“Why...why do you want me? What did I ever do to you?”
Marcello thought about that for a long moment. He didn’t want to tell her. How did a vampire with a condemned soul suddenly say that she made him feel for the first time in nearly a century? The very idea perplexed even him.
“This is the last time I will tell you, bella mia,” Marcello warned. “Undress and come here.”
Tatiana could see that she’d defied him one time too many. Averting her gaze, she looked at the floor. She pulled the loop at her waist. The silk whispered as she tugged it free from her shoulders. It pooled around her on the floor.
“Come,” Marcello whispered, holding his hand out to her. He didn’t hide the fact that his eyes looked at her, taking in every nuance of her form. He saw her large breasts that would overflow in his palms, smother his face when he buried himself in them. They fit well with the curves of her hips. Though, he did suddenly regret not feeding her earlier. Her body had become too slender.
Tatiana took a step forward. His gaze caught hers as she moved. She saw his eyes churning with hints of green fire and knew that he tried to read and control her. She felt him entering her mind, swirling his presence in her blood as if to claim every piece of her body for his own. She fought his control. He might own her body, but she wouldn’t give him her mind.
Marcello frowned as she kicked him out of her thoughts. He held his hand still. She didn’t reach to take it. She glanced at his fingers than to his face, refusing. Slowly, he smiled. Tatiana grew scared. Marcello’s hand went to his waist, and he removed his waistcoat, one slow button at a time.
“I don’t want to be your lover,” she said. “Please, don’t do this, my lord. If you ever had pity...if you ever had a soul, don’t do this.”
“You will come to me, bella mia, rest assured of that. And it will not be by force.”
“You’re forcing me now to be with you.”
Marcello merely smiled. “It’s too close to dawn for me to heat more bathwater. I wish to bathe the travel from my body, and you are too weak to bathe alone. I wouldn’t want you to have another one of your spells and drown.”
Tatiana held very still. To her shame, she watched his fingers moving as he unveiled his naked body to her. She tried, but she couldn’t look away. Her blood heated at the sight of him.
The waistcoat slipped from his shoulders, and he tossed it over to the wooden chair by the fireplace. Next, he pulled the linen shirt from his breeches and began giving its buttons the same slow attention he had the waistcoat.
His fingers were long, elegant like a gentleman’s. A sapphire ring glinted on his index finger. Tatiana had noticed that the count owned many jeweled rings, matching them to his clothing. His arms moved with liquid grace as he leisurely slid the shirt from his shoulders. She made a small noise of appreciation and quickly tried to suppress it. His muscles rolled beneath his pale skin.
“You may touch me, bella mia,” the count said. His hands moved to his waistband. “Your eyes tell me you want to.”
“My eyes say nothing, my lord,” Tatiana answered quietly. During his show, her lips parted to accommodate her quickened breath. She snapped her mouth shut, daring to turn her back on him. The long waves of her black hair curled down her back, and she wished they were longer to hide her body from the vampire’s view better.
There was a whispering of material sliding over flesh. Tatiana tensed, knowing Marcello’s breeches slithered to the floor. She wanted to look, was nearly dying inside with the need. She held perfectly still and waited for him to touch her. To her shame, she wanted him to touch her. Her nerves screamed out for him. Her mind tried to betray her with images of his naked form, with the memory of her dreams.
A cool stroke sent shivers from her wrist to her shoulder. She looked down, seeing that Marcello was already in the bath. She hadn’t heard him get in. His usually unaffected brown eyes looked up at her with an emotion she could only guess was longing. He wanted something from her. She saw that easily enough.
Tatiana knew the count felt nothing for her and didn’t try to convince herself otherwise. It was impossible that he could feel. There was no tenderness in the demon before her, no matter how deceiving his looks were.
Marcello’s fingers wrapped around her wrist and pulled her insistently toward him. Tatiana stepped into the bathwater. It was warm, inviting. Unbidden, a sigh left her mouth as the heat soaked up her leg. When she merely stood above him, Marcello pulled her down. Arching his arm over her head, he kept ahold of her wrist, causing her to turn her back to him.
Tatiana found herself sitting naked before him. His legs spread to the edge, allowing for her hips. She felt the rough hair of his thighs touching her, rubbing intimately against her skin. The water made his usually cool touch warm. Closing her eyes, she imagined that he felt like a man should. Her body shivered in response, and she hardened her resolve against him.
Before she could react, Marcello lifted her hair and tossed it over her slender shoulders. He grabbed a bar of soap and lathered her back. His strong fingers massaged her. Tatiana trembled.
Marcello let a small smile come to his features. He knew she tried to resist him. He felt her fighting her body’s reaction to his touch. The faint scent of lavender came from the soap, and he breathed deeply of it. She’d smelled of lavender that first night in the forest. On a whim, he’d bought bars upon bars of the scented soap to please her, and to please himself.
Tatiana held still, wondering at his gentle touch. His long nails occasionally scratched her skin but did not cause her harm. Marcello’s fingers urged her to go beneath the water, wetting her hair. With the same precision he’d given to her back, he washed the dirt from her locks.
When she rinsed, his hands again grabbed the lavender soap, and he began cleansing her arms. His fingers caressed her neck, lightly hitting across her collarbone. Tatiana sighed deeply, intoxicated by the nearness of him, by the relaxing smell of the soap.
Marcello gently pulled her back into his body. His hands continued to move, exploring and remembering the feel of her. He leaned forward, running his palms over her breasts. His fingers glided over her nipples, massaging deeply as he caressed her.
Tatiana arched into his hands. His expert fingers circled her nipples, budding them, teasing them, grasping them. She grew weak and fell into his body. The strong muscles of his chest pressed firmly into her. The rigid, full length of his arousal dug into the soft flesh of her backside. Her feet worked against the bottom of the tub, digging in as she sought to get closer. The soapy water caused their skin to glide as she restlessly rubbed against him.
Tatiana’s arm rose, searching for him. She found the soft, dry locks of his hair. Her eyelids became heavy, and she let them close. A loud sigh of pleasure escaped her lips. His touch was like lightning, shooting through her body, heating and electrifying it.
Marcello’s hands grew bolder, stroking down her ribs, leaving trails of hot pleasure in their wake. He kissed her ear, sucking the lobe gently until her head fell leisurely to the side. His dark eyes narrowed as he saw her throat. He felt her hips searching for him and did not deny them. His hand drew a haphazard path over her stomach, moving to curl into the top arch of her wet center.
Tatiana cried out in surprise and pleasure. She was beyond thought, beyond words. Her mouth opened wide as she gasped for ragged breath.
“Ricordisi di,” Marcello urged in a whisper to her flesh. “Remember, bella, remember.”
Marcello’s lips parted as his teeth sunk into her neck, piercing her. Tatiana gasped, arching into him in complete offering. The satisfaction of his touch opened her mind and let him wander in. His hand glided up from her hot center, curling naturally around her breast as he held her still against his deep, fiery kiss.
Marcello drank lightly against her throat. Red swam in his liquid gaze as he tasted her strength, her passion for him. His body jerked, nearing what felt like an orgasm. He knew she was ready. Taking his fingers, he did not
stop drinking, as he ran his hand before her face.
Tatiana felt a pull to her senses. She felt him inside her mind, calling to her lost memories. They struck her in gentle waves, crashing into her with the soft promise of a pleasant dream. Her body stopped moving, growing peaceful. Marcello’s lips left her neck.
“Sì, bella mia,” he whispered. His tongue reached for her ear, licking around the rim in a slow caress, as he urged her to remember their past. “Yes, remember...”
Chapter Thirteen
Two years earlier: England, 1896
A cold breeze whipped against Tatiana’s skin and she shivered. When she opened her eyes, she was in the dark, standing before the old cottage in the forest near Eastwich Manor. It felt familiar and real, though she knew it was a vision of the past, a memory she couldn’t fully remember making.
A soft light fell over the ground, over what had been her favorite pale green gown. Lady Cottley had just thrown a dinner à la russe. It had been a delightful evening, the last she could remember having. Looking down, she noticed that a lantern was in her hands. Tatiana frowned, retracing her steps, trying to remember how she’d arrived in the forest. Henry had come to her. He was covered in mud and was very upset. He’d brought her to the forest.
“What a mess,” she heard Marcello whisper behind her. Her ears strained for more, leaves rustled softly, the wind whined a lonely song. All was quiet.
Tatiana turned in a daze to look at Marcello. His body was tall, stately, bored. His face was calm as he stared past her. It was as if he didn’t see her standing next to him. She followed his piercing eyes back to the cottage. Already, she knew what she would find when she stepped into the doorframe. She didn’t want to look, didn’t want to remember it. She wanted Alice to be alive.
Tatiana couldn’t control her feet as they stepped forward. Her arm lifted with the lamp. She gasped to see Alice’s corpse, the grotesqueness of her bashed face, her missing eye. The maid’s blonde ringlets were covered in blood and gore.
“Henry? Why?”
It was her voice that had said the words. She looked around, but the memory was whispered in the wind, and she couldn’t find her past self. Henry had led her there to the cottage to clean up his mess. Marcello hadn’t lied. Henry had indeed killed Alice. How could she have forgotten that?
Tatiana froze and waited. She wanted to cry out. She didn’t want to relive this, not now, not ever. She shook. A blackness had consumed her that night as she stared at Alice’s corpse. Energy had flowed into her body, making her powerful and numb. It hit her again now, full force. She knew that was the moment her change had started. She felt the intensity of it within her body.
Suddenly, the memories came back to her in a rush. To her shame, Tatiana realized she was doing what Henry asked of her. She felt herself picking up the pieces of the woman who’d been her lifelong friend.
Tatiana didn’t cry for Alice as she numbly did her task. But, she wasn’t alone. Marcello was with her, whispering to her, giving her instructions, helping her hide the body. It was Marcello who dug the grave for Alice and Marcello who lifted the corpse down into it. She’d barely seen him that night in the darkness, but she’d been thankful for his help, his morbid skills, his quiet presence.
The strange energy that grew in her body was feeding off him, leaching his strength until she felt him in her blood. It was her body that called out to him, her power that mesmerized him to her, not the other way around. That night, he had been her slave, doing her bidding.
Tatiana felt her lungs panting for air. She’d been on fire, watching his strong body move in the dim lamplight as they went about their grim task. Her hands itched to touch him. Her flesh felt like it was pierced with the sharp sensations of prickling needles. Even as she found herself fascinated with Marcello, she’d been sorrowful over Alice’s death. In a voice that was shaky, she tried to say something as Marcello pushed dirt over the maid’s body.
“Alice,” Tatiana heard her voice whisper. Her lips moved, but she couldn’t control the words. “Don’t leave me.”
Tatiana was shocked. It was a horrible eulogy for a woman she’d loved as a sister. How could she have said so little?
“What else would you have of me, bella mia?” Marcello asked. His tight body came to her, covered in a light sprinkling of dirt. She controlled him, but barely. She felt the constrained presence of a beast beneath his skin. He was fighting her will, angry at her control. Tatiana held strong.
Marcello’s eyes followed hers down over his large frame clad in black, and she could sense that his dirty clothes annoyed him. He hated the fact that she’d made him dig the grave. He wanted to strike out at her in anger, but her will kept him from moving.
Tatiana looked at her gown. It was ruined, torn and covered with Alice’s blood. A strand of blonde hair clung to the mess, and she shivered, growing weak.
“Come,” Marcello urged softly. He touched her cheek, drawing her forward to his chest. The voice was gentle, persuasive, and she found she wasn’t scared to be in his embrace. Her body thrived on his nearness, strained for it. “Let us wash this unpleasant night from our bodies.”
Tatiana was confused. She knew she should not go with him willingly, but she knew that she controlled him. The power building inside her wasn’t of his influence.
Suddenly, she felt her mother. The stories that she’d been told since girlhood came back to her. How could she have forgotten them? Grand bedtime stories of witches and warlocks, told to her by a mother that hushed them like secrets. Tatiana always thought the woman did it to entertain and fascinate her.
A moan of wanton pleasure left her lips as Marcello pulled her close. She closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around his strong neck. Knowledge came to her with the power, and she understood what her body wanted from him. Her face burrowed into the bend of his neck, and she remembered feeling the tickle of his soft hair on her cheek. He smelled of earth, from where he’d dug, and of the wind. He lifted her, carrying her effortlessly in his arms as he sped over the countryside.
When she again lifted her head to look, he let her go. They were in the courtyard of Glastonbury Castle where he lived. The piles of rocks surrounding the castle made strange images in the dim moonlight. The garden flowers were in bloom, and they perfumed the air. Taking her hand in his, Marcello led her into the castle. She didn’t fight him, didn’t try to pull away. She wanted to be with him.
The air inside was stale and unmoving. Cobwebs hung from the ceiling, dancing eerily amongst the rafters, as they stirred to the presence of those who entered. There were no servants in the count’s home, no sounds of life.
The interior was nothing like she’d pictured. Outside, it looked to be in decent repair. Inside, it showed nothing but the influence of time and neglect. The front hall was empty. There were signs of renovations though the project had been abandoned long ago and never completed. The marble floor was cracked as was the large fireplace. The walls were bare.
“This way, bella,” Marcello said softly, drawing her attention away from the hall.
Tatiana followed him without question and with a vague sense of excitement as he led her up an old stone stairwell. It too was broken and chipped. As they neared the top, she noticed that a light glowed from above. The orange framed Marcello’s body in stark relief, dancing and licking the walls with the reflection of fire. Without knowing what possessed her, her hands lifted to touch his back. She ran her fingers over his dusty overcoat.
Marcello stiffened at her daring touch. He paused at the top of the stairwell as her fingers met his shoulders only to turn back down. Tatiana’s breathing deepened. It might be a memory, but she felt him on her hands as if he was before her, and he was exquisite.
“Bathe me,” a voice demanded from her throat. It sounded like her, a low, seductress version of her.
A groan left Marcello. Before Tatiana knew what happened, she was in a room before a blazing fireplace. Marcello’s chilled hands were on her body, undressing he
r. She stood very still for him, letting him touch her skin, begging him to with her eyes, commanding him with her mind. His fingers peeled back her corset, and she took a deep breath, filling her lungs with air.
“La tua pelle e’ come seta, bella mia,” he whispered. She liked the way his lips formed the words, moving over his fangs. She’d heard that phrase endlessly in her dreams of him. “Your skin is like silk.”
Tatiana liked the way he looked at her, longing for her, fighting her hold over him. She was giddy with power. Her body moved by its own will, and she stood naked and bold before him in a bath.
Marcello’s hand dug beneath her chemise, pulling it up. Fingers ran over her breasts, stroking them. He pinched her nipples, causing them to ache with need for him. Tatiana’s head fell back, and she moaned.
Marcello’s tongue flicked over the base of her throat. She instinctively knew what he was, a vampire, and didn’t care. Her fingers lifted, touching him, wantonly pulling him to her body. His dark voice whispered seductively to her. She couldn’t understand all his words and didn’t care. It excited her to hear him speak.
Marcello’s hands roamed her, urging the remainder of her clothes from her body. Tatiana realized she was naked before him and that he looked at her. His touch made her ache with longing and need as he groaned his masculine excitement against her.
“Tu sei bellissima,” his voice persisted in its lullaby, lingering and soft. The memories of him sped and slowed without reason or warning. Marcello washed her hair and lathered soap against her body, bathing her as she’d commanded him. Fingers covered her mouth and nose as she was lowered beneath the bathwater. She wasn’t afraid. She trusted the luring melody of that voice, knew that she could control him and that he couldn’t hurt her. “You are very beautiful.”
When her head surfaced, Tatiana was no longer in the water. Her skin was dry, warm. Her hair was damp. A stone fireplace burned brightly. The fire crackled, the only noise around her. She felt safe, protected. She wondered why she hadn’t bothered to look around while in the tub. All she’d seen was Marcello and his worshipping hands. The bath was gone. She must’ve slept, for she felt rested.
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