

La Luxure

Discover Your Blood Lust

C.D. Hussey

* * *

Copyright (c) 2011 C.D. Hussey

Smashwords Edition

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

Cover art by C.D. Hussey and Sean McCue

### Books by C.D. Hussey

### The Human Vampire Series

### _La Luxure:_ **Discover Your Blood Lust**

### Book One in the Human Vampire Series

### _de Sang_ **: Explore Your Blood Lust**

### Book Two in the Human Vampire Series

### _Eveillez_ **: Deny Your Blood Lust**

### Book Three in the Human Vampire Series

### _Expiez:_ **Redeem Your Blood Lust**

### Book Four in the Human Vampire Series

### Coming Soon!

### _Villere House:_ **Blood of My Blood**

### Fall 2013

### Unexpected Oasis

### Winter 2013

To stay updated please visit: <http://www.cdhussey.com/>
Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

de Sang

Chapter One

To avoid taking another nerve-racking glance at the fragile wings and whizzing engine just behind her head, Julia slid the window shade shut. Leaning back in the seat, she closed her eyes and focused on breathing deeply.

God, she hated flying. Statistics and understanding the physics behind _lift_ didn't help, either. Only with sheer force of will and a heaping of logic was she able to keep from screaming in terror. She should have brought some Xanax.

She didn't used to be such a pansy when it came to the safest form of traveling. It wasn't until she turned twenty-nine this year that her own mortality started beating on her door. Now whenever she boarded a plane, morbid images of scattered limbs and smoldering carcasses tangled in twisted, metal wreckage sped through her mind.

Fortunately, besides her sister Clare and cat, Beelzebub (affectionately referred to as Bubbers), Julia didn't have anyone that would miss her if she met an untimely death in some Mississippi field. What a blubbering wreck she'd be if she actually had children or a husband to worry about.

One of the few reasons to be thankful she was still single.

Not that Julia was desperate to be married or popping out babies, but it would be nice to be in a relationship with a guy that lasted longer than six months. Hell, it'd be nice to find a man she could actually _envision_ being in a long-term relationship with.

Was it wrong to want to experience those first few amazing months of a new relationship everyone was always talking about? The kind where you get butterflies around the other person, all their jokes are funny, and you fuck like rabbits. She wasn't looking for fifty years of butterflies and endless rabbit fucking, but was three months too much to ask? A week? A one-night stand?

And it wasn't like she didn't constantly meet men. Julia was a civil engineer for the City of Alton in Illinois, about forty-five minutes north of St. Louis. She was always around men. Most were just lacking...something.

On paper, her last boyfriend Jeff had been great. A consultant engineer with Hughes & Ralston in St. Louis, he was good looking, okay in bed, and not super picky or controlling like a lot of engineers could be. Nor was he socially inept. It just wasn't there. For her.

"It's because you read all those stupid romance novels," Clare had said once. "Your expectations are all skewed."

Maybe Clare was on to something. Lately, nothing in Julia's life felt right. It didn't make any sense. She had a good job and a nice apartment. The guys she dated were usually decent looking and successful. Yet, she was never quite satisfied. Maybe she did read too much or expect all the wrong things. Maybe she was just too picky.

She picked up her latest read and glanced at the description on the back.

New Orleans Blood Lust

After a tragic fire kills her entire family and destroys her plantation home, Marguerite LaFleur moves to steamy New Orleans to live with her spinster Aunt. When she meets the dark and mysterious Blaise Carmichael, she is torn between a lust that could save her tattered heart and a fear she might be his next meal.

Normally, Julia liked her romance novels a little edgier, with leather clad, tattooed vampires that had drug problems, or were once sex slaves. The occasional werewolf was nice, or angst-y warlock, or even a tormented, sorcerer werewolf. She'd put away the historical novels years ago in favor of darker, rawer, urban fantasies.

Still, this book seemed appropriate, considering she _was_ traveling to New Orleans. Of course, she was going for a conference on "Emergency Utility Management During Manmade or Natural Catastrophes", not because her plantation had burnt down.

Sometimes, Julia wondered what drew her to the paranormal. Unlike Clare, who sported crazy hair colors, multiple tattoos, and numerous piercings, Julia was completely normal. She was the girl next door really, with straight brown hair that floated somewhere between her armpits and bra strap, plain brown eyes, and innocent looking face. She couldn't understand why "normal" life didn't seem to suit her.

The plane lurched and Julia's heart went with it. The fasten seatbelt sign dinged and the muffled, nasally warning of turbulence piped over the intercom. After cranking down the seatbelt until it cut into her flesh, Julia pried open her book. Something had to take her mind off this wretched form of travel, and the promise of a hot vampire and maybe even some hot vampire sex was just the distraction she needed.

As soon as her plane had all three of its knobby little tires on the runway and was safely taxiing to the terminal, Julia powered up her cell phone and called her sister. She was preparing to leave a message when Clare unexpectedly answered.

"Hey," Clare said breathlessly.

"I'm here."

Pause. "Great," Clare panted. The sound of rustling fabric sounded faintly in the earpiece.

Clare was either having sex or running a marathon.

"Um..." Julia wasn't quite sure what to say.

"Hey...sis...can I...call you later?"

Clare was having sex! Geez, it wasn't such an important call that she needed to take it. Julia hoped like hell the next time she was physically involved with a man it was so amazing that she wouldn't even hear the phone ring.

"Yeah, of course," Julia said, not waiting for her sister's reply before clicking the phone shut. She was surprised at the level of irritation she felt, since answering the phone during intercourse, or even placing a call during sex wasn't out of character for Clare.

It was just as well that she avoided an involved conversation. The plane had pulled up to the terminal and passengers were reaching impatiently for suitcases and shoving their way toward the exit. Unless she wanted to risk getting clobbered by another harried traveler, attempting to talk on the phone while trying to retrieve her carry-on was probably a bad idea.

The Louis Armstrong International Airport in New Orleans was small and easy to negotiate. Within twenty minutes, Julia had her luggage and was in a cab heading to her hotel in the French Quarter. She'd opted out of staying at the conference hotel, instead choosing a smaller, more intimate inn not far from Bourbon St. It looked to be a short walk to the conference, and Julia was looking forward to ditching her car for a week. Life in the Midwest rarely allowed one to abandon their carbon burping wheeled monster. It would be a refreshing change.

The city wasn't quite what she expected. Like any good tourist, Julia had thoroughly researched New Orleans before getting on the plane. But the mismatched buildings and flat, sprawling, suburban landscape didn't look anything like the brochure. No iron balconies or hanging ferns or mule-drawn carriages or 18th century charm. Most of the buildings looked like they were built in the seventies or sooner. She did spot a couple of above ground cemeteries, and scanned them eagerly as the cab sped by. Visiting one of the famous cemeteries was on her tourist _to-do_ list.

It wasn't until the cab pulled off the highway that the scenery changed into something from her Internet searches. Her face pressed eagerly against the dirt-streaked window as the cab wove its way down narrow streets. She loved it. From the colorful homes with numerous balconies and shuttered windows, to the gas lanterns that lined the streets, it felt like coming home.

All the trepidation about traveling eased from her system and she felt excited about her weeklong stay in New Orleans for the first time since her boss had told her about it. She had an epiphany right there in the back of the smelly cab. There was something here that beckoned her, a promise of new and exciting experiences. It was time to change, time to be someone she usually was not.

She vowed to use this trip to break away from her comfort zone and be spontaneous for once.

* * *

From the lobby, Hotel Conti-Royal looked nice, with tall ceilings, intricate wood trimmed doorways, and floor to ceiling silk drapes. Her coworkers had warned her that anything deep in the Quarter, except maybe the huge chain hotels that Julia had very little desire to visit, was going to be disgusting. She could stay in a Marriott anywhere. She was only going to be in New Orleans for five days and wanted to _really_ experience the city.

The concierge was pleasant, if not a bit brusque, and after a quick scan of her company credit card, Julia had her key and was headed for the room she would call home for the next week.

The elevator wasn't quite as nice.

Planes weren't the only things that made Julia nervous. She wasn't especially fond of elevators, either. Something about being trapped in a tiny, metal compartment that relied on spindly, metal strings to keep her from plummeting to her death didn't sit well with her. This one was especially unnerving as it heaved and groaned its way to the fourth floor. With an exhausted jerk, it finally stopped, and she determined to find the stairs next time.

There was a bleach stain on the carpet, and pieces of the Queen Anne headboard were broken off, but her small, quaint room seemed clean enough. A screen-less window overlooked a brick courtyard housing a small pool and gurgling fountain that looked very relaxing. It was a little chilly outside, but not too bad. Maybe later, she'd grab a drink and read some more of her book down there. _Marguerite_ had just buried her family and was en route to her Aunt's New Orleans home. If this book followed any kind of standard formula, it wouldn't be long until _Blaise Carmichael_ showed up, and Julia was anxious to meet the heroine's vampire love interest.

Julia glanced around the room, unsure what to do next. She could unpack her suitcase and actually use the dresser for more than just a place to toss her purse and lipstick. She could watch TV. Or...she could read a little more. A couple chapters wouldn't hurt anything.

Plopping on an oversized chair nestled in the corner across from a large, wooden desk, she cracked open her book. She sped through one chapter before her grumbling stomach interrupted. As she reached for the hotel menu, a wave of disgust suddenly washed over her.

She was in the French Quarter, in New Orleans, and she was going to order room service while reading some romance novel? It wasn't exactly the adventure she had in mind when making her vow on the cab ride here.

Her cell phone rang just as she tossed the book aside. Grabbing her purse, she flipped open the phone and headed into the hallway. Even if she hadn't planned any activities for this evening, she could at least get a bite to eat, and then wander the streets for a few hours.

"Hey, Jules," Clare's voice piped in. "Sorry about earlier. I was just a little _occupied_. You know how Chris is."

No, Julia did not know how Chris was, nor did she want to.

"Just don't answer the phone next time," she snipped, once again surprised by her irritable reaction. She felt like a bitter old woman. Why was she so annoyed by Clare answering the phone while having sex? Maybe Julia was jealous. Her vibrator was the only companion she'd had for a while.

"Um, yeah, no problem," Clare said cautiously. "So what are you up to?"

"Heading out to get dinner. Have any suggestions?" Julia arrived at the elevator and paused. The stairs had to be nearby. Taking a guess, she pulled open a door near the shaft. She'd assumed correctly, and stepped into a metal and concrete stairwell that looked like it belonged in a bad horror movie where women in stilettos ran screaming from a masked, chainsaw carrying psycho.

It didn't matter. Anything was better than the elevator.

"I don't think I've ever eaten while in NOLA," Clare admitted with a laugh just as Julia negotiated the first step. "There is a pizza place on Bourbon by the 'Live Sex Acts' show."

Julia grimaced. "I'll keep that in mind."

"The pizza or the live sex acts?" Clare teased.

"Neither. Well, I'm sure I'll find something."

"Eat some oysters. They're an aphrodisiac you know. There's a popular restaurant on Iberville St."

"Oysters do sound good. Thanks, Clare. I'll talk to you later."

Julia reached the lobby and pulled out her map. Not only had she researched the city, but always the good engineer, she'd also printed out a map and circled points of interest. She'd even calculated the distance and time it would take to get to each one.

It would be a refreshing change for her to simply be adventurous, actually go somewhere unprepared, truly live in the moment...but at least she knew how to get to Iberville, only two blocks down.

The sun was slowly creeping behind the downtown skyline and Bourbon Street was already a bustle of activity. The minute Julia stepped off the quiet street her hotel was nestled on, the energy changed from quaint 18th century town to spring break. Music blared from open bar windows. Techno clashed with hip-hop while head-butting a Mardi Gras brass band. People stumbled down the blockaded street carrying huge, plastic souvenir cups most likely filled with alcoholic beverages, and waitresses in overly short skirts balanced trays of brightly colored test tube shots.

She realized this endless party was part of the city's appeal, but good grief, it was Sunday.

Something whizzed past her head, and Julia ducked instinctually. A strand of cheap purple beads lay curled on the dirty street. Following the beads' trajectory, she glanced toward the wrought iron balcony across the street. Three overweight, hairy men stood on it, spilling beer over the edge. One lifted his T-shirt and catcalled, shaking his fur covered belly and man-boobs at her.

Julia tucked her head and geared her stride into New York mode, quickly slipping past two strippers beckoning passers-by into their club, some guy puking into a trash can, and an area that smelled strongly of urine, until she was finally able to escape onto Iberville.

Once off Bourbon, the energy changed back to quiet calm. It was startling how different it was, like an invisible line had been drawn at Bourbon's right-of-way and she passed from one dimension to the next when crossing it.

With the palms of her hands, Julia wiped the imaginary scum from her jeans and sweater. She felt like she needed a shower. When she headed back to the hotel later, she'd be sure to take a parallel street.

Unfortunately, the restaurant with the neon "Oysters" sign blaring in the front window had a line out the door. Her stomach gurgled angrily. Oysters would have to wait another day. There was a hot dog guy on the corner. She could grab a quick bite and then check out Jackson Square. The temperature was cooler than she expected, and the chilled air was slowly seeping through her sweater, but a brisk walk to the Saint Louis Cathedral should warm her up.

Holding her breath against the stench of urine and alcohol, she braved getting close enough to Bourbon St. long enough to buy a hot dog and Diet Coke before beginning the short trek to the Square.

Rue Royal might run parallel to Bourbon, but that was where the similarities ended. It was lined with antique stores, art galleries, and the kind of jewelry shops that attracted women with fur coats and conservative bobs. No beads, no blaring music, no hairy balcony dwellers. Julia might not be the type that frequented antique shops or art galleries, but it was still peaceful.

She settled into a comfortable stride and lost herself in the fantasy of another time. It was easy to do on the stone New Orleans sidewalks.

Alton was a historic city too, with dozens of brick streets and plenty of 19th century charm. But at no time did walking the hilly streets of the city nestled on the bluffs of the Mississippi River allow Julia to forget she was in any time but the present. Maybe it was the cars parked on the wide streets, or the huge grain silo paralleling downtown, or the glitzy casino riverboat that masked Alton's historic feel. Compared to New Orleans, Alton felt like just another pre-civil war city that was an infant by the world's standards, and ancient by American's.

She imagined herself as the character from her book, _Marguerite_ , a stranger in an even stranger city, her wounds still seeping from a recent tragedy, wandering the foreign streets, and looking for something to heal her.

Julia wasn't all that different. Not that her wounds were as raw, but she wasn't without her scars. About eight years ago, her mother had died in a car accident. Julia was still in college and Clare had just turned nineteen. Almost immediately after the funeral, their father moved across the state, where he promptly started a family with his new, twenty-five-year-old wife. Up until that moment, the Brown family had fit the American ideal.

In the eight years following her mother's death, she'd barely spoken to her father twice, and had never even met her new siblings or _stepmother_. So, like _Marguerite_ , Julia understood what it was like to have her world come crashing to an abrupt halt.

And like _Marguerite_ , Julia had never been to New Orleans.

She glanced up from her daydream. It had suddenly gotten very quiet. The antique shops, galleries, and other tourists were gone, and she was alone at the intersection. The street sign read, "Ursulines Ave".

Julia unfolded her map. Oops, she'd gone too far.

Doubling back, Julia studied the map. If she took a left on the next street and then a right on Chartres, she should pass right in front of the cathedral. Surely she couldn't miss it then.

She'd crossed Royal and was heading down the connecting street when a striking couple made her pause. Dressed in elegant _Goth_ fashion, the woman wore an ankle length, red velvet dress with corset lacing, and her sleek, black hair glistened in the flickering gas lamps that illuminated most of the French Quarter. The man was dressed all in black, with a satin button up shirt and fitted trousers. His midnight hair was short and arranged in rigid spikes.

Julia slowed her stride enough to stay a safe distance behind, but not enough that it was obvious she was following them. When the couple disappeared through a brick archway, Julia sped back up to see where they'd gone. A tiny sign with red cursive writing hung at the peak of the arch.

_La Luxure_.

Leaning cautiously against the edge of the archway, she peered into the darkness. A narrow alley stretched before her, opening into what looked like a small courtyard. She could just make out another doorway at the end, and beyond that she could faintly hear music.

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

Her skin and body nearly separated. Laughing nervously instead of screaming, she turned to the tall, lean man who'd so efficiently snuck up on her. He had waist length, multicolored dreads, pale skin with hollow cheeks, a hook nose, and the craziest white-blue eyes she'd ever seen. His clothes were more Steampunk than traditional Goth, with a fitted waistcoat, pocket watch, and motorcycle goggles perched on his head.

Not that Julia had ever worn either style. But it was something Clare was into, and Julia had spent hours listening to her sister gush about this corset dress, or that fabulous bustle, or this mini top hat, to at least recognize the difference between the fashions.

Her voice escaped in a rush. "Oh! It's a bar?"

"In a manner of speaking." His burgundy painted lips separated, revealing sparkling, white teeth. "There's no need to be shy. You're welcome to come in and have a drink."

As curious as Julia might be about the inside of _La Luxure_ , she really didn't care to go in based on some strange guy's invitation. He had the most lust filled expression on his angular face, and it was more than just sexual.

"Maybe later. I'm expected somewhere else." She hoped to make him think people were waiting for her. Ditching the body of someone with friends was harder than ditching a loner no one would miss.

"Too bad," he said, sliding past her and into the dim alley. "You're definitely my _type_." He grinned one last time at her before disappearing through a door at the far end.

What the hell did that mean? He didn't seem the kind to prefer the "girl next door", and he'd emphasized his last word enough to make her wonder at its innuendo.

Hadn't he called her _O negative_?

That was her blood type.

Goosebumps covered her body, and chills danced up her spine. Julia didn't linger any longer, but hastened away as quickly as she could without actually running. She felt like the little girl she'd once been, who scampered up the basement stairs convinced there were monsters underneath waiting to grab her ankles.

Planes and elevators might send morbid images into her head, now she had another scene to add. This one revolved around a tall, pale man sucking her dry in a dark, arched alleyway.

It was scary and somehow sexy at the same time.
Chapter Two

Minutes later, Julia stumbled onto Jackson Square. The cathedral was beautiful even in the twilight hours. Its gray spires reached well above the building rooftops and she wondered how she'd missed it the first time.

Except for a few artists packing up their wares and some lingering fortune tellers, the Square was empty. The temperature had dropped even more, or maybe Julia was still chilled from the creepy encounter at _Luxure_ , but she wished she'd brought a jacket.

Peering through the metal slats of the park's perimeter fence, she could barely make out the statue of Andrew Jackson. She'd come back when it was light out, but right now, with the lack of safe sunlight and dwindling number of people, Julia decided it was best to retire to her hotel room and immerse herself in a more interesting New Orleans adventure.

"I must read your cards," a short, smarmy looking man said, drawing her attention away from the park landscaping. He wore a black leather jacket and matching moustache from 1989.

"No thanks, I'm good."

"I have to. I was packing up, but something told me I had to read you." His black eyes sparkled when he smiled. "Let a real Rom tell your future. Half price."

Wasn't this the spontaneity she was craving? What else did she have to do? She shrugged. "Sure."

"It's not often I really feel the need to read someone," he told her as he led her over to a card table covered with one of those cotton blankets sold in head shops: the kind with astrological signs, lots of stars, and often an Indian God or two. "Been doing this for twenty years. You're only the third person that called to me."

Oh, it was probably his normal shtick, but it was harmless enough to buy into it. Besides, she'd always wanted to have a tarot reading.

"Really? Well, I hope you've got something good for me." She followed his lead and sat across from him in a plastic, foldable chair.

"So what question do you have for the cards?" he asked as he shuffled the large deck once, twice, a third time, and then, after hesitating and pressing his ear against the cards as though he was _listening_ to them, a fourth time.

"Um, nothing particular. Just tell me about the future, I guess," she said, too embarrassed to ask the real question she'd like an answer to. Would she ever meet a man that made her feel something more than ho-hum?

With rapid, practiced movements, he placed the cards on the points of the yellow star centered on the blanket covering the table. Starting with the center, then moving to the upper point, the lower right point, the left point, and continuing until all the cards were gone. Next time she was bored at work, she'd have to look up the significance of the pattern on the Net. Or ask Clare. That girl knew the most bizarre trivia.

He flipped a few cards over, studied them a moment, and then said, "I see you as lost. Not really unhappy, but not quite satisfied, like the niche you've carved in your life isn't quite the right fit and you're searching for something to fill in the missing pieces." He glanced at her. "You're single, right?"

Whoa. "Um, yeah."

"Shame for such a pretty girl." The Roma smiled, flipping over more cards. "Well, it isn't for lack of trying, or lack of offers. All the men you meet, like your life, are just _off_. Nothing is really wrong. They're just never the right fit." He studied the exposed cards. Julia tried to follow what he might be seeing, but she couldn't make heads or tails out of any of it. All she saw were random pictures.

"You're a practical person, pretty low key and down to earth, but there's more to you than what's obvious. Under that good girl façade, there's a wild streak that simmers just beneath the surface. I don't mean Bourbon St., flashing people from balconies wild. This is a darker, dirtier wild streak." He tossed a wink at her and she felt like a thirteen-year-old girl whose dad had to buy her tampons. She looked over the cards again. How the hell did he decipher all that from a few nonsensical images?

He flipped over a few more cards and immediately raised an eyebrow. "Well, well." He grinned at her, a big, fat, canary eating grin. "It looks like you're going to meet the man you've been looking for in the next three days."

"What? Here? In New Orleans?"

The Rom nodded. "And it's going to bring about the change you've been seeking. But it'll be more than just new love, or lust, there's something about this man that will answer the questions in your soul and awaken the woman that's been locked away for so long."

That was quite a tall order for one man to fill. Based on the books she read, Julia might be a romantic, but she was a realist too. She certainly wasn't expecting Mr. Right to fulfill every need she could conceive.

The fortune teller revealed some more cards. His unibrow knitted even tighter together until it was a solid black line across his olive forehead. "This can't be right," he muttered.

"What?"

He shook his head. "There's darkness here. Evil and...blood."

"What does that mean?"

He shook his head again. When he turned over the next card, he jumped to his feet, nearly knocking the table over in the process. "Reading's over," he said, bundling the tarot cards in the blanket and shoving them into a plastic tub. This had to be part of the shtick. "No charge, just forget you met me." Yanking the table back, he folded the legs with hasty, jerky movements. When he came for her chair, she rose unsurely.

"Um..."

"Just go. Reading's over." Folding up both chairs, he tucked them, the table, and the plastic tub under his arm and lumbered away awkwardly. Julia watched after him astounded.

What just happened?

A brisk breeze blew up from the Mississippi, tossing her hair in all different directions and chilling her even more. Okay, she'd had enough weird encounters for one night. No more stops until she was back at the hotel. She didn't even check her map to make sure she was heading in the right direction. A quick check to make sure the downtown skyline was in front of her was enough. She was ready to be somewhere with a lock.

Luckily, the walk back to her hotel was uneventful. Skipping the elevator, she took the stairs two at a time and made sure she flipped the security bolt on her room door.

Not that she was particularly superstitious, nor was she a true believer of psychics and the supernatural. But if engineering school had taught her anything, it was that there is an awful lot about the world people don't yet understand, and some of the stuff people think they "know" is only a good guess. She wasn't arrogant enough to write something off simply because it didn't fit into her image of the world.

Humans were just animals after all. If cattle could sense pending earthquakes and dogs could predict seizures, it wasn't that far of a stretch to think that, if developed, human senses could expand beyond the common five.

Even if Julia didn't put a ton of faith in the fortune teller's predictions, they were still disturbing. And intriguing. Blood? Death? A true love?

But what had the Rom seen that finally sent him running?

Thunderstruck, Julia shook her head. Falling onto the chair, she scooped up her book. If this crazy first night in New Orleans was an indicator, what could she expect from the next five?

* * *

It was difficult paying attention to the various speakers that churned through Power Point after Power Point presentation during her seminar the next day. She diligently scribbled notes on the provided handouts, trying to catch the key points, but couldn't seem to keep her mind from wandering.

It wasn't just the crazy tarot reading that spun through her mind. For some reason she kept thinking of _La Luxure_. She couldn't help but wonder if it was like the Goth-type bars described in books she'd read, where heavy industrial techno pounded through the speakers and sexy bodies writhed on the dance floor and fetish acts were performed live in cages. She wondered about the dreadlock guy and his weird reference to her blood type. Was he a regular patron of the bar? Was it merely a drinking establishment or something more?

More than once she tried to force the thoughts from her head and concentrate on whichever current speaker was at the podium. And every time she failed. She wondered what it would be like to actually walk down that narrow alley and go inside. What type of people might she meet?

The thoughts were nothing more than mere fantasies. She probably couldn't even find the place again, let alone drum up the courage to go inside.

Lunch was a welcome escape from the monotony of droning speakers. The caterers wheeled in Cajun favorites: gumbo, crawfish, jambalaya, red beans and rice, and po'boys. There weren't any oysters, but Julia wasn't complaining. A Bloody Mary was all she needed to complete the meal.

Oh, they had those too.

Welcome to New Orleans.

"They've really thought of everything, huh?" the guy standing behind her in line said.

"I don't know how they think we're going to be able to concentrate this afternoon after a Bloody Mary or two," she replied, turning to greet him. He was around her age, late twenties or early thirties, with sandy brown hair and a decent physique hiding under his blue polo. He was cute and Julia was reminded of her tarot reading. It _was_ within three days...

"Maybe there's a siesta scheduled next."

"That'd be nice," she laughed. "But there might be one anyway, scheduled or not." She held out her hand. "Julia."

He shook it firmly, which she liked. She had no use for men who wouldn't shake a woman's hand the same way they shook a man's. "Dave." Their nametags announced who they were, but it was nice to declare it formally. "So, Alton?" he wondered, reading the rest of her nametag. "That's outside of St. Louis right?"

"Yeah, just to the northeast."

Dave grinned. "I'm from Columbia." His tag read, _Columbia Water & Light_.

"Oh, like _Mizzou_?"

"Exactly. We're practically neighbors."

Columbia, home to the largest university in Missouri, was roughly halfway between St. Louis and Kansas City: about a two hour drive from Alton. They might not be the, "can I borrow a cup of sugar" type of neighbors, but it was certainly doable for a relationship. Of course, that was assuming _Dave_ was the love the tarot reader had predicted, or that there would be a new love at all. She was really jumping the gun.

Presumptuous or not, the prospect was exciting.

"So, are you down here by yourself?" She nodded and Dave seemed pleased to hear that. "Well, you're welcome to join us." He gestured toward a table with a lone blond man sitting at it. "I'm here with my coworker, Mike."

"Sure. Thanks." Subtly, she slipped her book into her purse. _Blaise_ would have to wait until later.

"In fact, we're heading out to Pat O'Brien's after the conference for a drink if you're interested. Mike's girlfriend Beth came down here with him, so it'd be the four of us."

As the token vagina, men were always trying to pair her up with another of her kind. It was unnecessary. Julia worked almost exclusively with men and she was completely comfortable socializing with them. In fact, from time to time, she was known for channeling her inner construction worker. Clare was actually the only female she associated with. But the gesture was thoughtful nonetheless.

"That sounds fun."

She smiled at Dave. Maybe she was expecting too much, but the tarot reader's words buzzed in her ears. No matter what happened, meeting Dave and his friends at the famous New Orleans bar not only presented the perfect opportunity to cross one attraction off her tourist _to-do_ list, but also had the potential to be a very interesting evening.

* * *

Julia understood why Pat O'Brien's was such a popular tourist destination. The courtyard was spectacular: all brick, with a large fountain, multiple bars, and enough foliage to make a person forget they were in a completely urban environment. It was a tranquil escape from the debauchery of Bourbon Street. Although pretty crowded, the energy was high but not too frat-y, and at no point was Julia worried about being clobbered by beads or flashed.

In spite of the cool temperature, they chose a table outside. The moment they sat down a waiter in a green uniform jacket approached their table. Julia stared at the drink menu. There were pages of colorful drinks displayed in an array of curvy glasses. They looked good, but were probably far too sweet for her tastes and had bad hangover written all over them. She flipped over the menu. Maybe they had a wine selection...

Wine was usually a risky choice at a bar. Julia wasn't a wine snob by any stretch of the imagination, but she did have a few requests. She preferred the wine to come in a normal sized bottle, it had to have been opened within the last three days, and her red wine couldn't come out of the cooler or a box. Although box wines had improved in recent years...

"Julia? Do you want something to drink?" The way Dave was looking at her, it wasn't the first time he'd asked the question. In fact, they were all looking at her.

"Um, of course." Awkwardly, she fumbled with the drink menu. She should have made a choice by now. Something simple, a beer, gin & tonic, maybe a vodka drink...?

"You'll want a Hurricane," Dave told her in a 'Father knows best' tone. He turned to the waiter. "She'll have a Hurricane."

Julia felt her hackles rise. She was pretty sure she did _not_ want a Hurricane. "Um..."

"They're yummy," Beth said, leaning toward her and whispering across the table. Beth was classically pretty, with long, straight blond hair and deeply tanned skin.

"Sounds good," Julia agreed with forced enthusiasm, choking down her snippy retort and blinking away the dirty look she wanted to flick at Dave. He probably didn't mean anything by it, and according to her menu, the Hurricane _was_ created at Pat O'Brien's, so as a good tourist, she should at least try one while sitting in their courtyard. She just didn't like Dave _telling_ her she wanted one.

"Dude, did you see that stripper on the way here?" Mike said suddenly. "She had the biggest booty I have ever seen."

"I saw her," Beth replied. "I don't think it was real."

Mike looked at her incredulously. "What? That's ridiculous."

"They have implants, you know." Beth turned to Julia. "No one's real butt sticks out that far, trust me. It was insane."

"So, Julia," Dave interjected, redirecting the conversation. "Are you staying in the Quarter?"

"I am. On Conti and Royal. What about you guys?"

"We're staying at the Holiday Inn."

Beth rolled her eyes. "Instead of the Marriott. I mean, don't get me wrong, the Holiday Inn's okay, but it's not a Marriott." Julia just smiled and nodded. Sometimes it was best to keep one's thoughts private. "Is your hotel pretty skuzzy?"

"No. It's fine."

Mike made a grunting noise. "This whole city's pretty skuzzy. It's okay to visit, but I'd never want to live here."

Julia shrugged. "I don't know. I kinda like it."

"Not me. I wouldn't want to deal with all these drunks all the time." Somehow, Julia was pretty sure not everyone in New Orleans was drunk all the time and there was a lot more to this city than Mike had seen. "Hey, but it's a great place to party!" he added as the waiter delivered their drinks. "Start a tab, my man!" he exclaimed, handing the waiter his credit card.

This wasn't exactly the night of adventure Julia had in mind when she'd left her hotel. Sipping at the fruity, rum infused cocktail, she tried to put all of her misgivings aside and enjoy the bar and the company. Unfortunately, she had very little to add to the current conversation about a TV show she'd only read about on Yahoo news.

Fiddling with her straw, she glanced around. The patio was filled with people of all ages, from the barely twenty-one to couples well over sixty, and they all had tourist stamped across their foreheads.

It was odd, but she felt completely out of place. Not just with her colleagues, but in this bar. Like she wasn't meant to sit in this wrought iron chair on this patio drinking this famous drink. It felt off.

Which was ridiculous. She looked exactly like most of the other patrons, with her trendy jeans, fitted black sweater and heeled boots. She even had the same hair, the same neutral makeup, heck, the same purse as half the women in the bar. Somehow, it just didn't. Feel. Right.

She wondered suddenly what was going on at _Luxure_. What type of music was playing? Were people dancing or just lounging around on velvet sofas? What was the popular drink there? Were they even open yet?

With an inward sigh, she forced her attention back to the people she was actually with. She should be focusing on reality, not the fantasy of some bar she would probably never step foot in.

The conversation had turned to sports, and Dave and Mike were vehemently discussing the Mizzou/KU game from the previous weekend. She listened patiently for a while, trying to add pertinent comments whenever possible. Julia wasn't exactly a sports fan, but she worked with a bunch of men who were, so she wasn't completely unschooled on the topic. Uninterested, but not unschooled.

It wasn't long before her attention started to wander.

She quickly decided that while Dave was nice enough, attractive and funny, she had a difficult time seeing him as the man the fortune teller described. There wasn't anything wrong with him, but he seemed a tad too mundane to _answer the questions in her soul and awaken the woman that had been locked away for so long_. He also reminded her a bit too much of Jeff, but that might just be a coincidence. Other than the Hurricane incident, he seemed like a decent guy. He had plenty going for him and he was obviously interested.

Why wasn't she? Was she just being hasty and judgmental, as usual?

Maybe that's what felt off about this place. There wasn't anything wrong with it, and on paper, Julia should love it. She _should_ want a Hurricane. She _should_ be content discussing her purse with Beth, or listening to Mike and Dave debate football draft choices. She _should_ be excited to be here like any normal person instead of wishing she could return to her room to find out if _Blaise_ was going to make love to _Marguerite,_ or bite her, or both, or wondering if multi-color dread guy was at _Luxure_...

It was Julia that was off, not Pat O'Brien's or Dave. It was like she was too weird for the normal kids and too normal for the weird kids.

Julia managed to empty her Hurricane glass and fill her bladder. She excused herself and sought out the nearest bathroom. The bar was starting to pick up and get a little rowdier. She was almost knocked down twice by over enthusiastic drinkers. Once, she actually had to duck to avoid being clocked in the face.

The bathroom became a safe house, the women's sign a beacon of hope, and she was relieved when she made it there in one piece. It was merely a bonus when the line wasn't out the door.

Julia wasn't much of a bathroom dweller. She quickly relieved her bladder, washed her hands, did a quick check to make sure she didn't have make up smeared across her face, and was done.

Her phone buzzed just as she left the safety of the bathroom. It was Clare. Of course.

"What's up Jules? How's NOLA?"

"Good. The conference is a little boring so far but I wasn't expecting anything else."

"Where are you at? It's really loud."

"Pat O'Brien's."

"Are you there by yourself?"

"No. I'm here with some people from the conference."

"Oh? Any cute guys?"

Clare needed to be wearing a headscarf and slinging Yiddish phrases as much matchmaking she tried to do. "There's this guy, Dave. He's pretty good looking, I guess. He lives in Columbia."

"Is he bangable?"

"I hadn't really thought that far ahead."

"You should fuck him. Have a little New Orleans fling."

Julia laughed. It wasn't that she hadn't considered the possibility, but only Clare could be so crudely blunt about it.

"Seriously, Jules. When _was_ the last time you got laid? Four months ago when you broke up with Jeff?"

Er, five was more like it. "I don't know that I'm that into this guy."

"You said he was cute right?"

"Yeah, in a clean-cut, polo shirt wearing kind of way." Julia wasn't sure why she even mentioned that. All she ever dated were _Khakis_. From her own history, Dave was exactly her type.

"Then don't worry about it. Even if you're not super into him you can still _eff_ him and have a good time. Consider it an opportunity to flex your sex goddess muscles. Relish in the experience of rocking his world, and blowing his mind."

Dave had caught Julia's eye and was waving her over. "Hey Clare, I got to go. I'm being beckoned."

"Well think about what I said. Sex goddess muscles...they're next to the Kegels."

Julia laughed. "Okay, okay. I'll think about it."

A shot filled with tan colored liquor and topped with whipped cream was waiting for her. And each member of the party had one in their hands. Blowjobs. Holy hell, they were doing blowjob shots.

And there was another Hurricane parked in front of her empty seat.

"C'mon Julia, pick up your shot," Beth encouraged.

Grudgingly, Julia picked up the glass. It wasn't that she was opposed to the blowjob shot — she loved them during years twenty to twenty-two — but the idea of mixing all the different liquors and then throwing some whipped cream in the mix...it just wasn't appealing.

"Here's to work conferences in cool cities," Mike said.

"And here's to Hurricane Katrina," Dave added, "for making New Orleans the perfect backdrop for our conference."

"Cheers!" Beth chirped, and the shots were consumed in rapid succession.

It really was a tasty little shot. Maybe Julia was being overly surly. The bar was fine, the drinks were fine, the company was fine. She was just being persnickety, and that was probably one of the many reasons she remained single. It was time she quit being such a buzz kill and tried to enjoy what life threw at her.

Still, about half way into the second Hurricane, not only was she getting rather tipsy, but was also thinking of ways to get out of Pat O's. Now that she had a little liquid courage, she really wanted to check out _Luxure_. The idea of going there alone was pretty frightening, and she thought about seeing if Beth wanted to join her. One look at Beth's perfect, flawless makeup, and crisp white sweater and Julia discarded the idea.

"Hey Julia, are you feeling okay?" Dave asked. She must have spaced off because when she glanced up all three of the others had concerned looks on their faces.

What a perfect out. "Um, not really. I think mixing all the different liquors isn't agreeing with me." For emphasis, she clutched at her stomach. "I'm thinking I should head back to the hotel." Covering her mouth with a fist, she faked a belch.

"That sucks," Beth said empathetically.

"I know." Julia rose. "What do I owe for the drinks?"

"Don't worry about it." Dave stood up with her. "Maybe I should walk you back."

"Oh, that's not necessary. I have a map." For emphasis, she pulled out the folded piece of paper. "Besides, it's early still, like nine. The drunks don't really come out until at least nine-thirty." She didn't want Dave coming with her. Maybe Clare was right and she should hook up with him, but not this early in the week. Unfortunately though, he looked like he was going to insist. "And didn't you just order another beer?"

"Right."

"Hey, I'll catch you guys tomorrow. Thanks for the drinks!" Julia remembered to hold her stomach as she fled from the bar. A quick stop at the bathroom and brief review of her map, and Julia was headed toward _Luxure_ , the alcohol fueling her every step.

Chapter Three

Julia stood in the narrow alley under the sign for _La Luxure_ for a long time before she finally willed herself to walk down it, begging her low heels to click as softly as possible on the cobbled walkway. The alley opened up into a small courtyard that was illuminated by medieval style torches and enclosed by the adjacent brick buildings and a wrought iron fence covered in vines. A fountain bubbled in one corner, water spewing from a demonic face and trickling down its outstretched tongue into the opaque pool.

Opposite the fountain, thumping music that matched Julia's heart seeped through a closed door. She took a calming breath. It wasn't like she'd never been in a bar alone. Just because this one was tucked away in the darkest corner of the French Quarter with the smallest sign to ever grace a public place and one of the creepiest guys she'd ever met had raved about her blood type just outside its doors didn't make it any different than any other bar.

Except it was completely different than any bar she'd ever visited.

Dimly lit, the bar was cast in an eerie red light, with low, dark ceilings that were almost smothering. Black leather couches and chairs were strewn about the room, a dozen beautiful people lounging on them. All were dressed similarly to the couple she'd followed the day before, and all watched her enter the bar and slide onto a barstool.

It was more than the patrons and the décor, the energy here was different. Pulsing in time with the music, it was almost alive.

She smiled sheepishly at the hugely muscled bartender. He didn't smile back, but watched her intently with his crimson eyes while methodically wiping out a glass with a black rag. Not quite the warm welcome she was hoping for.

The music changed, and dark, sexy bass pumped through the bar. A few of the lounging patrons rose and began to dance. Their movements were smooth, supple and surprisingly graceful considered the towering heels worn by men and women alike. Julia recognized the song as one from the Goth rock band, _The Awakening,_ and found that comforting. Even if she didn't completely fit in here, at least she knew the music. She even owned the CD.

For the first time Julia noticed a man sitting alone in one dark corner. He was dressed in a tight black T-shirt and black slacks, his long dark hair tickling the tops of broad shoulders. He was fabulous looking, with a strong jaw, pale skin, full lips, and a straight, chiseled nose. And like everyone else in the bar, his eyes were focused on her.

One drink. She'd have one drink and then blow out of here. She wasn't about to let a couple of sexy Goths giving her the skunk eye scare her out of a bar before getting a glass of wine. It had taken too much courage to get her here to be chased off so easily. Besides, she really liked this song.

Of course the bartender had to actually come over to take her order. He was still staring at her with those strange red eyes. They must be contacts. Julia once saw a guy with eight-balls for irises. It was one of the weirdest things she'd ever seen.

She considered yelling out her order when a slender man with lank black hair slid up to the bar and mumbled something to the bartender. Muscle man disappeared behind a red velvet curtain and toothpick guy glanced at Julia. The glance slowly turned into a stare and his eyes became glued to the side of her head.

After giving him a brief, awkward smile, Julia turned her attention to her purse. In order to avoid a painful attempt to socialize with him, she began to rummage through the folds of fabric, looking for something, anything, to offer a distraction. Pulling out the first available item, which happened to be lipstick, she pretended not to notice him watching her with his creepy, leering gaze while she painstakingly applied the creamy gloss.

The bartender returned with a shot glass filled with thick red liquid. It looked like someone had added red food coloring to Bailey's.

Or it was blood.

Julia chuckled at the thought and slipped the compact and lipstick back into her purse. Blood? Really? She'd been reading too many vampire romances.

"You look lost." The stranger from the corner was suddenly right beside her. How had she not noticed him move?

"Lost? No. Misplaced perhaps, and definitely thirsty, but not lost." Up close, he was even better looking than she'd first thought.

"Fair enough." God, his voice was the most delicious purr she'd ever heard. It was deep and smoky, with the faintest mix of Brooklyn and southern accents tickling her ears. "May I get you something to _drink_ , then?" It was weird the way he emphasized the word drink, like it had some other meaning besides a mere alcoholic beverage.

Man, she really was reading too much lately. First, blood in the shot glass and now looking for an innuendo in the word _drink_. "A Pinot Noir would be lovely, thank you." She was guessing, and hoping, that this bar would have a decent wine selection.

"Any particular vintage?"

Julia swallowed hard. The people in this bar had the most intense eyes. The way this gorgeous stranger's hazel eyes were boring into her was making breathing difficult.

"Naw. I'm not the type that vets my wine before drinking it. No bouquet sniffing or _leg_ checking for me. As long as the wine hasn't oxidized, I'm perfectly happy." Jesus, she was prattling on like a schoolgirl and realized suddenly that this man was making her nervous and not because he was kind of a scary guy in a pretty scary bar.

The stranger grinned, flashing perfectly white teeth with unnaturally long, sharp canines. If they weren't real, they were the most realistic fake vampire teeth Julia had ever seen, blowing the ones at Spencer's or Hot Topic out of the water. She knew there were people out there that liked to dress up and play vampire, but this guy didn't really seem the type. Sure he had long, dark hair and his perfectly supple pale skin looked like it'd never seen the sun. He _was_ dressed in black, but he certainly didn't have that _canned_ vampire look one normally associated with tooth extensions. No _Blade_ style trench coat, no leather pants, no huge, shit-kicking boots with big silver buckles, no eye-makeup or lipstick. And he was big, 6'2" at least, and muscular. Maybe not as big as The Incredible Hulk behind the bar, but he obviously worked out.

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, ten-thirty 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 toward 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 Forty 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.

No one did, and she was soon on the dark, damp, quiet streets of New Orleans.

Julia decided to take Bourbon back to her hotel. The debauchery was suddenly more inviting than the quiet isolation of any of her other options.

Chapter Four

Wearily, Armand pulled his 1977 Jaguar XJ12 though the automatic gate and into his narrow drive. This business with Eve was exhausting. Not only because of the danger women like her posed to the Community, but dealing with the endless drama of eager Victims took its toll.

He was always surprised how many there were. They seemed to come in waves, their numbers surging with every popular vampire movie or book that swept the nation.

It was frustrating but less surprising knowing how many in the Community were happy to fulfill the "victim" fantasies. It would be easier if he could just look the other way, to let those with a death wish realize it, to simply quit interfering. But turning a blind eye to the depravity was akin to asking him to stop breathing. The guilt alone would kill him.

Besides, the primary reason Armand had even opened _Luxure_ was to provide a safe blood source for those who needed it, and a safe outlet for those that desired to donate it. When he'd first been introduced to the Sang Community in LA, still reeling from the death of his parents and rebelling against years of being stifled in a Debutante society, he'd found a kinship with the LA Community he'd never experienced within traditional society. But barely a year and a half-dozen tattoos after moving to California, he began to understand how twisted the Community could be. When a close friend died after a night of heavy drug use and indiscriminant blood sharing at one of the frequent blood parties, he knew there had to be a better way.

_Luxure_ was born shortly after that.

Instead of heading back to the bar, he considered retiring to the privacy of his living room and disappearing into a mind-numbing movie. But remembering what he'd left behind when he'd taken Eve to the hospital made him skip the narrow steps to his second story apartment and slip into the back door of _Luxure_ instead.

Julia.

What a breath of fresh air she'd been, so different than the women he encountered on a daily basis. He loved the Community, it was a part of him and he belonged to it, but there were a lot of fucked up people associated with it. It was nice to meet someone _normal_ for a change.

But not too normal.

Scanning the dark room, he was disappointed when she wasn't there. He glanced at Slade, his bartender for over ten years. "Did Julia leave?"

Slade gave him an icy look. "Not long after you."

"I see."

The big man set the glass he was rinsing out on the bar with a thud. "It's a bad idea," he growled.

"What is?"

"Little Miss Vanilla."

"Julia." Armand corrected.

"Whatever. It's a bad idea."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Give it up, man. I saw the way you were looking at her. I haven't seen you look at a woman that way in years."

"I suppose I don't see the problem."

"She's dangerous," Slade said.

"Hardly."

"You can't just bring outsiders in here. A lot of shit went down tonight. I'm sure some of it freaked Miss Vanilla out. You don't want her blabbing her mouth."

"This isn't a private club, it's a public bar," Armand reminded him. "There are no _outsiders_."

"Well you know my feelings on that." Slade had been arguing to make _La Luxure_ a private club for years. Armand saw his logic, but he didn't want to ostracize newcomers to the Community, or Donors (as long as they weren't Victims) for that matter. It was important to keep out the undesirables, but with Slade and he tending the bar every night, it usually wasn't a problem.

"I think you're making too much of this," Armand told him. "With Victims like Eve passing out from blood loss, Julia should be the least of your concern."

Slade snorted and roughly started washing another glass. He barely made two swipes with the rag before tossing the glass back into the soapy water. "What the fuck do you see in her anyway?"

Armand sighed. It wasn't necessary to explain himself, but Slade was not only one of his closest friends, he was arguably the most tenacious. It wasn't like the big man was going to let it go anytime soon. "She's attractive?"

"Not half as pretty as most the sexpots that usually throw themselves at you."

Armand shrugged. "I don't know. There was something about her."

"Yeah, she actually shops at the mall."

"It was more than that, asshole." How did he explain to Slade how refreshing it was to talk to someone outside of their sordid little Community? "She was smart, funny..." He struggled to find the right words. "And she smelled different. Clean." Unfortunately, the ones he chose came out sounding like a bunch of bad clichés. Armand usually chose his words carefully. Even if there was less of a necessity to put on a show with Slade, he didn't like sounding like a badly scripted romantic comedy.

"So, what? You think you can turn her? Bring her over to the dark side?"

Now it was Armand's turn to be angry. "It's nothing like that. Look, it's not like I'm going to stalk her while she's in New Orleans. She's only here for a week, so there's a good chance I'll never see her again." Slade's grin at the statement only added to Armand's irritation. "But I would like to," he continued. "If she's comes back in here, I expect you to be nice."

"Whatever, boss."

Armand glanced around the bar. At the moment it was practically empty, but there'd be another surge at midnight. "I'm going for a walk," he told the other man. "Call me if anything comes up."

"Sure."

He needed to clear his head and a walk along the river had a way of calming his thoughts.

Slade was right about Julia in one context. It had been a long time since Armand had been interested in a woman. Oh, he fucked enough of them, but that was the extent of his interaction with the fairer sex. And he certainly hadn't felt half the connection with any of them during those scattered encounters between the sheets that he had with Julia in the fifteen minutes he'd talked to her.

He needed to see her again. It'd be easy enough to find her, but it would be better if she came to him.

* * *

Eve woke up just as Armand was pulling his Jag into the circle drive at Tulane's emergency room. Her lids were heavy, so she didn't bother to open them. The swaying of the car was like a gentle lullaby, and she wanted to protest when it suddenly jerked to a stop. It felt so good to rest.

The car door opened and strong arms lifted her out of the plush seat. The spicy scent that filled her nostrils told her the arms belonged to Armand. Sexy, unobtainable Armand. It was a shame he wouldn't help her, but he was obviously too _good_ to drink off her. As far as she knew, few were good enough for him.

If only he would. She was so...full.

The whoosh of automatic doors hissed in her ears, followed by beeps, hums, coughing, and the low murmur of many people talking.

Armand set her down in a hard chair. "This woman needs blood." She heard him tell someone.

"What happened to her?"

"I'm just the courier," he said.

"Wait, sir. What's her name? What's your name?" Faintly, Eve heard the whoosh of the automatic doors again and she knew Armand had left. It was just as well; she was getting the hell out of here as soon as she could.

A cool hand patted her arm. "Miss? Miss, can you hear me?"

With great effort, Eve opened her eyes. As she'd suspected, that fucker had brought her to a hospital. "Yeah, I can hear you." She glanced at the plump woman starring down at her. "Help me up, please."

"Let me get you a wheel-chair."

"I don't need one," Eve snapped. The woman didn't budge. "Whatever. I'll do it myself."

This night couldn't get any worse. First, Armand's rejection at _Luxure_ , then she's brought to this germ-infested hellhole, and now, this stupid sow wouldn't give her a hand.

And to top it off, her skin felt like it was crawling as excess blood pooled and squirmed in her veins. She had to get out of here. Now.

It was laborious and it certainly wasn't graceful, but Eve managed to heave herself out of the rock hard chair.

"Shawna, the labs are back from your patient in twenty. You wanna take a look at them?"

While the nurse was briefly distracted, Eve made it across the bustling waiting room. She'd almost completed her escape when the nurse cried, "Miss, wait!"

As luck would have it, a crash cart rushed by just as Eve was stumbling through the emergency room doors. "Car accident," the EMS worker was saying, "male, early twenties —"

The glass doors whooshed closed behind her. No one followed her out. It appeared the plump nurse was held up in the confusion.

Eve staggered through the dimly lit downtown streets. If she could get back to the Quarter, she could find someone to help her. All this blood was making her body heavy.

She tried hailing a cab a couple of times, but her lead filled arms were always too slow to respond quickly enough when one passed. So she continued her journey on unsteady legs. No one paid any attention to her as she tottered along, confusing her with the multitude of drunks stumbling about.

Finally, she crossed the chaos of Canal St. and emerged, relieved, on a dark, quiet street. She'd barely traveled one hundred feet when she saw her salvation.

"Darus," she breathed. A single oil lantern barely illuminated the sidewalk where he stood, and her vision was blurred for some reason, but the long dreads and top hat gave his identity away.

He eyed her curiously as she lurched toward him. Those last feet were the most exhausting steps she'd ever traveled. He needed to take from her now, before it was too late.

She clutched at his velvet coat. "Darus, please, you have to drink from me. I'm so full I can't stand it."

He cocked his head. "We can go back to my place..."

"No. Here. Now. Just bite me! I can't take it any longer. My skin feels like it's going to burst."

Darus studied her for a moment, then scanned the dark street in both directions before pulling her out of the light and onto a shadowy stoop. As soon as his sharp teeth sank into her flesh, Eve let out a blissful moan and then everything went dark.

* * *

Julia's dreams that night were filled with dark, morbid thoughts that had nothing to do with airplanes or elevators. Instead, vampires danced through her dreams. They weren't the tattered soul, redemption seeking type that only feasted on wild animals or bought blood from a bank. No, these were the vampires that stalked their victims down the dark streets of New Orleans to drink them dry. The kind that lured their victims in with sexual prowess only to feast on their fluids until nothing but a withered corpse remained.

They certainly weren't the sexy blood drinkers in her books.

Well...

The most vivid and last dream she had took place at _Luxure_. The low ceiling and painted black walls were oppressive as the pulsing bass vibrated through her spine. Julia was on the dance floor, her body a supple, writhing form sandwiched between other undulating bodies. Her red silk dress slid across her skin like a lover's embrace, caressing her thighs with every sway of her hips.

The music pulsed stronger, becoming harder, more intense. Behind her, strobe lights flickered, breaking up every movement in the bar into broken, confusing images. A door opened slowly and Armand emerged from the hidden room, a limp form with tattered red hair cradled in his arms. Pin-up girl was pressed against his side, her perfect curves molded to every void in his muscular body.

Armand's gaze flickered across Julia. He grinned, flashing his perfect white teeth in a menacing smile. The music surged and he dove for the limp girl's neck, his teeth sinking into her flesh like a hot knife through butter. His victim gasped, arching her back in what looked like ecstasy as Armand took long, hard draws from her flesh. Pin-up girl moaned in approval, grinding into him and running her hands over his chest and down his arms.

Finally, the woman's body stilled and Armand lifted his head from her neck, blood trickling over his full lips and onto his strong chin. His eyes snapped open and locked on Julia from beneath his dark brow. He released the woman, her colorless body falling into a motionless heap at his feet.

Stepping over the body, he came for Julia. His eyes were locked on her and he wore a mischievous, blood smeared grin. Even though her mind told her she should be scared, that she needed to run, her body refused to obey. She was unable to stop dancing, the music commanding her, driving her. Even as Armand stalked nearer, her body merely heaved harder. She wanted to be frightened. She wanted to scream in terror, but his intense hazel gaze refused to let those emotions in.

In perfect rhythm, Armand matched the sway of her body, pressing his hips into hers. Any fear was immediately turned into a stabbing heat that started at the spot where his erection was pushed against her and quickly spread through her body.

He grabbed her face and pulled her in for a searing kiss that tasted sweet and metallic. The kiss lasted long enough to rob Julia of her breath, and then, using her hair, he yanked her head back, exposing her neck.

The pain was quick, sharp, and startled Julia out of the dream. She blinked in the darkness, trying to get a handle on where she was and whether or not she was dead.

A quick swipe across her neck and the smooth skin her fingers found reassured her it was only a dream.

Kicking off the covers, Julia stumbled across the room. The details of her hotel room and the strange events of the last few days slowly pushed the fog from her head. Sliding open the window, the cool, moist air that rushed in wiped out the remainder. The chilly air was refreshing against her overheated skin. It was just like her to be turned on by what should have been a nightmare.

She sat on the floor, resting her arms and chin on the windowsill. It was a beautiful night. There were enough breaks in the clouds to let a few stars sparkle through. The courtyard below was empty, the happily gurgling fountain the only life. She was reminded of the demon fountain in the courtyard outside of _Luxure_ and shivered, suddenly freezing in the crisp air.

Julia slid the window shut. What a crazy night. That made two in a row now. She'd wanted adventure, but this was much more than she'd expected.

She wondered what happened to that girl Eve? Where did Armand take her? And what was all that talk about blood, victims and donors?

It was too much to dwell on right now. It was late, she was exhausted, and maybe even still a little bit tipsy. There was time to worry about it tomorrow when her head was clearer.

Climbing back into bed, Julia pulled the covers tight to her shoulders. As she snuggled deep into the mattress, she couldn't help but wonder what might be happening at _Luxure_. Was Armand still there? What would a man like him be doing right now and was there a possibility it resembled her dream?

* * *

A double shot of espresso was the only thing that got Julia through the morning. The speakers were more engaging than they had been the day before, but even a slide show filled with images of a collapsed highway from a fifty-four-inch water main failure couldn't capture her focus. A few scattered notes and some random arrows labeled with illegible text were the only productive things that came out of the morning's lectures.

She blamed _La Luxure_ for filling her head with weird dreams and robbing her of some much needed sleep.

Julia was running on coffee fumes by the time noon rolled around. Lunch wasn't catered, and she was looking forward to checking out a French coffee house on Ursulines, reading her book, and simply relaxing for a while.

Dave caught her eye just as she was leaving. She smiled, waved, and then quickly ducked out the door. She felt bad for avoiding him, but she wasn't interested in being social at that moment. She'd put more effort into it later.

The coffee house was bright and chipper, with crisp white tile floors and deep blue walls. Plates filled with pastries, mini quiches, and other delicious looking bread based items were crammed under the curved glass display. Just beyond the cashier, there was a courtyard filled with plastic tables and a few people working on their laptops.

Julia took her coffee and stuffed croissant to one of several small nooks that faced the street where she could enjoy watching the foot traffic that passed by. Someone had left a paper on the table and she thumbed through it, noting the tropical storm brewing in the gulf and skimming over a few political comics. Her eyes danced over the headlines: economic troubles, negotiations in the Middle East, senator busted in DC brothel...

Julia froze when she read the small headline that was barely a smudge on the page. _"Woman's Body Found Drained of Blood."_

She yanked the paper closer.

A woman's body was found early this morning near the corner of Burgundy and Conti in the French Quarter. The victim died from excessive blood loss, and was marred with small cuts and bite marks that appeared to be human in nature.

The woman was identified as Melissa Schwartz, a twenty-four-year-old New Orleans resident. Memorial services will be held on Saturday at the First Methodist Church in Metairie.

Police are urging anyone with information to please come forward.

Julia stared at the tiny picture of the smiling woman with the caption, "Victim Melissa Schwartz". Holy. Shit. That was Eve, the girl that had passed out at _Luxure_ the night before. The one Armand had left with.

Visions from her nightmares skittered through her head.

The headline scrolled through her mind again. "Woman's body found drained of blood." Drained. The paper said drained, not, "Woman dies of blood loss from gunshot wound" or "Woman dies from blood loss after dog attack." No, she died from "small cuts and bite marks that appeared to be human in nature." Like she'd been slowly chewed on.

Or drank from.

The memory of Armand's excessively long and sharp canines made her shudder.

God, she had to go to the police.

Julia jumped to her feet, her metal chair scraping loudly against the white, tiled floor.

Wait, no, she had to think about this. She couldn't just run to the police and point fingers. Two Hurricanes, a blowjob shot, and a couple glasses of wine didn't facilitate the clearest memories. Slowly, Julia sat back down and strained to string them together.

She remembered Eve coming in, looking extremely disheveled and Armand being angry. He'd told her to leave, hadn't he? And she'd complained about being full and begged him to _take_ from her.

He'd said no, right? Actually, if Julia remembered correctly, it was, "Absolutely not." And then he said something about Eve not having enough blood to donate.

And now Eve, or rather, Melissa was dead from blood loss and Armand was the last person seen with her.

He might have been pissed, but he'd also seemed concerned. He'd said she was sick and needed help, and then he made a speech after she passed out. It was something about not making donors your victims, and warning everyone to stay away from Eve or he'd get them. His words had been much more eloquent than Julia's patchy memory, but they weren't the words of a killer.

Was that what she'd tell the police?

But what if it was all a show? Maybe once Armand no longer had an audience, it was easier to finish Eve off and dump the body. Maybe he'd just gotten thirsty...

So what _would_ she tell the police? She imagined the conversation going something like this: "Excuse me officer, I think I know what happened to Melissa Schwartz. See, I was in this vampire bar, _La Luxure_ , Melissa came in and this really hot guy, Armand, took her somewhere after she passed out. He seemed concerned about it but it might've been an act. I don't know that he bit her and drank what little blood she had left, but he has really sharp teeth and moves like a panther that moonlights as a ballerina. So he's probably the vampire you're looking for."

That'd go over well.

First, the police would laugh her out of the station and then, if by some remote chance the cops actually looked into _Luxure_ , she was sure the gorilla vampire bartender would go out of his way to find her.

Besides, did she really want to implicate Armand? What if he'd just taken Eve home or to the hospital? And if he hadn't done anything to Eve but the cops started looking into him and found out he was a vampire or something, what then?

The thoughts were absurd. Armand was _not_ a vampire. There were no vampires.

Maybe, she should just tell the police she saw Melissa Schwartz at _Luxure_ the evening before she was murdered and leave it at that. Let the details and the DNA sort it out from there.

Did vampires have DNA?

Julia snorted, shoving the paper away. A woman was dead and she was theorizing about vampire DNA.

For all she knew, Eve was a cutter that'd gone too far. Or it was actually a drug OD the paper had sensationalized. Whatever had happened, Julia needed to quit fantasizing about vampires and get back to reality.

Her food and coffee were cold but it wasn't like she had an appetite anymore. If the barista didn't mind pouring her coffee over ice, she'd be on her way. There were only a few more hours left for Julia to be an engineer and then she could get back to being a tourist. After the conference, she would check out the St. Louis Cemetery as planned, and then decide what to tell the police.

Chapter Five

The clouds seemed to be pushing their way from the sky as Julia wandered through the crumbling St. Louis Cemetery Number One. Sinking closer and closer to the earth, they threatened to smother her with their murky dampness. The temperature was in the fifties, but it felt cooler than that, and Julia pulled her coat tight against her chest in an attempt to ward off the chill. Maybe it was the dampness, but she had a sneaking suspicion it was the eerie surroundings that were chilling her bones.

The walkways were barely that. Loose stones, scattered gravel, broken up concrete, empty beer cans and the occasional discarded shirt made for treacherous footing. Many of the dates on the worn tombs were from the 1800s but a few had dates from the eighteenth century and there were even some from the 1900s and 2000s, their bright white walls a contrast to the dull gray of their ancestors. Some of the tombs had long lost their identity and were now just exposed deteriorating bricks with melting mortar.

Even after dwelling on the Melissa Schwartz dilemma all afternoon, Julia still wasn't sure what she was going to tell the police or if she was going to tell them anything at all. The good citizen would have already told the authorities everything they knew. Yet, she hesitated.

She worried if she revealed what little information she had, it would be bad for Armand. And throwing him under the bus did not appeal to her.

But why was she trying to protect him?

Sure, he'd been nice to her at _La Luxure_ and made her feel comfortable and welcome in an unfamiliar situation, but other than that, she had no reason to protect him. In fact, she should be scared of him. Even if she hadn't watched him leave with a girl who later turned up dead, there were plenty other reasons to find him frightening.

That voice, his intense eyes, those crazy, long fangs, the unnatural, smooth and silent way he moved...

But the only reason she should find any of that frightening would be if she was ready to believe he was something other than human.

The mere thought was preposterous.

So, she was just floating in purgatory, unsure what to think or do. It was better to do nothing than act on impulse and possibly implicate an innocent man.

However, if he was innocent, letting the cops know what she'd seen wouldn't harm him. Once again, she had to wonder why she was protecting him.

She wasn't ready to point fingers at Armand, though, not yet. The man she'd met last night hadn't struck her as a killer and it was ridiculous to think he was a vampire. She needed to see him again, judge his character without so much alcohol clouding her mind. But the only place she knew to find him was _La Luxure,_ and the idea of going back there alone was truly terrifying.

All this flip-flopping was making her head hurt.

The clouds dropped lower, pressing damp, misty fingers against her already chilled skin and giving her a quick jolt of the creeps. It didn't help that she was already on edge from Melissa's death and the raised graves held a million places for an assailant to hide. Nor did it help when she reached the massive tomb in the center of the cemetery and was greeted by headless statues while crows cried their sad tune from roosts in the trees behind her.

In spite of being spooked, she found the cemetery eerily beautiful. There was something to its dilapidation that was actually graceful. It reminded her of black and white snapshots of refugee women in National Geographic. Surviving wars and famines hadn't always aged them well, but they still stood tall and with whatever strength they could muster.

After snapping a few more pictures, Julia glanced at her phone. It was approaching six and would be getting dark soon. Probably a good time to head out.

As she meandered back toward the entrance, she passed a large tomb marked with dozens of Xs, all in groups of three. Shoes, coins, liquor bottles, beads, lipsticks, and various other items gathered at the base. The marker read, "Marie Laveau."

The Voodoo Queen.

A woman of about fifty stood at Julia's left, her arms crossed tightly against her chest as she studied the grave. She looked even more the tourist than Julia.

"What are the Xs for?" Julia asked.

"You mark them on the wall and then ask Marie to grant you a favor."

"Do you know what they mean?"

"I think they represent the Holy Trinity: the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost."

It wasn't what Julia was expecting. Besides adding a little extra creepiness to the lore, what did Catholicism have to do with the Mistress of Voodoo?

In silence, the two studied the tomb a while longer. The woman finally wandered off with a few mumbled parting words, and Julia was left alone at the grave.

She picked up a lipstick. Whether or not it would help anything, it certainly couldn't hurt. But what sort of favor should she ask for? There were so many options, love, health, _real_ happiness...maybe she could combine a couple.

Mistress Marie, please let me survive my flight home to find true love.

With the lipstick, she started drawing the Xs. On the second one, she pressed just a little too hard and her lipstick line became a huge, pink lipstick blob. Shit. If the Xs weren't drawn correctly, would the request be denied? Or worse, would it piss off the Voodoo Queen enough that she made sure the opposite came true?

Julia wasn't about to tempt fate. Carefully, she tried to draw out the blob into a line, first with the lid to the lipstick container and then when that failed, resorted to her finger. When she'd finally made a satisfactory attempt, she very carefully drew the last X and stepped back to observe her work.

Well, they weren't perfect Xs, but they were recognizable at least.

"You do realize that's illegal," a deep voice purred in her ear.

Julia's heart and stomach exchanged places. She spun around startled, knowing exactly who she'd find. A hundred years wouldn't erase the memory of that voice.

Armand was grinning at her, his long, sharp canines gleaming brightly in the gloomy light. He was even paler than she remembered, and better looking. Wearing a tall crowned, black suede hat, and tailored, knee length military coat with the collar flipped up, his dark hair brushed his broad shoulders in soft curls, and his hazel eyes were fixated on her with that unnerving intensity.

Oh God, she was alone, in the most frightening place on earth, with this dangerous, gorgeous stranger. She'd wanted to see him again, but not here, not like this.

Why was he even here? Had he followed her? Maybe her attraction to him was clouding her judgment and he wasn't as innocent as she imagined. She should've gone to the police while she had the chance.

"Did I frighten you?" His tone was amused.

That was the understatement of the century.

But there was nothing threatening about his body language, nothing overtly suspicious about the way he stood nonchalantly before her, his hands shoved casually into the pockets of his black wool coat. In fact, he appeared genuinely pleased to see her.

She had to make a quick decision. Either she give into her neurotic fears and run for her life, or give him the benefit of the doubt and treat him like any other man she'd met and didn't believe might be a serial killer vampire.

She laughed nervously as her decision was hastily made. "A little." Running probably wouldn't help anyway. He looked fast.

He chuckled. "Well, I apologize. You were lost in thought and entirely too easy to sneak up on."

Her thumping heart pressed painfully against her eardrums. _Treat him like a normal guy. Don't show fear. Stand tall. Be strong._

She swallowed hard and attempted to appear as cool and relaxed as he was. It was like meeting a Grizzly bear on a wooded trail and saying 'what's up?' instead of screaming.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, trying unsuccessfully to keep the suspicion out of her voice.

"Like you, I came to ask Marie for a favor. But..." his eyes swept over her, "it's already been granted."

She felt a blush creep into her cheeks. He meant her. "Oh."

How was it possible to be scared of him and attracted to him at the same time?

"Instead of defacing a historical tomb," he grinned at her, "why don't we properly make your request? What was the favor you sought?"

Treat him like any other guy. Treat him like any other guy.

Oh, and breathe.

Following the advice scrolling through her brain, she took a few calming breaths. She'd been arguing his innocence all day and here she was freaking out because he happened to show up at the same place she was. "Um, I asked to survive my flight home," she told him after a thick swallow reopened her throat.

"All right." He stepped past her with that graceful slink of his. He even smelled delicious, a mixture of spice and something earthy she couldn't quite place.

Knocking three times on the tomb with crisp, deliberate blows, he drawled, "Marie Laveau, most powerful and generous Voodoo Queen, please make sure the beautiful Julia has a safe flight home." Pulling out a small bottle of Grand Marnier from his coat pocket, he handed the unopened bottle to her and indicated she take a drink.

With uncertain hands she cracked the plastic seal and took a small sip. She wasn't normally a Cognac fan, but this was good, smooth and sweet, with a slight hint of orange. She handed the bottle back to Armand. He placed it with the other items in front of the tomb and then pulled out three coins and set them on the bottle.

Letting her curiosity overpower her fear, she asked, "So, the three knocks, Xs and coins, do they really represent the Holy Trinity?" She watched his reaction carefully, wondering if he would respond to the mention of the Church.

Why, because he was an undead, unholy _vampire?_

Of all the stupid —

"That's an interesting theory," Armand replied, his smooth voice slicing through the clatter in her brain. "Three is a strong number in Voodoo because of the power it brings to an incantation, but I've never really stopped to think why three in particular. I suppose it could represent the Trinity." He certainly didn't appear to be bothered by the topic of religion, and she felt silly for thinking it in the first place.

This was good. This was fine. They were simply having a normal, perfectly innocent conversation in the middle of a crumbling cemetery.

"New Orleans Voodoo and Catholicism _are_ strongly linked," he continued. "And Marie Laveau was a devout Catholic."

"Really?"

Armand gave her a sly smile. "Oh, you'd be surprised how many dabblers in the darker arts are Catholic. I am, after all. I may no longer take Communion and it's been ages since I attended Mass, but I am Confirmed and according to the Church, that's supposed to last a lifetime. Of course," he went on, tossing a wink at her, "if I ever make it to confession again, the poor priest is going to be there all night. I might have to bring him an espresso."

She laughed. "I'm not Catholic in the least, but I imagine my confession wouldn't be much shorter."

He leveled his hazel gaze on her. "I'd love to hear all about what dark secrets you need to confess."

For a long moment she was trapped by his stare, while crows sang their sweet tune overhead, and the misty breeze kissed her skin. Like their encounter at _La Luxure_ the previous night, it was too much and Julia had to look away.

Clearing her throat, and hopefully her head, she asked, "What do the Xs represent?"

"From what I've read, the X is an African symbol representing the junction between life and death, but...it's also how Marie Laveau signed her name. So, by marking the Xs on the tomb, or preferable, _knocking_ ," giving her a sidelong glance, he emphasized the word heavily, "you are calling to the dead in a language she can recognize."

"It was just lipstick."

"I think I can forgive you this one sin."

"Well, isn't that kind of you."

With the smooth, easy flow of conversation and flirtatious banter, Julia forgot to be scared of him. If the encounter wasn't so weird, it would feel perfectly normal.

The sun suddenly broke through the clouds on its descent below the horizon and Armand winced, turning his face away from the light. He adjusted his position until he stood in the tomb's shadow.

Add "aversion to sun" to the list of his suspicious behaviors.

The fear rushed back, sending her heart into a flurry of activity and her brain into cartwheels. She was so confused. Every nerve in her body was giving her conflicting messages.

"It looks like our daylight hours are limited, and this isn't the best neighborhood to be in after dark," he said. "Let me walk you back."

At this point, she wasn't sure if walking alone with him was a safe alternative to being alone in a not so great neighborhood. She glanced around, looking for an escape. Maybe when there were more people around she'd be happy to continue their conversation, but there were too many unanswered questions for her to feel safe strolling alone with him down the narrow, dark, French Quarter streets.

"Um, no, don't worry about it." She took a step away. "I'm fine. My hotel isn't too far from here." She took another step. "I mean, I grew up in St. Louis, and it consistently makes the top ten most dangerous cities list. I should be fine." Her nerves were making her ramble.

"I insist," he said firmly. A subtle darkness had washed over his features. He must've picked up on her hesitation and wasn't pleased about it. The last thing she wanted to do was piss him off. You don't poke a Grizzly bear with a stick and you don't piss off a man of questionable intent. "I couldn't live with myself if something happened to you."

It was an odd statement, the content of which could imply a million things. He did seem genuinely concerned, but he'd appeared concerned about Eve the night before and now she was dead. Then again, if he'd wanted to hurt her, he'd already had ample opportunities. They'd been alone in an isolated cemetery for a while now.

Was there something else walking the streets of New Orleans she should worry about? Besides Armand? Besides the drunks?

This raging battle of "am I scared or not" that was going on in her tired brain was giving her a massive headache.

She forced air into her lungs. It was all about giving him the benefit of the doubt. She'd decided that already. " All right then. Thanks, Armand. I do appreciate it."

His expression softened and he motioned for her to lead the way.

"What hotel are you staying at?" he asked as they emerged from the walled cemetery.

That definitely wasn't information she was comfortable sharing. "It's near Bourbon and Conti."

His strong exhale sounded suspiciously like a sigh. "Very well."

He led her across the busy street and into the quiet of the French Quarter without saying another word. There was tension oozing from his erect body and his jaw was clinched so tight the muscles were twitching. She really didn't want to make him angry, and not just because she was afraid of his _wrath_. So far, he'd been nothing but gentlemanly. If she wasn't ready to turn him into the police because she thought he might be innocent, she needed to quit treating him like a serial killer.

"So do you visit the cemetery often?" she asked in an attempt to soothe the situation.

There was a substantial pause before he replied. "I used to. It has a tattered beauty I find soothing."

Tattered beauty was the perfect descriptor. It was refreshing to have her opinion of the cemetery echoed. Jeff would have hated the place.

She took another deep breath. He wasn't trying to attack her or eat her or anything. They could have a normal conversation. How else was she going to determine what to tell the police? "But not anymore?"

"The trash gets to me. No matter how thoroughly the grounds are cleaned, the trash always finds its way back."

"I've never understood why it's such a burden for some people to carry their trash with them until they can properly dispose of it," she agreed. "Cigarette butts are the most annoying. Just because they're small doesn't mean they disappear into the ground. Besides, it's not like they weigh a lot. Pack it in, pack it out." Once again, she was rambling and talking entirely too fast.

He glanced at her for the first time since they'd left the cemetery. "Absolutely." At least, he no longer seemed as irritated and some of the tension had eased from his body. "How is your seminar going?" he wondered.

"Pretty well. It can be a little tedious at times."

"That's too bad. It sounded interesting."

He was being polite. There was no way utility management, even disaster utility management, would be interesting to a man like Armand.

"I don't think it's the seminar's fault. I'm just having a hard time concentrating."

"Why is that?"

Because crazy fortune tellers, vampires, blood drained dead girls, sexy Goth bars with even sexier patrons made it hard to pay attention to some monotone guy in a plaid button up shirt talk about water mains exploding and taking out highways.

"This city is distracting me," Julia said instead.

"She has a way of doing that."

His sharp tooth grin, sly wink and decadent drawl made her heart race for two distinct reasons.

No kidding.

As they walked deeper into the Quarter and the population increased, Julia slowly relaxed. If Armand truly was dangerous, and she was pretty sure he wasn't, it was unlikely he would attack her in a crowd full of people. Or so she hoped.

But she had to ask the question that had been plaguing her all afternoon. There were plenty of places to flee and people to help...

"So, what happened with that woman who passed out in your bar?" she asked quickly, before she had a chance to change her mind. Watching his reaction carefully, she prepped her muscles to run.

"Eve? I dropped her off at Tulane."

"The university?"

Armand smile was barely perceptible. "No, the hospital. Specifically, the emergency room."

Julia actually felt the tension slide from her body and drip onto the dirty street. "Oh," she breathed. So, her instincts had been correct after all. Well, except for the part where she'd wanted to run screaming from the cemetery when he snuck up on her.

The smile dropped from his lips. "It's a shame. It should never come to that."

She looked at him with fresh eyes, startled by how drawn she was to him. "It is a shame."

A neon sign blinking directly behind Armand's head suddenly caught her eye. "Oysters," she blurted.

Armand paused, glancing at the café behind him. "Would you like some oysters?"

"Oh, um, no. I'd just gone looking for oysters the other night, but the place I went to was packed so I didn't. I mean, I'd like some but I'm fine right now." It was more than a little frustrating the way words tumbled recklessly out of her mouth whenever Armand made her nervous, especially since his always seemed so carefully chosen.

He pulled open the door. "I'm not the kind of man to deny a woman her oysters."

"Um," she hesitated, unsure what to do. Ten minutes ago she was arguing whether or not Armand was a murderer and now she was contemplating having dinner with him.

Feeling the corner of her lips curl up in a smile, she couldn't believe what she was about to do. It was completely unlike her. But she wanted adventure, and this was territory far, far away from her comfort zone

"Are you hungry?" Julia asked as she eased past him into the café.

He leaned forward. "I'm always hungry," he said directly into her ear.

Her body temperature jumped up at least ten degrees and most of it radiated from between her legs. Clare was right. It had been way too long since Julia was intimate with a man if a few sexily spoken words from one she'd just met, and knew very little about, made her light up.

"Do you want to get a table...?"

"Why don't we stand at the bar," he suggested. "It'll be more of a New Orleans experience that way."

They stepped up to the cool, stone counter next to a couple of twenty-something men with Bloody Mary's and a dozen half-shell oysters spread out on the granite before them. The server cracked shells and tossed them onto the bar almost as quickly as the men sucked them down.

"What can I get you miss?" he asked, still rapidly shucking oysters, his knife never missing a beat.

"May I have a half-dozen, and a water?"

"And you sir?"

"I'm fine, thank you."

Julia turned to Armand. "I thought you were hungry."

"Unfortunately, there's nothing on this menu I can eat."

Okay, how much evidence did she need? Was it possible? The thought was so preposterous, but the clues were all there. Could Armand really be —?

"Julia!" Her own name crashed through her thoughts like a raging bull. Annoyed at the interruption, she turned to greet a beaming Dave.

"Oh. Hey Dave."

"We're going to grab a drink." He gestured out the door toward one of the many bars on Bourbon St. "Do you want to join us?"

No, she did not want to join him. Things were way too interesting here. "Um..." She glanced at Armand, trying to figure out how to politely turn Dave down and introduce her neighbor at the same time.

Armand's face was dark and unreadable, but he must have misinterpreted her glance because he said, quite formally, "It was a pleasure seeing you again, Julia. But I'm afraid I must excuse myself."

She'd barely opened her mouth to protest by the time Armand had inclined his head and was out the door. Exasperated, she turned to Dave. It might not be his fault, but she felt like yelling at him anyway.

"Wow," Dave said, looking at the dark doorway Armand had just bolted through. "Where'd you meet that freak?"

Her appetite left as quickly as Armand had. "Dave, I'm going to have to pass on the drink. I'm suddenly not feeling well. All those cocktails last night have been wrecking havoc with me all day. In fact, do you want some oysters?" She found it incredibly irritating that the moment Armand was out of sight, she could miraculously manage her tongue.

"I guess." The furrows between Dave's brows were ready for corn.

Julia tossed some money on the bar. "Great, thanks." She headed for the door. "Hey, I'll see you tomorrow, okay?" Completely lacking Armand's grace, she slipped out the door before Dave had a chance to reply.

If she hurried, she could probably still catch Armand in the crowds. She jogged as far as Bourbon. Greeted by blaring music and throngs of tourists crowding the sidewalks, she scanned the busy street. A delivery van was blocking the intersection, and her view of the street in either direction was obstructed by the sheer masses of people.

He could be heading toward _La Luxure_. If she started that direction, she might find him. Julia pulled out her map. Bourbon would be too crowded to negotiate quickly. If she took the parallel street, Dauphine, she could move much faster.

Spinning on her heels, Julia headed back up the street, jogging past the café and around the corner onto Dauphine. She slowed her stride to a brisk walk with an occasional jog thrown in. Dauphine St. was the opposite of Bourbon, or even Royal. It was virtually empty, and the few street lamps lining the street did, at best, a mediocre job of illuminating the way.

Her jog/walk quickly ate up two blocks. She was about to finish up the third and turn onto St. Peter heading back toward Bourbon, when a familiar silhouette made her pause. Standing on the opposite side of the street, a mere fifty feet away, was the guy she'd met at the entrance to _Luxure_ the first night she was in New Orleans. His face wasn't clear in the darkness, but the waist length dreads, fitted Victorian style coat, and top hat gave him away.

Apparently he recognized her too. Flashing a smile that practically sparkled in the dim light, he said, "What's the rush O Negative?"

Every instinct in her body stood up and shouted for her to run. She wasn't sure if it was an irrational fear or not, but took note anyway and pushed her stride back up to maximum walking velocity.

"Just meeting some friends," she told him with a nervous laugh. "I'm running late." St. Peter was feet before her. Once she rounded the corner she could sprint the short block to Bourbon and the safety of the masses of people there.

"Where are you headed? I could escort you." He'd started to cross the street, his sauntering stride slow but surprisingly ground covering.

"Oh, that's not necessary. It's right up here. Thanks though!" She gave him a jittery smile as she turned onto St. Peter. As soon as the large, square corner building blocked his view of her, she started to run, and didn't stop running until she'd merged into the crowds on Bourbon and there were a hundred people between her and St. Peter.

Once her heart slowed down to something less than one hundred mph, she fell back against the wall of a grimy building. What the hell was she thinking? What on earth possessed her to try to track Armand down at _Luxure?_ Maybe he hadn't killed Eve, but someone had, and that someone was still out there and likely associated with Armand's bar. A bar that, from what Julia could tell, was filled with something dark, scary and suspiciously vampire-like.

Vampires? Really? Was she still hung up on that nonsense?

With a sigh, Julia tucked the map clutched in her right hand back into her purse. Picking her way through the crowd, she headed back to her hotel. She didn't know what to think anymore. It was all such a crazy, bewildering mess. Maybe the solace and safety of her hotel room and a few chapters of her book would help clear the confusion in her head.

Chapter Six

Armand escaped into the crowds on Bourbon, the bitter taste of Julia's rejection stinging his taste buds. Halloween was a popular time in New Orleans and the street was crawling with tourists eager to taste some of the darker lore of the Crescent City. Of course, the darkest sides of the city weren't found here.

Normally, Armand loved walking down Bourbon when it was like this. Busy, but not shoulder-to-shoulder and still early enough that people weren't yet puking in the alleys. The energy was amazing. It buzzed around him in a flurry of charged air, so thick one could almost drink it. Hoping to erase the lingering bad taste from his encounter with Julia, he absorbed as much of the energy he could stand before turning onto a quieter street.

A couple staggered toward him, hunkered over and arms entwined. They clutched at one another as if the copious number of beads about their necks was about to drag them down, and it was only the other's embrace that kept them upright. They were an attractive couple. Both were obvious regulars at the salon and gym, and it was hard to tell who had more highlights. They took one look at Armand and crossed the street.

He wasn't usually bothered when the general population avoided him. In fact, there were times he relished in it. But with their "everycouple" good looks, this pair reminded him of Julia and Dave, and the obvious avoidance tossed concrete encased rocks into his sinking stomach.

Maybe Slade was right. Maybe pursuing any contact with Julia was a bad idea. Her fear and suspicion of him at the cemetery had been painfully apparent. It wasn't something he'd expected and had surprisingly angered him. That fear only strengthened Slade's arguments. It was dangerous enough bringing an outsider into the Community. Bringing one that was already frightened and wary was asking for trouble.

Why was he so fixated on her? Was it as the bartender suggested? Was he trying to seduce the doe into a pack of lions?

He needed to forget the whole thing. She already had her buck in Dave. Let them have each other. Armand had no business socializing with her in the first place.

His phone buzzed.

"What can I do for you, Slade?"

"Dude, have you seen the news yet?"

"No, why?"

"Eve was found dead last night on Burgundy near Conti."

Armand nearly dropped his phone. "What?" He shook his head in exasperation, even though the gesture was pointless. "I dropped her off at the emergency room. She was still unconscious when I left."

"She must've checked herself out. Look Armand, it gets even worse."

"Stop. Don't say any more. Where are you?"

"At the gym."

"I'll be there in five minutes." Armand hung up and kicked his stride into high gear.

He was at the entrance to _Luxure_ in less than three. He sprinted down the narrow walkway, through the small courtyard, past the front door to the bar, and through a locked, wrought iron gate that opened up into a large central courtyard. He crossed the courtyard in a few long strides and took the stairs to the personal gym he'd years ago converted from an old hayloft two at a time.

Slade was sitting on one of the weight benches, watching the flat panel TV mounted in the corner with deep creases between his brows. Armand couldn't remember when he'd seen the big man look so worried. Slade might be protective of the Community, but he wasn't normally a worrier.

"That bad?" It was more a statement than question. It was never good news when Victims turned up dead.

Slade clicked off the TV. "They're talking about it again on the news. Fuck, dude, this is some bad shit."

Armand sat on the inclined press bench across from him. The gym was filled mostly with free weights, but there were a couple treadmills and two oversized punching bags. "What is the media saying?"

"They found her body early this morning and they're estimating the time of death sometime after midnight."

About an hour after he dropped her off at the hospital. "Cause of death?" Maybe it wasn't as bad as Armand feared. Eve was a pretty heavy drug user.

"What do you think?"

"Blood loss." Slade nodded grimly and Armand cringed. It was exactly as he feared.

"It gets worse. Apparently she was bitten right before she died. The media's all freaked out about it. They're speculating about some Halloween sociopath fulfilling a Dracula fantasy."

"Fuck." It was worse than Armand feared. Biting was pretty taboo but it happened. It was one thing to bite a Donor in the midst of passion, but to tear into one like an animal and then leave them on the street was unforgivable.

Closing his eyes, Armand rested his forehead on a clenched fist and tried to breathe through the anger that was quickly rising from an inferno deep in his gut.

"Yeah, some asshole _bit_ her, drank what little blood she still had keeping her heart beating, and left her on a stoop to die."

At Slade's visual, the anger surged. "I should have checked her into the hospital," Armand muttered through gritted teeth. "I shouldn't have just dropped her off like a stray at the shelter."

"You did the responsible thing," Slade said. "You took her to the ER."

"And I set her down in a chair and washed my hands of it. Because what? I didn't want to get _involved_?" Armand shoved himself roughly to his feet. His attempts to keep his temper subdued were unsuccessful, and pacing seemed like a suitable distraction.

"Keeping the law out of our business is simply prudent. You didn't do anything wrong."

Pacing wasn't helping. "Fuck prudence," Armand hissed as the anger peaked. "A woman is dead because I couldn't be bothered to make sure she got the help she needed." He slammed his fist into the punching bag, the chains groaning in response. It felt good to hit something, too good. Armand was forever trying to quiet the beast that brewed beneath his skin.

With a few calming breaths, and nails that dug into his palms, he managed to turn back to Slade without exploding.

"What do you want to do?" the big man wondered.

"Go to the police. Make a note of everyone that was here at her time of death in case they become suspects. And if we find out who finished her, we turn them in."

Slade looked shocked. "Whoa, there's no need to get the cops involved. We can take care of this internally. You don't want pigs nosing around here, getting into private matters."

"I want to find this asshole and punish him."

"I know. Me too. And we will. But the less the authorities know about us the better. Besides, no one needs to go to jail for this shit. What if it was an accident?"

"Doesn't matter."

"But the Community..."

"We still have responsibilities. We're not above the law."

"There are some inherent risks, but —"

"Jesus Christ, Slade, we're not talking about snow boarding here. Anyone should have taken one look at Eve and known she was not capable of donating. That they took from her in that state merely demonstrates a complete lack of respect for human life. And the fact that it was probably one of us and not some douche off the street," Armand shook his head furiously. "That just makes it worse."

"Eve was begging to be someone's victim, Armand, and you know it," Slade said as Armand lapped the room a few more times. "That's a hard temptation for some to resist."

Armand jerked to a stop. "Then there's something seriously fucking wrong with this _Community_. I don't give a shit if she _was_ begging for it. You don't drain people dry, no more than you shove them off a cliff. Fuck this shit. I'm done."

Slade was taken aback. "What do you mean?"

"With _Luxure_ , the Community in general. I'm tired of dealing with Victims, tired of feeling guilty when another one dies. Eve was what, the third in two years?"

"You can't protect everyone," Slade soothed. "There will always be Victims. And without _Luxure_ , there could be even more. You provide a valuable service to the Community."

Armand snorted. "I used to think so. I don't know anymore."

"Well, I do. I can't imagine what I would've done if I hadn't found you. You remember what I was like before?"

He did. Slade had been skinny and sickly and spent more time in the hospital than out. He looked nothing like the bundle of muscles he was now. "I remember." Armand rubbed his forehead wearily. "Maybe I just need a break."

"Take the night off."

"Not tonight. I want to talk to people."

"Tomorrow night then. You can go to the parade."

Armand had forgotten, but there was a Halloween parade tomorrow. He loved parades. The energy at them was practically a narcotic it was so potent.

"It'll be busy, but Onyx and Bliss will be here," Slade continued. "I'll call Locke and see if he wants to help me bounce. If you don't get any leads about Eve tonight, we can probe more tomorrow. Something'll turn up and then, we take care of it. No pigs necessary."

The promise of a day off was soothing. The bar would be taken care of so there was no reason not to. Besides, there were a few other Community hot spots in the Quarter his responsibilities at _Luxure_ rarely let him patronize. If no one at _Luxure_ had any information about Eve, there were other places to look.

"That's not a bad idea. I think I will." Armand took as deep a breath his tight chest would allow, and let it and all of his pent up negative energy out in a rush.

Some time away was exactly what he needed.

"Um, so what are you going to do about your little vanilla princess?"

Armand's aggression returned with a vengeance, burning its way from his stomach and rushing into his skull. His eyes became mere slits. "What do you mean?"

"She saw you leave with Eve. You don't think she'll go to the police?"

Was that why Julia had been so wary of him when he'd met her in the cemetery? Of course she'd be suspicious, how could she be anything but? No wonder she looked ready to bolt when he snuck up on her.

"If she does, I have nothing to hide."

Slade gave him an unbelieving look. "Nothing?"

"Nothing pertaining to Eve." Thinking of his afternoon encounter with Julia eased his temper a little, until the memory of Dave's Ken doll face greeted him, and Julia's rejection sucker punched him. Armand set his jaw, tension working the cords in his neck. Fuck, he desperately needed to work off some built-up aggression.

Slipping off his sweater, Armand grabbed a few weights and shoved them on the bench press bar. "I'm not interested in discussing this any more. Spot me, or get the fuck out."

Slade shrugged, moving into position. "Sure thing, boss."

* * *

Marguerite smoothed her dress for the hundredth time that evening. It was a nervous habit, she knew, and she was trying to subdue it. But as Henry was telling her about his trip to New York the previous spring, all she could think about was retreating to the privacy and solace of her bedroom.

It was time she came out from mourning, even if she didn't feel ready. Being cooped up in her bedroom with nothing but books and the company of Aunt Bernice's cat wasn't healthy and she knew it.

So, she smiled appropriately during Henry's story and asked polite questions, but was grateful when he finally excused himself. She desperately needed a glass of wine.

Would anyone notice if she got drunk? Would they care?

Marguerite motioned for a servant, and as she retrieved the glass of golden liquid, she noticed a strange man standing in the corner. He was tall and slender, with luminescent white skin and dark, shoulder length hair. His perfect jaw was completely free from hair and framed the most scrumptious male mouth. His most striking features though, were his eyes. They were a startling blue and fixated on Marguerite with such an intensity that her pulse quickened, and heat shot through her limbs.

He grinned when she caught his gaze, flashing the whitest, longest canine teeth she'd ever seen.

Quickly, Marguerite looked away. It was rude to stare, but...she glanced back to where he stood and was disappointed to find he was gone. When she turned back, he stood right before her.

She gasped. He'd moved so quickly...

The stranger inclined his head. "I'm afraid we haven't met yet. Blaise Carmichael," he said by way of introduction. His voice was low and seductive and sent shivers down her spine.

Frustrated, Julia tossed her book on the nightstand, resisting the urge to chuck it across the room. Jesus, the thing was reading like a playback of the last several days. There wasn't a scene that didn't remind her of Armand and it wasn't like she needed encouragement. His gorgeous face and hazel eyes were permanently burned into her retinas as it was.

She thought about calling her sister, but wasn't sure what to say. With any amount of persuasion, Julia would easily spill every strange detail from the last twenty-four hours and she wasn't ready to discuss all the craziness with Clare, not yet.

Normally, they spoke on the phone everyday, no matter what. This would be the first time in many years that they did not.

With a sigh, Julia clicked on the TV. But the laugh track couldn't drown out the sound of Armand's perfect drawl ringing in her memory, and fifteen minutes into the crappy sit-com, she picked her book back up. She quickly sped through a few chapters, ignoring her phone when it buzzed on the nightstand.

Staring out the window, Marguerite focused her red, swollen eyes on the Spanish moss as it waved delicately in the afternoon breeze. Dead. She couldn't believe Henry was dead.

She wiped at the fresh, salty tear that escaped her exhausted eyes. Flashes of the ruined carcasses that used to be her family sped through her mind, and she clamped her eyes shut against them, willing her mind to visualize something more pleasant. Henry's smiling, eager face greeted her, and more tears slid down her cheeks.

Marguerite fell on the bed and let the raw emotions wash over her anew.

Dearest Lord, why did everyone in her life end up dead? And why did their deaths have to be so gruesome? First a savage fire and then an animal attack. Poor, poor Henry. What God would create a horrid beast that would rip out a man's throat, and then drink every last drop of blood in his veins?

_It made her wonder if there was a God at all_.

"Ugghh." That was all Julia could take. The book landed on the nightstand with a thud as she hefted herself upright.

Ridiculous. This was all so fucking ridiculous. _Henry_ was Eve and _Blaise_ was Armand and Julia was caught up in some twisted, alternate universe fantasy.

Pacing to the window, she peered down into the brick courtyard. The fountain gurgled happily and the pool glimmered in the moonlight. Through French doors, Julia could just make out the corner of a large, mahogany bar and the white shirt of the bartender behind it.

If neither her book nor TV were suitably distracting, maybe a glass of wine would do the trick. Grabbing her purse and slipping into her heels, Julia decided to worry about the overtime her liver was doing once she returned to Alton. She didn't normally drink so frequently. But this was New Orleans, her liver could work a few extra hours while she was here.

Warm and inviting, the hotel bar had dark walnut trim and deep red walls covered with oil paintings depicting slightly abstract scenes from the French Quarter. Besides the tan, fifty-something bartender with over processed, bleached blond 80s hair, the bar was empty. She smiled as Julia stepped up to the solid wood bar.

"Hey girl. How're you doin' tonight?" The woman asked in a heavy southern accent, one that was thicker and twangier than Armand's controlled, Brooklyn-esque drawl, and raspy from years of smoking.

"Good, thank you," Julia said as she eased onto the padded barstool.

"What can I get for ya?"

"Do you have any wine back there," Julia glanced at the nametag pinned to the bartender's white shirt, "Cindi?" The 'i's had hearts instead of dots.

"Sure do." Cindi spun on her heels and grabbed a couple small bottles from a low shelf at the back of the bar. She held them up. "Chardonnay or Merlot?"

The single serving wines were not Julia's favorites, but unless she wanted to drop in at _Luxure_ and have some more of that amazing Pinot Noir (tempting but probably a bad idea), she had no business being picky. "The Merlot is perfect, thank you."

Cindi pulled out a wine glass and unscrewed the wine bottle. "So what brings you to N'Orleans?" she asked as she poured the burgundy liquid into the glass.

"Work conference. I'm here for the week."

"Did'ya just get here?"

"No. I got in on Sunday."

Cindi slid the glass to Julia. "Havin' a good time?"

Julia took a sip of the wine. It was better than she expected and definitely hit the spot. "Um..." She swallowed an oversized gulp and had to clear her throat to keep from coughing. "Yeah, I am."

Cindi laughed. "That didn't sound very convincing."

Julia didn't think she was that transparent. She was having a good time, or trying to. "No I really have. It's just, well, there's been a lot of strange things happening."

Cindi laughed again. Her laugh was husky but inviting. "Girl, you don't know the half of it. I started workin' down here about ten years ago, and I've never seen so much crazy shit."

Julia hadn't come down to socialize, but Cindi's easy demeanor changed her mind. "Like what?"

"Shit, ghosts, crazy voodoo stuff, vampires..."

That definitely peaked Julia's interest. "Vampires? Really?

"There's a whole freakin' clan of them down here. You know that girl that was found dead this morning?"

"The one that was drained of blood? Yeah, it's got me a little spooked."

"Well, she's like the third one they've found like that in the last two years."

Third, like in three? That didn't help ease Julia's mind. At all. "Wow. Really?" Didn't the NOPD suspect a serial killer or something? The paper had been so blasé about it.

"Ah, don't let it scare ya, girl. Most of the ones they find dead like that are obviously into some freaky stuff. You don't have anything to worry 'bout."

Because nice, normal girls didn't go for vampires or patronize their bars. Where did that put Julia? She wasn't sure anymore. She never had been.

"So, do you believe in vampires?"

"Well I can't say for sure, but it wouldn't surprise me. Like I said earlier, I seen the craziest shit since I started workin' down here. And I know there's a bar where they all hang out over by the cathedral somewhere."

"I think I stumbled into it last night."

Julia did want to talk to someone about Armand and _La Luxure_. Cindi was easy to chat with, but more importantly, unlike Clare, she was a neutral spectator and already believed in vampires.

"Shit. You did?"

Julia nodded. "I mean, if there was a bar for vampires this was it."

"What was it like?"

"Kinda what you'd expect, I guess. The people were all gorgeous and slinky and the music was dark and sexy. The bartender was kind of an asshole, but I actually had a pretty good time, and I met this guy —"

"Oh girl! You met a vampire? No wonder you're spooked."

"Well, I can't say for sure he's a vampire," Julia said with an awkward chuckle. "I mean, I don't know that I even believe in vampires."

"But you can't say for sure that he isn't."

No. She couldn't. "It's so ridiculous..."

"Not in New Orleans. I told you, if it's crazy, it's in the Quarter." Cindi winked. "So, what's this guy like? Is he cute?"

Julia twirled the wine in her glass before taking a drink. She wasn't trying to release any bouquets or anything, but it gave her something to do with her hands.

"Absolutely, completely, drool worthy," she said.

"What's he look like?"

"Tall and built, with a few tattoos and some piercings. He's got longish brown hair that's a little curly, and he's pale, of course, with these sexy, full lips and gorgeous, hazel eyes." The image of Armand standing in the cemetery flashed in her mind, wool coat hugging his broad shoulders. With perfect clarity she saw him watching her with his multicolored gaze, a lazy smile on those perfectly kissable lips, his fangs just peeking out at the corners. "Mmmmmph," she finished, shaking off a shudder and clamping her legs against the moist warmth pooling at her core.

Cindi laughed. "Oh, girl, you better be careful. He does sound delicious." Her black liquid lined eyes grew serious and they landed on Julia with concerned intensity. "But do you think he's dangerous?"

Did she? There was certainly an air of danger about Armand. But Julia couldn't tell if it was a suck every ounce of fluid from your body until you're nothing but a pale shell of a woman danger, or a break your heart danger. She wanted to think it was the latter. "I don't know," she answered instead. "I mean, he's never done anything to indicate he would hurt me." And he hadn't. Besides some weird quirks, scary long teeth, and Julia's over-active imagination, Armand hadn't given her a reason to fear him. But just because he hadn't killed Eve didn't make him safe. After all, Eve was the third blood-drained murder victim. That meant there'd been two others.

"Well, just trust your instincts. I once fell in love with this gorgeous biker. Tall like your boy, long blond hair, tattoos. He'd just gotten out of prison for killin' a man in a bar fight, but I wasn't fazed. And the first time he laid his hands on me, my gut told me to get the hell out, but I didn't listen. Two years and many broken bones later, I finally left him, but it wasn't easy."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"Hey, just remember that when you're hooking up with this guy. If any time your inside voice is telling you to run, listen to it. I love a bad boy too, but a pretty girl like you's got to be careful. There's no shortage of men, sweetheart. Never forget that."

Julia smiled and sipped her wine. Maybe there wasn't a shortage of available men, but there definitely seemed to be a shortage of interesting ones.

As a yawn slipped out of her mouth, Julia struggled to cover it. The wine was working its magic. "Hey Cindi, can I get my tab?" she asked just as two, twenty-something guys that looked like they just stepped out of the frat-house walked in.

"Hey boys? How's it going?" Cindi called as she set a few napkins down. "Don't worry about it," she said to Julia in a quiet voice. "I think you're covered." She jerked her chin at the _visors_ and tossed a quick wink at Julia. "What drinks can I fill ya up with?" she said loudly, and Julia took the opportunity to slip from the bar.

Regardless of who ended up paying, she went ahead and tossed a ten on the bar and headed through the French doors to the courtyard. She responded to the, "Hey, don't run off!" comment from one of the men with a simple "Good-night", and ignored the responses that followed. Her pillow was calling, and she had enough to think about without dwelling on a few juvenile comments.

Chapter Seven

Smoke from a fog machine hung like thick mist over _Luxure's_ dance floor, casting shrouds of white over undulating dancers. Julia lounged on one of the luxurious black sofas that bordered the room, her head swimming in a languid, red sea.

A strobe light blinked, making the dancers' smooth movements broken and stilted. From across the room, she watched as Armand came toward her. Even in the flashing pulses of light, his stride was sensual, graceful. He stopped in front of her and she tried to rise.

"Don't," he said. "I want you seated."

It was probably best, since her legs were too heavy to lift her body. Instead she leaned forward, captivated by the bulge of his cock as it strained against his tight leather pants. With a mischievous grin, she glanced up at him in question.

"You may," he said.

Eagerly, she reached her hand forward and palmed the firm length of his cock. Even through the thick leather, she could feel it throb, begging to be released. Armand's guttural moan was deep in his throat, sounding almost like a growl. He rocked his hips against her hand as she stroked him through his pants.

When she moved to undo the button, he pulled away. "Not just yet. You must have patience."

"But I'm wet with impatience," she pouted, rolling her hips on the couch as her core pulsed in hungry anticipation.

His lips parted in the tiniest of smiles. "I know. I can smell you."

Slowly, he lowered to his knees. She parted her legs for him as he inched up the skirt of her silky red dress. "These," he breathed, hooking his fingers under the edge of her panties, "have to go." With a quick tug, he tore the fabric free.

She gasped as the cool air hit her overheated loins. Pushing her hips toward the edge of the couch and her knees further apart, she eagerly waited for whatever was coming next.

The sexual energy in the room had grown exponentially, and it wasn't only coming from Julia and Armand. It oozed from the other vampires as they gathered in a semi-circle: watching, grinding, waiting. Spreading through the bar, it mixed with the fog, creating a thick blanket of lust and desire.

Julia couldn't be bothered to care if a dozen or a hundred people watched. She focused her eyes on Armand. With a devilish smirk, he shoved her legs as far apart as they would go. Slowly his mouth opened and a long, thick tongue rolled out. He dove for her, thrusting his tongue into her until she was completely filled.

She came immediately, the pleasure waves peaking and then never quite dying as he slowly fucked her with his tongue. He had her pressed firmly into the back of the sofa, the muscles of her inner thighs stretching and straining as he pushed against her knees. She rode the orgasm as long as she could, rocking her hips with the endless surge of electricity that convulsed through her body.

Once, she managed to crack open an eye. The dancing in the bar had turned to fucking. The 1940s pin-up girl stood in a black velvet dress, her pert breasts exposed while one man devoured her neck, and another was on his knees before her. The giant bartender was bending an onyx haired girl over the bar. A slim, androgynous man was getting his dick sucked by a similarly androgynous man. The bar was thick with sex and even if Julia wanted to take more of it in, she couldn't as Armand's huge tongue caressed her G-spot and she came again.

She was panting when he finally slid his tongue from her. Releasing her legs, he rose slowly, the tongue retracting until it resumed normal size. "Now," he said as he unzipped his pants and freed his cock. Taking a handful of hair, he jerked her head back, exposing her neck. "It's my turn." Sinking his teeth and cock into her at the same time, the room exploded with blinding light as every nerve in her body was electrified.

* * *

Lying in a pool of sweat, Julia awoke with a start. Her body was on fire, perspiration oozing from every pore. "Jesus," she muttered, shoving the comforter aside and crawling out of bed. She had to get these fantasies under control. Not only were they cluttering her mind with their ridiculousness, they certainly weren't helping ease her sexual frustration.

She padded to the bathroom, splashed water on her overheated face, and then wiped down her skin with a cool, damp washcloth. She stared at her image in the mirror for a long time. What was wrong with her? Instead of being terrified of Armand like any sane person, she was dreaming about vampire sex and running around like a horny teenage boy. Why was she so obsessed with him and the strange world he lived in? Why couldn't she just go to the police like a normal person, do her civic duty in assisting the authorities with finding Melissa Schwartz's killer, and move on?

Julia sighed. There was no point trying to decipher all the strange things she did right now. It was late and she was exhausted. After drinking a large glass of water, she headed back to bed and climbed onto the dry side.

Clamping her eyes shut, Julia tried to push every sexual impulse deep into her loins where they belonged, and concentrate on falling back asleep. It was an impossible task. She tossed and turned for the rest of the night, unable to turn her brain off. Every weird encounter she'd had in the last few days kept replaying in her mind. From the tarot reading and bartender Cindi's stories, to _Luxure_ and Eve, to her encounter with Armand in the cemetery and then at the café, to the way dread-guy filled her with trepidation; the memories were relentless as they pitted fantasy against reality.

She needed to know the truth, needed to know if she was crazy or if there really was something out there that was more than human. She wouldn't be able to rest until her questions were answered.

* * *

Fighting her way through fatigue and the monotony of the morning speakers, Julia was the first one to pick up her notes and jet out of the conference hall. She'd deliberately sat near the exit so she could make a quick escape at lunch.

Dave caught her just as she was about to sneak out of the hotel lobby. "How are you feeling?" he wondered as he jogged up to her.

She clutched her stomach in an automated response. "Better. Thanks."

"Do you want to get some lunch?"

"I'd love to, but I've got to run some errands." The look on his face told her he knew she was blowing him off. Again.

God, she hated being so rude. Didn't she tell herself yesterday when she'd blown him off the second time that she'd try to be more social? So he'd been weird about Armand. She couldn't really expect anything different from him. Generally speaking, engineers were conservative by nature. Every guy she worked with in Alton would have regarded Armand the same way Dave had, and she would've shrugged it off. Why should Dave be any different?

And wasn't she the one freaking out about Armand's humanity and questioning whether or not he was safe? Pots could not call kettles black.

Rude or not, she desperately needed to get down to the Square. There were too many unanswered questions that she was pretty sure a certain fortune teller had the answers to. There was no reason to be a complete bitch though.

"I'm going to the parade tonight," she told him. "Why don't you and Mike and Beth join me?"

That perked him up. "There's a parade?"

"Yeah, a Halloween parade. The route isn't far from here."

"That sounds fun. Do you want to get dinner first?"

Actually, she just wanted to grab a piece of pizza and chill in her room for a while. "Unfortunately, I've got an obligatory check-in call with my sister that's bound to take at least an hour." That wasn't a complete lie. She _was_ planning on calling Clare. "The parade starts at seven-thirty. Why don't we hook up for drinks first?"

"Sure. Want to meet at Pat O'Brien's?"

Julia clutched at her stomach again, this time with a grimace. "Um..."

"No more Hurricane's for you, eh?"

She gave him a half-cocked smile. "If I never have another Hurricane I will die a happy woman."

Dave laughed. "Well, okay then. Hmmm," he tapped his freshly shaven chin. "How does the Absinthe Tavern suit you?"

"Perfect. I've always wanted to try Absinthe."

"Great. See you at six?"

"Sounds good," she said as she headed for the door. "See you then."

It was warmer today than it had been since she arrived in New Orleans. So much so, that even though she'd draped her coat across her arm, she was sweating under her long sleeve shirt as she briskly walked toward the Square. Maybe it was just the humidity. The air was so thick with moisture that even the breeze was stifled.

The Square was bustling with activity. Paintings hung in colorful rows on the wrought iron fence surrounding the central park, and dozens of tables with fortune tellers and caricature artists crowded the stone streets. A brass band played upbeat jazz tunes at the foot of the cathedral. Even in the clutter, she immediately spotted the Rom.

And he her. Their eyes met for one brief second before he turned and started walking in the opposite direction.

What a bunch of bullshit. Shaking her head, Julia jogged after him, weaving through the crowd, dodging children and people snapping endless pictures of the iconic church.

"Wait," she called when she was barely ten feet behind him. He didn't slow, and Julia was pretty sure he even kicked his stride up a notch. Well, two could play that game. Lengthening her jog into a sprint, she cut around a group of obese tourists fanning themselves with folded maps of the city while complaining about the heat before skidding to a stop directly in front of the smarmy fortune teller.

He started to turn away. "Please," she begged. "Just talk to me. I have so many questions. I'll pay you."

"I don't want your money. It's tainted."

"What are you talking about?" Julia said exasperated. "I haven't done anything."

Finally, he turned toward her. "But you will. I've seen what you become."

"And what is that?"

"Even to speak of the most unholy act brings bad luck." He shook his head and spit on the ground next to her. "Don't play dumb, you know what you're getting into, I see it in your heart."

"This is ridiculous."

"You know what happened to that girl, don't you? You saw her the night she died."

"How —?"

He smiled at her shocked expression. "I saw it in my tea leaves."

This entire conversation was like a page from some bad sci-fi book.

"Just stay away from me," he said with firm finality, spitting on the ground again. He flashed the "horn" gesture at her, fingers pointed downward, before turning and disappeared into the crowd.

Julia rolled her eyes. So much for getting answers.

She glanced around at the few fortune tellers set up near her. Maybe one of them would share a little insight. Except every time Julia managed to catch their gazes, each and every one immediately, and very deliberately, looked away.

"Fine," she said out loud to them, not caring that she probably looked like a loon since no one was actually looking at her, and she was talking into the air. "Whatever. I'll find my answers somewhere else."

She headed toward the cathedral and sat on one of the metal benches facing the entrance to the massive, off-white church. What a pain in the ass. Couldn't the fortune teller just give her one direct answer? Like, "Aaack, you're going to turn into a vampire!" Or, "You will meet a sexy vampire and fall for him." Or even, "You are a crazy bitch, filled with delusional fantasies about said, sexy vampires." Instead, she got some vague mention of an unholy act. For all she knew, this _unholy act_ could be sex before marriage or a hit off a bong.

The jazz band kicked into another peppy tune, but it didn't help her sour mood. The problem was, Julia was really beginning to believe Armand might be something more than human, and that Eve, or Melissa, had met her fate by someone like him. But she felt like such an idiot for even considering it. So what if there were tons of clues indicating that possibility might be the truth. So what if random people seemed to be confirming it as well. No reasonable person believed in vampires.

Julia sighed. No reasonable, close-minded person believed in vampires, she corrected. There were plenty of things in this world proven to be fact that _reasonable_ people didn't use to believe in. Dark matter, black holes, a round earth, water on Mars, Sasquatch...

Okay, so maybe Sasquatch was a bit of a stretch, but there was some pretty compelling evidence on-line that made Julia wonder and she wouldn't be the least bit surprised if hard evidence suddenly surfaced.

Whatever, it really didn't matter. As silly as it seemed, she couldn't confirm or deny the existence of vampires. And even if thinking they might actually exist made her feel foolish, she couldn't ignore the evidence.

But what evidence did she have? A few folk tales, a dead girl drained of blood, a guy that "acted" like a vampire and shunned the sun, some silly fortune teller? She might as well derive her conclusions from one of those gossip magazines in the checkout line at the grocery store.

" _Woman gives birth to alien baby_..."

Julia sighed again. Here she was in one of the most beautiful cities in the US obsessing over something completely inane. Couldn't she just enjoy the brass band, flirt with the cute guy at the seminar, drink a damn Hurricane without bitching about it, visit the Louisiana State Museum...?

The tan building that butted up to the cathedral with thick columns and sweeping archways caught her attention for the first time. Taking in a museum was a great idea, and the perfect thing to distract her trivial mind.

Julia rose quickly and with purpose. She had about thirty minutes left on her lunch break, she might as well get to it.

* * *

_"Elegance after Dark — Evening wear in New Orleans, 1896-1996."_ Of all the exhibits in the museum, this one appealed to her the most. She'd be sure to check out "Colonial Louisiana" afterwards, but right now, the turn of the century garments were calling to her.

The museum was a maze of small, cream colored rooms crammed with pieces of history. Besides the chatty attendant at the front, the museum appeared empty, and her footsteps sounded unnaturally loud on the old, wooden floors.

Following the museum map, Julia climbed a large, curving staircase lined with portraits of influential Louisianans, took a hard left, had to turn the map upside down to figure out which way to go next, and finally arrived at her destination.

The first exhibit that caught her eye was a mannequin in a gorgeous black silk gown with gold embroidery and a gold lace overskirt. She lingered on the intricate detail of the belt clasp, and mused about how tiny people were one hundred years ago before moving on.

Her eyes skimmed over a small exhibit with a luxurious satin top hat, some fine leather gloves, and an ornately carved walking stick that apparently doubled as a sword. The adjacent plaque read, "Fine men's accessories from the late 19th century. Donated by the Laroque estate.", but it was the aged photo of the man wearing the items that caught her attention.

Staring at her with those intense, hazel eyes was a black and white photo of Armand. The top hat was slightly askew, and the smile on his full, kissable lips was positively mischievous. There were no visible piercings or tattoos, but it was undeniably his face captured in the timeless photo.

Julia was sure the thud from her mouth hitting the floor was audible out in Jackson Square, especially when she read the caption printed neatly below the photo.

"Armand Laroque, ca. 1898."

She couldn't think. She couldn't breathe. Her insides were twisting up so badly, it felt like they were going to jump out of her throat and strangle her. Frantically, Julia scanned the room for a place to sit down because if she didn't get off her feet soon, they were going to have a mutiny.

Spotting a wooden bench on the opposite side of the room, Julia staggered over to it and flopped down.

Oh. My. God. Her idiotic musings, her hair-brained theories, her ridiculous fears... All. True.

Struggling to keep her breathing from turning into fish gasps, Julia clutched at the side of the rock hard bench that was keeping her from lying on the ground in a quivering heap.

What should she do? What should she do?

"Ma'am, are you all right?"

Julia glanced up into the concerned face of the museum security staff. The young woman's soft brown eyes were brimming with worry that matched the furrows wrinkling her flawless, caramel colored brow.

_Jesus Christ, Julia snap out of it! There's no reason to freak out the poor museum workers_.

Julia swallowed and forced out a smile. "I'm fine. I just," she swallowed again and heaved her breath in and out. "I had an asthma attack but I — I used my inhaler and I'm fine now."

She could tell by the skeptical look in the security guard's eyes that the girl hadn't seen Julia use an inhaler any more than she actually had. "All right," the guard said slowly. "Well, if you need anything, I'll be right over here." Translation: _if you keep acting strange, I'm watching you._

Julia nodded and smiled. Her breath was coming easier and easier. "Thank you. I appreciate it." The guard returned to her station, but Julia had no doubt that she remained under her watchful gaze.

It didn't matter. Julia wasn't hanging around much longer. She glanced at the picture of Armand. Even from across the room she could feel his eyes on her just as strongly as she could feel the security guard's. Her heart fluttered in response.

Rising abruptly, she scurried from the museum. She needed to get a handle on her thoughts, but there was no way that was going to happen with one-hundred-year-old Armand staring at her.

* * *

There was something oddly soothing about the streets less traveled in the Quarter. Choosing a path that took her as far off the main route as possible, Julia wove her way through quiet, residential streets toward the conference center. There were hardly any people, but the gentle presence of houses squeezed against the sidewalk's edge was oddly welcoming, as if any moment their shuttered windows and locked doors would open and beckon her in. Even the flashes of garden courtyards hidden behind iron gates and brick walls felt like glimpses into some secret beauty instead of being shut out of paradise.

The peace she felt as she wandered helped sort her thoughts. Discovering Armand was something more than human didn't change anything. She'd suspected as much anyway, so it wasn't actually this great surprise. The only thing it did was put a few holes in her reality. If vampires did exist, what other "myths" were also true? Aliens? Werewolves? Zombies?

Truthfully, if the government suddenly admitted that Area 51 did exist, Julia wouldn't be surprised. It wasn't hard for her to imagine the possibility of other life forms somewhere in the vast universe. But werewolves and zombies? Those were a little harder to swallow.

And what kind of vampire was he? Vampire myths could generally be divided into a couple subcategories. There were the traditional, undead type that feared crosses and hated garlic. There was the theory that vampirism was spread by a virus which happened to have unusual symptoms: sensitivity to sunlight, blood lust, amazing sex appeal...And then there was the notion that vampires were actually a subspecies of humans, another race entirely.

The traditional vampire just seemed ridiculous. She'd met Armand. Undead he was not. A virus was plausible, but if vampirism was truly catching, it seemed like a lot more people would have it, especially if vampires craved human blood as much as the myths implied.

So, that just left subspecies. Of all the theories, it made the most sense. Sensitivity to sun could be an allergy, or nothing more than a sensitivity. Lots of animals were nocturnal. There were turtles that lived for hundreds of years, so it wasn't impossible to imagine an abnormally long lifespan for a humanoid. Better agility, heightened senses, super strength — again these weren't difficult to explain if you just looked at the animal kingdom. Practically every animal in the world was stronger, faster, and more attuned to the senses than humans. The blood lust...well, how many insects lived off blood? And didn't the Masai tribes in Africa drink cow and goat's blood? Heck, black pudding was made with congealed blood and it was commonly consumed in the UK. Perhaps the vampire merely had a specialized digestive system or a severe iron deficiency.

But wormholes, dark matter, subspecies, or undead aside, it came down to one question for Julia. Did discovering Armand was a vampire change how she felt about him?

Strangely, no, it didn't change a thing. Whether or not he was safe was still up in the air, and she definitely wasn't any less attracted to him.

In the end, it really didn't matter. As much as she might want to see him again, it was unlikely they'd randomly bump into each other like they had at the cemetery. And there was no way she was going to seek him out at _La Luxure_. While she might not think Armand was particularly dangerous, the same couldn't be said about the dozens of other vampires that hung out there.

Finding out vampires were real didn't elevate Armand from fantasy status. Actually being with him, in any context, wasn't to be. She knew that. It was disappointing, because when she hadn't been petrified of him, the brief time they'd spent together had been amazing. The conversation was easy and natural, and the sexual energy...

She sighed. Unless she suddenly grew a pair and decided that braving potentially deadly vampires was worth chasing after him, there was no point dwelling on it. Besides, even if she happened to drum up enough courage to seek him out, what then? Was she expecting the great relationship of her life? True love?

Reminded of the Rom fortune teller's first premonition, Julia smiled. And then shook it off. She wasn't about to set herself up with false hope only to be disappointed by reality. No, it was better to chalk the experience up to an amazing adventure and move on. Barely any of the activities on her tourist _to-do_ list were scratched off, and she only had three more days to explore the city.

Julia was about to round the corner onto the convention hotel street when she remembered her sister. She needed to call Clare. It had been a few days and she'd already ignored the message blinking on her phone. She picked up the phone, but instead of dialing, decided to send a message straight to voicemail. She still wasn't ready to talk about the last several days. Not with Clare.

"Hey, sorry I missed your call. I was just having a drink." Small lies. They were just small lies. "Everything's good here. Great really, um, having a blast. I'll call you later." Eeek, more small lies. She bit her lip. "See ya," she added, trying to keep her voice normal and light. Hopefully, she was convincing enough. The last thing she wanted was for Clare to worry.

Besides, everything was fine, wasn't it?

Chapter Eight

"Hmmm." Julia tugged at the ruffled edge of her tiny skirt, hoping it would grow just a few inches longer.

No such luck.

She turned around to check her rearview image in the mirror. At least her butt wasn't showing. She was wearing some cute, ruffled, costume type panties that matched her white petticoat, but she still wasn't keen on having them exposed.

Was she really brave enough to wear this out of the hotel room?

Julia slipped the tall, powdered wig over her head. She'd vowed to be adventurous. She'd promised to use this experience to step away from her comfort zone. She'd brought the Marie Antoinette costume down to New Orleans to wear, not to keep tucked away in her suitcase. It was now or never.

Still, did the dress have to be so flipping short?

She dismissed her trepidation with a shrug. It was Halloween. It was New Orleans. Hers wouldn't be the only short skirt around. In fact, she was pretty sure there'd be people on the streets wearing a lot less clothing.

Grabbing a small coin purse with just enough room for an ID, cash, and her cell phone, Julia avoided her image in the mirror as she headed out of the hotel room. She wasn't about to wuss out now, and risking one final glance at the tiny skirt exposing a massive expanse of legs barely covered by thigh-high, white stockings, might be too much. She was already on the verge of ripping everything off and throwing on some jeans and a sweater.

Tonight was a night for boldness, not a night to be just another wallflower.

Her white, platform heels echoed loudly in the stairwell, making her descent sound like a herd of stampeding zebras. Not wanting to voraciously announce her arrival, she eased down the last steps as she approached the first floor.

Carefully pulling the door open, she peered out into the lobby. It was thankfully empty. Baring her costumed body on the busy, dark streets was one thing, putting it on full display in a brightly lit hotel lobby was another. She was able to sneak past the concierge, and with a deep breath, yanked open the door to the outside world.

The streets were packed. Most people wore costumes, and as she'd expected, there was a lot of skin exposed. The weather was warm, almost balmy, and people were taking full advantage of it. In fact, compared to some, Julia's costume looked modest, Quaker-like even.

She received a few catcalls and plenty of stares, but for some reason it didn't bother her. None of it was overbearing or threatening, and it wasn't like she didn't _know_ the costume was sexy. There was something about the anonymity a giant white wig provided, and the fact that she was wearing a costume and not real clothes that made the attention okay.

Tonight, she wasn't Julia Brown. She was Marie Antoinette.

It was also the first time since she'd arrived in New Orleans that Bourbon St. didn't sleaze her out. Oh, it was still pretty smutty, but she didn't mind. There was an energy here that she hadn't noticed or appreciated earlier. She still didn't think she'd want to spend any considerable amount of time on the party street, but at least now she felt like she could enjoy it for what it was.

She grabbed a piece of pizza from the stand her sister recommended the first night she'd arrived, and then made her way to the Absinthe Tavern where she was supposed to meet Dave and crew. She caught a few tossed beads, nodded to the other Marie's she passed, and was generally feeling pretty damn good about herself.

Until...she stepped into the tiny bar nestled at the intersection of two alleys the twenty first century forgot, caught sight of her party, and realized she was the only one in costume.

Who didn't dress up on Halloween? Missouri she could understand, but New Orleans?

Everyone had fun in a different way, she reminded herself. She wasn't here to judge. Putting on her best smile, Julia approached the trio seated at a narrow, wooden bar.

Beth jumped up, and ran to Julia when she saw her. "Oh my God. You look so cute!" The blond threw her arms around Julia in an awkward hug. "See, I told you people would be wearing costumes," she said over her shoulder toward Mike.

Grabbing Julia's hand, Beth led her to the bar. "Do you want something to drink?"

"Of course." Julia pulled her hand away gently and reached for her purse. She wasn't all that into random female declarations of affection, and Beth's enthusiasm made her a little uncomfortable.

"You look great," Dave told her.

She flashed a smile at him. "Thanks."

The word "intimate" was an understatement for the tiny club. Besides the bar, there were only a few small tables shoved against the brick walls, but the floor space was still severely limited. The décor was a mixture of ship-worthy fare, and fanfare for the Green Fairy.

Luckily, there were only a few patrons sitting on the stools, otherwise, finding a place to sit might be a problem. The bartender smiled as Julia eased into the space between Mike and Dave, and set a cardboard coaster on the bar.

"What can I get you?" she asked. Rail thin and twenty-something, she was a pretty girl. She was wearing a small tri-corn pinned to her edgy haircut, a tank top that said something about "Pirate Booty", and a black and white striped mini.

"Absinthe. The real thing."

"Of course. Which brand?"

"Whatever you recommend."

The bartender turned to the group. "Anyone else?"

"Sure, why not," Dave said. "Beth?"

Beth made a face. "I'll just try some of yours."

"Mike?"

"Beer." Mike's aged frat-boy face lacked an ounce of emotion.

"You sure?" Dave probed with a grin.

"Beer," was the flat reply.

Dave laughed. "Cool." He turned back to the bartender. "I guess just two Absinthes and this jackass can order whatever he wants."

The bartender pulled out two tulip shaped stemmed glasses, and poured a shot of pale, Peridot-green liquor in each. She then set a flat metal perforated spoon on each glass, topped them with a sugar cube and placed each glass under one of the four, silver spigots protruding from a large glass decanter filled with ice water. She turned the spigots, and water slowly dripped over the sugar cubes and into the liquid green.

The water droplets turned to swirling puffs of smoke, twisting and churning, floating like wispy tendrils until they finally overtook the surrounding green, and the liquid turned milky. It was like watching some mystic ritual.

"That's beautiful," Julia breathed. She could practically feel the wonder lighting her cheeks.

"La Louche," the bartender explained. "All part of the show." She closed each valve, tipped the spoons into the glasses, stirred, and then placed the clouded, green liquor in front of them. "Honestly, it's half the appeal. Don't get me wrong, the liquor's good. But sometimes, the ritual is better. Enjoy."

Dave grabbed his glass. "That was completely unnecessary," he muttered quietly to Julia. "Just pour some water in and be done with it."

"Really? I loved it."

He met her glass with his. "Well, cheers."

"Cheers..." She couldn't believe he didn't care for the Absinthe ritual. Oh well, Jeff wouldn't have either. It was simply further affirmation that Dave was not the man for her.

The Absinthe was amazing. It was very lightly sweetened and herbal in flavor, with a hint of licorice, or more likely anise, a taste of fennel, and a bouquet of other flavors Julia couldn't quite place. Whatever the combination was, it was delicious.

"Do you like it?" Julia asked Dave.

He shrugged. "It's okay, kind of like watered down Jagermeister."

It was nothing like Jager. They weren't even distant cousins. The only similarity was the licorice, and that was like saying Twizzlers and strawberries tasted alike. "I'll stick with beer after this though."

"Hmmm, well I love it." She took another sip, letting the medley of herbal bliss dance on her tongue a minute before swallowing. "Mmmm." She clinked her glass against his again. "Cheers, indeed."

They stayed in the tiny bar for at least an hour. Slowly, costumed patrons filtered in, and by the time they were leaving, the place was packed. Most that came in were Absinthe drinkers, and Julia ended up polishing off a couple glasses while chatting up her neighbors, a tourist from New York, and a local that lived just on the other side of Decatur in the Marigny neighborhood. The conversation ranged from the history of Absinthe and its 20th century ban, to prohibition, to the legalization of drugs. Dave stuck around for a little while, but it was obvious the topics and opinions were a little too liberal for his blood, and after a bit, he joined Mike and Beth as they lounged at the outside tables.

The Absinthe had an interesting effect on Julia. She could tell she was getting tipsy by the ease words rolled out of her mouth, but her mind felt incredibly clear, and in some ways, she almost felt hyperaware. It wasn't until she joined the others in the alleyway and found her balance somewhat compromised that she realized how tipsy she was.

"Hey, are you guys ready? Parade should start in about twenty."

Beth jumped up from where she was peeling the label from her beer. "Absolutely."

Mike took a swig of beer and peered into his now empty glass. "I'm ready, but let's get some 'to-go' drinks before we head out."

"Sounds good." Dave turned to Julia. "Do you want anything?"

She really, really shouldn't, but...what the hell. It was a great night to get drunk. No wallflower tonight, that was for damn sure. "I'll take another Absinthe." Dave started for the open door. "Wait, let me give you some money."

"Don't worry about it," he said as he disappeared into the dark, crowded bar.

Julia sighed. This evening had "date" smeared all over it and that wasn't her intention at all.

"Oh, let him pay," Beth told her. "It makes them feel like real men."

"I just don't want Dave to get the wrong idea."

Beth shrugged. "It's his problem, not yours." She grinned. "Let him scramble to make you happy, and enjoy being hot."

Julia laughed. "You sound like my sister." Reactively she touched her phone. She still hadn't spoken to Clare yet. Later. She'd worry about it later.

The guys returned with three beers and Julia's milky green Absinthe in plastic cups, and they made their way toward Decatur.

* * *

Kicking his feet onto the coffee table, Armand closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the smooth, leather couch. He was beginning to feel guilty for abandoning the bar on such a busy night. Besides Mardi Gras, Halloween was their most lucrative evening.

His guilt was misplaced and he knew it. The bar would do well whether he was there or not. He had plenty of help, and while Armand might tend bar from time to time, other than the services he provided to clients, he was merely a figurehead.

It didn't matter in the end anyway. As long as his employees were taken care of, if the bar happened to have a bad year it merely became a tax write-off. He preferred that _Luxure_ was a profitable business venture, and it usually was, but he had enough investments that it wasn't essential.

Something else was bothering him.

Eve.

No one he'd talked to the night before had heard, seen, or knew anything. Not that he was expecting any confessions, but the answers he received were straightforward and honest, and no one's body language suggested he believe otherwise.

The entire ordeal had him so disgusted he was questioning the value of the Community and his place in it. He wasn't sure if he could be a part of something that had such disrespect for human life.

Still, going to the police wasn't an option he wanted to explore. Slade was right. The police didn't need to get involved until Armand has something tangible to tell them. Eve had been a promiscuous Donor and a frequent patron at _Luxure_ , making a large number of his customers suspects. Implicating dozens of Community members in her murder just because they'd been involved, however briefly with her, seemed a serious breach of confidence. If he only had more information about that evening, he'd feel more comfortable speaking with the police.

He should do more. He should have done more. That was all there was to it.

With an exasperated sigh, Armand rose roughly from the couch and went to the window. Dwelling on mistakes made in the past never solved problems in the present. And as tempting as it was to wallow in his guilt, it was neither productive nor helpful.

Opening the window, he unlatched the shutters and stepped onto the balcony. The street below was empty and peaceful, but off in the distance, he could faintly hear the revelry on Bourbon St. It was usually quiet on this end of the Quarter, but the sound carried well on the moist night air. It was going to rain later, probably early tomorrow morning.

A woman crossed the street at Royal, her vanilla perfume wafting up on the warm, balmy breeze. His thoughts turned unexpectedly to Julia. He wondered what she was doing tonight. Would she be at the parade?

Everything about her was etched clearly in his memory, from her petite, slender form to her clean, fresh scent. She was such a simple, natural beauty with her brown doe eyes and sleek, chocolate hair. Nothing about her was overdone or over the top. She didn't wear too much makeup, her hair was soft and natural, her breasts weren't too big, the words from her mouth were honest, real, perfect.

"Jesus." Armand rubbed his forehead. It was ridiculous to be so smitten by a woman he'd just met and barely knew. He didn't even know if she shared his attraction. In fact, all evidence pointed toward a conclusion that she did not. The incident in the oyster bar had made that painfully apparent. Hadn't he already decided to let it be? That her brand of female was better suited with another of her species, i.e. Polo Shirt Dave?

And yet, here he was, imagining about how her hair would feel brushing against his cheek while she rode him to climax.

He had to see her again. No matter what he assumed, he needed to verify if the connection he'd felt with her was real or not. If he didn't at least try, he'd spend his entire life wondering if he'd missed out on something amazing.

Fueled by sudden determination, Armand went back inside, quickly latching the shutters and closing the window. Grabbing his coat, he clicked off the lights and headed out the door without glancing back. He may not be able to solve the issues within his community or Eve's death, but he at least had this one quest to cling to. He had to find Julia. If it took him all night, he would find her.

Chapter Nine

Wedged between a group of hipsters and screaming tourists, Julia somehow managed to hold down their spot on the crowded curb while Dave, Beth, and Mike went back to the bar to get drinks and use the restroom. By some stroke of unimaginable luck, they'd happened to find a section of Decatur that wasn't completely elbow-to-elbow packed, but the curb edge where Julia stood was still prime real estate.

She was thankful for her oversized wig. It had deterred two screeching women from trying to reach over her shoulder for beads. They now stood beside her, beer sloshing from plastic cups as they strained and clawed at the marchers in the parade, trying to get their cut of the booty.

Julia was glad to be alone. It gave her the opportunity to enjoy the parade without the distraction of her associates. Beth was fine, but Mike was an ass and Dave liked to stand way too close. The feeling that they were on a date had intensified once they left the bar. On the walk over, the foursome paired off and Dave attempted to charm her the entire time.

Even though she could certainly benefit from a man's touch, she had decided against following Clare's advice to sleep with him. She knew for certain he was not the love the fortune teller had spoken of, and would feel guilty having meaningless sex with him when he was clearly looking for more.

Besides, there was only one man she wanted to be under right now, but there was zero chance of that happening.

And unfortunately, unless she did something to stop it, the evening was leading up to that one, horribly awkward moment where Dave leans in for a kiss and she would have to reject him. She wasn't looking forward to it. Maybe she should have blown him off after all. Now it felt like she was leading him on.

Through a break in the floats, and past dancers wearing black capes and pale, cake face makeup, Julia suddenly caught a glimpse of Armand, standing isolated across Decatur and looking dashing in late 18th century costume.

He was the last person she expected to see standing on the street. Never in a million years would she have dreamed they'd randomly run into each other again. And if he'd actually been looking her direction, she might have worried he was stalking her. But he was carefully watching the floats as they approached, his hands buried in the pockets of his frock coat, his expression distant, like he was more focused on some internal monologue than the parade before him.

She couldn't help the smile that crept over her lips. He looked amazing. His dark hair was poofed, powdered, and pulled back into a ribbon secured ponytail, his blue brocade frock coat a perfect fit over his V-shaped torso. Even the ruffled stock-tie and silk, cropped trousers couldn't deter from his overt masculinity.

With an abrupt shift in gaze, his hazel eyes swung to meet hers, and her breath caught in her throat. Had he felt her watching him? It wouldn't surprise her if he had. Heightened senses were common in vampire lore.

She offered a shy wave, and his face curled into the most devious smirk she'd ever seen. Even from across the street, she could feel his devouring gaze cover every inch of her form.

She wished she knew what part of her he wanted to devour.

A float with a huge paper-maché Death at its bow rolled down the street, blocking her view. Beads and glow necklaces whizzed past her head, thrown from the living corpses standing on a trailer decorated with dozens of tombstones. Dark, heavy techno blasted from speakers mounted at the rear of the float, and a mass of fire spinners followed on foot, weaving their streaming orange fireballs in intricate, spiraling circles.

Maybe it was the Absinthe, but from the fire tracers cutting the night air, the pulsing Electronica beats, the beads, feathers, costumes...her head started to spin and the sidewalk joined it. It was no longer only the fire spinners that streaked past her vision. All of the surrounding images whirled around her, gaining speed until they were a blur of colors and light. She stumbled back, blinking against the images attacking her senses. It was like being in the carnival funhouse, only this wasn't fun, it was terrifying.

Closing her eyes, Julia focused on her breathing in an attempt to steady the earth. She hadn't consumed so much alcohol to get the spins. In fact, she didn't feel that drunk, tipsy maybe, but not drunk. But the earth continued to slosh around her in an accelerating vortex that was threatening to suck her down.

" _Vous etes une femme dangereuse dans cette robe_ ," Armand's decadent drawl suddenly cooed in her ear, yanking her back to solid ground. The swirling earth skittered to a slow wave.

She gasped, partly because he surprised her, and partly because the sound of his gorgeous voice in her ears sent pulses of heat through her body. God, he would speak perfect French. She now regretted taking Spanish in high school.

She turned to face him, relieved when the image of his beautiful face remained perfectly still. It wasn't the Absinthe that made the world spin. It was Armand.

"How did you get over here so fast?"

He just grinned, like the answer was some cherished secret. She was pretty sure she knew his secret.

"Your Majesty," he said with a little bow. "You make a lovely Marie Antoinette."

"Thanks. Although I doubt she ever wore a skirt this short."

"She might have if she'd had your legs."

She tried not to blush as she looked him over. "And you make a rather dashing Marquis de Sade."

He cocked his head and almost looked...disappointed. "Is it that obvious? I usually have to explain that I am not the vampire Lestat."

She laughed. Except for the lack of blond hair, he did make a pretty convincing Lestat. "You do have a copy of _Justine_ in your coat pocket."

His grin broadened. "Impressive," he purred. "Have you read it?"

"I have," she admitted. "I was both disturbed and turned on at the same time. It was very unsettling."

He leaned forward. "Now that's something I'd love to hear more about." Even more heat pulsed through her body.

He glanced at her drink and took a quick sniff. "Are you drinking Absinthe out of a plastic cup?"

She bit her lip. "I am."

"I don't think that's allowed," he teased.

"Are you the Absinthe police?"

"If it means I get to take you into custody, then yes."

The alcohol was making her as bold and confident a flirt as he was. Hopefully, it made her half as sexy. "Arrest me then," she said.

His golden-green eyes locked on her, his face mere inches from hers. He was going to kiss her and she was going to burst into flames.

"Julia?"

She pulled back abruptly, shaking off Armand's spell and breathing for what felt like the first time in hours. She swallowed hard and turned to greet a confused looking Dave. "Oh, hey."

"Your drink." He handed her the Absinthe, his narrowed eyes never leaving Armand.

"Thanks." She had to swallow again to keep her throat from closing. The men were sizing each other up like a pair of dueling bucks. "Dave, this is Armand. He lives here in the Quarter." She turned to Armand. His posture had stiffened and his face was like a stone statue. If either man had fur, their hackles would be raised. "Dave is here attending the same conference I am," she added, trying to assure Armand that his hackles could relax.

"It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance." All the formality in the world could not hide Armand's disdain. "Happy Halloween."

Dave actually grunted, not even pretending to be genial. "Nice costume. So what are you supposed to be, Count Dracula or something?"

Armand's tiny smile looked like it would crack his face. "Not quite," he drawled. His hazel eyes swept over Dave like he was the most insignificant insect on the planet. "Let me guess, you must be the sales prick from the Gap."

Julia choked on her giggle, covering her mouth and coughing in an attempt to hide it. Dave glanced at her. "I'm sorry," she said, clearing her throat. "The Absinthe..."

Dave looked back at Armand. "No," he said slowly. "I quit playing dress up years ago, when my Spider Man jammies no longer fit." Obviously pleased with his retort, Dave glanced at Julia with the most obnoxious grin on his face, like she was going to pat him on the back or something. Didn't he realize he had inadvertently insulted her?

"How sad for you." Armand said coolly, calmly, and with a hint of pity.

Dave's smile dropped and Julia had to bite her lip to keep hers at bay. He looked like he was attempting a response, but was luckily interrupted by Mike, who suddenly burst through the crowd. "There you are. Dude, where's my beer?"

Mike trotted over with Beth in tow. He had the same reaction to Armand Dave had. He took one hard look at him and grimaced. Beth on the other hand gave Armand a coy smile and approving bat of her eyelashes that sent _Julia's_ hackles up.

While Mike diverted Dave's attention and the brass band passing by in the parade overwhelmed everything else, Armand turned to Julia, moving their conversation away from the others.

"I didn't mean to interrupt your date. I'll get out of your way."

"It's _not_ a date."

"Your friend doesn't seem to think so."

"I don't care what he thinks. Please don't leave."

Armand glanced at Dave who was attempting to shoot him down with a glare. "I doubt I'm welcome in your little group."

"Then we'll ditch them. But I do want to be cordial about it. They've been really nice to me and...I did invite them out."

He didn't look convinced and Julia knew she had to make him stay. Suddenly, nothing else mattered, not hurting Dave's feelings or pissing him off. The only thing that mattered was keeping Armand within her grasp.

"Please Armand, promise me you won't leave. I'm not here that much longer. I don't want to miss this opportunity to be with you." She meant to say 'hang out', but 'be' just slid from her mouth. It was more appropriate anyways.

His brow knitted together as he studied her. " _Ditch_ them, eh?"

"Nicely."

He inclined his head. "Always."

"Maybe we could just go somewhere they wouldn't want to follow?"

Armand considered it. "I think I know just the place."

" _La Luxure_?" The prospect was both exciting and terrifying. There was no way Julia would venture there alone, but she'd feel somewhat safe as Armand's guest.

Armand grimaced. "While I imagine it would be effective, it's not a good idea. There's another bar called The Cell that's close to Bourbon. It's similar but less...dangerous."

That Armand worried for the safety of the others when he obviously did not care for them erased the last of Julia's fears and confirmed what she'd felt about him all along. He wasn't a danger to her or her colleagues.

Suddenly, the idea that _La Luxure_ was filled with vampires didn't bother her in the least. In fact, she was beginning to like the idea. It was intoxicating to be on the inside of some monstrous secret.

"Sounds good. Let's go." She started to turn, but he grabbed her arm. It was the first time he'd ever touched her, and heat rushed to the space beneath his fingers.

"Not so fast," he said, but she barely heard him. All she could think about was how good his flesh felt against hers, and how wet having his fingers wrapped around her arm was making her.

Maybe she _was_ drunk. She shouldn't be this turned on from such an innocent touch.

"It's still very early," he was saying, "The Cell isn't even open yet. Why don't we enjoy the parade and head out afterwards?" His voice was this melodic drone in her ears that made her want snuggle into his arm and just listen to him purr.

"Julia?" He squeezed her arm, and her eyes snapped open in surprise. She didn't even realize they'd been closed.

He was looking at her curiously. "I'm sorry," she said in a self-conscious mumble. "I just spaced off. Your voice is very soothing."

He grinned again and slowly released her, trailing his fingers down her arm in a tingling caress. "You did hear me though?"

She glanced at the ground, embarrassed that she was acting like a star-struck schoolgirl. Again. "Yeah, Cell, too early, not open, stay and watch the parade."

He actually chuckled. "That's good to hear." He glanced toward Dave and the others. "Why don't you socialize with your colleagues for a bit."

"You aren't leaving?"

"No. I'll be right here. But if you want to be cordial, interacting with them might be a good idea."

She flushed. "Of course." Stepping up the curb, she headed back to the huddle that was Dave, Mike, and Beth. Pausing just before she reached them, she glanced over her shoulder toward Armand. "Stay," she mouthed, flicking her finger at him.

Wearing a broad smile, he held up his hands in surrender. She laughed, and joined the waiting and watching trio. "Cheers," she said when she reached them, holding her cup of milky green alcohol high. "What a great parade."

Beth met her cup enthusiastically, but the men were more reluctant. Dave had barely taken his eyes off Armand, who now had his back to them.

"So what's with your _buddy_?" Mike asked.

"Armand?"

"Sure. Whatever."

"He's just a friend of mine that lives down here. We were supposed to meet up later to go to this bar." She was surprised how smoothly the lie came out. This trip was making a decent liar out of her. She wasn't sure if she liked that or not.

"I didn't expect to see him here though," she continued, her words high and bright. "It was a nice surprise." The encounter with Armand had left her beaming and Julia was unable to keep the giddiness from her voice, even as she tried to subdue it.

"Which bar?" Dave wondered.

"The Cell. It's a Goth bar." She assumed. "But you guys are welcome to join us if you like." Julia tried to put enough emphasis on the word _Goth_ to discourage them.

Mike wasn't keen on the idea. "Hmmmph."

Unfortunately, Beth was. "Oh, that sounds awesome. What a great way to spend Halloween." She leaned into Mike, pressing her hand against his chest. "C'mon, it'll be fun."

"Yeah, I'll go," Dave piped in. Julia was pretty sure her smile was turning into a grimace. This wasn't exactly working the way she hoped.

Reluctantly, Mike nodded in concurrence. "Okay fine. Goth bar. Sounds _great_." He rolled his eyes and took a long drink of beer. "Can we watch this fucking parade now?"

Chapter Ten

The mismatched group stood on the Decatur sidewalk until the last of the floats and brass bands had sauntered by and a police car brought up the rear. Armand stood separate from them, a few feet back and on Julia's right. She and Beth stood at the face of the curb, Mike and Dave crowded behind them.

A couple of times during the parade she tried to move closer to Armand, but Dave always managed to step between them, usually under the guise of reaching for tossed beads. She eventually gave up, resolving to simply enjoy the moment as it was. Every so often she'd glance back to make sure Armand was still there and he always was, his gaze ready to meet hers. In spite of the distance between them, there was an undeniable connection. Words were unnecessary, and with a few lingering glances, a knowing smile, and the occasional wink, they were able to have a complete, albeit silent conversation.

Once the parade finally passed, there was a strange vacuum in energy that was painfully apparent even with the chorus of drunken shouts. The crowds broke up, and people spilled onto the street. Curb to curb was lined with abandoned and broken beads, discarded plastic cups, and other dirty, crumpled throws.

Julia wrinkled her nose. One thing she detested was litter. "What a mess."

"It is a waste isn't it," Armand concurred. The moment the crowd had dissipated, he moved closer to her, pushing through the thick tension clogging the air between Dave, Mike and himself. "The city sweeps it, and I wouldn't take throws away from our parades, but it's such a waste of resources."

So, Armand was an environmentally conscious vampire. She supposed he had an even greater interest in preserving the planet than most, considering how long he'd lived. Based on the picture she'd seen in the museum, he was at least one hundred years old.

"Are we headed to this bar or what?" Mike barked.

"Certainly," Armand replied tersely.

"Well, let's go, man. I need a drink."

_Sorry_. Julia mouthed to Armand. She'd never felt so embarrassed for being associated with a group of people before. It was her fault though. She should have excused herself from the others the moment she'd known she wanted to spend the evening with Armand. She might not blame Mike for being pissed at the forced situation, but he didn't have to be such an ass about it.

Armand led them through the dark French Quarter streets, Beth and Julia at his side, Dave and Mike at least twenty steps behind them. At Julia's request, Armand pointed out historical buildings and points of interest as they passed. He was an excellent tour guide. His deep, strangely accented voice was captivating, and he seemed to know every detail about the city. Every block held something fascinating, but Armand's delicious purr could make even the dullest fact sound mesmerizing. He should host PBS shows or teach boring subjects. Julia could have really used him during some of her college classes. She certainly would have found "Concrete Design" more tolerable, and maybe even gotten a better grade, with Armand behind the podium.

Either that or she would have spent the entire class shooting googly eyes at him and drooling on her notes.

"What is that building?" Beth pointed to a massive light gray building on the corner surrounded by a formidable, solid fence.

"It's the Ursuline Convent." Armand stopped and the women followed his lead. "Do you see how all of the shutters are closed on the top floor?" he said in a slow, quiet voice that drew Julia and Beth closer. "Legend has it, hundreds of years ago, when New Orleans was merely a lowly port city filled with pirates and whores, young women from French convents were sent here to help spread the word of God in our temptuous town. The plan backfired and many of the girls were raped, killed, or something worse." A small smile slid across his face and he cocked his eyebrows. "Their coffins are said to be stored in the attic of the convent, and ever since, the shutters have remained closed.

"They say," he continued in a voice so quiet Julia had to move her ear close to his mouth to hear him. "There are _vampires_ up there."

He would know.

"Who are _they_?" Beth wondered, her forehead almost touching Julia's.

Armand shrugged. "Legend. Lore. Locals." He tossed a wink at Julia. "Now I don't know about vampires, but this is the south, and it gets damn hot in the summer. Heat builds in an attic. It would make sense to open those shutters to vent it. So either they're trying to keep something out, or keep something in."

"What are you guys staring at?" Mike asked, resting his hand on Beth's shoulder. The moment he touched her, she screamed.

She spun and smacked his chest. "Don't scare me like that!"

He held out his hands in defense. "What?"

With a huff, she started down the street. "Let's go. I need a drink."

"Well, are you done with your _scary_ stories?" Dave asked Armand, his tone snide.

"Stories? How can you be sure they're merely stories?"

"Please man, spare me." He shoved past Armand, aggressively brushing his shoulder as he did. "Beth is right. I need a fucking drink. Desperately."

"Julia," Armand held his arm out, indicating for her to follow.

She shook her head at him. "You are evil," she said with a grin. A wink was his reply. "You know, you're going to get Dave so riled up, he's going to start pissing on his perceived territory."

"Should I get you a rain coat?"

"God, I hope not."

"Armand! Dude, are you taking us to this fucking bar or not?" Mike shouted from across the street.

"Your friends are lovely," Armand muttered as he pushed his silky stride to maximum lengths. Julia had to jog to keep up with him.

"Colleagues," she reminded him. "Big difference."

"Noted." Ignoring the icy glares from the men, Armand breezed past them with more grace than Julia could manage in her little finger.

The next block looked familiar, but Julia wasn't sure when she'd been there until a gorgeous trio approached them. She recognized the perfect pin-up girl wearing red angel wings and the man she'd been with the other night. The third in their group was a man with spiked, bleached blond hair, and black eyeliner. They might have been in costume, but it was hard to tell.

_Luxure_ was on this street.

"Armand!" the woman cried. They alternated kisses on the cheek and Julia felt strangely jealous by the common European greeting. She noticed Dave roll his eyes.

"You're looking beautiful, Angel. As usual." He inclined his head in turn toward each man. "Ash. Hail. Happy Halloween."

The holiday salutation was exchanged and Angel glanced around at the group. Grinning, she bit her lip, the bright white teeth a stark contrast against the shimmering red gloss. Her dark eyes lingered on Dave, and she wetted her lips. "Mmmmm, are you bringing in fresh blood?"

Armand laughed. "Not quite."

Julia was surprised by Angel's overt declaration and even more surprised when the beautiful woman's deep brown eyes settled on her. "Well, maybe not all so fresh. You were at _Luxure_ the other night."

Julia nodded.

"Angel, this is Julia." Armand made no effort to introduce the others.

"Nice to meet you, Julia," Angel said. "I thought you looked familiar. Although," her eyes trailed over the length of Julia's body, "I think I like this look better."

Julia felt her cheeks warm under Angel's approving gaze. Vampires had sex appeal mastered, that was for sure.

"Well, I'm afraid we need to get on our way," Armand said.

Angel's perfect brow wrinkled. "Aren't you heading to the bar?"

"Not tonight."

"Not at all?" Armand shook his head. "Oh, well, I suppose we'll manage," Angel pouted.

"I'm sure you will," Armand said with a grin.

After exchanging parting words, the two groups continued on their separate paths. Julia watched Angel and her companions walk down the street toward _Luxure_. If there had been any doubt left in Julia's mind about the humanity of Armand and now, Angel, it was dispelled. The woman moved with perfect, catlike grace, even in five-inch heels.

Her companions seemed more human. The dark haired one, Ash, must be a repeat meal since Julia had seen him the other night and watched Angel lick the blood from his weeping wounds. Maybe Armand's brand of vampires could feed off humans without killing or _turning_ them.

That would support her subspecies theory, and certainly made the fantasy of being with Armand even more appealing.

Unfortunately, it was still just a fantasy.

They passed through Jackson Square and Julia looked for the Rom fortune teller. Would he freak out if he saw Armand? Judging by his reaction the last time she'd seen him, she imagined he would. Luckily, he wasn't there.

"Hey, let's stop for a drink," Dave said, not waiting for concurrence before disappearing into a large, open air bar. Mike and Beth followed and Julia glanced at Armand.

"Do you want something to drink?" she asked.

"No, thank you." Of course not, why would he? "What about you?"

"I think I'm okay." She still had a little Absinthe sloshing around in her cup and the earlier ones were creeping up on her. Her head still felt surprisingly clear even though she knew the alcohol was altering her senses. It must be one of the unique, fabled properties of the _Green Fairy_.

"Your know," she started, her eyes on the bar containing the other half of their awkward group. "We could make a run for it while Dave and crew are occupied."

"You mean, just turn and sprint for cover?"

She turned to his grinning face. "Why not?" She glanced around. "We could hide behind the arches of the Cabildo Museum and wait. I'm sure they'd give up pretty quickly."

"What happened to being cordial?"

"I don't care anymore."

He cocked an eyebrow. "No?"

"No." Julia bit her lip. "Well, a little."

"And after they've lost interest, where would you like to go?" he asked in a low, husky voice. His hazel, lust filled eyes locked on hers, sending her heart into overdrive.

"Anywhere you want," she replied breathlessly. "Anything you want."

A grin spread across his face, his fangs gleaming in the murky light. "That's a dangerous proposal," he whispered, leaning close to her.

"Should I be frightened?"

"No. You should be turned on."

She waited for him to kiss her, anticipation charging through her veins, turning her stomach into a quivering, quaking mess.

"Okay guys, you ready to hit it?" Dave's voice burst in, inconveniently interrupting them. It was the third time he'd managed to do so and was, frankly, getting old.

Armand looked equally irritated. With an audible sigh, he pulled back. Giving Julia a pained smile, he said quietly, "We should have run when we had the chance."

It was only a few short blocks before the hand painted sign of The Cell greeted them. The doorman's eyes popped when he saw Armand. He blinked a few times. "Armand," he said startled. "I'm surprised to see you here."

"I do venture away from my comfort zone from time to time, Kindle," Armand replied with the tiniest of smiles.

If the bouncer had any color in his skin, he would have blushed. "Of course. Of course." He said hastily and inclined his head through the dark doorway into the even darker bar. "Enjoy your time."

As Julia followed Armand inside, she heard the bouncer ask the rest of their party for cover and IDs.

The Cell was similar to _Luxure_ in many ways: from the long, narrow alleyway leading to the front door and the small courtyard entrance, to the dark, gothic feel, to the pulsing music vibrating through the floor from somewhere upstairs. But that was where the similarities ended. Where there was a sleek, sexiness to _Luxure's_ décor, The Cell was more haunted house, with faux stone walls, metal cages, and bleeding candles. She didn't think the decorations were for Halloween, either. There was definitely a permanency to them.

There were a few of the patrons that possessed the same lithe, graceful glamour that oozed throughout _Luxure_ , but most looked like Dave and Mike. Those that were similar, seemed to recognize Armand, sometimes nodding toward him, but more often just staring as he passed, like he was some celebrity or royalty.

Taking her hand, Armand led her upstairs where the crowd thickened considerably. Before him, the crowd parted, and they eased through the throngs of writhing dancers crammed onto a tiny dance floor.

Maybe it was the electricity in the room, but every nerve in her body was lit on fire.

"I realize it's a little packed up here," Armand said into her ear. "But I thought you might appreciate the energy."

"I love it."

"Do you want something to drink?"

"I suppose Absinthe is out of the question?"

"Afraid so."

"Wine...?"

"Of questionable quality."

"Beer?"

"Beer is good. Any particular vintage?"

"Abita?"

Armand flashed his teeth. "Perfect. I'll be right back."

She watched the crowd fall away from him as he made his way to the bar and then turned back toward the dance floor. Beth, much to Julia's surprise, was standing right in front of her.

"Mike's being a complete dick," she complained.

"What's going on?"

Beth shook her head. "He's having a stupid argument with some guy downstairs." Quickly, she took in her surroundings. "This place is awesome. Do you want to go dance?"

Julia glanced in the direction Armand had gone. He was busy talking to a man that looked suspiciously like another vampire. She turned back to Beth. "Let's go. It looks like he'll be busy for a little bit."

"So, what's going on between you two?" Beth asked as they picked their way through the mass of people.

"I'm not sure."

"Well, he's fucking hot. And he's obviously into you."

Julia bit her lip as she smiled, and tried to keep the blush from rushing to her cheeks. Armand, the super sexy vampire, was into her, Julia, the boring, nerdy engineer. She wanted to squeal and jump up and down while clapping her hands. It was like being in high school all over again.

"Is it really that apparent?"

"Oh my God, yes," Beth said. "And I hate to say this, because Dave's my friend and he's pretty into you too, but you gotta go for Armand. There is just something about him. I mean, I don't normally go for freaky types, but he is super fine, and I think you two are awesome together."

Julia was surprised by the statement. "Thanks, Beth."

The music pulsed and Beth's body pulsed with it. "This bar is so fucking awesome!"

Beth had the right idea and Julia followed her lead, letting the drums drive her hips, and the melody flow through her core. It felt good to let go and just _feel_ the music. She was tipsy enough that every beat went straight into her body, and she didn't care who watched her dance or how silly she might look.

Two, maybe three songs had passed and the sweat was beginning to follow the curves of her body. Julia was so engrossed in a rendition of "Personal Jesus" that when Mike stepped right in front of her, she actually jumped back startled.

"Let's get the fuck out of here," he said, grabbing Beth's arm.

She jerked away. "No thanks. I'm having a good time."

"Fine. Well, I'm out."

Beth's sigh was so loud, Julia heard it over the vibrating bass-line. "Just give me a fucking second, okay?"

"I'll be outside. Don't take too long." Mike didn't even glance at Julia as he shoved past her.

"Is everything okay?" she asked Beth.

The blond rolled her eyes, shaking her head. "Yeah, it's fine. He's just being his usual asshole self. Same story, different day."

"I'm sorry."

"Oh, it's okay. We'll get back to the hotel, he'll have another beer and forget the whole thing."

At first, Julia was appalled. But it only took a few moments before she remembered all the times that Jeff had brooded his way out of social activities, and how many times she'd reluctantly left with him, doing her best to soothe whatever injustice he felt he'd been served.

"Well, I hope everything works out." It was a lie. She actually hoped Beth dumped Mike and moved on. "I enjoyed hanging out with you."

Beth hugged her. The gesture felt surprisingly natural. "Me too. And I'll try to get Dave to leave with us."

"Thanks."

Beth joined Dave who was standing like a rigid, arm-crossed statue near the stairs. Julia caught Armand's eye as he lounged at the edge of the swarming dance floor. He was easy to spot, and not just because he was tall. Her eyes were drawn to him and she liked seeing him waiting for her. Even if he did turn out to be dangerous, she no longer cared. The butterflies that danced through her stomach at the anticipation of merely standing next to him were worth any risk.

He held out her beer as she approached.

"Thanks," she said.

"Everything all right with your colleagues?"

"I guess. Mike's insisting they leave. I feel bad."

"Isn't that what you wanted?"

"Yes, but I hate that Beth is caught in the middle. My ex was like Mike and no one should have to put up with that bullshit."

Julia was surprised by the ease words flew from her mouth whenever she was around Armand. When she'd first met him, she attributed it to nervousness, but she no longer thought that was the case. Maybe it was the attentive way he listened, or the booze in her blood, but there was something about him that made it easy for her to share her thoughts.

"Don't worry. She's ready to leave him."

"How do you know?"

He shrugged. "Instinct."

"You're good at reading people," she noted. It was another of his _skills_ most likely attributed to his special breed of human.

"I do own a bar. It comes with the business."

She waited for his wink, but when it never appeared, she took a drink instead.

"You realize you're an exquisite dancer," he murmured suddenly in her ear.

She nearly inhaled the beer in her mouth, coughing in a rather unattractive way. With a grin that covered his face, he patted her back. "It helps if you swallow that."

Giving him a sidelong glance, she wiped the edge of her mouth with her thumb. "Hmmm, well, thanks."

"Where did you learn?"

"College, but apparently they didn't teach me well enough. I must've failed Beer Bong 101. Oddly enough, I don't recall."

"It is a difficult subject," he replied. "And what about the dancing?"

It was refreshing that he was able to pick up so quickly on her joke. None of the guys she ever dated got her humor. "Clare. Or rather the classes she drags me to. You're looking at two years of belly dance, six months of burlesque, a few months of flamenco, and one rather grueling month of hula hoop, which is much harder than it looks."

"I imagine."

"I still take the belly dance classes even though Clare got bored with them last year. It's one of the most freeing forms of dance I've ever taken. It just feels good."

"It shows. You move beautifully."

The intense sincerity of his words surprised her. All joking and sexual innuendo aside, it was a truly heartfelt compliment. "Thank you."

The music switched and she couldn't help her hips from moving to the surging bass-line of a band she'd never hear from a source other than her computer. "Oh my God, Puscifer!" The words, _I love this song!_ almost leapt from her mouth but thankfully, she wasn't quite that drunk.

He laughed. "Go. Dance."

She already was. Her chest popped in time, rolling and lifting with the drums. "Will you join me?"

"Watching you is temptation enough."

"Please?"

A growl erupted somewhere deep in his throat. "Put your doe eyes away," he said into her ear. "Begging will only get us both into trouble. I'll be right over there." He gestured toward the far corner of the dance floor.

She decided not to read too much into his lack of desire to dance with her, focusing instead on letting the rhythm tell her body how to move. It wasn't a difficult task, the abundant amount of liquor swimming through her veins, and the quality of music the bar played, fueled a dance frenzy she'd never quite experienced.

Armand had moved to a high-backed chair overlooking the dance floor. Like a king observing his subjects, he watched over the dancers with his unnerving gaze. She was often his focus, but instead of being embarrassed by the attention, she felt empowered and sexy.

After a while, another vampire type joined him. He was an exceptionally good-looking man, with long, waist length, straight, jet black hair. His iridescent eyes were lined in black, his lips painted red, and long, black fingernails topped neatly folded hands in his lap. He reminded her of _Blaise Carmichael_.

She considered joining them, curious to learn about the other vampire, but whenever she happened to glance their way, the conversation looked intense. The stranger spoke directly into Armand's ear while Armand stared straight ahead with a dark, impassive expression. It wasn't a conversation she cared to interrupt.

When trickles of sweat started running between her breasts, the cool outside air — and the ladies room — called to her.

It wasn't difficult to get Armand's attention. The minute she thought hard about him, his gaze swung to meet hers. Instead of trying to push through the masses of people to get to him, she fanned herself furiously with both hands and then pointed toward the exit.

He nodded and mouthed, _I'll be right out._ She replied with a smile and headed for the stairs. As enjoyable as working up a sweat on the dance floor had been, she was ready to see where the rest of the evening was headed.

* * *

With a bit of longing, Armand watched Julia weave through the crowd and disappear down the stairs. He was anxious to join her, anxious to privately enjoy her company away from her colleagues, away from The Cell. But he first needed to finish the conversation with his neighbor, the famed artist Lohr Varius. He owed Eve that much for the disservice he'd done her.

"Is that your Doll for the evening?" Lohr asked, following Armand's line of sight. "She is very pretty."

It took a great deal of effort for Armand to wipe the disdain from his expression before turning back to Lohr. "She is my date, yes. For more than just an evening I hope." It was important that Armand claimed Julia. Marking her as his territory would help keep creeps like Lohr away from her.

"Ah, I see." Lohr stared toward the stairwell, his pale eyes thoughtful. "You and I are more similar than you think," he said, slowly returning his gaze to Armand.

Besides being prominent figures within the Sang Community, Armand could think of very few similarities between them. Lohr was a notorious Grazer, and his cravings ran deeper and darker than most. Still, Armand forced his tone to be neutral when he replied, "How so?"

"We prefer our pets pure. Clean. Simple. Without drugs or excessive emotional baggage tainting their blood."

Armand held his tongue and let Lohr continue. He needed to hear the rest of what the other man knew about Eve, and arguing with him now wasn't going to facilitate that.

"But they are difficult to find and even harder to capture. But oh are they fun to play with." Lohr's grin was sadistic and sly. "It is one of the reasons I'm considering a permanent gallery here in New Orleans. The pool of willing Donors is vastly superior."

It was time to change the subject. "So, what were you saying about the Forever Dark Ball on Saturday?"

"Ah, yes. Eve. She was everyone's Blood Doll that night. I'm sorry I missed it."

"The woman is dead, you know."

"I know. I'm sorry I missed that too."

Armand knew his face revealed the full extent of his surging anger, especially when Lohr laughed. It was a breathy sort of chuckle. "Easy my friend, I was merely joking. I am sorry she met her end. Victims are almost as fun as Virgins." He slid smoothly from the perched chair. "I'm afraid I cannot help you, Armand. I've told you the extent of my knowledge. And since my flight didn't land until Monday evening, what I've repeated is nothing more than hearsay."

Armand fought to keep his tone cordial. "Of course. Thank you for your assistance."

"I'd let it go if I were you. The death of a Victim is hardly anything to lose sleep over." With a smug smirk, Lohr fell back into the crowd.

Pushing the second wave of disgust to his core, Armand let his head fall back against the back of the plush, velvet padding, and stared blankly at the exposed air ducts on the ceiling. Even if the conversation had proven fruitless, he was relieved the other man left. One more disturbing comment and Armand might have lost it. But his frustration over the lack of information about Eve — not only from Lohr, but from everyone he'd spoken to at The Cell — wasn't justification to start abusing the more eccentric Community members, no matter how much they deserved it.

With a deep breath, he shoved everything aside and focused on more important matters. Downstairs right now, Julia was waiting for him.

Chapter Eleven

As soon as Julia stepped off the last step onto the ground level, and Armand was safely out of sight, Dave swooped in. He was like a hyena waiting for the lion to have his fill. Julia, the hapless Zebra, had been happy to let the lion feast on her. She wasn't so keen on hyenas.

"I thought you left with Mike and Beth."

"What are you doing?" he asked instead.

"Um, trying to pee?"

"I mean with Armand. What are you doing with him? You can't possibly be interested in a guy like that?"

"I can't?"

"A woman like you doesn't go for his type."

"I don't? Huh. That's a funny statement considering you just met me three days ago. How can you possibly know what I'm interested in?"

"C'mon Julia. You're an engineer. He probably works in a tattoo shop or liquor store or something." He might as well have suggested Armand was a convicted felon.

She shook her head in disgust. "My sister works in a tattoo shop."

For the first time, he realized he was pissing her off. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean anything by it." Yeah, right. "I just thought...I mean...you and I, we make sense. This _guy_ ," he jabbed his thumb toward the dance floor upstairs. "I get it. You have a New Orleans fling, live out some fantasy of being with a tattooed, Emo guy. Then what? Not only do you live in completely different states, but you come from two different worlds. You and I on the other hand, have the same profession, we live fairly close...it just works. He's a loser Julia. Can't you see that?"

"No."

"What can you possibly have in common with him?"

"Does it matter?"

"Yes. You need someone that can match you, intellectually and professionally, not some loser douche-bag."

Julia didn't have a reply she cared to utter, so she remained silent, her eyebrows reaching for the ceiling.

"I wish you could see what a great fit we are," Dave went on. "I don't meet many women like you..."

"That's funny, Dave, because I meet guys like you every day." She hadn't intended on turning into such a bitch, but at this point, she was kind of drunk, she desperately needed to pee, and he'd angered her enough that she no longer cared. "Look, you're a nice guy, and I enjoyed hanging out with you and your friends, but maybe it's time for you to leave. This isn't your type of place anyway."

"You're actually going to blow me off to fuck some freakoid?"

"Well, that would be the perfect ending to this evening." Any attempt at not being a bitch was discarded.

"Unbelievable. If I'd realized you were such a freak chasing slut, I would have never wasted my time talking to you."

What an asshole. Thank God circumstances had progressed the way they had, otherwise she might have ended up with him and wasted one more year of her life in another horrible relationship.

"Is everything all right over here?" the doorman Armand had called Kindle asked. He was a big, muscular man, and his deep brown eyes focused on Dave with contempt. There was an undeniable menace to his posture that couldn't be construed as anything but threatening.

Puffed up like a rooster, Dave didn't look ready to back down, and the bouncer coming over only angered him more. Dave may have pissed her off, but Julia still didn't want to read about his blood-drained body in the paper tomorrow, and she had to assume Kindle was also a vampire. "Everything's fine. My _friend_ was just leaving. Really Dave, you need to go."

"Yeah. Fine. Whatever." His exit reminded her of a teenager storming from the room. If he could have slammed the door on the way out, she was pretty sure he would have.

She turned to Kindle. "Thanks."

He inclined his head. "Of course."

After a very satisfying trip to the bathroom, Julia finally stepped into the welcoming quiet and cool air of the small courtyard. A few smokers huddled in a corner, the scent of cloves and tobacco hanging in the air. A couple was engaged in some pretty heavy petting on a bench near the fountain. The raucous sound of partying from Bourbon St. floated on the night air, but the courtyard was otherwise peaceful, and Julia was thankful to feel the sweat drying on her skin.

"So you must be Armand's new toy." A voice said from out of nowhere.

Julia froze as the guy she'd first seen at _Luxure_ , the same guy that had spooked her on the street yesterday, stalked toward her from a darkened corner. Slowly, he circled her like a cat playing with its mouse, his eyes covering every detail of her body. When he'd absorbed all 360º of her, he leaned in close and breathed deeply. His long, colorful dreads slipped off his shoulder, scratching her cheek with their rough texture as they brushed across her face.

"You have the best scent," he said, calling every goose bump she possessed to attention. As he pulled back, a sly smirk spread across his face. His teeth were like Armand's, bright white with long, sharp canines. She grimaced. Unlike Armand's smooth fangs, his had none of the appeal and all of the danger.

"O negatives usually smell good, sweet. But you," he sniffed her again, pausing to savor the experience before continuing. "You smell especially tasty. Almost like lilacs." He ran a finger down her neck. His nails were long and sharp. "I can see why Armand likes you."

She was completely frozen. She couldn't move, couldn't breathe. A few scattered thoughts bumbled around in her brain, but her mind was otherwise blank and completely worthless. If she could have managed the command to make her feet move, she would have made a run for it. But nothing moved. Even her heart had stopped beating.

"Aren't you the lucky one," he added, the words heavy with sarcasm. "Usually, Armand thinks he's too good for most Donors."

"Get away from her, Darus."

Relieved to hear Armand's menacing purr, Julia released her breath in a rush.

With a smirk and low snicker, Darus took a step away, and Julia was finally able to resume normal breathing. Gently, Armand took her arm and pulled her behind him. She didn't resist and felt one hundred times better with his huge back shielding her from the man who'd given her the creeps long before she knew what he really was.

"I've never known you to be so protective of a Donor before. Besides her amazing scent, what makes her so special?"

"All members of our community deserve protection, especially Donors," Armand told him.

Finally, Julia's brain began working again. Donors must be the humans who willingly fed the vampires. Remembering Angel and her companions, it made perfect sense. Each vampire probably had a human they regularly fed from.

"Always the Community's watchdog, aren't you Armand?"

"Just stay away from Julia. She is not a Donor," Armand told him, ignoring the comment.

Darus fixed his brown eyes on Julia. "Guess it isn't your lucky day after all."

A wave of disappointment washed over her, even though she wasn't one hundred percent sure she wanted to _donate_ or not.

"Come see me if he doesn't give you what you're looking for," Darus said.

"Thanks, but I'm good."

Darus' gaze swung back to Armand. "So what's wrong with this one? With all the tail constantly throwing themselves at you, you'd think one would be good enough."

"Very rarely."

"Fuck, you're an arrogant prick," Darus spat. And then he wiped the anger from his face, replaced it with a smug smile, and shrugged. "Oh well, just more for me. It's your loss. You don't know what you're missing. Like that Eve, she was something else."

Armand's entire body went rigid, and the chords on his neck lifted a good three inches. "What did you do to her?" The growl that grated from somewhere deep in his throat was truly terrifying.

"Let's just say I gave her exactly what she was begging for."

Armand moved so quickly, he was a barely a blur. His body was a freight train as he tackled the other man, slamming him against the wall. "You son of a bitch," he roared, lifting Darus by the collar and tossing him across the courtyard like a rag doll.

Darus had barely risen to his feet when Armand backhanded him, sending him spiraling into the wall again. With inhuman speed, Armand attacked, clamping his hand around Darus' throat and slowly lifting.

"You couldn't stay away from her, could you? Such an easy target. Such a willing Victim." Darus' feet dangled well above the ground. "And I'm the arrogant prick?" Armand hissed.

Darus struggled against Armand's grasp, but it was pointless. Blood oozed from wounds crisscrossing his face and his right eye was already swollen shut.

A small crowd had gathered, among them were a few of the bouncers. They didn't seem inclined to interfere, and when Julia caught the doorman's gaze, he just looked away.

Armand took a massive, ragged breath, drew in a second, calmer one, and then pulled a phone from his pocket, dialed quickly, and pressed it to his ear. "It's Armand. Are you on patrol?" Pause. "Head down to The Cell, I have a perp for you." He clicked off the phone and slid it back into his pocket.

The doorman approached him with a hint of caution. "Hey Armand, you might want to ease up and let him down," he said, jutting his chin toward the incapacitated man at the end of Armand's outstretched arm.

Darus' face was turning blue and a line of blood infused spittle was dangling from his mouth. Armand barley glanced his direction before dropping him. "Keep an eye on him," he told the doorman.

Julia was too busy staring at the fallen man to notice Armand headed her way. She couldn't believe how fast and strong he was. He was easily as swift and deadly as any of the great predators routinely showcased on the nature channel.

His fingers were soft and warm as they caressed her jaw. "Are you all right?" he asked, concern replacing the rage.

She blinked, trying to clear the daze. "Yeah...Fine." Her voice came out breathy with a bit of a tremble.

"Are you sure?" His fingers trailed down her skin until they locked on the back of her neck. His touch was so gentle, it was hard to imagine it belonged to the same hands that, seconds before, had nearly squeezed the life from another man.

She lifted her eyes from the quivering heap that was Darus, and settled on Armand's multicolored orbs. God, he was so amazing looking, with his gently furrowed brow and concerned eyes...she could just burrow herself in his touch and never come up for air again. "I — ah — um..."

Without thinking and without hesitation, she grabbed his face and pulled him in, enveloping his mouth with hers in the most fervent kiss she'd ever planted on a man. Initially, Armand seemed startled, but it was barely a moment before he wrapped his arms around her and returned her kiss.

His lips were the softest and most sensual she'd ever tasted. And warm. They were surprisingly warm.

His tongue danced in her mouth, sending shafts of heat through her body with each thrust. She tightened her grip on him and he responded by drawing her closer until her body pressed into his. Light moans that originated somewhere deep in his throat told her he enjoyed the kiss as much as she did.

"Jesus, Armand. Did you have to rough him up so much?"

Reluctantly Armand pulled back, and Julia lifted her lids languidly. He stroked her cheek with his thumb. "Let me take care of this and then we'll get out of here."

Julia's throat was unable to make a coherent noise, so she just nodded. Armand studied her for a moment, a tiny smile dancing on his lips, before he pivoted on his heel and joined the police officer kneeling over Darus. Though the narrow opening to the street, Julia could just make out two police horses "parked" outside.

"Thanks for coming, Tim," Armand said.

The cop rose from where he hovered over Darus' limp form. "What the hell is going on?"

"I believe this is the man that murdered Melissa Schwartz."

"Do you have proof?"

"No," Armand admitted. "But if you take a DNA sample, I'm sure you'll find his saliva matches the bite marks on her body."

Tim shook his head. "I can't arrest someone on a _hunch_."

"How long have we known each other, Tim?"

"Too fucking long."

"Do you trust me?"

The cop hesitated. "Yeah, sure, of course."

"This is your man."

Tim sighed. "I can't just _take a sample_ ," he said. "It'd never hold up in court." He glanced down at Darus. "Fuck, he's in pretty bad shape. You've got to watch that temper of yours."

"He was being drunk and disorderly," the doorman piped in. "Armand was merely assisting us in subduing him."

"And you'll provide a written statement to that effect?"

"Of course."

Tim rolled his eyes. Turning back to Armand, he said, "Jesus, you're the fucking king of the vampires, aren't you? One of your subjects crosses the line, you rein him in, and the rest of your populace covers your back." Armand just shrugged. "Well, thank God you police your own group. I'd hate to be called in every time one of your _kind_ got out of hand."

Julia was amazed by the cop's casual reference to the vampire culture she'd just discovered and accepted. Obviously, everything and anything really did "go" in New Orleans.

"So you'll take him in then?" Armand wondered.

"Sure. Hope you're right. I'd like to find the bastard that killed that girl." Tim hefted Darus to his feet. It was no easy effort. Darus was, at this point, essentially a one hundred seventy pound lump of clay.

"How are your wife and daughter?" Armand asked out of the blue.

"Good. The baby's almost a year old. That's how often you visit. Last time was at her christening."

Armand's expression was amused. "I apologize. I'll try and make it by more often."

"Better. You owe me."

"I do."

The cop pushed Darus toward the street. The vampire walked unsteadily and every stride looked painful. They obviously weren't the undead kind of vampires and Julia's subspecies theory was confirmed. Or virus, it could still be a virus.

"Hey, we're going crabbing next Tuesday if you're up for it," Tim called over his shoulder.

"Sounds good," Armand replied.

"Do I need to bring one of those huge umbrellas to protect you from the sun?"

"That would be appreciated."

"Fucking blood suckers." Tim laughed, shaking his head. "I'll call you," he said, right before shoving Darus toward the Paddy wagon that had just pulled up. Faintly, Julia could hear the Miranda rights being recited.

As Armand headed back to where she stood dumbfounded, he paused long enough to bump fists with the doorman.

Chapter Twelve

"Shall we?" He offered his elbow and Julia slipped her arm through the opening. The gathered crowd stepped back as he led her from the bar, giving them ample room to ease from the confines of the small courtyard.

She felt a pair of eyes burning into her and caught sight of the midnight-haired vampire Armand had been speaking with upstairs. Standing perfectly still in the shadow of the adjacent building wall, he watched her intently. The expression on his beautiful face wasn't sinister, but it filled her with dread anyway. In fact, the longer she held his iridescent gaze, the more panicked she felt until finally, she forced her head to turn away. Her arm linked through Armand's was the only thing that made her feel safe. She wished there was an easier way to tell the good vampires from the bad besides her panic instinct.

"Julia, do you mind if we take a walk?" Armand wondered once they'd pushed passed the mob that had gathered around the Paddy wagon. "I'm strung a little...tight. A walk usually helps calm me down."

She glanced up at him. The tendons on his neck were like steel cables, and she could actually see the tension working his jaw. "A walk sounds wonderful."

"Have you been to the river yet?"

"No, but I've been meaning to."

"Good." He was silent for a moment, weaving effortlessly through the gaggle of stumbling tourists. It was like he could anticipate their movements before their brains could even summon one electrical impulse. "I'm sorry you had to see that. I try very hard not to let my temper get the best of me."

"I think you were justified. I mean, do you really think Darus killed Eve?"

"I'll let the DNA determine his guilt or innocence, but yes, I do believe he was the last person to see Eve alive."

"How often is a Donor killed?" The word _Donor_ felt strange as it meekly rolled off her tongue.

"Rarely, but once is too often. It should never happen." Armand glanced at her. "Donating is usually safe," he assured. He must have read the fear and doubt on her face. "There are some inherent dangers, of course. Hitting a major artery, tendon damage, infection...but these are easily avoidable with a little education. Contrary to popular myth, it is virtually impossible to 'drink someone dry'." That was a relief. "A person has to lose about forty percent of their blood to die. A small woman like Eve or yourself has about eight pints of blood. That's a lot of blood to lose, and a lot to consume."

"How much does one usually drink?" _Drink_ felt even weirder coming out of her mouth than _Donor_ had.

"About a shot glass." Julia remembered the skinny guy at _Luxure_ being served a shot glass filled with thick red liquid. She'd originally thought it looked like blood and then laughed at the thought. It appeared her initial impression had been correct after all.

"But there are some that require much more." He caught her gaze and held it captive. "You do understand what _Luxure_ is, don't you? I mean, it is a legitimate bar, complete with liquor and business licenses, but we cater to a _different_ clientele?"

"I know."

"I thought you did. I just wanted to make sure."

"If donating is safe, how was Eve killed? The paper said she died from blood loss."

"I don't doubt that, although I imagine there were drugs involved too. She'd been coming into the bar daily for a week, leaving with different patrons, four, sometimes five times an evening. I didn't fault her for her promiscuity, so to speak, but at some point it ceases to be safe, especially since she was usually high. I finally kicked her out. Victims like Eve are dangerous to have around."

"Victims?"

"Donors that literally want to be someone's victim. There's usually a bit of delusion and Hollywood fantasy involved. Since drama always follows Victims, they tend to be more of a nuisance than anything. But every so often, a Victim like Eve comes along and manages to fulfill the fantasy. And unfortunately, there are members in the Community, like Darus, that are happy to help."

"What about that guy with the long dark hair you were talking to at The Cell? Is he dangerous?" Just thinking of his eerie, pale gaze made her shudder.

Armand's face was dead serious when he turned to her. "I'm not sure, but stay away from him. He's not right."

Julia nodded tightly. She only needed the one warning.

They'd passed Jackson Square, crossed Decatur, the trolley tracks, and were climbing the stairs to the river levee where a walking trail lined with park benches followed the crest and curve. Without the shelter of the tight buildings, the wind pressed through the thin material of Julia's dress, lifting goose bumps in areas she didn't realize she had them. The temperature had dropped at least twenty degrees, and she wrapped her arms around her chest in a feeble attempt to block the wind. The attempt wasn't needed for long. One glance her direction, and Armand shrugged out of his frock coat and slipped it over her shoulders.

"Aren't you cold?" she asked.

He smiled. "No."

Of course not. Why would he be?

She slid her arms into the heavy brocade coat. It was ridiculously big on her, but warm, and the silk lining felt luxurious against her bare skin. His scent wafted up from the folds of fabric and she inhaled deeply, savoring the spicy, earthy smell.

The wind whipped across the levee, twisting the coat around her legs. She pulled it tighter and shivered. "I can't believe how windy it is. Or how much colder it's gotten."

"The storm has changed course. It's heading inland."

She stared at him, remembering the massive swirl churning its way across the TV on the news this morning. "The one in the Gulf?"

"Yes, but don't worry." How was she supposed to not? "They usually lose energy by the time they reach the city." _Usually_ did not make her feel better. That meant sometimes they gained energy. "If they reach the city at all," he assured. "It might miss us all together." He spied her from the corners of his hazel eyes. "Do we need to make a trip to the St. Louis Cemetery to ask Marie Laveau for another favor?"

"No, that won't be necessary," she said, a little embarrassed at the memory of her last request and the obvious way he teased her about it. Maybe his teasing was well founded. She did tend to over worry things. If Armand didn't seem worried that the storm had changed course, she probably shouldn't either.

Although, duh, vampire.

"Have you been through many hurricanes?"

"More than I can count." He turned to her. "But we've talked enough about me; I want to hear about you."

She'd really rather hear about him. "There's not much to tell."

"Humor me." He sat on one of the benches overlooking the river and gestured for her to join him. Sitting dangerously close to him, she snuggled into his coat and cast her gaze over the vast expanse of the Mississippi, barely making out the outlines of a few navy ships. A barge churned through the murky water, gurgling and chugging along at its steady, turtle pace. Off in the distance, just past the downtown skyline, a cruise ship was docking.

The water lapping against the riprap lined banks was almost as soothing as waves crashing on a beach. She could sense Armand waiting for her to speak, and she had every intention to indulge him, she just wished his desires ran toward the less clothed side.

"There's not much to tell. I live alone with my cat in downtown Alton, Illinois. I work my forty hours a week as a public servant of sorts, read entirely too much, and socialize primarily with my sister. I'm pretty boring."

"Boring is not a word I'd use to describe you, Julia. Understated, perhaps, maybe even unassuming, but definitely not boring."

She wasn't sure who he was talking about, but it couldn't possibly be her. "If you say so."

"What's your cat's name?" It was an abrupt change in conversation.

"Beelzebub."

"An appropriate name for a cat."

Did that mean he didn't like cats or he knew that all cats were really the devil in furry little bodies? "It suits him."

"What is downtown Alton like?"

"Small, made mostly of brick, with a few bars, restaurants, and plenty of bikers and antique shops."

"Do you like it?"

"It's okay. Alton can be a weird mix. It's an old, industrial city that's trying to become a destination town. I don't feel like it's found its niche yet."

"So why did you become an engineer?"

Maybe his life was so crazy that her dull, mundane existence actually seemed interesting to him. For a man like Armand, was her boringness exotic, so completely foreign and therefore enticing? It was the only possible reason he found her attractive.

"Well, I was always good at math, and when I went to college the funds weren't exactly flowing, so I needed something with plenty of scholarships. I love water, so civil engineering seemed logical."

"I love water too," he said quietly. "Do you enjoy the work?"

"Most of the time. Since I work in the public sector, I can see the benefit to the community. It's nice to feel like you're helping society in some small way."

"I wouldn't say it's a small contribution. Being in New Orleans after Katrina made me truly understand the importance of infrastructure and how we take it for granted. It's one of those things that usually isn't appreciated until it's gone."

"Like trash service."

"Exactly."

"So, you stayed during Katrina," she left the statement open, hoping he'd volunteer more information. She was glad to be able to bring the conversation back to him.

"I did. Foolishly perhaps, but it was an experience I wouldn't take back."

"Why is that?"

"I was able to see the city, and the world, with fresh eyes. It helped put things in perspective for me." He turned to her, shifting the conversation again. "Thank you for coming down here with me. I'm feeling much...calmer."

"The river _is_ soothing," she agreed, letting the gentle lapping and the steady chug of the passing barge lull every last piece of tension from her body. The encounter with Dave, then Darus, then the _other_ creepy vampire, had left Julia's shoulders in knots.

"True, but it's more than that," he smiled at her and she smiled back under heavy lids, a yawn sneaking out as she did. She covered her mouth in a hurry.

"I'm sorry. It's just really late."

"No apologies." He rose, holding his hand out for her. "But I think it's time to tuck you in."

She took his hand and he pulled her to her feet. Momentum carried her within inches of him, and she waited anxiously, chin lifted to the sky. His mouth lingered above hers, but he just stood there immobile, looking down at her with those gorgeous eyes. God, if he would only kiss her.

"If I kiss you now," he whispered, as if he'd read her mind. Heck. Maybe he could. "I won't be able to stop there."

The wind whistled across the river, finding its way beneath her skirt. At least the cold air managed to bring the heat between her legs down to a temperature that wasn't about to spontaneously combust.

"Then don't."

Armand's lips pulled across his teeth in a crooked smile. "As much as I'd like to lay you down on this park bench, I'd rather savor you in a more... _appropriate_ setting."

The way the word "savor" rolled off his tongue sent flames and ice sickles down her spine at the same time. It was like two fronts meeting and a tornado was brewing. She might want to give every part of her body to him, but she still couldn't decide if the thought of him drinking from her scared or turned her on more.

Nevertheless, she was disappointed that her back wasn't pressed against the hard metal bench.

He stepped back. "We really should head back before I do something that'll get us both arrested."

"All right," she conceded grudgingly.

Keeping her hand firmly in his, Armand led her back through the city. The conversation was light and easy. He inquired more about her boring life, ignoring her attempts to shuck the questions. Julia wasn't interested in talking about herself, and finally succeeded in turning the conversation to more generic items. She was surprised by the amount of things they had in common. Political views, world views, places they'd like to visit...judging by his appearance alone, she would have never thought they shared so many of the same life philosophies. The more she spoke with him, the more she realized the attraction and connection she felt toward him was much more than physical.

The walk back was far too brief and in no time, they were turning onto Conti. Julia's heart did a triplet and jumped into overtime. Her hotel was barely one hundred feet away; she could see the green fabric awning. She wasn't ready for the night to end. The memory of kissing him was too enticing to let it end there.

Did she just ask him to stay the night? What would happen then? Would he bite her? Did she want him to?

"Which hotel are you in?"

It was steps away. "The Conti Royal. Right here."

He glanced at the awning. "So it is."

Before she had a chance to chicken out, she blurted: "Would you like to come up?"

As achingly slow as it was graceful, he turned to her, his multicolored eyes brimming with a mixture of lust and regret. "I want to, believe me I do, but —"

She didn't let him finish. For the second time this evening and in her life, she just went for it and kissed him. Maybe she'd regret it later, but right now she was grateful for the courage being drunk granted.

He hesitated for a moment, and she worried she'd gone too far, but then he grabbed her shoulders and pushed her back against the wall, devouring her with his returning kiss. Pressing his body into her, his hands ran over her curves until they settled on her hips. She could feel his erection grow until it was a huge, firm mass against her stomach.

Holy shit, she was so wet and hot, it was like an inferno down there. Never, never in her life had she felt so turned on. She was pretty sure if he kept pressing his erection against her she was going to orgasm. He could have bent her over right there and she wouldn't care who walked by.

As on cue, someone did and catcalled, "Yeah man! Give it to her."

Julia felt Armand's chest heave in a sigh and he pulled away. "Ignore them," she said.

He rested his forehead on hers. "If I continue on this path, I'll give them exactly what they want."

"That'd be okay."

Armand chuckled. "So I could just slide these fabulous ruffled panties aside and make love to you right here on the street?"

"Yes." The word caught somewhere in her throat and she had to swallow in order to breathe.

"Mmmmm." His deep moan sent more heat shooting to her loins.

Wrapping her arms around his waist, she pulled him in. He groaned again. "Damnit Julia, you smell so good. Everything about you smells delicious. Your blood, your arousal...No, what I want to do to you requires privacy and no...guests. These fools don't deserve to watch."

Besides sliding — from what she could tell — a pretty generous cock into her, she knew he intended to slide his fangs into her flesh as well. The idea no longer frightened her. Instead, it turned her on more, if that were possible.

If she wasn't so flushed from the alcohol and his body pressing into her, she would have blushed at the image that flashed through her mind.

"Then stay the night," she breathed.

With an audible sigh instead of just a chest heaving sigh, he pulled away until there was actually air between them. Her hot body felt suddenly frigid. "I can't."

Maybe he had a girlfriend or a wife or a...partner? Or maybe he wasn't as into her as she hoped, maybe he just got off watching her get turned on. After all, she couldn't hold a candle to other vampires like Angel when it came to sex appeal. What made her think he could possibly find her attractive?

"Please do not think for a moment that I don't want to," he continued, crashing into her pity party. "I just...I just don't think I could stay in control. You're vulnerable right now and I, well...ah, fuck." He ran a hand over his hair, his eyes focused on the sidewalk. Torn was a good way to describe his gorgeous face.

She offered him a shy smile. "I'm a big girl, Armand."

He turned back to her. "I know." He took her hands. "You've been drinking though, and I don't want to take advantage of you and your _willingness_ right now." Jesus, she was probably coming off like some drunk sorority girl. "Besides, it could be...dangerous for you."

Oh.

Part of her didn't care.

Actually, most of her didn't care.

"Why don't we continue this tomorrow? I'll pick you up here and we can have a proper date. Is six o'clock all right?"

Her heart sank, and no matter what his words said, it felt like she was getting the brush-off. "Sure. Six."

Again, he seemed to pick up on her emotions, even though she tried to internalize them. "Please trust me Julia. I've never wanted to be with a woman more."

Now it was her turn to sigh. "I guess I can wait a few hours." It would feel more like an eternity.

His arms were tentative when he put them around her, but she welcomed any touch he offered. Gently, he kissed her. "Instead, if you like, you can come by _Luxure_ earlier. I do have some business I have to take care of at the bar, but I live upstairs. I'll make you dinner."

There wasn't any innuendo inferred, but she had to wonder. "That sounds nice."

"So, you'll come see me?"

"I don't think I could stay away."

"Good." His second kiss was even more gentle, and final. "Sleep well," he murmured into her cheek. As he backed away, his fingers stayed entwined with hers until her arms were completely outstretched.

"I won't," she told him.

His smile was crooked and completely charming. "Neither will I." He released her hands and spun toward Bourbon. She watched after him until he disappeared onto the busy street. Letting her head fall back on her shoulders, she leaned against the wall and closed her eyes.

Sixteen hours. Could she possibly wait sixteen hours before she saw him again?

The world started to whirl around her and Julia jerked her eyes open. It took a minute for the spinning to subside. Wow, she was drunker than she thought. Maybe Armand was right. Sober sex was much better than drunken sex.

Heaving herself off the wall, she went into the lobby and actually punched the elevator buttons. When the doors slid open, the twenty-something guys she'd seen in the hotel bar the night before stepped out and gave her a once over.

"That's a great outfit," one said. "I got some beads for you. I'm sure you got something nice under there..." He dangled a set of oversized Mardi Gras beads in front of her. She barely bothered to glance at him. His white visor was crooked on his head, and among the dozens of beads he had draped around his neck were a few with college logos and ceramic breasts. He was wearing a shirt that said something about getting bourbon faced on shit street.

Her stomach heaved, and not because of the liquor. "Thanks, but I'm good." Wrapping her coat tightly around her body, she slipped past them and into the elevator, immediately pushing the _four_. And then as an after thought, pressed the _three_ as well. She didn't want these guys knowing which floor she was on.

She was so happy when the doors slid shut that she didn't even mind when the elevator lurched up. Armand's scent drifted up, and she suddenly realized she was still wearing his coat. Oops, well, she could return it when she saw him tomorrow.

Tomorrow. She would see him _tomorrow_. Snuggling into the plush fabric, her insides did a little step-ball-change, grapevine, four-step-turn happy dance as the anticipation charged through her.

By the time, Julia trudged down the hall to her room, every giddy piece of energy had dripped from her body. She managed to pee and take off her wig before falling onto the bed. Something landed on the floor with a thud, and groaning, Julia groped along the carpet for it. If she didn't look for it now, she'd forget about it later, or more likely, completely. When something hard bumped into her hand she picked it up and used one, squinted eye to check it out. Just her stupid book.

Tossing it onto the nightstand, Julia rolled over and closed her eyes. Somehow, she managed to fight off the spins long enough to fall asleep.

* * *

Shoved against the wall and tucked into the corner where the bed and nightstand met, was a shining, silver flask.

Chapter Thirteen

Armand was only able to spend the briefest of moments on Bourbon before he had to turn onto an intersecting street. He was already about to burst. The last thing he needed was the sexual energy that buzzed thickly on the famous street feeding his swollen desire.

Julia.

Her scent lingered on his shirt and he could practically taste how sweet she'd be. How he'd love to have shoved that micro skirt over her hips, slid her panties aside, and buried himself deep into her right there on the street.

And if he'd actually taken her up to her room...

The vivid images that poured through his mind and further enraged his cock were dark enough to confirm this was not the evening to enjoy her. His brand of pleasure was not something to take lightly, and as revved up and turned on as he was right now, he was in a pretty dangerous state.

Tomorrow, though, when he was more in control...

God, he felt like a high school boy as he subtly adjusted his member on the crowded sidewalk.

The wind whipped through the narrow street, rattling shutters and sending trash rolling across the pavement like tumbleweeds. The storm was getting stronger. It would be here before morning. Armand hoped it lost enough energy to be relatively harmless, or turned at the last moment, which was pretty common.

The storm would hit in a couple of hours. There was nothing he needed to do in preparation; his shutters were perpetually closed. But was Julia's hotel prepared? What about Julia? She'd been a little freaked out when he mentioned the storm was heading inland. Maybe he should go back and get her. Would she feel safer at his place? He wanted to call her and ask, but realized he had no idea what room she was in, nor did he know her last name or even her cell number.

Backing into a stairwell, Armand pulled out his phone and clicked on the browser. The storm was indeed spinning its way toward New Orleans, but had been downgraded to a Tropical Depression and had lost its defined eye. Just as he thought, it was expected to hit the city in a few hours, but with sustained winds only reaching thirty mph, it wasn't much of a threat.

Turning off his phone and sliding it into his pocket, Armand stepped out of the stairwell and headed toward his house, forgoing any thought of going back to Julia's hotel. It was best for him to take a breath and a step away from her for the evening.

Besides, more than likely, the storm would blow over by mid-afternoon, just in time for him to wake up, Julia to finish with her conference — if it wasn't canceled — and then, their date.

His member immediately sprang back to life when he thought of her. Her smell, the taste of her kiss, the way her soft silky skin felt under his hands as he pulled her hips into his...It was enough to drive him crazy.

Years, it had been years since a woman excited him like this.

It wasn't just her beautiful body or the sweetness of her smell. Physical alone didn't do enough to entice him anymore. He was around physical perfection all the time. Having an honest, normal conversation with an intelligent, real woman was a bigger aphrodisiac than a double dose of Viagra.

And then there was the connection between them, a connection that had been lacking in all of his previous relationships. Fuck, the promise of a physical _and_ emotional connection nearly made him run back to her hotel and knock on every door until he found her.

The idea might be ridiculous, but it made him smile as he maneuvered through the narrow alley and, without thinking, into _Luxure_.

The grim look Slade greeted him with slapped Armand's grin right off his face.

Fuck. Darus.

He hadn't thought of that bastard in hours.

Of all the nights to be on autopilot...He'd had the promise of quiet, solitude, and time alone with some rather enjoyable memories, and he had to blow it by mindlessly crossing the threshold into _Luxure_.

Ignoring Slade's persistent stare, Armand slipped behind the bar and reached for his flask. He needed another drink if he was going to get into a discussion about Darus. Patting his shirt pocket, he came up empty. The flask was in the coat he'd left draped around Julia's slender form.

She'd looked so adorable in it, the fabric hanging over her delicate shoulders like expensive silk drapes, hiding every gorgeous curve behind their heavy, amorphous form. Except every once in a while, a beautiful, shapely thigh, lightly tan with the perfect amount of muscle, had peaked out and reminded him of the temptation beneath.

"I don't know what the fuck you're smiling about," Slade said sourly. "Your cop buddy stopped by."

That was fast.

Purposefully making Slade wait for a reply, Armand pulled the Courvoisier off the top shelf at the back of the bar, filled a small brandy sifter, drank it in one swallow, and then filled the glass again. Normally, Armand was a very discrete drinker, keeping any public consumption of alcohol hidden. But right now, he didn't give a shit who saw him slam the expensive cognac, meant to be sipped and savored, down his throat.

"So what did Tim want?" Armand asked nonchalantly as he refilled the glass a final time and slid the liquor bottle back into place.

"It wasn't Tim. It was that other bastard you played football with in high school. Brian or some shit. The detective. Amazing that all those dickhead jocks you apparently used to hang with all became pigs," Slade added sarcastically.

Being skinny and sickly as a teenager, the bartender hadn't had the best experience in high school, and held a serious grudge against jock types. Of course, that was before he discovered he needed a shot of blood a couple times a week to be well, and long before he'd turned into the body builder he was now.

"Whatever. Doesn't matter," Slade went on. "You know goddamn well what he wanted. Asked a lot of questions he had no business asking. Ran half the customers out of here."

Armand turned to face his angry friend. Keeping his back to the few remaining patrons that lounged on the plush sofas in the far corner, he leaned against the bar and calmly sipped the cognac.

Slade just snorted. "What were you thinking, turning Darus over to the pigs? I thought we were going to take care of this internally."

Armand shrugged, willing his rising temper to the depths of his belly. Letting Slade ignite the fire he worked so diligently to subdue was not part of his evening plan. He wasn't about to let the business with Darus and Eve darken the pleasure he'd experienced in Julia's company.

"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 toward 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 five or six 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 toward 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 five to ten 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.

Luckily, Julia was a step ahead of the group and able to get to the stairwell before the others, avoiding being trapped behind a mass of panicky people.

Once inside her room, she was able to distract herself with an episode of South Park and some Bugs Bunny cartoons. She avoided the weather and news, and kept the volume on the TV loud enough to drown out the howling winds. When the power failed in the middle of one of Bugs' cross-dressing scenes and didn't come back on, Julia was left alone with her thoughts.

She tried to pick up her book, but after reading three pages and having no idea what they said, tossed it aside. It didn't matter anyway. She had no interest in reading about some fantasy vampire romance when she had her very own live vampire waiting for her.

The notion that Armand truly was a vampire was becoming easier to accept. In fact, it was beginning to feel natural. It was apparent he meant her no harm, and after his explanation of blood drinking and the relative safety of it, not only was she no longer afraid of the prospect of him drinking from her, she found the proposition erotic.

Sleeping would have been a great way to pass the time, but all attempts to close her eyes were interrupted by vivid memories of the previous evening. She could still taste Armand's mouth against hers, smell his spicy scent, feel his firm cock pressed into her hips as his body pinned her against the hotel wall...

With a weary sigh, Julia buried her face in her hands. She was sitting cross-legged on the bed, her elbows resting on her knees. There was no way she was going to survive the afternoon without going crazy. Her stomach was already knotted up like last years Christmas lights, and she couldn't think of anything except being with Armand again. She was eight-years-old, tomorrow was Christmas morning, and Armand was the Barbie dream house she'd been begging for all year.

Hours painfully crawled by as she wore a path in the carpet with restless pacing. The relentless wind that howled past the shuttered window only slowed time further. The storm wasn't letting up, and it didn't seem like it was just skimming the city either.

Julia glanced at her phone. She might not have a cell signal, but it still kept time.

3:45.

She still had at least an hour and a half of endless waiting. Propping a pillow against the headboard, Julia sat on the bed with a thud, kicking her feet up and leaning back against the plush cotton. Closing her eyes, she tried to clear her mind of everything and just let darkness fill her skull.

It wasn't easy. Armand's image was permanently burned into her retinas.

Pulling up everything she'd learned when Clare drug her to a meditation class last year, Julia focused on the steady in and out of her breath, and pushed away every thought that strayed from that focus.

It took a few minutes, and she had to kick Armand out more than once, but soon her mind quieted and the tension oozed from her body. The steady pattering of rain and whoosh of wind became a lullaby, lulling her into a trace-like state. She was able to turn her focus further inward, until her breath roared through her lungs and her heartbeat pounded against her ears. In the hours she'd spent with Clare in that Buddhist temple learning the art of meditating, she'd never been able to truly let go and relax. It was oddly freeing to be so in touch with and disconnected with her body at the same time.

* * *

When Julia woke up, the room was pitch-black. Blinking wildly in the darkness, she jumped up, scrambling to find her phone. She tried the lamp, but the power was still out. After shoving everything on the end table that wasn't attached to the floor aside, she finally palmed her phone. The backlit was dim and she was almost out of battery, but the digital clock read 6:07.

Shit! Shit, shit, shit, shit!

She fumbled around the room, bumping into the desk and stubbing her toe. Knocking her purse over when she reached for it, Julia felt around until she found her wallet, and then bolted out of the dark room. If she hurried, she could probably get to _Luxure_ in less than ten minutes.

Chapter Fifteen

"You can't go out there; it's still storming," the concierge said when Julia headed for the front door.

"Is the storm still bad?"

"It hasn't let up all afternoon and isn't expected to until early morning. You need to get back to your room. It isn't safe to be out and about."

Julia's stomach sank through the floor. She had to see him. She couldn't wait twelve or even one more hour. Her plane left early on Saturday and there simply wasn't enough time. Even if she were with him now, it still wouldn't be enough.

She glanced at the door. Through the lead glass windows she could see the deluge of rain falling in buckets onto the soaked streets. The burgundy awning from the building across the street had torn free and was whipping wildly in the wind.

If the storm was still this violent, she couldn't possibly go out in it. Could she?

One look at the concierge's stern expression gave her the answer. The woman looked like she'd tackle Julia before letting her walk out the door.

"Your door key won't work with the power out," the concierge told her.

Julia's heart sank into the marble floor. She couldn't go back to that room. Not now. Not when Armand was less than a mile away.

"Let me get the master and I'll walk you back up."

As soon as the other woman disappeared into the back room, Julia saw a chance to escape.

To hell with the storm. _Luxure_ wasn't that far.

The front door was locked, but with a quick turn of the deadbolt, she pulled the door open and slipped outside.

The wind hit her like a freight train, and by the time she rounded the corner onto Royal she was completely soaked. The rain was a cold slap across her bare skin, the droplets moving with such velocity that they stung when they hit her.

She pressed against the building, but the wind still tore at her clothes, and a couple of strong gusts almost took out her feet. Hunkering down, she put her shoulder into the wind, turned her face away from it, and trudged laboriously down the street.

* * *

About the fifth time the wind nearly knocked her down, Julia briefly considered turning back, but the memory of Armand's lips against her skin kept the fire burning under her feet. There weren't enough days left as it was, she wasn't going to miss one because of a little rain. Besides, at this point, she was almost halfway there.

Or so she thought. _La Luxure_ was near the Square, but she didn't remember which street it was on, and with the torrential downpour and driving winds, Julia couldn't make out any of the familiar landmarks. The world was a gray blur, and every time she paused to get her bearings, the rain slammed against her face and she had to tuck her chin to her chest to avoid the assault.

Fighting through the storm, Julia continued down the street, desperately trying to recognize something, anything. It was pointless. She could barely see the buildings next to her, let alone something in the distance like the St. Louis Cathedral spires.

Without a map, she had no idea how to get to _Luxure_.

An alarm squealed helplessly from an abandoned vehicle, and loose shutters banged from several locations in unison like some kind of hurricane drum band. Water splashed at her ankles, rising from a river that started in the gutters and spilled over the sidewalk.

Unable to see anything that looked remotely familiar, Julia turned at the next street, keeping her fingers crossed. She reached Bourbon St. without spotting _Luxure's_ tiny entrance. Of course with the chaos around her, she might have walked right past it.

Which way should she turn? It felt like she'd been walking forever, but she was also moving at a turtle's pace. On the off chance she'd gone too far, Julia turned left. She spotted The Cell, and was pretty sure it was between _Luxure_ and her hotel, so she turned left again on Royal, and continued to push through the blanket of rain.

It couldn't be far. It _couldn't_ be.

* * *

Armand set down his laptop with an exasperated sigh. He was usually able to exercise patience and considered it to be one of his strengths, but tonight, he was finding the task grueling. He was so distracted, he'd nearly pulled a muscle during his earlier workout, and now, the numbers in his spreadsheet had this annoying habit of blurring together.

The storm was still raging furiously outside and didn't sound like it would be letting up any time soon. It was barely after six, and judging from the sound of the wind and rain pounding against the shutters, it might be midnight at the earliest before there was a break. He didn't know if he could wait that long to see Julia again. It had been hard enough walking away from her last night, and his dreams had been crowded with her image.

He wondered how she was doing. She'd been so nervous about the storm, and his pathetic reassurances had been so weak. If he could just talk to her, make sure she was well...

There was a landline in the bar.

He stood up with a jerk. The power might be out, but the phone was usually the last thing to go. Grabbing one of the many candles lighting his apartment, Armand jogged down the interior stairwell, and emerged in a small, somewhat cramped storeroom. Boxes of beer, wine and liquor were neatly stacked against the wall, and the locked refrigerator that housed small quantities of bagged blood was a massive, dark shadow in the corner. Collected from private, safe donors, the blood was reserved for those members of the Community who didn't care to _drink_ from the source.

He set the candle on the bar. The soft, golden glow of the flame flickered across the liquor bottles, and danced with its reflection in the mirror. It added so much to the ambience of the place that if it wasn't such a fire hazard, he'd love to light the bar with nothing but candlelight.

Retrieving a phone book from beneath the cash register, Armand slid it close to the candle and thumbed through the pages. He located the number and picked up the phone, thankful for the dial tone on the other end. He was even more thankful when a gruff voice answered.

"Conti Royal."

"Hi, yes, my name is Armand Laroque. I have a strange request. I'm looking for a guest, but I only know her first name."

"Do you know what room she's in?"

"I'm afraid not. We met earlier this week and, well, I just want to make sure she's doing all right."

"I'd love to help sir, but our phone service is down, and I've run the battery out on my laptop."

"I understand. Would it be possible to leave a note for her? We were supposed to meet tonight, but I want to make sure she waits there and I'll come get her when the weather breaks."

"Sure. What's her first name?"

"Julia. She's been there all week if that will help you track her down."

"Julia," the gruff voice on the receiving end of the phone repeated. "Wait, what does your girl look like?"

"Late twenties, long dark hair, slender..."

"I'm pretty sure she was just down here."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, she was trying to leave and I told her not to. I went to get the master key to let her back into her room, and when I got back she was gone and the front door was unlocked. I think she left."

Armand's stomach twisted into a huge knot. Julia couldn't be out in the storm, it was too dangerous. "Thank you ma'am," he managed. "You've been most helpful."

Hanging up the phone, Armand blew out the candle and dashed through the storeroom and up the dark stairs on memory. His night vision might be excellent, but even it couldn't penetrate the pitch-blackness enveloping the building.

He paused only long enough to grab his trench coat before yanking open the door and bracing himself against the rush of wind that slammed against him.

* * *

Julia was beginning to grow hopeless. She was utterly lost. Not only did she not know where _Luxure_ was, she had no idea where _she_ was. Even finding her hotel was an impossible task at this point. She was wandering in circles, weaving aimlessly through the French Quarter streets, lost in its maze-like similarity. She didn't even have a plan of escape. What street signs that still stood on their metal pillars called out names she didn't recognize.

Finally, exhausted, freezing, and soaked in places not designed to see water, she sat on a covered stoop where the adjacent building offered a tiny amount of protection from the wind. The rain still managed to blow in from impossible directions, but her drenched body barely noticed.

Pulling her knees up to her chest, Julia pressed her face into the wet fabric, and squeezed as close to the building wall as possible. She could probably wait out the storm here with minimal damage, maybe a little hypothermia or pneumonia, but nothing a trip to the ER wouldn't cure.

It would all be worth it if she could just manage to find Armand. As ridiculous as that statement sounded as it rang in her ears, she knew it was true. She'd happily take a few days in the hospital to expand on what she'd barely experienced the night before.

God, if she could just get to him. He'd left an ache in her that only his touch could ease. She was ready to turn her body over to him, eager to sate every one of his desires, no matter how dark they ran. She wondered if this was what the fortune teller saw in his cards when he predicted her descent into evil.

Of all the men in the world to fall for, Julia had to choose a vampire. It didn't actually surprise her. She'd been trudging through life as it was. Very little interested her and nothing excited her. It was why she spent so much time reading. Real life was boring. Until now.

She watched as the rain slashed through the night sky in a horizontal plane. The gutters had turned into raging rivers, the whitecaps spilling over the curbs. Debris flew by at regular intervals: everything from signs to trash cans to chunks of wood shrapnel. At any moment, she expected to see the Wicked Witch of the West fly by on her broomstick.

And if Julia had an ounce of luck in her bones, Armand would be riding behind her.

"Julia!"

The cold must be affecting her brain because now the wind sounded like it was calling her name.

"Julia!"

Squinting through the haze of the rain, she could just barely make out the outline of an approaching figure: one with broad shoulders and a long trench coat whipping about his legs. Julia jumped to her feet. Could it be...?

"Armand?"

"Stay there!" he shouted, his deep voice barely cutting through the din of the storm. "I'll come to you."

He started jogging toward her. Her patience only lasted until he'd crossed the street before she leapt from the stoop and slammed into his arms. He pulled her close against his body and she could feel the warmth of his skin through her soaked clothes.

"What are you doing out here?" he wondered, his mouth at her ear as he pressed his face against hers.

"I had to see you. I couldn't wait. I mean, my plane leaves Saturday morning and I just — I had to try." The water was running down her face in a series of rivers and tributaries, and her hair was plastered against her head like a helmet, but she didn't care. Having him within her grasp was an unbelievable stroke of good fortune. Fate seemed to be continuously bringing them together: first at the cemetery, then at the parade, and now here.

"I don't have my map," she continued, "and I got lost."

He pulled her closer. "I'm so glad I found you."

"How did you?"

"I guess I'm drawn to you," he said with a smile. "Or extremely lucky."

Or a vampire.

"Thank God you're safe." He wiped at the sheet of water covering her face, and then abruptly pressed his lips against hers in heavy, passionate kiss.

The rain was forgotten. The wind became a gentle spring breeze, and the chill that sank deep into her bones disappeared beneath the heat he generated within her.

A crash erupted behind them and Armand jerked away, quickly pulling her to the side as an errant shutter, ripped from its hinges, flew past.

He took her hand. "C'mon. Let's get somewhere safer," he said, leading her across the river that now covered the street.

The wind had intensified, and without Armand pulling her along, Julia would have struggled to walk, let alone stand. His broad back provided a welcome wind block, but the rain still managed to slam into her, and gusts frequently caught her off balance. She clutched at him, desperately afraid if she loosened her grip on his hand she'd lose him forever.

They weren't far from _Luxure_ , just over three blocks. A right and then a left and Armand was guiding her into the narrow arched entrance, though the main door, and into the pitch-black bar. Julia was completely blind, but Armand moved with ease through the darkness, guiding her around corners and unseen obstacles that occasionally brushed against her legs, and then finally up a staircase where they emerged into his candlelit living room.

Chapter Sixteen

Before the door had clicked shut, Armand had her in his arms, his lips finding hers with a soft, sensual kiss. "I don't know what I would have done if I hadn't found you," he murmured, pushing the rain soaked hair away from her face. Cupping her face in his hands, he pressed his lips against her cheeks, forehead, nose, and chin. "You should have never left the hotel," he said, weaving the words between kisses.

"You aren't happy to see me?"

"It should have been me braving the storm to get to you, not the other way around. Not my most chivalrous moment."

"You rescued me, didn't you? That counts." She smiled at his sour expression, her teeth chattering.

"Hmmph." He hugged her closer. "Jesus, you're freezing."

"Am I?" Her clothing hung on her body like heavy, limp noodles, dripping pools of water on the floor, and her skin was a giant quivering mass, but she hadn't noticed. All she could feel was the warmth of his skin and the pounding of his heart against her cheek.

"Yes, completely frigid," he said, rubbing her arms briskly. "You need to get out of these clothes and into something warm. In fact, I'd like to get you warmed up as quickly as possible."

She lifted her head and grinned. "My thoughts exactly," she said with a cock of her eyebrows.

"Unfortunately," he leaned in to brush his lips softly against hers, "my body heat would be insufficient. I was thinking more along the lines of a warm shower. The power might be out, but I should have hot water."

Taking her hand, he began to lead her through the open expanse of his living room.

"You will join me though?" She didn't care if the statement was too forward or not. Armand made her feel comfortable with her desire, not ashamed of it.

"I'm not sure I could stay away. Although," he said as he pushed open the bathroom door, "this isn't quite the date I had in mind. I was planning on fixing you dinner first."

She laughed. "You can fix me breakfast."

"I'll cook you anything you want, anytime you want it."

Even with the tiny amount of light coming from a single candle sitting on the vanity, Julia could tell the bathroom was roomy and crisply modern. The floor and walls were covered in gleaming slate tiles. There wasn't a bathtub, only a large, glass enclosed shower with a large overhead shower and several jets protruding from the wall. Armand flipped on the faucet and the water erupted with a gasp of air.

He glanced at Julia, his expression dubious. "There's water. For now."

"Is it that unpredictable?"

"Sometimes." He stepped toward the door. "If you need to use the restroom, it's there." He pointed to a small door, where Julia could just make out the corner of a black toilet tucked away in a separate room.

She shouldn't be surprised, even if she was. It would be more suspicious to build a bathroom without one. Besides, he wasn't undead. Whether vampirism was a virus or a subspecies of humans, he was still a living creature.

"I'll be right back with fresh towels."

Steam began to fill the room and Julia quickly undressed, hastily folding her frigid clothes and plopping them into a corner. Taking Armand's advice, she used the bathroom before stepping into the shower. The water was nearly too hot, but felt amazing as every warm droplet eased the chill from her skin.

Bracing herself against the only solid wall, Julia closed her eyes and hung her head. As the water rolled over her body, she willed her muscles to relax. Every atom in her might want to be here, every nerve ending might crave his touch, but she was still a little anxious about all the details being with a vampire entailed. She hadn't given it much thought earlier, but now that she was alone, and his touch wasn't lighting her on fire, she gained the capacity to speculate. Would he be a rough or gentle lover? What would it feel like when he drank from her?

Warm hands cupped her waist, slid up her sides, over her shoulders and down her arms, erasing every thought in her head that wasn't focused on the soft touch. Even though she hadn't heard him come in, Julia was too mesmerized by the feel of his fingers as he traced the line of her spine to be startled by Armand's sudden appearance.

Pulling her hair to the side, he pressed his lips against her neck, inhaling softly and then nuzzling into her skin. "Even the water can't erase your amazing scent." His hands trailed down her sides and over her hips as his mouth explored the curve of her neck.

Her breath caught. "Are you going to bite me?"

Gently, Armand raked his teeth across her throat, closing his mouth on her flesh with just enough force to send a shiver of pain down her spine and a rush of wetness to her already soaked core, but not hard enough to break the skin.

"No," he breathed, running his tongue up her neck and across her ear lobe. "There's a better way."

Her breath rushed in with a gasp and escaped in the tiniest of moans. "How?"

"Patience, my love," he said with a chuckle. "All good things come with time."

She tried to turn to face him, but he stopped her, covering the hand she had braced against the shower wall with his.

"No, stay where you are," he murmured, pressing his body and firm erection into her back. "Just for a minute." With his free hand, he turned her face toward him and devoured her with his kiss.

Her knees actually buckled, and she had to adjust her stance to stay stable.

Releasing her face, his fingers ran down her arm and over her breasts, lightly tracing each nipple before trailing down her stomach, over the curve of her ass, down each thigh and finally, dipping between her legs. His fingers were gentle and skilled as they circled and caressed her clit with perfect pressure. His quiet moans matched her own, his arousal obvious as he moved his body against hers.

In record time, he brought her to the verge of climax. Arching her back into him and pressing into his touch, the pleasure abruptly overtook and consumed her, rocking her body with intense energy that rippled through her in convulsing waves. For the first time in her life, she didn't hold back, nor did she care if she was too loud, or what weird expression might be on her face.

It was the first truly satisfying orgasm she'd ever experienced, leaving her panting and clutching at the wall for support.

Armand gripped her shoulder, his own breathing heavy in her ear. "God, Julia. I love the sound of your orgasm."

He leaned his head against hers, his body still pinning her to the wall. When his lungs finally calmed, he said, "Let's get out of here. I think you're warmed up enough," in a light, teasing tone.

"Oh, no." She spun out from his grasp and planted her body between him and the exit. "Not so fast."

With a raised eyebrow, he eyed her quizzically. She grinned. He had way too much power over her and she was ready to take some of it back. Clare's mantra about exercising one's sex goddess muscles scrolled through her head. Armand certainly looked like a god, and if anyone could bring out Julia's inner goddess, it was him. He wasn't the only one who could tease...

She tipped forward, letting her breasts barely brush his chest, and kissed his neck. Undulating her body until her hips were pressed against his, she ran her hands up his strong, well-defined arms, and nipped at his jaw. Tattooed on his chest was a sneering demon with horns that curled up and over his collarbones. She traced the lines with her tongue while her fingers explored the hard ridges of his six-pack. Slowly she lowered her hand until it just grazed his cock, and then gently cupped his balls, raking her teeth across his chest as she did.

He let out a moan. "Jesus."

She took that as a sign of approval and slowly sank to her knees. He was a good size, with plenty of girth and not overly long. Sliding her palm down the length of his cock, she ran her tongue up the ridge, and then traced the curve of his swollen head.

Swaying on his feet, the muscles in Armand's abs contracted, and there was a "thump" as his hand hit the wall. Pleased that her "sex goddess" actually worked, Julia repeated the motion a few times, keeping her movements slow and precise before finally enclosing her mouth around him, and stroking his cock with her mouth and hand at the same time.

Armand responded with the most delicious growls and groans, encouraging every lick, every stroke, until Julia was not just performing a common sexual act on him, she was making love to him with her mouth.

Never had she enjoyed having a man in her mouth more.

And she sure as hell hadn't ever been this turned on.

When his head was so swollen she could tell he was about to burst, Julia slowed down and then stopped completely. Running her tongue one final time up his cock and over the tip, she continued up his stomach, ending at his neck where she gently, but firmly bit him.

"There," she said, pulling away. "I think you're sufficiently warmed up."

"You are a cruel, cruel woman," he panted, a grin barely curling the corners of his mouth.

She feigned innocence. "I was just repaying the favor."

He leaned forward. "Yes, but I can still feel your orgasm against my fingers."

She turned her face until she spied him from the corner of her eyes. With complete deadpan, she replied, "I wouldn't want to use you up so early in the evening."

"I doubt you could."

"Why chance it?" She had to fight the muscles in her face to keep from smiling. It was the first time she'd ever met a man who could match her banter for banter.

"Why not?" he countered.

"There are only so many hours in this night."

"I hope like hell there will be more nights than just this one."

His eyes grazed across her mouth, and she could tell he wanted to kiss her. Enjoying the sexual tension, she held fast, even if every one of her mutinous muscles wanted to throw her body into his arms.

With a quick flick of his arm, he turned the shower faucet, and the water immediately went from steaming to frigid. Squealing in surprise and reeling in shock, Julia scrambled for the faucet, slamming it closed as quickly as she could.

Covered in goose bumps, she turned and stared in disbelief at him. "Why did you do that?"

He laughed. "That ought to cool us both down a little."

She didn't have a chance to be annoyed with him, or even appreciate his teasing humor, because as he stepped smoothly from the shower, she became mesmerized by his perfect ass and broad, muscular back.

"Julia." His expression was sly as he dangled a towel for her.

She supposed she should be embarrassed by her obvious ogling, but there were more important things to worry about, like drying off her shivering body. Yanking the towel from him, she quickly wiped the water from her skin, and then cocooned herself into the plush, cotton folds. Although she wasn't really angry, she glared at him from under her dripping hair.

"Oh, come now." Tugging on her towel, he pulled her in and wrapped his arms around her, encasing her in his oversized towel. "If I'd let the shower do all the work, I wouldn't have the pleasure of warming you up myself." He bent and kissed her, deep and hard.

Forgetting she'd ever been cold, she released her own towel and pressed into him, sliding her hands around his neck and pulling him as close as possible. Seconds later, his towel joined hers on the floor.

He only lingered there a moment before scooping her up and carrying her from the bathroom. Although the kiss never eased up, it became softer, gentler, his full lips enveloping hers in a series of sucks and nips.

It wasn't until he set her down on something cool and soft that she was finally able to get air to the bottom on her lungs. They were on his bed. The mattress was firm but plush, and the high thread count of the black cotton sheets felt like silk against her bare skin. Two candles cast a soft golden glow over the room, throwing dancing shadows on the red painted walls.

Easing her back onto the bed, his lips left her mouth and trailed down her neck. Her breath caught as she expected him to bite her. Only his tongue grazed her flesh though, as he moved from her neck. His touch was feather light, and chills danced on her skin wherever it landed. He lingered briefly on her breasts, bringing her nipples alive and exploring the sensitized nerves with quick flicks of his tongue, before moving lower.

When his tongue lightly brushed across her clit, waves of energy shot up her spine. She moaned, arching into him. Faintly, she heard him echo her. His tongue danced around her core, exploring her inner thighs, the points of her hips, and then returning to delicately caress the tip of her clit. It would only take a few more passes and she would cum again.

God, she just wanted to pull his body against hers, feel him deep inside, grind her hips into him. Oral sex wasn't enough, she needed to touch him, be one with him. She needed his body to cover hers.

As if reading her mind, he was suddenly above her. Grabbing his neck, she met him with a rough kiss. All of the gentleness fled from his touch, and the firm way his hands passed over her curves only inflamed her further. They became a tangle of bodies, pawing and groping at each other like a hormone enraged teenage couple.

Hovered above her, Armand finally pulled back, his breath heavy and rough. As his hazel gaze trapped hers, an intense longing and desire slammed into her. "I want to taste you, drink you."

"Please," she begged, squirming under his heavy body, wanting, _craving_ more of him. She needed him to drink from her, needed to share every part of her body with him, needed to be the woman that gave him everything he desired, including her blood. Especially her blood. It surprised her how strong the longing was. "God, Armand, yes."

Planting a final, passionate kiss on her before sliding smoothly off the bed, Armand quickly retrieved a few items from his nightstand and returned to her side.

The cool handle of what looked like an intricately carved scalpel slid slowly and lightly down her neck and over her breasts. "The blade is fresh," he murmured, his gentle kisses trailing the hilt.

She barely heard him, she was too engrossed by the contrast between the cold, hard metal, and his soft, warm mouth. He moved lower, passing lightly over her core and stopping at her inner thigh. Easing her legs apart, he continued to lightly caress her skin with the blunt end of the knife. Chills shot down her legs and heat flooded her loins. By now, it had to be hot enough down there to fry an egg.

He flipped the blade, nipped gently at her skin, and then made two tiny incisions, a growl erupting somewhere deep in his throat as he covered the broken skin with his mouth. The pain was quick and barely noticeable; the feel of his warm mouth clamped over her flesh overruled everything else.

The sensation of him drinking from her was not what Julia expected. Instead of taking long draws from her, he licked and sucked at her flesh with short pulls, like a series of passionate kisses. His hands were clamped on her thigh, his moans and growls an indication of the intense pleasure the act was giving him.

It was overpowering and had her on the verge of an orgasm. Again. The energy was slammed against a dam, ready to burst with the slightest touch. His mouth was so close to her sex, if he moved just a few inches he could relieve the pressure.

He didn't drink long, and when he finished with her blood, he turned to her sex, devouring her clit with the same short, sucking pulls he'd used to lap up her blood. Her orgasm exploded immediately, crashing through her body in a wave of contractions. His name escaped her lips somewhere among the moans of pleasure, and he increased his efforts, pushing her orgasm further and harder than she'd ever experienced, to the point where she finally had to pull back when the intensity became overwhelming.

His breathing was heavy and rough when he met her in a hard kiss. "God. Damn," he panted. "You taste amazing."

Her heart was thumping hard in her chest, and her toes were cold and numb. The tip of his cock was pressed gently against her thigh, and in spite of the fact that she still hadn't regained sensation in her limbs, she ached to have him inside her. "Fuck me."

He smiled. "I will. Just give me a minute to recover." He buried his face in her neck and rested the bulk of his weight on his forearms, his biceps knotted up like huge, mounding boulders.

"What's it like?" she wondered when her heart had resumed a normal pace, her breathing was actually getting oxygen into her lungs, and her feet no longer tingled.

He lifted his head from the crook of her neck to look at her. "What?"

"Drinking blood?"

"You've never?"

She was surprised by the question. After all, she wasn't the vampire. "No."

"Ah." Propping up on his elbow, he gently peeled hair away from her sweat soaked face. "It's like tasting someone's energy: drinking, absorbing, and experiencing their very soul. Blood is the essence of life. It makes us, links us." The words were spoken softly, and as they left his lips, the tiniest of smiles pulled at the corners. "Sharing it with another is the most intimate gift you can give." His multicolored eyes locked on hers, his usual intensity both captivating and demanding. "I'd love to share it with you now."

She was intrigued. All of her fantasies had centered on him drinking from her, not the other way around. "Really?"

"Absolutely." He moved to a kneeling position, pulling her up with him. Her head swooned at the change of position, and she swayed on her knees.

Armand retrieved a different blade than the one he'd used on her. It was a small, simple scalpel. Flipping the blade on himself, he drew a tiny line on his pec between his pierced nipple and the jowl of the sneering demon.

Blood instantly filled the crevice, and a line of red pooled on the smooth edge of the incision. A droplet finally escaped and slid down his pale skin. The color was luxurious, like deep red garnets. In the flickering candlelight, his blood glistened liked the faceted stones it resembled.

She leaned forward and gently caught it on her finger. With a questioning glance at Armand, she tentatively touched the finger to her tongue. The taste was familiar, metallic, and very slightly sweet. It reminded her of the many times she'd put her own cut finger in her mouth, and found that oddly reassuring.

Armand was watching her hungrily, his eyes lusty beneath a furrowed brow. With more confidence, she placed one hand on the smooth contour of his pec, and the other on his muscled shoulder. Capturing a newly released blood droplet with her tongue, she traced its trail until her mouth covered the incision.

Following Armand's earlier example, Julia sucked gently, pulling more of the thick, warm liquid into her mouth. Armand moaned in response, every muscle in his body tensing. His blood tasted surprisingly good, and she continued, coaxing more of the fluid out with soft pulls of her tongue.

Straddling his thigh, her hand pressed firmly against his chest, she clutched his arm to keep him close. His body rocked with pleasure, his abs contracting in a ripple of muscle, his cock huge and erect. She wanted to run her hand down the length of his cock and stroke out the release he was so close to. Or better, she could just slip her leg over his other thigh, and ride him to climax while his blood seeped into her mouth.

"Julia." The whisper of her name rolling from his lips in that deep, decadent drawl sent a wave of pleasure through her body just as her sex brushed against the top of his leg. The light touch was enough to send another orgasm chasing the nerves up her spine.

Pulling her mouth from his chest, he forcefully met it with his, and sucked the last bit of blood from her lips. "I have to be inside you. Now."

"Yes," she breathed. "Please."

He kissed her one last time, hard and with just enough roughness to excite her even more. "Mmmmm, turn around." His voice was low and thick, his hands firm as they moved her into a kneeling position. She obeyed happily and without resistance, leaning forward and clasping the black, wood slatted headboard. It was refreshing to have a man take charge and actually be good at it.

Kneeling behind her, he raked his fingers down her back and over her hips, gripping at the soft flesh. Starting at the curve where her ass met her lower back, he kissed, licked and bit his way to her shoulders. Locking his fingers in her hair, he tilted her head, exposing the side of her neck and running his tongue over it.

"Bite me," she whispered.

He just groaned. Releasing her hair and resuming his grip on her hips, he slid his cock smoothly into her. She was more than ready, and her body accepted the length without resistance.

"God. Damn," he grunted.

He filled her perfectly, and every slow stroke lit millions of nerves on fire. She matched his rhythm, countering the motion with the rock of her hips. His thrusting intensified and he wrapped one arm around her chest, pulling her off the headboard and into his grasp. Pressing his cheek against the side of her head, his lips lingered at her ear, murmuring deep, throaty sighs.

Tilting her head, she exposed the side of her neck to him again. "Bite me," she repeated, pushing her hips harder into him.

She heard his mouth open, but he only tightened his grip on her chest, and deepened his thrusts.

Her pleasure was beginning to crest. She just needed one last thing. "Armand," she begged, "bite me."

"Fuck," he growled from somewhere deep in his chest.

The pain was intense but brief as his teeth sunk into her. It was completely forgotten as her orgasm crashed into his. She cried out as the pleasure consumed her and set her body on fire. It seemed to last hours, and by the time the ripples subsided, she was dizzy and light headed.

She could feel Armand's thumping heart against her back as she leaned heavily against the headboard for support. Everything felt perfect, his skin against hers, his spicy scent, the sound of his rapid breathing.

"Damnit! Julia, I'm so sorry."

"Hmmmm?" She felt drunk in the afterglow, and his words sounded fuzzy.

"I didn't mean to break the skin." He touched her neck with tender fingers. "Shit, you're bleeding."

"Mmmmmm. It's okay."

"No, it isn't," he insisted firmly. "And I was worried about losing control _last_ night," he murmured with a hint of disgust. His fingers probed her neck. "At least it looks like I didn't do any permanent damage."

Her head was starting to defuzz. Barely. "Really, Armand, it's okay. I wanted you to."

"You said bite, not tear into you like some animal. Let me clean you up." He left the bed and her body felt frigid without the heat of his touch.

Julia sat back with a thump, putting the headboard and one of many soft pillows scattered on the bed behind her. She couldn't quite figure out why he was so upset over breaking the skin. He'd cut her earlier with a scalpel, how was this any different?

Unless, like the common vampire myth, vampirism could be spread through a bite.

So, did that make it a virus? Maybe she should just ask.

Except his face was lined with concern when he returned with a medical kit. There'd be time to ask later. She didn't want to upset him any more than he already was. It wasn't like she'd never considered what it would be like to actually become a vampire. There seemed to be quite a few perks. She might be willing to give up sunlight to enjoy them.

He shook some Betadine onto a square of cotton gauze, and carefully rubbed it over the marks. It stung and she bit her lip. Unfortunately, he noticed.

"Julia, I cannot apologize enough."

"Not necessary. It's totally okay."

After finishing with the Betadine, he tossed the used, rust colored gauze into a plastic bag. "No, it isn't."

He reached for a jar tucked into the medical kit, and she grabbed his arm. He looked at her, his frown lines deep. "Please, stop. This was a perfect evening. _Everything_ was perfect."

"I hate losing control."

"Well, I loved it."

With a snort, he shook his head. Pulling out the jar and unscrewing the top, he dipped his fingers in the cream inside. Brushing her hair aside, he dabbed the cream on the marks. It felt cool and numbing.

"All right. But next time, try not to be so damn tantalizing."

She liked the idea of there being another time. "I'll try," she said, planting a soft kiss on his cheek.

Spying her from the corner of his eyes, he unwrapped a square band-aid. "That might be impossible," he said, pressing the bandage against her neck. "Lie down, let me treat your leg."

She obeyed, surprised by how comfortable his bed felt and how tired she found herself. He rubbed a little bit of the cream on the small incision and covered it with another band-aid. She glanced at the tiny cut on his chest. The blood had stopped, and the wound looked like it was already closing up. "What about you?"

"I'm fine." Screwing the lid back on the jar, he returned it to the medical kit and set it aside.

She yawned. "Is it still storming?"

"Yes." He stretched along side her, wrapping an arm around her waist. His naked body felt so good next to hers. "It should pass in a few hours."

She turned into him and inhaled his perfect scent. "Hmmm, it can take all the time it wants if it means I can stay here." The drowsiness was beginning to overtake her. It became harder and harder to keep her eyes open.

He pressed his lips onto her forehead. "You're remarkable, you know that?" he said into her hair.

"Me?" she snorted weakly. "Please. You're the incredible one. I'm nothing special, just...me."

He pulled her closer. "I couldn't ask for more."

Nuzzling into his chest, she couldn't fight the warmth of his arms, the softness of his bed, or the darkness that was quickly consuming her.

Chapter Seventeen

Armand lay next to Julia for more than an hour, enjoying the feel of her silky skin and the gentle sounds of her breathing. He would have loved nothing more than to curl up and actually sleep with her, but while it might be midnight, to him it was essentially mid-afternoon.

It was shocking how good she felt in his arms. As drawn as he was to her, he supposed he shouldn't be surprised. It had been so long since he'd been truly intimate with a woman, he didn't realize how much he craved the connection. The contentedness he felt as a single man couldn't begin to compare to the satisfaction of having her next to him.

Outside, the storm was beginning to taper. The rain was still a steady patter against the shutters, but the wind no longer screeched as it howled through cracks and crevices.

Murmuring softly, Julia nuzzled into his neck. Armand closed his eyes. The intensity of her touch was so overwhelming it was almost painful. He welcomed it, savored it. She could stay in his arms forever.

Faintly, he heard someone moving downstairs in the bar. The noise was barely discernable over the sounds of the fading storm outside, but that only made it more alarming. Whoever was down there was trying not to be discovered.

Gently lifting Julia off his arm, Armand eased from the bed. He paused long enough to slide on a pair of silk pajama pants before padding silently through his apartment, down the dark stairs, and into _Luxure's_ back room. A flash light beam bounced off the bar walls, giving him just enough light to make his way though the neatly cluttered storage room in silence.

Armand stopped at the doorway that led into the bar, watching the movement in the room through the gape in the velvet curtains. Whoever it was, they were obviously scanning the bar. But if they were looking for something to steal, they weren't looking in the right place. The flashlight was focused on the walls of the club, scanning the perimeter and sliding past the bar entirely. It didn't make sense, unless...

He caught a glimpse the intruder's silhouette and rolled his eyes.

"What are you doing here?" he wondered as he shoved through the heavy fabric.

Slade almost dropped the flashlight as he jumped back startled, swinging the blinding light right into Armand's eyes. Armand threw a hand up to block the offending brightness, and Slade dropped the light from his face.

"Fuck, dude. You scared the shit out of me."

"I hadn't noticed."

Grabbing a book of matches from the napkin caddy, Armand struck a match and lit the candle he'd left on the bar earlier. Shaking out the flame, he tossed the blackened match in the sink. "So, what are you doing here?" he repeated.

Slade clicked off the flashlight and set it on the bar. "When you didn't answer your cell, I got a little worried and came by to check the place."

"Cell service is down."

"Not anymore it isn't. In fact, it's been up for a few hours." Slade's eyes narrowed as he gave Armand a quick once over. "You have a girl upstairs, don't you?"

It wasn't a question Armand was anticipating, and he didn't have a response ready. "Why do you ask?" he said finally, choking out the words.

"First, you're running around half-naked and second, you've got some good marks on you."

"What the fuck difference does it make?"

"Shit, dude, no need to go on the defense. I don't care. I'm just happy you got laid. It's been long enough."

"Well, thanks for coming by. I appreciate your dedication," Armand said tightly. "You can take off though. Bar's fine."

Slade stared at him. "Holy fuck. It's her, isn't it? Miss vanilla princess. Jesus, Armand, what are you doing with that bitch?"

Rage immediately consumed Armand. He slammed his fists on the bar, taking the aggression out on the old wood instead of jumping over it and putting his fists into Slade's thick skull. "Get the fuck out before I throw you out."

Slade held up his hands. "Easy, man. Don't get your panties in a bunch over some broad. I'm just saying. She's bad news."

"It's none of your fucking business," Armand growled, fire racing through his veins. Every muscle in his body was contracted as he fought the desire to tear into his friend. "Get. Out."

Slade grabbed the flashlight. "Sure."

Armand watched him walk out the main entrance before spinning on his heels and heading toward the stairs, his footsteps heavy with rage. He wasn't angry. He was seething.

Maybe he shouldn't be surprised or even angered by Slade's comments. It wasn't like they weren't expected, but hearing the other man degrade the woman he'd just spent two of the most amazing and intense hours with sent his blood boiling.

Why the fuck did it matter to Slade so much? Sure, Julia was an outsider to the Community, but everyone started out that way. No one was born a member. You had to be inducted. The only difference between Julia and the average newbie seeking to join the Sang Community was her outward appearance. Why the hell did Slade care if her skin was tattoo free, or her hair color was natural, or her jeans were name brand?

Slade was overprotective of the Community, for good reason perhaps, but being threatened by Julia's _normalcy_ was ridiculous. It was even more infuriating that Slade hadn't had an issue with Eve, but Julia was somehow _bad news_. The whole fucking business just pissed Armand off.

He stopped at the stairs, unable to bring his legs to climb them. If he went into the apartment now, he'd taint the energy with the negative fury oozing from his pores. A walk was out of the question, and the only other viable option was to sweat the anger out.

Choosing the door leading out into the courtyard instead of the stairs, Armand jogged barefoot across the wet bricks and up the stairs into the gym.

He hit the punching bag first, filling the air with chalky dust and testing the strength of the I-beams that groaned with every swing of the heavy bag. When that didn't pacify him, he moved to the treadmill. Five miles passed pretty quickly. The steady pounding of his bare feet against the revolving rubber track and the sweat coating his skin helped ease some of the anger from his bones. He wasn't completely pacified, but enough of the edge had been taken off he felt comfortable going back into his apartment.

After grabbing a towel, Armand stepped outside. The rain was cold and refreshing against his heated skin. He didn't hurry across the courtyard. Instead, he took his time, letting the rain help wash away his worries.

He loved it here, in New Orleans. He'd always loved it here. He was born here, grew up here. This was his home, plain and simple. None of the other cities he'd lived in could compare. Los Angeles had introduced him to the Community, and Paris had its own magic, but his travels had never taken him to a city that shared New Orleans' energy.

Lately though, the city he loved felt off. But he couldn't blame the Crescent City for his discontent. The problem lay with him. Even before Julia showed up unexpectedly in the bar, looking lost and misplaced, even before Eve was murdered, Armand had begun to realize something was off in his life. The events of the last week merely reinforced it.

Julia awakened a need that had been lacking in his life. Eve's death reminded him of everything that was wrong with the Community. Now, he had to figure out how to fix the broken pieces.

Dripping, Armand stepped into the apartment. Toweling off as best he could with the soaked towel, he paused at the door to his bedroom. Curled up on the bed, Julia's soft, even breathing was a soothing melody and filled the room with her warmth. God, she looked beautiful, with her sleek brown hair fanned out over the pillow, and her smooth, lightly tanned skin contrasted against the black sheets.

"Don't just stand there," she murmured unexpectedly. "Come to bed."

"I'm sweaty."

"I don't care." Pushing the covers off her naked body, she held her arms open for him.

It was all the invitation he needed. Armand slipped out of his wet pants and into her embrace, wrapping his arms tightly around her. The moment she touched him, every last trace of anger slid from his body. Every negative thought banished, every tense muscle relaxed until only bliss remained.

She buried her face into his chest. "You smell good," she said, the words muffled against his skin.

Kissing her forehead, Armand rested his chin against her head, and closed his eyes. With Julia in his arms, it seemed so clear. He'd made the Community his sole focus for too long now. Julia's silky skin pressed against his, and the intense emotions that touch evoked, reminded him that there was another passion waiting for him.

It was by choice that he assumed such a strong role within the group. There was an inherent dysfunction within the Sang Community, but it was one Armand could never completely solve. For years, he had spent a great amount of energy educating and promoting safety and responsibility for blood drinkers, but maybe it was time he accepted the issues facing the Community were too large for him to fix. And if he wasn't happy, he didn't have to continue. He could close the bar or merely step back and let another, Slade perhaps, slide into his position. It didn't have to be complicated at all.

He did owe the Community a great deal. He'd found them during a dark time in his youth, and they'd welcomed him with open arms, helping him through rough times and becoming like family. For years, the Community had been his only family, and he was forever grateful. He might find severing the ties impossible, but there was no harm in weakening them a little.

Julia's breathing settled back into the slow, steady rhythm of someone asleep, and he wondered if she'd truly been awake at all.

* * *

Julia woke to the most delicious aroma of cooking food and an empty, black bedroom. The only light filtering into the dark room seeped through the crack under the closed door. It took her a moment to remember where she was, and then another moment to stifle the elation that tightened her chest once memories from the night before danced through her head. Armand's silky black sheets were a cool caress against her skin, and if it wasn't for her growling stomach and the fact that Armand was out there and not next to her, she might not have ventured out of bed.

After clumsily donning a plush gray robe hanging on the back of the door, she stumbled out of the bedroom, rubbing her eyes under the harsh glare of artificial lights. At least the power was back on.

"That smells wonderful." Her voice was thick with sleep.

Armand smiled when he saw her. He was hovering over a skillet sizzling atop a gourmet stove. The kitchen was an extension of the large, sleek living room, separated only by a wide, granite topped island lined with barstools.

"I was hoping you'd wake up. Are you hungry?"

"Starving." She fidgeted with the robe lapel. "I hope you don't mind I borrowed your robe."

Abandoning the stove, he came to her. "I can't say I'm not disappointed you didn't come out naked, but," he slid one arm around her neck, "it looks damn good on you."

He leaned in for a kiss and she quickly covered her mouth with the back of her hand. "Morning breath," she muttered into it.

"Stop," he said, pulling her hand away and pressing his lips against hers. The kiss was soft and tender as he gently sucked then bit her lower lip.

"Good morning," he whispered after pulling back.

"Morning," she replied, still lost in the kiss, her eyes closed, head tilted back.

Abruptly he released her, and she stumbled to keep from falling.

"Your breakfast!" In a few silky, smooth strides, he jogged back to the stove and stirred the contents of the skillet with a spatula.

"I'm going to go freshen up a bit," she told him.

"You do remember where the bathroom is?" He glanced back at her with an evil gleam brightening his face. "I realize you don't have a map..."

She laughed. "I think I can find it."

"Because I'd be happy to show you the way," he teased.

"I'm sure I'll manage." Heading toward the slate bathroom, she shook her head at him. "You really like to give me shit don't you?"

He paused, looking pensive. "Yes, I really do. Almost as much as I like giving you something else."

She laughed again. "You're terrible."

"I know."

She looked like a wreck. Not quite as bad as the previous morning, but a wreck nonetheless. Luckily, she hadn't been wearing makeup, so it was only her hair that was a giant, fuzzy halo around her head. After using the bathroom, Julia splashed water on her face and attempted to finger comb her hair into something presentable. She didn't want to be too nosy and rummage uninvited through Armand's medicine cabinet, but she desperately needed something to erase the nastiness that had taken up residence in her mouth. Opening the front of the vanity long enough to spot a bottle of Listerine, she swirled a swallow around in her mouth and left the bathroom feeling like a new woman.

A plate filled with steaming eggs, and a glass of orange juice were waiting for her on the granite bar. "That looks delicious."

"Take a seat."

As she hoisted her rear onto the barstool, Armand beamed at her from the other side of the island. "Aren't you going to eat?" she asked him.

His grin was sheepish. "I already did."

Oh, of course. Her.

She took a bite. The smell wasn't deceiving. It tasted amazing, too. An omelet stuffed with mushrooms, broccoli, feta, and spinach, with hints of garlic and a pinch of curry. She took another bite, washing it down with some orange juice. For a vampire, Armand was a skilled cook. "This is great."

"You like it?"

"It's wonderful. Thank you."

"You are welcome." He went into the living room and turned on the stereo. After a moment's thought, turned it off and clicked on the TV instead. She heard the weather forecaster come on and turned around just in time to see the storm cell skittering north from New Orleans: the red, yellow, green, and blue swirls dissipating as they traveled.

"Has it stopped raining then?" she asked.

He glanced at her. "I believe so. Or at least it's down to a sprinkle." He moved to the window, opening it and the shutters. The light outside was gray, the early morning sun just beginning to cut through the darkness of night. It wasn't raining, but the cool air that blew in was scented with thick moisture.

"Wow, it's really early."

"About six a.m."

She yawned. "I thought I was still tired."

After closing the window, Armand shut off the TV and turned on the stereo. The volume was low, but it quietly filled the apartment with the same industrial music he played in the bar. He sat on the barstool next to her.

"Your place is really nice," she told him, finishing up the last of the omelet.

"Thanks. I had it remodeled a few years ago." She'd barely set her fork down, when he took her empty plate to the dishwasher. "It was in desperate need of updating."

She glanced around the sleek apartment. From the spacious bathroom to the state of the art kitchen, everything was fresh, modern, and clean. Armand kept a very tidy home. "Well, you did a great job. And thanks for breakfast. It too was fabulous."

He returned to the seat next to her. Gently pushing her hair aside, he asked, "How is your neck?"

She hadn't even thought of it. At his inquiry, it throbbed. "Fine."

"I'd like to check it out, if you don't mind."

"It's okay, really." The look on his face told her he had no intention of taking no for an answer. "But, if you must..."

"I must. Have a seat on the couch. I'll get my supplies."

For someone who'd only obeyed when she'd begged him to bite her, she was surprised at how fretful he was over the broken skin. It made her wonder if the cream was some sort of vaccine against vampirism.

Armand returned a minute later with the first aid kit he'd used the night before. Sitting on her left, he placed the kit on the coffee table, pulled out the jar of cream and a fresh band-aid. With tender hands, he tipped her chin away, pushing her hair aside and gently removing the bandage. He padded around the wound. "It looks all right. I don't see any sign of infection."

She didn't know if the infection he was looking for referred to the normal kind, or the vampire kind. If it was the latter, she wasn't sure she wanted to be cured.

The revelation was a surprising one, but the moment the thought popped into her head, she knew she wouldn't mind becoming whatever Armand was.

He dabbed a bit more of the cream on her skin and then covered it with the band-aid. "I'll think you'll be fine."

She leaned back against the couch, spying him from the corner of her lidded eyes as he returned the cream to its case. "I knew I would be."

Turning back to her, his eyes suddenly locked on hers, and the small smile she wore slowly dropped away as the heat of desire washed over her. She met him mid stride as he moved in for a kiss, cupping her hands on his jaw as he slowly pushed her back against the couch. His lips left hers, trailing over her chin and down her neck, while his hand pushed the folds of the robe aside, exposing her breasts and instantly hard nipples. His tongue danced across her erect nipples, teasing, sucking, and nipping. She'd never been that into having her breasts played with, but Armand's sensual touch sent chills of pleasure through her, and whimpers of pleasure to her throat.

Sliding smoothly from the couch, he knelt at her knees, his mouth never leaving her skin. He pushed the robe and her knees aside, easing his big body between them. His lips danced down her skin, leaving a trail of goose bumps and an aching throughout her entire body. His touch left her so aroused she actually had to force her muscles to relax, and practice breathing techniques to keep from exploding.

When his lips met her core, she couldn't hold back the moan, nor could she keep her hips from pressing into his mouth. He responded voraciously, his tongue flicking and caressing her into a quick orgasm.

He'd barely let her finish before his mouth covered hers in a heavy kiss. Pressing her knees further apart, he slid into her, his full cock catching the last wave of her orgasm and fueling it with new energy. Every stroke carried the orgasm further, the endless waves of pleasure refusing to cease until his orgasm met hers head on, and his body relaxed above her.

"My God, you are amazing," he said in staccato between post-race runner breaths.

"Me? I didn't do any of the work."

He pressed his lips into her hair. "Trust me. You are amazing." Gingerly, he slid out of her, lowering to his knees and resting his head against her chest. He stayed there for a long time, until both breathing and heartbeats returned to a normal pace.

"Julia?" he said finally.

She felt so relaxed she could barely open her mouth, let alone her eyes. "Hmmmm?"

"I'm exhausted."

Strangely, she was too, even though it seemed like she'd slept all yesterday, and she knew she'd slept at least six hours last night.

"Let's go to bed then."

He smiled against her chest. "I thought you'd never ask." He rose, but she was so comfortable, she didn't bother to open her eyes. Every bone in her body had turned to mush, her muscles to liquid, and she and the couch were slowly becoming one.

"I'll meet you there," she mumbled.

Armand laughed and she heard him leave the room. She wanted to get up, she really did, but there was no commanding her body to do anything but lie there like a lump of clay. Armand returned a few moments later and she made a half-hearted effort to rise, but he scooped her up before she managed to move a millimeter, swinging her up and over his shoulder like a sack of flour.

That shook her out of the post-sex daze. "What are you doing?" she asked his back.

"I've looked forward to lying with you in bed all night. I'm not going to let the couch steal my pleasure." He set her gently on the bed and climbed in next to her, pulling her into his arms and the covers over them. He sighed into her hair. "That's better."

Indeed it was. She settled into his embrace, enjoying the scent of his skin and the warmth of his touch. This couldn't be any more perfect. She didn't want to go home.

"Have you ever thought about moving to New Orleans?" he murmured just as she was drifting off. "I know the director of Public Works. He's looking for another City engineer..." His voice trailed off and his body relaxed against hers.

Chapter Eighteen

Once again, Julia awoke to a pitch-black room and the most amazing smell. This time though, it wasn't the promise of a delicious omelet tantalizing her nostrils, but Armand's spicy, earthy scent. He was pressed against her, his heavy arm draped across her chest, his breath soft and warm against her neck.

Julia peered into the darkness, trying to capture even the teeniest amount of light. It was like a cave. No matter how hard she strained, she only saw darkness. It had to be daylight out there somewhere. As much as her muscles ached, and as stiff as her back was, she knew she'd been sleeping a while, but she was pretty sure she hadn't slept through the entire day.

Squirming under Armand's arm, she attempted to stretch out some of the stiffness. She tried to be subtle about it, but wasn't subtle enough. Armand murmured something and rolled off of her. He certainly was a heavy sleeper for a vampire.

Vampire. It still felt strange using the word in real life, like she was living some vivid, waking dream. She nestled into the massive expanse of Armand's back. At least it was an amazing dream.

"Julia?" His deep voice was thick with sleep.

"Yeah?"

He rolled back toward her and cocooned her in his arms. As good as his touch felt, his big body was suffocating.

"Armand," she said, her voice muffled as he pulled her against his chest. "I can't breathe."

"Sorry." He moved back. She couldn't see him, but she could hear and feel him as he rubbed his hand across his eyes. "What time is it?"

"I don't know. I don't have a watch."

"It's gotta still be early. Maybe three." His voice was groggy as he reached across the bed and fumbled around the nightstand for something. The movements sounded rough and almost...clumsy. Gone was the decadent purr and silky moves. He was now a sleepy, lethargic vampire, but was still the sexiest man she'd ever met.

Grabbing a cell phone and holding it over his head, he illuminated the screen. "Three-thirty." The cell phone made a thump as he dropped it back on the nightstand.

It was later than she thought. She'd already missed the conference, so it wasn't like she had anywhere to be.

Julia jumped up. Clare. "Shit."

That woke him up. "What's the matter?"

"I gotta go. My sister's probably freaking out by now. I haven't talked to her in a couple days, and with the storm and all, if I don't call her soon, she's likely to send in a search party."

"Use my phone."

"I don't have her number memorized," Julia admitted sheepishly. "It's 205-something, but that's all I remember. My phone's at the hotel." She ran her tongue across her furry teeth. "It probably wouldn't hurt for me to spend a little quality time with my toothbrush anyway."

"If you must," he said grudgingly, drawing her closer until their bodies were firmly pressed together. "Although," he kissed her softly, "I'd rather spend the time making love to you." He was rock hard against her, not just his erection, but the entire muscled mass of his body.

Her body reacted enthusiastically, sending a rush of warmth and wetness to her core. She was surprised. It had only been a few hours since they'd had sex, and it wasn't like she hadn't had a few rocking orgasms. In fact, she was a little sore.

So this was the famed _fuck like rabbits_ phase. It was not overrated.

"Mmmmm," she nuzzled against his neck. "As good as that sounds, I really should go. Besides calling my sister, I need to pack. I'll be back later...?"

"Jesus, I hope so." He released her and tossed the comforter aside. "I'll get your clothes." He clicked on the light as he left the room, and Julia blinked in the brightness, amazed by how dark he was able to keep the bedroom in full afternoon sun.

Armand returned carrying her clothes in a neatly folded stack. "I dried them," he explained dismissively after noting her baffled expression.

At first she was horrified at the thought of him scooping up the wet pile of clothes she'd left on his bathroom floor, drying and then folding them, but considering everything else they'd shared, decided it was a foolish reaction. He didn't seem to think it was any big deal. "Thanks."

He kissed her forehead. "Of course. Just let me get dressed."

"Dressed? What for?"

"I'm walking you back to the hotel." He said it like there was no other possible option.

"Oh, you don't have to do that."

"I'm not going to just kick you out the front door."

She put her hand on his arm. "Armand, really, it isn't necessary. It's the middle of the day. I've been walking around by myself for the last week. Besides, I didn't think you and the sun got along."

"We're not best friends, but it won't kill me."

That was good to know. "Maybe not, but there's no need to go through all the effort. I'll be fine. I'm going to get some coffee, take in some scenes...You can go back to bed. That way you're well rested and ready for me later."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive."

"Hmmph. Well, I'm at least going to walk you to the street."

Rising on her tiptoes, she kissed his cheek as she took the stack of clothes from him. "Good. Though you might need a robe."

He shrugged. "I doubt my neighbors would be shocked if I walked out naked."

"If you don't put something on," Julia said, sliding her free hand over his chest. "I may never get out of here."

"Remind me again why I'm getting dressed then?"

"Because I'm begging," Julia replied, giving him her best puppy dog eyes.

He sighed. "Go. Put some clothes on before I'm forced to throw you on the floor and ravish you."

She laughed and skittered from the room, hurriedly dressing in the bathroom. She didn't want to leave, but she knew Clare was freaking out by now. Her sister might not send a search party, but she wouldn't hesitate to call the police. One thing Armand did not need was the police poking around his business simply because Clare had filed a missing person's report.

He was waiting in the living room when she came out, wearing a pair of dark washed jeans, gray T-shirt, and looking absolutely gorgeous. It was nice to see him in something casual, and not just the vampire's wardrobe.

Instead of taking her out the front door and down through _Luxure_ , he led her to a back door that opened onto a narrow balcony overlooking a magnificent brick courtyard with a large, tiered fountain in the center.

"Wow, this is beautiful," she said.

"Thanks. It's coming along. I haven't quite gotten it where I'd like. Sleeping during the day can make conducting business difficult."

"I imagine."

Taking her hand, he led her down the stairs and into the courtyard, wincing at the blazing sun blaring down at them from a cloudless, blue sky. Watching him walk with his head turned away from the sun, Julia couldn't fathom him walking her all the way back to her hotel. Just the short jaunt through the courtyard looked tortuous.

Stopping at a narrow metal gate imbedding in a thick, brick wall, he turned to her. "Are you sure you don't want me to walk you back?"

"I'd love to spend every last minute with you, but not only do you look like you're going to melt, I need to take care of some pretty mundane tasks."

Pulling her into his arms, his face grew serious as he caught her gaze. "I had the most amazing evening with you, Julia."

"Me too."

"I have to take care of a few things at the bar tonight, but after that, I'm yours. Come by early. I have a bottle of Pinot held for you."

Time wouldn't pass fast enough. "I can't wait." He moved in for a final, searing kiss that made her knees weak and her body tremble. When he finally pulled back, he did so reluctantly.

With brows that knitted together, he started to say something and stopped. His jaw worked, he swallowed then cleared his throat.

Unlocking the gate, he held it open for her. "This is Royal," he said, indicating the street before them. "Take a left. You'll pass behind the cathedral. Take a right when you get to Conti. Your hotel will be on the right."

"Thanks." She moved out onto the walk, confused by the sense of foreboding in their parting. She wasn't sure why the simple act of returning to her hotel room for a few hours was summoning the darkest thunderclouds. Judging by the troubled look on Armand's face, she could tell he felt it too.

It was silly. She was just going to run a few errands. She'd be back in two, three hours tops. There was no reason to feel like the steps leading her away from Armand were her last.

"See ya," she managed lightly, even as her feet felt like they were encased in concrete.

Armand offered a small wave and even smaller smile, but his expression was pained. Julia forced herself to look away and her feet to keep moving, even though her instincts told her to turn around and go back.

Pushing aside her misgivings, Julia focused instead on getting back to the hotel as quickly as possible. The sooner she finished her business, the sooner she could get back to Armand. A few more hours and she'd be back in his arms.

The streets were littered with debris: tree limbs, shingles, broken glass, and splintered pieces of wood. The debris, coupled with people cleaning up debris, slowed her down considerably. Weaving around litter, stopped cars, and a gaggle of tourist looky-loos, she felt like she was caught in traffic, late for an interview, and almost out of gas. It was all she could do not to lose it in a case of foot rage.

Pausing at the rear garden of the St. Louis Cathedral, Julia forced herself to calm down under the beckoning Jesus statue that watched carefully over the pedestrians on Royal St. The emotional afterglow from last twelve hours was too good to ruin with bad energy.

A gypsy string band was playing on the corner, the soulful ache of a violin carrying on the still afternoon air. She listened to them for a while, forcing herself to be calm and enjoy the moment. After scratching the head of a lounging dog, and dropping some money in their tip jar, she continued on.

Luckily, the coffee shop near her hotel was open, and Julia popped in for the largest size they offered before quickly finishing up the last one thousand feet to her hotel.

Her hotel room looked like the tropical storm had made a pass through it. There were clothes and shoes scattered about. She'd like to imagine that she was the victim of some horrible hotel robbery, but she knew better. Julia wasn't a slob, but she wasn't exactly the neatest person in the world. From drinking too much at the parade, to the chaos that had accompanied the storm, Julia's room looked like the bedroom of a thirteen-year-old. Seeing her sloppiness so blatantly displayed after coming from Armand's crisp, clean apartment, made her ashamed.

Her phone wasn't hard to find, it was sitting lifeless on the nightstand where she'd left it. Finding the charger proved a little more difficult. After plugging it in, she powered it up. Five messages, all from Clare.

"Hey sis, sorry I missed your call. You sounded a little off in your message. Hope things are going fab and you're just hung-over. Call me!"

"Hey Jules. I know it's late, just wonderin' how the parade went. Since you're not answering, I hope it means your knockin' boots with that guy. Dave, right? I'm dyin' up here! I need some details!

"Okay, now I'm getting worried. I guess there's a storm headed your way. Call me. Let me know you're okay."

"Either your phone is dead or you are. Call me ASAP."

"Okay, now I'm freaking out. The news says power's been restored down there and phone service is back on, but I still haven't heard from you. If you don't call me soon, I'm flying down there and beating your ass!"

It wasn't as bad as Julia expected. She dialed Clare's number and braced for the worst. Surprisingly, she got the voicemail.

"It's Julia. Sorry I haven't called. It's been crazy here. Crazy, amazing, awesome..." Julia trailed off as memories from the night before drifted through her thoughts. "I'm fine, though. Everything's fine, great actually. Call me back if you get the chance, but don't wait too long or I probably won't answer."

Julia set the phone down and surveyed the damage in her hotel room. Packing was going to be a chore, but before she could put a single sock in her suitcase, she needed a shower. Taking her phone with her in case Clare called, Julia stripped out of her clothes and headed for the bathroom.

She couldn't believe how perfect things had turned out. Suddenly all the ill-fitting pieces of her life felt like they'd been custom tailored. Here, in this city, with Armand, her life felt right. She felt right. She'd be happy to never leave New Orleans.

There were still a lot of unanswered questions. What type of vampire was Armand? How often did he need to feed? Could only humans feed him, or were vampires able to feed off their own kind? How long would he live? Was he born that way, or was he _changed_? Since he'd bitten her, would she be _changed_ too, or had the cream prevented it? If she had been _changed,_ how long would the process take? Would she need to switch jobs?

When they were alone later that night, she'd find the right moment to ask. Armand was easy to talk to, and thus far, had shared information freely with her. There was no reason to think these questions would be any different.

Julia was able to take a shower, dress, put a little makeup on, and pack the majority of her things before the phone rang.

"Hi Clare," Julia answered brightly.

"Holy shit, I am so pissed at you. I have been freaking out. Why haven't you called me?"

"Well, things have been a little chaotic here."

"I would've bought that. This morning. You couldn't call me when the power came back on?"

"I didn't have my phone with me."

"Why the fuck...oh." Clare's tone suddenly did a one-eighty. "So you went for it, huh? Dave, right?"

"Not exactly."

"Somebody else?"

Julia answered with silence. She didn't know what else to add. Clare was her best friend, and she normally shared everything with her. But it felt like sharing this would be tainting it.

"Holy. Fucking. Shit. Julia, you are the bomb! You have to tell me more."

"Um, I don't know where to start." Or if she even should start. For the first time, Julia wasn't sure she wanted Clare to know her business, and she didn't feel comfortable talking about Armand's.

"Well, where did you meet him?"

"It's such a crazy story," Julia began, trying to keep her tone light. "I happened to stumble into this underground, Goth-y bar, and the owner and I sort of hit it off." There, that was ambiguous enough.

"Underground Goth bar...In the Quarter?"

"Mmm-hmm."

"Oh my God! Was it _La Luxure_?"

How the hell did Clare —? "Yeah..."

"I can't believe you found it."

"I can't believe you've heard of it."

Clare laughed. "That place is notorious in certain circles. I'm really surprised you went in. I mean, I love you sis, but I would have bet a million dollars that you'd never step foot in _Luxure_ , let alone hook up with a guy you met there." Clare laughed again. "You have to tell me more. What's his name?"

Julia wasn't sure if she should be offended that her own sister thought of her as some boring, unadventurous soul. Okay, she might have been before New Orleans, but that was going to, _no_ , that had changed.

"Armand."

"Armand Laroque? No way!"

A rock had settled in Julia's stomach, and she wasn't sure she liked the direction the conversation was going. There was no reason for Clare to know _Luxure_ or Armand unless things weren't as Julia assumed. "Um...Yeah, that's his name."

"Oh. My. God. I can't believe it. He is so unbelievably hot. I met him at this vampire convention last year. That's how I heard about _La Luxure_. Jesus. That man is smokin'!"

The rock was having babies. Armand? At a vampire convention? It couldn't be. Real vampires didn't go to conventions. "I doubt it's the same guy."

"If it's the owner of the bar I'm thinking of, it is. Tall, brown hair, hazel eyes — I think — great tats..."

One of those rocks was attempting to escape and caught in Julia's throat. At the same time, her stomach tightened around her lungs and she could barely breathe.

"It can't be him," she insisted. It wasn't possible. Clare must have him confused with someone else.

"You have your laptop, right?" Clare was saying. "Bring it out. I think there are some pics of him on the web."

Julia was scrambling to pull out her laptop and turn it on as Clare rambled on about the convention and the crazy things she saw there, and how her ex really wanted her to drink his blood but she wasn't going for it.

"Okay! I got it." Julia interjected the moment Google popped up.

"All right, go to www.bloodthreads.com."

Julia typed in the letters even though her fingers were trembling so badly she was barely able to hit the keys. A site for vampire clothes popped up. "I'm in."

"Okay, click on men's clothing." Julia could hear Clare's fingers clicking on the keyboard through the phone. "And then click on jackets/coats. The third one down. There, is that him?"

Julia scrolled until she hit the third jacket modeled. There was Armand, staring back at her with his intense hazel eyes, wearing a black velvet frock style coat buttoned all the way up to the short collar.

"That's him." Her voice sounded weak and pathetic as it squeaked from her mouth.

"Oh, you have to see my favorite," Clare said. "Check out shirts. It should be the first one that pops up."

She didn't want to click on the tab. She knew whatever she would see would not make her happy. Yet, Julia could not seem to control the mouse, and with one depression of her index finger, the page loaded in record time. Julia suddenly had the urge to throw up.

Dressed in a white poet's shirt and black leather pants, Armand cradled a mostly naked woman in his arms. Dangling limply, the woman had two puncture marks on her white neck, blood trailing from each wound. Armand hovered over her, his full lips parted, blood pooled and dripping from the corners. The image might have been the cover of any number of bad romance novels Julia had read over the years, cheesy and full of clichés. Only the cartoon character on the cover was Armand, and the bimbo in his arms was Julia.

"Isn't that hot?" Clare chirped on the other end of the phone.

Julia tossed the computer aside, her stomach twisting and turning, her skin crawling. It felt like she'd just discovered her husband was actually her long lost brother. "I gotta go," she told her sister, hanging up before Clare had a chance to respond. After a second thought, Julia turned off the phone.

She couldn't talk. She couldn't think. She couldn't breathe. The shattering of her heart overwhelmed everything else.

Chapter Nineteen

Staring at the cartoon image of Armand and the tramp, Julia sat on the bed, hugging her knees tightly to her chest. As much as she hated the photo, hated the lies it represented, she couldn't peel her eyes off it.

His skin was a luminescent white, accented by body makeup and what looked like glitter. The black liner on his eyes was slightly smudged, enhancing the lust in his eyes. She'd seen those bedroom eyes, in his bedroom, right after she'd drank. his. blood.

Julia's stomach turned. Luckily, the computer went into sleep mode, because if she had to look at that image any longer, she was going to vomit. It was all one big lie. All of it. Every kiss, every touch. Everything. Armand was just some vampire wannabe; a gorgeous empty package wrapped up in a nice costume. His clothes, his hair, the way he moved, his teeth...Shit, his name probably wasn't even real.

If everything she'd experienced in the last week was fake, had any of it been real? She touched the wounds on her neck. It'd been real enough that he'd fucking bitten her.

The thought suddenly disgusted her. When Armand had been an actual vampire unable to resist temptation biting her, the act was fine, but knowing he was just some blood drinking weirdo sinking his teeth into her flesh made her skin crawl.

It was her own damn fault for being so fucking gullible. She'd wanted to believe so badly that it wasn't difficult for him to seduce her into his sick, little world.

Julia groaned out loud. God, could it all have been a ploy? There had been so many clues, so much "evidence". She sifted through memories from the last week. Even now, with the truth blaring across her computer screen, she couldn't believe he was a mere human.

Either he was an amazing actor or she was a fucking idiot.

She needed to go to source, to hear the truth from Armand's lips, because at this point, she couldn't separate reality from fiction.

* * *

By the time Julia reached the narrow isle leading to _Luxure_ , she was furious. On the rushed walk there, every scene from the past week had played in rerun fashion over and over in her mind. And the more she dwelled on the "evidence", the more infuriated she became. It felt like Armand had woven this intricate web for her to fall into, and she'd eagerly become his victim.

The bar was quiet when she flung open the door. All the lights were on, washing out the black walls and furniture in an artificial glow. Armand stood behind the bar, marking off an invoice attached to a clipboard. A tall, slender, tattooed girl, with black, Betty Page hair was wiping down furniture. The velvet curtains to the back room were tied back, and Julia could just make out the massive, muscled back of the angry bartender as he stacked boxes of beer against the wall.

Armand grinned when he first saw her, flashing his artificially white teeth and fangs broadly. The smile promptly fell when he caught sight of her expression.

"Julia?"

"You're a fake?" The tone was shrill and accusatory as it left her mouth, and much louder than she intended, but at this point she was shaking so badly with anger she didn't care. Seeing him standing casually behind the bar, dressed in a sleek, button down black shirt, pin-stripe vest, black slacks, and black Fedora just inflamed her further. Wasn't he the perfect pin-up vampire. What a fucking crock!

He moved from behind the bar to stand beside her. "Why don't we go somewhere private to talk?"

"What's wrong with right here?" What, did he not want his little vampire cronies to know the truth?

Taking her elbow, he started for the locked door where he'd taken Angel and Ash the first night Julia was there, applying enough gentle pressure to encourage her to comply.

"Private conversations should remain private," he said.

She wanted to resist, wanted to plant her feet and make him drag her into the room, but a quick glance at the bartender's narrowed, red glare and tensed up tree-trunk arms changed her mind. Facing a bunch of angry vampire wannabes did not sound like a fun evening, no matter how furious she was.

When the door was securely shut and locked behind them, Armand turned to her. He looked concerned and confused. With her barging accusation, she expected him to be angry.

He hadn't released her arm and softly stroked it. "What's going on, Julia?"

She jerked away from his touch, betrayed by the fact that his warm fingers felt delicious against her skin. "I saw your pictures all over the internet, modeling _vampire_ clothes. And my sister says she met you last year at some _vampire_ convention." The phrase "vampire convention" tasted like bile as she said it.

The pale skin of Armand's brow knitted together. "Well, I do model from time to time, and I try to attend a few conventions a year."

His perplexed confirmation only inflamed the churning in her gut. "So you are a fake vampire?"

"I've never claimed to be one, fake or otherwise."

She snorted. "Please. You don't claim to be a vampire?"

"Never have."

"Then what the hell is all this?" She waved her hand wildly around her head.

"I thought you understood what _Luxure_ was about?"

"Yeah, a bar that caters to vampires."

"Of sorts." He sat on a stainless steel table next to an autoclave and an assortment of scalpels, sealed syringes, and small, ceramic cups. " _Luxure_ is a blood bar. Most of the clientele that come here consider themselves Human Live Vampires, or Sanguinarians."

"Sanguianarians?"

"Humans that need to consume a little human blood every so often, not to live, but to be well and healthy." Armand shrugged. "Until I met Slade, my bartender, I didn't believe it either. But if you saw him before, skinny, sickly, in the hospital more often than not...Well, I no longer judge."

"And you? Are you one of these _Human Live Vampires_?"

"No. I'm just a man with a bit of a blood fetish." The words _blood fetish_ washed over her in a fresh wave of nausea. " _Luxure_ is a place for those with like-minded _tastes_ to meet, regardless of the origin of that desire," Armand was saying. " _La Luxure de Sang_ is the bar's full name."

In her lightheaded state, her limited French was suddenly perfect. "Blood Lust."

"We just call it _Luxure_ for short."

She stared at the various medical equipment neatly laid out in the spotless room. "And this room? Is this is where you perform the blood letting or something?"

He cocked his head. "In a way, yes. I'm a licensed phlebotomist with a fairly extensive medical background, and can safely assist my clients with their _needs._ There are also those who don't care to get blood directly from the source. I assist with that as well."

"You have a medical background?" Julia realized she knew nothing about him. Not a single, goddamned thing.

"Pre-med. And I worked as a paramedic for a few years."

Instead of becoming clearer, the situation was getting weirder and weirder. She'd known there was a vampire subculture out there, but she never imagined it was this involved. She'd always figured it wasn't much more than a group of people that shopped at Hot-Topic, hung out in cemeteries or coffee shops, and discussed the latest popular vampire book or movie, or had séances or something. This was too much. This was all too much.

"What's the matter Julia? I don't quite understand your anger. I assumed you understood what _Luxure_ was, what I am." He looked even more bewildered than she felt. His eyebrows were trying desperately to become one, solid unit.

It had been such a preposterous theory, but her logic couldn't be that flawed. He'd misled her somehow. "I though — I mean — you just had me convinced." Why did his hazel eyes boring down on her make her so damned flustered?

"Of what? My immortality?" His confusion slipped away and was replaced by what appeared to be amusement.

"Yeah, I mean, I guess." The smirk on his face only made her angrier. She was not a stupid woman. "You're telling me you didn't try to trick me into believing you were something other than human?"

"No, not at all. Why would you think that?"

If it was remotely possible for her to feel dumber, the calm, cool tone of his words pushed her over the edge into idiocy. She suddenly felt compelled to explain her logic. "Just the way you look, your clothes, eyes, teeth...And the way you move, you're always so graceful and quiet."

"Well, there is a certain _image_ owning this type of establishment requires. Clothes are bought, and grace is practiced."

"You practice being graceful?" She envisioned him sitting around his swank apartment, practicing vampire expressions in the mirror, and recording his baritone drawl to give it just the perfect edge of seduction.

"At one time. I may not look the part, but I do come from a very old, very traditional New Orleans family. I had etiquette training in my youth, and I don't think I can count the number of debutante balls I attended."

It couldn't be that simple. "And your teeth?" she pressed.

He gave a small shrug. "I won't lie, those are fake. I used to wear the ones that slide into place, but in my line of work they're not practical. You can't eat with them, they're uncomfortable, and they certainly aren't functional in any sense. I had veneers put in a few years ago. There's a cosmetic dentist in town that does them." He leveled his gaze on her. "There has to be more than just my appearance to warrant your accusations."

Her heart thumped wildly in her chest. There was more, so much more, but his quiet scrutiny was jumbling the thoughts in her brain. She stumbled over the evidence. "You move incredibly fast," she managed finally. "The night of the parade, you were across the street and then suddenly right next to me."

His smile was small. "As I recall, you were drinking Absinthe that night. I don't think you were in full control of your senses. I did jog across the street to join you, but hardly anything spectacular."

"What about in the cemetery? You winced when the sun came out."

"It was in my face."

"Then you deliberately sought out shade. And this afternoon you looked like your were going to burst into flames."

"Owning a bar has made me even more of a night owl than I naturally am. The sun and I rarely see each other any more. And when we do meet, I'm usually fully protected with a hat or sunglasses, unlike this afternoon."

She was not this dumb. She was not this dumb.

"You never eat. And when we were at that café, you said you were hungry, but that there was nothing on the menu you could eat."

"That's because I'm a vegetarian."

She nearly strangled on the word. "Vegetarian?"

"A choice I made in college because I didn't agree with industrial farming. Back then, there weren't as many organic or free range options, especially not here in New Orleans. At this point, I've simply lost my taste for meat."

"But you drink blood!"

"Rarely. But no one dies, nor is any pollution dumped into the environment because of my quirks."

Could there really be a simple explanation to everything? "What about Darus? At The Cell, you lifted him up like it was nothing."

"I'm 6'2" and two hundred twenty pounds. I work out six days a week and have bounced at my own bar for over ten years. Darus is what, 5'11" and maybe one hundred seventy? Even without the anger and adrenaline feeding me, I'm pretty sure I could toss him around without much effort."

"What about Eve?" she stumbled on. There had to be something more to the evidence she'd compiled than mere misunderstandings.

"What happened to Eve was an unfortunate, appalling, and completely unnecessary side effect of this lifestyle. I should have done more that night; I should have admitted her at the hospital. But I hardly think my lack of judgment is evidence that I tried to make you believe I am an actual vampire."

Oh God. It was that simple. Armand was just a guy who liked to drink blood and owned a bar that catered to other people that liked to drink blood. And she was just a fool. She slumped against the wall. "But you bit me," she said, defeated.

"And you liked it." Armand shook his head. The pleasant smirk on his face had dropped. Whatever amusement he'd initially found in Julia's exasperation was gone. "I'm not seeing the issue here, Julia. Enlighten me."

The words were so hard to find, especially with him staring at her. She struggled to find the right ones, but instead ended up blurting out the drivel that danced at the front of her brain. "It's just...Jesus, you live in this fantasy world, behind a façade of fake teeth and fake names, running around pretending to be a vampire in your black clothes. How the fuck is that not an issue? I'm not one of those girls. I have a real job and want a real life, not some pretend one."

"I see," he said quietly as he slowly rose from the table. "So my life is somehow less real than yours?"

"You have a fake name!"

"No." The word came out painfully slow. "Armand is my middle name. William Armand Laroque. I am named after my grandfather. I'm told there's a striking resemblance."

"The picture in the museum," she groaned. Was she really this gullible? Obviously, if she wanted to believe something badly enough she was. So much for being a smart, logical engineer.

"Part of a collection I donated when my parents died," he said quietly. "Tell me, Julia, what difference would it make if Armand was a pseudonym? What if my real name was actually Jack, or John, or Billy?"

She didn't have an answer to that. "I just want something real."

"You keep tossing out words like 'real' and 'fake'. I run a legitimate business based on an alternative lifestyle. There might be a little more... _pretense_ in what I do, but I started this business because of my interest in this community, and a desire to provide a safe environment for those involved. This is who I am. Perhaps a bit embellished at times, but really, I don't see any difference between this," he tugged gently at the tailored waistcoat, "and Joe Football who likes to wear a Saints jersey." He leaned close to her and her treasonous heart did a little pitter-patter of excitement. "Except maybe when you're fucking Joe Football, you never get confused and think you're actually fucking a Saints player."

It was all she could do to force anger to replace the attraction. "So you are just playing a role."

"No more than you are. The conservative City Engineer, with your trendy jeans and sensible pumps, living a vanilla life. That's not the woman I had in my bed last night, the woman who eagerly took my blood and orgasm'd while doing it." Julia felt her cheeks flush and her core moisten at the memory. "We all assume roles in our lives, Julia. Some are more traditional than others, and some are more fun."

His words made her blood boil, and that final burst of anger helped sharpen her thoughts. She was not an idiot, nor was she completely at fault here.

"Must be a nice challenge for you," she said snidely. "Seduce the naïve tourist and expand her narrow little world, give her some great memories to take back to her _vanilla_ life. I especially like the line in front on my hotel the other night, where you were afraid of 'losing control'. It really added to the whole danger aspect." Julia rolled her eyes. "I bet you love the power, love being able to kink up a normal girl. How many other women have you lured into your twisted web? "

Armand gave a disgusted, mirthless chuckle. "You've completely misjudged me. I'm pretty selective about who I fuck. I'm even more selective about who I drink from and who I let drink from me. It's a hell of a lot easier to slap on a condom and much less intimate. But then, I thought you understood that." He shook his head. "I guess I'm not the only one who was misjudged. You're obviously not who I thought you were either." He opened the door for her. "Have a safe flight home, Julia."

His dismissal slapped her sharply across the face. Swallowing against the tears stinging her eyes, she set her jaw, pushing past him and out of the bar as quickly as her legs would carry her. She'd barely made it out of the front courtyard when her defenses gave out and tears sprang from her eyes like escaping prisoners.

* * *

In disgusted shock, Armand stared at the open door Julia had just stormed out of.

What the fuck just happened?

As of this afternoon, everything had been going so well. No, not just well, perfect. Less than three measly hours had passed since she'd left his apartment, what could have possibly changed in that short amount of time?

Closing his eyes, Armand fell against the wall. He didn't want to believe it, didn't want to accept it. It couldn't be over. It had just begun. All the potential, the promise of bliss, the intense way she stirred him...gone, just like that. His chest felt heavy and empty at the same time, and ached like he'd broken a few ribs. What had started off as one of the most enjoyable days of his life had turned to shit in two heartbeats.

Maybe he'd kicked her out prematurely. The argument had escalated so fast, he was tempted to chase after her and demand more of an explanation. Maybe he could argue with her until she turned back into the woman he'd had in his bed.

Her accusations rang in his ears, and pride kept his feet planted.

He was not some blood drinking freak seducing innocent vampire groupies into his bed as she charged. The feelings he'd had for her were real, or so he thought.

Obviously, everything that passed between them had been nothing more than misguided lust. It wasn't often that he was such a horrible judge of character, but he'd fucking missed the boat on this one.

Building deep in his gut, he could feel the fury rising. He welcomed it, savored it. Any emotion was better than the hollowness she'd left him with.

Slade's head popped in the doorway. "Everything okay in here? Your vanilla princess nearly shook down the walls when she stormed out."

"Don't fucking start with me," Armand snapped, shoving past the bartender as he leaned on the doorjamb. "Get back to work. All of you," he barked at his employees. "Show's fucking over. We have work to do."

It was going to be a long night. If he was going to survive it, he needed to keep busy. If he didn't contain the rage that was quickly consuming him, he was going to be in a dangerous state. Anyone who happened to cross him tonight was likely to lose their head, or balls, or both. A large piece of him hoped some drunk, dumbshit wandered off Bourbon and into his bar so he had an excuse to kick some ass.

Chapter Twenty

By the time Julia fell onto Royal, her tears were falling so hard she was choking on them. Gasping for breath and clutching her stomach, she forced her legs to move as quickly as her lead-filled shoes would allow.

At times she didn't think she would make it back to the hotel. The tears were attempting to strangle her, and the pain in her stomach was so severe, she wanted to curl up on the sidewalk and cry herself into a puddle of numbness.

In order to get air into her lungs, she was forced to stop several times. Falling back away from the hordes of tourists crowding the street, she huddled under whatever shelter presented itself, and strained to regain control. Minutes would pass before she could move again. People stared but she didn't care. There was no room in her for embarrassment. All she could feel was the pain.

There was no logic to her misery, and somewhere deep inside her shredded insides she knew it. She'd confronted him. She'd come to him accusing and angry. She shouldn't be so hurt and devastated by his rejection. She didn't even know what she expected or wanted from him. But when he kicked her out of _Luxure_ and out of his future, he might as well have stabbed her it hurt so much.

Somehow, she managed to make it back to the Conti Royal. She'd cried so much on the hurried walk from _Luxure_ that she'd exhausted her tear supply, leaving her empty and emotionally spent, with red, stinging, puffy eyes, a massive headache, and a hollow ache in her gut. She entered the lobby a numb shell, proceeded straight to the stairwell, and plodded heavily up the stairs.

Her room was coldly comforting, a welcome reprieve from any memories associated with Armand. She was thankful he'd never actually made it up here or she'd have nowhere to escape. Her flight didn't leave until ten-thirty tomorrow morning.

After carefully picking up her computer from where it sat overturned on the bed, Julia quickly closed the cover. The last thing she wanted to see was the scandalous image of Armand. She scooped to retrieve the discarded case and accidentally grabbed something soft and silky instead.

She stared at the luxurious fabric resting in her hands, realizing in dismay that it was the 18th century frock coat she'd borrowed from Armand on Halloween. The numb shell she'd encased herself in was abruptly washed away by the tsunami of emotion that crashed through her. She fell back on the bed in a heap, her empty tear ducts springing to life.

She felt so stupid. Vampires. What kind of idiot believed in vampires? How could she have let herself be so easily duped? Was she so desperate to find a man who excited her that she was willing to believe anything? Even vampires?

Julia buried her face in the soft fabric, Armand's spicy scent filling her nostrils. It sucked that he smelled so damn good, sucked that the only man that had managed to make her feel anything in the twenty-nine years she'd been alive was some perverted, vampire wannabe.

Disgusted, she tossed the coat aside. None of it was real. Not the way she thought she felt, or the way she had imagined Armand felt. It couldn't possibly be real. The Armand she'd fallen for was nothing more than a fantasy.

She finished packing in a hurry, shoving the few remaining things she hadn't packed earlier into her suitcase. She had to get out of New Orleans and she had to get out now.

After giving the room a quick once over to make sure she hadn't left anything, Julia grabbed her suitcase, and as an afterthought, Armand's coat. She might be hurt, infuriated and humiliated, but she could at least try to get his coat back to him.

Julia knew she looked like a wreck. The look the concierge gave her merely confirmed it. "May I help you?" the woman asked.

Julia flopped the coat on the counter. "I need to check out, and see about mailing this." She gave the coat a sidelong glance.

"Are you leaving?"

"I hope so," Julia said, her voice wavering. "I also need a cab to the airport."

"The airport? Do you have a flight?" The concierge's face was a mixture of concern and confusion.

Julia dropped her eyes to the counter. "I'm, um, I need to catch one." She was trying hard to keep any stray tears at bay. Excessive swallowing seemed to help.

"Well, let's see what we can find. I wouldn't get your hopes up too much." The knot in Julia's stomach tightened. She had to leave tonight. There was no way she could stay in this city any longer. Not with him so close. "Where are you heading?"

"St. Louis."

"Let me check." The clerk clicked feverishly on the keyboard, her long, bright pink fingernails clacking at a record pace. "So, where do we need to send the coat?" she asked, still typing away.

"I don't know the exact address. The place is a bar called..." Julia swallowed. This was harder than she thought. Just saying the name made her throat tighten up. " _La Luxure de Sang_ on St. Philip."

"Here in the Quarter?" Julia nodded. "Do you have the recipient's name?"

"Armand," she replied, her voice quivering. Quickly, she wiped at the tears that tried to escape. "Um, Laroque."

"I know the name, and I think I've heard of the bar. Between Royal and Chartres?" Julia nodded again. Suddenly, even without her map, she could picture the streets perfectly. "I'll send one of the valets there. Andrew!"

"It's about a ten minute walk."

"He'll be okay." With warm, gentle fingers, the concierge touched Julia's arm. "It might make your evening a little less stressful."

The gesture made her tear up. Swallowing against the lump in her throat, Julia quickly wiped her eyes. "Thanks."

"Of course darlin'." The concierge handed Armand's coat to the valet. "Run this over to St. Philip, 'tween Royal and Chartres, to a place called _La Luxure_. It's small, so you'll have to look hard."

"I think I've seen it."

Julia handed him a twenty. "Thank you. I really appreciate it."

The valet pocketed the bill. "No problem."

Julia watched the young man hustle out the door and then turned back to the concierge. "Were you able to find a flight?"

"It looks like there is a flight at nine-fifteen with a couple of seats left. If you hurry, we might be able to get you there in time." She picked up the phone. "Do you want me to call a cab?"

"God, yes. Please."

* * *

The evening was not progressing well for Armand. Slinging beer boxes into the cooler only offered a momentary distraction that didn't last long enough. Fueled by Armand's agitated state, the shipment was unloaded in record time.

The tension in the bar was so thick it was unbearable. No one spoke. There wasn't a smile to be seen, and everyone, Slade included, avoided making eye contact with Armand.

Armand needed to work, needed something to keep his mind off the afternoon, but he knew his mood wasn't good for business. If he didn't stay at the bar though, if he went out like this, he'd probably get arrested and someone would end up in the hospital.

Oh, but how good would it feel to run into that prick Dave and kick his ass. Armand had a pretty good idea where to find him. There were a few bars on Bourbon that Dave's type liked to frequent. It would only be a matter of time and systematic elimination before Armand tracked him down.

He wasn't sure why hurting that asshole sounded like such a good time. It wasn't like Dave had anything to do with Julia's personality shift. Armand knew he was merely projecting his anger, shifting it from Julia to Dave. But that prick represented all the fucked up thoughts that had spewed from Julia. Hell, maybe she'd even run into him after she'd left this afternoon. Maybe he'd planted those bullshit ideas into her easily brainwashed skull.

Who was he kidding? Julia was a big girl and fully capable of coming up with her own asshole ideas. It'd be nice to blame someone else, but as much as he hated it, he had to accept that Julia simply wasn't who he thought she was, and definitely not for him in spite of the false connection he thought he'd felt, or the amazing sex.

Still, imagining the blood trickling out of Dave's nose after Armand clocked him gave him a small amount of pleasure.

It was fleeting.

A tall, thin man dressed in a valet uniform came in carrying a bundle of fabric and looking a little shell shocked as his eyes darted around the bar and across _Luxure's_ employees. Armand recognized the bundle as the frock coat he'd loaned Julia Halloween night. His chest immediately tightened, blood rushed to his head, and his pulse quickened.

"I'm supposed to deliver this." The valet held up the coat tentatively.

With clenched fists, Armand crossed the room to take it from him. "Yes, thank you," he said tersely, slipping some money into the young man's hand.

"Thanks, sir. The lady tipped me pretty good but man, she was so upset, I woulda done it for free."

Armand felt his face turn into a rock. "Your service is appreciated. But you can get out now." The muscles in his jaw were so tight, his mouth barely moved. With a steel grip he clutched the coat, grateful that his fists had a distraction. This poor kid didn't deserve Armand's anger just because he couldn't keep his mouth shut.

Armand couldn't figure out why hearing about Julia's misery should bother or anger him. She'd brought this on herself. They could have been enjoying another amazing evening together if she hadn't suddenly turned into someone else.

"Well, I can see why she's trying so hard to get out of the city," the kid said, giving Armand a once over.

The fucker had balls, that was for sure. But he wasn't a complete idiot. Before Armand had a chance to react, the valet split, leaving Armand even more flustered and ready to kill something.

So, Julia was so desperate to get as far away from him that she was scrambling to put a couple hundred miles between them. He repulsed her so much that she couldn't even stand to be in the same city with him for one fucking night?

He shoved past employees trying to look busy doing other things. Only Slade caught his eye as he stormed by. "Dude."

Armand held his hand up, silencing the big man before he could utter another word. "I said don't, and I fucking mean it."

He couldn't take another minute. If he didn't hit the weights or run off his fury, he was going to explode, or do something stupid like sprint down to the Conti Royal and confront her. Or worse, drive to the airport and make an ass of himself confronting her there.

No thanks. She'd already made a fool out of him once.

Chapter Twenty-One

The next several hours passed in numb blur. Julia somehow managed to make her flight, feeling nothing as she hustled from the ticket counter through security. Her heart didn't even beat faster when she sprinted to the gate and handed the flight attendant her ridiculously overpriced ticket.

The high pitched whine of the engines buzzing right next to her ear didn't faze her, nor did the offensive smell oozing from the bathroom behind her. When turbulence rocked the tiny jet and sent the flight attendant scrambling for her feet, the only emotion that gripped Julia was a secret longing for the plane to crash so she could put all of this miserable business behind her.

The temperature was unseasonably cold in St. Louis, a frigid homecoming to match the temperature of her heart. Her car reluctantly started, and Julia made the long trip home on autopilot. She kept the radio turned up and her mind turned down.

It was after midnight by the time she pulled onto the quiet, frozen streets of Alton. They were not normally so empty on a Friday night, but even the most dedicated Riverboat partiers could be deterred by frigid temps. She was thankful not to have to fight hordes of motorcycles for her parking space, and climbed wearily up the back stairwell to her loft.

After dropping her bag unceremoniously on the floor by the door, Julia trudged toward the couch. Bubbers was overjoyed to see her. Purring loudly, he rubbed voraciously against her legs until she bent and stroked his back. He immediately flopped on his side, stretching and kneading sensuously at the air.

Kicking her shoes off, Julia crawled onto the couch, pulled the throw off the back and over her body, and clicked on the TV. Perfect, a Simpsons marathon. That ought to help keep her numb a little while longer.

Bubbers curled up next to her chest, his unending purr like the constant hum of an overworked air conditioner. Bumping his face continuously against her hand until she finally conceded, he closed his eyes in pure pleasure as she ran her fingers over his silky gray fur and scratched him on the corner of his jaw where he loved it so much.

Oh, to be a cat and find contentment in simple pleasures instead of fucking them up.

Only two more days and everything would be back to normal, and she could put this whole New Orleans mess behind her.

Back to normal. Julia sighed. Whatever that was.

Planting herself on the couch for the night, Julia left her plush cocoon only once, and that was to use the restroom. Her butt quickly became a permanent indention in the red Microsuede fabric. Bubbers was content to lie beside her for a long time, his furry gray body an unbelievably efficient furnace, but even he eventually got bored and wandered off.

She was able to fall asleep sometime after two am, but her sleep was restless, and filled with images and memories she was ready to forget. She woke up again barely an hour later. A South Park episode and a few bad judge shows were successfully able to push the memories from her brain, and she eventually dozed off again just as the sun was peaking through the blinds.

It wasn't until mid-morning on Saturday, when Clare came crashing through the front door, that Julia roused from the couch. Well, by roused, she actually sat up.

Standing in the doorway, her short, multicolored hair clipped back with a couple sparkly barrettes, Clare stared at her. "Are you okay?"

"Sure?"

Clare stepped into the living room. "Wow, you look like shit." She sat on the armchair, the bold pattern printed on it contrasting with her bright hair.

The chair and couch had come as a set. In fact, all of Julia's living room furniture had been part of a neatly laid out display in some generic department store. None of it was original, and all of it lacked any true personality. Like every other piece of bland, store bought decoration in her apartment, she was beginning to see it as a metaphor for her life.

"Thanks," Julia replied dryly. She was pretty sure Clare was being kind. Julia knew she looked way worse than shit.

"Why didn't you tell me you were home? And why is your phone off?"

"Probably because I didn't want to talk to anyone," Julia snapped.

"Tough shit. You can't blow me off for days, disappear during some tropical storm, call me to tell me you hooked up with the hottest guy in New Orleans only to freak out and then not tell me what the fuck is going on. No. Your mouth better start moving."

Tossing her throw blanket aside, Julia rose roughly. Her legs hadn't moved in so long, the muscles felt like jelly.

"I don't want to talk about it," she said. "End of story."

She went to the kitchen and pulled a glass out of the cabinet, filled it with water and drank it in one endless gulp.

Clare followed her. "Too bad. I'm not leaving 'til your lips start moving."

Julia flicked a dirty look at Clare from the corner of her eye, and then refilled the glass. She hadn't appreciated how thirsty she was until the water touched her tongue and realized she hadn't had any liquid since the airplane.

Julia returned to the living room, Clare at her heels. "Okay, if you don't want to talk," Clare was saying, "I'll start guessing."

"Whatever you have to do."

Clare sat cross-legged on the chair and rested her pierced chin on folded hands. She was unfazed by Julia's scowl.

"So you hook up with Armand Laroque, which is fucking awesome by the way, and then you freaked out over the Internet shit. Why?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

Clare ignored her. "Did he blow you off yesterday or something? When I met him last year, I seriously threw myself at him, as did a bunch of other chicks, and he very politely declined. In fact, he was always a perfect gentleman when he dismissed my advances. For a little while I thought he might be gay, but he seemed pretty cozy with this hot blonde. She's a model too, but she does more pin-up stuff."

Julia's throat closed up at the thought of Armand with Angel. Jealousy was such a preposterous emotion at this point, but she couldn't seem to help it.

"At any rate," Clare continued, "I'm sure he pulls tons of tail, but he's a confirmed bachelor as far as I know. Did you hook up with him and then he blew you off later or something?"

"What part of me not wanting to talk about this don't you get?"

"Oh, I get it. I just don't care. I never see you this upset, especially over some guy you just met. What the hell did he do to give you such horrendous bags under your eyes?"

Julia sighed loudly. It was only a matter of time before Clare's incessant questions broke her down. It wasn't necessarily that she didn't want to discuss the messed up events that brought her to this point, she was merely trying to avoid the inevitable rush of blabbering that would follow. All she wanted to do was forget everything and put it behind her.

"Why are you doing this to me?"

"Just tell me what the fuck happened and I'll get off your case."

"Fine." Julia swallowed hard. She could already feel the tears gathering at the corners of her eyes, waiting for their cue. "No, he did not blow me off. He did kick me out of his bar, but he didn't blow me off."

"Why'd he kick you out?"

"It's so stupid." Julia chewed on her lip. She took a deep breath. _Here goes_. "I accused him of acting like a vampire in order to seduce me."

"He does own a blood bar for Human Vampires..."

"I know that now," Julia snapped, and then sighed. "I had no idea what _Luxure_ was when I went inside, I really didn't. I thought it was simply a Goth bar. So when all this crazy stuff started happening..." She caught Clare's gaze. "Really crazy stuff, like this girl I saw at _Luxure_ ended up dead, and there was this fortune teller that told me I would turn evil, and then I saw this picture of Armand in the museum from like, one hundred years ago —"

"Really?"

Julia rolled her eyes. "Yeah, it's apparently his grandfather." She shook her head at the memory. The resemblance was uncanny, but it had been the eyes that captured her. She would never forget the intensity of the Laroque gaze, not if she lived a thousand years.

She pulled her hair back into a tight pony tail and held it at the back of her head, clamping her forearms against the sides of her face as if she could squeeze the memories from her brain. It didn't work and she released the hair, and yet another sigh, at the same time.

"It had taken me all week to convince myself that Armand was a vampire and by then, I'd fallen so in love with the fantasy that when I saw those pictures on the Internet and realized the truth, I freaked out and confronted him about it."

Clare looked confused. "But before that, everything was good?"

"Better than good. It was perfect." Julia wiped at her eyes, and concentrated on getting air deep into her lungs in a quiet, steady rhythm, hoping to keep the tears at bay. It was futile, but she was grasping at anything to ward off the pain for a few moments longer.

Clare looked even more confused. "Okay, let me see if I understand this correctly. You hook up with him thinking he's a vampire," thankfully, Clare didn't have a hint of ridicule in her voice, "and it was this amazing experience, but when you discovered he was human, you accused him of pretending to be a vampire to seduce you?"

Hearing the synopsis of her week simplified to a few meager sentences reminded Julia of what a fool she was. She wanted to hold onto the anger, wanted to wrap it around her like a blanket and wield it like a shield.

"It was more than that. I mean, sure it was great and magical and all when we were together, but how can I possibly think that was real when everything about him is fake?"

"Julia, it isn't Armand's fault that you got caught up in some fantasy."

Julia snorted. "Please. You expect me to believe that seducing easy prey like me isn't part of his M.O.? That he doesn't amp up the vampire act to 'pull some tail' as you so eloquently put it?" Even as the words spouted from her mouth, she knew in her heart it wasn't the truth. She wanted desperately for them to be true, because if they were, if Armand was simply some vampire wannabe player, she wouldn't have to admit she'd screwed up.

"I don't know. Maybe? What difference would it make anyway? It's just all part of the fantasy isn't it?"

"I don't want fantasy. That's what I was so pissed about."

"I still don't know why. Call it what it was, an amazing NOLA fling. It's not like you were expecting more." Clare stared at her. "Were you?"

Julia bit her lip. She didn't have an answer.

"Oh my God, you were!"

"Well...maybe." Julia wrung her hands. Why was she trying so hard to fight being candid with Clare, with herself? Was she so far in denial that she wouldn't even acknowledge what really happened in New Orleans?

"I don't know. I've never felt for anyone the way I felt about Armand. I don't think I ever will again." That realization brought fresh tears to her eyes. She'd known it was true, but saying the words out loud somehow made it more of a fact.

She'd fallen in love with him.

And promptly ruined it.

Clare moved from the chair to the couch, and put her arm around Julia's shoulders as she finally broke down. "I just felt like I'd been deceived, you know? Like he'd put on this big show and I was the puppet." Julia raked her hands through her hair. "And then I confronted him, and every explanation was so simple and so...sincere. It was obvious I'd been wrong. About everything. I just couldn't seem to get past the notion that it'd all been fake, even though being with him was more _real_ than anything I'd ever experienced."

"Shit, Jules. I had no idea. Do you think the feeling was mutual?"

Julia covered her face. She hadn't wanted to face this. She would have given anything to avoid it. Yet here it was, staring her down. "I think so. I mean, he asked me if I'd ever considered moving to New Orleans. Told me he knew the director of public works down there and they were looking for an engineer..." The last word trailed off into a whisper. She sniffed loudly, dragging the tissue magically placed in her hand across her nose. "I don't know. Maybe it was just the sex afterglow talking."

"That's some pretty powerful afterglow if he was talking about you moving down." Clare gave her a little smile. "How would you have felt about the whole lifestyle, though? The blood fetish thing and all?"

Tilting her cheek away from Clare, Julia pulled her hair aside and peeled off the square gauze bandage, revealing the small, raised welts that had once been bite marks. "I didn't seem to have a problem with that."

"Oh my God." Gingerly, Clare touched the marks.

"Maybe I was just caught up in the moment," Julia said, releasing the dark curtain that was her hair. "Caught up in thinking that Armand truly was a vampire, but I did it too. I mean, I shared in the whole blood thing. And I liked it."

While she'd been angry, it had been easy to deny, and easy to make Armand out to be some disgusting pervert in her mind. But there was no denying it now. Or if he was a pervert, she was too.

There was a fresh sense of respect and awe in Clare's brown eyes. "Holy shit. You are my hero now."

Julia grunted, shaking her head. "Please. I completely _eff_ 'd up the most intense relationship of my life with my own asinine ignorance and I'm your hero?"

"Why not apologize? I'm sure if he feels as strongly as you do, you can just explain everything to him and he'll understand."

"It's too late for that."

"Julia —"

She cut her off. "Seriously Clare, it's too late. I screwed up, okay? There's no going back. Trust me, he doesn't want some lame apology from me."

"You should at least try."

"It's done. Finished. And I'm done. I won't talk about this anymore. I can't talk about it." Julia wiped the tears from her face for the final time, took a deep breath, and turned to Clare with a trembling smile. "So, fill me in on what's been going on here."

* * *

Julia was miraculously able to shove every piece of emotion she had into the depths of her bowel. After stumbling zombie-like through the weekend, she somehow hauled herself out of bed Monday, and went to work. A hundred e-mails and a dozen voice mails greeted her. There were problems with the contractor, angry residents, and questions from the consultant engineer on a design issue to deal with. The distractions were welcomed.

Everyone in the small office stopped by to welcome her back and ask about her trip. Luckily, most interpreted her hollowed expression as exhaustion. A few joked that she was obviously still recovering — "Exactly how many Hand Grenades did you consume?" — and there were plenty of references to beads, but Julia managed to smile and laugh it all off.

Work kept her busy, and in the evening, she made sure had plenty to do. She spent more time at the gym than she ever had, and her apartment was spotless. But the week still passed at an achingly slow pace. She felt like she was just going through the motions, functioning in some sort of automated program. Her body was nothing more than an empty bag of fluid. There were no organs, no substance, no emotions, only opaque, white goo.

Friday, Clare dragged her to some indie/punk show in St. Louis. Julia considered arguing. A loud bar was the last place she wanted to be, but decided it was better than sitting on her couch and watching reruns of CSI. Or worse, being tempted by the Internet and looking for pictures of Him.

Pretending to be normal when she was nothing more than an empty shell was exhausting. Forcing smiles took energy she didn't have, and made the muscles in her face ache. Just before midnight she'd had enough. After saying her goodnights and ignoring Clare's protests, she caught an overpriced cab back to Alton.

Sleep was fretful. All week, she'd been able to shut out every memory or unwelcome thought with a little bit of meditation and a Xanax or two. This night it wasn't working. Tossing and turning, she fought to push the images of Armand and endless regrets from her mind.

She could still feel him, smell him, taste him. Every place he'd touched her, every kiss he'd planted on her skin burned at the memory. The bite marks on her neck throbbed, and she could feel his strong grip on her chest, every thrust of his cock, the way his deep growl purred in her ear.

And if the physical memories weren't scalding enough, she couldn't forget the way his eyes lit up and his gorgeous face twisted into the sexiest, shit-eating grin when he teased her, or how his wit and humor matched her toe-to-toe, or how utterly, impossibly perfect he was for her.

_Why not apologize? I'm sure if he feels as strongly as you do, you can just explain everything to him and he'll understand_. Clare's advice scrolled never-ending through the electrons in her brain, fighting the memories of Armand for airplay.

Why not apologize?

Apologize!

It couldn't be that simple. Too much damage had been done. But what if...

Would he, could he forgive her if she asked?

She sat straight up in bed, a fresh wave of determination suddenly consuming her. Clare was right. She needed to beg for forgiveness. She couldn't give up this easily. If she was truly in love with Armand, she needed to fight for him.

Throwing a few meager items of clothing and some toiletries into a bag, she topped off Bubber's food and water, and dashed out the front door. If she pushed it, she could be in New Orleans by noon. There'd be plenty of time to catch up on some sleep once she was on the road. _Luxure_ didn't open until at least nine, and Armand probably didn't even get out of bed before four p.m. It might make more sense to catch a few hours of sleep in her own bed before hitting the road, but Julia knew that was a pointless venture. There was no way she'd be able to sleep right now. She needed to be doing something, _anything_ , to right the situation.

The first couple of hours of driving flew by. At an average speed of seventy-five mph, it took about an hour to get out of the St. Louis metropolitan area. After that, she was so pumped up on adrenaline that the next one hundred or so miles flew by.

Once the excitement wore off and the interstate became a monotonous stretch of straight, unending pavement, her mind started to wander. The last conversation she'd had with Armand began to play repetitively through her head. She tried to turn up the radio to drown out the thoughts, tried to focus her attention on singing along with every Top Forty song, but the volume in her mind was endless, and no amount of Lady Gaga could usurp it.

It might not be so bad if she couldn't hear every stupid thing she'd said like the words were spewing from her mouth that very moment, or if she couldn't see the expressions that had rolled across Armand's face with such clarity that he might as well be standing before her. But no, she could picture the scene with perfect lucidity. He'd gone from concerned, to amused, to hurt and angry, to disgusted, all because of a bunch of bullshit that had seeped into her brain.

I guess I'm not the only one who was misjudged. You're obviously not the person I thought you were either.

She hadn't just made him angry; she'd _disgusted_ him. And what made it so much worse was that she'd pushed him until every piece of affection he might have felt for her was replaced with contempt. There was no going back from the place she'd carved in his heart, no matter how much she begged for forgiveness.

That was the truth and she had to face it. As ugly as it was, as much as she hated it, she had to accept that she deserved his disdain.

After all, she'd completely screwed up the most intense relationship of her life over what, some Internet pictures and a little blood fetish? A fetish she apparently also enjoyed? Was she so critical that she couldn't accept him because he ventured a little off the path of normal, and then happened to be human instead of some supernatural being?

She pulled off at the first available exit and broke down. Not just because of the loss of happiness she could have found with Armand, but for the person she had become. She was no better than Dave or Mike. When did she become such a judgmental bitch?

She didn't deserve a man like Armand, who had never been anything but gracious and polite, even when her acquaintances had been complete assholes. A man who had welcomed her into his bar, even when she obviously didn't belong. Hell, their first conversation had been about judging people based on appearances. She was nothing but a hypocrite.

Once she'd cried herself out, Julia pulled back on the interstate, this time heading north on I-55. Armand deserved her apology, but not because she hoped to get him back. He deserved it because she'd been wrong.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Shrouded in shadows, Armand sat motionless in one of the sleek leather armchairs flanking his living room. The only light in the room came from the laptop glowing eagerly on the coffee table. Two windows on the bright screen were up. One was for the conference he was speaking at in St. Louis next week, and the second was the Public Works page for the City of Alton.

Like every other evening this past week, his mood matched the darkness around him. It hung over him like a massive storm cloud, seething, bubbling, and ready to unleash its fury at any moment. For most of the week, clients, customers, and friends avoided him. It was for the best. With his poor temperament, he wasn't fit to be around anyone, even a group that generally thrived on angst.

Tonight, his disposition was especially disagreeable. It had been a little over a week since she'd left, and while her memory and scent weren't nearly as strong as they'd been earlier in the week, the bitter taste of losing something special was ripe in his mouth.

Disgusted, Armand slammed the computer shut.

Why wasn't he able to let her go? So she hadn't turned out to be what he'd expected, wanted, longed for...there were plenty of women in the world.

He rose and went to the kitchen, pausing to crank up the stereo a few decibels, hoping to deaden his senses with a few pounding guitar riffs. After pouring his third cognac of the evening, Armand leaned against the granite island and stared at the black expanse that was his front door. Just beyond the solid wood were the stairs leading down to the club below. The soft glow that seeped through the cracks in the door told him someone was in the storeroom.

He couldn't face _Luxure_ tonight. Not only was his sour mood bad for business, but the idea of sitting on his perch in the corner and stewing on bad memories for eight hours was revolting.

It wasn't just Julia's bitter memory that kept him from walking down those stairs. His cop buddy, Brian, had stopped by today. Darus' DNA had come up positive in Eve's death, but the most they could prosecute for was involuntary manslaughter. If Darus took the plea — and it appeared that he would — he would serve minimal, if any, time.

Armand wasn't sure how he felt about the news. He didn't necessarily want Darus to spend years in jail, but this was hardly a slap on the wrist. The Community needed to understand the dangers of their cravings and respect them. The minimal punishment for Darus' flippant disregard of those dangers merely trivialized them.

Knowing that Slade would probably be gloating made the trek downstairs as appealing as wearing a bacon belt while walking through a group of alligators.

Armand needed a vacation.

It was the first time in the twelve years since he'd opened the bar that he couldn't stand to step foot into it. He didn't blame Darus though, as much as he blamed Julia.

He'd had his misgivings about the Community before she'd waltzed into his life, and certainly after Darus decided to live out his Dracula fantasies, but nothing like the qualms Julia's accusations had planted.

He was used to overzealous fantasy nuts like Darus. He wasn't used to a woman he cared about accusing _him_ of being one.

Armand returned to the armchair and flipped his computer back open. Immediately the saved web pages popped back into view: the info for Vamp Con's guest speakers on the left and the City of Alton on the right. The contrast was glaring. The conference page background was black, with blood seeping at each corner framing red, gothic lettering. Alton's page was bright, with scenes of the city flashing by: the cozy brick downtown, the iconic white suspension bridge, sailboats in the river, and Julia's beautiful, fresh smile. It was a perfect metaphor for the differences between Armand and Julia.

Armand leaned back in the chair and let his head fall back against the soft leather. That's what made this bullshit so frustrating. When they'd been together, any of their differences were moot. In fact, he'd been surprised how much in common they'd shared. It wasn't until she'd barged into the bar and declared him a fake that he saw how different they were.

A heavy rapping sounded at the door. "Armand? Dude, are you coming down?" Slade's booming voice was barely audible over the music.

Armand ignored him, closing his eyes and focusing on the pounding guitar. Slade hammered against the door again. "Answer the door, man!"

With a sigh, Armand peeled open his eyes. He glanced at the computer. Slade was going to ask about Vamp Con again, and Armand wasn't ready to discuss it. He was thinking about canceling. He wasn't sure if he could be so close to Julia and not look her up. Being in the same city would make chasing her down to confront her about fucking up his mind too tempting.

The door rattled with Slade's knocking. "C'mon, get your ass up!"

Drinking the remaining cognac in one smooth swallow, Armand powered off the computer, grabbed his coat, and headed out the back door into the courtyard. Working tonight was not an option. He'd already exhausted nearly every ounce of gentility he possessed this week. One more irritation was likely to send him over the edge.

Unfortunately, slipping unnoticed out the back gate and into a peaceful evening wasn't in his destiny. He opened the metal gate and stepped right in the path of Angel and two of her favorite companions.

"Armand!" she said surprised. "Where are you off to?"

No amount of effort was able to force his facial muscles into a courteous smile. "Just out for a walk."

She studied him, her brown eyes thoughtful. Turning to her companions, she said, "You guys go ahead, I'll catch up in a minute."

Every muscle in Armand's body tensed. He wasn't in the mood to deal with her.

She watched her comrades disappear around the corner before turning back to him, a coy smile on her full lips. Though truly a stunning creature, Angel did absolutely nothing for him. They'd been occasional lovers over the years when it was convenient, but that was it. He'd never felt more than a surface attraction for her.

"Can we talk?" she wondered.

"I'm in a hurry."

"This won't take long." She glanced around. "Maybe we could go somewhere a little more personal. Your apartment perhaps?"

"Whatever you need to say, I'm sure you can do it right here." He had less interest in taking her up to his apartment than he did talking to her. Julia's scent still lingered in the air, and as much as it hurt to breathe it in day after day, it was beginning to dissipate and he wasn't ready to replace it with another woman's scent. Not yet.

"I'm worried about you, Armand. Ever since your argument with Julia, you've been unbearable to be around, and you've made _Luxure_ a rather unpleasant place to be."

"I'm sorry you feel that way," he said tersely.

"Do you want to talk about what happened?"

"No." For the last week, Julia's memory had consumed his mind, her raw accusations a stabbing pain in his temples. The thoughts were exhausting. He was tired of the endless doubts and reservations. The last thing he wanted to do was discuss them with Angel or anyone.

Angel's eyes were pleading. "Please, talk to me."

"As much as I appreciate your concern, it is unnecessary and unwelcome. Let me be miserable for a little while. I'll get over it."

"You might not believe this, but I do care about you, and not just because you fulfill a certain need in my life. When I saw you with Julia on Halloween, you were happier than I remember seeing you in a long time. You looked at her in a way I've never seen you look at a woman. I want to help."

Armand slowly drew in his breath and exhaled, forcing the last bit of courtesy he could muster into his words. "She simply isn't the woman I thought. End of story."

"Is it because she called you a fake?"

With a throaty, mirthless chuckle, he shook his head in disbelief. Nothing stayed secret in the Community. He was ready for this conversation to be over, and the easiest path to that end was to give Angel what she wanted.

"Something like that," he said. "She accused me of pretending to be a vampire to seduce her. Apparently the real man wasn't as enticing as the fantasy."

"Odd. She didn't seem the type."

It was fairly common for an outsider to enter the Community and not be able to separate fantasy from reality. They were usually Victims though.

"I guess we both misjudged her then," Armand replied quietly.

"So, did you?" Angel asked.

Armand narrowed his gaze. "Did I what?"

"Amp up the vampire act to seduce her?"

His muscles were rocks under his skin. "No."

"Come now Armand, everyone does it. It's part of the game. Did you ever break character when you were with her?"

"I don't have a character," he replied flatly.

"We all do, whether you realize it or not," she told him, her tone syrupy sweet. "It's just that you and I have been doing this for so long it's subtle, and at this point, part of our personalities."

The last thing he wanted to do was argue with her. "It's irrelevant."

"I don't know," Angel said with a tiny shrug of her bare, cream colored shoulders. "I might feel a little betrayed if I felt like I'd been led to believe something and then found out it wasn't true."

She offered him a smug smile before turning and heading down the street, a soft sway to her smooth hips. Armand was no stranger to practiced grace, but he was always amazed by how effortlessly she moved in her impossibly high heels.

"Have a good evening, Armand," she tossed over her shoulder.

When she rounded the corner and disappeared from sight, Armand was finally able to unclench his fists. He needed to get out of here, away from the bar, away from his patrons, away from the games. If he didn't calm down soon, he was going to split his skin.

The river's gentle churning called to him, promising to ease his troubled thoughts.

* * *

There was a quiet, cleansing breeze coming off the water, carrying with it a faint smell of damp earth. A line of rain showers had drenched the city earlier, leaving in their wake cool temperatures and wet roads. Armand closed his eyes, savoring the breeze as it caressed his skin and tousled his hair. If he ever moved from New Orleans, the location must have a moving body of water. River or Ocean, it didn't matter, as long as he had free access.

Dismissing a couple of junkies asking for blow with a simple "Sorry man", Armand didn't hurry as he made his way down the levee path.

Character. Did he really have a _character_?

Julia had made the same accusation.

In the past, he'd been accused of being a Psychic Vampire, but that was an accusation he understood, even if he wasn't sure how he felt about the term. Armand might be more attuned than most to the exchange of energy that occurred between people, but he was perfectly capable of producing his own Pranic energy. And while he certainly enjoyed absorbing the good energy people exuded on streets like Bourbon or at parades, he didn't "feed" off it per se.

Even if he did, it wasn't relevant. Julia had accused him of playing into some Hollywood vampire stereotype to seduce her, not of having a physical need to devour another's Prana.

Pausing at the stairwell leading down to the river's edge, he watched the rats scurry for cover as he replayed the early encounters with Julia and tried to see himself through her eyes. He understood how the unpleasantness with Eve might have led her to believe something unusual was going on, and it wasn't a hard stretch to see how the confrontation with Darus might be interpreted as something supernatural. Adrenalin and anger had a way of giving him above average strength. And there were certainly times when he could have clarified his position, like in the café. A quick, "There's nothing on this menu I can eat, _because I'm a vegetarian_ " would have cleared up the entire misunderstanding.

He didn't fault her for getting swept up in the fantasy, but he could not see where he had, at any point, been deliberately trying to mislead her. In fact, it was quite the opposite. Being with her had been so refreshing because he didn't have to assume any role. He'd been able to truly be himself.

But wasn't that the point Angel had been trying to make? Had he been playing a part for so long that the _character_ had become fused with his personality? His involvement with the Community was deeper than most. For many, it was of a small piece of their lives, a place they visited on weekends or evenings after work. It _was_ Armand's life.

While the Community exhausted and infuriated him at times, he hadn't felt insecure about who or what he was. Julia changed that. She made him doubt himself, his entire life. Her claim that his life was somehow less real than her own because it strayed from the traditional path had struck a nerve. Shit, here he was, wondering whether he'd been part of a fantasy culture for so long that he'd lost touch with reality.

That doubt was what angered him so much about her. She'd stumbled into his life, planted doubts about his entire identity, and then stomped on his heart. He'd be a liar if he didn't admit he'd had reservations about the path his life had taken before he met her, but to have them thrown in his face with a dose of rejection...It was too much.

Armand stared out into the murky water. He refused to apologize for his lifestyle or be ashamed of it. There might be a part of him that craved something different, but that desire could easily be accomplished. A little less time at the bar, a few extracurricular hobbies...But at no point was he going to turn his back on something so ingrained in him because _she_ made him feel insecure about it. Why was he letting this one woman turn his entire world upside down? Why was he even dwelling on it?

Because he missed her. No, it was more than that. He craved her. In fact, if he wasn't such a coward, he might be able to admit his feelings ran much deeper than that.

It wasn't just the connection he thought he'd felt with her that made her so fucking appealing. With her, he'd been comfortable, truly comfortable. Everything had felt so natural: the conversation, the sex, sharing blood, cooking her breakfast...To have it all go to shit because she turned out to be some fantasy chaser that couldn't handle reality was beyond frustrating.

But what if Angel was right? What if Julia's irrational attack was the result of feeling betrayed? If she had genuinely believed he was a vampire, it was plausible that discovering the truth might make her feel like she'd been led astray.

More what if's. He hated what if's.

Armand sighed. Maybe he was searching for something that wasn't there. Did he want her so desperately that he was willing to read between lines that didn't exist?

It would be easier to accept that she wasn't the woman he'd thought than to hope she was and be wrong. And the only way to find out the truth would be to confront her. But contacting her and facing rejection was about as appealing as having his fingernails yanked off.

Frustrated, Armand pressed his fingers against his temples in an attempt to alleviate the massive headache threatening to burst his skull. He was tired of these thoughts, tired of reliving memories of Julia, tired of pouring through every detail of every encounter he'd had with her in an attempt to ascertain what went wrong. He either needed to confront her or forget her, but obsessively dwelling on the issue was killing him.

One thing was certain, he was ready to take back control of his life, and he wasn't going to avoid a commitment because of a bad experience. He'd go to Vamp Con as planned, and if by some miracle he ran into Julia, well, that bridge could be crossed when and if it were built.

He turned and headed back down river, crossing the streetcar tracks at the first opportunity. Keeping his pace brisk, he made his way down Decatur toward the Marigny neighborhood, passing St. Philip without even glancing down the street. There was bound to be some live music on Frenchman St. Something distinctly New Orleans and something to remind him of his roots.

He was more than _Luxure_. It was time he reconnected with life outside the Community.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Sitting at her small dining room table, Julia huddled over her laptop, crunching numbers in an Excel spreadsheet. Her entire fiscal life was laid out in this spreadsheet. She tracked everything, from bills to savings to investments.

Until today, every aspect of Julia's life was accounted for.

What an abrupt shift in scope.

Her decision hadn't been easy, but once she'd made it, all the jagged edges in her heart softened and she knew she'd made the right one. Until New Orleans, her existence had been mediocre at best. All of her life she'd assumed the role she thought others expected of her, and it never made her happy. Being with Armand made her realize that maybe the straight and narrow path wasn't for her. Maybe, in order to find true happiness she needed to follow a curvier, less established path.

Julia leaned back in her chair, the bold TOTAL staring back at her. Financially, she'd be fine. One of the benefits of being single, making a decent wage, and not living a lavish lifestyle, was she had managed to save up nearly a year's salary. And that didn't include her 401K or other, modest investments. If there was ever a time to change her life so dramatically, it was now.

The worst part was dealing with all the questions at work. "Where are you going?" "Do you have another job lined up?" "This is so sudden. What happened?"

Engineers weren't always good with change, and her coworkers weren't an exception. The fact that she didn't have any answers only confused them more. Planners by nature, her colleagues found her laissez faire attitude about the future perplexing, and Julia was pretty sure, frightening.

The front door opened as Clare let herself in. Julia's sister never knocked and carried a key. When Julia had first started dating Jeff, she'd learned very quickly to use the deadbolt if she wanted privacy.

"Hey chica, what's up?" Clare called as she closed the front door.

"Just going over some money stuff. I quit my job today."

"No shit!" Clare was carrying a newspaper and something red and silky. Setting them on the table, she pulled out a chair and sat down. "What happened?"

Julia shrugged. "Nothing, really. I just decided it was time for a change."

Clare was in awe. "What are you going to do?"

"I don't know. Travel for a bit. Try to figure out what I want to be when I grow up."

Clare shook her head. "Wow. New Orleans really did change you, didn't it?"

Julia gave a half smile. "I guess so."

"Well then, tonight should be perfect." Clare stood up and shook out the red fabric. It was a slip dress Julia recognized from her sister's collection: short, sexy, and made of a silky material that clung to every curve. "Here, put this on. And grab that leather waist cincher I know is buried somewhere in your closet, and those hot, fuck-me boots."

"Um, where are we going?"

Clare grinned. "Just trust me."

"With a statement like that you have to tell me where we're going or I'm not changing out of my PJs."

Clare slid the paper over. "Check out the bottom right corner."

Julia's brow knitted together. "The tranny show? Sounds fun, but I doubt I'll need fuck-me boots for that."

"No." Clare grabbed the paper, skimmed over it, and then tossed it back down. "Although that looks like fun, check out the one above it."

Julia's brow became one, solid unit. _Vamp Con: Embrace Your Blood Lust_.

Her guts twisted and she pushed the paper away. "I don't think so."

"Oh no, we're going." Clare nudged the paper back. "Check out who will be there."

Julia didn't have to look at the paper to know whose name she would see, but she couldn't help herself. In small print, below the character actors, and listed with authors and other guest speakers, was the name _Armand Laroque_.

Julia shook her head. At the mere thought of seeing him, her nerves were instantly ablaze and her heart jumped into overdrive. "I can't." She rose, unable to look at the paper anymore.

"Sure you can." Clare followed her as she fled to the kitchen. "Look, you've been moping around here for the last few weeks. We can go to the convention, look him up and see what happens. All you have to lose is your pride."

Hugging herself tightly, Julia leaned against the counter. "I don't know. I couldn't bear it if he rejected me again."

"And if he doesn't?" Clare grabbed her shoulders and forced her gaze. "You have to think about what you have to lose versus what you have to gain."

The memory of the night Julia spent with Armand flashed through her mind. She could smell him, taste his kiss, feel the way her skin lit on fire where he touched her. She remembered the way he made her comfortable and jittery at the same time, how he understood every quirky aspect of her sense of humor, and listened so attentively to every word she spoke. But then, the pain of his rejection swelled in her core and wiped out every good memory she possessed.

"I don't know."

"Julia, you did the unthinkable today. You quit your job. With no backup plan. That took way more guts than this. You can face him. Just set aside your pride and put yourself out there."

Could she? Could she face those hazel eyes if they were filled with disdain?

The thought made her tremble.

Regardless of the outcome, Armand deserved an apology. Pride had gotten her into this mess. She could suck it up, swallow it, and do what she should have weeks ago.

Slowly, Julia felt her head nodding. Clare was right. When Julia had traveled to New Orleans, she'd promised to step away from her comfort zone and the rewards had been amazing. This wasn't any different. If she wanted to truly be happy, she had to pursue it, take some risks, and just go for it. This wasn't a curvy path; it was a damn spiral.

Her nods grew stronger. "Yeah. Okay. Let's go."

Clare squealed, throwing her arms around Julia in a rough embrace. "Oh my God, this will be so awesome. Seriously, Jules, I have this feeling everything will turn out. Trust me." Her grin was complete mischief. She grabbed the dress. "Okay, now let's go find those fuck-me boots."

* * *

Leaning against the wide, faux granite vanity at the back of a generic hotel room, Armand stared at his image in the mirror. The harsh lights accentuated the dark circles under his eyes, making it look like he hadn't slept for days. Although truthfully, blaming it on the lights was unfair. It wasn't like he was well rested. Memories of Julia continued to plague his dreams, and at least once during the day he'd wake up and obsess compulsively over the doubts she'd planted in his head.

He glanced at the small makeup kit sitting unopened next to the sink. It wasn't only his sleep she was interfering with. Now, he was even having a hard time putting his makeup on.

Armand had never had qualms about wearing makeup before. As far as he was concerned, it was no different than a stockbroker putting on his power suit before heading down to Wall Street. As the owner of a bar that catered to the vampire subculture, and a speaker at a vampire conference, he was expected to project a certain image, and while makeup might not be a requirement, it helped.

Besides, he even liked the way it looked. He might not want to wear it on a daily basis, but he didn't have an issue with a little eyeliner now and then.

Until now.

Fuck her.

At the risk of being a stalker, Armand had looked up her address (a feat too easily accomplished with a little Internet savvy) before making the drive to St. Louis. It had been difficult not to bypass the hotel and drive straight to her house. The temptation was even stronger now to skip his presentation and end this business, once and for all.

But that gave her way too much power, and she already had too much control over him.

Snatching the translucent powder from his kit, he twisted the cap off with enough aggression that powder spilled all over the sink. No matter what, this bullshit was ending tonight. He was tired of being a slave to her memory.

* * *

The flyer had Armand listed as speaking in Conference Room A at eight thirty. " _Safety and Responsibility for the Modern Blood Drinker_ " was the title of his speech. There was a small photo of his face next to the title, and a quick bio. To get there, Clare and Julia had to weave through the cluttered isles in the large ballroom. Wedged between booths and displays of movie memorabilia, clothing, authors pimping books, and hundreds of other costume clad and un-costumed conference attendees, they pushed their way forward. With the recent popularity of vampires in movies and TV shows, the hotel was packed with a strange mix of Goths, Abercrombie wearing teenage girls, and forty-year-old women.

Conference Room A was equally packed, though its members definitely leaned more toward the Goth side. Julia scanned the room for a seat near the exit in case her nerves failed. Every blue fabric, metal-framed chair anywhere near an escape was taken.

It wouldn't have mattered if there had been an open seat. The moment she saw Armand, she stopped dead in her tracks, swallowing hard against her heart as it attempted to lurch from her mouth.

He looked amazing in a pressed, red, button up shirt, and black silk trousers. His hair was loose and softly framed his strong facial features. And even from where she stood at the back of the room, she could tell he wore a smudge of black eyeliner, a touch of color on his full lips, and his face was powdered to a luminescent sheen.

He was the perfect vampire. And neither the makeup nor the dramatic clothes bothered her. He just looked...gorgeous.

"Whether you drink for passion, sustenance, or any of the heart's other desires," he was saying, his deep, rich voice sliding from the speakers and down Julia's spine, "there are no excuses for irresponsibility. And, like safe sex, safe blood drinking should be the rule, not the exception. Thank you."

Applause filled the room. Armand gave a quick gracious nod and stepped from the stage.

"Holy shit," Clare breathed in her ear. "I'd forgotten how fucking hot he is in person."

Julia forced some air into her lungs. "Yeah," she exhaled.

"I can't believe you fucked him." There was a smidge of bewilderment to Clare's statement. "Sorry," she responded to Julia's dirty look. "It's just...wow, I think I'd cum the minute he touched me."

"Something like that."

Clare patted Julia's arm excitedly. "He's coming this way!"

Armand was slowly sauntering toward them, shaking hands with audience members as he made his way to the back of the room. He'd closed half the distance when a couple dressed head to toe in their vampire finest stopped him. As he chatted with them, more people gathered to talk with him until a small crowd blocked the path leading to her.

It was excruciating waiting for him to make his way through the group. She was a jittery wreck as it was. Like a corral packed full of wild horses, her nerves cantered recklessly through her insides, looking for a way out. Doubts and second thoughts began to overpower her desire to reconnect with him. She didn't think her heart could bear his rejection, and if Clare wasn't standing between Julia and the door, she might have bolted through it.

And then abruptly, his eyes were on her. One minute he was nodding and smiling politely as a rail-thin man spoke, and then his gaze lifted and fell directly onto her. His brow furrowed as he took her in, and seconds later, recognition flashed across his face. She saw him mouth, "Excuse me" to the man, and then he pushed his way through the parting crowd.

"He recognizes you," Clare chirped in her ear, the pitch of her voice high with giddiness. Julia wanted to swat her away like an annoying insect, but her body was frozen where she stood.

Her vision reduced to a tunnel focused only on him. Clare, the crowd, everything disappeared until all she saw was him, all she felt was him. Nothing and no one else mattered.

He stopped in front of her, and her heart followed his lead and quit beating. Any moment she was going to fall on the floor dead.

"Julia." His tone was cool and reserved, but his expression was a mixture of conflicting emotions: longing, apprehension, anger, desire. She couldn't tell how he felt about seeing her.

Her mouth gaped liked a fish but no words came out. There was so much to say, so many regrets and laments to express, but her vocal chords were as frozen as the rest of her. She could feel the tears building in the corners of her eyes, and blinked against them. If she could just speak, she could give him the apology he deserved.

"You look..." He paused, his hazel eyes pained. He set his jaw and swallowed. "Amazing." The words were barely spoken above a whisper.

That little bit of affirmation was enough to thaw her vocal chords, and her mouth purged at a million words per minute. "Armand, I'm so sorry for everything." The tears erupted from her eyes, but she couldn't be bothered to wipe them. She had to get her apology out before he told her to fuck off. "I was such a stupid fool, a judgmental, arrogant bitch, and I wouldn't blame you if you never wanted to see me again. But —"

He cut her off, grabbing her arm and pulling her into a heavy kiss. Her heart took its cue and leapt back to life, her body following its lead. Throwing her arms around his neck, she returned his kiss with all the passion she could muster. Weeks of pent up emotion exploded from her and filled her: all the longing, the need, and the relief. There were aspects of the raw emotion pouring from Armand that matched hers, but it was clouded in the bitter taste of anger. She could actually feel the pent up rage as he gripped at her.

"Goddamn you," he hissed, jerking away from her.

Oh God, he really was going to tell her to go to hell. She braced for impact, preparing to scrape the remnants of her heart from the floor after he stomped it.

Instead, she felt a firm tug on her arm. "Come with me."

Pushing past the curious crowd, Armand lead her across the conference room floor. Warm tears saturated her cheeks, and she made a quick swipe at them with her free hand. If she was going to face Armand when he told her exactly what she could do with her feeble apology, the least she could do was not look like a blubbering idiot.

Just before they slipped though a closed door and into a small, adjacent conference room, Julia caught sight of Clare. Her sister gave her a questioning glance, and Julia shrugged meekly in response. "Text me" Clare mouthed and held her hand up to her ear like a phone.

The sound of the door shutting behind Julia was like a gunshot.

"So, I'm supposed to forgive everything, just like that?" Armand turned to face her, his arms folded tightly across his chest, a scowl darkening his features.

She shook her head. "No. I don't expect you to. I mean, I hope, I wish — but I know I don't deserve it." She wiped again at the rapidly escaping tears. "I really am truly sorry, Armand. It was just my stupid pride. I couldn't admit I was dumb enough to believe something so ludicrous unless I'd somehow been misled. I said things..." she took a deep, ragged breath. "And I wrongly blamed you."

"You expect me to believe that you are suddenly okay with all this?" He waved his hand around the empty room, indicating the conference in the halls outside. "That you don't think I'm some blood drinking creep seducing innocent women into his house of perversion."

Her voice was as weak as she felt. "Yes?"

"But I have a fake life remember?"

She winced. "I don't believe that. I didn't even truly believe it at the time. I was just so stupid angry, I couldn't admit it, or see how ridiculous I was being."

"Is that why you jumped on the first plane out of New Orleans?"

Her knuckles hurt she was wringing her hands so hard. "I couldn't be so close to you knowing I'd screwed everything up. It took me a few days to get my head straight, and by then it was too late."

"Damnit, Julia. Do you know how much you fucked with my head? How crazy you've made me the last few weeks?"

"I'm so sorry —"

"And what happens tomorrow?" he asked, cutting through her words. He moved closer and her heart caught in her throat. "After I take you up to my hotel room and fuck you all night — because you know that's where this is inevitably heading — and you wake up and realize you don't really want to be with this freak after all," he jabbed a thumb at his chest, "that what you truly desire is some doctor or lawyer and a house with a white picket fence."

She shook her head fiercely. "That won't happen. I spent years pursuing a mundane life and wondering why I was so unhappy. But when I was with you, I was happier than I've ever been. Nothing, no one has ever made me feel the way you do."

He closed his eyes. "I want to believe you," he whispered.

"Please," she begged, finally giving into the tears and letting them fall without interference. This was her last chance to fight for him. "I have never been more sincere about anything in my entire life. The things I said to you...I would take it all back if I could. You didn't deserve any of it and I wish..." she paused. There was so much regret she wanted to express, but she couldn't quite find the words. "I just wish I could go back and do it over," she said quickly. "Any pain I caused you, I am so very, very sorry."

Slowly, his eyes opened and the intensity in those hazel orbs nearly knocked her off her feet. For a long moment he studied her, a million conflicting emotions crossing his face. When she could not longer bear to look at him, she turned her stare to the floor and tried to regain some form of composure under his scrutinizing gaze. She knew this was what she deserved, and as hard as his rejection was to accept, she knew she had to.

Finally, after three or four indelicate sniffs, she turned for the door. "I'll go."

"Julia. Stop. Jesus, just stop." Grabbing her shoulder and spinning her, he cupped her face in his hands and enveloped her mouth in a soft, sensual kiss. All the anger had drained away, and the only thing she could taste was his passion, his desire. Tentatively, she kissed him back, savoring the silky softness of his full lips and the warmth of his tongue as it gently pulsed in her mouth. In case this was the last time she would ever feel his lips on hers, she wanted to remember every sensation with perfect clarity.

Keeping her face in his hands, he slowly pulled back. "Please don't cry," he whispered. "I forgive you."

That only made her cry harder. "Really?"

His smile was small as he wiped at her tears with his thumbs. "Yes. Completely."

If the world ended right then, Julia would die in utter bliss.

* * *

Armand kept his eyes locked squarely on hers until she blinked that she understood. No matter what had transpired between them, no matter how torn up he'd been the last few weeks, he hated to see her so devastated.

"I am not completely without fault in all this," he admitted. "You were right. There is a bit of a... _façade_ to my personality that I don't often let people see past. I could have been more upfront with you. I should have been more upfront."

"I should have looked harder. I mean, the very first conversation we had was about looking past what's on the surface."

"I know. The irony wasn't lost on me." Tenderly, he kissed each of her cheeks in turn. It felt so good to have her in his grasp. "Put your tears away, Julia. I was secretly hoping to see you here. I longed for this moment."

She nodded, the movement tiny and jerky.

He caught her gaze again. "You are truly okay with all of this? The conference, the Sang Community, _Luxure_ , my desires...?"

"Completely."

"And you realize I'm wearing makeup."

"I know."

"That I put on myself..."

Her laugh was small and teary and sounded perfect in his ears. "Well, you look fabulous. You'll have to share your technique with me."

It was more than he dared hope for. "I should have never let you walk out that door," he said, shaking his head. "I nearly chased after you and demanded a better explanation. I wish I had. We could have hashed this out weeks ago."

"I almost drove down to New Orleans a few weekends ago. I made it to Memphis and then turned back. I was too afraid and ashamed to face you."

"You would have saved my employees a few weeks of hell if you had. I haven't been the best boss lately." He bent to gently kiss her. "You really did a number on my head, Julia Brown," he drawled in her ear.

"If I have to apologize every day for a hundred years, I'll do it happily."

"That won't be necessary. All that matters is that you are here now."

"There's nowhere else I'd rather be."

"No?" He eased his body close to hers until her breasts were pressed softly against his stomach and her scent overwhelmed him. "I do have a room."

Chewing at her bottom lip, she lifted her eyes to his. "Would it be presumptuous of me to say, _lead the way_?"

"Not at all. I only hope I can wait that long. Being alone with you in here has tested my resolve as it is. The elevator might prove too tempting."

Her hand in his, Armand led her from the small conference room. Just as they reached the elevator doors, Julia stopped abruptly. "Clare!"

"Your sister?"

She nodded. "Clare actually brought me here," she admitted sheepishly. "She was my back up plan in case things didn't go well."

"With you in that dress how could they not?"

He loved the tiny blush that crept into her cheeks. "I really should let her, um..." Her brow twisted. "Let her know I won't be _available_ for a bit."

Armand grinned. "A little longer than a bit. I can take you home in the morning. Or maybe next week, or next year." He leaned in and brushed his lips against hers. "Or how about never."

"Mmm, I like those numbers." Julia moved closer, and Armand was anxious to taste more of her when a cell phone chirped happily from somewhere deep in the folds of her purse. She sighed. "That's probably Clare. Do you mind?"

"Not at all. Go ahead."

She pulled out the phone, scanned the text message and typed a brisk reply. "She's cool," she said as she slid the phone back into her purse. "So, where is this room of yours?"

* * *

Several hours later, basking in the aptly described _afterglow_ , Julia nuzzled against Armand's chest, her body draped softly over his. The room was a wreck. There were clothes and bedding strewn everywhere, the lamp on the desk was knocked over, and somehow, the TV had been turned sideways on its stand. Julia didn't remember being anywhere near the TV.

"I'm so glad I drummed up the courage to come here," she murmured into his chest.

"Me too." His fingers lightly traced the curve of her back. "I've never felt..." he paused, swallowed, then cleared his throat. "Julia, I —"

She lifted up on her elbows and interrupted his struggle with a soft kiss. "Me too," she said gently.

He peeled a strand of sweat soaked hair from her face and rolled the hair between his fingers. "So, I, um, I know it will be difficult," he said quietly, an uncertainty to his smooth, deep voice. "I love New Orleans. I've spent my entire life there. I wish I could say I wouldn't mind moving." He tucked the hair behind her ear. "I'd love you to move closer to me, but I'm not asking you to drop everything for me. I know you don't like to fly, but I can fly up at least a couple times a month."

She smiled inwardly at the thought. He remembered she didn't like to fly. She'd happily board any plane to be with him. "That won't be necessary," she told him. His breathing stopped and his body stiffened beneath her. "I quit my job today," she continued, hoping to relax him.

It didn't work. "Why?"

Julia shrugged. "My life has never quite felt right. But ever since New Orleans happened and I met you, it's felt completely wrong."

"What are your plans?" His voice was quiet and laced with trepidation.

"I don't know for sure yet. I'd planned on traveling for a while, try and figure out what to do with myself. That's all changed now, though. Hasn't it?" She paused. "Do you like to travel, Armand? If you have the time, we could take a trip...?"

He hugged her close, the tension fleeing his body. "I love to travel. How about Europe, or if you want somewhere warmer, I have a house in Cozumel. It's beautiful, sits right on the beach."

"You have a beach house?" She laughed, realizing there was so much about him she didn't know. It was okay though, there was plenty of time to learn. "I thought you didn't like the sun."

"That's what umbrellas are for. Besides, the beach is just as beautiful at night. And more private."

She snuggled deeper into him. All the pieces of her life were quickly clicking into place. It was exactly as the smarmy fortune teller had predicted that very first night in New Orleans. She had found a new love and he had indeed awakened a woman she didn't know existed. And if a little blood fetish here and there was the descent into evil, well, she'd better start wearing more black.

She still wasn't sure exactly what the future held, but right now, everything was perfect, and she was happy to accept it as it was. "That sounds amazing," she breathed. "When do we leave?"

"How quickly can you pack?"

Dive Deeper into the blood lust!

Keep reading for a sneak peek at de Sang, the next exciting book in the Human Vampire series.
de Sang: Embrace Your Blood Lust

Chapter One

Shit, his hand was trembling.

Slade glanced down at the key quivering in his hand as he attempted to slide it into _La Luxure's_ front entrance lock. Like the withdrawal tremors of an alcoholic after an all night drinking binge, his shaking hand was a symptom of a craving that had gone unsatisfied. Body shakes were next and finally, debilitating, chronic, endless fatigue.

He was like a goddamn junkie and blood was his fucking drug. Without it he was sick as shit. With it, well, he was just normal.

With considerable effort, Slade managed to settle his hand long enough to shove the key into its cozy home and turn the dead bolt. Flicking on the lights, he stepped into the empty bar. For a place that was open seven days a week, _La Luxure_ was impeccably clean. There wasn't a spot of dust on the hardwood floors and the black leather furniture glistened with a light, polished sheen. The scent of lemon cleaner hung on the still air and it would take at least three sticks of incense to camouflage it.

It was too pristine for Slade's tastes. He liked things with a little more dirt to them, more substance, more character... But _Luxure_ wasn't his bar. And like the majority of his life, Armand Laroque, the bar's owner and Slade's closest friend, preferred clean control.

Slade didn't have that luxury. He was bound by the thing keeping him healthy. Blood had him neatly in its control.

Not that he was really complaining. For Slade, craving blood wasn't a horrible desire. As far as he was concerned, it wasn't too different from sleep, food or water. As a bonus, the vampire lifestyle was tailor-made for him. The only problem was the source of his drug.

He pulled out his cell phone and hit speed dial. "Nikki? I'm sorry to bug you. I know it's only been a few days. Do you think you can swing by the bar tonight?"

There was a brief pause and it stung because Slade knew he was asking for too much and she was hesitating. "Never mind..."

"No problem, Slade," she said quickly, interrupting him. "Just let me finish up here and I'll be right there. Fifteen minutes tops." She hung up the phone before he had a chance to protest.

Slade stared at the dead phone in his hand. Maybe he shouldn't have called her. There was a refrigerator filled with blood in _Luxure's_ back room.

He grimaced at the thought. Not only was the taste of anti-coagulants as unappealing as the taste of lube during oral sex, but the shit had a tendency to make him sick. It wasn't just a little nausea, but sorority girl, hugging-the-toilet-after-a-night-of-jungle-juice type of sick. Hurling up the blood his body apparently needed defeated the whole fucking purpose.

Still, the more he thought about it, the more he wanted to call Nikki and tell her not to come. She was his only Donor right now and it was a lot for one person to bear. His Cravings weren't as strong as some Sangs', but they were strong enough it meant she had to get stuck with a needle a couple times a week. It'd be easier if they were lovers. Blood and sex mixed naturally.

He had her number pulled up and was about to push _Talk_ when she stepped through the front door. "Hey," she said by way of greeting. Wearing a soft smile on her dark red lips, she gave him a quick hug before sitting on one of the barstools. She glanced around the empty bar.

"Where's Armand?"

"On his honeymoon."

"Still?" Nikki's surprise wasn't unwarranted. Armand had been out for three weeks.

"Until the end of the month."

She laughed. "That's some honeymoon."

"Yeah, well, they deserve it."

She leveled her blue gaze on him. "So, you're okay with Julia now?"

"I am. She's a good girl." Nikki gave him a hard look. Slade shrugged. "So I had my doubts at first. But she's cool."

_Doubts_ was an understatement. When Julia had first stumbled into _Luxure_ , practically one year ago to the date, he'd hated everything about her. As a perpetual outsider who thrived on the fringes of society, Slade was naturally wary of seemingly _normal_ people. And Julia had represented everything he distrusted about those who walk a traditional path: the judging, the fear, the misunderstanding... Initially, she'd proven him right. But she redeemed herself, and now, Slade was actually quite fond of her. In the end, it didn't matter two shits how he felt. Julia made Armand happier than Slade had ever seen him and that was the important thing.

"Well, I have a hard time trusting someone with zero tattoos. There's something completely unnatural about it," Nikki said with a laugh. A tattoo artist, Nikki was covered in ink. There wasn't a bare spot of skin on her back, chest or either arm. She was an incredible artist and had done most of Slade's ink.

She hopped off the barstool. "You ready to get this party started? You look like shit." She headed toward the blood room. "I'm not going to lie. I'm a little disappointed Armand isn't here. He's a damn magician with a needle. Never even feel the thing go in." She stopped at the locked door to the blood room and waited for Slade.

Key in hand, he paused. "If this is ever too much for you..."

She cut him off. "I'm just giving you shit."

"I know. I'm just sayin'. If it gets to be too much..." He didn't care for the pangs of guilt building in his gut.

"I'll let you know," she assured. "But it isn't an issue. This is the least I can do. I owe you everything. If it wasn't for you and Armand, I'd be dead. I haven't forgotten that."

Neither had Slade. Nikki's ex was a douche-bag heroin addict who liked to knock her around. For years, she'd endured numerous black eyes, broken ribs and bruises no amount of makeup could cover, before finally finding the courage to end the relationship. When the restraining order only got her a trip to the emergency room with a ruptured spleen, Slade and Armand took matters into their own hands. They left the guy alive, barely. He split town immediately after and no one had seen him since, which was best for his health.

"And Jenn's okay with this?" Slade probed. One abusive penis had been enough man for Nikki's lifetime. She now embraced the lesbian side of her bisexual nature.

"I'm not going to say she gets it but she's cool. Are you going to unlock the door or not?"

He hesitated and Nikki sighed. "Jesus Christ! Don't pussy out on me, Scott Corelli. Open the door, draw some blood and let's go! I love you, baby, but I don't have all night."

Hearing his real name was an affront to his senses. She obviously meant business. "Fair enough." He pushed open the door after unlocking it.

Pulling a tourniquet off one of the neatly organized shelves, Nikki tied off her left arm, flexing her hand until the vein at the crook of her elbow bulged. She leaned against a stainless steel table. "Look, I know this isn't ideal for you," she said as she scrubbed the injection site with an alcohol swab. "And I understand you feel like you're imposing. But honestly, I'm happy to help." Catching his gaze, she touched his arm. "As long as you need me. As. Long."

He nodded. "Thank you." He didn't know what else to add, so he moved to the sink and washed his hands. After pulling on a pair of latex gloves, he grabbed a fresh needle and three, and then after a second thought, four Vacutainers. He usually only needed about an ounce of blood a couple times a week, about 30 mL or three Vacutainers. But this Craving was stronger than normal. An extra 10 mL certainly wouldn't hurt and might possibly delay the next urge.

Setting the glass tubes on the table next to Nikki, he gently steadied her left arm and prepared to pierce the vein. The shaking hadn't subsided in his hands, and he realized very quickly there was no way he'd be able to stick a needle anywhere, let alone into Nikki's fragile vein.

"Wow," she said, her eyes on his trembling hands. "You really did need me to come over."

"I don't get it. I didn't wait any longer than normal." The situation was a little frightening. If his Cravings were getting stronger, he needed to find a second Donor A.S.A.P.

Nikki took the needle from him, slipping it quickly and smoothly into the swollen vein on her arm. She smiled sheepishly at Slade's surprised expression and shrugged her tattooed shoulders. "From my heroin days," she explained.

There was no room for judging in Slade's world. He grabbed one of the red glass tubes and clicked it in the holder. Blood immediately began to spill into the tube. He withdrew and replaced them in rapid succession until three tubes were filled. As the fourth tube filled he gently removed the tourniquet and when the last Vacutainer was filled, the needle as well. He handed Nikki a cotton ball which she pressed against the needle hole.

She rose from the table. "I'm going to take off," she said, planting a quick kiss on his cheek. "I'll see you in a few?"

Slade's nod was small, weak.

"Cool." She gave him a brief, rigid hug. "Don't stress, man. I meant what I said."

She slipped out of the room and Slade heard the front door open and then close. He took her place leaning on the table. As he peeled the red rubber cap from one of the filled Vacutainers and swallowed the thick red liquid in one smooth gulp, he thought about how _un_ -ideal the situation was. It wasn't that he didn't appreciate Nikki and everything she did for him. Shit, he was eternally grateful. But sucking blood out of test tubes gathered in some über sterile environment, well ... it left something to be desired, to say the least.

Blood might be a necessity for him but it was meant to be shared and savored in an intimate setting, not traded in a _tit-for-tat you saved my ass now I save yours_ exchange.

Slade sighed as the last 10 mL shot hit his tongue and slid smoothly down his throat. Ideally, this would be shared with a lover. Maybe in his younger days he'd have been happy to Graze off whatever tail presented itself but now he was ready for something more substantial, more meaningful. There was more to this blood sharing than lust, fetish or even basic necessity. He'd seen it with Armand and Julia. Now, he was ready to experience it.

Of course, saying he was ready for a meaningful relationship was one thing; acting on it was a completely different beast. He hadn't begun looking for _the one_ and wasn't even sure how to go about it. It wasn't like he could join an online dating site. He doubted they had a box to check for Human Live Vampire seeking Donor/Lover. He could probably venture to the fetish clubs or Goth bars but one, he worked most nights and two, he didn't own a ball gag, nor did he want to.

That left luck and _Luxure_. Hopefully, his Ms. Perfect would walk right through the door and he wouldn't be too stupid to recognize her.

* * * *

"Hand me _Doe in Field_."

Sifting carefully through the framed photos until she found the correct piece, Kate handed the artwork to Lauren, the curator of Gallery _La_ _Prochaine_ and her boss. It wasn't what one would expect from the title alone, even though it was aptly named. The black and white photo included both a doe and flowering field, but the doe wasn't grazing peacefully, or twitching with alertness as she spied some far off enemy.

She was dead.

Her large glassy eyes stared blankly at the viewer, a fly lingered on the froth gathered at the corner of her slightly agape mouth and tiny white flowers dotted the blades of blood soaked grass her carcass laid on. The photo was eerily beautiful but all of the artist's pieces were. Part of a collection called _La Bella Morte: Exploring the Beauty in Death_ by the renowned artist, Lohr Varius, the photo was one of many portraying death in nature. The subjects in the photos were animals. The paintings were human.

Kate's favorite was titled, _Death by Fantasy._ The huge painting featured a woman seated on a plain, wooden chair. Her arms hung limply at her sides, wrists forward to the audience. A velvet dress draped her smooth, cream-colored skin in tatters, exposing a single, pert breast. Pairs of puncture marks which looked like snake or vampire bites dotted her skin. There were several on her neck, one on her breast and one at each wrist. Blood oozed from the wounds, collecting in a shimmering pool at her heeled feet.

The image alone was striking but it was the woman's eyes that captured Kate: lost, forlorn, desolate... As far as she was concerned, Lohr Varius was a genius.

Lauren stepped back, arms neatly folded against her cashmere sweater and stood shoulder to shoulder with Kate. "So, what do you think?"

Kate grinned. Finally, an opportunity to put her Master's degree to use. "I really like the emotional build up on this wall," she said, indicating the line of photographs decorating the brick wall before them. "The pieces are flowing well but I think _Loss of_ _Femininity_ should begin the exhibit, not end it. I believe _Death by_ _Fantasy_ is more appropriate. Not only will she," Kate indicated the painting, "overlook the gallery like a queen observing her subjects but I feel like the painting captures the passion building in the other pieces really well. Besides, her eyes will just draw people into the gallery. They won't be able to help themselves."

Kate waited anxiously as Lauren considered the mouthful she'd just spewed. She knew she might have overstepped the level of opinion Lauren wanted to hear from her but Kate was eager to put her education and talents to use. Not that she didn't like or appreciate the assistant job Lauren had given her but Kate's dreams were to be a curator, or even a gallery owner, and she wasn't going to realize them by being timid.

Besides, not only was _shy_ the last word people would probably use to describe Kate, this was one area where she was 100 percent confident in her abilities. She just hoped Lauren felt the same way.

Finally the older woman turned, her sleek gray bob swaying gently as she moved. "You have a good eye," she said with a smile crinkling the corners of her eyes. Age had only added to Lauren's beauty. She was the most elegant and truly beautiful woman Kate knew.

Pride swelled in Kate's belly and, when a soft male voice behind her said, "I agree," she thought she'd burst. She actually felt the air get stuck in her throat and had to swallow in order to resume breathing.

"Lohr," Lauren breathed and turned.

Closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, Kate lifted her chest and turned to face the famed artist.

His hands in hers, Lauren was kissing the air beside each of his pale cheeks in turn. Lohr repeated the gesture but his iridescent blue gaze was firmly planted on Kate. He was gorgeous in the photos she'd seen of him but he was striking in person. He was the kind of man Goth girls like Kate dreamed about. Tall and slender, his black suit coat fit snugly against his lean form and his straight, sleek black hair glimmered in the gallery lights, looking like glass as it hung in a perfect sheet to his waist. Except for the eyeliner, he had the face of a Calvin Klein model: angular and etched in perfect proportions. Of course, if he'd come in looking like Ashton Kutcher, Kate wouldn't have found him attractive at all.

"I've never had my thoughts echoed so precisely," he said, releasing Lauren's hands. His voice never rose in pitch, staying low and even, like he was trying not to wake a baby. "Your new assistant is lovely," he told Lauren.

Kate's cheeks were hot and she realized in dismay they were probably as red as his silk tie, which on her alabaster complexion would be blatantly obvious.

It was a bunch of bull. She _never_ blushed.

"Lohr, this is Kate Miller. Kate, it is my pleasure to introduce Lohr Varius."

He took Kate's hand and kissed it gently. "The pleasure is mine."

There were a million stories on the Internet regarding Lohr Varius. As the self-proclaimed king of the vampires, most of them surrounded his love of blood and blood play. Looking into his electric blue eyes, she didn't doubt those stories for a second. She'd dismissed the darker, more twisted rumors — he killed his subjects himself, or he was actually 150 years old — as nothing more than hype. She wasn't sure she could discount any of them now that she'd met the man in person.

It did make him even more intriguing.

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Varius," she said, trying to keep her galloping heartbeat from infiltrating her voice.

"Please, call me Lohr." His pale, unblinking eyes remained fixated on her and he still held her hand. She wished she could remove it. It wasn't that his touch was offensive or anything but she was flushed enough and the look Lauren was giving her was making her extra uncomfortable.

"I love your art," she said abruptly, hoping to turn his gaze and the conversation.

It didn't work, but at least he finally released her hand. She quickly, and hopefully discretely, folded it into the other.

Wearing a tiny smile, he replied instead, "How long have you been working at _La Prochaine_?"

Kate glanced at Lauren and did a quick mental count. "Three months now?" She couldn't believe it had been that long. It felt like only last week she was driving into New Orleans and into her new life.

The Crescent City had been like a refugee camp for Kate. Dying to get out of Texas after college and hopefully into a city where she _wasn't_ the weird kid, she'd considered New York but, determined not to live off her parents' money, the enormous northern city and its huge living expenses were intimidating. Besides, she was a southern girl and wasn't sure if New York was her speed. New Orleans fit. Better than she could have ever dreamed.

"She's been an amazing asset," Lauren was saying, the strange expression finally free from her elegant features. "I can't remember how I managed without her." The older woman gave Kate a warm smile.

"I imagine," Lohr said, giving her a small, sultry smile.

Kate knew she should be nothing but flattered by Lohr's approval but his fixation only made her flustered. Maybe it was his exceptional looks, or the fact she admired his work and he was something of a celebrity. Whatever it was, her heart was racing uncontrollably and she felt hot and antsy.

"Will you be at the opening tonight?" he wondered.

"I'm afraid not."

"Unfortunately my budget only allows me to employ Kate part time," Lauren explained. "I'd love to hire her on full-time."

And Kate would love to work full-time. But she was thankful for the hours Lauren was able to give her. It wasn't easy finding work in a gallery, even for someone with Kate's credentials. A Master's degree, even one with Honors, didn't get a person far in this competitive industry. The part-time assistant job at least gave her a foot in the door.

"Maybe if we sell a few of your paintings," Lauren added in a light, teasing tone.

Lohr laughed, or Kate interpreted what came out of his mouth as a laugh. There was a small smile and a rush of air that escaped from his lips.

"That reminds me," Kate interjected. "Before I go, do you want me to pick up the wine and confirm with the caterer?"

"Yes. Please."

Lohr cocked his head. "You are leaving so soon?"

"I wish I could stay but I have a second job to get to and a few unfinished tasks to complete first," she told him.

It wasn't a total fabrication, the wishing she could stay part, but it wasn't the full truth either. The waitressing job she'd picked up to fill in the monetary slack might not be the highlight of her evening, but she would like to put a little fresh air between Lohr Varius and herself.

She headed for the back room. "Good luck this evening, though I doubt you'll need it. The exhibit is brilliant."

Lohr inclined his dark head, and Kate slipped through the door and into the office at the back of the gallery. She could exit through the joint courtyard and out the alley without bumping into him. Before she saw him again, she definitely wanted her head more firmly attached to her shoulders, not sloshing around in some flushed daze.

She couldn't tell if she was merely star struck, crushing on him or something else entirely, but the encounter with Lohr had left her completely frazzled. And it wasn't like her to be so easily rattled.

Acknowledgements

To all the friends and family who patiently listened to my endless rambling while writing _La Luxure_ , and to the friends and fans who helped me edit and polish the novel, your support is truly appreciated.

About the Author

When not writing, C.D. Hussey enjoys a career as a professional engineer. She currently lives in the Midwest with her husband, teenage son and two cats. With an ongoing love affair with New Orleans, expect to see her in the Crescent City at least twice a year.
