"S, bella mia," he whispered. His tongue reached for her ear, licking around the rim in a slow caress, as he urged her to remember their past. "Yes, remember...."

Chapter Six.

Two years earlier...

A cold breeze whipped against Tatiana's skin and she shivered. When she opened her eyes she was in the dark, standing before the old cottage in the forest near Eastwich Manor. It felt familiar and real, though she knew it was a vision of the past, a memory she couldn't fully remember making.

A soft light fell over the ground, over what had been her favorite pale green gown. Lady Cottley had just thrown a dinnera la russe . It had been a delightful evening, the last she could remember having. Looking down, she noticed that a lamp was in her hands. Tatiana frowned, retracing her steps, trying to remember how she got to the forest. Henry had come to her. He was covered in mud and was very upset. He brought her to the forest.

"What a mess," she heard Marcello whisper behind her. Her ears strained for more--leaves rustled softly, the wind whined a lonely song. All was quiet.

Tatiana turned in a daze to look at Marcello. His body was tall, stately, bored. His face was calm as he stared past her. It was as if he didn't see her standing next to him. She followed his piercing eyes back to the cottage. Already, she knew what she would find when she stepped into the door frame. She didn't want to look, didn't want to remember it. She wanted Alice to be alive.

Tatiana couldn't control her feet as they stepped forward. Her arm lifted with the lamp. She gasped to see Alice's corpse, the grotesqueness of her bashed face, her missing eye. The maid's blonde ringlets were covered in blood and gore.

Henry? Why?

It was her voice that had said the words. She looked around, but the memory was whispered in the wind and she couldn't find her past self. Henry had led her there to the cottage to clean up his mess. Marcello hadn't lied. Henry did indeed kill Alice.

How could she have forgotten that?

Tatiana froze and waited. She wanted to cry out. She didn't want to relive this, not now, not ever. She shook. A blackness had consumed her that night, as she stared at Alice's corpse. An energy had flowed into her body, making her powerful and numb.

It hit her again now, full force. She knew that was the moment her change started. She could feel the intensity of it within her body.

Suddenly, the memories came back to her in a rush. To her shame, Tatiana realized she'd done what Henry asked of her. She felt herself picking up the pieces of the woman who'd been her lifelong friend.

Tatiana didn't cry for Alice as she numbly did her task. But, she wasn't alone. Marcello was with her, whispering to her, giving her instructions, helping her hide the body. It was Marcello who dug the grave for Alice and Marcello who lifted the corpse down into it. She'd barely seen him that night in the darkness, but she'd been thankful for his help, his morbid skills, his quiet presence.

The strange energy that grew in her body had fed off of him, leaching his strength until she could feel him in her blood. It was her body that called out to him, her power that mesmerized him to her, not the other way around. That night, he had been her slave, doing her bidding.

Tatiana felt her lungs panting for air. She'd been on fire, watching his strong body move in the dim lamplight as they went about their grim task. Her hands itched to touch him. Her flesh felt like it was pierced with the sharp sensations of p.r.i.c.kling needles. Even as she found herself fascinated with Marcello, she'd been sorrowful over Alice's death. In a voice that was shaky, she tried to say something as Marcello pushed dirt over the maid's body.

"Alice," Tatiana heard her voice whisper. Her lips moved, but she couldn't control the words. "I would that you came back to me."

Tatiana was shocked. It was a horrible eulogy for a woman she'd loved as a sister. How could she have said so little?

"What else would you have of me,bella mia ?" Marcello asked. His tight body came to her, covered in a light sprinkling of dirt.

She controlled him, but barely. She could feel the constrained presence of a beast beneath his skin. He was fighting her will, angry at her control. Tatiana held strong.

Marcello's eyes followed hers down over his large frame clad in black and she could sense that he was annoyed by his dirty clothes. He hated the fact that she made him dig the grave. He wanted to strike out at her in anger, but her will kept him from moving.

Tatiana looked at her gown. It was ruined, torn and covered with Alice's blood. A strand of blonde hair clung to the mess and she shivered, growing weak.

"Come," Marcello urged softly. He touched her cheek, drawing her forward to his chest. The voice was gentle, persuasive, and she found she wasn't scared to be in his embrace. Her body thrived on his nearness, strained for it. "Let us wash this unpleasant night from our bodies."

Tatiana was confused. She knew she would've never gone with him willingly, but she had. She knew that she controlled him that night in the past as much as he controlled her in the present. The power that built inside her wasn't of his influence.

Suddenly, she felt her mother. The stories that she'd been told since girlhood came back to her. How could she have forgotten them? Grand bedtime stories of witches and warlocks, told to her by a mother that hushed them like secrets. Tatiana always thought the woman did it to entertain and fascinate her.

A moan of wanton pleasure left her lips as Marcello pulled her close. She'd closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around his strong neck. Knowledge came to her with the power and she understood what her body wanted from him. Her face burrowed into the bend of his neck and she remembered feeling the tickle of his soft hair on her cheek. He smelled of earth, from where he'd dug, and of the wind. He'd lifted her, carrying her easily in his arms as he sped over the countryside.

When she again lifted her head to look, he let her go. They were in the courtyard of Glas...o...b..ry Castle, where he lived. The piles of rocks surrounding the castle made strange images in the dim moonlight. The garden flowers were in bloom and they perfumed the air. Taking her hand in his, Marcello led her into the castle. She didn't fight him, didn't try to pull away. She'd wanted to be with him.

The air inside was stale and unmoving. Cobwebs hung from the ceiling, dancing eerily amongst the rafters, as they stirred to the presence of those who entered. There were no servants in the Count's home, no sounds of life.

The castle was nothing like she'd pictured seeing it from the outside. Outside, it looked to be in decent repair. Inside, it showed nothing but the influence of time and neglect. The front hall was empty. There were signs of renovations, though the project had been abandoned long ago and never completed. The marble floor was cracked, as was the large fireplace. The walls were bare.

"This way,bella ," Marcello said softly, drawing her attention away from the hall.

Tatiana followed him without question and with a vague sense of excitement, as he led her up an old stone stairwell. It too was broken and chipped. As they neared the top, she noticed that a light glowed from above. The orange framed Marcello's body in stark relief, dancing and licking the walls with the reflection of fire. Without knowing what possessed her, her hands lifted to touch his back. She ran her fingers over his dusty overcoat.

Marcello stiffened at her daring touch. He paused at the top of the stairwell as her fingers met his shoulders only to turn back down. Tatiana's breathing deepened. It might be a memory, but she could feel him on her hands, as if he was before her, and he was exquisite.

"Bathe me," a voice demanded from her throat. It sounded like her, a low, seductress version of her.

A groan left Marcello. Before Tatiana knew what happened, she was in a room before a blazing fireplace. Marcello's chilled hands were on her body, undressing her. She stood very still for him, letting him touch her skin, begging him to with her eyes, commanding him with her mind. His fingers peeled back her corset and she took a deep breath, filling her lungs with air.

"La tua pelle e' come seta, bella mia," he whispered. She liked the way his lips formed the words, moving over his fangs.

She'd heard that phrase endlessly in her dreams of him. "Your skin is like silk."

Tatiana liked the way his eyes looked at her, longing for her, fighting her hold over him. She was giddy with power. Her body moved by its own will and she stood naked and bold before him in a bath.

Marcello's hand dug beneath her chemise, pulling it up. Fingers ran over her large b.r.e.a.s.t.s, stroking them. He pinched her nipples, causing them to ache with need for him. Tatiana's head fell back and she moaned.

Marcello's tongue flicked over the base of her throat. She instinctively knew what he was--a vampire--and didn't care. Her fingers lifted, touching him, wantonly pulling him to her body. His dark voice whispered seductively to her. She couldn't understand all his words and didn't care. It excited her to hear him speak.

Marcello's hands roamed her, urging the remainder of her clothes from her body. Tatiana realized she was naked before him, that he looked at her. His touch made her ache with longing and need as he groaned his masculine excitement against her.

"Tu sei bellissima," his voice persisted in its lullaby, lingering and soft. The memories of him sped and slowed without reason or warning. Marcello washed her hair, lathered soap against her body, bathing her like she'd commanded him. Fingers covered her mouth and nose as she was lowered beneath the bathwater. She wasn't afraid. She trusted the luring melody of that voice, knew that she could control him and that he couldn't hurt her. "You are very beautiful."

When her head surfaced, Tatiana was no longer in the water. Her skin was dry, warm. Her hair was damp. A stone fireplace burned brightly. The fire crackled, the only noise around her. She felt safe, protected. She wondered why she hadn't bothered to look around while in the tub. All she saw was Marcello and his worshipping hands. The bath was gone. She must've slept for she felt rested.

Tatiana lay on a bed--soft, enveloping. The softness of crimson colored silk brushed against her skin. The mattress was stuffed with the softest of feathers. A sigh left her parted lips as her gaze drifted around her. The room was clean, yet barren. The Count hadn't lived in it long. The poster bed was large and stood in the center of the room, dominating it. A fur rug lined the stone floor. A chair sat in the corner. Its dark cushioned depths appeared very comfortable.

Tatiana was alone and she didn't want to be. Marcello had been touching her and she wanted him to come back to her.

Suddenly, she felt the bed shift though she hadn't moved. She smiled and turned her head to the side.

A pale hand reached for her, lifting to smoothly caress her cheek. A ruby glistened from the ring on his finger. The weight of her tangled, damp hair was lifted from her neck and lips. Tatiana shivered in antic.i.p.ation.

Marcello wore only a black silk robe. She could see his naked, pale chest underneath. She looked at him, unashamed by her own interest in seeing him. She liked that he watched her looking at him. Her breathing deepened and she let him see her desire.

"You beckoned me to you,bella mia ?" he whispered.

Marcello's hand roamed down her neck. Her skin was sensitive to him, feeling and reaching for him. Every whispering caress shot her with desire until she was hot and ready for his claiming. His hand continued down, parting the seam in the silken front of her robe. He smiled a truly wicked smile as his nails grazed the valley between her b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

Tatiana held still, urging him on. His gaze moved to follow the movements of his hand. Slowly, he pulled a breast free.

Already the nipple was hard, waiting for him. He brushed it lightly. Tatiana moaned in delight, wanting him to hear what he did to her. She didn't close her eyes, liking the pleasure on his face as he touched her.

Marcello's face lowered to give her a gentle kiss. His damp hair tickled her skin. His mouth was warm as was his hand. Tatiana knew that he'd recently fed. It didn't repulse her as it should have. Her mouth opened to his, allowing him inside. She didn't stop to think. Didn't know how she knew what to do. She moved on instinct, on the primal knowledge pa.s.sed down to her from her mother's people. She wasn't afraid of pa.s.sion. She embraced it. It was natural. It fed and nourished her body and her powers until she didn't need food or air to survive.

Marcello's tongue ma.s.saged along hers, sucking her gently into his mouth. Tatiana's tongue ran along his fangs, liking the danger they presented. She couldn't stop moaning as she panted for breath. Her fingers did not move to touch his delectable body. This was her game. He was the slave--her slave.