Hunger (27 page)

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Authors: Karen E. Taylor

BOOK: Hunger
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“Thank you.” I dressed quickly and cautiously stepped into the living room. “This should be fine.”
He was standing at the window with his back to me, his hands still on the drape cord. “It seems a shame. It's such a glorious day.”
“Glorious for you, maybe, but deadly for me.” His shoulders slumped a bit. “Let it be, Mitch.”
He spun around, stung by my comment. “I wouldn't open them. How could you think that?”
“That's not what I mean. I know you wouldn't hurt me. But you should quit tearing yourself up over this situation. It is not worth it. I can't change, no matter how much you or I might wish it.”
“But maybe you could. I've been doing research in the area for weeks since this case started. Did you know there's a recently discovered disease that they think may have cause the myths of vampirism to arise? Propheria, I think it was called.” He looked at me hopefully and I hated to disillusion him.
“Porphyria.
I know all about it, Mitch. I paid one of the researchers on the subject good money to examine me and then forget about it.”
“And?”
“Sorry, my darling. They could find no trace of it in my system. They did however find out some facts that interested them greatly. My metabolism, my DNA structure, all sorts of details that they wanted to study.” I gave a small laugh in recollection of the situation. “I had one hell of a time getting out of the office intact and with all my files.”
“How did you get out?”
“Oh,” I said casually, but locked my eyes on his, “I talked them into it.”
He shuddered slightly as my gaze held him. “I believe it.” Then he smiled at me as I dropped my stare. “You must teach me to do that, Deirdre. It would be very handy in my line of work.”
“No doubt,” I agreed glibly. “But I don't think it can be taught, only acquired.” I grew serious considering the matter. “And not without great cost.” An uncomfortable silence filled the room as we studied each other, both trying to fathom the other's thoughts.
“Okay, I'll drop it,” he said at last. “Now, how about that coffee?”
 
The hours passed quickly in his company. We sat and talked about commonplace things, carefully avoiding any mention of recent events. He received several phone calls that I presumed were about the case, but made no comment on them, and I asked no questions. It was a peaceful time, unlike the frenzy of passion or anger we usually experienced. Sometimes he would reach out to me and gently stoke my hair or shoulder. I was grateful for the ordinariness of the situation. We could have been any other couple on their day off. It was a comfortable feeling, one that I fervently wished could continue.
In the early afternoon, the phone rang again. Mitch went to it with a shrug and a smile for me. He answered it, talked for a while and then hung up. When he turned back to me he was not smiling. “Nothing, we've got nothing on this case. Everywhere we turn, we come up a blank. How the hell am I supposed to solve this, when I have no witnesses, no clues, no idea of who might be doing it? At least with Larry, I had something concrete. But for this one, he could very well be made of mist, it's that hard to track him.” His voice raised in frustration.
“You said last night that I could help you. What exactly do you have in mind?”
“I don't think you should get involved, not anymore. It could be dangerous for you. I keep picturing you in Gwen's place, or like the girl in the morgue.”
“What girl in the morgue?”
“The one they brought in, you know, the fourth murder. There was something about her that . . .” He stopped and shuddered. “Anyway, I think it would be best for you just to stay out of it. I can keep you safe here until everything is over.”
“Mitch, you cannot keep me locked away forever. And you cannot always be around to protect me. Sooner or later I will have to feed, and should you be around, well, let's just say you could become very anemic over time. Neither of us want that to happen.”
“Well, I did bring your supplies over with me in addition to the clothes.” He gave me a shy smile. “I put it in the vegetable drawer.”
I laughed. “Good place for it, but that doesn't solve the problem.”
“I know. Everything you're saying is true. It's just that the thought of losing you makes me crazy.”
“Fine, let me help you and it will all be over sooner. I don't believe that the other vampire would harm me in any event.”
“I seem to remember that that's what you said about Larry.”
I smiled. “Then the odds that I am right will be better this time. Let me help, Mitch.”
He finally reneged. “Actually,” he admitted sheepishly, “there's really no danger to you on this. I just want you to come along with me while I talk to everyone again. Maybe there will be something you can pick up from them, recognition maybe, I don't know. But if we start now, we can finish by eight or nine, get some dinner and come back here.”
“Now?” I questioned, glancing at the clock. “The sun won't set for hours. But,” I said quickly seeing the disappointment on his face, “I could leave at sunset. Will that be soon enough?”
“I guess it will have to be. I don't have a choice anyway, do I?”
“No, and neither do I.” I went over to him and gently touched his arm. “Nothing of importance is likely to happen in the next few hours, considering that the person we're looking for also can't go about in daylight.”
He brightened briefly. “Yeah, I guess I hadn't thought of it that way. I'm just not used to this confinement. When I want to go out, I go.”
I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him. When I was done, I looked up at him and smiled. “We have some free time, Mitch. Do you know what I'd like to do?” I moved away from him and started backing down the hall, slowly unbuttoning my shirt. “I'd really like to have a shower.” I laughed at the look on his face and tossed my shirt to him.
His face lit up with a playful grin. “I hope you don't mind sharing?”
“Not at all,” I replied. “And I hope you like the water hot.”
Chapter 22
W
hen we eventually emerged from the shower Mitch laughed. “Damn, I feel like a lobster. How can you stand it?”
I shrugged as I wrapped myself in a towel. “It warms me.”
“I should hope so,” he said with a wry grin, as we went to the bedroom to dress. “It damn near parboiled me.”
I sat on the edge of the bed to brush my hair. “Let me do that,” he said and took the brush from my hand. He knelt behind me and began to brush, slowly at first, and then with harder strokes. It felt so good that I leaned back into him, contentedly. He continued for a while, then stopped abruptly, threw the brush across the room and buried his face in the mass of hair at my neck. “Oh, Deirdre,” he said, making my name into a low, passionate moan, then made a grab at the towel that covered me. He flung it to the floor and pulled me down on the bed next to him.
I looked into his eyes, so blue and intense. “I thought we had to go out,” I teased him softly.
“Later,” he said and kissed me.
The phone rang and he jumped from me. “Let it ring,” I urged, twining my arms around his neck and pulling him back.
“Shit,” he swore as he rose from me reluctantly. “I can't just let it ring. It might be important.” He reached over, picked up the phone, then covered the receiver and took one more kiss before answering it. “Yeah,” he said brusquely into the phone, “this had better be good.”
I could hear the voice of the caller, low, urgent and somehow familiar, but did not pay attention. Instead, I occupied myself with lazily tracing the muscles in Mitch's now tense arm until he brushed me off and sat up straight.
“Look, Hunter, I thought I made the situation plain last night. She's with me now. I'll take care of her. You should just leave her alone.”
“Damn,” I swore quietly and Mitch gave me a sharp look. I could hear Max's cynical laugh and comment quite plainly. He, too, had raised his voice. “Calm down, Greer. I only want to talk to her. I know she's there.”
Mitch put his hand over the receiver again. “It's Max,” he snarled, handed me the phone and stalked out of the room.
“Damn it, Max. Your timing couldn't be worse. What do you want?”
“I spoke with Victor Lange today. He said you had dinner at the Imperial last night.”
“That's right. And?”
“It was brought to my attention that I just might have some information for Greer, if he would be interested.”
I looked up and Mitch was standing in the entrance of the door glaring at the telephone. “What the hell does he want?” he said in a voice loud enough to be heard.
“Tell him what I said, Deirdre.”
“I don't much care to be caught in the middle of this, Max. Why don't you just talk to Mitch, if that's what you want? Or maybe he should listen in on the extension.” I wasn't sure with which one of them I was most annoyed.
“An excellent idea, Deirdre,” Max agreed. “I do have something of importance to say to both of you.”
“Pick up the extension, Mitch,” I said, exasperated. He went to the kitchen and we maintained silence until we heard the click from the other phone.
“Now, isn't that better?” Max said sarcastically. “All cozy and together again.”
“Get to the point, Hunter. We have better things to do . . .”
“I'm sure you do.” Max's voice was smooth, insinuating. “So I'll make it quick. I didn't wish to interrupt your afternoon. But it was important that I talk to Deirdre. When I couldn't find her at any of the usual places, I assumed she was with you.” I could hear an uncharacteristic sadness in his voice. Mitch must have heard it also, because he awkwardly cleared his throat. Max continued without acknowledging him. “Be that as it may, even if she weren't there, I would have called to give you some information.” Max paused and I could hear a faint tingling of ice against a glass.
“Get on with it, Hunter,” Mitch said and Max laughed.
“He's so abrupt, my dear. I must admit, I don't quite understand the attraction, but it must be considerable. You don't know how lucky you are, Greer. She's been through hundreds of men since I've known her and never gone back for seconds.” He laughed again.
“You bastard . . .” Mitch started.
“It doesn't matter, Mitch,” I cut in. “Don't let him get to you. He does it only for the reaction. Isn't that right, Max?”
“Just so, my love. But my advice to you, Greer, is to make hay while the sun shines. Some night she'll fly away and you'll never get her back.” There was still a trace of cynical laughter in his voice.
“Spare us the dramatics, Hunter. I heard them all the other night. Just get on with it.”
“Fine, I won't waste your time any longer. Today in conversation with Victor Lange, I suddenly realized that I had important information on your case. If the two of you were to stop over at the club tonight, I'd be more than willing to share it.”
“What exactly is going on?” Mitch sounded angry. “You gave no indication earlier that you knew anything about this. I know you have been questioned and had nothing to say. I could charge you for withholding evidence, or . . .”
“Don't threaten me, Greer. It will do you no good. Let's just say that I became aware of something of importance to you and I wanted to do my civic duty.
I laughed at that comment, coming from Max. Responsibility, civic or otherwise, was never one of his strong points.
“Deirdre, you wound me.” I said nothing and he continued. “You will come, won't you? Together?”
Mitch broke in quickly. “I'll be there, Hunter. But I don't see the need to drag Deirdre into this. She'll stay here. Last time she was at your club, she was almost killed, no thanks to you.”
“Deirdre will come with you, won't you, my dear? Otherwise the deal is off. I'll expect you both after sundown.”
“We'll be there, Max.”
I hung up the phone and Mitch came back into the bedroom. “What do you suppose this is all about?” he asked me and I shook my head.
“It's hard to tell with Max. It may even be his idea of a practical joke.”
“It's not funny.”
“Not to you, maybe or even me. But Max is different; I don't really think he means any harm. It is just the way he is.”
“You have too high an opinion of that man, Deirdre. I could believe almost anything of him. He's just too damn smooth.”
“Let's not waste our time talking about Max. We'll find out soon enough what he wants. And until then,” I checked the clock, “we have about two hours before sunset. Do you think we could pick up where we left off?”
“Absolutely,” he said, crossing the room and smiling the smile that lit his eyes.
Afterwards, we both fell asleep and the dream found me swiftly and mercilessly.
 
It begins at the side of the road; I leave the carriage and the frightened horses, I step over the body there without question to follow the dark figure that beckons just out of my reach. With every step that takes me nearer to him I grow in strength, but even that is not enough. Still he moves ahead and I struggle to catch up, to match a face to that form and voice that haunt me through dreams and wakings. I am running now, wearing the green velvet dress. It is dirty and stained, the hem sodden and thick with blood and tears. It catches around my ankles and I stumble. He turns around to watch me. His laugh is as dark and unimaginable as his face.
“Come,” he urges. “Hurry,” he calls and the words are carried on the wind as if from a long distance away. I pull myself from the ground and follow for what seems like miles, never tiring and yet always behind. Soon he leads me down a street I recognize to a house, my house, my father's house. The air is heavy with the sweet scents of the garden but I cannot stay. I must find him.
He has entered the house, I know; the door swings slightly ajar in the wind. His footsteps echo in the upstairs hall and I ascend to meet him. The corridor is long and shadowy, but the dead are not here. “At rest,” I whisper. “Have you gone to rest?” There is no answer, all is empty and hollow.
The doorway at the end stands open and I see the starlit sky, the open field. I enter and he is not there. “Show yourself,” I scream defiantly, angrily and am answered with a wild rustling of wings, stirring the warm evening air. I feel his presence behind me, his breath is hot on my neck and my hair begins to raise. I do not turn around. “Are you here then?” I ask quietly.
“I am here.”
“I would see your face.”
“There is no need, little one. It has been before you for years and you did not see.”
“I would know who you are.”
“But you know me, Deirdre. Better than any other. We are one. Why do you deny me?”
I feel the silken touch of his wing on my neck. It is smooth as before and dark. I tremble at the touch and clench my fists in anger. With his lightly deposited kiss and my ensuing shudder there can be no doubt. For I do know him now, but as I turn around to confront him, he is already dissolving into the darkness. There is only the brief glance of confirmation: the moonlight shining off the sculptured lines of his face, the lifting of an eyebrow, the cruel twist of his mouth, a mouth that had lied and comforted, kissed and tortured, a mouth and a hunger that had killed many and destroyed me—Max's mouth, Max's hunger.
And then he is gone.

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