Seven
Armed with fake ID, Mary Nichols sat at the bar in a saloon on St. Louis Street, just off Bourbon Street, tears running down her cheeks. She shook her head when the bartender stepped over and asked her what she wanted. She was too pissed off and hurt to order anything. Her asshole of a boyfriend had been acting like a jerk in the last bar, coming on to the strippers as if she hadn’t even been sitting there. She’d run out of the place, turned a couple of corners, and ducked into this place to give him something to think about.
She looked up as a deep masculine voice next to her said, “Bring the lady a white wine.”
The man sitting on the bar stool next to her was one of the most handsome men she’d ever seen. He had dark curly hair and bright blue eyes, though they did appear a bit bloodshot, as if he’d been having too much to drink. His face was creased in a slight smile, kind but not mocking.
“I find a light white wine is often the best antidote for sadness, don’t you?” he asked gently, his hand finding its way to her shoulder.
Mary dried her tears and nodded, hypnotized by the stare of those ice-blue eyes that looked as if they could see into her very soul.
The bartender placed a glass in front of Mary, and the stranger paid for it with a ten-dollar bill, saying, “Keep the change.”
Oh, Mary thought, kind and gentle and rich to boot, but he looks like he needs to spend a little more time in the sun. His skin was so pale it was almost translucent.
“If you’re alone, please join me at my table,” the man said, and got up off the stool and strolled over to a dark corner of the saloon.
He even walks as if he owns the place, Mary thought. She picked up her wine and followed him to his table.
She sat down and took a deep drink of her wine to give her courage. She was on a senior trip with her French class from Baton Rouge; as a high schooler, she was not really accustomed to letting herself be picked up in bars by strange men.
“Hi, my name’s Mary,” she said, purposefully not giving her last name just in case he turned out to be a pervert.
“I am Jacques Chatdenuit,” he said.
“Chatdenuit?” Mary asked, smiling. “Isn’t that French for cat of the night?”
Jacques smiled and nodded. In the darkness, just for a moment, Mary thought his teeth seemed to glow.
Must be a black light in here somewhere, she thought, and raised her glass to him.
“Thanks for the drink, Mr. Chatdenuit,” she said. “I really needed it.”
“I know,” he said. “I could tell.”
Mary went on to tell him how her boyfriend had acted, and he seemed very concerned.
“Perhaps we should take a walk back to this other bar and let him see you with another man,” Jacques said. “That might make him jealous and cause him to treat you better in the future.”
“That’s a great idea,” Mary said, laughing at the thought of her unsophisticated friends seeing her in the company of such a handsome, worldly gentleman.
“Finish your wine and we’ll go show them all,” Jacques said.
Wondering if she’d voiced her thoughts out loud, Mary upended her wineglass and drained the last few drops. Of course, she must have. Otherwise how would he have known what she was thinking?
Stumbling a little from the effects of the wine, Mary got to her feet and walked out the door with the man named Jacques.
Instead of turning to the left toward Bourbon Street, Jacques put his arm around her shoulders and led her to the right.
“Wait a minute,” Mary protested. “The club is the other way.”
“I’m just going to take you down toward the river to let the night air clear your head a bit before we meet your boyfriend,” Jacques said.
Mary nodded slowly. She did seem to be having trouble focusing her thoughts. Perhaps the night air would do her good, and the river would be very pretty in the moonlight.
Four blocks later, they entered the Woldenberg Riverfront Park. There were occasional couples walking arm in arm, but for the most part, the park was almost deserted at this time of night.
Suddenly concerned at being alone in the darkness with a man she’d just met, Mary glanced around. “Maybe we’d better head back.”
Jacques turned to her, easing her back into the branches of a large bush, his hands moving to her breasts. “No, I think not, Mary,” he said, his voice changing, from deep and masculine to a throaty growl, like that of a lion’s.
As his hands began to knead her breasts and he pushed his tumescent groin against her, Mary opened her mouth to scream; the scream died in her throat at the horror of seeing Jacques’s face begin to melt and change before her eyes.
His eyes became red and piercing. He opened his mouth to reveal glowing fangs, dripping what looked like blood as he ran a long, pointed tongue over his lips.
With a sudden movement, he ripped her blouse off, along with her bra, and ducked his head to her chest. As his teeth closed over her nipple, drawing blood, Mary’s mind shut down in terror and she fainted, becoming limp in his arms.
Jacques lowered her to the moist, damp earth and tore the rest of her clothes off, a frenzied rending of cloth and flesh. He stripped quickly and knelt over her nude body, caressing her firm young breasts with both his hands and his eyes. She moaned and moved slightly under his touch. When his hand moved to her groin, her eyes fluttered open and she spread her legs and pushed herself against him, though her face still wore an expression of horror.
He flicked his tongue against her lips, probing her mind with his until she wrapped her arms around him with a deep groan of desire. Grinning evilly, he pinned her arms to the ground above her head and sank his fangs into her breast as he entered her violently. While she grunted in pain with each thrust of his hips, he moved his mouth to her neck and began to feast on her blood.
When she was empty and he was satiated, Jacques leaned his head back and howled at the moon, causing several nearby strollers to run in panic from the park.
Jacques stood over her lifeless body, got into his clothes, and wiped blood from his lips with the back of his hand. He knelt, picked up her head, and kissed her cold, dead lips, silently giving her thanks for her gift to him.
He glanced once at the moon before strolling nonchalantly toward his apartment in the French Quarter, his Hunger assuaged once again as it had been every night for the past week.