Eveillez: Deny Your Blood Lust

by C. D. Hussey

  "I'll take a shower and then relieve you downstairs," he said as he tucked his cock back into his exercise pants. "If you like, you may call Kindle and Onyx and see if they want to work." He didn't even glance her direction as he shoved open the door to the stairs leading down to the courtyard.

  She stared in disbelief as he disappeared. What the hell?

  She was reminded of a very awkward one-night stand she'd had three years ago. Only then, she was the one scrambling to put on her clothes, and Tony, or Tom, or whatever his mother had named him, was the one staring at her back as she fled the scene.

  Shell-shocked, she retrieved her discarded clothing. It wasn't the quick, rough sex that bothered her. She understood Armand was upset and understood why he pounced on her; sex was a natural stress reliever for him, especially sex with her, or so he said. He told her once she was his natural tranquillizer. But for him to jump her bones and then run out the door without even a "thanks for the fuck" made her feel a little … used.

  When he left, he'd seemed even more tense than when she'd come in, and that scared the bajeezus out of her. He obviously needed something she couldn't provide. And there was something about the way he'd refused to look at her, like he was ashamed.

  In the year they'd been together, Armand had never made her feel like an afterthought, and she never felt disconnected from him. She did now.

  Chapter Two

  The alley leading to La Luxure was gated and locked. Kevin peered through the intricate wrought iron grid. A narrow brick walkway opened into a small courtyard, and he could see the closed door of the bar at the far end. He glanced at his watch. Eight p.m. Surely they'd be opening the bar soon.

  He scanned the surroundings. There was an Irish bar across the street. He could use a caffeine pick-me-up while he waited for the vampires to come out and play.

  A few locals were bellied up to a central wooden bar, but otherwise, the place was empty. The bartender had a huge star tattoo on his neck and some sort of swirly pattern next to his left eye. Kevin didn't realize how many people had face and neck tattoos until he moved to New Orleans. He was no prude, but in his opinion, ink above the chin was a bad idea.

  "What can I get you, friend?"

  "Do you have coffee?"

  "I can start a pot."

  "Good. I'll take an Irish coffee." He hated drinking on the job, but while caffeine might be the only thing getting him through the day, alcohol helped him face it. A shot here and there took the edge off, helped keep his temper in check. Since he fled St. Paul, he'd turned into a pissed off rattle snake, never knowing what would set him off.

  As the bartender started the coffee, Kevin asked, "So, you know when the vampire bar across the street opens?"

  "They're usually open now. For the past couple days though there's been a sign on the gate saying something about a family emergency."

  "It's gone now."

  "Then I'm surprised they aren't open."

  When the bartender delivered the coffee and Kevin reached for it, he caught a glimpse of his trembling hands. Even before he started medicating himself with whiskey, his hands shook. It was worse now.

  Taking a drink, he spied his reflection in the mirror behind the bar. He looked more tired than usual, the circles under his eyes pronounced. His pants were starting to hang a little too low on his hips. He might be a man who regularly worked out, but he was getting a little concerned about his lack of body fat. Maybe he should be grateful for his six-pack, but he was more worried it was another sign of some undiagnosed illness.

  Like a dog though, there were a few signs he was somewhat healthy. His blue eyes were bright and clear and his hair thick and shiny. It was getting too long, he noted, smoothing the tousled brown strands into place. And his five o'clock shadow was beginning to look like a ten o'clock shadow. Personal grooming would have to wait until he had a better handle on this case.

  "Vampire bar…" he said to the bartender. "A bunch of weirdoes, eh?"

  "I've seen weirder."

  If there was something stranger than a group of freaks who liked to drink blood, he wasn't sure he wanted to see it.

  "Looks like they're opening up now," the bartender said, jutting his chin toward the open door.

  Kevin twisted to see a perfectly normal looking woman he recognized from the hospital unlocking the gate. He turned back to the bartender. "Hey, you got a to-go cup?"

  "Sure thing." He held up a clear, plastic cup. Pain was tattooed across his knuckles. "I only got plastic through."

  "That's fine." Kevin tossed money on the bar and looked anxiously across the street. He was ready to start putting some vampires in jail.

  The woman who'd unlocked the gate stood behind the bar looking completely out of place. She smiled uncertainly at him when he walked in. "You're the detective from the hospital right?" He nodded, and she held out her hand. Her handshake was surprisingly firm. "I'm Julia Laroque."

  The bar owner's wife. She wasn't what he expected. Not in the least. The pale pink circular marks on her neck were the only indication she wasn't completely normal.

  "What can I do for you, Detective?"

  "I just want to ask you some questions."

  "Sure." He sat at the bar, and she glanced at the warped plastic cup containing his steaming coffee he set on the bar top. "Do you want a real cup for that?"

  "I'm fine."

  "I insist. You're going to melt a hole in that thing and spill coffee everywhere." She pulled out an extravagent red glass coffee mug etched with intricate designs, dumped the contents into it, and then tossed the twisted cup into the trash.

  "I assume you're here to ask questions about the Lohr Varius incident," she said, leaning against the bar and taking a sip of red wine. She was an attractive, normal looking woman, and he was once again perplexed by her attraction to this bizarre lifestyle. "I don't think I'll be much help since my husband and I were on our honeymoon in Europe. We'd just returned that night."

  "What I'd like to hear, Mrs. Laroque, is what you know about Lohr Varius."

  She shrugged. "Not much except he's creepy. And I think he's some sort of artist."

  "Have you ever been to any of his events?"

  "Afraid not. I've only been involved in this community since last year. The Forever Dark Vampire Ball was the first event of his I could have potentially attended—if I'd been in town."

  "Do you know anything about his coven?" Over the last several days, he had spent hours sifting through vampire websites and forums. It had taken a while to wrap his tongue around the lingo—and the lifestyle—but he was trying.

  She shook her head. "Not at all. When I first encountered Lohr last year, Armand warned me to stay away from him." She shuddered. "It wasn't advice I was going to ignore. Besides, he's only in NOLA a few months out of the year."

  "So your husband knew Lohr was dangerous."

  "Well, I wouldn't say he 'knew'."

  "But he warned you to stay clear of Lohr."

  Her lips became a thin line. "What are you implying, Detective?"

  He took a purposeful drink of coffee. The whiskey added an extra burn to the hot liquid, but it felt like smooth silk sliding down his throat. "Do you think it's possible your husband knew more about what went on in Lohr's warehouse?"

  "No way."

  "Are you sure? You said you've only been in this community for a year. How can you be sure what your husband knows?" He took another drink. "How well do we really know anyone, even our loved ones?"

  "Well enough," she said tightly. The strain behind her doe brown eyes told him she wasn't so sure about her statement. If he pressed, he was certain she'd cave.

  Unfortunately, he wouldn't have the chance.

  A man who could only be Armand Laroque pushed through velvet curtains leading to what looked like a storage room. It was absurd, but the temperature in the room seemed to drop at least ten degrees. What wasn't absurd was the unmistakable anger radiating from his stiffly held body.

  He place
d a hand gently on his wife's shoulder. His hazel eyes softened briefly when he looked at her, but were rock hard when they settled on Kevin. "Any questions you have regarding what I may or may not know will be directed to me, Detective."

  Armand looked like a man who was used to intimidating people with his height, size, and somewhat menacing appearance, but Kevin wasn't going to be one of them. For one, Armand wasn't any taller, and while he might have a little extra bulk on him, he wasn't impressed by it. Or his fangs for that matter.

  "I'll direct my questions to whomever I want, Mr. Laroque."

  "Julia, do you mind heading upstairs while I speak to the detective?" As tight as Armand's jaw looked, Kevin was amazed he was able to enunciate the words.

  "Yeah, I do." She didn't seem particularly pleased to be dismissed.

  "Please," he said, his lips moving while his teeth stayed clamped together.

  Grabbing her glass of wine, she shoved through the curtains into the back room. Kevin heard heavy footsteps climbing stairs and then a door opening and slamming shut.

  "Honeymoon's over, eh?"

  It was the wrong joke to make.

  Armand swung his head around at an achingly slow pace. Pressing his palms against the bar, he leaned forward. "I'm willing to help you, Detective. But stay out of my personal life and stay away from my wife."

  "Tell me what I need to know, and I might."

  With a mirthless laugh, he pushed off the bar. "I'm not the enemy here," he said. "I'm as horrified by this as you are. And I want to see everyone involved punished."

  "Good. We're on the same page, then."

  "Tell me how I can help."

  Kevin had to forcefully swallow his anger. He was here to gather information, to discover the extent of Armand's involvement, not get in a pissing contest with him.

  "What do you know about Lohr's coven?"

  "Not much. I stay out of that shit."

  "Isn't your bar is the center of social activity for all the vampires?"

  "Perhaps, but Luxure is neutral, and I work hard to keep it that way. I purposefully stay away from the coven drama. All are welcome here, whether they are Human Vampires, blood fetishists, or people who just like to dress up. My goal has always been to provide a safe environment for the entire vampire subculture."

  From his research, he'd learned Armand was the ambassador for safe blood-play. He'd lectured across the country, written articles… He was the fucking safety police when it came to blood. Still, his past was far from clean.

  "Funny. That didn't seem to be your goal in L.A. about fourteen years ago. You were one of the primary suspects in the murder of Natalie Brinks."

  "Natalie is the reason La Luxure exists. And I believe 'primary suspect' is a gross exaggeration."

  "So, Natalie wasn't your lover, and you weren't at the party where she died?" Armand was correct, "primary suspect" was an exaggeration. He had only been the primary suspect for about five minutes.

  "Yes we were lovers, but more importantly, we were friends. At that time in my life I had more lovers than friends." There was no humor in his words.

  "Her death was very similar to Melanie Young's."

  "I know," he said darkly. "I begged her to leave with me, and she refused. I wish I'd forced her into the taxi. In fact, I'd give anything to go back and change it." He smiled sadly. "Not many days go by when I don't regret my decision that night."

  His alibi had been pretty rock solid. A call to the taxi company, several witnesses watching him get in the cab … but even if it hadn't been, like Melissa Schwartz's death last year, the most the prosecution had been able to charge the perps with was involuntary manslaughter. The New Orleans police had gotten lucky with Melissa's case. She had enough drugs in her system that if Aaron Jones had actually called for help instead of leaving her on the street, they wouldn't have had a case at all.

  "With your history," Kevin said, "you can understand why I have a hard time believing you when you say you don't have insight into the covens."

  "This is a relatively small community, so yes, I am familiar. But coven is a generic term. Surely you know that. You can replace it with family, or circle of friends, or clique." Armand held out his hands. "If you like, you may call Luxure my coven."

  "Did you know Lohr was dangerous? You did warn your wife to stay away from him."

  "I knew he was eccentric and had a disturbing love affair with blood. I also knew he associated strongly with the mythological vampire, but I didn't know for sure he was dangerous. His behavior bothered me enough to not want Julia around him. Trust me, Detective, if I'd thought for a second he was kidnapping, torturing, and killing women, I guarantee you he'd be dead, and I'd be talking to you from behind a Plexiglas window."

  The seething hatred burning in the other man's eyes told Kevin he wasn't joking. Johnson had been right about one thing—Armand obviously policed his group. And he was probably pretty good at it.

  "So, you didn't know about the other victims?" Or victim, according to the disturbing photos they'd found in Lohr's warehouse.

  "What?" All color drained from Armand's face.

  "We suspect there might be another victim."

  His lips became non-existent and his hands clenched into fists. The cords on his neck rose and his fists began to tremble. He closed his eyes and seemed to will his muscles to relax.

  Armand Laroque was obviously a man with a temper, one he seemed to be trying to keep under control. Given his own recent history, Kevin could respect that.

  His question was answered, though. Armand did not know about other victims.

  "Would you like a shot of whiskey, Detective?" he asked out of the blue.

  The question caught him off guard. "Um…" He'd only added the one shot to his coffee. Surely, Armand didn't know about it.

  "I'll take that as a yes." Armand turned and pulled a bottle of Glenfiddich from the top shelf. Grabbing two shot glasses he filled them to the brim and roughly set the bottle aside. Nodding toward the full glasses, Armand took one and waited.

  Kevin hesitated.

  "Don't worry. I need it as much as you do."

  It was a weakness he despised, but he did need it. The moment he picked up the shot glass, Armand met it with the one in his hand. "To making sure Lohr gets everything he deserves."

  He could definitely drink to that. "Sláinte!"

  When the empty shot glasses hit the bar, Armand moved them aside. He took a few deep breaths. "How else can I help?"

  "Why don't you tell me who was in Lohr's coven?"

  Despite his declarations of wanting to help, when he paused before answering, Kevin knew immediately whatever came from his mouth would only be part of the truth. "Lohr was not a regular here, and like I told you before, I do not get involved with the covens. So besides Satin…" That one was easy. She was dead. "…I recommend you speak with Darus."

  That one was also easy. Last year, Armand had nearly beaten the man to death before turning him over to the police. The records didn't actually say as much, but it was implied.

  "What about Angela Hopkins—Angel?"

  "She's not in Lohr's coven." His answer was immediate.

  "If you don't get involved in the covens, how do you know?"

  "She has her own."

  "Coven?" Kevin meant to say the word in a neutral tone, but like every time he tried to use the vampire lingo, it came out with a hint of disdain.

  "Yes, Detective." Armand stepped back from the bar. It was clear body language he was done with the conversation. "I wish I could help you. I really do. I purposefully don't get involved in the covens and I definitely did not know about any other victims. And you must remember Lohr is a public figure who capitalizes on his vampire image. With his art and the Forever Dark Vampire Ball, his involvement in the Community spans decades and continents. Anyone seriously involved in the Community has come in contact with or worked with Lohr Varius. That doesn't mean we, or they, are buddies."

  While Armand might be protec
ting members of Lohr's coven by not mentioning them by name, Kevin believed him when he said he didn't know about additional victims. The quick dismissal of Angela Hopkins definitely piqued his interest, though. She was high on his list of people to question.

  Finishing the coffee, he set the empty red glass on the bar and checked the time. Ms. Hopkins was scheduled to perform at nine-thirty. He obviously wasn't going to get anything more here; he might as well jump ship and swim to more plentiful waters.

  Rising from the barstool, he pulled a card from his wallet and set it on the bar. "Hey, thanks for the shot."

  "Anytime."

  "If you think of anything else…"

  Armand took the card. "You're the first person I'll call."

  He seriously doubted that.

  * * * *

  With practiced hands, Angel carefully applied extravagant false lashes to her eyelids. She wore them so often, barely any glue was wasted, and she always placed them perfectly the first time. The entire routine had become practiced ritual: makeup—and lots of it, fake lashes, lipstick, glitter, fangs, and occasionally a bindi or two, depending on the performance.

  At one time, prepping for a show excited her, added to her performance jitters. Now, it was as engaging as brushing one's teeth.

  She wasn't sure what had changed in the last year, but found she was growing more and more disinterested with not just performing, but everything. There wasn't anything else she wanted to do—performing was in her blood—but she wished she could recapture the enjoyment she once found in it and life.

  Her naturopath had recommended an array of holistic treatments, many of which she already employed. Yoga, meditation, physical exercise … these were already daily activities for her. The herbal supplements only gave her indigestion.

  She'd tried increasing her intake of Prana from blood, but when her Donors, Ash and Hail, started looking spent she'd had to back off. It hadn't helped anyway.

  If the crystal healer she had scheduled in a few days didn't help balance her energy, she was going to visit a traditional doctor and inquire about antidepressants. She hated the idea of putting chemicals in her body, but if things didn't improve, she didn't know what other option she had.