Page 50 of Chains of Blood and Darkness

Jacques’s funeral had been a revelation for me, the depth of emotion on display hinting at a world I had never before imagined, a world where the boundaries between life and death were not as clear-cut as I had always believed. As thesmoke climbed higher into the night sky, I felt a sense of kinship with these supernatural beings. They, too, knew the pain of loss, the ache of a void that could never be filled.

Here, among the vampires, I saw a simple kinship. They had each other, their bonds forged over centuries of shared experiences and loyalties. And in this moment, as the embers drifted upward like so many tiny stars, I realized that I longed for that same connection. I wanted to belong, to be part of something greater than myself. I was tired of doing everything alone.

Angelo’s deep care for someone who was technically almost an underling stirred something within me. This display of emotion served as a poignant reminder that even the most powerful and intimidating figures could experience pain and loss. Witnessing this unexpected vulnerability in Angelo made him appear more human, more relatable. His raw emotion drew me to him in an unanticipated way, forging a connection that ran deeper than I had ever imagined possible.

Angelo turned, catching my gaze. For a moment, our eyes locked, and a spark of connection passed between us before he made his way through the crowd, coming to stand beside me. “Walk with me?” His voice was still tinged with grief.

I nodded, falling into step beside him as he led me through the sprawling halls of the manor. The silence between us was as thick as early morning fog hanging over the Mississippi, but it wasn’t uncomfortable—it was as if we both understood the pain the other was feeling so well that we didn’t need to discuss it. Finally, we reached a set ofornate double doors, and Angelo pushed them open to reveal a glimpse of a grand bedroom overlooking the glittering tapestry of New Orleans’ nightscape below.

I hesitated, not sure if I should enter. I had never been inside a guy’s bedroom before, not even Steven’s. There was something very intimate about crossing the threshold into Angelo’s room. If I entered, something would change forever between us.

Angelo stretched out his hand. “Please, Serenity. You’re quite safe.”

There was something in his eyes that made my heart quicken and my breath catch in my throat. His eyes promised something that was forbidden, but also something that I wanted. I could easily turn tail and run back to my room. But would Angelo allow me to? And the bigger question was, did I actually want to? The daring part of me wanted to bite into the forbidden fruit and accept what he was offering.

For several long breaths I stood there debating what to do. In the end, I put my trembling hand in his and allowed him to pull me into his bedchamber.

As I stepped into the room, I was struck by its grandeur. The space was expansive, with high ceilings and elegant, dark wood furnishings. The walls were adorned with intricate tapestries and centuries-old paintings, their gold frames glinting in the soft light cast by the crystal chandelier overhead. A large, four-poster bed dominated the center of the room, its rich, crimson bedding plush and inviting.

Floor-to-ceiling windows dominated the far wall, offering a breathtaking view of the city skyline. Below us, NewOrleans' vibrant cityscape stretched out, a patchwork of warm gold punctuated by Bourbon Street's neon signs. Distant jazz music and raucous laughter drifted up from the streets, carried on a balmy breeze that whispered through the open windows. Savory aromas of Cajun spices tinged the air, a tantalizing blend of paprika, cayenne, and thyme. In the distance, the mighty Mississippi River snaked its way through the city's heart, its dark waters reflecting the luminous moon and countless stars dotting the inky sky above. This panorama captured the very essence of New Orleans.

But what caught my attention the most was the wall of bookshelves that lined another side of the room. They were filled with ancient tomes and leather-bound volumes, their spines bearing titles in languages and sometimes even alphabets that were unfamiliar to me. It was a collection that hinted at centuries of knowledge and wisdom, and I longed to run my fingers along their worn covers and peek inside them.

Angelo's words drew my attention. “This is my private sanctuary,” he revealed. “The place where I come to find peace and solitude.”

I moved to the window, gazing out at the city skyline. The French Quarter stretched out beneath me, a vibrant tapestry of history and culture. The streets below were lined with colorful buildings, their wrought-iron balconies and ornate facades speaking to the city’s rich past.

I shifted my gaze to the Mississippi River, winding its way through the city like a dark ribbon. I could just make out the shapes of riverboats and barges, their silhouettes cutting through the inky blackness of the water like ghostlyapparitions. The deep, mournful sound of a foghorn echoed across the water, a haunting melody that suggested countless stories and secrets hidden beneath the murky depths. The air was heavy with the scent of brackish water and the faint aroma of diesel fuel, a reminder of the ceaseless activity that continued even in the darkest hours of the night. As I watched, a lone tugboat chugged steadily upstream with quiet, unwavering determination, its powerful engine thrumming like a beating heart.

Beyond the river, the city stretched on further, a sea of twinkling lights and shadowy streets. It was a view that took my breath away, reminding me of the magic and mystery that permeated every corner of this old city.

As I stood there, I felt a sense of awe and wonder. It was as if I was seeing New Orleans through new eyes, a city of endless possibilities and untold secrets.

“It’s beautiful,” I breathed, feeling a sense of calm wash over me for the first time in days. All the chaos and heartache of the past week melted away as I lost myself in the city below. The distant note of a saxophone drifted up again from the streets, its soulful melody mixing with the laughter and chatter of the crowds. I took a deep breath, inhaling the heady scent of magnolias, honeysuckle, and spices carried in on the warm breeze. I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply again, letting the unique essence of New Orleans fill my lungs and soothe my troubled soul as it wrapped me in a comforting embrace.

The city’s vibrant energy pulsed through the air like a living, breathing entity, a constant reminder that life goes on, even in the face of tragedy and upheaval. Angelo moved tostand beside me, his presence both comforting and energizing. I could feel the warmth emanating from his body, the light brush of his arm against mine igniting a tingling sensation that coursed through me. It was as if every nerve ending in my body was attuned to him, every sense heightened by his nearness.

“Yes,” he agreed softly, his voice a low murmur that resonated through me. “Very beautiful.”

When I turned to look at him, I realized that he wasn’t gazing at the cityscape. His eyes were instead fixed on me, their depths filled with an intensity that took my breath away. Slowly, almost reverently, he reached out and clasped my chin, his touch gentle but insistent as he turned my face toward his.

“But it pales in comparison to your beauty,” he whispered, his breath warm against my skin. “You are a true marvel, Serenity. A treasure beyond all compare.”

My heart raced at his words, a crimson glow emanating from my cheeks. No one had ever spoken to me like this before, with such raw honesty and admiration in their voice.

Angelo’s gaze dropped to my lips, his own parting slightly. He looked up again at me briefly and there was a question in his eyes, a silent request for permission. In answer, I tilted my face to his, my eyes falling closed in anticipation.

His kiss was soft at first, the gentlest brush of his lips against mine. But as I leaned into him, my hands coming up to rest on his chest, the kiss deepened. His tongue traced over the seam of my lips, seeking entrance, and I granted itwillingly. His taste and smell were intoxicating, a heady mix of wine and spice that left me wanting more.

He wrapped his arms around me, crushing me to his chest. His kiss turned passionate, possessive, powerful. I melted into him, my body molding to his as if it had been made purely for this moment. Every touch, every taste, sent waves of pleasure coursing through me, igniting a fire in my veins that threatened to consume me.

Even as I lost myself in the dizzying sensations, a small voice in the back of my mind whispered doubtfully. Was this real? Was this truly what I wanted, or was I being caught up in some supernatural force beyond my control? Angelo was a vampire, a creature of immense power. Was it possible that he was influencing my emotions, compelling me to feel this way?

Or was this really my own wicked desire, a hunger that had been hiding within me all along, waiting for the right moment to be set free? I wasn’t sure, and in the fervor of the moment, I didn’t care. All that mattered was the feel of his body against mine, the taste of his lips, the promise of pleasure that hung heavy in the air between us.

He planted kisses down my throat then whispered in my ear. “Surrender to me, Serenity. Let me show you a night of passion.”

My breath caught in my throat, desire warring with uncertainty in my mind. I wanted this, wanted him, with an intensity that frightened me. But there was also a smaller part of me that hesitated, unsure if I was ready to take this step.

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