Eveillez: Deny Your Blood Lust

by C. D. Hussey

  "Sure," he mumbled as Johnson returned to his desk. Absently he took a sip of coffee and immediately made a face. It tasted worse than usual. Hot, bitter, disgusting. He glanced at the dark liquid and realized it was the first time he'd had coffee that day.

  That couldn't be right. He did a quick, mental run through his morning. The only caffeine source he'd consumed was an energy drink. He wasn't remotely tired. He had a bit of a headache, but that was it.

  He stared at his hands wrapped around the ceramic mug. The tremor was gone. Just to be sure, he held them out, palms down. Nothing. Not even a twitch. He could be a fucking surgeon his hands were so steady.

  Oh hell.

  Could all that bullshit Angel—and Lohr—spouted about him suffering from Human Vampirism be true? Did his body somehow need ingested blood in order to function properly? Was that the cure to a disease doctors couldn't fucking diagnose?

  "No way," he said out loud. Johnson glanced at him and he smiled meekly.

  It had to be something else.

  What? The whiskey?

  "Fuck," he breathed, dropping his face into his hands. Memories from the night before popped into his head. Angel riding him. Her perfect, creamy, smooth skin. The taste of her blood… He hadn't just tasted it in some kinky experiment, lost in the passion of the gorgeous woman straddling his cock. No, the minute he'd seen the crimson liquid dripping down her finger, every nerve on his body had jumped to attention. He couldn't get her blood into his mouth fast enough.

  "Kevin?"

  Holy shit. That was Angel's sweet purr.

  He looked up and sure enough, she was standing before him looking … stunning. Her hair swept up into a soft bun showing off her delicate neck, she was wearing a breezy, silky gown that looked entirely too easy to remove.

  He dropped his hands. "What are you doing here?"

  "I'm here to support Ash."

  "Of course." He felt ridiculously jealous. "He's with his lawyer right now, but you should be able to see him in a little bit."

  "Thank you."

  A few moments of awkward silence passed while they stared at each other. His guts were a tangled mess of conflicting emotions. Half of him wanted nothing more than to take her somewhere and learn every nuance, every detail of her body, her person, her. The other half was divided between being suspicious of her involvement with Lohr and being disturbed by her vampire claims. She only looked at him with longing.

  Finally he could no longer stand it. Not only was Johnson gawking at them, he needed to be alone with her. "Come with me," he said, pushing to his feet.

  Holding the door to one of the interrogation rooms open for her, he waited for her to enter before shutting it tightly behind them. Standing on his tiptoes, he pushed the camera away. It wouldn't surprise him if Johnson had already fired it up. The audio could be a problem, but he'd have to get over it. He had no way of controlling that from in here.

  When he turned to face her, she was sitting on the edge of the table, ankles crossed, posture perfect. Anticipation filled the room, pouring from him as much as her. He had to clear something up first. Before what, he didn't know. "Why did you lie to me? About not recognizing Ash in Lohr's photo?"

  She looked disappointed by the question. "I didn't know for sure it was him. It wasn't the clearest photo. I just had a hunch, but I wasn't going to implicate him until I had a chance to confront him about it. Being the subject of an investigation isn't exactly pleasant."

  For some reason the look she gave him made him feel incredibly guilty. "Did you convince him to give himself up?"

  "Yes. If he hadn't I would have called you." He remembered her concerned call this morning and once again felt incredibly guilty. "Although I won't lie, it wouldn't have been an easy phone call to make."

  "I don't know why. He hid the murder of a woman."

  "I know. But put yourself in my place. Imagine having to turn in a friend for a murder he wasn't directly responsible for."

  He immediately thought of Fitzpatrick. Kevin was Ash and Angel was Fitz. And he was a hypocrite for being angry she hadn't immediately come forward.

  He studied her carefully. Nothing about her body language said she was lying. Absolutely nothing. She looked him in the eye when she spoke, she wasn't blinking excessively, her posture wasn't guarded nor was she fidgeting, she didn't hesitate when answering his questions or dwell on insignificant details, and her story added up. Her stories always added up.

  He was suddenly blindsided by the realization he'd been completely wrong about her. If she would convince Ash to give himself up—a man she was obviously close to—she wouldn't protect Lohr. His prejudice had blinded him to her innocence.

  Still, he had to ask.

  "You really didn't know, did you? About Lohr."

  "I knew something wasn't right about him. But I didn't think he'd kill anyone."

  "And Ash? You honestly didn't know he was involved?"

  "No." Her breath hitched and she closed her eyes. When she finally reopened them they were glassy with tears. "I know it really had nothing to do with me, but it feels like he betrayed me. All these years… No, I never knew."

  He started for her, the desire to have her in his arms suddenly overwhelming. God, how he wanted to take her beautiful face in his hands and kiss every one of her tears away.

  He stopped. It was only one of the reasons they could never be together. There was still the vampire problem. What was he supposed to do about that?

  "Just do it," she said.

  "What?"

  "Kiss me. Hold me. I know you want to. I want you to."

  He stepped forward and once again stopped. If she wasn't protecting Lohr, she wasn't collaborating with him either. And that meant they didn't have some pact to mess with his mind. She'd told him from the beginning it wasn't a game. She truly believed he was a vampire.

  "I can't."

  She rose and took a step forward. "Are you sure?"

  He held up his hands. If she got any closer he'd cave. "Please don't. I really can't." The hurt on her face made him want to kick his own ass. She returned to her seat. "I'm sorry," he said. "For…" Being a dick. "…last night. I never intended—"

  "Why did you want me to come with you?" she interrupted, her brown eyes suddenly harsh. "Why bring me in here if you were just going to shun me?"

  "I had to ask about Ash."

  "You could have done that in the lobby."

  He had a response somewhere.

  "Why is it so impossible for you to accept what you want? What we both want?"

  "I'm not some human vampire."

  "I'm not talking about that. I'm talking about me."

  "It isn't that simple." Jerking out a chair he fell into it. He ran his hand through his hair. "For one I'm at work."

  She glanced at the video camera he'd shoved aside and he knew she knew work had little to do with his resistance.

  This whole thing was so frustrating. Especially with her sitting on the table, her hips at the perfect height… All he had to do was push her knees apart and he could bury his face between her thighs. It was even more frustrating knowing she wanted him to.

  "It could be simple, you know. It doesn't have to be complicated at all."

  "I just don't see how."

  "Meet me away from all this." She gestured around the interrogation room. "Away from your case, away from my coven, away from the Community. Have dinner with me."

  That would be too easy. "You don't even know me, Angel."

  "But I do. I know you're a man driven to help others, to find justice for those who can't. I know you're hurting inside, that something you did destroyed the man you used to be. I know you struggle every day with fatigue and exhaustion you just can't shake. And I know how I feel when I'm with you, how you awaken something inside me I thought long dead." She smiled faintly. "The rest is just details."

  His entire being was at war. He wished he could see the world through her eyes, to not be dragged down by details. But he couldn
't. "It would never work."

  She sighed. "Of course not. When you won't even try."

  "It would never work," he repeated. "I can't play your vampire games."

  "It isn't… We don't have to. I mean, we can just have dinner."

  Like at his desk, they stood there looking at each other for a long time before he finally cleared his throat. "You know Ash turned himself in with a condition," he said.

  "What was it?"

  "That I stay away from you."

  "Did you agree to it?"

  "Yes."

  "I'm sorry to hear that." Me too, he thought.

  She stared at him for a long while, her expression pained, before pushing off the table. He rose with her.

  "I should get back out there." She turned for the door, and he rushed forward, grabbing the knob before she could. Pausing, he tried to think of what else he could say, how to keep her there longer.

  "I'm also sorry," she said before he could open his mouth to not say anything, "for forcing my blood on you. I had no right. I shouldn't have pushed you to accept something you weren't ready to." He stood there dumbfounded. How did he respond to that? "You do look really good, though. I hope you feel as good as you look."

  He pulled open the door. And that was why it could never work.

  "Detective McCoy?" Ash's lawyer was standing in the hallway outside the conference door. It was exactly the distraction Kevin need. "We're ready to discuss our terms."

  Chapter Fifteen

  After the awful encounter with Armand, when Julia realized he would rather fight some stranger on the street than confide in his wife, she retreated to her bedroom and tried not to drown in the waterworks. Bubbers, no doubt roused by her pathetic sobs, finally emerged from his hiding spot in a valiant attempt to console her. She fell asleep clutching his warm furry body to her chest.

  Work came early and with a pounding headache. She managed to shower and slip out the door without even glancing at the stairway leading to the third floor.

  The only way she made it through the day was by turning her tears into an internal tirade that quickly became an external tirade. She got into a shouting match with the construction manager over a silly traffic control issue, sent a scathing letter to a contractor, and managed to work herself into such a fervor, she arrived home a fuming ball of hate.

  After setting her purse on the bar, she immediately called her sister. Once again, Clare's voicemail answered. It didn't ring and Julia couldn't leave a message because the mailbox was full. She screamed in frustration. She couldn't talk to Clare. She couldn't talk to Angel. And of course Armand…

  She tried to avoid looking in the direction of the stairwell. And failed. Before her brain could command her feet stay put, they were walking toward the stairs only to stop short feet from the lowest step.

  He was probably still up there. Asleep. Blood crusted all over his face. Avoiding the issues. Avoiding her.

  Why did she have to go to him? Why couldn't he come to her? She was the one who'd cried herself to sleep. She was the one who'd tried over and over to reach out to him. He should be reaching out to her.

  Fine, he preferred avoiding her? She could play that game, too.

  Stomping down the stairs and into Luxure, she grabbed a bottle of the Pinot and once again shut herself in the bedroom. This time with the wine, a glass, Bubbers, and a book to keep her company.

  * * * *

  By evening, Angel was drained. The shot of blood she'd consumed the night before had barely touched her energy needs and spending the afternoon holding Ash's hand while his lawyer and the prosecutor argued and trying to avoid looking at Kevin depleted what little energy she had left.

  Ash was pleading guilty to Accessory After the Fact to Manslaughter in exchange for providing detailed information about the victim and circumstances surrounding her death, and for testifying against Lohr. It was what she had expected but the outcome was still hard to accept. Three years. That's what Ash had agreed to. He'd be up for parole in two, but even two years was a long time to spend in jail.

  Had she done the right thing? The police probably would have never been able to identify him from that photo, and unless Lohr divulged information about the murder (highly unlikely), no one would have ever known Ash was involved. She felt like she'd thrown a man who had devoted the last four years of his life to her under the bus.

  No, she wouldn't let herself feel that way. He'd helped dispose of the body of a murdered woman. Convincing him to turn himself in was the right thing to do.

  When she finally stepped into her apartment, her hands were beginning to tremble. She had a show scheduled at Velvet later that evening so as much as she didn't want to, she had to call Hail.

  She got his voicemail. After leaving a brief message, she kicked off her heels, undressed, and slipped into bed. A few hours of sleep wouldn't hurt and it would give Hail time to call her back.

  * * * *

  His shirt was so saturated with sweat it clung to his body like a wet blanket. He would have stripped it off, but the discomfort was comforting. He wanted more of it, needed more.

  Punching up the speed on the treadmill until he was practically sprinting, Armand reveled in the blood roaring in his ears. Reveled in his lungs squeezing tight, desperate for oxygen he couldn't inhale fast enough. His temperature soared until his vision blurred and it felt as if any moment his body would burst into flames and only the sweat pouring from his pores would save him.

  Slade was facing assault charges. He'd just learned Ash was arrested. All because of Lohr…

  What Armand wouldn't give to march into that bastard's hospital room and bash his skull in.

  He revved the treadmill up even more. The motor wailed in protest, his thighs screamed, his heart thundered. Pain … he needed pain, or sex, or a good fight, or … fuck!

  Jumping his feet wide to straddle the whizzing belt as it spun dangerously fast on the flywheel, he fell forward on the handrails, his heart beating painfully in his chest. Panting, he slammed his fist onto the stop button and the machine came slowly to a halt.

  When it finally stopped, he dismounted onto shaky legs and stumbled to the weight bench, the same one he'd fucked his wife on the other day. He hadn't made love to her, or shared a moment of uninhibited passion. No, he'd pounded her for the release he craved, like she was some whore.

  Jumping to his feet, Armand charged the punching bag, attacking it with every ounce of strength remaining in him until his knuckles bled. When his muscles finally failed him, he gripped the bag with both arms and sank to his knees, his ass, and then finally fell back on the floor.

  He covered his face with his hands. He could smell blood oozing from them, feel it pooling between his knuckles. Every muscle in his body ached, every joint burned. But it wasn't enough. Rage still crawled through his veins. It refused to be satisfied, refused to die.

  What the fuck was wrong with him?

  He couldn't do this alone. He needed to let go, to let it all go. But he needed help.

  "You just have to trust me." Julia's words joined the ringing in his ears.

  He did trust her. He didn't trust himself.

  Armand rolled to his side and then rose shakily. Crossing the gym on what felt like needles, he pulled open the bathroom door. The shower was tiny, and he rarely used it, but this was one time he was thankful he'd spent the extra money to install a bathroom in the gym. He couldn't go back in the house, not yet, not like this. If Julia saw him…

  While the water heated up, Armand peeled off his drenched shirt. His balance was so compromised he had to sit on the stool to take off his shoes. The trainers were painful to remove and the blood spots on his soaked socks revealed the reason. He'd gone right past blister and into raw flesh. Disgusted, he tossed the remainder of his clothing aside and stepped into the steaming shower. The hot water stung on his raw skin and he was grateful for the continued punishment.

  Maybe he was fooling himself. Maybe he was just a coward. Julia was rig
ht. If he truly trusted her he would let her help, or at the very least he would confide his sick desires to her. She was his wife for fuck's sake. He was ready to spend an eternity with her, no matter her faults, no matter what skeletons she might be hiding. He should trust her enough to believe she would reciprocate.

  But what if she didn't?

  He grabbed the bar of soap and scrubbed his skin until it hurt and then tossed it aside. He hung his head. If he didn't have the balls to face her, to confide in her, he didn't deserve her. He realized that now, and he knew what he needed to do.

  Shutting off the water, he stepped from the shower and quickly toweled off. If he really intended to go through with this, he had a few favors to call in and he needed to do it quickly. It was Halloween, after all. His bar wasn't the only one that filled up on this holiday.

  * * * *

  Kevin was shocked by how much Lohr's injuries had improved in forty-eight hours. Much of the swelling was gone, his bruises were greatly diminished, and both eyes could actually open.

  Seeing him so well recovered made Kevin want to beat his face in. The bruises were a much nicer look.

  "Ah, Detective," Lohr greeted when he stepped into the room. "It's a pleasure to see you again. You're looking much better. Can I assume Angel finally got to you?"

  Kevin glanced at the officer securing Lohr's ankle shackles. "Can you excuse us for a minute," he glanced at the officer's badge, "Officer Belk?"

  Belk glanced at him and then at Lohr. "Sure," he said. "I'll be right out in the hall." He gave a quick tug on Lohr's shackles before leaving the room.

  When the door closed behind the cop, Kevin turned to Lohr. "What are you talking about?"

  "Have you looked in the mirror lately?"

  He peered through the open door into the bathroom and caught sight of his reflection. He couldn't deny he looked healthier than he had in years. The bags under his eyes were gone, the lines around them softened. Even his skin looked brighter.