"Ginger is lying. I’ve only done it a few times, right after I turned. I did not think it would be possible to do it again. I thought I was too old," he smirked. His eyes said that he would have no such problem.
Hathor shivered at his promise, wanting to stop fighting him. But she was too frightened. Her body shook in indecision. Her mind trembled in insecurity. How could she perform under such daunting circumstances? It wasn’t as if she was experienced enough to be with one of her own kind that was wild in his tastes, let alone a handsome vampire that tasted most of the world and knew and saw more than she could ever imagine.
"Why would she lie?" Hathor once again made it to the top of the stairs. She started to run the length of the house, tripping when she bumped into an antique table. The vase of silk flowers fell to the ground, roaring onto the floor in a shattering crash. Crawling up as quickly as she could, she met with Servaes’ eyes. He was in front of her. His hand reached out to touch her cheek in a gentle caress. The movement met with air as she jerked her face away.
"She was trying to seduce you with human words. She was unlucky that night in finding a suitable partner and thought to take you as her own. But I wanted you. I laid claim to you." Servaes’ fingernails tried again and succeeded in grazing her cheek. She jerked back, trying to run the other way. She leapt over the shards of broken glass, avoiding injury. Servaes moved to block her path again, shaking his head with a small, tsk, tsk.
"Then, are you saying, you want to … uh … be with me like that?" Hathor trembled. Tears entered her eyes. Her lips bent and stretched in alarm.
Servaes held back, curiously moved by her rejection. He studied her for a moment. Drawing up, he stated boldly, "I’m telling you I am going to be with you like that. Why are you resisting?"
Now?! Hathor shivered in alarm. Weakly, she asked, "What if I don’t want it?"
At that he laughed, his hands moving at his sides. "You cannot lie to me. I feel that you do. I can smell --"
"I don’t want to," she broke in harshly. "I don’t care what you think to smell on me. I don’t want to be with you like that. Why can’t you just leave me be?"
"It’s too late for that." Servaes didn’t move, and she didn’t bother to try and run again. She knew it would do no good. If he wanted to catch her, he could.
"No, it’s not. Just go away," she pleaded, growing desperate. She was scared of him, scared of what she felt.
"The last time you bid me to leave you regretted it and came after me. Tell me what you wanted from me then?"
"To give you back that necklace. I told you that. I felt bad for my rude behavior and thought to apologize. I thought you were human." Hathor placed her hand on the guardrail as she backed up through the opened section of the upstairs hall. She looked down over the side, tempted to jump and knowing she would break her legs if she tried. She wondered if his blood would mend her.
"You lie," he asserted.
"How can I want you? I don’t even know you." Hathor moved back. Her fingers gripped tighter to the rail. She thought she might try sliding down the pole.
Servaes’ eyes lit in amusement at that declaration. Nothing could have been further from the truth. She knew him as sure as she knew herself, since she had become a part of him.
Besides, he thought, since when do humans have to be acquainted to have sex?
"Oui chéri, you do. You can feel me inside of you now." Servaes’ words stopped her. Her pale face watched him through the dim light. At his husky plea, she closed her eyes with a shiver. "Open up, feel me within you. All I offer is pleasure. Why would you deny yourself it?"
"I can’t. I’m frightened of you," she admitted at last. "I’m frightened of how it would be. I’m frightened because I can’t trust you. I don’t know who you are, who you were. You are right though, about one thing, I do know you through your blood. But that is feelings, emotions. I don’t know the real you, and I refuse to want you."
"Do not be frightened, petite. Give over your mind to me. Let me read it. In doing so, you will read mine. All the answers you seek are there." Servaes wondered suddenly why he offered such to her. He only sought to give her physical pleasure and find his own immortal release. Such a thing he proposed was rare. Often the mortal who gained such knowledge had to be killed or enslaved.
"I can’t do it," she whispered. "How do I know this isn’t a trick to take over and control me?"
"Then let me show you who I am," Servaes murmured. He was by her ear, next to her chest. His arms wrapped slowly around her, folding her pliable body to him. His heart hammered nervously, as he whispered, "Let me show you who I was."
Unable to resist, Hathor nodded. He drew her in, his voice the softened caress of a lover’s comforting hand. She closed her eyes, feeling him against the length of her. Holding her to him, he unlaced the neckline of his shirt, pulling it apart to expose his chest above his beating heart.
"Drink," he ordered. "Drink from my heart and see."
Hathor looked into the deep, vulnerable pools of his eyes. They searched her with the sadness of over three hundred years. Her gaze trailed over his handsomely pale face, to where his fingernail rested over his flesh. For a moment the sweet sound of violins strummed about them, faint as if coming from outside. Moving his finger, he pressed his sharp nail into his muscle. A thin trail beaded behind the gesture, bubbling up on his skin. The darkness of his offering was a stark contrast to the ashen-hue of his flesh.
Glancing up briefly to receive his nod, she lowered her mouth to him. Servaes placed his hand over her head, holding her to his chest. She could hear the chanting of his voice all around her. His lips didn’t move.
The world slowed. Time cracked and groaned, stopping with the frozen beats of her heart. Licking his strong chest, she felt his muscles flex beneath her tongue. He helped her to move, urging her to take his life within her once more. Servaes moaned. Hathor gasped. And, together, their minds faded into an all-consuming darkness.
Chapter Ten
Palace of Versailles, Court of King Louis XIV, Versailles, France, 1682 AD
The bright sun shone with summer over the beautiful palace gardens, which stretched out of the immense royal residence. Dutiful servants opened two wide French doors to the day. Great stone steps led down to a platform lined by intricately carved railings detailed with swirls and fleurs-de-lis supported by pillars. Beyond this platform down more curved steps stretched a magnificent open courtyard.
The garden was laid out in symmetrical design, measured to perfection, with shorn grasses of the truest green, evenly placed shrubs, marble statues and smaller fountains. The fleur-de-lis, being the armorial emblem of the kings of France, was formed in the swirling patterns of the garden shrubs, cut to distinction in the green even fields. In the middle of the gardens was a wide walkway, leading far into the distance to a stone building constructed into a grassy incline. Halfway to the building was a large circular fountain, spraying water high into the air.
Noble couples strolled leisurely, spotting the gardens with their richly elaborate clothing. Men wore flat, saucer-like hats with wide brims, decorated with brightly drooping feathers and ribbon trim. Beneath the hats were their long periwigs, curled to the shoulders, some powered white and others left a more natural brown. Rows of buttons, fastened only to the waist, trailed over the fronts of embroidered doublets -- red and gold, blue and silver, yellows and every color in-between -- hanging to mid-thigh.
The close fitting jackets hung over waistcoats of matching colors. Lace cravats fitted the necks and lace shirt cuffs hung from the stiff side cuffs of the jackets. Full breeches, gathered at the knees with bits of ribbon, over stocking legs, led to high-heeled shoes with large tongues and square toes.
For the woman of court, no less finery was expected. Their uncovered hair was parted in the middle with ringlets of curls falling over each ear. Lace trimmed petticoats peeked out from bell-like skirts. Stiffly unmoving bodices, enforced with bone, pressed the chest flat, showing wondrous
amounts of cleavage through low scooped necklines. Bodices and sleeves were decorated with stiff bows, lace, gauze and jewels. Their colors were more varied then the men and just as bright, and from their ears and necks hung great jewels and bands of pearls.
The men led the women about on their arms, some sporting two or three ladies, as their entourage made their way through the garden. The small groups stopped to nod and speak and laugh to other nobles as they passed. Young lovers, hands clasped, sat by the fountains drinking in the beauty of the other whilst trying to get the courage to declare their love.
Birds sang beautiful summer songs. Ladies chattered of progress, and men spoke of politics and riches gained. Everyone smiled happily as if they were at peace with their world, though they all knew of the petty intrigues they plotted behind backs. Beneath the surface of each subtle flutter of an eyelash or wave of a fan lurked a devious mind of court.
Hathor opened her eyes after a flash of bright light and the sound of roaring water in her ears. She froze, gasping as she looked around the sunlit yard. No one seemed to notice her panting and pale face as she stood next to a tall statue of a naked Venus. Slowly, she turned her head to the side. The illusion spread all around her. She could smell the sweet scent of the air. She felt the fine breeze and warm sun caressing her skin. Her eyes darted around, looking for Servaes in the crowd of nobles. She didn’t see him.
She gulped nervously, noticing that her legs were unusually heavy, and it was hard for her to breathe. Looking down, she saw that her breasts were outlined by a risqué neckline with white fur trim. She was dressed as everyone else. The stiff bodice of royal blue satin forced her back straight and made bending difficult. The sleeves were loose, puffed and gathered as they made their way down her arms, finally resulting in lace cuffs falling over her wrists. The top of the bodice arched around her hips and pointed down in the middle front towards her inner thighs.
From there the cumbersome weight of the heavy blue skirts pulled her awkwardly to the earth, flaring out so that she couldn’t see her toes. She swayed on her feet. The gown parted with more fur trim to reveal a white underskirt with blue embroidered decoration. She had no choice but to place her hands demurely in front of her waist to keep her precarious balance.
She felt surreal. The sun on her shoulders was warm and inviting, the sweetened perfumes of flowers on the gentle breeze no less so. The grass beneath her shoes crushed softly in whispers as she moved. Her senses told her the dream was real. Her mind told her it was impossible. She was hard pressed to believe her senses. Reaching over, she moved her hand to the stone pedestal of the statue. She expected it disappear into a fine mist. It didn’t.
With a slow, drawn breath, she fell against its steady ledge. Closing her eyes, feeling as if she were about to swoon, she whispered, "Servaes, where are you? Do not leave me in this strange place alone."
"Mademoiselle?"
Hathor froze at the oddly familiar voice. Its tone was confused and light, unlike the dark and ominous Servaes she knew. Slowly, she leaned forward to peer around to the other side of the statue. She met instantly with a familiar face.
It was Servaes, but not as she knew him. His dark brown eyes were bright and warm, curious as to who whispered his name with such seriousness. There was no suspicion in his gaze and no hard glare, only mild discontent. His lips curled into a carelessly beautiful smile as he saw her. His skin was dark, not the cold pale of the vampire he would become. His nose was the same, arrogant and proud. His jaw tilted with the same familiar line she found irresistible. As his eyes traveled in appreciation over her form, she felt a shiver rack her spine making her immobile.
Her throat became dry. She could feel a flush rising to her features as she stared at him like a fool. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words were forthcoming. Her eyes studied his face, awestruck by his handsome visage. Slowly, the human Servaes stepped from hiding to better look at her confused face.
His hair was bare, not at all covered like the other men. It was gathered back at the sides but fell free at the nape of his neck. The sun shone through the length of his dark locks making it gleam with an almost angelic quality. His long coat was of a fine black trimmed in the elaborate gold everyone seemed to like so much. Beneath it she could see a dark red waistcoat. A stark white cravat fitted to his neck and matching white stockings hugged his calves, trailing beneath the satin of his short breeches. On his feet were heeled shoes, black with red ribbon trim. Lowering her face to look at the ground, Hathor tried to suppress a chuckle and failed. He was very fancily done up.
"Pardon, mademoiselle?" Servaes questioned in French. His eyebrows arched boldly on his face.
Glancing up, she managed a smile for his confusion. Her eyes drew up to his beautiful dark hair. It looked so different in the sunlight, not like the stark black it was in the night. Servaes followed her gaze up towards the clear sky. Then, with an amused smile, he nodded, seeming to understand. Turning from her, he leaned over and lifted his hat from behind him. It was of black felt with red and white feather plumes falling over the side to the back.
Hathor cleared her throat, realizing that he was waiting for her to speak. Slowly, she said, "Much better, monsieur."
To her amazement she realized she spoke in fluent French, but her thoughts were in English. The man smiled appreciatively. Leaning against the statue, he motioned his fingers lazily to her.
"I must apologize for I do not remember meeting you, which is naturally not very well done of me since your beauty far outweighs even that of the pearls about your neck. Tell me where we were introduced so that I may remember such a happy day." Servaes smiled, leisurely studying her face. Hathor’s heart fluttered.
Hathor bit her lips nervously and looked around for the vampire Servaes. The vampire was not so charming as the man before her was. Touching the pearls, she tried not to blush at his compliments. Weakly, she said, "Perchance it was in another life that we met, monsieur, for I do not believe we have been properly introduced."
Where did that bit of banter come from? Hathor thought in amazement. She gave him an easy smile.
"Did you not say Servaes, thus calling out to me?" Servaes questioned. "Did you not wish for me to rescue you from this strange place?"
"Oh," Hathor hesitated, searching her brain for an answer. Delicately, she asked, "Are you the only man with the name of Servaes?"
"No, of course not." Servaes took her sharp words as a dismissal and bowed at the waist. "I will keep you no longer. Please, forgive my rudeness."
His eyes cast over with a blank front. Servaes turned abruptly away from her.
"Wait," Hathor demanded, only to quickly add, "please."
Servaes circled slowly to her with a questioning smile. Patiently, he waited for her to speak. The sparkling depths of his brown gaze continued to throw her off-guard. She swallowed nervously.
"I’m sorry if I sounded rude. In truth I am just a bit frightened. You see, I was brought here and abandoned by my … chaperon. And I am not quite sure where to go or what to do." Hathor gave a great sigh and helplessly looked at the man before her. She tried to smile but failed. Her heart fluttered at his handsome face, his easy smile and charm. She was afraid to let him leave her since he was the closest thing to a friend she would have in the strange place. "In fact, at this moment, I don’t think I even know who I am."
"I should be happy to help you remember yourself, chéri," Servaes answered gallantly, mystified by the woman. He grinned at her, a delighted smile as he held out his arm. Hathor stepped forward, amazed that her legs could move under the stiff skirts. She wrapped her fingers around his elbow, trying to walk in her obvious heels as he led her forward onto a walkway.
"Tell me, is this place real, or am I still dreaming?" she asked. She knew that if anyone could answer her question, it would be Servaes. His deep brown gaze turned to her merrily as he gave a carefree laugh.
"I do not know, mademoiselle. If it is a dream let us both stay asleep." He led her over
the grass, stopping to allow her to step gingerly over the ridge of stone surrounding the yard. Her heels clicked lightly as he helped her to move onto the paved pathway.
"Thank you," she murmured politely.
"So, mademoiselle is new to the French court?" he asked. He escorted her over the walkway past a manicured shrub and then proceeded to lead her about in apparent aimless direction. Hathor noticed that several of the other couples were strolling about in the same absentminded fashion.
"Oui," she answered. "Very new. In fact, just arrived."
"Ah, so have I finally met a lady untainted by the affairs of the social world?" questioned Servaes. He chuckled when she nodded her head in answer to the rhetorical question. Her innocent smile astounded him, drawing him into her world. Her blue eyes shone without cunning or artful display. She didn’t carry herself as a noble, yet she was not unkempt like a peasant. Her gaze met and held his boldly, not straying coyly beneath lashes in feminine invitation.
"Well, let me introduce myself. I am Lord Servaes, Marquis de Normant."
"And I," Hathor said, thinking quickly, "am Mademoiselle Hathor Vinceti."
"Ah, from the Italian Vinceti's?" he inquired.
"Very distant," she answered, thinking that surely her ancestors might have been them of whom he spoke. "I’m afraid they might not even know of my existence."
"Well, their misfortune shall be my…." He let his words trail off with a soft hum. "How about this? If anyone asks, just tell them that we were introduced in Paris three years past through a mutual acquaintance, say the Countess Dulac. No one will think to question it."
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