The Nightlife: Paris (The Nightlife Series)

by Travis Luedke

  Michelle donned her rose glasses and ignored Nancy, occupied with Parisian fashion magazines. “I have been away for too long. Is all different.”

  He couldn’t care less about fashion. Michelle shopped for him. She had impeccable taste. “I’m sure we’ll have plenty of time for shopping.” They had all the time in the world. When she shared her blood to save his life she explained that he would live a very very long time. With her.

  “Oui, but I don’t like the new styles.” She looked to him with alarm. “I have become American. Quelle horreur!” She sounded as if she’d caught a venereal disease.

  “I don’t think that’s possible.” He smiled his first genuine smile in several nights. Michelle, Americanized? Never.

  She snorted. “I have been away from home too long.”

  He didn’t want to think about how long they would be together, master to servant, intimately bonded, together but alone. He missed Anastasia so much. She had married him scant hours before her untimely death. He could still recall the scent of her strawberry kiwi hair, the feel of her warm soft body tangled between him and Michelle. How long would this grief last? I miss my wife.

  The plane landed right on schedule. Poor Nancy stared at them, biting her lip as they de-planed. He read her desperate need to connect with them before they walked out of her life forever. He turned to her, inches from her expectant face. “It’s better this way. You probably wouldn’t last very long with us, no one does. I know you want more, you want to know things, but I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

  He stroked her chin, kissed her on the lips and let his fingers trail down her body in a parting caress. Michelle waved goodbye and blew her a kiss. Nancy thought they were playing with her, flirtatious yet condescending. She didn’t understand Aaron was dead serious.

  This seemed the worst aspect of his new life with Michelle. People had a constant attraction to them, craved proximity and intimacy. But they couldn’t subject innocents to the horrible reality of the inevitable addiction that came with any kind of prolonged exposure to their bite. The effect of their venom was so powerful a person could be reduced to a bloodslave addict in minutes. It happened to Anastasia their first night together.

  * * * *

  Chapter 2

  A courtesy shuttle dropped them off at the Hilton Paris Hotel, Charles De Gaulle Airport – only a five minute hop from their terminal. Their timely arrival left them an entire hour before sunrise. Michelle decided this was the perfect time for Aaron to learn about life as a Parisien.

  She allowed him to handle all the accommodations. She considered it a rite of passage for all tourists to experience the wonders of French hospitality firsthand. She curled her arm around Aaron’s and smiled brightly at Maximillian Sinclair, the hotel night manager.

  A spike of Aaron’s irritation bled through their psychic bond as he argued with the manager. “No, we can’t come back to check in at ten! Just give us any room you have!”

  Maximillian flicked through several options on his screen and grinned wide. “Certainement Monsieur. There is a deluxe suite available, the Executive Room, with free drinks and food at the Executive Lounge.”

  “Yes, yes. Whatever.” Aaron was losing patience fast.

  Without a hint of apology, the manager continued. “The suite is four hundred thirty dollars per night.”

  “Of course it is.” Aaron fixed his formidable gaze on Maximillian Sinclair. “Do I look like a fool?”

  “No, Monsieur.” He replied with all sincerity, completely unfazed.

  “Right. So why are you trying to charge me double the rate of the room I reserved?”

  “Pardon, the Executive Room is a deluxe accommodation. I cannot adjust the rate without a reservation.” He spoke as though conveying the most obvious thing in the world.

  “I have a reservation.”

  “Oui, for a double occupancy with a ten a.m. check in. This is not the Executive Room.”

  “Fine. Just give me the Executive Room. We don’t have the time to find another hotel right now.”

  “Certainement. If you must check in immediately, there is a surcharge of fifty dollars for early check-in.”

  “Yes, I want the room immediately, right now, right this minute.” Aaron turned to Michelle, “There’s a fee for early check-in, what a surprise. I never would have guessed.”

  “At least there is a pool,” she offered, enjoying every second he squirmed with impatience. He was very sensitive to the sunrise. He had a bad experience with it in the Vegas desert.

  “Pardon, Madam, the pool is closed for renovations.”

  “Of course it is,” Aaron deadpanned.

  Michelle lost control at this point. She leaned into Aaron’s chest, hand over her mouth in an attempt to stifle her laughter. He glared at her suspiciously, as if she was in on this conspiracy to drive him mad with impatience.

  After signing here and there and here again, he finally received a pair of plastic key cards and a room number. Maximillian handed them over with the reverence of an Academy Awards ceremony. After all Aaron had gone through, the room key did seem like a valuable prize.

  Maximillian addressed her as they walked away from the service counter. “Il est américain?”

  She answered with an apologetic smile, “Bien sûr.” Of course.

  Maximillian shook his head and sighed. “Je vous prie de bien vouloir accepter mes sincères condoléances.” Please accept my sincere condolences. She couldn’t help but laugh out loud.

  Aaron radiated fury. “Yes, I am American, and I understand some French. I just don’t speak it.”

  She steered him away by the arm. His anxiety at the approaching sunrise had put him on edge. “What was that crap about condolences?”

  She smirked. “He said welcome to Paris.”

  “I’m sure that’s exactly what he meant.”

  She pulled on his arm, guiding him to the elevator. The massive glass-roofed atrium flanked by full-grown trees distracted his attention. “Is this a hotel or a mall?”

  “We have not left the airport.” She tugged on his arm again. “Come.”

  And he did. He always obeyed her commands. Not that he had a choice. She held the power to command his will. When she told him to jump off the side of the building, he did, whether he wanted to or not.

  Aaron accepted this fact of life within their first week together. Sharing her blood saved his life, but it came at the cost of obedience – one of the reasons she loved him so much. Having such a majestic and powerful creature at her command was intoxicating.

  She felt Aaron’s anxiety about the sunrise, and the encroaching lethargy that always hit about this time. By sunrise, they would both be in bed, comatose to the world, until the sun retreated back over the horizon.

  “We need to get movin’. I don’t like cutting it this close.” Busy gawking at everything, he didn’t notice the opportunity gliding down the hallway towards them.

  Michelle knew they had just enough time for a quick bite before bed. She slid up on the target and engaged the woman with a question. “Quelle heure est-il?” What time is it?

  “C’est …” The girl’s response trailed off unfinished, snared by Michelle.

  Aaron finally caught on and surrounded the prey to close in ranks. They tagged her front and back, a French brunette sandwich. She tasted juicy sweet, young, fresh, and her adrenaline spiked her blood with such wonderful spice.

  Michelle understood how the legends of old could paint vampires as vicious killers. She had seen and experienced that life with her master many years ago. The rush of a victim’s fear was like no other. But she refused to live that way. She respected her food. She respected all life, and she would not cause further death if she could avoid it.

  The girl sighed and quivered at the two-pronged assault. In seconds she started grinding her hips against Michelle’s leg, humping in time with the waves of her orgasm. She made an adorable little grunting sound as she wet her jeans with her release. They bot
h relinquished their bites simultaneously, but continued to support her frail body until she regained her equilibrium.

  They excused themselves, each of them kissing her rose-blushed cheeks platonically. They left her standing in the hallway flustered and dazed.

  * * * *

  Mike Jamison touched down in Paris just after dawn, two hours after the vampires arrived. He enjoyed the commercial flight they could not. It cost an arm and a leg for the last minute booking, but well worth the price to stay on their trail.

  He had a fairly easy time following them. They obviously didn’t know they were being tailed. While in the air over the Atlantic, he called several hotels in Paris and encountered their registration at the Hilton. He promptly reserved a room for himself in the same.

  While eating chicken cordon bleu and sipping vodka and cranberry juice, provided courtesy of the airline, he read through the New York Times. Another piece of the Aaron-Michelle puzzle conveniently fell into place. He glanced quickly at an article about the murders of two NYPD detectives six weeks ago. The high profile investigation remained unsolved, no suspects. Reading between the lines, they didn’t have shit to go on. The brief mention of one peculiar detail stood out. One of the detectives died from having his esophagus torn out. This stopped Mike’s roving eye. He recognized the name, Scott Konowicz. He’d seen that name before.

  It clicked in his mind like a lightning bolt straight to the chest. He jumped up in his seat with the physical jolt. His hands shook and his heart raced as he retrieved the background check on Aaron Pilan from his briefcase. Holy shit. Detective Scott Konowicz filed a missing persons report on Aaron Pilan dated five days prior to his violent death. There are so very few coincidences in this life.

  These two left a trail of bodies everywhere they went. Two dead cops in New York and six more bodies in Vegas. Each time they fled the city – to escape the heat from authorities? The investigation hit a dead end in New York, and to the best of his knowledge, authorities didn’t know anything in Vegas. So, what drew them to Paris?

  He didn’t think Aaron had ever been to Paris, so this must have something to do with Michelle. He didn’t have a thing on her, not one piece of paper. Didn’t even know her last name. Again, he wished he had the audio to accompany the video footage he’d found of the vampires in Vegas. He needed more answers, and the missing audio was a huge hole in his intel. But after seeing these lethal creatures in action, he wasn’t foolish enough to risk going anywhere near them. He’d have to bug their hotel room as soon as possible.

  * * * *

  Aaron opened his eyes to the sound of Michelle brushing her teeth. She generally woke up before him, a few minutes before the sun completely dropped below the horizon, in the grey twilight. He slept in until darkness. Michelle’s fabulous butt cheek peeked out from her nightie as she bent over the bathroom sink. He pictured running his hands all over her beautiful assets while he pounded her from behind.

  She glanced over her shoulder with a spark of arousal in her emerald eyes. She picked up on his imagery and stepped out the bathroom door with a fang-filled gleaming white smile of anticipation. Her desire leached through their psychic link. Yummy, wakeup sex. She was on him in a flash of movement.

  “I am so happy to show you my homeland.” She slid into his arms, soft, warm, inviting.

  He kissed her, a wonderful minty-fresh taste. “We need to get out of this hotel. Don’t you have an apartment or something?”

  He sensed his question struck a sour chord, like the displaced needle scratching across the vinyl of their love song. Their interlude screeched to a halt.

  “I have lived in Paris most of my life …” He felt the wall go up in her mind cutting off his access to her thoughts. Her words were cautious, measured. “Oui. I have a home … the home of my family. I don’t spend much time there. Is filled with memories of things long gone.”

  “Okay. Whenever you’re ready to talk, that’s fine with me, but ... I mean, here we are traveling the world together, and I still don’t know your full name. That’s kinda weird.”

  “You don’t know … is difficult. There is much to tell you. I promise I will soon.”

  “I’m not going anywhere. No matter what you have to say, I’m here to stay.” He gave her a devious smile. “Besides, where would I go? You own my ass.”

  It was like sticking a spiked barb into her rigid emotional control. Her irritation flared at his jab. “I am not that way! I do not like to force you!”

  He hit the button on that one. They both avoided the inconvenient truth, but he liked to remind her once in a while. She did indeed own his ass.

  “I’m sorry. I’m just … I shouldn’t have said that. You know I love you.”

  He hugged her tight, burying his face in her delicious golden hair. What the hell is wrong with me? Something had changed with Ana’s death in Las Vegas. He couldn’t seem to get back onto the same track with Michelle.

  Until a few days ago he had happily accepted his place in Michelle’s world. He loved her like no other, how could he not? She seduced him with every waking moment in her presence. His own personal sex goddess. But Aaron would never truly be her equal. When push came to shove, she was the boss.

  She melted into his kiss. Her acceptance of his love and apology flowed across their bond, but her mind remained tightly closed against his access. Such a complex creature, he didn’t truly understand her at times. The waters of her emotions ran deep, and he was only privy to the splashes on the surface.

  “Soon mon amour. I will have answers for you soon. Can you please be patient with me?”

  As her kisses penetrated his melancholy, he murmured his agreement. No staying mad with Michelle. She had a way of obliterating all else with her affections. And nothing good came from arguing with the boss.

  “J'ai un faim de loup!”

  She was always hungry, hungry like the wolf. He wondered if that funky little 80’s song by Duran Duran had been inspired by a starving French vampire.

  “Let’s go! I will show you the wonderful Paris Nightlife!” She pulled him up from the bed.

  * * * *

  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…