de Sang: Embrace Your Blood Lust

by Hussey, C. D.

  Frustrated, Kate twisted the water off with enough force she heard the pipes bang. She was not the type of girl who got all hot and bothered over some 'roided up guy who just happened to pay her a little attention. It wasn't worth it.

  She did a quick towel down and squeezed the water from her hair before twisting it up into a sloppy bun. Throwing on a tank top and yoga pants, she didn't worry about a bra, she didn't need to. Flip-flops, a light workout jacket and her purse were all she needed before she hit the front door. The temptation to dig her vibrator out of her dresser drawer and sate some pent up fantasies was overwhelming. She had to get out of the house.

  There was a small group who hung out at the coffee shop on Frenchman and discussed art, poetry and literature. If she hurried, she could still catch them before the shop closed. She needed to cleanse her brain after tonight's activities.

  Unfortunately, the conversation at the coffee shop did little to distract her. Kate listened politely and even participated in the conversation about Andy Warhol and the rise of pop art, but the miniscule amount of caffeine in her decaf latte was making her jittery and she squirmed restlessly in the hard metal chair.

  All she could think about was Slade's fingers against her clit, his rock hard body pressed into her, and his mouth clamped over the small puncture wound at her neck as he devoured and savored her like some animal.

  Frustrated and disgusted by the dampness seeping into her panties, she clamped her legs together against the rising heat. This was preposterous. It couldn't possibly be Slade, it had to be something else — like the blood drinking — turning her on.

  The restlessness finally got to her. After barely twenty minutes, she said good-bye to the coffee house intellectuals still discussing the controversies of the Cambell's soup can print and pedaled her bike toward the Quarter. It was about one a.m. but she was far too wound up to sleep.

  Hustling across Esplanade, she jigged and jagged her way through down the darkest French Quarter streets — very purposefully skipping the street La Luxure was on — until she emerged at the front entrance to Gallery La Prochaine.

  She normally avoided locking her bike to a street sign since she'd already had her seat stolen twice, but she was anxious to get inside and didn't like negotiating the back alley at night. Even if it was gated, it was still a scary place to be when shadows and fog overwhelmed everything else.

  The gallery was eerily quiet. Evidence from the earlier opening was scattered throughout the room. The tables for refreshments sat empty against the back wall, bags of collected trash stacked neatly against their metal legs. The podium lined with glossy stock cards announcing upcoming events stood proudly near the entrance, the guest book still open.

  With a regretful smile, Kate signed her name. She was truly sorry she missed Lohr's opening. She loved gallery openings, especially one of an artist whose work she so admired.

  Death by Fantasy caught her eye and she stepped back to admire the portrait. Lohr's ability to convey emotion was simply breathtaking. The entire collection hit a person in the gut with its intensity but nothing like Death by Fantasy.

  It was all there. The passion, the aching, the longing... Kate craved that intensity, the emotional chaos. She wanted to feel those emotions in the deepest part of her being. She wanted them to be so intense they hurt.

  "She is beautiful, isn't she?"

  Kate nearly screamed. "Oh my God!" She clutched her chest. Her heart was beating so hard it was actually painful. "Mr. Varius!"

  His Calvin Klein face cracked a tiny smile. "Didn't I tell you to call me Lohr?"

  "Of course. Sorry." She glanced at him, still trying to catch her breath. The angles of his face caught in the pale light seeping in from the street, shadows deepening the etched lines. "How was the opening, Lohr?"

  "It went well, thank you. You were missed."

  "I hated to miss it." As her heartbeat slowly returned to normal, she turned back to the painting. "It's my favorite piece," she told him, gesturing toward the portrait. "You did an exquisite job capturing all the layers of her emotions."

  "She was an exquisite model."

  "I wish I had half your talent," Kate said wistfully.

  "You have such an amazing eye though."

  "Unfortunately I can't translate it to canvas. Believe me, I've tried. Six years of art school and my work is still amateurish at best."

  "Why create art when you yourself are such a masterpiece?" As he studied her, she could feel the blush in her cheeks deepen. Jesus Christ, what was with all this blushing? She was thankful the gallery was dark enough to hide it. Blushing only made her look unprofessional.

  "You are truly a stunning woman," Lohr continued. "I would love to paint you."

  She swallowed against the surprise threatening her tone. "Really?"

  "Absolutely." He held out his long, elegant hands, the manicured, painted fingernails sparkling in the dim light. "Let these hands transfer your beauty onto canvas."

  She laughed because it was the only reaction she could manage. "I don't think I'd fit in with your current exhibit."

  "I might just keep your portrait in my personal collection," he said quietly.

  Kate was overwhelmed by his flattery. She was supposed to be his admirer, not the other way around.

  "Take our hair down," Lohr said abruptly as he moved to stand before her.

  Startled, she touched the messy bun. "It's still wet."

  "That's all right. I just want to see something."

  "Okay," she said unsurely, slowly removing the carefully positioned hair sticks. "I'm warning you though, it's going to look like a bunch of spaghetti noodles and not in a good way." She released the final stick and the mass of still dripping hair came cascading down. It felt like a cold, wet blanket against her back and she self-consciously shook it out.

  "Perfect," Lohr whispered as his electric blue eyes trailed from the roots to the tips hanging limply at her hips. He cocked his head. "Pull your hair over one shoulder."

  Pursing her lips, she obeyed, gently sliding her hair to the side. She wasn't sure how to take his instructions. She'd never modeled for an artist before but she supposed this was normal.

  "Tilt your head." Kate tipped her chin and Lohr took a step back, looking her over with a critical eye, an artist's eye. "Look at me," he said. She leveled her gaze on him, resisting the urge to look down when his bright eyes met hers. "Simply breathtaking." His gaze abruptly darted to her neck and a slow smile spread across his face. When he met her gaze again, his expression was sly. "You are marked."

  Startled, she touched the wound on her neck. In the haze of Lohr's admiration, she'd completely forgotten about it. "Oh, that, I, ah, um…"

  "No need to explain, Kate Miller. I know exactly what that's from." He leaned close to her. "I just wish I was the Sang who gave it to you," he whispered, his breath warm on her cheek.

  Her heart was thumping wildly, but her rebellious body did not have the same reaction to him as it had to Slade. It didn't make sense. Lohr was her type. She should crave his attention. She should feel him kissing her would be the best thing that could happen at that moment. She should be quivering with excitement at the mere prospect of his interest.

  She couldn't fathom why none of those reactions were happening.

  "I totaled up the invoices and…" Lauren suddenly emerged from the backroom, papers in hand. "Oh!" She stopped abruptly when she saw the pair standing awkwardly in the darkness. Truthfully, it was only Kate who was awkward. Lohr stood with poise and purpose. "Kate! What are you doing here?"

  Kate might have a key to the gallery but it didn't imply an open door policy. She shouldn't be there and Lauren's expression made it obvious she did not approve.

  "I…"

  "Kate is here at my request," Lohr interjected.

  "I see." The explanation didn't make Lauren any happier.

  Lohr pulled a black-corded necklace with a small vial filled with what looked like blood from his pocket and handed it to
Kate. "This will get you into the Forever Dark Vampire Ball tomorrow night, as well as grant you access to the VIP section."

  She nodded, quickly following his lead. "Thank you, Lohr. I've been looking forward to the ball all week."

  "It pleases me to hear you say that. Thanks for taking the time to stop by. I look forward to seeing you tomorrow."

  Kate put the necklace on. "Thanks again, Lohr." She glanced at her boss and tried not to be put off by the look of disapproval in her eyes. "Good-night, Lauren. I'll see you tomorrow." Kate didn't wait for the other woman to acknowledge her. Slipping out the front door, she quickly unlocked her bike and sped away from the gallery.

  It was all Kate could do to keep her heart from exploding. What a strange night. First the weirdness at La Luxure, and then the encounter with Lohr and Lauren. Hopefully, she still had a job tomorrow.

  * * * *

  After feeding from Amy, Darus lingered in a quiet nook near the Square for a long time, finishing off his smokes and fucking with groups of tourists back from the vampire and ghost tours. Few things were as fun as freaking out mundanes.

  Before heading to The Cell to finish off his evening, he made a quick stop at his apartment for a fresh pack of cigs and was just walking out his front door when his phone rang.

  "Shit," he muttered after looking at the caller ID.

  He wasn't interesting in dealing with Lohr right now, but the artist had just gotten back in town after an extended gallery tour and Darus was obligated. At one point he'd been heavily involved in Lohr's coven, but after Eve, Darus was ready to put that shit behind him. Lohr was his only contact with the Community, though, and Darus needed all the contacts he could get.

  "Yes." It wasn't a question.

  "I need your help with something," Lohr replied. In order to hear him, Darus had to turn the volume on his phone all the way up. "We must meet to discuss."

  "I'm heading to The Cell. Meet me there."

  "Not acceptable. Some place a little quieter, perhaps?"

  What the hell did Lohr want? "I'm standing at Burgundy and Dumaine. Is that quiet enough for you?"

  "That should be sufficient. I will arrive in ten minutes."

  The phone went dead and it traded places with his smokes. Lighting a cigarette, he leaned against a lamppost and waited. Maybe Darus should be happy Lohr still wanted him around, but he couldn't muster any emotion but irritation.

  If he obliged whatever Lohr wanted, he might be able to snag a VIP pass to Forever Dark. But until Armand welcomed him back with open arms, it wouldn't matter. He'd still be Invisible. Most Sangs wouldn't go against Armand.

  He was down to the filter when Lohr drifted up the street. Flicking the butt into the gutter, Darus met him at the curb.

  "So, what is it?" He didn't care for formalities. He hadn't been big into the cordial crap before his time in the Pen. He sure as hell wasn't now.

  "I've found my queen," Lohr told him. "Kate Miller."

  "Oh yeah?" Queen to Lohr's Master. It was all part of the coven shit.

  "Unfortunately, she hasn't been Awakened yet."

  Awakening was the term Human Vampires used when their vampire traits were finally discovered. Lohr had a ceremony that went with it. The ceremonies could be fun — drugs and booze and blood were always fun — but it was all a bunch of bullshit. A Human Vampire certainly didn't need a ceremony to Awaken their nature. Either they figured out what they were on their own, or someone pointed them in the right direction. It might be a huge relief when the Human Vampire finally figured out what the hell was wrong with them, and what they could do about it, but it wasn't grand, and not a whole hell of a lot was awakened.

  "Why do you need my help?"

  "She is Latent."

  "Oh?" Another bullshit term. It was one thing if a Sang didn't know they were a Sang and spent their life wondering why they were tired all the time. But the term was often used to describe a Vamp whose traits had yet to surface. Darus had never seen it.

  "I need your help because I fear she will be resistant."

  What Lohr was proposing was bordering on sick. It was one thing for a person who wanted to identify with a Vamp to go through an Awakening ceremony, it was another to force them into it. "I don't think so."

  "I only need your help getting her to my place. I'll take care of the rest."

  "You want me to kidnap her?" Darus was incredulous. He'd just gotten out of jail, did Lohr really think he was going to risk going back to help him turn some chick?

  "No, my friend," Lohr said with a chuckle. "I want her to come to me on her…own. But I might need help with an obstacle. She is marked by another Sang, most likely from La Luxure judging by the marks and information I have heard. I believe it is Slade."

  Darus held up his hands. "Can't help you there. Slade is Armand's boy and already prepared to kick my ass as it is."

  "I'm certain you can find a way to be useful."

  "Look, Lohr, I just got out of jail. I'm not going back. Find yourself another patsy." When a bulked up shadow abruptly came around the corner, Darus turned and walked the other direction. He didn't even bother parting words with Lohr.

  * * * *

  Slade was still fighting a raging hard-on when he closed the bar at four a.m. It had plagued him all night, coming and going unpredictably, a relentless reminder of Kate's smooth seduction and irrational escape. It made the climb to Armand's upstairs apartment painful, but he refused to acknowledge it, refused to pay it any attention at all. He wasn't going to let his hormone enraged member, or some flighty woman, control his evening. He had a cat to feed.

  Bubbers was so excited to see him the little bastard practically tripped him as it rubbed all over Slade's legs.

  "Okay, okay. Jesus, calm down." Slade bent to scratch the gray cat behind the ears. It flopped on its side. Assuming the thing wanted its belly rubbed, he obliged and the damn cat bit him. He yanked his hand away. "Dude," he said. "Make up your mind."

  The cat was all right, but it was a temperamental thing. Slade topped off its water and food. Thankfully the litter box was automatic because it didn't matter how much he loved Armand and Julia, he wasn't cleaning up the cat's poop. He didn't care if they were on their honeymoon or not.

  Slade flopped on the couch and clicked on the TV. One nice thing about house sitting: Armand had a kickass entertainment system.

  Bubbers immediately jumped on Slade's lap and he absently stroked the cat's sleek gray fur as he scrolled aimlessly through endless channels, finally settling on The Matrix.

  Neo was deciding between the blue and red pill when Slade's thoughts jumped unexpectedly to Kate. He pushed them away. He'd already been there too many times tonight. Wondering what she was doing and whether or not she slept naked wasn't going to help anything. Instead, he let his thoughts wander to Darus.

  The asshole didn't deserve it but Slade was beginning to feel sorry for him. He couldn't imagine being cast out of the Community. As far as Slade knew, Darus was a genuine Sang, not a fetishist or Vampyre. Granted, Darus was a known Grazer, and not particularly picky about where his blood came from, but not having access to steady, reliable, safe Donors would be a frightening proposition for any Real Vampire, including Darus.

  Slade's stomach grumbled and after shoving a protesting Bubbers from his lap, rose and went to the kitchen. He'd been instructed to empty the cupboards but Armand was such a froo-froo eater it hadn't been an easy task. Too much organic this and wheat gluten that for Slade's taste. He could really go for a steak right about now.

  After rummaging through the cabinets and coming up empty — he was not eating anything soy based — Slade hit the front door. He wasn't obligated to spend the night under his house sitting duties and there was better grub at his place.

  Slade lived in what some referred to as the French Quarter ghetto. Ghetto was a relative term, of course, but the closer one got to Rampart, the more rundown the Quarter tended to be. Like everything else in New Orleans, it varied from street to s
treet and house to house. What it meant was Slade could actually afford the rent on his tiny duplex.

  It didn't matter how many tourists were crowded on the French Quarter streets, Slade would invariably run into someone he knew, even at five a.m., even during Mardi Gras. And it was usually some asshole he didn't want to see, especially at five a.m. This morning was no exception. He'd just rounded the corner onto Burgundy from St. Philip, and Darus and Lohr Varius were one block over, arguing about something.

  Slade stopped short, and would have backpedaled à la the kid in the maze in The Shining, but both men lifted their heads simultaneously to look at him. Darus immediately turned and walked the opposite direction but Lohr, in the creepy way Lohr moved, slinked toward him.

  It was too painful to watch, so Slade met him halfway.

  Sangs never shook hands. They just stopped in front of each other and stared. It'd taken Slade two years to get used to it. Shit, he still wasn't used to it. It just felt odd.

  Lohr cocked his head and parted his lips as if to smile, and then stopped mid-part. "Greetings," he breathed.

  "I heard you were back in town. What's up?" Weirdoes came and went in the Community and Slade was okay with that. He wasn't exactly normal, after all. But there was something about Lohr that made Slade's skin crawl.

  "There's a…" Lohr cocked his head the other direction, "young woman who I believe was in your establishment tonight."

  "There's always a lot of young women at Luxure, what do you want?"

  "This one is different." Lohr paused, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply. He savored the air as if some delicious scent, and not just the smell of urine, had wafted under his nose. "Beautiful, tall, clean…"

  Slade's stomach growled, reminding him he was starving. "Fuck, man, I don't have all night. What do you want?" It wasn't just his hunger making him impatient.

  Lohr's eyes took at least five minutes to open. If his skinny ass didn't start talking, Slade was going to put a fist into Lohr's bony skull. "She was marked. I merely want to know by whom."

  "Even if I knew who the hell you were talking about, you know I wouldn't tell you that. It's none of your damn busine—"