The Hunger (14 page)

“I was thinking of putting that off for a week or two,” he said impassively.

She looked up sharply at him. “It was tomorrow,” she said. “You were to go tomorrow, and you
will
go tomorrow. You’d never forgive yourself if you put it off and something happened. And . . . and there was something I was to do while you were gone.” Her thoughts were so scattered. “Yes. I’m going to hire the house you saw . . . where was it?”

“Wimpole Mews, just off Harley Street. But I’m not sure you’re up to that just now, your ladyship.” The old man’s face was crunched in concern.

“Nonsense,” she said briskly. “Just the thing for me. I’ll meet the agent at dusk tomorrow: When will you return?” She sipped her tea resolutely.

“A week, ten days at the most, I should think.”

Ten days without Symington! “Perfect. You have picked out a companion for her?”

“Miss Cadogan will move into the house to ready it as soon as you have purchased it.”

“Oh. Should I . . .?”

“She will present herself here at the end of the week.”

Beatrix sighed. “So organized, Symington. I have come to depend so upon you.”

“Frederick will look in to see if there are any messages you wish to have sent. Mrs. Mossop will handle the drawing room gatherings until I return.”

She nodded. But she didn’t dismiss him. There was something else on his mind. She could see it in his face. “I take it you know why Langley left town. You might as well tell me.”

Symington glanced down. “A mill.”

She frowned, thinking for a moment only of grinding flour. Then it dawned. “He left town to see a prize fight?” She tried not to let the outrage tinge her voice.

Symington nodded. “He plans to stay with friends in Hampshire afterward, I hear.”

She cleared her throat to be sure she could speak. “Well, off to your packing with you.”

“Is there . . . anything I can do for you?”

His voice was so solicitous she almost broke. She smiled. “No, my friend. Nothing.”

She watched as he let himself quietly out.

And there was nothing, nothing anyone could do. The quiet of the house was eerie. Outside carriages passed in the square. Life at night in London went on. With her more than human hearing, she heard it all. But inside it was nearly silent. Faintly she heard Symington up in his fourth-floor room, packing, and other than that . . . nothing.

She had a dreadful feeling there was more of nothing to come. How stupid of her to be so upset about Langley crying off! He cared for her so little that a prize fight could draw him away.

What did it matter?

Because she wanted to be with him and it was a short leap from that to caring for him. You couldn’t care for them. It left you vulnerable. She hadn’t cared for one of them since . . . Stephan, really . . .

CASTLE SINCAI, TRANSYLVANIAN ALPS
, 1105

“You did well tonight, Bea,” Stephan said. They were alone in front of the fire in Stephan’s quarters where they often sat reading and talking until dawn. She was warm now, having huddled in Asharti’s bed until her friend fell asleep. Then she had stolen up to the solarium
.

Beatrix gathered her courage, remembering Asharti’s words. “Why did you not punish Asharti for disobeying you, Stephan?”

He was drinking wine. He poured her a glass now. It was her first. It took him a long while to answer. “Because she has a harder road than you do, child.”

“She does not,” Beatrix protested. “Why is her way harder?”

“Because she is a human made by another vampire, not born to the blood.”

“And my way was easy?” Beatrix clutched her wine glass with white knuckles. “I was abandoned, left to defend myself and rip throats for my blood because I knew no better.”

“But you were born to your condition. You know deep inside yourself that what you are is what you were meant to be. There are some among our kind who say any vampire made is doomed to go mad or to tread an evil way. Asharti knows this.”

“That is why you are not supposed to make another by sharing blood.”

“Yes. That’s why the Rules say that if ever, by accident, you do, you must kill them.”

“That isn’t fair
—
to kill someone when it is your fault they are what they are.”

“No, it isn’t fair. That’s why I protected Asharti when Robert le Blois wanted to kill her.”

The one who made her wanted to kill her? How horrible! “Will Asharti go mad?”

“That is an old wives’ tale.” He stared into the fire. “But I do think that to have the Companion thrust upon you is difficult. We must help Asharti accept the responsibility it brings. And we must realize that her way is hard.” He looked up at Beatrix. “Can you do that, Bea?”

Beatrix took a breath and let it out. “I will try, Stephan.” What she would try to accept was Stephan’s lenience with Asharti. But in truth, why shouldn’t he admire her? Beatrix did
.

He smiled. How she loved it when he smiled. “I knew I could count on you.” He gestured with his glass. “Are you not going to join me?”

She smiled and ducked her head, then sipped her wine. “It is very good.”

“How was it to feed on your own, my dear?” His voice was so kind. She stole a look at him. The firelight played across the planes of his face. His dark hair curled at his broad shoulders, full and lush. His teeth were perfect, like all of their kind. His leather jerkin made him seem more masculine than ever. “It was good to be in control, was it not?”

“Yes. It felt . . . natural. And now my Companion is shouting life down my veins.”

“It is a marvelous feeling. We are very lucky to be who we are.” He held his wine glass up to the firelight and it glowed bloodred. “The blood is the life.”

“The blood is the life,” she echoed, and sipped. She felt an overwhelming desire to be close to him, so she slipped from her chair and sat on the great white-furred bear rug
at his feet. She laid her cheek on his thigh and felt her blood thrum inside her, somewhere low
.

Stephan stroked her hair. Beatrix felt her Companion rise within her. “There is much that I would show you, Bea.” His voice was husky. “For a woman to survive in the world, she must use the skills she has. Men are strong
. . .”

“
I am stronger than any man,” she protested. But her attention was on his hand, lifting her heavy hair from her back to stroke her neck. It made her shiver
.

“Yes, and that strength will be useful. But other ways will be useful as well.”

“What kind of ways?” she asked. The heat of the fire seemed to pool in her center
.

“Let us call them feminine arts,” Stephan said. “One can’t always compel what one wants. The subject can feel the compulsion if you are too bold. A man can lead other men or overpower them, but women need a subtler way to prevail.”

“How do you mean?” She let her head loll against him. He stroked her throat, and his touch spoke of red wine and fire
.

“I will show you if you will let me. Will you let me?” He slid from the chair to sit by her
.

She looked up with a little thrill of fear. Was there something she needed to learn that he felt he must ask permission to teach her? “I trust you to teach me whatever I need to know.”

“Know, then, that I would never hurt you.” He set down his wine and began to unlace the leather laces that held the bodice of her gown together. “I will show you something that, over the years ahead, will give you much pleasure, and a way to get men to give you what you want without using the Companion.” He smiled wryly. “Two purposes in one? What could be better?”

Beatrix felt her breasts swell with breath and something else as he opened her bodice. She was not a babe
.
She had seen men and women rutting, a coarse and violent act with much grunting and sweating. It was frightening, as though people turned into beasts, alienated from their own humanity. She had been a beast once. She had no desire to return
.

Stephan must have seen the doubt in her eyes. “I promise you will enjoy yourself,” he whispered in her ear. His breath on her neck made her shudder
.

But not with fear. “I give myself over to your tutelage,” she whispered back. After all, it was Stephan who had rescued her from the rutted streets of the slums in Amsterdam, cleaned her and dressed her and taught her, talked to her as an equal. She always strove to please him. He wanted her to learn this. She would please him now
.

She lifted her chin. He cupped her neck with one large warm hand and slowly brought his lips to hers. Their mouths touched, lightly. His lips were a caress that sent feeling shooting down between her legs. He was gentle. Not like a beast at all. She sighed and relaxed against him. His other hand stole around her waist. She let her lips melt against his. His tongue darted out and he licked her lips. Surprised, she gurgled a laugh into his mouth. He retreated, smiling
.

She glanced down, almost shy. “My apologies, Stephan. You surprised me.”

“No apology needed.” His expression was tender. “Have you ever been with a man?”

She shook her head, then looked up boldly. “But I know how it is. I have seen it done.”

He nodded. “Ahhh. Of course.”

She caught his tone and bristled. “I know, for a start, that you must take off your braies.”

So I should.” His eyes crinkled at the edges as he shrugged off the leather jerkin. He stood. Under the flowing shirt, he plucked at the lacings of his braies. Beatrix felt her eyes go big. He was going to take off his clothes
just like that? He slipped his braies down over his hips. He stepped on the heels of his soft leather boots, pulled out his foot and kicked them away one by one. His legs
—
they were so strong. She could see cords of muscles under the curling, dark hair on his calves. Her gaze turned up to the bulge of his thighs. The shirt hid what she wanted to see
—
what she was afraid to see. He crouched beside her, cupping her jaw with his hand
.

“And you, Bea? What of your clothing?”

The skin of his palm was rough against her cheek and electrifying. Her breath came shallowly. She swallowed. Could she finish what she’d started? She plucked at the laces of her bodice. The lacing went from her neckline down in a vee to the lowered waistline of her heavy blue wool gown. He moved her hands away and pulled the laces gently free, one by one, until she thought she might faint. Then he reached into the vee, cupping her breast with his palm over the fine linen chemise she wore beneath. Her nipple contracted as though it was a night-blooming flower touched by the sun. He slid the gown off her shoulder
.

She looked into his face, seeing the caring, the affection in his dark eyes. He must love her, to take such care. Before she realized what was happening, her overdress was on the floor. The wool was like a blue puddle. She sat in her underdress, her breasts rising and falling. She had never been so aware of her body: the breath in her lungs, the flushed feeling, the liquid between her legs that seemed to grow more heated by the moment
.

“Stephan . . .” she whispered. He took that as permission and leaned in to press his lips to hers. Her arms slid around his neck and she pushed her breasts against the hard wall of muscle she could feel under his shirt. His tongue found its way into her mouth and this time she wasn’t surprised, except by the intimacy of that touch. Moisture shared, body to body. He kissed her deeply, and the act promised he would delve deep in many ways
.

He lifted her out of the crushed wool of her dress, holding her tight to his body. Against her hip she felt a hardness and wondered for a moment before she realized what it was. She smiled into his mouth and snaked her tongue in to lick his lips and teeth
. She
had done that to him. He wanted her. She ran her hands over the supple moving muscles of his shoulders under his shirt. No, this wasn’t right. She wanted to feel his naked skin, and see all of him. She squirmed out of her chemise and lifted his shirt over his head. She took a breath. She had seen many men without their shirts. Huge brutes of men and boys like willow wands. But none were like Stephan. The little movements of muscle under his skin seemed calculated to distract her. But she would not be distracted. His chest was lightly dusted with black, curling hair, through which dark, soft nipples peeked. His belly was taut and a vee of hair pointed down toward a nest of hair that framed a very hard rod. It made her suck in her breath
.

“It is just me,” he reassured. His eyes went molten and he touched her shoulder, almost reverent. “You are . . . beautiful.” He shook his head and chuckled. “I sound like a lovesick boy.”

There! He had said it. She dared not smile, or even look into his eyes again, lest he retract it or explain it away. Lovesick. That was how she felt; light-headed, sick with love. She let her nipples brush across the hairs on his chest. He gave a low groan and pulled her to him
.

Beatrix sat shivering in front of her cold chamomile tea. The night was as vivid as if it had happened yesterday. Stephan had shown her the joy of making love.

Love? No, he had introduced her to the ways of sex. She only thought it was love. And sex with a man led to Asharti’s evil. Beatrix could not be trusted with sex, so she hadn’t trusted herself for six hundred years. She hadn’t cared, hadn’t had intercourse, hadn’t been hurt.
She fascinated them, took their blood and left them like Blendon, standing naked in the night.

Until Langley. She thought she had put Stephan behind her. He surfaced tonight because Langley had abandoned her to go see two men batter each other senseless, and that mattered to her. “Senseless” was the operative word. It was all so senseless. There was no second innocence. She had seen it all and everything happened over and over again, and you couldn’t escape it.