Tribes Of The Vampire - Eternally Bound Part 6

Tatiana ran, tripping down the stairs in her haste to be rid of him. As she came to the front hall, she saw her father coming from his study to investigate the noise of her escape. Her gaze flew over the hall, desperate to find a place of sanctuary. She threw the thick door open, hearing her father coming fast behind her. He called out her name, but she didn't stop.

The night air hit her like a chilly, foreboding blast. She flinched, blinking rapidly as moisture stung her cheeks. She hadn't realized tears escaped her eyes as she fled the Count. Seeing a carriage readied at the bottom of the steps--a black, enclosed, imposing affair of rich elegance--she ground to a halt. Four black horses pawed nervously, feeling her tense intrusion into their midst. The animals were dressed in black, as if in mourning. Their heads bobbed at her in protest.

"Tatiana," called her father's voice behind her, stern. "What is the meaning of this?"

"Tatiana," sounded another call, more fervent, yet gentle. Her eyes left off looking for her father to find Thomas. Suddenly, she was very afraid for him to be there.

"Thomas--" Her words were cut off by a resounding smack and a groan of pain. She found Thomas lying on the ground in a daze, his mouth and nose bleeding. Standing above him, unmoving and unaffected, was the Count.

Tatiana gasped, seeing the Count's face clearly for the first time. He was caressed by moonlight, so pale and beautiful. She'd been sure her demon would be deformed. But, instead, he was like a G.o.d standing amongst mortals. His face could've been chiseled from stone, for all he moved. His brooding gaze of dark brown pierced forward to her, waiting patiently as her eyes roamed him, taking their fill.

His hands were folded neatly, intertwining and relaxed before him. His clothes were of fine silk, cut from the darkest of blacks and reds. A wide black cape, lined with blood red velvet, hung over his shoulders, sweeping with ease around his body as the breeze stirred it against his muscular calves and thighs. She wasn't sure she'd seen his particular manner of dress before. His style appeared old, out of fashion, and yet suited him admirably well. A silver chain, belonging to what could've been a pocket watch, dipped over one side of his waistcoat.

His body was lean, firm, commanding. Her skin tingled, almost as if it could remember the feel of him to her flesh. Her neck ached, remembering the brush of lips and teeth on its tender threads. The sweet smell of him engulfed her, the scent of earth and mint. She wanted to touch him, to have him touch her. A flash of blood came to her eyes, a long crimson trail over pale flesh. The sight did not scare her, but sent chills of antic.i.p.ation and pleasure throughout her body.

A sound of pain resounded over them. Tatiana recognized her father's voice crying out. Vaguely, she thought to hear him pleading to the saints in heaven to protect them from the devil. She ignored him.

The Count's lips moved, turning up slightly on one side, a gentle lift of bored seduction. Tatiana gazed at him, feeling him all around her, possessing her. She took a hesitant step forward, drawn to be near him. Her fingers twitched as if they could already feel the silken strands of his brown hair gripped within them. A light moan left her. Her eyes invited him to her. Her lips offered themselves over the distance. She knew he wouldn't come to her, but would make her walk to be with him.

"Tatiana, no!" Thomas screamed, struggling to his feet. "You must resist him!"

Thomas made a move as if to stop her progression. The Count struck out his hand without even turning to look at the mortal man, clamping his strong fingers about Thomas' neck. Thomas, who was by no means a weakling, struggled against the hold.

The Count's longer nails bit into the man's tender flesh, drawing droplets of blood. The man's throat gurgled as he fought for air and his bright blue eyes searched for her.

"Tell him,bella mia ," the Count urged in his low, sultry voice. The tone was so familiar to her. It washed over her dazed senses. She could only see him, hear him, smell him, feel him inside her. "Tell him you are mine."

"Tatiana," Thomas managed to gasp, his word pleading her to deny it. Tears welled up in his eyes, spilling over his cheeks.

Tatiana opened her mouth to speak as he bid her. A hand darted to her cheek, wrenching her eyes away from those of the creature who enthralled her. She blinked, suddenly realizing that the Count's eyes had been glowing with a yellowish-green, somehow controlling her will. Her father pulled her into his chest, pressing her face into her shoulder, as if that would protect her.

"I don't care what you've done, girl," William said. "I can't send you with him. I can't give you to the devil."

A dark laughter filled the evening air. All eyes turned to the Count. He still held Thomas by the throat. The man was beginning to lose his struggle. Tatiana clung to her father, too afraid to move. She trembled in his arms.

"Foolish man," the Count stated. His hard gaze shone with dark merriment. "You can't keep her from me. 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."

"Henry?" William gasped, not understanding.

"It was your boy who murdered the servant and, like a coward, he begged his sister--a woman--to protect him," the Count spat in distaste. A slight curl of disgust rose on his upper lip.

The words sunk into the man beneath the Count's hand. Thomas struggled anew, clawing viciously enough to draw blood from his captor's hand and wrist. To Tatiana's horror, she saw the wounds heal almost as instantly as they formed. She hugged tighter to her father.

"No," she whispered, shaking her head. "I never would've given myself to you. You lie. Henry would never murder Alice. You lie. You lie."

In his mounting annoyance, the Count finally turned to study Thomas. He pulled the man in front of him. His lips parted revealing a set of deadly fangs. His hand forced Thomas' head to tilt over to the side. His mouth opened wide as if to bite.

"No, please, don't," Tatiana screamed. She tore from her father's arms to defend her friend. Thomas was so good, so kind. He didn't deserve this. Not because of her. Her voice fading to a hush, she begged, "Please, my lord, don't harm him. Don't harm any here."

The Count stopped. His eyes took her in. His mouth closed.

"Come fulfill your promise to me,bella mia , or this boy will die," the Count stated. "Honor your pledge and I will give his life to you. Consider it a gift."

"I...." She bit her lip, looking at Thomas. His lids fell heavy over his eyes. He was near unconscious. "Yes. I will come. Only don't hurt anyone else. Please, let him go."

Instantly, the Count's hands released Thomas. The man fell to the ground in a stupor. Tatiana reached down to help him up.

The Count's gentle hand on her face, tenderly cupping her cheek, stopped her.

"No, bella mia," the Count warned. His nails sc.r.a.ped lightly over her features in a dangerous caress.

"Who are you?" she asked, trying not to cry. "What are you? Why do you do this?"

"You may call me Marcello," he stated coolly in his crisp Italian tone. His hand ran over the cords in her neck followed by his seductive, hungry eyes. He then glanced behind her to her father. Louder, he stated, "You heard your daughter. She is mine now. Forget her."

"Tatiana, no," William began. Thomas still lay on the ground, too stunned to move. Red claw marks bled from his throat. "You don't have to do this! Please, I beg you, stop. Take me instead, my lord, please, not my daughter--not my daughter."

"Get in the carriage, Tatiana," Marcello ordered, his eyes coolly turning to his newest slave. His piercing gaze didn't move over her face. His body was stiff and unmoving.

"But, my belongings, my clothes...." Tatiana trembled. His tender hold kept her before him more effectively than a vice.

"I have new clothes for you," Marcello said. His expression made demands of her that she didn't understand. "There is nothing left for you here. I let you have your time with your family. I hope you used it well for you won't be seeing them again."

Tatiana shivered at the finality of his confident words. She thought of the last two years spent being ignored by her father.

Suddenly, it all made sense. Her father had thought she killed Alice. This monster must have led him to believe....

"I will not tell you again,bella ," Marcello ordered, hard and annoyed. "Get in the carriage."

She looked over her shoulder as she heard the carriage door opening. A servant, dressed all in black, stood holding the door.

She hadn't seen him before that moment. The man's eyes were glazed, almost a milky white, and he did not seem to really look at her though his gaze pointed in her direction. She noticed how young and tall he was. He was a pretty man in almost an effeminate way. Turning her eyes from the servant, she again eyed his master. His face had not changed.

She took a step back. Marcello's chilled hand fell from her face. She didn't make the mistake of moving to help her fallen friend. Spinning, she turned on her heels and rushed to her father before the Count could stop her. She flung her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly.

William gripped his daughter to him, stunned by what was happening, by what he saw, by the demon who was taking his daughter from him. His old eyes seemed unable to comprehend that she was innocent and his own son, his boy, had lied to him about Alice. But, they all read the truth in the demon's eyes well enough. Henry had let him believe Tatiana was crazy, that she could've committed murder and now she was lost to him because of it.

"Take care of Thomas as if he were your son. He's a good man," Tatiana expressed. She could feel Marcello's pull on her back.

He was getting very impatient. Not wanting to risk his temper, she pried herself from her father's arms. "I will write to you if I can. I love you."

"No, no, no," William repeated, over and over. His eyes turned pleadingly to the dark carriage. His hands reached out to follow her as she pulled away, but his legs didn't move. "Not my girl, please, not my daughter."

She refused to let her tears fall. When she turned, Marcello was already in the carriage waiting for her. She peered into the dark interior, unable to see anything within the inky depths. As she came to the door, she felt as if she reached the gates of h.e.l.l. Her heart hammered in her chest. She paused. A pale, strong hand reached out from within. She took it in hers, not having a choice.

Tatiana let him help her up the narrow stairs as she stepped in. Her lavender silk gown swished as she moved. Trying to adjust her eyes to the dark, she voiced weakly, as she came through the door, "You never told me what you were, my lord."

"Vampiro," Marcello stated, his accent thick and heavy as it lingered on that one word for what seemed like an eternity. He dropped her hand as she came inside. The carriage door slammed shut behind her, leaving them in total darkness. Tatiana felt her way to a seat across from where he sat, careful not to get too close. "I am a vampire. But, more importantly, I am your master."

Chapter Four.

Tatiana pulled back the thick red velvet curtain hanging over the carriage window. The carriage jolted, pulling slowly away from her home. She could hear the clopping of horses' hooves on the gravel drive. She saw her father staring blindly after them, his mouth gaping open, his eyes insensible and confused.

Through a daze, she heard Thomas yell for her. His blue eyes were tortured as the raw scream left his throat. She saw him struggle to his feet, his handsome blond hair whipping around his young face.

A melee of servants poured out the front door, clamoring to see her departure. It was as if they watched the whole scenario while hiding away. Tatiana resented the servants. She was sure that, if they would've come to their aid, all of them together could've taken down the vampire who now claimed to own her.