Hunger Untamed H3 (2 page)

With a grunt to push aside the thought, he strode outside, mindful of the other customers. Who moved. Who watched him. Who ignored everything except the booze in front of them.

Fourteen men. Eight women. Seven humans. One person lounged against the doorjamb of the back exit—a human male. The bartender continued to work, his arching brow the only response to Victor’s defection.

Outside and unaccosted, he paused beneath the bar’s marquee using the guise of searching his pockets in a clumsy pat down. It afforded him the opportunity to look both left and right, gaze sweeping over the parked cars and checking out shadowed alcoves. This wouldn’t be the first meeting with someone representing the Council, but that sure as shittin’ didn’t mean he trusted any of them. It felt safe enough for the moment, and he headed toward the meet.

He managed to cross a few blocks before sensation crawled down the back of his neck. Slowing his steps with deliberate intent, meandering with the idleness of a tourist instead of the previous stride of a man on a mission, he surveyed the street and buildings, looking for the source of this new discomfort. The stillness of the night comforted him, the sounds of cars from a couple of streets over drifting to his sensitive hearing, but nothing appeared overtly amiss. Didn’t stop the feeling from tingling his skin.

He was being watched. The question was by whom, and why?

For some reason, his mind conjured up an image of that delicate little blood slave he’d turned away and the deep green of her eyes. Could it be her waiting in the darkness, looking for another chance to confront him? Stupid to follow him to get his attention, but he almost expected nothing less.

Tenacious little thing and rather gutsy to seek him out. Based on the way she’d been trembling by sitting across from him, his presence intimidated her. Or maybe it was the job. Good thing she had some balls on her, despite what he’d said. Only someone with a lot of power and pull behind his—or her—name went after the Council, and so far, no one had been successful that he’d ever heard of.

He’d been right to turn her away. Pretty little girls had no business playing in a man’s world. She’d only get herself hurt. Break a nail or some shit.

A noise wrenched his attention back to the seemingly empty street. Straining to hear something more, he stopped, still trying to identify and locate the source. It had been...

A growl.

His stomach clenched at the realization, militant instincts kicking up to meet the surface. It took a physical effort to keep from crouching low, making himself less of a target for the type of creature capable of that sound deep in the heart of the city.
Motherfucker
. He was not prepared for this. Not now.

Victor didn’t bother with a weapons check when a second growl, low and menacing, followed the first. Sure he was packing, but not in preparation for a lycan. Still, he pulled out the Ruger anyway. It wouldn’t kill the beast, but it would slow it down. The metal’s weight felt good in his hand, a sense of control filling him as typical for this type of situation.

Ducking next to a beat-up Sentra, he brought the gun up, straining for overt signs of the lycan’s approach. The rapid-fire bursts of his heart drowned out all other noises.

He waited. Pulse racing. Palms sweating.

Just when he started to wonder if perhaps he’d disturbed an everyday mutt out protecting its territory, shadows began to twist and elongate around him. This time he did drop lower, making himself as small a target as possible. There was more than one lycan out there and between the lack of silver and the dismaying knowledge he was outnumbered, Victor was not about to make it easy to take him down.

“Don’t want no trouble,” he grumbled. “Ain’t here for you.” If he had his druthers, they’d let him on his way to meet up with Cicero. Didn’t even have to know who they were.

He didn’t have to question whether they’d heard him, despite the conversational level he used that no human at a distance could have possibly made out. The movement suddenly stopped. The gun remained in hand, nuzzle pointed up and ready to swing in either direction because they were on both sides of him. Two lycans, perhaps more.

“All we want are the names,” a raspy voice replied.

Victor’s brow lifted a fraction. “Names of what?”

“Of the person or persons who hired you.”

The question didn’t tell him much, and Victor’s patience was waning. He’d done hundreds of jobs over the years. Many minor. “You want to get specific about what you’re looking for? I ain’t here for you and ain’t got time for this shit.”

The answer came after a long moment of restless shifting. “Who hired you to slaughter adolescent werewolves?”

“What?” Victor’s gasped response shot out before he fully comprehended the implications behind the question.

Damn
. This was not good. Not good at all.

If this had been a movie, right about now he would have used a thumb to slowly draw back the gun’s hammer, priming the gun for quick use. No one had to tell him that shit was about to hit the fan and splatter all over him and the Sentra.

“Word is you’re the Council’s dog. That true?”

The voice came from a lot closer than it had been a minute ago. They were stalling on their attack, but he didn’t have a fucking clue why, other than to maybe get into better positions. “Depends on what you mean by that.”

“Have you been killing adolescent werewolves for money?”

“No.” The accusation, even the
insinuation
, was appalling, but he tried to keep the shock and disgust out of his voice. He’d killed women in the distant past but had always drawn the line at children. Always.

“Sources say otherwise.”

Hell, that was a
lot
closer. Thing was, he couldn’t even see the guy. None of them. Victor duck-walked to the rear fender, wishing to heaven he’d brought a second gun with him tonight.

“Weren’t you on your way to receive payment for services rendered? That’s our understanding. Twenty thousand dollars for every head. Twenty thou for butchering our young,” he said, voice trembling with rage. The silence that followed thick with a heaviness of grief.

Victor’s blood ran cold. He’d been on his way to see Cicero, but the nature of their meeting hadn’t been discussed beforehand. Victor had just assumed that the vampire wanted to procure his services for something like recon. How had the lycans heard of the meeting and gotten the time of it? Had Cicero sold him out for some reason?

“Man, I’ve been set up,” he called in the direction of the speaker. “I don’t know what you’re talking about or why you think I did the deed, but it ain’t true.”

“‘Look for the vampire with the ruined face.’ I think we got it right.”

“My face might be ruined, but my conscience ain’t. I don’t go after kids. Not for
any
price.” He didn’t have a fucking clue why, but someone had set him up with the lycans to take the fall for a heinous crime.

The irritated chuff of a wolf burst into the air from Victor’s right. He whirled to face it, swinging the gun out, ready to fire at anything that moved. But then a responding bark shot out from his left. Throwing himself back, pressing his spine against the rusted car, he swallowed hard as he considered his options.

They were talking to each other, no doubt, but what they said and whether or not they believed him were beyond his comprehension. Besides, his mind was still too busy trying to process why someone would literally throw him to the wolves. “Who would give this order?” he shouted. “Who has the most to gain?”

Long seconds passed as no return answer came to him. Time when he mentally counted his ammo and sought better positions from which to defend himself. The number of bullets was laughable. Defense, a pipe dream. They had him to rights, and the only comfort to Victor might have been the understanding that he’d go down fighting. No one would avenge him, and no one would mourn him either.

“You almost had me fooled, vampire. For a second, I could have believed you.”

“I have no idea what’s going on or who set me up. Give me a name and forty-eight hours. I swear I’ll help you find out who’s gone after your kind.” He had nothing else to offer, and they had him surrounded. Mama didn’t raise a coward, but she didn’t raise an idiot either. Whoever set him up with the lycans wouldn’t stop if they didn’t finish the job, so better to team up with them and get a head start than have the entire nation gunning for him. The enemy of my enemy and all that.

Motherfucker.

Chapter Two

A week later, and Lucy was still fuming over the run-in with Victor Collins. The nerve of that asshole to send her running the way he had. If he could see her now, he’d know she’d meant business.

Only a woman on a mission would be standing outside Giancarlo Sage’s apartment, formulating a plan for breaking and entering so she could get up close and kill him.

The season had begun to lose some of its humidity, the occasional breeze kicking up hard enough to make Lucy shiver beneath her thin overcoat. It wouldn’t be cool enough for the scent of burning wood to drift along the air currents yet, but she lifted her face skyward anyway. Another cool breeze touched her skin. Stars winked at her as if they shared some inside joke. A night made for cuddling lovers.

In the distance, thunder sounded in low, grumbly tones. Rain on the horizon.

She stared up at the imposing building, not certain what she should do next. At this hour of the night, she probably aroused more suspicion than she wanted to. However, according to her research, Sage was a born vampire and therefore affected by the sun’s rays. She waited until this close to morning so she would catch him at his weakest. She imagined that during the daytime, his home must’ve been an impenetrable fortress, so this made the most sense. She hoped.

The trick was getting to Sage before the sun came up, but not too early either. She wanted to be able to still have a conversation with him...make him understand who’d come after him and why.

The modest storefront beneath his home could have been on the streets of New York. Except when she looked closer, she noticed the sticker prices of antiquities only the ultra-rich could afford. Lucy had every urge to press her hands against the windows like a kid staring at the display of a candy shop, but time was short and she had much more important things to do.

Lucy strolled past the entrance and from the street could spot the doorman sitting just inside the glass door. A few feet farther down, another man sat behind a waist-high desk. Security, probably.

She might make it past a vampire doorman, one who would expect a sophisticated, premier woman to make house calls to a place like this one. A woman who would be discreet and command an exorbitant by-the-hour price tag. Whether vampire or human, males all had the same sexual needs, and men of wealth didn’t mind handing over a few hundred dollars for the privilege.

She’d come dressed for the part in Rami Kadi haute couture, the satiny blue-and-black dress certain to be appreciated by a libertine. Most of the dress was sheer, very strategic placement of filigree decoration hiding what luxuries waited underneath. Designed to draw a man’s eye, it indeed held it, the most lurid view being that of only her belly button. A velvet overcoat kept her on just this side of being street legal.

Standing out here at this hour would undoubtedly create an onlooker or two from a number of people, but she’d come with no plan other than to bluff her way upstairs. Somehow manage to convince whatever bodyguard who watched over Sage to let her get close. But staring up at the brick facade now, the plan began to crumble around the edges.

If she made it the doorman, she’d have to contend with the guard. If by some miracle she got that far, she’d still have to sneak up the stairs or elevator to Sage’s apartment. Then it would take a lot more luck to get her through the doorway and into his presence. And then get close enough to him to drive a stake through his blood-lusting heart. In her mind, what she hoped to do seemed a flimsy, but plausible plan at best. Now—

Whoa
.

A limousine cruised to a stop, and the doorman jogged to its rearmost door to assist the passengers. The woman who emerged wore a black miniskirt with a matching black-sequined top and what had to be five-inch heels. The gentleman at her side sported a sleek gray suit with a purple-and-gray-striped shirt beneath. With their perfectly coifed hairstyles and flawless porcelain skin, they reeked of class and elegance. Exactly the type of people—or vampires—Sage would invite over. Was he having a party, or were they just acquaintances over for a drink? She couldn’t be sure.

“C’mon,” she muttered. “Give me something to work with.” Much longer out here, and someone
would
notice.

Her heart began to pick up pace when another car advanced toward the building, idling quietly while the limousine was exited. After the luxury car pulled away, the late-model town car drove into its place. As if following a script, the same exact routine was followed. This time an elegant black couple emerged, the woman with grace and refinement flowing through her lean, waif-like body and wearing something straight off the runway. Her Jimmy Choos? To kill for.

The threat of tears brought about by pleasant memories of luxury living—back when they’d wanted for nothing—made Lucy take a deep breath. Annoyed by the nostalgia, she wiped a hand over her eyes, careful not to muss her makeup.

Similar to the other couple, these two had dressed to be seen. Undoubtedly, Sage entertained upstairs. Lucy would fit right in.

She solidified a shaky plan and strode forward with the confidence of someone who owned the damned place. Lucy made her way toward the townhouse, certain of how to get past the first watchman. Chin tilted slightly in the air, she walked toward the couple with casual speed, allowing her coat to flap open and display the seductive gown beneath.

“Hello,” she said with a smile to the doorman as he held open the door for the couple. She ambled in behind them, picking up her pace when they got to the security desk, as if trying to catch them up. Moving in a little closer than was polite, she made conversation with the woman as her date held up embossed cardstock.

“Elie Saab, right?” Lucy asked softly, gaze moving over her outfit.

The woman turned toward her, displaying a brilliant smile. “You have an excellent eye.” In turn, she scanned Lucy’s ensemble. “And that dress simply reinforces it. Who’s the designer?”

“Kadi. I almost decided against it.”

“Oh, it looks awesome on you. I don’t know that I’d be brave enough to show off that much skin.”

“But it’s not really. Hides practically everything if you look close enough.”

They continued to chat amiably. Lucy kept up her end of the conversation but made sure she stayed in tune with what happened between the date and the guard. The two humans posed no threat, but the vampire guard could be a problem in more ways than one. If the partygoers knew his origin, they didn’t betray themselves. Business as usual when he gave brief instructions toward the elevator.

“I’m Kay.”

“Lucy.” She dropped her voice a little, praying like hell the vampire kept his attention on Kay’s date. If he overheard their exchange with sensitive hearing particular to vampires, the bluff that the trio had arrived together would be over.

“Can I be nosy?”

Distracted, Lucy almost missed what she’d said. “About?”

“What was it like?” Kay’s voice dropped into a conspiratorial tone. Her dark eyes were shiny bright, and the curiosity practically oozed from her pores.

At first, Lucy didn’t understand.

Kay reached for her date’s hand and pulled him into their impromptu meeting. Together, all three began to move away. “Byron, this is Lucy. You see her glyph?”

Ah.
She should have known.

Giving him a polite nod of acknowledgment, Lucy tackled Kay’s original question. “My sister and I were orphaned, so we were taken into service when we were in our teens.”

“Wow,” Byron said softly. He stood at least six feet tall, broad-shouldered and wearing the dark brown designer suit like a boss. Mocha-colored skin, high cheekbones and full lips spoke to an ancestry of kings. Any day now, Calvin Klein would be calling this guy to model their underwear. “I thought that was illegal,” he said. “You have to be of consenting age.”

Lucy tried to smile through her response. “Back then it wasn’t. This was before the Council was formed. My sister and I were identified and taken in. It’s been practically my entire life.”

Kay pressed the button for the elevator, which arrived only a moment later with a quiet hum. “I don’t know whether to apologize for it or be in awe.”

Byron felt differently. “It’s a privilege. Everyone knows that. Maybe in the next year or two, they’ll invite one or both of us to become a blood slave.”

“You’re almost thirty though,” Kay said, her voice full of regret. Lucy watched her squeeze his hand. “If they don’t take you, I don’t go either. Not on my own.”

If they’d been discussing almost any other thing, Lucy would have found the exchange endearing. She loved their dedication to each other, which was plain as day on Kay’s expressive face and the way she gazed into Byron’s eyes. These two would build a life together, grow old together. They would leave behind a legacy of children and grandchildren...that is, if they weren’t made into blood slaves first.

It made her stomach curdle to contemplate that possibility. They had no idea what would await them in that lifestyle.

The elevator dinged, snapping Lucy out of her reverie. She swallowed her fear and forced her lips to part in a smile. Just because they’d made it past security didn’t mean there wouldn’t be another potential roadblock beyond Sage’s doors. The fact that they’d ended up on his floor of the building had been a small miracle on its own. No sense in blowing it now.

She continued, “The training can be rigorous, but it’s more about being pleasant and pleasing. Also, being able to keep up with their endurance, which far exceeds ours.”

“But once they started feeding from you, it must have been worth it, right?” Kay licked her lips, burgundy lipstick left shining as a result. Her voice had grown huskier as her imagination probably supplied the supposed details of a blood slave’s life.

A voice inside Lucy urged her to tell them what it was
really
like, the life they’d glamorized without knowledge of the reality. About the nights of having no reprieve, only to be followed by a sleepless day wherein she was expected to prepare for another night, another orgy. Even more, she wished she could spill the secrets she and her sister Cindy carried about the most elite of the vampires. How they viewed humans in general. Blood slaves fell even lower in their sights.

“There
is
that rush,” she said, instead. “It’s addictive, for lack of a better word.”

Kay’s nose wrinkled. “Addicts, ugh.”

“I feel sorry for them. You don’t know what kind of reaction you’ll have over time. Not until it’s too late.” Lucy had once felt the same way about addicts until she’d seen the insidious creep of their dependence on the vampire’s bite.

“I guess,” Byron said. “Still...” Almost every human she knew shared their sentiment, while vampires took advantage. She didn’t blame them for their lack of understanding. Humans were sheltered from so much of it.

Both Kay and Byron stepped through the doors as they slid open. Lucy had no idea what to expect when she entered Sage’s place, but this hadn’t been it. Were it not for years of training and living in opulence, she might have gasped at the sudden unexpectedness of the open room.

To their right, an aquarium served as the wall. Hundreds of fish swam through aquamarine water, unconcerned by the rolling rainbow display they made. Stone pillars jutted from either side of the decorative wall, making it appear as part of a cave.

On the other side of the room, parallel to the aquarium, three arching windows exposed an awe-inspiring view of the city’s skyline. Lush curtains on all sides guarded the twinkling lights of skyscrapers, while passing cars spotlighted more of the city. Indoors, tasteful art hung between the panels, illuminated by soft spot lighting. At a distance, she thought she recognized the style of a particular contemporary artist whose work sold in the low six digits. Not surprising at all.

As they moved deeper inside, Lucy’s shoes sunk into plush carpeting, bringing comfort to each step. From the entrance, she spotted stations of canapés and tall flutes of bubbly beverages. The carafes of dark red liquid standing sentry at the snack areas were ominous yet understood.

Everywhere she could see, people dressed in the affluent world’s finest clothing mingled, chatted and laughed. Her heart thundered as she studied them all. Not the dozen or so she’d expected, but at least fifty partygoers. Most of them vampires.

It dawned on her that she might not make it out of this place alive tonight. But if she had to go, she would take with her as many vampires as she could.

It was a vow.

Victor landed in a soft crouch, his head snapping up to check for charging guard dogs or people running at him, guns drawn. He stayed quiet for a moment, but the grass had muffled his descent and the sounds of city life were the only things that drifted his way.

He didn’t know who he could trust anymore, so there was no telling who’d come after him. Vampire. Lycan. Human.

The forty-eight hours he’d requested from the werewolves had come and gone, and he was no closer to knowing who’d ordered the execution of the adolescents. His best tip—hell, his only tip—said to investigate Giancarlo Sage.

Funny how the Council member’s name had come up more than once in a week. The first time was the night he’d met that blood slave. If he’d known they were after the same guy, he might have considered her offer instead of turning her away. Hindsight being twenty-twenty and all that.

In fact, he’d felt a slight twinge of guilt for being such a dick to her at all. No doubt she’d been scared shitless about approaching him. A true merc would have taken her up on the offer instead of asking for a fuck instead. Maybe he was getting soft in his old age.

“Move it, old man,” he muttered. Regrets served him no purpose whatsoever.

Victor studied the building, noting every place that would serve as a good hand grip or foot rest. Going through the front door would be easier but also require a lot more brute. Scaling the wall would take little to no effort at all.

He’d heard Sage would be throwing some sort of shindig tonight, and it created the perfect cover. If he’d been out to kill the man, a lot more planning would have gone into his preparation. Since Victor only wanted to talk to him, get a few answers, disguising himself as a guest served as a good enough cover.