Eveillez: Deny Your Blood Lust (7 page)

For a long time, he'd followed Lohr. The parties were better. The drugs were better. There was more blood. Now he wished he'd hopped on Angel's train. No drugs and less blood, but at least the girls were flexible.

He was down to the filter again and standing at the sidewalk looking down the alley to
Luxure
. For some crazy reason, he couldn't get his feet to move.

He could do this. He could walk into the bar. His Family was in there. His friends. Waiting. All he had to do was walk.

The soles of his boots were glued to the sidewalk.

"Fuck this," he hissed, flicking his cigarette butt down the narrow alley.

Ten minutes later he was walking down a similar alley and into The Cell.

Chapter Seven

The afternoon sun was making Angel uncomfortably hot as she stood outside the police station. She'd been there for at least ten minutes, desperately trying to compose herself enough to walk through the wrought iron gate and into the salmon colored building. She needed to be in the correct frame of mind when speaking with the police, or more specifically, Kevin McCoy. Right now, she was a wreck.

Just before she'd left for the police station, Ash had stopped by her house. He hadn't taken the news about Satin well. In fact, he was devastated.

She understood. He and Satin were frequent lovers, something she had never been particularly pleased about. It wasn't that she cared on a personal level; Ash could sleep with whomever he chose. But Satin had a reputation of promiscuity, and while Ash assured her he was always protected during love-making, knowing her primary Donor was frequently involved with a woman not the least bit concerned with communicable disease was unsettling.

Ideally, a Donor would be in a monogamous relationship, either with the Vampire or another person. But she didn't have the luxury of being so particular. Her blood and energy needs were far too great.

Reducing her dependence on blood was one of her primary goals. She would prefer to be like Armand was: capable of deriving the majority of Prana directly from people and using blood merely for pleasure. If she could reduce her Cravings to once a week, her life would be simpler. It was one of the things that had prompted her to open the yoga studio five years ago, one of the main reasons she liked performing. The exchange of energy. Good energy.

Her problems weren't easily solved; she knew that. Detective McCoy's were. At least the physical ones were. If she hoped to help him, she needed to be at the top of her game.

Burying the remaining emotion from her heart-wrenching encounter with Ash, she turned her focus to the sexual energy she would use to convince the detective to accept her help. A quick makeup check, a cleansing breath, and she entered the police station with determined purpose.

* * * *

"McCoy! McCoy! Wake up!"

A hand gripped his shoulder, and his head wobbled on his neck as someone shook him roughly.

Kevin peeled open his eyes to look into the panicked face of his partner. Fuck, he was so exhausted. Why the hell would Fitz wake him up?

And then he remembered.

He sat forward with a jerk. They were on stakeout. He was supposed to be keeping watch while Fitz got some shut-eye. He sure as hell wasn't supposed to be drooling.

"Oh, shit!"

"Shit is right. He's gone."

He jerked his gaze to the house. The maroon sedan was no longer in the drive.

"What the hell happened to you?"

He rubbed his hand over his eyes, desperate to remove the last of the filmy exhaustion from them. "I don't know." He shoved open the car door. There'd be time to be disgusted with himself later.

"Holy shit… Is that Angel?"

Brian Johnson's voice dragged Kevin out of the memory. He glanced up from where he'd been staring blankly at Lohr Varius' disturbing photos. Sure enough, Angel was sauntering down the hall toward them. Just as breathtaking as he remembered, if not more so, she was perfectly polished in a slim pencil skirt and fitted jacket. A vision straight from the silver screen, circa 1942. From the finger waves in her platinum hair and the hat and veil pinned to it, to the bold red lipstick perfectly applied to her lips, to her long leather gloves.

He brushed self-consciously at his wrinkled suit jacket. He'd ended up crashing at the station. He was able to shower and kept a clean shirt in his locker, but the suit hadn't fared so well after being slept in.

The tiny fangs exposed when she smiled were a bold reminder she was not Veronica Lake.

Johnson stood at his shoulder, his eyes glued on the approaching woman. He was eating an apple and took a large, crunchy, juicy sounding bite before mumbling, mouth full, "I never get tired of seeing her." He clasped Kevin's shoulder. "I'm guessing she's here to see you. Thanks, man." As he spoke, apple chunked spittle dribbled from his mouth, and he wiped unceremoniously at it.

Kevin rose when she reached the desk.

"Hey, Angel," Johnson said sheepishly.

She inclined her head. "Always a pleasure to see you, Detective Johnson." The words slid like smooth silk from her mouth, and there was something about the way she said them that oozed sex. In fact, her entire being radiated sexual energy so thick he could practically taste it. He noticed Brian wore a foolish grin and shifted uncomfortably into an awkward stance as he stood staring unabashedly at her. He didn't care to imagine why the position suddenly looked so stiff.

She swung her gorgeous brown gaze to him, and he was immediately hit by a wall of lust. He was now the one who shifted uncomfortably. He stooped to gather up the photos. "Thanks for coming by, Ms. Hopkins," he said, shoving the pictures into a manila folder.

"Angel."

He cleared his throat. "Right. Angel." Pulling the folder in front of his body to disguise the erection suddenly straining against his slacks, he said tightly, "If you'll follow me, please. I think we'll be more comfortable in the conference room."

Falling in beside him as he led her away, she said over her shoulder, "It was wonderful seeing you again, Detective Johnson." Johnson's reply sounded suspiciously like a giggle.

"Have a seat," Kevin said when they stepped into the small room. Meant to seat four to five people, only one window opened to the hallway. He closed the door and after a moment's thought, pulled the blinds shut as well.

* * * *

Keeping her gloved hands folded neatly on the conference table, Angel calmly studied the detective as he opened a folder and removed some photos. She'd been too preoccupied when she first met him to notice how attractive he was. Over six feet tall with broad shoulders and narrow hips, his clothes hung on his trim body in a way that indicated he was all muscle. His face was movie star handsome, complete with cleft-chin and bright blue eyes. Producing the sexual energy needed to seduce him would be easy.

He slid a photo toward her. "Do you recognize this woman?"

She glanced over the picture. "It's a little difficult to say since this is a painting in Lohr's art collection. It is very familiar to me."

"Look closely."

She did and then shook her head. "I'm sorry, Detective. I may have met her once, but honestly, only in passing. I couldn't begin to tell you when I met her or even where."

"Where?"

"I originally met Lohr in New York when he ran a bar called Club Blood. So it may have been in New York, or it may have been here in New Orleans. As I told you, so many faces have come and gone over the years, they begin to blend together."

He sifted through the photos and pulled out two more.

She didn't look at them long before lifting her gaze to his. "Are you testing me?"

"No."

"I was involved in both these cases. The first girl," she nodded toward the picture on the left, "died at a party I was at. Drug overdose. I was the one who dialed 911. It was horrifying."

"And the other one?"

She dropped her gaze to the picture. Lying on a hotel bed, red stained sheets twisted around her half-naked body, the girl was frozen with a wide-eyed, vacant stare, a river of red seeping from the wound on her neck.

She could feel him watching her carefully. Judging her reaction for sure.

"This was even more tragic," she said. "I never met this girl, and I was performing the night she died, but I heard she was a tourist from Dayton who'd come down here looking for Vampires. Whoever she found didn't know what they were doing and pierced her artery. Instead of calling for help, which probably would have saved her life, they fled. There's never been an arrest."

"No."

She pushed the photos back to him and tried to subdue her frustration, to keep it buried beneath a calm shell. She knew he was only doing his job, but being viewed with suspicion and distrust wasn't pleasant. "I'm not sure how this helps with Lohr's case. If you show me a photo of Eve next, I'll know you're merely spinning your wheels."

A half smile pulled at his lips. She couldn't tell if he was amused or feeling devious. "What about this one?"

Scanning the photo, she felt her eyebrows push together and then quickly relaxed them. "I can't make out the face."

"We're aware of that. Does he look familiar?"

The image showed a man bent over a woman strapped to a wooden chair. It was the same model from earlier, posing this time for Lohr's famous painting,
Death by Fantasy
. The man in the photo appeared to be biting her. It wasn't Lohr though, the hair was too short and thin, the shoulders too narrow. It looked like…

It couldn't be.

The cocoon of energy surrounding her faltered.

"If I can't see his face, how can I confirm his identity?"

"Take a guess."

She shook her head. She wasn't going to speculate. Not here. "I can't do that. This could be anyone."

When his crisp blue eyes narrowed, she was sure he knew she wasn't telling the truth. Yanking the picture back, he said, "I'm surprised by your unwillingness to help."

She swallowed and begged her energy to be calm. It wasn't easy with him scrutinizing her every move. Her stomach bubbled nervously, and the way his stare bored into her made her skin hot.

Men were usually so busy tripping over their tongues and trying to win her favor, she maintained complete control of the interaction. That wasn't the case with Detective McCoy.

"I can't help what I don't know or didn't witness," she said.

"There seems to be a lot of violence and death surrounding your comrades. Doesn't that bother you?"

"Of course. But if you knew anything about the Sang Community, you would know many of us strive to prevent these atrocities." She pointed to the photos stacked in front of him, anger beginning to simmer around her, calm long forgotten. "This violence happens because people get caught up in the fantasy of the vampire. They cannot see beyond the myth and don't understand the danger."

"As opposed to you? Are you telling me
your
vampire coven doesn't engage in any of this," he gestured toward the photos, "behavior? That you aren't somehow caught up in the fantasy?"

She started to say something snippy and then stopped. The fire he stirred in her belly wouldn't help the situation, even if it
was
a welcome change from the apathy that had been residing there lately. Part of her wanted to argue with him more, to fan the flames, to revel in the heat he stirred, but more of her wanted to help him.

Lowering her gaze to the table, she worked to refocus the angry energy into something more useful. She leaned forward on her elbows. The top of her jacket and blouse spilled forward, exposing the rounded crests of her breasts as her arms pushed them together. She heard his breath catch and then speed up.

She might not be able to persuade him as easily as other men, but at least he wasn't totally unaffected by her.

"My coven..." She smiled sweetly and shook her head. She raised her gaze to his. "…is meeting tonight at midnight. You are welcome to attend the gathering. It will be at my studio."

"Expect to see me." His voice had lost its hard edge, and he seemed to be struggling to keep the skepticism in his expression.

"I look forward to it."

He rubbed his hand across his forehead and then through his thick hair. "I don't get you," he admitted.

"But you do. More than you realize." He just stared at her, his blue eyes a conflicted mess of confusion, suspicion, and desire. The control was back in her court. It was time to act. "Tell me, Detective," she said quietly, tilting her head to one side and sliding the fingers of one hand down her neck until she caught the silver braid of her necklace. She gently rolled the delicate metal between her fingers. His gaze locked on the act, glued hungrily to the curve of her neck. "Why do you think the doctors haven't found a reason for your chronic exhaustion?"

He truly was gorgeous. His skin tanned and slightly weather worn, the fatigue from his Human Vampire condition making him look just a little ragged, like he'd been camping or hunting for the last week.

She blew a rush of seductive energy over him.

He closed his eyes and she saw the muscles of his jaw clench tight. "I can't…" He opened his eyes. "I can't," he repeated, more forcefully this time.

She was surprised he was resisting. He obviously wanted her. She could feel it. Tell by the way his eyes lingered on her mouth when she spoke, by the way he'd watched her walk into the studio.