Eternal Desire

Prologue...

Cool fingers caressed my cheek as warm breath whispered against my ear, “So beautiful, ma ma chérie. Je reve de toi, every night, every day. And you dream of me as well. Ah, you are the one. Your time in Paris is over. I need you in New Orleans. Please, ma petite ma chérie. It is time. I need you to come to me in New Orleans.”

A delicate caress drifted faintly across my bare breast. Did I feel it?

Was he here with me, touching me like I wanted him to? I tried desperately to escape the tangled web of sleep and catch him before he was gone. He wasn’t just a dream. He was real, touching me now, if I could… only…wake…up…

***

As soon as I stepped off the shuttle bus from the airport, I felt like I was home. I hadn’t been to New Orleans since I was a child, but the place was stuck in my soul. New Orleans had been my grandmother’s childhood home. I grew up listening to her amazing stories about it. She brought me here several times throughout my childhood to visit her old friends. I loved every single visit.

There is no place on earth like New Orleans. The sights, the sounds, and the smells all assaulted my senses. The fragrance was like a drug. A mixture of seafood, gumbo, exotic spices, and rich chicory coffee floated in the moist air, which mingled with the sweet sounds of jazz coming my way. Add to that the feeling of fun and excitement that the city was exuding, and it was truly a unique experience. New Orleans hummed and crackled with an energy all its own.

It was the week before Halloween, and the New Orleans Halloween festivities were already in full swing. New Orleans is a city that loves Halloween and treats the holiday almost like a second Mardi Gras.

The residents love to party, and even a week before Halloween people were already running around in costume. The haunted city, full of magic and ghosts, kicked everything into high gear for the tourists. I saw signs and posters for Boo at the Zoo (for the kids), the Moonlight Witches Run, the Krewe of Boo Parade, Anne Rice’s Vampire Lestat Ball, The Endless Night Vampire Ball, and the Voodoo Music Experience in City Park. Nearly everywhere I went, there were haunted history tours taking place: the Ghost Tour of the French Quarter, the Haunted Garden District Tour, the Spellbound Tour, the Voodoo and Cemetery Tour, and the one I was most interested in—the Vampire Tour.

Oh, I know, it all seems so cliché: vampires in New Orleans- at Halloween! But I think that was the point. He seemed to have a sense of humor, and the irony was something he used to his advantage.

Walking through some of the dark streets of the French Quarter was like taking a step back in time. The lacy-wrought ironwork that defined New Orleans architecture and style, the horse-drawn carriages full of tourists, and the old-fashioned flickering gas lamps made me feel nostalgic. I wondered whether it looked the same as when he strolled along these streets over 200 ago.

I barely listened to the guide during most of the Vampire Tour. Instead, I was thinking about the real reason I was there. As always, it was him. It was Quillon. He was the reason I did most things. Almost every choice I’d made for the past fifteen years had been because of him—even the career I had chosen. No, I’m not crazy or anything. Nope, not obsessed either. Yeah right.

The day before, I had been in Paris working on a case involving witchcraft. I had heard his whispers beckoning me to go there, where a witch was in trouble and needed my help. I took care of her problem. The next morning, he had called to me in my dreams. He’d wanted me to come to New Orleans but gave no reason. He’d just said, “It is time.”

I wondered what he had in store for me in New Orleans.

****

Somehow, with each paranormal case, I learned a little bit more about his world—and got to experience a lot of strange and exotic things along the way.

Since I was ten years old, Quillon had been just a shadowy figure in my dreams, whispering of longings and ancient secrets. I never saw his face, but his voice lingered in my soul. He was an invisible guardian, calling to me, leading me around the world, and watching over me wherever I went. I could feel his presence, at times lurking in the shadows around me, but why I never saw him, I don’t know. Why did he choose to stay hidden from me?

I followed that voice all over the world, wherever he beckoned. Everywhere I went, I learned about ghosts, ghouls, demons, witches, and him, Quillon, the vampire.

Sometimes, I felt like it was all a game. Other times, I felt he had a purpose for me. I had to admit it was an interesting life even if it was lonely. It was not a life that many people had access to, or would believe.

Not many people realized that Others walked among them, that the creatures and monsters of fantasy and fiction existed and blended in among the humans every day. Vampires, ghosts, werewolves, witches, fae…they all existed and walked among the humans. But it was very hard to determine who was Other and who was human; they worked very hard at blending it. Several years ago there had been an uprising, rogue vampires had wanted to take their places at the top of the food chain. Many humans and Others died in the aftermath of the “coming out”. After that, everyone went back into hiding and cast a massive spell to make humans forget. The spell was renewed every year by the most powerful witches and sorcerers in the world.

Quillon had led me to all this information in my travels and studies. He wanted me to know the truth. But I had no idea why. It all seemed a bit crazy at times.

Sometimes I wondered if I was just crazy. I chased an invisible vampire around the world; talk about obsession. There were days I craved an ordinary life. I’d considered getting married and settling down, with 2.5 kids, a dog, and a white picket fence. Then, a ghost would start whispering in my ear, or a demon would decide to start causing some serious damage in some part of the world. And I’d be back to work, the American dream just a lingering desire in the back of my mind, never to be obtained.

I hadn’t met a human guy yet who would be too fond of a girl who talked to ghosts, sent demons back where they belonged, and followed an invisible vampire around the world.

Not that I had tried to find Mr. Right. I was convinced from the start it would never be an easy endeavor. So I stuck to casual affairs, mostly with non-humans; they were less likely to get attached and more open to my career. So far, I had dated two fae, a male witch and a werewolf—but never a vampire. Too bad. Rumor has it that to be with a vampire is the ultimate seduction, an erotic experience like no other.

Usually, I just relied on my battery-operated boyfriends, which I took along wherever I went. B.O.B.’s never complained or needed more from me than I could give.

I think I knew right from the beginning I was different, right along with my eccentric grandmother, who had whispered her stories of Quillon to me when I was a child. Some people said she was crazy, but I knew she was sane. If she wasn’t, that meant I was crazy too, because I could also see the ghosts, and I could also feel his presence. She told me he was a guardian of our family, and legend said he was one of our ancestors. He watched over and protected our family, and he was the reason many of our ancestors were rich, successful, and lived long lives. He’d even saved my Great Aunt’s life when she fell from a balcony. That was just one of Grandma’s interesting stories about Quillon. I loved listening to the tales of her life in New Orleans. It is no wonder I felt so at home here even though I had only been here several times as a child.

As I grew older, I became obsessed with Quillon. In addition to the information I could get out of Grandma, I studied our family’s history. But I could never find any trace of him. I had no idea how old he was. According to Grandma, he’d been around for centuries, but how many centuries? And how far back does our family history go? Not far enough that I’ve found any trace of him. Our family bible dates back to the late 1700s, and he’s not in there.

I’d become somewhat of an expert on the supernatural, especially vampires. I’d read every book I could find on vampires, whether it was myth, legend, or fiction. I’d also watched almost every movie made about them. There are so many myths and legends about vampires, who knows what is real? Someday soon I hoped to learn the specifics from a real vampire, I thought, hopefully from Quillon.

I became a paranormal researcher so I could make a living with my unusual knowledge and the special gifts that I have. Since I was already using my knowledge and skills to search for Quillon and other supernatural entities, I’d decided it made sense to make money doing it. A girl has to eat and pay rent, you know.

During my research, I’d come face to face with ghosts, witches, faeries, demons, a couple of werewolves, and some humans with strange talents. I had even come face to face with several vampires, but never my elusive Quillon. And the vampires I came across usually were not very open to answering questions.

I once met a big group of militant vamps outside of Los Angeles; they called themselves the Vampire Vigilantes. They only preyed on and killed humans who were criminals: rapists, thieves, drug dealers, and that sort. I trailed several vampires who were not so kind, but I never got close to them. I only got close to the many blood-drained and mangled corpses they’d left behind. The Vampire Vigilante also took care of those rogue vampires. I just wish they had been chattier. I would have loved to have gotten some firsthand knowledge about vampires, but they were focused on their mission, not me.

And always, there was my shadowy Quillon. He had haunted my dreams since I was a child. He had always been there. Even before my grandmother started telling me the stories, he had lurked in the shadows, whispering to me. I felt him close to me in my times of need. He was my protector, my dark guardian angel, my passion. As I got older, he became something much more to me, something…erotic. He became a fantasy that seemed out of reach. Maybe that is why I didn’t bother with human men much; they could never compare to my vampire dream lover.

I knew he was real; my grandmother and many others confirmed that. But I wondered if I had obsessed about him too much, and made him out to be more than he was. For someone to control so much of my life—someone whom I’d never seen in the flesh—made me start to feel a little crazy. Why the mystery? I thought. Why did he hide in the shadows? Was he afraid to show himself to me? Was he hideously deformed? Or were the dreams and the voices in my head just my imagination romanticizing the tales my grandmother used to tell me?

In the real world, the supernatural community knew Quillon very well. He was top fang, a master vamp who called the shots in many places. He was rumored to own quite a bit of property and several businesses, including a synthetic blood business. Sybline, his mix of synthetic blood and wine, was becoming quite popular in the vampire clubs in Europe. I was told he was encouraging vamps to come off the vein and feed on his synthetic blood. He also provided synthetic blood products to vampires who could not feed normally. How entrepreneurial!

Quillon seemed like a brilliant and powerful vampire, so why the mind games with me? And exactly how powerful was he?

I’d been told that only very powerful vampires can exert any power over another’s thoughts, and to be able to do so from a distance requires great strength. A witch who had worked with Quillon told me that he was very old and very powerful and that he had powers no other vampire is known to have. He must, to be able to speak directly through my mind and affect my dreams.

It seemed everyone else knew him well, or at least better than I did, which wasn’t saying much. He remained elusive to me, nothing more than a shadow in my life. I had not even a photograph to stare at. Could vampires even be photographed? I didn’t know for sure. I would think so; they still existed in the physical realm and could see themselves in mirrors—that whole no-reflection thing was all hooey. The mythology is different in every story, but I’ve never had the chance to ask a vamp if I could take his photo.

Still, without anything concrete to touch or envision concerning Quillon, I didn’t have a clear image of him in my mind. My imagination dreamed up all sorts of images for him, every single one of them sexy to the extreme. I hoped he wasn’t hiding from me because he was disfigured or something. Then again, I wasn’t sure whether it would matter to me.

My grandmother knew him well, but even she never described his appearance. I think she told me about him because she already knew that I was like her—that I was connected to the world of the supernatural— and that he was already with me. I wonder if she ever felt like I did: alone, different, with only him to turn to. But the way she spoke of him, he seemed to be more real for her than he was for me. She never told me the whole story. She said that one day I would know, but then she got sick and never had the chance to tell me.

I missed her every single day. Being in New Orleans made me feel close to her, finding Quillon would be one more connection. Something solid I could have in place of the emptiness I had felt since her passing.

Quillon was the reason I was walking the dark streets of the Quarter on this tour even if I very much doubted I would find a real vampire in New Orleans during Halloween, but you never know; they could be hiding in plain sight as all Others tended to do. Vampires seem to be drawn to irony, and it would be so ironic to find real vampires blending in with all the craziness of the Halloween festivities. I could imagine Quillon reveling in the irony. New Orleans holds a Vampire Ball every year, actually a couple of vampire balls. The Anne Rice Vampire Lestat Ball and The Endless Night Vampire Ball. Suddenly my heart raced. Would he be at one of the Balls? I sighed. Probably not, but a ball—that would be so much fun! Costumes, music, and excitement. It was something I was in dire need of.

The Vampire Tour was somewhat interesting but focused mainly on the fiction of Anne Rice’s vampires. This was rather disappointing since I had already read all her books and the companion books. I wanted more than a fictional Lestat in New Orleans. If any real vampires were lurking in the shadows of New Orleans, they were not going to be pointed out to me on this tour.

Since the tour wasn’t what I had hoped for, I quietly removed myself from the crowd of tourists and roamed around the city on my own.

I felt like a vampire. Following the supernatural meant being awake when most mortals are sleeping. I searched for answers at night and slept most of the day. When I looked in the mirror, I saw a pathetic creature: too-pale white skin, dark circles under my eyes, and long auburn hair that hadn’t been cut or properly styled since who knows when. I didn’t remember the last time I’d enjoyed a day in the sun. I looked like a creature of the night.

Footsteps suddenly startled me out of my thoughts. I turned around but saw no one, so I continued warily along. I didn’t know why I was so spooked. I’d encountered plenty of scary, spooky, and downright dangerous things in my life. I was a highly trained martial artist, and I carried plenty of weapons. I usually didn’t get scared, but tonight something was giving me chills.

It seemed strange that the streets of the French Quarter were almost empty. I knew they were always bustling with people, even late at night. Something was up. Creepy energy filled the air. The streets were beginning to get dark and foggy, and with every step, I got a little more spooked. I found a better-lit street and turned onto it. I soon heard the pulsating music of a nearby club. After searching for the source of the music, I quickly found the club entrance and practically ran through the doorway, then I heard another footstep right behind me.

Jumping through the door and not looking in front of me, I collided with what felt like a wall of muscle, solid as a brick. I looked up at the most handsome man I had ever seen in my life. His tall frame and muscular build made me feel so very small, but it was his beauty that had me awestruck.

“Oh, gosh, I am so very sorry,” I stammered as shock waves rocked my body, and a roaring heat instantly took the place of all the chills.

“It is all right. I was in your way. Are you in a hurry? I hope not. I would like to buy you a drink to make up for almost knocking you down,” he said with a slight French accent. His dazzling smile made me feel dizzy and off balance. Something tingled at the back of my neck. Perhaps it was a warning, but I ignored it, thinking it was just from the footsteps outside.

“Oh, I was just in a hurry to get off the streets. It’s getting kinda dark and foggy out there,” I said distractedly as he guided me to the bar. That’s great, I thought. Sound like a helpless female, a damsel in distress needing to be saved. I almost snorted, thinking of the absurdity.

“I can understand that. A beautiful little thing like you should not be on the dangerous streets alone at night,” he said, then turned to order my drink.

Yup, I thought. Another alpha guy who believes women are helpless and always need to be saved. Great! This gorgeous guy thinks I’m some easily-spooked girl who is afraid to be out alone at night—and he didn’t even ask me what I wanted to drink. How arrogant!

The thoughts disappeared almost as quickly as I thought them as I studied him leaning against the bar.

The lamp from above the bar bathed his porcelain skin in a soft glow. His skin was the color of smooth cream, and the dark hair that hung in silky waves to his shoulders was a wonderful contrast. I was so lost staring at his beautiful face that I didn’t even see him move to hand the drink toward me.

I gasped when I felt him touch the bare skin of my arm to get my attention. His full, sensuous lips formed a seductive smile as he handed me the drink, a Bloody Mary—my favorite. How did he know? I wondered as I looked at it and then back up at him. His stunning blue eyes seemed to penetrate right down to my most dark and secret inner core. They stirred something, touching a place no one or nothing else ever had. I shivered even though heat raced through me.

“My name is Christien. I used to live here in New Orleans. Now I am here on business. It is a bonus that it is Halloween time. It is always such fun—almost as good as Mardi Gras.” He laughed. His voice could melt butter; deep, musical, and oh-so-sensual. It made my nerve endings tingle; fire and need pulsed between my legs. I just stared at him. I couldn’t stop. That strange sensation kept tickling the back of my neck; I just couldn’t keep the train of thought long enough to figure out why. Just being near him had me so flustered. I made my brain focus on listening to him and responding without sounding like a stammering idiot. What was wrong with me?

Suddenly, I realized he wasn’t talking anymore. He was just looking at me with a little half-smile on those incredible lips. I managed to form a halfway intelligible response.

“My name is LizBeth. I’m here doing some research for my job,” I replied, hoping I didn’t sound like a moron, or worse, an awestruck teenager dealing with her first crush, which was what I felt like. It was so strange. My heart was pounding wildly; I couldn’t keep a single thought straight in my head, and my nerve endings were all tingling with excitement.

Christien started to say something but paused as the song “Closer” by Nine Inch Nails came on. He took my drink from my hand, placed the drink back on the bar, and then pulled me to the dance floor. Gee, he isn’t demanding or presumptuous or anything, I thought. Normally, I would have protested, but what the hell? I didn’t think I could have said no to this man even if he asked me to jump off a cliff.

That was so unlike me. I was the type to put up a fight even if it was something I wanted to do, just so the other person would know they couldn’t push me around. This beautiful man was making my hormones go into overdrive and throwing me completely off balance.

I followed him like a little lost puppy onto the dance floor and then melted against him. Our bodies moved seductively to the dark, pulsating beat of the song. Electricity flowed all around us as more heat flared up inside me. I felt as if I were in a fog, a surreal feeling overcoming me. Primal desires coursed through me like nothing I had ever felt before.

The song wasn’t even over yet when he led me out of the bar and around the corner to his hotel. I barely remember the walk. It was like floating on clouds in a dream.

As soon as he shut the door to his room, he pulled my long black duster off me and tossed it to the floor. He scooped me up into his strong arms and carried me to his bed. He laid me down on the bed and gently undressed me. I felt so dizzy and out of control. I didn’t know what I was doing. I couldn’t think. All I could do was feel. I wanted him so badly. I wanted to feel him inside me, and I wanted to taste him. He exuded so much power. It made me weak.

I felt the briefest moment of shock when I realized I was naked in bed with a stranger, but it instantly melted away as his hands moved over my bare, heated flesh, and our lips connected passionately. His full, sensuous lips were driving me wild; his probing, hot kisses sent heat and electricity moving through me. Those lips blazed a trail down my body, stopping to nuzzle at my neck. He moved lower to suckle each taut nipple then farther still, dipping his tongue into my belly button. Then he moved even lower.

He parted my thighs and tenderly explored the heated folds of soft flesh with his tongue, moaning as he tasted me, drinking me in like I was water, and he was a man lost in the desert. I arched my body against his mouth as his tongue swirled and dipped, pushing me over the edge. Colors twirled in my mind, making me dizzy with desire. His lips latched onto my clit, and a moan escaped my lips as I climaxed. He didn’t let go until I stopped shuddering.

Christien then positioned his hard body between my legs. When did he get naked? I wondered. Wow, he is so gorgeous! With muscles everywhere, lean and long and rippling as he moved—oh, God! I just wanted to stare at him. How could any man be so beautiful? He was a wet dream come to life, perfection in motion.

I could feel his large, pulsating cock pushing against my hungry folds of flesh. I opened to him, welcoming him inside me. He plunged inside me with a force I hadn’t expected. I screamed with abandon. Deeper and harder he pushed, and I craved it all.

“More,” I shouted. I couldn’t believe I was so uninhibited, so wanton, so free.

Our bodies merged and moved together as one. I moved my hips, pressing against him. Craving more and more of him, I wanted to feel his shaft buried inside me as deep as possible. He willingly obliged, thrusting and pushing deeper into me. His full lips met mine again, and his tongue explored my mouth. I could taste myself on his lips. Every thrust sent me closer to complete ecstasy. My body rocked and quivered under him as I came over and over again. His fluid thrusts turned frenzied as lust and need took over.

I felt him stiffen and tremble as a hot rush filled me. He collapsed beside me and cradled me in his strong arms. The last thing I remember is staring into those crystal-clear blue eyes of his. They almost seemed to glow with an inner light.

In the morning, I awoke dazed, confused, and alone. I felt like I had a hangover for the first few minutes, but then my head cleared. The first thing that came to mind was “one night stand,” and my heart sank to the pit of my stomach. I groaned, I couldn’t believe I fell into bed with a complete stranger—an absolute stranger! We had barely exchanged names before we were rolling around in bed together. But it was sooo good. It had been so long. And it had been good, really good. Oh, so knee-shaking good. Better than anyone—human or otherwise—that I had been with before.

My mind was still reeling, thoughts shooting around in circles as I thought about the night before. Trying to clear my head, I sighed and rolled over to find a note on the pillow next to me.

'Liz Beth, I am gone for now, but not to be forgotten. Meet me at the corner of Bourbon and Canal Street at sunset. Christien.'

His handwriting was very old-fashioned and elegant, which was unusual for such a young man. But I did not dwell on his handwriting; I couldn’t wait to see him again. He had me mesmerized. I felt like a giddy schoolgirl.

How could I be reacting like this? I didn’t know anything about this man, except that I wanted him, I craved him. He was a stranger to me, yet he seemed so familiar. He had me in a trance. One part of me could not believe that I was suddenly having a wild affair with a stranger. It was so unlike me. I had to shake myself and remember that I still had to focus on why I was in New Orleans. It was time that I found out more about Quillon and what he wanted from me.

As I gathered my things to get dressed, I wondered if Christien had seen the arsenal in my duster: a dagger, three throwing knives, and an assortment of Chinese throwing stars. He hadn’t mentioned them. Seeing something like that in a girl’s coat was bound to scare a guy away, but he still seemed interested. I did not want to scare this guy away.

***

As I left Christien’s hotel, I had to get my bearings. He was in the Royal Sonesta. Fancy, schmancy, I thought. Marble floors. Gilt and gold everywhere. It was beautiful. The epitome of a luxury hotel. No wonder his room was so posh.

The Royal Sonesta was right on Bourbon Street in the middle of all the hustle, bustle, and noise of the French Quarter. I had to walk a couple of blocks to get to my hotel down on Chartres Street, the old Le Richelieu Hotel. It had once been a mansion but did not compare at all to the posh elegance of the Royal Sonesta. One night at the Sonesta would set me back way too much. I was a tightwad, and I preferred to stay in much humbler and quieter quarters. Even though I was still pretty much in the Quarter, being off Bourbon made a great deal of difference.

I returned to my hotel room and unpacked my things. Then, I called my research assistant, Carrie, at my tiny little office in L.A. She was a college student, and probably the closest thing to a friend that I had. I let her stay at my apartment above the office since I was never there. In exchange for room and board, she kept the business running. She let me know when prospective clients called, and she kept track of sightings and reports of paranormal activity while I was gone. The office didn’t look like much, but I did have a lot of expensive equipment that I didn’t want to be stolen.

That was the reason I needed to call her. I wanted to make sure my equipment had arrived safely from Paris. I had it shipped to my office instead of dragging it to New Orleans with me. Since this was a Quillon excursion, I did not figure that I would need all of my ghost-hunting stuff—not that I needed any equipment anyway. I usually had no problem seeing and speaking to ghosts on my own, but sometimes clients wanted proof. The best proof I could give them were photos, sound recordings, and something to show the changes in electromagnetic energy and temperature.

I spoke to Carrie, and she confirmed that my equipment had arrived safely and that everything was fine. She probed me about my trip, sensing something different in my voice. But I wasn’t ready to jinx anything by telling her about Christien too early. I wanted to make sure he came around for a second date. Our first encounter could be considered a first date, right?

After the conversation, I spent the day doing research at the library. I rummaged through piles of old books, trying to find anything I could about vampires in New Orleans—or Quillon. All I found was a couple of dusty old manuscripts, which were handwritten in French. One book— at least from what I could make out from the title, 'L’Amour du Vampyre'— had something to do with vampires, but I wasn’t sure what. It could have been fiction. I’d have to work on translating it. The other one seemed to be about the wealthy families of New Orleans in the 1800s. Most of the ink in the books was faded and unreadable, but I checked them out anyway. I figured I could go through them to see if I could find something legible.

After leaving the library, the books faded from my mind, and I found myself going back and forth thinking about Christien and Quillon. One moment, I would be concentrating on Quillon. The next moment, I would have a flashback from the night before with Christien, and my knees would get weak. For so long, I had dreamt about Quillon, first imagining him as my guardian angel, then later imagining him in a much more carnal light. But Quillon was always so ice cold in my dreams. He was so distant, a fantasy but not flesh—at least not yet, not to me. Christien was so warm, so non-vampirish, so human.

Christien was a man—a real man—and being with him rivaled the dreams and images I had of Quillon. I felt myself being torn between a shadow and a stranger. Could it get any more complicated?

I was feeling run down and my head ached. I decided I needed some caffeine. I found the Café du Monde on Decatur, right on the edge of Jackson Square. The square was full of a variety of people: street musicians, artists, a dreaded mime, several fortune tellers, and other people from all walks of life. I sat down at a small table, sipped at my pick-me-up-in-a-cup—a delicious café au lait while nibbling on a beignet—and people-watched.

My life was usually focused on the dead, the undead, or other strange preternatural occurrences. I often forgot about the humanity that surrounded me. They laughed, they danced, and they seemed to be having a good time. Teenagers hung out with their friends while tourists had their fortunes told and dropped money into the jars and hats of the artists and musicians. It was a beautiful slice-of-life scene. So every day, I thought. So normal. I was lost in it.

Suddenly, I realized the sun was hanging low in the sky. It was getting late. I had to rush back to my hotel, drop off the books, and get cleaned up. I was all dusty from digging around in the library, and I couldn’t meet Christien looking all disheveled.

I took an ultra-quick shower and dolled myself up as best I could with what I had available, which, unfortunately, wasn’t much. I hadn’t packed for dating. Jeans and a tight T-shirt would have to work this time. I scurried out of the hotel and practically ran the whole way to him. I was out of breath by the time I met Christien, promptly at sunset, at the corner of Canal and Bourbon Streets.

He smiled as I ran up to him. I was huffing and puffing, completely out of breath. Good job, Liz! Score another dork point for you, I thought. I could have tried for a sexier arrival and maybe sauntered up like a sex goddess a few minutes fashionably late. Instead, I was like a love-struck teenager who couldn’t wait to be with him. I was just staring at him and following along with whatever he wanted. Luckily, he didn’t seem to mind.

He took me on a carriage ride around the city. He seemed very knowledgeable about New Orleans's history, and he told me many stories that the tour guides had not. He also told me about all the Halloween festivities that would be going on that weekend.

“I would be honored if you would attend the Vampire Ball and Dark Masquerade Ball with me this weekend.” He sounded so formal. And, even though I wasn’t too experienced with the whole dating scene, I was sure most guys would just say, “Hey, you want to go a Halloween thing with me this weekend?”

“They sound like fun, but I don’t have any costumes,” I replied, mentally calculating how much money I could get away with spending on something as frivolous as a costume. Yet, I really, really wanted to go out with Christien. Could I bring myself to fork out the dough for costumes? Although my grandmother had left me some money, I’d chosen to live strictly off the money I made. So far, I had not touched the inheritance. I guess I wasn’t ready to accept that she was gone.

“This is New Orleans. There are plenty of places to buy extravagant costumes. I will take you so we can pick out some for you,” Christien replied, pulling me out of the memories of my grandmother.

I couldn’t object. I couldn’t even open my mouth to protest. Instead, I just nodded. Does this man always get what he wants?

He had the carriage take us to several costume stores. The first couple did not have anything that suited me. The third store had a one-of-a-kind gothic-style ball gown, made with iridescent black satin and lace. It was perfect for the Vampire Ball. When I tried it on, I could not believe my reflection in the mirror. I looked like a beautiful vampire princess if there was such a thing. I walked out of the dressing room to show Christien. His jaw dropped then he smiled.

“That gown was made for you. You look stunning.”

The dress hugged my upper body and accented my full cleavage. The lace-up corset-style top made my breasts spill out over the top of the gown. It fit like a glove. It did seem as though it had been made just for me. The satin glimmered and changed color as I twirled in front of the mirror. The dress made me feel beautiful, and the way Christien looked at me while I was wearing it made me feel sexy. He walked up behind me and wrapped his arms around me.

“I will have the most beautiful vampire at the ball,” he said. “Now we need to find you a costume for the Masquerade Ball; it just wouldn’t do to wear the same costume to both balls.”

Oh, of course not, I thought to myself while worrying about paying for two costumes instead of just one. But as I started to pull out my credit card, Christien told me to put it away. This was to be his treat. I grumbled as Christien purchased the gown for me. I was beginning to see that he did always get what he wanted. That idea thrilled and scared me at the same time.

“I will get more pleasure from looking at you in that dress than you will from wearing it. Think of it as a gift to myself,” he said. He wore a wickedly irresistible grin that sent shivers across my flesh. How could I say no to that?

The shopkeeper wrapped the dress up, and then we were on our way. At the last store we went to, the Little Shop of Fantasy, I was enthralled by a large pair of black wings and a feathered black mask. The wings were made with real feathers, which were so shiny; they seemed to glow in the light.

“You like the wings?” Christien asked.

“Yes, but what would I wear with them?”

“I don’t know. Let’s see if we can find something.”

We scoured the store until we found a sheer black dress and matching stiletto heels. Christien joined me in the dressing room as I tried them on. Oh, my, I thought. The dress hugged every curve of my body, and my nipples were teasingly shown through the sheer fabric. Was that me in the mirror? I had never seen myself look so…so…erotic. “C’est ci bon. Oui, oui. It was made for you.” When he spoke French, the cadence of his voice was like déjà vu. A delicious tickle in the back of my mind tried to make me remember something, but then it was gone as he stepped closer to me. “You will be my sexy dark angel at the ball,” he whispered in my ear as he nuzzled seductively at my neck.

His warm breath sent shivers of anticipation through my body. The dress made me feel dark and sexual. I wanted him. He wrapped his arms around me and pulled me close. I could feel his erection pressing against me. I knew he wanted me as much as I wanted him.

He slid the straps of the dress off my shoulders and let the dress fall to the floor. I removed my underwear and stood in front of him with just the black stilettos on.

“You are so beautiful, so irresistible,” he said as he removed his clothing.

He pressed his naked body to mine. I was already wet with anticipation. He turned me around and pressed me against the mirror. I watched his reflection as he moved to enter me. He was as hard as steel. His strong hands gripped my waist; his large cock parted my damp folds and plunged into my wet heat. I moaned loudly, forgetting where we were. I watched, entranced, as our bodies blended and moved. My hard nipples pressed against the cool glass as I arched my lower body so I could take more of him inside me. He thrust in and out of me, hard and fast. The heat built and built until we both exploded.

It happened so fast, but it was the most erotic encounter I had ever experienced.

We got dressed and walked back out into the store so we could purchase the dress, wings, and shoes. I felt flushed and satiated. I could have sworn that the guy behind the counter winked at Christien as he handed him the bags. Surprisingly, I didn’t feel embarrassed. I was still glowing from that unexpected rendezvous in the dressing room. Little Shop of Fantasy it was, I thought.

After that, Christien had the carriage take us to the Moonwalk. We strolled along, right next to the Mississippi River. Like two teenagers in love, we held hands. It was like walking in the clouds of our own little world. We were giggling and laughing and just enjoying being with each other. He fascinated me with tales of riverboats, the old steamboats, and gambling from days gone by. It was almost as if he had been there, but it was so long ago. He told the tales with such finesse. The man should be a writer, I thought to myself.

After strolling for a couple of hours around the Moonwalk, he escorted me back to the carriage and had the driver take me to my hotel. It was getting very late, but I was disappointed that our night had come to an end.

Before getting out of the carriage, Christien pulled me into his arms. His strength once again enveloped me, and I was lost in his scent. I didn’t want to let go of him. His sweet lips gently grazed mine, then pressed harder, demanding my response. I eagerly returned the kiss, hoping I could entice him up to my room. His passionate embrace left me wanting much more than just a kiss. He pulled away. I couldn’t hide my disappointment. I had hoped he would join me in my hotel room for round two.

“I am sorry. I have to be going. I don’t want to leave you, Liz, but I have a lot of business meetings this week. I promise I will try to see you as much as possible. I will be in touch, my love,” he said as he helped me down from the carriage.

He climbed back in the carriage while I stood in front of my hotel. He blew me a kiss, and then he was gone. I watched as the carriage took him into the night and away from me. I felt empty without him.