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She stumbled out of the crush of the ballroom, gulping in the cool night air. It was hot, she was cranky, and damn propriety, she just needed to be alone for a few minutes. Too many stares, too many whispered conversations. She wandered into the large hedged garden and found an isolated bench and sat down. Then, even though she could hear her lady’s maid’s voice in her head yammering on about wrinkles and dirt, she laid down on the cool stone and looked up into the night sky. The sounds from the party were muted, and it was dark and peaceful. She wished she could stay out here, unnoticed, for the rest of the evening. But that wouldn’t suit her purpose, she needed to find a man. She’d promised her guardian she wouldn’t be a bother for more than a month out of the season, and that meant she had to work fast. There were a few eligible bachelors among the men she’d met, but none that quite met her-
She was distracted from her musing by the sound of giggling and rapid footsteps. The sounds came closer, and she willed herself to stillness on the bench. If she didn’t move, there was a good chance that whoever it was would just walk right by. A moment later, Lady Winterhall dashed into the hedge garden and, not sparing so much as a glance at the figure on the bench, quickly moved deeper into the shadowy paths. All was silent for a moment, but she knew that there would be someone following the Lady. She amused herself for a moment laying odds on what gentleman had set the assignation with the voluptuous Lady Winterhall, and had settled her odds-on favorite to be Lord Flinthelm. He was young, devilishly handsome, and not at all ready to settle down and produce the heir his father wanted. He’d be hated if he wasn’t so powerful, and if so many people didn’t fear him. It was said he’d won countless duels with nothing so much as a scratch, though it was said it must be because the devil looks after his own – for each time, the duel was because he was sleeping with yet another married woman. She wondered idly if he were the one to follow Lady Winterhall, if Lord Winterhall would call Lord Flinthelm out in a duel. She supposed not, Lord Winterhall was old and seemed perfectly happy to let his wife cavort around town, as she was his third wife and he had scores of heirs from his first two. It’s odd what men find important, she mused.
A branch snapped, and suddenly Lord Flinthelm was standing in the alcove, staring at her. She hadn’t heard him approach, and she mentally chided herself in being too wrapped up in her musings to notice. Such lapses in judgment could be fatal to her standing in society, were she caught in a compromising position. And then she’d never accomplish her goal. She shook her head slightly and smiled up at Lord Flinthelm in what she hoped was a shy, engaging way.
“Good evening, sir,” she murmured softly. “She… ah, I assume you are… that is to say… the right fork, my lord.”
He grinned wolfishly at her. His eyes shone in the moonlight. He stepped closer to the bench on which she was still reclining, her hands clasped over her midsection, her head tilted to the side to look at him. She watched the way he moved – no, glided – over to her, each muscle smooth and animalistic. His teeth were impossibly white against his tanned face.
“My, my, what are we doing out here all alone? Are you not worried about your reputation? It’s all well and good for the older, more… ah, experienced young ladies to take some fun where they can get it at this balls, but a young miss such as yourself…” He clucked his tongue.
“I was simply getting some air, it is an absolute crush in there. I swore I was about to faint on the spot!” She sat up quickly and fanned herself theatrically.
He ran a hand through his thick black hair, and it fell to rest over one eye. He tossed his head back and snorted. “You appear to be made of sterner stuff than that. You must know my reputation, and yet you don’t flee this place as if the devil were chasing you.” He took a step closer to her. She stood up abruptly, unwilling to let him tower over her more than was strictly necessary. Still, even drawing herself up to her full five-foot-four, she was dwarfed by his six-foot-two frame as he stepped even closer.
“My, my, I can see why they talk of you so,” he said softly, reaching out a hand to stroke her cheek. “They call you an angel, though they fear you as much as the ones they call the devil.”
She stared up at him, unblinking. “It’s the eyes, my lord, nothing more.”
“Oh, true, those silver eyes of yours do add to it, but there’s also the mystery surrounding your past. And you are so achingly beautiful.” He lowered his head and his lips brushed against hers.
She felt her breath catch, and her heartbeat quicken. He caught her lower lip between his teeth and nipped at it, hard enough to draw blood. He laughed as she jerked herself back.
“Maybe you should have been more careful of playing with the devil, my love, because when I’m through with you they shall call you the fallen angel.” He grabbed her arm roughly and dragged her further into the garden, but down the left-hand path, away from Lady Winterhelm. She followed meekly, trying to slow her furiously pounding heart and quiet the queasy feeling in her stomach from the blood on her lip. This was not how it was supposed to go. She wasn’t sure yet, and if he wasn’t the one, and this got out… she was ruined. Utterly ruined.
Finally, he came to rest in a small, almost completely dark alcove. Clouds had moved in and blocked the almost-full moon, and the wind had died, leaving an eerie stillness. He grinned down at her again, his teeth a white slash in the night. The clouds parted for just a moment, and when the moonlight hit his face she saw it flash in his eyes. He was a beast, not just figuratively, but in truth. The wolf that he’d tangled with on his last daring hunt – the one that had bitten him – had been no ordinary wolf. She shuddered.
He mistook her shudder, and laughed cruelly as he pulled at her clothing. At least, she thought, it couldn’t have happened to a more deserving person. He was a blight on society, a wastrel and a cruel man who would not be missed. His younger brother was married and would provide his father with suitable heirs. The world would be a better place.
With that she grinned, and he paused for a moment as he stared at her, his eyes going wide. He may not yet know what he was, but her long, pointed teeth left no doubt as to what she was. He tried to back away but she was quicker, grabbing him in strong hands and sinking her teeth into his neck, not stopping until he was bone-dry. When it was over, she looked down at the ashen corpse with her now blood-red eyes, bemoaning both the fact that she had to drag and hide the body, and that colored contact lenses wouldn’t be available for several hundred more years. She would have to go back into seclusion until she looked normal enough to hunt again, and by then the hunger would be gnawing at her. Hopefully they’d be able to find her a suitable victim more quickly this time. Perhaps in Spain… it would be years before she could show her face in London again.
She was distracted from her musing by the sound of giggling and rapid footsteps. The sounds came closer, and she willed herself to stillness on the bench. If she didn’t move, there was a good chance that whoever it was would just walk right by. A moment later, Lady Winterhall dashed into the hedge garden and, not sparing so much as a glance at the figure on the bench, quickly moved deeper into the shadowy paths. All was silent for a moment, but she knew that there would be someone following the Lady. She amused herself for a moment laying odds on what gentleman had set the assignation with the voluptuous Lady Winterhall, and had settled her odds-on favorite to be Lord Flinthelm. He was young, devilishly handsome, and not at all ready to settle down and produce the heir his father wanted. He’d be hated if he wasn’t so powerful, and if so many people didn’t fear him. It was said he’d won countless duels with nothing so much as a scratch, though it was said it must be because the devil looks after his own – for each time, the duel was because he was sleeping with yet another married woman. She wondered idly if he were the one to follow Lady Winterhall, if Lord Winterhall would call Lord Flinthelm out in a duel. She supposed not, Lord Winterhall was old and seemed perfectly happy to let his wife cavort around town, as she was his third wife and he had scores of heirs from his first two. It’s odd what men find important, she mused.
A branch snapped, and suddenly Lord Flinthelm was standing in the alcove, staring at her. She hadn’t heard him approach, and she mentally chided herself in being too wrapped up in her musings to notice. Such lapses in judgment could be fatal to her standing in society, were she caught in a compromising position. And then she’d never accomplish her goal. She shook her head slightly and smiled up at Lord Flinthelm in what she hoped was a shy, engaging way.
“Good evening, sir,” she murmured softly. “She… ah, I assume you are… that is to say… the right fork, my lord.”
He grinned wolfishly at her. His eyes shone in the moonlight. He stepped closer to the bench on which she was still reclining, her hands clasped over her midsection, her head tilted to the side to look at him. She watched the way he moved – no, glided – over to her, each muscle smooth and animalistic. His teeth were impossibly white against his tanned face.
“My, my, what are we doing out here all alone? Are you not worried about your reputation? It’s all well and good for the older, more… ah, experienced young ladies to take some fun where they can get it at this balls, but a young miss such as yourself…” He clucked his tongue.
“I was simply getting some air, it is an absolute crush in there. I swore I was about to faint on the spot!” She sat up quickly and fanned herself theatrically.
He ran a hand through his thick black hair, and it fell to rest over one eye. He tossed his head back and snorted. “You appear to be made of sterner stuff than that. You must know my reputation, and yet you don’t flee this place as if the devil were chasing you.” He took a step closer to her. She stood up abruptly, unwilling to let him tower over her more than was strictly necessary. Still, even drawing herself up to her full five-foot-four, she was dwarfed by his six-foot-two frame as he stepped even closer.
“My, my, I can see why they talk of you so,” he said softly, reaching out a hand to stroke her cheek. “They call you an angel, though they fear you as much as the ones they call the devil.”
She stared up at him, unblinking. “It’s the eyes, my lord, nothing more.”
“Oh, true, those silver eyes of yours do add to it, but there’s also the mystery surrounding your past. And you are so achingly beautiful.” He lowered his head and his lips brushed against hers.
She felt her breath catch, and her heartbeat quicken. He caught her lower lip between his teeth and nipped at it, hard enough to draw blood. He laughed as she jerked herself back.
“Maybe you should have been more careful of playing with the devil, my love, because when I’m through with you they shall call you the fallen angel.” He grabbed her arm roughly and dragged her further into the garden, but down the left-hand path, away from Lady Winterhelm. She followed meekly, trying to slow her furiously pounding heart and quiet the queasy feeling in her stomach from the blood on her lip. This was not how it was supposed to go. She wasn’t sure yet, and if he wasn’t the one, and this got out… she was ruined. Utterly ruined.
Finally, he came to rest in a small, almost completely dark alcove. Clouds had moved in and blocked the almost-full moon, and the wind had died, leaving an eerie stillness. He grinned down at her again, his teeth a white slash in the night. The clouds parted for just a moment, and when the moonlight hit his face she saw it flash in his eyes. He was a beast, not just figuratively, but in truth. The wolf that he’d tangled with on his last daring hunt – the one that had bitten him – had been no ordinary wolf. She shuddered.
He mistook her shudder, and laughed cruelly as he pulled at her clothing. At least, she thought, it couldn’t have happened to a more deserving person. He was a blight on society, a wastrel and a cruel man who would not be missed. His younger brother was married and would provide his father with suitable heirs. The world would be a better place.
With that she grinned, and he paused for a moment as he stared at her, his eyes going wide. He may not yet know what he was, but her long, pointed teeth left no doubt as to what she was. He tried to back away but she was quicker, grabbing him in strong hands and sinking her teeth into his neck, not stopping until he was bone-dry. When it was over, she looked down at the ashen corpse with her now blood-red eyes, bemoaning both the fact that she had to drag and hide the body, and that colored contact lenses wouldn’t be available for several hundred more years. She would have to go back into seclusion until she looked normal enough to hunt again, and by then the hunger would be gnawing at her. Hopefully they’d be able to find her a suitable victim more quickly this time. Perhaps in Spain… it would be years before she could show her face in London again.
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She wondered idly if her were the one to follow Lady Winterhall, if Lord Winterhall would call Lord Flinthelm out in a duel.
he?
Maybe you should have been more careful of playing the with devil
with the?
WAH, the last paragraph! Ha, I was wondering why she was so calm. I obviously haven't read enough vampire books...the silver eyes weren't even a tip-off for me. The way you set it up in the first paragraph is great, though. Where did this one come from?
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I don't honestly know where it came from, I was reading a romance novel last night and it just kinda... sprang to life. One of those rare moments when inspiration just strikes. :D I'm just glad I remembered it this morning well enough to write it down!
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When it was over, she looked down at the ashen corpse with her now blood-red eyes, bemoaning both the fact that she had to drag and hide the body, and that colored contact lenses wouldn’t be available for several hundred more years.
That slayed me completely! Colored contact lenses indeed!
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