A Vampire's Hunger

by Carla Susan Smith

  “It’s not quite the same thing.”

  “Perhaps not, but you acted out of the same generosity of spirit. Laycee was afraid for her child, and you wanted to ease her fears.”

  “At least now we know who planted the idea in her head to ask for your protection.” I pulled back and looked up at him. “Is it true Jenna will die if you don’t sleep with her?”

  He nodded, and I mentally cursed myself for the position I’d put him in. Saving Jenna would mean losing me, something Gabriel could never accept. And saving me meant losing Jenna, something I could never accept. And we were supposed to find a way out of this lose-lose situation?

  “Because he showed his hand, we have twenty-five years to find a way around the problem,” Gabriel pointed out.

  His words might not make me feel better, but they did carry some weight. If my demon had kept to himself in the Dark Realm, I would never have known what was going to happen a quarter of a century from now. What was that saying about clouds and silver linings? Overly optimistic maybe, but it sure beat a poke in the eye with a sharp stick.

  Why the fuck do vampires have to be so goddamned dramatic?

  I had absolutely no idea, but speaking of ongoing drama... “So why do you think I can handle the necklace without it hurting me?”

  Gabriel frowned and shook his head as he let me go. “I have no idea. I know what’s supposed to happen—”

  “Yeah, Tomas showed me.”

  “He did?”

  “I’m sorry, wasn’t he supposed to?” A shiver went through me at the memory of Tomas’s blistered fingers. “At least I know why you freaked out when nothing weird happened to me.”

  Gabriel pulled a seat out from the breakfast bar and pulled me onto his lap. “Tomas must like you very much to do such a thing for you.” He tucked a stray curl behind my ear.

  I sighed and silently promised never to make the sentinel drink advocaat again. “If it makes you feel any better, Tomas doesn’t understand it either. He made me tell him every moment of what happened between me and him.”

  My lover gave a soft grunt and leaned back in his chair, his brows coming together as he pondered the conundrum. “I guess we’ll have to find you another apartment.”

  “Not until we know Aleksei and Anasztaizia are safe.”

  I hated to be the one to point out the other problem lurking on our horizon, but ignoring it would be an act of gross stupidity. We hadn’t heard the last of either Kartel or Aleksei’s possible half brother. “Has there been any sight of Petrov?”

  Gabriel shook his head. He seemed to be doing a lot of that recently, and I could tell it didn’t sit well with him. “No, he seems to have gone to ground, but I’ve let it be known I want to speak with him. He will surface. With Kartel as his maker, I doubt he has many who will hide him.”

  “And what about Vampire Smurf?” With hair that blue it was hard for me to call Kartel anything else. “Do you think he actually went to Death Valley to see if you would show up?”

  “Not when I’m sure he was the one behind Aleksei’s abduction. Oh, if I had continued on to California, I’m certain I would have found two dead vampires staked out for me to find.” His mouth became a grim line. “And one would have been decapitated.”

  And if all had gone according to plan, Aleksei would have been dead thanks to a drug-crazed member of the Ursidae family, breaking the bond between maker and progeny. It might have been enough to make Gabriel think the blackened body of a dead vampire was Aleksei.

  “Do you have any idea what he’s up to?”

  “Who . . . Kartel?” I nodded. “I don’t know, but whatever it is, he has already decided it will not meet with my approval.”

  “You don’t trust him, do you?”

  “I never did.”

  “I’m surprised he’s part of your”—your what? gang? posse? crew?—“group,” I finished lamely. “He’s so different from you and Ryiel. Are the other Original Vampires like you and Ryiel, or like him?”

  There were, I knew, nine Original Vampires.

  Gabriel closed his eyes as if needing a moment to gather his thoughts. “In the beginning we believed”—he paused before amending his statement—“I believed Kartel shared the same vision as the rest of us, but it wasn’t long before we saw it was not true. Though his tongue was persuasive, his heart was false. In the end he became so entangled in his own web of deceit, he was unable to escape the punishment that befell us all. It came as no surprise to learn he had accepted the Wraith’s offer when it was presented. Kartel is, if nothing else, a survivor.”

  “Surely there was a way to stop him from becoming a vampire?”

  “How? None of us knew who had been approached, and even if we did, we knew nothing of what awaited us in this new existence we had agreed to. Looking back, I don’t think any of us expected Kartel to survive his first year as a vampire.” He gave me a wry grin. “I know I didn’t. No one was more surprised to discover he’d not only survived five hundred years, but thrived as well. There was nothing to be done except watch and limit the scope of any destruction unleashed by his hand.”

  “What kind of destruction?”

  “Kartel specializes in conflict. He has the uncanny knack of knowing when a simple dispute, words taken out of context, can be escalated into something much bigger.”

  “You’re talking about starting a war,” I said, appalled. Gabriel did not correct me. “And you haven’t tried to stop him?”

  Arching a brow, my lover gave me a puzzled look. “Why would we? He’s doing what he was created to do. Curbing the growth of a species that has lost all respect for the planet it inhabits. A species that refuses to practice reason when it comes to utilizing resources and does little to protect its own kind, much less those it considers weaker.” He caught my chin in his hand, his long fingers holding me gently yet firmly. “Kartel is doing exactly what the lesser beasts required of him. Do not forget that we are predators, Rowan, and the human race is our hunting ground.”

  “When you next talk to Ryiel, will you tell him about the necklace?” I asked.

  Despite Ryiel’s professed dislike for modern technology, I knew he wasn’t so foolish as to avoid it when the need arose.

  Letting go of my chin, Gabriel said, “You want me to ask if he has any insight on your non-aversion to demonic gifts?”

  It suddenly occurred to me that our priorities had now shifted. The mysteries surrounding my relationship with the demon suddenly didn’t seem quite as pressing as they had a few moments ago. We had twenty-five years to play mind games with him. Whatever Kartel was up to, I didn’t think he was going to give us nearly that long.

  I frowned as he took the mug from my hand. “If you wanted more coffee,” I started irritably, “why didn’t you ask me to fix you some?”

  “Sorry, sweetheart.”

  It took me a minute to realize the second half of my comment, along with Gabriel’s subsequent apology, were both voiced in a different room. I was now sitting on the living room couch with my mug on the coffee table, watching as Gabriel pulled open the sliding-glass door in time to catch the barely conscious vampire falling into his arms.

  Chapter 13

  “Rowan, quickly—the panic room!”

  I jumped up from my seat and ran down the hall, through our bedroom to the control panel in the wall at the far end of the walk-in closet. The only reason I was able to beat Gabriel there was because he was slowed by the inert body he carried in his arms. I punched in the code, grateful to hear the soft displacement of air as the section of wall slid open.

  “Oh my God!” I gasped, recognizing the raven-black hair pooling over Gabriel’s arm. “Ryiel.”

  “Rowan—his boots,” Gabriel ordered, laying the vampire on the cool marble surface of his sarcophagus. It immediately began to change color as the neon-blue gave way to a trio of black, white, and silver. “Rowan, hurry. We don’t have much time.”

  I moved to the end of the sarcophagus. The silver-eyed vampire
was old-school, as was his choice of footwear. Military-style combat boots, steel-toed judging from the weight, were laced up the front to mid-calf. No fancy buckles or zippers, just thick, heavy-duty nylon laces . . . and some major knots. Shit! I pulled and tugged at the bindings, but the tie might as well have been steel cable. “Gabriel, I can’t undo them!” I yelled in frustration.

  Long fingers wrapped around my arm, moving me to one side, and I stared in confusion as Gabriel bent his head toward Ryiel’s feet. How was sniffing going to undo the intricate knots that had been tied? The white head moved from toe to shin, repeating the motion on the other leg. “Try now,” Gabriel instructed.

  Gabriel had bypassed the knots by slicing through the nylon bindings with his fangs, loosening both halves of the boot. With one hand cupping the heel and the other the toe, I was able to work the boot off, dropping it to the floor with a loud thud. I stifled the unseemly urge to laugh on seeing Ryiel’s socks. The dark wool had Toes in first stitched in bright red across the instep. It was nice to know the serious vampire had a sense of humor.

  “Everything,” Gabriel instructed, the upturn at the corner of his mouth indicating he’d also seen Ryiel’s footwear.

  I’d finished stuffing the socks inside the boots when Gabriel’s voice said, “Grab his pants.”

  “What?”

  “He can’t wear any clothing in the sarcophagus.”

  Of course he couldn’t. I knew that. Hadn’t I seen Gabriel lying on the deep-blue marble slab enough times? Completely naked and usually with an erection. Only this wasn’t Gabriel, and I wasn’t sure how I felt about seeing another man naked—or, more to the point, how Gabriel was going to feel about it. But this wasn’t another man or even another vampire. This was another Original, and whatever connection existed between the two, it was strong enough to bring Ryiel to Gabriel for help.

  I shot a quick look at Ryiel’s hips. Gabriel had already unbuckled the belt and was now working the buttons on the fly. From the amount of skin already exposed, it was obvious Ryiel wasn’t a Fruit of the Loom guy, or anything else for that matter. He might go commando, but at least he didn’t appear to have an erection. Gabriel grunted and rolled the vampire onto his side as he worked the leather pants down over Ryiel’s buttocks. I turned my head, not sure which of us I was trying to save from embarrassment.

  “Okay, Rowan, you should be able to pull them off now.”

  Gabriel positioned himself in such a way that my only view of the recumbent vampire was from toes to mid-thigh. The offending pants were now bunched around Ryiel’s knees, but I was still able to see how muscular his mid-thigh was. I seized the waistband and pulled, sliding the clothing off with ease. I picked up the boots and socks, and with the pants over my arm, made my way to the open door as the sarcophagus began to pulse.

  I was so accustomed to seeing the entire spectrum of the color blue decorate the walls of the panic room, it took my breath away to see a palette predominately made up of black, white, and silver. I know colors are designated as being either warm or cold, and what I was seeing now would be considered cold, but never had a descriptor been more wrong. Then again, what do I know? I think blue is one of the hottest colors in the continuum.

  Gabriel was leaning down, his lips next to Ryiel’s ear, whispering something. I hoped they were words of encouragement, telling the vampire to come back to us. I couldn’t imagine him saying anything else, and the sudden rise and fall of Ryiel’s chest seemed to confirm that the comatose vampire knew he was safe.

  Slowly I made my way toward the door, still slightly mesmerized by the night-sky effect in the room. I think I had stars in my eyes when I turned and walked back out into the closet and into the arms of the bald-headed man standing just past the doorway.

  “Ooomph!” I ricocheted off the unexpected obstruction, clumsily getting myself tangled in the winter coats hanging from the overhead rail. A hand reached out to steady me. “Who the hell are you?” I yelped, immediately slapping a hand over my mouth to apologize for the profanity.

  His weary smile, coupled with the anxious look in his eyes, forgave me. He introduced himself with a slight nod of his head as he looked past me into the room I’d just left. “I am Stavros.”

  He looks like that guy who was in The Ten Commandments, my inner bitch murmured quietly inside my head. An unexpected visitor to the closet was worthy of her interest.

  He doesn’t look anything like Charlton Heston, I snorted back. I’m beginning to wonder if, when we watch a movie, we’re all actually seeing the same thing on the screen. I’ve had my doubts of late.

  Not him! The guy who played his brother. Ramses whatever. You know, the guy who squished slaves under massive blocks of stone while building a temple to honor his dad. Although why he couldn’t have gotten him a tie like any other son is beyond me.

  His dad was the pharaoh. I don’t think they had ties back then.

  Okay, new eyeliner pencil then.

  Yeah right . . . definitely not seeing the same thing during movie night.

  Yul Brynner.

  You’ll do what?

  The actor’s name was Yul Brynner. Baldy here reminds me of him.

  She was right, he did. A little. His gaze turned back to me, and from his concerned expression, I had to wonder if he could hear the conversation in my head. I held out my hand. “I’m Rowan.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  “You came with Ryiel?” I vaguely recalled seeing someone else beyond the glass door as I made my mad dash from couch to closet. The man nodded. From his general bulldog build and thick neck, I could take an educated guess as to his relationship to the vampire, but being around Tomas had taught me not to make assumptions about anyone. For all I knew the Yul Brynner look-alike could be Ryiel’s sock guy. It was always best to ask. “Are you his sentinel?”

  Bingo! Sentinel it was. The smile he wore positively transformed him, making him less evil son of a pharaoh and more friendly garden gnome.

  “May I?” he held out a hand for the pants draped over my arm. He’d already picked up the dropped boots and socks combo.

  “Yeah, sure.” I nodded at the boots. “Sorry about the laces. It was the only way we could get them off. Oh, and there’s something weird on the pants. Not sure what it is.”

  “It’s all right, I know.”

  I couldn’t be a hundred percent sure, but it sounded like he muttered the words spinal fluid under his breath. I was about to ask, but Gabriel’s appearance behind me flooded the other man’s face with more than relief. Gratitude, appreciation, and hope were some of the emotions I caught. The items in his hands fell to the floor as he clasped Gabriel by the forearms and started speaking in something I wasn’t entirely convinced was a real language. The odd clicks and grunts made me wonder if Stavros was a sci-fi fan, but Gabriel seemed to give an affirmative answer to every question fired at him, and I didn’t think he was simply placating the sentinel.

  I glanced at the floor and felt my cheeks flush with heat. There was a scrap of satin and lace on the floor next to the sentinel’s foot. A pair of my panties. It was time to bring the conversation out of the closet, and I pounced when Stavros paused to take a breath.

  “Will Ryiel be okay?” I put my hand on Gabriel’s arm.

  “We won’t know for a while.”

  “But he’s safe now, and you’ve done everything you can, right?” Gabriel nodded and pressed his lips to my temple. “Then I’m sure you and Mr. Stavros can continue your conversation in the living room while I fix us all something to eat.”

  The alarmed look in Gabriel’s eye was not reassuring. Tomas, who spent a great deal of time preparing meals for Gabriel, had delightedly assumed I would want him to cook for me also. I thought it would be rude to disappoint him, so my culinary skills, which were questionable at best, were in danger of deteriorating from lack of use—a fact Gabriel had managed to convey with his expression because the sentinel took my hand.

  “Please, it is only Stavros,” he corr
ected kindly, “and you must allow me to cook for you. I talk better when my hands are occupied.”

  “You know Tomas is jealous about his kitchen,” I murmured to Gabriel.

  “Tomas—hah! We are old friends.” Stavros grinned. “He will not mind me being in his kitchen. Who do you think helped him perfect his baba ghanoush?” My expression obviously conveyed my ignorance because the sentinel took my hand and patted the back of it. “Don’t worry, I will make for you yak stew, and you will be of great help to me.”

  My help was limited to chopping vegetables, although I didn’t fail to notice the sidelong glance from the sentinel when I first picked up the knife. “Am I holding it wrong?” He shook his head. “Then why are you looking at me like that? I promise you I’m perfectly capable of chopping a few vegetables.”

  “Your skill is not in question. I was recently given reason to be wary around females with knives.” I shrugged and let the comment pass, focusing on the mound of vegetables placed before me. How many people was the sentinel planning on feeding? “It freezes well,” he said, picking up on my consternation.

  Sadly, we were all out of yak meat, but Stavros refused to allow such a minor detail to deter him from creating a gastronomic masterpiece. Buffalo was an acceptable substitute. I chopped vegetables. Potatoes, carrots, onions, leeks. Leeks? Seriously? I had no idea that was a vegetable.

  “Wait till I introduce you to parsnips,” Stavros promised.

  “Can’t wait.”

  Despite having to settle for inferior buffalo, the stew was good, even the leeks, but the dinner conversation was not so pleasant. The sentinel described in detail the complete annihilation of the village situated below the monastery. A village of people with no connection to the outside world, but who had nevertheless welcomed both Stavros and Ryiel into their midst.

  “Did they know what Ryiel was?” I asked curiously.