Expiez: Redeem Your Blood Lust

by C. D. Hussey

  "At least let me explain..."

  "Look, it's no big deal. We're incompatible, end of story."

  "That's bullshit and you know it."

  "Maybe I'm not compatible with you..."

  "Also bullshit. If you'd just give me a chance—"

  If he kept looking at her with those beautiful, pleading puppy dog eyes, she was going to crack. "No," she said firmly. "I'm done with second chances."

  It took her brain demanding with every electron in its combined synapses to command her feet to respond, but she successfully turned around and walked the opposite direction.

  There was a part of her that did a happy dance for her strength of resolve, but that part was small compared the chasm forming in her gut. It didn't matter. She wasn't changing her mind. She was going to go grab a bite to eat as planned and nothing, not her aching heart, or the persistent voice in her head telling her she was throwing away something potentially phenomenal. After all, she'd won, right?

  * * * *

  Darus wanted to chase Clare down, to beg her to forgive him, to at least consider his apology, but knew that would only push her further away. This could all have been prevented if he'd just kept his stupid mouth shut. If he'd been smart enough to let her have whatever she needed—including her freedom. To offer his support instead of his insecurity.

  Well, he couldn't do shit about that now. He probably couldn't do shit about it ever, which blew giant goat dick.

  He could do what he'd trekked down here to do, to take care of his Craving. Since he'd suddenly lost his taste for Dolls, Luxure's services were the only way to meet his needs.

  And as bad luck would have it, Julia Laroque was the only other warm body in the bar. The gray cat lounging on a barstool didn't count.

  She didn't seem any happier to see him than he her.

  "Where's Slade?"

  "Not here."

  He tried to swallow his irritation. It didn't work. "Obviously. I'm just asking…"

  "He's doing some art thing with Kate," Julia snapped back, cutting him off.

  That's right, Slade was a painter. And apparently a pretty damn good one from what he'd heard.

  "You're welcome to come back later when he's here," Julia added.

  "You know, I really don't need your stink eye. I just need a shot."

  "Fine. You have a type?"

  Her emphasis on the word, type, wasn't lost on him. It all went back to him calling her by her blood type. What was really sad was at the time he was flirting. A ridiculous thought now…

  "Look, I don't want to be your enemy. I'm tired of it. What do I need to do to end this feud?"

  "There's nothing you can do." She disappeared through the velvet curtains.

  With a sigh, Darus sat on the barstool next to the cat, which looked at him expectantly. Reaching down, he scratched the animal between its ears. A loud purr immediately erupted from it, and it pushed its head into his hand.

  He smiled. Cats were such unashamed attention whores. If only humans could be so accepting of their needs and desires.

  He continued to pet the cat wherever it directed until Julia returned with a glass of blood. "Hope you don't mind a little A positive." Her tone told him she didn't give a shit whether he minded of not.

  A dozen snarky retorts got shoved to the back of this throat as he uttered a tight, "It's perfect. Thank you," and took the glass from her.

  The blood helped calm his brain. At least a little. "Really, Julia, I do want to end this… animosity between us."

  "Why? So you can fuck my sister?"

  Okay. That was unexpected. He swallowed snarky retort number thirteen. "Um…"

  "What am I supposed to forgive anyway? That you took a great deal of pleasure torturing me? That you killed a woman?"

  "Forget it." He shoved the glass toward her and his ass out of the stool, the rising rage making his muscles tight and spastic.

  There was no way he was going to keep snarky retort number fourteen from spewing out of his pie-hole unless he got the fuck out of there, and he couldn't get out fast enough. If he stayed even a second later he was only going make things worse than they were—if that were possible.

  There was only one place he knew to go. One place he'd be welcome, where he wouldn't be judged… The one woman—if he couldn't go to Clare—who would empathize with his plight.

  * * * *

  Clare had walked four blocks before she realized she was going the wrong direction. She started to head the right way, got halfway there and realized she wasn't remotely hungry anymore.

  All she could think about, all she could focus on, was what Darus might have to say. How was he going to talk his way out of his jealous comments? What bullshit excuse would he come up with?

  She had to hear it. She had to know what possessed him to suddenly get so...possessive. Suddenly she realized she was pissed. He'd royally pissed her off with his jealous act. Before that crap, everything had been so damned amazing. They connected on so many levels, for him to fuck it up with jealousy? She wanted to rip him a new one for that.

  When she'd run into him on the street earlier, he was obviously on his way to Luxure. She returned to the bar. Unfortunately, only her sister and a couple "closet vamps", as Armand liked to call them, were there.

  Julia gave her a strange look. "I thought you were getting dinner."

  "I lost my appetite."

  "Oh..."

  She gave the bar another once over, like he might be hiding in a back corner table. The closet vamps fidgeted uncomfortably on their stools.

  "Are you looking for someone?"

  "No." But she glanced toward the bathroom as she said it. Maybe we was just taking a leak...

  Julia looked at her folded hands on the bar and twiddled her thumbs a few times. "He was here," she said quietly, lifting her gaze. "Darus."

  "Why do you think I'm here for Darus?" Why was she getting so defensive?

  "Um..."

  "Okay fine, yes, I came here looking for Darus."

  "He left."

  "Where did he go?" Julia gave her a hard look. "Of course. Why would you know."

  "Clare—"

  "Okay, I'll see you later," she said, cutting Julia off. Feeling awkward and strangely unwelcome, she turned and headed outside.

  She had no idea where Darus might be. Well, she had a couple, but the last thing she wanted was to search a dozen French Quarter bars for him like a crazy jealous lover. Instead she decided to do the proper thing and stalk him at his house.

  They'd never gotten to the exchange numbers part of their whacked out relationship, so she couldn't even call him. It was okay; what she wanted to say needed to be said in person.

  Luckily, she managed to remember where he lived, and within a few moments was yanking open the gate leading to his back courtyard. She didn't waste time knocking on the shutters locked tight around his front door. It was doubtful any sound could penetrate the layers of wood and glass.

  She also assumed the gate being unlocked meant Darus was home. She didn't realize how wrong she was until she rounded the corner and ran right into a tall, thin man with waist length, straight black hair.

  Chapter Twelve

  The front door opened so violently the announcement bells, usually sweet and charming with their chime, clacked angrily against the glass. Kevin immediately rose from the couch in her office and went to investigate. Angel closed her laptop and listened tentatively. The studio was technically closed. But while she finished up paperwork for the evening she routinely kept the doors unlocked—in case one of her clients needed her.

  "Are you in that big of hurry to meditate?" She heard Kevin ask.

  "Humor's not your strength, copper. Where's Angel?"

  "What's wrong?" she asked as she came around the corner.

  "I have to change this. To change me." Darus looked completely exasperated. "I have to figure out how to be a better…human."

  She smiled as gently as she could. "Well, you can start by lett
ing go of your anger. Now. With your breath."

  His loud sigh was the equivalent of a teenager rolling their eyes and saying, "whatever".

  "I've tried…"

  "Try harder. Try it now."

  He seemed to make the attempt, but halfway through a ragged breath, he abruptly gave up, his entire posture slumping. "I can't fucking do this… I'm a dick. I'm always going to be a dick. I just don't have the strength to change."

  "But you do. We all do." Taking his elbow, she led him to the couch and gently eased him into a seated position. "Think about what you want to achieve. Better yet, verbalize it." She looked him squarely in the eye. "Tell me what you want to achieve."

  "I'm tired of being a selfish asshole."

  "Fair enough. Take a deep breath," she instructed. "Take some time to focus." She paused for a moment to let her words sink in. "So, how are you going to amend being selfish?" He grimaced. "Concentrate on your breathing… How do you become a better human?" His phrasing made her smile when she repeated it.

  The lines between his brows were starting to soften. "You choose it."

  "Of course. There are things we can control and there are things we can't. This is one aspect of your life you do control." His furrow lines softened even more. "And it starts with your breath. It's hard to be calm when you're denying your body oxygen." She drew in a loud lungful of air followed by an audible exhale. Darus followed her lead, matching her on the next inhale. "Again," she urged.

  He obeyed, and with a few more breaths, his energy calmed.

  "What is the first step toward achieving your goal?" she asked quietly.

  "Accept what I can't control."

  "And what does that mean exactly."

  His eyes still closed, he frowned briefly before sighing. "If Julia Laroque hates me, so be it. If Clare doesn't want to be with me, I have to deal with it, without getting angry. I can't control them. I can only control me. I have to try to be the best man I can and let the rest fall into place." He opened his eyes. The gray orbs were the calmest she'd even seen on him and his small smile was genuine, not smug or cocky or sly. "Of course, that's all way easier said than done."

  "That's why you have me."

  His phone rang and he dug into his pocket to retrieve it, frowning when he glanced at the screen. "Excuse me," he said, rising from the couch and moving to stand by the door. "Hello?"

  The color drained from his face as the person on the other end of his phone presumably answered.

  Kevin joined her as she carefully watched him. He placed a hand on her shoulder. "Is everything okay?"

  "I don't know." She glanced up at him. His expression calculating, he watched Darus—unmoving, phone pressed firmly to his ear—with sharp scrutiny. Always a detective, she found his never ending drive to analyze, sum up, solve any and every situation incredibly sexy.

  "Who is he talking to?"

  "I don't know that either."

  Darus suddenly looked at them, his complexion pallor, and promptly turned away. He said something into the phone too quiet to be heard.

  With rapid, jerky movements, he turned the phone off and slid it into his pocket. "Hey, I gotta go," he said, obviously trying to sound casual when his expression was anything but.

  Kevin left her side and strode toward him, his posture radiating authority. "Anything you need help with?"

  For a brief second, Darus looked like he might say yes, but just as quickly as the moment appeared it disappeared. "Naw. It's cool. Just some personal business."

  Before either of them could respond, he yanked open the door and stepped outside.

  Kevin turned to her and opened his mouth to speak when his phone also rang. "Sorry, babe," he said as he lifted the phone to his ear. "Detective McCoy."

  His conversation was easier to decipher and it was apparent within a few seconds he had work to do.

  "I gotta go too," he said, walking over and planting a quick kiss on her lips. "Apparently people can't stop killing each other in this town."

  "Human nature at its finest."

  "Sorry to bail on dinner."

  "Your work is more important."

  "I'll call you as soon as I'm done." And with that, he too was out the door.

  She returned to her office, trying to keep worry from overtaking her brain. She wasn't worried about Kevin, for the most part he could handle whatever New Orleans' seedy side threw at him. Darus though...

  Who the hell could have called him to make him look like he'd just seen a ghost?

  * * * *

  "What an unexpected treat," the creep who had his scrawny, but freakishly strong arms wrapped around her said. Well, he didn't say it so much as breathe it.

  Clare squirmed in his grasp. "Let. Me. Go."

  "I don't think so."

  Fighting his iron grip wasn't doing a damn bit of good. She wished she'd taken a self-defense class. It was on her "to-do" list. Not much help at the moment.

  "No need to struggle my darling. I'm not going to hurt you. In fact..." His fingers dug into her, making her wince in pain. Great. More bruises. "I want you to stop struggling. Now."

  It was then that she saw the gun in his hand. And it hit her. This was Lohr Varius.

  She froze. Until she had a plan, she wasn't going to test him. She was going to sit quietly and do exactly what he asked. Her recent experience with Chris had taught her pushing the limits was a bad idea. Especially with a crazy person. And from what she'd heard about Lohr, he was craaaaazy with a capital C.

  "What do you want with me?"

  "I'm not sure yet." Keeping one arm wrapped tightly around her, he dug the phone out of her purse. "First things first. Let's get your boyfriend here and we'll go from there."

  * * * *

  Kevin stared at the ceiling. The circle of red wasn't very big but there was no denying what it was. The man who'd called the police reported hearing a loud thud in the apartment upstairs—unusual he said, because he rarely heard noise up there. In fact, he'd never even seen his neighbor, and actually thought the unit was unoccupied. But didn't think anything of it until he saw the spot.

  "And it's been getting bigger ever since."

  "When did you first see it?"

  "Maybe an hour ago." The man shrugged. "At first it was about the size of a dime, but now…" He glanced toward the ceiling. "I haven't heard any noises since the first 'thunk', maybe I made a mistake calling you. Maybe they just spilled some wine. "

  Wine would spread faster than that, but that's why Kevin was there.

  "No. You did the right thing." He pulled out a card and handed it to the man. "Call me if you think of anything else."

  The apartment upstairs was dark and smelled strongly of Frankincense. Kevin wasn't surprised when he went to turn on a light and found the power off. Pulling out the miniature Maglight he kept attached to his gun holster, he twisted it on and scanned the room. Heavy velvet drapes blocked out any light that could possibly seep through the shuttered windows. Ornate, hardwood furniture dotted the room, more velvet, more heaviness. He knew immediately who this apartment belonged to. From the iron candle holders to the disturbing art on the walls… It was another home of Lohr Varius.

  For a brief second he was disappointed they'd missed it. After all the digging they'd done on that crazy bastard, he still had an apartment in New Orleans the police knew nothing about. But then he felt a wave of twisted elation when he realized the blood seeping through the floor might just belong to Lohr.

  Gun ready, he negotiated the hard wood floors as quietly as he could, painfully aware of every creak and groan. The apartment wasn't very big, and after verifying the bathroom, kitchen and living room were clear, he made his way to the single bedroom—the source of the blood according to the layout.

  A huge, four-post, wrought iron bed filled the tiny room. Ropes dangled from each post. Dark, damp pools dotted the rumpled comforter and Kevin was immediately reminded of the bed Lohr had restrained Kate Miller in.

  He quickly checked th
e closet, behind the door, and under the bed. A flash of blond hair caught his eye. Barely visible beyond the curtain of sheet dangling off the side of the bed and obscuring the view.

  Unless Lohr had gone crazy with some scissors and bleach, the still body wedged between the far wall and bed wasn't him. Kevin holstered his gun and joined the victim.

  It was Hail. Angel's MIA Donor. The man who had helped Lohr escape prison. Some reward.

  Kneeling, he started to press his fingers against Hail's neck to check for a pulse, noticed the slit throat and went for a wrist instead. He wasn't much luckier there. Blood, punctures, and cuts dotted the insides of Hail's arms, but he was able to decipher what he needed.

  Hail was definitely dead. And just. His body still warm and flaccid, the blood seeping into the apartment downstairs came from his neck wound and formed a sticky halo around his head. Judging from the way the sheets were twisted around his arm and the trail of blood leading back to the bed, Kevin surmised his throat was slit while he was still on the bed. Perhaps the killer left at that point and Hail struggled to get off the bed, lost his battle, and fell. It would explain the thud and the following ceiling stain.

  Poor bastard. It looked like once he was no longer needed, Lohr just…got rid of him. And judging from the number of marks on Hail's skin, it was after he'd been used extensively as a blood source.

  What Kevin couldn't fathom was why Lohr had even stuck around New Orleans? Why linger when the heat was on?

  He immediately thought of Kate. Lohr had unfinished business with her—transforming her into his Queen and all.

  He pulled out his phone, ready to call Slade and warn him when his mind flashed back to the first conversation he'd had with Lohr at the hospital. He replayed his memory of it, visualizing Lohr's bruised face when he'd asked about Kate. The man had seemed so…dismissive. He'd been more upset about Darus.

  He glanced at the phone in his hand. Right before he'd received the call about Hail, Darus had received a call too. One that obviously disturbed him.

  "Fuck," Kevin muttered to himself, jumping to his feet. Lohr wasn't after Kate. He was after Darus.