Evaline | L. Lioncourt ✔

[09] Moment Of Truth

Daylight was fading when she opened her eyes and sat up. She was surprised to find herself in an unknown room but recognized the blanket that was covering her since it was the same which she had brought for Lestat upon her second visit.

Last night's events flashed in her memory and she shuddered in fear, recalling how Lestat had mercilessly taken that man's life. She could not erase the vividly horrifying image of Lestat's jaw fastened upon his throat, blood dripping from the side of his mouth as his hand stifled the man's screams.

He had been an epitome of horror at that moment, tearing apart his prey akin to a hungry wolf. And she did not know when he had stopped as she had lost consciousness, not able to witness the repulsing sight any longer.

Glancing out the window at the dusky sky, she realized that a lot of time had passed as it was evening again and her heart sank in worry knowing that if the tavern owner figured out about her long disappearance, she would get the sack.

Evaline got off the bed, holding the ragged shawl that was draped around her shoulders tightly as she stepped out of the room. She figured her way back to the room where Monsieur Lestat was supposed to be seated, but was surprised to find it empty.

There was no sign of Lestat nor the corpse of the man he had drank from last night.

"Monsieur? Monsieur Lestat?" Her voice trembled as she edged closer to the armchair, cautiously checking behind it as well but he was nowhere to be seen.

She heard a slight sound as if someone had cleared his throat and turned to see a gentleman standing at the door. He had golden hair tied in a ponytail, his grey eyes were probably the most beautiful set of eyes she had ever seen, flickering from blue to violet in the dimming light and his lips were turned up in a cordial yet irresistible smile.

At first glance, he looked no less than royalty. And she had never seen him before so she assumed that he was a foreigner. Though why he was in that abandoned mansion troubled her and the fact that Lestat himself was not there plagued her more.

"Sir, I... Have you seen... A french gentleman lives here, Monsieur Lestat. But he is not in his armchair and..."

He edged forward and she instinctively took a step back, stumbling over the armchair, her hands quickly arranging the shawl that had slipped, holding the ragged fabric closer to herself. Her heart raced as she backed off, features paling in fear.

"Ma chérie, it is I. Lestat." He had noticed her fear as he spoke in a soft tone. "I mean you no harm."

Her eyes were wide as she curled further back in the armchair, holding her knees closer to her frail body in a defensive attempt, "Monsieur Lestat? But... But..."

"Pray do not fear me, Lady Evaline. You are safe here. No one is going to hurt you. I will not allow it."

"But Monsieur... How..."

"Calme, chérie. Se détendre." He spoke in a soft relaxing tone, kneeling down in front of her as she tried to bring her breathing back to normal.

His hands rested at either side of the armchair, blocking her only way of escape but there was nothing threatening in his demeanor. He had hunted sufficiently hence he had no fear of losing his self control around her anymore.

And though it was hard for her to see it at first, but eventually she realized the man in front of her was truly Lestat de Lioncourt. His voice was the same, unmistakably authoritative and yet steadily soothing, just as it had been when he recounted countless tales of the past to her.

And his features were not much different either except for the fact that the hollowness in his eyes and cheeks had been replaced by clear white skin. His matted hair, that were darkened to a dead brown shade in his years of confinement and starvation, had returned to the flowing blonde texture. Those chapped red lips that were dried up with thirst had healed, attaining a faint pink shade. While the age and fatigue from his features had faded into a youthful glow, making him appear young enough to be in his mid twenties.