Hunger Untamed H3

by Dee Carney

Fierce desperation gave her the courage to speak. “Please...I need your help. I can pay you.”

  “Doubt you got enough money to cover it. Sage wouldn’t be cheap, not even a little bit.” His gaze drifted down her face, prurient male interest darkening his irises. The visual caress paused at her lips before moving on. It stopped somewhere well below her chin before he looked up again, a feral grin creasing one side of his mouth. “Tell you what though. If you ever want a long, slow fuck, come find me. My outward package don’t say much, but it’ll get you what you need.”

  A rushing sound filled her ears, and Lucy belatedly realized it was the sound of blood flooding her face and neck in a furious torrent. She knew what she looked like to a vampire, but at least when she’d been a slave, the men and women who’d used her hadn’t treated her like a junkie, despite her appearance. This man, this vampire she needed, with a twisted face and dark soul, made her feel lower than the dirt on the bottom of his shoe.

  Hands shaking from cold rage, she tightened her mouth and stood. Without speaking, she gave Victor her best attempt at a sneer before turning on her heel and storming away. She hated that she could feel him studying her as she left.

  Hated that she wanted with everything in her to turn around and beg him to help her.

  Hated even more that she had no idea what to do next.

  * * *

  Victor drained his glass, his eyes trained on the little human exiting the watering hole. She was a hot number, light years out of his league. But the fact that her skin had been branded with a blood slave’s glyph made her available to almost any vampire.

  Blood slaves were a coveted prize with a physical beauty that rivaled even a born vampire’s. Look at this one. Petite, barely making it to his shoulder. While slender, she possessed enough curves to tempt him to span her waist with his hands. Apple-sized tits. Strawberry blond hair, straight but thick. Perfect for threading into while riding her body. And those lips. Pouty lips that promised the most epic of blowjobs. What held him captive were her eyes.

  Maybe that was why he disliked her with such immediate vehemence. Although her body screamed fuck me, her eyes, hazel green like dew-tipped blades of grass, were ancient. Eyes that had seen too much. Knew too much.

  The story behind why she wanted Sage ate at his curiosity, but not enough for him to take on the suicide mission.

  His cell rang just as the door creaked to a close, shutting off the last sight of the desirable woman, which was just as well. A knot of concern firmed at the base of his neck after he pulled the phone from a back pocket and read the name on the display. “Yeah?”

  “You’re late.” He recognized the crisp elocution almost immediately anyway. Cicero Nadeem, one of the top lieutenants for the vampire Council’s personal guard. It never boded well that a born and bred Hassassin hired out work to a merc, but Victor wasn’t one to turn down a job from a titled vampire.

  “On my way.” He’d been about to leave when the blood slave had detained him. A lovely distraction, in truth.

  A single button ended the phone call, and Victor pushed away from the table. He left without looking back or leaving behind payment for his drinks. The running tab he kept would cover tonight’s expenses. What did it say that he’d been spending longer and longer hours sitting there, hunched over high-octane booze? As the days passed, the alcohol content went up at his instruction, while the amount of added blood dwindled. Vampire metabolism kept the alcohol from doing too much damage for too long, but during those short minutes, Victor edged toward bliss.

  Didn’t matter much that people stared as he drank, the pink liquid dribbling down the side of his damaged face. He was used to it. Their stares saturated his desire to drink that much more.

  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 o
r 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 perfectl
y 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?”