Tribes Of The Vampire - Eternally Bound Part 16

"You're right, vampire, she is strong," the old woman stated, her voice nearing a cackle. Tatiana flinched. The woman's teeth were rotted and stained yellow. "The blood within her has been dormant too long. It seethes with the need to release. You did well to unite her to you. Her visions will be powerful, strong."

"Do you have the ability to bind her power, crone, or not?" Marcello asked, as if Tatiana wasn't there before them, listening to them.

"Bind it?" the woman repeated, nearing disbelief. Her eyes didn't turn from Tatiana on the floor. "This witch will foresee many things. Give her to me, vampire, if you can't control her. I will teach her how to use her gifts. Long have they been dormant and neglected. Can't you smell it on her--the ancient blood of her ancestors? It was a strong breed that came before her. She is one of the old ones."

Marcello snarled. His eyes filled with red as he turned to the old woman. The crone seemed unconcerned with the vampire's anger, as if she'd been in the presence of many demons before him.

"She is mine!" Marcello growled possessively.

The witched laughed, lifting up her bony hands unconcerned. "It makes no difference to me, vampire."

Tatiana watched them from the floor. As their attention was drawn from her to each other, she began to edge back. Her elbows throbbed from her fall, but she didn't care. Her robe parted at her movements, baring her legs. Marcello and the old woman turned back to her just as she covered her legs from view.

"Give me your hand," the crone said.

Tatiana shook her head furiously. The closer the woman crept, the uneasier she felt. Her wide eyes turned to Marcello, pleading. He frowned, seeing her look, but said nothing.

"My lord?" Tatiana insisted, staring at Marcello. She began edging back from the old woman.

"She will take those visions away," he stated simply.

Tatiana had to admit that it was a tempting offer. She didn't relish the idea of getting her head lopped off by a knight's sword or seeing Thomas with a gun pointed at her chest again. Still, as the woman came for her, she flinched.

The crone began to mumble in her withered voice. A breeze swept up around the room, stirring her dress against her legs.

Marcello stood still behind her, watching. His narrow eyes bore into Tatiana in concentration.

Tatiana felt a chill washing over her skin. The nausea grew steadily worse, causing her to moan. She could feel the old woman trying to sap the energy out of her. She felt the woman pulling. A feeling inside her snapped and pain rolled over her limbs. Her mouth opened, letting loose a terrified scream.

Marcello's hands gripped into his arms as he watched. He saw Tatiana becoming pale, her lips edging with blue. Then, all of a sudden, her body flew upward until she was standing on her feet. Her eyes bore forward to meet the old witch he'd found to bind her strength. The jade orbs glimmered and Tatiana mumbled back, fighting the curse. The old witch grew angry, raising her voice louder. Marcello could feel the snap of electricity and fire in the room, igniting between them. The fireplace lurched with flames. Their clothing stirred with wind.

Unexpectedly, the witch fell back toward the ground, clutching at her chest as if she'd been kicked. Her mouth worked, a thin trail of blood coming from her withered, cracked lips. Marcello looked down at the crone and then to Tatiana. Tatiana still spoke, droning and low. He knew she was protecting herself from the woman's magic.

The old woman gasped, clutching at her chest, digging her fingers toward her heart. Her milky blue eyes turned to Marcello.

Her words were accusing, as she gasped out, "You did not say she was guided by spirits, vampire."

Marcello glanced down at the witch. His eyes narrowed to see her face. She was dead.

Tatiana's words stopped. Marcello didn't dare touch her. He felt the eerie cold swimming about the air of the chamber. It was the same sensation he got every time Tatiana felt threatened. He frowned. The crone was right. There was a spirit haunting his slave. Marcello was already dead and knew the ghost could do him no real harm, but the spirit could make a nuisance of itself if it so choose.

"How dare you!" Tatiana screamed. She ran angrily at Marcello. Her gaze shot out in livid sparks of fire. Before reaching him, her body stopped, as if running into an invisible wall. She stood, panting, glaring her hatred at him.

"Bella mia," Marcello said calmly, unafraid. He knew she couldn't hurt him.

Tatiana blinked at the soft sound of her name. Looking at the floor, she saw the old woman was dead. She gulped. When she turned back to Marcello, her eyes had lost their fire and her lips trembled violently.

"I killed her," Tatiana whispered, before crumpling into a heap onto the floor.

Tatiana opened her eyes with a start. She'd been dreaming of Alice in the field of flowers. It was the same thing as before.

When Alice touched her, the flower ring melted. And when the woman tired to speak, the words were muddled and insensible.

Tatiana again lay on Marcello's bed. The vampire Count was next to her, stroking back her hair with his cool fingers, as if it were the most important task in the world. His other arm draped possessively around her ribs, suspiciously close to the underside of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. He appeared almost bored as he continued to absently stroke her as if she were his pet.

Tatiana pushed up from the bed. Marcello dropped onto his back to watch her, letting his fingers slither off of her body. Her eyes automatically went to the floor. The body was gone.

"I killed her," Tatiana whispered.

Marcello didn't move. "S,it would appear so,bella mia."

"Don't call mebella mia ," she cried. "I just killed that woman!"

"She killed herself. She wasn't strong enough to go up against you. She shouldn't have tried."

"I don't expect you to understand it," Tatiana whispered in dejection. She looked down at her hands. They were shaking. She didn't want this--any of it. She wanted her life back and, if she couldn't have it, she wanted her life to end.

"What is done is done,bella ," Marcello said in a quiet voice. "The woman was old. It was her time to go."

"Is that how you justify taking a life every night, demon? By saying it was just their time?"

Marcello's eyes narrowed in outrage. He had not taken a life since meeting her and had rarely done so before her. He knew what she thought of him, could read it in her easily enough. He knew she believed him to be a devil. He knew she blamed herself for all that happened to her--because she'd wantonly lain with the devil. He stubbornly refused to correct any of her misconceptions, pretending not to care what she thought of him.

"Don't blame yourself,bella ," Marcello whispered. His hand rose to stroke down her arm. He wanted to touch her, to feel her body against his once more. His patience was wearing thin.

"I don't," Tatiana said to the Count's surprise. "I blame you. You are the one who brought her here. You're the one who told her to bind me."

"I asked if she could," Marcello corrected lightly, not raising his voice in anger to join hers. His lids dipped lazily over his eyes as he stared at the curve of her hip. Unable to resist, he touched it. "I did not tell her to do it."

To his disappointment, she stiffened.

"Vieni qui e baciami," he whispered gently, though the words sounded like command. "Come here and kiss me. The night is young. Let us make love through it."

"Is that an order?"

"Call it a request. One I know you want to fulfill."

"I don't want you, my lord. I want nothing to do with you," Tatiana lied. She wanted him desperately. Every time she was near him, she wanted him. The primal l.u.s.t was getting harder and harder to ignore. "And whatever has happened or will happen between us will never be called love."

Tatiana refused to look at him, but his anger was palpable. She could feel it in their connection. There was a long moment of deadly silence. Only the sound of fire could be heard in the chamber.

"So be it," came his cryptic answer. Marcello stood from the bed. He did not look at her as he crossed to his wardrobe.

Reaching inside it, he pulled something from within and slid it into his pocket.

Tatiana flinched, but he did not come for her again. She watched him silently walk to the door, gliding gracefully over the old stone floor. She swallowed, nervous.

"You are free to walk my home, but don't leave it." Marcello opened the door and left her staring after him.

Marcello's catacomb home was the most beautiful, most unique, most tasteful place Tatiana had ever seen. Past the bedroom door, which she hesitated in opening, was a long gothic styled chamber of gray stone. The old inlets along the walls were devoid of skeletal remains. She was secretly glad for it. In place of bones, there were a collection of fine vases, Faberge eggs from Russia, exotic figurines of naked women, and even an old Italian wine bottle tucked in the corner. On the peeling, faded label, Tatiana made out the words 'Spoleti' and 'Toscana'.