New Blood (The Blood Saga Book 2) (2 page)

“You all make me feel like I’m in
rehab,” It was the first I’d spoke aloud. Having not realized I had already
finished the other glass, the little angel took it from me, but did not hand me
another. For that I was grateful. There was another spider web-like crack
throughout the one she took from me. Already I did not like being on display as
I drank.

“I brought you here because you’re,
well... you’re very young, Anna. An infant if you will.” Damien’s hand rubbed
up and down my shin lightly. There was immense comfort in his touch. It also
brought on a different sort of craving.

“Yes, a New Blood you called me. I
remember,” hope they wouldn’t hold the bitterness in my tone against me.

“You need time to gain your
strengths, and understand your weaknesses. You need to learn to control
yourself. Not just your urges, but your strengths as well. It’s like being
reborn. You have to learn how to
be
all over again.” Thus the reason
they call young Vampires
New Bloods
. Damien explained all this without
meeting my gaze. Damien spoke softly as if only to me. His words and voice made
me feel better, but the remorse in his eyes upset me.

It was hard to look at him knowing
he didn’t want any of this. Shouldn’t he be happy that I was like him now? Safe
to be with him forever. But if that’s not what he wanted… I just whispered with
a small nod, “Oh.”

“What Damien is reluctant to admit,
is that he’s having a hard time with this.”

Obviously.

“Not like you are, of course.
However still, it is difficult. To try to teach the one you love as perfectly
as they are and turn them into a monster. To teach them to be a monster.
Despite the obvious benefits, it’s still not easy, Lianna,” the angel spoke,
though I knew she must be Lara.

He spoke of two women in the Jeep
anyway, Lara and Jezabell. How either of these women could compare themselves
to monsters was beyond me. It was hard to imagine such perfect creatures, let
alone anyone else, could understand the darkness stirring within me now. The
demon inside.

Damien, of course, could hear me
put all of that together in my head. If it had been possible my cheeks would be
on fire as he whispered the confirmation of my realization to me. “Yes, her
name is Lara.”

She winked and just smiled. Her
hand lay down on top of both of mine, holding them tenderly like a child might.
My fingers were shaking still but not quite as badly as before. Her smile was
sweet but her gaze seemed far away as if she were thinking about something or
somewhere else completely. She wasn’t looking at me, but past.

Lara’s hand squeezed mine softly
again as she spoke. Her words were fluid through the air, “We will each play
our part in refining you. Teaching you what we each can.”

I had this sudden image of them
dressed in turn of the century schoolmarm wear and each of them holding rulers
and ready to whack hands for any wrong answer.

The image switched to an old movie.
I simply couldn’t help myself. I mumbled, “The rain in Spain stays mainly in
the plain.”

Damien’s lips pulled into a smirk.
His hands placed tightly onto my hips as he lifted me up, standing me to my
feet as he stood up behind me. “Ladies, if you don’t mind I am going to show
Anna upstairs. It’s been a rather long couple of days for the both of us.”

“Of course, Damien.” Jezabell’s
eyes were caught on each of Damien’s movements as if she could see not just the
symptoms of his weakness, but the source of it. Me.

“Do come see me later though.” It
may have been paranoia, but I swore she looked at me with the slightest of
accusation behind those ebony eyes. Yes, she must have known it was I that had
done this to him. Damien nodded silently.

“Thank you,” I spoke softly. Nodding
politely to them both, I moved along with Damien. They nodded in return, understandingly.
Their smiles were wickedly sweet. Perhaps there was more devil in them than I
realized.

As I moved with him, it felt like I
was floating. Elegant like a dancer. As if we walked on air. Damien and I moved
side by side up the stairs.

The second floor was different from
the first by far. The walls were custom painted so that they looked like
ancient Italian stone marble in rich colors from creamy vanilla to deep gold.

The floors were deep red in color.
Brazilian walnut. Recognizable for I had seen a few pieces of furniture made
from the rare and expensive wood in Neesa’s mother’s home. The Descendant who
thought me crazed.

Where the first level had been an
exquisite black and white palace, the second floor flourished in the Italian
renaissance.

Raw dark stone columns as thick as
tree trunks lined the hall in-between sets of double doors. Each column carved
at the head and foot with tiny sculptures of angels so painfully beautiful they
seemed better fit only for the Vatican.

Each set of doors was hand carved
artfully such as Belinesian doors. They were all different with intricate
scenes of everything from olive groves, to grape vine fields, and wondrous
Italian grottos.

My jaw was slack as I walked the
curling path in utter awe. Damien was gracious by allowing me to slow to a
crawl as we walked so that I could look on at each splendid detail.

As large as the house was, it
seemed somewhat surprising there were only two sets of doors on this floor. I
was curious if they led to a hall of doors like the Wildflower, Neesa’s mother’s
store. Why did I keep thinking of them?

The stairs swept in a large circle,
acting as a balcony to the room bellow until it circled the entire room and
spread up another story. Looking up and then down, I realized you could see
from the bottom level up to the ceiling which was also decorated. In the center
of the ceiling, I looked up at a sculpted brass sun.

A statue, tall as Damien, stood at
the bottom of the next winding case, in its own little nook. It was life like
in its perfection and detail.

A woman with eyes so exquisitely
detailed it felt as if they were alive as they watched us even in their absence
of color. The entire statue was black as midnight, carved from some beautiful
black marble. Her hair curled in a mass of stone tendrils to the floor, tiny
flowers wove in throughout the strands.

While her features were beautiful,
they seemed to hint harshness. Not evil, no not at all. Just hardened. Almost
similar to the face of a female warrior though disguised in the garb of a Goddess.
One could have wept at her magnificence.

Before I could ask, Damien stood at
my side speaking quietly as if she were too pure to raise your voice in front
of. “Her name is Achlys... She is revered as the Greek Goddess of eternal
night. She’s also called Nyx. There are those who believe she was the mother of
our existence.” Of Vampires.

“I’ve never seen anything like her
before,” whispering in turn.

“Few have. Jezabell created her...
Achlys was a dear friend to Jezabell for a great many years.” It was hard to
identify where my surprise came from most. That Jezabell could create such
beauty. Or that she was friends with a Goddess.

Softly his hand placed to my lower
back, guiding me to the stairs again.

The art on the second floor changed
from masterful columns to paintings so stunning I froze, letting out a soft
laugh of awe. My eyes could pick up details I had never seen before now. Each
stroke of paint was easily identified on the many paintings hung along the wall
from history’s most amazing masters. The cracks in the dried old paint made it
look like a puzzle pieced together of a million pieces.

I had studied art history in my
years as a human. Nevertheless, I had never seen these paintings before. Yet
they were all somehow familiar. By no means was I a scholar but with my new
eyes I believed I had identified each one as the work of the greats.

Vincent Van Gogh. Leonardo Da
Vinci. Had he painted this for Damien? Another member of this house? The
painting was beautiful. Undeniably Da Vinci. Yet it was absolutely savage. A
nightmare. Stopping before it, all I could do was take it in, detail by
frightening detail. Damien stood behind me, but said nothing. At last I pulled
myself away and move on.

Pablo Picasso. Rembrandt Van Rijn.
Jan Van Eyck. Raphael and Sandro Botticelli. They were all here, spread
throughout the vast hall and leading up to another winding staircase.

Damien allowed me to study each
piece, staying always just behind me. “Who is this one?” questioned in a mere
whisper of humbled awe. “I don’t recognize this style.”

The painting itself hinted at the
style of Michelangelo with such beautiful detailed perfection, but the colors
were wrong in every way. This paint was older. The colors were more vibrant and
wild, yet dark. Somehow, they shimmered.

The woman displayed in the picture
had long black wild curls and much unlike the art of Da Vinci, her eyes and
smile were wickedly appealing rather than timid and angelic. The eyes called to
you. Much like the statue just down the stairs had been. Obviously though,
these were not the same women. This woman was pixie like, with elegant yet
sharp features. A narrow chin. The statue of a woman had a square jaw though
quite feminine.

The painting was a nude though very
tastefully done. The woman lay against a large stone covered in moss. The background
was a beautiful waterfall so life like I was certain it must exist somewhere.

“You don’t recognize her? Lara
painted her. That’s Jezabell,” he answered calmly, little emotion showing in
his voice. “The shimmer you see is crushed pearl.”

“It’s-” It was difficult to form
the sentence. The painting was ancient. I could smell the lambskin and the bare
ingredients of the paint. Each painting varied slightly because everything came
from different resources. They were diverse enough I could detect the differences
even if I would not have known each painters work. This seemed easily the
oldest here.

Hearing him speak his age and then
seeing proof of their years was astounding and almost frightening. It told me
more of what I had become.

“Yes, it’s very old... More than a
few hundred years. You would have to ask her.” Damien supplied the answer to my
unspoken question. His voice so casual on the surface seemed to alarm me for
some unknown reason. Despite how content he seemed to be to show me his most
beautiful home he was still in pain. How could I have been so cruel to ignore
it, I wondered. I turned to him with a forced smile and motioned for him to
lead the way without another word.

His blur of speed that I once found
impossible to catch sight of now seemed a simple series of movements, even if
it was very fast.

Up the next flight of stairs, my
fingers brushed the rail as I walked. This staircase was iron. It, too, of
course was just as finely crafted. Created to appear as glorious vines and
exotic flowers. Mingled with the ivy were exotic birds. The only ones I
recognized were peacocks. Splendid.

The banister was a masterpiece. Hm.
Never imagined myself thinking that in regards to a staircase. The metal itself
had somehow been smoothed so to touch it was as if to touch glass.

Murals decorated these walls in
much the same style of the painting I had admired before. These murals dictated
scenery of island life. Though of where I could never have imagined. “Yes, it’s
Lara’s work.
Azores Portugal
. Lara and Jezabell lived there for a time.”

I nodded slowly. Of course they
did. My favorite part of the mural pictured a grotto filled with greenery. The
only plant I recognized was the Ginko trees. Everything about this House made
me feel inferior.

“And you tried to tell me my work
was good? I will have to remember how good of a liar you are.” My brows rose as
I shook my head in disbelief while eyeing him with a playful coyness. I wasn’t
just an amateur next to Lara and Jezabell. I fell off the artistry pedestal
created by their work completely.

Damien’s brow furrowed darkly as he
stood at the double doors down the hall waiting for me to join him. As I did so
in a slow human pace, he twisted a knob and held the door open for me to enter.

Entering through that door, Damien
took me away to another world.

Of course, Damien’s room matched
the vastness of the rest of the house. However, it was nearly empty. No
paintings. None of the fancy décor I had seen throughout the rest of the house.
Just simple white walls and minimal furniture scattered recklessly throughout
the room.

There was a Bose system on a lone
table, but no CD’s in sight. I assumed it was some sort of MP3 gig. Personally
I had never owned one. Too expensive.

Next to the system was a slim black
laptop, no emblems showing the make on it at all. Aside from that, there was a
couch near the system and a bed off at the other end of the room.

“And this is my room. Well, our
room now,” his deep voice seemed momentarily amused at the correction. “Not quite
what you expected, I see.” It was different than the rest of the house. Far
less overwhelming, but for its simplicity it was surprising. Damien walked to
the table and hit some buttons. Crossfade started playing at low levels. “Is
this all right? I can put something else on if you want.”

“I like Crossfade.” Slowly as if
testing the waters, I strolled around the room in a large circle. Simply amazed
at how big it was. “This room is bigger than my entire apartment and then some,”
I didn’t sound impressed, more or less amused. He shrugged casually without any
verbal response to give.

The exterior wall was all glass and
curved around the room rather than just a flat wall. It faced the west. It had
no décor because it needed none. The view alone was more than enough.

Along the main wall, there was a
large open archway. I could see the stone steps leading to a massive tub.
Another solid door at the end of the room. Closet I assumed.

The bed seemed out of place
strangely. I walked around the room slowly, mostly admiring the view from
different points as I made my way to the bed curiously. Magnificent and huge in
of itself was a four-poster bed. Solid black natural wood of some unknown
origin. My fingers drug the stiff fabric of the spread. Of course, it was all a
mix of fine Egyptian cotton and raw silks. There was just something strange
about it. “Vampires sleep?”

“No. Jezabell insists it’s not a
bedroom without a bed though.” My fingers trailed over the comforter. It was
stiff as a board and smelled almost too clean. But not new. I could smell dust.

“No, it’s never been used. In
any
capacity.” My brow rose slightly at his answer to the question I never asked. I
didn’t have to look to know he was smirking. All I could do was nod as I walked
around more. His eyes followed me, watching my blank expression closely.

Everything was so spectacular
everywhere I looked. It was as humbling as it was breathtaking. Even such
simplicity was still somehow overwhelming. The view was all this room needed to
be perfect.

“You all right?” Damien spoke in my
ear, startling me from his sudden closeness as his arms slid around my waist
slowly.

“Yes. It’s just a lot to absorb I
guess.”

Damien’s arm hung around my waist
as if he was still guarding me. I was so eased by his touch. It was like a drug
to me even still.

He did not smile as he leaned over
to kiss my temple before pulling away to look me over slowly. Appraising what I
had become.

“What is it?” My brow arched as my
arms folded around my torso tightly.

“I’m still used to you being
warmer. This is different. It’s difficult to believe you’re no longer as
fragile as you were before.” His eyes betrayed him in showing that he wasn’t
telling me the entire truth.

“There’s more to it than that.”

“You miss nothing.” Though he
smiled slightly, Damien’s sigh was heavy as he turned away from me. He strolled
over to the window, folding his arms over his chest as mine were. As his
posture was stern, mine was defensive.

“When you look at me now, you seem
sad. This- me, well it’s not how you wanted things to be. Is it?” my voice so
shaky, croaked out a hard laugh as my arms crossed tighter, fingers digging
into my flesh unconsciously. Could Vampires cry? Hell, I hoped not.

“Lianna, tell me you don’t honestly
think I don’t want you.” My lip quivered at his words. Damien saying it aloud
made it sound nearly real. I forced a painful smile. My lips held in such a
hard line, forcing new fangs to slice into my bottom lip.

Every emotion I experienced seemed
so much more intense than I had known it before. The pain in my heart so
devastating from even the possibility of rejection that it instantly flared my
hunger.

Moving like a bolt of lightning, he
came towards me. His eyes so pained it nearly burned me.

As he came near I backed into the
wall behind me. Of course, it was no more than a purely instinctive reaction
from him running at me.

Damien’s eyes narrowed. No matter
how fast I moved he would have been faster. I think he would have liked for me
to run. We stared at one another in silence. His stern brow rose slightly as he
pulled me closer. Hands snug on my hips. He pulled me up slowly, tighter, and
not near as careful as he used to be.

My legs spread and lifted up off
the ground wrapping around his waist easily. Hands locked together behind his
neck. I held myself as close against him as possible so the curve of our bodies
did not show a single ray of light between our frames.

Damien’s lips found mine with an eagerness
of their own, pulling at my lip to taste every drop of crimson. It was a need
deeper than he’d ever shown me before. A low moan rumbled through my chest. His
kiss deepened. My lips parted with his, soft but so determined. Purposefully, his
tongue flicked against my newly edged fangs. A low rumbling growl rolled
through his body. The sound made my blood race for my heart could not. My
fingers slid down his back into the sculpted shape of his shoulder blades.

Before I knew it we had moved,
suddenly falling back onto the bed. Landing on top of me, his legs slid to lie
on the outer side of my hips. Balancing himself above me, his hands pressed on
either side of my head against the bed. With little effort he had cast himself
as a cage around me. His mouth pulled into the smug amused grin I’d grown to
utterly love. “So you truly don’t believe that I want you?”

“And if I don’t?” So that he couldn’t
get a clear grasp on my real thoughts, I did everything I could to hold my face
stern and clear my mind. It didn’t work though.

He grinned wider just before his
chest grumbled in a low growl. Again his lips found mine roughly. Long fingers wrapped
around my wrists like shackles pinning me to the bed firmly.

It would have been impossible not
to respond to him in the way that I did. Even with my near perfect memory those
short seconds were hazy. As if I had no control or thoughts what so ever. It
was purely a physical response leaving my mind somewhere else.

Gripping tighter around my arms,
trembling slightly from the exertion of holding me down, he pulled back slowly.
Blood dripped from his lips. A single brow rose curiously as he looked down at
me.

It took less than a second to
realize what I had done. Less than a second to attack the only thing in the
world I wanted and loved. Would I ever be able to control myself again?

“Sorry.” Blood, thick and sweet
like nectar filled my mouth. It was better tasting than I could have imagined.
The blood lust was stronger than anything else was.

He was still weak from turning me.
With a little more effort, I was free of him and curled up in a ball as far
from him as I could be on the other end of the bed. Letting out a deep groaning
sigh he rolled over to sit on the edge of the bed beside me.

“I didn’t mean to. I’m so sorry!” I
whispered in a rush. If I had needed to breathe, I probably would have
hyperventilated.

Taking hold of my shoulders, he
pulled me to lean against him. “It’s okay. You didn’t hurt me. See, look at me.”

Shaking my head, I clinched my eyes
shut tightly like a stubborn child. Forcefully he took a hold of my shoulders
and pulled me back down to the bed, repositioning himself on top of me once
more. This time he sat against my hips. All the while I refused to open my
eyes.

“Anna, I’m all right. Do you really
think so lowly of me? You didn’t hurt me. Actually, it felt good. I just hadn’t
been expecting it.” He chuckled.

“Felt
good?”
My eyes opened.
Shocked and rather appalled, I stared at him in disbelief. Indeed, his lip was whole
again with just a blood stain to remember me by. I wanted to taste it. Just one
little lick.

When I was bitten while being turned,
it had been horrible. It felt like my skin was being shredded by something
laced in acid.

“Mmm by all means feel free to try
it again.” Leaning to nip my lip gently, the taste was torture.  “Come on,
Anna, don’t you remember the night I bit you? When you were human, before you
were turned?”

My eyes closed, pulling up the
memory slowly. Already it was easy to forget. Easy to not have a thought about
my time as a human. Though the night he spoke of was just a few short days ago
it seemed like nothing more than a transition. His hand brushed my lips gently.
“I know how they hurt you when Liahm attacked you.” I couldn’t help the flinch
that made my body tremble to its core from that name. “I know the pain they
caused you. But it’s different for us. Not just as Vampires, but for you and
me. Let me show you.”

Slowly he leaned down, barely
touching his lips to mine. “Trust me,” whispered against my throat. His voice
sent an urgent tremble down my spine, yet not one of fear by any means.

Even with his torn lip healed,
blood coated them. It took every ounce of my self-control not to attack him
again. This was something I needed to get used to.

Gently, he lay on top of me. His
legs still lay on either side of my own, pinning me safely beneath him. One
hand slid behind my neck as the other carefully held to my cheek. “Didn’t I
tell you to never be sorry for kissing me?”

Tilting my chin, his lips drug
kisses from my ear down to the nape of my neck. Tongue flicking softly, he
tickled my flesh as his mouth parted. Before closing his mouth, his teeth drug
my skin, mouth suckling against my flesh. Fangs sunk in slow and deep.

As I gasped at the feel of
penetration, my back arched up. Damien held there, softly sucking the small
wound. Fangs like ours were designed to render flesh from bone. This was
tender. When he bit me though, it never hurt.

It brought me to a world and limits
I had never felt in my body. The first time he had bitten me was nothing in
comparison of the feeling ripping through me suddenly. Melting in his arms as
he pulled away, Damien kissed the wound and held his lips there until it
closed. Licking away any traces of blood gently.

“Told you it didn’t hurt,” he
whispered kissing up around my ear. Putty beneath him, I murmured my agreement.
He chuckled lightly.

Soft lips slowly made their way
back to my own. Breathing out faintly over my flesh, his lips tugged on mine. A
slow groan rumbled from his lips. “You still taste far too delicious for my own
good.” Looking up at him, his eyes were brighter. It wasn’t a drastic change,
but he looked better than he had before. Had the blood been that rejuvenating?

“When I bit you it was worse
though... It looked like some sort of tiny shark ripped a hole in your lip. It
had to have hurt.” That was me all right, goldfish to shark. Well baby shark.
But still.

This time he snickered. “Let’s say
piranha for now.” My face puckered teasingly.

“Anyway.” He adjusted to lie
against me more comfortably. “It’s difficult to explain. Sort of depends on our
state of mind if you will. See right now you’re relaxed, and you love me. Might
I dare say you may be just a bit aroused?” He could dare.

Damien grinned most devilishly. “So
you see the pain doesn’t bother you at all. In fact the state of mind you were
in, it made the feeling much more sensual.” Much, much more.

“Although, if you were in a
defensive or offensive state of mind, fighting is the best example… Well,
things are not so pleasant then. Then you probably would have come after me
like the little piranha you are.” He grinned wickedly. See there, not even a
big fish.