Dark Rapture

by Hauf, Michele

  Francesco clutched the rail until his knuckles were as white as the dead bodies he’d left behind in his lifetime. He's mine.

  And then as if by some wonderful chance, it happened. Vince tripped and plunged forward, bringing the woman down with him.

  Francesco pushed through the crowd making it to Vince’s side just as he was picking the woman up. As she rose, straightening her tight mini-skirt, she blurted obscenities and kicked Vince in the shin, leaving him hopping around drunkenly to the corner of the darkened bar.

  “Shit, man, did you see that?” Vince hobbled to the wall with Francesco’s help and stood beneath a neon beer sign.

  “Smart woman.” Francesco stood in front of Vince, blocking his view of the dance floor and sectioning him off from the rest of the crowd. It had been a mistake to come down to the bar again, but the man had pleaded, saying it would keep his mind off his mother. “Think it’s time to go, Vince?”

  “Oww, that hurts!” Vince pulled up his pants leg. “Would you look at that? The bitch drew blood.”

  Not caring about the people walking by, Vince slumped against the wall and fell to the floor with one leg stretched out and the other held close to examine his wound.

  “Pardon us.” Francesco offered apologies to the angry stares around them and bent over Vince. He fingered the oozing gash in the bony flesh on Vince’s calf. She must have dug her heels in. Vince certainly hadn’t deserved that. But the sight of the vibrant blood seeping from the wound made Francesco’s lips burn. He closed his eyes, drowning out the mad blur of people.

  Control yourself.

  “Can you believe she did that?” Vince spoke to anyone who would listen as the people around him started to gather, eager to see what was wrong.

  “All right, let’s clear out,” the bouncer’s voice boomed, stirring Francesco back to reality and the obnoxious beat of the music. “Out with you. We don’t need any weird scenes.”

  “Yes, we had better leave, Vince. Here, give me your hand. I’ll help you.”

  Francesco helped him hobble out, thinking that Vince was overreacting. It was just a flesh wound. The door opened to the alley and the smell of oily smoke from a nearby chimney choked Francesco and teared his eyes. He looked up through the thick cloud of black and saw a sliver of moonlight shimmering in the sky.

  “Let go of me, man.” Vince sat on the cement steps and immediately slapped a palm across his arm. “Damn blood-sucking vampire mosquitoes.”

  Vampire mosquitoes? Francesco brushed at his shoulders, hoping to ward the little beasts away and noticed the blood on his finger. It was quickly drying. He glanced down. Vince was tracing his band’s name in the sand below the steps with the top of a beer can. Unobtrusively, Francesco slipped his finger into his mouth and sucked slowly. Mon dieu, the taste blazed through his veins like effervescing champagne. This was heaven!

  He pulled his finger out to stare at it in amazement, and then turning to Vince, who was unaware of his alarm. Francesco reached out, his hand inches from the back of Vince’s head. He longed to dip his fingers into the honey. To touch him everywhere and to learn his most intimate secrets and desires, and finally . . .

  To know if his suspicions about this lovely young man were correct.

  But there was only one way to know for sure. He had to drink his blood.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The courtyard was thronged with ladies and lords, commonfolk and musicians. The women, done up in gaily colored silk and satin, stepped lightly through the stone-paved gardens, guarding their ornate dresses from straying into one of the many goldfish ponds that dotted the yard. Everywhere, huge masses of stubby white and pink candles, in tall spiraling brass candelabra, glittered.

  In the center of the expansive courtyard a jeweled pink granite fountain stood in majestic splendor, its stone mermen and mermaids entwined, spewing out showers of sparkling pink water. Shiny white carp swam in the huge fountain bowls, their opalescent scales glittering like diamonds submerged in pink champagne. The color of the water matched the roses that grew wild across the grounds, twining about the statues of cherubs and mermen and weaving between the shrubs that were pruned to match the nautical statues. The entire yard smelled fragrant of summer roses and greens, putting everyone in a festive, if not romantic, mood.

  And there, by the pink granite fountain, stood Scarlet, aka Elisabeth Montrose, marveling at the fancy white fish. She’d broken free from the protective reins of Nettie and Orlena, begging them to let her explore, for perhaps she’d bump into

  her Uncle Vincent. Seeing a familiar circle of women who beckoned her to join their gossip, Nettie let her go. “But don’t stray too far, Elisabeth,” she said with a motherly kiss to her cheek and a knowing wink.

  Never in her wildest dreams had Scarlet imagined such a lavish spectacle. The gardens were fabulous and the tables of food amazing. Three whole pigs had been roasted and glazed with shiny apples stuffed in their mouths, and tall trees of candied fruits formed the centerpiece on every table, each teasing her to approach. But that could wait. First, she wanted to see the rest of the sights.

  Initially, she had been amused to see the men dressed in finery and trimmings. They all wore silk stockings tied with ribbons below the knees and heeled shoes, some with elaborate diamond shoe clips or feathers. Most also sported powdered wigs of all shapes and colors. She laughed to herself. Never in her time would the men she knew be caught dead dressed in such feminine clothing. But, like the proud male peacock displaying its colors, these men appealed to her; they were beautiful and elegant.

  And the dresses! So grand and graceful, in every color of the rainbow. A garden of cleavage burst upon the grounds, sprouting up from tightly cinched dresses of reds, blues, turquoises, light yellows and aqua-greens. The colors were endless, and they were trimmed in lavish furs, laces, and ruffles, each magnificent, but, as Scarlet had already learned, not functional, at least when it came to walking.

  The dress that Nettie had lent her was a dream come true of snow-kissed white, covered with baby seed pearls. Scarlet felt ready to walk down the aisle, if only she weren’t so uncomfortable. The corset pinched her stomach and smothered her lungs so that she had to take shallow breaths. And as for walking, she found that she had to take tiny steps and keep a keen eye ahead so she would know when to swerve to avoid a collision with another wide skirt.

  A house servant, dressed in blue waistcoat and billowy white shirt, bowed before Scarlet, offering a silver tray of sparkling champagne.

  “Merci."

  Nodding obediently, he left her sipping the wine as she continued to drink in her surroundings.

  It was a marvel to see the faces. Women and men alike dusted with white powder to give themselves a smooth complexion. But at closer inspection under the candlelight, Scarlet could see that it only masked their bumps and imperfections, and as the night wore on the powder began to fade, revealing the shiny faces below.

  In contrast to the stark white powder, the women’s lips were all brilliant carmine red. A few of them also dotted on a beauty mark or black patch here or there on their face and neck. Some were even cut into the shape of a heart or diamond. Scarlet wished that she had a little heart on her cheek, just for fun, although she felt less than stunning next to the dazzling crowd that pranced and flitted about her. But she held her head high and walked about in search of what she had come for.

  She hoped that the woman vampire wasn’t too beautiful. It was going to be hard enough to get Sebastian’s attention with all the women vying for him. Oh yes, she’d heard more than one whispered conversation about him tonight. And it seemed that this could indeed be the party of Sebastian DelaCourte.

  She set her glass on the swiftly passing tray of another house servant and scanned the crowd. Every single woman in the country must be present tonight, she thought. “If this is Sebastian’s party, then I do feel a bit sorry for him.”

  “Mademoiselle?”

  Realizing that the gentleman next to her
had overheard her one-sided conversation, Scarlet turned to meet inquiring blue eyes. His gray wig sported a long braided queue that was tied with red velvet to match his gold-embroidered red frockcoat and breeches. A cream waistcoat of shimmering satin peeked out between the openings of his frockcoat, and when he offered her an open hand the gold threaded laced cuff covered half his palm.

  She noticed with a start how handsome he was, and faltered as she spoke. “Oh, pardon, I was talking to myself.”

  He smiled, quirking a brow. But there was something about him . . .

  “I should think a lady as lovely as you would have no time to spend talking with herself. I’m surprised that any number of men have not attempted to monopolize your conversation.”

  He slipped his arm through hers and Scarlet walked alongside him as they approached the golden glow of the ballroom.

  “I just arrived. I haven’t spoken to anyone yet,” she offered.

  “Well, my dear, you would do me a great honor if you would allow me to occupy a portion of your time this evening.”

  Standing beneath the carved plaster archway that led into the grand mansion, Scarlet stepped closer to her handsome stranger to avoid getting pushed out onto the lawn by an overzealous party guest. She had much better things to do, like finding Sebastian. But the man’s eager gaze prompted her to be cordial. “Yes, of course.”

  She slipped her hand from his arm and he caught it in his, the lace tickling her wrist. The candelabra just behind his head glimmered frantically as the breeze whipped the fragile flames about. The flames flickered in his eyes and suddenly, Scarlet remembered.

  “And will you please me with your name, mademoiselle?” His hand was warm in hers and she was sure he could feel the tension tightening her muscles. She stifled a gasp and tried to speak calmly. “My, my name is Elisabeth. Uh . . . Elisabeth Montrose.”

  “Such a lovely name, it surely fits. But you're trembling, Elisabeth.” He trailed a finger over her sensitive skin.

  “Oh, it’s nothing, really.” You have to be sure, she told herself as she studied his gaze. It might not be him. “Just a chill.”

  “Then we’ll go in. A dance, perhaps, would warm your lovely bones. Oh, I’m terribly sorry.” He dropped her hand, which Scarlet clutched to her stomach in an attempt to strangle the butterflies. The man bowed deeply and she noticed the trace of dark hair that had slipped out of his wig just behind his ear. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Francesco Volierre.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Foresight proved to be a deadly companion. Knowing what she knew of Francesco Volierre in the future kept Scarlet from being at ease with his acquaintance now. As they made their way to the dance floor, she hung back, almost coming to a standstill, but she didn’t want him to notice her alarm so followed slowly.

  She wondered if Sebastian and Francesco might still be friends if Sebastian had never become a vampire. But wait! They were still friends. Sebastian wasn’t a vampire yet. So there was no reason to fear Francesco.

  “It’s a minuet, Elisabeth. Shall we?”

  Wishing she had more time to think it over, she let Francesco lead her into the opening steps of the dance. “I’m not a good dancer.” Not unless it’s rock n’ roll, she thought. “I guess I’m not so familiar with the older dances.”

  “You’re doing quite well. Just follow my lead. I’ll not lead you astray.”

  Oh, won't you?

  It was too late to wish that Sebastian had told her more about what Francesco had been like. She did remember him saying that he had changed drastically after becoming a vampire. Hopefully, she thought, as they passed the small orchestra of violins and cellos, he had been an angel.

  “So, I imagine you’ve come to lay claim to the birthday boy, too?” Francesco’s smile was alarmingly sensual, revealing straight white teeth and a shadow of a dark moustache. “Don’t fib now, I know that thought occupies the mind of every lady here tonight.”

  “Actually, I would like a chance to speak to the man, but I wouldn’t be disappointed if I did not,” she said, surprising herself. What am I doing, being nice to the man who wants me dead?

  “Really?”

  Taking his smile as a good sign, Scarlet looked past him. Francesco could be just the man to introduce me to Sebastian when I might not ever run into him in this huge place.

  “I see the chill has left you.”

  “Oh? How can you tell?” They’d stopped dancing, and he hooked his arm around her back as they made for the table of food near the tall pillars that framed the far hallway.

  “Your cheeks have taken on your namesake.” He paused to look over the table of hors d’oeuvres and wines, selecting two goblets of liqueur. “Elisabeth Montrose, or Rose, if you will, with lips and skin of the same lovely color.”

  Accepting the liqueur, Scarlet wished she could control the heat that rose to her face. Just what is it about these eighteenth century men that made them so charming?

  “I’m sorry, am I too forward?”

  “No, well . . . it’s all right. I don’t mind when it comes from a man as handsome as yourself.” She quickly raised her glass to taste the sweet liquid and then realized that she had better lay off the alcohol. It was already making her much too friendly. She only needed Francesco to lead her to Sebastian—not to become interested in her.

  Francesco took her goblet and set it back on the table. His eyes sparkled, white-caps cresting over the ocean. He stepped closer until the edges of his coat folded against her white skirts. “Your words pleasure me, Elisabeth Montrose.”

  He clasped her fingers over his hand. As her fingers traveled to his lips, Scarlet had the sudden urge to pull away and run. This was foolish; she could find Sebastian on her own.

  But as his lips grazed her knuckles, soft as a fluttering moth, she felt her rapid breaths exhale into a deep sigh. The lace encircling his other hand tickled her neck as Francesco smoothed his fingers along her cheeks, relishing the unnatural warmth that he, in effect, was producing. “Elisabeth Rose, that is what I shall call you,” he whispered as his face drew near to hers. “I shall never forget the name of the most beautiful flower in all of Paris.”

  Scarlet gritted her teeth as the stiff hairs of his wig brushed against the curls falling over her forehead.

  She was startled back to reality as Francesco spun around when a fat coachman standing over his shoulder hurrumphed. “Ah . . . hope I didn’t interrupt?”

  “No,” Francesco said quickly, squeezing her hand to offer apologies. “What is it, Antoine? Is everything well in the stables?”

  “Oh yes, sir. It’s the duke d’Anneville, he’s an eye on the gray stallion and we need a good horseman’s opinion. I told him that Francesco Volierre was the best and he asked if he could retain your services. He wants your opinion before offering Roland his price.”

  Francesco nodded. “Certainly, tell him I’ll be right there. But if you’ll give me a moment?”

  The coachman peered past Francesco, smiling heartily at Scarlet. “I’ll tell him you’ll be there shortly.” He turned on muddy heels and headed down the hallway toward the stables.

  “It’s all right.” Scarlet was all too glad to go along with fate this time. “You go on, I’ll find the two ladies with whom I arrived. It was nice to meet you, Monsieur Volierre.”

  “I’m sorry about this, but you won’t deny me another dance if I’m able to make it back in time, will you? I don’t want this to be the end of our beginning.”

  Scarlet nodded, hoping to herself that it would be, but . . . “Of course I won’t. But you’d better go now, before Monsieur LeReaux loses out on the sale of his stallion.”

  With one last squeeze of her hand, Francesco reluctantly left her behind, following the trail of muddy footprints down the hall. Scarlet sighed with relief, pressing a palm to her chest. Her heart beat as fast as the music, rather an erratic tune. Much like her life had been for the past few days.

  She watched until the wide sweeping hem o
f Francesco’s coat disappeared around a far corner and then set her mind to the task at hand: to search out Sebastian DelaCourte, or Sebastian LeReaux, whoever he was.

  She strolled past the long buffet table. The tall trees of sugared plums and peaches glistened in the candlelight, but she avoided the temptation, seeing that a crowd of people had started to feed. Feed as in cattle pushing their noses over their troughs and nudging others away from the food. She did not want to squish between the pasty-faced hordes. And besides, the skinny servant who attended the food did little to keep the flies from buzzing about.

  “Isn’t he divine?”

  “Perfection.”

  She arrived upon a huddle of giggling young women, their heads bowed toward the center of their intimate circle. “Have you danced with him?”

  “No,” a tall girl in pink satin and ample bosom batted an eye and flipped a pink lace handkerchief across her chest. “But I’ve my eye on him. He’ll meet me soon enough.”

  As she moved around the circle, trying to catch snippets of their conversation, Scarlet could see that they stood next to a quartet of musicians. Between giggles, and an occasional pause for a group sigh, she heard Sebastian’s name. They were talking about him. But where was he?

  She stood on tiptoes to peer over the girls’ elaborate wigs, but was unable to see past a fluffy green ostrich feather, so she nudged between two men to stand on the edge of the circle near the musicians. At that moment a blob of white candle wax landed on the shoulder of her dress and she waited for it to solidify.

  “Won’t they appreciate electricity when it’s finally invented” she muttered picking it off.