The sky was starless and blue with the sunlight fading, announcing the oncoming of the night. Bluish grey eyes fluttered open in his hollow sockets and he looked around, assessing that it was time to hunt. Not that he would step out of the mansion; its abandoned premises offered enough supply of rats.
Yet there was a time when he had scorned at Louis for surviving off on rats, but in the twist of events it happened to be the only food supply he could count on.
He had not yet hunted enough when he stopped, sensing the unmistakable sound of footsteps edging near. He dropped the dead rat he had been holding, wiping off his mouth with his sleeve and retreated to his armchair, making sure not to cause any unnecessary sound.
Though he sat alert, listening closely to the disturbances caused in the otherwise silent mansion as whoever that was approaching proceeded further inside. For what seemed like the first time in years, his senses were ensnared by the scent of human blood and he froze in his seat, his eyes focused hungrily at the entrance of the room he was hiding in.
The sound of footsteps seemed to have died down though he knew well that the human who had foolishly entered his retreat was undoubtedly near, as the scent grew stronger. A burning sensation had erupted in his throat scorching him from the inside and he turned away in his armchair, not able to face the door without pouncing on whoever was yet to step through.
The dried leaves on the floor crunched, announcing the arrival of the poor victim and Lestat held his hand up, voice reduced to a rasp as he spoke, "halt. And step no further."
He had refrained from turning to see the human standing in the doorway though he could inevitably feel the presence of a soul other than his own in the abandoned mansion for what seemed like the first time in decades. And that notion of someone else's presence seemed enthralling to a lonely creature like him who had spent an eternity or so he thought, trapped in the unbearable company of his own self.
"Kind Sir, I do not intend to intrude. But may I stay just for a short while here?"
The voice that addressed him was sweet as it fell upon his ears though a little out of breath from running all the way there. Still just as sweet as the scent that had diffused in the air. He noticed that it lacked the lilting Creole accent he had been accustomed to hear back when he still roamed the streets freely, reminding him of the considerable amount of time that had passed since then.
He could sense that the visitor was a young woman, terrified out of her wits and despite himself, he resisted the urge to prey upon her. After all it had been years since anyone had paid him a visit so he steadied himself, gently turning the armchair to face her.
Lestat de Lioncourt was never known to haste in consuming his prey. He took his time assessing whether the victim truly deserved such a fate or not, as in his own words, the evil doers tasted better than the innocent. Though there were times when he had refrained from abiding by that rule as well.
"You may stay but pray do not come hither. Sweet maidens as you are not befitted for such ruins."
A sigh of relief escaped her yet she drew back, taking note of his warning, "I am most grateful."
The dark was increasing and so was his sight along with it and what had seemed to be a faded silhouette at first cleared up and he could see her frail form more distinctly.
"May I ask what made you step in my decaying retreat?" His curiosity took the better of him as he asked, not being able to read her thoughts himself due to his weakened state.
"I was being chased, Sir. I seek refuge for until I can go back safely."
His eyes subtly searched her face, realizing instantly why she was being chased and by whom. She had a rather rosy complexion and clear blue eyes that seemed to glow even in the dark. And roaming out in the city at night for such a beautiful maiden like her was bound to get her chased by the voracious creatures that lurked the streets in the dark.
And he knew well that no matter how many years had passed, the ways of the world seldom changed. For in the darkness of the night, two types of species lay in wait to hunt on such poor souls.
The first of the species was rare; vampires like his own self who hunted on their blood. But the other was quite in abundance; humans, her own kind but twice more monstrous, who hunted on their flesh.
"Very well then. I am afraid I can not offer you enough hospitality and it pains me to not even be able to offer you a seat," he remarked. His voice had turned back to its usual timbre as he had been exercising a rather remarkable control over himself, resisting the thirst raging inside him.
She too seemed to have calmed down as she replied, "worry not, kind Sir, I only want refuge and I will not trouble you more."
A while passed in silence though her eyes observed the state of the surroundings closely, her face depicting that she had questions that she wanted to ask but was not doing so out of courtesy.
Sensing her curiosity, he spoke, "pray do not stay silent. Years have passed since I heard a voice other than my own."
"Why do you live here?"
The question was quite abrupt and she seemed to have realized that it could be deemed as inappropriate for a rather scarlet shade dawned on her cheeks. Lestat had noticed that as well for he let out a short bitter laugh but didn't reply.
"Pardon me, Sir, it is not my place to judge. I should not have said that," her voice was lowered as if uncertain of how he would respond.
He took his time, formulating the sentences in his mind before speaking, "ah my sweet maiden, do not apologize. I chose this retreat myself. For a damned soul as I, only a lowly ruin may offer solace. I have seen palaces and forts of the highest splendor in my days, but none would take me in now. And only this ruin offers sanctuary as I rot."
His reply seemed to have sparked her interest as she leaned forward a little but stopped, his words of warning echoing in her brain. "And where are you from, Sir?"
"Paris," he replied vaguely, closing his eyes for a fraction of a second as his native city loomed in his memory.
"Oh, monsieur then," she corrected herself and he nodded in acknowledgement.
"Oui, ma chérie."
He noticed that she understood though he had not expected her to be able to comprehend his native language. True, in the times when he had ventured out, more than half of the city's population conversed in French such that the people had a very distinct mixed accent. But that had not been the case with the maiden standing in front of him; her accent was free from the characteristic French lilt.
"A gentleman from Paris... Yet in such distress."
The scorn was evident in his tone as he laughed yet again, as if mocking his own self, "pitiful, is it not?"
Her blue eyes flickered in sympathy, "may I ask what left you in such a terrible state?"
His reply as always was vague, "sorrows of the past. Brought upon by people I called my own."
The sympathetic wave on her features had deepened as she lowered her gaze, "I am sorry. Please do not be sad."
He had judged that the young maiden had a kind heart, sensitive to other's pain. And that made him resist the temptation further. "It hurts each time to recall what terrible hand fate dealt me with. And pains even more to know that I deserved it all. But you should worry not for an old wraith as I. Do not trouble your tender heart on my account."
But then she glanced outside the broken glass window, noticing that the dark had completely enveloped the city. "Monsieur, the night deepens and I shall have to leave."
"Indeed, chérie," he replied, his eyes taking in her features for what seemed like the last time, "but pray do tell your name before you go."
"Evaline."
"Evaline..." He repeated the name under his breath, trying to figure out the origin, tracing it back to all the ancient languages he knew, "can I expect you to return? Some day, tomorrow or when ever you can? Seems that it has been centuries since anyone paid me a visit. And I would cherish to have your company again."
She paused, as if contemplating his request, "I will see, Monsieur."
"Lestat. The name is Lestat de Lioncourt," he thought it best to introduce himself as well since she had already told him her name.
A gentle smile graced her features as she nodded, "I will try my best, Monsieur Lestat."
His grey eyes were transfixed on her retreating form, judging how long it would take for him to stop her and sink his fangs into the soft flesh of her neck, draining her of each drop of the sweet blood that coursed through her veins. It would only be a matter of seconds because even though he was weakened, still he was swift enough as compared to her.
And there would be no one to hear her muffled cries until her heart would come to a fatal stop and her rosy red cheeks would pale from the shade of death.
The ache in his throat worsened at the thought, but his hands clutched the sides of the armchair tightly, refusing himself to get up until he was sure that she had gone far from his mansion.
But he could still hear the distinct sound of her footsteps, echoing in his brain even though she had left long ago. And her pleasantly unfamiliar voice resonated in his ears, making him think that it was best if he did not pursue her just yet.
He was weak but not desperate. And he knew he could wait a little longer for the right moment to quench his thirst. It was not the time yet and he could not afford to take another risk.
***