Bound Through Blood (4 page)

In a daze, Salena hurriedly left Heloise's and drove home.
Seriously, a vampire? There's no such thing.
The first thing she needed to do was search for the family tree documents she'd come across years before. When her parents had died in an accident, she'd found it in their belongings. Having no siblings, she took that and the other mementos with her when she moved from the family's estate, in Philadelphia, to New Orleans. Her remaining relatives had thought she was crazy to move so far away, and, just maybe, they were right. At that time, though, she'd needed to get away from the pain of her loss. She knew her Masters Degree in history would help her find work in any museum wherever she decided to go; however, something pulled her to New Orleans. She used to think it was Eric.

She spread the document out on her kitchen table and used her index finger to run up the line through her father's relatives. There it was—Abigail Saunders, born nee Abigail Adams in 1696, died in 1720. Salena was even more morose to learn her great-grandmother, to the tenth power, she counted, was only twenty-four when she died—the same age Salena is now. This disconcerting information brought fearful tears to her blue eyes—the blue eyes she'd inherited, along with her porcelain skin and black hair. She had teased her parents before, about being adopted, since her mother had been a redhead with green eyes, while her father had sported brown hair and brown eyes. Now she knows.

She never knew, either, that her grandmother had been accused of witchcraft and had been killed for it. Salena thought about the history of witch trials and could remember certain events in colonial history regarding them, but she certainly couldn't remember anything about
vampires
. She had to get to the bottom of this—fast.

She stepped out onto her small porch and sat on the swing; she always sat here to clear her head. Her tear stung eyes searched her yard and then her neighbors' yards—every corner, every shrub, every shadow—making sure nothing was there.
My life is in danger?
The words screamed in her mind. She had thought living alone in a largely populated city was dangerous enough.
Now I have a fictional monster to fear? Vampires exist outside the tours and haunted cemeteries?
She couldn't wrap her head around that even as she fingered where the bite mark had been on her wrist.
Had been
...

It was completely gone now.

She needed more information, so she headed back inside to go through her history books. She never noticed the black cat sitting behind her.

Devin had followed Salena back to her home, contemplating what'd he'd seen at the Gypsy's house. Unfortunately, he wasn't able to overhear much of their conversation because a radio had been playing loudly in the background. He knew Salena was upset, and he overheard something about "danger from the past." However, he didn't hear enough to know what that means, unless it was referring to him, and he never learned how to read tarot cards; Gypsies and vampires weren't exactly friends.

His questions remained unanswered, so, at her home, he had watched from his perch on the windowsill while she recovered something scrolled up in a drawer; it appeared to be a family tree.

He loved how graceful she was when she moved through her house, and the sound of her voice was exquisite— it was soft and delicate like the sound of a gentle rain hitting flower petals. Her hair reminded him of a raven's wings as it flowed in the breeze behind her, along with the breathtaking fragrance of honeysuckle and lavender.

Then she had come outside and sat on her porch swing. He got close to her, sitting behind her, and wondered if he should shape-shift back into himself and approach her. However, something stopped him—and he didn't know what—still. Now, only a few minutes later, she got up and went back into the house.

He watched her again through her windows while she paced the floors of her home. She was searching for something in the drawers and bookcases. Then he saw relief flood her face, as she must have found what she was looking for; she was holding a thick book.

Salena studied one of her old history texts on colonial times. She read and reread about the witch trials and accusations, but she didn't see anything about Abigail Saunders or vampires; not even in the section on the Gypsies.

Staring blankly at the wall, she almost jumped out of her skin when her cell phone rang. The caller ID revealed it was Michael Payne.
Great
. She had second thoughts about picking up; Michael had been asking her out for months, but she was hesitant to date him. He was boring, plain, and better suited as a friend; she just couldn't imagine having butterflies or sparks with him. Not after Eric. She'd met Michael six months ago at work, when the historical home hired him as a security guard; although, she couldn't imagine any would-be-criminal feeling threatened by Michael. He was a short man, and the way he carried himself didn't portray confidence. He rarely made eye contact with people, Salena included, and he spoke in a quiet voice. All were reasons why Salena couldn't see herself being romantically involved with him; he just isn't masculine. If she were to start dating again, it would have to be with a handsome, virile, sexy, and strong man.
Like Eric
. However, she hadn't been looking for love lately; she was still too hurt.

The reason for Michael's call was to invite her to dinner at her favorite Italian restaurant, Vincent's Italian Cuisine. Thinking a quiet dinner in a public place might calm her nerves, she finally accepted, but on the condition it was, "just as friends and Dutch treat."

After an hour of scouring her books, Salena hopped in the shower, feeling foolish as she locked the bathroom door and double-checked the window. She lived in a safe neighborhood, by herself, and had never felt the need to be overly cautious… until now.
According to legend, vampires—assuming they really do exist—cannot go out into daylight anyway, right
? Then again, it was supposed to be just a legend, so if it's not, who knows what the rules really are.

An hour later, she headed out the door to meet Michael at the restaurant. She had told him she'd drive herself, thinking that letting him pick her up would feel too much like a date.

She had no idea, still, that every move she made was being watched and studied. Every inch of her body had been studied, as well, while she was in the shower; this made Devin grow hot and heavy with lust. He ached to touch all that he saw—soon.

Michael was already waiting for her when she arrived at Vincent's. Being a gentleman, he held the door open for her, and other ladies close behind, and then pulled her chair out for her too.

Devin watched his behavior with amusement; the man was trying awfully hard to impress Salena, while she didn't seem to care. He was back in human form and found a dark corner near their table, so that he could keep an eye on this mysterious vixen. Just as he sat down, a lustful blonde and a couple of her female companions, approached him. He gave the women a cold, dark glare that quickly sent them away. He only hungered for Salena; although that fact continued to puzzle him—maybe it was just because he always got what he wanted, except for the other night when he'd fled. He watched Salena and her date talk quietly through their meal and wondered why she didn't smile much when the man couldn't seem to stop. Devin wondered if she was thinking of him, of their encounter. He overheard the man ask her how she was enjoying her vacation, to which she simply said, "It's been eventful."

Devin was satisfied to see that the date, if that is what it truly was, didn't last too long. He slipped into line behind them when they were on the way out. Salena stopped suddenly and glanced over her left shoulder, but he dodged right and off to her date's side, before she could spot him. Nice to know she could feel his presence…

Salena felt the hairs stand up on the back of her neck, and a chill ran down her spine. However, when she looked behind herself, no one was there. She was sure she was being watched, though. But, of course, she would be jumpy after the other night and her meeting with Heloise, so she tried to push it from her mind. There was a pleasant gentle breeze out tonight, and all the stars were lit up. She inhaled deeply, catching the sweet fragrance of the magnolia trees lining the street, but then something else—something musky. Again, she looked around in panic, but, again, she didn't see the man she'd thought she'd find. Not really wanting to cross his path again, especially if he was the killer being sought, she said a very quick good night to Michael and hurried to her car parked nearby. She also hurried because she was sure Michael was hoping for a good night kiss.

An hour later, Salena was climbing into bed. As she glanced at the clock, she was glad to be on vacation; she'd hate to be distracted at work by all of this. Eyes still open and searching the dark room, she ran through mental images of her house, as she thought of every lock and assured herself it had been checked. That wasn't enough, though, so she got back up and checked every one of them again.

While in the living room, she turned on the late news, and that wasn't a good idea. The coverage was about the still unsolved murders. Autopsies, so far, only showed that the female victims had died of exsanguination, but the ME wasn't sure how as the only wounds were the small—and strangely fading—bite marks. The newscaster joked that maybe it was by a vampire, which made his coworker about fall out of her chair and Salena too. Extremely wound up by her nerves now, she turned the TV off and sat on the floor to practice yoga stretches. After the relaxing moves, she decided to paint but only after putting down the drop cloth.
Fool me once
. Every stroke of the brush to complete the tranquil scene on the canvas helped soothe her frayed nerves and, eventually, she was ready to go back to bed. Thinking of pleasant things now, she inescapably drifted off to sleep.

Devin watched the steady rise and fall of her chest as she slept. She looked peaceful now as the moonlight streamed across her delicate features. He wondered what she was dreaming about and then wondered why he cared; he'd never cared before. This woman was only supposed to be his next meal, but there was a magnetic pull to her, and he had to find out why. He didn't really want to hurt her—he just wanted to be close to her, and he desperately wanted to taste her again. The last thought made him creep closer to her bed. He could smell the honeysuckle and lavender again, and he could also smell her pheromones calling out to him, like a siren to a ship—enticing him to come closer, to take a taste. So he did… He knelt beside her bed and kissed her bared shoulder, where her nightgown had slipped. She only stirred briefly, so he continued a trail across her collarbone to her slender neck. Nuzzling her sensitive area there caused her to wake, but he spoke to her in a hypnotic and sensual voice; he spoke in his old language—Romanian—"Shh, visaþi, relaxa"
Shh, you're dreaming, relax
.

She wasn't quite so sure she was dreaming, but she felt like she couldn't move, couldn't voice her objections. She was overwhelmed by the erotic feel of his lips on her neck and the masculine, musky fragrance filling her nostrils. She knew she was in danger, but lust overtook her senses as his hand began to roam over her nightgown, touching lightly at first, then firmly as it moved up her hip. The other was caressing strands of her hair as his mouth moved over the length of her neck, until it found its way to her mouth. When he claimed her lips, fear escaped bit by bit, and passion took hold. She wanted to push him away, really, but instead found herself now clutching his shoulder in one hand and his bicep in the other pulling him into herself.
God, what is wrong with me
? She scolded herself, but her body didn't listen. His firm tongue thrust in and out of her demanding mouth, teasing, taunting, and causing her body to wriggle. She matched his moves by sucking on his tongue gently, which brought out a low growl from him.

She couldn't help but notice how sharp his teeth felt when she grazed one with her tongue.

She felt his hand slide from her hip up to cup her breast, kneading the tissue and tormenting her puckered bud. He was expertly working her up into a heated frenzy, again.
Again?
She hesitated and looked at him in the moonlight, barely peeking through her window. Large, sexy, musky—yes—it was him, again, which meant she must be dreaming. There was no other explanation for him to show up here. Feeling like she could really let go now, she claimed his lips this time and pushed his hand off her breast in a path further down her body.

Devin knew he had her under his spell, and he let her guide his fingers to her satiny depths. She groaned with desire as he teased her mound with light touches before moving to the opening of her hot sheath. She dug her claws into his chest, urging him to plunder her moistness, but he answered her groans with a fervent whisper against her neck.

"Not too much tonight, my beauty, just a taste."

And with that, she felt a piercing sting that made her cry out.

Devin sipped from the puncture mark, lapping up the sweet—so sweet—taste of her essence. He wondered briefly if he could stop, and it wasn't because he was all that hungry, but rather because she tasted like nothing he'd had in, he tried to remember—but couldn't. There was something so uniquely warm, fulfilling, enticing and almost sinful about her taste, he thought he had died and gone to heaven. Then, as a glow filled his body, there was something recognizable about her wonderful flavor after all. Devin looked into Salena's hazy, lust filled, crystal blue eyes and immediately felt a pang in his chest. Her taste, her features, his obsession—it came back to him on a tidal wave of pain—Abigail. Distressed by the realization, and the only painful memory he possessed, he fled from her arms, her bed, and her home—out into the night.

The loud, heartrending bay of a mystified wolf didn't even faze Salena as she drifted off into a deep slumber.

Under the cover of darkness behind Salena's house, Devin's mind was racing trying to figure this out—the connection between her and Abigail, the only woman he'd ever cared about. No, that wasn't strong enough of a description—the only woman who had been able to remind him he had a beating heart once, because he could feel it beat again when he was in her captivating presence. When Abigail had been taken from him, before her love could turn him mortal again, he swore he'd never let himself feel anything for a woman ever again—he was a vampire, not a mortal, for a reason. He wasn't meant to love; being damned to walk the earth for eternity was better than the suffering he felt when Abigail had died. He would just take what he wanted but never give himself again.

How can this be? What kind of magic is this?
He wished he knew what the Gypsy had told her.
Is she a ghost? Is she a witch trying to torment him?
He needed answers and he needed them today.

He was still outside her house watching and waiting, but shape-shifted into a black cat now, when the sun started to come up over the treetops. He heard her alarm clock beeping from inside the house—he'd get to see her again. While that excited him, it also made him anxious. He had to find out more; what was the connection? He had to get a look inside her house and learn more about her. He'd start by looking at the family tree and books she'd been examining.
Is that why she was looking at them?
Does she know something?
Were they books of magic spells?
His cat fangs were grinding from the tension he felt.