Hunger Pangs

by Joy Demorra

  Nathan’s father grunted. “Aye, if you don’t mind his head being away with the fairies half the time. I swear he talks in riddles.”

  “He’s clever,” Ivar conceded. “Sometimes clever sounds like nonsense. He’d run rings around Parliament, if they allowed him to. Provided he stayed sober long enough. I’ll grant you, though, he takes good care of that island. Last time I saw him, he was fixing to rebuild the entire town.”

  “He still is,” Nathan said, recalling the miniature model in Vlad’s office. It would be a beautiful city, Nathan thought. If he ever got the opportunity to build it. “It’s a nice place, Eyrie.”

  “As far as I’m concerned, they’ve done right by you,” his mother said before either man could disagree. “And that’s all I care about.” With a brusque air, she strained the brew she’d been mixing into his father’s cup. “Now, get out of my kitchen. The lot of you. I’ve got a dinner to prepare and rooms to air.”

  “Any word from Miles, yet?” Ivar asked as he got to his feet.

  “He’s stopping to pick up Gwen and her lot. They’ll be here next week,” his mother replied.

  Nathan felt his stomach twist. “He’s still angry with me about the whole Counsel thing, isn’t he?”

  “No, of course not.” Nathan’s father had the grace not to meet him in the eye when he lied.

  “He never was,” Nathan’s mother added unconvincingly.

  Patting Nathan’s right shoulder, Ivar said, “He’ll come around. I’m sure of it. Miles can’t stay angry at you forever. He hasn’t got the attention span to hold a grudge for long. Now, why don’t you and I make ourselves scarce and have a bit of a chat. Let’s see how far you got with that old book of mine.”

  Nathan sighed and pushed out his chair. Going over that gargantuan book was the farthest thing from what he wanted to do, but he supposed it would be better than worrying about whether Miles was going to start something when he arrived. And perhaps Ivar is right, Nathan thought hopefully. Perhaps Miles has already forgotten about being angry, and it’ll be just like old times…

  *

  Miles was furious with him.

  Absolutely, completely, utterly furious with him. Nathan could feel it radiating across the dining table, a brittle fury which threatened to snap at any moment. He suspected the only thing keeping a horrendous argument at bay was the baby in his lap. A baby who was doing her utmost to escape onto the floor to crawl around with the wolf pups.

  “Where are you going, huh? Where are you off to?” he asked her, smiling softly.

  She gurgled unintelligibly, doing her best to squirm away from the porridge-filled spoon in Nathan’s hand.

  “She loves you,” his sister Gwen said fondly. “Usually someone else is wearing that mush by now.”

  “By someone else, she means me,” Darshan, Gwen’s husband, added.

  His latest nibling, baby Purnima, was a good mix of both her parents: the sun-kissed brown skin of her father and Gwen’s black curly hair. But it was too soon yet to know if she’d inherit her powers from her mother or whether she’d be human like her father. Either way, Nathan could tell she was going to be a little hell-raiser.

  Nathan grinned at the wriggling ball of energy now thudding her grimy hands on the table dangerously close to Nathan’s food. “Of course, she loves me,” Nathan said. “I’m her fun Uncle Nathan. Oh, who’s that?” he asked, feigning shock as two snouts shoved their way into Nathan’s lap, making the infant squeal with delight. “Is that Uncle Bran and Uncle Lachlan saying hello? I think it is.” He lowered his voice theatrically, looking over at his mother who was likewise watching him, a doting smile fixed to her face. “Shall we sneak them an extra lamb chop while Granny’s not looking? Yes, I think we shall.”

  “You spoil them.” Miles said, his voice a bored drawl.

  “Ach, they’re only bairns,” Nathan said. He showed the chops to Purnima first before holding them out to the twins. Lachlan craned his neck up, claiming one delicately between his teeth. Bran, ever the bolder, snatched his away, which prompted an ear-piercing shriek from Purnima that made Nathan’s listening aids squeal.

  “—it suits you,” Miles said when Nathan could hear again.

  He’d obviously missed the first half of what Miles had said. “What? Holding a baby?” He snuck another spoonful of mashed vegetables past the baby’s flailing arms and into her mouth. Her little face wrinkling, Purnima looked at him with betrayal.

  “I meant civilian life, but the baby too, I suppose.”

  Nathan glanced at his elder brother, observing him properly for the first time since he’d sat down. He was still wearing his red coat, the brass buttons undone to reveal the pristine white shirt underneath. It was a sharp contrast to Nathan’s plain white shirt and brown woolen trousers. In some ways, Miles looked like Nathan: tall and broad, but with the blond hair and yellow eyes he’d inherited from their father. They were nearly the same age with only a scant ten months between them, but Nathan knew he looked older. The scars on his face and the silver poisoning had seen to that.

  Bowing his head, he smiled thinly. He already knew where this was going. “Yes, I suppose it does.”

  “And how is the dreary isle of Eyrie?” Miles reached across the table for what would be his fourth ale since they’d sat down to eat. “I hear it’s duller than dishwater there.”

  “It’s quiet,” Nathan agreed, leaning back in his chair as Gwen plucked Purnima back into her lap.

  “Must be nice. Having a cushy job like that handed to you.” He drank deeply from his flagon.

  Biting the inside of his cheek, Nathan was glad for the distraction of Bran shoving his snout back into Nathan’s lap and growling playfully. “Yes,” Nathan said as he scooted back to better grasp Bran around the ruff and jostle him about. “I’m very lucky Howlzein put in a friendly word for me.”

  Miles wrinkled his nose in contempt as Bran broke free from Nathan’s grasp and, with a wag of his tail, locked his jaws around Nathan’s forearm. “You shouldn’t let him nip at you like that. It’s disrespectful.”

  “Ach, he’s just playing. We used to do the same. Remember?” He ruffled Bran’s ears. “You’re just playing, aren’t you?”

  The wolf pup sneezed disdainfully at him before bouncing off to pounce on his twin.

  “Miles got a promotion,” their mother interjected, clearly anxious to cut the growing tension.

  Nathan inclined his head, nodding to the golden starburst pips at Miles’s collar that denoted his rank as captain. “So I see. Congratulations. You’ve earned it.”

  Miles smiled tersely. “Yes, I have.”

  “Are they keeping you at Fortdrüben?” Determined not to rise to the bait, Nathan busied himself with his own meal.

  “No.” Miles leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table and losing some of his stiffness. “They’re stationing us here for a while, down south.” He flashed a predator’s grin. “Seems the local guards need help keeping the rabble in line.”

  “I read about the riots in the papers.” Or rather, Vlad had read about them and subsequently ranted about it at length. “Are you not worried about going after working folks? They’re only after fair wages and grain—”

  Miles snorted. “Careful, that smacks of Reformist talk. And since when did you care about a thing like that?”

  Nathan opened his mouth to argue but faltered when he realized Miles was right. Nathan was a military man, always had been. Military men weren’t paid to think; they were paid to follow orders. While he’d balked at a few and found ways around them, he still had spent a lifetime following orders. But now he realized that blind obedience wasn’t enough, had never been enough. If it had been, he would have never taken that promotion which had, ultimately, led him to now. The thought of the military stepping in to quash the protests sat uneasily with him; he pushed his food away, suddenly queasy in a way he hadn’t been since Dr. Allan removed the bullet from his shoulder.

  “Are there no riots in Eyrie?
” Nathan’s mother asked.

  Perking up, Nathan shook his head. “No. The Viscount keeps on top of things. He’s already planning what to do about the blight in Obëria.”

  Nathan’s father fixed Nathan with an intense stare. “What sort of planning? And how do you know that?”

  “He mentioned it.” Nathan shrugged lopsidedly. “He said something about making sure they had enough grain to last until spring.”

  His father glanced across the table at Ivar, who raised snowy-white brows. He was far better at concealing his emotions than Nathan’s father, but even Nathan thought he saw a look of worry on the old wolf’s face. “The vampires are stockpiling,” Ivar murmured.

  Nathan held up a hasty hand. “No, that’s not what I—”

  “You think they’re getting ready to dig in?” Nathan’s father asked, ignoring Nathan entirely.

  Ivar nodded. “Most likely. They’ve got an instinct for surviving trouble. The Gods alone know they cause enough of it.”

  “You think there’s going to be trouble?” Miles’s eyes narrowed.

  “Trouble?” their father said with a grunt. “Ha, look around you. Trouble’s already here, boy; you’re being sent south to babysit it. But if the vampires are getting ready to dig in ‘til spring, then we should look to our own supplies.” He turned yellow eyes toward Nathan, nodding approvingly. “And you keep playing chess. See what else you can find out.”

  “Chess?” Miles wrinkled his nose in confusion. “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “Tell you later,” Nathan murmured, the food in his stomach feeling like a lump of lead.

  An oppressive silence hung over the table, and Nathan wished he’d kept his mouth shut. But it was too late now.

  After a few tense moments, Nathan’s mother clapped her hands. “Well. This is a cheery subject. Honestly, you two are a pair of doom mongers. But if you must talk politics,” she fixed her husband with a steely, gray-eyed stare, “do it away from the dinner table. I’ll not have you frightening the wee ones. And you two.” She speared Nathan and Miles with a meaningful look. “Play nice. I’ll not have you nipping at each other when company’s here.”

  “What did we do?” Miles held his hands up in faux innocence.

  But Nathan was focused on the last part of his mother’s statement. “Company? But I thought the Howlzein pack wasn’t coming—”

  “They’re not,” his father muttered darkly.

  Confused, Nathan glanced at his mother, who shook her head. “Then who’s coming?”

  Nathan’s father cleared his throat laboriously. “Alfbern Brandr and his ward are joining us for the solstice. They ought to arrive any day now. Starting tomorrow, I want you all on your best behavior.”

  Nathan’s brow furrowed as he tried to place the name. “Brandr… isn’t that the werebear clan over in Obëria?”

  “The very same.”

  “Werebears, here? In the Ironwoods?” Miles sounded affronted. “I’d have thought they’d all be hibernating by now.”

  “Usually they are,” Ivar replied. “But if you wanted a sign that times are troubled, a werebear out of his den in winter is it.”

  “You will welcome them,” Nathan’s father carried on, staring them each down in turn. “You will be polite. You will be civil. And you will not start trouble.” He locked eyes with Miles, who snorted and rolled his eyes. “They are honored guests in our home for the solstice, and you will treat them as such. Am I understood?”

  There was a murmur of agreement from around the table from all but one. Miles remained stoically silent, only grunting his assent when their father continued to stare at him. Satisfied, the Wolf Lord resumed his meal, talking in low tones to Ivar.

  “Werebears,” Miles grumbled. “Happy fucking Yule to us.”

  “I wonder what they want,” Nathan said.

  “Who cares,” Miles replied. He reached across the table and refilled both their tankards. “All I know is if I’m going to be on my best behavior starting tomorrow, I’m going to be on my worst tonight. And you’re going to help me.”

  “I don’t…” Nathan trailed off as he recognized the gesture for the prickly thistle branch of truce that it was. With a resigned mental shrug, Nathan decided to accept it. “Yeah, all right. Last one standing?”

  “Last one standing.” Miles grinned, clinking their drinks together before downing his in one gulp.

  Nathan followed suit and held out his tankard for a refill. He’d regret it in the morning, but then, he’d made worse mistakes.

  Probably.

  CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR

  The morning sun was offensively bright as it shone through the windows of the great hall. Nathan winced as a particularly persistent sunbeam pierced the clouds, searing directly into his brain. He wished he could crawl back into bed, ideally with a certain vampire, and sleep until the hangover faded.

  “Check out the state of you,” a familiar voice called.

  Turning from where he was sitting by the fire, Nathan saw his younger cousin, Connor, crossing the hall toward him.

  “Here.” Connor pulled a hip flask from his pocket and handed it to Nathan. “Hair of the wolf that bit you.”

  “Does your mother know you have a hip flask?” Nathan rasped, accepting it gratefully while pushing his uneaten breakfast to one side. It smelled like straight whisky, and the burn as it hit the back of his throat confirmed it.

  “I dunno,” Connor said with a grin as he took the flask back and pocketed it without taking a swig. It was, after all, well before noon. “Does yours know you’re getting letters from vampires?”

  Nathan started. “What?”

  “I picked it up this morning down in Bridgewater. Along with the rest of the mail.” Connor held a sealed envelope out to him.

  Nathan’s heart did a funny little flip at the familiar scrawl on the front. He’d asked Vlad to write to him, dreading the thought of nearly two weeks with no one to talk to other than his family. But he hadn’t expected the vampire to follow through.

  Hoping he still sounded more hoarse than breathless, he tried not to snatch the letter out of Connor’s hands. “Oh, that. That’s the boss on Eyrie. He’s probably letting me know a cat got stuck up a tree.”

  “I figured as much.” Connor chuckled. “Still, didn’t think your dad would appreciate seeing it.” At his cousin’s smile, Nathan was reminded why he liked the younger werewolf so much. Connor was a cheerful sort and carried his stocky build with the same amiable disposition seen most frequently in large dogs who still believed they were puppies. But he was also thoughtful in a way most people weren’t. At least, people in Nathan’s family.

  “Thank you.” Nathan slipped the envelope into his pocket to read later.

  “Anyway, best be off.” Connor threw a jaunty, two-fingered salute over his shoulder. “Don’t sit still too long, or your ma will give you something to do.”

  “Duly noted.”

  A loud crash came from behind him. Wincing, he turned toward it. Bran and Lachlan were human-shaped for once and were tussling with their cousin Kai while Eleanor and Randa, still more cousins, did their best to place the finishing touches to the decorative boughs around the walls. Nathan’s mother always went all-out for Yule. But apparently their unexpected guests had prompted her to kick things up a notch. Thick garlands of greenery were draped everywhere, filling the air with the scent of juniper and pine. Extra candles lined the walls, too; the flickering tallow had been replaced with the clear, steady light of beeswax.

  Doubting that anyone would bother him, Nathan pulled the letter out and broke the seal. It was covered from top to bottom in Vlad’s familiar scrawl, his normally skittering hand compressed into compact lines. It must have taken him forever to get it as neat as he had. “Good boy,” Nathan murmured fondly. The familiar bloom of warmth made itself known in his chest at uttering those words. His eyes skipped past the formalities and well wishes for his family. As the letter went on, the tone took a more inti
mate turn, the handwriting becoming messier. The letter culminated with:

  I know you’re likely occupied with family and have little time to think on—the scrawl faltered as though the vampire had paused long enough to require re-dipping his pen, causing the next words to blot—our relations, but—another blot—I confess I find—blot—I miss seeing your smile every day. Gods help me, I even miss the paperwork though I will deny this vehemently when you return and fill my desk with reports. I know you will be sad to leave your family again, but for whatever it is worth, your return is much anticipated here.

  Yours eagerly,

  V.

  Running his fingers over the words, Nathan couldn’t decide which was better: that the pointy faced idiot missed him after a week—and didn’t think Nathan would miss him in turn—or the declaration that Vlad was eagerly his.

  “What’s got you grinning like an idiot?” Miles asked, appearing out of nowhere and dropping onto the floor on Nathan’s left side.

  “Nothing.” Nathan shoved the letter into his pocket. “Just work.”

  Holding his head in one hand—presumably to keep it from falling off— and a tankard of ale in the other, Miles grunted at him. “Don’t ‘work’ me, I know that face.”

  “What face?”

  “The one you get when you’re keen on someone. What is it, some little island maid turned your head already?”

  “No.” Nathan hoped his ears weren’t as red as they felt.

  “All right, what’s his name?” Miles countered, rolling his eyes expressively.

  Miles was oddly prudish over the subject of Nathan’s love life. He’d expressed more than once that he found Nathan’s disregard for gender to be distasteful. The last time he’d said it Nathan had replied that it amazed him Miles could find anything at all with his head rammed so thoroughly up his own arse. That had shut Miles up. He still didn’t like it, Nathan knew, but at least now he’d stopped being an antagonistic shit over it.

  Mostly.