by C. D. Hussey
After pressing glitter into her ruby red lipstick, she chose her smallest, most delicate fangs and slipped them over her canines. Custom made by one of the best fangsmiths in the country, they fit perfectly and looked completely natural. Only veneers looked more realistic. She wore too many hats in her life for that option.
Methodically and without interest, she moved through her warm up—a series of sun salutations and ballet stretches—until her muscles felt loose and limber. After checking her image once more in the mirror, she dusted her hands with climber's chalk and then made her way to the staging area.
The singer from one of the bands also performing that night, From Death We Emerge, approached her, drinking her in appreciatively. She forced a warm smile to her lips.
"Angel," he drawled, taking her hand and kissing it. His lips lingered on her skin longer than was respectful.
"Evan."
He released her hand, but his fingers trailed up her arm. "You look gorgeous."
She forced the smile to stay. She knew the role she was expected to play—beautiful vampire seductress. At times, like now, the role was exhausting. She allowed his fingers to linger on her shoulder. "Thank you. Are you playing after my act?"
"We are. Can I get you a drink later?" His eyes were lidded. "Any kind of drink."
The implication was not lost on her. There were many anxious to become her Donor, or in this instance, play her victim. She had long outgrown the power thrill her image and identity gave her.
There was some temptation in the proposition. Judging by the arousal straining his skinny jeans, his orgasm would no doubt explode the moment her lips touched his skin. The amount of Prana released would probably satisfy her needs for at least a day, if she could manage to absorb it all.
She leaned closer to him. "I'll need a drink by then," she said, tracing the side of her neck with her middle two fingers, careful not to get climbing chalk on her skin. His energy spiked, the waves of sexual arousal pouring from him, thick with pheromones. Closing her eyes, she concentrated on drinking it in. It wasn't easy, but she'd gotten better at it. Her body reacted instinctually to the sex in the energy, blood surging to her core. The temptation to take him into a quiet corner and spill his blood suddenly overwhelmed her. She squelched the desire.
Slowly she opened her eyes and met his.
"I want you so badly," he said.
The way the lust in his eyes greedily devoured her already told her that. She wanted his energy though, not his affection.
"I know," she said. The DJ was announcing her name. "Maybe after your set we can get that drink." The drink would be a martini or glass of wine, but he didn't need to know that.
As she made her way on stage, she gave a portion of her attention to the glimmers of guilt she felt for exploiting his attraction to her, but only a portion. From the time she'd entered puberty, men, and sometimes women, viewed her as little more than a beautiful object to possess. She'd learned very quickly to use it to her advantage. Her goal was never to harm, but it was sometimes impossible.
She thought briefly of Ash and pushed that guilt below the other regrets.
As she approached her aerial silks, she turned her focus to the audience attentively watching her and the serene energy oozing from them. Gripping the smooth fabric, she began to climb, letting the music guide her pace. Snaking one leg around the fabric column and stepping on the material draped over her foot with the other, she used friction and tension to turn the pinched fabric into a step.
Once she was twenty feet above the stage, she began her routine. Moving through the poses and drops on autopilot, she thought of nothing but the energy exchange that helped sustain her.
Chapter Three
It wasn't until his eyelids felt like sandpaper as they scraped across his eyeballs that Kevin realized he hadn't blinked since his "person of interest" hypnotized the room by stepping onto the stage. Unable to do anything but stare, he was mesmerized by her as she smoothly climbed two long lengths of shimmering red fabric. Using the cloth, she manipulated her incredibly flexible body through shapes that laughed at physics, twisting and contorting in gravity-defying poses. It was something he expected to see at Cirque de Soleil, not in this dark New Orleans bar.
He wasn't a stranger to the gym, even when it took three cans of Red Bull to push his body through the exhaustion constantly weakening it. But Angela Hopkins, AKA Angel, reminded him of a cat, effortlessly lifting her body upside down, around, sideways… He'd seen bodybuilders who couldn't do a pull-up as easily as she could, and they certainly couldn't hold their legs in a perfect horizontal split and then slowly lift them over their heads.
While she gracefully wrapped the silky fabric around her sleek body, he risked a quick glance around the bar. The slack-jawed faces staring unblinkingly at the stage reassured him he was not the only one captivated by her and her performance.
Since the owner of the vampire bar hadn't given him much to go on, other than confirmation he didn't have information about any alleged victims, he felt like the trip to the French Quarter was a bit of a waste. He could probably put pressure on Armand Laroque and get some answers about Lohr's coven, but he had a feeling his energy would be better spent pursuing the Darus character and the beauty on the stage. His instincts told him Armand wasn't lying about not getting involved with Lohr's coven. The hate on his face had been undeniable when Lohr's name was mentioned.
When gasps spread through the audience like a hundred exploding tires, he jerked his gaze back to the stage. Angel was making a quick decent toward the stage floor, rolling and unraveling until she came to an abrupt halt no more than five feet above the ground. Weaving a lean, muscular leg through the taut fabric, she finished her decent with delicate grace in a pose reminding him of a bow and arrow.
As she took a bow and headed off stage, he finished his whiskey and coke with an open mouthed gulp and set off to meet her.
If she was startled by the flash of his badge and his sudden appearance backstage she didn't show it. The feeling wasn't mutual. If he'd been mesmerized by her on stage, he was absolutely dumfounded by her up close. Wearing a flesh colored mesh body suit with tiny pieces of white fabric strategically hiding parts not supposed to show in public places, her body was carved from perfection. He couldn't remember seeing a more stunning woman. Not in magazines or on film.
The image of her beneath him, her flexible legs wrapped around his neck, flashed in his mind. He cleared his throat to shoo it away.
"Amazing show," he said to break the ice.
"Thank you."
"I think I pulled a muscle just watching you. I struggle to reach my toes."
She smiled. "It helps that I'm a contortionist."
It probably helped a lot of things. "Ms. Hopkins, correct?"
"Please, call me Angel. I haven't gone by my surname in over a decade." He didn't think he'd ever get used to the pseudonyms. "What can I do for you, Officer?" she asked. Something in her expression told him she knew he found her tantalizing. But then, most men probably found her tantalizing.
"I need to ask you a few questions about your relationship with Lohr Varius and about what happened at the Forever Dark Vampire Ball Saturday night."
She looked puzzled. "Of course. Shall we go somewhere more private? The dressing room should be empty."
Judging by the way the blood was rushing away from his head, being alone with her in a lockable room was probably a bad idea. He held out his arm anyway. "Lead the way."
She did, and he had to force his eyes to look at the back of her head and not her perfect, heart-shaped ass. Of course, staring at the back of her head only shoved another sordid thought into his brain. He rubbed a hand across his eyes and focused on the point just above her silky, blond hair.
On the stage behind them, a band started with an aggressive drum riff and some screaming lyrics just as she pushed open a chipped and peeling, black painted door. The furnishings, like the rest of the backstage area were somewhat run down. A
couch, armchair, and coffee table lounged at one side of the room, a huge mirrored vanity with four stalls at the other. Only one stall was occupied with neatly arranged makeup and hair styling accessories. Racks for clothing lined the wall leading to a bathroom and adjacent kitchen sink with mini-fridge.
She held the door open for him. "Have a seat," she said. "May I get you something to drink? Coffee perhaps?"
It was after nine p.m., why on earth would she assume he wanted coffee? He could certainly use a cup, but the offer didn't make sense. She didn't know about his excessive caffeine needs.
"No, thank you."
He sat on the worn red couch. Patches of the arm were threadbare, and the springs groaned when he sank onto them. With impeccable posture, Angel took a seat at the vanity and steadied her gaze on him. There was something about the way her brown eyes drank him in that was odd. He should be scrutinizing her, not the other way around.
"You were asking about Lohr…?"
"Let's start with the Forever Dark Vampire Ball." In spite of a spring digging painfully into his thigh, Kevin felt surprisingly relaxed, calm, and at ease, kind of like the way he felt after a big meal. He wondered if it was an accumulation of the alcohol he'd consumed earlier or the woman before him. She seemed to radiate calm.
"What would you like to know?"
"Tell me about the blood room. Specifically Kate Miller and Melanie Young in the blood room."
Her manicured brows pushed together. "Kate was a guest of Lohr's, and I took her and Melanie to him. Kate wasn't comfortable, so I escorted her out."
"What about Melanie?"
"She did not seem to share Kate's discomfort."
"What happens in this blood room?"
She leveled her gaze on him. "What do you think?"
He found himself smiling. "Humor me."
She smiled back and his eyes flickered to her mouth. Two tiny white fangs flashed beneath her ruby red lipstick. "Blood sharing. And probably some heavy petting."
"Did you stay? After escorting Kate from the room?"
"Briefly."
He tried to lift his gaze to her eyes where it belonged but found himself fixated on watching her speak. Her soft lips, the peek of a sharp fang…
"I went back to confirm Melanie was all right. But a blood room is not my … scene." She said the word like it was an apology. He wasn't sure why. "I'm very confused," she continued. "What is going on?"
"You are aware Lohr has been arrested?"
She looked shocked. The feeling of calm in the room faltered. "No."
"What is the nature of your relationship with him?"
"We are associates and business partners. I usually handle entertainment for his public events. Why was he arrested?"
"Do you attend his private events?"
"Sometimes. They are few and far between these days. Lohr spends much of his time away from New Orleans."
"Are you a member of his coven?"
"No," she said slowly. He wondered if it was the whole truth. "Please, Officer…"
"Detective McCoy."
"Please, Detective McCoy, tell me what has happened."
He assumed word would have spread by now even though the police hadn't released any information to the media. Apparently Armand and crew were more discrete than he would have suspected.
"Lohr is being held for murder and kidnapping."
She closed her eyes, the color draining from her face. "Who has died?"
The calm feeling was gone. Every spring in the under-stuffed couch now dug mercilessly into his skin. "You do not seem surprised your friend has been arrested for murder."
Her eyes reopened; the orbs glassy with anguish. "I never doubt the horrors people are capable of."
He thought of the horrors he'd witnessed in his lifetime and couldn't agree with her more. "I wish I could," he murmured.
"I hate to imagine what atrocities you've seen, Detective."
He smiled bitterly. "It's better if you don't."
As her eyes locked on his, a fresh wave of sadness passed over them. She looked so troubled, for a second, he forgot himself and started to rise, to reach out and comfort her. Luckily, her words interrupted him. "Who has died?" she repeated.
The couch squeaked as he settled back onto it. "Tina Spalling and Melanie Young."
Her hands clenched into tight fists in her lap. "And Lohr…?"
"Directly responsible for one. Indirectly the other." He pushed away any lingering sympathies toward her. He had to focus. "Tell me, Ms. Hopkins, when you took Melanie Young and Kate Miller to him at the Forever Dark Vampire Ball, were you aware of his intentions to kidnap and torture them?"
"No," she said, her voice distant.
"So you had no idea of his plan to hold Kate Miller against her will? To tie her to a bed while he sliced her up and drank her blood? Or that he planned on using Melanie Young as bait to lure Miss Miller to his warehouse?"
Horror flashed across her face and then she wiped it away. "No. I knew he was interested in Kate, but I never…" Her gaze locked on nothing in particular, and she was obviously working something out in her mind. "But I never dreamed he would force her." She continued, turning her attention back to him, her brown eyes refocused. "You said two women were dead, Melanie and Tina. Kate is…?"
"Recovering. She was discharged from the hospital last night."
Her breath escaped in a relived sigh. "And Tina… How did she die?"
"Lohr shot her in retaliation after she shot Scott Corelli. In the head."
She maintained the perfectly erect posture, but her entire body trembled as if any moment she might explode. Even as she kept her expression neutral she couldn't hide the grief in her eyes. He could sense it as if it were his own.
Was it true grief or actually guilt? That's what he needed to know.
She visibly swallowed and then delicately cleared her throat. "What do you need from me, Detective?"
Like Armand, she knew more than she let on. In a flash, he decided imploring her help would get him further than accusing her. Her story matched Kate Miller's perfectly, so it was possible she wasn't involved in the abduction plot. Making her an ally might be more effective than making her an enemy.
He'd like to say it was for the benefit of the investigation. That her looking like she could break down any minute didn't make his heart ache. He told himself that while her vulnerability might be great for a confession (of what he wasn't sure), it wouldn't help him uncover information about any other victims.
"We suspect the recent victims weren't his only ones," he told her. "Can you come down to the station and see if you can make an identification?" Yeah, his request had nothing to do with wanting to see her again and everything to do with the case. It was all for the investigation.
"I can, but I don't know how much help I'll be. People come and go so frequently in the Community, and I rarely know their legal names. I might be able to tell you if I recognize a face but not much more."
"Any assistance you can offer will be greatly appreciated."
She nodded tightly. "When should I come down?"
"Any time tomorrow. Also, Ms. Hopkins—"
"Angel."
It really was a suitable name for her. Whether or not she was the Angel of Death was yet to be determined, she was still an angel.
"Angel," he repeated slowly, letting his tongue get used to the name. "If you can give me the names of the people who were with Melanie Young in the blood room at the Vampire Ball, it will help a lot."
She frowned. "The best person to speak with would be Kindle, the bouncer. Everyone else was probably too … distracted to offer much information, and I was only there for a few minutes. I do not know Kindle's legal name, but he works at La Luxure."
After scribbling the name in his notebook, Kevin rose from the worn sofa. Angel rose with him. Taking a card from his wallet, he stepped across the small room and handed it to her. There was something fragile about her that made him want to wrap her in his arms
and shield her from the horrors outside this room. Letting his eyes linger on her smooth porcelain face, he had to remind himself just because her features were angelic didn't mean she wasn't one of those horrors.
"Call me." He should have added, if you think of anything. She nodded again.
He turned and headed for the door. As he was reaching for the knob, she stopped him with the words, "I know why you're tired all the time."
He glanced over his shoulder toward her. He could feel the skin scrunching between his brows.
"When you're ready to hear it," she continued. "I will tell you."
There was no response he could utter. Pulling open the door, he stepped into the dark, cluttered backstage hallway, sounds from the screeching band bouncing hollow echoes off the blackened walls.
As if the interview took all his energy, exhaustion suddenly gripped him tightly. He decided to forgo his interview with the Darus character a few more hours. A quick nap in his car, an energy drink after that, and he'd be as good as new. Or at least as good as a rusted out truck with a miss in the engine.
* * * *
The moment the dressing room door shut behind the detective, Angel collapsed into the chair. She could no longer contain her anguish and shuddered as it overwhelmed her. Dropping her forehead onto her forearms, she released the emotions she'd held captive while the police officer was with her, tears soaking her skin.
She wept first for Melanie, the beautiful curvy girl who had seemed so eager, so excited when she'd taken her to the blood room. Dead. How was it possible? When she'd checked on her after escorting Kate out, everything seemed fine. She was engaged in a blood ménage with Lohr and Satin, but it definitely wasn't unusual or alarming, not for a blood party. And certainly safe. When had it gone wrong? How did it go wrong?
And Satin? A vision of the woman with her head blown open taunted her, and she couldn't push the imagined picture from her mind. They had never actually been friends. Angel tried, but Satin never accepted.