de Sang: Embrace Your Blood Lust (9 page)

 
Knocking over the coffee table with his abrupt rise to his feet, he ignored the papers and magazines spilling over the floor like an oil slick. He wasn't sure how he felt about his dad dying. The man had been the primary barrier to Slade reconnecting with his family, and was the man who'd booted him from it in the first place. It wasn't like they were close. But to have him die and then…nothing?

Any mellowness he'd gained from blood drinking was gone. The emotions hit him all at once, slamming into him like two converging rivers that were both flooded. One river was raging pissed, the other was filled with sadness.

It was one thing his super Catholic family had disowned him when they found out about the blood shit. Some would argue the prejudice was natural or even expected. But assholes like Darus, and Lohr Varius — with his public weirdness and declarations of
king vampire
bullshit, fed the stigma and misconceptions like a
Twilight
fanatic at a Robert Pattinson rally.

He couldn't believe his family thought he was such a freak they didn't invite him to his father's funeral. Thank God he wasn't gay too, or they probably would have lynched him.

Usually Steph was pretty good about keeping him in the loop, at least on big things: when his brothers got married, when everyone had babies, when cousin Pauly was killed in a motorcycle accident... The only reason she wouldn't have updated him on something so huge was because someone asked her not to. And Slade had a pretty good idea that someone was probably their father.

He suddenly understood why Armand had been so pissed last year when Darus left Eve on the street to die. The Community was precious to Slade. He
needed
it for good health and he connected with a large percentage of the population. But he also wanted to see his birth family, be accepted, have some sort of normal life. But fuck if the Community didn't need to follow some basic rules in order to be accepted by normal society like, don't leave your Donors on the street to die.

For Darus to fuck that up because he wanted to bite some drugged up chick…? Well, didn't that put a giant floater in Slade's cornflakes.

He tore through the house, fighting the urge to rip things from the walls or knock over furniture. Nearly tearing the door from its hinges when he yanked it open, Slade blew through it and the courtyard and hit the street with lead feet. The sudden urge to confront and then throttle Darus overwhelmed every other desire his body might have, like sleep.

The soap trucks had just washed Bourbon when he came to it. Remnants of suds gathered in sidewalk cracks, and a strange mix of perfume and sewage hung in the air. The sun was just beginning to peek over the eastern skyline, casting the shuttered bars and souvenir shops in a pale, gray light.

Except for the occasional runner, the streets were mostly lifeless. But just as Slade was approaching his destination, he passed a girl sitting on narrow stairs leading into one of the closed shops, her head resting on her knees, her strappy heels looped around her wrist.

He paused. "You okay, sweetheart?"

She did something with her head that might have been a nod, but it might not have been either. Slade glanced down the street. He could just make out The Cell's hand painted sign a couple hundred feet away. There were a few people lingering at the entrance and he thought he saw Darus' Mohawk.

Just thinking the man's name made Slade's skin bristle.

He turned back to the girl. This was a common sight on Bourbon and shouldn't really concern him, but man she looked young. Her neon pink fingernail polish was chipped, she had a large bruise forming on her thigh (probably from falling down), and there was a fresh pool of vomit next to the stairs and a discarded Hand Grenade cup. He couldn't leave her like this.

Just as Slade was debating how to handle Drunk Girl, a young man came lurching from some hidden nook.

"Is this your girlfriend?" Slade asked.

"Yeah, man, hey." The kid stumbled toward Slade. Stopped. Swayed on his feet. Crinkled his brow as he took Slade in. Then turned to look at his girlfriend balled up on the stairs. "Whoa, Jennifer."

"You need to take care of your woman." Slade glanced toward The Cell. The trio still stood outside and Slade was positive Darus' scrawny ass was one of them. His fists itched at the chance to crack into Darus' jaw.

"I'm tryin'!" Slowly, Slade turned to Drunk Kid. His eyes were completely bloodshot, there was a piss spot on the front of his pants and a sloshing beer clutched in his right hand.

"Jesus Christ," Slade muttered. "Go home."

"See, that's the problem. I been lookin' everywhere," he gestured wildly around his head, "but…"

Slade watched the trio walk away from him and turn toward Royal, a wave of disappointment washing over him. As much as he wanted to confront Darus, as much as he wanted to kick his ass, it wouldn't help anything and Slade knew it. Beating the shit out of Darus wouldn't make his family accept him, or Kate hop into his arms, or bring peace to the Middle East. And it would only bring Slade thirty minutes of happiness, tops. Okay, maybe forty-five.

"Which hotel are you at?" he asked the kid.

"Umm…"

Maybe he could just knock this kid out. That would also make Slade feel better. But then he'd have to deal with the girlfriend. "Give me your hotel key. You do have it, right?"

The kid fished around in his wallet, dumping wadded up ones onto the freshly washed sidewalks before finally producing a hotel keycard. Slade glanced at it and handed it back to the kid. "I can get you there." He knelt by the girl. "C'mon sweetheart, I'm going to pick you up. Just don't puke on me, okay?"

Her head moved up and down in barely perceptible movements. Slade scooped her up and cradled her like an infant — a drunk, passed out infant. As she clutched his neck, the smell of liquor and vomit assaulted his nose.

Best to get them back to their hotel A.S.A.P. "Follow me, kid," he said, walking the opposite direction of The Cell. "And for Christ's sake, throw that beer away."

Chapter Eight

It was far too early when Kate's alarm screamed at her the next morning. After the weirdness at the gallery, she'd pedaled straight home and climbed into bed where she probably should have gone in the first place. At that point it was only about two thirty. But hardly an hour passed before Melanie came crashing in, the accompanying low male voice an indication she wasn't alone. They then proceeded to have rather loud sex, and Kate realized with dismay that not only was morning going to greet her with a heaping of sleep deprivation, she would also have to contend with a strange man in her house.

Halfway through the first cup of morning coffee her dismay was realized. Hail came stumbling into the kitchen, his blond, spiked hair smashed and flattened, his black eyeliner smudged across his cheek.

"Fuck, you keep this place way too bright," he said, rubbing his eyes.

Kate spied him over the rim of her mug as she sipped the black coffee. "Considering Melanie and I both work during the daylight hours, having a bright house at nine a.m. is hardly a problem."

He grunted. "Do you have any coffee?"

Yeah, at the coffee house down the street.

"Sure," Kate said instead, retrieving a mug from the cabinet. "It's French Press. That okay?" Remembering their conversation the night before, she imagined Hail's discerning palate wouldn't object to the Press. Now, if she'd offered drip coffee that might be another story. "And freshly ground," she added, not worrying that her tone came out snarky.

"Good."

As she handed the filled cup to him, she noticed his eyes were locked on the necklace around her neck.

"Where did you get that?"

She touched the vial draped between her clavicles. She'd completely forgotten about the necklace. "Oh. Lohr Varius."

Hail's blue eyes narrowed. "You know Lohr?"

"Barely. His exhibit is currently being displayed at the gallery I work at. Why?"

"And he gave you that?"

"Well, I didn't steal it."

Hail sat at the bistro table shoved against the only open wall. Creating a place to sit in the tiny kitchen had been an almost impossible task. At this point, Kate wished she hadn't bothered.

"He must really like you," he told her. "He doesn't give many of those away."

She fondled the smooth vial, tilting it back and forth and watching the thick red liquid coat the inside of the glass and then slowly slide away.

"Huh." She wasn't sure what else to add. She considered asking Hail if it really was blood inside the vial, but wasn't sure if she wanted to get into a long, drawn out explanation about the energy, or lack thereof, or any other properties contained blood might possess.

"It's definitely blood," he confirmed suddenly. "I seriously doubt it's Lohr's though."

If the blood didn't belong to Lohr, whose was it? It wasn't something she wanted to think about.

Releasing the vial, she lifted her eyes to Hail. The sunlight pouring in through the window next to the bistro table lit up his pale skin. She hadn't noticed it in the darkness that was
La
Luxure
, but in the bright morning sun she could clearly see the scars dotting his skin. Some of the marks were fresh, the skin pink and raw, some were smooth and tight, slightly gray, and looked like they'd been there a while. She thought of the wound on her neck and remembered Lohr's comment the night before.

Hail was marked.

With that many scars, he had to be a frequent Donor. She had a feeling all the talk last night about blood and energy wasn't coming from firsthand experience. Hail was someone's pincushion.

"With that," he went on, pointing at the necklace, "you won't need me to get you into the Forever Dark Vampire Ball. Actually, it'll get you places I can't even get into." He sounded somewhat dejected. Hail struck her as the kind of guy who liked to feel important. Maybe being a pincushion made him feel like less of a man.

"I'm looking forward to it."

After rinsing the thin layer of coffee grounds settled in the bottom of her mug down the drain, Kate set the cup in the sink.

"Hey, will you lock the front door if you leave before Mel gets up?"

She hated leaving a strange man alone in the house — a sleeping Melanie was the same as an absent Melanie — but Kate kept her bedroom locked, there was nothing of great value to steal in the living room, and if she didn't leave in five minutes she was going to be late.

"Sure."

"Cool. Thanks."

The jitters that had made her so restless the night before continued to plague her the entire day. After a tense morning finishing the clean-up from Lohr's gallery opening, she worked a fast lunch shift at the café, and then sped back to
La Prochaine
to run some errands for Lauren before finally heading home and taking a much needed nap.

Lauren didn't bring up the incident with Lohr, but she did stare relentlessly at the necklace dangling around Kate's neck like it was made of dead kittens or something. Kate decided to ignore it. The last thing she wanted to do was bring drama to the gallery, so she put on her best smile and completed her tasks with the most professional, most courteous attitude she could muster. Even her mother would have approved.

It seemed to work a little, and the frown lines on Lauren's face were no longer chasms by the time Kate's shift was complete. Which was good, because she really, really didn't want to get fired.

* * * *

Kate wasn't sure exactly what would be appropriate attire for a vampire ball. Nothing in her closet matched the visions in her head. She did have a black satin, strapless dress with a bustled skirt she'd worn to her sister's wedding that might work.

The dress fit great and looked gorgeous, but her mother and sister had complained bitterly about it. Apparently, black was not an appropriate color for an afternoon spring wedding, and Kate had
ruined
the family pictures. Since her sister had neglected to include her in the bridal party, Kate hadn't given a shit what they thought. Not that being included in the wedding interested her, but it would have been sisterly of her sister to ask.

Unfortunately, the pair of red patent leather Mary Jane Platforms that went with the dress were
not
walking shoes. Her boots were a little aggressive for a satin strapless, but at least she could walk more than two blocks in them. A black leather underbust corset, mascara and lipstick, and she was ready to go.

Melanie didn't have the same idea when it came to sensible footwear Kate did. Teetering on six inch stilettos, Melanie was almost as tall as Kate.

"You're serious?"

Melanie looked at her shoes. "We'll take a cab," she said innocently. "C'mon," she replied to the look Kate gave her. "We always walk."

"Cabs are a pain in the ass."

"I know. But I look hot in these shoes and I want to get laid tonight."

"Last night was insufficient?"

Melanie shrugged. "Maybe I want a repeat." She leaned in close. "Actually, I want someone to drink my blood. Is that weird?"

So Hail wasn't a
drinker
. It didn't surprise Kate.

She touched the marks on her neck, and then casually passed the hand over her hair. "No. It's not weird." It was hot. Too bad the man behind Kate's marks wasn't the one she wanted.

Just thinking of her blood in Slade's mouth made her panties wet. If the blood sharing made her this turned on, maybe she should take Lohr up on his offer. In fact, that was exactly what she was going to do. Slade had already occupied too much of her thoughts. She was ready to replace him with a more appropriate Human Vampire: Lohr Varius.

The ball was held in a three-story mansion on Esplanade. A curving staircase lead to a second story balcony surrounding the huge main floor. A long bolt of deep red fabric hung from the second floor ceiling, with yards of fabric pooled on the center of the wooden stage like spilled paint. A DJ worked the turntables and masses of writhing dancers filled the dance floor, surging and undulating in time to the music. Wrought iron cages flanked the stage; go-go dancers in black latex and thigh high boots filling them.

The costumes were as varied as the patrons. A bare-chested man with demon mask and Conan the Barbarian armor was talking to a couple girls dressed as the ghost twins from
The Matrix
, both wearing white dreads and PVC. A man with a Dracula cape and white face makeup danced alone with his cane near the sound station. There were corsets as far as they eye could see and a fair share of Steampunk top hats and goggles.

There was a huge difference in the quality as well. Everything from costumes that came in plastic bags and hung on pegs next to "Pirate Wench" in the store, to custom, high-end Victorian dresses probably costing thousands of dollars.

"Let's get a drink," Melanie said, taking Kate's hand and leading her to the crowded bar.

"Just get me a water." Tonight, she wanted to absorb the environment with her senses uninhibited.

"What? You're kidding!" Melanie never understood when Kate declined to drink.

"Watching my calories," Kate lied. It was the easiest way to get Melanie off her back.

"Oh, of course. Me too." Melanie turned to the waiting bartender. "Give me a double Jack & Coke with a water back."

Kate rolled her eyes and returned to scanning the room. The crowd wasn't quite what she expected. There seemed to be a lot of people merely playing dress up. She was hoping for something dark, sexy and somewhat taboo. This scene was merely a blown up version of The Cell.

"Can you believe we can't get upstairs?" A guy next to her told his neighbor. "For fifty dollars you'd think we could at least check it out."

Kate glanced toward the stairs. That must be the VIP section. A burly guy with his arms crossed tightly over a fitted black Tee stood watch in front of velvet ropes. He reminded her of Slade with his tree-trunk arms and inflated traps.

She wondered suddenly what was going on at
La
Luxure
. Was the mini-skirt skank there?

She grimaced at her own thoughts. She needed to focus on something else. Like, where was Lohr?

"Man, I was hoping for some hot vampire chicks!" the friend said.

"No shit!" Her neighbor gave Kate a quick once over and she immediately assumed the bitchiest expression she could. The last thing she wanted to do was socialize with these jackasses, and if Melanie caught wind there were some penises sniffing about, it'd be all over.

"Hey," the neighbor said to his buddy. "Let's check out the tail on the floor."

Good, it worked.

Melanie squeezed up beside Kate and handed her the water. "So, what d'ya want to do?" Melanie asked, taking a long draw on her straw. "Wanna dance?" She was already jiggling, her curvy body surging to the industrial beats, her breasts bouncing.

"In a minute." Kate looked toward the balcony. A few dark silhouettes leaned on the railings, watching the dance floor debauchery from their second story perch. If she stretched her neck and stood on her tiptoes, she could barely make out people moving in and out of rooms.

What
was
going on up there? And was it more interesting than down here?

"Oh, of fucking course! Guess we won't be dancing now."

Kate glanced toward the source of Melanie's dismay. The techno music faded out, and a dark, soulful melody poured from the DJ speakers. The stage lights changed their focus, moving from the DJ to a metal hoop suspended high above the stage.

Kate immediately recognized the acrobat perched dangerously in the hoop thirty feet above the ground. Her body twisted into an impossible pose, every curve of her perfect figure was showcased in a high collared, black bodysuit with strategically placed mesh cutouts. Her platinum blond hair was arranged in an intricate up-do and her bright red lips sparkled with hints of glitter.

When the hoop started inching toward the ground, Angel slowly uncurled her body. Her movements like silk, she twisted and turned in a series of unbelievably flexible and elegant poses. When the hoop stopped about ten feet above the stage, she untangled her body until her legs were a perfect horizontal line and only one arm held her aloft. It was then the men appeared.

Hail was in one corner, and the guy who'd been making out with the skank at
La
Luxure
in the other. They were both shirtless and wearing long black trench coats and black leather pants. They sauntered toward Angel and when they reached her, each took a leg and lifted her from the hoop.

As they eased her to the ground, Angel turned to the dark haired man. Starting at his cheek, she ran her hand down his neck and over his chest. Grabbing the lapel of his coat, she slowly circled him, peeling the garment from his body as she did. When it dangled from one of his lean arms, she jerked it to the ground.

Moving behind him, she grasped his shoulders in her hands. He wasn't an especially tall man, and Angel's towering heels made her a half-head taller. She turned his head to hers and kissed him roughly.