Bloodspell (The Cruentus Curse, #1)(55)
There'd been no mention of love, and Lena had embraced becoming a vampire, and him, with open arms. Lucian had been a gracious loser, but in hindsight, Christian recognized that things had changed between them after that day.
It was during a time in his life when the monotony of immortality had weighed its heaviest and he had been looking for something, someone, anything, to offset the incredible sense of emptiness that had plagued him. Lena's uninhibited zest for every part of life had been like a spike of adrenaline to his system.
But despite his being her maker, a true bond between them had never formed and his attraction to her had worn off. He didn't love Lena, and the things that had drawn him to her in the first place, her fearlessness and lust for life, became the very things that he loathed the most. Like Lucian, she reveled in the kill, she reveled in being immortal, being stronger, faster, better, and she was willing to do whatever gave her the biggest thrill. In the end, she couldn't change who she was, a deadly killer who thoroughly enjoyed being one.
So he had left the House without any regrets, and she had stayed with Lucian. Over the years, she had remained eternally beautiful, but had become a thousand times more lethal.
As they drove through the city, Christian caught a glimpse of the gilded top of the Eiffel Tower in the distance, beautiful and majestic, and he felt an urge to just stop and breathe in the magic that was Paris. He instructed the driver to head toward the Arc de Triomphe. He felt like taking a walk.
He got out of the car and dismissed the driver for the night, saying that he would get himself back to St. Germain. The night air was crisp and cold, the Champs-Elysées beautifully lit with trees covered in tiny white lights meandering down either side of the grand avenue. Brightly lit storefronts glittered as far as the eye could see and the occasional glow of headlights pierced the darkness. He loved the sounds and the smell of Paris. It was like old world glory, infusing his blood with the sense of life and warmth that he barely remembered from his mortal existence. He knew it would always be home in his heart even though he only visited once a year.
Perhaps one day he would bring Victoria here. She would love it.
As her name crossed his mind, he felt the familiar stirring in his heart and wondered whether she was thinking about him. Christian had tried to communicate mentally with her but for some reason, he'd been unable to, and when he'd tried to call, it went straight to voicemail. He didn't like not being able to reach her, but there was nothing he could do but keep trying.
He clasped his hands behind his back and walked down the avenue as groups of young people with their ruddy happy faces swirled past, laughing and talking loudly. He watched as a young couple, hands laced, kissed passionately on a bench, and felt the familiar sensation unfurl in his belly. He hadn't fed since arriving in Paris. Normally he could last a week between feedings but the fight with Lucian had drained him more than expected.
His gaze remained relaxed as he slowly swept the area. He didn't have acres of woodland to work with as he did in Canville, but at the end of the day, blood was blood. He supposed he could go to Lucian's, there were enough willing human donors there as he had seen from the housekeeper's lurid bruises, but everything about it repulsed him, making the cattle analogy a little too real for comfort. He kept walking, his predator's mind alert and searching.
Soon, it seemed like hours had passed, and Christian had considered and just as quickly discarded several handfuls of people passing by. Frustrated, the sensation in his stomach becoming more insistent with each vibrantly alive body, he faced the truth of the matter—he knew exactly what he wanted, someone like her. Despite how terrible it seemed, a small part of him wanted in some desperate way to mirror the act, with someone who at least looked liked her. The mere thought of it excited him.
He walked past the Place de la Concorde and into the Jardin des Tuileries, where he sat on a small green metal chair and waited, watchful. Something stroked his awareness and he focused on a girl who had just crossed the far end of the gravel path. She smelled nothing like Victoria, but her long dark hair, coloring and height were enough to make his heart beat faster from a distance. Curiously, she did not appear to be nervous when he approached her, asking if she had the time in flawless French. She smiled coquettishly, attracted despite herself to him, a handsome, mysterious stranger. He had forgotten how naturally the magnetism came to him.
It wasn't difficult to persuade her to accompany him to a wooden bench in the shadow of a small tree, his silver eyes compelling, his vampire power hypnotic and irresistible. She had no chance. They sat and he leaned into her slowly as her hair fell forward in a dark curtain, her neck long and slim and inviting. Warm. Pulsing with life. He felt his jaw tighten, his teeth lengthen, and a single thought crossed his mind ... Victoria.
To the random passerby, they looked like any other couple in love, sharing a fevered embrace, her expression beatific, arms resting on his shoulders. Christian took what he needed and watched as the puncture wounds healed, facilitated by the enzyme in his saliva until the only sign of entry remaining was a slight, reddening bruise. He thanked her for her assistance and watched as she woozily made her way to the main road. She would not remember the encounter other than a stranger asking her for the time.
Although the blood had satiated his hunger, he felt strangely empty, and the edge of his desire remained, taunting him with its presence. It was a longing that only Victoria herself could assuage.
Christian couldn't sleep and spent half the night sitting on his balcony in the blistering cold, staring out at the night sky. He missed not being able to communicate with Victoria at any moment and his anxiety was getting the better of him. He wanted to call her, knowing that it would only be nine in the evening there but he didn't want to seem obsessive. After all, she hadn't called him either.