de Sang: Embrace Your Blood Lust (8 page)

"I'm heading to The Cell. Meet me there."

"Not acceptable. Some place a little quieter, perhaps?"

What the hell did Lohr want? "I'm standing at Burgundy and Dumaine. Is that quiet enough for you?"

"That should be sufficient. I will arrive in ten minutes."

The phone went dead and it traded places with his smokes. Lighting a cigarette, he leaned against a lamppost and waited. Maybe Darus should be happy Lohr still wanted him around, but he couldn't muster any emotion but irritation.

If he obliged whatever Lohr wanted, he might be able to snag a VIP pass to Forever Dark. But until Armand welcomed him back with open arms, it wouldn't matter. He'd still be Invisible. Most Sangs wouldn't go against Armand.

He was down to the filter when Lohr drifted up the street. Flicking the butt into the gutter, Darus met him at the curb.

"So, what is it?" He didn't care for formalities. He hadn't been big into the cordial crap before his time in the Pen. He sure as hell wasn't now.

"I've found my queen," Lohr told him. "Kate Miller."

"Oh yeah?" Queen to Lohr's
Master
. It was all part of the coven shit.

"Unfortunately, she hasn't been Awakened yet."

Awakening
was the term Human Vampires used when their vampire traits were finally discovered. Lohr had a ceremony that went with it. The ceremonies could be fun — drugs and booze and blood were always fun — but it was all a bunch of bullshit. A Human Vampire certainly didn't need a ceremony to
Awaken
their nature. Either they figured out what they were on their own, or someone pointed them in the right direction. It might be a huge relief when the Human Vampire finally figured out what the hell was wrong with them, and what they could do about it, but it wasn't grand, and not a whole hell of a lot was awakened.

"Why do you need my help?"

"She is Latent."

"Oh?" Another bullshit term. It was one thing if a Sang didn't know they were a Sang and spent their life wondering why they were tired all the time. But the term was often used to describe a Vamp whose traits had yet to surface. Darus had never seen it.

"I need your help because I fear she will be resistant."

What Lohr was proposing was bordering on sick. It was one thing for a person who
wanted
to identify with a Vamp to go through an Awakening ceremony, it was another to force them into it. "I don't think so."

"I only need your help getting her to my place. I'll take care of the rest."

"You want me to kidnap her?" Darus was incredulous. He'd just gotten out of jail, did Lohr really think he was going to risk going back to help him
turn
some chick?

"No, my friend," Lohr said with a chuckle. "I want her to come to me on her…own. But I might need help with an obstacle. She is marked by another Sang, most likely from
La
Luxure
judging by the marks and information I have heard. I believe it is Slade."

Darus held up his hands. "Can't help you there. Slade is Armand's boy and already prepared to kick my ass as it is."

"I'm certain you can find a way to be useful."

"Look, Lohr, I just got out of jail. I'm not going back. Find yourself another patsy." When a bulked up shadow abruptly came around the corner, Darus turned and walked the other direction. He didn't even bother parting words with Lohr.

* * * *

Slade was still fighting a raging hard-on when he closed the bar at four a.m. It had plagued him all night, coming and going unpredictably, a relentless reminder of Kate's smooth seduction and irrational escape. It made the climb to Armand's upstairs apartment painful, but he refused to acknowledge it, refused to pay it any attention at all. He wasn't going to let his hormone enraged member, or some flighty woman, control his evening. He had a cat to feed.

Bubbers was so excited to see him the little bastard practically tripped him as it rubbed all over Slade's legs.

"Okay, okay. Jesus, calm down." Slade bent to scratch the gray cat behind the ears. It flopped on its side. Assuming the thing wanted its belly rubbed, he obliged and the damn cat bit him. He yanked his hand away. "Dude," he said. "Make up your mind."

The cat was all right, but it was a temperamental thing. Slade topped off its water and food. Thankfully the litter box was automatic because it didn't matter how much he loved Armand and Julia, he wasn't cleaning up the cat's poop. He didn't care if they were on their honeymoon or not.

Slade flopped on the couch and clicked on the TV. One nice thing about house sitting: Armand had a kickass entertainment system.

Bubbers immediately jumped on Slade's lap and he absently stroked the cat's sleek gray fur as he scrolled aimlessly through endless channels, finally settling on
The Matrix
.

Neo was deciding between the blue and red pill when Slade's thoughts jumped unexpectedly to Kate. He pushed them away. He'd already been there too many times tonight. Wondering what she was doing and whether or not she slept naked wasn't going to help anything. Instead, he let his thoughts wander to Darus.

The asshole didn't deserve it but Slade was beginning to feel sorry for him. He couldn't imagine being cast out of the Community. As far as Slade knew, Darus was a genuine Sang, not a fetishist or Vampyre. Granted, Darus was a known Grazer, and not particularly picky about where his blood came from, but not having access to steady, reliable, safe Donors would be a frightening proposition for any Real Vampire, including Darus.

Slade's stomach grumbled and after shoving a protesting Bubbers from his lap, rose and went to the kitchen. He'd been instructed to empty the cupboards but Armand was such a froo-froo eater it hadn't been an easy task. Too much
organic this
and
wheat gluten that
for Slade's taste. He could really go for a steak right about now.

After rummaging through the cabinets and coming up empty — he was
not
eating anything soy based — Slade hit the front door. He wasn't obligated to spend the night under his house sitting duties and there was better grub at his place.

Slade lived in what some referred to as the French Quarter ghetto. Ghetto was a relative term, of course, but the closer one got to Rampart, the more rundown the Quarter tended to be. Like everything else in New Orleans, it varied from street to street and house to house. What it meant was Slade could actually afford the rent on his tiny duplex.

It didn't matter how many tourists were crowded on the French Quarter streets, Slade would invariably run into someone he knew, even at five a.m., even during Mardi Gras. And it was usually some asshole he didn't want to see, especially at five a.m. This morning was no exception. He'd just rounded the corner onto Burgundy from St. Philip, and Darus and Lohr Varius were one block over, arguing about something.

Slade stopped short, and would have backpedaled
à la
the kid in the maze in
The Shining
, but both men lifted their heads simultaneously to look at him. Darus immediately turned and walked the opposite direction but Lohr, in the creepy way Lohr moved, slinked toward him.

It was too painful to watch, so Slade met him halfway.

Sangs never shook hands. They just stopped in front of each other and stared. It'd taken Slade two years to get used to it. Shit, he still wasn't used to it. It just felt odd.

Lohr cocked his head and parted his lips as if to smile, and then stopped mid-part. "Greetings," he breathed.

"I heard you were back in town. What's up?" Weirdoes came and went in the Community and Slade was okay with that. He wasn't exactly normal, after all. But there was something about Lohr that made Slade's skin crawl.

"There's a…" Lohr cocked his head the other direction, "young woman who I believe was in your establishment tonight."

"There's always a lot of young women at
Luxure
, what do you want?"

"This one is different." Lohr paused, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply. He savored the air as if some delicious scent, and not just the smell of urine, had wafted under his nose. "Beautiful, tall, clean…"

Slade's stomach growled, reminding him he was starving. "Fuck, man, I don't have all night. What do you want?" It wasn't just his hunger making him impatient.

Lohr's eyes took at least five minutes to open. If his skinny ass didn't start talking, Slade was going to put a fist into Lohr's bony skull. "She was marked. I merely want to know by whom."

"Even if I knew who the hell you were talking about, you know I wouldn't tell you that. It's none of your damn busine—"

"Kate Miller," Lohr interjected.

Slade felt his whole body stiffen. Lohr was watching him carefully and Slade tried to force his muscles to relax. No matter how hard he tried though, his traps twitched angrily. So he tried a casual shrug and probably looked like he had Tourette's or something.

"Couldn't tell you."

"Was it you?"

Slade set his jaw. "Again, none of your fucking business," he said through tight lips.

He'd had enough.

Pushing past Lohr, he managed to remember Armand begging him to be cordial to all the Community members, no matter how irritating they were, and said tensely, "Hey, welcome the fuck back."

Irritation combined with a grating hunger pushed his stride to maximum length, and within minutes he was ducking under the low gate that kept the riffraff out of his narrow side yard and the tiny, brick covered courtyard he shared with his neighbor.

As was customary in the Quarter, he entered through the back.

Slade tried not to think about anything but whipping up a nice fat burger with at least two slices of Velveeta dripping off the top. Sure enough though, the harder he focused on the frying pan, the clearer Lohr's underwear model face became imprinted in his skull.

The guy had always irked Slade. He got the whole
vampire
routine, but Lohr took it to another level. So much so it didn't seem like a routine at all.

After providing security for Lohr's parties, Slade knew firsthand the depth of Lohr's blood lust, and the idea of that lust being fulfilled by Kate made Slade's stomach boil.

He didn't know why it should matter. Besides having the privilege of tasting her amazing blood and inserting a finger into her warm, slick depths, it wasn't like he had a claim on her.

Black smoke poured off the pan where Slade was quickly turning his hamburger patty into a hockey puck. He flipped on the fan and pulled the frying pan off the burner.

Goddamn, he didn't like a woman controlling his thoughts like this.

He wasn't about to waste good food though, so after sliding the half-burnt burger onto a bun and dousing it in ketchup, he plopped his ass in front of the TV. There were surely a million better things he could be doing with his time, but Slade was more concerned with putting food in his mouth and avoiding jerking off to the memory of some flakey, unstable broad who just happened to excite his cock enough the bastard was trying to jump out of his pants.

How did Lohr even know her? And how did he know she'd been
marked
? And more importantly, why the fuck did Slade care?

He didn't bother rinsing his plate when he tossed it into the sink. He needed to think about something else. He hadn't checked his mail yet. That was mundane enough.

Sifting through the junk mail and miscellaneous bills, he stopped short when a bright white envelope with his legal name handwritten across the front caught his eye. Slade picked it up like it might explode. Hardly anyone used his real name. Most people didn't even know it. Hell, even his electric bill was under Slade Corelli.

It was from his sister. He loved getting the rare letter from Stephanie, especially since they usually contained pictures of his nieces and nephews. But there was something about the tight, concise way she'd written his address twisting his stomach into ropes.

He took the letter to the couch and gingerly sat down, closing his eyes as he carefully slipped his finger under the flap, letter opener style, and sawed through the paper.

There was only a single piece of lined paper. No pictures. Slade had to take a deep breath before he could unfold the damn thing, his chest so tight it was like trying to inflate a milk jug.

Dear Scott,

I'm very sorry to have to tell you this, but daddy passed away on Sunday. He's been sick for a while, so it wasn't a huge surprise. The stroke he had this summer really took a toll on his health and it's been bad since September.

The service was nice. People from all over...

Slade didn't read anymore. Releasing his grip on the letter and letting it fall from his fingers, it floated to the ground on unseen air currents, giving a final dramatic scoop at the end before settling onto the area rug.

Dead. His father was dead and no one had even bothered to tell Slade he'd been sick. And, of course, inviting a bloodsucking freak to the funeral was out of the question.