VA 2 - Blood Jewel

Blood Jewel

The Vampire Agápe
Series Book II

By: Georgia Cates

Published by Georgia
Cates

Copyright 2012 Georgia
Cates

Smashwords Edition

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Thank you for respecting the hard
work of this author.

This is a work of fiction. Names,
characters, places, brands, media and incidents are either the
product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The
author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of
various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have
been used without permission. The publication/use of these
trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the
trademark owners.

Editing Services provided by
Jennifer Nunez.

Blood Jewel is dedicated
to

My Beautiful Daughters, “Hot Rod”
and “Boo Boo”

and My Mother, “Globug”.

I Love You with all of my
heart.

Also...

A Special Thank You to Jennifer
Nunez

for her fabulous kick ace editing
skills.

Thank you for helping make Blood
Jewel better than it was.

Prologue- Becoming Marsala Dauphine

Lucerne, Switzerland

Marsala

I sat on the stool facing the
vanity mirror in my chalet’s suite as I got ready for The Lucerne
Music Festival. The Lucerne Symphony was one of the highlights of
my year and a rare treat I refused to miss because Curry had always
attended it with me. It was my reminder of a happier time-a time
when Curry was by my side.

I looked at my reflection and
thought I still looked colorless. I dipped my large, fluffy brush
into a peach toned facial powder and dusted it across the pale,
lifeless skin covering my face in hopes of returning the living
glow that my cheeks had not known in more than 200
years.

My hair was down with the front
section pulled to the side in an Austrian crystal barrette that
shimmered under the fluorescent lighting. I reached into the back
of my loose curls and gave them a fluff as I called out softly to
the other room, “Madon.”

He appeared behind me instantly in
the vanity mirror before I completely said his name. He was
handsome in his tuxedo, but a complete opposite of Curry with his
straight blonde hair and golden brown eyes. Women fell all over his
masculine beauty, but for me, he could never compare to the only
one I longed for and no one ever would.

I watched him place his hands on my
bare shoulders above my emerald green ball gown and I yearned for
it to be Curry touching my skin. “Marsala, you look ravishing as
always.” Tonight was no different than any other. Madon
complimented me, but his words brought me no pleasure because they
didn’t come from Curry.

It had been almost 22 years since
Curry walked out of my life, but he still lived. I knew this
because I constantly felt him. I had not had a moment of peace as I
waited for the agonizing day he found her, the one intended for him
by Anteros, his Agápe.

Madon regained my attention when he
gestured toward my emerald necklace on the vanity and asked, “May
I?”

I lowered my head, reached into the
hair spilling over my shoulders and pulled it away from my neck.
Madon took the necklace from its box, placed it around my neck and
clasped it securely. I lifted my face and looked into the mirror at
the emeralds against my fair skin. I touched my fingers to the
large center stone as I recalled the first time I wore this
necklace 215 years earlier.

New Orleans 1796

It was the night I attended my
first and only Quadroon Ball, an event where daughters of quadroons
were presented to the manquadroons, the French Creole men in search
of fair skinned mistresses. I was just seventeen years-old, a mere
child, when my mother escorted me down the hallway of that grand
home where the ball was being held and into the ballroom where New
Orleans’ wealthiest Frenchmen waited.

I was regarded as a beautiful jewel
among my free people of color because of my exotic, unusual beauty.
My light brown hair was soft and fell to my waist in loose curls,
but my most beautiful feature was the striking color of my pale
green eyes, the color of peridots.

I appeared white to anyone passing
me on the street, but there was a complicated business concerning
this issue of race and color. My appearance and beauty didn’t
matter. It was the One Drop Rule that defined what I was- an
octoroon with one-eighth black heritage.

I was what the French bastards
loved and desired in a quadroon mistress- fair skin, flawless and
available for the taking without the commitment of marriage. It was
my destiny to be taken and used by a manquadroon until he decided
to marry a French woman as his legitimate wife. They would have
children he would claim as his own, while any children we produced
would be supported and cared for in secret.

My French father, Armand Mercier,
loved and doted on me more than his other four children with my
mother. He spoiled me endlessly, giving me anything I wanted, yet I
was no exception to the rule. He didn’t claim me as his child
publicly.

When he married his legitimate
wife, Cecile, she demanded he give up my mother as his mistress
after their first child was born. He didn’t give in to her order at
first, but his visits gradually became fewer and fewer until they
finally ceased. I was hurt by my father’s withdrawal of love and
affection, but it was the day he passed me in The French Market
without any type of acknowledgment that changed my heart
forever.

My delicate, soft spoken mother
replied, “It wasn’t my decision to make. He is your Pére, Marsala,
and it is his duty and right to ensure you are taken by the best
manquadroon. Your Pére loves you and wants you to be happy. He has
come here to find the most suitable companion for you.”

As I heard the words come out, I
felt the sting of tears I’d held inside for too many years. “I hate
him. He abandoned us, Mére.”

Her gentle smile and manner
infuriated me. “It is as his wife demanded and he is forced to bend
to her will if he wishes to keep his legitimate family
intact.”

Tears streamed down my face as I
angrily argued, “We were his family first and he threw us away like
riffraff!”

My mother pulled me to the hallway
away from the guests at the ball. “Lower your voice, Marsala. I
understand your anger, but you don’t want the manquadroons to hear
or see your foul mood because it could sway their decision to
choose you if you appear strong-willed. You know the manquadroons
desire an agreeable mistress.” My mother wrapped her arms around me
and told me, “Dry your tears and accept your fate for what it is.
Allow your Pére to use his influence to find a suitable companion
for you. It’s what’s best for you.”

I spent the evening being flaunted
by my parents and desired by every manquadroon in the room, but it
was Jean Phillipe Dauphine that caught my attention and that of my
father.

He was wealthy and a potential
business partner for my father, but to me he was young and handsome
with his black hair and light blue eyes. I loved the way I felt
when he looked at me across the ballroom while speaking with my
father. His smile for me didn’t make me feel like I was a quadroon
being paraded for his potential choosing. I felt worthy of his
admiration.

My father motioned for me to join
him and my potential manquadroon across the ballroom. I watched
Jean Phillipe Dauphine watch me as I closed the distance between us
and then my father acknowledged me as his daughter for the first
time in years. “Jean Phillipe, this is my daughter, Marsala
Mercier.”

He reached for my hand and I
allowed him to take it. He placed a kiss on top of it while his
eyes never left mine. “It is my pleasure to make your acquaintance,
Demoiselle.”

He referred to me as a demoiselle,
a maiden, not like the others that addressed me as Maîtresse, the
way they would a mistress. I felt butterflies flitting about in my
gut and in that very moment I knew I would be devastated if he
didn’t choose me because my heart had already chosen
him.

I couldn’t have been happier when
Jean Phillipe offered to discuss the stipulations of how he would
take care of me with my Pére. The details were determined between
the two of them in private and I was not consulted about the
conditions, but I didn’t care because I was so pleased with my
Pére’s choice of companion for me.

I spent the next several days
anxiously waiting for Jean Phillipe to visit me. I longed to see
him and worried he might have changed his mind about me, but on the
fourth night after The Quadroon Ball, he arrived at my mother’s
home to see me.

I was wearing my best dress, a
lavender and white striped satin gown with a lace trimmed bodice.
My hair was pinned up with lavender flowers adorning the loose
curls in my hair and I pinched my cheeks lightly to bring a glow to
them after my mother called out for me from the parlor.

I practically ran down the stairs
and then remembered my years of training as a lady and slowed
myself to a polite stroll. I gracefully entered the parlor and my
mother left us to be alone for the first time. It was exciting to
be alone with a man for the first time in my life, but I couldn't
speak because I feared any words leaving my mouth would sound
foolish.

He crossed the room and took my
hand, kissing it just as he had the night of the ball. “Good
evening, Marsala. You look well, and quite beautiful if I may be so
bold as to say so.”

I smiled and was giddy from his
compliment because I had never heard words like that. My mother had
never allowed me to interact with the opposite sex, other than my
brothers. She feared I would be tainted and refused to risk losing
the asset almost as valuable as my beauty- my virginity.

I felt the heat in my cheeks as I
said, “You are too kind, Monsieur Dauphine.”

A peculiar look came upon his face.
“I do not wish to be Monsieur Dauphine to you. Please, call me Jean
Phillipe.”

“As you wish, Jean
Phillipe.”

A smile replaced his unusual
expression and he asked, “Would you do me the honor of taking a
carriage ride with me?”

The thought of being with this
beautiful man without a chaperone sent chills throughout my body.
“Yes, I would love that very much.”

We left my mother’s home and he
lifted me effortlessly into his carriage. He joined me on the bench
seat and boldly sat close enough for our fabric covered legs to
touch. It was exhilarating and the touch of his leg against mine
sent fiery tingles throughout my body.

The driver pulled the carriage onto
the street and a light breeze blew against my face. It was spring
and the crisp scent of new blooms was strong in the air.

I turned to look at Jean Phillipe
and asked, “Where are you taking me?”

He hesitated as though he was
contemplating what to say. “I want to show you the house I have
purchased for us.”

There it was- the confirmation I
needed to tell me he hadn’t changed his mind about me after all.
“You’ve already purchased a house for us?”