The Feelings in the Blood

3 Sebastian

Sebastian POV

I did it. I had been resisting for months, but I finally snapped.

I drank her blood.

The urge has been digging under my skin like a festering splinter for months, and it finally got to be too much for me. When I heard her say another man’s name, I couldn’t stop myself. I want to claim her; make her a part of me. Forever.

She. Is. Mine.

She has always been mine. I thought she was my property, but the feelings I drank through her blood that spilled from the wound I inflicted on the back of her neck screamed at me that she was anything but.

She hated me. I tasted it. The bitterness of her hate and scorn could never quench the thirst I had for her. The thirst I had been fighting for so, so long.

I hurt her. In my drive to possess her, I accomplished nothing but to gain her endless hate.

No radiance of love lingered for me inside her. Nothing to suggest she held me in her heart.

She hates me, and I have only myself to blame.

I watched the sun rise from the window. I’ve been staring vacantly out of it for hours. A dump truck is disappearing in the distance, down the long, winding road that leads out of the city and towards the suburban area near the borders of district 2. My world feels like it is falling apart, but mundane tasks like taking out the garbage are still happening in the world outside these walls.

Inside, my world feels as if it is coming to an end.

I should go to her. I didn’t even check on her after I gained my composure and quit drinking from her neck. She could be changing for all I know. She could be changing to become like me. That thought unsettles me, knowing that if she does, I can never taste affection in her blood again. Now that I have tasted her hate, I long to drink from her and taste love in her blood too. I can only imagine how much sweeter it will be now that she is a woman, mature and sexier than the teenage version of her I left behind.

My mother always told me that drinking directly from a human was dangerous, for both myself and the human. With my pure vampire genes, I have the ability to change a human with my venom. I could take away a person’s humanity if I wasn’t careful. I have always drunk from blood bags like almost all other vampires for this very reason. I do not wish to have any sires of my own.

Being a sire to a vampire is like a blood contract that can only be broken with death. You change the human into a vampire, but they are forever tied to you, depending on your essence to help them stay sane during the first years of their transformation.

For a vampire drinking human blood, the danger lies in the blood flowing pure and full of life itself. You taste not just their blood, but the emotions filtering through their body with it. I could taste every ounce of Mariana’s disdain for me. I could taste that there was no respect or reverence in her for me or my rule. I tasted her blood once before, before our parents died, back when we were young and happy, being together in every way despite our different races, and flourishing in our mutual love. The night she and I shared together, the first night that either of us shed our innocence, she let me taste her. Not the conventional way, as not to face the dangers of letting my venom enter her body, but when my nails accidentally tore into her skin on her silky smooth shoulder, gripping her tightly in my arms in the throes of our passion, I licked clean the wound, and I could taste it; her affection for me.

That is long gone now, along with the memory I took from her of that night we shared together. I was scared of what she might do once I left this mansion. I thought she would try to come for me, following me to my cousin and uncle’s district far away, where humans were treated poorly, like pigs before the slaughter. I took every intimate memory of us together, leaving only the ones of us as friends. It was safer for her like that. Her personality was always defiant and fierce. She would have gotten herself killed.

Yes, I changed while I was away. Those ten years we spent apart were like a refinement for my mind. I saw the world as it truly was.

I am the monster, she is the prey. For us to thrive, I need her obedience and fear, not her friendship. I wanted her heart, but I needed to keep her at a safe distance. My cousin was already out to get her. My uncle had threatened to come and take the territory back from me since I was not yet 27, the legal age for a vampire Lord to begin his rule. He has no jurisdiction to do so, but I still fear for my land if he turns this into a territory dispute.

I did what I had to do, I kept telling myself. I may be acting cruel, but it’s what is best for Mariana and everyone else living in this mansion. Everyone in the district will suffer if I can’t convince Charlene that I am ready to rule as her father sees fit. Charlene is testing me in every way, trying to find every excuse to extend her stay here. I need to stay firm and remain cruel until she does leave. It's the only way to keep them safe.

I didn’t have to hurt Mariana like that, though.

I can’t believe I let my anger get the best of me as it did. When she said his name, the man I had been shown evidence of her having relations with in the past, my aim meant for the chair slipped, and I hit her instead.

Her blood, as it perfumed the room, called to me, making me recall the past and the passion we once shared. My mouth was on her skin, lapping at the blood dripping down as my bloodlust clouded my reason, and my extended fangs pierced her skin before I could stop them. The satisfaction of tasting her again was short-lived as her feelings in her blood choked me, making me feel like I was drinking pure hatred from her veins.

Bruce was in the room, pulling me off her when I regained my cognition. I would have, under normal circumstances, punished such an offense, touching me freely the way he was, but with Mariana bleeding out unconsciously before me, I couldn’t do anything. I sat in stunned silence as he worked over her limp body, eventually excusing himself as he carried her out.

Now here I am, hours later, agonizing over what to do while staring out of this damned window, light now shining brightly at me and making me squint. Do I apologize? No. A master and Lord should never apologize to their servant. That was a hard lesson taught to me by my uncle. It is always the servant’s fault when an incident like this happens. Apologizing is beneath me….

But I hurt her. I need to see if she is okay. I need to be sure that she is alive. What if her head injury was worse than I thought and she is barely hanging onto her life right now?

I need to check on her. I can’t lose her. Not like this. Not when she doesn’t have any pleasant memories of what we once were.

I hurried out of my room, striding through the mazes of hallways to get to the servant’s quarters on the basement level. Before my return, the servants all had rooms on the first floor in the east wing. Now, they share spaces in the basement, thanks to my cousin’s meddling. She pointed out that my parents were too gracious with their treatment of the humans serving the mansion. They were left alone to run the mansion as they saw fit for nearly 10 years. I couldn’t defy my cousin right away, so I went along with what she said. When I turn 27 in a year and my uncle has no right to challenge my title and right to rule, I will compensate the human servants for their struggles. Until then, they will have to learn to cope as I did.

When I get down to the rooms, I find the room Mariana shares with another young maid empty. Not just empty in terms of them not being there, their clothes and belongings are missing too. It’s a bare room with just a cot and a shelf for belongings, both are bare on either side.

I looked into the other rooms, and all of them had belongings scattered about. Many of the rooms are empty of their inhabitants now, the servants getting to work for the day already. I pray that I walked into the wrong room and Mariana just switched into a different one. She is probably fine, just getting to work like the rest of them.

The humans hang their heads, muttering morning greetings which I ignored. My anxiety is getting the best of me, not allowing me to focus on anything else.

I searched the entire manor, never finding Mariana anywhere. I stop and use my hearing, and I can’t pick up her voice anywhere either. When I walked into the kitchen, I saw Bruce, which made me feel a little relieved. He is the one who took off with her. He will know where to find her.

“Good morning, Lord Ettoreheart. How can I be of service to you?” Bruce bowed, waiting for my command.

“Mariana,” I sneered, “Where is she? Where did you take her?”

He grimaces, and if I didn’t have my superior vision I would have missed the action. I narrowed my eyes on him, instantly suspicious.

“I took her to her room, Lord Ettoreheart.”

“She wasn’t there,” I snapped, feeling ticked off by his obvious attempt at avoiding answering my question. If I had remembered to grab my cane, I would have struck out at him for his insubordination. He is hiding something. I can feel it. I sense it in the air.

“Strange, sir,” he says, still staring at the ground.

I take a step towards him, tasting the fear in his breath as it mixes in the air between us. “Mariana. Tell me where she is or I will find your daughter and ask her.”

I expected his fear to spike, his protectiveness towards his daughter overriding his protectiveness of Mariana, but his emotions and expression remained unchanged.

“Human,” I spit the word out like it’s an insult, “Where is your daughter?”

His silence doesn’t change, but his fear does. The small spike is all I need to know that something isn’t right. This man knows where my Mariana is and I imagine wherever she is, his daughter is as well.

“I won’t ask you again.”

He presses his lips together, sweat beading on his balding head. “They left, sir.”

“THEY LEFT?” I roared, “WHAT DO YOU MEAN THEY LEFT?!” How could they leave? How could Mariana leave? I have the mansion under constant surveillance, someone watching the grounds at all times. She couldn’t have just left. Someone should have come to warn me.

“They have no contract here, Lord Ettoreheart. They were free women. They chose to leave to seek work elsewhere. She did not wish to anger you any further, sir.”

She didn’t want to anger me, so she left? That is like saying she was hungry so she threw away a meal, or that she was cold, so she stripped naked. The thought of her naked, potentially with someone else now that she is out of my domain, makes my anger spike again.

I have Bruce by the neck, holding him above me as he struggles for air. I didn’t even realize I had lashed out, my fury so thick, making it hard to think clearly.

He could be the key to finding her. He is that other girl’s father. She will try to get him out one day, I’m sure. Mariana isn’t the type to just run away. Not when someone she cares about is left behind. This man is like a father to her, filling that void that her parents’ death left.

My void was filled with mayhem and strife, being fed hatred of humans constantly like it was a life-giving sustenance from my maddened uncle and power-hungry cousin. Mariana was still given endless love, by this very man I have hanging by his throat.

I slowly lower him back to the ground, my grip easing up slightly so he can suck in air. “I want her back. Your daughter, I care nothing for, but Mariana was mine. I want her back, and you will inform me if you hear from either of them,” my eyes swim with the power of persuasion, forcing my will over the old man, “Any word from them at all, you tell me.”

“Yes,” he murmurs roughly, his pupils swimming with the power of my command overpowering his will. “I will tell you, Lord Ettoreheart.”

He won’t be able to defy me. This is a power that was forbidden from being used on humans by my parents, but they are no longer here, thanks to Mariana’s father and mother and their blunders at keeping their Lord and Lady safe from harm. She owes me. She owes me her life in place of theirs, and I will not let her go.

I threw the old man to the ground, then turned, exiting the kitchen, quickly moving to the control room at the end of the east wing. I open the door loudly, the wood slamming against the wall and recoiling back, which just fuels my anger, having to open it again. I rip the questioning sire of my late grandfather who is sitting at the main desk from his seat, throwing him to the ground as I scan the camera screens, hoping to find some clue as to where she went. There are hours of recordings since I last saw her in my study the night before; 12 hours to go through from 20 different cameras.

I assigned 2 sires to go over the camera recordings that are least likely to contain any clues as to how she got out. I could have pressed Bruce more, but if I influenced his brain any further so soon, it could have broken him, making him entirely useless to me. I need him to be able to answer calls from them if they were to come in. If this doesn’t work, I will put him in the dungeon and torture the information out of him. I hope it doesn’t come to that. Mariana will likely never forgive such an act, and then I really will never feel her love for me again.

I sat there for hours. Hours and hours of combing through recordings. Charlene bursts into the room sometime around noon, demanding to know what I am doing. I missed breakfast with her, and now I am missing lunch. She was beyond upset.

“Sebastian!” She squawks in her irritating voice. Mariana used to say that she sounded like a dying parrot, and times like this, when she is angry for no just reason, I can’t help but to agree. “I’ve been calling for you! Lunch is growing cold.”

“I’m busy,” I mutter, “Eat without me.”

“Busy with what?” She huffs, coming behind me to peer over my shoulder.

“I’m looking at surveillance footage. Nothing for you to be concerned about.”

I don't want to be disturbed or to reveal that Mariana got away from me. Charlene hates Mariana, and always said that the woman was a filthy w***e. She claimed that Mariana had no devotion to this house and that I should make an example out of her.

This will prove her right, which I don’t want. My pride can’t take her thinking she’s right.

“I see that, but what are you looking for?” She drags her pointed, fire-red nail down the back of my neck, making me feel disgusted. I hate her familiar touch. She is my cousin and 15 years older than me. I used to think she was just doting on me, her baby cousin, like an elder sister would. After nearly 10 years of living with her, I can see now that she has a much more vile intention with her small touches and possessive nature. Taking a cousin as a lover or spouse was once a regular practice in the vampiric hierarchy, but that ended nearly a century ago. I refuse to acknowledge or feed into her fantasy of becoming the lady of this district.

I growled menacingly, my frustration getting the best of me. “Out,” I snarled. “This is no concern of yours. I will see you at dinner.”

She drops her hand, huffing furiously. I’m momentarily glad that Mariana isn’t here. Charlene would antagonize her when she was in this type of mood because of my rejection. Once Charlene is out, I’m back to anxiously searching for my Mariana in the cameras, no longer feeling any relief that she is gone.

After about another hour, one of the sires calls out to me frantically, pointing to something on his screen.

I jumped up, hurrying to peer over his shoulder. The screen is paused on an image of Bruce wheeling one of the trash cans from the kitchen to the dumpster. Not an uncommon occurrence. This morning was the garage pick-up day.

Wait.

This morning, the garbage truck disappeared into the distance outside my window as I stared, thinking about how to change Mariana’s feelings towards me. It couldn’t be…..

I press play, watching as Bruce wheels the trash can to the side of the dumpster, but never lifting it to empty it. He just leaves it and shuts the wooden gate to block the camera’s view. He goes back inside and wheels out another trash can, then does the same, leaving it by the dumpster, pulling the other trash can from where he left it inside to wheel back in. He never emptied either can. Just left one there, now leaving the other while he takes the other back in.

Right before he shuts the gate again, I see her; a brief sweep of dark brunette hair appears from the side of the dumpster, her hands extending out to lift the second can’s lid.

He helped them. That bastard butler helped Mariana escape.

“Get him. Throw him in a cell until I can decide how to deal with him,” I told the sires. If I were to get him right now, I just might kill him. How dare he help her get away from me? He knows. All the old staff know that she is mine. She was the only one unaware of it.

She’s gone. She really left me. Her hate for me outweighed her love of this mansion and all the memories left in it of her parents, her friends, and most of all, the memories of what we once were. She doesn’t remember us the way I do. That is still no excuse. She was mine, and she left.

I watch the rest of the recording at regular time speed as the trash truck comes, lifting the dumpster and dumping its contents in the bed. She and her friend are not in the dumpster, but as the truck pulls away, I see them. I see her long brown hair blowing in the wind from the compressor bed behind, and her friend's blonde hair peeking up beside hers. He didn’t crush the trash. The man must have known they were back there. He left them to rest comfortably in the filth in the back.

I made a mental note to find the man, making him pay as well for taking from me something that was clearly mine.

Mariana. My Mariana. I will find you, and once I do, I will make sure you can never leave me again.