Dark Rapture (49 page)

“Give me a little credit, Gary.”

“I’m sorry.” His sigh traveled the phone line. “I shouldn’t be doing this. Ah, I’m all riled up since Vince called earlier. He’s met this Rico guy. He’s not gonna be here tonight to go over the tapes, which is imperative. Man, I don’t know, lately I think Vince is more trouble than he’s worth.”

Scarlet ignored her brother’s whining. “So who is this Rico?”

“I don’t know, I guess he lives in an elaborate mansion. Vince says he feels close to him, as if he was a brother or something. Do you get that? All of a sudden Gary Rose does not exist anymore. Our ten years of friendship has been completely wiped away thanks to some guy he met in some alley. I tell ya, Scarlet—and don’t say anything to Vince—but I’m seriously thinking about asking him to leave Wild Child.”

“Gary!”

“Don’t say a word to anybody. I said, I’m just
thinking
about it. But if Vince keeps pullin’ crap like this I don’t know what I’ll end up doing. Whenever we’ve got work to do he’s out carousing around. Hell, it’s not like he’s never thought about leaving. He’s made threats about it before. Wait. There’s my call waiting. It might be Lisa. You gonna come over?”

“I was thinking about coming by later, but if you’re going to be busy—”
“No, I can’t do anything without Vince, he has to go over the voice tracks. Come on over. I gotta go. See ya later.”

Scarlet clicked the receiver but her hand barely left the phone before it rang again.

“Yes?”

The voice was deep and husky, almost lewd. “Are you frightened of me now?”

Thinking it an obscene call at first, Scarlet was ready to slam the phone down, but she quickly realized it was Vince. Her heart plunged to her throat as anticipation jittered through her body. “Vince. No, of course…not. Why—”

“Have I peaked your curiosity?”

Scarlet’s brows grew tight. He spoke about last night. “About killing? Vince, you’ve got to be kidding.”

“Is Sebastian around?”

“No, but—”

“Come to me, Scarlet. Bring the diaries along and read to me. Please.”

She toggled a fingernail across the top of the diary. He didn’t want to hear her read the diary, she knew that from the daring tone of his voice. No, he wanted to entice her into his world, a world she had been forbidden to explore.

Scarlet stood and studied her face in the mirror. The remains of her mortal innocence were still there. Somewhere. “I don’t think so Vince. Not…yet.”

Chapter Nine

Spain, 13
^th
century

Another week passed. Since arriving at the castle, the moon had reached its fullness twice. Esmarelda waited upon the crimson coverlet for Adriano to arrive. She normally waited by the door with arms open to embrace him, but lately it was all she could do to rise from the bed and use the chamber pot, let alone stand long enough to allow her maid to dress her.

Her end was near. So very near she felt sure death whispered just on the other side of her door. A cold and haunting whisper, shallow, yet deep with the centuries of lost souls entwined about its vocal cords.

When she looked up she knew it was only Adriano who whispered at her door. Death used him as its disguise.

“Take me as you will, beloved husband,” she offered weakly as he began to strip the clothes from his lanky frame. He flipped the flowing veil of blackness over his shoulders and she wished she had the strength to reach out and pull its softness to her face so she could nuzzle into it. “I am too weak to do much for you myself.”

As Adriano lowered over her she thought she saw a tear in the corner of his eye. Maybe.

“You give me life, and in turn sacrifice your own with so little question,” he said. “For this I shall be forever grateful.”

He did not part her legs and take her as he so desired. She was too weak. Instead he bit carefully into her flesh and drew into his body the elixir he needed.

And when he was finished and sated for the night, Adriano sat back and looked upon the pale angel that lay dying beneath the crimson velvet. Her hands lay like dove feathers, so colorless and graceful. So precious her lips were. Pale as a life-drained rose. He wanted to kneel down, to kiss her, to give of himself totally. To grant her the simple kiss she so often requested. She had slipped into the swoon that always followed his extractions, but something struggled to remain. Her eyelids moved minutely. She struggled to pull herself from sleep.

“Do you love me?” she whispered, her eyes still closed, though one dove-winged hand now reached blindly for him.

It was as if an explosion detonated inside his chest. Tears rolled down from the darkness of Adriano’s eyes and he pressed his forehead to his lover’s breast. “Sí…” he sobbed. “I do. I confess I cannot help myself. I have loved no other as I do you, Esmarelda. God have mercy, I shall suffer for this throughout eternity. Why? Why could I not prevent it?”

Esmarelda pressed a palm to the back of his head and smiled, just slightly. “You truly love me?”

“With all my heart,” he pleaded into her breast. “I thought it never possible for a beast such as myself. But my heart…it aches so when I am away from you. As soon as my feet take leave of this room I wish only to turn and run back into your arms. Oh, Esmarelda, what have I done?”

“Listen to me, my beloved. I am weak and so near death.”

“What is it? If there is anything I can do to make it easier for you you must allow me.”

“I will die soon,” she whispered. “But…I have been thinking…perhaps…maybe, if you were to not come for a few days…I would have sufficient time to recover your deadly kiss.”

Adriano jerked his head up. The deadly kiss of the vampyre. The only kiss he had ever granted her.

“Perhaps two or three nights,” she continued. “I feel sure I might gain the strength I need to persevere this curse you bare. For I bare this curse also and I am proud to call myself your wife. I love you, Adriano de Trastamara. Please, if you love me, grant me this one chance to prolong my life.”

“Anything that may extend your life so we may enjoy our love for another a bit longer.”

“You’ll do it?”

“I must. If…if I can.” He stood and pulled his clothes quickly over his blood-warmed body, shaking his fingers back through his sweat-tangled hair. He made to leave but paused in the doorway. “I shall stay away for two nights. By the saints, I promise you my heart wants this. But you must know my body will fight it with a strength even my heart may not stand up to.”

“You must try.”

“Very well. But you must do one thing for me. If you can.”

“What is that?”

“Bar the door and do not open it for me. I shall be mad for your blood and will not be in control of myself. No matter what I say to you do not open the door. For without your permission I cannot cross this threshold.”

***

Los Angeles, present

Vince slid off the cool satin sheets, watching as the tree shadows danced as macabre stick figures over the English-papered wall across from him. Another angel print hung in his room, this one very disturbing. Its wings were pointed like a bat’s, and it shielded its eyes with the sharpened tips as it was cast from the gleaming lights of heaven.

Had he ever had a chance at heaven before he had become a vampire? Probably. But it was too late now.

With a jerk of his hand to disregard the spooky drawing, he stood and looked out the window. The sky darkened into a lucid sheet of gray and the whistling wind cued Vince it would soon rain. The California fall was soon coming.

He still wore the same clothes he’d worn for the gig last night. He smelled of sweat and there were traces of dried blood along his shirt front. Remembering Rico’s offer of hospitality, he checked the closet, finding it stocked with rich shirts and jackets of silk and velvet. Pleased, he chose a white ruffled poet’s shirt and black velvet jacket, keeping his fringed pants on since there were no blood stains on them.

Knowing he had stumbled onto something good—the friendship of another vampire who seemed quite eager to offer all he had—Vince’s long strides took him down the marble stairs in search of his generous host.

The mansion rumbled as the weather increased to a fury. He had no lighter and could barely see, but his senses remembered the way. As he strode down the darkness of the inner hallway the sensations of comfort, acceptance, and concern fell over him. It was as though this was his home. He belonged here. With friends and family—a family of vampires.

A deep whisper enticed him to the left and he entered the recording studio that glowed softly from the candelabra perched atop the piano. Rico’s voice captured the music of silence, deep-felt emotions, of a certain sadness.

There hung a lithograph of a woman swathed in sheer flowing pink fabric over the piano that Vince hadn’t noticed earlier this morning. She seemed happy, maybe dancing, as her head tilted back over her shoulder and her arms swayed out before her. But there was something in her eyes, a lost sadness.

He plopped down on the couch and stretched his legs across the polished coffee table. A crystal sculpture sat on the mahogany table, a triangle that glimmered in golds and reds from the candle flame. “I like that.”

Federico’s fingers continued their dirge-like walk across the bass piano keys. “I see you’ve found some clothes.”

“You don’t mind?”

“Not at all. They fit you well. Black is a violent contrast to your hair and your pale complexion. I like contrasts.” Rico’s fingers dashed to the right of the keyboard in a frenzy of chromatic changes.

“Did you write that?”

Rico’s resumed his lethargic pace, as if the funeral requiem of a lost love coaxed him further. “No…it was…written by a lady.” He looked up at the dancing girl. “Someone I love very intensely.” His words melded into the deep melody and Rico seemed to slip into recollection as his eyelids closed over his mismatched eyes.

Vince leaned forward, catching his elbows on his knees, but silenced his eager questions as Rico began again in a dreamy deep memory.

“My sister…she wrote this. It’s been very long. My heart carries her absence from moon to moon, year to year, century to century.”

“I’m sorry,” Vince offered softly.

Rico nodded, though his concentration had returned to the piano keys.

Vince sank into the couch cushions and closed his eyes as Rico’s playing matched the thunder outside. For the moment, he felt the sadness of Rico’s loss, and remembered the grief he had felt over his mother’s death a year ago.

Vince snapped his arms to his chest, clutching tight the memories that threatened to tear his eyes.
You are no longer alone. You have Rico now.

“So…this place is fabulous. You must have been collecting stuff for years.”

“More like centuries,” Rico said.

“Really? When were you transformed?”

“1778. I lived in Italy at the time. My sister and I had a palazzo in Venice. That was the year of the great blizzard. The lagoon froze completely over and great
fêtes
were held on the ice.”

“Wow.” The man was over two centuries old, yet he looked no older than thirty. Respect was the first thing Vince felt, curiosity the next. “So how come you came to America? I imagine Venice is a pretty funky place to live. I’ve always thought it would be cool to ride in a gondola.”

“I would go anywhere Catrina asked.”

“Your sister?”

“Yes.”

Vince detected Rico’s reluctance to elaborate and feigned discretion. Though he was itching to ask. Was she the woman in the picture?

“So, Vince.” The music stopped and Rico swung one leg over the piano bench, fixing his gray and blue on him. “Do you always take your victims in such a manner?”

Confused at this abrupt conversation change, Vince suddenly remembered the girl in the alley last night. “What do you mean? I got the feeling you killed, too.”

“I do, but what I mean is, you took that girl so gently. You walked up to her the knight in shining armor, the man of her dreams, and…kissed her. She wanted you. You let her live the fantasy that you did too. There was no
fear
. “ Rico leant forward, his eyes ablaze with a knowledge of dark riches. “You’ve never experienced the rush, have you?”

“The rush? You mean of the kill?” Vince recalled his description of the unholy rapture to Scarlet last night. “Of course, there’s nothing greater. When the heart bursts—Wham!” He smacked a fist into his palm. “But what more could there possibly be?”

Rico inched to the edge of the glossy bench and placed a finger in the air before him. “The
fear
Vince, that is what’s more. Do you know what happens when a person is afraid?”

“Well—”

“Their heart pumps at a rapid pace while the adrenaline in their body rises to an unfathomable level. If you’ve never taken in fear then you’ve never tasted blood laced with adrenaline. It’s incredible,” Rico said in a rapid hush.

“Sounds is if you’re talking about a drug.”

“It is!” He was indeed a man of contrast, as Rico’s attitude switched from melancholy to wicked delight. “And I am an addict, I can most freely admit. You must try it, Vince. It’s no different from the way you already do it, except after I’ve taken my mortal pleasures—like the enjoyment of the flesh—I then let my victims know exactly what kind of immortal creature they are dealing with. My fangs lower before their widening eyes, I brace myself for the scream,” his voice grew sharp, “and then I mainline on adrenaline.”

The intensity of Rico’s colored eye increased to fathomless, unreal color as he spoke enthusiastically of his passions, sweeping Vince into the thrill of the immortal pleasures he had yet to discover.

“You’ll try it, won’t you?”

Vince sucked the corner of his lip in as he thought about it. Rico had this way about him that seemed to entice him closer. He wanted this man to accept him and to not question him as Gary so often did. Hell, he needed to be accepted by someone; loner was not his middle name. “I’ll try anything once.”

***

“Anthony, I’m going to need a broom!” Scarlet called down the hallway then rushed back to the broken glass on her bedroom floor.

Her fitting for the flamenco dress had just finished. She had needed a few tucks taken in the waistline. In a rush to get the heavy dress off she had carelessly tossed it to the bed, knocking the silver picture frame from the bedside stand to land in a crash on the stone floor.

“Sebastian loves this picture.” She fished the torn photo from the sharp glass. It had been taken a few months ago by a professional photographer after an interview Sebastian had done with
Rolling Stone
magazine. Scarlet loved the picture, too. It was such a natural pose, with her leaning back into Sebastian’s arms, smiles on their faces and the green backdrop accenting her eyes.

She remembered feeling truly lost that day. Lost in the incredible rush of love and trust she held for Sebastian.

The broken glass had cut the picture down the middle, separating their embrace with a jagged edge.

Scarlet swallowed. “Good thing he doesn’t believe in omens.”

She wondered then, if maybe
she
did. A twinge of guilt surfaced as Vince’s face appeared in her mind. He stood silhouetted in the alleyway, his hair blowing about his face, as he gestured for her to come to him.

“He wants more,” Scarlet whispered and clutched the torn picture to her chest. “I should never have followed him.”