Emerald Eyes When I regained consciousness, my body was hurting all over. I wanted to scream in pain. Somehow, I managed not to. I clenched my teeth and gripped at the sheets on the bed. I would not give him this satisfaction. Not in this lifetime. I tried not to think about what had happened, but I couldn't. I could still find no reason for Lestat's reaction earlier. He had just returned from New Orleans, and was playing the harpsichord as I entered the room. I had been riding in the fields, then had visited the slaves' quarters. It had upset me to hear him play, though why that was, I couldn't tell. He ignored me, as usual. I asked him about his father, why he had demanded to be called Le Marquis. That caught Lestat's attention. He stopped playing and told me plain and simple that I should ask his father, since he had no explanation to give me. Like never before, I reacted violently, gripping his shoulder and shouting. "Merde, Lestat, why the hell don't you talk to me about it. You keep everything for yourself, treat the old man like he is your worst enemy, and whenever he talks about your mother you get mad. What is it! Tell me!" His eyes flashed at the mentioning of his mother. He never wanted to open the subject. His mother was gone, away or lost - he never talked about her as dead. His father had told me she had died of consumption, after going to Paris to see Lestat. "You think I know everything, don't you?" he asked me angrily. "That I have all the answers to your questions. There are no answers, Louis! Live with it!" "No. There are answers, and I will find them. No matter how long it takes, I will find them." I raised my voice, and he was staring at me, clenching his fists. "As for your mother," I added without thinking, "she can rot in hell for all I care. The one who brought you into this world cannot be considered a mother." That did it. Before I could even realize what was going on, he slapped me so hard that I fell on my back, knocking over the armchair I usually sat in. He was towering over me, eyes like steel trying to cut through me like a knife. "Shut up, Louis!" he roared. "You have no idea what you're talking about!" Without even thinking, I reached for the whip that the overseer had forgotten near the fireplace the previous night. I stood up, and lashed it at him. He caught the end with his arm, and moved so fast I couldn’t even see him. I felt his hand on my wrist, clutching it so hard I shrieked and dropped the whip. He picked it up, and all I could feel afterwards was the leather hurting my back, filling me with pain again, and again, and again. As the blows came, I started feeling weaker, and when he was finished I was already slipping into unconsciousness. The last thing I could remember was Lestat taking my head in his hands, and me looking into his face. What I could see in his eyes was grief and remorse, and I heard his voice weakening as I lost my consciousness. "Mon Dieu, Louis, what have I done?" As I laid on my bed, I felt the pain grow weaker. I realized it hadn't been as much physical as it was psychological. It had been my pride, not my body, that had been lashed that evening. I felt small and insignificant. I had no idea why that was so. I relaxed a little. I noticed I was lying on my stomach, my face buried in the wonderfully soft pillows of my own bed, facing the windows. They were open, and the fine curtains were floating with the light breeze. I felt the night's cool air travelling over my wounded back, over the hurt skin. I was naked. I had no idea who had brought me into my room. I hope it hadn't been the slaves, or Lestat. But there was no one else who could have done so. Probably the slaves. He wouldn't have bothered. I heard the door open. By the sound of the footsteps on the wooden floor, I knew it was him that had entered the room. Lestat. The night was silent. No savage rituals at the slaves' quarters tonight, no cries, no nothing. The two of us were the only ones not asleep. He had come to finish what he had started. To kill me. He approached my bed and placed something on the nightstand. I pretended to be senseless. If he was going to beat me to death, at least he wouldn't know I was awake. I felt his weight as he sat on the bed. His unmistakable scent. And then he suddenly sighed. He gently put his hand on my neck, and pushed the strands of my hair out of the way. I felt his lips close on the sensitive skin, and I thought 'Oh, God, he will drain me.' He didn't. He just kissed my neck, and then pulled away. Another sigh. "Oh, Louis, Louis..." he whispered, barely audible even for my vampire hearing. "Why do you keep doing this to me?" I had absolutely no idea what he was talking about. And this sudden gentleness he showed stunned me. 'What is he up to?' He caressed one of the lash marks on my back. A soft, intimate touch. It wasn't painful, as I had expected it to be. On the contrary, it was quite pleasurable. He reached out for whatever he had put on the nightstand, and placed it beside him, on the bed. I wanted to open my eyes, turn and see what he was doing. But I didn't do it. I was afraid of him, of what he could have done if he found out I knew what he was doing. Something strange was happening to him, and I wanted to know what it was. I remembered the sorrow I had seen in his eyes before I had passed out. The touch of a cool damp cloth on my back. He was washing the dry blood, removing it. Slow, gentle, caring gestures. Like he avoided hurting me on purpose. Like he knew I was feeling his every touch. I wasn't sure he didn't. When he finished, he paused. 'He will probably leave now and leave me here, for the sun. Burned to death.' He placed what must have been a bowl filled with water back on the nightstand. Then my nostrils filled with another smell. Blood. Vampire blood. I felt it as he poured it on the wounds, following the pattern of each stroke he had applied to me earlier. My skin tingled, and the wounds were closing. Dark Magic. "Speedy recovery!" he chuckled for himself. 'Where did he learn to do that? And why on earth is he doing it to me?' He continued, until I realized there was no mark left on my back. All that was left of his assault was the bruise on my left cheek, where he had slapped me. Now, his hands were travelling up and down my back, rubbing it gently. Powerful hands, that could crack my skull with no effort. "So smooth..." he sighed again. He pulled back, and slipped his hands underneath me. He lifted me and turned me on my back, and then pulled the bed covers over my naked body. I dared a swift look from under my lashes. I noted his eyes were closed as he did so. But it was the look on his face that astonished me. He seemed so gentle, so caring, so... innocent. I hadn't seen him like this before. Ever. He opened his eyes slowly enough for me to close mine again. I didn't know if he had seen me peeking or not. Most likely he didn't. A kiss on my hurt cheek. Then another. The cloth against my face, and then his warm blood fell on my skin again. The pain there was gone as well. He caressed my face with the back of his fingers. "So very beautiful," his voice whispered. No hatred there, no violence. "I could loose myself in your emerald eyes, my friend." I grew drowsy. Morning was coming. It was time for me to sleep. He touched his cool lips to my forehead, kissed my eyelids. And then, his mouth closed on mine. The heaviness in my limbs prevented me to react. He touched my face again. I could barely feel or hear him. "Beautiful, so beautiful... My Louis..." His gentle words lulled me to rest, and before the death sleep caught me I thought I heard him say 'I love you'. When I awoke, I realized it had not been a dream. I was still laying in my bed, and still naked. The room was dark. No light penetrated from the windows. I turned my head and realized the blinds had been closed and two blankets blocked any ray of light that could have entered the room. I suddenly understood that there was no real need for a coffin. 'I'll ask him about it tonight.' I remembered his rage from the passed night. I knew I would risk it again, if it meant having him care for my wounds after his anger had passed. I couldn't be sure he would do it again. I got up and dressed. I chose one of the new costumes I hadn't worn yet. It was dark green, and very stylish. Maybe too stylish. Something Lestat would wear, actually. The door was unlocked and I wondered why none of the slaves had come in during the day. Yvette was coming out of the study with an empty tray as I descended the stairs. Lestat's father had already eaten. "Yvette," I said, as she came near and bowed her head, "was anybody in my room today?" "Non, Monsieur Louis!" she said, very scared. "Monsieur de Lioncourt ordered this morning that nobody should enter, unless they wished for their death." I smiled. He was protecting his investment. "And where is Lestat now?" "He rode out in the fields. He said he would be back later." Gone feeding, no doubt about it. "Thank you, Yvette, you may go home now." He came back after about two hours, flushed and obviously in a good mood. I was reading in the study, and hadn't noticed when he had come in. I found him staring at me while leaning on the harpsichord, a satisfied look on his face. "My, aren't we elegant tonight," he said, as our eyes met. A challenge, as usual. "Thank you, Lestat." I placed my book on the small table and folded my arms. I opened my mouth to speak, but he was faster. "If you're going to say something about what happened last night, forget it." I was amazed. "Was it you that took me to my room?" "Had I not, you would be but a pile of ashes on the floor." I blushed. So it had been him. He started laughing. "Louis, your bashfulness could have surprised even Marie Antoinette. It's not like I haven't seen a naked man before." "I'm surprised you cared enough." "It is within my duty as your maker to do so," he shrugged. I turned my back to him and faced the night outside. "And I thought losing yourself in my emerald eyes was the reason..." I murmured, trusting he would not hear my words. I felt him stiffen. His hand was suddenly on me, and he turned me around to face him, his eyes burning with something I supposed was rage. "What did you just say?" he snapped. "I... I..." "You were awake." He stiffened. "Awake, awake, awake..." he continued to whisper, like in a trance. "Lestat, please..." He pulled back as I tried to touch him. He was looking at me, his grey eyes suddenly violet. Anger. Terror. Amazement. So very handsome. I saw him again like he had been the night he had offered me the gift. A fascinating creature of the night that wanted me to join him. He stormed out of the room, leaving me to wonder what had happened. ... I only found out many years after...
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