de Sang: Embrace Your Blood Lust (3 page)

She'd been on a quest to find a kindred spirit since she was six years old. As the only pale redhead in a family of tan blondes, her looks alone made her feel alienated. That her sister was in cheer and played sports like volleyball while Kate preferred art, and generally dark, disturbing art, certainly didn't help her feel less like an outcast among her ideal American family.

New Orleans had rewarded her with people she shared a lot of common ground with but she still hadn't found the perfect fit. Would she find it in a blood bar?

She decided to take a small detour on her treacherous ride home to see if she could find the elusive blood bar. She knew it was by the Ursuline Convent but that still left a million places for it to hide. With any luck, she'd find it. Lohr Varius had stirred a curiosity in her dying to be sated.

* * * *

The headache that had been an irritating throb behind Darus' temples before going into
Luxure
was now pounding ferociously against his skull. Leaning against the archway to
Luxure
, he stared blankly at the empty street. A low fog had settled over the asphalt and the neon signs from the Irish pub across the street glowed brightly in the diffused light.

What a fucking mess.

He hadn't meant to kill Eve, he really hadn't. Had he known his last little escapade with her would send her over the edge into darkness, he would have left that bitch staggering on the street for some other sap to find.

What pissed Darus off more than anything was no one seemed to remember Eve was a fucking whore when it came to blood. No one cared that she'd spilled her blood all over New Orleans before Darus got to her, or that she was constantly out of her gourd on Coke, or X, or Meth. Because of one stupid decision, he'd been ostracized from the only family he knew.

Darus lit a cigarette. He didn't know why Armand had to be such a fucking prick about the whole thing. Darus had served his time. Keeping him from the Community was just excessive punishment.

It didn't help that he was Craving hard either and not just for nicotine. Grazing off Tourists might be fun but it didn't provide a reliable blood source.

He took a long drag off his cigarette. The fog blanketing the street made it seem even more desolate than it was. He had to get somewhere with more people. Finishing his cigarette, he flicked it into the gutter and pushed off the brick wall. Just as he started down the street toward Royal, a woman on a bicycle rolled slowly down the street.

She stared him down as she passed, keeping her light eyes locked on him until her head twisted on her long neck and she was looking over her shoulder. Even as she turned onto Chartres, she flipped her gaze over the other shoulder, craning to look at him.

Her scent lingered on the damp air even as she disappeared from view and he could very distinctly smell her blood — A positive. It made his throat tighten up and his mouth water.

Shoving his hands into the pockets of his frock coat, Darus headed toward Jackson Square. Hopefully, he could find a tourist eager for a little New Orleans adventure. Otherwise he'd have to settle for a Blood Doll.

Chapter Three

The beach cruiser gave a substantial jerk as Kate popped it over the curb and onto the crumbling sidewalk. The contents of her purse bounced around in the wicker basket attached to the handlebars, threatening to jump out if she didn't settle down. It was the perfect metaphor for her guts. Like the basket, she could barely contain her excitement either.

She kicked her foot over the seat in a sort of flourished dismount just as the cruiser was coasting past her Jetta gathering bird poop and tree droppings. There was little use for her car in New Orleans, which was such a contrast to her hometown of Ft. Worth. If she actually drove the short mile to either of her jobs in the Quarter, by the time she actually found a parking space — if she found one at all — she might as well have biked over.

Walking the bike up the stairs and onto the porch, she carefully wove the steel cable of her bike lock through the spokes of both the front and back tires, around the frame and finally, through the wood railing before locking it. She didn't dare leave her bike unattended for a second. Things had a way of walking off in NOLA.

The house reeked of pot and Nag Champa. Melanie, Kate's roommate, was face deep in a bong. She gave a little wave as she inhaled deeply and pulled away, smoke curling around her pale face. "What up girl?" she said in the weird voice pot smokers use when they're trying to hold their breath in.

"Not much." Kate tossed her purse, a plain black cloth messenger bag with a few band pins attached, on the end table. As she crossed the tiny living room in four easy strides, she slipped out of the bar T-shirt that served as her uniform.

The shotgun bungalow she shared with Melanie was smaller than her childhood bedroom but she loved it. From the ancient wood floors and crooked door jams, to the claw tub and shuttered windows, the 19
^th
century home had more character in its black and white tiled kitchen than the entire 3,000 square feet of her parents' McMansion.

Kate disappeared briefly into her closet of a bedroom, pulled off her black slacks and replaced them with a simple, short black dress with buckles up the side. She left the knee-high combat boots on. They were her favorites.

Zipping up the dress, she returned to the living room and flopped on the red velvet couch next to Melanie. She stared at the bong. "I hope you're not the only one smoking that," she said.

"You want some?"

"No thanks." Her pot days were long behind her. Kate leveled her gaze on her roommate. Melanie had some issues with excess: drugs, liquor and men. Kate tried to keep her nose out of it — after all, it wasn't so long ago she'd had her own similar issues — but sometimes, it was impossible. "Seriously…"

"Clint and Jamie just left," Melanie explained defensively. "I was just finishing off the last of the bowl."

"Good. I don't want you so stoned you don't want to leave the house." Kate folded up her legs Indian style and faced Melanie. Kate grinned. "I want to do something different tonight." On the nights they went out, half the time they headed to The Cell, a popular Goth bar near Bourbon Street. The other nights were reserved for live music.

"Like what?"

"There's a blood bar on St. Philip. A friend of mine in Austin told me about it. I scoped it out on the way home. I think we should check it out." It was a combination of a keen eye and sheer luck Kate had found the club. In fact, the sign was so tiny, she would've ridden right past it if a man wearing Victorian clothes hadn't been leaning against the narrow archway leading to the bar when she rode down the street.

"A blood bar? Like, that serves blood?"

"Or so I've heard."

"To vampires?" Melanie pressed on. Her kohl lined eyes had brightened considerably.

"Well, the human type anyway."

"Fuck yeah, I want to go." Melanie jumped up. "Let me change." She practically bounded down the narrow hallway and into her bedroom.

The original floor plan of the 19
^th
century house wouldn't have included a hall, but it wouldn't have had a bathroom either. While Kate was a little sad some of the house's character was lost when it was remodeled, she was happy no one had to traipse through her bedroom on the way to the kitchen. The indoor toilet was nice too.

"So, we should think of some good vampire names to go by," Melanie called out. Kate could hear things being tossed about and assumed Melanie was rummaging through her disorganized room.

"What's wrong with the ones we have?"

"Too boring."

"Well, I'm fine with mine." Kate pulled out the hair sticks securing her intricately twisted bun and shook the hair loose. Growing up she'd hated her auburn curls, torturing them into straight submission and dying them nearly every natural, or unnatural, color that wasn't red. Age and a bit of apathy had helped her come to terms with the genetics she'd been given.

She rose from the couch and headed for the bathroom. She should probably freshen up her makeup and make sure her hair wasn't too unruly before they headed out.

"What do you think of the name Melasma?" Melanie wondered.

"I think it's a skin condition."

"Oh," Melanie sounded disappointed. "It sounds really cool."

Kate touched up the deep, wine colored lip-stain, dabbed her face with powder, freshened up her mascara, misted her hair to wake up the curls flattened from being squeezed into a bun all day and left the rest alone. While she liked the look of heavy makeup, she wasn't one who could get away with a lot of black around the eyes. Her features were simply too fair, and whenever she tried to paint up her face, she ended up looking like a zombie. She had full, pouty lips, so she put the drama there with the darkest lipstick she could wear.

"How do I look?" Melanie asked, standing in the bathroom doorway.

"Great. Super sexy."

Melanie was the opposite of Kate: short and curvy, with shoulder-length hair cut in edgy, straightened layers. The corset she wore gave her amazing cleavage Kate could only dream about, and her pretty features not only supported more makeup than Kate could wear, but more piercings as well: a double nostril, snake-bites, a Monroe piercing, an eyebrow ring…and that didn't begin to cover the metal in Mel's ears.

"You ready?" Kate asked.

"Let me check my mask." They traded places and Kate went to the kitchen to make a quick cup of coffee. If they were going to be out late, and they probably were, she needed a little caffeine pick-me-up. Melanie's
mask
checking would probably take a little while anyway. Mel might be an artist with makeup, but she certainly wasn't fast about it.

Kate was just polishing off a cup of coffee when Melanie called out, "Okay, I'm ready." Kate rinsed her glass and set it in the sink. She did miss the dishwasher in her parent's huge kitchen but not much more.

Melanie was waiting by the door. "Should we cab it?"

Kate retrieved her purse. She shook her head. "No need. It's walkable."

"Cool. Lead the way."

* * * *

Darus leaned against the wall of a grimy building not far from The Cell, watching people intently as they passed, enjoying the freaked out expressions on their boring faces when they saw him. He'd know the right girl — or guy, if he was desperate enough — when she/he passed. He didn't mind getting blood from a man, but Darus definitely preferred females. They just smelled better. Besides, if a man was a willing Donor, he was most likely interested in more than just Donating, and Darus wasn't into receiving a blowjob from some random dude. Not tonight anyway.

Three girls clutching thirty-two ounce Styrofoam Daiquiri cups were walking toward him, arms entwined. The woman in the middle was wearing a tiara and a veil with condoms glued to it. As they passed, the one closest to him caught his eye.

She was a pretty little thing: blond, with dark grey eyes and too much makeup. Her sparkling tank-top revealed a soft, smooth neck and her tight jeans, a round ass. She smiled at him as she passed, turning to give him a final once over when twenty feet and a dozen tourists separated them.

She was the one.

He fell in stride behind her, letting his steps eat up the distance between them until he walked no more than five feet behind.

Bride-to-be glanced back at him, and then turned and whispered something to each friend. Both girls flicked their gazes at him. One gave him a dirty look, but
his
girl, with her sweet ass and even sweeter smelling blood, flashed him a broad smile.

He followed them for a block before Bridezilla finally stopped and faced him.

"Stop following us!" she hissed.

"I'm not following you," he told her. Swinging his gaze to Sweet Ass, he added, "I'm following you."

Biting her lip, she grinned at him. When he smiled back and she caught sight of his fangs, her eyes widened briefly and her grin broadened.

"You can't be serious, Amy!" Condom Bride said with a disdainful smirk.

Amy shrugged. "He's cute."

"C'mon," her friend said, grabbing the two girls and jerking them down the street. "Stay away from us, creep," she tossed over her shoulder.

He ignored her, of course.

Staying steps behind, he followed them until they disappeared into a corner dance club. He didn't enter, but settled against one of the metal support pillars for the rickety balcony above and watched them through the open doors.

Dance beats poured out of the bar and scantily clad girls undulated and shimmied on light up stages around stripper poles. Some danced well; most just looked awkward as they tried too hard to be sexy.

The trio settled into a high top and ordered an assortment of colorful drinks and three test tube shots. Amy sat in the seat facing him, her eyes darting to his at regular intervals. Every so often, her friends would follow her eyes and spot him. They were not as happy as Amy to see him standing there.

Darus couldn't give a shit what they thought. What he wanted was a couple swallows of the colorful drink in Amy's hand away from giving him exactly what he desired. The moment she had the right amount of liquid courage, he was certain she'd be his.

It only took ten minutes before she joined him on the sidewalk. "Are you waiting for me?

"Yes."

She liked that. "Are you a vampire?"

He leaned forward. "Yes."

She pushed her silky blond hair behind an ear, her fingers sliding down her neck and lingering on her clavicles. "Do you drink blood?"

He leaned so close his lips brushed her ear. "Yes."

Her breath came out in a rush as heat flooded her skin. It oozed off her in waves of excitement and anticipation. She leaned into him. "Do you want to drink mine?"

His teeth raked her skin. "Yes."

She actually whimpered a little, which was an excellent sign.

"This pleases you?"

It was her turn to reply with a simple, yet powerful, "Yes."

As her heartbeat increased, the smell of her blood intensified. An O-positive. Common, but delectable nonetheless. He was certainly in no position to be finicky. "Do you want to go back to my place? I don't live far."

For the first time, her gray eyes flashed fear as they met his. "I can't. My friends…"

"That's all right." He kissed the edge of her jaw where it curved toward her ear. "I can do it here."

Normally he avoided public blood drinking for a multitude of obvious reasons, but with the huge masses of drunken people crowding Bourbon, no one would pay them any attention.

Except maybe her friends. Turning her away from the open bar, he pulled a pair of metal finger fangs he'd purchased from Armand before he'd been exiled from his pocket. Quickly and discretely, he pierced the soft joining of her neck and shoulder and immediately covered the wound with his mouth. Biting her would have been more satisfying but, not only was he trying to repair his reputation, biting was a more aggressive and violent act. It was also more obvious. Right now, they just looked like they were necking.

There were some in the Community who lectured against drinking from random Donors. It was never something Darus concerned himself with. Unless he had an open cut in his mouth, the chances of sharing an unfriendly pathogen was unlikely.

He didn't always bother with condoms, either, and he had yet to catch anything.

Amy arched into him, clutching the lapels of his coat. She moaned softly, her muscles turning liquid as she slumped in ecstasy.

It was only minutes before her blood began to clot. Licking his lips, Darus pulled back. Slowly, she lifted her heavy lids and caught his eye. "That was awesome," she murmured. "Where can I find you later?"

He might like to fuck her but by the time
later
came around, she'd be too drunk for fun sex. He'd learned his lesson with Eve. And as much as a ball-gag would look amazing in her pretty mouth, he wasn't going there if she was dripping drunk. Judging from the glaze started to cover her eyes, he'd already pushed the boundaries.

"I'll find you," he told her.

Just as her friends pushed their way out of the bar, Darus turned and disappeared into the crowd. Behind him he heard the high-pitched screech of one of her friends, "Oh my God, Amy! Your neck!"