Eveillez: Deny Your Blood Lust (6 page)

Chapter Six

Screaming guitar riffs poured through the closed door to her apartment. Loud enough Julia could clearly tell which album it was as she climbed the stairs to the balcony overlooking the central courtyard. As she stepped inside, it was like walking into a solid wall of noise.

Armand was sitting in the armchair, eyes closed, lips drawn into a tight thin line. He clutched at the chair arms like they were the only things keeping him in place.

She crossed the room with quiet feet, but his eyes still flew open as she passed him. As she turned down the volume on the stereo, he rose and approached her. Taking her by the shoulders, he bent to kiss her.

She turned her face away.

"I was only comforting her, nothing more," he said. "There is nothing between Angel and me. There hasn't been for a long time."

"I know. But that doesn't mean I have to be okay with it." Twisting out of his grasp, she set her shopping bags just inside the bedroom door and turned to face him, folding her arms tightly across her chest.

He was leaning against the sofa, his posture mirroring hers. "I am sorry you feel that way, but this is a difficult time for Angel. And for me."

"But not me? Am I not allowed to be upset?"

"It isn't the same…"

"Why not?"
 

He paused. "You aren't as vested in the Community."

The dismissal sent blood rushing to her face. "I see. Since I'm not a Sang, my feelings on the issues aren't important. In fact, in your mind, I'm not even a part of the Community. I'm just a side project."

The cords on his neck rose. "That isn't what I said. You're twisting my words."

"Okay. Then why did you shoo me away when Detective McCoy came by?"

It took him a moment to answer. "I didn't want to subject you to his interrogation."

"I'm a big girl. I'm not some fragile flower you have to protect."

"There are … things you are better off not knowing."

"Jesus," she groaned. "When are you going to start trusting me?"

"I trust you."

He was too calm. It was fake, forced. She knew he was tense. She knew he was angry.

"No you don't. Or at least you don't trust that I'm capable of dealing with difficult issues. If you did you'd quit hiding your temper."

His expression went flat. "There are aspects—dark aspects—of my personality I don't like. I don't want you exposed to them."

"Again, not a fragile flower. I deal with assholes at work every day. You think the construction superintendant on a job site holds his tongue to protect me from his temper? I wish!"

"Ah, so now I'm an asshole," he said quietly.

Now who was twisting words? "No, you're not."
Normally.
"But you are my husband, and I don't need to be
protected
from you, or the darker aspects of you. I want, no I
expect,
to be treated as your partner."

"You are my partner."

"Then tell me what's wrong. Tell me what you're thinking."

He drew in a breath and then frowned.

Holding all this anger in wasn't healthy. She had to bring it out of him. "Okay, then why did you fuck me in the gym and then run out like you discovered I had syphilis or something?" He didn't answer, but the cords on his neck grew another inch. "Jesus, Armand! Yell. Get angry. Do something!" The cords on his neck were going to turn into arms if they got any bigger.

Obviously the
bring-his-anger-out
tactic wasn't working. She drew in a calming lungful of air and decided to try a different approach. "I know this is difficult for you. Please trust me enough to confide in me. Please trust me enough to let me help you."

His eyes grew distant as he pondered
something
. As he worked over whatever he was thinking, his eyebrows pushed together, and he pursed his lips. Finally, he lifted his gaze back to hers and shook his head. "I don't think you can handle it."

She screamed in frustration. She had never wanted to throttle someone more. "Well, fuck you too." Shoving past him, she hissed, "I'm going to bed. Find your way to the guest room please."

"Julia—"

She slammed the bedroom door on his words, silencing the rest of his sentence with the sharp clap of wood upon wood.

As she fell on the bed she heard a loud thump in the other room, heavy footfalls, and then the rough closing of the back door. She sighed. It was their first big fight since she'd ridiculously accused him of being a supernatural vampire one year ago. It sucked.

One week. It had only been one week since they were getting lost in the maze that was Venice, feeding pigeons in San Marco Square, drinking wine in cafés along streets barely wider than a sidewalk, having sex every time they returned to the hotel.

She'd give anything to take a step back in time. She wasn't ready to toss aside her anger yet, or give up her argument, but she had to figure out what was going on with Armand and then, find a way to fix it.

* * * *

When Kevin returned to the station and joined Darus in the interrogation room, the lean man was leaning against the table, chewing his thumbnail. "Thank God," he said. "I need a fucking cigarette."

Kevin nodded to the chewed on digit. "Sure you aren't nervous about getting arrested?"

"Of course I'm nervous about it, even though I haven't done anything wrong this time. I told you before, Lohr's always been a creeper, but it wasn't like I had proof. I just knew his parties weren't for the unwilling."

"I know," he said and believed it. "You are free to go."

Relief washed over Darus' face. "So, that's it?"

He handed him his coat. "That's it. Don't go too far though in case I have more questions."

Darus shrugged into the fitted leather coat. "Yeah. Of course." He started for the door.

"One more thing," Kevin said, stopping him. Turning, Darus eyed him suspiciously. "Human Vampire…?" The question just came out. He hadn't really planned it and wasn't even sure why he'd asked it, or even what he was asking.

"Yeah?" Darus replied slowly.

"That's what you are right? What you claim to be?" He added quickly. He definitely wasn't conceding to the reality of the Living Vampire.

Darus shrugged. "That's one name for it."

"Can you pick out others of your kind?"

"I guess. Why would I though? If someone doesn't realize they're an HV it's not my problem."

"How would you know?"

Darus' gray eyes narrowed. "Why do you care? Are you on some kind of Sang hunt?"

Sang…? Oh, as in blood.

Obviously Darus didn't share Lohr's opinion of Kevin's supposed Human Vampire status. "No. But maybe I should be. So, how…?"

"Sangs smell different, and there are a few common physical traits among Vamps who don't know…" Darus trailed off, studying him. Something resembling understanding suddenly flashed across his face, and he grinned. "Hey, well good luck with that." He pulled a cigarette from his coat pocket and held it up in question. "You mind? I could really use a smoke."

It was like they were all in on some inside joke to fuck with him. Lohr, Darus, Angel. "Go ahead. Hopefully I won't be seeing you again."

"Don't worry, Detective. The feeling's mutual."

After Darus left the building, Kevin returned to his desk and sat down wearily. It was late, and he should be heading home, but he needed to accomplish something first. He'd gotten absolutely nowhere with his investigation. A few cops still milled about the station, but it was otherwise quiet.
 

Lying next to his keyboard was a large sealed envelope with a sticky note attached.
"Developed these from negatives found in Lohr Varius' warehouse. Thought you might find them interesting. Johnson."

Using his finger to slice open the seal, he pulled out three pictures.

All of the photos they had only showed Lohr's model. She was in these as well, but someone else was with her. It was a man, thin, with dark hair. His face wasn't visible in any of the photos. Holding the photo close to his face, Kevin squinted. It could be Lohr, but it might not be.

Enlarging the photo wouldn't help either. In two of the photos, the man had his back to the camera. In the other, his face was turned away. Someone would need to recognize him, someone close to him. It wouldn't be admissible evidence of course, but it would be
something
. Right now he had nothing.

If he could put a name to a missing face, not only would he have another vampire to put away, he'd be one step closer to figuring out what happened to Lohr's unidentified victim.

He immediately thought of Angel. If anyone could identify this man—besides Lohr or possibly Armand—it was that beauty. Luckily, she was scheduled to come in the next day.

Spreading the photos on his desk, he fired up his computer and logged into the FBI Missing Person Database. At this point, he'd memorized the model's face but kept the pictures out for reference. Most of the missing women in the database looked so young. Many were probably runaways, and he had come across enough of them in his police career to know that rarely ended well. Even if they weren't raped and murdered in some abandoned building or back alleyway, drugs and prostitution often became their reality.

In Lohr's photo, the victim looked about twenty—a little old to be a runaway. They'd been looking at missing persons aged sixteen to twenty-four just in case their estimate of her age was off. It wasn't difficult for a sixteen-year-old girl to look twenty. Disturbing but not difficult.

When they'd first discovered the photos and decided the woman was likely dead, Kevin had wondered why she had never been identified. Lohr's art was supposedly famous. The photos were never displayed though, and the painted versions were distorted enough she was no longer recognizable.

For two hours he went though photo after photo and once again came up empty. He shoved the mouse away and rubbed his fatigued eyes. Shit, he needed sleep. Or coffee.

This was turning out to be one of the more frustrating cases he'd worked in a while. Not to mention weird. He needed a name. A name or a body. Preferably both. And he wasn't going to give up until he found one or the other.

A cup of stale coffee in hand, he returned to his desk. Expanding the ages from fourteen to twenty-seven, the steady "click-click" of his mouse as he sifted through photo after photo like a drip on a leaking faucet.

His eyelids began to sag. He forced them to lift. Chugging down coffee sludge, he kept clicking until his finger ached. He knew he needed to sleep. He knew he shouldn't ignore his body's desperate cry for rest, but he couldn't stop clicking. Lackadaisical was one thing he had never been accused of being.

Just like his father, who'd kept chasing down a suspect while in the middle of a heart attack. If he'd stopped for five minutes to call for help, he'd probably still be alive. Instead, they found his body crumpled on top of the handcuffed suspect.

He felt his head droop and jerked it up. The images on the screen were beginning to merge together, faces became fuzzy blobs. And names? Forget it. They were one blended, blurry mess.

He laid his head on the table and closed his eyes. A few hours of sleep, and he'd be back at it. Driving was out of the question when he was this exhausted. He'd pushed it once and ended up falling asleep and smashing into a tree.

Of course it wasn't the worst thing that had happened because he fell asleep when he shouldn't. At least then the only victims were his nose and car.

His last thoughts before drifting off were of Angel. Would that blond bombshell have any answers? Would she share them? He found himself smiling at the thought of seeing her again and immediately reprimanded himself for doing so. It didn't matter how attractive he found her, she was a
person of interest.
Any feelings she stirred in him needed to be squelched and fast.

* * * *

Darus couldn't get out of the police station fast enough, lighting a cigarette before he hit the sidewalk. He needed a drink after that nonsense. And double strength deodorant. Sitting in the interrogation room made him sweat like a fucking pig.

He felt a little guilty for turning his fellow Vamps over to the cops. But he had a feeling it was the only reason he was still in his own clothes and not an orange jumpsuit. Besides, they shouldn't have anything to hide. He hadn't lied about the participants in Lohr's funhouse games being willing. Shit, they were usually eager beavers. Being willing wasn't the problem, being a
Victim
was. Eve had been more than willing.

He'd smoked his cigarette down to the filter, so he lit another one.

He couldn't believe the detective was a Sang. What a mind fuck that had been. He would've never noticed if the cop hadn't said something. Someone must've called him on it. Had to be Lohr. Or maybe Angel. Shit, or both. Those two were always trying to root out fellow Vamps. With completely different motives. Angel tried to enlighten her fellow Sang, encouraging them to be Zen and share good energy and such. Lohr wanted an army of Vamps calling him Master or Father, and praising him for his Vampire awesomeness.