May or may not be a pointless flashback but I wrote it a couple days ago and then rushed the ending so it needed to be posted.
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1953: New York
Clara de Martel's body was squished between the expensive bed and Lucien's shirtless torso. Her breaths were in quick pants at he pressed into her. She felt fire blooming everywhere he touched, on her body. His brown eyes narrowed as he smirked at her reactions to his touch. Everything about the moment was perfection. Something she'd wanted when she was human. A pleasure filled sigh escaped her rosy lips. Why couldn't she do something similar to him?
"You're enjoying this." Lucien mused. He reached, with his hand, and stroked her soft cheeks. He's never told her, but he loved seeing her face more than most things he'd experienced in his life. "I'm glad."
"Lucien." Clara moaned. Would he quit with the teasing.
"Oh I'm sorry, am I not doing enough?"
Even with her eyes closed, she could here the smirk on his lips. "I do not enjoy this teasing." She stated, feeling only slightly annoyed. The pleasure was all too much to muster any sort of negative feeling.
He took the complain to heart and stripped them both within seconds.
Thank God for vampire speed, she thought.
Finally naked and pressed against each other, they made sweet love until, finally, they fell asleep tangled in each other's arms.
Or maybe he was simply humoring her.
That night Clara woke up to an empty bed. She found herself sighing and dressed in a green shirtwaist dress. He disappeared like always. But that was always how it was. Since the 1340's.
"Miss me?"
"Lucien. I figured you'd left me again."
He scoffed, a smirk never leaving his rosebud lips. "I'd never."
"Liar." She said. Her brown eyes narrowed at him. "I remember it was exactly 1817 when you disappeared out of the Inn I was staying at. After you, of course, had your way with me." She paused thinking, "In fact, you disappeared from the entire town."
"I had other business to attend elsewhere." Lucien replied smoothly. He grabbed a decanter of scotch and poured them both a glass.
She downed her drink. "Whatever you say, Lucy. I just know: You never stick around very long. So I don't expect much."
He was silent for a moment. Thinking. She had such low expectations for him. Did it hurt? Feelings were such a difficult thing to interpret for him. The only true emotions he knew of were that relating to Aurora de Martel. The sister that could tear a man apart with just her eyes... and that intoxicating smile. Much like what Clara had. Clara's appearance, oddly, gave him a sort of high that he had to distance himself from. He feared he'd get addicted. He felt a sort of guilt when he felt such emotions for the sister of his first love.
Lucien began to frown, taking a sip of his scotch. Why must she plague him with such deep and negative thoughts? They were such an annoyance to him. He was an ancient, powerful, and incredibly handsome vampire, he could get/kill anyone he wanted. There was no time for such feelings. He felt his face morph in disgust before he decided to change the subject. He put on a plastic smile and touched her hand. "Come on, love. It's the bloody 50's! Let's go out tonight, much better than those dreadful 40's. And it's only 8, the night has just begun."
"I don't know," She replied. Her mind wandered to the letter she'd received yesterday. It was addressed to her from Tristan de Martel. "My brother wrote me a letter. I've yet to read it, but I assume he wants me home."
"Ah yes. With those vile people he calls family." Lucien moved in front of her and held her hands. "They are not your family. The Strix can go to hell for all I care. Stay with me."
Clara couldn't help but laugh. "So you can leave me again? I don't think so." She got up to leave, but Lucien grabbed her arm, spun her around, and jerked her into his arms. "I've become bored with this place, anyhow."
"What? New York? Come on, darling." He gave her a bright smile, to which she frowned. He sighed. "Ok fine. Have one more night out with me. Then, you can go to your dearest Tristan." The last words he spoke dripped with sarcasm.
"I suppose..." Clara looked down at her fidgeting hands, then looked up at Lucien and smiled halfheartedly. "One more night won't hurt."
"Wonderful!" Lucien got to his feet and handed her, what looked like, his credit card. "Go buy treat yourself with a new outfit-- as many as you want actually-- then meet me at The Bridge."
"That new nightclub?" He nodded, "Very well."
Clara ended up spending spending enough money to feed all of New York.
But her happiness quickly faded when she ended up spending all night at the club, waiting for Lucien to show up. He never did.
Forcing the tears to not spill from her eyes, she took a cab back to his vacant apartment. The rooms were empty, except for a single letter lying on the wooden floor.
Clara,
I've been called away. Terrible sorry for the inconvenience.
Lucien
"Lying bastard."
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"She suspects nothing?"
Lucien scoffed, ignoring the strange feeling that grew in his chest. "She's in love. I doubt this ever crossed her mind."
"Very well. Take this." Tristan de Martel handed him a stack of documents. "Now, I suggest you stay out of her life. I don't know how many times I have to threaten, or bribe, you, Lucien."
"Just as long as I get the information I need." He plastered on a fake smile and turned to walk away. An odd feeling passed through him and he furrowed his brow, "Just, tell her I'm sorry. That is the least you can do."
Tristan mentally rolled his eyes and turned to his second in command. "Aye, would you please send my sister another letter. Convince her to come back. Lie if you must."
"Of course."
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