Tribes Of The Vampire - Eternally Bound Part 17

She gasped, pulling back. Spoleti was Marcello's family name and Tuscany was in Italy. It must have been his in his human life.

She wondered why he kept it. Then, it struck her how old he really was. She couldn't read the year on the bottle, but could only imagine it was well over a century.

In the middle of the chamber a fireplace had been built along the wall. It was much like the fireplace in the bedroom, only wider. The even stone rose up on both sides in columns. Along the center was a dark dining table carved with gothic patterns in the mahogany wood. The table was lined with stately rows of matching chairs, perfect for large dinner parties. Three unlit candelabras set across the gleaming wood surface.

Above the fireplace was a portrait of the Count, looking very formidable and brooding. He was painted in his customary black and red. She got chills just looking at it. It was too lifelike and she felt as if he would soon speak to her and scold her for staring.

"Or ask me to kiss him again," Tatiana whispered quietly to herself. She stared a moment longer at his lips. Whoever the artist was, he'd captured the bend to them perfectly.

Tatiana still wore the silk robe. Marcello had yet to supply her with suitable clothing. Part of her was afraid to ask him about it.

Her bare feet landed soundlessly on the clean floor as she walked on.

At the far end of the chamber were two large curtains, sweeping down from the high arch of the ceiling, separating the dining room from what she could only call the front hall. They were of a dark crimson with fine gold embroidery along the bottom.

Past the curtain the fire did not shine as bright, but she could still see in the dimness. The front hall was more of the same, only open and wide. A thick row of stone steps led up the side to a door. The floor was large enough to hold a ball. An elegant chandelier hung from the ceiling, with long tapered candles. More candelabras graced the sides of the room along the walls with red and gold chaises and cushioned chairs near them, perfect for guests. Smaller scones lined the walls in symmetrical patterns. Again, there were no gas lamps, just candles. She imagined that it would be quite beautiful to see them all lit.

"How often would a vampire entertain guests?" Tatiana mused out loud. Oddly, the sound of her own voice, in a chamber devoid of everything alive, was comforting.

Tatiana saw that there was another door beneath the stone steps. She moved forward, curious. But, when she pulled on the latch, she found that it was locked. The fact annoyed her more than anything.

Seeing movement, she jumped in fright. Then, recognizing the silent Cesare, she laughed nervously. The servitor ignored her, as he came from another small door. It was in the side of the hall. She could only guess it was his bedroom and maybe a kitchen.

"You scared me, Cesare," she said, hoping for a flicker of acknowledgement from the man. She got nothing. She even tried to use her 'magic' to draw him out of his trance, concentrating on him as hard as she could. All she managed to get was a glance in her direction before he set about dusting a candelabrum. Marcello's hold on him was too strong.

Tatiana sat on the steps and watched Cesare clean. He worked without pausing. When the servitor started on his third large candelabrum, Tatiana sighed heavily and muttered in discontent, "I'm starving!"

To her surprise, Cesare stopped cleaning, tucked his dust cloth into his waistband and left her. Within moments, he came back from the back rooms carrying a tray. He took it to the dining table, set out a bowl of soup and some bread, and pulled the chair from the table for her.

Tatiana hesitated before sitting down. Cesare turned to leave, pulling the rag from his waistband. She watched him for a moment, before saying in a commanding voice, "Cesare, stop doing that, get yourself some soup, and eat with me."

The servitor disappeared behind the door only to come back with his own tray. Tatiana stood, grabbing a seat next to her hand pulling it back for him, so he wouldn't go far. He dutifully sat and, without comment, began to eat. Tatiana sighed. It wasn't perfect, but it would have to do.

After their meal, Cesare cleaned up without having to be asked. Tatiana wandered her way back into the bedchamber. She was tired and wanted to sleep. Crawling into bed, she sighed. She watched the glow of flames dancing on the ceiling for a long time. Before finding her rest, she could feel that Marcello had not come home.

Marcello looked down at Tatiana sleeping in the middle of his bed. Her dark hair fanned beautifully over her rosy features.

Her slender body was outlined by pools of silk. It hugged seductively to her curves, driving him mad with l.u.s.t.

He wanted to wake her, but he didn't. Instead, he slowly undressed, laying his clothes neatly over a chair as he'd done almost every night for an endless century. His movements were more out of habit than thought. When he was naked, he motioned his hand at the fireplace. The flames instantly smothered and darkness fell over the chamber, leaving them in complete and utter blackness. Marcello could still see Tatiana perfectly.

Dawn was close and he needed his rest. He crossed to the bed, climbing in beside his sleeping temptress. He sat next to her.

His eyes stared at her as he listened to the hypnotic sound of her breathing. The strength of her blood, the smell of her, the sound of her heart, it all called to him. He wanted nothing more than to wake her up with his soft kisses and spend the day making love to her, touching her, holding her, listening to her breathe.

"Stiamo freschi, bella mia?" he whispered lightly. Marcello's hand lifted, hovering over her dark hair. He knew if he touched it, her hair would be as soft as the silk she laid upon. 'And now what, my beauty?'

Her denial of him had been blatant. She did not want s.e.x from him and he couldn't bring himself to take her by force. The seductive and erotic dreams she'd sent him during the years they were parted still lingered in his mind. And, as he lay down, he wondered bitterly why she'd tormented him with them, only to deny him now.

Chapter Eight.

A week had pa.s.sed since the death of the old woman. Tatiana's nightmares and visions did not go away, though she'd not expected them to disappear. She was sure she was being punished for sleeping with the devil and for desiring him still. It shamed her to admit that, if Marcello were to touch her and ask her to kiss him, she would do so most willingly.

Marcello kept his distance, hardly speaking to her but in commands. She got used to his cold silence and his absences. She took to his schedule, sleeping by his side during the day hours, staying awake at night.

Cesare was her only friend and she liked to think they were getting closer--for their type of relationship. He never spoke to her and she talked to him as if he could hear, pretending that he listened. Regardless, she felt better when she was near him.

They would eat together and afterwards Tatiana would help him clean up. It wasn't exciting, but it kept her busy.

Sometimes, if she asked him, Cesare would fetch a bath for her. She'd lay there for what felt like hours until the hot water cooled. Then, drying off, she would wrap into one of the several silk robes she found in Marcello's wardrobe. They were all her size. Most were black and red, but there was one of emerald green--her favorite--and a soft creamy white.

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 horror. 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 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 to see 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 at Marcello's hard 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 was to your tastes,bella ," Marcello said, turning his narrowed eyes to her. They burned with an inner pa.s.sion she could feel 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. Swallowing nervously, she whispered, "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 to see it. He was usually so calm, collected to the point of eerily so.

"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 over to the wardrobe where he'd stored the dresses he had made for her. She was still sleeping that evening 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 affection for the man radiated off her very body. He'd sensed it the moment he arrived at his front door. And he hated her for it.

Opening the wardrobe, the Count 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 simply indecent, nothing a proper lady would be seen in.

Marcello laughed. His dark brown eyes echoed with amus.e.m.e.nt. "Still clinging to that past,bella ? You are no longer the proper lady."

Tatiana blinked and saw that he now stood before her. She hated 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 wh.o.r.e."

Marcello chuckled in his dark way. His face leaned closer. His eyes swam with meaning. "Is that what you are waiting for,bellamia ? To be paid for your services?"