Fated Shadows

Fate is resourceful and ever hidden in the shadows. The thought encompassed Jean-Luc as his dark eyes deepened to pools of black, clearly reflecting the anticipation he felt as he awaited Adrienne's arrival.

The night was unseasonably warm for February. Though Adrienne had not yet danced, her face behind the mask was finely misted with perspiration while beads of sweat rolled between her breasts. All because of the "eighteenth century attire, just as Angelique had specified for tonight's invitation. Adrienne sighed, fanning herself with the intricate fan that had come with the rented costume. She dearly loved her eccentric friend, but for the love of God, could Angelique not have picked a cooler night for festivities requiring such heavy garments?

Hoping to catch a breeze off the Mississippi River, a glass of Merlot in hand, Adrienne made her way to the veranda, lit only by a few candles strategically placed along its darkened length. Tonight was the final day of Mardi Gras - or Fat Tuesday - and in all honesty, Adrienne not only sought to escape the heat but also the drunken revelry housed inside. Fortunately, it appeared she had found temporary solace and was thankful for the moment to cool herself a bit in the evening's breeze.

Looking out on Laurel Street, Adrienne sipped her wine and wondered if Angelique’s close friend, Jean-Luc, would make an appearance this evening. Ever since she’d met the Frenchman and seen him about town, she’d found him dark and mysterious, especially since so little was known about him. He was quiet and broodingly handsome - or more specifically, the type to which Adrienne usually did not herself attracted. Still, she could not deny there was something intriguing about him which propelled her interest. She smiled. Perhaps it was the eyes for his were the most intensely crystal blue eyes she’d ever seen - frosty and icy by all appearances. Eyes were the windows to the soul, so they were a reflection of his innermost nature. Adrienne could not help but stifle a laugh at the thought.

Unexpectedly, hairs along Adrienne’s neck rose, and she realized she was not alone. Turning, she glanced along the semi-darkened veranda but could see no one. Still, without a doubt, she knew she was being watched. Of a sudden, a lone, tall figure emerged from the shadows at the far end of the veranda. Had the man been there all along? Watching her? Waiting?

“Excuse me, mademoiselle, I hope I did not frighten you,” a thick, French accent drifted across the night air. Like her, the man wore a mask but Adrienne would have known his voice anywhere. It was Jean-Luc. As he approached, Adrienne watched the semblance of a smile form. Whatever could he possibly find so amusing at the moment?

Adrienne attempted to regain composure, returning his smile. “Not at all, Jean-Luc, you simply caught me off guard. I thought I was alone.” Why was she so nervous of a sudden? She took a large sip of wine. “I was just enjoying the breeze," she said, mentally adding, While also enjoying a break from all the drunk people inside.

Jean-Luc casually and methodically drew nearer, standing but a few steps away along the wrought iron fencing. “Me, as well. But alas, I fear I also desired a reprieve from so many unfortunate, drunken souls,” he gestured with a nod of his head toward the crowded room.

Adrienne murmured her agreement while completely aware Jean-Luc’s presence seemed to encompass the entire length of the veranda. More importantly, had this man just read her mind? How ridiculous to assume such would be possible! A room of drunken souls was an easy observation to make on this night of celebratory endeavors, was it not?

Adrienne focused her attention on the man before her, observing Jean-Luc had also worn the requested eighteenth century attire. His costume, however and by contrast, had surely cost a small fortune it was so splendidly believable. Nervously, she tugged at the skirt of her own rented dress, self-conscious what she wore was not nearly as authentic.

“Mon cher, you look most divine,” Jean-Luc commented, his voice hypnotically melodic and soothing. “If I did not know better, I'd think you had stepped from the pages of a classically illustrated French novel.”

With his comment, she made a mental note: it was twice now he’d seemed to read her thoughts. Crazy! Was the wine she was drinking this night wreaking havoc with her abilities of perception?

Adrienne gave a laugh. “You cannot be serious, Jean-Luc. At least not while you’re looking as though you’ve just leapt from the pages of an Anne Rice novel!” She gave him the once over before adding, “Monsieur Lestat, I presume? I fear you are every inch the French nobleman in your, uh…..costume,” she said, stressing the last word to make her point.

A glimmer of surprise surfaced in the blue eyes behind the mask and his handsome brow lifted in amusement. “I assure you, I do not jest. You are charmingly French, mademoiselle. As for me, I fear I am merely wearing a piece of dusty old fabric I pulled from my attic.”

The wine was helping immensely to ease a bit of Adrienne’s tension, but still, a blush crept across her cheeks at the praise found in the words Jean-Luc spoke.

A loud group dressed as witches, their costumes and masks delightfully elaborate, crossed the street in front of the veranda, momentarily distracting the pair. Adrienne watched as the group looked toward the veranda, whispering amongst themselves and pointing at Jean-Luc before quickly running and disappearing in the shadows. Adrienne was confused. Why would they run away? There was nothing unusual about either hers of Jean-Luc's appearance this evening. Perplexed, she turned to Jean-Luc, who merely shrugged and smiled. She saw, though minimal, he had managed to draw even closer and held a glass of what looked to be Merlot. So close, it was easy to see the drink briefly stained his lips as he drank of it.

Adrienne fanned her face profusely though, despite the heat and heavy garment, a shiver ran through her. She looked up to find Jean-Luc watching her as though he knew her deepest and darkest secrets. What was happening? What exactly was so different about this man tonight? Why had those people run away as though they were frightened? True, Jean-Luc's allure was nearly unearthly and surreal, but he wasn't frightening. He did seem to make her nervous, but no, she was not afraid of him. If anything, it was just the precise opposite. In response to the questions surfacing, Adrienne lifted her glass and drained it of the wine as Jean-Luc, the man who had emerged from the shadows, stood close and watched each move she made. Should she be alarmed? Surely not. After all, this man was one of Angelique’s dearest friends.

“Shall I get you another glass of wine, mon petite?” Jean-Luc asked, lightly touching her arm. The heat found in his touch, though initially cool, moved through Adrienne like electricity. She couldn't help but wonder if Jean-Luc had felt it, too.

“No, I’m fine,” she lied. Surely, the last thing she needed at the moment was more wine. She already felt drugged even though she’d only had two glasses of wine, and she was also having difficulty reading this man. His nearness was like to a beacon of light, summoning her toward something unknown, yet utterly alluring. At the moment, she was feeling much like the moth hovering around the flame.

“Perhaps it would be cooler if we removed our masks,” Adrienne said, abruptly reaching to the back of Jean-Luc’s head and untying his mask, not awaiting his response. He didn’t stop her and the mask came undone, falling with a soft thud to the ground. For some unfathomable reason, Adrienne had wanted to see his face – his brutally handsome face. Yes, without the mask, it was much better - she felt better. Perhaps his allure would not be so overwhelming now.

Without hesitation, Jean-Luc reached over and removed Adrienne’s mask, dropping it to the ground so that it lay discarded by his. “Is that much better, mon cher?” he asked.

“Yes,” Adrienne replied though her voice sounded small and unsteady to her own ears.

Jean-Luc studied Adrienne with uninterrupted intensity, his eyes so dark in the dim light they were pools of black. Why in heavens name did he look at her so? She was already acutely aware of his nearness. What was worse, she knew Jean-Luc knew exactly what she was feeling, which only served to unnerve her all the more. Maybe she did need that glass of wine. But first……

Impulsively, Adrienne reached up and lightly touched Jean-Luc’s temple. His skin, much like his touch, was decidedly cool despite the heat of the night and the heavy costume he wore. How the bloody hell did he manage to stay so calm, cool, and collected while she felt like a nervous Nelly, overheated and unsure of each act or word she spoke? And why did she feel as if there was more behind his façade - as though there remained another mask yet to be removed?

Mentally chiding herself for reading too much romantic, fantasy fiction and thinking such outrageous thoughts, Adrienne started to remove her hand. Before she could do so, Jean-Luc lifted his own and encircled her wrist, stopping her.

“Precisely how curious are you, mon cher? Have you prepared yourself for the ultime, sombre fantaisie, which could well be your earthly undoing?” he asked, his voice deep and serious as he awaited her reaction to the questions he’d just posed.

Adrienne felt the strength in his grasp, despite the lack of desire to pull away. She felt strangely compelled to draw even nearer to the man standing before her though they already stood chest to chest. Dark, driven desire flooded and encompassed. She was suddenly desperate to embrace the dark fantasies to which he had alluded.

Impulsively, Adrienne extended her hand into the thick, dark ways of Jean-Luc's hair and tugged, hoping to pull him closer still. Instead, as she did so, his handsome visage fell like tissue paper from Jean-Luc’s face to hang limply from Adrienne's fingertips. In surprise – and fear – she stumbled backwards, the second mask falling unnoticed to the ground.

Jean-Luc’s eyes were as black as midnight and full of a hunger that radiated into the depth of her being. Without both masks, he was the epitome of the character Adrienne had jokingly referred to only a short while ago. Jean-Luc was a vampire every bit as real and enticing a character as Lestat, and he was devastatingly marvelous to behold.

The full moon moved behind the clouds again and a cool breeze engulfed the veranda. Standing illuminated by only a few remaining candles, Adrienne thought Jean-Luc the most devastatingly beautiful creature she'd ever seen. Without hesitation, she moved toward him, eager to partake of what truths his darkness would reveal before the dawn's light.

Of a sudden, a voice from across the length of the veranda intruded.

“Oh, there are. I’ve been looking for you two all evening,” Angelique’s voice rippled from the doorway. “How wonderful! I see you've found each other and you look just as lovely together as I always knew you would! Fate is resourceful and always survives to win the day, does it not?” With a look of smug satisfaction, Angelique turned on her heel and disappeared again into the crowded ballroom.