Tears of Blood (The Blood Chronicles) (12 page)
Read Tears of Blood (The Blood Chronicles) Online
Authors: Tamela Quijas
“I pity you.” Amado whispered sorrowfully. He was unaware of the bleak shadow of remorse in the eyes of his nemesis as he moved away.
“Pity me all you want, Gianni. Pity me until The Sanctum commands me to end your existence and scatter your doomed ashes to the wind.” Declan snarled, watching the vampire’s retreating figure. “Most of all, pity me when I sink my teeth into that delightful little morsel you lust after.”
Chapter Seven
“You can, at least, give him a chance.” Chesca’s tight-lipped encouragement caused Meghan to frown. She screwed her lips into a tight line and glowered, unaware the man in question paused to watch the pair.
“You set me up, didn’t you?” She scowled ineffectively in her friend’s direction.
“Why, whatever do you mean?” Chesca countered innocently.
“He’s one of those smooth talking Italian friends of yours, isn’t he?” She accused. “Better yet, is he a cousin from the old country?”
“Why ever do you assume that?” Chesca questioned artlessly, blinking as she did so.
“I remember your cousins, and they’re a wild bunch.” She muttered. “They just ooze that damn Italian charm of theirs on every woman who walks past, then can’t understand why they need protective orders afterwards!”
“Okay, so some of them have had fatal attractions, but you can’t blame them for being a Pagliatti.” Her tone held a hint of undeniable pride. “Besides, why would you think he’d be one of my cousins?”
“He’s identical to those damn boys! He’s too smooth and his voice practically drips honey.” Meghan countered hotly.
“Drips honey?” She hummed the phrase, and then broke out in a laugh. “I’ll have to ask my next conquest if my voice drips honey!”
“Oh, damn it!” Meghan huffed. “Stopping in midstride, she controlled the urge to stomp her foot. “I’m being serious!”
“So am I! I can assure you he’s not one of my lady-killer cousins.” She stated with undeniable sincerity. “Since he isn’t, you could give the man a chance.”
“I don’t have the faintest notion who he is or what he wants,” Meghan grumbled, her expression obscured by the overhanging limbs of a naked tree. She listened to the sounds of oncoming traffic, aware there wasn’t another soul out on the street except for them.
“Maybe he thinks you’re one hot little number and wants to get to know you better.” Chesca suggested and giggled as a burning flush flooding Meghan’s face.
“I couldn’t care less about
getting to know
any man since my ex!” She objected heatedly.
“Hell, woman!” Disgusted, Chesca moved up the sidewalk, a trail of her sweet perfume wafting in the night air. “You’d think you died with your divorce, instead of moving on.”
“I don’t want to get involved any man!”
Turning, Meghan tapped her cane across the pavement, every well-measured tap assuring her of her steps. Chesca had been too eager to accept his offer of walking with them after he caught up outside the bookstore, her winded approval causing Meghan to wince. She didn’t care if
he
heard her, and she wanted him to understand his intrusion was unwelcome, on her part.
“You should give this one a chance. After all, he did save your life.” Chesca reminded.
“I can’t figure out if he did or not.” Meghan chafed at the reminder. She was faintly aware
he
had begun to follow them anew, but his steps were so silent. Obviously, the conversation clearly didn’t concern him, and his soft-soled tread was slow and purposeful.
“What would you call it, Meg?” She replied. “He shows up when these two ass-holes decide they want to rape you for their amusement, runs them off, and helps you file a police report. He even waited around until I showed up, making sure I was a friend and not one of those horrid gawkers that like to snap pictures with their damn cell phones. Tell me, how much more could you want?”
Meghan stopped again, and the cold pressure of
his
hand steadied her as she struggled to keep her balance. “I…”
“Please tell, Miss Stanley.” He interrupted smoothly and she wondered about the expression on his face. His hand left her shoulders swiftly and his breath was oddly warm as it brushed her cheek.
“I…I…” she stuttered as if she were an idiot, and. a heated blush crept under her breasts and rise to her throat. Annoyed, she remained silent.
“Yes, please tell, Meg.” Chesca chimed.
“Let me help you,” he offered, ignoring Chesca’s jovial laugh as he placed her chilled hand in the crook of his arm.
“I don’t need your help!” Meghan snapped, yanking her hand away and glaring at him with dim eyes.
“In this case, you do need my help.” He soothed. “Your friend’s correct, as much as you don’t care to hear it.”
“I told you!” Chesca interjected childishly.
“Shut up, Franchesca!” Meghan retorted crossly.
“I don’t have any ill planned for your friend or yourself, Miss Stanley.” His voice was smooth and silky, almost hypnotic to her violently spinning senses. Meghan tightened her lips and allowed him to continue; unaware her annoyance was patently apparent. “I merely wanted to escort you home, to ease any fear you may have on the streets at this time of night.”
“I’m perfectly safe….”
“Any woman, even those walking in pairs, isn’t safe from the evil of man. Did you forget the men that attacked you?” He remarked with chilling ease.
“I’m not likely to forget!” She rejoined irritably. “I don’t want to be reminded of it any more than necessary!’
“Remind you, I must.” He persisted and she wanted to stomp her foot again. Of course, she hadn’t forgotten, still waking in a cold sweat in the middle of the night, remembering strange hands tugging at her body, their intent obvious. If she hadn’t been with Chesca tonight, she’d have chosen to take a taxi home, instead of walking.
“I don’t want to hear or remember that night!” Each word she spoke weighed heavy with displeasure.
“I wouldn’t either,” he assured with more calmness than she could draw up in her own life. “There are times, though, when our memories, our mistakes, should warn us of the horrible things and people in the world. There are fiends of all sorts that could be lurking in the shadows, waiting for one slip on your part.”
“You’re crazy!” She protested fiercely. “There’s twisted people with warped little minds out to cause harm to whoever they feel is the most defenseless.”
“I can’t argue,” he supplied, inhaling the air around him. “In my time, I have seen many take advantage of the less fortunate, feeding on the pain lingering in one’s heart like monsters…”
“I don’t believe in monsters.” She interjected, but her words lacked heat.
“No?” He queried gently.
“Monsters are found only in fairy tales, and the movies, not in real life.”
He shook his head, more for Chesca’s benefit than hers. “There are monsters in the world, Miss Stanley. More often than not, it’s the monsters you don’t suspect, or believe in, that will hunt you down. “
“Oh, that’s absolute nonsense!” However, the faint image of Kevin did intrude.
“It could be, but then, maybe it’s not.” She imagined his careless shrug. “I did save your life, Miss Stanley.”
“You don’t have to remind me.”
“Perhaps I need to, on occasion?”
She managed to look shamefaced and lowered her head. He had rescued her, she admitted, and she was grateful. Although, when she reflected on that actual night, she wasn’t certain of the exact details. One thing she couldn’t refute was her assailants vanished as swiftly as they appeared, because of this man.
“Miss Stanley,” he interrupted. “What’s wrong?”
“You make me nervous.”
Afraid he’d laugh at her growing sense of unease, she turned toward the glow of a street lamp. The bright light that lit the avenue was a misty shadow in her damaged vision, but she latched onto it in an attempt to prevent hearing any snide comment that might slip from him.
“My presence shouldn’t make you anxious.” He observed as Chesca retraced her steps and joined them. “If I had any ill will intended, I’d not be standing here, trying to persuade you of my innocence.”
“Like I said, Meg,” Chesca hissed, “Give the man a chance.”
“Look, I don’t even know your name…”
He grinned and brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. As swiftly as he performed the deed, he lowered his fingers and pushed his hands into his coat pocket.
“I’m Amado Gianni, once of Sicily, now of Bentham.” He provided, wondering how his name would sound on her lips. He didn’t have an opportunity, though, as her friend snorted low and seductively. Abruptly, she shoved him with her shoulder, the cloud of her perfume filling his lungs.
“I knew you had to be Italian,” Meghan muttered, unaware her face revealed a huge dissatisfaction at the discovery. “Are you certain you’re not related to my hair-brained friend?”
“Miss Stanley, I’m not Italian.” He corrected firmly. “I’m Sicilian, not Italian. There is a difference.”
Meghan’s face flamed, and was aware Chesca was stifling her amusement.
“Second, I am, in no way, related.”
“I told you!” Chesca interjected snidely, coughing and wiping the tears away. “Way to go, tiger, with that name.”
Amado was uncertain whether to be offended by her outburst, and quirked a brow. “I beg your pardon?”
“Either your mother was a real romantic by naming you beloved, or your grandma had a thing for that movie actor Meg adores.”
An unaccustomed burning sensation crept across his face. “I’m afraid I’m lost.”
“What Chesca’s trying to say, in her normal in-your-face style, is the silent film star I used to watch was christened Amado Gianni?”
He stifled a harsh explicative. Forcing nonchalance he didn’t feel, Amado schooled his expression to reflect deliberate obtuseness.
“Gianni? This is a new actor?”
“No, no,” Chesca protested heartily. “He’s certainly not! He died nearly a century ago.”
Dread crept over Amado's cold skin. “How can he be an actor, yet dead?”
“Gianni was a star of the silent film era, back in the late teens and early twenties.” Meghan supplied tersely.
“Oh, yeah,” Chesca’s hand rose and she swatted at the air, the bangles on her wrist clamoring with the action. “He was Armand Gerino to the public, but any movie buff worth their salt knows he was born Amado Gianni. He’s nearly forgotten and, besides, Valentino stole his spotlight.”
“Then,” his lips formed a tight and icy smile. “I imagine my grandmother had distinct satisfaction in naming me.”
“That’s utterly fantastic and totally romantic!” Chesca gasped. “Picture that, being named after a film star!”
“It’s amazing to find someone who enjoys the silent films, Miss Stanley.”
“Key word, if you missed it, I
used
to watch.” She retorted bitterly. “It really irritates me that I’ve to keep reminding you I’m blind.”
Amado couldn’t prevent leaning in close, his breath an oddly warm caress as he used one finger to tilt her chin upwards.
“Let go of that crutch you have, Meghan Stanley, and enjoy life.”
“How dare you!”
“Damn, Amado Gianni,” Chesca criticized, linking her arm into his unexpectedly, and then grabbing at Meghan’s jacket. “You should take lessons from those old films!”
“Why?” The stunning redhead's chastisement puzzled him.
“For a man who saves my girl, offers to be a pure gentleman and walk us home, you certainly don’t recognize when to keep your mouth shut.”
***
“You need to learn to stop being a tight ass and loosen up some.” Chesca muttered as they stood in the doorway of her friend’s house. “Invite him in!”
Meghan peered blankly at the door, her face filled with conflicting emotions, outright rebellion apparent in her expression. Unhurriedly, she turned and her oddly blank gaze rested with unsettling ease on her friend, her growing lack of patience obvious.
“Chesca, you’re pushing our friendship.” She warned haughtily.
“Look,
senorinas
…”Amado attempted to interrupt, feeling he’d slipped into a melodramatic soap opera of snapping women and climactic drama.
“No, you listen.” Meghan’s tone was intentionally calm as she turned toward him, and straightened. “Despite what my lovely friend might say, I can be civil.”
“I didn’t think you’d be otherwise.”
Stiffly, Meghan inclined her head.
“Thank you very much for walking us home, but I won’t welcome you into my house.”
Amado realized Meghan Stanley was on the verge of bursting into a tantrum, if he could read her reaction well enough. He wanted to remind her he asked for nothing more than to be an escort, and Declan Balthazar hovered somewhere nearby, anticipating his moment to steal whatever he could from the duo.
The walk hadn’t been long, at the most forty-five minutes. In that short time, he discovered the attractive woman was a silent being, serious beyond a doubt, and preferred to keep her reflections to herself. Ghostlike, she’d walked alongside him, never touching him, her cane moving with exacting preciseness across the worn sidewalks.
Chesca, however, exploded with life. Constantly flipping her bright hair over her shoulders, the tiny bells on her wrists persistently jingling, she spoke in a steady and unrelenting stream. She didn’t keep her opinion to herself, as her friend did. In contrast, she laughed often, the world seeming to blaze around her like a shimmering bubble. While in their company, Amado realized she was the most vibrant of the pair, frankly vocal, and oh-so-mentally exhausting.