For many Vampires, the ability to consume it was underdeveloped, and blood was the easiest route. Armand was extremely adept at absorbing energy, both good and bad. In the last year, she'd observed him
feeding
off energy dozens of times. Mardi Gras parades were like a drug for him.
He could also change the energy in a room. She'd watched Angel do it too, and it was nothing short of amazing. Where Angel was purposeful in her energy manipulation, Armand didn't even realize he was doing it. In fact, he completely dismissed the notion when she had asked, but Angel, who in the last year had become one of her closest friends, confirmed the suspicion.
She was also pretty sure it was what attracted him to blood. Her fascination with blood sharing had a lot more to do with fetish than his did. Even if the desire was what he claimed—a mere blood fetish—there was something deeper in it for him.
"He'd like to come to work tomorrow," she said cautiously. Armand had kept the bar closed since they returned from their honeymoon, since the night he and Slade had rescued Kate Miller and Melanie Young from Lohr Varius' clutches. After Doc's bad news about Melanie this morning, Julia was afraid he'd never reopen it. Hopefully, Slade's rapid recovery after receiving Kate's blood would encourage him to open the bar.
The look on his face told her he wasn't even considering it. "Armand—"
"I don't know if I can," he interrupted. Grabbing a towel hanging off the nearby weight bench, he began to wipe the sweat from his body.
She was momentarily distracted by the black terry cloth running over the contours of his chest, mesmerized by the bulge of his flexing bicep as the towel went back and forth, back and forth, back and forth…
She had to close her eyes to regain her focus. "How long do you plan on keeping
Luxure
closed?"
"I don't know." He tossed the towel into the corner hamper.
"It's not their fault," she said quietly.
He grimaced and then blew his breath out with a wry smile. "I know. I just don't think I can face them."
"Let me open the bar then."
He gave her a peculiar look. "Why—?"
"It isn't just about the bar. Our employees, the patrons … they don't deserve to be punished because of Lohr."
He shook his head. "I can no longer look away. I can't ignore the depravity. I won't ignore it. If one more sick, twisted freak…" As he spoke every muscle on his body began to tense until his ab muscles were a series of rigid, unmoving mounds, and his chest barely moved with each tight breath.
Suddenly, he spun away from her and slammed his fist into the weight bag. When he caught it on its downward swing, he dropped his forehead against the bag, his hands gripping the smooth leather with both hands.
"I know." She rested a hand on his back, sliding her fingers between the ridges of muscle turning his spine into a valley. His head dropped farther. "We'll think of something. I'm not ready to turn my back on the Community though, and neither are you."
He snorted, shaking his head into the weight bag.
Wrapping her arms around his waist, she pressed her body against his back and kissed the spot between his shoulder blades. She didn't care how sweaty he was or how much his skin tasted like salt. "You need more time. That's understandable. Let me open the bar."
"Aren't you going back to work tomorrow?"
"I said I'd open the bar, not close it. I need a glass of wine anyway."
He turned in her arms. Taking her face in his hands he kissed her. The gentle gesture was what she'd expect from her husband, but there was undeniable tension tightening his touch. The kiss deepened, and when his hands moved from cupping her face to locking in her hair, she knew he wasn't stopping at a simple kiss.
"If I'm going to open up, I should go," she panted when his lips left her mouth and moved to her neck.
"What I want will only take a minute." He peeled off her shirt. Hands on her shoulders, he moved her backward while his passionate kiss stole her breath.
Her back was pressed against a weight bench before the thought of protesting entered her mind. By then she no longer cared. There was no thinking; there was only Armand's tongue in her mouth, and his hands on her flesh.
In a matter of seconds, her jeans were yanked off, her legs spread, and his cock inside her. His face buried in her neck, his hands gripping the sides of the bench, his hot, heavy body covering hers, the steady pumping of his hips… She was completely overwhelmed by the intensity of his passion, by his
need
for her. So animalistic, so primitive.
When his orgasm released, hers immediately followed. It was loud, it was rough, and it was amazing. As soon as she caught her breath, she started to say, "That was an unexpected treat," when he abruptly pushed off her.
"I'll take a shower and then relieve you downstairs," he said as he tucked his cock back into his exercise pants. "If you like, you may call Kindle and Onyx and see if they want to work." He didn't even glance her direction as he shoved open the door to the stairs leading down to the courtyard.
She stared in disbelief as he disappeared.
What the hell?
She was reminded of a very awkward one-night stand she'd had three years ago. Only then, she was the one scrambling to put on her clothes, and Tony, or Tom, or whatever his mother had named him, was the one staring at her back as she fled the scene.
Shell-shocked, she retrieved her discarded clothing. It wasn't the quick, rough sex that bothered her. She understood Armand was upset and understood why he pounced on her; sex was a natural stress reliever for him, especially sex with her, or so he said. He told her once she was his natural tranquillizer. But for him to jump her bones and then run out the door without even a "thanks for the fuck" made her feel a little …
used
.
When he left, he'd seemed even more tense than when she'd come in, and that scared the bajeezus out of her. He obviously needed something she couldn't provide. And there was something about the way he'd refused to look at her, like he was ashamed.
In the year they'd been together, Armand had never made her feel like an afterthought, and she never felt disconnected from him. She did now.
Chapter Two
The alley leading to
La Luxure
was gated and locked. Kevin peered through the intricate wrought iron grid. A narrow brick walkway opened into a small courtyard, and he could see the closed door of the bar at the far end. He glanced at his watch. Eight p.m. Surely they'd be opening the bar soon.
He scanned the surroundings. There was an Irish bar across the street. He could use a caffeine pick-me-up while he waited for the vampires to come out and play.
A few locals were bellied up to a central wooden bar, but otherwise, the place was empty. The bartender had a huge star tattoo on his neck and some sort of swirly pattern next to his left eye. Kevin didn't realize how many people had face and neck tattoos until he moved to New Orleans. He was no prude, but in his opinion, ink above the chin was a bad idea.
"What can I get you, friend?"
"Do you have coffee?"
"I can start a pot."
"Good. I'll take an Irish coffee." He hated drinking on the job, but while caffeine might be the only thing getting him through the day, alcohol helped him face it. A shot here and there took the edge off, helped keep his temper in check. Since he fled St. Paul, he'd turned into a pissed off rattle snake, never knowing what would set him off.
As the bartender started the coffee, Kevin asked, "So, you know when the vampire bar across the street opens?"
"They're usually open now. For the past couple days though there's been a sign on the gate saying something about a family emergency."
"It's gone now."
"Then I'm surprised they aren't open."
When the bartender delivered the coffee and Kevin reached for it, he caught a glimpse of his trembling hands. Even before he started medicating himself with whiskey, his hands shook. It was worse now.
Taking a drink, he spied his reflection in the mirror behind the bar. He looked more tired than usual, the circles under his eyes pronounced. His pants were starting to hang a little too low on his hips. He might be a man who regularly worked out, but he was getting a little concerned about his lack of body fat. Maybe he should be grateful for his six-pack, but he was more worried it was another sign of some undiagnosed illness.
Like a dog though, there were a few signs he was somewhat healthy. His blue eyes were bright and clear and his hair thick and shiny. It was getting too long, he noted, smoothing the tousled brown strands into place. And his five o'clock shadow was beginning to look like a ten o'clock shadow. Personal grooming would have to wait until he had a better handle on this case.
"Vampire bar…" he said to the bartender. "A bunch of weirdoes, eh?"
"I've seen weirder."
If there was something stranger than a group of freaks who liked to drink blood, he wasn't sure he wanted to see it.
"Looks like they're opening up now," the bartender said, jutting his chin toward the open door.
Kevin twisted to see a perfectly normal looking woman he recognized from the hospital unlocking the gate. He turned back to the bartender. "Hey, you got a
to-go
cup?"
"Sure thing." He held up a clear, plastic cup.
Pain
was tattooed across his knuckles. "I only got plastic through."
"That's fine." Kevin tossed money on the bar and looked anxiously across the street. He was ready to start putting some vampires in jail.
The woman who'd unlocked the gate stood behind the bar looking completely out of place. She smiled uncertainly at him when he walked in. "You're the detective from the hospital right?" He nodded, and she held out her hand. Her handshake was surprisingly firm. "I'm Julia Laroque."
The bar owner's wife. She wasn't what he expected. Not in the least. The pale pink circular marks on her neck were the only indication she wasn't completely normal.
"What can I do for you, Detective?"
"I just want to ask you some questions."
"Sure." He sat at the bar, and she glanced at the warped plastic cup containing his steaming coffee he set on the bar top. "Do you want a real cup for that?"
"I'm fine."
"I insist. You're going to melt a hole in that thing and spill coffee everywhere." She pulled out an extravagent red glass coffee mug etched with intricate designs, dumped the contents into it, and then tossed the twisted cup into the trash.
"I assume you're here to ask questions about the Lohr Varius incident," she said, leaning against the bar and taking a sip of red wine. She was an attractive,
normal
looking woman, and he was once again perplexed by her attraction to this bizarre lifestyle.
"I don't think I'll be much help since my husband and I were on our honeymoon in Europe. We'd just returned that night."
"What I'd like to hear, Mrs. Laroque, is what you know about Lohr Varius."
She shrugged. "Not much except he's creepy. And I think he's some sort of artist."
"Have you ever been to any of his events?"
"Afraid not. I've only been involved in this community since last year. The Forever Dark Vampire Ball was the first event of his I could have potentially attended—if I'd been in town."
"Do you know anything about his coven?" Over the last several days, he had spent hours sifting through vampire websites and forums. It had taken a while to wrap his tongue around the lingo—and the lifestyle—but he was trying.
She shook her head. "Not at all. When I first encountered Lohr last year, Armand warned me to stay away from him." She shuddered. "It wasn't advice I was going to ignore. Besides, he's only in NOLA a few months out of the year."
"So your husband knew Lohr was dangerous."
"Well, I wouldn't say he 'knew'."
"But he warned you to stay clear of Lohr."
Her lips became a thin line. "What are you implying, Detective?"
He took a purposeful drink of coffee. The whiskey added an extra burn to the hot liquid, but it felt like smooth silk sliding down his throat. "Do you think it's possible your husband knew more about what went on in Lohr's warehouse?"
"No way."
"Are you sure? You said you've only been in this community for a year. How can you be sure what your husband knows?" He took another drink. "How well do we really know anyone, even our loved ones?"
"Well enough," she said tightly. The strain behind her doe brown eyes told him she wasn't so sure about her statement. If he pressed, he was certain she'd cave.
Unfortunately, he wouldn't have the chance.
A man who could only be Armand Laroque pushed through velvet curtains leading to what looked like a storage room. It was absurd, but the temperature in the room seemed to drop at least ten degrees. What wasn't absurd was the unmistakable anger radiating from his stiffly held body.
He placed a hand gently on his wife's shoulder. His hazel eyes softened briefly when he looked at her, but were rock hard when they settled on Kevin. "Any questions you have regarding what I may or may not know will be directed to me, Detective."
Armand looked like a man who was used to intimidating people with his height, size, and somewhat menacing appearance, but Kevin wasn't going to be one of them. For one, Armand wasn't any taller, and while he might have a little extra bulk on him, he wasn't impressed by it. Or his fangs for that matter.
"I'll direct my questions to whomever I want, Mr. Laroque."
"Julia, do you mind heading upstairs while I speak to the detective?" As tight as Armand's jaw looked, Kevin was amazed he was able to enunciate the words.
"Yeah, I do." She didn't seem particularly pleased to be dismissed.
"Please," he said, his lips moving while his teeth stayed clamped together.
Grabbing her glass of wine, she shoved through the curtains into the back room. Kevin heard heavy footsteps climbing stairs and then a door opening and slamming shut.
"Honeymoon's over, eh?"
It was the wrong joke to make.
Armand swung his head around at an achingly slow pace. Pressing his palms against the bar, he leaned forward. "I'm willing to help you, Detective. But stay out of my personal life and stay away from my wife."
"Tell me what I need to know, and I might."
With a mirthless laugh, he pushed off the bar. "I'm not the enemy here," he said. "I'm as horrified by this as you are. And I want to see everyone involved punished."
"Good. We're on the same page, then."
"Tell me how I can help."
Kevin had to forcefully swallow his anger. He was here to gather information, to discover the extent of Armand's involvement, not get in a pissing contest with him.
"What do you know about Lohr's coven?"
"Not much. I stay out of that shit."
"Isn't your bar is the center of social activity for all the
vampires
?"
"Perhaps, but
Luxure
is neutral, and I work hard to keep it that way. I purposefully stay away from the coven drama. All are welcome here, whether they are Human Vampires, blood fetishists, or people who just like to dress up. My goal has always been to provide a safe environment for the entire vampire subculture."
From his research, he'd learned Armand was the ambassador for safe blood-play. He'd lectured across the country, written articles… He was the fucking safety police when it came to blood. Still, his past was far from clean.
"Funny. That didn't seem to be your goal in L.A. about fourteen years ago. You were one of the primary suspects in the murder of Natalie Brinks."
"Natalie is the reason
La Luxure
exists. And I believe 'primary suspect' is a gross exaggeration."
"So, Natalie wasn't your lover, and you weren't at the party where she died?" Armand was correct, "primary suspect" was an exaggeration. He had only been the primary suspect for about five minutes.
"Yes we were lovers, but more importantly, we were friends. At that time in my life I had more lovers than friends." There was no humor in his words.
"Her death was very similar to Melanie Young's."
"I know," he said darkly. "I begged her to leave with me, and she refused. I wish I'd forced her into the taxi. In fact, I'd give anything to go back and change it." He smiled sadly. "Not many days go by when I don't regret my decision that night."
His alibi had been pretty rock solid. A call to the taxi company, several witnesses watching him get in the cab … but even if it hadn't been, like Melissa Schwartz's death last year, the most the prosecution had been able to charge the perps with was
involuntary manslaughter
. The New Orleans police had gotten lucky with Melissa's case. She had enough drugs in her system that if Aaron Jones had actually called for help instead of leaving her on the street, they wouldn't have had a case at all.
"With your history," Kevin said, "you can understand why I have a hard time believing you when you say you don't have insight into the covens."
"This is a relatively small community, so yes, I am familiar. But coven is a generic term. Surely you know that. You can replace it with family, or circle of friends, or
clique
." Armand held out his hands. "If you like, you may call
Luxure
my coven."
"Did you know Lohr was dangerous? You did warn your wife to stay away from him."
"I knew he was eccentric and had a disturbing love affair with blood. I also knew he associated strongly with the mythological vampire, but I didn't know for sure he was dangerous. His behavior bothered me enough to not want Julia around him. Trust me, Detective, if I'd thought for a second he was kidnapping, torturing, and killing women, I guarantee you he'd be dead, and I'd be talking to you from behind a Plexiglas window."
The seething hatred burning in the other man's eyes told Kevin he wasn't joking. Johnson had been right about one thing—Armand obviously policed his group. And he was probably pretty good at it.
"So, you didn't know about the other victims?" Or victim, according to the disturbing photos they'd found in Lohr's warehouse.
"What?" All color drained from Armand's face.
"We suspect there might be another victim."
His lips became non-existent and his hands clenched into fists. The cords on his neck rose and his fists began to tremble. He closed his eyes and seemed to
will
his muscles to relax.
Armand Laroque was obviously a man with a temper, one he seemed to be trying to keep under control. Given his own recent history, Kevin could respect that.
His question was answered, though. Armand did
not
know about other victims.
"Would you like a shot of whiskey, Detective?" he asked out of the blue.
The question caught him off guard. "Um…" He'd only added the one shot to his coffee. Surely, Armand didn't know about it.
"I'll take that as a
yes
." Armand
turned and pulled a bottle of Glenfiddich from the top shelf. Grabbing two shot glasses he filled them to the brim and roughly set the bottle aside. Nodding toward the full glasses, Armand took one and waited.