One With the Hunger Page 3

  “Lucky girl. I’ve been after him since he first appeared in New York about a year ago.” Viv sniffed. “He’s never even looked at me in that way.”

  “Well, you know what that means,” Melanie spoke.

  “He’s gay,” Viv and Erihn spoke at the same time.

  Jennifer bit back a sharp burst of laughter. “Trust me, my darlings, that man is most definitely not gay. He’s a master of seduction and has women throwing themselves at him left and right.”

  “I certainly wouldn’t kick him out of bed,” Melanie said.

  “I wouldn’t either,” Shai, still feeling dazed, spoke through numb lips.

  Vivian laughed, her pique apparently forgotten. “It’s about damned time, woman. A man has finally turned our Shai’s head. And what a man he is.” She leaned closer. “Watch out, little one. Val is one of the sharks in the ocean of life.” She paused. “Of course, that makes him all the more desirable in my eyes.” She raised her wineglass. “Here’s to Shai and her deepest, darkest fantasies. Long may Val fill them…and a few other things.”

  “I don’t…” Shai began, only to realize they were no longer listening to her. Shivers danced along her spine as she recalled his deep blue eyes and sinfully sexy mouth.

  “Oh, what the hell… Here’s to fantasies.”

  Chapter Two

  Several hours later, Shai tumbled headfirst through her apartment door. Clinging to the doorknob, she skidded to a stop as her oversized purse banged into the coat tree, sending it crashing to the floor. She straightened and fumbled for the light switch. The lights winked on and she blinked, her vision distorted as if she were underwater.

  “Drat.”

  Her voice was slurred and she giggled as she kicked the front door shut with one foot. She started across the living room toward the darkness of her bedroom door and as she walked, she discarded her clothing in an uneven trail, marking her progress through the apartment. Her silk jacket landed on the arm of a chair, her purse a hill of soft leather in the middle of her living room. Next came her black skirt, a puddle of velvet near the coffee table.

  As she neared the doorway, she noticed with alarm that the room was tilting. Reaching out a hand, she braced herself against the wall and kept herself upright.

  “What the…” She glanced down at her feet to see one high-heeled shoe was missing. Turning, her head began to spin and she fell against the wall. “Oooof…” She squinted toward the living room, her blurry gaze seeking the missing footwear. She snickered when she spied her errant shoe tangled in her skirt.

  “That sucks.” Turning away, she stumbled through the door, losing her other shoe in the process. One step later her shirt slithered to the floor.

  A brilliant pool of moonlight illuminated her four-poster bed. The windows were wide open and a soft, humid breeze tugged at the heavy blue drapes. Shai fell onto the bed, her body numb with drink and sensual intoxication. Her fingernails scraped against the crisp white sheets. She sighed again. Oh, how she loved her bed. It was the best bed in the world. Unbidden, an image of Val entered her mind and she groaned.

  Val in her room.

  In her bed.

  In her.

  She closed her eyes and grabbed a pillow to cradle it against her overheated body. Enough of that. Fantasies were one thing, but her reality was that a man like Val would never be interested in a boring, white-cotton woman such as herself.

  Sighing into her pillow, she scrunched her face deeper into the pristine cotton, willing her body to relax. Within seconds, she gave in to the demands too much alcohol had placed on her, and she fell asleep.

  * * * * *

  She looked like a whore.

  The vampire settled on the windowsill, mere feet from Shai’s sleeping form. A derisive smile twisted his lips. Whore or not, she was even more exquisite than he’d ever imagined.

  Thick red hair lay tumbled across her pillow in a river of curls. Dark lashes shadowed her cheeks, hiding eyes he knew to be a brilliant green. A small, delicately shaped nose with a slight bump at the bridge as if it had been broken at one time and her mouth was generous with a full lower lip and slightly thinner upper one. Her skin was the creamy pale delight only a true redhead possessed. Her throat was slender, marred only by a small scar at the base on the right side.

  Perfection.

  A black lace bra barely covered her full, round breasts. He ached to touch them, to taste them. Her belly looked soft and inviting while her hips and upper thighs were covered by a silk half-slip. Naughty black nylons encased her thighs and lovely calves down to slender ankles and feet. A delicate gold ankle bracelet glittered in the moonlight.

  He certainly appreciated her choices in underclothing. But he was surprised that a woman as conservative as Shai would dress like a seasoned harlot beneath her street clothes.

  It would be so easy to kill her, he thought dispassionately. He knew exactly where to touch her slender throat and, in mere seconds, she’d be one of the dearly departed. Just another victim found dead in the city of New York.

  He looked down at his hands, his pale skin gleamed white in the moonlight. They didn’t look as if they were over nine hundred years old. His right hand fisted. Nine glorious centuries of murder, mayhem and blood. He unclenched his hand. For Shai’s sake, it would be more humane for her if he did kill her with his hands. Quick and efficient, no fuss, no muss. No mortal would want to live through what he’d planned for her.

  A mirthless smile curved his mouth.

  But even when he’d been human, he hadn’t been humane.

  His gaze skimmed her plush body. Oh, how he wanted her. More now than the first time he’d laid eyes on her. As the years passed his desire had grown stronger until he’d reached the pinnacle of anticipation. Sitting outside her bedroom window watching her sleep, lusting after her yet strangely unwilling to touch her.

  Yet.

  A faint, self-deprecating laugh escaped him. Soon her time would come and nothing would come between them.

  She stirred in sleep, a frown marring the perfection of her face. As if she knew he were watching her, she turned her head and twisted her body away from his gaze as if to avoid him. The silk half-slip tightened, sliding up to reveal the tops of her stockings and the tiny black thong panties she wore.

  The vampire’s breath caught in his throat and a faint hiss of breath escaped him. The thong left nothing to the imagination. Moonlight gilded the perfection of her skin, the smooth slopes and tantalizing indentations of her ass. Larger than what would be considered fashionable by today’s standards, her backside was perfectly round and taut. He licked his lips. He’d long preferred his women to be shaped like women, not sticks with boobs. This beauty had something to hang on to, a backside that would fill his hands admirably.

  The vampire longed to slip through the window and grab her, pulling her against his raging erection and bury himself in her softness until she cried out her release. He pictured himself in bed with her, her body moving beneath him, her eyes sleepy with lust.

  A growl escaped his throat.

  Tonight wasn’t the time to savor his looming victory. Tonight he had business to attend to, Council business, and a scout was waiting for him at the carousel in Central Park and hopefully he had good news to impart.

  With one last look at the sleeping woman, he turned away. Mortal women. His lip curled. They were the downfall of many a vampire. To meld with living flesh, breathing and crying out beneath him, on top of him, it didn’t matter. It was a long-held addiction and he was in serious need of a fix.

  He glanced back at her sleeping form. Weakness was weakness and it had to be either destroyed or appeased. It was rare that a mortal had reached him the way she did, the way she always had.

  Just as her mother had many years before.

  With a hiss he bared his teeth. The moonlight seemed even more brilliant than it had been before. It was time to feed and feed he must. Clicking his jaw in frustration, the vampire caressed her one last time with hi
s gaze. Moving with the near silence of one of the very old, he leapt from the window to the alley thirty feet below.

  He landed with a gentle thud and straightened, checking to ensure his clothing was in perfect order before moving toward the mouth of the alley and the darkened streets beyond.

  Shai’s time would come for she was his destiny and he knew that for a certainty. Even when she was but a child of five years, the resemblance between her and his wife Elsabeth had been unmistakable. Both women possessed the same pale skin, deep red hair and green eyes though that was where the resemblance ended. His wife had been a deceitful frigid bitch who’d betrayed him in the last moments of her life though he’d had the pleasure of watching her life fade away with his hands wrapped firmly around her throat. She’d been the only woman who could have destroyed him and in the end, that power had spelled her doom. It was one of the fondest memories he had of the bitch.

  Unlike Elsabeth, Shai was exceptional, a rarity among women. Intelligent, beautiful and ripe for the picking. His breathing quickened. Unfortunately her friends were average. If they’d been exceptional, he might have spared their lives. His brow arched when Jennifer’s beautiful face flashed in his mind. Who would have known that Jen would be friends with the woman he’d stalked for the past twenty-five years. She could be a problem for him, though the rest of her friends would serve their purpose and serve it well.

  He tugged at his immaculate cuffs, the blood-red ruby cufflinks winking up at him. First things first, though. There was a merry game to be played and the players in this drama were in place and act one had already commenced.

  Laughter filled the night as the vampire faded into the shadows.

  * * * * *

  “So who’s the woman?”

  Val started, the forgotten book falling from his fingertips to land on the pine floor with a hollow thump. He looked up to see an unexpected visitor standing near the fireplace, a bemused expression on her face. “Miranda, what a lovely surprise. I didn’t hear you pop in.”

  A silvery laugh echoed in the expanse of the library. “That’s a new one.” Miranda shed her black velvet cape and draped it over the back of the chair across from him. She stooped to rescue the leather-bound book from the floor. “Wuthering Heights,” she read, carefully closing the cover. Her crimson fingernails gleamed in the subdued lighting as she stroked the priceless binding. “First edition, even. Dreaming of unrequited love, my friend?” A smile danced across her face and she perched on the arm of the opposite chair.

  “Just enjoying a classic, my dear.” Val rose from his chair to reclaim the book from her.

  She didn’t release it. “What’s her name?”

  “And why do you think a woman is on my mind?” he asked, careful to keep his tone light.

  Her smile turned sad, almost disappointed. “And who knows you better than I? You can fool the others, but you can never fool me.”

  He brushed his fingertip down her cool cheek. The first time he’d laid eyes on her, he’d thought Miranda was the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen. Her hair was black as night falling in thick luscious waves to her tiny waist. Skin the color of clotted cream, by contrast her lips were full and red. Deep blue eyes framed by sooty lashes stared, unflinching in their regard of him. Tall and built like a Rubenesque statue, she was perfection wrapped in a lush, black velvet dress. She was a woman many men desired though her heart was already spoken for.

  Miranda was his dark angel, his dearest friend and savior. She’d saved him from his personal demons many times through the years but he also knew she wanted more, much more than he could ever give. It pained him to hurt her so but the moment he’d met the red-haired angel last night, he’d known it was inevitable that someone would be wounded.

  Unfortunately, it would be Miranda.

  “Never you, dearest,” he whispered.

  She released her grip on the book, her gaze unwavering as she folded her hands in her lap like a prim spinster at an afternoon tea. “She’s mortal?”

  “Yes.” His tone was resigned. Didn’t she see that he didn’t want to damage her any further?

  “Do you love her?”

  Bitterness coated his tongue. How could he dare love any mortal woman? Their relationships were always doomed to failure and loss as a vampire would always outlive a mortal, many lifetimes over.

  “How can I love her?” he bit out. “How can I love anyone?”

  “The same way any of us can love.” Her tone was soft, her voice musical, sensual. It was that voice which had pulled him back from the edge many times. He felt the lure of it even now.

  “I’ve only met her once.”

  Her silken brow arched. “She must be quite the woman to have captured your attention.”

  “It’s only lust.” He said the words, but they rang hollow to his ears.

  “If you believe it’s only lust, then you’re a bigger fool than I’d ever suspected.” She looked down to pick at imaginary lint on her skirt. “You realize mortals can be our downfall?”

  He didn’t respond.

  “Just how many of our brethren have been laid low by the death of their mortal lovers? Hundreds? Thousands? Countless immortals have buried themselves in the earth or were locked away to mourn their lost loves and curse their fragile hearts and here you are poised to join them in eternal damnation.”

  Her skin was flushed and Val hated to see the hurt on her face. His jaw clenched and one of his canines pricked his tongue and he welcomed the pain.

  Her gaze met his. “Do you want to die that badly?” she whispered.

  “No, not anymore.” He moved away from her and toward the floor-to-ceiling windows. How could he explain the instant, white-hot recognition that hit him the moment he’d set eyes on the stunning redhead? How could he tell her that in his gut he knew they were meant to be together? “I don’t know how to explain it to you.”

  Burgundy drapes were pulled back to reveal the clear, starry night. The shadows beyond the glass beckoned his soul and, for the first time in many years, he wanted to curse the night that forever enshrouded him.

  “You don’t have to explain, Val,” Miranda spoke softly. “You owe me nothing.”

  “You’re wrong,” he said, his voice harsh. “I owe you everything.” He turned to the beauty who stared at him with the face of love. Love that could ease the crushing loneliness of his life. Love he could never return. “Everything.”

  She shook her dark head. “You owe me nothing you will not give willingly.” Her tone was pained as she rose from her perch. “I’ll take nothing you do not offer freely, my friend.” She picked up her cape and moved to stand before him, her cool fingers caressing his face as if she were committing it to memory. Tears filled her eyes and she dropped her hand. “I take my leave of you with a heart filled with love for the boy you once were, and the man you’ve become.”

  She vanished, leaving the faint scent of jasmine and a delicate tingling on his cheek. His heart heavy, Val turned, his eyes once again searching the darkness of a New York night.

  How had his life come to this?

  Chapter Three

  For the hundredth time, Shai frowned at the long-stemmed, blood-red roses positioned near the edge of her scribbled-on blotter. They’d been waiting for her when she’d returned from lunch and now, three and a half hours later, she was no closer to determining who’d sent them. No one in the pressroom had witnessed their arrival and there wasn’t a notation on the deliveries roster at the receptionist desk. It was as if they’d appeared out of thin air with the sender leaving no hint as to their identity.

  She drew her fingertip over one of the half-opened blooms. Their sweet scent surrounded her, invoking a longing she’d never dreamed still existed.

  In the time she’d worked at the Times, she’d seen many of her coworkers receive beautiful bouquets for birthdays and anniversaries or for no reason at all. A simple token letting the receiver know someone was thinking good thoughts about them. How many times had
she watched them being delivered, all the while knowing it would probably never happen to her.

  She’d dreamt for years of her knight in shining armor only to realize she was allergic to horses.

  A sad smile touched her lips as she caressed the fragile petals of a delicate bloom. Soft as a lover’s kiss. Unbidden, images of the man she’d met the night before entered her mind. He’d occupied her thoughts ever since she’d risen early that afternoon to get ready for work.

  Valentin.

  Even his name wrought faint shivers of awareness over her skin. He was, without a doubt, the most handsome man she’d ever seen. And she’d certainly never had a reaction like that to another living soul.

  Her cheeks colored at the memory of her sudden arousal when she’d laid eyes on him. Normally she avoided men like the plague. They made her feel nervous, anxious and lacking. But Val drew her like a moth to the flame. She frowned. That was a bad analogy as it always ended badly for the moth at least. Was she trying to warn herself that she’d get burned?

  A sigh escaped her. What did it matter anyhow? She’d likely never see him again anyway. He wouldn’t recognize the frumpy woman who sat behind her desk tonight. She was invisible when compared to the woman in the naughty lingerie sitting in a restaurant laughing and talking with her friends.

  “They found another one.”

  Shai jumped, gasping as her finger caught on a thorn, pricking her unsuspecting flesh. Blood welled through the cut in a brilliant red bead. She reached for a tissue, and the red droplet quivered with her movements.

  “Found another what?” Shai wrapped the tissue around her finger before looking at her boss.

  The night editor of the Times, Mariah White, strolled into the tiny office Shai shared with three other junior employees. In one hand she carried a sheet of fax paper, and a well-chewed pencil in the other. She planted her generous backside on the corner of Shai’s desk and dropped the paper in front of her.

  Weary, Shai leaned back in her chair and rubbed her forehead with her undamaged hand. She wished she knew what the heck was wrong with her. She’d met a handsome man last night and now, twenty-four hours later, she was all maudlin and acting silly. This wasn’t like the normally stoic, unemotional woman she was comfortable with.