Hunger Pangs

by Joy Demorra

  Vlad dropped the wide-eyed act a second later with a smirk before resting his head against Nathan’s chest. And Nathan loved that too, wrapping him up in a proper hug and pressing a kiss to the top of Vlad’s forehead. His body was still very much interested in the lithe one lying on top of him, but Nathan never passed up an opportunity for a good cuddle either.

  “Shame about Yule.” Vlad trailed his fingers over Nathan’s chest again. “It’s going to be a long three weeks without you to keep my bed warm like this.”

  Nathan blinked. “Three weeks? I’m only going to be gone for two.”

  Vlad turned his head up, his chin digging into Nathan’s breastbone. “I’ll be at Parliament for the closing of the winter session. It’s their last chance to drag me over the coals until mid-January. They like to keep me hanging around. I suppose I could come home in the evenings…”

  “That’s a lot of traveling,” Nathan countered. He remembered his own long and treacherous ferry ride over from the mainland when he’d first arrived. To have to do that twice a day in the middle of winter…

  Vlad shrugged and nestled his face against Nathan’s chest again. “I used to do it when Riya was little. She’d cry at night if I wasn’t home.” He made a soft sound of amusement. “She used to make me fight the monsters under her bed. It was the only way to get her to sleep. Strange, I’d forgotten about that…”

  Nathan smiled as he carded thick fingers through the silky-soft strands of Vlad’s hair. After a while he said, “I suppose I could change my travel plans.”

  “Oh?”

  “I could cut my trip short at the end and leave for the mainland sooner. With you. Maybe we could,” he licked his lips, “spend a few days in Ingleton together.”

  Vlad stared down at him. “But you’ll have less time to spend with your family—why would you do that?”

  Many reasons, Nathan thought sourly, remembering all too well how alone and isolated he’d been at home. He thought that perhaps, now, things might be different. Now that he could change again. But the thought only made him resentful. “Because I like you,” he said instead, focusing on the weight of Vlad in his arms, which helped him stay rooted to more pleasant thoughts.

  “But I’ll be working.”

  “Not all the time you won’t. And besides, I was planning to pick up gifts for my family before I caught the stagecoach north. It might be nice to spread it out over a few days. With you. If you’d like to…”

  Vlad’s dark eyes flickered over his face; his expression softened into a shy, genuine smile as he nodded. “I’d like that.”

  “Good,” Nathan murmured, stroking his fingers through Vlad’s hair again. With a hint of a grin, he tugged lightly. The vampire gasped and ground against him; Nathan took that as an invitation to continue. “Come here, you,” he growled, flipping them over and pinning Vlad beneath him, holding his hands above his head in a way that had left Vlad begging for more not so very long ago. “Third time’s the charm.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Early Winter, 1888

  Nathan sat behind his desk, nursing the cup of willow bark tea Fiddildy had brought for him as his morphic field resettled. The morning after a full moon was always a delicate affair. Headaches were not uncommon, nor was the nagging sensation that you’d forgotten something important. Like your tail. Or how to use opposable thumbs.

  Shifting had never bothered Nathan before. At least, not in a way he couldn’t shake off after a substantial breakfast and a fortifying mug of tea. But that had been before getting shot with silver.

  He scanned over the latest charge sheet in front of him: a report of one Mr. T. S. Forbes, who had been cited as being drunk and disorderly upon exiting the public ale house. When asked to go home, he’d upended the fried fish supper he’d been eating over Corporal Irian’s head and subsequently been charged with salting an officer with battery. It was the first arrest they’d made in the entire seven months Nathan had been here, and even then, they’d left the cell door open so that Mr. Forbes could make his own way home once he’d sobered up. It was stunning, really, how little happened on the dreary isle of Eyrie.

  Which was what made the absent Captain Hammond’s personal log even more confusing.

  Nathan had found it the other day by pure chance when he’d dropped his pen and found the diary taped to the underside of the desk. It started out mundane enough: daily reports and expenses, the occasional note of local interest here and there. But the more Nathan read, the weirder things got. Mad, frantic little scribblings about looming threats and dark shadows appeared in the margins, creeping over the page until they spilled into the main body of the text with a fervency that felt catching. At one point, it appeared as though Hammond had begun writing in code, fearing that his delusional ramblings were being spied upon.

  Nathan had asked Fiddildy about it, and the old man had sucked wincingly on his teeth.

  “Too much absinthe, not enough sense,” Fiddildy had said, and Nathan, who had tried absinthe exactly once in his youth and had sworn never to again, had left it at that.

  Outside, the clock tower sounded the hour, and true to form, Fiddildy appeared, jogging up the stairs. “Eight o’clock, sir. Time to—”

  “Get going, yes, thank you, Fiddildy.” Nathan shuffled his paperwork into a neat pile and handed it over to the older man. “Make sure those get filed away.”

  “Yessir.”

  “Anything else I should know before I go?”

  “Nossir,” Fiddildy said smartly. “Forby’s already left; said it won’t happen again.”

  “Good,” Nathan replied absently, hauling his kitbag up onto his desk and slotting The Very Nearly Complete History of the Northern Wereclans inside. After a moment, he hesitated, then added Captain Hammond’s journal as well. “See that the hounds get a good run around in the yard while I’m gone. They seemed antsy when I came in this morning.”

  “Yessir.” Fiddildy sounded resigned but committed. “It’s probably the weather.”

  “Yes, possibly,” Nathan agreed as he glanced out the open port window of his office at the gray December sky and the ominous storm clouds on the horizon. The air felt too close for comfort, the humidity more suited to summer than the frost-bitten ground they’d awoken to this morning. But he supposed that was just another oddity of island life. “Right, I’m off. Keep the home fires burning.”

  “Don’t you worry about a thing, sir,” Fiddildy said, holding Nathan’s greatcoat out for him. “You can rely on old Octavius Humperdink Fiddildy.”

  “Yes.” Nathan shrugged into his coat, then gave Fiddildy a friendly clap across the shoulder. “I really think I can.”

  “Carriage, sir!” Hobbes shouted from below, prompting Nathan into movement. He grabbed his hat and bag and hurried down the stairs.

  He’d offered to meet Vlad at the docks, but the vampire had merely rolled his eyes and insisted Nathan ride with him. “We’re both heading that way anyway,” he’d said, fussing with the line of Nathan’s collar as he’d helped the werewolf get dressed this morning, going so far as to pick bits of twig out of his hair. “You might as well do it in warmth.”

  With hindsight, Nathan should have guessed he’d meant ‘opulence’ as well.

  “Good Gods!” He eyed the gothic monstrosity that awaited him. The coach was black, as were the two horses pulling it. Though calling them ‘black’ was a substantial understatement. Instead, it would be fair to say they absorbed the light from the world around them. Steam rose from their giant flanks. Although after a second glance at the red, mad eyes that rolled toward him, Nathan thought it might be smoke.

  There was also, notably, no driver.

  The coach door swung open, and Vlad leaned out. “Going my way?”

  Nathan climbed up to join him. “You have undead horses,” he said, settling into the seat opposite Vlad as the vampire thumped his cane against the roof of the coach. “And no driver.”

  “There’s a driver.” Vlad smiled thinly. “You
just can’t see him. Don’t worry, he’s terribly good. He’s been with the family for centuries, same as the horses. The coach is new, though. Lady Margarete insisted.”

  “Yes, I thought I detected a hint of her taste.” Nathan playfully batted one of the many, many gold tassels that lined the plush interior. He turned his attention back to the vampire, noting the heavy leather satchel at his feet and the folding desk propped over his lap. “I thought you finished all your papers for Parliament yesterday?”

  “I did,” Vlad replied while attempting to stretch under the confines of the desk and inadvertently knocking their boots together. He was dressed for the winter, huddled under a thick wool coat and a gray wool top hat angled over his eyes. It was the most clothes Nathan had seen him wearing in over a month. “But word got to me last night about a blight spreading through Obëria. I’m trying to make sure we have enough grain to make it through the winter and spring.”

  “Blight.” Nathan frowned. “What does the Empire get from Obëria?”

  “At present? Over half our grain import. It was Parliament’s way of getting around all the agricultural strikes.” He pinched the bridge of his nose with leather-clad fingers. “It’s almost as though the risk of imminent starvation could have been avoided by paying people a fair working wage and adequate crop rotation. Who knew?”

  You, evidently, Nathan thought, wondering idly what his father was doing to prepare for this. Perhaps he ought to bring it up. Just in case.

  Some two hours and a bumpy sea crossing later, the coach trundled its way through Ingleton, bumping and swaying over the cobblestone streets.

  “So, what do you have planned for the rest of the day while I’m being dragged over hot coals in front of elected parliamentary officials?” Vlad asked lightly, sounding preemptively exasperated by the whole affair.

  “Dunno really,” Nathan lied. He knew exactly what he was going to do. “Thought I might catch up on sleep. Didn’t get much of that last night. Where are we staying again?”

  “The Royal Guard,” Vlad named one of the better-to-do hotel establishments in central Ingleton. “I have rooms there. Parliament pays for them. Seeing as how they won’t let us supernatural types have permanent residences.”

  “Huh,” Nathan said. He leaned back from the window and gave Vlad an appreciative once over. It would be like unwrapping a present, he decided, getting Vlad out of all those layers. He was rather looking forward to it. “So, what you’re saying is, the government is paying for me to screw your brains out.”

  A tinge of color rising across his cheekbones, Vlad let out a startled laugh. “I suppose, if you look at it that way.”

  Nathan hooked his foot around Vlad’s. “Trust me, I’m looking.” He frowned slightly. “I thought you were worried about people knowing about us. Won’t it cause talk if I’m seen going in and out of there?”

  “No.” Vlad scrawled something on the sheet of paper in front of him. “Because Parliament also pays for your father to have rooms there. For all people know, you’re staying there. And besides, no one at the Royal pays attention to who I bring back to my rooms. I tip far too well for that.”

  Nathan snorted. “Now who’s turning who into a dirty little secret?”

  Vlad looked up and wrinkled his nose at Nathan. “Oh, come now, Captain. We both know there’s nothing little about you.”

  They parted outside the Royal Guard after stealing a quick kiss behind the anonymity of the carriage doors.

  Left to his own devices, Nathan went for a walk. He’d never much liked Ingleton. The streets were cramped, and the city churned out smog like an over-fired smokestack. Though noticeably not so much in this area, where the industrial outskirts of the city gave way to wrought iron fences and the pristine gardens within. Which was another thing he didn’t like: plants in cages. It all felt arse about backward. But he still appreciated the sights and smells of the evergreens that lined the walkways, a tiny sliver of greenery amidst a towering forest of brick and stone.

  He thought about stopping by his old military haunts but quickly decided against it. Nathan had no desire to talk about war, not even with other soldiers, so it was quite by happenstance that he bumped into Howlzein in the street.

  “Howlzein,” he greeted the older werewolf, who was clearly just as surprised to see him.

  “Nathan!” Howlzein looked him over with consternation on his face. “Well, pull my tail, look at you!” He clapped Nathan on his right shoulder and pulled him into an unexpected bear hug. “You’re looking… what happened, lad? Last time I saw you…”

  Rocking awkwardly on his heels, Nathan rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, about that… turns out there was a piece of silver still stuck in me. A physician in Eyrie figured it out. Well, V—the Viscount figured it out and took me to see someone he works with. You never told me the Viscount of Eyrie was an accomplished physician.”

  “He gets into everything, that one—it’s hard to keep track.” Howlzein shook his head. “Silver… you mean, you survived that entire time? My Gods. How did they miss that?”

  They weren’t looking, Nathan thought. But he just shrugged. “Dr. Allan is extremely good at what he does. I’d recommend him to anyone.”

  “And how are you now?”

  “Doing better,” Nathan said even though he knew that it was obvious to anyone who knew him. “Shoulder still hurts, but I’ve got a brace for that now. And listening aids.” Knowing Howlzein would have already seen it, he touched the sliver of gold looped over the front of his ear. “It’s amazing what they can do with quartz crystals these days. I haven’t told Mum yet, so don’t mention it to anyone. I wanted to surprise her.”

  Howlzein barked with laughter, his ocher eyes suspiciously wet and bright. “Aye, she’ll be that. Well, it looks like they’re taking good care of you on that island, at least. I must thank Blutstein when I see him later. Oh, and eh, happy belated birthday, by the way. I don’t suppose there was much for you to get up to on Eyrie.”

  “Ah, you know how it is,” Nathan replied carefully; his brain skittered over the tantalizing memory of Vlad kneeling over his lap with his hands tied behind his back with one of his own cravats. “One birthday sort of blends into another after the first five decades anyway.”

  Howlzein grunted. “No need to tell me that. But what are you doing here?”

  “Oh, I’m just in town for a few days. Thought I’d pick up a few presents before I head home for Yule. When are you heading up? Perhaps we could go together.” If nothing else, it’d make the journey much more pleasant.

  Howlzein’s expression wavered, a tense frown turning his mouth down. “I’m afraid I won’t be coming this year.”

  “What?! But you always come! You and Elsie always bring the little ones North for the solstice.”

  “Not this year.” Howlzein shook his head. “We’ve got too much to do, what with the new whelps and… It’s just not a good time this year, Nathan.”

  “Oh.” Nathan felt inexplicably crestfallen. It was his first Yuletide home in nearly a decade, and he’d been looking forward to seeing Howlzein and all his pack. “Well. There’s always next year, I suppose.”

  A flicker of some emotion Nathan couldn’t put a name to skittered over his face. “Aye, I suppose. But it was damn good to see you, lad. I’m so glad things are looking up for you. Truly. I know what a relief that’ll be to your mother. And the Wolf Lord. Anyway.” Howlzein clapped him on the shoulder and drew him in for another hug. “I’d best be off. Parliament won’t chase its own tail without me. I’ll write to you at Eyrie, and you can tell me how you’re getting on.”

  “Yeah,” Nathan said with a nod all the while wondering why it felt like Howlzein was saying goodbye in more ways than just one. “It was good to see you. Give my love to the family.”

  “You too. Take care of yourself, Nathan.” Howlzein gave him one last squeeze before taking off toward Parliament.

  Nathan watched him go until he couldn’t see the line of his red
uniform in the milling crowds anymore, then turned down a side street that would take him to the West End. It had been some time since he had been down this way, but he was fairly certain he’d find what he was looking for.

  CHAPTER THIRTY ONE

  “Order, gentlemen, please! Order!” Lord Woolcroft banged his gavel on the table ineffectively. “This is not a tavern brawl! You are peers of the realm!”

  And what a realm, Vlad thought. Chewing agitatedly on his thumb, he let the missive in front of him drop back onto the table. The reports of famine and blight in Obëria were far worse than he’d suspected. Worse, they’d lost yet more ground in Bhalein; the army had been pushed back to the very tip of the principality until they were practically in the ocean. It was frankly laughable. But only in the shrill, mirthless way that heralded the onset of imminent tears.

  “Admiral Tate, I believe you have news from Obëria,” Woolcroft called.

  Vlad’s attention swiveled to where Howlzein and another military type of gentleman—the aforementioned Admiral Tate—were seated, engaged in murmured conversation. A stocky fellow in his late forties, Tate wore the deep blue uniform of a senior naval officer. The last time Vlad had seen him he’d had a full head of brown hair, but either stress or age had contrived to thin it out—evidently racing to see if it could all fall out before he went completely gray. It was a tight race.

  Pushing a pair of brass-rimmed spectacles up his nose, Tate stood. “My lords… the situation along the coast is growing ever more fraught. Just this last month, the frigate Cowpens rescued over a hundred refugees from the northeast sea. Many of them women and children.”

  “Rescued?” Twoforths sputtered, and Vlad closed his eyes in anticipation of whatever awful thing the old man was about to say next. “You mean to say you brought them here.” Tate opened his mouth to speak, but Twoforths carried on talking over him. “Bally waste of resources. You should concentrate on the war effort in Bhalein. Not fishing for vermin.”