Duet in Blood Read Free

lost much blood,” one of them said, his voice a grating whine. “You will drink this.” While the other supported my head, he held a goblet containing a dark red fluid to my lips. As the thick sweetness flowed over my tongue, I felt an immediate surge of energy course throughout my body.
    DUET IN BLOOD
    J.P. Bowie
    12
     
    “What is it?” I asked, wanting more.
    “The elixir of life.” The two exchanged cold smiles. “You will receive another cup in a few hours.”
    They left me alone, and it was then that I realised I was in some form of prison. The brick-lined walls had no windows. The only light came from two large candles that hung from iron brackets embedded in the wall over my bed.
    Testing my strength, I sat up slowly and swung my legs over the edge of the bed. The stone floor was cold beneath my feet, but as I stood up, the pain in my side seemed less and no blood stained the linen bindings. I walked a few steps. I felt stronger, much stronger than when they had carried me here—but to where exactly? I looked up at the domed ceiling again. It had the look of witchcraft. Men who experimented in astronomy or worshipped the sun and moon were considered to be dabblers in the black arts—and as such were often executed by drowning or burning.
    Why had they brought me here? Was I to be sacrificed after they made me well? That possibility could not be ignored, for although the men had cared for me, there was nothing about them that inspired hope or comfort. Later, they brought me a platter of bread and cheese, and more of the ‘elixir’ that I again swallowed with zest. For three days I was fed this way, then, on the fourth day, the men bade me to stand and roughly removed the dressing from my side. Sighs of satisfaction escaped their lips as they gazed at my body. I peered down, expecting to see some form of scar where the arrow had pierced me, but there was not one sign there of my ever having been wounded. One of them reached out and ran his hand over my side, teasing the flesh with his fingertips. I felt a quick revulsion at his touch.
    “Enough,” the other snapped. “He is not for you to enjoy, brother Tito.” He took my arm and led me to the door. “A bath has been drawn for you, and fresh clothes put aside for you to wear. The Master will speak with you when you have prepared yourself.”
    A bath—how wonderful to be able wash away the sweat and dirt of the past few days. I began to feel better about my situation. Perhaps they meant me no harm at all. Perhaps after bathing and speaking with the Master, whom I presumed I was to thank for his charity, I would be sent on my way. Perhaps.
    DUET IN BLOOD
    J.P. Bowie
    13
     
    Happily, I splashed about in the hot soapy water, holding my breath and dunking my head under the surface, rubbing vigorously at my skin, all the while thinking of the ways I could find my way home—hopefully to discover my mother and father alive and well.
    I lay back in the tub, relaxing in the balm the warm water created, and I thought of Marcus Verano, the stranger who had come into my life those months ago and who had brought me sensations that before him, I had never even dreamed of. Lying there in a luxury not often afforded me, I visualised his noble face, the dark hair that curled around his brow, the full sensuous lips that had brought me to the brink of ecstasy with their first touch on mine. I swear I could feel it then, that first feather-light kiss he had bestowed on my eager mouth. A first kiss is something to remember and treasure for all time. That first sensation of moist warmth that envelops the senses, that increases as the kiss grows from tenderness, to a quiet passion, to an all-consuming desire to have it never end. Such was the kiss Marcus Verano had left me to remember and never forget.
    I wallowed in this bliss until the water grew cold, then I dried myself with the thick towel provided. A tunic of white linen hung on the back of a chair, and I slipped it