Hungers of the Heart Page 17

  “At least you have a noble purpose,” he countered. “You’re trying to protect your sister.”

  She reached up and stroked his face again. He loved the feel of her fingers on his skin. “Protecting yourself is a noble purpose, too. You didn’t deserve what happened to you.”

  Her warm-hearted defense moved him so much his throat tightened and for a moment he couldn’t speak. But there was still a lot left to this story, and she might not be so forgiving when she’d heard it all.

  “My half-brothers still hated me, and they re­sented any attention my father paid to me. Once he’d trained me to be a true Five Points gangster, he started treating me like some kind of favorite. You can imagine how much my brothers appreciated that. The more my father seemed to like me, the worse my brothers treated me. Except for the youngest, Eamon, who was born shortly after I came to Five Points. He was different from the rest. By the time he was old enough to notice such things, my father had accepted me, and Eamon could never understand why the oth­ers didn’t.

  “It was no secret that except for Eamon, my broth­ers hated me. But because of what I did for my father, there were plenty of other people in Five Points who hated me at least as much. So one day, my brothers decided they’d had enough of me, and that there were enough people who hated me that they could pin my death on someone else.

  “They cornered me and tried to beat me to death. Obviously, I wasn’t quite dead when they left me, but they had every reason to believe I would be within minutes.

  “And that’s how Padraig, my maker, found me. was the leader of a rival gang who called themselves Blood and Death, and we knew each other on a casual level. He certainly knew of my reputation. When he found me, he figured I’d make a good addition to his crew, so he made me.”

  Faith shuddered in his arms. “A gang of vampires? How could they have any rivals when everyone around them was human? Surely they should have been top of the heap.”

  Drake nodded. “I’m sure they could have been, had they wished to. But in the U.S., where we have a relatively low vampire population, secrecy is crucial. Padraig knew better than to set himself and his vampires up for the kind of violence and scrutiny that would go with being on top. It wasn’t like he rolled over for anyone, but he never fully stretched his wings, either.

  “When I came to and found out what had hap­pened to me, there was a part of me that was just sick to death of the whole lifestyle. A part of me that re­membered how. . . civilized my life had once been. You have to realize, there is no place in modem America that is as vile and lawless as Five Points was back then. It was a dreadful, soulless way to live, and my brush with death had made me question just what I’d become in my effort to survive.

  “But there was another part of me that overflowed with hatred for my brothers. It’s not like I hadn’t known they hated me, and it’s not like I felt any par­ticular loyalty to them beyond what was absolutely necessary based on our belonging to the same gang—and the same father. But I’d honestly never thought they hated me enough to kill me.

  “Even that I might have been able to. . . well, not forgive, but maybe let go. But they didn’t just shoot me in the head and have done with it. They made sure my death was as slow as they could manage with fists and feet, and any time I passed out, they made sure to revive me until I was so close to death they couldn’t anymore.”

  Drake had let his eyes slide closed, his mind spiraling back to the past, to the misery and pain of that encounter. He was jerked back into the present by wet tickle on his chest.

  He opened his eyes and saw tear tracks on Faith’ cheeks. His heart squeezed at the sight, and he trio to brush the-tears away with his fingers.

  “Please don’t cry’ he begged. “This was all a very long time ago, you know.”

  She sniffled. “I know. I just can’t imagine how I would have felt in your place.”

  No, he very much doubted that she could. Perhaps her experiences with the Seigneur had hardened her in some ways, but she couldn’t possibly imagine the seething mass of hatred and resentment that was Johnnie Drake. No doubt somewhere deep inside him, he’d been emotionally traumatized by his broth­ers’ betrayal. But that hurt was buried under layer upon layer of fury and hate.

  “I told you before that Padraig was a very charis­matic and influential man. He wanted me just the way I was, as an explosion waiting to happen, a bo­geyman to frighten even the strongest of men. So he fed and nurtured my hatred while I recuperated. And he kept my identity hidden for months, letting my brothers believe I was dead—even though my body was never found, which I suspect worried them.

  When I went out, it was always in the darkest part of the night, and the targets he sent me after never lived to tell the tale.

  “Then finally, he gave me permission to take my revenge, and he sent three of his older fledglings with me for backup. It was overkill, but the idea was that I would personally kill each of my brothers, and the other fledglings would make sure no one escaped while I was busy.

  “So one night, we managed to corner them in the perfect dark, deserted alley.” Drake’s soul cringed at the memory. At the time, he’d been so wrapped up in being Johnnie Drake, the soulless Killer, that he’d felt nothing but a surge of triumph.

  Since he’d gone to Philadelphia and changed his ways, he’d never felt much in the way of remorse for the people he’d killed. His surety that they were evil had shielded his conscience. But there’d always been a tinge of sadness in him. A wish that he didn’t have to kill, and a wish that there weren’t so many repre­hensible human beings in the world.

  When he’d confronted his brothers, he hadn’t felt a single scrap of such honorable emotion.

  “I killed them all,” he said, his voice flat and dull. “I showed them my fangs from the first moment we managed to surround them, then I killed them one at a time. I didn’t use any glamour, and neither did my fellow fledglings. We used brute force to keep them contained, made sure that they were fully aware of what we were and how they would die.”

  Drake’s mouth tasted sour, and the memory felt so dirty he wanted to take a shower. When he’d done his father’s bidding, Drake had felt next to nothing his victims. He’d shut off every human emotion and just done his job. But when he’d taken his revenge against his brothers, he’d been overcome with every imaginable unclean emotion.

  With distance, he knew that much of what he’d felt then was the triumph of the predatory instincts r’ were inherent in all vampires, even the Guardians. But he still hated to remember the gleeful killing chine he had been.

  “When they were all dead,” he continued, “I didn’t’ feel a hint of anything that resembled remorse. My fellow fledglings congratulated me on a job well done, and it looked like I’d firmly cemented my place the Blood and Death gang.

  “Until we discovered young Eamon, who’d witnessed the whole thing.

  “He was fifteen years old, a scrawny kid w didn’t have the family gift for violence. He’d following my other brothers around, hoping to way to sneak into their inner circle. He’d been den behind a pile of rubbish, and we’d all been engrossed in our game to notice him until it was over and he couldn’t help sniffling.

  “There really and truly was no such thing as an innocent in Five Points, but Eamon was about as close as you could get. He was the only one of my brothers I had any loyalty to, and he was basically a good kid. But not only had he seen me kill my other brothers, he’d seen how I’d done it, seen that I was a vampire. He had to have seen the fangs on my fellow fledg­lings.

  “The moment we found him, I knew he was in big trouble. My. . . companions offered me the chance to kill him, but of course I refused, and I tried to con­vince them that Eamon would never tell anyone what he’d seen. Hell, even if he’d told, no one would have believed him.

  “But Blood and Death believed in keeping the se­cret of our powers buried deep so no mortal would know what we were until it was too late.

  “The other f
ledglings were all older and more powerful than I, and they also outranked me. I got between them and Eamon and told him to run. They ordered me to stand aside, and I didn’t. But it was a useless effort.

  “I tried my best to fight them, but all I managed to do was piss them off. One of them ran off to catch Eamon while the other two detained me. Eamon didn’t get far, and the vamp who caught him dragged him back to the alley. They again gave me the oppor­tunity to kill him myself, but I was determined I was going to save him.

  “If I’d just used my head and accepted the inevitable, I could at least have given him a quick and painless death.” Drake heard the hoarseness that had crept into his voice and shut up. In his mind’s eye, he still saw Eamon’s terrified face, still saw the way he’d pleaded with Drake with his eyes.

  Even after what Eamon had seen him do to his other brothers, he’d believed in Drake, had trusted him to save him.

  “I made it so much worse for him,” he said, his voice little more than a whisper now. “I prolonged his misery because I just wouldn’t accept that there was nothing I could do to help him. And because I was being so difficult, I made the others mad. Instead of taking it out directly on me, they took it out on Eamon. He didn’t die quickly.”

  Drake’s heart slammed against his breastbone, old pain gnawing at his belly as memory forced its way past his defenses. The aching lump in his throat wouldn’t let another word out, and every muscle in his body was stretched taut by tension.

  Faith wrapped her arms around him and pulled him closer, holding him tightly as he struggled for control. He inhaled the rich, womanly scent of her and tried with all his might to drag his mind back into the present.

  “I’m so sorry,” Faith said, and in her voice he heard the tears that he refused to shed.

  They lay in silence, holding each other, giving each other warmth and comfort, for a long while. Eventu­ally, Drake managed to pull back at least partway into the present. He cleared his throat to get rid of any remaining tightness.

  “Afterward’ he said, “the fledglings brought me back to Padraig and reported what I’d done, how I’ refused to follow their orders. I was barely coherent the time, in as close to a state of shock as a vampire can be. Padraig ordered the others out and used that legendary charm of his to help bring me back to my­self.

  “He then offered me my choice of punishments. He could kill me, or he could exile me. I knew that for a fledgling as young as myself, exile was as good as death. I was bound to infringe on some older, more powerful vampire’s turf, and that would be the end of me. But even knowing that, and even though a part of me felt I deserved to die, I couldn’t resign myself to it. And so I chose exile.”

  “I’m so glad you did,” Faith said, hugging him harder. “You’re a good man, Drake. The world’s a better place with you in it. No matter what mistakes you may have made in the past.”

  He appreciated her words and her sentiment. But that didn’t mean he was convinced.

  If Drake hadn’t been so full of hatred, if he hadn’t been so hell-bent on getting his revenge, Eamon would have lived to be an adult. Maybe he even would have escaped from Five Points and lived a good life.

  No, Drake might have tried his best to live a virtu­ous life ever since that dreadful night. And he might even have succeeded for the most part. But he doubted anything would ever erase the lingering taint of guilt that had clung to him now for more than a century.

  13

  CHARLES COULDN’T SLEEP. The sun had rise hours ago. For a while, he’d tried lying down an closing his eyes, but the effort to keep still had only made him more agitated. And so he’d sprung from his bed and gotten dressed once more, pacing the confines of his room and wondering if he’d com­pletely taken leave of his senses.

  Last night, everything had suddenly become so clear to him. The mission was doomed. Armand was doomed. Nothing Charles could do would help him.

  The only person he could even hope to help was Lily. If only Armand had listened to him and left Lily at home where she’d belonged! Charles had felt sure they could ensure her safety, but Armand had been adamant that she couldn’t remain in France without his protection. The damn fool.

  If Armand kept bumbling around as he’d been doing, with Brigitte and Henri picking them off one by one, how could Charles know Lily’s wouldn’t be the next dead body they found? He couldn’t let that hap­pen! And there was only one way he could think of to make sure she was safe—they had to get her back to France as soon as possible. Unfortunately, there was no chance in Hell they were going home until their mission either succeeded or failed.

  It had been childishly easy for Charles to over­come the search party he’d been leading. He’d killed Jacques before the fledgling had any idea what was happening, and Drake and Eric were no match for the glamour of a six-hundred-year-old vampire. Clearly, it had been the only way. They needed to get home, and Brigitte would draw out the game as long as she could for the sheer pleasure of it. All he’d done was hurry things along a little.

  Only after he’d retired to his bedroom had Charles begun to absorb the enormity of what he’d done.

  When La Vieille had first approached him with his secret mission to spy on his best and oldest friend, he’d been sickened by the idea. Consumed with guilt. And he’d prayed that the betrayal she’d planned would never come to pass. Now, he was actively trying to bring about the very fate he’d sworn he’d give any­thing to avoid.

  What kind of monster was he?

  Worst of all was coming back to the house and dis­covering all the mortals slaughtered—and Lily left alive. Suggesting that Brigitte did indeed intend to spare the girl. He had killed Jacques for no reason. He hadn’t had any particular fondness for the fledgling, but he hadn’t disliked him. Hadn’t really wanted him to die. But it was too late now.

  Had he been lying to himself all along? The gnawing, knotted feeling in his gut suggested that he had.

  The sun was high in the sky, and though the pull of the daytime sleep made every movement of his limbs sluggish, Charles knew he would not be able to suc­cumb. He didn’t have the energy to pace anymore, so he sat on the edge of his bed and tried to figure out where to go from here.

  When his cell phone rang, he practically jumped out of his shoes, his heart leaping into his throat. The phone rang a second time, and he took a deep breath, trying to soothe his shattered nerves. Who could possibly be calling him at this hour? La Vieilie would be awake, no doubt, but she wouldn’t expect Charles to be.

  Approaching the phone as he might a poisonous snake, he flipped it open and looked at the number. It wasn’t familiar. He answered anyway.

  “Hello?”

  “I hope I didn’t wake you,” Brigitte said.

  Once more, Charles’s heart seemed to stutter in his chest. “What do you want?” he asked, his voice little more than a gasp.

  She laughed. “I heard the so-sad news about Jacques’s untimely demise last night. You can imagine how surprised I was to find out what Henri and I had been up to. Considering you and I both know were nowhere near the scene of the crime.”

  Charles swallowed hard. If Brigitte were to make a similar phone call to Armand—or worse, to La Vieille... ! Armand might take Charles’s word over Brigitte’s, but La Vieille would not. Dread suffused him until he could hardly breathe.

  “One can only deduce that you yourself were the culprit in that particular murder,” Brigitte continued, her tone light and playful despite her words. “One then begins to wonder what you’re up to.”

  He could think of nothing to say, the terror that gripped him too overwhelming to allow a single sound from his throat. He’d thought himself safe from La Vieille’s wrath, had been willing to damn his soul to escape a fate worse than death. Had he just condemned himself to the very fate he’d been so des­perate to avoid?

  “Come now, Charles,” Brigitte prompted. “Tell me everything. Perhaps if I like your story, you and I can come to some kind of. . . accord?”


  Charles hesitated only a moment. Brigitte had him completely in her power now. He hadn’t thought she cared about him enough to sink her claws into him, hut if she did, he was doomed. All he could do was hope that she might find some advantage in keeping his secret.

  And so he did exactly as she commanded. He told her everything, including his desire to keep Lily from La Vieille’s clutches. -

  “Why, how sweet of you, Charles,” she said when he was finished. “I never knew you were such a sentimental creature.” She giggled. “Who am I to stand in the way of true love?”

  Charles swallowed hard. “Do you think it’s possi­ble we could come to an agreement?” If he was will­ing to betray Armand to La Vieille, surely it was no more evil an act to betray him to Brigitte and Henri.

  “I must admit, I could find uses for a six-hundred-year-old ally, as long as he proved himself worthy of me.”

  “And what would I have to do to prove myself worthy?”

  He could almost see her tapping her chin while cold calculation filled her eyes. “First of all, you could rid me of the other useless fledgling Armand has by his side.”

  Charles’s conscience twinged at the thought of killing Lily’s sister, but once again he reminded him­self that death was a far preferable fate to the one that awaited her in France.

  Then he frowned, belatedly realizing that Armand still had his own fledgling with him. “Do you mean Faith, or Louis?” he asked.

  “Louis. I have something entirely different in mind for the lovely Faith. Henri is quite taken with her, you know, and I’ve promised him a reward for all his years of faithful service.”

  Charles fought a shudder. Handing Faith over to Henri would be another in the long list of black marks against his soul.

  “And of course, if you were to prove yourself as faithful as Henri, I would be happy to reward you as well. The girl could be yours for all eternity. It’s true that if you took her home to my mother, she might agree that giving her to you would hurt Armand dreadfully. But I still think Armand is sentimental enough that he’d prefer her to live as your love slave than die in my mother’s dungeons. And my mother would know that. Your chances of winning her are much greater if you ally yourself with me rather than with my mother.”