Tears of Blood (The Blood Chronicles) (8 page)

“First you accuse me of being narcissistic and negligent, and then you choose to fault me for my reading taste?” He smirked as he counted the accusations, his fingertips tracing the lettering. “I begin to wonder if your wife is making you read too much into a person’s actions, Delano.”

Finally, Dominic’s smile reached his gold-colored eyes, set in a face women found interestingly appealing. He looked intently at the once great actor, marveling at the strange coloring of orbs staring back at him.

“I’ve many faults of my own, Gianni. I suppose, you can charge the newer ones on my wife.” He shrugged indifferently, scanning over the heads of the numerous patrons of the bookstore. “I’m certain Genevieve will be more than pleased to take the blame. Hell, in fact, she might use the information to her benefit!”

Amado’s smile broadened at the mention of the stunning redhead holding a special place in what had been his heart. If she’d existed during his human life, he’d have sought her out, and claimed her for his own. Fate had stepped in, though. Dominic was the victor, and she adored the vampire she called her lover, her life, and her reason behind joining the ranks The Brotherhood.

“She imagines a potential story in daily events, does she not?”

“Genevieve always has, it’s the way she is, as you know.” Dominic sighed, but the action lacked any sign of remorse. Instead, there was a love struck issue in the sound, and Amado found himself full of envy. “If she isn’t dreaming the plot to her latest romance, she’s stuck facing the computer, pounding away for hours on end.”

“Are you complaining?” Amado's brows rose. “If you’re dissatisfied, I can always…”

“You can put a halt to those feelings!” Dominic snarled anew, but the sound contained an undertone of great pleasure. “She loves me, despite my faults and idiosyncrasies. I can assure you she’d never have you, or tolerate your theatrical ways.”

Amado inclined his head, carefully smoothing his features as his glance shifted to the cap of flaming hair that commanded attention among books and readers. Even after the passage of the last ten years, he recalled the fleeting taste of the woman’s mouth, moments before saving her life.

“Perhaps not, Delano, for I’m one of those odd sorts…”

“Odd?” Delight filled the word.

“Fine, I admit I’m more than peculiar!” Amado remarked halfheartedly, and a wry smile twisted his lips. “I demand attention, and she’d steer me to madness.”

“Trust me,” Dominic managed. “You learn that living with an author can either drive you to lunacy, or you mold and become accepting of their eccentricities.”

“She’s as obsessed with her writing, as we are with our libations?”

Dominic chuckled aloud, the warm sound drawing a few appreciative gazes from the women in a nearby aisle. He ignored the open appraisals, despite the fact he resembled the hero on the latest romance novel cover. Amado admired his calm, and his ability to slip into any given situation with a grace Hollywood would’ve envied.

Dominic displayed uncaring ease as his gaze shifted to the redheaded woman laughing and signing the inside page of her novels for the adoring fans standing in line. Odd warmth occupied his golden orbs and Amado found himself envying the change in the vampire’s appearance.

“I never imagined you, of all people, attending a book signing.” Amado joked quietly under his breath, ignoring the chilling gaze darted at him. “You, the great Dominic Delano, once the glorious lawyer to the infamous, the vampire that used to avoid cameras, now glories from the attention.”

“Cameras have changed from our time, as you well know.” Dominic muttered agitatedly. “They aren’t like the versions that erased our image with the ease of a magic wand.”

“What one would’ve given in the old days to be cursed as we, and visible on film?” Amado lamented aloud. “Many more of our species would have found employment among mortals earlier!”

“The digital chips are a wonder, are they not?” Dominic grunted, remembering a time when he banned the telling apparatus from his courtroom. In his not so distant past, he couldn’t afford to have his lack of an image threaten his career as a lawyer. Over the last decade, technology had altered everything, including the common fears of the undead.

“So, now you attend book store appearances with your woman, and you’re no longer concerned with the details of our affliction?”

“Apparently, as you so wisely pointed out, I’m not. Here I am, with my obsessive compulsive wife, alongside another vampire with a fondness for Hollywood history.” The sarcasm was obvious and Amado had the grace to appear shamefaced.

“I’m here out of curiosity, my friend.” He stated with great reluctance.

“What are you so interested?”

Amado sighed and the golden flecks in his eyes darkened to match the darker chips of black surrounding his irises. Dominic looked closely into the oddly compelling depths, knowing the shimmering shade of gold proclaimed him as one of the elite faction known as The Brotherhood of Blood. The assembly was a select group of vampires who sought to remove the scourge plaguing the streets, businesses, and criminal underworld of the city.

Nonetheless, the immortals realized an alternate branch existed outside their carefully selected troupe. Just as there was a secretive society existing in the inner circles of the bustling city, a different faction lingered on the tattered outskirts of the vampire world. The Sanctum, an organization created by the vengeful dead of old Europe, didn’t harbor the need for redemption as The Brotherhood displayed.

The Sanctum thrived on discord, pain, and innocent blood.

Amado’s background wasn’t as pristine as those select and carefully chosen senior members of The Brotherhood were. Regardless of his need, and desire to make amends for the actions of the past, he held an unforgiving monster deep inside him. The black chips, the glistening bits of iridescent obsidian, revealed the truth of his creation.

His friend, long ago and earlier in his conception, had committed atrocities against the guiltless. Amado had spilled guiltless blood in his voracious and newly formed craving, intentionally seeking the unwilling and chaste as victims to satisfy his unquenchable yearning. Unrepentant in his hunger, untrained and vicious, and innocence hadn’t meant much as he sought to quench the thirst tearing at his body. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he questioned if Amado truly regretted the lives taken in the early years. A part of his subconscious wondered if he secretly missed the long reaching fingers of the vampires who created the sickening underworld from which even creatures of myth avoided.

At some point during the last century, intent on seeking those worthy of possible redemption, the fellowship had sought the ex- movie star out. The group’s previous leader, a renowned judge, had drawn the tormented vampire into their fold. Regardless of the protests of his followers, Anthony Vale believed there was a redeemable quality existing in the former actor and lost soul, and he intended to convert him.

To this day, Dominic wondered if Vale’s decision had been wise. He realized, despite their shared past, a sense of darkness lingered in the man’s ruined soul. , he hoped his thoughts weren’t apparent in the gilded shadow of his eyes, and stared at the sleek black of Amado’s hair. Shaking his unease away, he lifted his golden gaze to the books lining the shelves. He didn’t consider Vale’s choice the act of a foolish old vampire. A decade ago, Amado’s particular brand of acting and understated evilness had granted him acceptance by a mob leader intent on murdering famed romance author Genie Carter. If it hadn’t been for his expertise, Dominic suspected he’d have lost the only woman he ever loved.

“Tell me, as narcissistic as I am, do I still look the same?”

Unaware of Dominic’s brooding point of view, Amado lifted the heavy book. Resting the spine on an open shelf, he flipped to a page he held marked with a forefinger. Trepidation filled his tarnished eyes, and his face reflected with overwhelming curiosity. A question lingered on his tongue, but he refused the say a word aloud.

Leaning forward, Dominic frowned. He was silent, the glossy pages glowing brightly beneath the store’s brilliant fluorescent lights. His full lower lip caught between his teeth as he skimmed the faded pictures of the film star.

Dominic’s gaze darkened as he scanned the two pages, bursting with images of
the
Armand Gerino staring defiantly at the camera. The large 10 ½ x 16 ½ pages revealed numerous photos, stills taken in preparation for films once popular with the public.

Aged and worn with time, the photos were hand-colored snapshots of the actor laughing, and signing autographs. In others, he accepted roses from an adoring fan, and posed next to a sleek and low-slung Duisenberg in 1924. A few movie posters adorned an additional page and, despite the passage of time, the long dead performer elegance remained apparent.

Leisurely, Dominic allowed a long sigh whistle from his lips. He slid a sidelong glance at the vampire at his side.

“What brings this on this sense of melancholy?”

“Perhaps years of walking past mirrors, staring at nothing, but knowing I’m there.” Amado shrugged, the action entirely Latin. “I wonder if I still have the face from my youth.”

Dominic smiled crookedly, hearing the unspoken misery lacing his words.

“You, at least, have pictures.”

“I forget, my friend.” Amado’s admission was reluctant but gently phrased. “I tend to think we’re of a matching era. I must remember you were changed long before me.”

“Have we been friends for so long the differences of centuries can be so easily forgotten?”

He smirked. “Your human self was long gone by the time of my birth.”

“Our deaths, our births, the dates are nothing more than numbers.” Dominic shrugged indifferently but bitterness tinged his reply. In spite of his solemn expression, he laughed unexpectedly. “Anyways, enjoy your photographs. The decade before the Civil War wasn’t a time when people took pictures of their half-white slaves.”

“Perhaps you should count the oversight as a blessing.” Amado countered sullenly. Broodingly, his eyes went back to the photographs, his past laughing up at him. “You don’t have your history staring at you from late night television screens, or adoring fans holding costume parties in remembrance of your death.”

Dominic inhaled sharply and nodded, his gaze fastened to the sepia colored images revealed on the glossy pages. He raised his eyes and stared into Amado’s somber face, before issuing a halfhearted grunt.

“Personally, you look as ugly as ever,” he grinned as he turned from Amado. “Though, you’ve softened around the edges.”

Chapter Five

“I told you, Chesca, I don’t know why you insist on standing in these crazy lines for hours on end!” Meghan chastised, her pleasure stilling the sharpness from the criticism. She sipped at the cup of iced coffee she held, before turning toward the woman.

“Oh, Meg, don’t give me that crap. You enjoy being in this line as much as I do,” Chesca countered, leveling a well-aimed punch at her forearm. “Even though you don’t
read
Vivi Delaneaux’s work, I know you buy her books off the Internet.”

“You’re so certain?” Meghan intentionally batted her lashes at the observation.

Chesca made a sound suspiciously resembling a halfhearted snort. She leaned in close to Meghan, whispering conspiratorially in her ear.

“You can’t pull the visually impaired shit on me, young lady, and pretend you aren’t aware of the latest books on the market. You forget I’ve known you most of your life.”

“What’s that to do with a stupid-assed romance novel?” Meghan asked innocently, batting her lashes in the process.

Chesca giggled, standing on the tips of her toes in an attempt to get a better view of the author at the head of the line. “I know your damn PC reads every deliciously sinful and wicked word to you out loud.”

“Me?” Meghan’s pink cheeks brightened more. She struggled to keep a straight face and took another long sip of coffee. “What would I do with a computer? I can’t see the keys, or read the screen.”

“Shit, Meg!” Chesca managed with a laugh. “Who are you trying to kid?”

“You know better…” Meghan tried to correct, and guessed she was failing miserably.

“Meg, you handle that keyboard like a pro, and you have a screen reader program. Besides, your voice recognition software takes care of a majority of the crap you want to hunt down.” Chesca giggled, and she could imagine the wicked gleam in her dancing eyes. “I installed a large amount of the shit on that system of yours, so I know what you’re up to before you do half the time!”

“You really believe that?” Meghan responded with saccharine sweetness. “I’m a busy woman, and I don’t have time to squeeze in an eBook whenever I want.”

She wasn’t going to let Chesca off the hook easily. It was true her friend did know her too well, and Meghan wished she’d a tad more privacy than their companionship allowed. However, she wouldn’t complain, since she’d pulled her out of more than one sticky circumstance over the past couple of years!

The event of three weeks ago was one of those situations where she was grateful for having a friend as wonderful as the vivacious redhead was. Surrounded by police officers who were lost on how to interview a visually impaired woman in regards to her attackers, Meghan was thankful when Chesca appeared, calming her frayed nerves. How she knew where to find her, or fathomed she was in trouble, amazed her.

“You wanted to come here, and you know it.” Chesca interrupted with a grumble as she leaned in close. “I know you, and you can’t lie to me.”

In reality, Meghan had wanted to squander her Saturday night in line outside Junxton’s Literary Café, the thrill of meeting her favorite writer far outweighing her normal evening activities. Furthermore, the choice was simple. It was either join a couple hundred overeager fans to have a moment with a best-selling author, or spend hours mulling over recorded notes relating to her clients.

Naturally, Junxton’s won the debate.

The pair had spent the last two hours in line, jostling for a chance to see the famous romance writer, Vivi Delaneaux. Despite the flats she wore, Meghan’s tired feet ached and she had the sneaking suspicion the coffee she held was going to make its demands on her bladder. She doubted her best friend would be pleased for having to lead her out of line and to the nearest rest room.