Hunger Pangs

by Joy Demorra

  Fiddildy made a drawn-out sound in the back of his throat, waving his hand vaguely. “Ehhh, married’s a strong word for what they are, sir. More like… stuck with each other. Doesn’t stop them messing around with other folk, not that I’m judging,” Fiddildy said, clearly doing so. “She was a local village girl when they got together. Back when we was a village, o’course.”

  “How long ago was that?”

  Fiddildy blew air noisily between his lips. “Got to be over a century now. Caused quite the scandal when it happened too. You know all those laws about vampires? No drinking from humans and all that lark?”

  Nathan nodded. Everyone knew the vampires' fangs had been capped when they’d agreed to join the Empire. Some had taken it quite literally and encased their fangs in gold, turning their disenfranchisement into a status symbol. No one could do petty elitism like vampires.

  “Well,” Fiddildy carried on, “the young Master’s always been a bit impulsive. Nice lad when all’s said and done, but… impulsive. Landed himself up in front of the Crown Court. Pled guilty to an illegal transformation.”

  Nathan whistled low under his breath. The act of creating a new vampire without dispensation from the Crown was a crime deemed punishable by staking. “What happened?”

  “His father intervened. Said he’d keep the lad under his thumb. It helped that she survived and pleaded on his behalf; said it was a crime of passion, and she’d begged him to do it because they couldn’t stand the thought of being apart. Shame that didn’t last.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Fiddildy cast a dark look up at the castle. “It means they fight like bloody cats and dogs, sir. Only worse, ‘cause when cats and dogs fight it don’t bloody hail and lightning at the same time. We had to replace the glass in the skylight the last time. But the nobles seem to find it fun. It’s all they talk about.”

  “I see.”

  “Well, at any rate, there’s no hurry to decide,” Fiddildy said, peering over Nathan’s shoulder at the invitation in his hand. “Excepting, of course, the party is this weekend, sir, and her Ladyship will be waiting on a response. And it might reflect badly on the rest of us too, sir, if you didn’t go…”

  “Fine.” Nathan sighed. He jabbed the card in Fiddildy’s direction. “I’ll think about it. But I make no promises.”

  “Very good, sir,” Fiddildy said diplomatically. “But if you just so happen to leave your dress uniform out in the office in the morning, sir, I’ll make sure it gets pressed in time—” Nathan flashed a warning glance, and the lieutenant took a prudent step back. “I’ll just go pop the kettle on again, shall I?”

  “Thank you, Fiddildy,” Nathan replied, handing his empty mug up and looking down at the invitation in his hands as he nursed that curious pang in his chest again.

  So, the Viscount was already taken, then, however unhappily. Well, what did it matter? It wasn’t as though Nathan was interested in him. But it was good to know all the same. It meant he could put any further fanciful notions firmly out of his mind, vampiric glamour be damned.

  So why did he feel so disappointed?

  Sighing, he rubbed the sore muscles in the back of his neck and hauled himself to his feet. Well, he knew one thing for sure, he wasn’t going to the damned ball. Fête. Gala. Whatever!

  He was very nearly absolutely one hundred percent almost certain he wasn’t going…

  CHAPTER TEN

  “Oh! Captain Northland, I’m so glad you could come!”

  Nathan, who was definitely not looking for a certain Viscount, turned to find a plump middle-aged woman bearing down on him through the foyer. She moved in a way that could only be described as purposeful, cutting her way through the milling guests like a ship’s prow cutting through seafoam—which, incidentally, was also the color of her dress.

  “Forgive me, Madame.” Chafing against the lines of his dress uniform, Nathan offered her a stiff bow. “You appear to have the better of me.”

  “Oh, madame.” Laughing jovially, the elaborate ostrich feathers in her hair wobbled alarmingly. “That’s what I like about you military types. So very polite. And tall too.” She regarded him thoughtfully. “Very tall. But no need to stand on ceremony here, my dear. Not when I have already decided that we shall be the firmest of friends.”

  Nathan smiled down at her. “Then might I enquire as to the name of my newfound friend?”

  She blinked up at him, then clasped a hand to her mouth as she laughed. “Oh, my good heavens,” she tittered, flapping a hand at him. “You must think me a terrible goose. Forgive me, I am so used to everyone knowing who I am. My name is Mrs. Collins. I’m sort of the unofficial welcoming committee for the island.”

  Wondering why that name sounded familiar, Nathan inclined his head again. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Collins.”

  “The pleasure is entirely mine; I assure you,” Mrs. Collins trilled. Her cheerful expression turned suddenly serious as she reached out to place a consoling hand on his right arm. “Oh, but my dear Captain, I was unaware you were still injured…”

  “Ah,” Nathan glanced down at his left arm, which was once again braced to his front in a black sling cloth. Fiddildy had found it for him, somehow matching the exact shade of the dress sash tied around his waist. It looked perfectly respectable, but Nathan railed against needing it, even though he’d known he’d overdone over the last two weeks. But he’d been doing so well… “An old injury,” he lied, offering her an awkward smile. “The joint is prone to spraining, I’m afraid.”

  “Well, we can’t be having that,” Mrs. Collins replied in a matronly manner as she took Nathan by his right arm and led him through the marble foyer. “I won’t hear of it. I’ll send my Ree round first thing with a compress. She’s very good at such things, you know.”

  “Oh, uh, that’s very kind of you,” Nathan replied, wondering just how such a flighty-looking woman could have such a commanding grip. “But I’m sure it won’t be necessary…” he trailed off as they entered the great hall, lost for words.

  The room itself was impressive: old and grand with glittering candelabras and a vaulted ceiling that disappeared into darkness. Just the way a vampire castle ought to be. But it was the sheer size of the congregation that took Nathan’s breath away.

  Or, more precisely, the smell of them.

  It was universally known that werewolves abhorred perfumes, which were, in their own way, a kind of subterfuge, masking the person beneath in a cloud of cloying oils and musks that assaulted the senses and made Nathan want to rub his nose on the ground until the itching stopped. But no amount of sweet powders and oily musks could hide the scent of so many bodies pressed into one space, a heady mix of sweat and adrenaline pouring off of them.

  It’s the vampires, Nathan realized as the humans fluttered with nervous arousal under the attention of their undead counterparts like colorful moths drawn to well-dressed flames. They weren’t frightened—fear had its own acrid scent—but some latent survival instinct still remembered what it was like to be afraid of the dark and all the creatures who lingered therein. And they were enjoying every minute of it. It was obscenely intoxicating, and Nathan felt what little remained of the wolf inside him sit back on its metaphysical haunches and salivate. It was all he could do not to scent the air.

  “And you must meet the Grosskopf twins when you get the chance,” Mrs. Collins carried on, oblivious, as she gestured to another set of beautiful faces in the crowd. “Though I don’t suppose you’ve had much time to socialize, what with all the improvements you’ve been making to the guardhouse. You are to be commended, Captain. I’ve never seen our brave recruits’ buttons look quite so shiny. Very impressive. Did I mention I have four daughters?”

  “Uhh…”

  Mrs. Collins swept him forward, calling, “Girls! Oh, girls!” She waved at a gaggle of giggling riotous color. “Come here and say hello to Captain Northland. Captain Northland,” she said as they surrounded him, “these are my girls. My eldest,
Lydia. Next are Sophie and Ree. And my youngest, oh… Where is Kitty?” A be-ribboned head turned over near the dessert table, and Mrs. Collins let out an exasperated breath. “Kitty, come away from the comestibles at once.”

  Grabbing a bowl from the table, the girl reluctantly joined her sisters.

  When they all were assembled, Mrs. Collins completed her greeting. “Girls, this is Captain Northland. Say hello, girls.”

  “Hello, girls,” Kitty quipped blithely around a spoonful of ice cream, which caused her sisters to roll their eyes and giggle by turns.

  Nathan took to her immediately.

  “I’m just going to fetch some punch,” Mrs. Collins said. “Captain, would you care for some?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “Oh, what am I thinking, of course, you would! Girls, keep the Captain company.”

  Stranded and bound by the rules of polite social etiquette, Nathan found himself the sole attention of four sets of bright inquisitive eyes. “Ladies, how do you do?” He bowed stiffly, keeping a mindful hand on the hilt of the dress sword sheathed at his hip. He’d wanted to leave the damn thing behind, but Fiddildy had fretted.

  “I say, that’s an awful lot of medals,” Sophie piped up as she eyed the glittering display pinned to Nathan’s chest. “You must be very brave.”

  Nathan inclined his head to the side. “I prefer to think of it as lucky, Miss Sophie.”

  “Modest too,” Ree interjected, though Nathan saw the droll twitch of her mouth, which indicated she was teasing him.

  “What’s this one for?” Sophie flicked one of the medals with shocking boldness. Behind her, Lydia hissed her name in a scandalized whisper. “What?” Sophie shrugged. “Mummy said to keep him company.”

  Nathan suppressed a smile, amused. Apparently, Sophie Collins fancied herself to be a witty flirt. “Valor.”

  “And what about this one?” Another flick.

  “Gallantry.” Nathan took a polite but prudent half-step back.

  Sophie’s mouth twisted to the side in a wry smile. “Gosh. Too bad.”

  And to think, he’d been worried about the vampires…

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “It’s just not the same as champagne,” Jaunty complained, holding up his glass of sparkling white wine with an open look of disdain on his pinched face.

  “It’s exactly the same; you’re just an intolerable snob,” Vlad replied. Lounged sideways across the chair normally reserved for his father, Vlad had managed to achieve the sort of languid sprawl only used by cats and other paradoxical creatures capable of existing both as a liquid and solid matter all at once. Taking a generous swig from his own glass, Vlad desperately wished for something stronger.

  Like absinthe. Or strychnine.

  “What is the difference?” Lottie, one of the younger vampires, asked.

  “Geography,” Vlad quipped. He could have expanded further into the ongoing wars out West disrupting the trade routes between Steocidell and Ingleton, but he sensed he’d be wasting his breath.

  Turning his attention downward, Vlad watched as his extended brood flitted about the room. There was an element of cat and mouse to the antics; the vampires moving a little too sharp and quick for mortal comfort, setting the human hearts racing in a way that had nothing to do with the exertion of the dance and everything to do with the thrill of the chase. It was hard to say who was enjoying the experience more: the vampires or the humans. Fear, Vlad reflected, at least controlled fear, could be weirdly appealing like that. After all, what was the point of inviting a fanged-tooth predator to dance if you couldn’t also hold them at arm’s length and dictate the steps they followed?

  “I see our new resident werewolf has found his way to the party,” Beau—a dashing vampire with thick blond curls that would have given him a rather cherubic look if it hadn’t been for the fangs—spoke up. “Though perhaps it might be fair to say the Collins girls found him.”

  Lifting his wine glass in salute, Vlad said, “Well, I hope he enjoyed his bachelorhood while it lasted.”

  “Gosh, he’s tall, isn’t he?” Lottie said. “I’d say he is around the same height as you, Vladdy. What sort of wolf do you suppose he is?”

  “Big,” Vlad said with feeling, unable to decide whether he was too drunk for this conversation or not nearly drunk enough. “Very, very big.”

  “Handsome fellow.” Beau pursed his lips together thoughtfully. “In a rather large and rugged sort of way.”

  “Oh, leave off.” Jaunty’s lip curled in a sneer. “He’s a bloody werewolf!”

  “So?” Beau said with a half-shrug. “Are you telling me you wouldn’t like a chance to tug on his tail?”

  “Ah, the children of the night,” Vlad said, twirling the stem of his empty wineglass between his fingertips and fervently praying for a second death. “What prattling nonsense they make.”

  “There you are.” Vlad looked up to find Elizabeth swaying toward him. Draped in blood-red silk, she moved with predatory grace, her diamond-capped fangs gleaming as she smiled.

  Vlad scowled at her. “What do you want?”

  She ought to have been offended, but Elizabeth merely laughed. “Oh, Vlad, really. Anyone would think you weren’t happy to see me.”

  Vlad wasn’t so sure he was. They hadn’t spoken to each other in a few months; not since she’d walked out on Lord Foxley’s arm after the last event. Vlad was reasonably sure his prominent MP father would have a conniption if he knew his rakehell eldest son was consorting with vampires. It wasn’t so much the dalliance he minded, but rather the sheer appalling lack of good taste. Vlad still couldn’t believe the man had worn white shoes after Queen’s Day—to an evening event no less. Still, he found it hard to maintain his ire when she dropped into his lap, wrapped her arms around his neck, and greeted him with a kiss that was a trifle too bold for polite company.

  Vlad pulled back first, eyeing her skeptically. “All right, what do you want?”

  “Who says I want anything?” Elizabeth walked her fingers up the front of his waistcoat.

  “Copious prior experience,” Vlad replied but allowed himself to be thoroughly kissed again anyway.

  “Come with me.” Elizabeth pulled him up and away from the group.

  Putting up only a token resistance as she led him toward a secluded alcove, Vlad asked, “Where are we going?”

  “Just somewhere a little more private.”

  “Out here works just fine,” Vlad countered, tugging back lightly on her hand.

  “Not for what I’m planning.”

  “Lizzy…”

  Elizabeth let his hand drop, and Vlad caught the familiar flash of annoyance that ghosted over her face before she got it under control again. “Why are you acting so difficult? Aren’t you happy to see me?”

  “Of course.” Vlad stepped toward her.

  “I don’t just come to you when I need things, you know.”

  “I know,” he said in a tone which stated exactly the opposite.

  “And it’s nothing, really.” She folded her arms over her chest. “Just a small extension of my allowance…”

  Vlad sighed. “How much?”

  “Just a little… three thousand at the most…”

  “Three thousand!” Vlad exclaimed before lowering his voice when she shushed him. “Three thousand pounds? What on earth for?”

  Placing her hands on her hips, Elizabeth asked, “Does it matter?”

  Vlad looked at her incredulously. “Yes.”

  “Why? It’s never mattered to you before,” Elizabeth countered, her tone cross.

  Vlad mirrored her stance, shifting his weight restlessly from foot to foot. “Because you’ve never asked me for three thousand pounds before. That’s half your yearly allowance. Honestly, Lizzy, what have you been doing? If the Count found out…”

  “Ah, but the Count’s not here,” Elizabeth purred, stepping into his personal space and wrapping her arms around his neck again. Vlad found his hands moving to her hips of their own accord. “It’s
just you and me…”

  “Lucky you,” he murmured. Some fleeting part of his heart that still beat fluttered desperately in his chest when she smiled.

  “Please, Uladzimir.” She pressed a chaste kiss to his lips. “I said I’d make it up to you.”

  “No, you didn’t,” Vlad said but smiled anyway as he leaned down to deepen the kiss.

  “Vlad, are you up here—oh! Sorry!” Vlad broke away from Elizabeth just in time to see Riya cover her eyes with her fan with a dramatic snap of her wrist. “Sorry!” she squeaked. “I asked the others where you were, but they didn’t mention… Oh, hello, Lizzy.”

  “Hello, Viktoriya, it’s nice to see you again,” Elizabeth drawled as she sagged against Vlad’s chest.

  Pointedly ignoring the stakes his sister and lover were glaring at each other, Vlad asked, “What do you need?”

  “Mother sent me to find you,” Riya replied, lowering her fan. “She’s in a terrible tizzy over the fireworks. She’s insisting the roof will catch fire.”

  Vlad sighed emphatically. “The roof is made from solid stone and slate.”

  “I know that, but she won’t listen to me. She’s having hysterics in the Smaragdine Drawing Room.”

  Vlad sighed again and looked down apologetically at Elizabeth. “Sorry, I’d better go. We’ll talk more about this later.”

  Elizabeth opened her mouth to protest, clutching him tighter. “But I—”

  “You know this can’t wait.” He pried himself free and pressed a parting kiss to her hands. “But I promise, we’ll get it sorted, all right?”

  Elizabeth looked like she would argue further, then clamped her mouth shut, smiling thinly at him. “Yes, of course, you must go. Can’t keep the old dear waiting.”