La Luxure: Discover Your Blood Lust (30 page)

"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
4pm. 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 75mph, 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 100 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 40 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 12 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.