Hungers of the Heart Page 3

  “This is for you,” she said, her eyes glittering with some expression he couldn’t interpret.

  When he didn’t take it, she let the paper fall to his lap. With a satisfied little sigh, she returned to Henri and allowed him to escort her to the front door.

  2

  IT HAD BEEN almost three months since the Seigneur had called her to his bed. Faith had begun to hope he’d tired of her. Though that wouldn’t nec­essarily be a good thing. With his attention came a heavy dose of protection. Protection that she, as an orphan—a vampire whose maker was dead—badly needed.

  She stood outside the door of his hotel room, hand poised to knock, but couldn’t quite get herself to do it. They had checked in less than an hour ago. He’d barely given her time to unpack before calling down to her room and demanding she come to him.

  Why sudden interest, when for three months he’d barely acknowledged her existence? She flat­tened her hand against the door and closed her eyes. It could be merely the stress of their unwanted mis­sion. Or of having to leave his home territory, some­thing that was anathema to a vampire of his age.

  Or, it could have something to do with the fact that her sister, Lily, had come home from boarding school for an extended visit. Dread tightened her chest. Lily was only sixteen, a relatively normal mortal teenager. But there ‘was no denying that she was blossoming, her body filling out nicely from the gawky angles of her childhood. And Faith had caught the Seigneur giving the girl a thorough once-over on the plane.

  For all his many faults, the Seigneur was not a pe­dophile. During his mortal life, his own daughter had been raped and murdered at the age often, and he ab­horred any hint of violence against children. He’d taken surprisingly good care of Lily, keeping her away from his vampires as best he could. But he’d lived his mortal life six hundred years ago. Perhaps his definition of an adult and Faith’s were not the same.

  She blinked back tears and took a deep, steadying breath. It was Faith he’d commanded to his bed, not Lily. Lily was safe, at least for now. But dear God, she had to get her out of his reach, and soon.

  If only she had the faintest clue how to do it.

  The door swung open as she stood hesitating.

  There was no denying that Armand Durant was an impressive specimen of manhood. He’d been in his early forties when he’d been turned, but in that an­noying way that men had, he looked distinguished rather than past his prime. Thick salt-and-pepper hair framed an elegant, aristocratic face, and his eyes were a startling sapphire blue.

  She lowered her gaze to the floor. “Seigneur,” she said in greeting. He always made her feel like she should curtsy in his presence.

  He swung the door open wide, stepping aside to make room. “Please do come in, ma petite,” he said, as always imbuing his words with amused conde­scension.

  She swallowed hard and moved past him. No mat­ter how many times she’d served him in his bed, she’d never get used to it, never get used to the knowledge that her body was not her own anymore, that she would-forever be subject to another’s will.

  As befitted a man of his station, he’d rented a grand suite. The decor was reminiscent of the opu­lence of his manor house in Rouen. Out of habit, she did a quick psychic scan. There were three vampires in the room across the hail. A lone vampire occupied another room a little ways down the hall. That would be Charles Giroux, Armand’s right-hand man. Else­where on the floor, she sensed the presence of mor­tals, some of them no doubt part of the Seigneur’s entourage, but some of them ordinary guests. And in the room that adjoined Armand’s, there was a soli­tary mortal presence.

  Faith’s heart clutched with panic. He had denied her request to let her share a room with Lily. She’d never expected him to grant it—he knew perfectly well that if he gave her the opportunity, she’d grab her sister and make a run for it.

  Armand laughed softly. “Ah, now I understand why you’ve been so quiet lately. You fear I have de­signs on your dear sister.”

  She met his eyes, trying to be brave while still properly subservient. “She’s just a child, Seigneur.”

  He smiled at her. “I am aware of that. I have put her in the adjoining room for her own protection. No one would dare trouble her there. You know as well as I that not all members of our merry band can be trusted. But come. I have neglected you shamefully all these months.”

  He was wearing an antique brocade dressing gown that would have looked effeminate on a modern man. On him, it looked terribly sophisticated. Unfortu­nately, it didn’t conceal much—there was an unmis­takable tent forming.

  Faith’s throat tightened as he approached. With her eyes lowered, she couldn’t help seeing the evidence of his arousal; but if she raised her gaze, she might lind herself trapped by his eyes, and that would be even worse. Her pulse throbbed rapidly in her throat.

  Of course, Armand was never content to let her hide from him. He lifted her chin with his finger, meeting her gaze as the familiar crease of puzzlement formed between his brows. His finger traced down her throat, lingering over her frantic pulse. He wasn’t delusional enough to think her pulse raced with desire.

  He shook his head. “Have I ever hurt you?” he asked softly. “In bed, I mean,” he quickly amended.

  It was true that the only time he’d caused her any physical pain was when he’d beaten her for allowing her sometimes sharp tongue to get away from her. His damned glamour made sure that her body enjoyed everything he did to her in bed, and for all his capacity for brutality, he was a surprisingly gentle lover. But nothing she could ever say would make him under­stand that what he did to her was still rape.

  A tear leaked out of her eye. She couldn’t help it. After three months of blessed freedom, this new summons stung somewhere deep inside. And the thought that he might turn his attentions to Lily.

  She shuddered. In Lily’s eyes, her “Uncle Armand” practically walked on water. Faith couldn’t imagine how dreadful the disillusionment and betrayal would be if he forced her to his bed.

  Armand caressed the single tear away with the pad of his thumb. She felt the touch of his glamour in her mind, softening the edges of her distress—for now. His lips came down on hers, and her mouth opened against her will, granting access to his tongue. His fangs had descended, their needle-sharp points pricking her lips.

  “Yes,” he murmured against her lips as he ground his erection into her belly, “I have definitely neg­lected you too long?’

  God, how she hated him right now, even as she obeyed the demands of his glamour and slid down his body till she was on her knees before him.

  For the first time in years, she tried to fight free of the glamour, even knowing it was useless. She was a fledgling, and he was a Seigneur. She couldn’t hope to win.

  A cry of frustration escaped her as she reached out to part his robe, her mouth opening despite her every effort. As she’d guessed, his erection was at full mast

  already, an intimidating weapon. Her cry turned to a whimper as the tip of him brushed her lips.

  And then, to her utter shock, he released her from his glamour. She scrambled away from him, landing on her butt with an undignified thump, her breath saw­ing frantically in and out of her chest. She closed her eyes, trying to calm herself once more, trying to think.

  Before she could form a coherent thought, he’d come up behind her, hauling her to her feet, his arms wrapped around her, trapping her own arms by her sides, his lips caressing her ear.

  “Why do you fight it?” he whispered. “You know I will pleasure you. Why must you make it a battle?”

  She sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly. The damnable thing was, he really and truly didn’t understand. She’d been with him long enough to know that although he was brutal when he thought it necessary, he wasn’t wantonly cruel. If he understood what he was doing to her, if she could somehow get through to him, then he wouldn’t do it. But the bastard just wasn’t capable of that kind of empathy. Either that, or she wasn’t
eloquent enough to explain it.

  When she didn’t answer, he let out a little sigh. Then, his glamour slammed into her full force, steal­ing the last vestige of her free will.

  ***

  DRAKE STARED AT the folded piece of paper Brigitte had dropped on his lap. He didn’t want to open it.

  “Aren’t you going to read it?” Jez asked. He had no doubt she was still angry with him, but she’d put the anger aside for now.

  Setting his jaw grimly, he unfolded the paper. There was nothing written there but a phone number with a 212 area code, a terse Call me, and the letter P as a signature. But it was enough. More than enough.

  He crumpled the paper into a tight wad and shoved it in his pants pocket.

  “Well?” Jez prompted.

  He shook his head. “None of your business,” he said, more sharply than he meant to.

  Her eyes narrowed, and with uncanny instinct she homed in on just the topic to make him squirm the most. “Jonathan, eh?”

  He grimaced. No one had called him Jonathan ex­cept his mother. To everyone else, he’d been Johnnie. Johnnie Drake—the bogeyman who’d come to get you if you crossed the man who held his leash. “I haven’t gone by that name for more than a century. It’s best you wipe it from your memory.” As he’ tried to wipe it from his.

  “Why?”

  Because I said so. “Because it’s irrelevant?’

  Jez shrugged. “Brigitte seemed to think it was im­portant.”

  “It was only important as a tool to show off her knowledge.”

  “If it turns out to be important and you don’t t~ me, Gabriel will kick your ass when he gets back.

  “It’s not important,” he repeated. As far as he

  concerned, Brigitte digging up his real name was nothing more than a parlor trick. Either that, or a petty torment. “I have a past, just like everyone else. But I’ve left that past far behind, and it has no bear­ing on the current situation.”

  Again, Jez shrugged. “I’ll just have to take your word for that, I suppose.”

  He could see from the look in her eye that she was practically dying of curiosity, but she managed to swallow it. For now. “So what happens when we hear I rum this delegation?” she asked instead.

  He thought about that for a long moment. If what he’d heard about the European vampires was true, then he was practically a fledgling in comparison. Gabriel’s Guardians would be seriously outmatched, and thanks to Brigitte they’d be in a precarious position from the very start.

  “We stall and hope Brigitte can get rid of them, I suppose,” he said.

  Jez blinked at him. “We’re going to count on Brigitte to get us out of this mess? Are you crazy?”

  “Believe me, I’m open to suggestions if you’ve got any.

  “All right, how about we find Gabriel and get him hick? Or was Brigitte right and you kind of like sitting in that chair?”

  Drake restrained a surge of temper. He met her glare with one of his own. “I haven’t the faintest de­sire to be the Master of Baltimore,” he told her, and it was the God’s honest truth. He’d never wanted to be a leader, never wanted that kind of power—or that kind of responsibility. “But until Gabriel gets back, that’s what I am.”

  Jez’s face turned mutinous, but he continued fore she could voice her opinion. “This delegation theirs will assume I’m in charge because I’m the oldest and strongest.” This wasn’t saying much, considering that the only members of Gabriel’s Guardia not currently in the room were a pair of fledglings even younger than Jez. “We don’t want them to see us as a bunch of leaderless rabble. That would just make us seem even weaker than we already are.”

  “I’ll put up with you taking Gabriel’s place for the time being,” Jezebel said. “But we sure as hell better get him back soon, and I have no intention of just waiting around for Brigitte to solve all our problems.”

  Once again, he reminded himself that her temper was brittle due to her worry about Gabriel. In some ways, he couldn’t blame her. But his temper wasn’t much better at the moment, and it took a concerted effort to reel it back in before he said or did some­thing that he would regret.

  “Let’s at least see what this delegation has to say,” he said, pleased at how even his tone sounded. “Until we’ve heard from them, we can’t even begin to plan how to deal with them. It’s not like Brigitte gave us much information. We don’t even know how many of them there are.”

  As if on cue, the phone rang. They both turned to stare at it. Jez let it ring three times before she picked up.

  After her curt greeting, she listened for a while. The caller spoke so softly, and Drake was just far away, that he couldn’t make out the words.

  “I’m afraid Gabriel’s not available right now,” Jez said, her face growing paler. The caller started to say something else, but Jez interrupted. “One moment.” The caller was still talking when she lowered the phone from her ear, crossed the room, and shoved it at Drake.

  “I I you’re standing in for Gabriel, then you deal with this,” she said.

  He took the phone. “Who is this?” he demanded.

  The caller fell silent for a moment, then quickly recovered. “I wish to speak with the Master of Baltimore.” It was a male voice, speaking English with a strong French accent.

  I am acting Master of Baltimore,” Drake said, the words sounding awkward in his own ears. “Whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?”

  Another hesitation. “You are not Gabriel Cromwell.”

  Drake wondered how Gabriel would take to being assigned Eli’s surname. “I will ask one more time, who am I speaking to?” Perhaps he was setting a confrontational tone a little earlier than necessary, mu if he was going to be Master of Baltimore, he had to act the part.

  I am Charles Giroux. I speak for the Seigneur, Armand Durant.”

  “He can’t speak for himself?”

  “If your master cannot speak for himself, then the Seigneur cannot, either.”

  Touché. “What do you want with the Master of Baltimore?” Drake asked, even though he knew the answer

  “That is not a question to be answered over the phone.”

  “Very well, then.” Drake looked at his watch. “The Seigneur is welcome to visit tonight at. . . shall we say, midnight?” He stood a good chance of annoying his adversary with his attitude, but better to put on an annoying show of arrogance than to appear weak. “He may bring with him one other representative from your delegation, but no more.”

  Another moment of silence. Then, “Our delega­tion?” Giroux asked.

  “Brigitte told us you were coming. Just as she no doubt told you where to find us.”

  Giroux muttered something that was most likely a curse. “Trust me on this, Monsieur. .

  “Just call me Drake, and skip the Monsieur part.”

  “Drake. You do not wish to be involved in Brigitte’s game.”

  No, I don’t, Drake silently agreed. “I’m afraid she’s already involved me. Will your Seigneur be available for a midnight appointment?”

  “I feel certain that can be arranged. Tell me your address.”

  He’d won Giroux’s agreement too easily, but he could hardly complain about it. Wondering how ugly this meeting might become, he gave the Seigneur’s lieutenant the address.

  ***

  LIKE A MORTAL man, Armand tended to fall asleep after sex. As soon as Faith heard his breaths come slow and even, she slipped out of the bed and hastily dressed. She stared at him for a moment before she left. He was so secure in his power that it never oc­curred to him to think of her as a threat. And yet just now, naked and fast asleep in his bed, he was so vulnerable. If she could just get her hands on a gun, she could put the muzzle to his head and pull the trigger. She thought she could do that, although she’d never killed anyone. But to escape him, and to get Lily out of his clutches, she would happily do that and worse.

  Unfortunately, killing Armand wouldn’t solve her problems. She was by far th
e least powerful vampire in his entourage. She was younger than most of them, and her maker, under the mad delusion that this would somehow make his betrayal all better, had in­formed her that she could survive on animal blood as long as she never once gave in to the temptation to kill a human. When Armand had killed her maker for creating an unauthorized fledgling, he’d allowed her to continue feeding on animal blood—supposedly to protect her delicate sensibilities, but she wasn’t at all sure his motives were so pure. As long as she didn’t feed on the kill, she would always remain weaker than those around her, no matter how old she became. And she would always need Armand’s protection.

  Of course, even if she escaped Armand’s en­tourage, where would she go? Her home before she’d been turned was a tiny town in rural Virginia. She couldn’t go back there, not without someone finding out her secret. No doubt everyone thought both she and Lily were dead, and she had no idea how she’d explain their long absence.

  She couldn’t stay anywhere near a vampire-occupied territory, but when she’d left the U.S. for her fateful vacation in France, she hadn’t even known vampires existed. How could she know which territories were claimed and which weren’t?

  Despair made her feet and her heart heavy as she slipped quietly out of the room.

  Her mood went from despair to terror when the door to the opposite room opened and Marie stepped out, scowling. A voluptuous, red-haired beauty, Marie had been a high-class hooker—though Faith found the term an oxymoron—before she’d caught Armand’s eye and he’d decided to reserve her special skills for himself. He’d been availing himself of those special skills frequently over the last three months, and as far as Faith was concerned, Marie was welcome to him.

  Unfortunately, she was also a jealous, mean-spirited bitch who saw Faith as her competition.

  Marie sniffed the air pointedly, her beaklike nose wrinkling at what she smelled. There was no con­cealing the scent of sex from a vampire.