by C. D. Hussey
He hesitated for a second before returning the kiss with overwhelming passion. His hips began to thrust hard beneath her and she could no longer control the rhythm. Releasing the kiss, she held up the finger, once again capturing the trail of blood with her tongue.
His brow heavily furrowed, his eyes were glued to the finger, his cocking sliding faster inside her. "I know you want it," she said. "Take it. What do you have to lose?"
Something sounding like a growl erupted in his throat and he grabbed her hand, sucking the finger into his mouth. Bliss crossed his face when he first tasted her blood and she moaned as a wave of pleasure swept through her. She'd never Donated before and she didn't realize how erotic it would feel. His tongue caressing her finger, sucking, licking, pulling hard … his expression pure pleasure.
He pushed deep inside her and as his orgasm erupted into her, all of the energy that had been building within her suddenly crashed through her body. Wave after wave it spread from the contractions in her core until it exited her body in pure energy. She bathed him in it just as the energy from his ongoing orgasm jolted through her. Every nerve in her body felt alive, every molecule awakened.
He released her finger with a lingering embrace from his lips before sinking into the sofa cushions and pulling her with him. Her muscles slowly relaxed, but her skin trembled, like someone had hooked her flesh up to a car battery.
She leaned against his shoulder and pressed her face into his neck. His scent appealed to her, not just the smell of his blood—B positive—but the smell of his skin. It was comforting and she felt soothed in his strong arms.
He awakened desires in her she didn't know existed, and she wasn't sure how to feel. She never imagined being a Donor would suit her, or a man with a lifestyle so opposite her own would call to her. But he did, and when he needed blood again, she would freely, willingly, eagerly … give it.
Chapter Twelve
Kevin couldn't remember a time he'd been so content after sex. It was like sweet, warm caramel had seeped into his veins. His skin no longer twitched, his hands no longer trembled, and his body felt satiated, complete. He also felt oddly at peace, the anger normally gnawing at his insides quieted.
Resting his cheek against Angel's head, he closed his eyes and enjoyed the perfection in his arms and the warmth radiating through his body.
"That was amazing," she breathed.
"You're telling me." He trailed his fingers over the side of her face and down her back. "I've never met a woman like you, Angel. I've never met anyone who makes me… feel as intensely as you do."
She lifted her head from his shoulder and looked at him. "Me too."
He had a hard time believing she could feel an ounce of what he did. Taking her hand, he kissed the joining of her thumb and index finger. "You are truly breathtaking." Their gazes locked and he was sideswiped by emotion so intense he didn't know how to process it. He wanted to lose himself in her and never return.
The smell of blood suddenly shattered the afterglow. In the haze of passion, he had been momentarily confused, but he remembered now. He'd consumed her blood. In fact, he hadn't just consumed it, he'd devoured it. Craved it. Loved it.
He pushed her from his lap, her light frame offering zero resistance.
"What's wrong?"
He didn't dare look at her. Quickly tucking his cock back into his pants, he retrieved his shirt from the floor and moved out of reach of her grasp to put it on.
"I don't know what voodoo you've got going on," he said as he fastened the buttons. "But I don't want any part of it."
Her sigh echoed through the room. "It's not voodoo."
"Then what the hell would compel me to drink your blood?"
"Your body knows what it needs."
He snorted and headed for the door.
"It's why you're tired all the time, why you're body never feels whole," she called behind him. "You are a true Human Vampire, unlike most of the members of my coven. The condition we share is a real physical need. The sooner you come to terms with it, the healthier and happier you'll be."
His hand on the doorknob, he risked a final glance at her. Standing by the desk stark naked, her blond waves floated wildly around her face and her brown eyes were pleading. His instinct was to go to her, to scoop up her soft body and hold her close. To find a way to have her blood in his mouth again and her sex all over him.
Yanking the door open, he stampeded through it and then out the front door, not chancing another glance her direction. He didn't know what crazy mind games she was playing on him, but he had to get as far from her as possible until he could sort it out.
* * * *
Leaning against the desk edge, Angel dropped her face into her hands. Breathing through the tears threatening to smear her makeup—in, two, three, out, two, three—she tried to thwart the hole swallowing her stomach.
It wasn't supposed to go this way. She wasn't supposed to feel like this.
"Angel?" Ash stood horrified in the doorway, staring at her.
"Get out." She spit out the words before she caught sight of his expression. "I'm sorry … I just … need to be alone."
He didn't budge. "What happened?"
"Nothing."
"What did he do to you?"
Retrieving her fallen dress from the floor and using it as a shield to hide her nakedness, she said, "I don't…" She shook her head. "Nothing. It's fine. Just go."
"Angel—"
"Ash. Go." His expression made her heart ache, but she couldn't deal with him right now. "Please."
Stepping into the lobby, he closed the door tightly behind him.
Once alone, her held breath escaped in a sob. She balled a fist against it and moved to the couch, collapsing onto it. Pulling her knees to her chest, she dropped her head between them and allowed a few tears to fall.
What was she grieving for? The Kevin McCoy still suffering beneath his skin? The fact she had failed, that she hadn't been able to reach him? The man who kept rejecting her?
She rarely let men get to her. Armand had been the last to affect her. But it was nothing like this. With Armand, she had longed for a passion that wasn't there, grieved for a love that didn't exist. Every nerve in her body connected with Kevin. Every ache satisfied.
Jerking up, she stood in a rush and wiped her face. It wasn't worth it. Longing for something she couldn't have drained energy she was unable to spare. So what if he was unreachable. What did it matter? She'd tried. If he was unwilling to accept the truth, she should let him suffer. There was nothing more for her to do.
Except she wanted him. She hadn't wanted anyone in a long time.
She went to the bathroom to attempt to fix her face. Mascara rivers ran down her cheeks and she dabbed at them with a washcloth, knowing not much could be done about her bloodshot eyes. She hated feeling like this. Hated feeling like nothing mattered, like she didn't matter. Hated not knowing how to fix it.
One … two more passes with the washcloth and she tossed it into the sink. Bracing on the vanity, she stared at her reflection, unable to feel anything but disgust.
Her face had been an asset and burden her entire life. Beauty gave her opportunities she might not have otherwise and she knew she should be grateful. But beauty came with its share of negatives. She was often assumed to be arrogant, a bitch, dumb, or an object to conquer and possess.
Growing up, it gave her mother's revolving stable of boyfriends permission to hit on her, like it was expected. She'd never wanted, or asked, for their attention, but at seventeen, her mother kicked her out of the house, apparently tired of fighting Angel for her creepy boyfriends' attention. Greasy, unkempt men who assumed she was fair game, assumed somehow a teenage girl wanted to roll around with them in the sheets while her mother worked the night shift at the gas station.
She also learned early on any malaise she suffered was somehow self-imposed.
"You can't be sad," someone once told her. "You have everything. Most women would kill to look like y
ou."
In some ways she knew they were right. She had so much to be thankful for she felt guilty for giving into her own self-loathing. But beauty wasn't everything. In fact, at the end of the day it was nothing. Strength of character, making others feel loved, helping people reach their potential … those were so much more important, and she strived to make them a priority every day.
She couldn't keep ignoring that she was broken inside. She needed more. She needed Kevin. He was the first man to make her feel anything in ages. She needed the passion he stirred within her, needed the satisfaction helping him would bring.
She wouldn't give up on him.
She filled her lungs from the lowest depths of her diaphragm to the highest point in her chest, and then let the air out in a slow, controlled exhale. She had a duty to her coven, her friends. Her tattered emotions would have to wait. There would be time for self-pity tomorrow.
Picking up the washcloth, she finished removing the smeared makeup from her cheeks. With the help of some Visine, she did her best to camouflage the evidence of tears. After freshening up her makeup, hair and body, she smoothed the wrinkles from her dress and took a final cleansing breath before leaving the safety of her office and returning to the party.
Ash was waiting for her, and she hesitantly took his elbow when he offered it, forcing every negative thought about him away. At her coaxing he was giving himself up to the police tomorrow and yet, he still offered her his unconditional support. The least she could do was graciously accept it.
He didn't inquire further about Kevin McCoy. Kissing her cheek, he whispered in her ear, "Don't forget I love you. No matter what."
She nodded, pressing her lips together to keep them from quivering. "Thank you," she whispered. "Let's get a drink. I need one. And I know you do."
* * * *
Armand stood in the bedroom doorway, hand pressed to the door jam. He wasn't sure how long he'd been there, but he couldn't seem to move from the spot. Forward, backward, sideways, his feet were as indecisive as his thoughts.
Julia's scent filled the room, her slow steady breathing a soothing lullaby. How he longed to join her in the bed, to slide his body against hers, to lose himself in the pleasure of her flesh.
But he refused to cross that threshold.
Turning to head for the guest room, Julia's voice broke through the darkness. "Armand, is that you?" The lamp clicked on.
Keeping his back to her, he said, "I'm just going to bed."
"Don't leave."
There was a pleading to her tone that made him want to spin around and scoop her into his arms. "I'm sorry," he said instead and started for the stairwell. He heard the rustle of bedcovers and bare feet on the hardwood floor.
She grabbed his arm, using it to catapult herself around him. Placing her body between him and the path upstairs, she stared at him. "What happened to your face? Oh my God, did you get into a fight?"
"It was nothing…"
"Nothing?" She touched the dried blood below his split lip. It was the only good shot the guy had gotten in. Armand had provoked him until he swung, taking the punch fully and without flinching. The pain had felt good, and he welcomed it. It had also given him the invitation he needed to kick the guy's ass. "This is nothing?" She shook her head. "Who did you fight?"
He offered a tiny shrug and Julia stumbled back, anguish crossing her face. "What is going on with you?"
"It's nothing you need to worry about. I'll deal with it."
"Nothing I need to worry about?" Her tone was shrill. "How is this," she gestured wildly toward his face, "nothing I need to worry about?"
Closing his eyes, he did his best to keep the anger from building. He refused to lash out at her—after all, her concern was understandable—but he couldn't discuss it with her either. "Let it go, Julia. Please."
"No!" Her expression was flabbergasted. "How can you expect that of me? Why would you?"
He felt his hands ball into fists and he strained to release them, flexing his fingers wide. "I can't."
"Yes you can. You just have to trust me."
If it were only that simple…
"I'm sorry," he said, unable to look her in the eye.
Striding past her, he fought to ignore her choked sob. He didn't trust himself around her. Either he would break and get angry, or strip off her clothes and bend her over the couch like some crazed animal. Neither solution was acceptable. Until he had his beast under control, it was best he avoid her.
Chapter Thirteen
By two a.m., only an hour following Kevin McCoy's hasty escape, the coven was ready to seek out a new energy. Angel knew they would be heading to Luxure. She wasn't ready to face the bar, Armand, Julia…
In fact, she didn't want to face anyone. If she had her way, she'd be in bed away from prying eyes and fake smiles. Not fake smiles from others … those were real. It was her smile that was fake.
Kevin's rejection left her bereft. His touch ignited a fire in her she'd thought vanquished. Burning through the apathy and depression, waking the woman buried beneath. For the brief time they were together, she felt like she'd finally returned to her true self, not the empty dressed up package standing in her place.
As the coven filed from the studio and began their procession toward Luxure, she noticed Darus leaning against the building across the street, smoking a cigarette. It had been ages since she'd seen him and wasn't sure how to feel.
He waited until the bulk of the coven was halfway down the street, and she was locking the door before approaching her. Ash didn't budge from his spot beside her. "Go ahead," she told him.
He looked warily at the tall man crossing the street. "Are you sure?"
"It's Darus," she said with a smile. "And I'm no Victim."
He nodded reluctantly and joined the others.
"I'd heard you were out of jail," she said when Darus reached her. "Welcome home."
His face looked pained for a moment. But forever in Darus form, he quickly wiped the vulnerable expression away and replaced it with a smug one. "Home and ready to conquer this shit hole."
"You shaved your dreads. The Mohawk is nice."
He ran a hand over the short hairs. He actually looked really good. Darus was a mixture of many ethnicities: African, Native American, European… As a result, his features were quite striking. At one time he liked to wear colored contacts—like many in the Community—but now he let his natural eyes shine. And shine they did. A true gray, they were striking against his light olive colored skin.
"Yeah, the dreads and prison didn't mix."
"I'm sorry to hear that."
"Me too." He glanced at his shoes, and she was surprised by the insecurity exuding from him. He was always so cocky. She knew the cockiness was a façade, just like the one she fronted now.
"What is it, Darus?" She touched his shoulder. Touching, she discovered long ago, invoked a comfortable familiarity that helped people relax. "I will help you if I can."
He rubbed his head again. "Are your guys heading to Luxure?"
"Of course."
"May I … accompany you?"
She hesitated. She wouldn't go against Armand, and he had declared Darus Invisible.
"I'm back in," Darus added quickly. "Part of a negotiation." He actually looked ashamed. It burned her heart. She hated seeing people hurting.
"I'd be happy —"
"If it was anyone but you," he interjected. He glanced at his feet. "I'd hesitate to ask…" His gray eyes caught hers, and then he looked away. "I need your support. I—need Luxure, and I strong-armed Armand into welcoming me back."
"Don't worry. You have it."
He nodded. And then, as if shaken from a trance, he pulled a cigarette from his coat pocket and lit it. As he took a drag, his expression changed yet again. He grinned, rolling smoke through his lips. "Ready to show some tourists what Real Vampires look like?"
He was referring to the procession to Luxure. Even she had to admit it was entertaining. The power the
vampire archetype commanded was undeniable, and their path would be carved with awestruck fear. Watching people cower as they passed held a certain … appeal. She felt a little guilty enjoying it as much as she did.
She hooked her arm through Darus' outstretched elbow. "Sure."
She'd missed his company. Her fellow Sangs offered an understanding lacking with Mundanes. Darus, Slade, even Lohr … having a physical need for blood connected her to them in ways normal human interaction could not. And Kevin…? She couldn't omit him from the list. She knew his physical condition added to their physical connection.
Allowing herself a moment to sink into the memory of his flesh against hers, Angel smiled as she remembered the feel of him buried deep inside her, the way he eagerly took her blood, the way he filled and satisfied her to the very core. His tongue on her sex, his fingers inside her, the taste of his skin, the smell of his pheromones…
She forced her attention back to the present. Their journey took them across Bourbon Street and past popular destinations for vampire tours—the alleys behind St. Louis Cathedral, Ursulines Convent… The tours were out in full force, and they passed several. The result always the same: the tour-guide would pause, and all eyes would fall on the procession, followed by hushed whispers and cautious stares. The guides were either Community members or Familiars, so to help make their tours memorable it was customary to flash fangs or maybe even hiss. Harmless fun, of course.
When they reached the entrance to Luxure, Darus held back and let the rest of the coven file through the front door while he stood on the sidewalk. Ignoring Ash when he turned to look at her, she glanced at Darus in question. "I just need a quick drag," he said, releasing her arm and pulling out a cigarette.
From the corner of her eye, she watched Ash disappear into the bar. "Would you like me to wait with you?" she asked.