Chapter One
Saviour
Paris, France
October 31st, 1741
The night air was breathtaking and chill as three young persons walked along the Parisian streets, their laughter ringing out at a joke one of the companions had stated. The waxing moon hung suspended in the crisp night air, a myriad of stars surrounding the luminescent orb.
Chérie Bodette gripped her cloak tighter about her to maintain the warmth against her bare arms, as she fought to keep up her pace with the other two, but a lingering sense of danger nagged at the back of her mind. Constantly her head would move about, almost catching the sight of an inky shadow along the alleyways or on the cobbled street.
Her two companions, a young married couple by the names of Henri and Laverne du Lanarac, had given her the invitation to accompany with them to a supper event, hosted by the many wealthy citizens of the city and she had willingly accepted, glad to be out of the house no matter how brief the time. She had bedecked herself in her best dress that night; a lovely evening gown of midnight blue cashmere, the bodice cut low enough to show a small, enticing little bit of cleavage, a narrow waist, and a flaring skirt that covered her blue sequined heels. The sleeves were merely just two slips of material which draped just below the shoulders. Her long, brunette locks were done up in an elegant French knot, but due to the frivolous dancing she had partaken in, a few tendrils of silky hair had escaped the bun, dangling around her glowing face and tickling the nape of her neck.
It was now a little bit past eleven o'clock and the du Lanarac's had been gracious enough to escort her home, but it was beyond her line of reasoning why they had not beckoned for a carriage. The streets had grown steadily silent and the eerie quietness alarmed the young nineteen-year-old, and she pushed herself to stay close behind the other two.
"Chérie, what did you think of tonight?" the young woman beside her suddenly asked, her face a rosy red from the numerous drinks she had drunk that night, but her husband had been worse off; his gait throughout their walk was awkward and clumsy, and whenever he spoke to her directly, his breath reeked of wine.
Chérie shrugged her shoulders and focused her eyes on the road ahead of her. "It was enjoyable. I am glad that you and your husband invited me along, Laverne," she replied, her breath forming a thick cloud in the chilly air, "although I could have expected more from the food."
Laverne laughed heartily, her breath hitching with a couple of hiccups, but she had regained her composure and continued on. "Was that the only reason you came with us, for the fine tastes of Parisian food? If I dare say so, I believe it was more than the food that made you come with us," she responded back wryly, her fine pencilled eyebrow rising in question. "You seemed to have a marvellous time with that young man you were dancing continuously with. What was his name? Monsieur Garné?"
Chérie sighed at her friend's implications and shook her head, her face flushing a deep crimson red. "Monsieur Garné was a complete gentleman; he merely saw a lonely young woman and asked to give her some company for the evening. There was nothing meant by it at all," she protested, but was dismayed at Laverne's sudden snort.
"Is that how your brilliant mind thinks, my friend? How could anyone not approach you and not beg for your company, what with that enticing dress you are wearing? I am all but surprised that you are a little seductress at heart. Though I am amazed that you have not succeeded in landing in any of their beds yet," she jeered, her speech slurred and jumbled under the influence of the drink, but Chérie was still shocked at the woman's words.
"This dress is complete in all modesty, Laverne! I have no single article of clothing that proclaims that I am a whore," she whispered back fiercely, not bothering to hide the offence of the other woman's words.
Laverne was about to argue, when her husband sidestepped over to her and squeezed her shoulder in warning. "Stop goading the poor girl, Laverne. The night is growing old and stale and I do not have the need to restrain a fight," Henri murmured, his words indefinably clear throughout his drunkenness, and Chérie thanked him silently for his intervention.
The small trio continued on in silence, having nothing else to say to each other, but when a bulky figure stepped out of the shadows from a deserted alleyway, Chérie let out a small shriek before she felt cruel, grappling hands grasping her slim arms. The figure in front of them belonged to a large man, his clothes ragged and his face smeared with dirt and grime, and he held a pistol aimed impeccably at Laverne's head, while maintaining a firm grip on her waist, but Chérie could not, for the death of her, ascertain who it was that restrained her.
The man before them grinned broadly, his mouth bereft of a few teeth and the gun wavered over towards Henri, who stood frozen to the spot at seeing his wife in a dangerous predicament. Spitting out a mouthful of vile spit, their aggressor finally got the nerve to speak.
"Just hand over your valuables, all of you, and nobody will get hurt," he ordered, his thumb drawing back the hammer until a resounding click echoed throughout the street. Chérie swallowed the large lump of fear in her throat and watched as Henri delved into his coat's pocket, perusing them for francs or any kind of valuable possession. Once his hand withdrew, he opened his palm to reveal a wad of bills and coins, and a very small dram of whiskey.
"Is that all you 'ave?" the man proclaimed incredulously, staring in disbelief at the small amount of cash the man carried on him.
"I am afraid so, Monsieur, but if you will be so kind as to release my wife and our friend, I will hand this over to you without complaint," Henri pleaded, his face belying of his actual intention, but Chérie could sense it in his voice.
The thief glared warily at Henri, and slowly released his grip on Laverne's arm. Laverne whimpered and nearly fell to the ground, but stood transfixed with the look her husband gave her. As the man reached Henri, his hand outstretched for the money, Henri grasped out with his other hand and caught the other in a clean uppercut, sending him flying to the ground.
With a widened look of panic in his eyes, he bellowed out to Laverne. "Run! Get away while you still c –"
Chérie flung her head around to see why his statement was cut short and screamed when she saw him on the ground, lifeless and limp as a rag doll, blood spewing forth from a gunshot wound to the head. She closed her eyes and swallowed hard to bite back the bile that rose in her throat at the sickening sight of her friend, but when another shot rang out through the air, she didn't bother to open them again. She knew that the sudden thud of a body hitting the cobbled street and the strangled scream that followed could only belong to Laverne and she could barely feel her body being moved by the man holding her.
Smoke unfurled from the gun's barrel, the thief's mouth stretching into a mocking grin as he bent down to stuff Henri's money and whiskey into a pocket before moving over to Laverne's motionless body to snatch away her jewellery.
Chérie emitted a small whimper and the grip around her arms tightened gradually as a mouth closed in on her neck, his breath hot and rank against her skin.
"Please, I beg of you. Let me go. I have nothing to give you," she pleaded; her voice was simpering and weak like a fragile animal, but her captor merely grinned down at her with a wicked flash of yellow teeth.
"Oh, I believe you'll prove to be of some use to us, Mademoiselle," he smirked, a wheezy, harsh laugh leaving his curling lips. Chérie blanched at his meaning and began to struggle, digging her nails into his flesh and kicking wildly.
He fought to keep her under control, and in turn, he pushed her roughly against a crude wall of a building, his hands now clutching the folds of her dress in a tight vice. As she continued to struggle, the front of her dress ripped, revealing the lacy corset beneath, her chest heaving from the heavy exertion. The man's grin remained plastered on his face as he lowered his head to her neck, marring her skin with a series of harsh bites.
She screamed out in pain and viciously kicked the man in the shin, victoriously bringing out a cry of agony from her captor, and she began to pick up her skirts to run. The other man present, however, who was idly watching the whole display with rapt attention, raised his hand and struck her across the face, sending her to the ground in a rush of skirts.
Her cheek smarted from the blow and she raised a trembling hand to rub the tender contusion, and she turned frantic eyes towards the two men. She felt her very life flashing before her eyes, until another voice shattered the tense atmosphere.
"And how is this, in any way, a proper method of treating a woman?" the masculine voice entreated, his footsteps echoing on the stone as he approached the two men, who cowered over the trembling girl lying exposed on the street. The intruder was tall, far taller than the other two, and his eyes held no warmth; only coldness could be seen within their icy depths.
The man with the pistol snarled angrily and turned the gun towards him, the barrel aligned levelly with his head. "And how would you know anythin' about treatin' women, you bastard. She was all beggin' fer it," he hissed through clenched teeth, but the man's face remained unfazed by the intimidation. His eerie calmness caused shivers to run up and down Chérie's spine as she watched the scene take place.
"I at least know better than to publicly rape her in the middle of the street," he replied, his voice stoic and firm, and with unusual speed and grace, he attacked the man with only his fists and intellect. The man was unprepared for the assault and the pistol flew out of his hand, striking the wall in a clash of metal against stone. The brawl was uneventful; once the man had sent the other to his knees with a flurry of punches to the stomach, he grasped the man's head between his hands and gave it a sickening twist, the neck breaking in a resounding crack.
Using this distraction as an advantage, Chérie hitched up her skirts and began to run down the alleyway, but the other man had already jumped to that conclusion and had snatched the gun up in his hands, firing a single shot in the air. She only got about five feet away from him, when she felt the bullet rip through her shoulder and she cried out in agony, the force of the blow sending her to the ground as her blood seeped through her clothing. But it wasn't too long before her attacker met the same fate as his companion.
As she lay in her own pool of blood, all she could feel was the numbness surging through her veins as she fought against the pain. Lifting a hand to place on her shoulder, she felt it become slick and wet with blood, but was amazed at how much had coated it. And then she was lifted into strong arms, strong arms that she felt comfortably safe in. A hand cradled her throbbing head while the other rested gently on her hip, bringing her closer to his body, and yet she felt no warmth, only coldness.
Through hazy eyes, she could barely make out the features of his face but could feel, rather than see, his blue piercing gaze upon her as he stared at the wound, as though he was longing for something. Her face paled as the pain finally assaulted her body, sending her into a series of spasms and tremors as she lay wrapped in her saviour's arms.
Bending low, the man whispered gently into her ear; his breath was chillingly, but sensually cool against her skin. "Your body is dying. I will help you but you will feel pain. I pray for your forgiveness for what I am about to do," he murmured, and his head dipped towards her pale neck.
Staring intently at her neck, he could easily see the flow of her blood run along the creamy column, and he bent lower, gaze transfixed as he sank his teeth as gently as he could into her flesh.
When she felt his mouth clamp down heavily, she was borne away on a wave of pleasurable pain and conflicting emotions. Never had she felt anything quite like this before; unconsciously, her hand moved up to hold his head in position and she could faintly feel the silkiness of his hair, which was tied back in a leather thong. She felt as if she should be fighting this occurrence, but something deep within her stilled those rational thoughts and she continued to ride the waves of unexpected ecstasy.
But once he withdrew, she felt her life waning, draining away, and she fought to bring air to her oxygen-deprived lungs. She sucked hungrily at the crisp, night air, but it was as if she were underwater and merely breathing in liquid. The man above her stared in wondrous awe at the sight, suddenly feeling the compulsion to kiss the young woman that he held in his arms, but knew that if he did not act upon his actions, she would die and his efforts would be proved useless.
Raising his wrist to his mouth, he tore away at the skin with his teeth until a small trickle of blood formed at the base of the wound and he lowered it towards the girl's gaping mouth. "Drink, it is the only way that will save you," he urged her, though he could see the revulsion of the act in her glassy eyes.
Putting all horrid thoughts aside, she closed her mouth over the wound and swallowed the red liquid, not surprised at the bittersweet, metallic flavour to it. What astonished her was the clear fact that once she had tasted it, she couldn't help but hunger for more, but once she had had her fill, she released him and fell limp in his arms.
Once she had done so however, an immense, antagonizing pain seared through her tense body, as if a hot poker knife had replaced her spine and she arched her back from the intense agony of it. The man held her tightly to him, trying to ease the pain she felt as much as he could and he winced at her screams as she clutched feverishly to his coat. Her hair spilled forth from its stylish up-do and fell in front of her face, masking her pain from the world around her. And then suddenly, the pain was gone, diminishing from whence it came; she fell lax in his arms, her eyes closed in a state of dormancy.
Sighing gently to himself, he removed his coat and placed it around her chilled body, more or less an attempt to cover her current state of undress. Once he had done so, he took the opportunity to observe her more closely. As she slept, with her mouth parted slightly, he could see her four teeth lengthening to a slightly more pointed tip and her complexion paled to a starker white than before. And even through these transformations, she still maintained her radiating beauty, a striking contrast to the other woman he had found dead on the street.
Pulling her swiftly against him, he stood up in one fluid motion, but a cautious, lingering sense made him still his movements, feeling the extra presence behind him. Closing his eyes, he let his senses stretch out to identify the sudden stranger, but relaxed when he recognized the familiar aura.
"Kurt," he suddenly called out, not bothering to turn around to meet his friend, addressing him in a curt, cool manner. He could sense the man behind him nod his head in compliance and walked towards him.
"Dominic," the other man replied back, his American accent thick and heavy, although light and humorous at the same time, in comparison to his friend's. With his shoes clacking noisily against the stone, he approached Dominic and was slightly surprised at the woman he held in his arms.
"And who is your companion, may I ask?" he asked him curiously, taking in her unconscious appearance and the deathly pale tint of her face. The woman was beautiful to say the least, very young and he couldn't help but notice Dominic's coat wrapped about her petite body.
Dominic shrugged at Kurt's inquiries and started walking, searching for their carriage. "I do not know as to who she is; all I can tell you is that I saved her from an eminent demise," he replied in short, finally spotting the black vehicle hidden away by the archways leaving the city of grandeur. As Kurt followed closely behind his companion, his keen eyesight suddenly caught sight of telltale pinpricks embedded into the woman's neck, and he reached out to snatch Dominic's arm in astonishment.
"You turned her," he stated simply, but matter-of-factly, as if it were such an uncomplicated matter. "But I thought you hated killing humans."
Dominic narrowed his eyes at Kurt and bared his teeth in a menacing gesture, all the while settling the girl gently onto a cushioned seat. "I abolish the act, but if it is needed to be done then I will do it. It's not in me to leave a poor defenceless woman unaided."
"But when has it been in your nature to bring the victim back with you?" Kurt countered arrogantly, triumphantly grinning at his friend's slow reaction.
Dominic faltered at this. How was he to explain to his obnoxious friend the sudden compulsion he felt towards this woman? Even he couldn't perceive the conflicting emotions roiling about in his mind, but he shook his head to clear it, waiting for his friend to enter the carriage. Once he had done so, Dominic looked up at the driver and said, "Ride for Rouen as fast as your horses can take us. I will give you further instructions then."
The driver nodded his head sharply and once the carriage doors had closed behind the young man, the man slapped the reins smartly against the horses' backsides and they were off, the black carriage disappearing in the inky blackness of night.