Hunger Untamed H3 (3 page)

The cool brick scraped his palms, but the rough edge felt good beneath his fingertips. His muscles bulged as he hefted himself up, always on the lookout for the next place to position his hand and foot. The climb wasn’t difficult, but he took his time making it to the third story. People were more likely to notice something moving quickly. Dressed in all black, he should be hard to spot.

After twenty minutes of crawling, his muscles burning from fatigue, at last he swung his legs over the iron balcony railing. Glad for the cover of sheer curtains, he did his best to peer into the room, but he couldn’t see much beyond movement of several bodies. The more, the better for him.

He withdrew a small lock pick set from inside his coat, crouched before the simple lock and got to work. Less than ten minutes later, he slipped inside. The moment he stopped long enough to study the people occupying the large home, he realized his mistake.

These were vampire elite, most blood born, unlike himself. Additionally, the few humans standing unawares in their midst were as beautiful as the vampires. Victor, with his imperfect features, couldn’t help but stand out.
Shit
.

He scoured the room, looking for the help. Butler, bartender, guard...it didn’t matter so long as he took on the air of one of them. He’d come here expecting to be able to pass as a guest and should have known better.

Maybe he really
was
getting too old for this game. Time to retire and leave this life to a younger generation, better equipped to handle it.

With no other option open to him, he straightened his shoulders. Intent on hiding himself in a crowd of people below where he stood now, he strolled down the corridor as if he’d just been giving himself a tour before at last jogging down a winding staircase. Once at the landing below, a woman’s voice came to him from his good side.

“I should have done like you and dressed in something a little more casual,” she said. He turned in time to catch her stepping from side to side, rotating her ankle each time she lifted a foot. “These things are killing me. Would you give me a h—”

She’d held out a dainty hand, but her words died before he reached out to grip it. He had to give her credit for displaying excellent breeding, because although she’d lost the ability to speak once her gaze met the paralyzed side of his face, she didn’t so much as blink at his abnormality. She stilled, but there was no widening or sudden averting of the eyes he usually received.

The woman was tall and sinewy, a pile of curly auburn hair sitting atop her head. Jewels dangled from dainty earlobes, and they paled in comparison to the beauty that graced her flawless face. Big blue eyes. Long, curling lashes. Cupid bow lips.

“Madam,” he said softly. Victor extended his hand.

The woman straightened her spine but placed her hand in his. She kept her gaze on the task, which involved correcting the strap of her fashionable heeled shoe. Once done, she slid away from his grip with what had to be deliberate slowness. “Th-thank you.”

She couldn’t have scurried away any faster.

Victor curled his fingers into his palms, forming two tight fists.

It hadn’t always been like this. And it fucking shouldn’t have hurt anymore to see a beautiful woman’s reaction to him, but on some days more than others—like now—she would have been kinder to shove a white-hot poker into his abdomen.

His thoughts drifted back to the blood slave. At least she’d been honest in her frank appraisal of him. She hadn’t been disgusted. Maybe
intrigued
. That, at least, he could understand.

“Sir, may I help you?”

“Looking for my date,” Victor replied. He’d seen the server’s approach, flutes of champagne balanced on a silver tray he carried. As he’d known he would, Victor attracted attention. If someone on the catering staff had identified him out of the crowd, it wouldn’t take long for Sage’s security to do the same. He needed to keep moving.

“Sir,” the waiter said with more force behind his voice. “May I please see your invitation?”

The balls of this guy. Victor would have been indignant if he weren’t crashing the damned place.

He had a decision to make. Confront the ass, make him regret ever spotting Victor in a place he had no business being. But that option might draw even more attention. He’d get his point across. However, a butt-hurt waiter might scamper to security the moment Victor’s back was turned.

The idea was tossed as soon as he analyzed its flaws.

Victor scanned the room, searching out the exits, coming up with a rudimentary escape plan when a face he recognized stood out in the busy crowd. Warm pleasure overrode sudden surprise. It shouldn’t have been a shock—she belonged here if no one else did—but it made him pause before he recovered.

“My girl has it,” he murmured. Didn’t matter if the server heard him, because fate had smiled down with a million watts. He’d found his in.

His strides ate up the room and, not much of a surprise, people parted to let him through. A person could choke swimming through the clouds of rich perfumes and spicy colognes, eyes watering from the fumes, but he kept moving. Beneath his feet, silken gowns were trampled. Some miracle kept toes from the same treatment.

He felt the stares of a dozen people trained on him, but Victor had eyes for his target. On the other side of the room, chatting it up with a pair of humans, the blood slave from the other night stood.

She probably had no idea they were fewer than a hundred feet apart, separated only by a dozen people or more. Right now, he needed her.

Victor knew expensive taste and quality apparel. Apparently, so did she. From what he could tell of it, the dress she wore could have stopped traffic and with just the right haughty look turned the right way, she could have stopped men in their tracks.

Glancing down at his cotton twill shirt, the black pleated pants, he had the fleeting wish he’d dressed for the occasion. Instead, he’d come prepared to be able to run, climb and fight without being hampered by his choice in clothes.

The slave’s elegant wear almost shamed him. Still, his curiosity had been piqued by her presence alone. What did she hope to accomplish by being here?

By the time he’d come close enough to catch her attention, just when he needed a few more people to get out of his way, she moved. Her expression had hardened, lips drawn tight. If she’d ever had any awareness whatsoever of Victor, the attention fluttered into the night. He followed her gaze, and it suddenly made sense.

There, on the other side of the room, lounging in a chair made for a king, Giancarlo Sage was being worshiped.

Like the blood born he was, Sage surveyed the room as if bored by it all, despite the gathering being held in his honor. His dark eyes were unfocused but homed in the general vicinity of the small crowd flanking him. Hundred-dollar haircut, starched collar and thin tie couched in a custom-made pinstriped suit kept him among the stylish elite.

Unlike the partygoers, the flute dangling from his long fingers wasn’t pink in hue. The deep, seductive red fluid filling the glass was unmistakable. While his guests deserved top-quality champagne, probably costing him a thousand dollars a cork, Giancarlo Sage demanded the best for himself. Pure, undiluted blood. Probably came from a virgin or some shit.

Victor tracked back to the blood slave—damn it, why didn’t he know her name?—and it startled him to find she’d stalked closer to Sage’s position. The black coat she wore fluttered, her hand reaching into its depths. Stomach twisting, he recognized the determined glint in her fierce eyes.

“Don’t,” he whispered. There, just beyond where she stood, the slave had also attracted the attention of another man. Although a bold sweep of jealousy shuttled through Victor, he knew better than to think a potential competitor set his nerves on edge.

No, he didn’t like the way the man had pushed back the lapels of his coat, revealing the butt of a small pistol in a holster. He’d trained his sights on the slave and when she began to weave through the crowd to get closer to Sage, the vampire pushed away from the wall and began shadowing her.

Victor, not to be outdone, moved in.

Victor weighed the options. He needed to get to Sage before the slave did. Find out what he knew about the slaughtered adolescents. If he’d taken part, as others suspected, then turn him over to the werewolves for retribution. On the off chance he was innocent, let him live to see another day, hoping like hell there’d be no payback from daring to impugn a member of the Council.

Should the latter prove true, he couldn’t allow the blood slave to touch a single hair on the affluent man’s head. If his bodyguards didn’t get to her first, the Council would have her executed before the next dawn. Victor would know how to keep them off his scent, but the novice assassin would be out of her element.

He had to give her credit. She stayed focused. Although she smiled and flitted from conversation to conversation, she didn’t waver from her ultimate goal. The vampire at her back didn’t let anyone get between her and him, either. His gaze swept the room on occasion, but always tracked back to her. Victor figured he had to be looking out for any potential accomplices. Other threats.

The stealth vampire might have been good at his job, but he’d probably never dealt with the likes of Victor Collins before. Poor SOB crept closer to the slave, making the mistake of thinking she had no allies.

Unfortunately for him, that wasn’t true.

She now had Victor.

Chapter Three

Lucy weaved between bodies with deliberate slowness so as to not arouse suspicion. She paused from time to time, stopping to make idle chitchat, the words and people meaningless to her. Her directive remained constant, her true focus on the dapper man sipping blood from crystal stemware.

As she moved toward him, her gaze drifted over the platters of food, while her stomach complained with soft rumbles. Plump strawberries, succulent pineapple and fragrant passion fruit over a chilled custard called to her. Pink shrimp, blue crab and the delicate flesh of lobster tails chilled over sparkling nuggets of ice, a diamond-like similarity, must have cost the vampire thousands of dollars. Some kind of mousse had been swirled into mini-crusts, capable of being swallowed in a single bite. Creamy cheeses, some she didn’t recognize, fanned out on a silver tray. The farther she looked down the linen row, the more varieties of food she could count. All of the tables should have been bowing beneath their combined weight.

She could have spent hours studying the different offerings, her mouth watering at the prospect of a fine meal, but Lucy had been a blood slave in service to Sage before. She knew the risk. She wouldn’t assume it again, not knowingly. No matter how hungry she became, none of this food would pass her mouth. God only knew if the vampire had poisoned all of this food too.

Ignoring her hunger, she continued on.

The dress she wore received the usual compliments, but no one was aware of what the velvet overcoat hid with ease. Even now, she couldn’t help herself. Some instinct drove her to reach for the stake strapped to her back, to run her finger over the sharp tip. Reassurance.

Every step closer to Sage made her heart pound, her throat get drier. She’d never thought it would be this easy to find him, much less avenge her sister’s death. For someone who was touted as the most esteemed member of the vampire Council, getting access to him had been little more than child’s play.

Only a few steps more.

The world seemed to spin when a tall vampire maneuvered in front of her, blocking her view of Sage. He smiled, but no emotion traveled to his eyes. “Excuse me, but this area is for Councilman Sage’s personal guests. May I escort you back to the rest of the party?”

Swallowing her anger, she searched her mind for an excuse—any excuse—to get closer to Sage. The stake was useless if she couldn’t be up close and personal. “Oh, I didn’t realize this was for VIPs.” She searched the sycophants, looking for a sympathetic face in the crowd. Byron and Kay had been left behind once they’d entered the party, and their faces were absent from the entourage anyway. “Maybe you can ask Mr. Sage if I can join? I’m sure he wouldn’t mind one more person.”

A coldness crept into the man’s eyes although the smile remained plastered to his face. “Ma’am,” he said with soft politeness, “I will be happy to escort you to the rest of the party.”

“But I—”

“To the rest of the party or out the door. Your choice,” he finished in the same emotionless tone. The lack of empathy or energy loaned his words more menace than his hulking form did. He stayed on this side of polite, but she knew something as small as slouching body language would push him to aggressive in no time flat.

Lucy was tempted to peer around him and gauge the distance to Sage. Maybe she could dart to him before the vampire took her down with a bullet or a physical tackle. Luck had been shining down on her when she’d crashed the party, maybe it would hold for a few minutes more.

“Kemp?”

Lucy and the guard both turned to face Sage, who’d called out the man’s name. “Sir?”

“Allow her in, please.”

Kemp, she assumed, clenched his jaw but without saying anything additional, angled his body so she could walk past him. Lucy took a deep breath but forced herself to smile prettily for Sage. To her combined relief and horror, his gaze trained on the glyph. She swallowed hard but lifted her chin enough that his vision would be uninhibited. Maybe if he stayed focused on her brand, he’d fail to notice what her hands were doing until it was too late.

“You are a pleasant surprise,” Sage said as she approached. “A present or an escort?”

So he didn’t remember her. She’d counted on the failure, and some clenched part deep inside of her eased. Her luck continued to hold.

On the other hand, she remembered him all too well. Councilman Giancarlo Sage appeared no more than twenty or so, despite having lived at least a few hundred years. Dark hair, blue eyes, he was easy to look at. A modestly accented voice making his origin difficult to pinpoint hinted at a privileged upbringing, part foreign, but a small part familiar.

Her bladder threatened to release, and ignoring it, Lucy strode toward him with the delicate steps of a true lady. She didn’t get this far only to chicken out. No matter how much the vampire repulsed her, she wouldn’t leave this earth until he’d been dispatched ahead of her.

She took another diminutive step forward. “An escort can still be a present for a man of your renown.”

Sage smiled. “Then by all means, come closer.” Without taking his eyes from Lucy, he said to the woman in the chair next to him, “Move.”

A flash of anger crossed her features, but the vampire did as commanded. Lucy took her vacated seat and received a hostile glare in exchange. The woman lifted her upper lip, exposing the sharp edges of her canines at Lucy. If it was meant to scare her, she’d have to do better.

“Your home is exquisite, Councilman,” Lucy murmured. She leaned close to him, bypassing his query with flattery. She’d been well trained.

His gaze dropped from her eyes to her lips before climbing again. “Improved that much more by your presence. Tell me why we’ve never met before?”

“Oh, but we have.” Lucy inclined her face away from his, just for a moment, a subtle move that would both irritate and intrigue him. He was the type of man who expected her full attention, and now seeing that he didn’t have it, would work that much harder to obtain it.

“I would have remembered you if we had.”

“Perhaps the error is mine, Councilman.” She allowed her gaze to drop because she wasn’t foolish enough to outright contradict him. Also, if he looked into her eyes right now, he might see emotion she shouldn’t be willing to share.

“If you’re certain that we’ve met, remind me of the circumstance.” It was both a demand and a request. Truly the tone of a man used to getting his way.

Lucy shifted, the weight of the stake a reminder of her mission and how close she was to completing it. She took a deep breath, and pain sliced through her lungs. Another potent souvenir from her hours as Sage’s play toy. “Six months or so ago, we met.” Four months later, Cindy had died a crippling, excruciating death. “I, along with my...friend, were brought to you.” God, she’d almost said
sister
. It wasn’t something she would have expected him to recall, but she wasn’t in position to kill him just yet. He must understand what he’d done first and to whom. “You took a strong liking to her instead of me, despite our resemblance.”

Her throat tightened. Lucy was older by a few years, and that difference had cost Cindy her life. Her sister’s face had exuded youth and innocence, which had made her a prime target for certain men. While they’d looked alike, Lucy’s baby fat cheeks had since melted away, lending her face more angles and a seriousness that others couldn’t quite put their fingers on.

“I would have to be a fool to pass you up in favor for someone else.”

“Not a fool, Councilman. You opted for the prettier of us.”

“Prettier than you? I find that hard to believe.”

Lucy willed her face to blush as if she believed the compliment he paid her. “I’m nothing more than a carnation in a garden of roses.”

Sage’s cool hand slid over hers. He gave it a slight squeeze before lifting it to his face. She forced herself to stifle a shudder of revulsion when he slid even cooler lips over the back of her hand. “I find both your appearance and your modesty becoming. If you’re otherwise unoccupied tonight, I should consider it a great favor to partake of you before the evening ends.”

Lucy almost nodded. She almost sat up straighter, almost answered him right away.

An inner voice urged her to notice the expressions of the people surrounding them first, however, and the single observation might have saved her life. The vampire Sage had ousted stood at the periphery of his inner circle, but with Sage’s last sentence, she’d taken a single step forward. Eyes focused on Lucy.

She scanned the others—all of them vampires, not a human in sight—and they too awaited her response. If their lungs were still operational, she would have expected all of them to be holding their collective breaths.

Lucy’s gaze slid back to Sage and although he masked his curiosity better than the others, something about his stillness rang alarm bells in her mind. His attention dropped to her glyph, and it gave him away.

Blowing out a slow breath, she refused to let him see any eagerness in either her manner or her answer to him. “I believe that can be arranged at your leisure, whether tonight or some other time.”

Sage’s eyes gleamed. Test passed. “I’m not overly fond of addicts, but a cultured blood slave is a feast for the senses.”

Heart pounding, she said, “We all have our vices. That’s not one of mine.”

So close to failing. If she’d even hinted at being an addict, her night could have turned out very differently. Now, instead, it seemed she would be getting closer to Sage.

Sage stood. “Should we go someplace a little more private? We can discuss our vices without others clinging to our every word.”

In private, he would drink from her for hours. Use her bodily until her throat was raw from screaming. Her flesh sore from sensual abuses. By morning, she’d wish for a new body, one that didn’t know vampire excesses. A vampire as ancient as Sage would push her to her limits and if death didn’t claim her by the time he was finished, she’d be skirting the line.

She’d been on this ride one too many times before.

Legs feeling like rubber, Lucy willed her spine into steel and stood next to him. He extended his elbow, and she slipped her hand into the fold of his arm. The others stepped back to allow them through, and Lucy didn’t dare look any of them in the eye. Instead, she kept her chin elevated, glad her hairstyle kept the glyph visible.

She’d probably die minutes after Sage, but she would have accomplished her task. That was all that mattered. She’d join Cindy, and together they would rest eternal knowing that their killer had been permanently dispatched.

This had gone so easily. She couldn’t have asked for more.

Victor stared in disbelief. Not only had the little blood slave gotten close to Sage, she was now walking away with him arm in arm.

She hadn’t lost the tail, who studied her with frank interest from the shadows and out of her view. There was a startling resemblance between him and the vampire guard she’d spoken to right before she’d approached Sage. Twins, if he had to guess. They both wore ear pieces, but neither acknowledged the other’s presence. Council members rarely went anywhere in public without personal guard.

As if to prove his point, Twin A followed a few steps behind Sage and the slave. Twin B skulked in the shadows, also trailing them. Whatever plan she had needed to be a good one.

Victor almost sighed. He’d have to step in between her and Sage, regardless of what she hoped for. The werewolves didn’t want him dead—not yet—and Sage couldn’t answer questions if he was dead. Fortunately for him, neither his target, his consort nor their guards noticed him. Although, things were getting a bit crowded.

He made a calculated guess.

No one stopped him when he weaved through the crowd to get ahead of the group. It was a risk, but he opted for the stairs he’d previously come down. In a home as palatial as this one, there’d be more than one entrance to Sage’s private quarters. Had to be.

Two staircases on opposite ends led from the first floor to the second. He couldn’t spot how to get to the third level, but he felt confident more staircases could be found in similar positions. Maybe located behind now-closed doors.

Below, the crowd milled in the living room area, a sizable expanse people not fortunate enough to be in the one percent might call a grand ballroom. If they stared straight up, a crystal chandelier, which had to be as tall as Victor, hung ominously. Separating a person from plunging to a swift death on the bottom floor, a banister of gleaming, polished wood circled each floor. The prudent acrophobe would be wise to hug the walls.

The conversational hum from below hid the sounds of his feet on hardwood floor while Victor explored. He ventured into a library, three bedrooms and two guest bathrooms. One door was locked, and he hoped it was Sage’s office. From where he stood, anyone on the ground floor could look up and spot him, so he quickly pondered and then abandoned a plan to listen at the door.

Shit, this place was much bigger than it needed to be. There were at least three more doors he’d left unexplored. He couldn’t hear any voices indicating that he’d come close to finding Sage and the blood slave. If he got there too late...

He hurried down the hallway, no longer opting for stealth. Every moment he delayed finding them was another she might put her plan in place. That was unacceptable.

His inner instincts were screaming at him by the time he found the closed double-doors on the east end of the floor. Voices drifted to him from the other side. He paused, head cocked, straining to hear distinct voices. Even with his superior hearing, muffled sounds were all that traveled to him.

“Fuck it,” he muttered.

Victor threw all of his weight against the door and burst through, purposely adding a crazed look to his face and widening his eyes. The sight that met him in return helped fuel his urgency.

Sage and the slave were seated upon a settee, her head tilted up to his, Sage’s hand cradling her face. His fangs were extended, her throat exposed. Her breasts heaved as she panted. Excitement or fear?

A stirring of emotion pummeled Victor, and he had to clench his teeth against the violent surge making him see red. “Girl!” he barked. “This is where I find you? Embarrassing me before our host?”