Tears of Blood (The Blood Chronicles) (7 page)

“Where you going, sweetie?” Jesse commented roughly, dragging her back with a forceful tug. His hand wrapped into the thickness of her hair and jerked her toward him, pressing hot lips to her cheek.

“Let me go!” She shouted, but the words ended on a gurgle as he twisted her hair around her exposed neck.

“You see this, Ryan?” Jesse questioned scornfully, pulling the back of her head to his shoulder. “She thinks she’s just gonna take off, after what she did to us.”

“Nah,” Ryan responded. “We ain’t gonna let her leave like that. In fact, she got me wantin’ to taste her more than I had.”

“You think she’ll fight all the way through?”

“You’re damn right I’m going to fight, you moron!” Meghan spat harshly, swinging her fist upright. The blow never connected with her assailant’s face, her wrist captured in his brutal grip.

“I’m gonna like this, darlin’.” Jesse’s thick tones lowering as he pressed her to him. His fetid breath washed over her features and he ran his tongue over her cheek with chilling intent. Ryan hooted and suggestively ground his protruding organ against her hip, his actions causing her to struggle to escape their clutches.

“You know what, Jesse?” Ryan uttered into her hair, and a coppery scent filled her sinuses. She’d marked him well, she could tell, as bits of blood splattered the curve of her neck. “This one’s gonna be fun. She’s blind as a bat, and can’t tell anyone what we look like, and she fights mean.”

“You love it rough, don’t you?” Jesse breathed, his pot-laden breath flooding her lungs as he pulled her hair ever tighter. “I’ll give it to you real rough, Blondie. I’ll make you scream while I do you, and then Ryan will have his turn.”

“If you’re a good girl, we might take you home for some more fun.”

“Damn it!” She shouted, swinging at the air. Her ears burned with her fury and her heart thumped loudly in her chest. She gulped, filling her lungs, and screamed in earnest.

Instantly, the man lurched away. Unable to determine what happened, she staggered. A shrill screech resonated, the sound a cry of torment, then silence swiftly followed. The one called Jesse drug her around, a hand still curled deep in her honey colored hair. She gasped, feeling his heartbeat quickening against her back, his ragged and frantic breathing rumbling in her ears. The arm crooked under her chin became slick with sweat, and fear radiated through him, emphasized by the shuddering chills wracking his body.

“Leave me alone!”

The demand didn’t come from Meghan’s lips. A blast of air burst past her, and a muffled cry gurgled from him, resounding into the silence of the night. A horrified sob left the mouth of her assailant, his breath stirring the tendrils of her loose hair seconds before he flew backwards.

Meghan fell roughly to the ground, grunting in pain as her bare knees struck the pavement. Her ankle twisted beneath her and she landed with an unceremonious
plunk
in a pool of foul water, the mire splashing upwards. She wrinkled her nose in disgust, slime on her hands, and seeping over her calves. Unsteadily, she rose, wondering what had happened. Silence greeted her, not even the betraying whisper of breath evident in the alleyway, besides the gasps wrenched from her aching lungs.

Abruptly, frigid wind whipped around her. Startled, she twisted her head around in an attempt to pinpoint the origin.

“Who’s there?” She inquired brokenly, uncertain, the air thick with the cloying scent of coppery blood. Stillness met her query, and she frowned, a chill sweeping over her cold flesh.

She repeated her question, inhaling sharply. The faint scents of earth and sandalwood invaded her lungs, the aroma tingling against the roof of her mouth, and causing her to cough. Meghan staggered a bit and brushed a clammy hand over her arms. Shuddering, her body shaking with an incomprehensible cold, she raised her hands before her. She remained where she stood, lost in the shadows of her eyesight, unable to make out the slightest image.

Meghan lifted her chin and exhaled a long and shuddering breath, wondering at the odd hush surrounding her. She didn’t pick up the slightest hint of a breeze, a whisper, or a betraying shuffle of feet. She sensed her assailants had vanished as swiftly as they appeared and, for a moment, she felt the earth had come to a standstill.

“Thank you for chasing those guys away.” She stammered and stepped backward, an inner warning bell going off in her head.

The man chuckled beneath his breath. She ran her tongue nervously over her mouth and frowned, wondering why the smell of blood seemed so prevalent in the alley.

“Were you hurt…?” The pressure of an icy finger rested on her parted lips.

“Stay quiet,
cara
.”

His speech was charming, slightly accented, the rhythmic tone startling her. She jerked back, the fingertip immediately leaving her fullness of her lower lip, and she stumbled backwards. Fearful, Meghan assumed she’d lost two assailants in exchange for another.

Just this once, she damned her lack of sight, wanting to see who stood before her.

“Who are you?” She demanded sharply. He remained in front of her, whoever this newcomer was, his shadow a spectral mass in her damaged vision.

She wondered if he told the truth. She couldn’t see her surroundings, or hear the betraying presence of her assailants, but the stench of the alleyway, freshly turned earth, sandalwood, and blood encircled her. She coughed again, wrapping her arms around her torso, attempting to ward off the cold.

“What the hell do you mean
it doesn’t matter
?” Meghan bit out, and her teeth chattered violently.

“The scum have vanished,
cara
.” He repeated easily. “As long as they can’t harm you, or any other woman, the world is a better place.”

Meghan was certain there was a hint of lethality beneath the calmly spoken words. For a man who had just taken on her two attackers, he seemed miraculously composed. She drew in a deep breath, coughing again, her teeth chattering more intensely.

“Look at me.” He ordered quietly and she listened to the soft trod of his shoes as he stepped closer. He didn’t touch her again but a profound cold emanated from his nearness.

She lifted her face, powerless to speak, her brain thinking strange thoughts that were far too detached for her to rationalize.

“You’re in shock,” he stated calmly, the scent of sandalwood embracing her as it radiated from him. He leaned in close, until his face was merely a few inches from hers, their brows nearly touching. “If you look into my eyes, I can make the fear leave you.”

“I’d love to,” she snapped sarcastically, moving away from the unspoken enticement he exuded. She stepped further back, the rough edges of the wall lining the alley digging into her back as she attempted to avoid him. Fury rose in her, fueled by her outrage over the evening events, and she struggled to gulp down the bile rising in her throat.

“For once, count your lack of vision as a blessing,
dolce mia
.” He whispered ominously, the fleeting sensation of his knuckles brushing against her cheek.

Chapter Four

“I see you’re still as narcissistic as ever.”

The familiar voice startled him, as did the hand on his shoulder. Guiltily, Amado slammed shut the hardback he was reading, his brows pulling low. His finger remained positioned between the pages he was glancing at before the interruption, his intent to return obvious.

Exasperated, his gaze fell to the man at his side. He assumed it was useless to hide the title,
The Great Lovers of Silent Hollywood
emblazoned on the cover. He raised a brow and his expression changed to one of marked irritation.

Instead of fueling the expected reaction from the individual interrupting him, the man laughed. His gaze flicked over the vampire, and a teasing smile glowed in the orbs. There wasn’t much Amado Gianni could do to cause his friend for the last half century to walk away and leave him in peace. Although, Dominic Delaneaux knew the vampire wouldn’t demand his space, not if he’d made it a point to attend his wife’s book signing.

He lowered his hand, the action methodically slow as he peered at him, expecting a response.

“I despise it when you appear out of nowhere.” Amado muttered.

“I didn’t.” The interloper protested with a stifled chuckle. “You know I’ve been here the entire time, or you wouldn’t have come. You loathe crowds, as much as I do.”

“I trust, someday, you’ll learn it’s not wise to sneak up on me?” He questioned tersely.

“Do you ever think, maybe, I torment you on purpose?” The man countered with a smirk, but his thoughts drifted as he scanned the classically handsome features. Dominic could distinguish the pain radiating from his extraordinarily mottled eyes, coupled with an underlying rage that could explode without a moment’s notice. Fragility was an illusion and, although Amado appearing almost breakable in his handsomeness, he understood how lethal the younger vampire could be.

“I have one…associate that finds it amusing to torture me in that fashion.” Amado retorted sourly. “I don’t need the only person I consider a friend doing the same.”

“So, instead, you hang out at brick and mortar bookstores?” There was a hint of apparent sarcasm lacing the comment. “Do you believe you’ll meet your end surrounded by lovelorn romances and the latest best-selling thrillers? Do you believe one of these avid readers will drop their coffee and leap for you, stake in hand?”

Amado frowned, the inky darkness of his brows drawing over his sultry orbs. To Dominic, the vampire exuded an age-old charm, exemplified as he lifted a well-manicured finger to his throat and straightened the collar of his shirt.

“My change wasn’t in the most exotic of locations.” He shrugged and looked around the vast room, eyeing the numerous book-lined shelves and patrons. “Why could I encounter the devil in a place more entertaining than the crumbling VanderLyn Hotel?”

The man grunted.

“The VanderLyn was all the rage in your day, a virtual palace as hotels were concerned. I find being transformed among the art and fine champagne, far superior to meeting my end in a brothel in downtown New Orleans.”

The cynical observation made the vampire grimace.

“What I’d give to have been changed in a den of iniquity, by the hand of a delicate blossom instead of Declan Balthazar’s corrupt touch.”

“I fled Declan’s clutches nearly a century ago.” Dominic Delaneaux shrugged expressively. “However, I had what you didn’t, though.”

“Ah, yes, I imagine you did. I suspect you had the conscience not to dine on the innocent?” Amado’s face became hard. The tarnished shade of his golden eyes flashed accusingly as he ran his fingers through his black hair. “I didn’t have the tutelage of Anthony Vale guiding me in this new world that hungers for the blood of humans. I was left alone, struggling in the streets of a strange town, ripped apart by my damnation.”

Dominic stole a glance at the vampire, wanting to shake his head for the pity he felt, and knowing he couldn’t display the sentiment. Amado would find the emotion an insult, and his rage would be intense.

“Please, change the subject. I don’t care to speak of our joint history with that unsavory being.”

Amado complied, sensing the unease lingering beneath Dominic’s glib command. Lowering his face, he cringed as he felt the all-knowing eyes of his friend slide to the book, the bright gold inscription calling out from the ebon cover. Feigning nonchalance, he shrugged.