Blood Life Read online

  “No,” she said, soaking the wine up with the handkerchief, “but I don’t think this handkerchief will ever be the same.”

  “I don’t mind. Keep it.” He strolled over to the window, and, although she kept herself busy wiping at the wine, she knew he was watching her through the reflection of the glass. She could feel his eyes again.

  “I do apologize if I have upset you. You must understand that it is not my nature to explain myself to others.” He turned and faced her squarely, locking into her eyes as he walked towards her. “In fact, what I want to tell you will be hard for you to accept and I greatly fear your disapproval. But it is very important and so you must know.” He looked down at the wet spot on her dress. “Is that wine coming out all right?”

  “Oh—” She unlocked her eyes, looking down at the dress, “yeah, it’s black, no one will even notice.” Her heart beat dangerously fast.

  “I’m glad,” he replied, lifting her eyes to his and holding them there. He searched her again and finally saw it. Through her soul mirrors, when he looked deep into their abyss, he saw Alexandria’s spirit and his heart rejoiced.

  Keeping his emotions at bay, and releasing her gaze, he said, “Good. I don’t think that I could tolerate having you stained in my club. It took me a long time to get this place and I would hate to have to tear it down for ruining your exquisite dress.”

  “Tear it down?” she half-laughed.

  “If that is what you wish. You see there are some men who would do anything for love, my sweet Alexandria.” He closed his eyes, tapping his fist on his head.

  “What? Who is Alexandria?” She was confused and surprised about the feeling in her chest, the pang of jealously that struck her deep inside.

  “Oh, but you know, I assure you,” he whispered softly, opening his eyes again to focus on her sitting there, angry, confused and beautiful. “And you know who I am. I should never have to explain anything to you, should I? Do you need to be reminded of who I am? Are you so soon to forget?”

  He sat down near her, his words so upsetting she fought to keep from losing her temper.

  Her head swam; it felt as though it were floating just above her neck, disconnected and threatening to fall at any moment.

  “Forget what?” she managed to force out. “No, I have absolutely no idea what you are talking about. Your name is Roman Demone and you own this nightclub; that is all I know about you!”

  He moved, no, crawled closer to her giving her a look of such desire she couldn’t swallow the lump of anxiety that formed in her throat, suffocating her. She jumped up and started backing up toward the door, shaking her head furiously.

  “Alexandria, my love—” he cooed, opening his arms to her.

  “Why do you keep calling me that?” Tears were streaming down her face.

  “Calling you what?”

  “You know what!” she snapped, slapping at the hands he extended to her. Her eyes widened, growing as big as her face. “You’re crazy!” she cried.

  “I have already considered that, but frankly insanity doesn’t suit me,” he commented, smugly, “nor does this ignorance suit you.”

  He hadn’t meant to be cruel, but something came over him. Perhaps it was the tension of the long-awaited reunion, vampire-style? He did not know for sure, but she was beginning to understand, and she was not leaving him ever again.

  Before she knew to be alarmed, he was painfully pinning her against the office door.

  “In two hundred years my memory has never failed me, never left me. You must remember me, my love.”

  She shivered beneath him. He cocked his head at her.

  “But, if you truly do not see, than I shall give you the memories back!” he boomed as he pressed his fingers against her temples and his thumbs pressed gently over her eyes.

  Alethea collapsed under his grip as the pictures began to invade her mind.

  For an instant, she was hovering above a gleaming white castle, surrounded by the density of a lush forest. Then, with a sudden flash, she witnessed herself with a different face, closed in by maids and imprisoned by those same castle walls.

  Looking out one of the stone portholes, a young dark-haired man stood, watching her, hiding himself on the edge of the thicket. And as he walked out into sight, she instantly recognized Roman’s face.

  There was blood streaming down from his temples over the sides of his face. He was being restrained by two ironclad guards. Snickering by her side stood a man drawing pleasure from Roman’s pain. That’s when she looked down at herself to discover she was dressed in a wedding gown, obviously given to the strange man standing next to her.

  She fought for control, prying her eyes open with all her might. As soon as she saw Roman in front of her, the images flooded again.

  The two of them, wrapped around one another on top of a horse, walking across the thin green lining of a forest floor. She saw him above her and felt him come inside. Could feel him holding her in his arms with such love, the kind of love you cannot explain, but you know you’ve waited all your life to have. She was remembering, all at once, without warning. She did know him and had once loved him deeply, with all she was made of. But what stood before her now seemed only a cold reflection of the images. He was not the same warm man; he was cold to the touch, an animated statue.

  With a frightened push, she shoved him away forcefully, but even then it seemed that he was the one who released her. She remained fixed, contained by one of his lordly stares, a look that seemed to coat his face like hard, gray marble. Though she was free from his hold, the images continued to overwhelm her. The intensity increased and her body became weaker as she slid down against the door in defeat.

  Raising her hands to her head, she closed her eyes tight in a vain attempt to refuse the flashes. Roman continued to stare at her with eyebrows closing in together; a parallel vein ran down the center of his forehead. Rage surfaced at her inability or unwillingness to understand. He stood before her, frozen from emotions.

  Alethea began mumbling, and as the mumbles rose into screams, the visions of Lokee moved in, torturing her.

  A flash of a bathroom. A faint perfume. The woman emerged in a steaming tub with her eyes closed, relaxed and in peace. A slender form invaded her home. She was startled by screams in the next room, jolting herself upright in the tub.

  The intruder made his way into the bathroom, and she looked up into the vengeful face of Lokee, with rich mahogany streaks of blood lashed across his clothes and face. Slowly, his arms rose and extended down towards her squirming body. He placed his hands on both sides of her head and forced her to look at him. She was kicking madly, spilling water from over the tub. With a swift motion, he pulled her from the tub and threw her into the wall behind him. Alethea could feel the woman’s pain, her suffering. Her thoughts of Roman, in the moments she could still think, before hitting that wall with incredible force.

  Alethea panicked, stumbling against the wall, reaching out to strike back at the vision, trying to save the woman, Alexandria . . . her. Alethea called out for someone to help her, this dying, suffering woman.

  Unable to move before he reached her again, Lokee pierced her breasts and stomach with his long, jagged nails. Alexandria screeched in pain as he finally drug her by the hair back into the other room to see the other woman lying with eyes glazed over, drained of life on the floor.

  Alexandria started scratching at him, frantically, anywhere she could reach but he again threw her up against the wall, with twice the force as before. Alethea tasted blood in her mouth. He tugged at Alexandria’s hair to pull her face towards the ceiling as he pierced the skin under her rib cage and picked her up like a ragdoll to toss back into the tub. The water became a pool of gore, a Red Sea, disturbed by turbulence, stained from the blood draining from her near lifeless body. He stole the last breath from her neck as he bit and drank until her heart finally gave up its fight, leaving the world with a single memory of Roman’s face, her beloved, an image to save with he
r soul. Then she was gone. Even when she breathed no more, Lokee decided to drink from her neck, like a fiend, a scavenger in the wild, caring not of poison.

  Alethea’s eyes opened wide to catch a glimpse of Roman leaning over her. Unable to differentiate the images of Lokee from crossing her sight, she started lashing out at Roman, wildly, trying to fend off his approach.

  Scrambling away and grabbing hold of anything in reach, she started blindly throwing things as she tried to pull herself out of the vulnerable position she was in. Sheer terror blessed her with a new pulse of strength, enough to lift herself up, but again her legs gave out and she was flat on the floor.

  Roman looked down at her body and was suddenly hit with the intoxicating aroma of fresh blood. He stepped over her, searching for the outlet of a wound.

  Salivating, his fangs pushed through his gums, razor sharp and ready to assist him in breaking through tough, human skin. Biting back the urge to feed on her, he noticed her back.

  Memories surfaced as he studied the Vampire Mark. It had raised on her back as if pushed out from within. It bled as if fresh!

  He knelt down next to her, willing his fangs back to their resting places. Still not realizing she was back in reality, Alethea fought him again, cursing and crying to be let free.

  The flashes returned. This time they were of Roman and his vow to wait for Alexandria’s reincarnation. She saw him give in to the seductions of a seemingly powerful dark-haired woman with intense sapphire eyes.

  That’s when Alethea started to soften. She realized it was not Roman to fear, but the one who brought about Alexandria’s death, or, her death as Alexandria. Finally, she understood—she was Alexandria: the woman, the victim, the doomed princess of Aqua, in another life, long ago.

  Roman had been her saving grace, not the demon determined to destroy her spirit. Perhaps Roman was her guardian angel. She felt his warmth and love coming through the images and began to relax.

  But what had Roman become? How did he stand before her now?

  The images let up; they became softer and quieter. The hatred and fear drowned and Roman helped to surface a new feeling, one of trust and love.

  Curiosity.

  In all logic, from what she had just experienced, her mind was going to help her piece things together. But she hadn’t really much to work with—she was Alexandria, he was Roman, and this was impossible.

  Twenty Five

  Alethea sat up in the large, soft bed. Roman stood at the window looking out over the streets which were full of people staggering home from the clubs.

  Realizing they were at his house, Alethea cleared her throat delicately to break some of the hollow silence. The best she could do was sit up in bed. She felt exhausted and surreal after having seen her past life in such depth and vivid detail.

  Roman slowly pivoted around to face her with contemplative eyes and pale, poreless skin. He shot Alethea a loving glance before walking over to sit on the edge of the bed facing her.

  The room was dim; it looked so much larger when the lights weren’t beaming all around, blinding her. Roman lit a few candles and Alethea appreciated it. She always lit candles when she needed to feel calm and at peace.

  The soft, dancing glow embraced and soothed her. Right then, more than ever, she needed help finding peace. The candles would do the trick, they always did.

  She stared at Roman, careful to keep her look supple, and waited patiently for him to begin.

  Her feelings were unstable, going back and forth the longer she sat in silence. He waited patiently, looking as if he needed a moment to collect his own thoughts.

  Alethea moved herself gently to the edge of the bed and stood up. The only way she’d feel stronger is if she moved around, so she decided to go to the kitchen and make herself some tea or perhaps coffee.

  Once she reached the kitchen, she pinched herself to make sure it wasn’t all a twisted dream. Finding chamomile tea inside a cabinet, she sighed with pleasure, reaching over to the kettle to fill it with fresh water.

  “Let me make it for you.”

  She turned to face Roman who stood in the doorway with a smile. Returning his smile, shyly, she nodded and walked over to lean on the counter opposite him. She studied him as he moved around the room swiftly, expertly. When he handed her the steeping cup of tea, she eyeballed the brandy sitting on the counter next to her.

  “You can spike your tea if you want to,” Roman suggested. “It might take the edge off.”

  Ignoring his comment, she opened the bottle and swigged from it. Roman watched her, very interested in her behavior, not making a move to stop her.

  Twenty Six

  Alethea jumped up on the tall bed, refreshed and fully awake. She squeezed the last bit of herb out of her teabag with a spoon against the side of the cup and sat back comfortably in bed. Now she felt determined to get the conversation going, being a little tipsy from the brandy she so generously helped herself to. Her thoughts were in order . . . sort of.

  “All this nonsense to ask me something? Please, Roman, if you wanted to take me out, this is definitely not the way to go about it. And let me tell you something else,” she was waving her right forefinger in the air at him, refusing to meet his eyes, “I probably wouldn’t go out with you after the way you behaved unless—”

  Roman laughed at her, absolutely in hysterics!

  “What?” She was on the verge of throwing her hot cup of tea at him when he caught her arms and settled her down.

  He looked into her wary eyes, forcing her to look into his, and stopped laughing.

  “Alethea, you know that isn’t what this is about. I don’t want to ask you out. I don’t want to scare or harm you either.”

  “I don’t follow,” she said slowly, captured again in his delicate stare.

  “You are the woman I loved long ago, reborn into this world.” He hesitated, watching her reaction, listening to her mind. “I have been waiting for you a very, very long time.” He hesitated again, deep in thought. “Alethea, you would never have experienced the induced memories if you were not Alexandria. Neither would The Mark have surfaced on your back. That is how I am certain you are who I think you are. Does that help clear up the confusion a little?” He waited for her to respond, letting his words seep into her, hopefully easing her resistance.

  She unlocked eyes again and turned away. “Please, this has got to be the most ridiculous thing that has ever happened to me. What is your problem, Roman? You don’t know me; I have never laid eyes on you in my life, okay?”

  She knew, even as she spoke, she knew the truth. She wasn’t convincing anyone otherwise, namely herself. “As for the stupid marks on my back, ever heard of birthmarks?”

  His eyes widened. “Yes, as a matter of fact I have.”

  She looked at him, trying to decide why he looked so smug about it.

  “Birthmarks,” he explained, moving in closer to her face, “are actually marks laid upon you, battle scars, so to speak, though not always from a painful event, from previous lifetimes. They serve as reminders to the soul of where you’ve been, of what you have accomplished, and thus, where you must go.”

  She shook her head ignorantly, not quite sure of why she was fighting him. She laughed, shakily, convincing herself his words were fiction, but having nothing to base anything she was thinking on—except fear.

  What scared her the most was that she did believe it—every word. She was simply too terrified to admit it. It was horrifying to think any of it was real, to believe honestly in living another lifetime, and especially being revisited by a lost lover who had anxiously awaited her return. It was a huge burden—they were big shoes to fill!

  Roman pressed on. “It is natural for you to be reluctant and afraid like this, to deny it and wish you could understand fully.”

  She moved her eyes to his and nodded weakly.

  “You will come to understand, I promise, but what will come later, I cannot yet tell.”

  Alethea got up from bed agai
n, unsure of where she intended to go, or what she intended to do, but brandy always made her irrational—another thing she had trouble admitting.

  Moving in the direction of the kitchen, she was halted by strong arms wrapping around her body and soft lips caressing her neck. She arched her back in utter submission, letting the feel of his silken lips still the remaining resentment in her heart.

  She turned around in his embrace to face him. She moved in for a kiss, but surprising herself, she pushed him away and covered her mouth.

  “Look, I-I’m sorry! I don’t know why I did that. Please,” she fumbled with the closest door, but it refused to open.

  “Don’t apologize,” he reassured her. “Sit down on the bed; I’ll get the brandy for you. Or, why don’t you drink your tea?”

  “No. I’ll get the brandy, really.” She couldn’t open the door, so she started slapping at it in defeat. The room spun mercilessly, sending her down to her knees.

  “Well,” he said, “the brandy is all the way in the kitchen, and it doesn’t look like you’re going anywhere.”

  She grumbled from the ground, resting her back against the wall.

  “Please, my darling, don’t fight me. Don’t fight this,” he cooed.

  She felt herself flush as blood rushed wildly through her veins. Little black dots appeared in her vision—she was going to faint. She crawled on the floor over to the couch and steadied herself against it.

  Roman watched her with unconditional love. He admired her courage and strength. She couldn’t understand why; she must have looked like a drunk in her stupor.

  She scooted over slightly to get clear enough from him so that she could bolt to the bathroom if she needed to get away from him and lock the door. She knew the front door wasn’t an option with his persistence that she stay with him until he has explained everything clearly to her. But, the bathroom, he would have to let her go there.