“How did it go when Devon first met him?” he asks with a quick look at my charge.
We both sigh and I snuggle into Cole as he pulls me closer. “Not well, but he wasn’t prepared. Neither of us were.”
Tracing small circles on his chest, I recall the circumstances of my sire and my charge’s first encounter.
Versailles, France, 1691 - Élisabeth
I t was the reign of Louis XIV and a great time to be in France. Devon and I had travelled from England in 1640 during the reign of Louis XIII. I was quickly spotted about Paris and was asked to attend court at Versailles as what the Italians called a ‘cortigiana onesta,’ meaning an honest courtesan, one who was cast as an intellectual, well-educated and worldly. Such a request was quite the honor and I accepted the role readily, bringing Devon with me to the palace.
As it turned out, the French Aristocracy were quite aware of Vampires, so we were quickly accepted and almost revered. I was very popular, as the oldest Vampire they had come across and was kept busy most days teaching the younger nobles reading, writing, and arithmetic. Most nights, I was kept busy with the noblemen who liked a bit of bite with their sex along with the added bonus of no bastards being conceived in the process. It was accepted that we didn’t age and was probably France’s best kept secret that we served at Versailles for over fifty years.
Devon was kept busy himself with his good looks and charm. He was very popular with the noble ladies who liked a bit of bite with their sex along with the added bonus of no bastards being conceived in the process as well. It was due to this hectic schedule that we didn’t see it coming. I had told Devon all about Constantine over the years. After he left me in Italy, I had hoped to not see him again for several centuries and had done a good job of avoiding him thus far, always moving on when word came that he was close by. However, it was inevitable he would catch up with me.
He did in 1691.
King Louis was holding a lavish party for visiting Italian nobles. That should have been my first clue. These types of affairs kept me busy, as the planning was immense, not to mention the actual running of the show. Several days of wine, food, music, poetry, dancing and orgies – drunken nobles fucking everything in sight was quite the spectacle, it had to be said.
It was the first night and the masquerade ball. A night of anonymity where everyone, men and women, threw caution to the wind. I had long since lost track of Devon to a bevy of beautiful Italian noble women and in a moment to myself, I went to get a glass of wine. As a courtesan, I was masked, but only with half a mask so I could still be recognized and called upon. Gulping down the wine, I felt a tingle on the back of my neck. Recognizing it at once, I spun around, eyes frantically searching the crowd. He must have felt it too, even though I was in the guise of Élisabeth, having adopted the French version of Elizabeth, he would still know me. I felt his eyes on me from across the room and I easily picked him out of the mass of people. Turning on my heel, I headed into one of the back rooms where plenty of couples were blatantly fucking and drinking. Dressed in a loose-fitting gown for the occasion, I made my way over to an Italian dignitary who’d caught my eye and beckoned me over. I was hoping my sire would leave me be, but I should have known better than that. He intercepted me before I had even taken two steps. I jolted to a halt and faced him, unmasked, and my breath caught in my throat. Damn him, but I missed him. I missed his touch, his smile, his eyes that were now boring into mine like two hard flints.
“Aefre,” my heart thudded as he used my first name, “you have been most difficult to find, my sweet.” He smirked.
Pulling myself together, I said shortly, “I didn’t want to be found.”
He chuckled.
Cursing myself as I did, I asked, “Why were you looking?” He cocked his eyebrow at me, but I continued. “If I recall, you left me a hundred and eighty-five years ago, for no apparent reason,” I added, the hurt was still so close to the surface now I was facing him.
“For no apparent reason?” he repeated incredulously, his face like granite. “I recall a very good reason in the guise of Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarotti Simoni.”
I stared at him, bewildered. Yes, I had been with Michelangelo, but Constantine knew that at the time. “That’s why you left me? Because I was with Michelangelo?” I asked, my tears close to falling. I didn’t want to cry in front of him. My anger took over and pushing the hurt aside, I glared at him. He remained impassive, saying nothing, just looking at me with those hard, almost black eyes, quizzically. Gathering my resolve, I hissed and turned to leave.
&nbs
p; “Not so fast, my sweet,” he said, gripping my arm in his vice like hold. “Word around the palace is that ‘Élisabeth’ is the best courtesan Versailles has ever seen,” he whispered harshly. “So, court me.”
I shivered at his tone. It was a mix of fear and pleasure at his touch after so long.
I tried to pull away, but he gripped me harder, hurting me. “You wouldn’t want your benefactor knowing you refused one of his important guests, would you now, Élisabeth?” He said my name in an icy voice. He tightened his grip even more at my silence, at my glare, at my defiance of him. His handsome face became cruel and I felt a frisson of fear slice through me. “I could take you by force, if I choose to,” he whispered menacingly, snaking his other hand down over my hip to bunch up my dress in a tight fist. I caught my breath, unable to move. I sensed Devon before I heard him speak and I turned to stop him, just a fraction too late.
“I believe the lady doesn’t want you,” he said, just as I said, “Devon, don’t.”
Ever so slowly, Constantine turned his head in Devon’s direction, to meet the furious blue eyes of my charge, ever my protector.
I sighed inwardly and said, “Devon, all is well. I am well. Leave us.”
Cocky as ever, Devon never took his eyes from my – now livid – sire’s black ones. “Not a chance, my love. Remove your hand, or I will remove it for you,” he threatened Constantine. Constantine’s gaze shifted back to my panicked blue stare with a murderous look in his eyes. He inhaled deeply as he closed his eyes briefly, and said so softly, “Tell your boy to leave before I rip his head off.”
I gulped. He knew. Of course, he knew. “Devon, leave us,” I said again.
“No.” Stubborn to a fault, that boy.
Letting go of me, Constantine turned his full attention to Devon, who to my absolute pride as his sire, didn’t flinch under that terrifyingly icy stare. Constantine’s whole body was coiled, prepared to pounce. I put my hand on his arm, “My love, please. He’s just protecting me,” I pleaded.
Devon’s eyes snapped to mine. “You know him?” he inquired, hearing my endearment.
I nodded and said, “Devon, this is my sire, Constantine.”
Devon’s eyes widened slightly and although he was now a bit wary, he shifted his unflinching gaze back to Constantine’s. I let out a small sigh of relief. Most of the menace had gone out of Constantine’s features, replaced with his usual smug arrogance, clearly pleased to be referred to as my sire.