Eternally Bound

by Michelle M. Pillow

  “Vampiro,” Marcello stated, his accent thick and heavy as it lingered on that one word for what seemed like an eternity. He dropped her hand. The carriage door slammed shut behind her, leaving them in total darkness. Tatiana felt her way to a seat across from where he sat, careful not to get too close. “I am a vampire. But, more importantly, I am your master.”

  Chapter Ten

  Tatiana pulled back the thick red velvet curtain hanging over the carriage window. The vehicle jolted, pulling slowly away from her home. She heard the clopping of horses’ hooves on the gravel drive. She saw her father staring blindly after them, his mouth gaping open, his eyes insensible and confused.

  Through a daze, she heard Thomas yell for her. His blue eyes were tortured as the raw scream left his throat. She saw him struggle to his feet, his handsome blond hair whipping around his young face.

  A melee of servants poured out the front door, clamoring to see her departure. It was as if they’d watched the whole scenario while hiding away. Tatiana resented the servants. She was sure that, if they had come to her aid, all of them together could’ve taken down the vampire who now claimed to own her.

  A dark chuckle erupted from across the carriage interior. Her eyes turned sharply to the vampire. The drawn curtain allowed moonlight to cast his features in a ghoulish manner that made her shiver. His eyes gleamed with an inner green light before fading to darkness. She realized he’d been in her head, reading her thoughts.

  The horses turned the carriage so that the house pulled from view. Thomas was running after them, stumbling and weak. Tatiana said nothing, was too numb to motion at him. She knew that the image of Eastwich Manor, fading into nothingness and out of her life, would always stay with her.

  Letting her hand drop to her lap, she sat back in her seat. The curtain fell once more into place, making the darkness an impossible tomb. The carriage rolled along, racing under the team of four strong horses, whisking them over the countryside for what seemed like hours.

  Tatiana didn’t move, save to yawn once into the back of her hand. She let a lethargic pull come over her limbs, so she didn’t have to feel anything. Now that he had her in his grasp, she wondered if the dreams would finally stop.

  “Tu sei bellissima,” Marcello whispered into the darkness of the carriage. He didn’t know what made him speak the thought out loud though he had been thinking it since they left the manor. Perhaps, he wanted to see her reaction to his words. He meant them. She was breathtaking to behold. He’d done well in finding her.

  His vampire eyes watched her stiffen. She’d held silent for a long time, not searching for him in the shadows. He knew she couldn’t see him in the blackness, yet she didn’t complain, didn’t ask him to give her light. He nodded to himself, pleased by her bravery. It wasn’t many mortals who could sit so quietly before a devil.

  He leisurely studied her though he’d memorized her lines since their first night together. Her body was small, but not so slender as to make her reedy. He enjoyed the gentle bend of her hips, the sloping curves of her larger breasts. He eyed her chest beneath her silk gown, displayed with a hint of cleavage. Those were breasts just meant to be touched, licked, bitten.

  Marcello was a little disappointed that she wouldn’t show more passion for him. He found he’d missed her emotions since being parted from her. Though, two years was hardly anything to him. He’d known where she was, who she talked to, read into her thoughts—not all of them, but enough. He’d known when she’d accepted the boy’s proposal and thought to escape him. He frowned. It was the reason he’d raced to Eastwich. If not for that, many more years might have gone by before he’d thought to claim her. As much as he’d wanted her, the dream of her had been sweet anticipation to his senses, and it was the kind of torture he didn’t mind drawing out.

  The smell of her was a perfume. Her blood was potent, and he found himself yearning to taste it again. The first time he felt the silky texture of her against his tongue, he knew he wouldn’t be letting her go. He’d marked her as his, pierced her lip with his fangs to do it. In doing so, he’d made sure no other vampire would ever dare touch her. It was part of the old code for his race, part of the sacred laws set out by the council of elders. You didn’t touch another’s indicium.

  Marcello felt the dawn approaching, only a little over an hour off. Tatiana hadn’t moved to acknowledge his comment. Her lids started to droop, and he knew that she was tired. He wanted her to stay awake so she would sleep through the day with him. He couldn’t have her running about while he couldn’t get to her, at least not yet. He wanted her to learn her new role first before he afforded her that trust.

  “Bella mia,” he murmured in his sultriest of voices. He watched her eyes blink at the loud statement. Her jade gaze turned to look for him. She didn’t see him. “Come here, next to me.”

  Marcello watched her swallow in fear. She pulled back from him, pressing her body into the carriage seat to get as far away from him as she could. Her breath caught. He felt her trying to sense him. She had a lot of strength in her. It pleased his vanity greatly to own her.

  “Why did you say such cruel thing about Henry to my father?” Tatiana whispered, ignoring Marcello’s bidding. She’d seen well that her father had believed the vampire’s lies.

  “They were not lies, bella,” Marcello answered. She heard the barely contained amusement in his words. “Your brother couldn’t function as a man should. He killed the woman for laughing at him.”

  “I don’t believe you,” she said, her tone uncertain.

  “Come,” Marcello urged. “You must be tired. Come rest in my arms.”

  “I can’t. It isn’t right. We have yet to be married.”

  Marcello chuckled, thoroughly amused. “Married, bella?”

  “We’re not going to be, are we?” she asked, suddenly understanding what was happening.

  Marcello’s eyes narrowed. He did not like the relief he felt in her at the statement. It stung him. He ignored his feelings. He never intended to marry her. His kind didn’t marry. When you lived for an eternity, ‘til death do you part took on a whole new meaning. However, many of his kind did vangare, and often. His eyes roamed over her body, and he felt his shaft growing hard with desire.

  Tatiana pressed her eyes tightly shut, willing him to go away and leave her be. Her soft, disillusioned laugh joined his. She should’ve known better. When her father had told her of her engagement, she took it as the truth. Every line of his body was memorized and when she closed her eyes, she saw him clearly. She much preferred his eerie silence or even the dreams he’d given her. Being alone with him, in the dark, was almost too much. However, when he spoke to her with his achingly sweet voice, it was difficult to resist.

  “Then what,” she began. Her heart nearly slowed until it stopped beating altogether. “What am I to be to you?”

  “You will be whatever I want you to be, bella.” Tatiana could almost hear the dismissive wave of his hand in his voice. He showed no remorse, as he admitted boldly, “My servant, my slave, my dinner, il mio amante.”

  Tatiana didn’t need to speak his language to know what his last phrase meant. The connotation dripped from his gravelly voice. He translated for her anyway.

  “My lover, bella mia.” Marcello reached forward, finding her easily in the dark. His chilled fingers held so much controlled strength that they made her shiver. He pulled her insistently forward, not letting her escape. Her lips parted with breath, and he wanted to feel them against his body. He wanted to feel her mortal warmth soaking into his cool flesh. His teeth wanted to sink into her so that he may again taste her blood.

  Tatiana’s body stirred and tingled at his words. He drew her across to him, and she couldn’t resist. Her mind screamed at her, but her body didn’t listen or obey her will. Her control slipped into his chilled grasp. She couldn’t stand in the carriage, so she leaned over to sit next to him.

  Marcello leered at her cleavage, grinning in masculine pleasure. It had only
been three nights since he last took a woman to his bed, but his body felt starved. With an artful twist of his hand, he maneuvered her off-balance, so she turned. His arm dipped behind her back to catch her as she landed sideways on his lap, entwined within his arms. His fingers curled possessively on her hip as the others gripped lightly into her shoulder. A gasp of surprise escaped her.

  At the weak sounds she made, her lips parted, and he took full advantage. He did not wait to test her response as he lowered his mouth fully onto hers. A light moan of pleasure left him, followed by her yelp of surprise. His tongue forced its way between her lips, probing deeply into the silken warmth of her mouth. He moved with the expert skill of a practiced lover and she was too untried to resist the new rush of sensations he caused to flow within her. His tongue massaged against hers, sucking it into his mouth when she tried to move it away from his searching.

  Tatiana moaned. To her great surprise, she felt her fingers winding in to his long wavy hair. The texture of him was just like she imagined. His firm chest pressed its formed muscles into her softer body. Marcello’s thighs parted, causing her bottom to fall between them to the seat. She felt a strange hardness stirring by her hip, drawing heat from her and returning it tenfold.

  Then, his fingers moved, gliding over her waist to cup her ample breasts. Her head jerked back with a gasp, unsure whether she was encouraging or resisting his intimate hold. She wiggled against him, her body seeming to understand what happened much better than her protesting mind.

  As her lips left his, his deep kisses didn’t stop. He moved them along her jaw to her earlobe. Her breath was ragged against the silence of the carriage. His tongue swirled the rim of her ear as his thumb lightly circled a nipple with the same tantalizing slowness. She moaned again, a low and throaty sound, as she arched into his hand.

  Marcello felt a deep hunger calling to him, primal with need, with bloodlust. Two years without a taste of her was too long a time to wait, even for one as old as he. His hand glided higher, off her breast, to press flatly against her collarbone. He held her down with his powerful strength, continuing his sweet torture on her ear, trailing his lips down to the drumming pulse at her neck. His fingers found a hold on her jaw as he turned her head from him. His eyes moved to the delicate artery protecting her sweet life’s essence.

  “Beg me again to drink from you, bella mia,” he whispered to her throat, poised to sink his teeth into her. His mind was feverish with longing. He smelled her desire, knowing it would be flowing in her blood like a drug.

  Tatiana heard the words as if in a fog. She stiffened in horror to find herself thus against him. Her hands were in his hair, tangling it in her passion. She jerked them to his chest, pushing to be free.

  “Let me go,” she cried in dismay. She beat her fists weakly against him. His hold on her jaw loosened. Her chin snapped down, trying to protect her neck. The feelings he caused in her were confused and raw. She screamed again, louder. “Please, Marcello, don’t do this. I have done nothing to you. Just let me go. I don’t want to be with you. I hate you. I hate you!”

  Marcello’s face contorted with anger at her denial of him. His body was hard. It needed to find its release. But, worse was his need for blood. With a growl, he sought to punish her for denying him. His fingers again grabbed her jaw, easily wrenching her head back. She screamed, crying out for pity, for mercy. The count had none. Angrily, he latched his mouth to her neck, puncturing her throat with his bared fangs.

  Marcello groaned in ecstasy as the ripened flavor of her passed his lips. His mind was cut off to everything but the appeal of drinking her. His lips began to move along her throat as he swallowed, licking with intense fascination at the wound. The passion of her blood turned to sudden fear, which surprised him. However, fear was no less sweet of an emotion to partake of, and his lips sucked harder.

  Tatiana clawed at him, trying to find his eyes, wanting to scratch them out of his head. She hit him, bucked her body firmly against him to be free. White-hot fire shot through her neck at his bite, painful and burning as the agony worked down her shoulder and arm.

  “Marcello.” Tatiana felt herself weakening as she had in the dream. Her body felt limp in his unyielding embrace. Her arm draped alongside his legs, flopping with the slowing movement of the carriage. All around her was dark, but her mind began to join it, losing all memory of the moment, all sense of where she was, what was happening. She felt freedom in the death that called to her. She felt peace and sleep within the dreamless void that would come.

  Marcello heard a light whisper. It was his name. All of a sudden, he pulled back, eyeing the wound he’d made on her throat. Her mind urged him to continue, to finish her. She didn’t want to live anymore, not as his slave, not as a witch. Instantly, he bit his thumb and rubbed it along her neck. The wounds he created healed themselves.

  As he looked at her, he was ashamed of his lack of control. Her face was pale, and her lips were edged with blue. The echo of her heart was faint. Too much longer, and she would’ve been dead in his arms.

  “Argh, bella,” he growled, unsure if his anger was directed at her or himself. The delicious power of her strong bloodline swirled in his limbs, a heady pleasure he couldn’t deny. He knew they neared their first place of rest. Dawn would be upon them soon. No one would find them in the old graveyard, not that anyone would think to look.

  Angrily, he lifted her in his strong arms and laid her down across from him on the carriage seat. Then, not waiting for his human servitor to open the door, he lifted the latch and pushed his way outside. Turning, he lifted Tatiana into his arms. She flopped like a piece of cloth. Her pale lips parted in even, shallow breath. Again, he cursed himself and her.

  “Cesare, go to the inn down the road and see to the horses,” Marcello stated to his servitor in their native tongue. “Come back for us at dusk.”

  The tall man bowed and said nothing. A lock of his short, brown hair fell over his white-glazed eyes. He shut the carriage door as Marcello carried Tatiana into a small graveyard. He swept past the old stones, some of the markers weathered horribly by time, until he came to a large mausoleum.

  The mausoleum was an old one, marked on the outside door as a haven for vampires. Humans did not recognize the ancient symbol, thinking it an old religious emblem. Mortals, who were too afraid of desecrating the dead, would never enter the building. The corpses for whom they were built were long since discarded elsewhere in the churchyard.

  Tatiana’s eyelids lifted ever so briefly as Marcello jostled her in his embrace. The eerie presence of a small church stood tall against the horizon several yards away. The dark of night had faded to the purplish hue of early morning, and its large cross showed ominously in the lightened heavens. Vaguely, she heard the pounding of hooves as Cesare drove the carriage away, leaving her alone with her vampire master.

  Tatiana shut her eyes, almost too weak to comprehend that Marcello took her inside the grave with him. Before passing out altogether, her mind let loose a dark chuckle. It was a very fitting place for them because she was sure that both of their souls were damned.

  Marcello felt Tatiana slipping in and out of consciousness. He adjusted her weight in his arms, maneuvering easily with his vampiric strength as if he carried air. He’d stayed in this mausoleum once before and knew it would accommodate them. Inside, spider webs hung in the corners. A large stone slab sat over a vault. With a push, Marcello thrust the stone aside. Within the vault was a large mauve coffin, plush with fine silk padding.

  Gently, he laid her within the coffin’s fold, before coming above her. For a moment, he paused, letting his legs thread within hers. He was still eager to claim her in the most physical of ways. With a quick flip of his body, he turned them, so she was facing his chest. Her leg rested intimately over his hip, and he smiled slightly. He adjusted her arm about his waist and the other beside her cheek on the pillow. Then, reaching for the lid, he closed them within the coffin and shut his eyes to sleep.

  Cha
pter Eleven

  Tatiana jerked weakly, as she bounced repeatedly with dull thuds. Her limbs felt numb, cramped. With a gasp, her eyes flew open, and she sat straight up. The jostling didn’t stop. Blinking through the darkness, she realized she was again in the carriage, and it was night. Had she dreamt about being taken into a graveyard?

  “Buònaséra, bella mia.”

  Tatiana flinched at the calm voice, feeling hungry and tired. Her body ached as if she’d slept for weeks and eaten for none of them. Then, remembering Marcello’s vicious bite that had almost killed her, she reached for her neck. The skin was smooth, but the memory of what he had done came back in full force. Feeling a chill behind her back, she realized he’d laid her head on his lap to sleep.

  “You...insufferable demon,” she hollered, outraged and unable to think of anything better. Turning on him, she lashed out, extending her fingernails like claws. She went for his face in the darkness, or at least where his face should’ve been. Her hands hit the empty cushions. She couldn’t see in the dark, but she heard his mockingly obscure chuckle of amusement.

  Tatiana was too angry to stop. She screeched loudly, jumping to catch him on the opposite seat. As she landed, she again hit an empty seat with a thud.

  “Hold still, you coward,” she hissed. “So help me, when I get my hands on you, I’ll—”

  “What? Kill me?” Marcello laughed, thoroughly enjoying her anger. She was spirited, and he found he liked it very much. His words held humor, as he said in the most irritatingly logical tone she’d ever heard, “Il mio amante, I am already dead.”

  “I’m not your lover,” Tatiana growled. She pounced again. This time her hands hit the black silk of his shirt. She hadn’t expected to catch him and hesitated when she did. To her amazement, she realized he wore no waistcoat or jacket. The folds of his muscles were revealed beneath the soft glide of material, and she found her fingers exploring the feel of his firm body. Marcello wasted no time as he grasped her hips and pulled her to straddle his lap.