Hunger (3 page)

The air thickened as Oneiric stared at Tor and folded his arms across his chest, a deep frown furrowing his brow.

Tor’s emotions didn’t shift on her senses and neither did his body. He remained perfectly still and composed, as calm and cold as before, unmoved by the sneer in Oneiric’s tone or the warning his body language was tossing at Tor like a big flashing neon sign.

“Lincoln gave me this mission and I intend to complete it to his satisfaction. The female will be safe in my care,” the big assassin said in a flat tone, one that lacked feeling but brooked no argument from her father.

Eve stared at Tor, unconvinced that he knew the meaning of care and safe. He didn’t look as if he had any softer emotions or could comprehend why Oneiric was uncertain about entrusting her to him, or why she needed an escort at all.

There was something she could comprehend though.

The way Tor handled himself, and had handled those weakling vampires with ease, said that he was her ticket to getting the taste of revenge she hungered after so badly.

All she had to do was convince her escort to become her bodyguard and change a few details about his mission.

That would be no small feat. Men of his ilk placed great importance on their duty and carrying out orders to the letter. She had met enough of them in her time to know that Tor would resist altering the parameters of his mission and it was going to take a miracle to get him to even listen to her request.

His assessing blue gaze held a flicker of keen intelligence as it raked over Oneiric, the club, and finally her. He took everything else in quickly but his eyes lingered on her, studying, as if he was putting her to memory or seeking out all of her weaknesses. She trembled under the intensity of his gaze and the awareness of him that burst to life inside her, as strong as it had been during the fight, making the room and Oneiric fall away.

Tor blinked and was looking at Oneiric again.

“I ordered the jet to refuel and be ready for departure at oh-two-hundred hours. Any delay will see us landing during daylight.”

Jet? Her first hurdle presented itself. Tor would want to depart on time and clearly wanted to hand her over to Lilith and Lincoln by dawn. She couldn’t allow that. She had to delay him somehow, giving herself time to work on him and convince him to listen to her and at least consider changing his mission.

Oneiric continued to stare at him, his arms folded across his chest, an air of malevolence flowing around him. He didn’t trust Tor. Eve was fine with that. She was willing to trust him enough for both of them.

“Very well,” she said.

Oneiric looked at her, the black slashes of his eyebrows drawing together above his dark incredulous eyes. She knew why he wanted to give her the third degree. She had argued with him for five hours straight about not wanting to go to Oslo and now she was positively leaping at the chance.

Eve took a step towards Tor before Oneiric could say anything, capturing the larger man’s attention. His ice-blue gaze swung down to her, intense and focused, sending another hot shiver coursing through her blood.

The coldness in his eyes convinced her that whatever she felt when their eyes met, she was the only one experiencing it. She shut down all of her feelings and held his gaze, staring into the glacier and clinging to hope that she could do the impossible.

She could convince a cold-hearted assassin who valued his mission above everything to change his ways and give her the vengeance she needed.

All in the time it took to ferry her from the club to the jet.

She didn’t need a miracle. She needed divine intervention.

Eve fell deeper into his eyes, losing herself in them. In their depths, she found a spark of hope.

Flames flickered amidst the sharp glacier, banked but growing, intensifying into heat and hunger that melted some of the ice in Tor’s steady gaze before he shifted it away from her and began discussing the mission with Oneiric.

Maybe she had a chance of making a miracle happen after all.

Eve smiled.

Vengeance would be hers.

T
or drove through the slick quiet streets of Paris, the wipers on full to combat the downpour. Lightning danced across the heavy grey clouds in the distance and thunder rolled ominously overhead. Not the best weather for flying, but he had flown through worse in his years and in vehicles far more dangerous than the expensive Cessna jet waiting for them at the private strip outside the city centre.

His passenger sat in silence, staring out of the window beside her, her glossy dark hair catching the lights of passing cars that flashed across her face too, distracting him.

She was different from her photograph and he hadn’t been prepared for the darkness that had come over him on finding her facing several vampires alone, bleeding from multiple wounds and close to being overwhelmed, her pretty face a picture of determination even as she broadcasted fear.

Fear and determination weren’t the only things she had felt in his presence. There had also been emotions he hadn’t been able to decipher, and ones he could easily read.

Her shock on hearing that there was a jet waiting for her was one of them, and her surprise on seeing the black car parked outside the club and discovering that he hadn’t stolen it. He wasn’t sure where she had received her education on vampires, but apparently it had taught her that all vampires, regardless of bloodline and status, stole vehicles and engaged in other criminal activities, such as theft and breaking and entering.

Oneiric had assured her that the Vehemens bloodline didn’t engage in such activity.

Shortly into their journey, she had found her voice and pointed out that he might not be a thief but he was a murderer.

Tor hadn’t denied it.

Oneiric had warned him that she had a hunter’s view of their kind. To her, they were all murderers, liars, thieves and, without a doubt, soulless and evil.

How much did she actually know about the pure bloodlines and how they functioned? He doubted that she had ever fought a vampire from one. Most hunters never met a pureblood and those who did, died. The weaklings were hard enough for them to kill. Still, he appreciated the pest control they performed on the wretched bastards. Weaklings were a pain in his arse.

How many had she killed before her turning?

She was a murderer too. She just didn’t like to acknowledge it. She had drawn a line between humans and vampires, and now it was blurring for her and it was hitting her hard.

Hunter turned vampire.

Tor shook his head.

It was little wonder the female wasn’t coping with the transition.

He couldn’t remember his own turning. It had faded over the centuries, shoved out of his mind by the training that had taken place immediately after he had completed his transition. They had expunged his every weakness, moulding him into a stronger man. One capable of fulfilling his duties.

Throughout his years as a hunter, he had forgotten other things too. A whole spectrum of useless emotions that were nothing but another form of weakness. Things the slight female beside him felt in full if her constant change in moods was anything to go by.

She sighed, her cool breath barely misting the glass beside her.

Tor turned a corner and she swayed towards him. The scent of her blood struck him hard, swirling around him, teasing him as if it knew his thoughts and wanted to prove that he still had weaknesses. His fangs itched in response, hunger welling up in him in reaction to the sweet scent. They had tended to her wounds before leaving her father, but she still smelled of blood. He had never smelled anything like her.

He clamped his teeth together and shut down his body’s response to her blood scent. Hunger had been his subordinate for centuries, since shortly after he had completed his training. He had mastered it and it wouldn’t begin to control him again now. He had fed well recently and was strong, uninjured. He didn’t need blood.

He didn’t need her sweet taste on his tongue.

He needed a distraction.

Tor pulled the phone from his pocket and dialled Lincoln. The male picked up on the third ring.

“Female is in transit. Jet is scheduled for departure in twenty minutes. We will reach the mansion before dawn.”

He felt her gaze swing to him, sensed her feelings shift towards anger. She had stated at the club that she didn’t like people referring to her as a package. That was all she was to him. A mission. He would take her home, as per his instructions, and then she would receive the care that she needed.

He ended the call and slipped the phone back into his jeans.

Eve returned to gazing out of the window but her agitation remained. It wasn’t just his referring to her as a package again. She had been growing increasingly tense and restless during the journey, as if something played on her mind.

Tor kept a close eye on her as he took the turn that would bring him back to the small airport. She was important to the lady of his bloodline, and also his family’s Chosen Son, Lincoln, and therefore he would do all in his power to protect her and safely deliver her to them.

During their meeting, Lincoln had told him that Eve would become the Chosen Daughter, a woman ranked only below Lilith and Lincoln in the entire bloodline.

Lincoln had also told him that if he failed in this mission, it would be his head. The threat didn’t bother Tor. He had never failed. He had never strayed from his duty. This escort mission was simple in comparison to his previous ones.

All he needed to do was bring Eve to the mansion in Oslo and abide by the rules set out by Lincoln. He had to treat her with the respect she deserved as their future Chosen Daughter, had to protect her with his life, and had to do nothing that might harm her. Easy enough considering all he had to do was put her on the private jet, sit with her a few hours, and then drive her to the mansion after they had landed in Oslo.

Or it should be.

But something about her bothered him.

Lincoln had warned she would be volatile, frightened and in need of care. Tor could see that, although she hid it well most of the time. The male had neglected to mention that she would be such a danger to herself though. He had thought Lincoln overprotective when he had told him to protect her from herself if the need arose.

Tor had the feeling the need was definitely rising, and the more time he sat with her, the stronger the feeling grew.

He flicked another glance at her, catching a glimpse of her profile as light flashed across it, his gaze focused on her deep brown eyes.

Those eyes had shown a hint of vulnerability back at the club. It had been buried beneath the layers of defiance, anger, bitterness and hatred, but it was there. Those darker emotions were keeping her going. They were keeping her strong, but they troubled him.

She wasn’t right.

She wasn’t coping as everyone thought.

He had encountered many newly turned vampires and this one wasn’t dealing with the transition.

If given leave to voice his opinion, he would say that she wasn’t going to survive being in the mansion. It was going to be too much for her.

He knew Lady Lilith had taken months to move from the cabin in the mountains into residence at the mansion. He wasn’t sure how long her sister had been a vampire, but it was going to take more than a few months of seclusion to convince her to embrace life as one.

Tor shifted his focus to her again and drove onto the airport, heading for the hangar where the jet waited. Eve tensed, her mood darkening and emotions rising. Too many to discern but a few stood out amongst the swirling maelstrom.

Panic. Fear. Determination.

Her feelings about travelling to Oslo and facing her sister?

Or something else?

The bitterness came again, a sharp tang in her scent that blacker feelings swiftly followed. Her fingers curled into fists on her lap.

He spotted the small white jet ahead, stark in the darkness. Rain lashed down, the wind driving it across the tarmac, towards the open hangar nearby. Every metre closer they drew to it, Eve’s tension increased.

It was on the tip of his tongue to break protocol and ask her what was wrong when she suddenly turned in her seat to face him.

“I changed my mind. I’m not going.”

Tor frowned and rattled through his orders. Bringing her home went up against respecting her and doing nothing that might harm her. Could forcing her onto the plane be considered disrespecting and hurting her?

His primary objective was completing his mission. That mission was to bring her home.

“Jet is already preparing for take-off. No turning back now.”

She cursed. “You’ll have to carry me onto that damn plane.”

“I have no problem with that. Thank you for giving permission.” Tor drove into the hangar, parked the car and turned off the engine.

He shoved the door open, stepped out and closed it, cutting off her low growl.

Tor opened the back door, grabbed his duffle and slung it over his shoulder, and then picked up her bag. He shut the door, rounded the car and was about to get the door for her when she opened it, slamming the metal panel hard into his knees. She huffed and strode away from him, leaving him to close the door for her.

He bit back a growl and went after her.

She paused inside the hangar and stared at the plane, the breeze whipping her dark hair around her shoulders. Spots of rain landed on her face, glistening like diamonds against her pale skin. He didn’t want to hazard a guess at the last time she had fed properly. She was weak. She hadn’t been able to defend herself against four weakling vampires, a task that should have been easy for her, and he had noticed her shaking in the club.

Before departing, he had pressed Oneiric on the subject and the male had admitted she had refused blood on waking tonight. Tor had the feeling tonight wasn’t the only time she had refused to feed.

Her face paled further and she wrapped her arms around herself, fingers clutching the sleeves of her black jacket and pulling the material tight, as if she needed to hold herself together or she would fall to pieces.