Eveillez: Deny Your Blood Lust (11 page)

Chapter Twelve

Kevin couldn't remember a time he'd been so content after sex. It was like sweet, warm caramel had seeped into his veins. His skin no longer twitched, his hands no longer trembled, and his body felt satiated, complete. He also felt oddly at peace, the anger normally gnawing at his insides quieted.

Resting his cheek against Angel's head, he closed his eyes and enjoyed the perfection in his arms and the warmth radiating through his body.

"That was amazing," she breathed.

"You're telling me." He trailed his fingers over the side of her face and down her back. "I've never met a woman like you, Angel. I've never met anyone who makes me…
feel
as intensely as you do."

She lifted her head from his shoulder and looked at him. "Me too."

He had a hard time believing she could feel an ounce of what he did. Taking her hand, he kissed the joining of her thumb and index finger. "You are truly breathtaking." Their gazes locked and he was sideswiped by emotion so intense he didn't know how to process it. He wanted to lose himself in her and never return.

The smell of blood suddenly shattered the afterglow. In the haze of passion, he had been momentarily confused, but he remembered now. He'd consumed her blood. In fact, he hadn't just consumed it, he'd devoured it. Craved it. Loved it.

He pushed her from his lap, her light frame offering zero resistance.

"What's wrong?"

He didn't dare look at her. Quickly tucking his cock back into his pants, he retrieved his shirt from the floor and moved out of reach of her grasp to put it on.

"I don't know what voodoo you've got going on," he said as he fastened the buttons. "But I don't want any part of it."

Her sigh echoed through the room. "It's not voodoo."

"Then what the hell would compel me to drink your blood?"

"Your body knows what it needs."

He snorted and headed for the door.

"It's why you're tired all the time, why you're body never feels whole," she called behind him. "You are a true Human Vampire, unlike most of the members of my coven. The condition we share is a real physical need. The sooner you come to terms with it, the healthier and happier you'll be."

His hand on the doorknob, he risked a final glance at her. Standing by the desk stark naked, her blond waves floated wildly around her face and her brown eyes were pleading. His instinct was to go to her, to scoop up her soft body and hold her close. To find a way to have her blood in his mouth again and her sex all over him.

Yanking the door open, he stampeded through it and then out the front door, not chancing another glance her direction. He didn't know what crazy mind games she was playing on him, but he had to get as far from her as possible until he could sort it out.

* * * *

Leaning against the desk edge, Angel dropped her face into her hands. Breathing through the tears threatening to smear her makeup—in, two, three, out, two, three—she tried to thwart the hole swallowing her stomach.

It wasn't supposed to go this way. She wasn't supposed to feel like this.

"Angel?" Ash stood horrified in the doorway, staring at her.

"Get out." She spit out the words before she caught sight of his expression. "I'm sorry … I just … need to be alone."

He didn't budge. "What happened?"

"Nothing."

"What did he do to you?"

Retrieving her fallen dress from the floor and using it as a shield to hide her nakedness, she said, "I don't…" She shook her head. "Nothing. It's fine. Just go."

"Angel—"

"Ash. Go." His expression made her heart ache, but she couldn't deal with him right now. "Please."

Stepping into the lobby, he closed the door tightly behind him.

Once alone, her held breath escaped in a sob. She balled a fist against it and moved to the couch, collapsing onto it. Pulling her knees to her chest, she dropped her head between them and allowed a few tears to fall.

What was she grieving for? The Kevin McCoy still suffering beneath his skin? The fact she had failed, that she hadn't been able to reach him? The man who kept rejecting her?

She rarely let men get to her. Armand had been the last to affect her. But it was nothing like this. With Armand, she had longed for a passion that wasn't there, grieved for a love that didn't exist. Every nerve in her body connected with Kevin. Every ache satisfied.

Jerking up, she stood in a rush and wiped her face. It wasn't worth it. Longing for something she couldn't have drained energy she was unable to spare. So what if he was unreachable. What did it matter? She'd tried. If he was unwilling to accept the truth, she should let him suffer. There was nothing more for her to do.

Except she wanted him. She hadn't wanted anyone in a long time.

She went to the bathroom to attempt to fix her face. Mascara rivers ran down her cheeks and she dabbed at them with a washcloth, knowing not much could be done about her bloodshot eyes. She hated feeling like this. Hated feeling like nothing mattered, like she didn't matter. Hated not knowing how to fix it.

One … two more passes with the washcloth and she tossed it into the sink. Bracing on the vanity, she stared at her reflection, unable to feel anything but disgust.

Her face had been an asset and burden her entire life. Beauty gave her opportunities she might not have otherwise and she knew she should be grateful. But beauty came with its share of negatives. She was often assumed to be arrogant, a bitch, dumb, or an object to conquer and possess.

Growing up, it gave her mother's revolving stable of boyfriends permission to hit on her, like it was expected. She'd never wanted, or asked, for their attention, but at seventeen, her mother kicked her out of the house, apparently tired of fighting Angel for her creepy boyfriends' attention. Greasy, unkempt men who assumed she was fair game, assumed somehow a teenage girl wanted to roll around with them in the sheets while her mother worked the night shift at the gas station.

She also learned early on any malaise she suffered was somehow self-imposed.

"You can't be sad," someone once told her. "You have everything. Most women would kill to look like you."

In some ways she knew they were right. She had so much to be thankful for she felt guilty for giving into her own self-loathing. But beauty wasn't everything. In fact, at the end of the day it was nothing. Strength of character, making others feel loved, helping people reach their potential … those were so much more important, and she strived to make them a priority every day.

She couldn't keep ignoring that she was broken inside. She needed more. She needed Kevin. He was the first man to make her feel
anything
in ages. She needed the passion he stirred within her, needed the satisfaction helping him would bring.

She wouldn't give up on him.

She filled her lungs from the lowest depths of her diaphragm to the highest point in her chest, and then let the air out in a slow, controlled exhale. She had a duty to her coven, her friends. Her tattered emotions would have to wait. There would be time for self-pity tomorrow.

Picking up the washcloth, she finished removing the smeared makeup from her cheeks. With the help of some Visine, she did her best to camouflage the evidence of tears. After freshening up her makeup, hair and body, she smoothed the wrinkles from her dress and took a final cleansing breath before leaving the safety of her office and returning to the party.

Ash was waiting for her, and she hesitantly took his elbow when he offered it, forcing every negative thought about him away. At her coaxing he was giving himself up to the police tomorrow and yet, he still offered her his unconditional support. The least she could do was graciously accept it.

He didn't inquire further about Kevin McCoy. Kissing her cheek, he whispered in her ear, "Don't forget I love you. No matter what."

She nodded, pressing her lips together to keep them from quivering. "Thank you," she whispered. "Let's get a drink. I need one. And I know you do."

* * * *

Armand stood in the bedroom doorway, hand pressed to the door jam. He wasn't sure how long he'd been there, but he couldn't seem to move from the spot. Forward, backward, sideways, his feet were as indecisive as his thoughts.

Julia's scent filled the room, her slow steady breathing a soothing lullaby. How he longed to join her in the bed, to slide his body against hers, to lose himself in the pleasure of her flesh.

But he refused to cross that threshold.

Turning to head for the guest room, Julia's voice broke through the darkness. "Armand, is that you?" The lamp clicked on.

Keeping his back to her, he said, "I'm just going to bed."

"Don't leave."

There was a pleading to her tone that made him want to spin around and scoop her into his arms. "I'm sorry," he said instead and started for the stairwell. He heard the rustle of bedcovers and bare feet on the hardwood floor.

She grabbed his arm, using it to catapult herself around him. Placing her body between him and the path upstairs, she stared at him. "What happened to your face? Oh my God, did you get into a fight?"

"It was nothing…"

"Nothing?" She touched the dried blood below his split lip. It was the only good shot the guy had gotten in. Armand had provoked him until he swung, taking the punch fully and without flinching. The pain had felt good, and he welcomed it. It had also given him the invitation he needed to kick the guy's ass. "This is nothing?" She shook her head. "Who did you fight?"

He offered a tiny shrug and Julia stumbled back, anguish crossing her face. "What is going on with you?"

"It's nothing you need to worry about. I'll deal with it."

"Nothing I need to worry about?" Her tone was shrill. "How is this," she gestured wildly toward his face, "nothing I need to worry about?"

Closing his eyes, he did his best to keep the anger from building. He refused to lash out at her—after all, her concern was understandable—but he couldn't discuss it with her either. "Let it go, Julia. Please."

"No!" Her expression was flabbergasted. "How can you expect that of me? Why would you?"

He felt his hands ball into fists and he strained to release them, flexing his fingers wide. "I can't."

"Yes you can. You just have to trust me."

If it were only that simple…

"I'm sorry," he said, unable to look her in the eye.

Striding past her, he fought to ignore her choked sob. He didn't trust himself around her. Either he would break and get angry, or strip off her clothes and bend her over the couch like some crazed animal. Neither solution was acceptable. Until he had his beast under control, it was best he avoid her.

Chapter Thirteen

By two a.m., only an hour following Kevin McCoy's hasty escape, the coven was ready to seek out a new energy. Angel knew they would be heading to
Luxure
. She wasn't ready to face the bar, Armand, Julia…

In fact, she didn't want to
face
anyone. If she had her way, she'd be in bed away from prying eyes and fake smiles. Not fake smiles from others … those were real. It was her smile that was fake.

Kevin's rejection left her bereft. His touch ignited a fire in her she'd thought vanquished. Burning through the apathy and depression, waking the woman buried beneath. For the brief time they were together, she felt like she'd finally returned to her true self, not the empty dressed up package standing in her place.

As the coven filed from the studio and began their procession toward
Luxure
, she noticed Darus leaning against the building across the street, smoking a cigarette. It had been ages since she'd seen him and wasn't sure how to feel.

He waited until the bulk of the coven was halfway down the street, and she was locking the door before approaching her. Ash didn't budge from his spot beside her. "Go ahead," she told him.

He looked warily at the tall man crossing the street. "Are you sure?"

"It's Darus," she said with a smile. "And I'm no Victim."

He nodded reluctantly and joined the others.

"I'd heard you were out of jail," she said when Darus reached her. "Welcome home."

His face looked pained for a moment. But forever in
Darus
form, he quickly wiped the vulnerable expression away and replaced it with a smug one. "Home and ready to conquer this shit hole."

"You shaved your dreads. The Mohawk is nice."

He ran a hand over the short hairs. He actually looked really good. Darus was a mixture of many ethnicities: African, Native American, European… As a result, his features were quite striking. At one time he liked to wear colored contacts—like many in the Community—but now he let his natural eyes shine. And shine they did. A true gray, they were striking against his light olive colored skin.

"Yeah, the dreads and prison didn't mix."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"Me too." He glanced at his shoes, and she was surprised by the insecurity exuding from him. He was always so cocky. She knew the cockiness was a façade, just like the one she fronted now.

"What is it, Darus?" She touched his shoulder. Touching, she discovered long ago, invoked a comfortable familiarity that helped people relax. "I will help you if I can."

He rubbed his head again. "Are your guys heading to
Luxure
?"

"Of course."

"May I … accompany you?"

She hesitated. She wouldn't go against Armand, and he had declared Darus Invisible.

"I'm back in," Darus added quickly. "Part of a negotiation." He actually looked ashamed. It burned her heart. She hated seeing people hurting.

"I'd be happy —"

"If it was anyone but you," he interjected. He glanced at his feet. "I'd hesitate to ask…" His gray eyes caught hers, and then he looked away. "I need your support. I—need
Luxure
, and I strong-armed Armand into welcoming me back."

"Don't worry. You have it."

He nodded. And then, as if shaken from a trance, he pulled a cigarette from his coat pocket and lit it. As he took a drag, his expression changed yet again. He grinned, rolling smoke through his lips. "Ready to show some tourists what Real Vampires look like?"

He was referring to the procession to
Luxure
. Even she had to admit it was entertaining. The power the vampire archetype commanded was undeniable, and their path would be carved with awestruck fear. Watching people cower as they passed held a certain … appeal. She felt a little guilty enjoying it as much as she did.

She hooked her arm through Darus' outstretched elbow. "Sure."

She'd missed his company. Her fellow Sangs offered an understanding lacking with Mundanes. Darus, Slade, even Lohr … having a physical need for blood connected her to them in ways normal human interaction could not. And Kevin…? She couldn't omit him from the list. She knew his physical condition added to their physical connection.

Allowing herself a moment to sink into the memory of his flesh against hers, Angel smiled as she remembered the feel of him buried deep inside her, the way he eagerly took her blood, the way he filled and satisfied her to the very core. His tongue on her sex, his fingers inside her, the taste of his skin, the smell of his pheromones…

She forced her attention back to the present. Their journey took them across Bourbon Street and past popular destinations for vampire tours—the alleys behind St. Louis Cathedral, Ursulines Convent… The tours were out in full force, and they passed several. The result always the same: the tour-guide would pause, and all eyes would fall on the procession, followed by hushed whispers and cautious stares. The guides were either Community members or Familiars, so to help make their tours memorable it was customary to flash fangs or maybe even hiss. Harmless fun, of course.

When they reached the entrance to
Luxure
, Darus held back and let the rest of the coven file through
the
front door while he stood on the sidewalk. Ignoring Ash when he turned to look at her, she glanced at Darus in question. "I just need a quick drag," he said, releasing her arm and pulling out a cigarette.

From the corner of her eye, she watched Ash disappear into the bar. "Would you like me to wait with you?" she asked.

He lit the cigarette and pulled in a mouthful of smoke. Shrugging, he slowly blew the smoke from his mouth and fell back against the brick wall. "Sure. Whatever."

"It would be my pleasure." While it was tempting to lean against the wall with him, she didn't budge from her spot on the sidewalk. The vampire image she'd established was so ingrained in her she found it difficult to let it go, even when no one watched. Her hands folded tightly at her lap, she studied him. "You look different."

"I was just thinking the same thing about you. What's going on with Ash and where's that blond dimwit you like to drink from?"

"I don't know where Hail is, and Ash has his own demons.
He'll
have to tell you about them."

Darus took another drag. "I think I'll pass. The less I know the better."

In many ways, she felt the same way. She wished she knew less. Three days ago, her life was simpler. Lackluster but simpler.

"You haven't asked me about Eve," Darus said quietly.

"No. I haven't."

"Don't you want to know about the night she died?"

"I saw her that night. I watched her beg everyone in
Luxure
to drink from her. I watched her pass out and Armand carry her off to the hospital. And I know your weakness." She smiled sympathetically at him. Darus readily embraced his nature, and he loved stalking
victims
on the streets. Normally, they were like Amy, the street Donor he'd found the other day. The one whose boyfriend Angel had calmed out of an unnecessary fight. Willing, eager, and unharmed.

Not only did she know his weakness, she accepted him in spite of it. "I'm just sorry you didn't call for help."

He snorted and shook his head. "Yeah, me too." Looking everywhere but in her eyes, he said quietly, "I'm ready for a different path. Will you show me?"

"You know I will."

He rubbed out his half-smoked cigarette on the wall and shoved it back into the pack. Any trace of vulnerability was wiped away. "I'm ready to face the fucking wolves. Just let me get my silver bullets."

* * * *

The cop paid no attention to Hail as he slipped into Lohr's room. It was amazing where a badge and scrubs could get you. Of course with Lohr shackled to the bed and the cop holding the keys, it wasn't like he could bust him out or anything.

When he entered the room, it looked like Lohr was sleeping. He only took two steps before the Sang opened his eyes.

"Hail. I am pleased you decided you join me."

Standing bedside, Hail shifted uncomfortably. He still wasn't sure about his decision to come here.

"Come closer. Let me smell you," Lohr said.

He leaned forward.

"Closer."

Leaning so far forward his neck was only inches from Lohr's nose, he pretended to adjust the bed sheets in case someone looked in. Lohr's breath was hot on his neck when he let out a very sexual, "Mmm. B negative. I had no idea you were so rare … and no doubt delicious. No wonder Angel keeps you around."

He'd like to believe Angel kept him around for more than just his blood. His dance background allowed him to be somewhat useful, but it wasn't enough to gain her favor. He knew he would never be
anything
to her but a Donor she happened to be able to use in her performances. Even Ash, who at least helped her run the studio, was rarely allowed to touch her. At least he was respected in the Community as Angel's partner as opposed to Hail, who was nothing but a lackey.

"Your lawyer said I would be rewarded if I came here," he said as he stood upright. "What do you have in mind?"

"Your blood first. After I am renewed I will be better equipped to explain what I need."

"If it's Kate you want…"

"No. I hoped to make her my Queen, but she is Slade's toy now and as such, no longer interests me. But you do." Lohr inhaled deeply. "Your blood smells phenomenal. Don't torture me any longer."

He hesitated. His current situation might be lacking but could Lohr actually offer more? The man
was
handcuffed to a hospital bed with a cop guarding the door.

Why else was he here if he was going to back out at the last minute? He'd been trying to get into Lohr's coven for years. This was his chance.

The toys he brought were made of plastic—to fool any metal detectors. The tiny ice pick-like tool was still incredibly sharp. Choosing a spot on the inside of his right forearm, he shot a quick glance over his shoulder to make sure they were still alone before piercing the skin. He immediately placed the bleeding wound over Lohr's waiting mouth.

Where Angel was gentle and soft, Lohr was like a goddamn animal. Hail was thankful for the restraints. As hard as Lohr's mouth was sucking at his flesh, he hated to think what would happen if Lohr were free. He was pretty sure he'd be enjoying his first
bite
right now instead of getting a rather painful hickey.

If it somehow got him out from under Angel's, and even Ash's, shadow it was well worth it. To get something better, he might even
let
Lohr bite him.

The shit at Forever Dark had been the last straw. For someone like Kate, a total outsider, to get VIP access—and then for Melanie to get into the blood room because Angel voodoo'd Kindle… It was all bullshit. He
never
got invited to the blood parties. Everyone in the Community knew he was Angel's Donor, and that meant he was strictly off limits.

He was tired of being under her thumb. Tired of yoga and energy training and meditating… Angel's idea of being a Vampire was too wishy-washy-lovey-dovey for him. He wanted more, so much more.

He'd never be able to break away from her on his own, though. Face to face, she had the same effect on him she had on pretty much every fucking man, even those who preferred cock. He'd been her Donor for a little over a year, and she still managed to leave him tongue-tied.

When the puncture refused to give any more blood and the skin around it was bruised and purple, Lohr finally fell back onto the pillow, a satisfied grin on his swollen face. Hail pressed a square piece of gauze against the wound while Lohr licked the blood from his lips.

Eyeing him from the corners of his eyes, Hail said, "Slade sure fucked up your face."

"He caught me off guard and in an awkward position."

"Well he is built like a damn tank. I sure wouldn't want to be at the receiving end of his fist."

The bleeding had stopped, and Hail took the pause in conversation to dab some Neosporin on the hole in his arm. He used so much of the stuff every month he really should buy stock in the company. Crumpling the used gauze into a ball and stuffing it into the pocket of his scrub pants, he asked, "So what now? You aren't really going to jail are you?"

"No. I will be leaving the country soon. I think I've worn out my welcome in New Orleans. Paris is a little cold this time of year, but South Africa is nice. I have a lovely coven in Johannesburg."

"What will you do about money? I mean, I’m sure the cops have put holds on your accounts or something."

"I'm no fool," Lohr said with a patronizing smile. "I have many names and have lived many lives. Money is never the issue; blood is."

Hail wished he could say money was never a problem. Besides performing with Angel, he worked as a retail clerk in a fetish shop. It barely paid the bills.

"I'll need a Donor," Lohr said. "You should join me."