Expiez: Redeem Your Blood Lust

  Expiez

  Redeem Your Blood Lust

  C.D. Hussey

  * * * *

  Copyright (c) 2012 C.D. Hussey

  All rights reserved. This ebook may not be reproduced in whole or in part, by any means, without expressed, written permission.

  Chapter One

  "Are you going inside, O negative, or do you plan on lingering out here all night?"

  "You have got to be kidding me." Clare had been standing in the small brick courtyard outside La Luxure, the bar her sister owned with her new husband, for nearly fifteen minutes, unable to decide what to do. Before that, she'd driven for nine hours straight to get to New Orleans, stopping only to get gas. She was exhausted. She really had to pee. But for some reason she'd been unable to walk into the bar, even though she knew Julia would be overjoyed to see her.

  It was unfucking-believable that of all the people who might stumble across her grappling with a huge pile of indecisiveness, it would be Darus. A man who'd bitten a woman a year ago and then left her on the street to die. A man who had stalked and simultaneously scared Julia senseless. Darus.

  She turned to face him.

  Whoa. He was a lot better looking than Julia had indicated. A lot better looking. Tall but not too tall, definitely trim, he had great cheekbones and gorgeous, gray eyes. He wore a top hat, so she couldn't tell what his hair was like, but he wasn't sporting waist-length dreads as Julia had described, that was for sure.

  He eyed her quizzically. "Do we know each other?"

  "I know you. Darus, right?"

  He leaned against the wall, lit a cigarette and took a long drag. "My reputation precedes me."

  She hmphed. "Don't flatter yourself. I know you because you used that same stupid, cheesy line on my sister a year ago."

  He sucked the cigarette until the cherry grew half an inch and then flicked it into the pond. This hissing sound it sputtered on impact made the demon fountain seem alive. Pushing off the wall, he closed the distance between them. She stared unbelieving at him as leaned forward, put his nose right next to her neck, and inhaled.

  "Are you sniffing me?" she asked incredulously as she shoved him back. At least he smelled good. She was pretty sure he was wearing Myrrh.

  He grinned. His teeth were like her brother-in-law Armand's: very white with very long, very sharp canines. "You do smell delicious."

  "Seriously? Is that what they're teaching these days at pervert school?"

  His grin only got bigger. "It's covered in pervert 101, baby. Week two."

  She just rolled her eyes and shook her head.

  His gaze swept over her, lingering, she noticed, on the suitcase she'd hastily packed. He took in everything in order: her boots, her jeans, the Smith's concert Tee from 1985, her hair, and then finally settled his gray gaze back on her face. "I can't believe Julia Laroque is your sister."

  "Oh, so now you remember the little déjà vu moment we had earlier."

  "Not really. You just smell like her."

  "That's disgusting."

  He actually laughed. She couldn't believe it. "What's your name, sister of Julia?"

  "Clare."

  "Pleasure to meet you," he said, his voice smooth and seductive. "So tell me, Clare, why are you hanging out here?" He gestured around the courtyard. "And why are you going inside through the bar?"

  Because she'd dumped her phone in the trash and forgotten to write down Julia's number first. Clare's sister had no idea she had left St. Louis. Julia didn't know a lot of things.

  "Don't you know the secret knock to the upstairs lair?" he continued. She could only assume he was referring to the apartment Julia shared with Armand above the bar.

  "I don't think it's any of your fucking business. Maybe I'm desperate for a beer."

  The too harsh response made him furrow his brow. "I can appreciate that. Here, let me carry your suitcase. Maybe I'll even buy your beer." He stooped to retrieve the case and his gaze landed on the bruises on her arm. The furrows deepened and she self-consciously covered the bruises with her hand. She should've worn a jacket. He immediately jerked his gaze away. "They hate me in this place," he told her as he picked up her suitcase. "If you walk in behind me, you'll hardly be noticed."

  Part of Clare wanted to tell him to fuck off, but a larger part was grateful for his offer. "If they hate you, why do you come here?"

  His eyebrows bobbed once. "Spite." She wasn't sure whether he was joking or not, but there was something about his mischievous expression that told her he was not.

  There weren't many people inside, about a dozen. Clare immediately saw her sister. Julia was leaning against the liquor shelving behind the bar, casually sipping a glass of wine and chatting with Slade, the hugely muscled bartender, and a tall, leggy redhead. Clare hadn't heard about the redhead but then, she hadn't talked to Julia in a month. Only partially by choice.

  It took all of ten seconds for Julia to notice her. "Oh my God," she cried, pushing roughly off the shelf. "Oh my God." She set her glass of wine down and bounded from behind the bar. Clare drew in a breath and held it as Julia ran to her and threw her arms around her neck. "Oh my God!"

  "Are you having a religious moment?"

  "I can't believe you're here!" Julia held her at arm's length, drank her in, and then hugged her tightly. "I've been trying to call you for weeks. I was getting worried."

  "Yeah, I've had a problem with my phone."

  Darus set the suitcase on the floor next to Clare. He briefly caught her eye, his expression serious, before turning and heading toward a back table. Julia watched him go like he was the boogeyman.

  He knows, Clare thought.

  She tugged the sleeve of her Tee over the bruises. Thankfully, Chris had left her face alone. She rolled her swollen lip between her teeth. Well, most of it anyway.

  "When did you get here? How long are you staying? Did you fly down? Where's Chris?"

  There was the question she didn't want to answer. "I'm sorry, Jules, I'm super tired. Can I fill you in later?" She offered Julia a meek smile.

  Besides the concern on her face, Julia looked great. Her skin bronzed and glowing, her hair loose and long—almost to her waist—she was trim and more fit than Clare had ever seen her. And she looked radiant. Married life obviously agreed with her.

  Clare felt a little jealous, and not because Armand was the hottest guy in New Orleans. It was more because her relationship had come crashing to the ground. Or more appropriately, crashing into the side of her face.

  "Of course." Julia picked up the bag. "You just have the one suitcase?"

  And as much shit she'd been able to toss into her car, which wasn't much. Only having three hours to escape meant she'd left a lot of her things behind. "Yep."

  "Slade, can you hand me my wine, please," Julia said as she walked behind the bar. The bulky bartender passed over the glass. He was so much beefier than Clare remembered from Mardi Gras, like he'd been doing double duty in the gym. And like Julia, he looked great. Not with the same healthy glow she carried—he actually had faint blue circles under his red eyes—but he just looked happy. "Thanks," Julia said to him. She turned to Clare. "You want anything?"

  A double shot of tequila with a whiskey back. "I'm good," she said instead. The liquor probably wouldn't mix well with the sleeping pills she was planning on choking down as soon as she was alone and near a bed.

  Before joining Julia behind the bar, Clare glanced toward Darus seated at a back table. He was chatting with another patron, but his gray eyes lifted when her gaze settled on him. He made a little flamboyant gesture with his hand—something resembling a bow—and then returned his attention to his neighbor.

  "We've finished a lot more on the
third story since you were here last," Julia told her as she led her through the back room and up the stairs. "You actually get your own bathroom."

  "Sweet."

  "How long are you staying?" She asked when she stopped at the door to the apartment, key in the lock, hand on the knob, wine balanced precariously between her fingers. Clare felt a little guilty being so empty handed.

  "Um…"

  Julia waited, expecting an answer no doubt. When Clare still hadn't answered after an awkward five seconds of silence, she pushed the door open.

  "We're thinking about turning half of the third floor into an apartment."

  Well, that settled it. Julia knew, too.

  In typical Julia form, she didn't say anything. If roles were reversed, Clare would be up Julia's ass for answers. But that wasn't Julia. She immediately led Clare up the stairs to the third floor, depositing her suitcase on the floor of the immaculate guest bedroom.

  It looked pretty much as she remembered. The sleek platform bed was a deep black with a rich, red silk comforter that matched the drapes. The walls were painted slate gray and contrasted nicely with the dark walnut floors. The art on the walls were simple black and white scenes from around New Orleans.

  "Those are new," Clare said, sitting on the bed.

  "Yeah, I picked up photography this year. I thought being surrounded by pictures of New Orleans would be fun for guests."

  "They're nice. I think that one's from Venice, though." She pointed to a picture of a canal with a Gondola tethered to a post.

  Julia smiled sheepishly. "I couldn't help myself."

  "Tomorrow, I want to hear all about your honeymoon," Clare said, right before a huge yawn stretched her jaws wide.

  "Absolutely. I can probably take tomorrow afternoon off, but I have a meeting in the morning I can't miss. You think you'll be okay?"

  "Of course. I'm the one who sprang a surprise visit on you. Shit, I probably won't even get up before noon." It really wasn't an exaggeration. Clare planned on taking a double dose of sleeping pills. She was hoping for a good fourteen hours of sleep. Julia turned to leave. "Oh, and Jules, you don't need to take the day off. I'm not going back to St. Louis."

  Julia nodded. "I figured as much." She closed the door gently behind her.

  Clare fell back on the bed, the plush comforter making a whump noise as she sank into it. God, what a mess. She wasn't sure why she hesitated telling Julia about Chris. It wasn't like she would be anything but supportive. Clare might feel embarrassed, ashamed and pathetic for letting a man treat her the way Chris had, but her sister wouldn't share those feelings. She hoped, anyway.

  With a grunt, she rolled off the bed, pausing to retrieve her toiletry bag before making her way to the bathroom. Frantically packing and then driving all day had finally steamrolled her. She plopped her contacts into some solution without rinsing them, half-ass brushed her teeth, peed, took her sleeping pills, and then zombie walked her way back to the bedroom. By the time she flopped on the bed, she barely had the energy to kick off her shoes. Climbing under the covers? Forget about it.

  * * * *

  All Darus could think about while Locke recounted a sordid story from Sin, a local fetish club he often bounced at, were the bruises on Clare's arm. Unmistakably in the shape of four fingers, he could perfectly envision the scenario that caused them: a man with fairly large hands grabbing Clare by the arm, yanking her to him or maybe flinging her into something. And then immediately after, he probably gave her that fat lip she was trying to hide with makeup and lip-gloss. He could even visualize the big handed man pulling her in just to backhand her.

  It made his blood boil.

  "Hey." Locke snapped fingers in front of his face. "Ground control to Major Tom."

  Darus snatched Locke's fingers as they continued to snap in his face. "That's really annoying," he said, forcing Locke's hand down to the table.

  Locke looked at his hand and then at him. "I think prison put some muscles on you."

  "Working out was the only thing that kept my virginity intact."

  Locke looked him over. "You're not that much bigger than before you went to prison."

  "Lean muscle mass rather than bulk." Julia Laroque pushing through the velvet curtains leading to the back room caught Darus' eye. "My teeth freaked them out too," he added, keeping his gaze focused on the woman who hated him more than Hitler.

  "What'd you do about your Cravings?"

  Darus grinned, his eyes still firmly planted on Julia. "I found Donors." He rose. "Now that you mention it, that probably preserved my virginity more than anything else. Excuse me."

  Julia watched him like he was a leper as he approached. He ignored it, just as he ignored the tiny corner of his brain telling him he deserved it. Leaning on the bar, he resisted the urge to snarl at her. He wasn't sure how to deal with her hatred without turning into a prick, so he just asked simply, "How is your sister?"

  She stared at him. "What?"

  He cleared his throat. Shit, this was unfamiliar territory. "I saw the bruises on her arm. Is she all right?"

  Julia was taken aback for a moment, but she quickly recovered. "How is that any of your business?"

  He snorted. First Clare and now her sister. Apparently, he wasn't allowed to ask personal questions. "Twice in one night. Beautiful," he muttered and then held up his hands. "Look, I just wanted to make sure some dickhead boyfriend wasn't going to kick my ass for talking to her. Forget it."

  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.