by C. D. Hussey
"This is just a party," he muttered.
She sipped her martini. "That's true."
"I don't get it."
"What were you expecting?"
"Blood."
She laughed. "Luxure handles that."
"But, don't you drink blood? I mean, my investigation indicated—"
"Yes. But it's physical for me."
"But not for them?"
"Most people here do not drink blood. We focus on the exchange of energy."
"What makes them vampires then?"
"Desire."
Two swallows and the whiskey was gone. So much for not shooting it. "Angel, I'm a simple man. You're going to have to break things down for me."
"With pleasure." She took his empty glass and refilled it. "In this context," she gestured around the room, "the idea of the vampire is more philosophical than physical. It is a state of mind, a desire to transcend beyond the mundane and become something more … evolved. We're here to walk the path of the vampire, to realize spiritual immortality. We achieve these ideals by embracing our inner vampire."
He felt his eyebrows scrunch together, happily taking the liquor from her outstretched hand. "The religion of the vampire?"
"Sort of, but no more than yoga is a religion." His eyebrows weren't relaxing. She laughed again, obviously amused by his confusion. "It really isn't so complicated."
"Actually, I thought it would be more complicated. From where I'm standing, it looks a lot like people playing dress-up and pretending to be vampires without doing any vampire activities." He took a drink of whiskey as he took in the room. "Blood would actually make it seem less … silly."
Her smile fell. "I don't think embracing the vampire archetype is silly at all. Think about what the vampire represents: power, beauty, control. The vampire is always in control of everything around them. Think about how empowering it is to be able to walk into a room and view everyone as prey. To own your own sexuality. To ooze with such confidence people clamor to be near you." She set her glass down on the bar and faced him.
Oh shit.
She slid close to him and placed a hand on his chest. He felt the warmth immediately. It radiated from her hand like ripples in a pond, spreading over his chest, his groin and down his limbs until his fingers and toes tingled.
He stared at her. "What are you doing?"
She pushed closer until the tips of her breast brushed his ribs. "Showing you there is more to being a Vampire than playing dress-up or even drinking blood." She lifted her chin as she looked up at him and he fought the desire to cover her waiting red lips with his own. "Do you feel that?"
He wanted to say no, but nodded instead.
"That's energy. It moves through us all. In Japanese it's Ki, in Sanskrit it's Prana. The Human Vampire is deficient in this energy. There are several ways to get it, blood being one. But in this coven, we don't focus on blood. We focus on energy. Through meditation, yoga," she smiled, "and good parties."
He heard what she said, but his attention was definitely on what was happening with his body. His entire body tingled as though his nerves had all gotten up and started dancing. "That's amazing."
"With practice, anyone can master it, not just Vampires." She pulled her hand back and the warmth and buzzing faded away.
It was too much. It was all too much. "I'm having a hard time —"
"I know. You just have to let go of your prejudice."
"That's asking a lot."
"I have faith you can do it. If you just try." He opened his mouth to say, "no way", but she interrupted him. "I see through you, you know," she whispered. She returned her hand to his chest and stepped closer. It didn't have the same effect as last time, but her touch still felt amazing, creating its own heat. His body melted into hers. "Past the tough guy, no nonsense detective archetype you embrace." He wanted to drown in her eyes. "I see you are broken, not just physically as I am, unable to generate sufficient Prana, but broken by guilt and sadness." Her voice was so soothing as it wrapped around his brain it was like a comforting blanket for his soul. "Your entire aura is darkened by it, your energy tainted with it. What happened to you, Detective? What did you do to cause so much distress?"
The image of a shattered body flashed in his mind.
He felt his teeth gnash together just as he grabbed Angel's hand and pulled it away from his chest.
"I'm really tired of this game," he hissed. He couldn't deal with this now. Not with the weirdness, not with her persistent determination to convince him he was a vampire, and especially not with the memory of the life he destroyed and the monster he'd become.
Her expression was pained. "It isn't a game. Please…"
He had to get away from her; she was too fucking tempting. She was his goddamned apple and he was playing with fire. He bent close to her, keeping his voice low. "Like hell it isn't." He dropped her hand. "Doesn't matter. I'm ending it now."
* * * *
Julia was having a hard time sleeping. After the bazillionth time she'd woken, she finally clicked on the lamp with a sigh and checked her phone for the time. It was after midnight and she was alone.
That actually wasn't unusual. She and Armand maintained pretty different schedules. Having to be at work at seven a.m. meant she went to bed fairly early. After they'd had a little alone time, Armand usually went downstairs around ten-thirty and worked in the bar while she slept. Sometimes he closed the bar, sometimes he didn't, but he rarely came to bed before three a.m.
So even if it was normal for her to be alone at this time of night, she'd never felt lonelier.
Pushing the comforter aside, she climbed out of bed. Maybe he'd come home and she just hadn't heard him come in. She wanted to resolve this rift. The Angel incident dismissed, she was still a little pissed about being shut out, but brooding in their bedroom sure as hell wasn't going to solve that. She needed to talk to him. Get him to open up. Figure out what the hell was going on in his head.
She refused to think their rift was permanent. A bump in the road. That's all it was.
The main floor of the apartment was empty. She decided to try the upper floor. They were in the middle of remodeling it, but one guest room was complete and a small bathroom was plumbed in.
The bulk of the third floor was still in pretty rough shape. Chunks of plaster were missing from the walls. Paint flaked from the high ceilings, buckling from past water damage. The wood floors wouldn't be refinished until the walls and ceilings were repaired. Barefoot, she had to walk carefully to avoid getting a splinter. Even though Armand had grown up in this house, his family had only occupied the first two floors. This floor had been untouched since the nineteenth century.
When he inherited the property after his parents died, the entire building had needed work. He'd also inherited the Laroque plantation and after selling that property, used some of the money to turn the first floor into a bar, build the gym above the garage, and remodeled the second story. The rest had been intelligently invested.
He was not here either. The bed was immaculately made, so she knew he hadn't been in it recently. Pushing aside her pride, she decided to call him.
Straight to voicemail.
She sat on the edge of the bed in a defeated heap and then fell back on the mattress, grabbing the pillow and hugging it to her chest. God, it smelled like him. She hated this, hated all of it. Until two days ago everything had been perfect. The entire past year had been perfect.
She knew he had a temper he hid, and didn't handle it well when things out of his control went wrong. Normally though, all he needed to de-stress was a date with his treadmill or punching bag or her.
What did he need now? Why weren't the normal things working? Was he just that upset, or maybe she wasn't enough anymore. What did he tell her earlier, that she couldn't handle what he needed? Oh God, what if he finally figured out his boring, girl-next-door wife was too boring after all?
She rose and wiped her eyes. The pillow was damp so she turned it over.
After she smoothed any wrinkles from the blanket, she headed back downstairs. He should be home soon. They could talk then. She'd explain she was no longer angry and maybe he'd open up to her. In fact, she would apologize for overreacting about Angel. She didn't care anymore anyway. She just wanted him back.
Chapter Eleven
When the detective thrust her hand away and turned his back to her, Angel felt her heart slide into her stomach. Using the corner of the bar to assist her weakening legs, she slumped as her energy waned. It took all of three seconds before Ash rushed over.
She couldn't deal with him right now. After the detective's dismissal, one would think she'd crave Ash's affection, but the thought of pandering to him only drained her further.
She held her hand up as he reached her. "I have to go. He needs me."
Helping Kevin McCoy was the only thing that mattered. The desire was so deep in her bones she couldn't ignore it. It had invaded every nerve of her being. The tortured man trapped inside him was screaming to get out. She could reach him. She knew she could. He was within her grasp, she only had to act.
Before Ash could respond in any way, before he could even open his mouth to utter a word or take a breath, she turned and hastened for the door, ignoring the stares following her.
She caught up to Kevin in the lobby. "Detective McCoy!"
He paused, his head dropping forward. Shaking it off, he pushed forward.
Running, her heels clacked loudly on the hardwood floor. She couldn't let him reach the door. Whatever it took, she needed to make him stay, make him understand.
Slipping her body between him and the door, she braced her hands against him, pressing into the hard ridges of his chest muscles. He pulled up short, swaying to keep from stumbling into her.
"Please."
His eyes closed and she could see the tension working his jaw. Pressing his lips into a thin line, he shook his head again with tiny, jerking movements.
"Please," she repeated, sliding her hand up his chest, his neck, until it rested against his unshaven cheek, the stubble biting into her palm. "Detec—Kevin. I just need…"
"What? What do you need?" His steel blue eyes snapped open and she couldn't finish the sentence. He stared at her, his eyebrows pushing together. "Why are you doing this?"
"I can help you."
"Why?" he demanded. "Why would you want to help me?"
"I told you. I see through this," she searched his face, "act. There's more to you. I know it. I can feel it. Whatever happened to you, I can help you move past it. I can help you with everything. Help you not be tired. Help you heal."
His throat worked. "I don't deserve your help."
"Yes. You do."
"No. What I've done … is unforgivable. No one can help me."
Her heart broke. "Everyone deserves forgiveness, and you deserve my help." Grasping the front of his button up shirt, she pulled him in and pressed her mouth against his. There was a brief, very brief, moment of resistance before he returned her kiss. It started gently, his lips soft and tender as they wrapped around hers.
The tension hunching his shoulders softened as a moan vibrated from the back of his throat. The soft kiss lingered for a moment before every piece of tenderness fled from him and raw, unadulterated passion replaced it.
He pushed her against the door, his hands rough as they trailed down her arms and over her body. It felt good to be touched by a man with calloused hands and imperfect nails. His stubble was heaven as it brushed her face like sand paper.
She was overcome by sexual need so urgent it was painful. It had been a long time since she wanted a man's cock inside her so much she ached.
"I must have you," she breathed. Yanking his shirt open, the buttons sliding easily through the holes, she ran her tongue down his neck and over his chiseled pecs. Her fingers trailed down the gully between his ab muscles until they touched his belt. She grabbed it, pulling his hips and rock hard cock to her. Snaking her body against the long mass bulging just beneath his trousers, she closed her eyes in ecstasy as warmth and wetness surged to her core.
She lifted her gaze to his, ready to share her sexual energy with him. His flared nostrils, lust-filled eyes, and rapid rise and fall of his chest told her it was unnecessary. His need was as strong as her own.
"Now," she said.
With a growl, he took her shoulders and pushed her backward. "Your office."
They reached the closed door and Angel fumbled to turn the knob as Kevin's mouth explored hers, his thrusting tongue a promise of other pleasures to come. The feel of his flesh on hers robbed what little senses she retained and she struggled hopelessly with the handle. When she finally wrapped her hand around it she twisted, hard.
The moment the latch clicked free, he punched the door open.
Clutching his shirt, she pulled him with her as she moved backward until she hit the desk corner. Sitting on the edge of the desk, she opened her knees and he eagerly pushed his way between them, sliding his palms and her skirt up her thighs. Gripping her ass, he moaned, "What the fuck do you do to me?"
She couldn't stop from grinding her drenched panties against his cock. She wanted—needed to feel … something … anything … everything. "Does it matter?" she murmured, running her tongue around the edge of one nipple and undulating her hips against him.
He closed his eyes, pained lust crossing his face. "Yes," he replied with a rough exhale.
"No," she countered, stripping his shirt from his shoulders and gripping it at his navel, pinning his arms to his sides. She caught his startled expression and grinned. Rising slowly from the desk, she eased him backward, using the fabric restraint to guide him. "Just let go," she murmured, sucking his lower lip into her mouth and biting gently.
"But I like control."
"I know." They'd reached the sofa and she gently but firmly pushed him down. She bent forward and unlatched his belt. As she was sliding his zipper down, he stopped her and guided her back to an upright position.
Shaking his head, he said, "Not yet."
She raised an eyebrow. "Oh?" She eased her skirt up and her black mesh panties down. "Is this what you're waiting for?" Kicking free of the undergarment, she placed a heeled foot on the edge of the sofa next to his knee. She eased a finger between her legs. "Do you want to be teased?"
She made one pass over her swollen clit before he pushed her hand aside and grabbed her ass, pulling her to his mouth. She had to brace against the wall with one arm as his tongue flicked across her clit, biting, sucking, pulling. The fingers of her free hand twisted through his perpetually tousled hair, locking him to her.
Her head felt like a bag of bricks was glued to her forehead and it hung heavily on her shoulders. Waves of energy shot through her core, a jolt of electricity with every flick of his tongue. She could feel the orgasm building, the energy piling higher and higher. But the build up was never the problem, the release was.
If she could just relax … concentrate.
"Damn you taste good," he murmured, sliding a finger inside her. More jolts of electricity shot through her. The energy stacked higher. Her legs began to tremble, her breath catching in her throat. She countered the lapping of his tongue with the roll of her hips. Just a little more…
And then remembering his plight, her orgasm went on standby as she pulled back.
He looked disappointed. "I want to taste you when you come."
Straddling him, her knees by his hips, she pushed the fabric of his pants aside, releasing his cock. She grinned. No boxers … just the way she liked it. "And I want to come with your dick in me."
"We could've done both," he whispered in her ear just as she slid onto him. "Oh, fuck," he moaned and the sentiment reverberated through her. He filled her perfectly, neither too big nor too small. Riding him slowly, she savored the pleasure whipping through her body.
Suddenly he stopped her. "Shouldn't we have protection?"
"Not necessary," she murmured, resuming the rocking of her hips. She
started to explain further, to explain that diseased blood had a unique odor, and it was the wrong time of her cycle for pregnancy, but he was no longer paying attention to her words.
His lips moved to her neck as his hands began to explore the flesh buried beneath her dress. One cupped her ass, the other gently peeled the dress, and then the edge of her bra away from her breast, revealing an erect nipple that he caught in his mouth and sucked.
More energy. Too much energy. She pushed the waves aside, forcing her mind to remember her task. She changed the stroke of her core: sliding down fast and then squeezing the muscles tight and slow on the upstroke.
"Holy shit," he breathed, releasing her nipple and falling back against the sofa, hands on her hips as she rode him, guiding, keeping his cock buried deep inside her. When he began to shudder she knew it was time.
Pulling a tiny scalpel from the pocket of her bra, she yanked her dress over her head, tossed it aside and then unhooked her bra and let it fall to the floor. She needed the entire visual of her body for this.
Clutching the scalpel in one hand, she bent forward and kissed him, softly, gently, her lips and tongue matching the slow rhythm of her hips. "Kevin…"
"Jesus." With his hands, he asked her hips to move faster. "Oh my God, Angel." She pulled back and his eyes opened, taking in her naked body with one swoop of his gaze. "Holy shit."
His cock swelled just as more wetness and heat jumped to her core. Her body began to tremble. Bending to kiss him, she moved her hands behind his head and used the scalpel to slice the middle finger of her left hand. Not too much, just enough to allow him a taste.
Once again she pulled back, briefly slowing her hips until she felt the ache of desire pour from him. It was then that she brought forth the bleeding finger.
He was shocked. "What the —?"
One hand pressed to his shoulder, she brought the finger to her mouth, seductively licking the trail of blood sliding down it, never easing the stroking of his cock.
His dick bucked within her and she knew the blood was turning him on. She only had to convince him. "Just a taste," she whispered, covering his lips with hers and sliding her tongue into his mouth.