Part 1 (1/2)

Tribes of the Vampire.

ETERNALLY BOUND.

By Mich.e.l.le M. Pillow.

Chapter One.

Eastwich Manor, England, Spring 1896

Tatiana Sinclair smiled dreamily at the stars as she fitted her gloved hand into that of a groom's. The scent of wildflowers was thick on the air, perfuming the night with their intoxicating fragrance. The wind rustled gently over the land, perfectly cool to the warmth of the late hour. It stirred heavily against the higher limbs of trees until the sound of the cras.h.i.+ng leaves sang out.

It was a perfect night.

The servant, Thomas, was dressed in the full livery of the Eastwich Manor staff. He lifted the back of his hand to help her down from her family's brougham. The carriage s.h.i.+fted ever so slightly as she stepped onto the cobblestone drive. Tatiana barely paid the towheaded man any mind.

Thomas tried to smile at her, murmuring a greeting in his low youthful voice. ”Welcome home, Miss Tatiana. How was your evening?”

Tatiana glanced briefly at him, frowned in his direction and waved him away. Thomas was two years older than her, but she still thought of him as a boy. He was handsome and polite, but that did not give him the right to address her. She would just have to speak to her father about having him replaced. It wouldn't do for the servants to be seen addressing her so familiarly, as if they did it every day. Such a faux pas could kill her chances at a good marriage.

Well,Tatiana thought, feeling benevolent in her good mood. Her chin was proud, if not a little haughty, as her lips curled in contemplation.Perhaps, I should be lenient with him and only have him reprimanded. We did grow up together after all and tonight was such a lovely evening.

Tatiana's pale green gown of expensive silk and Brussels lace tangled in the breeze. Her face again turned to the wide expanse of stars twinkling brilliantly in the dark blue of the night sky. The heavy weight of her white petticoats rippled ever so slightly, showing the toes of her dainty slippers. Her black curls were pinned up with the utmost care, adorned with green silk flowers. She was at the height of her youth, dressed in the height of fas.h.i.+on. She was beautiful, rich and knew it. She had many suitors vying for hand. Everything was perfect. Her life was going according to plan.

Thinking of it, Tatiana smiled to herself. If she managed it right, she could be married within a year's time--or at the very least engaged. Suddenly, she noticed that her chaperone, a servant girl from the household, stood next to her waiting. Tatiana merely waved her to go along without her. The servant, whose dark eyes gave away the fact that she was exhausted, curtsied and rushed up the front steps to find her bed. Tatiana ignored her.

Lightly, she hiccupped. It had been a delightful evening of dinnera la russe . Tatiana blushed to remember how much of Lady Cottley's 'special' punch she'dconsumed. Surely, if her father discovered the excess, she would be forbidden from ever going back.

Sighing as the carriage was led down the long drive to the distant stables, she made the short walk up the front stairs of her home. Eastwich Manor was a modest home compared to the large renovated castles and estates of the local n.o.bility.

Nevertheless, the estate was very well maintained.

The square corners of the manor's stone walls were smooth, dotted with just the right amount of shrubs and flowers to make it stately and elegant without being overdone. Tall windows lifted up the sidewalls with dark blue draperies showing from the inside. Most were drawn closed, but a little crack of light shone out from one onto the front expanse of steps. It was a very fine home indeed. Whereas, her father wasn't t.i.tled, his income was quite sufficient as to cause much envy with the neighbors and to earn her their respect.

Tatiana smiled a secretive smile. If she had anything to do with it, she would be t.i.tled soon enough. It was rumored that an Italian Count had let the old Glas...o...b..ry Castle not far from her very home. As a young girl, she'd been fascinated by the rundown pile of rocks surrounding the castle and had climbed over them often. The castle itself was in decent repair, though it desperately needed the care only a rich owner could give.

Lady Cottley had been aflutter with the news of it, claiming to have met the 'young and altogether too handsome' n.o.bleman the other night. Their carriages had crossed a narrow pa.s.s in the country roads. She said that he was very well spoken, for a foreigner, and very das.h.i.+ng as he leaned out the carriage window to answer her greeting.

When Tatiana asked her to describe what the Count looked like, Lady Cottley couldn't quite remember, except for the impression he was handsome enough to leave her lightheaded. The good lady was, however, sure the Count was in England searching for a wife. For, according to that same lady, there were a shortage of suitably marriageable women in Italy.

”Tatiana! Wait!”

Tatiana instantly froze on the bottom step leading to the front door. The very sound of her name expressed in such a way made her nervous. Recognizing the voice, she s.h.i.+vered, turning round to face her eldest and only sibling. Henry had not been available to escort her to the dinner service so she was dependent on a servant to be her chaperone. He'd claimed he was too ill to attend. It irked her that he would be out in such a condition, but Tatiana knew it was more than likely that he lied to get out of taking her.

The crack of light s.h.i.+ning through the long front windows was dim so she couldn't see him too clearly, except from the vague impression of his features and the shadowed outline of his slender body. She gasped, immediately forgetting her irritation with him. His dark blue frock coat was covered with splatters of thick mud. Stepping back down the steps, she made as if to go to him. Henry stumbled forward, jarring her as he impatiently grabbed her arm.

”Ow, Henry, stop,” Tatiana cried, trying to shake off the desperate clutch of his fingers. She swatted him lightly with her gloved hand. ”You're hurting me!”

Henry's grip only tightened as she tried to escape, bruising her skin with its fierceness. She stumbled, slow to react, her mind numbed with liquor from the punch. Her brother's dark eyes narrowed and he struggled for breath. Tatiana saw that the same strange substance also splattered the pale skin of his features. Up close, it did not appear to be mud. Curious, Tatiana lifted her fingers to his check, plucking a bit of matter off him with her white gloves. Whatever it was, it was hard.

”Whatever are you covered in, Henry?” Tatiana asked. He mumbled breathless, incoherent sentences. She couldn't make out his words. Ignoring the pain he inflicted on her arm, she raised her gloved fingers to where the moonlight shone brightest to examine them. Her mouth fell open. It was blood.

Henry, seeing her impending look of horror, grasped her other arm in his palm, pulling her to him. Tatiana s.h.i.+vered as his fingers seized over her mouth, shus.h.i.+ng her startled scream. She could smell the coppery scent of blood on his hand, felt the drying stickiness against her skin where he touched her face. Blood marred his jacket, streaking onto her pale green gown, hitting against her arms, as he held her tight to keep her quiet.

Gasping into her ear, he croaked in a low, hoa.r.s.e tone that she'd never heard from him, ”She's dead.”