Tears of Blood (The Blood Chronicles) (13 page)

He suspected Chesca should’ve captured his attention. She radiated with vitality, and clutched at the world with both hands, savoring every moment of every day. She displayed mystery, passion, and an effervescence, which made many men want her.

However, he didn’t yearn for the vivacious redhead.

Amado preferred the woman standing at the top of the steps, defensive, quiet, but amazingly strong. She didn’t demand the spotlight, and examined the world with silent concern. She pulled at his senses, and tugged at a heart he’d long forgotten. Despite her lack of sight, he sensed she perceived her surroundings in a manner defying reason.

“Shall I remind you I didn’t ask to be invited, Miss Stanley.” He scanned her face and stared into her clouded eyes.

He didn’t know why he was attracted to her. All he understood was her pale and unsettling orbs settled with unerring accuracy on him and managed to draw at his ruined soul. There was
something
beyond the unseeing gaze and the serious features that he wanted, and he didn’t want to leave.

Clearing his throat, Amado continued, “I must bid you farewell, dear ladies.”

He turned and inhaled, waiting to determine if Balthazar’s scent lingered on the crisp night breeze. The air was miraculously clear of the aroma of his fellow vampire, although the odor of an unwashed male did linger on his tongue. His nose twitched and scanned the darkness, looking for the solitary figure. Easily, he dismissed the human as nothing more than a vagrant, seeking a peaceful night’s rest the park across from Meghan’s house.

“Chesca,” he turned slightly on the stoop, his expression congenial. “Would you allow me a moment with Miss Stanley?”

The woman bounced lightly on her toes, grinning brightly and nodding her head. Despite Meghan’s protest, she bounded down the steps and stood beneath a nearby tree, smiling inanely at the brilliant stars overhead.

Inhaling a useless breath, Amado approached the woman, her cane positioned strategically in front of her. Her expression remained defiant as she glared at him, aware he stopped a good foot away from her. Her jaw tightened and he realized she didn’t intend to make anything simple for him.

“Could I see you again?” Amado asked abruptly, remembering Declan’s words. He suspected the vampire’s comment wasn’t an idle threat, and imagined how his maker would toy with her, attempting to drive her to madness before draining her of blood. He wanted to protect her from the evil of the world, and find a way to ensure she wouldn’t turn out to be an extra bloodless victim of the beast he detested.

“Why?” The word echoed with bitterness, and he couldn’t control his wince.

“I wish to become better acquainted with you.” He ground out sharply, lost as he stared into her eyes, and swallowed heavily.

“Oh?” There was a wealth of disgust, unease, and suspicion evident in the question. “The girl who can’t see caught your attention, and you’d like to get to know her?”

“The woman before me is entrancing.” Amado corrected, schooling his words to avoid revealing how much she unnerved him. Standing before her, he realized Meghan Stanley had a wall built around her, one composed of resentment and mistrust.

“Everyone in this world has plenty of reason to be bitter, including myself.” He almost snarled his retort, biting back on the displeasure seeping from the core of his cursed soul as the images of Declan and Louise’s face swam in his mind.

“Trust me. I don’t think anyone has regrets worse than mine!” She retorted.

“Events that have gone poorly in your life are only stepping-stones to your future, Meghan. We move on, and grow from the mistakes we make,” he uttered with sage firmness. “Your anger, your hate, it’s not my fault.”

“You don’t know me!” She hissed and he waited, wondering if she wanted strike him with her cane.

“No, I don’t,” He stressed, his tone low and soothing. “I want to cure that oversight.”

“You’ve neglected to tell me why.” Her gaze narrowed as she lowered them unerringly to his face. “Why do you want to become my friend, since I’ve got this supposed chip on my shoulder?”

“Because, Miss Stanley, I find you fascinating.” His eyes darkened as he looked into upturned features. “I look at you and see a beautiful, intelligent woman who I want to spend my time with, Miss Stanley.”

“You’re a damn fool!”

“I’ve been told that more than once in my lifetime,” he conceded with a rueful shrug. “In fact, you’re the third person who’s mentioned the fault to my face tonight.”

Meghan chuckled. The throaty sound filled the night and drifted heavenward, while a crimson blush stained her pale cheeks. Tears formed and she pressed a hand to her heart, unwittingly drawing his attention.

Amado struggled to draw in a breath, the steady thud of the organ filling his ears, the coursing blood transparently evident. He bit at his tongue, his golden gaze darkening with the voracious desire to sink his fangs into her supple flesh.

Steadying himself, he exhaled and lifted his brooding regard to her face. As she struggled for her breath, he fought to regain his sanity, the urge to feast on her warm blood threatening to consume him.

“I love her, but Chesca and I are only friends,” she choked, unaware of the threat standing before her. “We’ve been friends for what seems forever. She’s been there when I’ve needed her, no questions asked, and has stuck with me. I can assure you, there’s nothing romantic involving us.”

Amado cleared his throat again and the unmentionable darkness seeped from his eyes. His hands curled into fists in his coat pockets and he sank a single fang into the soft flesh of his tongue. The sharp pain reminded him of whom he was, who he had been, and he calmed.

He found himself swimming in the warmth of her pale blue eyes. As her sightless eyes fastened to a point just past his shoulder, he bit his lip. Perhaps she was correct, she
did
fascinate him, and he was starting to understand why.

Long ago, she’d have looked beyond the polished façade of Armand Gerino, and seen
him
.

The shouted declaration drifted up the sidewalk and Amado couldn’t contain his smile. She hadn’t said yes, but she’d given him an opening by the simple pronouncement of her name.

Chapter Eight

Fall’s cooling fingers had barely touched the quiet streets of Bentham, an unusual event for the East Coast. Normally, the trees sported bare limbs, while bright red and yellow leaves crunched underfoot. Yet, even during the beginning of October, touches of green remained hovering overhead.

The season hadn’t changed, as expected. Instead, the days were comfortable, requiring only a light sweater and jacket. The city’s inhabitants weren’t complaining about the lack of cold, and enjoyed their good fortune as much as possible.

Earlier in the day, people had filled the park located across the street from Meghan Stanley’s picturesque row house. Families held picnics on the neatly kept green lawns, and children played, and excited giggles and screams resonated in the air. Even bicyclists and joggers took advantage of the weather, determined to keep in shape.

Despite the unseasonable warmth, when the sun set, a decided chill swathed the city. While most people headed indoors, seeking comfort, others lingered outside. Dedicated athletes rigorously trained for some obscure track event scheduled in the spring, and simple romantics savored a twilight stroll, sharing secrets, exchanging kisses, and holding hands. Yet, several remained on the streets late into the night, and not by choice. They lacked a family or loved ones in which to share the evening. Many harbored understandable pride, and steadfastly refused to seek the local homeless shelter a few blocks away. Denying themselves the privilege, savoring their freedom, they slept beneath bridges, on vacant playground benches, or in dark alleyways.

One such individual, alone in the world, shivered against the cold. He pulled the worn material of his threadbare military jacket closer to his body to quiet the chattering of his teeth, frowning at the holes evident in his elbows and shoulders. Scowling, his fingers stroked the collar, remembering the time when he’d owned much finer items.

Those days were gone, though, but their memories he dreamed about late into the night. Recollecting fine clothes weren’t the only things troubling him….for people often intruded on his troubled slumber.

His ogled the row of houses. Sighing, his eyes softened as he centered his attention on one structure, his focus caught by the soft glow of lights shining brightly from a ground floor window. As he watched, the solitary figure of a graceful, blonde haired woman came into view, her outline obvious from behind the whispery lace of ruffled curtains. He watched as she parted the drapes and stared at the park with a wistful expression on her pale features. She appeared lost in thought, blinking slightly before she pressed her fingertips to her face and wiped at her cheek. He studied her dainty form, biting his lip as his breath tightened in his chest.

Perhaps, he imagined her memories were what brought the solitary tear. He wished he had insight into her world, but assumed his thoughts were futile. She wasn’t the sort of person worrying over mistakes she’d made in her youth, and what might have been.

Instead, she scowled before dropping the gossamer fabric and stepping back. He watched, intent, as she closed the heavier drapes. The action blocked her from face from his view, removing the warm glow of light from his rapt regard.

Silent, he studied the window, holding his breath. Her slim figure was an indistinct outline against the curtains as she switched off the lights inside her home. He smirked slightly, wondering why she bothered. He’d watched her for long enough to know she didn’t need the light. The glow, meant to brighten a world for the sighted, was useless for the blind.

Even now, he was thankful for her deeply ingrained habits. He followed her progress through what he realized to be her living room, each lamp turned off and swathing it in utter darkness.

His smirk grew into an ugly and contorted smile, creasing the lines of his bearded face. He exhaled heavily, tasting the cheap whiskey on his tongue, and guessed she was climbing the stairs to the upper floor. In his mind, he assumed her bedroom was on the second level, the lightly perfumed chamber swathed in pale lavender lace and ruffles.

His imagination undressed the woman and pictured her climbing into bed. He wondered how many others had joined her in that same bed, enjoying the softness of her body, caressing her tantalizing limbs, and tasting the sweetness of her lips. His thoughts caused him to shudder, before growling. His scowl increased and drew thick brows over darkly hooded eyes.

She was nothing more than a fucking whore.

He slammed a gloved hand against the tree trunk at his side. His teeth ground with his rage and he tottered on the worn heels of his boots, hating and cursing her with every breath he took. The woman behind the lace sheers was nothing more than a slut, had always been one, and she couldn’t deny his accusations. He’d seen her! Tonight, she’d plainly flirted with the man who had stood on her doorstep!

Shaking his head, he ran the tattered fingertips of his gloves through his unkempt, shoulder length hair before scraping them across his unshaven chin. A stench rose from the material as he did so, but the odor didn’t bother him. Instead, it fueled his fury, which developed into a burning coil in his stomach.

It had taken him ages to find her, and the passage of time rested like a bitter snake in his gut. Years ago, he’d left her behind, regretting his actions and afraid of the resulting consequences. Obviously, she didn’t understand he meant to return, and had moved on with her life.

He had returned, searching and wondering what had become of Meg. His search for had taken longer than expected, since she left their home. She’d sold everything and didn’t leave a forwarding address, renouncing her past. She’d reverted to her maiden name, instead of keeping the one she carried for five years.