La Luxure: Discover Your Blood Lust (5 page)

A full sleeve tattoo decorated one arm and a
few colorful tattoos peaked out from under his fitted T-shirt in
various other locations, including one that started at the front of
his neck. He wore a small amount of silver jewelry, a labret
piercing, and had modestly stretched earlobes. When he handed her a
glass of rich burgundy wine, she noticed his short nails were
painted black.

"Thank you." She sipped the wine, letting out
an inadvertent "Mmm."

"I take it the wine is agreeable?"

She blushed. She hadn't meant to be so
obvious with her pleasure. "It's delicious. So much better than the
Hurricanes I had earlier."

"So what brings you to our sultry city?" he
wondered, the words rolling out of his mouth like they were the
most sexual and decadent words in the dictionary.

"I'm here for a work conference."

"Oh? What's your conference on?"

"
Managing Utilities During Natural or
Manmade Catastrophes,
" she repeated the mouthful with a shy
smile. "I'm a city engineer for a suburb outside St. Louis," she
clarified hastily since his expression remained quizzical.

Telling random people what she did for a
living sometimes generated weird responses. Often they judged her
personality based on her profession. It was like telling someone
you were an accountant or a librarian or an exotic dancer. Certain
professions made people assume they knew all sorts of things about
you, and engineer was one of them. Her personality did include some
engineer stereotypes, but pocket protector wasn't one.

Usually though, they were merely surprised.
She was a rare female in a male dominated field and she didn't look
the type that had to don a hard hat and steel toe boots at work.
Men she met in bars were often intimidated, especially if they were
in the construction field.

"Impressive." Sitting on the barstool next to
her with perfectly erect posture, the stranger rested his arm
casually on the bar, his hazel gaze unwavering as he focused it on
her. "How long will you be staying?"

"'Til the end of the week." Julia sipped
nervously at her wine as he studied her. His scrutiny was making
her uneasy, mostly because she was unsure why he was sizing her up.
He didn't seem to be hitting on her. It felt more like he was
trying to determine if she was
safe
.

Shit, maybe they were selling drugs here. She
was
out of place. Maybe he thought she was a cop. It would
explain the distrustful stares of the patrons.

"Well, welcome to New Orleans. I am Armand,
by the way."

Of course he was. It was a perfectly
appropriate name for him. "Julia."

"It is my pleasure to make your acquaintance,
Julia." For someone with impeccable manners, it was surprising when
he didn't offer to shake her hand.

And a little suspicious.

One of the sexy couples that had been dancing
earlier approached them. The man was tall and slender, and his
crushed velvet pants clung to marathon runner thighs. With perfect
victory rolls crowning her blond waves, and wearing a sleet pencil
skirt and fitted blouse, the woman looked like a 1940s pinup
girl.

Julia felt completely underdressed here. Only
Armand and the bartender matched her casual style.

Yet somehow she felt more comfortable in
Luxure
than she had at Pat O'Brien's, where she actually
looked like she belonged.

Well, she might feel more comfortable if the
other patrons would quit trying to stare her down.

"Armand, your services please?" the man said.
His face was filled with a kind of lustful anticipation.

"Of course." With the grace of a dancer,
Armand rose from the barstool. "Please excuse me, Julia."

"No problem." She watched after him as he
turned and led the couple to a closed door, unlocked it, and then
held it open while they slipped inside. When his hazel eyes caught
her staring, she quickly looked away and he disappeared into the
room.

Wow. That was weird. What could his
services
possibly be? It had to be drugs. Nothing else made
sense.

Not that Julia really cared one way or the
other. As far as she was concerned, it wasn't her responsibility,
the government's, or anyone else's to decide what grown adults put
into their bodies.

Although, it did make this place even more
dangerous.

Still, she wasn't leaving just yet, even if
it'd be prudent to do so. She was fascinated by this bar, the wine,
the gorgeous people, the music, Armand...

Julia finished off the last of the rich wine.
She'd have one more and then head back to the hotel. It wasn't too
late yet, 10:30 or so. She just needed to get the attention of Mr.
Muscles behind the bar.

He was talking quietly to another dark
haired, pale skinned patron. After her summer tan wore off, Julia
had a pretty fair complexion as well, but nothing like the people
here. Only redheads and albinos were this pale and she didn't spot
a redhead or albino one. It was very unnatural.

Opening her wallet, Julia hoped to get the
bartender's attention without having to interrupt his conversation.
It worked.

"Same wine?" he asked in a rough, guttural
voice.

"Please."

As he filled her glass, he said, "You can put
your money away. Armand's taking care of you." He didn't sound
particularly pleased about it.

"Oh. Um, okay. Thanks." She put a couple
dollars out for a tip.

Twisting the bottle as he tipped it back, he
shoved the money back towards her. "Don't thank me. I'd charge you
double."

That was a little more hostile than she
expected. To hell with him. He wasn't the first burly guy to try to
intimidate her. Construction sites were filled with super masculine
guys that didn't like some chick telling them what to do.

"Thanks for your honesty," Julia told him
with a smile.

Leaving the money on the bar, she grabbed her
purse and moved to one of the empty leather chairs where she could
watch the dance floor and the closed door where Armand had
disappeared to at the same time.

After a few songs filled with aggressive
guitar riffs and screaming vocalists, the music changed. Gregorian
chants followed by soulful lyrics, a wailing violin, and pulsing
drums replaced them. It was another song she recognized. Something
obscure her sister had introduced her to. If she didn't already
feel like a million eyes were watching her, she'd get up and dance.
Instead, she closed her eyes and let the music seep through her,
moving her torso in barely perceptible movements to the melody.

"You do know there's an empty dance floor in
front of you. As it is, only the chair has the pleasure of watching
you dance."

Armand was sitting in the empty chair next to
her, a tiny smile on his full lips. Damn, that man was good at
being quiet.

She'd like to blame it on the wine, but her
cheeks were flushed and she knew she was blushing. Um, school girl
again?

"This bar plays the best music," she
admitted, like it was some excuse. Once again his expression was
slightly perplexed. "I know, I know. I don't look the type."

"I try not to base my conclusions of a person
on appearance alone," he told her.

"Oh, but you'd be right. It's my sister that
keeps me interesting. If Clare wasn't forever breaking me out of my
comfort zone I'd be completely boring, listening to Top 40 and
wondering why I didn't like it."

"You're here though. And I don't think I see
your sister."

She smiled. "I suppose so. But trust me, I'm
still boring."

"I doubt that." His eyes lifted and she
followed his line of sight. The couple was just emerging from the
locked room. The woman's perfect pin curls were slightly tousled,
her pencil skirt a little askew. She wore the most satisfied
expression, and her movements were smooth and languid. The man had
the same, "I just had the best sex," or "I'm completely faded,"
expression and Julia would have written it off as either or both
until she noticed two perfect puncture wounds on his neck. A
teardrop of blood seeped from one and when the woman turned and saw
it, she used a finger to wipe it off, and then very suggestively
licked the blood from her finger. Catching Julia's startled gaze,
the woman flashed a slightly blood-smeared grin at her and
winked.

Holy. Shit.

Julia turned back to Armand, who was watching
her carefully. She tried to play it off like what she'd seen was
the most normal thing, to be as nonchalant as possible.

"Well, I wouldn't feel bad for judging people
based on appearance from time to time," she said quickly. "I mean,
I do think that people tend to dress to be judged. If they're able,
of course. The guy wearing a football jersey usually wants you to
know he likes football." She was talking way too fast, she could
tell by the way the words seemed to blend together. Armand probably
thought she was the biggest kook at this point, but Julia couldn't
stop herself.

"But as long as we remember to use our brains
and not just our eyes," she continued on in spite of her brain
trying to will her mouth to stop moving, "and we recognize that
there might be more than what's presented on the surface, we should
forgive ourselves for judging '
a book by its cover'
from
time to time." She really needed to just shut up. This prattling
nonsense was annoying.

"So what are you hoping people see when they
look at you?"

Oh God, that was a loaded question. She
shrugged. "I don't know. Um...I guess I just dress to blend
in."

Leaning forward, he leveled his intense eyes
on her. "Why is that?"

She couldn't hold his gaze and sipped her
wine so she didn't have to. "It's easier?"

"Is it? Do people judge you correctly when
they meet you?"

"No," she laughed. "Not at all."

"I'll ask again then. Why do you dress to
blend in? Why not dress in a way that people could judge you
appropriately?"

She didn't even pause to think. The words
just flew out of her mouth. "Maybe I'm a coward and I'm scared of
letting people see the true me. Or maybe I don't know enough about
who I am to present it properly. Or maybe, I just don't want people
to see below the 'every girl' surface." Somehow she'd moved from
bar chair to therapist couch. She was usually more tight-lipped
around people she'd just met.

He leaned even closer and her heart skipped a
few beats. Triplets, her heart was suddenly beating in triplets. "I
understand," he purred. "Sometimes it's frightening to let people
see who we really are. It's easier to let them see what they will.
The people who matter will take the effort to look a little
harder."

His nearness was making her stomach do
pirouettes. She'd never felt so nervous around a man, and her
insides never did tricks just because one was barely inches from
her. She bit her lip. "You hope so."

"Yes, you do." His eyes locked on hers for
one long moment and she was hypnotized and unable to look away.
Finally he leaned back, breaking the trance. "And that's why I try
not to judge based on appearances alone," he added teasingly,
flashing his bright white teeth at her in a gorgeous smile.

She laughed again. "Touché."

The door to the bar flung open and a
disheveled woman stumbled in. Her red hair hung in limp, ratted
waves around her face. Mascara ran down her colorless cheeks, and
dark, deep circles pooled under her eyes. She looked like she might
be drunk, overdosing on drugs, sick with the flu, or all three.

Armand swore under his breath and rose
roughly to his feet. It was the first time Julia hadn't seen him
move with perfect grace. "You aren't welcome here, Eve," he said as
he approached her, his seductive growl now low and menacing. "You
need to leave. Now."

"Armand no, please," she begged. "Just one
more time. I need the release. I'm so...full. Please, I need
to...give...just a little bit more."

"Absolutely not. You don't look like you have
enough to give. How much blood have you donated already?"

Blood? Had he said blood?

"Not enough," Eve panted. She ran a pale hand
over her tangled hair and across her chest. "Never enough."

She swayed unsteadily on her feet and Armand
grabbed onto her arm to help stabilize her. "Eve," he said, gentler
this time. "You are sick and you need help. If you don't replenish
your body and get some rest -"

He wasn't able to finish the sentence. Eve's
eyes rolled back in her head and her knees buckled. Armand swiftly
moved to catch her, effortlessly scooping her crumpled form into
his arms. As he turned to the quiet onlookers in the dark bar,
Julia saw him mouth the word, "Fuck."

"Do you see this girl?" he said out loud. His
handsome features were clouded with anger and he suddenly looked
very dangerous, scary dangerous. "Stay away from her. If I discover
that anyone here has taken from her, I will
find
you. Just
because some Donors are ready to be Victims doesn't mean you make
them
your
victim." He turned and said something to the
bartender and then disappeared with Eve in his arms through the
velvet curtains behind the bar.

Okay, that was creepy.

As much as she wanted to bolt like a spooked
horse, Julia calmly finished her wine. No one else in the bar
seemed disturbed and she didn't want to be the only one freaking
out.

Especially since she could feel the
bartender's red eyes boring into her and it was obvious he neither
trusted nor liked her. His feelings were misplaced. Whatever crazy
shit was going on here, her memories of it could stay in the
bar.

Before making her escape, Julia carried her
empty wine glass to the bar. "Thanks for the drinks," she said to
the scowling bartender as she set the glass down. Resisting all
temptation to run screaming from the room, Julia left
La
Luxure
, half expecting someone to stop her.