Expiez: Redeem Your Blood Lust (2 page)

Turning, he headed back to his table. He didn't need a jealous boyfriend to do it; he was silently kicking his internal ass. Why the hell couldn't he simply say he was concerned? Why'd he have to turn it into some smart-ass remark?

Because that's what he did.

"Hey, you wanna get out of here?" he asked Locke. "I'm ready to chase some blood. I could use a wingman, and I know a couple Dolls who'd love to party with a meathead like you."

"Are they hot?"

"Of course. One's got a great rack if you're into that kind of thing." He held out his hands like he was cupping a pair of very large breasts. "Basketballs."

"You don't want her?"

"Not for that. I'm only in it for the blood, not the sex."

Locke laughed. "So, you're offering me your sloppy seconds."

"Consider me your fluffer." Locke wasn't a Sang but he was a man-whore. Since Dolls usually liked to give blood and then fuck, and Darus was only interested in the former, passing a horny Doll off to a horny Vampyre was perfect and satisfied everyone's needs.

He had actually only planned on grabbing a blood shot and then heading home. He knew Julia Laroque hated him, so he wasn't sure why her reaction bothered him. He truly was concerned about Clare, although that bothered him too. Why the fuck should he care that she was obviously fleeing an abusive boyfriend? It happened every day.

"Sounds good, man," Locke said, rising from the table. "We going to The Cell?"

"No. We can party at my house." Darus would prefer to party at Locke's place so he could bail once he was done with the festivities, but he'd been there once and didn't even want to sit on the couch let alone drink blood in that filth. Besides, the girls would be more comfortable at his place. He had earphones and a guest bedroom; they could fuck as loud as they wanted and he wouldn't hear a thing. He might have to tip his maid service a little extra for the mess, but it was a sacrifice he was willing to make.

A couple hours later, when feminine screams of pleasure pierced his headphones, Darus began to question his decision to bring Locke and the Dolls to his house. Half tempted to bang on the wall and tell them to shut the fuck up, he literally had to pull his fist back as it headed for the wall. He brought them here. He knew this would be the outcome.

Angel's mantra of accepting the consequences of one's actions danced around in his brain. Okay, he could get past this. He wasn't mad they were fucking. If he wanted to join in he certainly could, so it wasn't jealously. He'd gotten what he wanted from the ordeal, so basically, he needed to not be a prick and let them do their thing. Even if it was irritating.

Not being a prick. Easier said than done. After all, that was the root of his problems.

He decided to try one the techniques Angel had taught him the other day. He'd internally rolled his eyes during her entire spiel, but if he really was serious about trying a new path, he needed to give Angel's techniques an honest
go
. Even if he couldn't possibly fathom how her lovey-dovey, do-goody, Zen lifestyle would work for him.

Changing the music from something angry and heavy to something with rain splashing in the background, he cranked up the volume and closed his eyes. He tried to remember Angel's instructions. Slow, steady breathing…emptying the mind by acknowledging one's thoughts and then tossing them away…focusing on the energy buzzing around you.

The last one interested him the most, although he took a few breaths to try to calm his raging mind first. Common theory said the Vampire condition was rooted in energy and that energy was most easily acquired through blood. He was in no way put off by his blood needs. But he would like to gain a little freedom from them, and if channeling energy was the way to go, so be it.

The sexual energy coming from the other room was thick. Thick enough he recognized it the moment he concentrated. He focused on capturing it the way Angel described: once you felt and
saw
it, you gathered it into a shape. Spheres were the popular choice and he wasn't about to buck the system by envisioning a cube or pyramid or some bullshit.

With a deep breath and roll of his shoulders, he concentrated. The flecks of energy sparkling around him slowly began to blend together into cohesive waves, bending, flexing and warping until they finally took shape as a pulsing sphere before him. When the shape was solid enough it no longer looked like an erupting egg, he pulled the energy into his body.

As far as he was concerned, this shit had to be all in his head, but the minute that sphere hit his chest, all of his muscles clenched as if electrified. And then the energy shot straight to his groin and his thoughts jumped straight to Clare.

He tried to shoo them away.

Clare was the opposite of the woman he should be fantasizing about sexually, on one hundred different levels. As Julia's sister, and Armand's sister-in-law, she was immediately off limits. Adding the state of her emotional well being after whatever hell she'd run to New Orleans to escape, put her in the middle of a red circle with a giant slash through it. Do not enter. Not even in fantasy.

But oh, did she make a nice fantasy. With bright blue hair matching her bright blue eyes, a tantalizing scent, a smart figure and even smarter mouth, she was his perfect fantasy.

He thought of the bruises on her arm and her swollen lip and his blood went cold. Clare was not the kind of woman you knocked around.

He wished he'd pulled his head out of his ass long enough to force Julia to let him know she was all right. But his head was perpetually up his own ass. Frequently enough he was surprised he didn't suffocate.

Gritting his teeth, he tossed off the headphones. Angel's technique wasn't working, not for him. Why he expected it to was beyond his comprehension.

Rising, he went to the shared wall and pounded on it. "Put a ball-gag in it!"

Whichever Doll was moaning only moaned louder. With a sigh, he grabbed his laptop and headed for the back patio. Hopefully, thirty feet of distance and the walls of his house would be enough to muffle the sex and he could get some work done.

Chapter Two

"Clare!" The covers rustled as someone shook her shoulder roughly. "Clare!"

"What?" she snapped, trying, and failing, to burrow her head under the pillow.

The pillow was yanked away. "It's after one. I didn't take the afternoon off to watch you sleep. Get up! Let's go get lunch."

Clare groaned and groggily pushed onto her elbows. She glared at Julia through sleep-encrusted eyelashes. Julia just smiled.

"What do you want for lunch?" she asked.

"Lunch? Don't I get a shower first?"

"No. I'm starving. Splash some cold water on your face. You'll be fine."

Shoving the comforter aside, she sat up, rubbing the last bit of sleep from her eyes. "You're a slave driver."

"My stomach is starting to scare me with the noises it's making."

"Yeah, yeah." She got out of bed, finding her feet sleeping-pill unsteady. "Is it too early for oysters and a beer?" she wondered as she made her way to the bathroom. She didn't bother to close the door as she peed and didn't care when Julia leaned against the doorjamb to talk to her.

"This is New Orleans. It's never too early for oysters or beer."

"Right. Duh." The flushing toilet drowned out her last word. "Coffee and beignets would be nice, too," she said as she washed her hands.

"We can do both."

"Sweet. Give me five minutes. Tops."

Clare had forgotten how much she loved New Orleans. In the year Julia had lived in the city, she had only been able to visit once for Mardi Gras, and that was only because Chris wanted to go. The one time she suggested coming down without him she'd paid for it for weeks.  At that time his abuse was only verbal, not physical. He didn't punish her with his hands, but her psyche took a beating. Ugly, fat, and whore were a few of the endearing terms he liked to use.

Powdered sugar that refused to be brushed away dotted her shirt as she doused the dozen oysters lining the counter before her with lemon juice. Beignets and chicory coffee might be an odd appetizer before oysters and a Bloody Mary (those damn pickled green beans looked too good to pass up), but she felt it was the best way to celebrate her new life in New Orleans.

Thankfully, Julia hadn't asked about Chris while they were at the coffee shop. Instead, Clare had gotten an earful about the drama that had been taking place in her life in the last several weeks. Between kidnapped women and murder victims and crazy nights in fetish clubs, Clare wasn't even sure her little beat-down would be a blip on Julia's dramadar.

She was busy smearing cocktail sauce and horseradish on a rather fat oyster when Julia slid a phone across the granite counter.

"What's this for?"

"I noticed you lost your phone," she said nonchalantly. "I thought you could use mine."

"You don't need it?"

"I have one for work. I rarely use this one."

"Just to surf for porn while on your lunch break, right?"

Julia laughed. "Right."

Clare forked the smothered oyster from its shell and onto a cracker. One bite and it was gone.

"So, I can't imagine it's even a possibility, but if Chris somehow contacts me…"

"I'm not here and you haven't seen me."

Julia downed an oyster straight from the shell. Crackers must only be for tourists. "That's what I thought," she said.

Chris wasn't brought up again. At some point, Clare was going to spill, but after lunch, as they hit all the obligatory tourist spots—Jackson Square, French Market, a stroll down Bourbon, and then Royal for some shopping—the topic never came up and she had zero desire to bring it up.

She did bring up Darus.

"No," was Julia's response.

"No? I just asked what was up with him."

Julia spied her from the corners of her brown eyes. Their facial features were similar, but Clare had inherited their dad's blue eyes while Julia took after their mom. "He's sketchy. That's all you need to know about him."

"Sketchy how?"

"Like I said, no."

Clare picked up a pot of red glitter. They were in some sort of wig boutique shop. Colorful wigs hanging on Styrofoam heads lined shelves stacked three high on every wall. Blue Mohawk wigs, pink Afro wigs, rainbow dreadlock wigs…anything and everything not natural a person could imagine. She and Julia stood at a glass counter filled with colorful stage makeup.

"I'm not sure I understand this word, 'no'."

Julia placed a pair of feather false eyelashes on the counter for the cashier to ring up. "I know you, Clare. You have a fascination with
projects
. I'm just saying Darus is a 'no'."

"Project? He was nice to me. I was just asking about him." She returned the glitter pot to its home. "Besides, I have a fascination with
characters
, not
projects
."

Julia gave her a hard look. "Tomato, to-
mah
-to."

She decided to drop the subject. It wasn't worth arguing about. She did want to know more about Darus and wished her sister was willing to discuss the subject. Julia had a very one-sided view of him, though. Maybe it was well deserved, but she wouldn't know for sure until she had a chance to judge for herself. Luckily, since New Orleans was now her home that wouldn't be hard.

They hit a few more shops before meeting up with Armand at a Vegan restaurant. He looked the same as Clare remembered, maybe a little less pale, but just as good looking. Julia had definitely scored when she hooked up with him.

Clare had been pretty smitten with him the first time she met him—three years before at a vampire convention. Thankfully, she no longer saw him that way. One, because he was her sister's husband, and two, because he didn't eat meat. And apparently now, he was thinking of shunning cheese. If you went by his choice in restaurants anyway.

She didn't think she could take any guy seriously if he wouldn't eat bacon. Even turkey bacon was better than no bacon. It didn't seem natural.

And he drank hot tea…with dinner. Roobois or some other herbal variety. There was something strange about watching a man with fangs, piercings, and multiple tattoos drink hot tea and eat miso sesame winter squash with quinoa.

Julia seemed happy with her tofu coconut curry, gushing several times about it. Clare's meal wasn't bad, but she found herself craving crawfish by the time dinner was finished.

Afterward, they stopped for a cocktail at a corner bar hosting a jazz jam session. She was glad it was only one cocktail because by the time they left—early since Julia had to work in the morning—she was dragging. The chaos of the last several days had taken its toll. She hoped another overzealous round of chemically induced sleep would help her overcome it.

While waiting for Armand to punch the key code into the back gate, she spotted Darus crossing Royal and presumably heading toward
Luxure
. Damn, he was a good-looking man. It wasn't just his exotic looks, or the way his tailored, black coat clung to his broad, muscular shoulders and slim waist, but the way his stride ate up the pavement, the way he owned every inch of the street that made him extra sexy. There was no doubt in her mind the confidence he exuded while strolling down the sidewalk would transfer to the bedroom.

The little bit of danger surrounding him didn't hurt his sex appeal either.

He seemed to sniff out her interest and turned, catching sight of her and grinning. She gave a one-fingered wave and he nodded, but kept walking. Would he have come over if she'd been alone? Did she want him to?

She definitely found him intriguing, but his history was anything but clean. Based on that alone, she should stay far away from him. But after his kind gesture the day before, she knew there was more to him than history suggested. She just wondered how much more.

As a bonus, he was effing hot, and that boosted his intrigue level by at least ten points. She was half-tempted to grab a nightcap in
Luxure
, just to run into him again.

Since her eyelids were already trying to smother her eyeballs as they refused to stay open, she decided it would have to wait. There was always tomorrow.

* * * *

Darus sat at the bar, impatiently tapping his fingers against the smooth wood while his eyes darted from the back to front entrances over and over again—hoping Clare would step through one of them.

He wished she hadn't been surrounded by the enemy when he saw her on the street. Actually, he wished he'd had to balls to say, fuck it, and gone to her anyway. But no, he'd wussed out and now was pathetically wishing she'd just
show
up.

"You waiting for your parole officer or something?" Slade was leaning against the back counter, arms crossed over his massive chest, a quizzical look on his face.

"Something like that. Hey, do you know Julia's sister very well?"

Slade laughed. "That is territory you need to stay far, far away from."

"I realize that. You can still answer my question, though."

"Well enough."

"Is she okay?"

"Of course. Why wouldn't she be?"

Obviously Slade hadn't noticed Clare's bruises or swollen lip. "It's nothing," he said dismissively. "Not important."

"Dude, I'd forget her. Armand would cut your dick off if he knew you were sniffing around his sister-in-law."

"He'd cut my dick off just to watch me bleed to death."

"Probably," Slade said with a chuckle. "Or if he wouldn't, Julia certainly would."

Darus snorted. "I don't doubt that for a second."

Slade received a couple drink orders, and Darus continued to drum his fingers relentlessly on the bar. Twenty minutes had passed since he'd seen Clare on the street. She was obviously
not
coming in.

He had to get out of there—something about
Luxure
was making him nervous tonight.

After finishing off his drink, he started to rise and then paused. He'd never asked about Kate. Should he? Working over what he might say, he stood there awkwardly for a minute, until finally Slade glanced at him in question.

"You need something?"

"Um, yeah. Hey, is, um…" He frowned. "How is, uh…" Slade waited expectantly and he just stood there, mouth open, with only gibberish coming out.

He swallowed. Why was this so fucking hard? "How is Kate?"

Slade looked a little startled by the question, and rightfully so. Darus had concerned himself with the welfare of two people beside himself, something he never did. Even he was startled by it.

"She's doin' okay," Slade said. "She's crashed out in the office now. She was exhausted, but I don't like her to go anywhere by herself."

"I don't blame you." Darus continued to stand there like an idiot. There was so much more he should say, so much he needed to say. "Look, I…" He paused. "I just want to say…" He paused again. Goddamn, he was a social idiot sometimes.

Make that most of the time.

"Whatever you're trying to spit out, don't give yourself an ulcer doing it. We're cool."

"No. I really need to do this." He took a deep breath, and then looked Slade directly in the eye. "I should have come to you sooner," he said finally. "The minute I knew Lohr was plotting something sinister I should have come."

"Yeah, you should have. But I'm still thankful you did the right thing at all."

Darus suddenly realized he really was a slimy prick. "I know it doesn't count for shit, but I am sorry."

"I'm glad."

"Will you let Kate know I'm relieved she's all right?"

"Sure."

"Thanks." Darus turned and headed out of the bar. He knew he should probably tell her himself, but he'd had a hard enough time spitting the words out to Slade. He wasn't sure he could face Kate without drowning in guilt.

It was a weird sensation, but getting that apology off his chest left him with some warm fuzzies in his gut. Was it possible some of his slimy prickness was wearing off?