah, so you have finally balanced your power,” he said. The idea seemed to please him greatly. Slowly, as if he glided rather than walked, he approached the bed. She stiffened as he sat next to her. Her eyes hungrily devoured the shadows for a hint of his features. “I tasted that you were close.”

  At his enigmatic words, she screamed. She pushed past him, and her hand hit hard upon a chest formed as if from steel. With one snap of his arm, he could’ve subdued her, but he only moved to follow as she rushed from the bedroom.

  Tatiana ran, tripping down the stairs in her haste to be rid of him. As she came to the front hall, she saw her father coming from his study to investigate the noise of her escape. She was desperate to find a place of sanctuary. She threw open the thick front door, and heard her father coming fast behind her. He called out her name, but she didn’t stop.

  The night air hit her like a chilly, foreboding blast. She flinched, blinking rapidly as moisture stung her cheeks. She hadn’t realized tears escaped her eyes as she fled the count. Seeing a carriage readied at the bottom of the steps—a black, enclosed, imposing affair of rich elegance—she ground to a halt. Four black horses pawed nervously, feeling her tense intrusion into their midst. The animals were dressed in black as if in mourning. Their
heads bobbed at her in protest.

  “Tatiana,” her father called behind her, the sound stern. “What is the meaning of this?”

  “Tatiana,” sounded another call, more fervent, yet gentle. Her eyes left off looking for her father to find Thomas. Suddenly, she was very afraid for him to be there.

  “Thomas—” Her words were cut off by a resounding smack and a groan of pain. She found Thomas lying on the ground in a daze with his mouth and nose bleeding. Standing above him, unmoving and unaffected, was the count.

  Tatiana gasped, seeing the count’s face clearly for the first time. He was caressed by moonlight, so pale and beautiful. She’d been sure her demon would be deformed. But, instead, he was like a god standing amongst mortals. His face could’ve been chiseled from stone, for all he moved. His brooding gaze of dark brown pierced forward to her, waiting patiently as her eyes roamed him, taking their fill.

  His hands were folded neatly, intertwining and relaxed before him. His clothes were of fine silk, cut from the darkest of blacks and reds. A wide black cape, lined with blood red velvet, hung over his shoulders, sweeping with ease around his body as the breeze stirred it against his muscular calves and thighs. She wasn’t sure she’d seen his particular manner of dress before. His style appeared old, out of fashion, and yet suited him admirably well. A silver chain, belonging to what could’ve been a pocket watch, dipped over one side of his waistcoat.

  His body was lean, firm, commanding. Her skin tingled, almost as if it could remember the feel of him on her flesh. Her neck ached, remembering the brush of lips and teeth over the tender threads of her arteries. The sweet smell of him engulfed her, the scent of earth and mint. She wanted to touch him, to have him touch her. A flash of blood came to her eyes, a long crimson trail over pale flesh. The sight did not scare her but sent chills of anticipation and pleasure throughout her body.

  A sound of pain resounded over them. Tatiana recognized her father’s voice crying out. Vaguely, she thought to hear him pleading to the saints in heaven to protect them from the devil. She ignored him.

  The count’s lips moved, turning up slightly on one side, a gentle lift of bored seduction. Tatiana gazed at him, feeling him all around her, possessing her. She took a hesitant step forward, drawn to be near him. Her fingers twitched as if they could already feel the silken strands of his brown hair gripped within them. A light moan left her. Her eyes invited him. Her lips offered themselves over the distance. She knew he wouldn’t come to her but would make her walk to be with him.

  “Tatiana, no,” Thomas screamed, struggling to his feet. “You must resist him.”

  Thomas made a move as if to stop her progression. The count struck out his hand without even turning to look at the mortal man, clamping his strong fingers about Thomas’ neck. Thomas, who was by no means a weakling, struggled against the hold. The count’s longer nails bit into the man’s tender flesh, drawing droplets of blood. The man’s throat gurgled as he fought for air and his bright blue eyes searched for her.

  “Tell him, bella mia,” the count urged in his low, sultry voice. The tone was so familiar to her. It washed over her dazed senses. She could only see him, hear him, smell him, feel him inside her. “Tell him you are mine.”

  “Tatiana,” Thomas managed to gasp, his word pleading her to deny it. Tears welled up in his eyes, spilling over his cheeks.

  Tatiana opened her mouth to speak as the count commanded her to. A hand darted to her cheek. She wrenched her eyes away from the creature who enthralled her. She suddenly realized that the count’s eyes had been glowing with a yellowish-green, somehow controlling her will. Her father pulled her against his chest, pressing her face into his shoulder as if that would protect her.

  “I don’t care what you’ve done, girl,” William said. “I can’t send you with him. I can’t give you to the devil.”

  A dark laughter filled the evening air. All eyes turned to the count. He still held Thomas by the throat. The man was beginning to lose his struggle. Tatiana clung to her father, too afraid to move. She trembled in his arms.

  “Foolish man,” the count stated. His hard gaze shone with dark merriment. “You can’t keep her from me. I only let you have her back because I promised to let her say goodbye to you in return for her pledge to be my eternal slave. She traded her soul for the protection of your son.”

  “Henry?” William gasped, not understanding.

  “It was your boy who murdered the servant and, like a coward, he begged his sister—a woman—to protect him,” the count spat in distaste. A slight curl of disgust rose on his upper lip.

  The words sank into the man beneath the count’s hand. Thomas struggled anew, clawing viciously enough to draw blood from his captor’s hand and wrist. To Tatiana’s horror, she saw the wounds heal almost as instantly as they formed. She hugged her father tighter.

  “No,” she whispered, shaking her head. “I never would have given myself to you. You lie. Henry would never murder Alice. You lie. You lie.”

  In his mounting annoyance, the count finally turned to study Thomas. He pulled the man in front of him. His lips parted revealing a set of deadly fangs. He forced Thomas’ head to tilt over to the side, and he opened his mouth wide as if to bite.

  “No, please, don’t,” Tatiana screamed. She tore from her father’s arms to defend her friend. Thomas was so good, so kind. He didn’t deserve this. Not because of her. Her voice fading to a hush, she begged, “Please, my lord, don’t harm him. Don’t harm any here.”

  The count stopped. His eyes took her in. His mouth closed.

  “Come fulfill your promise to me, bella mia, or this boy will die,” the count stated. “Honor your pledge, and I will give his life to you. Consider it a gift.”

  “I...” She bit her lip, looking at Thomas. His lids fell heavy over his eyes. He was nearly unconscious. “Yes. I will come. Only don’t hurt anyone else. Please, let him go.”

  Instantly, the count’s hands released Thomas. The man fell to the ground in a stupor. Tatiana reached down to help him up. The count’s gentle hand on her face, tenderly cupping her cheek, stopped her.

  “No, bella mia,” the count warned. His nails scraped lightly over her features in a dangerous caress.

  “Who are you?” she asked, trying not to cry. “What are you? Why do you do this?”

  “You may call me Marcello,” he stated coolly in his crisp Italian tone. His hand ran over the cords in her neck followed by his seductive, hungry eyes. He then glanced behind her to her father. Louder, he said, “You heard your daughter. She is mine now. Forget her.”

  “Tatiana, no,” William demanded. Thomas still lay on the ground, too stunned to move. Red claw marks bled from his throat. “You don’t have to do this. Please, I beg you to stop. Take me instead, my lord, please, not my daughter, not my daughter.”

  “Get in the carriage, Tatiana,” Marcello ordered. His piercing gaze didn’t move over her face. His body was stiff and unmoving.

  “But, my belongings, my clothes...” Tatiana trembled. His tender hold kept her before him more effectively than a vice.

  “I have new clothes for you,” Marcello said. His expression made demands of her that she didn’t understand. “There is nothing left for you here. I let you have your time with your family. I hope you used it well for you won’t be seeing them again.”

  Tatiana shivered at the finality of his confident words. She thought of the last two years spent being ignored by her father. Suddenly, it all made sense. Her father had thought she’d killed Alice. This monster must have led him to believe...

  “I will not tell you again, bella,” Marcello ordered, hard and annoyed. “Get in the carriage.”

  She looked over her shoulder as she heard the carriage door opening. A servant dressed all in black, stood holding it open. She hadn’t seen him before that moment. The man’s eyes were glazed, almost a milky white, and he did not seem to look at her though his gaze pointed in her direction. She noticed how young and tall he was. He wa
s a pretty man in almost an effeminate way. Turning her eyes from the servant, she again eyed his master. His face had not changed.

  She took a step back. Marcello’s chilled hand fell from her face. She didn’t make the mistake of moving to help her fallen friend. Spinning, she turned on her heels and rushed to her father before the count could stop her. She flung her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly.

  William gripped his daughter to him, stunned by what was happening, by what he saw, by the demon who was taking her from him. His old eyes seemed unable to comprehend that she was innocent and his son, his boy, had lied to him about Alice. But, they all read the truth in the demon’s words well enough. Henry had let him believe Tatiana was crazy, that she could’ve committed murder and now she was lost to him because of it.

  “Take care of Thomas as if he were your son. He’s a good man,” Tatiana expressed. She felt Marcello’s pull on her back. He was getting very impatient. Not wanting to risk his temper, she pried herself from her father’s arms. “I will write to you if I can. I love you.”

  “No, no, no,” William repeated, over and over. His eyes turned pleadingly to the dark carriage. His hands reached out to follow her as she pulled away, but his legs didn’t move. “Not my girl, please, not my daughter.”

  She refused to let her tears fall. When she turned, Marcello was already in the carriage waiting for her. She peered into the dark interior, unable to see anything within the inky depths. As she approached the door, she felt as if she’d reached the gates of hell. Her heart hammered in her chest. She paused. A pale, strong hand reached out from within. She took it in hers, not having a choice.

  Tatiana let him help her up the narrow stairs as she stepped in. Her lavender silk gown swished as she moved. Trying to adjust her eyes to the dark, she voiced weakly, as she stepped through the door, “You never told me what you were, my lord.”