From the Shadows

Adrienne stepped onto the veranda. It was an unseasonably warm evening in February, and she needed to catch the breeze that came off the water. She had not yet danced, but her face behind the mask was still finely misted with perspiration, and she could feel small rivulets of the same running down between her breasts beneath the heavy eighteenth century costume dress that she’d chosen to wear this evening.

The masquerade ball was hosted by her eccentric but good friend, Angelique, tonight in honor of Fat Tuesday or the conclusion of Mardi Gras. She knew it would continue long into the wee hours of the morning, leaving many a drunken and weary individual in its wake. Adrienne had been happy to escape both the heat and the drunken revelry housed inside by seeking the seclusion of the veranda, enjoying both the quiet and the crisp coolness of the river’s breeze floating in over the veranda.

Her arranged first date with Jean-Luc, someone with whom Angelique had set her up, had not yet manifested into reality, so she would enjoy a few moments alone. In her eccentric, playful way, and since it was a masquerade ball and everyone would be wearing a mask, Angelique had insisted that Jean-Luc must seek her out and ask if she’d like another glass of Merlot to both reveal himself and discover her identity. She sighed. Chances were slim that he would find her. Perhaps it was simply not meant to be. She’d had a streak of nearly twelve hopeless, failed first dates in the past year. What difference would one more make at this point, she mused to herself as she glanced at the nearly empty street?

Of a sudden, the hairs on the nape of her neck rose, and she realized she was not alone. Turning sharply and glancing about the darkened area, Adrienne nearly gasped as a tall, lone figure emerged from the shadows.

“Excuse me. I did not mean to interrupt,” a deep voice issued forth on the night air. The stranger wore a mask, but Adrienne could not help but see the semblance of a smile beneath it – one of irony if she was not mistaken. How strange, she thought to herself. What could he possibly find ironic in this moment?

“It’s fine – you just caught me off guard,” she said a bit nervously. “I was merely attempting to catch the breeze from the river.” And also avoiding the crowd of drunken people inside, she added mentally.

He casually drew nearer, choosing to stand only steps away from her along the wrought iron fencing that ran the length of the veranda. “Yes, me, as well,” he said, quietly adding, “But alas, also to escape so many unfortunate and drunken souls.”

She nodded slightly, aware that his presence seemed to permeate the entire space. And had he just read her mind? It would be impossible for him to do that, wouldn’t it? A room of drunken souls was an easy observation to make on this night of celebratory endeavors during Mardi Gras.

Taking a large sip from the glass of Merlot that she held., she inadvertently took notice of the fact that he had also chosen to wear the requested costume attire of the eighteenth century to this masquerade ball. However, his had surely cost a small fortune it was so splendid and believable. Nervously, she tugged at the skirt of her own dress, very self-conscious that what she wore was not nearly as authentic.

“You look like you stepped off the pages of a French novel,” he said, his deep voice melodic as if he were teasing her.

She glanced up, surprise etched across her brow. That was twice now he’d easily discerned that about which she’d been thinking. Was it all real or was the Merlot she was drinking wreaking havoc with her thought process tonight?

“You can’t be serious,” she said adamantly. “At least, not while dressed like a nobleman straight out of King Louis’ court. That’s a very handsome costume you’re wearing.”

“I assure you I do not jest. You look lovely and divinely French,” he said. “I, on the other hand, am just wearing an old piece of fabric I pulled from my dusty attic.”

Briefly distracted, Adrienne turned to look as a rowdy group of people passed by the house situated on Laurel Street. When she glanced back up, she noticed that, even though it was only minimal, the stranger had drawn a bit closer. She could now see intense blue eyes behind the mask along with strands of thick, dark hair that were tied back from his face in a neat, single queue at the nape of his neck. He also held a glass of what looked to be Merlot from which he drank. The wine seemed to momentarily stain his lips as he took a large swallow. So close, it was easy to see that he was quite handsome. She wondered what he’d look like without the mask. There was little doubt he was attractive, and there was a nice allure to his conversation as well.

“Are you from New Orleans?” he asked casually, taking another sip of his drink, his blue eyes penetrating her with the question.

“Yes, I’ve lived here all my life. And you?”

“I’m originally from Paris,” he replied.

“Paris? But you have no accent,” Adrienne observed.

“I’ve been here for many years now,” the stranger said while looking into his drink. “I’ve lost my accent over the years.”

Adrienne eyed him a bit skeptically but decided he did very much embody a French nobleman, at least at the moment anyway.

“How long have you been in New Orleans?” she asked, curious as to his response.

“Many long years, I assure you,” he quickly replied. “What do you do when you’re not looking like you leapt from the pages of an eighteenth century French classic?” he teased before adding, “I am in the business of antiquities.”

Was it just her or was he dodging her questions with more questions posed for her?

“Well, I am in the business of writing,” Adrienne said with a faint laugh. “Or at least, I attempt to write.”

“I am sure that what you’d write would be well worth reading,” he said.

Adrienne was about to laugh and retort that she wouldn’t be so sure, but the look in his intense blue gaze stopped her. He was serious. His blue eyes left little doubt as to his belief that what he said was fact. Embarrassed for some odd reason, she looked down at her own drink to gather her thoughts. This stranger was making her more self-consciously aware of herself than any other man had in a long while. Despite the heat of the night and for unknown reasons, she shivered.

Beneath her mask, he watched the stain of a blush creep across her cheeks and felt the shiver that ran through her body as if it ran through his. She was lovely, he thought to himself. Angelique could have paired him with any of her silly, vapid female acquaintances, but she’d obviously known that this one was quite special in more ways than one. And Jean-Luc was all too anxious to learn those ways. To see if she would be someone with whom he could share his darkest secrets. Secrets derived from living many centuries as a vampire, created from the dark streets of Paris in the mid-eighteenth century. He was tired of being alone. Indeed, he was ready for a new beginning of sorts.

Despite the shiver, Adrienne nervously fanned her face with the beautiful, dainty porcelain French fan that had come with her rented costume. She lifted her Merlot and nearly drained the glass as the man who had emerged from the shadows stood nearby and closely watched every move she made. She could feel the heat and warmth of the French Merlot, a favorite, sensuously move through her and ease a bit of the tension as she felt him continue to peruse her like a book. She should be alarmed, but strangely enough, she was not. She was much more intrigued and drawn to him than even she could understand. He was definitely not the usual type of man she attracted. No, without a doubt, he was much different. And she was interested in learning what those differences might entail. She instinctively knew he likely had stories to tell that could keep her interested for years.

“Are you all right? Or may I get you something?” he asked, knowing full well why she was suddenly so nervous.

“No, I am fine,” Adrienne said while still gathering her wits. Was it her imagination or had he drawn even closer than only moments earlier?

“I just want to be sure you’re all right,” he said reassuringly, lightly touching her forearm. Her response to him was instantaneous and moved through her like a bolt of lightning, and without a doubt, they both felt it.

Suddenly, she realized that he’d done it again and drew back ever so slightly. “Am I so easy to read?” she asked, eyeing him with a bit of skepticism.

He cocked his left brow in question. “I’m not sure what you mean,” he lied, feigning ignorance.

She reached up and touched his temple lightly, feeling the thickness of his hair beneath her slim fingers. His skin was decidedly cool despite the heat of the night and the costume he wore. How did he manage to appear so cool, calm, and collected amidst all the revelry and on this unusually warm night? Indeed, how did he manage to exude such confidence and read her thoughts, she wondered?

If Jean-Luc could have shivered, he would have done so at the moment of her touch. Instead his blue eyes turned crystal blue and then deepened in response to both her touch and her question. She was undeniably easy to read. It was as though he’d known her all the many years he’d spent on this earth.

“You seem to be able to pull my thoughts from my head and into that handsome head of yours. How is that so? Are you real? Or some figment of my imagination?” Adrienne questioned him, her voice only above a whisper.

He watched her, and he was sorely tempted then and there to make known to her what creature he was, mayhap tossing caution aside and by tasting of the sweet richness of her blood. But of a sudden, both of their thoughts were interrupted.

“Oh, Adrienne, dear. There you are,” Angelique’s voice rippled from the doorway across the veranda. “I see you’ve met Jean-Luc. You two look just as lovely together as I knew you would.” And with that, Angelique turned on her heel and disappeared into the crowded ballroom.

Stunned, Adrienne looked at Jean-Luc, who simply stared at her with a more confident interest in his blue eyes than he had only moments earlier.

“Jean-Luc?” she whispered, nearly afraid that he would reply in the negative. Could the world suddenly have aligned itself and gotten this first date thing right?

Jean-Luc continued to watch her with an intensity to which she was already becoming very accustomed. His lips formed a beautiful hint of a smile at the surprise in her green eyes. “Yes, my dear. The night is young. Would you like another glass of Merlot?”