New Blood (The Blood Saga Book 2) Read Free Page A

all somehow familiar. By no means was I a scholar but with my new
eyes I believed I had identified each one as the work of the greats.
    Vincent Van Gogh. Leonardo Da
Vinci. Had he painted this for Damien? Another member of this house? The
painting was beautiful. Undeniably Da Vinci. Yet it was absolutely savage. A
nightmare. Stopping before it, all I could do was take it in, detail by
frightening detail. Damien stood behind me, but said nothing. At last I pulled
myself away and move on.
    Pablo Picasso. Rembrandt Van Rijn.
Jan Van Eyck. Raphael and Sandro Botticelli. They were all here, spread
throughout the vast hall and leading up to another winding staircase.
    Damien allowed me to study each
piece, staying always just behind me. “Who is this one?” questioned in a mere
whisper of humbled awe. “I don’t recognize this style.”
    The painting itself hinted at the
style of Michelangelo with such beautiful detailed perfection, but the colors
were wrong in every way. This paint was older. The colors were more vibrant and
wild, yet dark. Somehow, they shimmered.
    The woman displayed in the picture
had long black wild curls and much unlike the art of Da Vinci, her eyes and
smile were wickedly appealing rather than timid and angelic. The eyes called to
you. Much like the statue just down the stairs had been. Obviously though,
these were not the same women. This woman was pixie like, with elegant yet
sharp features. A narrow chin. The statue of a woman had a square jaw though
quite feminine.
    The painting was a nude though very
tastefully done. The woman lay against a large stone covered in moss. The background
was a beautiful waterfall so life like I was certain it must exist somewhere.
    “You don’t recognize her? Lara
painted her. That’s Jezabell,” he answered calmly, little emotion showing in
his voice. “The shimmer you see is crushed pearl.”
    “It’s-” It was difficult to form
the sentence. The painting was ancient. I could smell the lambskin and the bare
ingredients of the paint. Each painting varied slightly because everything came
from different resources. They were diverse enough I could detect the differences
even if I would not have known each painters work. This seemed easily the
oldest here.
    Hearing him speak his age and then
seeing proof of their years was astounding and almost frightening. It told me
more of what I had become.
    “Yes, it’s very old... More than a
few hundred years. You would have to ask her.” Damien supplied the answer to my
unspoken question. His voice so casual on the surface seemed to alarm me for
some unknown reason. Despite how content he seemed to be to show me his most
beautiful home he was still in pain. How could I have been so cruel to ignore
it, I wondered. I turned to him with a forced smile and motioned for him to
lead the way without another word.
    His blur of speed that I once found
impossible to catch sight of now seemed a simple series of movements, even if
it was very fast.
    Up the next flight of stairs, my
fingers brushed the rail as I walked. This staircase was iron. It, too, of
course was just as finely crafted. Created to appear as glorious vines and
exotic flowers. Mingled with the ivy were exotic birds. The only ones I
recognized were peacocks. Splendid.
    The banister was a masterpiece. Hm.
Never imagined myself thinking that in regards to a staircase. The metal itself
had somehow been smoothed so to touch it was as if to touch glass.
    Murals decorated these walls in
much the same style of the painting I had admired before. These murals dictated
scenery of island life. Though of where I could never have imagined. “Yes, it’s
Lara’s work. Azores Portugal . Lara and Jezabell lived there for a time.”
    I nodded slowly. Of course they
did. My favorite part of the mural pictured a grotto filled with greenery. The
only plant I recognized was the Ginko trees. Everything about this House made
me feel inferior.
    “And you tried to tell me my work
was