La Luxure: Discover Your Blood Lust

by Cd Hussey

  "I'm worried about you, Armand. Ever since your argument with Julia, you've been unbearable to be around, and you've made Luxure a rather unpleasant place to be."

  "I'm sorry you feel that way," he said tersely.

  "Do you want to talk about what happened?"

  "No." For the last week, Julia's memory had consumed his mind, her raw accusations a stabbing pain in his temples. The thoughts were exhausting. He was tired of the endless doubts and reservations. The last thing he wanted to do was discuss them with Angel or anyone.

  Angel's eyes were pleading. "Please, talk to me."

  "As much as I appreciate your concern, it is unnecessary and unwelcome. Let me be miserable for a little while. I'll get over it."

  "You might not believe this, but I do care about you, and not just because you fulfill a certain need in my life. When I saw you with Julia on Halloween, you were happier than I remember seeing you in a long time. You looked at her in a way I've never seen you look at a woman. I want to help."

  Armand slowly drew in his breath and exhaled, forcing the last bit of courtesy he could muster into his words. "She simply isn't the woman I thought. End of story."

  "Is it because she called you a fake?"

  With a throaty, mirthless chuckle, he shook his head in disbelief. Nothing stayed secret in the Community. He was ready for this conversation to be over, and the easiest path to that end was to give Angel what she wanted.

  "Something like that," he said. "She accused me of pretending to be a vampire to seduce her. Apparently the real man wasn't as enticing as the fantasy."

  "Huh. She didn't seem the type."

  It was fairly common for an outsider to enter the Community and not be able to separate fantasy from reality. They were usually Victims though.

  "I guess we both misjudged her then," Armand replied quietly.

  "So, did you?" Angel asked.

  Armand narrowed his gaze. "Did I what?"

  "Amp up the vampire act to seduce her?"

  His muscles were rocks under his skin. "No."

  "C'mon Armand, everyone does it. It's part of the game. Did you ever break character when you were with her?"

  "I don't have a character," he replied flatly.

  "We all do, whether you realize it or not," she told him, her tone syrupy sweet. "It's just that you and I have been doing this for so long that it's subtle, and at this point, part of our personalities."

  The last thing he wanted to do was argue with her. "It's irrelevant."

  "I don't know," Angel said with a tiny shrug of her bare, cream colored shoulders. "I might feel a little betrayed if I felt like I'd been led to believe something and then found out it wasn't true."

  She offered him a smug smile before turning and heading down the street, a soft sway to her smooth hips. Armand was no stranger to practiced grace, but he was always amazed by how effortlessly she moved in her impossibly high heels.

  "Have a good evening, Armand," she tossed over her shoulder.

  When she rounded the corner and disappeared from sight, Armand was finally able to unclench his fists. He needed to get out of here, away from the bar, away from his patrons, away from the games. If he didn't calm down soon, he was going to split his skin.

  The river's gentle churning called to him, promising to ease his troubled thoughts.

  * * *

  There was a quiet, cleansing breeze coming off the water, carrying with it a faint smell of damp earth. A line of rain showers had drenched the city earlier, leaving in their wake cool temperatures and wet roads. Armand closed his eyes, savoring the breeze as it caressed his skin and tousled his hair. If he ever moved from New Orleans, the location must have a moving body of water. River or Ocean, it didn't matter, as long as he had free access.

  Dismissing a couple of junkies asking for blow with a simple "Sorry man", Armand didn't hurry as he made his way down the levee path.

  Character. Did he really have a character?

  Julia had made the same accusation.

  In the past, he'd been accused of being a Psychic Vampire, but that was an accusation he understood, even if he wasn't sure how he felt about the term. Armand might be more attuned than most to the exchange of energy that occurred between people, but he was perfectly capable of producing his own Pranic energy. And while he certainly enjoyed absorbing the good energy people exuded on streets like Bourbon or at parades, he didn't "feed" off it per se.

  Even if he did, it wasn't relevant. Julia had accused him of playing into some Hollywood vampire stereotype to seduce her, not of having a physical need to devour another's Prana.

  Pausing at the stairwell leading down to the river's edge, he watched the rats scurry for cover as he replayed the early encounters with Julia and tried to see himself through her eyes. He understood how the unpleasantness with Eve might have led her to believe something unusual was going on, and it wasn't a hard stretch to see how the confrontation with Darus might be interpreted as something supernatural. Adrenalin and anger had a way of giving him above average strength. And there were certainly times when he could have clarified his position, like in the café. A quick, "There's nothing on this menu I can eat, because I'm a vegetarian" would have cleared up the entire misunderstanding.

  He didn't fault her for getting swept up in the fantasy, but he could not see where he had, at any point, been deliberately trying to mislead her. In fact, it was quite the opposite. Being with her had been so refreshing because he didn't have to assume any role. He'd been able to truly be himself.

  But wasn't that the point Angel had been trying to make? Had he been playing a part for so long that the character had become fused with his personality? His involvement with the Community was deeper than most. For many, it was of a small piece of their lives, a place they visited on weekends or evenings after work. It was Armand's life.

  While the Community exhausted and infuriated him at times, he hadn't felt insecure about who or what he was. Julia changed that. She made him doubt himself, his entire life. Her claim that his life was somehow less real than her own because it strayed from the traditional path had struck a nerve. Shit, here he was, wondering whether he'd been part of a fantasy culture for so long that he'd lost touch with reality.

  That doubt was what angered him so much about her. She'd stumbled into his life, planted doubts about his entire identity, and then stomped on his heart. He'd be a liar if he didn't admit he'd had reservations about the path his life had taken before he met her, but to have them thrown in his face with a dose of rejection...It was too much.

  Armand stared out into the murky water. He refused to apologize for his lifestyle or be ashamed of it. There might be a part of him that craved something different, but that desire could easily be accomplished. A little less time at the bar, a few extracurricular hobbies...But at no point was he going to turn his back on something so ingrained in him because she made him feel insecure about it. Why was he letting this one woman turn his entire world upside down? Why was he even dwelling on it?

  Because he missed her. No, it was more than that. He craved her. In fact, if he wasn't such a coward, he might be able to admit his feelings ran much deeper than that.

  It wasn't just the connection he thought he'd felt with her that made her so fucking appealing. With her, he'd been comfortable, truly comfortable. Everything had felt so natural: the conversation, the sex, sharing blood, cooking her breakfast...To have it all go to shit because she turned out to be some fantasy chaser that couldn't handle reality was beyond frustrating.

  But what if Angel was right? What if Julia's irrational attack was the result of feeling betrayed? If she had genuinely believed he was a vampire, it was plausible that discovering the truth might make her feel like she'd been led astray.

  More what if's. He hated what if's.

  Armand sighed. Maybe he was searching for something that wasn't there. Did he want her so desperately that he was willing to read between lines that didn't exist?

  It woul
d be easier to accept that she wasn't the woman he'd thought than to hope she was and be wrong. And the only way to find out the truth would be to confront her. But contacting her and facing rejection was about as appealing as having his fingernails yanked off.

  Frustrated, Armand pressed his fingers against his temples in an attempt to alleviate the massive headache threatening to burst his skull. He was tired of these thoughts, tired of reliving memories of Julia, tired of pouring through every detail of every encounter he'd had with her in an attempt to ascertain what went wrong. He either needed to confront her or forget her, but obsessively dwelling on the issue was killing him.

  One thing was certain, he was ready to take back control of his life, and he wasn't going to avoid a commitment because of a bad experience. He'd go to Vamp Con as planned, and if by some miracle he ran into Julia, well, that bridge could be crossed when and if it were built.

  He turned and headed back down river, crossing the streetcar tracks at the first opportunity. Keeping his pace brisk, he made his way down Decatur towards the Marigny neighborhood, passing St. Philip without even glancing down the street. There was bound to be some live music on Frenchman St. Something distinctly New Orleans and something to remind him of his roots.

  He was more than Luxure. It was time he reconnected with life outside the Community.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Sitting at her small dining room table, Julia huddled over her laptop, crunching numbers in an Excel spreadsheet. Her entire fiscal life was laid out in this spreadsheet. She tracked everything, from bills to savings to investments.

  Until today, every aspect of Julia's life was accounted for.

  What an abrupt shift in scope.

  Her decision hadn't been easy, but once she'd made it, all the jagged edges in her heart softened and she knew she'd made the right one. Until New Orleans, her existence had been mediocre at best. All of her life she'd assumed the role she thought others expected of her, and it never made her happy. Being with Armand made her realize that maybe the straight and narrow path wasn't for her. Maybe, in order to find true happiness she needed to follow a curvier, less established path.

  Julia leaned back in her chair, the bold TOTAL staring back at her. Financially, she'd be fine. One of the benefits of being single, making a decent wage, and not living a lavish life-style, was she had managed to save up nearly a year's salary. And that didn't include her 401K or other, modest investments. If there was ever a time to change her life so dramatically, it was now.

  The worst part was dealing with all the questions at work. "Where are you going?" "Do you have another job lined up?" "This is so sudden. What happened?"

  Engineers weren't always good with change, and her coworkers weren't an exception. The fact that she didn't have any answers only confused them more. Planners by nature, her colleagues found her laissez faire attitude about the future perplexing, and Julia was pretty sure, frightening.

  The front door opened as Clare let herself in. Julia's sister never knocked and carried a key. When Julia had first started dating Jeff, she'd learned very quickly to use the deadbolt if she wanted privacy.

  "Hey chica, what's up?" Clare called as she closed the front door.

  "Just going over some money stuff. I quit my job today."

  "No shit!" Clare was carrying a newspaper and something red and silky. Setting them on the table, she pulled out a chair and sat down. "What happened?"

  Julia shrugged. "Nothing, really. I just decided it was time for a change."

  Clare was in awe. "What are you going to do?"

  "I don't know. Travel for a bit. Try to figure out what I want to be when I grow up."

  Clare shook her head. "Wow. New Orleans really did change you, didn't it?"

  Julia gave a half smile. "I guess so."

  "Well then, tonight should be perfect." Clare stood up and shook out the red fabric. It was a slip dress Julia recognized from her sister's collection: short, sexy, and made of a silky material that clung to every curve. "Here, put this on. And grab that leather waist cincher I know is buried somewhere in your closet, and those hot, fuck-me boots."

  "Um, where are we going?"

  Clare grinned. "Just trust me."

  "With a statement like that you have to tell me where we're going or I'm not changing out of my PJs."

  Clare slid the paper over. "Check out the bottom right corner."

  Julia's brow knitted together. "The tranny show? Sounds fun, but I doubt I'll need fuck-me boots for that."

  "No." Clare grabbed the paper, skimmed over it, and then tossed it back down. "Although that looks like fun, check out the one above it."

  Julia's brow became one, solid unit. Vamp Con: Embrace Your Blood Lust.

  Her guts twisted and she pushed the paper away. "I don't think so."

  "Oh no, we're going." Clare nudged the paper back. "Check out who will be there."

  Julia didn't have to look at the paper to know whose name she would see, but she couldn't help herself. In small print, below the character actors, and listed with authors and other guest speakers, was the name Armand Laroque.

  Julia shook her head. At the mere thought of seeing him, her nerves were instantly ablaze and her heart jumped into overdrive. "I can't." She rose, unable to look at the paper anymore.

  "Sure you can." Clare followed her as she fled to the kitchen. "Look, you've been moping around here for the last few weeks. We can go to the convention, look him up and see what happens. All you have to lose is your pride."

  Hugging herself tightly, Julia leaned against the counter. "I don't know. I couldn't bear it if he rejected me again."

  "And if he doesn't?" Clare grabbed her shoulders and forced her gaze. "You have to think about what you have to lose versus what you have to gain."

  The memory of the night Julia spent with Armand flashed through her mind. She could smell him, taste his kiss, feel the way her skin lit on fire where he touched her. She remembered the way he made her comfortable and jittery at the same time, how he understood every quirky aspect of her sense of humor, and listened so attentively to every word she spoke. But then, the pain of his rejection swelled in her core and wiped out every good memory she possessed.

  "I don't know."

  "Julia, you did the unthinkable today. You quit your job. With no back-up plan. That took way more guts than this. You can face him. Just set aside your pride and put yourself out there."

  Could she? Could she face those hazel eyes if they were filled with disdain?

  The thought made her tremble.

  Regardless of the outcome, Armand deserved an apology. Pride had gotten her into this mess. She could suck it up, swallow it, and do what she should have weeks ago.

  Slowly, Julia felt her head nodding. Clare was right. When Julia had traveled to New Orleans, she'd promised to step away from her comfort zone and the rewards had been amazing. This wasn't any different. If she wanted to truly be happy, she had to pursue it, take some risks, and just go for it. This wasn't a curvy path; it was a damn spiral.

  Her nods grew stronger. "Yeah. Okay. Let's go."

  Clare squealed, throwing her arms around Julia in a rough embrace. "Oh my God, this will be so awesome. Seriously, Jules, I have this feeling everything will turn out. Trust me." Her grin was complete mischief. She grabbed the dress. "Okay, now let's go find those fuck-me boots."

  * * *

  Leaning against the wide, faux granite vanity at the back of a generic hotel room, Armand stared at his image in the mirror. The harsh lights accentuated the dark circles under his eyes, making it look like he hadn't slept for days. Although truthfully, blaming it on the lights was unfair. It wasn't like he was well rested. Memories of Julia continued to plague his dreams, and at least once during the day he'd wake up and obsess compulsively over the doubts she'd planted in his head.

  He glanced at the small makeup kit sitting unopened next to the sink. It wasn't only his sleep she was interfering with. Now, he was even having a hard
time putting his makeup on.

  Armand had never had qualms about wearing makeup before. As far as he was concerned, it was no different than a stockbroker putting on his power suit before heading down to Wall Street. As the owner of a bar that catered to the vampire subculture, and a speaker at a vampire conference, he was expected to project a certain image, and while makeup might not be a requirement, it helped.

  Besides, he even liked the way it looked. He might not want to wear it on a daily basis, but he didn't have an issue with a little eyeliner now and then.

  Until now.

  Fuck her.

  At the risk of being a stalker, Armand had looked up her address (a feat too easily accomplished with a little Internet savvy) before making the drive to St. Louis. It had been difficult not to bypass the hotel and drive straight to her house. The temptation was even stronger now to skip his presentation and end this business, once and for all.

  But that gave her way too much power, and she already had too much control over him.

  Snatching the translucent powder from his kit, he twisted the cap off with enough aggression that powder spilled all over the sink. No matter what, this bullshit was ending tonight. He was tired of being a slave to her memory.

  * * *

  The flyer had Armand listed as speaking in Conference Room A at 8:30. "Safety and Responsibility for the Modern Blood Drinker" was the title of his speech. There was a small photo of his face next to the title, and a quick bio. To get there, Clare and Julia had to weave through the cluttered isles in the large ballroom. Wedged between booths and displays of movie memorabilia, clothing, authors pimping books, and hundreds of other costume clad and un-costumed conference attendees, they pushed their way forward. With the recent popularity of vampires in movies and TV shows, the hotel was packed with a strange mix of Goths, Abercrombie wearing teenage girls, and 40-year-old women.

  Conference Room A was equally packed, though its members definitely leaned more towards the Goth side. Julia scanned the room for a seat near the exit in case her nerves failed. Every blue fabric, metal-framed chair anywhere near an escape was taken.