Dark Rapture (50 page)

The glass lay glimmering in the candlelight, its flash catching Scarlet’s eye. She leaned to the side and found her silvery reflection frowning up at her.

“What are you afraid of?” she asked her silent double. “Becoming the true vampire Vince speaks of?”

Maybe he was right. Was Sebastian really the monster and Vince a true representative of her species?

“There is more. Adriano had powers. Though how Esmarelda is going to keep him away for two nights…” she whispered as she ran her finger along the edge of the glass, erasing her reflection. The sharp edge cut slowly, opening flesh to release a brilliant red stream that quickly ran down to her wrist.

Scarlet rubbed the slippery elixir between her fingers. This precious liquid, so abundant in its supply, was her life. It nourished and maintained, satisfied and satiated. Without it there was no life. Everything ceased.

But where were the answers? In the diary, or walking around in the body of a blonde rock singer?

“I will find out,” she said, touching her blood-stained fingers to her mouth.

Chapter Ten

Spain, 13
^th
century

“Insufferable wench! I command you to open this door! I am your lord husband!”

Esmarelda sank back against the bed frame, pulling her legs up to her chest. Her fingers worked nervously with the gauze nightrobe puddled across her toes as she listened to the raging growls from the other side of the door.

The door timbers shook and splintered with each pound of his fist, but they did not give. Thank the Lord for the iron brackets that bound them together.

He was making enough noise to wake the dead. The entire castle could hear him, she was sure. But Esmarelda knew she would get no help from the castle inhabitants. They feared their master’s wrath far more than she did.

It was torturous to sit and listen to Adriano’s burning pleas. He needed her! He needed her blood. Sustenance that was food to him as bread and wine were sustenance to her. And she was starving him!

“Adriano!” Esmarelda crawled forward on her hands and knees. She was still so weak, though after a light meal this evening she had been able to sit up in bed and slide to the edge for the chamber pot.

“I need you! You must not betray your husband!”

Esmarelda reached up and touched the cold iron that supported the thick wooden bar across her door. Could he not command the bar to rise with his mind? She knew that he could. He’d once redirected a falling trestle table so it would not crush her toes. Her husband’s miserable moans entered her blood and chilled it solid.

Do not open the door for any means. No matter what I should say
. Warning words spoken out of love for her.

“Nay.” She slunk back toward the bed. Adriano’s demands were unceasing in her havoced mind. He needed her permission. That was the key. “May the Lord grant me strength. I do this for both of us, dear husband.”

***

Los Angeles, present

Rico picked up the telephone receiver and nodded to Vince as he came in the front door. “I’ll be right there. Go along with Blake and pick up some wine on the way, will you?”

Blake, who stood beneath the Carravaggio in the grandroom, nodded and Vince followed the thin black-clad young man.

Black seemed to be the dress code around here. Blake’s gleaming hair blended into the black velvet coat he wore, catching like blue fire in glints of candle glow as he followed him down the hallway.

“Rowdy went down to the wine cellar earlier,” Blake called back. “Grabbed a couple bottles of the good stuff. Rico’s own private label. So you like redheads?” He peered back over his shoulder to gauge Vince’s reaction.

“As long as they’re halfway good looking and don’t talk much, I do.”

Blake snickered. “I like you, man. We think the same. Women should be seen and touched, but never heard. So what do you think of Rico?”

They passed the studio and stopped by another door just down the hall. Blake stared out of eyes lined in black pencil.

“He’s cool.” Vince leant against the door, thinking the black eyeliner was a nice touch, it made the man’s deep brown eyes bigger and a bit sinister and took attention away from his wide nose. “You can’t imagine what it’s like to finally find friends who understand me. I never thought I’d find another vampire let alone a whole family of them. Rico tells me you’re trying to put a band together? What kind of music do you play?”

Blake shrugged and shoved his hands in his pants pockets. “Gothic rock with a touch of Emo. Sensual, evil, trance-like stuff. Kind of on the lines of Crypt Whisper and Nightfall. Like the stuff you hear at the Decadence. But we could use a singer. I’d never venture to attempt singing. I’ll stick with the bass.”

“I’d like to hear you guys play. Maybe I could jam with you. What do you call yourselves?”

“We’re still vacillating on that. I like One Blood and Bone Dance. Rico thinks we should call ourselves Wicked Angel, which is cool, too. What do you think?”

Vince stuck his thumbs in his pants pockets. “I’m partial to Wicked Angel, myself. Rico’s whole theory on the vampire is pretty wild, but it sorta grows on you after a while.”

“Yeah, that’s probably what we’ll end up with. But we do have one rule.”

“No mortals?” Vince guessed.

“You got it.” Blake fished a key out of his pocket and shoved it in the doorknob.

“Were you a vampire when Rico met you?” Vince leant against the wall, pressing the back of his head against it. Directly across from him hung a metallic blue angel, this one the modern poster version once used for a Led Zeppelin concert.

“No, Rico transformed me about a month after we met, which was over a decade ago. I don’t regret it for a minute.” Blake jerked a nod toward the grand room. “Hell, look at Rico, he hasn’t aged in over two centuries, he’s rich, and he can have any woman he wants anytime. Not that he does…but what more could I ask for except knowing this will last forever. Immortality! It’s great.”

“Yeah.” Vince toed a seam between the red-stone tiles of the floor.

“You ready for a little decadence, Vince?” Rico, seeming to appear from nowhere, joined the men and opened the door.

“Lead the way, man.”

Blake filed ahead of Rico and Vince followed, stunned at what lay before him. The opulence of the mansion was nothing compared to this room. The walls were lined from floor to ceiling with red-striped satin and billowing sheers of black. All the metal work and tables were edged in ornate gold which lended a rococo flair. Divans and plump sofas of red and black velvet surrounded the room on two sides, leaving the other two sides for the stereo equipment. One complete wall boasted shiny black equipment: stereos, big-screened TV, VCR’s and computers. It was Ali-Baba’s harem meets cyberpunk as red neon slashes flickered above the electrical complex and the candelabras simmered quietly upon the flesh of four very lovely women perched upon the sofas.

“You like it?” Rico draped an arm over a giggling woman who was noticeably drunk as she swayed against him. “Blake is my technical consultant. He helped me choose all the electronics, since I myself, have no patience for such advanced gadgetry.”

Vince accepted a glass of wine from a smiling redhead whose eyes danced merrily as she ran her tongue teasingly across her bottom lip. She trailed a finger along his arm and he pulled her closer.

“This is incredible, Rico.” Vince sipped the wine and scanned the room again, seeing in the corner another man who sat with a woman on his lap. “In-fucking-credible.”

Rico raised his glass, prompting the others to do so. “A toast! To the newest member of the family. Vince Lyons!”

“To Vince!” Blake repeated.

Rowdy, the man in the corner, slugged his wine down in one gulp, tossed a head of tight brown curls over his shoulder, and focused his attention on the cooing woman in his arms who was naked to the waist but not a bit prudish. “Welcome to our nightmare, Vince.” An evil grin slipped across his face as he bent to lick the woman’s breasts. “You’re quite the singer from what I’ve heard.”

“Thanks, man. You play in Blake’s band, too?”

Rowdy shrugged and squeezed a handful of flesh, causing the woman to moan and squirm closer to him. “Hell no, I’ve got my hands too full of other things.”

“Our resident Casanova,” Rico said with a wry smile and a quick bow to Rowdy.

“A little mood music perhaps?” Blake jumped over to the stereo and inserted Crypt Whisper’s CD. Moaning guitars and haunting lyrics filled the room.

“Sit.” Rico pointed to the red divan and his woman obediently sat. She offered her hand and Rico sat next to her, pushing her hair from her neck and burrowing against her flesh amidst a shudder of delicate giggles.

Vince stood in amazement as he sipped the wine and absently fingered the ends of the redhead’s hair. The wine was smooth and cold. The fragrance of deep black grapes burst from the glass; it was impossible to think it was anything less than the god’s mead.

With encouragement from his partner, he relaxed into the overstuffed couch behind him, finding the red head had no mind to detach herself from him. In fact, she had already unbuttoned his shirt and her warm tongue now played across his chest, finding the few blonde hairs that circled his nipples.

Slipping his fingers into her hair, Vince relaxed and closed his eyes. The thunder of drums pounded inside his veins as the music drowned out the visual opulence and the shimmering effects the wine was having, and it shrouded the exaggerated moans that emanated from Rowdy’s chair.

The chick in Vince’s arms smelled of musk and cigarette smoke. She wasn’t Scarlet, but right now he couldn’t complain.

He slugged the rest of his wine down and pressed against the back of the girl’s head, prompting her to nip at his nipples.

“Vince.”

Vince peeked out of one eye.

Rico had removed his coat and sat like a king on his throne. His slave girl bent to her knees and pressed her palm to the swell rising in the crotch of his black velvet pants. But he caught her wrist in a movement so fast Vince flinched.

“Now,” Rico said to Vince. “For your initiation. Get the lights, will you?” He nodded toward the door.

With a strange sense of what was to come, Vince swallowed and stood, bringing the redhead with him as she continued to grope and kiss him on his chest and neck. Something simmered inside. He was nervous. He had never employed the methods used for obtaining the rush Rico had raved about. To kill in fear.

With a flick of Rico’s hand the neon flashed out, leaving only two black tapers glowing on the wall above the couch where Vince had been sitting. He set his empty wine glass on a gold-trimmed table and clutched the redhead, pushing his palm through her hair until he found the pulse pounding sluggishly on her neck.

He wondered what her name was but then figured it wouldn’t be such a good idea to know. He never learned his victim’s names. It kept things much simpler. She had no idea what was to come. She didn’t know she would not leave this room alive tonight. As far as he was concerned, her name was supper.

“Kiss me,” she pleaded. Vince did, though his attention remained focused on Rico.

Blake looked up from the arms of his lady, his dark, penciled eyes flashing like a cougar peering out from jungle cover. The perfumed panther. He too looked to Rico, awaiting the master’s command. Rowdy paid no attention as he stripped the woman in his arms of her dress, though Vince was sure he was also waiting for a signal of sorts because he had yet to partake of her blood.

“Remember, Vince…” Rico lifted the woman’s head from his lap and smoothed his thumb over her parted lips, producing a whimper of desire from her. “Fear.”

The jewel-eyed vampire turned back to his supplicant, pressing both palms to her cheeks. “Look at me,” he whispered and all female eyes, including Vince’s redhead, turned, mesmerized by Rico’s regal actions. Rico cooed and whispered softly, hypnotizing all into his web of dark seduction.

Vince’s heart pounded madly. He pushed away a webbing of red hair that glowed like savage fire in the candlelight. From his vantage point he could see the girl kneeling before Rico begin a silent scream as Rico’s long daggers appeared before her, slashing through his lower lip, dripping thick droplets of blood onto her bare legs.

Clutching his captive’s wrists tightly, Rico turned to Vince, winked, and then pulled the girl up, sinking his weapons deep into her neck. The woman in Blake’s arms screamed but he was too quick. He pushed her to the floor and began the kill.

Vince tensed. His girl pulled away from him in a fever of high-pitched screams. For a moment he could only stand and watch as she turned from him to Rico and then to Blake, watching as her friends were devoured before her. The music was lost in her hysteric yells, blending into a tribal wail of guitars and female terror.

Vince jerked her around by the wrist and she looked to him with wide, tear-stained eyes, her screams silencing, as if to plead for mercy.

“No,” she whispered, shaking her head.

Her state of heightened fear flushed her cheeks to an appealing blush. She pulled away from Vince, ripping the material, but he was able to grab her hair and fling her to the wall behind him. He pinned her wrists up near her head as her screams pierced his ears. She kicked out, catching the toe of her shoe on his knee, but Vince pushed it away and slammed his body against hers, immobilizing her struggles.

Eager to silence her manic screams and journey deeper into the dark side, Vince bit through tangles of red hair, opening the vein into his mouth. He lost himself in the taste of hot life that he had come to crave, savoring and swallowing the adrenaline-laced crimson fountain that sprung forward against the roof of his mouth.

Her heart burst sooner than he expected. Thick gushers of lifeblood seeped down his chin and dripped onto his white shirt. The swoon took control and the woman slumped to the floor as Vince reeled backward, lost in unholy rapture.

The red satin stripes on the walls blurred into dancing sticks and the candle flames flashed vigorously. A distant humming grew sharp in Vince’s head, bringing a drunken smile to his lips and a bone-dead tingling to his extremities. His legs buckled and he sank to the floor, hitting the couch with his back. He sat there in the throes of drugged ecstasy, his head spinning and the smile on his face growing, as all sensations numbed and then immediately became extreme.