CARNAL APPETITE
BY
Celeste Anwar
(c) copyright Celeste Anwar, April 2003
Cover art by Eliza Black, (c) copyright April 2003
New Concepts Publishing
4729 Humphreys Rd.
Lake Park, GA 31636
www.newconceptspublishing.com
Chapter One
The heavy bass pounded the air of the club as lights flashed to the deafening techno beat. Glowsticks twirled in the semi-dark. Dancers twisted in sensuous movements to the throbbing tempo that suffused their limbs. The floor was thick with scantily clothed, sweaty men and women rolling on X and other erotic drugs.
Curling wisps of smoke and artificial mist hung over the crowd, clinging in the half darkness like a lover’s touch.
It was Saturday night--and it was crowded. The club, Inferno, was the most popular night spot in the city since the blue law had been lifted. For the unwary, the naive, it was sometimes the last stop they ever made.
Across from the dance floor, shielded from the flashing lights and the near ear-splitting music, tables stood for those resting from the dance--or those interested in pursuing more carnal delights.
Cloaked in shadow, Raoul Etienne followed the movements of the dancers, two fingers of scotch sitting untouched before him on the scarred, wooden table. His gaze unwavering, he fingered the rim of his glass, watching one woman in particular—the same woman he’d come to see night after night. Clara. He’d learned her name the previous night when a friend had called out to her. His ears had perked immediately to the sound of her voice, as husky and seductive as its owner. Raoul caught glimpses of her through the crowd as she danced and tossed her hair, two shades too red to be natural but mesmerizing nonetheless.
He sensed movement to his left, and Navarre Lyssandro strode forth and sat beside him without a word. Navarre scowled as he followed the line of Raoul’s gaze. Raoul ignored him, unwilling to cease his vigil for a moment. He hadn’t since he’d discovered what had happened, and still that bastard had managed to mark her a second time. He would not allow it again.
“You’ve been here all week, just watching her. How long will this continue?” Navarre asked.
Though the music drowned out Navarre’s words to other listeners, Raoul heard him just as easily as if there’d been no music at all. Raoul didn’t spare him a glance. “It is the third night. The third mark.”
“You are certain?”
“I can smell it, practically taste it on my tongue.” He paused a moment, then said, “She does not know Danior has marked her.”
Navarre sniffed the air, looking at the dance floor. Past the sweat of many bodies, the smoke, the liquor, he caught the faint scent that he had missed before. Navarre was silent a moment, contemplating the weight of this discovery. “Better you take her against her will than he?”
Raoul turned fierce eyes on his friend. “At least she would not die,” he growled, menacingly low, then remembered to whom he was talking. He forced his raging blood to calm as if thrust into an icy river. It did no good to be angry at his friend--he was only pointing out the obvious. But if Danior Blake took her again tonight, she would cross over into the un-dead, into the festering world of the vampire. Already he saw her lagging endurance. He knew not how the vampire had enticed her here, but it was moot. The damage had been done.
“You would have her as your femme entretenue? You know she could never be your mate. She is not of our kind.”
“I need no permission to keep a woman, nor do you need remind she is not louve.” Not wolf.
Navarre remained stone faced regarding him. He leaned forward, propped his elbows on the table and cocked his head toward Raoul. “I know your true motives, mon ami. I should stop you. It’s foolhardy coming to his lair to take the woman.”
“That never stopped us before.” Raoul picked up his glass and threw back its contents in one
BY
Celeste Anwar
(c) copyright Celeste Anwar, April 2003
Cover art by Eliza Black, (c) copyright April 2003
New Concepts Publishing
4729 Humphreys Rd.
Lake Park, GA 31636
www.newconceptspublishing.com
Chapter One
The heavy bass pounded the air of the club as lights flashed to the deafening techno beat. Glowsticks twirled in the semi-dark. Dancers twisted in sensuous movements to the throbbing tempo that suffused their limbs. The floor was thick with scantily clothed, sweaty men and women rolling on X and other erotic drugs.
Curling wisps of smoke and artificial mist hung over the crowd, clinging in the half darkness like a lover’s touch.
It was Saturday night--and it was crowded. The club, Inferno, was the most popular night spot in the city since the blue law had been lifted. For the unwary, the naive, it was sometimes the last stop they ever made.
Across from the dance floor, shielded from the flashing lights and the near ear-splitting music, tables stood for those resting from the dance--or those interested in pursuing more carnal delights.
Cloaked in shadow, Raoul Etienne followed the movements of the dancers, two fingers of scotch sitting untouched before him on the scarred, wooden table. His gaze unwavering, he fingered the rim of his glass, watching one woman in particular—the same woman he’d come to see night after night. Clara. He’d learned her name the previous night when a friend had called out to her. His ears had perked immediately to the sound of her voice, as husky and seductive as its owner. Raoul caught glimpses of her through the crowd as she danced and tossed her hair, two shades too red to be natural but mesmerizing nonetheless.
He sensed movement to his left, and Navarre Lyssandro strode forth and sat beside him without a word. Navarre scowled as he followed the line of Raoul’s gaze. Raoul ignored him, unwilling to cease his vigil for a moment. He hadn’t since he’d discovered what had happened, and still that bastard had managed to mark her a second time. He would not allow it again.
“You’ve been here all week, just watching her. How long will this continue?” Navarre asked.
Though the music drowned out Navarre’s words to other listeners, Raoul heard him just as easily as if there’d been no music at all. Raoul didn’t spare him a glance. “It is the third night. The third mark.”
“You are certain?”
“I can smell it, practically taste it on my tongue.” He paused a moment, then said, “She does not know Danior has marked her.”
Navarre sniffed the air, looking at the dance floor. Past the sweat of many bodies, the smoke, the liquor, he caught the faint scent that he had missed before. Navarre was silent a moment, contemplating the weight of this discovery. “Better you take her against her will than he?”
Raoul turned fierce eyes on his friend. “At least she would not die,” he growled, menacingly low, then remembered to whom he was talking. He forced his raging blood to calm as if thrust into an icy river. It did no good to be angry at his friend--he was only pointing out the obvious. But if Danior Blake took her again tonight, she would cross over into the un-dead, into the festering world of the vampire. Already he saw her lagging endurance. He knew not how the vampire had enticed her here, but it was moot. The damage had been done.
“You would have her as your femme entretenue? You know she could never be your mate. She is not of our kind.”
“I need no permission to keep a woman, nor do you need remind she is not louve.” Not wolf.
Navarre remained stone faced regarding him. He leaned forward, propped his elbows on the table and cocked his head toward Raoul. “I know your true motives, mon ami. I should stop you. It’s foolhardy coming to his lair to take the woman.”
“That never stopped us before.” Raoul picked up his glass and threw back its contents in one
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