Hungers of the Heart

by Jenna Black

  “I’ll let you know when I figure it out’ Drake said, not sounding in the least alarmed. Faith made a wild guess that this scary looking guy was Gabriel. “Are you really up to driving?” Drake continued, and Gabriel’s eyes narrowed.

  “Jez drove most of the way here?’ For the first time, she noticed Jezebel, leaning against the passenger side door. “We ran into the mortal girl being given a hard time at the exit.”

  Faith gasped. “Is she okay?”

  Gabriel gave her a cautious look, but nodded “She’s fine. I convinced the guard to let her go. Eric and Harry are taking her back to the house as we speak. You must be Faith.”

  She nodded, not at all sure of her welcome in the Master of Baltimore’s eyes. After all, she’d been part of the delegation, the enemy. And Jez hadn’t seemed to like her much.

  “Pleased to meet you,” Gabriel said, not sounding like he meant it. But he turned his attention to Drake immediately afterward. “You look like you’re in rough shape at the moment, so I’m going to let you heal up before kicking your ass.”

  Faith bristled and opened her mouth for an unwise retort, but Drake silenced her with a hand on shoulder. Gabriel squatted to put himself at eye level with Drake.

  “While we’re waiting, care to tell me what happened here?”

  Drake gave an abbreviated version of the events, his voice gaining strength as he went. When he got the part where the Seigneur killed Henri, he pointed to Armand, who was still seated on the tarmac. His eyes were clear, his breathing easy, and Faith guessed he was almost completely recovered from the drug. But he neither tried to run nor attack.

  Gabriel stood and offered Drake a hand up. Drake regarded that hand suspiciously, and Gabriel laughed.

  “It’s safe, for the moment,” he said. “I need to grill you some more before I decide how hard to thrash you.”

  Drake grimaced and took Gabriel’s hand, but he looked relatively steady when he got to his feet. He then extended his hand to Faith, and she allowed him to help her up as she wondered what she could possi­bly say to thank him for what he’d done.

  ***

  ARMAND FELT STRANGELY numb, considering all that had happened, all that would soon happen. His head still spun from the aftereffects of the tranquil­izer, and every beat of his heart pushed the burn of it through his veins, but the pain had become manage­able. He sat calmly on the tarmac, keeping both hands splayed on his knees so everyone could see he was unarmed.

  As the Master of Baltimore turned his attention away from Drake and approached, Armand thought fleetingly that he should be afraid. There was death in Gabriel’s eyes, and, outnumbered and still weak­ened, Armand was helpless to defend himself. How­ever, the numbness shielded him from the fear, and he boldly looked his death in the face.

  “May I make a final request before you kill me?” he asked, and Gabriel stopped short.

  “What’s your request?” Gabriel asked. His expression didn’t change, but at least he allowed Armand to speak.

  Armand’s throat tightened as he looked over at Charles, who still lay on the tarmac in fetal position. Occasionally, a faint whimper of pain escaped him. Charles had betrayed him, after six hundred year of friendship and loyalty. Armand should be hurt, furious, vengeful. Instead, all he felt was a pulse of pity. “Allow me to kill Charles myself,” he said, and I knew from Charles’s gasp that he heard. “I would not have him die at a stranger’s hands.”

  Gabriel shrugged. “Be my guest. But I hope you not planning any tricks. I am capable of making your death most unpleasant if you piss me off.”

  “No tricks,” Armand agreed quietly. He rose to feet, moving slowly, keeping his hands away from his body. Gabriel shadowed him as he approached Charles. Armand knelt beside his friend and fledgling, putting a hand on his shoulder and turning him over onto his back.

  Armand thought he’d never seen anything as desolate as Charles’s face at that moment. His eyes squinched in pain, his jaw standing out in sharp relief, his breath coming in short gasps, he met Armand’s gaze.

  “I’m so sorry, Armand,” he sobbed, then coven his face with his hands. “I wasn’t strong enough to refuse her. I hated myself for it, but I couldn’t do it.”

  Armand sighed heavily. “I should hate you for what you’ve done,” he said, “but I don’t. You may not believe this, but I do understand.” He drew his friend’s hands away from his face. “It is La Vieille’s unique gift to draw out the worst in everyone she touches.”

  “Not you,” Charles argued, blinking away tears. “She never managed to get to you.”

  The corners of Armand’s mouth tightened. If only that were true. “Yes, she did, my friend. The damage was just more subtle. She changed me from the man I once was into what I am now.” He smiled grimly. “It is not an improvement.”

  But Charles had a loyal heart, despite everything he’d done. “You were a good man. And you’ve been a good Seigneur. She did not corrupt you, no matter what you think.”

  Let Charles believe that if he wished. Armand knew the truth. Meeting his friend’s eyes, he reached out with his glamour. Even with the debilitating ef­fects of the tranquilizer, Charles could have tried to fight the glamour, but he didn’t. His body slowly re­laxed as Armand fogged his mind, blocking out pain, and fear, and thought.

  When Charles was completely under, Armand put one hand on each side of his head. His body was rigid with conflict, his soul screaming at him that he could not kill his friend, no matter what Charles had done. But it was somehow fitting that Armand be the one to usher him out of this life, when it was Armand who’d made him in the first place.

  He blew out a deep, harsh breath. “I forgive you, my friend,” he said, so softly no one could hear. And then snapped Charles’s neck with one quick twist.

  Afterward, he remained on his knees, his eyes closed, his head bent, trying to absorb the pain of what he’d just done. His only consolation was that he wouldn’t have to live with it for long. He expected to fall under Gabriel’s glamour at any moment, but excruciating minutes passed while nothing happened.

  Finally, Armand opened his eyes and look at Gabriel. “What are you waiting for?”

  “Is Brigitte dead, do you think?” Gabriel ask instead of answering.

  Armand frowned, finding it hard to care one way or another. “I don’t know. I would have thought she’d have killed us all if she were still alive. But I also wouldn’t have thought Henri’s death would kill her.”

  Gabriel nodded. “My thoughts exactly. But they’d been together for two hundred and fifty years. His death could have had dreadful consequences for her without killing her. My gut tells me she’s alive. I hope I’m wrong, but if I’m not, it means this unholy alliance of hers is still alive and well.”

  And still, Armand couldn’t muster up the e to care. “What is your point?”

  “My point is it might be helpful to have a six-hundred-year-old vampire on our side.”

  “You can’t be serious,” Drake objected.

  Armand was too stunned to say a word.

  Gabriel gave Drake a cold look. “Neither you nor I have room to throw stones.”

  “Yes, we do! We don’t kill or hurt innocents.”

  “If you’d be so kind as to let me finish, you’ll see that I’ve taken that into account.”

  Drake looked like he was grinding his teeth, but he fell silent. When Gabriel seemed sure he would re­main that way, he turned back to Armand.

  “As I was saying, I have a feeling we might be in need of an ally. However, given your history, I have serious concerns over whether I can trust you.”

  Armand’s head spun with confusion. He was prepared—in fact, more than prepared—to meet his death. He couldn’t argue that it wasn’t deserved, and right now it seemed more a mercy than anything else.

  He glanced around at the assembled Guardians, acutely aware of how weak they all were, with Gabriel as the sole exception. If Brigitte was still alive, she would be more than a match f
or them. Especially if she had her pet masters at her beck and call.

  Armand’s gaze landed on Faith, who stood back in the shadows. And he realized that even though it might be easier to abdicate all responsibility and flee his troubles in death, that would be the coward’s way out. He was many things, but a coward was not one of them.

  Armand slowly rose to his feet, again keeping his hands clearly visible. “I am prepared to die,” he said.

  “However, if by living I could help protect those I care about,” his eyes darted quickly to Faith, “then I would do just about anything to stay alive. What must I do to gain your trust?”

  “My father was a Killer’ Gabriel said. “For over a thousand years. But in a fit of remorse—otherwise ­known as a suicide attempt—he accidentally cured himself of his addiction to the kill.”

  Armand’s jaw dropped. “I’ve never heard of such a thing!”

  “Almost no one has. Eli managed to do it, but several of his fledglings tried it and they all died. The oldest of them was almost five hundred, but Eli was over a thousand when he did it. He thinks his advanced age may have been what made it work. I have no idea whether a Killer of your age could survive the process. The question is, would you be willing to try?”

  Armand raised an eyebrow. “The alternative is you kill me now, right?”

  Gabriel grinned. “I think you’re beginning the advantages of my offer.”

  Armand couldn’t fathom what Gabriel was thinking. They were enemies, he had to know that. If their positions had been reversed, Gabriel would been have been dead ten minutes ago. “Why would you trust me, even if I went through this process of yours and survived? You’ve known me for all of ten minutes. And you know I came here to kill you.”

  “It’s been a telling ten minutes. And I can’t imagine after all that’s happened you’d have any great desire to return to your homeland or team up Brigitte, assuming she’s still alive.”

  Armand suppressed a shudder. There was certainly truth in that, if he was actually going to live through this encounter, there was nowhere in the world he could go that would be safe if Brigitte or La Vieille knew he still lived.

  “He might not team up with one of them,” Drake protested, “but what’s to say he won’t just skip town and set himself up as a master somewhere? He’s old enough to take over any city in the U.S. except Balti­more and Philadelphia!”

  Armand managed a strained laugh. “I’m not a fool, Drake. If Brigitte is alive, she’s very, very un­happy with me, Whatever you may think of me, I am powerfully motivated to remain in your master’s good graces.”

  Drake looked like he had much more to say, but Gabriel cut him off. “The subject isn’t open for de­bate.” He turned to look at Jezebel, who hadn’t said a word throughout and whose face was studiously neutral.

  “I’d like you to take Faith and Armand back to the house. Armand can have the, er, guest room in the basement.” He looked at Armand. “You will be locked in. Sorry if that makes me seem inhospitable?’

  Armand doubted there was a lock that could hold him, but he declined to disabuse Gabriel of the no­tion. He was willing to call a truce with the Master of Baltimore, and he was even willing to team up with him against Brigitte. That didn’t mean he com­pletely trusted him. After all, Gabriel was a born vampire, and born vampires were known for mental instability.

  “You’re going to let Jez and Faith get into with him unprotected?” Drake cried.

  “He won’t harm them,” Gabriel said calmly with great conviction. “I doubt he needs to be told what would happen to him if he laid a finger on one under my protection.”

  Drake sputtered, and Jez finally spoke up. “If I’m taking Armand and Faith back to the house, what are you doing?”

  “Drake and I are going to have a long talk,” he answered. The tone of his voice suggested “long was a euphemism.

  “Please,” Faith blurted, taking a step toward Gabriel and reaching out a hand, though she didn’t quite dare touch him. “If he hadn’t come, Lily would have been long gone before you got here we’d be worse than dead.”

  “That may be,” Gabriel said, “but he disobeyed direct order. And there are other matters we need discuss. I’m not going to kill him, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  Faith stared at Drake, her expression stricken. Armand’s heart gave a dull thump, and he looked away. In the course of a handful of days, Drake had melt her heart and won her love. And Armand would always wonder whether things would have turned out differently if only he’d treated her better from the beginning. But he’d been a Seigneur, and even if he’d recognized his feelings for her earlier, he could never have treated her as an equal.

  Perhaps if he survived whatever the process was that might cure the blood addiction, he would be able to start anew when it was over. Perhaps he could lay the Seigneur to rest and become just Armand Durant once more. Only time would tell.

  21

  DRAKE WATCHED THE car drive away and hoped like hell Gabriel knew what he was doing.

  He heard a faint groan behind him and turned see Gabriel walk around to the other side of Charles’s car. The groan was cut off. Gabriel bent, and a moment later Drake heard the sound of breaking bone. The last of La Vieille’s vampires was dead. Drake scanned for the single mortal that had been part of the entourage, but couldn’t find him. Then he peered into the darkness and saw a limp body just beyond the wreckage of Brigitte’s car. Apparently, the mortal hadn’t survived his encounter with the shockwave-or whatever that had been.

  “What are we going to do about this mess?” Drake asked Gabriel, indicating the scattered bodies overturned car.

  Gabriel shrugged. “We take the vamps to the crematorium, and we let the mortal authorities be extremely puzzled as to what the hell happened here. Especially since we’re going to appropriate the security tapes before we leave.” He grinned. “I don’t think vam­pires are going to be high on their suspect list.”

  Drake had to concede the point. But he supposed he’d only asked about it in an effort to put off the dreaded conversation. Now it was best to just get on with it.

  “You said you wanted to talk to me,” he said, his nerves making his voice sharp, “so talk.”

  Gabriel raised an eyebrow at the tone of voice but didn’t go into aggression overdrive. “Care to make excuses for why you disobeyed me?”

  Drake bristled and had to swallow the first couple of responses that came to mind. “I didn’t have time to come get you first’ he said simply. “Like Faith said, it would have been all over by the time we got here if I’d delayed.”

  “That may be true, but this isn’t a democracy. You don’t get to pick and choose which orders to follow. Either I’m in charge, or you are. There’s no in be­tween.”

  “I never wanted to be in charge, and I certainly didn’t intend to challenge your authority.” Drake stiffened his spine and blurted out the truth he’d barely been able to admit to himself. “Look, I’m at least halfway in love with Faith, and there was no way in Hell I was going to leave her at Charles’s mercy. And if Jez had been in danger, you would have done the same thing, no matter what the con­sequences.”

  Gabriel grimaced. “True,” he agreed. “I just don’t like the precedent.”

  “What does the precedent matter if you’re going to kick me out anyway?”

  “If I’m going to kick you out, it doesn’t. However I haven’t decided what to do with you yet, and if you stay. it’s an issue.”

  “When do you think you’ll reach a verdict?”

  Gabriel ignored the question. “If I sent you packing, where would you go?”

  Drake had already figured out his choices New York or nowhere. For a moment, he thought longingly of what it would be like to set aside his humanity. To join with Padraig’s “family,” and for first time in more than a century actually belong somewhere. It would be so much easier than trying to fit in with Gabriel’s Guardians. It might not make happy, exactly, but afte
r the initial period of adjustment, he suspected he would at least feel. . .content.

  And therein lay the problem. Much though he might long for a comfortable life, he couldn’t bear the thought of becoming content with Johnnie Drake.

  Secure in his decision, he met Gabriel’s dis­turbingly intense stare. “If you want me out of Balti­more, you’re going to have to kill me.”

  A long, tense silence stretched between them. Drake hadn’t the faintest idea what Gabriel was think­ing, for nothing showed on the older vampire’s face.

  Then finally, Gabriel shrugged as if his decision were inconsequential. “I don’t suppose we can afford to lose you, so I guess I’ll have to let you off with a warning this time. Disobey me again, though, and I promise I’ll make you sorry. I am most definitely not Eli, if you get my drift?’

  Drake almost laughed. “Yeah, I get it. And I’ve no­ticed.” The hint of laughter fled. “But what about Jez? She really, really wants me gone.”

  “She’ll calm down in time. You didn’t do anything I wouldn’t have done, and she knows that, even if she doesn’t want to admit it?’

  “And are you really going to let the Seigneur join us? He’s been a leader, and a ruthless one at that, for six hundred years. He hasn’t had our qualms about hurting innocents, and that’s not going to change even if he ends up not addicted to the kill anymore. He may not be the Antichrist, but he’s not exactly one of the good guys, either?’

  “You think people are incapable of changing?”

  “A little change, I can imagine. Not something like that.”

  To Drake’s surprise, Gabriel smiled. “What do you think Eli was like before he transformed himself?”

  Drake had no answer to that, had never allowed himself to think too much about the unpalatable truths he’d learned about his mentor.

  “He was never cruel,” Gabriel continued, “and he had the guilt thing down to an art form, but he was never as picky about his prey as I was. He’d take people who were already dying whenever he could manage it, and scum when he couldn’t, but if neither was available, he’d take what was. Prostitutes, beg­gars. Anyone on the fringes of society, anyone who wouldn’t be missed. Which is what I suspect Armand does as well.”