Part 17 (1/2)

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 s.h.i.+ne 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 cus.h.i.+oned 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.