La Luxure: Discover Your Blood Lust (20 page)

"I have faith in our justice system. If Darus
is not the man that sealed Eve's fate, drinking from her until she
passed out and then leaving her for dead on the side of the street,
I am sure he will be exonerated."

"It was probably an accident, but I doubt the
cops will see it that way."

Didn't they have this argument the other
night? "I don't buy that, Slade. If it was an
accident,
he
would have called for help."

"What if she passed out after he left? Maybe
he didn't realize how weak she was."

"Right."

"For fuck's sake, she was probably high out
of her mind and you know it."

"Doesn't matter."

"Shit, Armand, haven't you ever gotten
carried away? Taken a little too much, gotten a little too close to
an artery." Slade's voice was starting to rise and Armand took a
quick glance in the mirror at the lounging patrons behind him. They
seemed unaware of the argument, the pumping music loud enough to
drown Slade's increasing pitch.

"No I guess you wouldn't, would you?" Slade
continued. "Always in perfect control, aren't you? Or maybe you
just don't
partake
enough." A guttural noise resonated
somewhere deep in Slade's throat. "Or at all. When
was
the
last time you indulged?"

With more effort than he cared to expend on
maintaining his cool, Armand ignored the snide tone. Letting his
anger match Slade's wouldn't help the argument. Besides, the
accusation that had been hurled at him twice that evening was not
off base. It
had
been a long time since blood touched his
lips, and not because there weren't available Donors. They simply
weren't the right Donors.

Until now.

Darus' words buzzed in his ears.
With all
the tail constantly throwing themselves at you, you'd think one
would be good enough. Fuck, you're an arrogant prick.

Armand didn't consider himself an
arrogant
prick
per se, but he was more selective of who he drank from
than who he fucked, and he realized how that might look to the
average member of the Community.

That was all about to change. The woman he
hoped to sate both desires was probably passed out in her hotel
room right now.

Deciding to keep his responses silent, Armand
sipped his cognac and waited for Slade continue. It took a while,
but finally the words surged from Slade's mouth. "So, what if Eve
had been a gasper? Begging Darus to just choke her a little harder
instead of begging him to drink a little more? Would you still have
turned him in? People accidentally die from scarfing all the
time."

"Are you really comparing Eve's death to
asphyxiophilia?"

Depriving the body of oxygen in order to
achieve greater orgasm was not really comparable to what they did.
Erotic asphyxiation was dangerous by nature. Even the safest
practice could result in death. As long as one stayed away from a
major artery, infection was the greatest risk for Donors.

Armand shook his head. "Blood loss, oxygen
loss...It doesn't matter. Even if Darus had accidentally strangled
her while he fucked her, I'd still hold him accountable if he
didn't try to get help. Especially if he bragged to me later about
'giving her exactly what she asked for'. Should I have just looked
away while Darus got off on his Dracula fantasy? He left her to die
on the side of the street. Was I supposed to ignore that?"

Slade ran a massive paw through his thick,
black hair. "No. Of course not." He sighed. "I just hate seeing one
of ours put away for something that could potentially happen to any
of us. I mean, the wrong Donor, a few too many drinks..."

"That's understandable, Slade," Armand said,
softening his tone. He thought of Julia and how easy it would have
been to lose control had he actually taken her up to her room. The
grim image of her bleeding all over the hotel room floor and Armand
dialing 911 flashed through his head, and he was once again
thankful he'd refrained. "But if there ever is an accident, you
call for help. What we do isn't illegal as long as it's
consensual."

"I know. I just hate having cops poking
around where they don't belong."

Armand clasped his shoulder. "I know, man.
And I'm sorry it had to go down this way. But if anyone poses a
danger to the Community, it's Victims like Eve and members like
Darus who are happy to make them victims."

"If he's guilty."

"Of course." Armand pushed off the bar.
"Slade, I'd love to help you tend bar, but - " He paused. "Well,
actually, I'd rather not. I'm heading upstairs." Taking the brandy
sifter with him, Armand headed towards the curtains dividing the
back room from the bar. He paused just before stepping through
them. "Before I forget, I will only be in for a short time
tomorrow. Onyx will be here - " He scanned the bar. "Wait, isn't
she here tonight? And Bliss too?"

"They stepped out when your cop friend scared
everyone off. They'll be back at midnight."

"Ah." If Armand regretted anything, it was
that Brian stopping by the bar made everyone so uncomfortable. His
customers, his staff...they required a certain amount of privacy.
Luxure
was a safe haven for them, and Armand didn't want to
spoil that.

"You remember Kindle right?" He said,
changing the subject abruptly.

"From The Cell?"

"Exactly. How do you feel about him working
here?"

Slade shrugged. "He's a good guy. Are you
planning on taking more time off?"

"I certainly hope so," Armand said with a
grin as he escaped into the back room and up the stairwell that led
to his apartment upstairs. If things progressed with Julia as well
as they had this evening, he might be spending less time in
Louisiana.

Chapter Fourteen

Like the distant call of a far off
woodpecker, Julia could faintly hear someone rapping on her door.
Pulling the pillow over her head, she buried deep under the covers,
desperately hoping whoever it was would give up and go away. A
muffled voice managed to seep through the door and penetrate her
comforter force field. Though she couldn't quite make out the
words, the voice was female and Julia could only assume it was
housekeeping.

"No thanks!" she groaned from the safety of
her blanket cocoon. Her voice sounded like she'd gargled gravel,
and from the chalk in her mouth, it tasted like she'd eaten a few
pieces too.

The knocking became louder, and before Julia
could utter another groggy protest, she heard the door click
open.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, ma'am, but there's
a tropical storm heading this way and I need to close the
shutters."

Julia's head felt like it was swimming in a
green, murky fog, but she faintly heard something about a storm and
shutters. The window slid open, there was a clunk as the two
shutter halves met, a latch clicked into place, and then the window
slid back into its closed position. Footsteps padded past her bed
and the woman continued, "The power'll probably go out and we might
lose water service, but we have bottled water and some food
downstairs in the bar if you get hungry." The door to her room
opened, then closed, and Julia was left in peace again.

Well, what little peace her pounding head
allowed.

Trying to ignore the bricks between her ears
and painfully full bladder, she burrowed deeper under the covers.
She lay there for a while, listening to the steady whoosh of her
breath. She tried to call up memories from the previous evening,
but the fog soup that was her brains and her screaming bladder had
other plans.

Grudgingly, Julia tossed off the covers and
slid clumsily out of bed. She staggered more than once on the way
to the bathroom and realized with dismay that she was still drunk.
So after relieving her bladder, downing a glass of water and two
aspirins, Julia fell back into bed. She should probably check her
phone or eat something, but that would have to wait. Just a few
more hours of sleep and she could re-evaluate the situation.

* * *

A persistent, intermittent banging finally
roused her from a heavy, dreamless sleep. It sounded like someone
was taking a baseball bat to her hotel wall. Her head was less
foggy, and the aspirin must have done its job because the bricks
that had been so painfully pressed between her ears were reduced to
pebbles. Her bladder was only quietly protesting and now, it was
her stomach that was angry. Still, she wasn't quite ready to leave
the comfort of her cocoon.

Occasionally the wind howled through the
courtyard and rain splattered against her window, but other than
the insistent banging, the room was quiet. With some effort, Julia
retrieved her thoughts from the green, milky soup she'd been
trapped in earlier. She remembered someone coming in her room and
talking about a storm and shutters...

Shutters. That must be what was banging
against the wall. They must have come loose.

It took more will than it should have, but
Julia managed to push the comforter aside and climb out of bed. The
Marie Antoinette wig looked like a mangy dog lying on the pillow
next to her, and scattered on the floor like fallen soldiers were
her white heels and one stocking. The other stocking was still on
her leg and, she was fully dressed.

Julia shook her head. She hadn't intended to
get so drunk. In the course of the evening, she didn't think she'd
consumed all that much alcohol. Four glasses of Absinthe and a beer
spaced over 5 or 6 hours was a lot, but didn't seem excessive
enough to make her this hung over. The Absinthe must be stronger
than she realized.

A shutter slammed against the window,
startling her out of her thoughts. She rose unsteadily and went to
the window. Even with the protection of the buildings, the wind was
still able to whip across the brick courtyard, evident by the
toppled chairs and swaying vegetation. It wasn't raining steadily,
but every so often, a group of raindrops would slam against the
window like a round of buckshot.

The moment she opened the window, the wind
rushed in, billowing out the heavy curtains and scattering every
piece of loose paper on the desk around the room. Reaching for the
errant wood panels, she caught one as it crashed against the
window, but the other was just out of her grasp, pinned to the
building wall by the wind. Keeping the captured shutter pressed
against the frame, Julia leaned cautiously through the window
opening.

Her hair instantly became a tangled mass of
snakes whipping around her head, and her lacey sleeve fluttered
violently against her arm. The wood was wet and slick, and it took
nearly all of her strength to rein it in. The wind whistled
violently through the cracks of the now closed shutters, and she
secured the bolt as quickly as possible before sliding the window
shut.

Her bladder might be annoyed that her first
task after waking up hadn't been a trip to the bathroom, but her
stomach was absolutely furious it was still empty. She vaguely
remembered the woman who came in to close the shutters the first
time mentioning something about food downstairs. After making her
bladder happy, she'd clean up a little, and then go down to the
bar, eat, and see what was going on with the storm.

She stared at her image in the bathroom
mirror. God, she looked like a wreck. Makeup was smeared across her
face and her hair was a giant brown mat. Maybe it was best that
Armand had declined to spend the night, she thought as she pulled a
makeup wipe from her bag and carefully removed all traces of the
black and red smudges.

She didn't linger in the shower any longer
than it took for the conditioner to work its magic on her matted
hair. With a quick shave of the necessary parts, and a once over
with a sudsy loofah, she reluctantly shut off the water. The
steaming water felt amazing on her exhausted, dehydrated muscles,
but her stomach was insisting she put something in it. After
haphazardly combing through the last of the snarls in her hair and
brushing the funk from her mouth, Julia threw on some jeans and a
sweater, and headed towards the lobby.

Skipping the elevator, she took the stairs
two at a time, her sneakers squeaking quietly on the concrete
stairs. There were a half-dozen people in the lobby, and the bar
was packed. News reports scrolled across the TVs, flashing between
the swirling, storm radar, and scenes showing palm trees being
blown sideways and huge waves crashing against a rain-swept
beach.

Julia tried to ignore them and focused
instead on putting food on a plate. The selection wasn't
spectacular, consisting of picked over items from the continental
breakfast. A few muffins, a couple pieces of fruit, and a lonely
single-serving box of corn flakes were all that remained, but at
this point, she was grateful for anything edible. The coffee was
hot and thankfully, fully caffeinated.

Sliding onto the one empty barstool, Julia
ate her breakfast and listened to the weather forecasters talk
about wind-speeds, heavy rains, widespread flooding, and reminding
viewers to stay inside until the storm passed.

She forced herself to remain calm,
remembering Armand's soothing words from the night before. She was
a Midwestern girl used to severe storms. This wasn't that
different. Just because New Orleans sat below sea level, and this
storm had a history of dumping 5-10 inches of rain didn't mean she
needed to panic.

She really wished Armand was here now. Or she
was there. He'd said to come by
Luxure
early. It was already
noon, she only had five hours or so to wait. The city was expected
to catch only the northern edge of the storm, with the heaviest
rains and strongest winds subsiding by early evening. She could be
patient, or at very least, she could fake it.

The power flickered, the lights surging then
dimming before going out with a sputter. Dismayed groans and a few
gasps erupted throughout the bar. A few minutes of restless silence
passed before the power made a feeble return, and the group of
gathered hotel guests let out a simultaneous sigh of relief. Just
as Julia rose, deciding it would be better to wait out the storm in
the safety of her locked room, the manager came in and encouraged
everyone to do the same, and to stay out of the elevator.