Eveillez: Deny Your Blood Lust

by C. D. Hussey

"Absolutely."

  "Mind if I head back in…?"

  "No, go ahead."

  "You look like you're ready for a shot anyway," Slade said as he led him back into the bar. "A whiskey man right?"

  "Good call."

  "I got your back."

  And for the first time, Kevin truly believed it. Slade, Armand, Kindle … were all men he would happily call on when shit went down. He had no doubt he could count on every single one to have his back.

  He skipped the liquor store on the way home. Granted, he had a decent buzz from the multiple whiskey shots Slade poured him, but he didn't want a repeat of the previous night. Given where his head had a tendency to go late at night, keeping liquor at home was a bad idea. Especially when there was a loaded gun within reach.

  Though not on the direct route from La Luxure to the station (where his car had been returned), he found himself walking past Angel's studio. He paused at the front door. Not a light was on in the building: not upstairs where Angel lived nor in the studio below.

  Was she out? It was Halloween. She was probably performing, or maybe with a man…

  It felt weird when jealousy slugged him. Just as it had been strange her relationship with Ash made him jealous. Sharing a couple spontaneous steamy moments didn't exactly make them a couple. He had even less of a claim on her after running out on her after coitus, and then rejecting her again at the police station this afternoon. She'd surprised him already, though. After everything—from their first encounter at the police station to him fucking and running—she'd still called him this morning to see how he was feeling.

  Pulling up the history on his phone, he noted the unassigned phone number that could only belong to her. His finger hovered on the TALK button.

  What would he say if he spoke to her? "Sorry I've been such a dick and I'm completely freaked out by your claim to being a vampire, but I'd really like to have sex with you again."

  Skipping over her number, he called the station to see if there was an update on Lohr Varius. When the report came back empty, he started to return the phone to its carrying case and stopped. Impulsively, he pulled up Angel's website on his phone's browser and checked her performance schedule. Even though the information was out there for people to find, it felt a little stalkerish.

  Sure enough, she was scheduled to perform at Velvet, the venue where he'd first met her, at ten-thirty. He glanced at the clock. If he hurried, he could make it. He had to see her again. Even if it was from the audience.

  He wasn't the only one wearing bandages at Velvet. The bar was packed with costumed patrons and no one gave him a second glance as he pushed his way to the base of the stage. Besides some fucked up drive to watch Angel's lithe body twist and contort on the silky red fabric hanging in the middle of the stage, he wasn't sure what exactly he hoped to accomplish by coming here.

  On the off chance he decided to face her, what did he want to come of it? Was he going to cry on her shoulder, expose his demons and let her gentle voice soothe his woes? Bury his face between her thighs and let the taste of her sweet orgasm distract him from his failures? Drink her blood again?

  Shit. Every one of those possibilities sounded amazing. Even the last one. Especially the last one.

  Hanging out with vampires was wreaking havoc on his psyche.

  The background music faded and soulful violin replaced it. Angel emerged from backstage wearing a black mesh catsuit with slashes of glittering fabric crisscrossing her body. Her platinum blond hair was swept up into a sleek updo, and netting covered her face. As gorgeous as she looked, something felt off about her as she sauntered toward the fabric.

  He couldn't quite pinpoint what was wrong. She moved gracefully through her routine, her strong, acrobat body perfection in motion. A few times he thought he saw her hesitate as she maneuvered from one pose to another. The hesitation was so brief he was sure he imagined it.

  Glancing around the bar, he tried to ascertain whether anyone else was concerned. The audience only stared at her in mesmerized awe. There was nothing but admiration pouring from them. And something else. Like at Angel's yoga studio, when she'd asked her yoga vampires to share their energy with the room. It seemed to seep from them and flicker toward the stage like static…

  The music began to build and he turned back to the stage. Angel was weaving the fabric around her body. Interspersed between climbs and splits, the pattern of weaving was intricate. He wondered briefly how one could remember all the steps when the music peaked and she let go.

  Somersaulting quickly, she came to the end of the wrapped fabric and something went wrong. The fabric caught for a brief second and then she fell, hitting the ground with enough force the crash was audible over the audience gasp.

  His heart stopped beating. "Oh my God!" Jumping on stage, he ran to her and knelt at her side. "Are you okay?"

  "I think so." She looked dazed as she unsteadily rolled to her side. She'd landed on her back and seemed to be struggling to catch her breath.

  "Easy. Don't push yourself."

  Her gaze lifted to him and surprise flashed across her face. "You came to my show."

  "I had to see you."

  She tried to smile and winced.

  "Here." He dipped an arm under her shoulders and supported her as she sat up.

  She looked around him toward the gaping audience. "Help me up. Please."

  "Nothing's broken?"

  "No."

  One of the bouncers joined them on stage and Kevin shooed him away. He eased her to her feet. Barefoot she only came up to his armpit and he had to stoop to keep his arm firmly supporting her. She gave a brief wave to the audience, presumably to let them know she was all right, before heading off stage with his assistance.

  Once in the dressing room, he set her on the worn couch and then shut the door, locking it as he did. He returned to her side and knelt beside her. "Are you sure you're okay? Can I get you anything?"

  "Just water, please." He returned with a glass and handed it to her, perching on the edge of the couch and facing her as she leaned against a pillow. "Thank you." As she took the glass from him, he noticed her hands were trembling. It reminded him of the way his hands normally shook.

  He nodded toward them. "That fall must've really shaken you."

  She glanced at her hands. "Oh. It was a little startling," she said dismissively. She eyed his bandages. "You're hurt."

  It was his turn to be dismissive. "It's nothing. Don't worry about me. You're the one who just took a nasty spill"

  "It was barely ten feet." Her focus stayed on his injuries. "This doesn't look like nothing." Setting the glass aside she first touched the bandage on his head. "Did someone hit you?"

  "Possibly. I may have just tripped, though."

  She moved to his hands, examining each bandaged palm in turn. When she looked at him in question he said, "I climbed over a fence topped with glass shrapnel."

  "Why? Who were you chasing?"

  "Lohr. He escaped custody when we were transporting him." Keeping her fingers wrapped tightly around his, she lowered her hands to her lap.

  "How?"

  "He had help."

  She closed her eyes. "You're about to give me more bad news aren't you?"

  "I'm afraid so. We think it was Hail."

  Her breath escaped in a heavy sigh. Finally releasing his hands, she removed the netting covering her face and wiped her eyes. Oh fuck, those were tears. He hated seeing her cry.

  "First Ash and now this. Hail and I weren't even close, but I never thought he'd betray me. And to help Lohr? Who killed Satin? How could he? Why would he?"

  Unable to help himself, he put his arm around her. Her head dropped on his shoulder. "I don't know," he soothed, resting his cheek against her head and wrapping her tightly in his arms.

  She buried her face into his chest and cried silent tears while he held her. She fit perfectly in his arms. He wished she fit perfectly in his life.

  When someone banged on the door she lifte
d her head. She dabbed at her eyes in a way that suggested she was trying not to smear her Black Swan-esque makeup. Either she was doing a damn good job or the makeup was extremely waterproof.

  "Angel, are you okay?" The knob jiggled.

  "I'm fine." Her voice wavered.

  "Why is the door locked?" The knob jiggled more roughly this time. "I heard you fell. Please let me in."

  "That's Kindle," she said quietly. "You might want to unlock the door before he breaks it down."

  Another pang of jealously shot through him. "Is he your boyfriend or something?"

  "No. But I do employ him as a private bouncer, and he's very protective of me."

  "Why is he here? Doesn't he work at Luxure?"

  "He's helping with the door. Luxure doesn't get really busy until after midnight." It looked busy when Kevin was there earlier. He wondered what really busy entailed.

  Kindle banged on the door again. "Angel, please!"

  "I'm coming," she called.

  He rose from the couch and started for the door. The sound of his name stopped him. He turned to her.

  "You're the first man I've been with in a long time," she told him. "The first man I've wanted to be with. Not Kindle or Ash or Hail. Only you."

  He swallowed hard and nodded roughly. The only man … he never would have dreamed. She had so many admirers, most, if not all, far more suitable than him and probably less dickish.

  Twisting the lock, he opened the door. Kindle gave him a shocked look before pushing past and running to Angel. "What happened?" he asked as he knelt by the couch. Kindle might not be a lover, but Kevin definitely didn't like the way he looked at her.

  "I must've missed a wrap."

  "You never miss wraps."

  She gave him a sheepish smile. "My focus isn't what it should be."

  "Why not?" Kindle touched her forehead like he was checking for a fever. He dropped his gaze to her trembling hands. "You need blood, don't you?"

  Angel's eyes were cautious when she glanced up at Kevin. He tried to keep his face neutral. This conversation couldn't be going where he thought it was…

  "I, um…"

  "You do! I didn't think you looked right when you came in tonight. Why on earth would you try to perform in this condition?"

  "I thought I'd be okay." She glanced at Kevin again, her expression apprehensive. Looking her over, he finally saw what Kindle did. She didn't look right. Besides the tremor in her hands, her face looked tired, exhausted even. Her normally bright complexion duller and he wondered if the heavy theatrical makeup was hiding dark circles. She looked like he normally did. Like he had yesterday, before drinking her blood.

  He took a step back. No.

  "I'll go to Luxure later," she told Kindle. "It'll be fine."

  "I know that shit won't hold you. I heard about Ash, and Slade just called and told me Hail's in Lohr's corner now. Here," he pulled out a knife from his pants pockets and Kevin watched in shock as Kindle sliced his forearm like there was nothing to it. He held the arm in front of her, blood pooling on his skin.

  She put her hands on his arm as if to push him away. "I can't," she said, but her eyes were glued hungrily on the crimson liquid. When a droplet escaped and slid down Kindle's muscled forearm and onto the floor, desire flashed across her face. Her throat working, she closed her eyes and pushed feebly against his arm. "I can't," she repeated.

  "Of course you can." Kindle pushed his arm close to her mouth. "I don't mind at all." Judging by Kindle's expression, Kevin was pretty sure not only did he not mind, he wanted it. Bad. "Take it Angel. You need it more than I do. It's just going to waste now."

  She inhaled deeply and then bit her lip. Her body seemed to shudder and when she reopened her eyes they were downright lustful. Grabbing Kindle's arm, she pulled it the rest of the short distance to her mouth. The minute her lips covered the wound, Kindle's expression turned sexual, and one would have thought her lips were covering something else.

  "I'm sorry," Kevin took a step back and then another. "I can't be a part of this." He turned for the door.

  "Kevin, wait!"

  He turned to her and though she immediately covered her mouth, it wasn't before he saw the blood staining her lips. Without looking back, he escaped through the open door and then out of the bar. Refusing to think about the horror scene he'd just witnessed, he focused on one thing and one thing only. Getting his ass home ASAP.

  * * * *

  Hands firmly covering her mouth, Angel fell back against the couch. Why couldn't anything ever go right with him? All she had to do was resist Kindle's blood. That's it. Things were going so well. She only had to resist. Tame her blood lust.

  "I'm sorry, Angel. I didn't realize…" Kindle had his hand cupped over the still bleeding slit. He rose and sat beside her.

  She took a cleansing breath and planted the most reassuring smile she could manage on her face. "It isn't your fault. You offered me a beautiful gift."

  He glanced toward the door. "I assumed he was Familiar."

  She forced her body to rise and went to the sink. She dampened a paper towel. "He is Familiar. He just isn't accepting."

  "Isn't he also Family? I mean, I thought—"

  "No, you're right." She wiped her mouth and then tossed the paper towel into the trash. Dampening another and grabbing a dry one, she returned to the couch. "Consider him estranged," she said as she sat back down. "Give me your arm."

  "Don't you want any more? You barely had any."

  "I can't. Not right now."

  "Angel, you need it."

  "I know. Later. I just can't do it." She gently peeled his fingers away and set the damp towel over the cut.

  "Don't starve yourself. I’m right here."

  It was a funny expression. No Sang would ever die of hunger because they hadn't consumed blood, but the saying was effective in its imagery. "I know. And I really do appreciate it. But I can't until I get a handle on this situation."

  "You mean with the detective."

  "With my brain." She wiped away all traces of blood and pressed the dry towel against his wound. "Don't worry about me. I'll head to Luxure later. I should be able to wrap my head around my Donor situation by then."

  "I'm happy to help."

  She caught his gaze and with the amount of adoration pouring from him eyes she knew immediately unless she wanted to take him as a lover, there was no way she could take him as a Donor. Not without breaking his heart. She'd already been there with Ash. She didn't want to go back. Her next Donors would need to be strictly plutonic. Even if she had the luxury of having a Donor who was also a lover, she would still need a second Donor. Her blood needs were too great for one person, even someone as large as Kindle.

  And if she had the lover she wanted, it would never be a luxury she'd enjoy.

  "Thank you. I do appreciate it. And I might take you up on in at some point." If the blood was drawn without putting her lips on his flesh. "Just not now." She glanced at his arm. "I don't have a proper first aid kit for that here. You'll want to clean it later."

  "I will." He rose and discarded the bloodied towel. The cut wasn't actually very big, and was already beginning to seal. "There isn't anything I can do for you?"

  She didn't deserve to be the object of so much adoration. "I really just want to go home."

  "My car's here. I'll drive you."

  She'd like to say no, but knew that would be incredibly rude of her. Besides, the idea of climbing into the back of a smelly cab was not appealing. The tiny amount of Kindle's blood she'd consumed wasn't enough to touch her symptoms and her head was really starting to pound.

  "That would be lovely, Kindle. Thank you." He helped her to her feet and after she grabbed a cover-up and her purse, he led her to his car. She'd have to find a way to thank him for his kindness. Like everything else, it would have to wait until later when her wounds weren't so raw.

  Chapter Twenty

  When Kevin woke the next morning he could tell something had changed.
The energy he'd sprung out of bed with the day before was gone. He didn't feel as tired as he normally would, but he definitely needed coffee. And a shower. And fresh bandages for his hands.

  It was actually close to noon when he woke up. Not that he was surprised. On his rare day off, when his alarm wasn't screaming at him to wake up at eight a.m., he rarely clambered out of bed before eleven. Regardless of when he retired. Mornings were his nemesis. They always had been.

  Coffee cup in one hand, insulated coffee pot in the other, he made his way to the front porch. As he plopped into the mismatched outdoor furniture without a coat and on the first day of November, he was reminded of the benefits of living in the South. It was a beautiful day: sunny and at least sixty-eight. The perfect day to get his confused thoughts in order.

  Or not. From the moment he left Velvet, he had successfully buried every thought, memory, and emotion to the recesses of his mind. It was a skill he'd developed after years working murder cases. The only way for many, including him, to mentally survive homicide work was to disassociate from it.

  An hour and half a pot of coffee later, a second-line parade started to make its way up his street. The constant parades had been an unexpected surprise and he enjoyed watching them roll down the street. He seemed to live on a popular route and had been able to catch several since the temperature had dropped below hell.

  Even though this one had a small float, five colorfully dressed dancers, a full jazz band, and at least one hundred followers, he couldn't enjoy the procession. Just as the parade was rolling passed his porch, he started to pour himself another cup of coffee and as he tipped the pot forward, realized with dismay his hand was shaking. Setting the steel pot down, he held both hands in front of his chest. Sure enough, alcoholic hands.

  The shots of whiskey he'd had the night before were not enough to give him the shakes. They were caused by something else.

  He refused to think about it. He refused to think about anything. Not St. Paul, not Shelly Holmes, not Lohr Varius, not the fatigue he felt creeping into his muscles, not Angel—especially not Angel.