Expiez: Redeem Your Blood Lust

by C. D. Hussey

  He tried to shoo them away.

  Clare was the opposite of the woman he should be fantasizing about sexually, on one hundred different levels. As Julia's sister, and Armand's sister-in-law, she was immediately off limits. Adding the state of her emotional well being after whatever hell she'd run to New Orleans to escape, put her in the middle of a red circle with a giant slash through it. Do not enter. Not even in fantasy.

  But oh, did she make a nice fantasy. With bright blue hair matching her bright blue eyes, a tantalizing scent, a smart figure and even smarter mouth, she was his perfect fantasy.

  He thought of the bruises on her arm and her swollen lip and his blood went cold. Clare was not the kind of woman you knocked around.

  He wished he'd pulled his head out of his ass long enough to force Julia to let him know she was all right. But his head was perpetually up his own ass. Frequently enough he was surprised he didn't suffocate.

  Gritting his teeth, he tossed off the headphones. Angel's technique wasn't working, not for him. Why he expected it to was beyond his comprehension.

  Rising, he went to the shared wall and pounded on it. "Put a ball-gag in it!"

  Whichever Doll was moaning only moaned louder. With a sigh, he grabbed his laptop and headed for the back patio. Hopefully, thirty feet of distance and the walls of his house would be enough to muffle the sex and he could get some work done.

  Chapter Two

  "Clare!" The covers rustled as someone shook her shoulder roughly. "Clare!"

  "What?" she snapped, trying, and failing, to burrow her head under the pillow.

  The pillow was yanked away. "It's after one. I didn't take the afternoon off to watch you sleep. Get up! Let's go get lunch."

  Clare groaned and groggily pushed onto her elbows. She glared at Julia through sleep-encrusted eyelashes. Julia just smiled.

  "What do you want for lunch?" she asked.

  "Lunch? Don't I get a shower first?"

  "No. I'm starving. Splash some cold water on your face. You'll be fine."

  Shoving the comforter aside, she sat up, rubbing the last bit of sleep from her eyes. "You're a slave driver."

  "My stomach is starting to scare me with the noises it's making."

  "Yeah, yeah." She got out of bed, finding her feet sleeping-pill unsteady. "Is it too early for oysters and a beer?" she wondered as she made her way to the bathroom. She didn't bother to close the door as she peed and didn't care when Julia leaned against the doorjamb to talk to her.

  "This is New Orleans. It's never too early for oysters or beer."

  "Right. Duh." The flushing toilet drowned out her last word. "Coffee and beignets would be nice, too," she said as she washed her hands.

  "We can do both."

  "Sweet. Give me five minutes. Tops."

  Clare had forgotten how much she loved New Orleans. In the year Julia had lived in the city, she had only been able to visit once for Mardi Gras, and that was only because Chris wanted to go. The one time she suggested coming down without him she'd paid for it for weeks. At that time his abuse was only verbal, not physical. He didn't punish her with his hands, but her psyche took a beating. Ugly, fat, and whore were a few of the endearing terms he liked to use.

  Powdered sugar that refused to be brushed away dotted her shirt as she doused the dozen oysters lining the counter before her with lemon juice. Beignets and chicory coffee might be an odd appetizer before oysters and a Bloody Mary (those damn pickled green beans looked too good to pass up), but she felt it was the best way to celebrate her new life in New Orleans.

  Thankfully, Julia hadn't asked about Chris while they were at the coffee shop. Instead, Clare had gotten an earful about the drama that had been taking place in her life in the last several weeks. Between kidnapped women and murder victims and crazy nights in fetish clubs, Clare wasn't even sure her little beat-down would be a blip on Julia's dramadar.

  She was busy smearing cocktail sauce and horseradish on a rather fat oyster when Julia slid a phone across the granite counter.

  "What's this for?"

  "I noticed you lost your phone," she said nonchalantly. "I thought you could use mine."

  "You don't need it?"

  "I have one for work. I rarely use this one."

  "Just to surf for porn while on your lunch break, right?"

  Julia laughed. "Right."

  Clare forked the smothered oyster from its shell and onto a cracker. One bite and it was gone.

  "So, I can't imagine it's even a possibility, but if Chris somehow contacts me…"

  "I'm not here and you haven't seen me."

  Julia downed an oyster straight from the shell. Crackers must only be for tourists. "That's what I thought," she said.

  Chris wasn't brought up again. At some point, Clare was going to spill, but after lunch, as they hit all the obligatory tourist spots—Jackson Square, French Market, a stroll down Bourbon, and then Royal for some shopping—the topic never came up and she had zero desire to bring it up.

  She did bring up Darus.

  "No," was Julia's response.

  "No? I just asked what was up with him."

  Julia spied her from the corners of her brown eyes. Their facial features were similar, but Clare had inherited their dad's blue eyes while Julia took after their mom. "He's sketchy. That's all you need to know about him."

  "Sketchy how?"

  "Like I said, no."

  Clare picked up a pot of red glitter. They were in some sort of wig boutique shop. Colorful wigs hanging on Styrofoam heads lined shelves stacked three high on every wall. Blue Mohawk wigs, pink Afro wigs, rainbow dreadlock wigs…anything and everything not natural a person could imagine. She and Julia stood at a glass counter filled with colorful stage makeup.

  "I'm not sure I understand this word, 'no'."

  Julia placed a pair of feather false eyelashes on the counter for the cashier to ring up. "I know you, Clare. You have a fascination with projects. I'm just saying Darus is a 'no'."

  "Project? He was nice to me. I was just asking about him." She returned the glitter pot to its home. "Besides, I have a fascination with characters, not projects."

  Julia gave her a hard look. "Tomato, to-mah-to."

  She decided to drop the subject. It wasn't worth arguing about. She did want to know more about Darus and wished her sister was willing to discuss the subject. Julia had a very one-sided view of him, though. Maybe it was well deserved, but she wouldn't know for sure until she had a chance to judge for herself. Luckily, since New Orleans was now her home that wouldn't be hard.

  They hit a few more shops before meeting up with Armand at a Vegan restaurant. He looked the same as Clare remembered, maybe a little less pale, but just as good looking. Julia had definitely scored when she hooked up with him.

  Clare had been pretty smitten with him the first time she met him—three years before at a vampire convention. Thankfully, she no longer saw him that way. One, because he was her sister's husband, and two, because he didn't eat meat. And apparently now, he was thinking of shunning cheese. If you went by his choice in restaurants anyway.

  She didn't think she could take any guy seriously if he wouldn't eat bacon. Even turkey bacon was better than no bacon. It didn't seem natural.

  And he drank hot tea…with dinner. Roobois or some other herbal variety. There was something strange about watching a man with fangs, piercings, and multiple tattoos drink hot tea and eat miso sesame winter squash with quinoa.

  Julia seemed happy with her tofu coconut curry, gushing several times about it. Clare's meal wasn't bad, but she found herself craving crawfish by the time dinner was finished.

  Afterward, they stopped for a cocktail at a corner bar hosting a jazz jam session. She was glad it was only one cocktail because by the time they left—early since Julia had to work in the morning—she was dragging. The chaos of the last several days had taken its toll. She hoped another overzealous round of chemically induced sleep would help her overcome it.

 
While waiting for Armand to punch the key code into the back gate, she spotted Darus crossing Royal and presumably heading toward Luxure. Damn, he was a good-looking man. It wasn't just his exotic looks, or the way his tailored, black coat clung to his broad, muscular shoulders and slim waist, but the way his stride ate up the pavement, the way he owned every inch of the street that made him extra sexy. There was no doubt in her mind the confidence he exuded while strolling down the sidewalk would transfer to the bedroom.

  The little bit of danger surrounding him didn't hurt his sex appeal either.

  He seemed to sniff out her interest and turned, catching sight of her and grinning. She gave a one-fingered wave and he nodded, but kept walking. Would he have come over if she'd been alone? Did she want him to?

  She definitely found him intriguing, but his history was anything but clean. Based on that alone, she should stay far away from him. But after his kind gesture the day before, she knew there was more to him than history suggested. She just wondered how much more.

  As a bonus, he was effing hot, and that boosted his intrigue level by at least ten points. She was half-tempted to grab a nightcap in Luxure, just to run into him again.

  Since her eyelids were already trying to smother her eyeballs as they refused to stay open, she decided it would have to wait. There was always tomorrow.

  * * * *

  Darus sat at the bar, impatiently tapping his fingers against the smooth wood while his eyes darted from the back to front entrances over and over again—hoping Clare would step through one of them.

  He wished she hadn't been surrounded by the enemy when he saw her on the street. Actually, he wished he'd had to balls to say, fuck it, and gone to her anyway. But no, he'd wussed out and now was pathetically wishing she'd just show up.

  "You waiting for your parole officer or something?" Slade was leaning against the back counter, arms crossed over his massive chest, a quizzical look on his face.

  "Something like that. Hey, do you know Julia's sister very well?"

  Slade laughed. "That is territory you need to stay far, far away from."

  "I realize that. You can still answer my question, though."

  "Well enough."

  "Is she okay?"

  "Of course. Why wouldn't she be?"

  Obviously Slade hadn't noticed Clare's bruises or swollen lip. "It's nothing," he said dismissively. "Not important."

  "Dude, I'd forget her. Armand would cut your dick off if he knew you were sniffing around his sister-in-law."

  "He'd cut my dick off just to watch me bleed to death."

  "Probably," Slade said with a chuckle. "Or if he wouldn't, Julia certainly would."

  Darus snorted. "I don't doubt that for a second."

  Slade received a couple drink orders, and Darus continued to drum his fingers relentlessly on the bar. Twenty minutes had passed since he'd seen Clare on the street. She was obviously not coming in.

  He had to get out of there—something about Luxure was making him nervous tonight.

  After finishing off his drink, he started to rise and then paused. He'd never asked about Kate. Should he? Working over what he might say, he stood there awkwardly for a minute, until finally Slade glanced at him in question.

  "You need something?"

  "Um, yeah. Hey, is, um…" He frowned. "How is, uh…" Slade waited expectantly and he just stood there, mouth open, with only gibberish coming out.

  He swallowed. Why was this so fucking hard? "How is Kate?"

  Slade looked a little startled by the question, and rightfully so. Darus had concerned himself with the welfare of two people beside himself, something he never did. Even he was startled by it.

  "She's doin' okay," Slade said. "She's crashed out in the office now. She was exhausted, but I don't like her to go anywhere by herself."

  "I don't blame you." Darus continued to stand there like an idiot. There was so much more he should say, so much he needed to say. "Look, I…" He paused. "I just want to say…" He paused again. Goddamn, he was a social idiot sometimes.

  Make that most of the time.

  "Whatever you're trying to spit out, don't give yourself an ulcer doing it. We're cool."

  "No. I really need to do this." He took a deep breath, and then looked Slade directly in the eye. "I should have come to you sooner," he said finally. "The minute I knew Lohr was plotting something sinister I should have come."

  "Yeah, you should have. But I'm still thankful you did the right thing at all."

  Darus suddenly realized he really was a slimy prick. "I know it doesn't count for shit, but I am sorry."

  "I'm glad."

  "Will you let Kate know I'm relieved she's all right?"

  "Sure."

  "Thanks." Darus turned and headed out of the bar. He knew he should probably tell her himself, but he'd had a hard enough time spitting the words out to Slade. He wasn't sure he could face Kate without drowning in guilt.

  It was a weird sensation, but getting that apology off his chest left him with some warm fuzzies in his gut. Was it possible some of his slimy prickness was wearing off?

  Chapter Three

  Clare woke to the sound of a power saw ripping through wood, followed by some banging and a loud crash. Blinking out of the sleep-drug haze, she trudged to the bathroom. The sound of things being torn apart was background music as she brushed her teeth, washed her face, and put in her contacts. Construction zone or war zone, it was hard to tell.

  The bedroom and bathroom of her makeshift apartment faced the courtyard, so she was pretty sure whatever was going on was on Laroque property. Julia hadn't mentioned any construction besides the remodeling of the third story, but the noises were definitely coming from somewhere close.

  They sounded like they were coming from the garage. Yanking open the side door, she stepped into the narrow garage and nearly got knocked out by a two-by-four.

  "Whoa, watch out," Slade said as he shifted the bundle of boards balancing on his thick shoulders. He carried them to the front, where the garage door had been removed and the resulting gaping hole was being framed in.

  The redhead from the night before was on a stepladder, mounting picture-hanging rails on the exposed brick. From Julia's description, Clare knew her name was Kate and she was Slade's new squeeze. She also knew that she'd recently endured some creepy shit at the hands of a guy named Lohr Varius. Really creepy shit, like being restrained and then cut up with a knife.

  Since they hadn't been formally introduced, Clare did the honors. "So, what's going on?" she asked after all necessary pleasantries had been made.

  "We're turning the garage into an art gallery." For a woman who had recently been tortured, Kate seemed pretty happy. Her full pout was spread across her pale face in a huge smile.

  "Wow, really? What are Julia and Armand doing with their car?"

  "I guess they're parking it in a share garage down the street." Kate drilled a screw into an anchor buried in the brick wall holding a silver mounting plate.

  "I didn't realize Armand and Julia were into art. Who's going to run the gallery?"

  "I am." Kate said the words like she couldn't believe they were true. "It's an amazing opportunity and has been my dream since getting out of college. I about peed myself when Armand suggested it."

  "That's really cool. Art major I take it?" Kate nodded. "Me too. So, are you planning on featuring a particular artist, or will you have revolving artists?"

  "Just one artist. For now anyway." Kate shot an adoring glance toward the front of the garage where Slade was driving nails into boards. Wearing a black wife-beater, his muscles twisted and contorted with every hammer blow. He was an impressive spectacle, but Clare was pretty sure that wasn't why Kate was beaming at him.

  She quickly put two-and-two together. "No way!"

  Kate grinned. "He's as amazing artist," she said as she climbed down the ladder. "I was shocked myself when I first found out." Moving the ladder over a few feet, she grabbed another rail and climbed back u
p the steps.

  "I'd like to say I'm surprised, but somehow I'm not." This was why she liked characters so much. The moment she thought she knew them, she was bound to be surprised. She loved it when people shocked her. "What can I do to help?"

  She spent the next several hours hammering, hauling, sweeping, cleaning, and sweating. About an hour in, Armand showed up in a rental truck loaded with construction supplies.

  "I didn't think you got out of bed before three," she said as she helped maneuver the first Sheetrock panel out of the truck.

  "Times are changing. You seem to be picking up the slack though."

  "Someone in this family has to sleep past noon."

  By the time they got the truck unloaded, Clare was drenched. It wasn't particularly warm, maybe seventy, but it was so humid, any excess body heat had nowhere to go. They'd just unloaded the last of the supplies when the skies opened up, and the biggest, heaviest raindrops she had ever seen began to saturate the city.

  The work day wrapped up for the evening, Armand and Slade were about to screw in a piece of plywood over the gaping hole where the garage door had once been when a woman covered in ink and sporting a pixie walked through it. Slade set his end of the plywood sheet down and embraced her.

  The woman shoved him away. "Jesus Christ, you reek."

  "I've been telling him that all afternoon," Kate said. "He doesn't seem to believe me."

  Slade sniffed his armpit. "Whatever. You know you love it. Pheromones."

  Kate ignored him and wrapped her arms around the woman in an affectionate, if not slightly awkward, hug. "Thanks for coming by, Nikki."

  "Any time."

  Clare joined them, in awe of the artwork decorating the woman's body. "You have amazing ink."

  "Nikki, this is Clare, Julia's sister," Kate introduced. "Clare, Nikki."

  "Hey," Nikki said with a head nod. "And thanks. You look like you've got an interesting piece, too. Can I see it?"

  With all the sweating, Clare had pulled off her sweater and now only wore a strappy tank that showed off the tips of the tattoo crawling from her lower stomach, over her hip, up her ribs, and ending at her shoulder blade. "Of course." She lifted her tank, not caring that half her bra was exposed in the process.