Blood Calls

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“You may be, but that won’t save you. Your wife and her lover are dying from a fever. Some say it is the devil’s work.”

Don Julio knelt beside him, and as the moonlight played across his old friend’s face, Diego noted it looked ashen, almost otherworldly in the pale glow.

“Are you well?” Diego asked, concerned for his friend.

“Never better, unlike you. You are to be burned alive in a few days. They prepare for an immense auto de fé in the plaza.”

So he was to die a public spectacle in the town square, deprived of dignity up to the very last second of his life? If there was any consolation, it was that his wife and her lapdog of a lover might shortly follow him to hell for what they had done.

“Gracias, amigo, for the news.”

Don Julio hesitated, and a glimmer of anxiety swept across his features before he said, “I bring more than news. I bring a chance for life.”

“Life?”

“Life such as you can’t imagine, Diego. Are you brave enough to take the chance?”

Diego thought of the vows he had made to himself in the last month. Of all the dreams he had yet to fulfill. Of Esperanza, with her kind eyes and gentle touch. Of how he had yet to properly thank her for all she’d done for him.

“Sí, I am brave enough.”

His friend nodded, and Diego watched with fascination and horror as the dark brown of Julio’s eyes bled out to an oddly glowing blue-green. He was so fascinated by the change that for a second he failed to notice the long fangs descending from Don Julio’s mouth.

“Madre de Dios,” he said, shocked by the transformation. But he didn’t flinch as his friend bent toward him.

If anything, he bared his neck, wanting to make the task easier. The brush of his friend’s lips against his skin was a shock, an almost loving gesture beforethe bite and its pain. But soon after, the distress receded, followed by passion that made him hold Julio’s head to him, wanting his embrace never to end.

But it did, as his eyesight dimmed from the loss of blood, and Julio whispered against his ear, “Bite me.”

The fever of the vampire transformation had racked his body with alternating chills and fever for over a day before imprisoning him in a world of darkness from which he fought to escape. When he finally woke, he found himself tightly bound in foul-smelling sheets. Struggling against the fabric, he rent it with his hands and emerged, only to find Julio kneeling beside him, knife in hand.

“Always the impatient one,” his friend teased, but then his look grew serious. “They discovered Esperenza was helping you. She’s to be burned alive tomorrow. We must hurry.”

After cutting away the rest of the linens, Julio rose and led Diego along the edges of the building the Inquisitor had turned into his prison. At the back, Julio paused at the entrance to a root cellar, where a large boulder blocked the thick wooden door. Julio lifted the immense stone as if it weighed nothing. At Diego’s questioning glance, his friend whispered, “You will soon be able to test your own powers.”

They entered the cellar and then the basement storage areas that had been converted into holding cells for the sinners awaiting punishment.

A few doors down, Julio halted and pointed at one cell. Diego peered in through the bars.

Esperanza lay on the ground, sprawled across the dirt and straw. A rat rooted around her skirts, but she seemed either unaware or uncaring. He whispered her name, but she didn’t move, creating the fear in him that she had already slipped from life.

“Esperanza,” he whispered again, but she didn’tstir.

He grabbed the lock with his hands and, remembering Julio’s earlier words and action, violently twisted it. It bent as if made of putty, and he quickly removed it and made his way to Esperanza’s side.

Her eyes were closed, but as he laid his hand on her cold cheek, they fluttered open. “I heard you call my name. I thought it was a dream.”

A wisp of a smile crept across her lips before her eyes fluttered shut again.

He placed his hands on the pulse point of her neck and noted how weak and thready it was. Cursing beneath his breath, he cradled her to his chest, wanting to offer the comfort of his body’s warmth, only he had no warmth to give. He had nothing to give her except the love he had come to feel for her and the kiss that Julio had offered him. Diego wanted her to have another chance at life. A life in which they could explore their burgeoning love.

Cradling her cheek, he managed to rouse heragain, her expressive brown eyes sparking with a bit of life. “Diego. You’re truly here,” she said weakly.

“Amor, I’m here for you. Will you come withme?” He brushed his hand across the matted strands of her once luxuriant auburn locks.

“I am yours, Diego. Forever.”

He waited no longer.

With the instinct of the demon’s blood now flowing through his veins, he called forth the beast. Heat pooled at the center of him and sped outward, charging his body as everything around him came to even sharper focus. Hunger rose, needing appeasement, and in answer, he sensed the fangs slipping downward, heard the erratic beat of her heart, urging him to act before death called.

He bent his head, and shivered at the first brush of his fangs against her pulse point. Dragging in one last breath, he whispered, “Forgive me, mi amor,” and plunged his teeth into her neck.

Chapter 5

Ramona had already prepared for a few openings in her short career as an artist, and they always filled her with excitement. This visit to the gallery to check things out was no different and possibly even more compelling, since it would likely be her last.

The gallery was closed to the public in anticipation of the showing, which was now only two nights away. She was anxious to see how Diego had placed her paintings and decorated the space, since he always seemed to find just the right way to highlight the chosen works.

She was filled with trepidation at one other thing she planned to do that night—ask Diego for the phone number of one of the buyers from the van Winter auction. She knew he had it because the woman in question was a frequent visitor to his gallery and had, in fact, bought one of Ramona’s earlier works.

Although Ramona didn’t plan on calling the woman right away, she hoped that letting van Winter know that she was in possession of the number would spur him to see her and answer some of her questions. She didn’t want to consider what she would do if he ignored her request.

The buyer might consent to speak with her, but then what? The woman would likely think Ramona crazy if she accused van Winter of putting a forgery up for sale. Worse, the accusations would impact on Diego, and that was the last thing she wanted to happen.

Diego had been too good to her, and she didn’t want to hurt him in any way.

Slowly she climbed the three short steps to the exclusive Soho gallery. A rich satin drape with a fanciful crest and Diego’s name blocked the main display window. She rapped on the glass door with her knuckle and a light snapped on in one of the back rooms. A second later, Diego strolled out.

He was dressed casually in black jeans and a charcoal-gray sweater that seemed painted to his body. Seeing her at the door, he rushed to open it.

“I hope you haven’t been waiting long.” He took her hand and noticed the cold once again, much like a few nights before.

“Not long.” She eased her hand from his and rubbed it self-consciously as she stepped into the gallery and looked around, clearly eager to see how he had prepared for the showing.

Diego did not plan on rushing the surprise. “Let’s get you comfortable.” He slipped his hands to her shoulders and eased off her coat, tossing it on a chair. Then he walked to a long table set in the anteroom, where a lone bottle of wine sat beside two glasses. “At the show we’ll have some refreshments here before we direct everyone inside to the main displays,” he explained.

Ramona flicked a finger in the direction of the central exhibit area of the gallery. “When can I see?”

Diego chuckled, approached her and cupped her cheek. “Some things shouldn’t be rushed, little one,” he teased, determined to make everything perfect for her. He ignored the voice in his head that said becoming personally involved with her was a mistake.

For starters, she was human. And beautiful. A definite strike against her. The last beautiful woman he had become involved with had betrayed him and cost him his mortal life. He knew little about Ramona, but he had seen the shadows of secrets in her eyes.

The yearning in the paintings, however, and the possibility that he had produced such hunger, overrode common sense and caution.