Eternally Bound

by Michelle M. Pillow

  “And you, Marcello? What do you embrace?”

  “I embrace you, bella mia,” he whispered, touching her gently.

  “And before me?”

  Marcello pulled his hand back, answering in a thoughtful tone, “I embraced humanity. I watched it, studied it. Like the Moulin Rouge’s underworld lifestyle. I watched and listened. I looked at art, architecture. I lost myself in the pleasures of human emotion and experiences. I watched children grow up, some to become great men, others mediocre men who amounted to nothing, did nothing but live out their lives. I watched the darker side too—every hatred, every sin, every possible secret. I’ve seen murders, watched them like plays. They fascinated me the most, for those men were worse than I. We are creatures designed to kill for food. They killed for sport, to feed a demon worse than my own. It was in such a mood that I stopped to watch you and Henry. You fascinated me that night.”

  “You watched and did nothing?” Tatiana asked, a little horrified.

  “I did not see Alice’s death,” he allowed. “I would like to think I would’ve intervened. But I will not lie to you, bella mia. I did watch murders without offering assistance. Occasionally, I would punish the murderer after the deed, but I didn’t always stop him. Sometimes, the killer had good reason to do what he did.”

  Slowly she nodded her head in acceptance of what he said to her. Her fingers dropped from his face to rest motionless in her lap. Mournful, she whispered, “I miss the simplicity of human life. I think I would’ve been content in a mediocre life. I miss the ignorance of the girl I once was. I think I shall always miss it.”

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  London, England, Winter 1899

  The air was cold, but Tatiana couldn’t feel it. The blood of her victim warmed her undead body. As she drank against a strong neck, she peeked into the man’s thoughts. He wasn’t a bad man—a hard worker, loving father, devoted husband despite a few indiscretions. She could even taste his innocent fear of the new millennium that would be upon them soon. Tatiana was pleased. She hated the taste of evil on her lips and in the city where they often hunted, evil abounded.

  It was different having to hunt for food. She’d grown used to Leandro’s home, where the meals came to her freely. It hadn’t taken long for Marcello to teach her how to feed without drawing attention or causing pain. She had to eat, so there was little choice in the matter.

  Marcello’s quiet lessons surprised her. The way he spoke of his victims, with respect and a sense of appreciation, amazed her. It was as if he talked of fine art, each human different, their taste unique, flavored by their heritage, their passions, every one of their emotions, their food, and drink.

  “Their story is in their blood, bella mia,” he had explained. “Take the human heritage. German blood is strong, perhaps a bit bitter. French is sweet like wine. English a little tart. African hearty and stout, wild like that country. Then, when they are blended together...ah, you will see. You will come to know them all.”

  Tatiana discovered that Marcello rarely killed unless the victim was so evil they didn’t deserve life. Mostly he took what he needed, from one or two a night, and let them go on their way. Though a strange feeling of fatigue usually plagued them afterward, his victims were almost always completely unaware of what had happened to them.

  Using all her skill, she let the man’s thoughts drift in a dreamlike state of euphoria. In his mind, he walked through a dark garden, his feet trudging endlessly through the fresh winter snow. When she felt full, she let go and bit her lip. She used her blood to heal the wound so no evidence could be seen later. Marcello was insistent that they not draw attention to the existence of their kind.

  Reaching out with her senses, she felt beyond the narrow alleyway and detected it was safe. She guided the man by his arm and whispered, “Go home to your wife.”

  The man tipped his head at her without seeing her, hugged his coat around his waist, and trudged away, watching the wet ground as he passed over it.

  Tatiana shivered, feeling movement behind her. She wore only a gown of blue linen, fashionable and plain. Her cheeks were flushed with stolen warmth. Snowflakes fell lightly over her head, and she looked up into them. A few of the man’s lingering thoughts processed through her mind, thoughts stolen in a deep kiss. Marcello stepped up from behind her and gently placed a dark blue cape over her shoulders.

  “You forgot this, bella mia,” he said quietly.

  “I have no need of it,” she answered back, turning to look at his handsome face. No matter how often she saw him, her heart still fluttered at the sight of him, and her body still trembled at the sound of his deep voice.

  “Ah, but you do,” Marcello said, taking up her arm, “for we can’t risk drawing attention.”

  Tatiana gave a light chuckle. “They will not see me unless I wish to be seen.”

  “Ah, even the oldest of us can slip,” Marcello said. “Indulge me in this.”

  “Very well.” She let him lead her over the long, endless brick sidewalks, past wrought-iron gates and fences, past pretty little homes nestled in their perfect little yards. This section of the city was for the middle class, a great improvement from the overcrowded boarding houses of the inner city masses.

  “Has Alice come back to you?” Marcello asked.

  “No. I have not seen her,” Tatiana sighed.

  Alice’s spirit was still earthbound. Tatiana could feel it. But the presence had left them as they’d entered English soil. She wondered if Alice did not like coming home, as she, herself, did not like coming home.

  Tatiana thought she would be happy to be back in England. But this was no longer the England of her youth. She saw it for what it was, for its flaws. No longer did she feel pride when thinking of her birthplace. It was like remembering a room from childhood, a room that was so big and so awed by innocent eyes. To visit that same place years later, with the critical contemplations of an adult, the room could never compare to the image remaining from childhood thoughts. After that moment, a bitter feeling would erupt from the disillusionment of childish dreams, the disappointment of the adult memory. That is how Tatiana saw England.

  “This place is not all flawed, bella mia,” Marcello said quietly. “You must learn to look for the beauty amongst the thorns.”

  “It is in the winter, and there is no beauty within the dormant grove of this city,” she whispered. She stopped in front of a house. The small structure wasn’t special. It had an area set aside for a garden. White blanketed the ground, trampled by the running of little feet. Children had run circles and patterns in the snow earlier in the day. Now, their footprints glistened in a field that sparkled like blue diamonds in the moonlight.

  Tatiana followed the trails with her eyes and felt sadness. She could almost hear the children’s laughter in her head. This was something she would never have. Marcello stood, watching her in silence. Her gloved hand reached forward and brushed snow from a fence post.

  “This is not the England of my girlhood. It pains me to see it, for I will never belong here,” Tatiana said. “Never again.”

  Marcello didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.

  “Let us finish our business.” Tatiana sighed. “I care not where we go from here, only that we do go.”

  “We must find you a witch.” Marcello lifted his hand to her shoulder and squeezed. “You must train.”

  “Ah, yes. Tell me, why should I train to save all of this? Why save a world filled with so much?” Tatiana asked. “Why save a world I will never belong in again?”

  “You don’t need me to answer that.”

  Tatiana patted the hand on her shoulder. Turning to him, she gave a slight smile. Her arms wrapped around his neck and she lifted to place a small kiss on his cool lips. The snowflakes landed on her eyelashes, and she blinked rapidly. “Pay me no mind, Marcello. I am in a mood tonight.”

  He nodded, hugged her to his chest, and let her go. With a sigh, he offered his arm to her. She took it, and they again w
alked, speeding faster as they moved.

  “I understand,” Marcello said. “We shared the same dream. You will go for him tonight.”

  “Yes,” she whispered. “Tonight.”

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  Three and a half years he’d waited for this night, the night he would avenge his sister’s death. Thomas hugged his long, wool coat tightly around his body, ignoring the holes in his elbows that couldn’t protect him from the cold. His hunched shoulders lifted and fell as he sighed with weariness. He was tired, so tired. The shadowing of a beard marred his once boyish face. He knew he looked old for his age. Hell, he felt old for his age. His red brimmed eyes stared forward. Though his body reeked of liquor, his feet walked steady and sure.

  Three and a half years. Three and a half years.

  The words repeated themselves over and over again in his head. It was too much time to wait for vengeance. It was too much time to imagine what Henry Sinclair had done to sweet, innocent Alice. At night he could still hear her laughter in his head. She’d been such a sweet girl, so happy no matter what life had dealt her. Such a good soul didn’t deserve a harsh death.

  He’d lost every woman he’d ever loved—Alice to murder, his mother to grief after he’d told her the truth of Alice’s death, and Tatiana to a monster. After he avenged his sister and his mother, he’d go for Tatiana. He would learn the truth of her involvement. He was torn with what he would do when he saw her. Alice had been her friend, and yet she’d helped to hide the body? Every one of the dark creature’s words filtered in his head.

  “You can’t keep her from me,” the creature had said to Tatiana’s father. “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. It was your boy who murdered the servant and, like a coward, he begged his sister—a woman—to protect him…”

  “And like a coward, he’ll die,” Thomas whispered, letting the rage kindle anew as his pace quickened. He knew the way well, had watched Henry Sinclair for months, waiting for the time he’d be alone.

  “No,” Tatiana had answered the demon. He could still hear the sweet confusion in her voice. She was to have been his wife that night. He’d been so happy. She was all he’d ever dreamt about. But then, the demon had come for her. “I never would have given myself to you. You lie. Henry would never murder Alice. You lie. You lie.”

  “She didn’t know,” Thomas said. “It is not possible for her to have known. She loved Alice, loved her dearly. She wouldn’t have allowed...” Thomas frowned, shaking his head in doubt. “No, no, she couldn’t have known, could she? But why bind herself to the demon? Why agree to go with him? She was tricked. She must have been tricked. She would never have helped Henry hide Alice, never, never, never...”

  Thomas rounded a corner and continued to trudge up a small hill. His feet slipped, causing him to fall forward on the solid pavement of the sidewalk. His ankle twisted, and he landed on a knee with a jolt of pain. He muttered in anger, pushing back up. He kept going, trying to keep the same pace though he now unconsciously limped. The uneven clop of his boots was the only sound in the stillness of the city night.

  “No, Tatiana loved her,” Thomas whispered, glad that no one was around to witness him talking to himself. Nevertheless, the sound of his whispered words eased him in his task, and he felt a small sense of comfort in his reasoning. “I will find her. Tatiana is not dead. I will find her. I will find her and make her my wife.”

  Even as he said the words, Thomas doubted the eventuality of his plans. Who knew what hell Tatiana had lived in since the night the devil came to Eastwich? She could be broken of spirit and of mind, just as he was broken and lost.

  “No.” Thomas stopped and looked at a small house set back in a lawn. “We will live here in this very house. I must remember this house, this street. She will have my children, and they will grow to be great men. We will be happy. We must be. We have to be.”

  Chapter Sixty

  “There,” Tatiana said, pointing up to a high window on the second story of the brownstone house. “My nephew is there.”

  “Tatiana?” Marcello asked, hearing the sound of her longing. She’d been in a strange mood all night, and it bothered him. “What is it?”

  “Nothing.”

  He knew she lied. “Is it what you want? Children?”

  “No, yes. I don’t know. I can’t help but think of all I missed, all I will miss. I resent that I’m being made to pay for Henry’s crime, though it wasn’t completely Henry’s fault. I wouldn’t have had a choice either way. And, yet, I am jealous of him. Look at this,” Tatiana stopped to wave her hand at the house before gesturing up to a window. “I will never have this. I will never know the joy of a family, of watching a sunrise or sunset with a husband who loves me.”

  Marcello felt a pain wash over him. He wasn’t good enough for her. She didn’t love him, but was with him out of necessity, out of a shared loneliness. She’d said as much to him before. It was why she wanted to stay with Leandro, too. She wanted a family, a semblance of normalcy in her life. How could it be any other reason? Since her changing, there was only honesty between them, well, honesty in most things. He hid his feelings for her, so as not to burden her with what she didn’t want. She didn’t love him. Her desire for him was strong, tireless, but she did not love.

  He wished more than anything he could give her this life, give her a home, a child. She had a good heart, deserved so much more than living beneath the ground like a corpse, her soul rotting as her body never would. Would she grow bored with him? Would she soon find another to replace him, someone new to quicken her powers? How long would it take? A year, a decade, a century, a day?

  “Ah, but why complain to you about this? You and I are the same in this way,” she whispered.

  “Si, bella mia,” he thought. His heart slowed until it was a lifeless thud that only brought him pain. “We are very much the same. Though, I am not with you just to ease the loneliness of a long life, for I could make peace with our existence, if only you would accept my heart.”

  “What?” Tatiana turned to look at him. Her pale face studied him, her jade eyes blinking curiously. “I didn’t understand what you were saying.”

  “I said nothing,” Marcello murmured, taking more care with his thoughts while he was around her. “But, I think that perhaps I will go with you up to the window.”

  “What...who…?” came the trembling voice of Henry’s wife.

  Tatiana looked at the woman. She could smell the woman’s fear. She was a frail, thin creature. Her light brown hair fell over her long white nightgown. The woman shivered, standing with her baby in her arms. She hugged the infant tighter, blinking as she watched the two vampires before the open nursery window.

  “It...it can’t be,” the woman whispered. Her eyes teared, and she hugged her child tighter, causing the sleeping infant to squirm in her arms. Nearing a panic, she tried to make it to the nursery door. “Please, they said you were dead. Please, don’t take my baby, not my baby. Take me instead. Don’t come for my baby.”

  “You know who I am?” Tatiana asked in surprise, looking over the light blue walls of her nephew’s room. It had the sweet smell of baby in it, tinged with a hint of illness. The baby was sick. Her vision wasn’t mistaken.

  “Yes, yes,” the mother said. “Yes, I know. You are Henry’s sister. I saw your portrait. Mr. Sinclair, your father, said you were dead. Please, don’t take my baby.”

  “Dead?” Tatiana asked in surprise. She glanced over her shoulder to Marcello. His eyes bore into her, giving her comfort. Slowly, he nodded for her to continue.

  “I see the death in your face. Your eyes...they are...you’re... Please, leave us in peace, spirit. He is young, too young to go with you. Please,” the woman cried, rocking her child in her arms almost desperately. “I...I think he recovers. The doctors are wrong. He’ll live, I know it. Today he opened his eyes.”<
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  “You love your child,” Tatiana said with an approving nod. She was jealous of the woman, but felt her good, albeit weak, heart.

  “Yes, yes, with all my soul,” the mother whispered.

  “What is his name?” Tatiana asked, stepping closer and reaching out her hand. She heard the mortal woman’s heart racing in fear and was sorry for it.

  “Wil...William,” the woman stuttered softly, fighting to catch her breath. “And I am Mary.”

  “Ah, Mary,” Tatiana said soothingly. She lifted a hand to pull back the blanket, hiding the pale little face. The soft skin was warm against her fingertips. “Such a sweet face. I don’t see my brother in it.”

  “Yes, he...he looks like your father.” Mary tried to pull the blankets back and hesitated as her hand brushed Tatiana’s. She jerked back, taking her child with her. “You’re as cold as a corpse.”

  “Yes,” Tatiana dismissed. “But I don’t bring you death, Mary. I bring you life.”

  “Life?” the woman whispered, disbelieving.

  “Let me hold him?” Tatiana asked holding out her arm. “May I see my nephew?”

  Mary shook her head, sinking into the wall as if it could protect her. She cried harder. “N-no.”

  “Shh,” Tatiana hushed, letting her mind comfort the woman. “I will not harm him.”

  Mary instantly calmed and reached out with her arms. Tatiana took the babe and brought him to her chest. Looking down at him, she whispered, “Ah, sweet William, open your eyes so that I may see them.”