Chapter Text
Leonardo could hear the girl through the heavy wooden door. Breathing in little ragged gasps, the scuff of her bare feet on the floor. Her terror made him feel ashamed, not of his own actions, no. But of what he was. A man no longer, a creature that fed on blood to live.
The girl was so afraid of him, of the other manor residents, that she’d been willing to take on a city of thugs and murderers or worse to get away. As if Comte would let anything happen to a guest, but then, she didn’t know that. She didn’t know him, or any of them, nor did she want to.
Her desire to escape was strong. In the morning she would likely leave and he’d never see her again. That thought made him feel … unsettled. He was unwilling to consider why he should care what she did or where she went. He decided it was worry for her safety. Yes. And only that.
His feelings were unimportant, of course. The girl was le Comte’s little accident. And his responsibility. The best thing for Leonardo was to get back to work. There were discoveries to be made. Books to read, to write. This was why he’d agreed to trade his humanity for eternity!
The girl would find her own peace one way or another. For tonight, she was safe enough behind the door, just as he’d told her.
Leonardo sunk to the floor, resting his back to the door. It wouldn’t hurt to wait until she slept to leave though. He had eternity, so what matter a few hours wasted. He absolutely did not think about the girl, pressed up against the other side, only a few inches away.
The scent of her perfume still haunted him out in the hall.
She’d been here just long enough to leave a trace of herself behind to distract him. Or perhaps the sweet smell of her came through the door to tempt him. Leonardo shook his head, trying to clear it. The scent wasn’t in the room, he realized. Her perfume clung to the folds of his jacket, delicate and floral. He took a deep breath, savoring her.
Then he set his jacket aside and pulled out one of his cigarillos. When he lit it, the rich, sweet smell of dried leaves filled his nose, erasing the girl. She was no one to him. There was no reason for her to bedevil him this way. Just because he could still feel the ghost of her lips on his, her small frame pressing close. The way she’d relaxed in his arms, fitting against him as if she belonged there. His fingers curled as if to stroke the skin of her back, or perhaps to touch a strand of her beautiful hair.
“No,” he said softly. He had no time for women. He was only here to make sure she would be safe for the night. Tomorrow, he’d speak with Comte. Make certain arrangements were made for her until she could return to her time.