La Luxure: Discover Your Blood Lust

by Cd Hussey

  "I saw her," Beth replied. "I don't think it was real."

  Mike looked at her incredulously. "What? That's ridiculous."

  "They have implants, you know." Beth turned to Julia. "No one's real butt sticks out that far, trust me. It was insane."

  "So, Julia," Dave interjected, redirecting the conversation. "Are you staying in the Quarter?"

  "I am. On Conti and Royal. What about you guys?"

  "We're staying at the Holiday Inn."

  Beth rolled her eyes. "Instead of the Marriott. I mean, don't get me wrong, the Holiday Inn's okay, but it's not a Marriott." Julia just smiled and nodded. Sometimes it was best to keep one's thoughts private. "Is your hotel pretty skuzzy?"

  "No. It's fine."

  Mike made a grunting noise. "This whole city's pretty skuzzy. It's okay to visit, but I'd never want to live here."

  Julia shrugged. "I don't know. I kinda like it."

  "Not me. I wouldn't want to deal with all these drunks all the time." Somehow, Julia was pretty sure not everyone in New Orleans was drunk all the time and there was a lot more to this city than Mike had seen. "Hey, but it's a great place to party!" he added as the waiter delivered their drinks. "Start a tab, my man!" he exclaimed, handing the waiter his credit card.

  This wasn't exactly the night of adventure Julia had in mind when she'd left her hotel. Sipping at the fruity, rum infused cocktail, she tried to put all of her misgivings aside and enjoy the bar and the company. Unfortunately, she had very little to add to the current conversation about a TV show she'd only read about on Yahoo news.

  Fiddling with her straw, she glanced around. The patio was filled with people of all ages, from the barely twenty-one to couples well over 60, and they all had tourist stamped across their foreheads.

  It was odd, but she felt completely out of place. Not just with her colleagues, but in this bar. Like she wasn't meant to sit in this wrought iron chair on this patio drinking this famous drink. It felt off.

  Which was ridiculous. She looked exactly like most of the other patrons, with her trendy jeans, fitted black sweater and heeled boots. She even had the same hair, the same neutral makeup, heck, the same purse as half the women in the bar. Somehow, it just didn't. Feel. Right.

  She wondered suddenly what was going on at Luxure. What type of music was playing? Were people dancing or just lounging around on velvet sofas? What was the popular drink there? Were they even open yet?

  With an inward sigh, she forced her attention back to the people she was actually with. She should be focusing on reality, not the fantasy of some bar she would probably never step foot in.

  The conversation had turned to sports, and Dave and Mike were vehemently discussing the Mizzou/KU game from the previous weekend. She listened patiently for a while, trying to add pertinent comments whenever possible. Julia wasn't exactly a sports fan, but she worked with a bunch of men who were, so she wasn't completely unschooled on the topic. Uninterested, but not unschooled.

  It wasn't long before her attention started to wander.

  She quickly decided that while Dave was nice enough, attractive and funny, she had a difficult time seeing him as the man the fortune teller described. There wasn't anything wrong with him, but he seemed a tad too mundane to answer the questions in her soul and awaken the woman that had been locked away for so long. He also reminded her a bit too much of Jeff, but that might just be a coincidence. Other than the Hurricane incident, he seemed like a decent guy. He had plenty going for him and he was obviously interested.

  Why wasn't she? Was she just being hasty and judgmental, as usual?

  Maybe that's what felt off about this place. There wasn't anything wrong with it, and on paper, Julia should love it. She should want a Hurricane. She should be content discussing her purse with Beth, or listening to Mike and Dave debate football draft choices. She should be excited to be here like any normal person instead of wishing she could return to her room to find out if Blaise was going to make love to Marguerite, or bite her, or both, or wondering if multi-color dread guy was at Luxure...

  It was Julia that was off, not Pat O'Brien's or Dave. It was like she was too weird for the normal kids and too normal for the weird kids.

  Julia managed to empty her Hurricane glass and fill her bladder. She excused herself and sought out the nearest bathroom. The bar was starting to pick up and get a little rowdier. She was almost knocked down twice by over enthusiastic drinkers. Once, she actually had to duck to avoid being clocked in the face.

  The bathroom became a safe house, the women's sign a beacon of hope, and she was relieved when she made it there in one piece. It was merely a bonus when the line wasn't out the door.

  Julia wasn't much of a bathroom dweller. She quickly relieved her bladder, washed her hands, did a quick check to make sure she didn't have make up smeared across her face, and was done.

  Her phone buzzed just as she left the safety of the bathroom. It was Clare. Of course.

  "What's up Jules? How's NOLA?"

  "Good. The conference is a little boring so far but I wasn't expecting anything else."

  "Where are you at? It's really loud."

  "Pat O'Brien's."

  "Are you there by yourself?"

  "No. I'm here with some people from the conference."

  "Oh? Any cute guys?"

  Clare needed to be wearing a headscarf and slinging Yiddish phrases as much matchmaking she tried to do. "There's this guy, Dave. He's pretty good looking, I guess. He lives in Columbia."

  "Is he bangable?"

  "I hadn't really thought that far ahead."

  "You should fuck him. Have a little New Orleans fling."

  Julia laughed. It wasn't that she hadn't considered the possibility, but only Clare could be so crudely blunt about it.

  "Seriously, Jules. When was the last time you got laid? Four months ago when you broke up with Jeff?"

  Er, five was more like it. "I don't know that I'm that into this guy."

  "You said he was cute right?"

  "Yeah, in a clean-cut, polo shirt wearing kind of way." Julia wasn't sure why she even mentioned that. All she ever dated were Khakis. From her own history, Dave was exactly her type.

  "Then don't worry about it. Even if you're not super into him you can still eff him and have a good time. Consider it an opportunity to flex your sex goddess muscles. Relish in the experience of rocking his world, and blowing his mind."

  Dave had caught Julia's eye and was waving her over. "Hey Clare, I got to go. I'm being beckoned."

  "Well think about what I said. Sex goddess muscles...they're next to the Kegels."

  Julia laughed. "Okay, okay. I'll think about it."

  A shot filled with tan colored liquor and topped with whipped cream was waiting for her. And each member of the party had one in their hands. Blowjobs. Holy hell, they were doing blowjob shots.

  And there was another Hurricane parked in front of her empty seat.

  "C'mon Julia, pick up your shot," Beth encouraged.

  Grudgingly, Julia picked up the glass. It wasn't that she was opposed to the blowjob shot-she loved them during years 20 to 22-but the idea of mixing all the different liquors and then throwing some whipped cream in the mix...it just wasn't appealing.

  "Here's to work conferences in cool cities," Mike said.

  "And here's to Hurricane Katrina," Dave added, "for making New Orleans the perfect backdrop for our conference."

  "Cheers!" Beth chirped, and the shots were consumed in rapid succession.

  It really was a tasty little shot. Maybe Julia was being overly surly. The bar was fine, the drinks were fine, the company was fine. She was just being persnickety, and that was probably one of the many reasons she remained single. It was time she quit being such a buzz kill and tried to enjoy what life threw at her.

  Still, about half way into the second Hurricane, not only was she getting rather tipsy, but was also thinking of ways to get out of Pat O's. Now that she had a little liquid courage, she r
eally wanted to check out Luxure. The idea of going there alone was pretty frightening, and she thought about seeing if Beth wanted to join her. One look at Beth's perfect, flawless makeup, and crisp white sweater and Julia discarded the idea.

  "Hey Julia, are you feeling okay?" Dave asked. She must have spaced off because when she glanced up all three of the others had concerned looks on their faces.

  What a perfect out. "Um, not really. I think mixing all the different liquors isn't agreeing with me." For emphasis, she clutched at her stomach. "I'm thinking I should head back to the hotel." Covering her mouth with a fist, she faked a belch.

  "That sucks," Beth said empathetically.

  "I know." Julia rose. "What do I owe for the drinks?"

  "Don't worry about it." Dave stood up with her. "Maybe I should walk you back."

  "Oh, that's not necessary. I have a map." For emphasis, she pulled out the folded piece of paper. "Besides, it's early still, like 9. The drunks don't really come out until at least 9:30." She didn't want Dave coming with her. Maybe Clare was right and she should hook up with him, but not this early in the week. Unfortunately though, he looked like he was going to insist. "And didn't you just order another beer?"

  "Right."

  "Hey, I'll catch you guys tomorrow. Thanks for the drinks!" Julia remembered to hold her stomach as she fled from the bar. A quick stop at the bathroom and brief review of her map, and Julia was headed towards Luxure, the alcohol fueling her every step.

  Chapter Three

  Julia stood in the narrow alley under the sign for La Luxure for a long time before she finally willed herself to walk down it, begging her low heels to click as softly as possible on the cobbled walkway. The alley opened up into a small courtyard that was illuminated by medieval style torches and enclosed by the adjacent brick buildings and a wrought iron fence covered in vines. A fountain bubbled in one corner, water spewing from a demonic face and trickling down its outstretched tongue into the opaque pool.

  Opposite the fountain, thumping music that matched Julia's heart seeped through a closed door. She took a calming breath. It wasn't like she'd never been in a bar alone. Just because this one was tucked away in the darkest corner of the French Quarter with the smallest sign to ever grace a public place and one of the creepiest guys she'd ever met had raved about her blood type just outside its doors didn't make it any different than any other bar.

  Except it was completely different than any bar she'd ever visited.

  Dimly lit, the bar was cast in an eerie red light, with low, dark ceilings that were almost smothering. Black leather couches and chairs were strewn about the room, a dozen beautiful people lounging on them. All were dressed similarly to the couple she'd followed the day before, and all watched her enter the bar and slide onto a barstool.

  It was more than the patrons and the décor, the energy here was different. Pulsing in time with the music, it was almost alive.

  She smiled sheepishly at the hugely muscled bartender. He didn't smile back, but watched her intently with his crimson eyes while methodically wiping out a glass with a black rag. Not quite the warm welcome she was hoping for.

  The music changed, and dark, sexy bass pumped through the bar. A few of the lounging patrons rose and began to dance. Their movements were smooth, supple and surprisingly graceful considered the towering heels worn by men and women alike. Julia recognized the song as one from the Goth rock band, The Awakening, and found that comforting. Even if she didn't completely fit in here, at least she knew the music. She even owned the CD.

  For the first time Julia noticed a man sitting alone in one dark corner. He was dressed in a tight black T-shirt and black slacks, his long dark hair tickling the tops of broad shoulders. He was fabulous looking, with a strong jaw, pale skin, full lips, and a straight, chiseled nose. And like everyone else in the bar, his eyes were focused on her.

  One drink. She'd have one drink and then blow out of here. She wasn't about to let a couple of sexy Goths giving her the skunk eye scare her out of a bar before getting a glass of wine. It had taken too much courage to get her here to be chased off so easily. Besides, she really liked this song.

  Of course the bartender had to actually come over to take her order. He was still staring at her with those strange red eyes. They must be contacts. Julia once saw a guy with 8-balls for irises. It was one of the weirdest things she'd ever seen.

  She considered yelling out her order when a slender man with lank black hair slid up to the bar and mumbled something to the bartender. Muscle man disappeared behind a red velvet curtain and toothpick guy glanced at Julia. The glance slowly turned into a stare and his eyes became glued to the side of her head.

  After giving him a brief, awkward smile, Julia turned her attention to her purse. In order to avoid a painful attempt to socialize with him, she began to rummage through the folds of fabric, looking for something, anything, to offer a distraction. Pulling out the first available item, which happened to be lipstick, she pretended not to notice him watching her with his creepy, leering gaze while she painstakingly applied the creamy gloss.

  The bartender returned with a shot glass filled with thick red liquid. It looked like someone had added red food coloring to Bailey's.

  Or it was blood.

  Julia chuckled at the thought and slipped the compact and lipstick back into her purse. Blood? Really? She'd been reading too many vampire romances.

  "You look lost." The stranger from the corner was suddenly right beside her. How had she not noticed him move?

  "Lost? No. Misplaced perhaps, and definitely thirsty, but not lost." Up close, he was even better looking than she'd first thought.

  "Fair enough." God, his voice was the most delicious purr she'd ever heard. It was deep and smoky, with the faintest mix of Brooklyn and southern accents tickling her ears. "May I get you something to drink, then?" It was weird the way he emphasized the word drink, like it had some other meaning besides a mere alcoholic beverage.

  Man, she really was reading too much lately. First, blood in the shot glass and now looking for an innuendo in the word drink. "A Pinot Noir would be lovely, thank you." She was guessing, and hoping, that this bar would have a decent wine selection.

  "Any particular vintage?"

  Julia swallowed hard. The people in this bar had the most intense eyes. The way this gorgeous stranger's hazel eyes were boring into her was making breathing difficult.

  "Naw. I'm not the type that vets my wine before drinking it. No bouquet sniffing or leg checking for me. As long as the wine hasn't oxidized, I'm perfectly happy." Jesus, she was prattling on like a schoolgirl and realized suddenly that this man was making her nervous and not because he was kind of a scary guy in a pretty scary bar.

  The stranger grinned, flashing perfectly white teeth with unnaturally long, sharp canines. If they weren't real, they were the most realistic fake vampire teeth Julia had ever seen, blowing the ones at Spencer's or Hot Topic out of the water. She knew there were people out there that liked to dress up and play vampire, but this guy didn't really seem the type. Sure he had long, dark hair and his perfectly supple pale skin looked like it'd never seen the sun. He was dressed in black, but he certainly didn't have that "canned" vampire look one normally associated with tooth extensions. No "Blade" style trench coat, no leather pants, no huge, shit-kicking boots with big silver buckles, no eye-makeup or lipstick. And he was big, 6'2" at least, and muscular. Maybe not as big as The Incredible Hulk behind the bar, but he obviously worked out.

  A full sleeve tattoo decorated one arm and a few colorful tattoos peaked out from under his fitted T-shirt in various other locations, including one that started at the front of his neck. He wore a small amount of silver jewelry, a labret piercing, and had modestly stretched earlobes. When he handed her a glass of rich burgundy wine, she noticed his short nails were painted black.

  "Thank you." She sipped the wine, letting out an inadvertent "Mmm."

  "I take it the wine is agreeable?"


  She blushed. She hadn't meant to be so obvious with her pleasure. "It's delicious. So much better than the Hurricanes I had earlier."

  "So what brings you to our sultry city?" he wondered, the words rolling out of his mouth like they were the most sexual and decadent words in the dictionary.

  "I'm here for a work conference."

  "Oh? What's your conference on?"

  "Managing Utilities During Natural or Manmade Catastrophes," she repeated the mouthful with a shy smile. "I'm a city engineer for a suburb outside St. Louis," she clarified hastily since his expression remained quizzical.

  Telling random people what she did for a living sometimes generated weird responses. Often they judged her personality based on her profession. It was like telling someone you were an accountant or a librarian or an exotic dancer. Certain professions made people assume they knew all sorts of things about you, and engineer was one of them. Her personality did include some engineer stereotypes, but pocket protector wasn't one.

  Usually though, they were merely surprised. She was a rare female in a male dominated field and she didn't look the type that had to don a hard hat and steel toe boots at work. Men she met in bars were often intimidated, especially if they were in the construction field.

  "Impressive." Sitting on the barstool next to her with perfectly erect posture, the stranger rested his arm casually on the bar, his hazel gaze unwavering as he focused it on her. "How long will you be staying?"

  "'Til the end of the week." Julia sipped nervously at her wine as he studied her. His scrutiny was making her uneasy, mostly because she was unsure why he was sizing her up. He didn't seem to be hitting on her. It felt more like he was trying to determine if she was safe.

  Shit, maybe they were selling drugs here. She was out of place. Maybe he thought she was a cop. It would explain the distrustful stares of the patrons.

  "Well, welcome to New Orleans. I am Armand, by the way."

  Of course he was. It was a perfectly appropriate name for him. "Julia."

  "It is my pleasure to make your acquaintance, Julia." For someone with impeccable manners, it was surprising when he didn't offer to shake her hand.