Blood Tears

By Denise K. Rago

Amanda knew she had to track down Christian after he so gallantly saved her from his fellow vampire Gaétan. Having done so, she is now his mortal lover and will not leave his side. But that is exactly what she’ll have to do when Christian decides to return to Paris. He informs her of his plans and leaves the vampire Michel, his most trusted comrade, behind to watch after her in Manhattan. What she doesn’t yet know is she’s carrying a child, and that the father is either Gaétan or Christian. Christian finds Paris rife with secrets, rich secrets including past love affairs that have the power to destroy his life. These secrets had been safely hidden—until now. While Christian is in Paris, word of Amanda’s pregnancy gets out, and she is hunted by a vampire order that believes her child could be the one foretold by a prophecy. Can Christian discover the answers he needs in time to save Amanda? As enticing as her first book, Blood Tears is Denise K. Rago’s latest novel in her ongoing chronicle of the vampire Christian Du Mauré.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Denise K. Rago
• Release date: Feb 25, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311873385

Denise K. Rago

Denise K. Rago is an avid reader and art history buff who earned her Masters' Degree in Museum Professions and interned at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City. Her first novel, Immortal Obsession, is an otherworldly blend of paranormal intrigue and literary fiction, which blends her love of New York City, museums and all things vampire. She resides in New Jersey with her family.

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CONTENTS

Prologue: THE CONCIERGRRIE ~ PARIS, JULY 1794

PART ONE: NEW YORK CITY ~ PRESENT DAY

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

PART TWO: SOMEWHERE IN FRANCE ~ PRESENT DAY

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty - One

Chapter Twenty - Two

PART THREE: PARIS ~ PRESENT DAY

Chapter Twenty - Three

Chapter Twenty - Four

Chapter Twenty - Five

Chapter Twenty - Six

Chapter Twenty - Seven

Chapter Twenty - Eight

Chapter Twenty - Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty - One

PART FOUR: NEW YORK CITY ~ PRESENT DAY

Chapter Thirty - Two

Chapter Thirty - Three

Chapter Thirty - Four

Chapter Thirty - Five

Chapter Thirty - Six

Chapter Thirty - Seven

Chapter Thirty - Eight

Chapter Thirty - Nine

Chapter Forty

Epilogue: VENICE BEACH, CALIFORNIA ~ 6 MONTHS LATER

About the Author

The petite, dark-haired woman stared into the brazier. Though it was July, she rubbed her thin arms to keep warm. It had been days since the guards jarred her from an already fitful night’s sleep to drag her husband, Luc, away. She could barely protest at the time; so weak and afraid, knowing she would never see him again.

Living in constant fear had taken its toll. The woman barely ate, choosing to ration the tepid water and rancid bread in case her captors decided to starve her to death. Glancing at the tin plate of rotting bread, she debated whether it was a crueler fate than being beheaded. Housed below ground in a stone cell, she no longer knew if it was day or night. It felt as if time had stopped, housed here in this fortress of thick stone that smelled of urine and sweat.

Josette Delacore reflected on the milestones of her short life: growing up in Paris; an arranged marriage at fifteen to an older aristocrat, Luc Delacore; and all her illicit love affairs. There had not been one or two, but three vampires, each one more handsome and exciting than the last. The first was Gaétan who had seduced her with dreams of power, playing on her emotions. Then followed the mysterious Christian Du Mauré who had stolen her away, and finally his best friend, Michel Baptiste, the vivacious dark-haired vampire who had given her a daughter: Solange.

Michel had felt torn between loyalty to his best friend and his love for her, but in the end she had been abandoned by all of them to meet her fate alone. The two vampires had fled Paris and Michel wanted no more to be a father than he could be a faithful lover. It was Christian, whom they had both deceived, who promised to watch over Solange from a distance after turning her over to a French family fleeing Paris for a new life in London.

Since her arrest, Josette had heard from neither vampire, nor did she expect to. Christian and Michel were now living in London, and Gaetan had taken up with Gabrielle. She thought back to the times when she had begged each vampire to turn her. Christian vehemently denied her. Immortality was the one thing she could not ply from him despite all her charms. Michel had simply chuckled, which meant it was not open for debate. The best friends were opposites in every way, from their physical appearance to their views on life and love. It had always been that way between them, even as children.

When Michel confided how Gabrielle had turned him during the winter of 1757, she had listened enraptured. He viewed what he was as a gift that brought him closer to God, not a curse as Christian saw it. Lying beside him after making love, she would listen as Michel’s face became animated, his green eyes sparkling with delight as he spoke to her of the thrill of the hunt, the seduction of mortals and, most importantly, his craving for blood. While she feared Christian discovering their secret trysts, if Michel ever spoke of it with his best friend, he never mentioned it to her.

Josette blushed when she thought back to one night in particular when Michel had sunk his fangs into her neck as an orgasm ripped through her, threatening to tear her apart. She believed that was the night their daughter was conceived. While she knew that Solange was a miracle and something almost unknown in the vampire world, Michel avoided the child, unlike Christian who gave her his full attention. Around the girl’s second birthday, Michel began to spend more time with her, though usually while Luc was away or Christian was off roaming the streets of Paris alone, as he so often did.

Josette remembered watching Michel holding their child as he rocked her to sleep. She had cherished those rare moments feeling connected to the ethereal vampire, although she knew it was not his vampiric nature that made him keep his distance. Even if he were mortal, Michel would still be disinterested in being a father or a husband to any woman. Ironically, being a parent was all Christian had ever wanted. Nature played cruel tricks.

Why couldn’t the child have been Christian’s?

Josette wondered if he would then have acquiesced and turned her, enabling the three of them to remain a family forever. Though Christian made her feel safe, he was impenetrable; a self-confessed loner who never needed much blood, at least not from her. He had such presence, yet he remained aloof and detached from both worlds, as if it pained him to be a part of either one.

She considered how the two men combined would be the perfect partner, each possessing what the other lacked. While Josette wanted them both in her bed, she knew Christian would never share her, and Michel coveted his friendship too much to even suggest it. She existed with her two vampire lovers like chess pieces, each strategically moving around the other while never disturbing the placid façade of their trysts.

Josette felt something, a force moving through the bars of her cell. She jumped off her cot in fright, but as the dark-haired vampire emerged from the shadows her heart leapt. With a long finger pressed to his exquisite lips, Michel floated towards her, and before she could utter one word they were in each other’s arms.

Oh my God! Josette cried out, suspecting him to be a figment of her imagination. How did you get in here? How is Solange? She clung to him, searching his face for answers. Is she safe?

She is fine, he replied, kissing her forehead, in London with Christian.

Is he alright?

Michel nodded, running his fingers down her face gently. He misses you terribly, just as I do.

Oh, Michel, she whimpered, feeling warm tears roll down her cheeks as she stared up at him.

Now, now, don’t cry, my love, I am here. He brushed her matted hair away from her face.

They’ve taken Luc. I don’t know how much longer I have–

Michel smothered her in cold kisses as he tried to pull up her tattered skirt, the floral pattern long faded and threadbare. Josette held him close as he unbuttoned his trousers and pressed her against the stone wall. As he pushed himself inside her, she trembled, forgetting all about her daughter, her husband, Christian, and her fate in this fortress of a prison. As her orgasm moved through her, she sensed it would be the last time she ever felt so truly alive. Almost immediately, Michel shuddered as he released inside her, moaning her name.

Please don’t leave me here, she begged. Take me with you… I don’t want to die, Michel.

I cannot, my love. He kissed her again with cold lips that filled her with dread. Forgive me.

Turn me and hide me away. Christian need never know.

Michel brushed away her tears as she reached desperately for him, but he was already fading into the shadows. Josette fell back on the cot as hot tears streamed down her face. It was finally over. He was gone forever and the reality of her fate brought fresh sobs. In that moment she knew that she would never forgive them, despite caring for them both so much. She felt used and discarded by the two vampires she had loved more than life itself. Why had they not felt the same way?

Michel? she whispered, sensing someone come back into her cell. Sitting up, she brushed her tears away, grateful that he had changed his mind and did love her enough to not leave her here to die. The first blow knocked the air from her lungs and threw her to the floor. Josette tried to cry out, but no words came. Something pulled her off the floor by her hair and a second hit pushed her against the wall. Pain exploded throughout her body as the impact of metal hitting stone impaled her about a foot off the ground.

Josette tried to scream, but only silence filled the small chamber as she tried to grab the knife, slicing her fingers in the process, as heat radiated from the gaping stomach wound down through her limbs. I have been stabbed… oh my God… I’m going to bleed to death. Thick, warm liquid ran down her legs until she no longer felt them before spilling to the ground.

The beautiful, dark-haired vampire stood over her, holding the dagger dripping with blood. She smiled and quickly slid out through the bars of the cell. Josette tried to speak, but no words came. Her blood ran through her hands; there was no stopping it. I am dying… As she gazed down from the ceiling of her cell at her thin body lying drenched in blood on the hay covered floor, she finally felt at peace. Both her children were safe in London with Christian. It had been a rich life filled with more happiness and love than she could ever have imagined.

Another figure stood over her shaking body as shock slowly drained her of life. Who was this tall vampire wrapped in a cape who stroked her face lovingly? Where is the child?

His seductive voice filled Josette’s entire being, calming her. Her daughter, Solange, was in London and had been for four years now. Her son, Mathieu, had been taken there as well.

The stranger brushed her sweat-drenched hair from her face. Promise the boy to me or I will leave you to die here, slaughtered like an animal.

PART ONE

NEW YORK CITY ~ PRESENT DAY

Amanda pulled him towards her for another kiss, unable to stop herself as they walked together through the dimly lit galleries of the Metropolitan Museum of Art on Saturday night. He smelled of fresh air with just a hint of blood since he had been hunting in Central Park. Whenever their eyes met, she could not help but think back to the last Fourth of July when she had almost died in the very park they both loved.

Her brother, Ryan, had not been so lucky, murdered in front of her while she stood by, helpless to save him from the fiend that slit his throat in the tunnel near the Boathouse. When the monster had come for her, he was beheaded by a blond savior wielding a sword. That man was now her current lover, Christian Du Mauré; a vampire, alive since the French Revolution and who had spent most of his life watching over the descendants of his mortal lover, Josette Delacore.

Amanda had always been psychic, with the ability to touch an object and read the impressions from it. Her brother had inherited the same gift. Only through Christian had she since learned that she was a descendant of Josette, a woman with immense psychic ability, along with enough beauty and charm to seduce several vampires. There was even a physical resemblance, she had noted from the oil portrait of the woman that hung in his bedroom.

Much had happened in Amanda’s young life, culminating in her brother’s death opening the door to another world filled with vampires from New York and Paris; a world she had never imagined until that fateful night in Central Park. She was amazed at how much she had in common with Christian, despite their vastly different backgrounds. Amanda prided herself on her knowledge of European Art, especially French paintings dating from the period of Le Révolution Française, but he put her to shame. He was the most cultured, literate man she had ever known, surpassing that of her boss, Cole Thierry, also a Frenchmen and the chief curator of the Department of European Sculpture and Decorative Arts.

Moving in a fluid motion that barely left an imprint on the naked eye, Christian would stop before each painting as if seeing it for the first time before launching into an expose that left her astounded: And this was rendered on a summer night when the Pont Neuf was teeming with criminals, vendors and prostitutes, dodging the royal carriages. We complained about the screeching of the wheels on the stone, but it was better than being splashed by mud and refuse on dark, muddy streets.

Amanda had always been intrigued by the unknown artist, Jean Paul Trieste, and this particular painting was one of her favorites. Simply titled Le Pont Neuf, it depicted a woman standing on the wide stone bridge with most of her body in shadow, except for half her face, which was lit by the soft torchlight. The artist captured the moment when she wrapped the cape more tightly around herself while gazing at him longingly.

That woman must have been brave to stand alone on the Pont Neuf, if all I’ve read about it is true.

Christian smiled. It was quite the place, with all sorts of beggars, murders and whores. Michel and I had quite the time there.

Amanda translated that to mean a favorite hunting place. She had researched the bridge enough to know that any Parisian of the eighteenth century would leave it and be home before dark, dodging the pickpockets, street performers and prostitutes.

Look at the way she looks at the painter. I wonder if they were lovers. She squeezed his arm, suppressing a giggle.

Christian stared at the scene. What do you know about this Jean Paul Trieste?

She shrugged. Not much. He lived in Paris in the late eighteenth century, but there’s not too much else, which makes him all the more intriguing and his work very valuable.

The vampire rarely smiled, yet Amanda swore she caught him smiling at the painting, as if he had some intimate knowledge of the artist or the model.

And because so little is known about him, his works are very valuable.

Wait a minute! She grabbed him around the waist, the smell of his hair intoxicating to her. You had a studio in Paris. Did you know him?

Intimately, he whispered into her ear.

Sated with blood, Christian immediately felt himself relax as his vision heightened and his muscles grew tauter. Along with his best friend, Michel Baptiste, he hunted in the shadows cast by the torch lights on the Pont Neuf as street vendors and prostitutes passed, unaware until it was too late; drained and dumped into the Seine before a scream could leave their lips. This had been the lives of the two men for the last thirty years since 1757, when they were both made vampires.

Christian glanced across the expanse of the stone bridge to where he had positioned his model and muse, the intoxicating mortal, Josette Delacore. Though it was a beautiful September evening, a cool breeze blew her dark curls around her sculpted face. She continually brushed them back from her eyes while the torch flames danced beside her, as if in competition.

Don’t let her know you are close, but could you please watch to see that no one tries to assault her, or worse, he directed Michel, who disappeared quickly into the shadows.

Christian set up his wooden easel and mixed his paints, all the time watching Josette and his best friend, unable to decide who was the more uneasy. He could understand his lover’s concerns, being asked to stand on the bridge in the company of beggars, criminals and prostitutes who roamed it. No self-respecting woman would stand there alone, especially after sunset, but he loved the Pont Neuf and spent many an hour gazing into the Seine from this perch.

He began a rough sketch of Josette, capturing her posture and poise against the stone wall. It would not take long to complete as he had the bridge committed to memory. He worked quickly on the study of light and shadow, not wanting to risk any harm to her. The last few details could be completed in his studio.

She was only fifteen, the wife of a nobleman who had wanted a portrait of his young wife. He had heard of Jean Paul Trieste, the mysterious portrait painter who opened his doors only at night for the wealthy patrons of Paris. As Josette stood before him in his studio, a raven-haired beauty with eyes the color of emeralds, he was lost to her forever, having already taken her as a lover.

Amanda giggled, holding Christian tighter, not caring where they were, only that they were together. Perhaps you could fill in some of the gaps I have about Monsieur Trieste? She smiled up at him. I have a stack of half-written articles in my office on this mysterious painter.

I would love to see your articles. He smiled and Amanda blushed, pulling him closer still.

Alright then, she replied with a grin, leading him silently through the back of the European Decorative Arts gallery towards a door that went down to the ground floor and offices.

At some point Christian took the lead, needing no light to navigate the cavernous wing of curatorial offices. Stopping at a doorway, he pulled her inside. How many times had he come here after hours to sit in her office chair? Christian had told himself that he would never stalk her, only watch over her, which he had done ever since she and her brother, Ryan, were children – the last descendents of his union centuries ago with mortal aristocrat Josette Delacore in eighteenth-century Paris.

Josette Delacore had captivated him from the moment they met. As he held Amanda’s warm hand and gazed into her eyes, he saw Josette peering out at him. He stepped into the tiny office, pulling Amanda towards him.

Maybe this isn’t such a good idea, Christian, she whispered, still holding on to him.

Hearing two heartbeats, he promised to be gentle as he lifted her on to the desk between some stacks of books and exhibition catalogs. She leaned back as he slid off her boots and jeans, her heartbeat quickening as he unbuttoned her shirt. There was no light, yet her white skin glistened and her dark hair fell around her tiny breasts.

Just relax, my love, he whispered, running his lips along her neck. Her pulse rushed under his tongue as he slid his trousers down and pushed into her, fighting for control.

Amanda’s cries aroused him as he pushed again, holding her close, never ever wanting to hurt or deny her. Christian had watched over her for so long, loving her from a distance, never wanting to interfere in her life and her love of art, but fate had other plans and so he had fallen in love with her. As he held her close, feeling the warmth of her body wrapped around his, he remembered how her blood had saved his life; how finally meeting her had been the best day in a very long time.

Harder, she begged as he fought to hold on, lost under the spell of her love and her blood, which called to him like a haunting melody he could not name.

Brushing her hair away from her neck, he struck, her powerful blood flowing down his throat as she screamed his name. Amanda’s blood tasted sweet, like nothing he had never experienced, and as he fought to take only a little he felt his muscles strengthen. Christian moved faster as she trembled beneath him. Feeling her release, he let go as pleasure enwrapped them both and bound them tighter together.

BELVEDERE CASTLE ~ CENTRAL PARK

The two vampires stood like silent sentinels atop Belvedere Castle, embracing the pre-dawn Manhattan morning just as they had done for decades. Central Park was empty in the wintry early morning hours with barely a sound of distant traffic. Silence cloaked Christian Du Mauré as he fought the pull of a conversation with no end in sight.

His mind flashed back to the rooftop of the Grey Wolf, a nightclub he and Michel had owned in the East Village. Christian had killed an old enemy from his days in Paris; an older vampire named Gaétan who had come to New York to seduce and kidnap Amanda as rumors of her powerful blood spread to the vampiric halls of France. Once he was dead, other vampires came to wreak vengeance. When their plan failed they fled back to Paris, leaving many unanswered questions in their wake.

Recently, Michel had joked about moving back to the French capital, a place Christian now only knew in name, devoured as it was by the urban sprawl of the modern world. Sabin Réyon, his only other vampire friend and connection to Le Révolution Française, had already left for the city in the hope of finding lodgings there for them, yet it was hard for Christian to imagine leaving New York.

Still, he had an ache inside; a need fueled by both the present circumstances in the City of Lights and in his personal world. So much had happened in such a short time, and he and Michel were still trying to make sense of it all, although it related to his previous life in Paris; a time and place he had long ago abandoned. Presently, the Parisian vampires were without a leader and while he anticipated petty skirmishes in an attempt to gain the throne, it would remain empty, unless…

Mon ami, back to my original question, when will you tell Amanda?

Christian glanced at Michel, who was tossing small rocks into Turtle Pond, seemingly fascinated as each one arched out over the water and quietly splashed into the inky black below. He had asked himself the same question repeatedly, yet still he had no answer, despite rolling over various scenarios in his mind. Christian would have to tell Amanda soon, but then what? He wanted her by his side in Paris, but in her present condition he thought it downright dangerous to bring her into the middle of