A Different Hunger

by Lila Richards

  Continuing down Mount Eden Road, the woman turned left into Epsom Avenue. With a shock of recognition, Rufus realised they were not far from Gillies Avenue. Could Serafina really be this close to home without his being able to sense her at all? Forcing down his excitement in case it gave him away, he followed at a safe distance, flitting through the shadows thrown by buildings and hedges until the woman stopped outside a high stone wall. Forbidding-looking iron spikes marched along the top of it and an ornate wrought-iron gate was set into it. That he could sense nothing whatsoever of what lay behind the wall served only to increase his excitement. Either the property was completely uninhabited, and had been for some time – or someone was deliberately keeping all sign of life hidden from the outside world. It must be the latter, he reasoned, or why would someone be delivering a satchel there in the middle of the night?

  The young woman opened the gate and slipped through it, closing and latching it behind her. From his vantage point nearby, Rufus listened to her footsteps receding. Judging by the time it took until he heard a door opening and shutting, the house must be set well back from the road. With the closing of the door, the house and grounds retreated into silence – a strange, oppressive, unnatural silence, as though no creature dared stir there.

  Consumed with curiosity, Rufus crept to the gate and peered between the curlicues of wrought iron. He saw a veritable mansion. Built of cream-painted timber, it rambled over a considerable area and rose two stories high, topped by a domed tower and a grey slate roof whose ridges were crowned with spikes like the ones adorning the top of its surrounding wall. The house was set in large grounds dotted with trees and shrubs, and more trees grew round the perimeter – oaks, beeches, elms, and a number of others he didn’t recognise. If it weren’t for the gate, the entire property would be cut off from the outside world – ideal for a vampire, especially one involved in skulduggery of some kind, and he was becoming increasingly certain this was the case. There might be all sorts of unsavoury reasons for one vampire to kidnap another, but strange packages changing hands at dead of night smacked of an entirely more mundane variety of wrongdoing.

  He could discover nothing more here at present, but he’d return tomorrow night and watch to see who went in and out. Just what he hoped to find, he was by no means certain yet. But he now had a focus for his search.

  TWENTY-SIX

  Soon after sunset the following evening, Rufus woke with the excitement kindled by the previous night’s discoveries still burning bright. He hurried through washing and dressing, deciding to hunt closer to home rather than lose time by walking into town and back again. Quite close by stood a small park, and Rufus made that his first port of call. However, it seemed the very proper residents of Epsom were all inside at their dinners, and the vagrants he might have expected to find in the town were not in evidence in such a genteel neighbourhood. In almost every house he passed, lamps or candles spread their golden glow through curtained windows, and he could hear the murmur of conversation. But not one soul among them could be glimpsed outside. With a hiss of annoyance, Rufus turned and made his way back up Gillies Avenue. It seemed he must go into town after all. Still, at least the rain had stopped. There were even a few stars shining between the ragged clouds.

  Near the corner of Gillies Avenue and Epsom Avenue, he picked up a scent, following it to a tract of the scrubland that still covered much of outer Auckland. Making his way through the rough grass and tangled bushes, he saw at last two shabbily dressed men in a gully partially sheltered by a stand of small trees and bushes. One was recumbent in the long grass – passed out from over-indulgence in drink, judging by the fumes that reached Rufus’s nostrils. The other sat leaning against a tree trunk warbling tuneless snatches of some unidentifiable tune in between swigs from a green bottle clutched in his claw-like hands. Skirting the area on silent feet, Rufus crept closer to them, hidden by the clump of trees beneath which they rested. He sent out his mind to the conscious one of the two, who clambered to his feet and stumbled towards him, clutching at tree trunks and branches of shrubs to keep himself more or less upright. It took no more than a moment for Rufus to mesmerise the man, as alcohol had done most of the job for him. He drank until he heard the man’s breathing become shallow, then emptied his semi-somnolent mind of all but vague, pleasant memories that he would most likely attribute to the quantity of cheap liquor he’d consumed. Then Rufus hurried on towards his destination.

  On reaching the mansion in Epsom Avenue, he cast around for somewhere to hide. He settled on a piece of rough ground on the opposite side of the road and perhaps twenty yards along from the house, crouching behind a clump of thorny bushes from where he had a reasonable view of anyone coming or going. Looking across the street, he was startled to recognise the house he and Serafina and Springer had looked at before deciding on the one in Gillies Avenue. Lucky for them they hadn’t ended up living almost next door to what he was now convinced must be a highly unpleasant vampire. About an hour before dawn, he finally gave up his vigil. Not one person had gone near the place all night, much less issued forth from it. Frustrated, Rufus made his way home.

  Over the following nights, he made it a point of honour to spend almost all of the hours of darkness keeping watch on the silent mansion from his vantage point behind the bushes. Hunting became something to be accomplished as quickly as possible, rather than something to be savoured. He resented every moment not spent in keeping his lone vigil. Yet at the end of a week he’d observed no one entering or leaving the premises, and he began to wonder whether, despite all his efforts at concealment, he’d somehow given himself away. Not to the young woman or others like her – and he felt certain there were others – but to whoever was controlling them. His conviction became stronger than ever that this must be Serafina’s captor, the vampire she’d sensed so fleetingly all those weeks ago.

  One night, after yet another fruitless watch, he was about to leave when he suddenly sensed Serafina. And she was not far away. His heart pounding, he waited, certain she would appear at any moment. When she failed to do so, Rufus crept from his hiding place and up to the gates of the mansion. Peering through the wrought-iron gates, he saw only the empty expanse of the grounds and the dark silhouette of the house, but his sense of Serafina had become so strong he was certain she must be somewhere in the house. Almost without conscious thought, he opened the gate and slipped inside. For several minutes he stood in the silent darkness willing himself to be calm. Then he began to walk across the grass towards the house. At first it seemed the entire building was in darkness, but as he drew closer he noticed chinks of light escaping from around the edges of blinds or curtains in a few windows, and two long rectangles of light shone faintly through the panes of stained glass on either side of the front door. Making his way across the flowerbeds to avoid stepping on the gravel where the sound of his footfalls might give him away, Rufus climbed onto the porch and peered through one of the glass panes. He saw nothing but a spacious foyer with doors leading off it and a staircase rising at one side. He crept from window to window across the front of the house, noticing that all of them were barred. Whoever was inside the house was not intended to escape.

  As he made his way around the side of the house, his sense of Serafina suddenly became stronger still. It seemed odd to Rufus that he sensed her so strongly, yet he could discern no trace of her physical scent. Perhaps it had something to do with the cloak of – he could only think of it as absence, as though the place had no existence in the real world – that seemed to swathe the entire property. But Serafina was near, of that he was certain. He had almost reached the back of the house when a beam of light sliced through the darkness just ahead of him. Someone had lit a lamp in one of the rooms. Rufus hurried towards it, crouching low under the windowsill, every sense alert and focused. He heard the low murmur of a woman’s voice, and his heart gave a violent lurch. It was Serafina! Biting back the urge to call out to her, Rufus raised himself on his haunches until he could just
see into the room.

  The light came from an oil lamp on a table beside a low divan upholstered in scarlet plush. On the divan lay Serafina, looking even more beautiful, to Rufus’s starved eyes, than he remembered her. Her wrap of rich red satin fell in smooth folds over the contours of her body. His heart was beating so hard it seemed she must surely hear it, but she did not look his way. She was gazing into the darkness beyond the lantern’s light, and she seemed to be talking to someone in a low voice. She reached out her hand, and Rufus saw another hand grasp it. Then the owner of the hand came into view, and it was as much as Rufus could do to smother a cry of horror. It was a man, a young Maori man with features that seemed carved from some rich wood polished to a smooth sheen, and black hair curling onto his broad shoulders. Rufus knew he should look away, but something held him staring in anguished disbelief as the handsome young man sat down beside Serafina and began to run his strong, brown hand over the white skin of her thigh where her wrap had fallen open. Then he lowered his mouth to Serafina’s and pulled her into his arms as her body arched to meet his. Her eyes were closed, and her face bore a look of – oh, God, how could he bear it? – a look of rapture.

  With a supreme effort, Rufus tore himself away from the scene and fled back across the grass and out through the gate, not stopping until he reached home.

  Racing up the stairs, he flung himself onto his bed and lay there gasping, trying in vain to banish from his mind the picture of Serafina in the arms of—of her lover? Could she have forgotten him so soon, so completely? Had all her protestations of love been empty? Or was it her way of punishing him for his intransigence over taking her to gaming houses? He found it hard to imagine her taking such a cruel revenge for such a petty offence, but then perhaps it wasn’t so petty to her. Then again, perhaps it was somehow the doing of her captor – but for what possible reason? How long Rufus lay there trying to make sense of it all he had no idea, but eventually the pangs of hunger grew so intense they forced him out to hunt.

  He found sustenance among the vagrants sleeping rough in the Grafton Gully cemetery, but he took no pleasure in feeding, and left as soon as his hunger had abated. As he strode along Symonds Street, he found himself wishing Fox and his cronies had killed him outright that night on the Orion. It would have been a suitable end for such a hopeless life as his had turned out to be. Everything he touched seemed to turn to dross. Even Serafina, who loved him as no other woman had done, had been driven into the arms of another man by his stupid stubbornness. Maybe he should just kill himself and be done with it all – except that he’d be bound to botch that, too. All of a sudden, Rufus found himself engulfed in hysterical laughter. The whole situation was too insane for words! What he needed was a good dose of normality. Realising he was not too far from The Fitzgerald, he decided to treat himself to a drink in its warm and smoky atmosphere amongst the down-to-earth humanity of its patrons.

  He ordered whisky instead of his customary brandy, and turned to find his usual seat in the corner, but two rather raddled middle-aged women – and a younger one who seemed well on her way to reaching the same state – were in possession, so he found himself a place towards the back of the room. Eleanor looked up for a moment from serving customers and smiled at him. He raised a hand in salutation and settled down to enjoy his whisky. After an hour or so, she joined him.

  “Hello, Rufus, I’m sorry I can only stay for a moment. We’re very busy, as you can see, but my shift will be over in half an hour, and I was wondering if you’d like to come upstairs for a chat and a drink – or tea if you’d prefer it? There’s a sitting room there where we can be nice and cosy and quiet.”

  Startled, Rufus asked, “Are you sure? I mean, are you allowed…?”

  “Probably not, strictly speaking, but I don’t think anyone will notice, much less mind, and frankly, I’ve just about had my fill of noise and tobacco smoke and the sweat of honest toil for tonight. Do say you’ll come.”

  Rufus hesitated, but only for a moment. The company of someone as sweet and uncomplicated as Eleanor seemed exactly what he needed, and if a hint of revenge for what he’d seen earlier lurked in his mind, he ignored it. He smiled. “Thank you, I’d like that.”

  Eleanor patted his shoulder. “Lovely. I’d better go now. I can see Mrs Morris looking daggers at me.”

  She slipped away through the throng, and Rufus saw her speak briefly with a stout, middle-aged woman in a stiff brown dress and a frilled apron – presumably Mrs Morris – before returning to serving the patrons clustered along the bar.

  The sitting room, which was up a narrow, dark staircase, was, indeed, cosy, with its lived-in furnishings, oil lamps, and a fire flickering in the grate.

  “What would you like to drink?” Eleanor asked. “We have sherry or port or beer – unless you’d like me to make you some tea?”

  Rufus shook his head. “No, nothing for me, thanks. I think I’ve had my quota for the night.”

  He looked at Eleanor, acutely aware of the warm, human scent of her, and the warm, human blood pulsing within her. Her dark hair was pulled back into a bun at the nape of her neck, but strands had come loose, framing her face in waif-like curls. He’d forgotten just how enchanting she was. They no longer had her vicious stepbrother to worry about, and it was obvious Serafina didn’t want him any longer, so why shouldn’t he have a little pleasure in his life for a change?

  “Do come and sit down, Rufus.” Eleanor indicated the spot beside her on the sofa.

  Rufus hesitated. The fresh blood racing in his veins, enhanced, perhaps, by the whisky he’d drunk, made him wary of being too close to her. But he felt equally unable to refuse her invitation, so he smiled and sat beside her.

  “So, Rufus,” Eleanor said, “how are you enjoying life in the colonies?”

  “Oh, well enough, though it’s very different from what I was used to.”

  Eleanor gave a throaty chuckle. “I can imagine! I’m sure you were quite the man about town back in London.”

  “I suppose I was.” A hint of wistfulness tugged at Rufus. “Still, it’s quite an adventure, don’t you think?”

  “That’s one way of putting it.”

  “What would you have been doing if you’d stayed in England?”

  “Lord, that doesn’t bear thinking about, not if Toby were still in the picture!” She gave a little gasp, and her cheeks reddened. “Oh, dear, I do beg your pardon. One isn’t supposed to speak ill of the dead, is one? Still,” she added with a grimace, “I can’t help being glad he’s not around any longer. I can’t tell you how much more pleasant life is without him!”

  A sudden image of Serafina tossing Fox’s lifeless body into the sea came into Rufus’s mind, but he pushed it aside, saying, “I’m glad you’re happy, Eleanor. You certainly didn’t seem so during the voyage.”

  “Thank you, Rufus. You’ve contributed greatly to my happiness, you know.”

  “I have?”

  “Of course you have. You were so kind to me, even though it put you at risk from my—from Toby. I’m glad I’ve met you again, Rufus. I’ve wanted so often to tell you how grateful I am.”

  She leaned towards Rufus and surprised him by kissing him softly on the mouth. A sudden thrill ran through him, fanning to a flame the blood ecstasy he’d been keeping at bay.

  Eleanor looked at him, her eyes shining in the lamplight. “I’m afraid that was rather forward of me,” she murmured, “but I’ve wanted to do it for so long. I hope you don’t mind.”

  As Rufus gazed at her, all his fear and despair and loneliness were suddenly subsumed into the blood ecstasy. He was overwhelmed by a desire for warmth and comfort – in short, for Eleanor. He drew her into his arms and kissed her, gently at first, and then with growing passion as the blood tide flooded through him. As she responded, Rufus drew her ardour into himself, feeding his own until he was lost in sensations of pure delight. With some part of him, he knew it was not what he felt for Serafina, yet it satisfied some longing within him that had gon
e unfulfilled since her disappearance, a gnawing hunger that even blood failed to nourish. A shudder ran through him as Eleanor’s body pressed against his, the scent of her warm skin was as sweet and intoxicating as champagne. Rufus pulled her closer, crushing her against him as his lips and tongue explored the contours of her face and her soft, warm neck. Instinctively, he licked at the skin beneath which her veins – her beautiful, tempting veins – beat out their rhythm against his tongue. He felt the familiar tingling in his gums.

  “Oh, God, no!” he gasped, pushing Eleanor away as he realised what was happening. “No, it’s not you,” he insisted, seeing the look of hurt on her face. “It’s just…oh, I can’t explain! I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, please forgive me, Eleanor, I must go!”

  Eleanor stared at him, uncomprehending. “Rufus, what’s wrong? If I’ve offended you in some way…”

  “No, it’s nothing you’ve done, I swear it, but I can’t—I can’t…oh, forgive me, Eleanor!”

  Rufus leapt to his feet and rushed from the room, stumbling down the dark stairs, half blinded with tears of shock at what he’d almost done. At the foot of the stairs, he stopped only long enough to get his bearings, then he shoved open the back door and found himself in a small yard crowded with barrels and wooden crates of empty bottles. Ahead of him was a narrow wooden gate. He yanked it open and propelled himself out into the street, where he stood gulping in the smoky air and trying to will his mind to stop spinning and his heart to stop thudding. He had half expected Eleanor to follow him, but she didn’t. On reflection, he was hardly surprised. The poor girl probably never wanted to see him again, and who could blame her? Of course he could never explain himself to her, so he mustn’t see her again, either. He could only hope she’d find someone who would love her as she deserved.