Part Two: Prince of the Blood - Evolution

Part One: Prince of the Blood

Transformation

By PJ Webb

It’s a tale of intrigue, betrayal, action and romance. Sebastian Blood is portrayed well by the author, with interesting shades of black and white in his character. The rage for his loss is palpable as the plot progresses. The author’s style of writing is detailed, which helps readers visualize scenes very well. This book is a compelling read for all those readers who enjoy stories related to vampires. I can’t wait to read the second part to know where the story takes us.

Five star review from Matma Madhaven for Readers’ Favorite

~Prince of the Blood~

Evolution

By P.J. Webb

Copyright 2011 by P.J. Webb

Smashwords Edition

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, locales, or organizations is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used, reproduced or shared in any manner without the permission from the author.

Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

~~~*~~~

This is dedicated to My Sebastian

My Husband Scott Webb

Who, having been faced with extreme loss,

Is in the process of reinventing himself

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

About P.J. Webb

Coming Soon

Connect with the Author

Acknowledgements

Chapter 1

It was a well-organized cloak of deception that had allowed me the freedom to lay to rest the public figure, Sabastian Blood, in his crypt alongside his beloved wife, Malahti. His funeral had taken place at the Hollywood Forever Cemetery in Hollywood, California on July 12, 1929.

Two days before the funeral I abandoned all connections with my mortal life and took a new identity as Sebastian Du Sang, French citizen. I boarded a cargo ship that would take Jillian and me abroad to our new home and vineyard approximately 100 miles east of Paris in the Champagne region. And, while the vessel provided nowhere near the elaborate accommodations I had grown accustomed to while traveling on the great luxury liners, I was more than willing to forgo physical comfort to have Roman with us. The art work we took from our beloved home, Pond Overlook, made the trip as well. It had been professionally packed and placed in the ship’s cargo section along with our many boxes of books. These were the only possessions from our former life that went with us.

We kept ourselves entertained during a painfully slow and uneventful voyage by reading some of the current novels we had brought with us. We had also included a reference book on how to speak French so that Jillian could continue her studies. I had begun teaching her the language months earlier, and she was doing so well that I no longer spoke English with her when we were alone. I had also brought a few books on the art of growing grapes and making wine with the intention not to be entirely oblivious to the operation of my vineyard.

Jillian and I had been in bed reading for a few hours that first night, and after she had fallen off to sleep, I lay awake in the darkness thinking, having set aside my book and turning out the lights so they wouldn’t disturb her. It turned into a monumental session of thought that encompassed my life and how the piano in my father’s establishment along with fate had conspired to bring me aboard this cargo vessel, and as my thoughts were revealed to me, I found the number of what ifs astounding.

In 1900 my father had become the proprietor of what would be one of the more popular saloons in New Orleans. It’s a date significant to me for two reasons. It was also the year of my birth, and I was the only child my parents would have. That didn’t bother me in the least, not to have siblings. My childhood friends and I were inseparable and spent many wonderful days at play together, and had it not been for Charles, I might never have left New Orleans. In fact, I would have likely taken over my father’s business, married, and had a content life with family and friends—but Charles was the catalyst that had changed my fate. He used to come and play the old upright piano a few nights a week, and his talent and the beauty of the music he played made me envious. I longed to be the musician he was, and finally, I convinced him of my honest desire to learn. With that he began to tutor me.

Eventually, I became accomplished enough to be accepted into the Institute of Musical Art in New York City. And shortly after my eighteenth birthday, I boarded a train that would not only take me to my exciting destination, but that would also introduce me to the most significant and deadly acquaintance of my mortal life—Leanna Parker. How many times I’ve thought—what if I had never met her. If only I had missed that particular train.

Once I got into my studies, it didn’t take long for me to realize that I was never going to be the master I had imagined myself to be, and I became bored with the ridged schedule we students were expected to keep. That’s how I met Malahti. I had gotten together with a few classmates to see a play, and she had the lead role. From that moment—that first moment I ever saw her—everything I did, every decision I made, all was channeled to give me a chance to have a future with her.

I remember when I got my spot in an orchestra that played nightly for one of the most popular clubs in the city: how wonderful it was to have that instant gratification from an audience. That’s how I happened to meet Brandon, marry my girl, and take a luxury cruise to Hollywood, California. What wonderful memories those years hold, but now there’s nothing left of that storybook life except for our Doberman pinscher, Roman. Fortunately, he’s still with me.

Brandon had been right with his prediction that I could be one of the most famous actors in the world. Malahti and I were the toast of the town with the wealth to go with it, and we were completely in love with each other. Then one night, one vicious, horrid night I came home to find my beloved brutally murdered and all that I once had—shattered. Not until my blood was drained and my mortal life sucked from me did I know for certain who was to blame.

Leanna! My very soul still screams out. Even though I have destroyed you, it’s not enough. Even though I tortured you first, it’s not enough. It will never be enough for what you did to Malahti and the monster you made of me. And, if I had not been buried alive in that casket and left alone with nothing but my mind to convince me that it was possible to recall my soul to me, I suppose I would still be that monster—but Malahti’s sweet and precious life remains lost.

Forever, Malahti will be the beloved of my mortal life, and just as surely Jillian is and will always be the love of my immortal life. Most importantly, I’ve learned how much I need her companionship and how grateful I am to have it.

So, here we are, Jillian and I. We’ve left our home, Pond Overlook, to its overseers and are on our way to our new property in France, having finally ended my mortal existence once and for all with a great vail of deception carried out with Brandon’s help, and for that trickery, I will have to endure the sadness of leaving those I still hold so dear to morn what they so innocently perceived to be my untimely death, and, Brandon, my dear, dear friend, I’m truly sorry for your part in my charade—consequently, we will never see each other again. In time you will come to see it as your last and greatest act of friendship where you and I were concerned, nevertheless, I will miss you for all time.

. . .

In due course we arrived at the port of Le Havre. The three of us couldn’t wait to set foot on land. Our trip, in retrospect, was an experience we could have done without. As soon as we went ashore, I found a taxi to take us and a limited amount of our luggage to our new home. I had arranged for the rest of our things to be delivered the following afternoon. Then, before we left the harbor town, I asked our driver to take me to buy wine. I planned on celebrating with Jillian later that night.

The taxi ride was more than pleasant thanks to the charming personality of our driver, Marceau. He appeared to be in his mid-forties and was a jovial, friendly man who thoroughly enjoyed his self-proclaimed role as tour guide. He drove us through Paris and on to Champagne and its western boundary of Ardenne, telling us about various points of interest along the way. I had not yet made the trip in daylight and was quite taken by the splendor of the region. It was a sparkling summer day, and through my open window I saw rivers and channels of incredible scenic beauty. We passed by forests, open fields, and vineyards stretching for miles. I remember smiling to myself and thinking what an ideal place this was going to be to live.

Even with the excitement of all that we had been through, I thought to ask Marceau if he might be available the next day to drive us into Paris. He was more than agreeable with the idea, and while he handed me our luggage, I arranged for him to return in the early afternoon. Then as he took his leave, I went to stand with Jillian and Roman before our new home. Jillian suddenly threw her arms around me.

Oh, Sebastian, I love it! Except for the color and the addition of the upstairs, it does remind me of Pond Overlook.

At Rene’s suggestion I agreed to the terracotta color.

It truly is magnificent, she said, and I had to agree.

It’s called a Manor House here in France.

How wonderful, she smiled.

God knows how long we might have stood there staring in complete awe, if Roman hadn’t gotten bored. He began barking at both of us and was obviously tired of our gloating, and especially since I’m sure he could care less what the place looked like.

All right then, boy, we’ll all go inside. Come on, Jillian, I called over my shoulder as Roman pulled even harder on his leash.

LaSalle had sent the keys to me three weeks earlier when the work was completed. I remember how it felt to hold them in my hand. It was a reassurance that I would be there one day soon. That day had finally come. I unlocked the heavy mahogany doors, and we stepped into the foyer. Then, I released Roman from the confines of his leash, and he trotted off to conduct his own investigation.

The foyer was expansive—twice as large as Pond Overlook’s—in order to accommodate the stairs on either side leading up to the master suite. They flanked both sides of the single-paned glass doors leading to the courtyard. Other than those differences and an additional one hundred square feet of space for each room, the layout of the ground floor remained the same as our grand plantation home.

Jillian and I took the stairs up to the master suite, the only set of rooms on the second floor. Six of the same doors that were in the foyer led to a large balcony that overlooked the courtyard below. We walked out together and stood looking across our property.

I asked Jillian then, What shall we call our new home?

She answered my question in a way I hadn’t expected. I named Pond Overlook. It’s your turn this time.

I’ve never named anything myself, I told her, although I was enthused by the prospect.

It will come to you. You don’t have to do it just yet, if you’re not ready.

Let me have a few minutes to think.

Take all the time you want, she said, and then she kissed me before leaving me to contemplate my task. I stayed on the balcony deep in thought. I took the naming of the property seriously and was disappointed when I couldn’t come up with anything. Eventually I went to tell her that I hadn’t been successful.

Don’t worry. I told you it will come to you, probably when you least expect it, she assured me again.

We continued our exploration throughout the rest of the house and then ventured into the courtyard. We took the stone stairs down past the pool to the manicured grounds beyond, and as I was standing in one of the gardens looking toward the vineyard, I happened to look back at the house. With its color in stark contrast to the greens and browns of the property’s foliage, it suddenly came to me. The name would be Fleur du Vignoble, Flower of the Vineyard. I was excited when I turned to Jillian and told her the name as well as the explanation of why it had come to me.

That’s beautiful, she said, and then she gave me her most radiant smile followed by a passionate kiss.

It was a perfect, lazy summer day. Earlier I had turned Roman loose into his new yard. Rene had been instructed to put a fenced-in area outside of the kitchen, and I was pleased that Roman was finally able to run around to his heart’s content and stretch his legs. After all of the traveling he’d been forced to endure, it must have felt good to him.

Jillian and I had thought to bring our swimsuits and changed into them before bringing a bottle of wine and two glasses out to our new pool. She was overjoyed once again by the exacting detail in which the pool at Pond Overlook had been emulated.

All along poolside Rene had placed reclining canvas chairs. We chose two together and sat down to sip our wine and relax.

Cheers, Jillian said holding up her glass, here’s to Fleur du Vignoble,

To the Flower of the Vineyard, I toasted.

This has been a very exciting day, hasn’t it?

Yes, it has, I agreed.

And tomorrow will be as well, with the art work and the rest of our luggage arriving.

Not only that, we’ve got to buy a couple of cars and then, of course, we’ll need furnishings.

Must we do everything tomorrow? she said appearing a bit overwhelmed.

Well, I think we should at least buy a car. It’s not very convenient without one. The delivery of the rest of our things is supposed to be here before noon. That leaves us the rest of the day. Also, I asked Marceau if he would be willing to drive us into Paris, and he said he would. He should be arriving around one o’clock in the afternoon.

That’s fine, she said, stretching her arms above her head. Then she turned to me and asked, What will you do about LaSalle?

Nothing, for the time being. He doesn’t expect me for at least another month. I’d like us to spend some time enjoying our home before I have to deal with him. When the time comes, I’ll call and tell him some story about having just arrived.

Then she asked, What if he decides to come out here for some reason in the meantime?

He won’t. Our house is completely finished, and his role as overseer has ended. Besides, he’s too involved with the renovation of his own home now. There’s nothing to be concerned about.

All right, I won’t be, she said, but I wasn’t sure I believed her.

Jillian had a way of blowing things out of proportion at times and then keeping it to herself.

Oh, you know, it just occurred to me—aren’t you meeting with the vineyard’s foreman and the crew tomorrow? she asked.

Yes, that’s very early, though, at seven in the morning. We should be finished with everything by the time Marceau gets here. We just need to be out of Paris by nightfall. I wouldn’t care to run into LaSalle or any of his entourage in the city. He doesn’t know about you, and I prefer to keep it that way.

It was shortly after midnight when together with Roman we left for our first successful hunt in the woods of our property.

. . .

The front doorbell rang at exactly seven o’clock the next morning. Our foreman was on time. I answered the door and rather than asking him in, I stepped outside to speak with him. He introduced himself as he extended his hand to me.

Good morning, sir. I’m your foreman, Forest Aberdene.

He was a physically fit and muscular man of average height, probably in his early thirties. He looked older, but his body was that of a fairly young man. I guess the appropriate description of his appearance would be weathered. He had brown hair, an unkempt mustache, and hazel eyes. He told me that he didn’t speak any English which, of course, wasn’t a problem for me.

Then he said, I answered an ad that your lawyer had written. I’ve been here for two weeks, and since you needed workers I brought three men with me from the last place I worked. You will need a lot more, though. You have many vines.

Why are you no longer employed there?

"It’s a long story, sir. I was married, but my wife of seven years became involved with one of my men. When I found out what was going on behind my back, I was furious. In the end, there wasn’t much I could