I Hunger for You Page 3

  But Mia believed the family legends, and the records. She had made a promise to her grandmother on the old woman’s deathbed, a promise to prepare herself in case one day the truce was broken. She’d kept herself strong; learned how to defend herself. She’d done everything she could on a physical level, but nobody had taught her how to hunt vampires. She’d been hopelessly outclassed in fighting the monster.

  She wished she knew how Colin had driven the creature off. She was also thankful that Colin hadn’t noticed the monster’s otherness. Maybe you needed vampire hunter genes to see them for the monsters they really were.

  There was so much she didn’t know.

  Like how the vampire had found out that there was a hunter, albeit a very untried one, in Los Angeles. However, he’d done it—found her he had. The truce was broken. She had to fight.

  She knew that crosses didn’t work, but that garlic did. And silver. She’d inherited a silver necklace from her grandmother. It was a wide, flat chain with an intricate locking clasp, which fitted snugly around her neck. It was heavy, hard to fasten with her sore hand, and Mia had never been one for wearing jewelry—but if she didn’t want to get bitten in the neck by a vampire, this necklace would probably help.

  Probably.

  That was the annoying part, knowing what might work rather than exactly what would work. By tradition, knowledge of vampire hunting was passed on orally. She had a few documents to draw on only because somebody in the last generation of real hunters in the Garrison family had decided to leave a few obscure, almost coded clues, just in case.

  Sitting alone in her kitchen, pressing an ice pack to the wrist she’d bruised, and nursing a broken heart, Mia realized she was woefully unprepared. And it scared her to death.

  It was after dawn when she remembered that her grandmother had left her a bank safety deposit box. Maybe there was something hidden in the box that would help her. All she had to do now was remember where she’d put the key, and wait impatiently for the bank to open.

  Chapter Three

  “Good evening, Lady Serisa.” Colin tried not to let his impatience show as he stood at the door of the Matri’s Brentwood home. “I need to speak with you.”

  “And I need to talk to you.” The diminutive Matri reached up and tapped him on the forehead with a long, brightly painted fingernail. “Where have you been, boy?”

  Being called boy didn’t suit his Prime’s pride. He glared at Serisa, so annoyed that he momentarily forgot the urgency of his mission.

  “In case you haven’t noticed, we are a telepathic species,” she went on tartly. “I may not be your Clan Matri, but when I call, you answer.”

  Colin had been vaguely aware of a nagging voice in the back of his mind, urging him to seek out his own kind, but he hadn’t equated it with an actual summons. He hadn’t been thinking about vampires lately. He’d been far too occupied with a human woman.

  “I have an answering machine,” he told Serisa. “And a cell phone and pager on me at all times. You could have called any of my numbers.”

  “I’m a traditionalist,” was her response. “Our secrets are not for sharing in such public ways.” She stepped back from the doorway. “Come in.”

  Colin silently followed the Matri through the house.

  The place was large, but in the way of a mansion rather than a Clan Citadel; the tasteful decor showed no evidence that this was the dwelling of a vampire queen. Members of almost all the vampire clans lived in the Los Angeles area, but this was the home territory of the Shagal, led by Matri Serisa and her bondmate, Elder Barak. She was one of the few Matris who chose to live in a crowded human city. His own clan’s stronghold was in northern Idaho, which Colin thought was a far more sensible place for the breeding-age females of the Reynards to be hidden away. Though since Serisa was too old to give her clan children, he supposed it didn’t matter where she lived.

  He really only wanted to give the local Matri his information and leave. He wished he’d called, sent an e-mail, or even used telepathy, when he saw the group gathered in the room where Serisa led him. Apparently he’d interrupted a meeting of the serious, sober, responsible members of the community. Now he was going to have to face all of them.

  Boring.

  The room was large and windowless, somewhere in the center of the house. There was only one exit, and Serisa lingered in the doorway after she ushered Colin inside. Elder Barak was standing on one side of the room, talking quietly with three other grave elders. They all gave him serious consideration when he stepped into the room.

  Colin was relieved to see that Anthony Crowe, from Clan Corvus, was seated in a pale leather chair on the other side of the room. Next to him on a matching couch was Colin’s cousin, Alec Reynard, and Alec’s bondmate, Domini.

  Colin couldn’t help but smile at the beautiful, dark-haired female. This drew an automatic frown from Alec, and he put an arm around his bondmate’s shoulder.

  “Stop it, you two,” Domini said, though she leaned into her bondmate’s embrace. “Hi, Colin,” she added. “You cut your hair.”

  “You’re not supposed to notice details about any Prime but me,” Alec said.

  Still smiling, Colin sidled closer to this younger group.

  “How have you been, kid?” Tony asked. “Haven’t seen you around lately.”

  Colin shrugged. “The team’s been busy.”

  Tony Crowe was retired from the Los Angeles police force. He brightened with interest at Colin’s mention of his SWAT team.

  “No one is here on a social call,” Serisa said, drawing Colin’s attention back to her.

  “You’re usually more fun than this, Aunt Serisa,” Tony said. “You could offer the kid a beer.”

  “I am not pleased with Colin’s absence,” she answered. “You made a vow,” she reminded him. “Remember?”

  Her sarcasm stung his pride. “Of course I remember. I can’t fulfill a promise if I have nothing to go on.”

  “How would you know if there was any new information about the Patron if you don’t check in with your elders? We haven’t had any real contact with you for the last three months.”

  “That’s not true!”

  Was it? He’d gone to Arizona to help destroy a lab experimenting on vampires, right after breaking up with Mia. He’d reported on the situation when he got back, then…

  Colin looked helplessly to Alec. “It hasn’t been—”

  “Cut the young Prime some slack, Auntie,” Alec defended him. “His job fulfills his vow to look after mortals.”

  “That is not the vow my lady is referring to,” Barak spoke up.

  “Never mind your work with the police, Colin Foxe,” Serisa scolded. “I know what’s distracted you. I can feel it whenever I try to touch your thoughts. You’ve been having sex with a different mortal every night, haven’t you?”

  “That is what Primes do,” Tony pointed out with an unabashed grin.

  Mention of mortal women reminded Colin sharply of why he’d come to the Matri. He put aside a sudden rush of dread for Mia and said, “I stopped a Tribe Prime from attacking a human tonight.”

  Attention focused on him with the intensity of a circle of spotlights, but everyone waited for Serisa to speak.

  “Tell me exactly what happened.”

  At least she hadn’t outright dismissed that he’d encountered a Tribe member in her territory. He’d half-expected to be treated like a kid who made up stories.

  “This was my fault,” Colin began. “That the mortal was targeted.” He’d rehearsed what to say on the way over, but they just kept looking at him, which made it harder to explain coherently. He scratched a sudden itch over his left eyebrow. “I made the mistake of having a long-term relationship with this woman.”

  “Mistake?” Domini questioned.

  “What’s your definition of long-term?” Tony added. “Two nights?”

  “Details, Colin.” Serisa’s command cut across their sarcasm.

  “We were together fo
r three months,” Colin answered the Corvus Prime. “Which was long enough for a Tribe bastard to target her for one of their sick games. If I hadn’t been in the neighborhood when he attacked her, she’d be wearing his brand by now.”

  Fury ate at Colin when he thought of how Mia would have been used by the Tribe vampire. But being furious was no way to deliver a report. His police training helped him pull away from personal involvement and see the bigger picture.

  “Tribe activity is a threat to mortals and our kind. Fortunately, I was in the neighborhood when the woman was attacked, so we’re aware that they’re in Clan territory. We can only hope this was the first attack. Now that we know at least one of them is in town, we can concentrate on finding him. Of course, it’s likely that he’s only one of a pack. I can check out missing persons and assault reports for anomalies that could point to Tribe activity.”

  “There are psychic ways of tracking,” Serisa reminded him.

  Colin nodded. “But it doesn’t hurt to use every method available to us. The sooner we find him, the safer Mia will be.” Colin was appalled at what he’d said, and quickly corrected himself. “The safer all the mortals in the area will be.”

  “Mia’s your girlfriend, right?” Domini asked.

  “No,” Colin snapped. “We broke up.”

  “Then why were you with her when this Tribe boy showed up?” Tony asked.

  “I told you, it was just a coincidence. I think we need to focus on the fact that a mortal was attacked by a vampire tonight.”

  “And why aren’t you protecting this mortal now, by calling the incident in?” Tony asked.

  Tony wasn’t on the force now, but he’d been a cop for a very long time, only leaving after decades of service when he couldn’t stand wearing facial prosthetics and makeup to make him look older anymore. He might be retired and working as a private investigator, but he still thought and acted like a cop.

  Colin didn’t want to admit that Mia didn’t want his protection. “I plan on heading back there.” He looked at Serisa. “Some things you don’t phone in.”

  “You were right to come here,” Serisa said. “We will look into the matter.” She looked at Alec and Domini. “See that the woman is safe.”

  The pair of professional bodyguards said, “Yes, Matri.”

  “Anthony. Find where the Tribe pack is hiding.”

  Tony stood. “Yes, Matri.”

  She turned to her longtime bondmate. “Barak will organize a plan of attack.”

  “Wait a minute!” Colin spoke up. “She’s my—You can’t—I—”

  “You say you are not attached to this woman,” Serisa pointed out. “So the threat to her is not your personal concern.”

  “But—the Tribe’s fight was with me. For her.”

  “You drove him off, but I don’t see the woman at your side. You have other work.”

  The look Serisa gave him assured Colin that no argument was going to change her mind about where his duty lay. And it finally occurred to him that she’d wanted to see him because there was finally a breakthrough in the hunt for the Patron.

  He was not at all pleased at the thought of leaving Mia’s welfare in anyone else’s hands, but he was Clan Prime. Duty came first. He straightened his shoulders and kept his temper under control. “What do you want me to do, Matri?”

  Laurent of the Manticore had one thing that most Tribe vampires didn’t possess: a sense of humor. He didn’t know where he’d gotten it, or how, but he knew it was damned inconvenient. As a survival tool, it was totally useless.

  “I like to think of it as a rather puckish sense of fun,” he said to no one in particular as he stood waiting for Justinian’s attention to turn his way. He was standing ankle-deep in plush Persian carpet in a windowless bedroom lit only by a few thick red candles. Justinian was currently occupied behind the velvet curtains of the large bed that was the centerpiece of the room. Though there were a half dozen Primes waiting for the pack leader’s attention, the only sound was the panting and groaning coming from the girl the king Prime was currently boning. Laurent found the whole situation faintly embarrassing. He also had a hard time refraining from smirking at the melodramatic setting.

  That was one of the problems with the Tribes: they took their brand of evil far too seriously. Their sensibilities were anything but postmodern, or even retro camp. It seemed to Laurent that even people who acted like they still lived in the twelfth century ought to acknowledge that they were actually dwelling in the twenty-first. Instead of belonging to the Society for Creative Anachronisms, his dear Tribe were anachronisms.

  Well, it worked for them. And they were all he had—though he half regretted being called back into the bosom of Tribe Manticore, after so many years on his own.

  “Do you find us boring, Laurent?”

  Laurent did a good job of hiding his surprise when Justinian suddenly appeared, standing outside the bed curtains. Though he went stiff with an old, familiar fear, he managed to shrug.

  “I haven’t been back quite long enough to be bored,” he answered Justinian. But he didn’t meet the pack leader’s eyes when he spoke.

  The woman in the bed moaned. Laurent was aware of the hunger that stirred among some of the other Primes, but he kept his own urges under control. And his amusement to himself, when Justinian swept a warning gaze across his followers and the testosterone level dropped like a rock.

  His feelings weren’t hidden from Justinian. “Our Laurent doesn’t play pack games.” He took a black satin robe from an obsequious mortal servant and tied it on as the mortal quickly bowed his way back into the shadows.

  Belisarius, senior among the pack Primes, said, “Laurent doesn’t have the balls to hunger for a woman. Not that we’d challenge you,” he added with quick deference to Justinian. The other Primes directed derisive laughter at Laurent.

  “Do you have balls?” Justinian asked him.

  “I do believe I have,” Laurent answered. “Now, ask me about what happened tonight, so we can get on with business.”

  “I take it you didn’t bring back the woman.”

  “He ordered you to do one small thing—” Belisarius began, but Justinian held up a hand to silence him.

  “But there were complications.”

  It wasn’t a question. At least Justinian didn’t question his competence.

  “There was a Clan Prime guarding the woman,” Laurent reported. “I thought you’d want to know. I could have just killed him and brought the Garrison woman to you, but that wouldn’t get us an explanation about the Clans’ involvement with our rightful prey.”

  “My rightful prey,” Justinian corrected.

  “You should have brought her here,” Belisarius said. “To tell us whatever she knows.”

  “And have the gallant Clan Primes come running to the rescue?” Laurent looked to Justinian. “You told me this was strictly a matter of justified revenge. Is that true?”

  “It’s not your place to ask questions,” Justinian reminded him.

  Laurent remembered how he hated that deceptively mild tone, and how dangerous Justinian was when he used it. “Apologies,” he said, and bowed his head.

  Justinian let a few tense seconds pass before he spoke. “You were correct not to bring the mortal here. Watch her, Laurent. We’ll let her think she’s free, while we discover her connection to the Clans.”

  Chapter Four

  Three days later

  “Would you like another iced tea?”

  Mia looked away from the airplane window at the flight attendant’s question. “No, thank you. How soon until we land?”

  “About half an hour,” the woman answered.

  She smiled hopefully, but when Mia didn’t request anything else, she moved to the back of the plane. Mia was the only passenger on the small jet flying back to Los Angeles from Colorado, and she wasn’t making much work for the staff on her great-grandfather’s jet.

  The fact that her great-grandfather had a private airplane, and that
he’d put it at her disposal, was still pretty shocking. Yes, she’d known he was very rich, but being exposed to the rarefied atmosphere where the super wealthy dwelled made her breathless.

  She’d expected the telephone number her grandmother had left her would put her in immediate contact with her great-grandfather, but it hadn’t worked out that way. The number belonged to a law firm. She’d used the code phrase that went along with the number, which got a very complicated ball rolling.

  Getting to see her elderly relative face to face had taken her through several layers of flunkies; men in more and more expensive offices and suits; men with blanker and blanker faces and blander voices.

  Finally, a rough old voice on a speaker phone in the fanciest office of all had ordered the expensive lawyer out.

  When she was alone, the old man said, “What do you want?”

  It turned out to be very hard to say the words. What if she was making a complete fool of herself? What if it was all myth after all? What if what had attacked her hadn’t been—what she thought? What if this wasn’t actually Henry Garrison?

  But she took a deep breath and said, “I want to know how to hunt vampires.”

  “Why?” was the gruff reply.

  “Somebody has to,” was the only answer she could think of.

  “For the sake of family tradition? Or is it more personal?”

  She thought for a moment before she said, “Both, I guess. I was attacked by a vampire, and I—”

  “You’ve had actual contact with one? Did it take your blood?”

  “Yes. No. I—”

  “Do you know where it is?”

  “Somewhere in Los Angeles.”

  “That’s a lot of territory to cover.”

  “I know. That’s why I need your help. I’m willing to hunt it, but I need to know how.”