Hungers of the Heart

by Jenna Black

  “Why are you telling me this, anyway? Surely it’s the Seigneur you want to talk to.”

  Henri was really enjoying whatever sickening im­age flickered through his mind. He unzipped his pants and reached inside. Drake met his eyes and -fused to let his gaze drift.

  “If we told the Seigneur,” Henri said, getting a little breathless as he continued to work himself, ”then he’d know for certain it was us. This way, he’ll n be completely sure whether it’s us, or you Guan or even Gabriel himself. After all, we all have ream to want him and his entourage dead. You’ll be un enough suspicion that you’ll have neither the time nor the freedom to look for your master.”

  Brigitte’s irritating giggle floated on the night and Henri’s hand stilled, though he didn’t let go his equipment.

  “I think you’re embarrassing Jonathan,” she coming into view from Drake’s right.

  “My apologies,” Henri said, starting up again, thought that he might be making Drake uncomfortable obviously exciting him even more.

  Drake tried to ignore him. It wasn’t the public masturbation that disturbed him—it was the thought of Henri getting hold of young Lily. And, Drake had to admit to himself, despite all his skepticism about her story, of Faith.

  Brigitte watched her fledgling jerk off with rapt attention while she spoke to Drake. “I am not a go person to make an enemy of,” she said. “Armand Durant has been one of my keepers for decades and I plan to pay him back for all his troubles. ~ I can have some extra fun, make some extra misc along the way, then I plan to thoroughly indulge self.”

  Henri was still frantically wanking away, his breath coming in gasps, an occasional sound almost like a whimper rising from his throat.

  “And, of course’ Brigitte continued, “I plan to thoroughly indulge Henri, as well.” He moaned, but still didn’t come. Brigitte smiled at him, an expres­sion far too sweet and innocent looking under the cir­cumstances. “It’s time for you to stop now, dearest,” she said.

  With a strained groan, Henri obeyed. He even zipped his pants, though Drake figured he had to have major case of blue balls at the moment. Drake must have made some kind of face, for she laughed at him.

  “We’re saving him for the pièce de résistance,” she explained. “He will be wonderfully primed by the time we get our hands on the Seigneur’s concubine. It will be soooo exciting to watch.” She slipped her arm around her fledgling’s waist and rubbed herself against him. Henri visibly gritted his teeth.

  “You didn’t feel the need to save him for the woman last night?”

  Brigitte smiled, and for once allowed her innate malice to show in her eyes. “It would have been a waste. Armand cared nothing for her. I’ll let the little one go in the name of friendship.” She gave Henri a pat on the shoulder. “But only because I know how very much it will hurt Armand to see Henri with the other one. I doubt he realizes how much he cares about her. And by the time he finds out,” her smile broadened, “it will be too late.”

  Drake kept his voice bland, though her gloating sickened him. “Revenge quests rarely end as well as their perpetrators hope.”

  Brigitte’s eyes widened. “But, my dear Jonathan, this has nothing to do with revenge.”

  Drake snorted. “Of course it does. You said your­self—”

  “I said I would like to pay him back. And I would. But if he did not chase me, then I would let him and all his people alone. It is his choice whether to dance with me or not.”

  “But you know it isn’t his choice. He can’t afford to disobey your mother’s orders.”

  She shrugged. “That is not my problem. If he will hunt me, then I will punish him for it.” Her face went grim. “In the choice of the lesser Of two evils, I’m afraid he would be wise to choose me. I can’t com­pete with La Vieille for cruelty. But I won’t grant a merciful end, either.”

  Brigitte shook off the grimness, putting on an imp­ish expression. “Have you spoken to your maker yet? He was quite looking forward to hearing from you.”

  Drake scowled. “He can keep looking forward to it as long as he likes.” He narrowed his eyes at her. “Why would you want me to call him?”

  She sniffed daintily. “I don’t care one way or an­other. I merely granted a favor to a friend and deliv­ered his message.”

  “How did you—” -

  “Come, Henri,” she said, turning her back before Drake got his question out. “We’ve taken enough of Jonathan’s time.”

  Henri extended his elbow, and Brigitte slipped her hand through. Drake swallowed his curiosity about how Brigitte and Padraig had met. If indeed they had and this wasn’t all an elaborate game.

  If he wanted to find out, he knew exactly whom he should ask. And he knew that he would never do it.

  ***

  ARMAND AND CHARLES sat side by side on an un­comfortable sofa outside the dressing room into which Lily had disappeared with a preposterously large bundle of clothing. He had set his other fledg­lings outside the store as guards. They might be pow­erless against Brigitte—if, indeed, Brigitte was hunting them—but Armand kept them firmly in his psychic radar. If anything happened to them, he would know, and he and Charles would be prepared.

  Lily emerged from the dressing room, wearing a pair of hip-hugging, skin-tight jeans with a cropped, faded T-shirt. Why today’s youth liked to buy clothes pre-aged, he’d never understand. She turned for him, displaying her considerable charms. Out of the cor­ner of his eye, he saw Charles drop his gaze, a hint of pink in his cheeks.

  Armand frowned when he took in the rear view. She’d tried to tuck the top of her thong down into the seat of her pants to hide just how low they rode, but when she turned, the panties slid back into place. She must have felt them pop free, because she hastily turned around to the front and clasped her hands behind her back, trying to look innocent. Charles crossed his legs and folded his hands in his lap, his ruse was not any more effective than Lily’s.

  “No,” Armand said simply.

  Lily stuck out her lower lip in a pout while made doe eyes at him. “Please? Everyone w them at school.”

  “I don’t care what anyone else wears,” he said more firmly. “You’re not wearing that, and that’s final.”

  She rolled her eyes hugely. “I’m not twelve, Un Armand.”

  His temper stirred, and he narrowed his eyes. said no. One more protest, and the shopping trip ends now.” She swallowed her next argument, though was still giving him the doe eyes. “If you have an thing decent in that dressing room, put it on and show it to me. If not, put everything back and start over.

  Faith might worry he had designs on little Lily, l though she was a pretty young thing and would doubt be a great beauty in just a few years, he found it difficult to feel lust for a girl he’d known as a ten-year-old. Unfortunately, it appeared Charles was other story. Lily hunched her shoulders and retreated to the dressing room. Without raising his voice or turning his head, Armand spoke to his fledgling.

  “I can’t blame you for finding her attractive,” he said. “But if you so much as touch her, I will destroy you. Are we quite clear?”

  The pink flush left his cheeks, and Charles looked ­both pale and hurt. “You know me better than that, surely. I would never molest a child.”

  Yes, Armand knew that. However, that wasn’t the issue. He turned to meet his friend’s eyes. “How old is your wife?”

  When they’d marched off to war together, Charles ad been married only three months, though already his wife was expecting his heir. He dropped Armand’s gaze and squirmed.

  “Those were different times,” he murmured.

  “How old?”

  “You know how old she was!” Charles snapped, then heaved a sigh. “Forgive me, Seigneur. I would never dream of touching the girl, and I find the impli­cation that I would.. . painful.”

  There was no doubt in Armand’s mind that he had genuinely hurt his friend’s feelings. But Charles was his fledgling first, and his friend second. “I will
for­give you the outburst this once because there was no u me but me to hear it. Speak to me like that again, whether anyone else can hear or not, and I will re­mind you of the definition of pain.”

  Charles accepted the rebuke with a nod. “I under­stand, Seigneur. But I must ask you to understand that I would not risk our friendship—or, for that matter your wrath—by making advances on your ward. liven were she thirty years old.”

  Armand’s lips twitched into a hint of a smile, which he quickly suppressed.

  Lily emerged from the dressing room once more. The jeans she wore this time were considerably more demure, though they still hugged her hips sugges­tively. And the tank top did nothing to hide her bra straps. She grinned impishly at Armand, and he had to swallow twice to keep his temper under control. She was purposely playing with him, and it was his own fault for having so assiduously shielded her from the reality of who and what he was. If she heard the threat he’d just issued to his closest friend, would she still tease him like this?

  He rose to his feet. “Go put your clothes on. We’re leaving.”

  Her mouth dropped open. “Uncle Armand—”

  “Now!”..

  “But—”

  “This is not a game we are going to play. You’ll spend the remainder of the evening in your room.”

  She gave another one of those exaggerated teenager sighs. “I was just kidding around!”

  “I don’t care. Now go change.”

  Rebellion sparked in her eyes, but she lifted her chin and stormed back into the dressing room.

  Charles laughed softly. “One might suppose she is over the shock of finding Marie.”

  Armand snorted. “Yes, one might.” Though per­haps when they returned to the house and she had t spend the night locked in her room she might not quite so sanguine about it. Still, it couldn’t be he1~ Typical teenage rebellion was not something Armand—or Lily—could afford.

  Lily took her time changing back into the clothe she’d worn into the store, but Armand humored her sulking fit. At least, he humored it for a few minutes. When five minutes stretched to ten and she still hadn’t emerged, he rose and moved to the dressing room doorway.

  “Lily,” he said in his firmest, most paternal voice. “We’re leaving. Now.”

  When she didn’t answer, his temper stirred once again and he strode through the doorway.

  “I said now!” he growled, heading toward the only closed dressing room. He didn’t care if she was stark naked. Sulking was one thing, refusing to answer him was another.

  Armand pushed open the door, but as it swung in­ward, he noticed a bend in the hallway—and another curtain leading out of the dressing area into a differ­ent section of the store.

  The dressing room was empty.

  ***

  FAITH’S CELL PHONE rang as she was sitting on the bed in her room wondering whether Marie’s death meant she would now be joining the Seigneur in bed for the remainder of their stay. On the one hand, it seemed a terribly selfish thought so soon after a bru­tal murder. On the other hand, it was hard for Faith to get too upset that Marie was dead.

  She checked the number and saw that it was Lily. No doubt calling to tell her about whatever extrava­gant gifts Armand was in the process of buying her. She would endeavor to sound pleased, even while she ground her teeth.

  “Hi, Lily,” she said. “What’s up?”

  “First, you’ve got to promise you’re not going to wig out.”

  Uh-oh. That was not a promising beginning to the conversation. What the hell had Armand bought her? Faith’s imagination conjured up jewelry or furs, or something else entirely inappropriate for a sixteen-year-old.

  “I’ll do my best,” Faith said, “but I can’t promise until you tell me what I might wig out about.”

  The phone in the house rang, and next door Faith could hear one of the mortals’ cell phones. She tried to suppress the shiver of unease.

  Lily sighed dramatically. “Okay. I guess you’d probably wig out even if you promised not to.”

  Faith’s pulse drummed in her throat. “Why? What’s going on?”

  “I gave Uncle Armand the slip.”

  The blood drained from Faith’s face. “You what?” she yelled, leaping to her feet.

  “I knew you’d wig!”

  “Jesus Christ, Lily!”

  “Oh, chill out already,” Lily said, her voice drip­ping with disgust. “I’m not going barhopping or any­thing. It’s just that Uncle Armand wouldn’t let me try on anything that didn’t make me look like a little girl, and it was no fun.”

  Faith’s knees wobbled, and she sank back down onto the bed. Lily had no idea what she’d just done. Had no idea that Faith wasn’t “wigging out” because she was worried about what Lily would do while un­supervised.

  Heart throbbing in her throat, she tried to keep her voice quiet and steady. “Lily, listen to me very care­fully. Park yourself in the most crowded place you can find, then call Armand and tell him where you are. Right now.” If she was somewhere public enough that Armand was forced to control his reaction, there was an off chance he would calm down a little by the time he got Lily to privacy.

  “He was going to lock me in my room for the rest of the night!” Lily protested. “I promise I won’t get into any trouble. I’m just going to browse the stores for a little while and then I’ll take a cab back to the house.”

  “You don’t understand—”

  “Will you stop worrying about me already! Plenty of girls my age go shopping without a squadron of adults with them.”

  “That’s not—”

  “What did you say?” Lily asked, then made a fake static noise in the back of her throat. “Sorry, guess the connection’s bad.”

  “Lily!”

  But the phone went dead, and when Faith franti­cally called back, her call went straight to voice mail.

  For the second time that night, there was the sound of shouting and hurried footsteps in the house be­yond her room. Armand was mobilizing a search, no doubt. Lily wouldn’t be on her own for very long.

  Faith’s cell phone rang again as she hurried out her door, wondering what the chances were that she could find Lily before Armand or his vampires could.

  ro6 JENNA BLACK

  HUNGERS OF THE HEART 107

  Her heart leapt with hope, but the number was Ar­mand’s, not Lily’s. Hands trembling, she

  answered the phone just as Drake appeared at the base of the stairs.

  “Have you heard from Lily?” Armand snapped without preamble.

  She could hear the unadulterated fury in his voice, and she quailed. “Yes, Seigneur,” she whispered. “But she wouldn’t tell me where she was.”

  “We were at the mall when she eluded us.” Every word was clipped with anger. Armand’s was always a controlled rage, but it was rage nonetheless. “She can’t have gone far,” he said. “If you hear from her again, you call me immediately.”

  “Yes, Seigneur. But please—” He hung up on her. She sniffled, then touched her cheek and was sur­prised to find it damp with tears.

  Drake started climbing the stairs as she descended, meeting her halfway. “Don’t cry,” he said soothingly. “I’m sure we’ll find her in no time. And as I told you, Brigitte and Henri won’t dare harm her.”

  Faith shoved the phone in her jeans pocket and dashed the tears away, continuing down the stairs “That’s not why I’m crying,” she said as Drake followed. Fear for Lily gave her feet wings, and she was out the door and onto the darkened city streets before she’d formulated even the most halfhearted plan.

  “Slow down!” Drake said, grabbing her arm. “Do you have any idea where you’re going?”

  She shook her head, panic thrumming through chest. “I have to find her!” she cried, her breath coming in gasps. “He’s going to hurt her if I can’t find her first.” For six long years, she’d managed to keep Lily safe from Armand’s wrath. She’d tried to warn her sister about his ferocity while at the
same time shield­ing her from it, making sure she never saw firsthand what Armand was capable of. And because of that, Lily had no idea what this childish prank would cost her.

  Drake had hold of both her arms now and gave her a little shake, “Calm down!” he said. “You’re not go­ing to help her by panicking.”

  She snarled and bared her fangs at him, every in­stinct in her body calling her to action, insisting she had to run, fight, do something other than stand here and talk. Then she made the mistake of meeting his eyes, and his glamour seized her and held her still.

  “Take a deep breath,” he urged. He was still hold­ing her arms, his fingers providing an almost com­forting warmth.

  Panic surged like wildfire through her veins, but she did as he commanded, sucking in one long, slow breath, then another. Either the deep breaths were working, or his glamour was having a calming effect, hut her rational mind seemed to click back into gear.

  Running out into the streets like a wild thing wasn’t going to help Lily. If only she knew some­thing that would! Armand couldn’t—or wouldn’t— forgive Lily for this. If he caught her, he was going to punish her, and Faith thought something inside her­self would break if he did.

  “This is all my fault,” she murmured, not realizing she’d said it out loud until Drake enveloped her in a hug.

  She stiffened for a moment, but she felt as if her knees might buckle if she didn’t hold on to some thing, so she put her arms around him and clung.

  “She’s a teenager’ Drake said soothingly. “It’s your fault she’s acting like one.”

  She shuddered. If it hadn’t been for Faith, Lily would never have met Armand, much less fallen un­der his power. Guilt swept over her, gnawed at her heart. Six year~ they’d been with Armand, and still Faith hadn’t figured out how to get Lily to safety. There might be nothing she could do to protect Lily from Armand’s wrath right now, but Faith swore to herself that whatever she needed to do, Lily would not be going back to France with the Seigneur.

  She pushed away from Drake, wiping the last the tears from her eyes and sniffling. One thing was clear in her mind—she wasn’t going to be able free Lily without help. None of Armand’s people would help.