La Luxure: Discover Your Blood Lust

by Cd Hussey

  Spinning on her heels, Julia headed back up the street, jogging past the café and around the corner onto Dauphine. She slowed her stride to a brisk walk with an occasional jog thrown in. Dauphine St. was the opposite of Bourbon, or even Royal. It was virtually empty, and the few street lamps lining the street did, at best, a mediocre job of illuminating the way.

  Her jog/walk quickly ate up two blocks. She was about to finish up the third and turn onto St. Peter heading back towards Bourbon, when a familiar silhouette made her pause. Standing on the opposite side of the street, a mere 50ft away, was the guy she'd met at the entrance to Luxure the first night she was in New Orleans. His face wasn't clear in the darkness, but the waist length dreads, fitted Victorian style coat, and top hat gave him away.

  Apparently he recognized her too. Flashing a smile that practically sparkled in the dim light, he said, "What's the rush O Negative?"

  Every instinct in her body stood up and shouted for her to run. She wasn't sure if it was an irrational fear or not, but took note anyway and pushed her stride back up to maximum walking velocity.

  "Just meeting some friends," she told him with a nervous laugh. "I'm running late." St. Peter was feet before her. Once she rounded the corner she could sprint the short block to Bourbon and the safety of the masses of people there.

  "Where are you headed? I could escort you." He'd started to cross the street, his sauntering stride slow but surprisingly ground covering.

  "Oh, that's not necessary. It's right up here. Thanks though!" She gave him a jittery smile as she turned onto St. Peter. As soon as the large, square corner building blocked his view of her, she started to run, and didn't stop running until she'd merged into the crowds on Bourbon and there were a hundred people between her and St. Peter.

  Once her heart slowed down to something less than 100mph, she fell back against the wall of a grimy building. What the hell was she thinking? What on earth possessed her to try to track Armand down at Luxure? Maybe he hadn't killed Eve, but someone had, and that someone was still out there and likely associated with Armand's bar. A bar that, from what Julia could tell, was filled with something dark, scary and suspiciously vampire-like.

  Vampires? Really? Was she still hung up on that nonsense?

  With a sigh, Julia tucked the map clutched in her right hand back into her purse. Picking her way through the crowd, she headed back to her hotel. She didn't know what to think anymore. It was all such a crazy, bewildering mess. Maybe the solace and safety of her hotel room and a few chapters of her book would help clear the confusion in her head.

  Chapter Six

  Armand escaped into the crowds on Bourbon, the bitter taste of Julia's rejection stinging his taste buds. Halloween was a popular time in New Orleans and the street was crawling with tourists eager to taste some of the darker lore of the Crescent City. Of course, the darkest sides of the city weren't found here.

  Normally, Armand loved walking down Bourbon when it was like this. Busy, but not shoulder-to-shoulder and still early enough that people weren't yet puking in the alleys. The energy was amazing. It buzzed around him in a flurry of charged air, so thick one could almost drink it. Hoping to erase the lingering bad taste from his encounter with Julia, he absorbed as much of the energy he could stand before turning onto a quieter street.

  A couple staggered towards him, hunkered over and arms entwined. They clutched at one another as if the copious number of beads about their necks was about to drag them down, and it was only the other's embrace that kept them upright. They were an attractive couple. Both were obvious regulars at the salon and gym, and it was hard to tell who had more highlights. They took one look at Armand and crossed the street.

  He wasn't usually bothered when the general population avoided him. In fact, there were times he relished in it. But with their "everycouple" good looks, this pair reminded him of Julia and Dave, and the obvious avoidance tossed concrete encased rocks into his sinking stomach.

  Maybe Slade was right. Maybe pursuing any contact with Julia was a bad idea. Her fear and suspicion of him at the cemetery had been painfully apparent. It wasn't something he'd expected and had surprisingly angered him. That fear only strengthened Slade's arguments. It was dangerous enough bringing an outsider into the Community. Bringing one that was already frightened and wary was asking for trouble.

  Why was he so fixated on her? Was it as the bartender suggested? Was he trying to seduce the doe into a pack of lions?

  He needed to forget the whole thing. She already had her buck in Dave. Let them have each other. Armand had no business socializing with her in the first place.

  His phone buzzed.

  "What can I do for you, Slade?"

  "Dude, have you seen the news yet?"

  "No, why?"

  "Eve was found dead last night on Burgundy near Conti."

  Armand nearly dropped his phone. "What?" He shook his head in exasperation, even though the gesture was pointless. "I dropped her off at the emergency room. She was still unconscious when I left."

  "She must've checked herself out. Look Armand, it gets even worse."

  "Stop. Don't say any more. Where are you?"

  "At the gym."

  "I'll be there in five minutes." Armand hung up and kicked his stride into high gear.

  He was at the entrance to Luxure in less than three. He sprinted down the narrow walkway, through the small courtyard, past the front door to the bar, and through a locked, wrought iron gate that opened up into a large central courtyard. He crossed the courtyard in a few long strides and took the stairs to the personal gym he'd years ago converted from an old hayloft two at a time.

  Slade was sitting on one of the weight benches, watching the flat panel TV mounted in the corner with deep creases between his brows. Armand couldn't remember when he'd seen the big man look so worried. Slade might be protective of the Community, but he wasn't normally a worrier.

  "That bad?" It was more a statement than question. It was never good news when Victims turned up dead.

  Slade clicked off the TV. "They're talking about it again on the news. Fuck, dude, this is some bad shit."

  Armand sat on the inclined press bench across from him. The gym was filled mostly with free weights, but there were a couple treadmills and two oversized punching bags. "What is the media saying?"

  "They found her body early this morning and they're estimating the time of death sometime after midnight."

  About an hour after he dropped her off at the hospital. "Cause of death?" Maybe it wasn't as bad as Armand feared. Eve was a pretty heavy drug user.

  "What do you think?"

  "Blood loss." Slade nodded grimly and Armand cringed. It was exactly as he feared.

  "It gets worse. Apparently she was bitten right before she died. The media's all freaked out about it. They're speculating about some Halloween sociopath fulfilling a Dracula fantasy."

  "Fuck." It was worse than Armand feared. Biting was pretty taboo but it happened. It was one thing to bite a Donor in the midst of passion, but to tear into one like an animal and then leave them on the street was unforgivable.

  Closing his eyes, Armand rested his forehead on a clenched fist and tried to breathe through the anger that was quickly rising from an inferno deep in his gut.

  "Yeah, some asshole bit her, drank what little blood she still had keeping her heart beating, and left her on a stoop to die."

  At Slade's visual, the anger surged. "I should have checked her into the hospital," Armand muttered through gritted teeth. "I shouldn't have just dropped her off like a stray at the shelter."

  "You did the responsible thing," Slade said. "You took her to the ER."

  "And I set her down in a chair and washed my hands of it. Because what? I didn't want to get involved?" Armand shoved himself roughly to his feet. His attempts to keep his temper subdued were unsuccessful, and pacing seemed like a suitable distraction.

  "Keeping the law out of our business is simply prudent. You didn't do anything w
rong."

  Pacing wasn't helping. "Fuck prudence," Armand hissed as the anger peaked. "A woman is dead because I couldn't be bothered to make sure she got the help she needed." He slammed his fist into the punching bag, the chains groaning in response. It felt good to hit something, too good. Armand was forever trying to quiet the beast that brewed beneath his skin.

  With a few calming breaths, and nails that dug into his palms, he managed to turn back to Slade without exploding.

  "What do you want to do?" the big man wondered.

  "Go to the police. Make a note of everyone that was here at her time of death in case they become suspects. And if we find out who finished her, we turn them in."

  Slade looked shocked. "Whoa, there's no need to get the cops involved. We can take care of this internally. You don't want pigs nosing around here, getting into private matters."

  "I want to find this asshole and punish him."

  "I know. Me too. And we will. But the less the authorities know about us the better. Besides, no one needs to go to jail for this shit. What if it was an accident?"

  "Doesn't matter."

  "But the Community..."

  "We still have responsibilities. We're not above the law."

  "There are some inherent risks, but-"

  "Jesus Christ, Slade, we're not talking about snow boarding here. Anyone should have taken one look at Eve and known she was not capable of donating. That they took from her in that state merely demonstrates a complete lack of respect for human life. And the fact that it was probably one of us and not some douche off the street," Armand shook his head furiously. "That just makes it worse."

  "Eve was begging to be someone's victim, Armand, and you know it," Slade said as Armand lapped the room a few more times. "That's a hard temptation for some to resist."

  Armand jerked to a stop. "Then there's something seriously fucking wrong with this Community. I don't give a shit if she was begging for it. You don't drain people dry, no more than you shove them off a cliff. Fuck this shit. I'm done."

  Slade was taken aback. "What do you mean?"

  "With Luxure, the Community in general. I'm tired of dealing with Victims, tired of feeling guilty when another one dies. Eve was what, the 3rd in two years?"

  "You can't protect everyone," Slade soothed. "There will always be Victims. And without Luxure, there could be even more. You provide a valuable service to the Community."

  Armand snorted. "I used to think so. I don't know anymore."

  "Well, I do. I can't imagine what I would've done if I hadn't found you. You remember what I was like before?"

  He did. Slade had been skinny and sickly and spent more time in the hospital than out. He looked nothing like the bundle of muscles he was now. "I remember." Armand rubbed his forehead wearily. "Maybe I just need a break."

  "Take the night off."

  "Not tonight. I want to talk to people."

  "Tomorrow night then. You can go to the parade."

  Armand had forgotten, but there was a Halloween parade tomorrow. He loved parades. The energy at them was practically a narcotic it was so potent.

  "It'll be busy, but Onyx and Bliss will be here," Slade continued. "I'll call Locke and see if he wants to help me bounce. If you don't get any leads about Eve tonight, we can probe more tomorrow. Something'll turn up and then, we take care of it. No pigs necessary."

  The promise of a day off was soothing. The bar would be taken care of so there was no reason not to. Besides, there were a few other Community hot spots in the Quarter his responsibilities at Luxure rarely let him patronize. If no one at Luxure had any information about Eve, there were other places to look.

  "That's not a bad idea. I think I will." Armand took as deep a breath his tight chest would allow, and let it and all of his pent up negative energy out in a rush.

  Some time away was exactly what he needed.

  "Um, so what are you going to do about your little vanilla princess?"

  Armand's aggression returned with a vengeance, burning its way from his stomach and rushing into his skull. His eyes became mere slits. "What do you mean?"

  "She saw you leave with Eve. You don't think she'll go to the police?"

  Was that why Julia had been so wary of him when he'd met her in the cemetery? Of course she'd be suspicious, how could she be anything but? No wonder she looked ready to bolt when he snuck up on her.

  "If she does, I have nothing to hide."

  Slade gave him an unbelieving look. "Nothing?"

  "Nothing pertaining to Eve." Thinking of his afternoon encounter with Julia eased his temper a little, until the memory of Dave's Ken doll face greeted him, and Julia's rejection sucker punched him. Armand set his jaw, tension working the cords in his neck. Fuck, he desperately needed to work off some built-up aggression.

  Slipping off his sweater, Armand grabbed a few weights and shoved them on the bench press bar. "I'm not interested in discussing this any more. Spot me, or get the fuck out."

  Slade shrugged, moving into position. "Sure thing, boss."

  * * *

  Marguerite smoothed her dress for the hundredth time that evening. It was a nervous habit, she knew, and she was trying to subdue it. But as Henry was telling her about his trip to New York the previous spring, all she could think about was retreating to the privacy and solace of her bedroom.

  It was time she came out from mourning, even if she didn't feel ready. Being cooped up in her bedroom with nothing but books and the company of Aunt Bernice's cat wasn't healthy and she knew it.

  So, she smiled appropriately during Henry's story and asked polite questions, but was grateful when he finally excused himself. She desperately needed a glass of wine.

  Would anyone notice if she got drunk? Would they care?

  Marguerite motioned for a servant, and as she retrieved the glass of golden liquid, she noticed a strange man standing in the corner. He was tall and slender, with luminescent white skin and dark, shoulder length hair. His perfect jaw was completely free from hair and framed the most scrumptious male mouth. His most striking features though, were his eyes. They were a startling blue and fixated on Marguerite with such an intensity that her pulse quickened, and heat shot through her limbs.

  He grinned when she caught his gaze, flashing the whitest, longest canine teeth she'd ever seen.

  Quickly, Marguerite looked away. It was rude to stare, but...she glanced back to where he stood and was disappointed to find he was gone. When she turned back, he stood right before her.

  She gasped. He'd moved so quickly...

  The stranger inclined his head. "I'm afraid we haven't met yet. Blaise Carmichael," he said by way of introduction. His voice was low and seductive and sent shivers down her spine.

  Frustrated, Julia tossed her book on the nightstand, resisting the urge to chuck it across the room. Jesus, the thing was reading like a playback of the last several days. There wasn't a scene that didn't remind her of Armand and it wasn't like she needed encouragement. His gorgeous face and hazel eyes were permanently burned into her retinas as it was.

  She thought about calling her sister, but wasn't sure what to say. With any amount of persuasion, Julia would easily spill every strange detail from the last 24 hours and she wasn't ready to discuss all the craziness with Clare, not yet.

  Normally, they spoke on the phone everyday, no matter what. This would be the first time in many years that they did not.

  With a sigh, Julia clicked on the TV. But the laugh track couldn't drown out the sound of Armand's perfect drawl ringing in her memory, and fifteen minutes into the crappy sit-com, she picked her book back up. She quickly sped through a few chapters, ignoring her phone when it buzzed on the nightstand.

  Staring out the window, Marguerite focused her red, swollen eyes on the Spanish moss as it waved delicately in the afternoon breeze. Dead. She couldn't believe Henry was dead.

  She wiped at the fresh, salty tear that escaped her exhausted eyes. Flashes of the ruined carcasses that used to b
e her family sped through her mind, and she clamped her eyes shut against them, willing her mind to visualize something more pleasant. Henry's smiling, eager face greeted her, and more tears slid down her cheeks.

  Marguerite fell on the bed and let the raw emotions wash over her anew.

  Dearest Lord, why did everyone in her life end up dead? And why did their deaths have to be so gruesome? First a savage fire and then an animal attack. Poor, poor Henry. What God would create a horrid beast that would rip out a man's throat, and then drink every last drop of blood in his veins?

  It made her wonder if there was a God at all.

  "Ugghh." That was all Julia could take. The book landed on the nightstand with a thud as she hefted herself upright.

  Ridiculous. This was all so fucking ridiculous. Henry was Eve and Blaise was Armand and Julia was caught up in some twisted, alternate universe fantasy.

  Pacing to the window, she peered down into the brick courtyard. The fountain gurgled happily and the pool glimmered in the moonlight. Through French doors, Julia could just make out the corner of a large, mahogany bar and the white shirt of the bartender behind it.

  If neither her book nor TV were suitably distracting, maybe a glass of wine would do the trick. Grabbing her purse and slipping into her heels, Julia decided to worry about the overtime her liver was doing once she returned to Alton. She didn't normally drink so frequently. But this was New Orleans, her liver could work a few extra hours while she was here.

  Warm and inviting, the hotel bar had dark walnut trim and deep red walls covered with oil paintings depicting slightly abstract scenes from the French Quarter. Besides the tan, 50-something bartender with over processed, bleached blond 80's hair, the bar was empty. She smiled as Julia stepped up to the solid wood bar.

  "Hey girl. How're you doin' tonight?" The woman asked in a heavy southern accent, one that was thicker and twangier than Armand's controlled, Brooklyn-esque drawl, and raspy from years of smoking.

  "Good, thank you," Julia said as she eased onto the padded barstool.