Part 7 (1/2)

A dark chuckle erupted from across the carriage interior. Her eyes turned sharply to the vampire. The drawn curtain allowed moonlight to cast his features in a ghoulish manner that made her s.h.i.+ver. His eyes gleamed with an inner green light before fading to darkness. She realized he'd been in her head, reading her thoughts.

The horses turned the carriage so that the house pulled from view. Thomas was running after them, stumbling and weak.

Tatiana said nothing, was too numb to motion to him. She knew that the image of Eastwich Manor, fading into nothingness and out of her life, would always stay with her.

Letting her hand fall to her lap, she sat back in her seat. The curtain fell once more into place, making the darkness an impossible tomb. The carriage rolled along, racing under the team of four strong horses, whisking them over the countryside for what seemed like hours.

Tatiana didn't move, save to yawn once into the back of her hand. She let a lethargic pull come over her limbs so she didn't have to feel anything. Now that he had her in his grasp, she wondered if the dreams would finally stop.

”Tu sei bellissima,” Marcello whispered into the darkness of the carriage. He didn't know what made him speak the thought out loud, though he had been thinking it since they left the manor. Perhaps, he wanted to see her reaction to his words. He meant them. She was very beautiful to behold. He'd done well in finding her.

His vampire eyes watched her stiffen. She'd held silent for a long time, not searching for him in the shadows. He knew she couldn't see him in the blackness, yet she didn't complain, didn't ask him to give her light. He nodded to himself, pleased by her bravery. It wasn't many mortals who could sit so quietly before a devil.

He took his leisure studying her, though the lines of her were memorized since their first night together. Her body was small, but not so slender as to make her reedy. He enjoyed the gentle bend of her hips, the sloping curves of her larger b.r.e.a.s.t.s. He eyed her chest beneath her silk gown, displayed with a hint of cleavage. Those were b.r.e.a.s.t.s just meant to be touched, licked, bitten.

Marcello was a little disappointed that she wouldn't show more emotion for him. He found he'd missed her emotion since being parted from her. Though, two years was hardly anything to him. He'd known where she was, who she talked to, read into her thoughts--not all of them, but enough. He'd known when she'd accepted the boy's proposal and thought to escape him. He frowned. It was the reason he raced to Eastwich to claim her. If not for that, many more years might have gone by before he thought to bring her to be with him. As much as he wanted her, the dream of her had been sweet antic.i.p.ation to his senses and it was the kind of torture he didn't mind drawing out.

The smell of her was a sweet perfume. Her blood was strong and he found himself yearning to taste it again. The first time he felt the silky texture of her against his tongue, he knew he wouldn't be letting her go. He'd marked her as his, pierced her lip with his fangs to do it. In doing so, he'd made sure no other vampire would ever dare touch her. It was part of the old code for his race, part of the sacred laws set out by the council of elders. You didn't touch another'sindicium .

Marcello could feel the dawn approaching, only a little over an hour off. Tatiana hadn't moved to acknowledge his comment.

Her lids started to droop and he knew that she was tired. He wanted her to stay awake so she would sleep through the day with him. He couldn't have her running about while he couldn't get to her--at least not yet. He wanted her to learn her new role first before he afforded her that trust.

”Bella mia,” he murmured in his sultriest of voices. He watched her eyes blink at the loud statement. Her jade gaze turned to look for him. She didn't see him. ”Come here, next to me.”

Marcello watched her swallow in fear. She pulled back from him, pressing her body into the carriage seat to get as far away from him as she could. Her breath caught. He could feel her trying to sense him. She had a lot of strength in her. It pleased his vanity greatly to own her.

”Why did you say such cruel thing about Henry to my father?” Tatiana whispered, ignoring Marcello's bidding. She'd seen well that her father had believed the vampire's lies.

”They were not lies,bella ,” Marcello answered. When he continued, she heard the barely contained amus.e.m.e.nt in his words.

”Your brother couldn't function as a man should. He killed the woman for laughing at him.”

”I don't believe you,” she said, her tone uncertain of her own words.

”Come,” Marcello urged. ”You must be tired. Come rest in my arms.”

”I can't,” she breathed, after a long silence. ”It isn't right. We have yet to be married.”

Marcello chuckled, thoroughly amused. ”Married,bella ?”

”We aren't going to be, are we?” she asked, as if suddenly struck by lightning.

Marcello eyes narrowed, not liking the relief he felt in her at the statement. It stung him. He ignored his feelings. He never intended to marry her. His kind didn't marry. When you lived for an eternity, 'til death do you part took on a whole new meaning. However, many of his kind didvangare-- and often. His eyes roamed over her body and he felt his shaft growing hard with desire.

Tatiana pressed her eyes tightly shut, willing him to go away and leave her be. Her soft, disillusioned laugh joined his. She really should've known better. When her father had told her of her engagement, she took it as the truth. Every line of his body was memorized and, when she closed her eyes, she saw him clearly. She much preferred his eerie silence, or even the dreams he'd given her. Being alone with him, in the dark, was almost too much. However, when he spoke to her with his achingly sweet voice, it was hard to resist.

”Then what,” she began. Her heart nearly slowed until it stopped beating altogether. ”What am I to be to you?”

”You will be whatever I want you to be,bella .” Tatiana could almost hear the dismissive wave of his hand in his voice. He showed no remorse, as he admitted boldly, ”My servant, my slave, my dinner,il mio amante. ”

Tatiana didn't need to speak his language to know what his last phrase meant. The connotation dripped from his gravelly voice. He translated for her anyway.