Then, when all was done, Cesare would rest motionless in a chair. Tatiana would sit by his leg and lay her head against his knee. Only then did he move to touch her, petting her head as if she were a cat.
“Isn’t this just cozy?”
Tatiana froze in dismay. Her eyes flew to the long red curtain leading from the dining room to the front hall. Marcello stood in the entrance, looking very much like the lord of the manor with his elegant black suit and crisp white shirt. In his gloved hand, he held a top hat.
Tatiana shivered when she saw him. She could usually feel when Marcello was close by, but she’d been so deep in thought that she’d not felt him come in. His eyes were roaming angrily over her green silk robe to where her bare legs peeked out from the front opening. Then, seeing Cesare’s hand on her hair, he actually snarled. His eyes swam with threats of red.
Cesare stood in reaction to Marcello’s harsh words. Tatiana’s neck was relaxed, and her head fell hard onto the seat of the chair, knocking her temple. She yelped in pain, pressing her hand to the side of her head.
Marcello said something to Cesare in their native language of Italian, his voice dark and cruel. The servitor did nothing. He didn’t even flinch at his lord’s wrath. Marcello flung his hand in the air, motioning behind him to the front hall, toward Cesare’s room. Cesare bowed and walked dutifully away.
“I had no idea he matched your tastes, bella,” Marcello said, turning his narrowed eyes to her. They burned with an inner passion she felt from her place on the floor.
Gingerly, Tatiana got to her feet. She returned his glare. Her lips pressed harshly together. She refused to dignify him with a response. When Marcello merely stared at her, saying nothing, she turned to walk away. As she reached the bedroom door, she felt him directly behind her, though she hadn’t heard him move.
“You know he can feel nothing for you,” Marcello whispered, his warm breath hitting the back of her neck. The words sounded spiteful. “Even less than your Thomas.”
Tatiana knew his hand hovered over her lower back, just inches from touching her. Her head fell back slightly, and she swayed on her legs. “Neither can you.”
Tatiana opened the bedroom door and stepped in. Marcello was right behind her. The door slammed, uncharacteristically loud in the quiet catacomb home. Tatiana jumped, startled, and turned to where Marcello stood. His eyes swam in anger, and she gasped. He was usually so calm and collected, to the point of being eerie.
“Get dressed,” Marcello stated darkly. “We are going out.”
Tatiana blinked in surprise. It was the last thing she’d ever expected him to say to her. She clutched the robe to her chest. She didn’t have anything else to wear.
Marcello, reading her thoughts, crossed to the wardrobe where he’d stored the dresses he had made for her. She was still sleeping during the evening hours when the delivery had come, and it was obvious she hadn’t seen the gowns. His movements were stiff, and he seethed with jealousy over the affection she so easily showed his servitor. He knew Cesare would never treat her as more than a friend, but Tatiana’s fondness for the man radiated off her very body. He’d sensed it the moment he’d arrived at his front door. And he hated her for it.
The count opened the wardrobe and looked in. Then, grabbing a gown of red satin, he tossed it meaningfully on the bed before turning back to the wardrobe. Within moments, he pulled out a corset, chemise, stockings, and slippers.
“Get dressed,” he stated again when she refused to move.
“I...I can’t wear that,” Tatiana whispered. The gown was indecent, nothing a proper lady would be seen in.
Marcello laughed. His dark brown eyes echoed with amusement. “Still clinging to that past, bella? You are no longer the proper lady.”
He now stood before her. She hated it when he read her thoughts. She hated herself for slipping and letting him. His body was close. She wanted to touch him but refrained. His hand lifted to stroke her cheek. A ghost of a smile came to his features.
“I know,” she stated harshly. Her eyes hardened to him, hiding her need to cry out. “I am your whore.”
Marcello chuckled in his dark way. He leaned closer. His eyes swam with meaning. “Is that what you are waiting for, bella mia? To be paid for your services?”
Tatiana gasped and tried to slap him. He let her, not even moving to stop her, though she knew he could have. Her palm landed flat across his pale cheek. He smiled an interested smile as his eyes turned almost dreamily over her. He was enjoying himself.
“You’re demented,” she said, drawing back. She thought she saw a glistening of pain filter through his dark gaze at her words. In an instant, it was gone.
“We are above that life of humans, bella mia.” As Marcello said the words, his fangs poked with meaning from behind his lips and his eyes filled into almost completely black, letting her see a hint of the beast inside him. The demon was in his voice, as he said, “We don’t live by their rules. And we are not encumbered by their restraints.”
“You don’t live by their rules, my lord,” Tatiana corrected. “I am still human.”
“No, bella, you are a witch, my witch.” Marcello’s hand lifted to hover near the top of her head, only to keep at a distance as it followed the line of her waving hair. His ruby ring glinted in the firelight. “You belong to me.”
Tatiana’s eyes filled with tears. She didn’t want to be a witch. She didn’t want to be his slave. But, even as she told herself that it was true, she knew it wasn’t. She did want to be with him, at any cost, even that of her soul. She was attracted to him, drawn to him, fascinated and terrified by him. He was the only man who had ever made her blood race and her heart pound with excitement and fear. He was the only man who had ever made her feel, really feel.
His eyes softened by a small degree and his hand moved to rest on her shoulder. His touch was warm, and she knew he’d just fed before coming back to the catacombs. She felt him trying to search her thoughts. She concentrated on keeping her mind blank. Marcello frowned and turned his back on her.
The count pulled a pocket watch out of his waistcoat. The silver gleamed in the firelight. His long hair spilled handsomely over his shoulders as he looked down at it. Quietly, he said, “Either you wear the dress or that robe. It makes no difference to me. Regardless, we leave in five minutes.”
Tatiana gasped. She hastened to the bed, having no doubt that Marcello would parade her around all of Paris in her robe just to make his point. Keeping her robe over her shoulders to hide her body as she dressed, she slid on the stockings. They were of the finest silk, so light and airy. She shivered when she felt them on her skin. It seemed like an eternity since she had a dress of any kind. Then, doing her best to stay hidden, she slid on her chemise beneath the robe, working it on with much difficulty. It too was beautiful and fine, with lace trim on the hem. She knew Marcello had paid dearly for them. She wondered in half fear, half excitement, what he would want from her in return.
“Senza complimenti. This modesty will never do, tesoro mio.” Marcello’s husky whisper came from directly behind her back.
Tatiana’s arms were trapped beneath the chemise, and she couldn’t stop him as he pulled the robe from her shoulders. As the silk pooled around her feet, his fingers found a hold on her hips and began to massage her through the thin material of the chemise in small circles.
Marcello’s nose rubbed against the back of her ear. Tatiana knew it was wrong, but she wanted him desperately. His delightfully bold fingers did not falter, as they slid up to the empire waist of her chemise, to cup her breasts in his palms. At the same moment, he sucked an earlobe between his teeth.
“I thought we had to leave,” she panted, breathless. Her eyes closed dreamily. She fell back against his solid chest. The memory of what he felt like was strong within her and she wanted to turn to him and touch him. She wanted to kiss him, could almost taste him on her mouth.
Marcello’s hands slid down over her waist and found a hold on her hi
ps once more. The longer length of his nails scraped over her lightly. He chuckled along her neck, taking his kisses to her throat and shoulder. The dark sound sent chills over her skin. “Padronissimo.”
“Speak English,” she commanded. “I can never understand you.”
“I said, as you like,” he murmured, letting her go.
Tatiana nearly fell to the floor as his strength left her. Her body hated her as she forced it to finish getting dressed. She was hot for him, aching. She threaded her trapped arms out of the chemise to free them. There had been something pleasurable about having him kiss her as she was trapped. Her limbs shook because she knew he watched her. She kept her back to him as she fastened the corset over her waist and slid the deep red gown over her head. The dress fit tightly over her body. The sleeves were mere slips of material capping her shoulder. The back dipped slightly, and the front bodice was cut daringly low.
She felt Marcello’s hands on her back, pulling the crossed laces tight. With a light command, he told her to lift her hair. As soon as he finished lacing her gown, he draped a necklace of rubies and diamonds over her throat. Slowly, she lowered her hands to her narrowed waist. The corset pushed her breasts up to full advantage, and the necklace dropped just above the top curves of them.
Tatiana walked to the large mirror. She eyed at the pale version of herself. The gown was beautiful as was the necklace. It went well with her dark, curly hair. She stood, frozen, staring.
Marcello came up behind her. The top of her head just made his chin. She watched his reflection, waiting for a glimpse of what he was thinking.
“You look lovely,” he murmured in pleasure, his gaze roaming freely over her body.
Tatiana saw that he wanted her again, always wanted her. She wondered why he held back. He was a demon. Surely a sense of propriety didn’t keep him from attacking her and demanding her body. What strange game of seduction was he playing at by giving her this expensive gown and jewelry?
“I look like one of your possessions,” Tatiana answered, dejected. She turned from the mirror and walked to the door.
Marcello watched her leave him, feeling as if she’d ripped out his heart and stomped on it. Nothing he did appeared to please her. He let a blank, cool mask of indifference come to his features. Inside, his emotions raged a terrible war. Why not just force her, indeed? Why not claim her? She was his to do whatever he wished with. No one would stop him.
The eight tribal elders and his vampiric father were the only beings Marcello had to answer to, and they wouldn’t care, might even encourage him. He’d never met the elders but knew they existed. He’d felt their presence once when he was newly made. They were powerful beings, ones he wouldn’t want to come across. Luckily, the council of elders ruled their vampiric race with indifference, so long as the few sacred laws weren’t broken. The vampire elders lived out their endless centuries, away from their vampiric children.
Even with the freedom he had, something held Marcello back. He wanted Tatiana to want him again, as she had in Glastonbury Castle when she’d needed him so much that she’d summoned him from sleep to come to her, tried to use her power to make him her slave and forced him to be her lover. She’d felt for him then, as she refused to feel for him now. And he craved some sentiment from her, any sentiment that wasn’t tainted with a sense of duty, enslavement, or fear. He was jealous of the affection and attention she showed his servitor, and the attention she bestowed on the human man, Thomas.
Tatiana continued to the front hall. Cesare was there, cleaning dutifully in his lifeless way. She stopped by the steps leading from the home where she’d been held prisoner. She was excited to get out into the open air, but Cesare wouldn’t be going, wouldn’t be feeling anything but the need to obey and please their lord. She studied the poor man with a sense of pity and sorrow.
“He can’t know you are next to him, bella,” Marcello said darkly. “He can’t know you exist.”
“Let Cesare go, Marcello,” Tatiana said quietly, still watching the young man. She couldn’t stand it any longer. She’d sealed her fate by her own hand, but deep down she knew Cesare didn’t deserve to share in their hell. “He is young and will have a life far away from here. Please, let him go.”
“Why do you care?” Marcello asked.
Tatiana didn’t answer. She didn’t want the servitor to go. His presence gave a small measure of comfort. But she wouldn’t be selfish. No one deserved to have their life stolen and lost in such a way. It wasn’t right.
“Who will drive the horses? Who will clean? Who will make your dinner?” Marcello asked logically.
Tatiana’s head turned slightly to him, studying him over her shoulder. Her jaw rose, as she stated, “I will. I will do his duties.”
Marcello laughed at the very idea. “No, bella, I own him. His fate is none of your concern as is his debt to me.”
“Then at least give him back his mind,” she demanded, turning to look fully at him. She stood on the bottom step, which brought her to his height. “Surely, he has a family who loves him, misses him. I know this means nothing to you, for you can’t possibly understand what it’s...like...to...”
Tatiana sniffed, blinking back her tears. She tried to stand bravely before him, closing her mind and emotions off so he couldn’t use them against her. She missed her father desperately. She’d been parted from him before—longer than this, in fact. But, knowing that she’d never see her father again, that she’d never be able to confront Henry or explain to Thomas, made the loneliness worse.
Marcello came forward to stand before her. His hand lifted, lightly stroking her neck. “Your fate for him is much worse than mine, bella. Right now he dreams of sweet music and lovely women. Would you have me take that from him, so that he can suffer, as you do, in my presence? Are you so eager for him to know you that you would take away his happiness and make him a true slave—unhappy, mournful, tormented?”
Her jade green eyes lowered beneath the sweep of her black lashes. Timidly, she said, “No.”
Reaching into his suit, Marcello pulled out a pair of long white gloves. He handed them to her. “You forgot to put these on.”
Tatiana looked down, amazed. This vampire had thought of everything. Then, pulling a couple of hair pins from his jacket, Marcello took up her hair and began fashioning it on her head in a quick style.
“There, much better,” Marcello murmured, liking the way the long line of her neck was exposed to him.
“Where did you learn…?” she began, lifting to touch her hair. She could tell he’d done a good job.
Marcello leaned into her, a grin curling on the side of his lips. “I once ate a Queen’s hairdresser.”
Tatiana paled, not realizing he joked.
“Ah,” Marcello sighed. “Always so serious. Relax, bella, one as old as I am bound to pick up a few tricks.”
“Dressing women’s hair is a trick you’ve had to pick up?” Tatiana asked, wondering why she suddenly felt like her cheeks flamed with jealousy.
“Yes,” Marcello answered, unashamed. “Amongst other things.”
Tatiana did not want to know what those ‘other things’ were. Her fingers curled, wanting to claw the amused look off his face. She held back, realizing he’d probably enjoy it if she attacked him.
“Jealous, bella mia?” Marcello whispered to her, leaning close to her pursed lips to let her feel his nearness.
“I don’t care what you do, or who you do it with,” Tatiana said. “Now, are we going, or do you wish to stand here all eve staring at my chest?”
Marcello frowned. He had been staring at the pulse in her neck. She smelled so sweet and he knew she’d taste even sweeter. His eyes rimmed with red, but he kept the desires in him back. Slowly, he tilted his head to the door. His words were cold, as he said, “After you, bella.”
Tatiana turned to lead the way. Cesare came forward, handing Marcello his long black overcoat and top hat. She did not look at the servitor again. Soon they were beyond the f
ront door, into the darker maze of the Paris underground.
Tatiana stumbled to a halt as the door to Marcello’s home closed behind her. She’d seen a long tunnel before her but was now in almost complete darkness.
“Lost already?” Marcello’s amused voice came from behind her.
“I can’t see, vampire,” she answered dryly. “My eyes are human, not demon.”
Marcello chuckled. Instantly, torches lit along the underground path. Tatiana gasped, seeing his hand lowering back to his side. She’d never actually seen anyone start or smother the fires in Marcello’s home, but she’d never expected he’d done it by will alone.
“How…?” Tatiana began, her eyes turning to him in fascination. “How did you do that?”
Marcello merely smiled.
“You…”
“Tu sei bellissima,” he broke in quietly. You are very beautiful.
“Thank yo…” Tatiana began. She frowned, looking him over. “I understood you.”
“Come, we will be late,” Marcello said. He took her arm to guide her through the tunnel.
Tatiana lifted the hem of her gown, out of habit so that it wouldn’t touch the stone floor. She noticed that, as they walked, the torches behind them sputtered out and the ones before them lit. She said nothing, letting Marcello lead her over the long walkway of smooth stone.
Coming to an incline, they began to climb. Tatiana stumbled in her dress slippers and fell slightly forward. She glanced up in instant apology as she used her hold on Marcello’s arm to stop her fall.
“Allow me, bella,” Marcello murmured. The count leaned over and swept her up to his chest, fitting his arms beneath the bend of her knees and length of her back.
Tatiana couldn’t help but relax into him as he carried her with ease. Her hand strayed lightly to his chest resting against his heartbeat. It was strong and slow against her fingers. Now, as he did not need to wait for her to walk with him, he sped faster.
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