Blood Bound [Book 1 of the Bound series]

All Rights Reserved ©

Fifteeth Blood

[England, 1906]

“Rowena, stop running, ma biche, you’ll get hurt!” Evette called out at the excited girl, who ran around in circles on the grass. Her laugh was contagious, spreading a bright smile across Evette’s face, as she looked at her doe.

“Eve, Eve, come here,” she called and Evette stood up, lazily walking over to Rowena, who jumped excitedly at the sight of a little swan and her kids. “Look at them!”

Cold, yet caring arms wrapped around Rowena’s little waist, and Evette placed a kiss on her neck.

“Did you really run all the way from there to here to show me these swans, ma biche?” she asked, placing a trail of kisses down her soft neck. Rowena giggled and then gently threw a piece of bread into the clear water.

The swans pecked it, swallowing the food, all the while causing more excitement to the girl who watched them with fascination.

“Come on, the food will go cold, Cherie,” said Evette, and somehow pulled Rowena back to their little picnic spot. They settled down on the woven mat, and Evette pulled out some sandwiches, handing them over to Rowena.

“I want you to eat.” Rowena insisted, offering one of the sandwiches to Evette. She took it reluctantly, not being a fan of plain human food, but just for her doe’s satisfaction, she bit into the bread.

They ate in silence, enjoying the cool breeze of the spring air that held the fragrance of freshly blooming flowers that stood in the countryside. The sun’s gleaming rays hit Evette’s pale skin that glowed under the light, and the horizon was tinted with orange and red, signaling that it was dusk.

She felt Rowena leaning on to her shoulder, and pulled her into her arms, as they enjoyed their food, looking over at the multitude of colors that highlighted the sky.

“I love this…” Rowena whispered looking up at her beautiful amber eyes. “Just the two of us, like this.”

Evette’s arms tightened around her body. “Just the two of us,” she breathed, kissing her doe’s plump cheeks trailing down to her neck. Rowena tilted her neck to give access to Evette, and her arm pulled the girl’s waist closer to her front as she licked and sucked on her soft skin.

“My little doe,” Evette whispered roaming her hands around Rowena’s small body. “I love you so much…”

Her doe’s heart swelled with love and happiness on hearing those words. It always did.

Rowena turned around and climbed over Evette’s lap, straddling her hips.

“Say it again,” she said.

“I love you, ma biche!”

The girl smiled from ear to ear, and hugged the vampiress tight, expressing her never-ending joy and love at those words. She loved her dearly but always felt guilty. She loved a girl. A woman. Wasn’t that a sin?

Her smile faded at the thought.

“What is it, Cherie?”

“Mama has begun looking for my suitors,” Rowena whispered quietly and looked at Evette. “I told her that I didn’t want marriage now, but I only have time until they find a husband for Jane.”

Evette didn’t know what to speak.

“If my brother knows anything about what I am… I cannot imagine of the things he would do.” She whimpered, and Evette’s hands rubbed her arms in attempts to soothe her.

“Do not worry about it, Cherie. You still have time.” Evette assured, and captured her soft lips in hers.

They glided against each other effortlessly, and Evette’s hand cupped her warm neck, raising goosebumps all over Rowena’s skin. She moaned when Evette lightly bit her bottom lip, and licked it, seeking entrance.

Evette’s tongue was a strange combination of both soft and hard. Rowena didn’t understand how it worked, but it was vigorous in dominating her but soft enough to give her pleasure.

She gasped when the cold flesh slipped inside her mouth, their tongues dancing in a sinful choreography of pleasure. Evette’s lips hypnotized her doe. It was her magic; the irreplaceable gift of seduction that all vampires were blessed with but sometimes, she wondered if that was the only thing that drew her doe to her.

Was my exterior the only thing that drew her to me?

She laid the girl down on their mat, never taking her lips off hers, as she caressed her soft lips with her tongue.

“Eve…” Rowena breathed when Evette’s hand kneaded her round bottom. She moaned in reply, as she sucked the creamy skin on Rowena’s neck, feeling her delicious blood flow past her lips underneath.

The scent didn’t bother her anymore. Her love for Rowena was far greater than her thirst for her blood, and she would do anything to protect her doe.

But there was one thing that she couldn’t resist.

“Rowena…” she panted. She loved the way her name rolled off the vampiress’s tongue. “Let me… let me make love to you.”

Her eyes widened.

She quickly backed off Evette, staring at her with an open mouth, and her big brown eyes.

“I..isn’t…wouldn’t I come to be with child, if we do that?” she stuttered, dreading the thought of becoming a mother before her marriage.

Such a sin.

“No, I am not… male, ma biche. And besides, I am a vampire. I cannot procreate.” Evette said, her mind rushing back to the time when she badly wanted a family with… Edouard.

She sighed regretfully.

“You have a stick?” asked Rowena, and Evette raised an eyebrow.

“A stick?”

She nodded, “The ones that men use to make love.”

Heavens!

Evette snorted at her doe’s innocence. “No, I don’t, Cherie.” She said. “And you don’t need that… stick to make love.”

“But I remember Jane telling me about how the sticks are important to be with child.” She recalled.

The vampiress shook her head and laughed. “The stick is required for a woman to be with child, yes, but to make love, not necessary.”

“How?”

“Do you want me to teach you?”

She quickly nodded, but then to Evette’s disappointment, shook her head. “Not today. Not here.”

“How about we do it later, then? And do not worry about your marriage, Cherie. I will sort everything out.”

Evette kissed her one more time, before they packed up their things, and began leaving.

To a person outside, they would be like two girls, having a little fun on their own, like most girls their age did in the city. Girls of age often hung around in pairs or groups, trying to befriend their suitors for marriage. Only a few rebels didn’t like marriage, and one of them was Rowena.

But for entirely different reasons.

Once she dropped off Rowena, Evette set off to feed.

There was an art studio that she often visited, concealed from the norms of the society because society was a false creation of pretending humans of sophistication, which never allowed people to be themselves. ‘Art Studio’ wasn’t what it was supposed to be called.

Evette found solace there, although she was surrounded with limbs that bent in pleasure, mouths moaning, and the sounds of slapping skins. Nude models stood unmoving for artists to pen them on white papers, sketching the curves and ridges that the human body has their beauty highlighted with the various kinds of pencils that skilled artistic hands held.

This place contained people of all kinds. A woman who as white as snow, whom the society called a ghost due to extreme paleness, another who had a beard, a dwarf man who barely reached Evette’s hips, men who loved men, and women who loved women.

“Philippe!” she waved her hand at the owner and her dear friend who turned from around the time that she did. The green-eyed man turned to look at her, smiling brightly, and shouldered his way among the people to her.

“Evette, tu es là, enfin! [Evette, you’re here, finally!] ” he greeted her, going in for a tight hug.

She looked around the place. “C’est une nuit chargée. [It’s a busy night.]

Philippe ran a cinder coated hand over his long blond hair, before answering, “Eh bien, les gens semblent aimer être eux-mêmes. [Well, people seem to like being themselves.]” he chuckled and focused his eyes on Evette. “Vous semblez vouloir quelque chose de plus que de vous nourrir ce soir. [You seem to want something more than just feeding tonight.]” he observed causing Evette to smile at her friend.

She nodded. “Oui, il y a quelque chose de plus, mais en ce moment, je meurs de faim. [Yes, there is something more, but right now, I’m starving.]

Philippe laughed. “This way, madame.”

He led her to another room, where a man sat quietly, and the whiff of air that blew through the window brought the man’s delicious scent straight into Evette.

She licked her lips.

“Je l’ai obligé à ne pas protester. [I’ve compelled him to not protest.]” said Philippe. “Il est tout à toi. [He’s all yours. ]

Evette smiled tightly at Philippe, who was a psychic vampire and his abilities often came in handy when it came to their feeding. She gave him an acknowledging nod before he gently shut the door, leaving the thirsty vampiress and human inside.

The human smiled at her.

“What is your name, child?” she asked just as she got another whiff of his scent.

It was strong. And compelling.

“Kenneth,” he replied bluntly. His dark raven hair lied messy over his head, looking like it hadn’t been trimmed or groomed in weeks. Evette placed two fingers below his chin and lifted his head, her amber eyes, latching onto sharp electric blue ones.

They were beautiful.

“Tilt your head,” she ordered, and Kenneth tilted his head. The vampiress heard the flow of his delicious blood through his artery, and her eyes changed color, amber to red, and her canines elongated into dagger-like fangs.

She bent down close to him and brushed her nails against his creamy skin.

He shuddered.

Evette plunged her fangs inside him, sucking out the warm, and delicious nectar.

Blood.

The very essence of her mere existence flowed into her mouth from the man’s artery, and she moaned at its sweetness.

It was extraordinary.

She pulled the man’s body closer, sucking off his blood that seemed to be drugging her. Rarely, very rarely, did human blood take her into a high. She had experienced it only once during a vampire orgy, back in 1843, and didn’t even notice the human whose blood it was but this one, this one reminded her of it.

She pulled off her fangs and closed the puncture points, licking them. Kenneth’s eyelids were drooping in exhaustion, and she could hear his heart struggling to pump blood.

It wouldn’t be long before he dies. She thought.

She turned to the other side and sank her fangs into the jugular, wanted to taste the deoxygenated version as well. Oxygenated was tastier, but she wanted both of this man. Her eyes were closed in bliss, and her tongue lapped against his skin trying to suck.

His heart pumped slower, and Evette clutched his limp body tighter, oblivious to the man’s dying cells. Why would she care? This was just another worthless human.

The fangs plunged deeper, and his heart stopped, signaling his death. She sucked for a few more moments until nothing came out, and then she tossed his body down to the ground.

Dead.

Evette licked the remaining blood off her lips, and stepped away from the dead body, opening the door and stepping out into the swarm of sex-crazed bodies. Making her way through them, she made it into the actual ‘art studio’ of the place, breathing a sigh of relief.

Two nude models, male and female, stood still, along with a flower vase next to a fully clothed woman. The artists sketched whichever model they pleased, and she scanned the room to look at the person she came searching for in the first place.

But alas, he wasn’t there despite having a love for art himself.

Where is he? She wondered, and her eyes set on Philippe. She walked over to him, and appeared behind his back, her eyes set on his drawing.

He was drawing the female nude one like she was the one standing next to the vase of red roses.

“Not bad,” she commented and Philippe acknowledged her by giving a small smile.

“Vous en avez fini avec ce garçon? [You done with that boy?]

“Mort et céleste. [Dead and heavenly.]” She said.

Philippe raised an eyebrow. “Il n’avait pas si bon gout. [He didn’t taste that good.]” he said.

“Oh s’il vous plait, il avait un goût délicieux. Je n’avais rien goûté de tel depuis longtemps! [Oh please, he tasted delicious. I hadn’t tasted anything like that in a long time!]” she argued, earning a deep chuckle from Philippe, who returned to his sketching.

“Peu importe. Vous avez dit que vous êtes venu chercher quelque chose. [Whatever. You said you came looking for something ?]” he reminded.

She sighed. “Où est Henry? [Where is Henry?]

“Il doit être avec Simon. Faire de l’amour interdit. [He must be with Simon. Making some forbidden love.]” he chuckled, sarcastically.

It was ironic. The Gardeners were a sophisticated family, and the children grew up following almost all societal norms, except for Isabella, the fourth Gardner child, who frequently claimed to ever marry. No one paid heed to that except their mother.

But the ironic thing was Rowena claiming how enraged her eldest brother, Henry Gardner would be if he found out about her relationship with Evette when he himself was one of her kind. Of course, he would reject her relationship, because he was a homophobe. He was a homophobic homosexual, who pretended to be in love with his fiancée Abigail Harrington while making love with his lover Simon Forester almost every night here at the studio.

Poor Abigail. Evette thought.

She thanked Philippe and got out of the room, looking for Henry amongst the people. Walking over to the end of the long hallway, she found a shirtless Henry, his lips locked in a heated kiss with a fully naked Simon.

Evette smirked.

“My lord...” she breathed, and Henry froze at her voice. He swiftly turned around, his eyes widening and Simon grabbed a cloth to cover his genitals.

“M-Miss Bellerose,” he choked out, as Evette walked closer. “Why are you here?”

“Isn’t this a lovely sight?” she rejoiced, smiling brightly at the shocked pair of men. Henry signaled Simon to leave, who looked between them before leaving reluctantly. “He didn’t have to leave, my lord.”

“What is a lady doing in this place?” he asked.

“I appear to have a liking for art, and my friend Philippe owns the place. I often visit. Haven’t you seen me?” she asked.

“A lady like you must never be in such a place, Miss Bellerose.” He said.

“I don’t reckon that man, an engaged one no less should take part in such activities with another man, either.” She countered.

“I happen to be of a certain kind.”

“Embrace it.” She said, but he widened his eyes.

“I commit a sin, Miss Bellerose. All the people here,” he directed his hand at the lust-filled people, “All of us, are sinners.”

She smiled, “Love isn’t a sin, my lord.”

“Love is supposed to be between a man and a woman,” he argued.

Evette stepped closer, “And yet here you are, making sweet love to your lover who happens to be a man. Here you are, pretending to love another woman to mask your love for another man.” She laid a hand on his heaving chest and Henry tensed further, “Here you are, hiding away in the shadows of this place to make love to your Simon.”

“I’m a sinner.” He whispered helplessly. “All the people here, making love with their own genders shamelessly, are sinners.”

The vampiress leaned closer until her mouth level with his ear. “Come with me Henry, let me prove to you that you are not a sinner.” She whispered.

Henry’s chocolate brown eyes stared back at the woman in pure confusion, as she opened the back door and walked out into the woods. He quickly put on his shirt and scurried behind her, his nostrils filling with the sweet scent of the night air, instead of the lusty air that smelled of sweat and sex.

“Miss Bellerose,” he called.

She turned around, her ambers latching with the chocolate browns of the man. She smiled coldly.

“Your sister is one of you,” she said bluntly before he had the time to process.

“W-What?”

“You love a man, don’t you Henry?” she asked.

He nodded regretfully.

“Your sister loves a woman.”

Henry stilled. He surveyed her pale face for something more to come out, but Evette waited for his response. “Is- Is it Isabella? My little Isabella. Is that why she preached about not getting married?” he asked, worriedly, but Evette shook her head.

“Rowena,” she whispered.

This time, Henry was even more shocked. His heart began beating faster than it was before, and his lips parted in shock.

“My Rowena?” he asked. “How?”

“The woman she loves is me, and I love her unconditionally.” She said, but he shook his head in disbelief.

“My sweet Rowena could never. What have you done to her?” he fumed. Evette smirked at his outburst and took a step closer to him.

“What I’ve done, is love her, Henry.” She said.

“She is to be married this season. Or next at the least. If the people are to know about such a sin, my sister will be named a spinster and be left to live among the-” he couldn’t even bring himself to complete the sentence.

“If the people are to know about you? What happens then?” she asked.

“They won’t. I’m marrying Miss Harrington.” He replied.

Evette scoffed in anger. “And you would show up here every night to make love with Simon.”

Henry didn’t speak at that.

“Why cheat an innocent lady, Henry?”

No words.

“Be with Simon, if that’s what makes you happy. Society would only be with you for so long. Simon would be forever.” She insisted. “Give Rowena to me. I will take care of her better than any other man could ever.”

“B-But, she’s my sister.” He argued.

Who is in love with a vampiress? Evette thought. But she didn’t want to show her sinister side to him. If so, then all her chance of having the little doe would go.

She stepped even closer to him and placed a cold hand on his stubble cheek. “She’s my everything, Henry. Like Simon is to you.” She whispered.

An array of emotions were flashing across Henry’s eyes. Simon indeed was his everything. But giving up his sister to the exact sin he was committing-

“Give her to me, Henry.”

Henry inhaled, “No,”


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