Hungers of the Heart

  PROLOGUE

  FROM THE MOMENT he entered the meeting hail in Eli’s mansion by the Delaware River, Drake knew this was going to be one of those nights. All it had taken was one look at the smug malice in Fletcher’s expression. The pup was going to make another at­tempt to get Drake tossed out. It seemed to have be­come his pet project, though so far all he’d managed to do was escalate the tension between Drake and the others.

  Anticipation made Drake’s fangs descend. He curled his lip in silent threat, but Fletcher ignored him, and no one else noticed. Drake stood in his usual place—a corner that left a good six feet be­tween him and the nearest Guardian. He might be the Guardians’ ally, but never would he be mistaken for a true member of their happy little family.

  As usual, Fletch waited until the meeting was all but adjourned before he pounced.

  “I have another vampire kill I want to tell you about,” Fletch said just as the other Guardians had started to rise from their chairs.

  All voices in the room died, and everyone took their seats again as Fletcher strode to the middle of the room.

  “Fletcher. . .“ Eli said in a warning tone, looking up from his traditional seat by the fireplace.

  Drake ground his teeth. Eli might admonish Fletcher for speaking, but he never seemed to stop him. And anything Drake said would only increase the chance of violence.

  “This one’s different, Eli,” Fletcher said. “You need to know about it.”

  And Eli, damn him, didn’t argue. Drake pushed away from the wall he’d been leaning against, stand­ing up straight and glaring at the son of a bitch who’d been making his life miserable for months on end. He bared his fangs for all to see. Maybe a little vio­lence was just what he needed.

  Fletcher wouldn’t be the first Guardian Drake had ever killed, but he would be the first one Drake en­joyed killing.

  Fletcher boldly met his eyes, all but daring Drake to cross the short distance between them and start something. Drake itched to do just that, but doubted Eli would allow it. The overwhelming power of Eli’s glamour would keep them apart no matter how badly they wanted to beat the hell out of each other. Of course, once they left the meeting it would be a dif­ferent story. Fletch and some of his cronies had jumped Drake once before. Perhaps it was time for Drake to return the favor....

  Fletch bared his own fangs in response. “No, Killer. This time, you’re the one who’s gone too far.” He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a folded sheet of newspaper, partially unfolding it to display a photograph. “Recognize him?” he asked, moving closer so Drake could get a good look.

  Almost against his will, Drake’s gaze locked on the photograph. As usual with newspaper photos, it was grainy and indistinct. The face was that of a youngish black man, smiling at the camera. Drake didn’t recognize the face, but the guy must have been one of his kills. This was Fletcher’s usual MO in his quest to make trouble for Drake: show the Guardians photos of the victims and families, reminding them that although Drake only killed scumbags, those scumbags were still human beings.

  If Drake had killed the man, surely he should rec­ognize the picture. But no memory stirred. When had Drake become so inured to his kills that he couldn’t even recognize the face of a recent victim?

  Fletcher must have read his hesitation and the rea­son behind it, for his face twisted in disgust and he snorted. “You’re as likely to recognize him as a mor­tal is to recognize the cow his steak came from.”

  “Fletcher. . .“ Eli said again, his voice a little sharper.

  Fletcher’s eyes bored into Drake’s. “Give me one more minute, Eli,” he said, unfolding the newspaper all the way. “This story’s got a hell of a punch line.”

  The headline that was revealed when Fletcher un­f0!de(l the newspaper struck Drake like a fist in the face.

  “Undercover Cop Found Slain in Alley.”

  Shock and dismay stole his voice, and he could do nothing but stand there and stare at the picture of the smiling mortal, and at the damning headline.

  Should I tell you about his widow and their kids?’ “Fletcher asked.

  A denial wanted to crawl up Drake’s throat, but the truth was he had no idea if he was guilty or not. For a long, long time he’d been at peace with his nature. He couldn’t help his need to kill, but he could appease his conscience by killing people the world was better off without. He’d never considered the possi­bility an undercover cop.

  The silence in the room was an oppressive weight. Not even Drake’s few allies among the Guardians could come to his defense this time.

  Was Fletcher telling the truth?

  “I don’t recognize him,” Drake said, but his voice sounded shaky, not his own. “You’re just making this up, trying to stir up trouble.”

  Like hell I am! I saw you kill him. And now I have proof positive that you’re no different than the filthy, Soulless Killers we destroy?’

  Drake was the Guardians’ one exception to the rule that any vampire who was addicted to the kill had to die. Well, except for Gabriel, Eli’s son, but that was because Gabriel didn’t live in Philadelphia, in their territory. From the condemning silence that draped the room, he suspected that exception wouldn’t apply much longer.

  “That’s enough, Fletcher’ Eli said, breaking the silence. “You’ve made your point. The meeting is ad­journed. Drake, I’d like you to stay behind.”

  Drake nodded, but didn’t look in Eli’s direction. He didn’t even consider making a run for it. Even if he somehow escaped the assembled Guardians, he couldn’t escape Eli’s glamour. Besides, he didn’t re­ally think Eli was going to kill him, though he knew that’s what Fletcher and many of the other Guardians expected.

  He nearly jumped out of his skin when Gray James, the only other member of the Guardians ever to have fed on a kill, clapped him on the shoulder, a hint of support. Gray had been forced into his single kill by his maker, but had managed to avoid becom­ing addicted. When Drake had been changed, more than a century ago, his maker hadn’t forced him to kill—he’d just neglected to mention that Drake had any choice in the matter.

  Of course, given who Drake had been before he’d been turned, he hadn’t been as troubled by the killing as perhaps he should have been.

  After Gray made the first move, a handful of the other Guardians made their own silent demonstra­tions of support. But most of them either ignored him or regarded him with undisguised loathing.

  After the last Guardian was gone, Drake waited for Eli to pass judgment, every instinct in his body telling him he wouldn’t like that judgment one bit. At least the room hadn’t gone cold like it did when Eli was really, really pissed.

  “Did you do it?” Eli finally asked, his voice care­fully neutral.

  Drake sighed heavily, but it did nothing to relieve his tension. All these years, he’d convinced himself that he was a Killer with a conscience, that he was somehow better, more worthy of life than other Killers. Had he been lying to himself all along? “I don’t know. I don’t recognize him, but that doesn’t necessarily mean I didn’t kill him.” He scrubbed a hand through his hair. Just how much did Fletch hate him, anyway? Enough to lie about this?

  Probably. In Fletcher’s black-and-white view of the world, all Killers were evil and had to be de­stroyed. If making up a story like this was the only way to get Drake killed, or at least kicked out of the city, then he might feel it was his duty.

  But even if this was a lie, the very fact that it was possible was highly. . . disturbing.

  “Sit down,” Eli said.

  Drake didn’t like the tone of Eli’s voice, or the look on his face. He had a feeling that Fletcher was going to get his wish.

  He’d allowed himself to become complacent du
r­ing the decades he’d worked for Eli. But he, more than anyone, should have known that nothing ever lasts.

  “Gabriel’s been after me for months to come to Baltimore,” Drake said, staying on his feet. That was a slight exaggeration. Gabriel, a fellow Killer and a

  born vampire of immense power, had invited Drake to join his fledgling Guardian organization in his home city of Baltimore, but the invitation had only been offered once. Still, Drake was certain he’d be welcome there. Of course, it would mean working for an unstable hard-ass with a cruel streak a mile wide. Somehow, he didn’t think Gabriel would make quite the benevolent leader that Eli did.

  “I see,” Eli replied. The fact that he didn’t insist Drake sit down as ordered suggested he was already letting go. “And you’d like to take him up on his offer?”

  Drake gritted his teeth. No, he didn’t want to. Philadelphia had been his adopted home for more than a century, and though the Guardians had never accepted him, he’d felt. . . comfortable here. Work­ing for Gabriel would be anything but comfortable. Hell, Drake wasn’t even sure he’d manage to live very long with Gabriel as a boss. However, if he was going to be kicked out anyway, he might as well sal­vage what little dignity he could manage.

  “You don’t really need me in Philadelphia any­more’ he said, forcing the words out. Now that Eli had learned how to create an avatar, an illusory version of himself that was capable of leaving the grounds of his mansion even though he couldn’t leave in body, he was no longer so badly in need of Drake’s strength. Guardians would forever be the underdogs against Killers, whose strength, both psychic and physical, was significantly greater. But Eli was one hell of an ace in the hole.

  Another long and uncomfortable silence draped the room. Drake couldn’t help hoping that Eli would ask him to stay, but wasn’t surprised when he didn’t.

  “It might be best for all involved if you joined Gabriel in Baltimore,” Eli said softly. “I’m sure that if you really did kill this man, it was under the as­sumption that he was just another criminal. And as you know, I’m in no position to throw stones. But I’m not sure that Fletcher and his friends won’t eventu­ally take things into their own hands if you stay.”

  Drake’s anger spiked. “Don’t play games with me, Eli. We both know that if you ordered him to behave, he would. If you want me gone, be man enough to say it.”

  Eli merely raised one gray eyebrow and regarded him with mild condescension. “If I wanted you gone, I’d say so. And I don’t know where you get the idea that my authority is so unshakable it could survive anything. Provoke him enough, and Fletcher will risk the consequences of disobeying me. If you have an offer from Gabriel, I think it will be better for every­one if you take it.”

  Drake still thought Eli was being a hypocrite, but the man was more than a thousand years old. Once he took a stance, there was no budging him.

  “Fine. I guess this is goodbye, then.” Drake did his best to hide his pain under a stony façade.

  Eli slowly rose from his seat, He had wiped all ex­pression from his face, an infuriating trick of his. “I suppose it is.” He reached out his hand for Drake to shake.

  Drake wanted to turn his back and get the hell out of there immediately, but he forced himself to shake Eli’s hand. Memories of other goodbyes hammered at the walls of his mind, but he savagely forced them away. There was no one better than he at keeping the past locked in the past where it belonged.

  Of course, Eli being Eli, he wouldn’t just shake hands. He held on when Drake tried to pull away.

  “You’re still one of the good guys,” Eli said. “Even if you killed this man. I hope you realize that.”

  Drake wasn’t so sure. Once upon a time, he had most assuredly not been one of the good guys. Maybe he’d never really changed.

  “Uh-huh,” Drake grunted, meeting Eli’s gaze once more.

  Eli gave him a sad smile. “You’re too angry with me to talk right now, I know, but if you ever need anything, you know my number.” He finally released Drake’s hand.

  Without another word, Drake turned his back and walked away.

  1

  DRAKE HAD BEEN living in Baltimore for almost a month, and he still, hadn’t fully moved in to his new house. The place had belonged to a fledgling Killer Gabriel had dispatched when he’d taken over as Master of Baltimore, and no one had set foot in it since its owner’s death. So far, Drake had spent most of his time cleaning out the detritus of six months’ neglect and repairing the worst of the damages. It ap­peared the former occupant hadn’t been much of a handyman. Or a housekeeper.

  Tonight’s task was to get rid of the hideous peeling wallpaper in the first-floor bathroom. He’d feared he’d have to steam it off—a tedious and time-consuming process—but when he started pulling at one of the strips, it tore away easily from the wall. Unfortunately, the wall beneath the wallpaper was painted a dreadful shade of puke green. Drake was ‘beginning to hate this damn house.

  He’d just torn off the last strip of wallpaper— along with a big patch of the ugly green paint—when his doorbell rang. He stuffed the wallpaper into the trash, then tried to rinse some of the sticky, pasty mess off his hands as the doorbell rang again, repeatedly. A. quick psychic survey told him there was a vampire on his doorstep. He hoped it wasn’t Gabriel—he was feeling too surly right now to keep his tongue under control, and Gabriel usually rubbed him the wrong way within the first five minutes of any conversation.

  His hands were still sticky, and he would probably have to use Lava soap to get all the paste off, but who­ever was ringing the bell didn’t seem eager to wait.

  Drake exited the bathroom and headed for the front door, realizing it couldn’t be Gabriel. If Gabriel wanted in this badly, he would have used his teleki­netic powers to unlock the door. The doorbell was now accompanied by the sound of a fist hammering against the wood..

  “I’m coming!” Drake shouted as he hurried through the living room, temper flaring. He doubted whoever was at the door could hear over the constant ringing and banging.

  He didn’t bother looking through the peephole, in­stead flinging the door open as soon as he’d unlocked the last lock.

  The temper that had been simmering in his chest died ,down instantly when he saw Jezebel, Gabriel’s fledgling and lady-love, standing on his doorstep with red-rimmed eyes and tear tracks on her cheeks. Now that she wasn’t pounding on the door anymore, her arms were crossed over her chest and her shoul­ders hunched in what looked like a defensive posi­tion. She looked small and miserable and frightened, and foreboding buzzed through Drake’s body. He quickly stepped aside to let her in.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  Jez stood in the foyer and shivered. “Gabriel’s missing.”

  Drake frowned, then took her by the arm and guided her into the living room. She didn’t seem ca­pable of moving~ on her own, and her eyes were dis­tant, as if only a fraction of her attention was focused in this room. He had to press down on her shoulders to get her to sit on the couch. Then he took a seat next to her.

  “What do you mean, missing?” he asked.

  She blinked, and her eyes finally focused on his face. She shivered again. “I mean I can’t find him anywhere, and when I try to communicate with him, I get nothing.”

  By some quirk of Gabriel’s unusual birth, his bond with Jezebel was much closer than the usual bond between a master and fledgling. They were able to sense each other’s emotions to some extent, and they were able to communicate telepathically.

  “I can still.. . feel him. He’s alive. But I can’t reach him.” She looked at Drake with wide, frightened eyes. “What can that mean?”

  “Maybe he’s blocking you for some reason.” Drake could well imagine Gabriel trying to block her out if he was doing something she wouldn’t like. But Jezebel shook her head.

  “This feels different?’

  “Did he have any plans for the day that you know of?” Another of the many differences between Gabriel
and “normal” vampires was his ability to tolerate the sunlight. Most vampires grew progressively more tol­erant as they aged, but Gabriel had been able to travel about as freely as a mortal man since puberty.

  A tear leaked from Jezebel’s eye and she wiped it away with the back of her hand. “Not that he told me. He came to bed with me this morning, and when I woke up at sunset, he was gone.” She sniffed loudly, then swallowed back tears. “We have to find him.”

  “I assume you tried calling his cell?”

  She gave him a look of pure annoyance. “Of course I did.”

  He made a placating gesture with one hand. “I was just making sure. You looked pretty distraught when I first opened the door.” She still looked miserable and frightened, but she wasn’t much of a weeper. When the initial shock wore off, she would leap into action with reckless abandon. It was the “reckless” part that worried him.

  “If someone’s hurt him,” she said, “I’ll kill them.”

  Jez wasn’t a Killer. In fact, as far as Drake knew, she’d never killed anyone, mortal or vampire. But the look in her eyes said she meant what she said.

  “Let’s not jump to conclusions just yet?’ he coun­seled. “Gabriel’s damn hard to hurt. I’m sure there’s a perfectly good reason you can’t reach him right now. He’ll probably be in touch soon. It’s only been, what, forty minutes or so since sunset? Maybe time got away from him and he hasn’t realized you’re awake yet.”

  But Jez shook her head. “If he were planning to go out, he would have told me. Especially if he was go­ing so far away we couldn’t communicate.”

  Drake wasn’t so sure. Gabriel was an autocratic, controlling bastard, and though there was no question he loved Jez, Drake could think of any number of rea­sons why he’d neglect to share his plans with her.

  Jez skewered him with a piercing stare. “Did he tell you he was planning to be away?”

  The thought was laughable—Gabriel wasn’t big on sharing. “He didn’t mention anything.”

  Jez looked suspicious. “I’d better not find out this is some kind of male conspiracy to protect my deli­cate sensibilities.”