de Sang: Embrace Your Blood Lust (7 page)

Kate had the potential to change that and he didn't like it, especially since she appeared to be quite the head-case. If one minor encounter with her was making him refuse oral sex from other women, he was fucked.

Chapter Seven

Kate couldn't figure out what the hell was wrong with her. After breezing past Melanie to say good-bye and grab her purse, she sped home as quickly as her knee-high boots would allow. She immediately jumped in the shower, turning the
cold
up all the way, and the
hot
up just enough to take the bite out of the temperature. Her overheated body needed something to cool it down and hopefully, the cold water would snap a little focus into her confused brain.

Her body's reaction to Slade was inexplicable. All those engorged muscles told her he had more testosterone than brains, and while some women might find his giant monkey paws, and thick, sausage-like fingers sexy, all Kate saw were digits that probably lacked fine motor skills, like the ability to use a pencil.

Of course, they'd felt damn good pressed against her clit. And his index finger was better endowed than one of her ex's. As well as his finger had filled her, she could only imagine how deliciously stretched she'd be with his cock inside her. And all that testosterone just made him smell like sex…

With a hard twist on the faucet, she slammed the
hot
off. This was ending right now. Yes, she could admit he was good looking and all those hard, bulging muscles had a certain masculine appeal, and the multiple orgasms he would probably give her would be mind-blowing, but she wasn't into it and never would be. She'd take intellect and sensitivity any day over sexed up man-candy.

Besides, she'd learned her lesson when it came to jocks her Junior year of high school. As the freckle-faced redhead who preferred art and poetry to makeup and football, she was perpetually at war with the popular kids, which her quarterback brother and cheerleader sister were both members of. Her brother had this friend, Tyler, who had relentlessly teased her since third grade. He was absolutely jaw-dropping gorgeous. He had brown hair, green eyes and these fabulous dimples. One day while hanging out at her parent's house, he approached her and admitted he'd always had a secret crush on her. She was blown away and completely swept off her feet. It was like any movie from the '80s staring Molly Ringwold.

They shared a kiss — and a lot more — in her bedroom: Marilyn Manson and Perry Ferrel watching from their paper perches. Kate was ecstatic, truly on cloud nine. It wasn't until she went to school the next day that she learned why she should avoid jocks. Sharing was apparently one of Tyler's strengths and Kate was immediately labeled a slut who happily sucked dick.

It was a label that plagued her all the way to college. Girls treated her like she had some sort of contagious whore disease and guys went out of their way to belittle her in public, while trying to get a piece of her in private. The only clique which both accepted and understood her was the Goth kids, and she happily passed up homecoming, prom and cheerleading practice to immerse herself in all night coffee and cigarette parties at Denny's.

Frustrated, Kate twisted the water off with enough force she heard the pipes bang. She was
not
the type of girl who got all hot and bothered over some 'roided up guy who just happened to pay her a little attention. It wasn't worth it.

She did a quick towel down and squeezed the water from her hair before twisting it up into a sloppy bun. Throwing on a tank top and yoga pants, she didn't worry about a bra, she didn't need to. Flip-flops, a light workout jacket and her purse were all she needed before she hit the front door. The temptation to dig her vibrator out of her dresser drawer and sate some pent up fantasies was overwhelming. She had to get out of the house.

There was a small group who hung out at the coffee shop on Frenchman and discussed art, poetry and literature. If she hurried, she could still catch them before the shop closed. She needed to cleanse her brain after tonight's activities.

Unfortunately, the conversation at the coffee shop did little to distract her. Kate listened politely and even participated in the conversation about Andy Warhol and the rise of pop art, but the miniscule amount of caffeine in her decaf latte was making her jittery and she squirmed restlessly in the hard metal chair.

All she could think about was Slade's fingers against her clit, his rock hard body pressed into her, and his mouth clamped over the small puncture wound at her neck as he devoured and savored her like some animal.

Frustrated and disgusted by the dampness seeping into her panties, she clamped her legs together against the rising heat. This was preposterous. It couldn't possibly be Slade, it had to be something else — like the blood drinking — turning her on.

The restlessness finally got to her. After barely twenty minutes, she said good-bye to the coffee house intellectuals still discussing the controversies of the Cambell's soup can print and pedaled her bike toward the Quarter. It was about one a.m. but she was far too wound up to sleep.

Hustling across Esplanade, she jigged and jagged her way through down the darkest French Quarter streets — very purposefully skipping the street
La Luxure
was on — until she emerged at the front entrance to Gallery
La Prochaine
.

She normally avoided locking her bike to a street sign since she'd already had her seat stolen twice, but she was anxious to get inside and didn't like negotiating the back alley at night. Even if it was gated, it was still a scary place to be when shadows and fog overwhelmed everything else.

The gallery was eerily quiet. Evidence from the earlier opening was scattered throughout the room. The tables for refreshments sat empty against the back wall, bags of collected trash stacked neatly against their metal legs. The podium lined with glossy stock cards announcing upcoming events stood proudly near the entrance, the guest book still open.

With a regretful smile, Kate signed her name. She was truly sorry she missed Lohr's opening. She loved gallery openings, especially one of an artist whose work she so admired.

Death by Fantasy
caught her eye and she stepped back to admire the portrait. Lohr's ability to convey emotion was simply breathtaking. The entire collection hit a person in the gut with its intensity but nothing like
Death by Fantasy
.

It was all there. The passion, the aching, the longing... Kate craved that intensity, the emotional chaos. She wanted to feel those emotions in the deepest part of her being. She wanted them to be so intense they hurt.

"She is beautiful, isn't she?"

Kate nearly screamed. "Oh my God!" She clutched her chest. Her heart was beating so hard it was actually painful. "Mr. Varius!"

His Calvin Klein face cracked a tiny smile. "Didn't I tell you to call me Lohr?"

"Of course. Sorry." She glanced at him, still trying to catch her breath. The angles of his face caught in the pale light seeping in from the street, shadows deepening the etched lines. "How was the opening,
Lohr
?"

"It went well, thank you. You were missed."

"I hated to miss it." As her heartbeat slowly returned to normal, she turned back to the painting. "It's my favorite piece," she told him, gesturing toward the portrait. "You did an exquisite job capturing all the layers of her emotions."

"She was an exquisite model."

"I wish I had half your talent," Kate said wistfully.

"You have such an amazing eye though."

"Unfortunately I can't translate it to canvas. Believe me, I've tried. Six years of art school and my work is still amateurish at best."

 
"Why create art when you yourself are such a masterpiece?" As he studied her, she could feel the blush in her cheeks deepen. Jesus Christ, what was with all this blushing? She was thankful the gallery was dark enough to hide it. Blushing only made her look unprofessional.

"You are truly a stunning woman," Lohr continued. "I would love to paint you."

She swallowed against the surprise threatening her tone. "Really?"

"Absolutely." He held out his long, elegant hands, the manicured, painted fingernails sparkling in the dim light. "Let these hands transfer your beauty onto canvas."

She laughed because it was the only reaction she could manage. "I don't think I'd fit in with your current exhibit."

"I might just keep your portrait in my personal collection," he said quietly.

Kate was overwhelmed by his flattery. She was supposed to be his admirer, not the other way around.

"Take our hair down," Lohr said abruptly as he moved to stand before her.

Startled, she touched the messy bun. "It's still wet."

"That's all right. I just want to see something."

"Okay," she said unsurely, slowly removing the carefully positioned hair sticks. "I'm warning you though, it's going to look like a bunch of spaghetti noodles and not in a good way." She released the final stick and the mass of still dripping hair came cascading down. It felt like a cold, wet blanket against her back and she self-consciously shook it out.

"Perfect," Lohr whispered as his electric blue eyes trailed from the roots to the tips hanging limply at her hips. He cocked his head. "Pull your hair over one shoulder."

Pursing her lips, she obeyed, gently sliding her hair to the side. She wasn't sure how to take his instructions. She'd never modeled for an artist before but she supposed this was normal.

"Tilt your head." Kate tipped her chin and Lohr took a step back, looking her over with a critical eye, an artist's eye. "Look at me," he said. She leveled her gaze on him, resisting the urge to look down when his bright eyes met hers. "Simply breathtaking." His gaze abruptly darted to her neck and a slow smile spread across his face. When he met her gaze again, his expression was sly. "You are marked."

Startled, she touched the wound on her neck. In the haze of Lohr's admiration, she'd completely forgotten about it. "Oh, that, I, ah, um…"

"No need to explain, Kate Miller. I know exactly what that's from." He leaned close to her. "I just wish I was the Sang who gave it to you," he whispered, his breath warm on her cheek.

Her heart was thumping wildly, but her rebellious body did not have the same reaction to him as it had to Slade. It didn't make sense. Lohr was her
type
. She should crave his attention. She should feel him kissing her would be the best thing that could happen at that moment. She should be quivering with excitement at the mere prospect of his interest.

She couldn't fathom why none of those reactions were happening.

"I totaled up the invoices and…" Lauren suddenly emerged from the backroom, papers in hand. "Oh!" She stopped abruptly when she saw the pair standing awkwardly in the darkness. Truthfully, it was only Kate who was awkward. Lohr stood with poise and purpose. "Kate! What are you doing here?"

Kate might have a key to the gallery but it didn't imply an open door policy. She shouldn't be there and Lauren's expression made it obvious she did not approve.

"I…"

"Kate is here at my request," Lohr interjected.

"I see." The explanation didn't make Lauren any happier.

Lohr pulled a black-corded necklace with a small vial filled with what looked like blood from his pocket and handed it to Kate. "This will get you into the Forever Dark Vampire Ball tomorrow night, as well as grant you access to the VIP section."

She nodded, quickly following his lead. "Thank you, Lohr. I've been looking forward to the ball all week."

 
"It pleases me to hear you say that. Thanks for taking the time to stop by. I look forward to seeing you tomorrow."

Kate put the necklace on. "Thanks again, Lohr." She glanced at her boss and tried not to be put off by the look of disapproval in her eyes. "Good-night, Lauren. I'll see you tomorrow." Kate didn't wait for the other woman to acknowledge her. Slipping out the front door, she quickly unlocked her bike and sped away from the gallery.

It was all Kate could do to keep her heart from exploding. What a strange night. First the weirdness at
La
Luxure
, and then the encounter with Lohr and Lauren. Hopefully, she still had a job tomorrow.
 

* * * *

After feeding from Amy, Darus lingered in a quiet nook near the Square for a long time, finishing off his smokes and fucking with groups of tourists back from the vampire and ghost tours. Few things were as fun as freaking out mundanes.

Before heading to The Cell to finish off his evening, he made a quick stop at his apartment for a fresh pack of cigs and was just walking out his front door when his phone rang.

"Shit," he muttered after looking at the caller ID.

He wasn't interesting in dealing with Lohr right now, but the artist had just gotten back in town after an extended gallery tour and Darus was obligated. At one point he'd been heavily involved in Lohr's coven, but after Eve, Darus was ready to put that shit behind him. Lohr was his only contact with the Community, though, and Darus needed all the contacts he could get.

"Yes." It wasn't a question.

"I need your help with something," Lohr replied. In order to hear him, Darus had to turn the volume on his phone all the way up. "We must meet to discuss."