Tears of Blood (The Blood Chronicles) (23 page)

Even to his detestable outlook, he noticed the faint sheen of her tears. He wanted to reach out and caress the fear from her face, and hold her close, but didn’t. Instead, he turned, continuing to walk slowly through the devastation wreaked on the living room of her abode.

Amado paused behind the remnants of the once graceful couch, his fingers digging deep into the torn fabric, and sniffed the air. He allowed the varying aromas of the place to roll over his tongue, his eyes closing as he separated each scent in his mind.

The soft and tantalizing perfume of Meghan’s flesh prevailed, evident throughout the building with a haunting, lingering trace of gardenia. Sebastien’s scent was oddly elusive, but the tang of melted wax and the forest in fall left a trail that wrapped around the entryway staircase leading to the second level of the building. Antique furniture, lemon oil, the slight whiff of wool rose from the room surrounding him. Yesterday morning’s coffee sat in the pot off in the kitchen, and the gentle aroma of sweet rolls hung in the air. He sniffed again, growling low in his throat at the scent he detected.

There was an additional odor, far more pervasive and revolting, lingering.

“Tell me, Amado,” she clutched at his arm and he turned, blood filling his eyes. Blinking, he ground his teeth together, willing the pulsating image of her flesh to vanish from his hungered sight. “Do you think they’re still here?”

He struggled for composure, his jaw tensing as he looked toward the ceiling. Anger, an emotion he detested, rippled from every nerve in his body. Amado longed to shake her hand from his arm, wanting to rid himself of the temptation of her delicate flesh. Struggling, he inhaled an unneeded breath, desperate for calm.

Gradually, he turned to look at her. Even in the growing brightness invading her living room, she glowed. Rays of red and gold pulsated from her skin, each beam accentuated by the rapid beat of her heart. In his mind’s eye, he saw the fragile organ pulse against her chest, frantically forcing her life source through her veins. Amado felt his teeth lengthen in his mouth and he quivered with need, craving for what he’d forbidden himself from ever taking again.

“Amado?” She whispered his name in a breathy tone, each syllable an echo of the yearning ravaging his soul. “Are you okay?”

He was far from okay, as she so simply questioned. He wanted to pull her into his arms and sink his canines into the throbbing jugular at the side of her neck, draining her of her essence. He wanted to seduce her, steal that fundamental nature making her so vital, and…

Amado looked into her mystifying eyes and instantly felt the torturous spell lessen its greedy hold. He calmed and stared into the placid blueness, knowing she couldn’t see him for what he truly was, a demon deserving every moment of his damnation. His blood-filled vision softened and his hunger ebbed, replaced by the enduring thought that she needed him.

He gasped unnecessarily. His betraying fangs shortened and the darkness he hated left his eyes. Blinking, striving to regain that semblance of humanity that made him different from his creator, he moved forward.

Paying no attention to the blood tainting her fingertips, Amado squeezed her hand. Scowling, he drew her after him, his body a shield from whoever remained inside. Their steps were silent on the carpeted floor, and their bodies cast dark shadows against the wreckage surrounding them.

“Your…” he struggled to ease the dangerous edge from his voice. Swallowing, he placed his hand over her cold fingers, and squeezed. “Your computer…”

“It’s in front of the window.” She supplied hesitantly. Panic filled her as she recalled the information she stored on the precious software from case files on her clients, research documents, and prized novels. There was, also, thousands of dollars’ worth of specially designed programs that made computer access simpler for the visually impaired. “Oh, please tell me it’s there! There’s so much stuff on it!’

Amado nodded then realized the futility of the action before turning from her. “Your computer remains where you left it, Meghan. Although, I’m afraid it’ll be of no use to you.”

“This wasn’t a robbery
, cara
.” He supplied seriously, as he looked around the room.

“How do you know?”

“He’s seen scores of break-ins in my time.” He admitted, an ironic twist pulling at his lips. “This devastation was created by a person who harbors an intense anger toward you.”’

“Your sofa’s been shredded with a knife, the stuffing thrown into every corner of the room.” He began without hurry, painting her a picture of the devastation. “You’ve a pair of Chippendale chairs…”

“Chesca had them upholstered in a pale rose.” She interjected, frowning. “They should be sitting side-by-side, with a small table between them.”

“Their legs are broken, and the table is shattered.”

“What else did this asshole do?” Meghan ground out, pausing only long enough to swipe her fingers across her face. Straightening her shoulders, she allowed Amado to lead her toward the kitchen, her throat tight with unshed tears and growing anger. As she listened to his long sigh, fragile fragments of china shattered beneath their feet, and realized the damage wasn’t centralized to one room.

Whoever had entered her home had meant to cause absolute destruction.

“Meghan, there isn’t much left here, either.” Amado admitted gravely, his fingers tightening around hers. “The cabinets are torn off the hinges, and your china is a total loss…”

“I imagined as much.” Meghan pulled her hand away. She ran her fingers through her hair, her heart stuttered and a sick sensation grew in her. “Does there seem to be anything valuable missing?”

He turned from her, surveying the rooms before answering.

“Whoever this was, they didn’t plan to take anything of importance.” Amado’s words were stiff. “Everything you have worth money is destroyed.”

Meghan wondered what kind of thief broke into a home and didn’t take anything significance, their sole intent centered on absolute destruction. Mulling over the ideas, she heard him sniff at the air and she shook her head.

“You smell it too, don’t you?”

“What do you smell?” He posed quizzically.

“I smell spray paint, alcohol, cigarettes, body odor, decay, and filth.” She moved to the center of the room, each step she took a cautious foray into now unfamiliar territory.

“I smell the same stench.” Amado confessed, as he approached, his steps not as silent as she remembered. She turned toward him as he pressed a comforting hand to her shoulder.

“Do you think he’s gone?” She managed tightly.

“Whoever it was left sometime during the night,” Amado determined and closed his eyes, allowing the permeating odors of the house to roll over his tongue. The stench alone made him realize the destruction was wrought by mortal hands, and had nothing to do with the exasperating Declan. “Tell me,
cara
, why do you suppose your vandal is male?”

“It seems to be my rotten luck.” She sighed and wrapped her arms about her chilled body, and every nerve screamed in indignation at the violation of her home. Several conflicting emotions, many filled with an unspeakable anger, ran through her. Meghan felt violated, the safety of her home having been an extension of herself, now nothing more than a damaged shell sullied by a twisted individual.

“I don’t know!” She shouted. “I don’t step on people’s toes, I treat everyone the way I want to be treated, and I don’t go out of my way to make anyone miserable. As far as I know, I haven’t a single enemy in the world!”

“But, you imagine a man who has done this?” He surveyed his surroundings, the broken chairs, the smashed monitor, the shattered china, the slashed sofa and the unmentioned declaration sprayed across the walls. There was crazed rage evident in every bit of wreckage filling the ground floor of her home, and he wondered what Sebastien would find above stairs.

“Think, Amado! Honestly, take a moment and consider the damage!”

He waited as she inhaled deeply, her hands forming into small fists.

I’m certain we both know women don’t do this type of thing.” She responded logically. “I know, whenever something really shitty happens to me, there’s a man involved.”

“For God’s sake, Amado, don’t
Meghan
me,” she muttered with a deep-seated fury. “I remember that night, and I will for the rest of my life!”

“It was a single incident, Meghan.” He attempted to soothe. “You walked away, safe.”

“Safe?” Hostility filled her cynical laugh. “Isn’t that what everyone says? If you can walk away from it, if it doesn’t kill you, it should make you stronger?”

He understood the misery in her words. “You’re a strong woman, Meghan.”

She ran aggravated fingers through her hair, grinding her teeth together and lifting shadowed eyes to the ceiling.

“I’m tired of being the strong one. I’m tired of hearing inane little snips of bullshit from people who don’t understand what it’s like!” Meghan shouted. “I’m tired of being taken advantage of by every con artist, potential criminal and stupid assed man with a need to show his damned dominance!”

“Meghan…”

“You remember that night, Amado, before Chesca showed up?” She persisted hotly. “Those thugs that didn’t have anything better to do than to rape the girl who didn’t have a chance in Hell of identifying them!”

“It could have happened to anyone, sighted or not.” Amado attempted to soothe, sensing the rage radiating from every pore of her body.

“Yeah,” her jaw tightened as she lifted pale eyes to the ceiling, blinking back tears. “My husband was another
incident
that just Happened, and he poisoned my life. No matter what I do, who I love, how much I care, I’m always the one hurt...”

He closed his eyes, and shook his head at the bitterness seeping from her. He could sympathize, having once felt the same about his life scores of decades ago, but time had healed his wounds. Meghan’s still appeared fresh, and the last few weeks had reopened them. He wanted to ease her pain and shower her with a love rivaling the splendor of the stars…

“I suspect you can imagine the devastation wrought down here,” his voice was low but strong. “But you can’t blame that’s occurred to the events of your past.”

“I know!” She jabbed her pointed finger at the region of her heart, her face reddening with anger. “I know, in here, there’s a disgusting man involved!”

“Do you know who did this?” He demanded, his jaw aching with the desire to hunt the offender down and deliver his own form of justice.

“There’s only one asshole that would deliberately try to destroy everything I love.” She snarled.

“Who, Meghan? Who would want to hurt you like this?” He demanded as Sebastien approached, shaking his head. He paused as he heard Amado’s question, his curious attention focused on the petite woman.

“My damned ex-husband is behind this!”

Chapter Sixteen

Darkness hung heavy, not even broken by the glow of the moon hiding behind the comforting embrace of a cloud. Trees surrounded Amado, the thinning branches appearing to reach out, their splendid colors of the summer removed by the season. A lone street lamp, positioned across from Meghan’s home, vaguely illuminated his surroundings.

However, the darkness didn’t matter. He relished the shadows, savoring the calm isolation the inkiness offered, and shifted his gaze away from the garish yellow tape surrounding Meghan’s ravaged abode. Determined, Amado sought the lone figure competent of providing him with the information he desired, the identity to the culprit that meant to harm the only woman he truly loved.

He walked into the enshrouding gloom, the age-old pathways dim outlines in the night. He could have seen the route spread before him as easily as if it were daylight, each path a mental image in his mind. He sought a single, isolated location among the bare trees and century old shrubs. Mortals avoided the place, but those of his strain embraced it zealously. Concealed in the quiet solitude of an innocent park, the secluded area was a meeting site for those of The Brotherhood.

He turned his face toward the sky, his hands diving into his coat pockets. Meghan was safe, which was all that mattered. For some unexplained reason, Amado was grateful she’d refused DeClerq’s and Chesca’s offer to stay at
The Mage
, and insisted on returning to his studio. She waited for him there, unaware of the mission bringing him to where he was currently.

Amado watched as a lone individual approached him, a vagrant attired in worn clothes that had seen far better days. The man pushed a battered shopping cart, every step he took slow and choppy. He wore a hat low over his face, his eyes hidden, but his expression one of abject curiosity. He paused when he reached him, the cart placed between them, the contraption piled high with a profusion of discards.