Eveillez: Deny Your Blood Lust

by C. D. Hussey

  He rose. "Where are you going?" Slade asked.

  "I have to see her." He paused at the door. "Shit," he muttered, reaching for his wallet and pivoting back toward the bar.

  "On the house." Slade held up his hand. "The first one's free." He grinned. "I have a feeling you'll be back."

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Pounding on the front door to Angel's yoga studio did nothing but irritate the wounds on his hands. He'd called four times on the way over even though his unanswered calls went straight to voicemail. Her website said she had classes scheduled tonight, but the studio looked vacant. If she wasn't there, he couldn't figure out why she'd leave the place unsecured and vulnerable. Especially when there was an accordion security gate scrunched uselessly against the wall. It sent a shiver of panic through him.

  The door was easy enough to shimmy open. Any crook with an ounce of experience could be inside in less than thirty seconds. It took Kevin a full minute. The place was empty, not an ounce of life stirred anywhere.

  He called her name, his voice bouncing hollowly off the hardwood floors. Not expecting an answer he moved down the hall. Judging by the floor plan and building layout, he expected the stairwell to the upstairs to be in her office. He had to break into it, but it was even easier than the front door.

  It looked the same as it had the other night. The uncluttered desk sat in the middle of the crescent shaped room, an open door to a bathroom behind it. The couch was tucked against the wall beside the exit door. He avoided looking at both it and the desk as he snaked past them. It wasn't that the memories were bad, he just didn't want to get lost in them.

  As he assumed, the stairs were located beyond the bathroom. Just as Slade suggested would happen, he was beginning to feel energized. Climbing the stairs didn't put a blip in his energy level. Not just energized though, he felt alive, aware.

  A shot of blood … it was ridiculous. There was no denying the effects, though, not even if he lied to himself.

  "Angel," he called as he pushed open the door at the top of the stairs. He didn't have to break in this time since the door was unlocked. Only still, cool darkness greeted him.

  Her apartment, like her wardrobe, was lavish, meticulously decorated, and distinctively feminine. A mix of Old World antiques and vintage charm, the apartment was as unique and eclectic as the woman residing in it.

  When she wasn't in the bedroom or living room, he felt relief fill his chest. Until he noticed the light seeping under the bathroom door.

  He approached the bathroom cautiously. Maybe she was just taking a bath, or using the facilities. He called her name again. When she didn't answer he felt his stomach sink into his shoes.

  Pausing at the closed door, he pressed his ear against it. Silence.

  "Angel," he said quietly, knowing it was pointless. Testing the knob, he found it unlocked. He pushed the door open and his heart fell into the studio below.

  Wrapped in a fluffy red towel, she was curled up on the floor.

  He knelt on the floor next to her and gently touched her shoulder. "Angel." When she sluggishly stirred, the breath he held rushed out in an explosive sigh.

  "Thank God," he breathed. She was alive.

  Shaking her gently, he repeated her name. She moaned a little but still didn't wake.

  Frantically, he scanned the room, looking for evidence of drugs or a drug overdose. There was nothing on the vanity. No empty pill bottles, no syringes, no drug paraphernalia of any kind. Nothing in the trash either.

  He looked back to her. Her breathing was slow and regular, she wasn't sweating, there was no trace of vomit—on her, the floor, or in the toilet—or anything else he'd associate with a drug overdose. She was just sleeping … soundly. On the bathroom floor.

  Scooping her up, he carried her to the huge four poster bed and laid her on the mattress. She didn't stir, not once, and her skin felt like ice.

  The red satin sheets were crumpled and he knew she'd been sleeping recently. He also knew by the untamed waves that her hair had air-dried. And she wasn't wearing a lick of makeup. Had she collapsed when getting out of the shower?

  Tossing the towel aside, he pulled the covers over her. She looked so tiny, fragile and pale. He sat on the edge of the bed. Stroking her hair, he kissed her gently. "Wake up gorgeous," he whispered. "I need you." He kissed her again. "Angel."

  Her brows pushed together and she stirred, but her eyes stayed clamped shut.

  Could this all be symptoms of the Vampire condition? Kevin knew the level of exhaustion he regularly faced and Slade had hinted at the extent of Angel's blood needs. If she didn't satisfy them, was this the result?

  Kicking off his shoes, he climbed into bed with her, stretching alongside her small frame and placing his head on the pillow next to hers. "Angel. Love. Please wake up. I need you." Brushing her cheek with the backs of his fingers, he marveled at how impossibly smooth her skin was. "God only knows how much." He shook his head. "I never knew I needed anything or anyone until I met you. Please, please, please open your pretty brown eyes for me."

  Slowly, her eyes blinked once, twice, and then fully opened. She might have been startled to see him lying inches from her face, but she looked more confused than anything. "Kevin?" Her voice was groggy, her speech slow.

  He smiled, rubbing his thumb across her lower lip. "Yeah, it's me."

  She blinked again and looked around the room. "I think I fell asleep in the … shower."

  "You were on the bathroom floor."

  "How'd I get in bed?"

  "I carried you."

  "Why?"

  "I thought the bed would be more comfortable than the bathroom rug."

  Her lips tried to curl into a smile. "Why are you here?"

  "I had to see you. I had to tell you what a fool I've been."

  She ran a hand over her eyes. "I'm sorry I'm not … presentable. I … wasn't expecting company."

  He pulled her hand away. "Don't be ridiculous. You look beautiful." And she did. Her makeupless features were no less alluring than her painted features. In fact, it made her look strangely vulnerable and he wanted nothing more than to wrap his arms around her and shield her from the world.

  "I'm glad you're here," she said with a feeble smile.

  "Me too."

  "I'm so sorry. About last night. I didn't mean for you to see that. I know it upset you."

  "Maybe a little. I think I was more jealous than anything."

  "About Kindle? No reason to be. I'd much rather have you in my mouth." The way she slurred the words made her sound drunk. Literal or innuendo, he liked the sound of that.

  "Good. And don't be sorry. You were right. About everything."

  "Really? You understand now?"

  "I think so. Maybe." He smiled. "I did just come from Luxure."

  "Good." Her lids started to droop and her head drifted away from him.

  Shocked, he patted her cheek. "Angel."

  It was hardly fast, but her lids lifted. "Sorry," she mumbled.

  "Again, don't be. Hey." He took her face in his hands and forced her to look at him. "Is this," with his eyes he gestured over her body, "part of the Human Vampire condition?"

  "Yes. I waited too long."

  "What about last night?" Slade indicated she was a daily drinker, but…

  "I didn't finish. After you left, I couldn't."

  "Why?"

  "Because of you. All I've wanted since the moment we met is," she furrowed her brow, "you. I keep messing it up. Pushing too hard. Forcing too much. I'm so sorry." She drifted off again, her eyes closing, her head sinking into the pillow.

  "Jesus," he muttered, easing her back up. "You need blood, don't you?" Surprisingly, the question formed easily on his lips. And the plan forming in his brain felt shockingly natural.

  "I'll go to Luxure." Bracing against the mattress, she made a valiant attempt to rise, her efforts shaky and wobbly. Popping up, Kevin helped ease her into a sitting position. She pushed hair from her face with clumsy
hands. "I was trying to get there earlier. That's what the shower was for." She leaned back against the headboard. "I just couldn't get seem to get out of bed. But you're here now. Thank you."

  "And I'm not going anywhere." He leaned forward and brushed his lips across hers. Maybe the gesture was premature, but she didn't seem to mind. In fact, she lifted her chin for more. "And neither are you." Tipping her forward, he slipped a pillow behind her back.

  "Armand won't let you take blood from the bar."

  "Doesn't matter. I have plenty in my body."

  She stared unbelieving at him. "I can't ask that of you…"

  "You aren't asking. I'm offering." He'd known the moment he laid eyes on the dark circles marring her pale skin he would do anything he needed to in order to make her well again.

  "Are you sure?"

  "Positive."

  She placed a frigid hand on his cheek. "I am honored."

  Peeling her hand back, he kissed the palm and then cupping his hand over hers, blew warm air over her fingers. "Just tell me what to do."

  "In the bathroom, there's an autoclave. Tools should still be in it."

  "Okay." Her hand fell like rock when he released it.

  He rose from the bed. Her lids immediately lowered, her head drooping to one side as if her muscles were too fatigued to hold it up.

  The small white autoclave was tucked into the corner of the vanity. He'd seen machines like it in tattoo shops to sterilize needles. After fishing the tools from a metal chamber filled with glass beads, he hurried back to the bedroom, removing his shirt as he went.

  Slumped against the headboard, Angel lifted heavy lids when he sat next to her on the bed. Holding out the tools he asked, "Which one?"

  "The fangs are probably the best." He isolated a pair of metal fangs attached to adjustable metal loops and set the other pieces on the dresser. The fangs were pretty self explanatory, and he slid them over his fingers.

  "Now what?" He held the sharp metal teeth up to his neck. "Here okay?"

  She moved his hand up and over a few inches. "That's safer."

  Without hesitation, he pierced the skin. He could immediately feel the warm fluid slide down his neck. Angel's now lust-filled gaze locked on it. Wetting her lips, she eased forward onto her knees. Her movements were more stable than they had been earlier, but he still had to help support her. He tilted his head away, exposing all of his neck to her. Her hands braced on his chest, she captured the lowest droplets of blood with her tongue and then traced its path until her mouth covered the puncture holes.

  Their moans matched. "Oh my God," he breathed, amazed how delicious her lips felt on his neck. She sucked hard against his flesh, and he felt his cock swell and fill his jeans.

  Clutching her shoulder with one hand, he slipped his other under her ass, cupping, supporting. She moaned when his hand brushed across her sex, rolling her hips against the touch and sucking harder on his skin. The liquid heat pooling between her legs did nothing to alleviate his straining cock. He slid a finger into her. She responded with a thrust of her hips, pushing him deep inside.

  Locking her elbow around his neck, she undid the button of his jeans and shoved her hand into his pants, finding his cock and easing it free.

  "God, Angel," he moaned as her cool skin slid over his length. With her lips on his neck, her hand on his cock, his blood in her mouth, and her slick, wet pussy all over his finger, he was about to lose it.

  Blood. Sex. Definitely a good mix.

  This was right, everything about this was right. He'd never been more certain of anything. Human Vampires, bloodsuckers, freaks … he no longer cared.

  * * * *

  Kevin's blood was driving her crazy. She couldn't get enough of him. She couldn't taste enough of him, couldn't feel enough of him. She needed him, ached for him.

  Whimpering as he pushed another finger inside her, she moved her hips faster, harder. His cock was heaven in her hand, the firm length swelling with every stroke. She couldn't wait for him to come, anxious to devour the energy of his orgasm, to give him as much pleasure as he was giving her.

  Suddenly, he flipped her onto her back, hooking his arms under her knees and spreading her legs wide. When his cock buried deep inside her, she came, crying out as pleasure wracked her body. His orgasm immediately followed hers, his body slamming into hers as he exploded inside her. Even though his blood was no longer on her lips, she could feel his energy race through her, electrifying her nerves and expelling the fatigue from her bones.

  Panting, he eased from her and rolled onto his back, pulling her with him. "Jesus," he muttered.

  "No, just Angel." She kissed his jaw, loving the way his short beard brushed her lips.

  He returned her kiss. "But you have saved me."

  Reaching across him to retrieve a tissue from the nightstand, she perched on her elbows and pressed the cotton to his neck. Her movements were already stronger. She'd never felt the effects from blood so quickly. It had to be the energy of his orgasm. "Maybe from a lifetime of exhaustion," she said.

  "It's so much more than that. You didn't give up on me, even when I deserved it."

  "I know."

  "Even when I treated you like shit." His gaze locked on hers. "Angel, God, I am so sorry. I have been nothing but a dick to you."

  She smiled and tossed the tissue in the trash. "I told you; I saw through all that. This condition isn't an easy thing to accept and I pushed too hard. The rest of the time you were only doing your job."

  "Was I?" He shook his head. "It doesn't matter. It's no excuse. I couldn't see past the case, past my own bias." He trailed his fingers down the side of her face. "I couldn't see what was waiting for me."

  She caught his fingers and pressed them to her lips. "But you can now?"

  "I really don't deserve you."

  "I don't believe that. You're here."

  "I'll never be able to treat you the way you need."

  "And how do you think I need to be treated?"

  "Like a princess."

  "Who says I want to be treated like a princess?"

  "Don't all women?"

  "No," she said matter-of-factly. "I want a partner, a friend, someone I respect, a lover—of course. But I don't want someone who's going to kiss my ass all the time. I get that enough."

  He laughed. "I imagine you do."

  "Somehow I doubt ass-kissing is one of your talents."

  "Not remotely." He raked his hair. "Okay, before this goes any further, before I cause you any more hurt or pain, there's something you need to know about me. My mistakes … now … in the past… Let's just say when you find out about them there's a good chance you'll want to run as fast as possible in the opposite direction. And I definitely won't blame you."

  "I told you before, everyone deserves forgiveness. You deserve it." She caressed his lips with hers. "Tell me what happened to make you feel so guilty."

  Brushing a strand of loose hair aside, his gaze locked on her face for a long time. "My guilt is hard earned."

  "You can trust me. Please, tell me."

  "Get your running shoes out. I think even your ability to forgive will be challenged."

  "How will you know if you don't give me the chance?"

  "Okay." He seemed to drink in her face for a long time before turning away from her and locking his gaze on the ceiling, like he was too ashamed to look at her while he confessed his perceived sins.

  "We were watching the house of a murder suspect. We didn't have enough evidence to arrest him but we all knew he was guilty. The house wasn't fit for a dog to live in, so we reported him to Child Protective Services and luckily got his kid out. But he also had a girlfriend he liked to knock around. We weren't so successful getting her out. We were pretty sure they were going to make a run for it. In fact, we were counting on it. One night, I took watch while my partner slept and ended up dozing off myself. That was all it took. We found them both dead a couple days later." Shame colored his face. "I will never forgive mysel
f," he added quietly.

  She was silent for a long time. It was more than she imagined, and she suddenly understood why he'd been so driven to punish people for their role in the deaths of Lohr's victims.

  "Understandable," she said. "But unnecessary. Forgiveness comes with time. You didn't know what caused your exhaustion."

  "No, but I should have been able to stay awake. It was only thirty minutes. I'd consumed enough caffeine to give a horse a heart-attack."

  "Caffeine…" she shook her head, "is practically worthless for us."

  "I wish I'd known that four months ago."

  "But you didn't. Had you ever fallen asleep on a stakeout before?"

  "No."

  It was her turn to caress his face. "Then you have to forgive yourself. I know it's a mistake that feels unforgivable. But you can't change it. Just like I can't change delivering Melanie Young to her death."

  He glanced at her. "You can't take the blame for that. You told me yourself: you didn't know Lohr was a murderer."

  "And you tried to get that woman to leave. And you probably saved the child."

  He snorted.

  "People do horrific things. I wish we could prevent them all, but we can't. How would you have changed things? Even if you'd been awake, are you sure you could have prevented the woman's death?"

  "I don't know."

  "Couldn't he have just killed her in the house while you sat outside?"

  "I'd never even considered that…"

  "Then perhaps it's time to let it go," she said softly. "You can either dwell in the past—when you didn't know why your body was broken—or you can move forward, without the albatross of your physical ailment hanging around your neck and holding you back. Think of all the good you can do now, all the lives still left for you to save."

  "You know I'm a homicide detective…"

  "Then think of all the bad guys you can put away."

  "Maybe we can help each other let go and move forward."

  "I'd like that."

  His kiss gentle, his lips lingered against hers for a long time. "Why are you so good?" he murmured into them.

  "Would you prefer I were bad?"