Hungers of the Heart

by Jenna Black

  Dammit! No wonder his brain was in such a mud­dle. And his temper so short.

  If he didn’t feed soon, things were going to get a whole lot worse. He pinched the bridge of his nose, his head aching suddenly. One of the advantages of coming to Baltimore had been hunting with Gabriel, who could assure Drake that his chosen victims were indeed as corrupt as Drake thought. If he hunted without Gabriel, what was to say he wouldn’t kill an­other undercover cop?

  Drake banged his fist on the arm of the chair. The wood groaned in protest but didn’t break. For all Drake knew, Fletcher had been making that whole story up. Logic said that there were far more criminals and predators in the neighborhoods he’d hunted than there were undercover cops. Chances were good he’d never accidentally killed an innocent. But the doubt that Fletch had awakened refused to go to sleep.

  The phone rang. Drake practically leapt across the room to get to it, eager for anything to distract him from his self-doubt. And his hunger.

  Hoping the call was from Gabriel, that he’d man­aged to free himself, Drake picked up the phone and uttered a greeting.

  “Johnnie-boy!” said an all-too-familiar voice, sounding delighted.

  Drake groaned and sagged onto the bed, the throb­bing in his head getting worse. He should just hang up the phone, he knew. But somehow that’s not what he found himself doing.

  “So it really is you,” Drake said. “I thought Brigitte was playing some kind of trick on me and you’d been dead for decades.”

  “Sorry to disappoint you, lad,” Padraig said, a laugh in his voice. He’d lost most of the Irish brogue that had once colored his every word, but the flavor was still there, like an aftertaste. “I take it you got my note.”

  “Yeah.”

  “But you didn’t call.”

  “I have nothing to say to you. And you have noth­ing to say to me that I want to hear.” Once again, Drake urged himself to hang up. Padraig was a mas­ter manipulator, and Drake’s defenses were compro­mised. He shouldn’t take the risk of allowing Padraig to mess with his head. Unfortunately, he didn’t fol­low his own sage advice.

  “Are you sure of that, Johnnie?”

  Drake gritted his teeth. “I haven’t gone by that name for over a century. And yes, I’m sure.”

  Padraig chuckled. “Yes, I’ve heard you’ve taken to using your da’s name. Nice irony, my lad. And if you’re so sure I have nothing to say you want to hear, you can hang up at any time.”

  Drake got the receiver within about an inch of the cradle, then found he couldn’t lower it the rest of the way. Padraig was a gang lord, a murderer, a Killer without conscience or mercy. In short, he was a clas­sic master vampire. He was also a charismatic leader of men, with keen intelligence, unparalleled street smarts, and not a hint of sentimentality. If he was reaching out to Drake, it wasn’t just for the pleasure of hearing his fledgling’s voice.

  Drake lifted the phone back to his ear. “What do you want?” be finally asked.

  “Eh, that’s more like it,” his maker said, putting a touch more Irish in his voice, dragging Drake back to the past he’d thought he’d escaped.

  “I was pleasantly surprised to find you still alive and well,” Padraig continued. “I must admit, I didn’t have high hopes for you when you left New York.”

  “When you banished me, you mean,” Drake said, then wished he’d kept the bitter words to himself.

  Drake could almost hear his maker shrug. “I could have killed you.”

  Drake swallowed the bitterness. In truth, the ban­ishment had been as close to an act of mercy as he’d ever seen from Padraig. By all rights, Padraig should have killed him for his insubordination.

  “Why didn’t you?” At the time, he’d been too furi­ous, too guilt-ridden to ask, or even wonder.

  “Perhaps because I would have done the same thing in your shoes.”

  Drake had to laugh. “You’ve never stuck your neck out for anyone but yourself!” And the thought of Padraig making an effort to save a doomed life was patently ridiculous.

  “You are an uncommonly judgmental man, Johnnie-boy. Like you, I learned the hard way to pick my battles carefully. I’m a hundred years older than

  you. How can you say whether I’ve ever ‘stuck my neck out,’ as you put it?”

  Drake shook his head. He was allowing Padraig to draw him into a conversation that was irrelevant. “If this is what you called to talk about, then the conver­sation is over?’

  Padraig sighed dramatically. “Judgmental and im­patient. Still the same old Johnnie Drake.”

  Drake swallowed a number of vile curses. He was not the same old Johnnie Drake! Johnnie Drake had been as vicious and unfeeling as his maker. If he hadn’t been, he never would have survived to adult­hood in Five Points, where he’d been unceremoni­ously dumped at the age of ten by his socialite mother whose new husband had refused to raise the son of a “murderous, thieving potato-eater.” When she’d foisted him off on his Irish immigrant father, Drake had been educated and well spoken, with the manners and bearing that befitted his privileged up­bringing. To survive the scorn of his father, his half-brothers, and all the other predators who lived in that dreadful neighborhood, he’d had to remake himself.

  “Johnnie Drake was never real’ Drake said, his voice rough as sandpaper. “He was a part I played for self-preservation. But he was never

  “Should I add naïve to the list? Do you have idea what our fine lady is up to, lad?”

  As far as Drake had known, her only plan been to win Gabriel over and to keep the delegation from dragging her back home to Mommy. But he couldn’t help wondering what she’d been up during the six months that Gabriel hadn’t heard fro. her. And he should have known she hadn’t been touring the countryside for pleasure.

  “No,” Drake said. “Care to enlighten me?”

  “Oh, I think I’ll let her do the enlightening.”

  “If you’re not going to tell me anything, then why the hell did you call?”

  There was a moment of silence before Padraig answered. “When all is said and done, my lad, you find yourself in need of a new position. I’m the only man who remembers Johnnie Drake and knows that he was banished from New York. If you should find yourself out of work when this is over, I would happy to repeal your banishment. My oldest surviv­ing fledgling at the moment aside from you is only fifty, and New York is a big city. I could use a man of your power and skills.”

  Drake laughed, a mixture of genuine amusement and bitterness. “You think I would come back work for you? And you call me delusional !“

  “Everyone responsible for young Earmon’s death

  dead. You know I had nothing to do with it myself. There is no reason for you not to return.”

  “You bloody bastard!” Drake snarled. “You might not have done the deed, but you’re every bit as re­sponsible as the ones who did.”

  “As are you’ Padraig said softly.

  And finally, Drake found the will to do what he should have done from the moment he’d first heard his maker’s voice on the line—he hung up.

  ***

  CHARLES WAS STILL standing guard outside Lily’s door when Faith ventured out, her injuries all healed. She’d showered and changed out of her bloodied clothing, and it was almost as if the beating had never occurred.

  “Am I allowed to see her?” she asked Charles.

  He nodded, then moved a little farther down the hall. “I’m to keep watch,” he said, “but I’ll give you what privacy I can.”

  She smiled at him gratefully. Charles always seemed surprisingly decent, though she knew that was an illusion. He was a six-hundred-year-old Killer, slavishly loyal to Armand. Still, he seemed to have a spark of humanity to him.

  Faith knocked softly on her sister’s door, then en­tered even when Lily didn’t answer.

  Lily huddled on the bed, her arms clasped around tier knees, her back pressed to the wall. Her cheeks were dry, but the puffy redness of her eyes said it hadn’t bee
n long since her last crying jag. When she caught sight of Faith, her lower lip quivered, but she held the tears inside.

  Faith climbed onto the bed, sitting beside her Sis­ter and throwing an arm around her shoulders. Lily sniffled.

  “I’m sorry,” Lily said in a voice that was barely whisper.

  Faith’s throat tightened. How many times had she wished Lily would see behind Armand’s civilized mask to the beast that resided within? Now that she had her wish, she’d do anything to hide the Seigneur behind that mask once more.

  “It’s not your fault, sweetie,” she said, giving Lily a firm Squeeze. “You couldn’t have known?’

  Lily sniffled again. “You’ve told me a thousand times that he wasn’t as nice as he pretended. I should have believed you.”

  Faith sighed. “Armand and I both made sure you didn’t believe. I might have told you what he was like, but I made sure you never saw it.”

  Lily snuggled close to her, forgetting her usual teenage standoffishness. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine. There are some advantages to being vampire.”

  Lily giggled nervously, and the giggle turned to tears. Faith couldn’t think of anything to say, she merely held on and made soothing sounds until the tears came to a Stop. Then she put some dist between them so she could look into her sister’s eyes.

  “Do you understand that we have to get away from Armand?”

  Wiping the last of the tears from her eyes, Lily nodded. Faith felt a guilty surge of relief. In the past, when She’d contemplated escape, she’d always had to plan for resistance on Lily’s part, which made a difficult endeavor into an almost impossible one.

  Faith swept her into another hug. “I got us into this mess,” she said. “I promise I’ll get us out of it, too?’

  Lily wriggled free and shook her head. “It’s not your fault.”

  Faith snorted. “Of course it is?’ She smoothed a lock of hair away from Lily’s face. “It was my job to protect you. Instead, I let François into our lives and—”

  “I liked him, too, you know:’ Lily interrupted. “François, I mean?’ She smiled faintly. “I was actu­ally kinda jealous of you. I thought he was a hottie.”

  That prompted an answering smile. “Well, he was nice to look at, I have to admit.” The smile faded. “If only the inside had matched the packaging.”

  “It’s not your fault you fell for him,” Lily said again, chin lifting. “And if you say it is, then I’ll say it’s my fault I fell for Uncle. . . For Armand?’

  Faith ruffled her hair before Lily had a chance to duck away. Lily’s laugh was a balm to Faith’s soul. But of course, it was far too early to allow herself to relax. She reached out with her senses, making sure Charles was still down the hall, far enough away not to overhear.

  “I haven’t figured out how yet:’ she whispered, “but somehow we have to make sure we don’t back to France with him. We’d never be able to cape him there.”

  The expression on Lily’s face was far too grave a sixteen-year old “And where would we go? If go into another vamp’s territory, they’ll kill you.”

  “I’m still working on that problem. First, we to figure out how to get away.”

  She did another brief psychic sweep to ensure privacy, and that’s when she sensed another vampire coming down the hall. Instinct told her who it would be, and she pressed her finger to her lips. Lily’s eyes widened, her face turning a shade paler.

  There was a perfunctory knock on the door, Armand didn’t wait for an invitation to enter. The expression on his face was blandly neutral, though Faith thought she saw a hint of pain in his eyes when Lily flinched away as he approached. His sigh sounded heartfelt.

  He sat on the edge of the bed. “I am sorry,” he said to Lily. “You are too old to be indulged like a child and I should have warned you of that long before night. I am a Seigneur, and I cannot allow defiance t go unpunished.”

  Lily crossed her arms over her chest and refused to meet his eyes. Faith tensed, but thankfully, Armand didn’t take offense.

  “I understand you’re angry with me,” he said. ”But I think perhaps we understand each other better now, and nothing like this need ever happen again.”

  Lily met this statement with stony silence. The corners of Armand’s mouth tightened with displeasure, but he let it go. He rose gracefully from the bed, holding his hand out to Faith.

  “Come, Faith,” he said. “I believe we need to...talk.”

  Lily looked alarmed, and Faith forced a reassuring smile while her insides curdled. She had a good idea list what kind of “talking” Armand had in mind.

  “Don’t worry, Lily,” she said, the smile still plas­tered on her face. “Everything’s fine now.”

  Lily’s eyes said she didn’t believe it, but she made no protest as Armand led Faith from the room.

  Armand nodded briefly to Charles as they passed, but didn’t relieve him from guard duty. With every step they took closer to his room, Faith’s stomach clenched tighter. How could she bear to let him touch her now? And yet how could she stop him?

  An idea leapt to mind, and relief swept over her.

  “Seigneur?” she asked tentatively.

  He looked at her and raised his eyebrows, and she presumed that meant she had permission to speak.

  “Drake is expecting me to, er, visit with him to­night,” she said, feeling the blood rush to her cheeks as she did. If the Seigneur were to find out she was lying, she was in for another beating, worse than the last. She hoped she looked more embarrassed than guilty.

  The Seigneur stopped with his hand on the door­knob, then let his hand fall away. His eyes bored into her. “Is that so?” he murmured, and she noted a defi­nite trace of skepticism in his voice. “You work fast.”

  The color in her cheeks deepened, but she didn’t look away. “It wasn’t my doing. He approached me.” Which, she realized, wasn’t far from the truth. He had let her know which room was his, and that had been a blatant invitation—just not an invitation either one of them expected her to accept.

  “I see,” the Seigneur replied, not sounding any more convinced. His gaze sharpened even more. “And given the choice between going to my bed and going to a complete stranger’s, you would prefer his?”

  Faith’s jaw dropped at what she could swear sounded like jealousy. “This was your idea, Seigneur,” she re­minded him.

  He pressed his lips together into a tight line. “So it was.” He didn’t sound happy about it. He reached out and brushed the back of his hand over her cheek. “I would like to make up for hurting you this evening.”

  Again, her stomach tightened with dread. How could he think forcing her to his bed would “make up” for anything? How could any man be so blind?

  “Make it up to me by allowing me to try to win my freedom,” she said. “Please.”

  He still didn’t look happy about it, but he gave her something approximating a smile. “How can I refuse when you ask so nicely?”

  There was a hint of bitterness in his voice, but Faith pretended she didn’t hear it. “Thank you, Seigneur.”

  She felt his eyes on her back the whole time as she made her way down the hall to the door to Drake’s room and knocked.

  ***

  DRAKE HEARD THE tentative rap on his door and felt absurdly grateful for it. Not so long ago, he’d re­treated to his room to escape from company. Now he needed something to keep him from brooding about Padraig’s parting shot. Even a crisis might be wel­come.

  When he opened the door to find Faith in the hall­way, he had to admit she was a nice alternative to a crisis. She ventured a smile.

  “May I come in?” she asked, and he couldn’t fail to hear the hint of nervousness in her voice.

  Drake opened his door wider, and Faith took about five steps into the room, then stood there looking awkward as Drake closed the door behind her. With a pulse of disappointment, he realized she hadn’t come to continue her seduction attempts—or allow him
to continue his. But of course he shouldn’t be disap­pointed. She belonged to the Seigneur, whether she wanted to or not.

  She rubbed her hands together and licked her lips. A light sheen of sweat covered her face, and her eyes were too wide. Drake took pity on her near-panic, guiding her to a pair of ornamental chairs nestled in the far corner of the room. He saw her gaze flick to the king-size bed as they passed by.

  When they were both seated, Faith sighed and flashed him a rueful smile. “Clearly I’m not meant to be a temptress.”

  He laughed, leaning back in his chair, feeling much more at ease than she looked. She’d changed into a plain white button-down shirt and dark blue jeans, but what would have looked nondescript on anyone else looked classically elegant on her. Her long dark hair was fastened by a barrette at the nape of her neck, but a few silky tendrils framed her face.

  “Did you come here meaning to tempt me?” he asked, hearing the amused lilt in his own voice.

  She leaned back in her chair but didn’t manage to look any more relaxed. “No,” she admitted. “But….She blushed. “This is very awkward.” She huffed out a breath and met his gaze with what looked like a concerted effort. “I told Armand you’d invited me, and I can’t afford to be caught in a lie.”

  A few pieces clicked into place in Drake’s mind. “Ah. You were forced to pick the lesser of two evils, and I won the prize.” The color in her cheeks deep­ened, and Drake felt like a jerk. “Sorry,” he said quickly. “That came out sounding hostile, and I didn’t mean it to.”

  “It’s all right for you to feel hostile. This whole situ­ation sucks, and I keep imposing on you.” She smiled again, but the expression wasn’t any more heartfelt than her last one. “Besides, you think I’m a Killer and a liar and I have no way to prove you wrong.”

  He winced. “I don’t believe any such thing,” he said, and realized it was true. It was possible that he was being a naïve, gullible fool, that Faith was play­ing him to perfection. But every instinct in his body told him she was telling the truth.