La Luxure: Discover Your Blood Lust

by Cd Hussey

  Clare looked confused. "But before that, everything was good?"

  "Better than good. It was perfect." Julia wiped at her eyes, and concentrated on getting air deep into her lungs in a quiet, steady rhythm, hoping to keep the tears at bay. It was futile, but she was grasping at anything to ward off the pain for a few moments longer.

  Clare looked even more confused. "Okay, let me see if I understand this correctly. You hook up with him thinking he's a vampire," thankfully, Clare didn't have a hint of ridicule in her voice, "and it was this amazing experience, but when you discovered he was human, you accused him of pretending to be a vampire to seduce you?"

  Hearing the synopsis of her week simplified to a few meager sentences reminded Julia of what a fool she was. She wanted to hold onto the anger, wanted to wrap it around her like a blanket and wield it like a shield.

  "It was more than that. I mean, sure it was great and magical and all when we were together, but how can I possibly think that was real when everything about him is fake?"

  "Julia, it isn't Armand's fault that you got caught up in some fantasy."

  Julia snorted. "Please. You expect me to believe that seducing easy prey like me isn't part of his M.O.? That he doesn't amp up the vampire act to 'pull some tail' as you so eloquently put it?" Even as the words spouted from her mouth, she knew in her heart it wasn't the truth. She wanted desperately for them to be true, because if they were, if Armand was simply some vampire wannabe player, she wouldn't have to admit she'd screwed up.

  "I don't know. Maybe? What difference would it make anyway? It's just all part of the fantasy isn't it?"

  "I don't want fantasy. That's what I was so pissed about."

  "I still don't know why. Call it what it was, an amazing NOLA fling. It's not like you were expecting more." Clare stared at her. "Were you?"

  Julia bit her lip. She didn't have an answer.

  "Oh my God, you were!"

  "Well...maybe." Julia wrung her hands. Why was she trying so hard to fight being candid with Clare, with herself? Was she so far in denial that she wouldn't even acknowledge what really happened in New Orleans?

  "I don't know. I've never felt for anyone the way I felt about Armand. I don't think I ever will again." That realization brought fresh tears to her eyes. She'd known it was true, but saying the words out loud somehow made it more of a fact.

  She'd fallen in love with him.

  And promptly ruined it.

  Clare moved from the chair to the couch, and put her arm around Julia's shoulders as she finally broke down. "I just felt like I'd been deceived, you know? Like he'd put on this big show and I was the puppet." Julia raked her hands through her hair. "And then I confronted him, and every explanation was so simple and so...sincere. It was obvious I'd been wrong. About everything. I just couldn't seem to get past the notion that it'd all been fake, even though being with him was more real than anything I'd ever experienced."

  "Shit, Jules. I had no idea. Do you think the feeling was mutual?"

  Julia covered her face. She hadn't wanted to face this. She would have given anything to avoid it. Yet here it was, staring her down. "I think so. I mean, he asked me if I'd ever considered moving to New Orleans. Told me he knew the director of public works down there and they were looking for an engineer..." The last word trailed off into a whisper. She sniffed loudly, dragging the tissue magically placed in her hand across her nose. "I don't know. Maybe it was just the sex afterglow talking."

  "That's some pretty powerful afterglow if he was talking about you moving down." Clare gave her a little smile. "How would you have felt about the whole lifestyle, though? The blood fetish thing and all?"

  Tilting her cheek away from Clare, Julia pulled her hair aside and peeled off the square gauze bandage, revealing the small, raised welts that had once been bite marks. "I didn't seem to have a problem with that."

  "Oh my God." Gingerly, Clare touched the marks.

  "Maybe I was just caught up in the moment," Julia said, releasing the dark curtain that was her hair. "Caught up in thinking that Armand truly was a vampire, but I did it too. I mean, I shared in the whole blood thing. And I liked it."

  While she'd been angry, it had been easy to deny, and easy to make Armand out to be some disgusting pervert in her mind. But there was no denying it now. Or if he was a pervert, she was too.

  There was a fresh sense of respect and awe in Clare's brown eyes. "Holy shit. You are my hero now."

  Julia grunted, shaking her head. "Please. I completely eff'd up the most intense relationship of my life with my own asinine ignorance and I'm your hero?"

  "Why not apologize? I'm sure if he feels as strongly as you do, you can just explain everything to him and he'll understand."

  "It's too late for that."

  "Julia - "

  She cut her off. "Seriously Clare, it's too late. I screwed up, okay? There's no going back. Trust me, he doesn't want some lame apology from me."

  "You should at least try."

  "It's done. Finished. And I'm done. I won't talk about this anymore. I can't talk about it." Julia wiped the tears from her face for the final time, took a deep breath, and turned to Clare with a trembling smile. "So, fill me in on what's been going on here."

  * * *

  Julia was miraculously able to shove every piece of emotion she had into the depths of her bowel. After stumbling zombie-like through the weekend, she somehow hauled herself out of bed Monday, and went to work. A hundred e-mails and a dozen voice mails greeted her. There were problems with the contractor, angry residents, and questions from the consultant engineer on a design issue to deal with. The distractions were welcomed.

  Everyone in the small office stopped by to welcome her back and ask about her trip. Luckily, most interpreted her hollowed expression as exhaustion. A few joked that she was obviously still recovering - "Exactly how many Hand Grenades did you consume?" - and there were plenty of references to beads, but Julia managed to smile and laugh it all off.

  Work kept her busy, and in the evening, she made sure had plenty to do. She spent more time at the gym than she ever had, and her apartment was spotless. But the week still passed at an achingly slow pace. She felt like she was just going through the motions, functioning in some sort of automated program. Her body was nothing more than an empty bag of fluid. There were no organs, no substance, no emotions, only opaque, white goo.

  Friday, Clare dragged her to some indie/punk show in St. Louis. Julia considered arguing. A loud bar was the last place she wanted to be, but decided it was better than sitting on her couch and watching reruns of CSI. Or worse, being tempted by the Internet and looking for pictures of Him.

  Pretending to be normal when she was nothing more than an empty shell was exhausting. Forcing smiles took energy she didn't have, and made the muscles in her face ache. Just before midnight she'd had enough. After saying her goodnights and ignoring Clare's protests, she caught an overpriced cab back to Alton.

  Sleep was fretful. All week, she'd been able to shut out every memory or unwelcome thought with a little bit of meditation and a Xanax or two. This night it wasn't working. Tossing and turning, she fought to push the images of Armand and endless regrets from her mind.

  She could still feel him, smell him, taste him. Every place he'd touched her, every kiss he'd planted on her skin burned at the memory. The bite marks on her neck throbbed, and she could feel his strong grip on her chest, every thrust of his cock, the way his deep growl purred in her ear.

  And if the physical memories weren't scalding enough, she couldn't forget the way his eyes lit up and his gorgeous face twisted into the sexiest, shit-eating grin when he teased her, or how his wit and humor matched her toe-to-toe, or how utterly, impossibly perfect he was for her.

  Why not apologize? I'm sure if he feels as strongly as you do, you can just explain everything to him and he'll understand. Clare's advice scrolled never-ending through the electrons in her brain, fighting the memories of Armand for airplay.
/>   Why not apologize?

  Apologize!

  It couldn't be that simple. Too much damage had been done. But what if...

  Would he, could he forgive her if she asked?

  She sat straight up in bed, a fresh wave of determination suddenly consuming her. Clare was right. She needed to beg for forgiveness. She couldn't give up this easily. If she was truly in love with Armand, she needed to fight for him.

  Throwing a few meager items of clothing and some toiletries into a bag, she topped off Bubber's food and water, and dashed out the front door. If she pushed it, she could be in New Orleans by noon. There'd be plenty of time to catch up on some sleep once she was on the road. Luxure didn't open until at least nine, and Armand probably didn't even get out of bed before 4pm. It might make more sense to catch a few hours of sleep in her own bed before hitting the road, but Julia knew that was a pointless venture. There was no way she'd be able to sleep right now. She needed to be doing something, anything, to right the situation.

  The first couple of hours of driving flew by. At an average speed of 75mph, it took about an hour to get out of the St. Louis metropolitan area. After that, she was so pumped up on adrenaline that the next 100 or so miles flew by.

  Once the excitement wore off and the interstate became a monotonous stretch of straight, unending pavement, her mind started to wander. The last conversation she'd had with Armand began to play repetitively through her head. She tried to turn up the radio to drown out the thoughts, tried to focus her attention on singing along with every top 40 song, but the volume in her mind was endless, and no amount of Lady Gaga could usurp it.

  It might not be so bad if she couldn't hear every stupid thing she'd said like the words were spewing from her mouth that very moment, or if she couldn't see the expressions that had rolled across Armand's face with such clarity that he might as well be standing before her. But no, she could picture the scene with perfect lucidity. He'd gone from concerned, to amused, to hurt and angry, to disgusted, all because of a bunch of bullshit that had seeped into her brain.

  "I guess I'm not the only one who was misjudged. You're obviously not the person I thought you were either."

  She hadn't just made him angry; she'd disgusted him. And what made it so much worse was that she'd pushed him until every piece of affection he might have felt for her was replaced with contempt. There was no going back from the place she'd carved in his heart, no matter how much she begged for forgiveness.

  That was the truth and she had to face it. As ugly as it was, as much as she hated it, she had to accept that she deserved his disdain.

  After all, she'd completely screwed up the most intense relationship of her life over what, some Internet pictures and a little blood fetish? A fetish she apparently also enjoyed? Was she so critical that she couldn't accept him because he ventured a little off the path of normal, and then happened to be human instead of some supernatural being?

  She pulled off at the first available exit and broke down. Not just because of the loss of happiness she could have found with Armand, but for the person she had become. She was no better than Dave or Mike. When did she become such a judgmental bitch?

  She didn't deserve a man like Armand, who had never been anything but gracious and polite, even when her acquaintances had been complete assholes. A man who had welcomed her into his bar, even when she obviously didn't belong. Hell, their first conversation had been about judging people based on appearances. She was nothing but a hypocrite.

  Once she'd cried herself out, Julia pulled back on the interstate, this time heading north on I-55. Armand deserved her apology, but not because she hoped to get him back. He deserved it because she'd been wrong.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Shrouded in shadows, Armand sat motionless in one of the sleek leather armchairs flanking his living room. The only light in the room came from the laptop glowing eagerly on the coffee table. Two windows on the bright screen were up. One was for the conference he was speaking at in St. Louis next week, and the second was the Public Works page for the City of Alton.

  Like every other evening this past week, his mood matched the darkness around him. It hung over him like a massive storm cloud, seething, bubbling, and ready to unleash its fury at any moment. For most of the week, clients, customers, and friends avoided him. It was for the best. With his poor temperament, he wasn't fit to be around anyone, even a group that generally thrived on angst.

  Tonight, his disposition was especially disagreeable. It had been a little over a week since she'd left, and while her memory and scent weren't nearly as strong as they'd been earlier in the week, the bitter taste of losing something special was ripe in his mouth.

  Disgusted, Armand slammed the computer shut.

  Why wasn't he able to let her go? So she hadn't turned out to be what he'd expected, wanted, longed for...there were plenty of women in the world.

  He rose and went to the kitchen, pausing to crank up the stereo a few decibels, hoping to deaden his senses with a few pounding guitar riffs. After pouring his third cognac of the evening, Armand leaned against the granite island and stared at the black expanse that was his front door. Just beyond the solid wood were the stairs leading down to the club below. The soft glow that seeped through the cracks in the door told him someone was in the storeroom.

  He couldn't face Luxure tonight. Not only was his sour mood bad for business, but the idea of sitting on his perch in the corner and stewing on bad memories for eight hours was revolting.

  It wasn't just Julia's bitter memory that kept him from walking down those stairs. His cop buddy, Brian, had stopped by today. Darus' DNA had come up positive in Eve's death, but the most they could prosecute for was involuntary manslaughter. If Darus took the plea - and it appeared that he would - he would serve minimal, if any time.

  Armand wasn't sure how he felt about the news. He didn't necessarily want Darus to spend years in jail, but this was hardly a slap on the wrist. The Community needed to understand the dangers of their cravings and respect them. The minimal punishment for Darus' flippant disregard of those dangers merely trivialized them.

  Knowing that Slade would probably be gloating made the trek downstairs as appealing as wearing a bacon belt while walking through a group of alligators.

  Armand needed a vacation.

  It was the first time in the 12 years since he'd opened the bar that he couldn't stand to step foot into it. He didn't blame Darus though, as much as he blamed Julia.

  He'd had his misgivings about the Community before she'd waltzed into his life, and certainly after Darus decided to live out his Dracula fantasies, but nothing like the qualms Julia's accusations had planted.

  He was used to overzealous fantasy nuts like Darus. He wasn't used to a woman he cared about accusing him of being one.

  Armand returned to the armchair and flipped his computer back open. Immediately the saved web pages popped back into view: the info for Vamp Con's guest speakers on the left and the City of Alton on the right. The contrast was glaring. The conference page background was black, with blood seeping at each corner framing red, gothic lettering. Alton's page was bright, with scenes of the city flashing by: the cozy brick downtown, the iconic white suspension bridge, sailboats in the river, and Julia's beautiful, fresh smile. It was a perfect metaphor for the differences between Armand and Julia.

  Armand leaned back in the chair and let his head fall back against the soft leather. That's what made this bullshit so frustrating. When they'd been together, any of their differences were moot. In fact, he'd been surprised how much in common they'd shared. It wasn't until she'd barged into the bar and declared him a fake that he saw how different they were.

  A heavy rapping sounded at the door. "Armand? Dude, are you coming down?" Slade's booming voice was barely audible over the music.

  Armand ignored him, closing his eyes and focusing on the pounding guitar. Slade hammered against the door again. "Answer the door, man!"

  With a sigh, Arm
and peeled open his eyes. He glanced at the computer. Slade was going to ask about Vamp Con again, and Armand wasn't ready to discuss it. He was thinking about canceling. He wasn't sure if he could be so close to Julia and not look her up. Being in the same city would make chasing her down to confront her about fucking up his mind too tempting.

  The door rattled with Slade's knocking. "C'mon, get your ass up!"

  Drinking the remaining cognac in one smooth swallow, Armand powered off the computer, grabbed his coat, and headed out the back door into the courtyard. Working tonight was not an option. He'd already exhausted nearly every ounce of gentility he possessed this week. One more irritation was likely to send him over the edge.

  Unfortunately, slipping unnoticed out the back gate and into a peaceful evening wasn't in his destiny. He opened the metal gate and stepped right in the path of Angel and two of her favorite companions.

  "Armand!" she said surprised. "Where are you off to?"

  No amount of effort was able to force his facial muscles into a courteous smile. "Just out for a walk."

  She studied him, her brown eyes thoughtful. Turning to her companions, she said, "You guys go ahead, I'll catch up in a minute."

  Every muscle in Armand's body tensed. He wasn't in the mood to deal with her.

  She watched her comrades disappear around the corner before turning back to him, a coy smile on her full lips. Though truly a stunning creature, Angel did absolutely nothing for him. They'd been occasional lovers over the years when it was convenient, but that was it. He'd never felt more than a surface attraction for her.

  "Can we talk?" she wondered.

  "I'm in a hurry."

  "This won't take long." She glanced around. "Maybe we could go somewhere a little more personal. Your apartment perhaps?"

  "Whatever you need to say, I'm sure you can do it right here." He had less interest in taking her up to his apartment than he did talking to her. Julia's scent still lingered in the air, and as much as it hurt to breathe it in day after day, it was beginning to dissipate and he wasn't ready to replace it with another woman's scent. Not yet.