The Nightlife: Paris (The Nightlife Series) (3 page)

Chapter 3

From the Hilton they took a taxi.  Michelle watched Aaron
closely as they rode through the streets.  He wasn’t overly focused on the
sights.  She wanted him to experience the wonders of this city she called home
for three quarters of a century.  She loved every street and every corner of
Paris.  She knew it intimately, like a lover who’s spent years exploring her
partner.

He sat in silence, watching the city pass by in all its
wonderful alienness, centuries of culture and architecture layered atop each
other.  Paris represented the center of her world.  It would always be home. 
No matter how many years she spent abroad, it always called her back.

Time had moved on, but it was still the same city underneath
it all.  Nothing had really changed in seventy years, not like it did with the
Germans.  To think of those times brought a chill to her bones and a shiver
down her spine.  She had purposely blocked out those memories.  Too much pain,
too many things she didn’t want to remember.

His mind occupied with dark painful thoughts, Aaron barely
noticed the city.  She read it all.  Wide open, he broadcast to her as he
recalled his last moments with his beautiful raven-haired bride.

Against Michelle’s express wishes, he’d taken Anastasia as a
bloodslave, his first.  Drugs, murder and mayhem soon followed in a downward
spiral of events.  They had awakened four nights ago to find their pet
kidnapped by Colombians.  The confrontation left no one standing.  Aaron’s
beautiful new bloodslave died in his arms, a casualty of circumstance.  His
guilt weighed heavily on his conscience.  He believed her death could have been
avoided if he had done things differently.

“She would not have lived long.  It was inevitable.”  Michelle
squeezed his hand.

“I know you’re right, but it doesn’t help.”

Aaron’s pain assaulted her through their linked minds,
raking her over broken glass.  She could block his intrusions, but not his
transmissions.  He forced her to live through his emotions when he failed to
contain them.  Ana’s death had hit him hard.  He now questioned everything
about himself and his life with her.  He had lost his complacency.

She tried to distract him.  “Look, this is the Pantheon.  It
was once a church.  They entombed the martyrs and poets there – Voltaire,
Rousseau, Victor Hugo.  France murders its best and brightest and then buries
them in a monument.”  She smirked as he shook his head at the irony.  “You can
see all of Paris from the dome, it’s wonderful.”

She pointed to the massive white stone columns and
bas-reliefs at the entryway to the monument.  He leaned over into her lap to
better see the column-ringed dome atop the structure as they drove past.  “I
will take you inside sometime.  It’s closed to visitors at night, but I know a
way in.”

Nothing in Paris remained closed to her for long.  She always
found her way in.  Even when the Germans ran the city with an iron fist, they
couldn’t keep her from going where she wanted.

She reached out to comfort Aaron as she had done so many
times before.  She relaxed as he unwound under her hands.  Better for her all
around with Aaron happy.  Their connection was far too intimate in this
respect.

She instructed the taxi driver to let them off at a gaudy
nightclub, with a garish neon sign blazing
Le
Jonc
.  The rhythmic thump of rave-style dance music reverberated out
into the street.

“This will be fun, come.”

* * * *

Aaron followed Michelle’s lead into the dark, noisy interior
of the club.  He didn’t really feel the music and hype.  His contemplative mood
persisted, thinking of his life, and Anastasia’s death.  He knew Michelle was
trying to draw him out of his shell, and he needed to feed, so…

She pulled him onto the dance floor, guiding him towards
their usual target-rich environment, groups of women dancing together.  Like
pagan witches of old, the ladies moved in a circle celebrating the sacred
feminine, no phalluses allowed.  These groups made for an intimate setting and
some quick, easy nips.

He snickered.  Michelle slipped right past the shield wall
of female flesh and dragged him with her.  The girls always let him in.  Other
men tried to no avail, but the ladies never turned him away with Michelle on
his arm.  Michelle picked out her target immediately, a voluptuous black woman
with golden-dyed afro curls.  The two women rubbed together in time to the music.

His attention floated across the group as he stood swaying to
the beat, feeling the flow of the techno-house blend.  He floated there for a
time.  He knew he should feed, but he was too unfocused to pick a target. 
Luckily, one had chosen him.

A girl slid up and boldly took his hand. 
“
Voulez-vous danser avec moi?
”

No point in asking, she was already dancing with him.  She
had a sweet girlish smile, slight dimples.  He smiled back and tried to focus
on feeding.  She made it easy, sliding up close.  He embraced her, and she bit
her lip in anticipation, adorable. 
Why do they all have to be so damn
adorable?

When his hand roved over her ass, she began taking similar
liberties.  Without trying he seduced her.  The scent of her arousal flooded
his senses, the pheromones signaling her readiness.  He could feel her
excitement and increased heart rate.  Her pulse seemed to vibrate through her
skin, a beating drum in his arms.

The girl was bold.  She reached down between his legs to
measure his worth.  Another dimpled smile blossomed at her discovery. 
These
French girls are pretty forward
.

“
Venez-vous
ici souvent?
” 
Do you come here often?
  She was hitting him
with pickup lines.

“Uh … I don’t speak much French …”

He felt like an idiot.  And what the hell was he doing
trying to start a conversation? 
Just bite the girl and move on.
  But
then he made the mistake of checking her out more closely.

Chestnut-brown hair and beautiful hazel eyes looked up at
him expectantly.  Her perky little breasts spiked visibly through her tight
white top.  Her barely-there jean skirt rode up her hips to expose shapely
legs.  He found her thong strap protruding just above the low cut of her
skirt.  She crowded in tight up against his body, gliding her hips to the beat.
 He watched her eyes dilate in arousal.

On the edge of his consciousness he sensed Michelle watching
them.  She fed from her second donor.  Her concern for him bled through their
connection.  Michelle provided the kick he needed.  He bit down on the kitten
in his arms.  She latched onto him tightly, trying to meld her flesh with his. 
She declared her enjoyment with sexy little gasps as she passionately played
with him, biting his neck and collar bone in return.

“
Aye!  A la vache!  Je t’ aime bien!
”

The French could be confusing.  Michelle said the same thing
when she declared her love.  But in her mind the girl meant
she liked him
very much
.  A passionate girl indeed.  The problem was he liked her too.

She went off with her orgasm, climbing atop him to wrap her
arms and legs into a tight squeeze about his torso.  She coiled around him
intimately, her hands exploring everywhere as he brought her moaning and crying
out.

“
Oui!  Oui! 
Oui!
”

Almost loud enough to be heard over the music.  As she started
to hit her second orgasm, he remembered himself, and let go his bite.  He
almost fed too long.  She collapsed in his arms, slumped into his body,
breathing erratically with sweet groaning noises.  Such a passionate little
thing.  He was really starting to like this girl.

He dug into her mind to learn more.  Cécile Dubois, twenty
four years old and recently hired as an accountant at a manufacturing plant in
Paris.  She shared an apartment with two other girls who all attended
university together.  Single, Cécile considered Aaron a prime candidate for her
next boyfriend.  She was already heavily fixated on him.

A fresh college graduate, her life had just begun.  And if
he acted on his desires he might end this vibrant life he held in his arms.  Those
possessive urges were there again.  He wanted her blood, her body, her
devotion.  This was how it started with Anastasia.  She had been special,
gifted, but the urge was there just the same to take Cécile, to own her body
and soul.

He snapped out of the spell.  It wasn’t right to do this, but
he wanted to.  The damn Predator again.  It had manifested during the New York
massacre.  Something animalistic and wicked birthed in his psyche when Michelle
used her compulsion in a desperate cry for help.  A predatory personality had
taken over.  His memories of the event were fuzzy, but the aftereffects
remained.  The Predator held a place in his mind.  Occasionally it surfaced
with its base instincts to feed, hunt, kill, defend, and this new aspect,
taking on ‘pets’, bloodslaves.

Realizing the source of these urges, he tried to dismiss
them.  But ignoring the Predator was dangerous.  The Predator’s instincts for
survival and defense were the main reason he stood there alive and well, with
this wonderful woman in his arms.

The Predator clouded his mind with desires to take Cécile to
the bathroom and give her what she wanted.  He envisioned her svelte little
body impaled up against the wall as she screamed her pleasure while he bit her
over and over.  She would make a delightful bloodslave, serving him in every
way, with every part of her body and soul.  The Predator recognized her
personality type, a match for its urges.

Cécile regained her wits and brought him out of his internal
struggle with his alter ego.  “
Tu
es magnifique!
”

“Well, I think you’re pretty amazing too.”  He smiled at
her, and her affectionate nature put her in further danger.

She started kissing him passionately, tongue, lips, teeth, a
little wildcat.  He had her up in his arms, hands cupped around her ass, her
legs spread wide and wrapped around him.  He could take her right there, she
wouldn’t care.  She wanted it.  Too adorable as her kinky chestnut curls
bounced with every move, her puffy cheeks rouge in a post-orgasm flush.  He was
fast becoming attached to his new toy.

She dropped the line of lines with a sly smile on her lips,
“
Voulez-vous couchez avec moi,
ce soir?
” 
Do you want to sleep with me tonight?

It didn’t get much more direct than that.  “I wish I spoke
French, ah ...
No parlez Français.”

“
Tu es américain, oui?
”

He nodded.  “Yes, unfortunately.”

Her massive smile retracted to a curious grin.  He followed
her mind as she realized he was a tourist.  She wanted a real relationship,
someone that would be there for her.  He wanted the same.  But his version
would have her as a bloodslave, at his nightly beck and call, giving all her
love, devotion, heart and body to him.  He would rule her every waking moment.

“
Excusez-moi
,
my English is not good.”  She gave him the Gallic shrug.  He’d seen it so often
from Michelle, that flippant
whatever
thing she did with her shoulders.

“There’s plenty of things we can do that don’t require
speaking …”  He smirked, wishing she understood him more clearly.

“
Entre deux cœurs
qui s’aiment, nul besoin de paroles.
”  She quoted from some famous
French poet, Desbordes-Valmore.  
Two hearts in love need no words
.

From her thoughts he caught the double entendre, there was
much they could enjoy together without words.  She understood him quite well.

Michelle cut into the middle of his romantic-enslavement
moment.  “There you are!  I have been looking everywhere!”  She stepped up and
kissed him on the lips, an unmistakable claim to property.

It wasn’t really a jealousy thing.  Theirs was not a
monogamous relationship.  Even when he married Anastasia, Michelle had never
been jealous, not that he detected.  She intended to extract him from this
woman tied to his torso.

He didn’t want to be extracted.  “Michelle, this is my new
friend.”  He almost slipped up by saying her name aloud, forgetting he’d
plucked it from her mind.

Cécile looked deeply disturbed by this fabulous blonde who
obviously had her fingers into the American who she’d just invited to her bed. 
“
Je m’appelle Cécile.
” 

She relinquished her leg lock around him as he released his
grip on her ass.  She straightened her jean skirt, and the girls exchanged
cheek peck greetings.

“
Enchante de faire votre connaissance
.” 
Michelle greeted her formally, and then she got right down
to it.  “
Tu l'adorez?
” 
You like him?

Cécile looked embarrassed for a moment, then nodded and
smiled with those cute little dimples.  “
Oui. 
Je crois qu'il m'adore aussi.”
 
Yes, I think he likes me too.

She winked at him.  She was
so
damn cute.  He wanted to
take her in his arms and bite her until the sun came up, until she was truly
his. 
For life.

Michelle dropped the bomb on her mercilessly. 
“
Voulez-vous
avoir un ménage à trois?
”

Cécile visibly jolted with the suggestion that she would
like to have a threesome.  She stepped away from him with her lip curled up in
snarl as if she’d just learned he was diseased.