Eveillez: Deny Your Blood Lust (18 page)

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 lifted 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.

Topping off the coffee cup, he leaned back in the chair and looked over the street. The parade was already gone. A few crumpled beer cans, a broken strand of beads, and a pile of poop from the police horses were the only stragglers.

Tossing his thoughts into the street with the rest of the trash, he closed his eyes and tried to ignore the shaking in his hands.

* * * *

Angel wasn't sure exactly what woke her, but when her eyes finally peeled open, she found herself in the throes of a raging migraine. The entire left side of her head felt like it was being squeezed over and over in a vice-like Techno beat.

She didn't dare turn on the light. Even the sound of her breath rolling in and out of her lungs was like a freight train. Lying in the cool darkness, she tried to get a handle on what might have woken her. Was it something her body needed? Besides blood, of course.

When her phone suddenly rang, it felt like someone was shoving needles into her ears. She moved as quickly as she could without getting nauseous and possibly vomiting. Keeping her eyes firmly clamped shut, she rolled onto her side and felt around on the nightstand for her phone.

It was Liz, one of her sunlight instructors. Angel rarely taught a class before sunset, but yoga was very profitable in the early hours. She employed several yogis who taught during the day.

"The crystal healer is here," Liz told her.

Wincing at the sound of Liz's shrill voice, she pushed her brows together as she desperately tried to dodge the knives in her skull. "Um…"

"You scheduled a session last week," Liz continued.

"Oh, yes, of course." She'd completely forgotten. As much as she wanted to find a solution to the depression that had been dragging her down for months, the prospect of getting out of bed was overwhelming. "Tell her I am very sorry, but I need to cancel. I'll gladly pay her for the session." She'd figure something out later, just not now.

"Are you okay?" Liz sounded concerned.

No, she was definitely not okay. Besides being rejected over and over by the only man she'd wanted in a long time, she'd fallen out of her silks, one of her Donors was in the jail, the other had betrayed her, and she was being tortured by her own body. "I'm fine," she lied. "I just had a late night and am not feeling well."

"Should I cancel your evening classes?"

"No, I should be okay in a few hours." Surely she could pull herself together before her first class. She owed her clients that respect. "Just lock the front door when you leave. I'll be right down."

Clutching the phone to her chest, she eased onto her back, keeping her eyes squeezed shut to help fight off the nausea.

There was nothing left to do but wait. Until the migraine had released its hold on her, she wasn't moving. Eventually it would pass and overwhelming fatigue would replace it. She could deal with fatigue. Exhaustion might make thinking slower but the throbbing pain in her head made it impossible.

When she roused a few hours later from a pleasureless sleep, her brain felt like her muscles—a fuzzy mess. But at least the migraine had released its hold on her.

Fumbling around the nightstand until she found her phone, she powered it up long enough to note the time—five—and to check her messages. A text message from Kindle and a few voice messages from Liz were it. Nothing from Kevin.

She sighed. What was she expecting? That he'd suddenly get over his aversion to her and profess his devotion? Beg for her affection? Save her from her own apathy?

With a sigh she rolled out of bed and shuffled to the bathroom. Hoping a shower would wake her up enough to make it to
Luxure
before her first class, she turned on the water and stepped into the stall. Warm water only made her sleepier, but cold water felt like someone stabbing her with an ice pick. She settled for warm. Not trusting her legs to keep her upright on the slippery tile, she sat on the shower floor and let the water wash over her like a waterfall.

As soon as she got a handle on her Craving, she'd get a handle on the depression and then work on getting over Kevin McCoy. She leaned against the shower wall. Just as soon as her Craving was taken care of…

* * * *

By early evening, Kevin's fatigue had returned with a vengeance. To the point he could no longer ignore it. His head felt like someone had stuffed cotton between his ears, and his muscles felt like lumps of useless tissue instead of the powerful instruments they'd been the day before.

Nothing he had accomplished the day before could be described as superhuman. But compared to how he felt now, it definitely felt superhuman. Chasing a car, climbing a pillar, scrambling over a six-foot fence topped with glass… At the current moment, getting out of his chair sounded like a chore.

He thought of Angel and her fall from the silks. Of course, immediately after that, the image of her drinking Kindle's blood sprang to mind. She'd been like an animal. It was the first time he'd actually seen the vampire side of her. He didn't know how to feel.

It was shocking for sure. Watching Kindle cut himself, and then watching Angel's brown eyes glaze over as she caught sight of the blood, like it was the most decadent delicatessen in the world, like she was starving and Kindle's blood was a steak, definitely triggered his
holy shit
response.

But if he really took the time to evaluate his emotions, if he was truly honest with himself, he'd have to admit he was more jealous than anything. He hated seeing that lustful expression in her eyes. She'd looked at him like that before—when he'd kissed her at the police station and in the lobby of her studio, when his cock had been inside her. He didn't want to share that look with anyone.

And then there was the little incident where he'd consumed Angel's blood. Had his eyes looked the same as hers in that moment? When her blood touched his lips he'd definitely wanted it, desperately. He'd attributed it to wanting
her
, but now he wasn't so sure. He might not be sure exactly how he felt about drinking blood, but he was pretty sure he wasn't repulsed. That said something, didn't it?

What did it say? That the Human Vampire might be real and he might be a member? That the chronic fatigue he'd been plagued with his entire adult life could be cured by … blood?

He finished the coffee in his cup. It definitely wasn't cured by caffeine, he knew that much.

So, what now?

He didn't dare call Angel. It wasn't that he didn't want to, he needed something more neutral. Everything about her turned him on, why would her blood be anything different? He needed a place where he could figure it out away from the temptation of her.

There was this bar…

That wasn't even open. Maybe by the time it did open, after dinner and another pot of coffee, he'd have grown big enough balls to make the trek to St. Philip Street.