An Unwanted Hunger (3 page)

Constantine saw the crowd of people on the street across from them. Many of them had cell phones to their ears and the number of onlookers was growing. Soon law enforcement would arrive. It was time for him and Resa to make their departure.

Resa snapped her arms to retract the bloodied blades back into their harnesses on her forearms. Her chest, neck and face were splattered with blood. She started toward him, staggered and stopped, a look of shock coming on her face.

Constantine tossed the sword aside and ran to her, catching her as she crumpled. He saw the cut in her vest and ripped it open, revealing the gash in her chest.

“I guess we’re more alike than I realized,” she whispered a second before her eyes rolled back.

He’d not considered it. Being a breed, a Dhampir was susceptible to the effects of iridium. The cut from Ethan’s blade had poisoned her.

Never could he have imagined such pain as what tore through him when her eyes closed. Grief and rage as black and thick as the dark waters that formed the marshes populating the area enveloped him.

Heedless of the onlookers, he gathered her up, using his ability to transform so that mighty wings sprouted from his back, ripping through the silk of his jacket. With one downward beat of his wings he took to the air, her limp form cradled protectively in his arms.

Chapter Four

Journal Entry

How does one explain in a few words an entire history? What words can be used to make another understand the subtle nuances of a civilization eons older than any they know?

And why do I find myself wanting this half-breed woman to understand the history of my peoples and how I came to be exiled here on her world, labeled an unholy creature of myth, when in fact I am not? Why is it important to gain her acceptance? She is of the enemy, a creature bred and trained to hunt and kill those of my kind.

Why does she inspire such passion? And even more disconcerting, why do I feel such depth of emotion for her? It is illogical and unwise and yet my heart seems deaf to the warnings of my mind when it relates to her.

Now, however, I face the task of divulging great truths to her, truths that are powerful and could prove deadly to those of my kind on this world. Can I trust her with such truth? Where shall I start my tale?

Shall I speak of the many years it took for the survivors to rebuild some semblance of society? Each world developed according to its environment and its resources. Shadallah remained as it was, the center of our system. Hoarding what resources we possessed, the inhabitants of Shadallah became greedy and self-centered. If it meant that the people of the planets of Nuria and Valia must perish for us to survive, then so be it. Our duty was to the people of Shadallah.

Of course, the peoples of Valia and Nuria were less than appreciative at the attitude of the inhabitants of Shadallah. They were all V’Karian and should share what resources existed. The people of Shadallah did not agree.

Soon there were armies, borders to be guarded. But a world cannot stay cut off indefinitely if there are not people within its borders who are seeing to the needs of the many. No one wanted to tend to the task of raising food or powering the stations that fed the cities with power. Soon shortages began to cause worry. We would either have to trade for what we needed with the other two worlds or learn to grow our own food and supply our own raw materials. But the people of Shadallah were not of the worker class. We had always been people of politics and science. Our technological achievements were closely guarded, giving us supremacy over the other two, more backward races.

With a climate that was not severe, and the gifts bequeathed to us from our union with the symbiotic race, the Vox Narr, the people of Shadallah remained as we had always been—clear skin possessed of a sun-kissed tint, glorious dark hair, strong physical bodies, and eyes the color of the flowers that grew in the gardens of the great temples, a shade of violet that could only be rivaled by occasional streaks of color in the sunset sky. Due to the constancy in appearance over generations, the people of Shadallah came to be known as the Pureblood, the D’Harahn.

* * * * *

A faint scratching sound brought Resa up through the fog clouding her mind and she blinked. Unfamiliar surroundings met her eyes. A brief stab of panic had her lying very still, her eyes darting rapidly around the room.

The last thing she remembered was Constantine holding her in his arms. Was her memory faulty, her mind playing tricks on her, or had she really seen fear and concern in the depths of his violet eyes?

Her hands moved beneath the sheets along her bare skin. A bandage covered a large square on her chest. Well, she’d been wounded before. Wounds would heal. What concerned her was the way the metal of Ethan’s sword had affected her. Bram and all of the trainers had always assured the Dhampir that they would not be greatly affected by the iridium in the weapons, that their diluted Vampyre blood would prevent the fatal effects of the metal.

Was that just another of Bram’s lies? Tears threatened, making her squint her eyes tightly to fight them back. How could he have ordered her death? He, who claimed to love her like a daughter? What kind of sick, twisted love was that?

Or was it love at all? Had it ever been? Perhaps she’d never been anything more than a weapon for him to hurl at his enemies. As expendable as any of the many blades and arrows the Alliance had manufactured for their hunters.

Apparently her instincts about Pandora were right. She had spoken the truth. Nothing was what it seemed. And that meant that everything she’d ever believed in or held to be true was a lie.

She pushed back the pain that sought to overwhelm her. She would not grieve for Bram, for any of them. The Alliance was little more than a lot of liars, an organization founded on greed and deception. They might try to hide the truth but she’d discover it despite their efforts. She didn’t want or need them. She could make it on her own

And suddenly the enormity of it hit her. Without Bram and the Alliance, she was completely alone. They’d clean out her house, her bank accounts. Probably even erase her identity. Make it impossible for her to survive. That way she’d be easier to dispose of.

There was no way to stop them. She’d have to find a way to survive. To stay one step ahead of them.

But right now she needed to discover where she was. She sat up and saw him. Sitting in a chair by the window, writing in a small journal, occasionally dipping his old-fashioned quill pen into an inkwell that sat on the window ledge. Shafts of moonlight from the window slanted across his face, giving sharp contrast to the lines and angles, the strong patrician nose and chiseled jaw.

Had he any idea how utterly beautiful he was? Even from across the room, his magnetism pulled her, flooded her with longing.

“Where am I?” she asked, wrapping the sheet around her as she stood.

“My home,” he answered simply, closing the book and laying aside the pen. He rose to walk to her, placing the book on the chair he vacated. “You should rest,” he said, placing his hands on her upper arms.

“I’m fine,” she replied, the heat from his touch making her body flush. “How long was I unconscious?”

“Three days.”

Three days? His answer stunned her. “That’s impossible!” Her eyes moved to her forearm and saw a bandage covering it just below the crease of the elbow. “You found the tracking device the Alliance implanted.”

“Yes, it was removed before you were brought here.”

“I hope whatever place you used to have it done was abandoned, because the Alliance will be all over it like white on rice.”

“I assure you I did not place any of my people in harm’s way.”

She nodded and looked around. “Nice place. You live here alone?”

“Hardly.”

“Then I better go.” She looked around for her clothing. “Where’re my clothes?”

“It would be wise if you waited until you’ve fully recovered. You’ll be happy to know that you were correct in your statement, Resa. Apparently you are far more like me than anyone imagined.”

“Meaning what?” she asked, letting him guide her back to the bed.

He pushed her down gently on the bed and sat beside her. “Your mother may have been human, but you are far more like your father than your mother. Remarkably so. My physicians and scientists find it quite…intriguing.”

“Your physicians and scientists?” She slung her legs off the bed and stood to face him, clutching the sheet to her chest. “What, you had me…studied while I was unconscious?”

“Had I not, you would have died.”

“I’ve been wounded before.”

“But not with an iridium-tainted weapon.”

She blew out her breath in frustration and sat back down. “Okay, sorry. So what’s the deal with doctors and scientists? Why does a Vampyre need people like that?”

“I am not a Vampyre.”

“Yes you are.”

“No, I am most definitely not. That is a heinous word invented by humans to try to label something they do not understand.”

Resa’s eyes narrowed fractionally at the ire in his voice. “And it pisses you off.”

Constantine’s frown vanished and a chuckle escaped his lips. “In a manner of speaking.”

“Well, I’m sorry. But if you’re not a Vampyre then what are you?”

“I am Constantine Belenus of the D’Harahn, Heir Apparent to the Throne of Shadallah, and the crown prince of V’Kar.”

“Say what?”

“I am Constantine Bel—”

“Yeah, I heard you, but what the heck is the Dah—Dah…”

“D’Harahn.”

“Yeah, the dah-ha-rahn, and what’s the throne of Sha-dall-ah and…crown prince of…”

“V’Kar.”

“Right. Vah-car.”

“It is a rather lengthy tale.”

Resa scooted back, propping pillows against the thick, carved headboard so that she could recline in comfort. “Well, since I don’t have a job—or probably a home or bank account or car or, shit, maybe even an identity anymore—I guess I have plenty of time.”

The corner of Constantine’s mouth moved up in a humorous smirk. “For someone who has just been robbed of all they knew, you are remarkably calm.”

“It is what it is,” she said, refusing to give in to the panic that lurked in the dark recesses of her mind. “So, you were saying?”

Constantine made himself comfortable, lying on his side, propped on one arm. “It is difficult to know where to begin.”

“How about what exactly the D’Harahn are and where you’re from?”

Constantine told her of the star system of V’Kar and the catastrophe that had befallen it. He spoke of the three surviving worlds and their people and how his people had come to be known as the Pureblood or D’Harahn. He told her of the sickness that threatened to wipe out the entire population of the star system, a sickness caused by residual radiation from the cosmic cataclysm.

He omitted telling her of the Vox Narr, saying only that the scientists had discovered a cure for the radiation sickness and that the cure had wrought unexpected benefits.

The D’Harahn were gifted with the powers of telepathy including varying degrees of mind control and telekinetic abilities. Along with that came the ability to physically transform or shape-shift.

The Valians also developed the ability to shape-shift and their telepathic abilities were strong, as strong as that of the D’Harahn. They did not possess telekinetic powers but were capable of moving at incredible speed.

Telepathic abilities were greatly enhanced in the Nurians. Their powers of mind control far exceeded those of the other races of V’Kar, as did their telekinetic abilities. They could not shape-shift but could move at incredible speeds.

No one had ever been able to determine why the abilities were not equal. Perhaps it had to do with the environment in which the three races lived, or the genetic mutation caused by the sickness.

When, hours later, he paused, she stared at him in amazement and disbelief.

“This is…a little unbelievable, to be honest. If you really are some…alien, then why are you here? Seems to me you’d still be on Shadallah if you’re a crown prince. Why would you or any of the V’Kar be here on Earth?”

Constantine smiled and opened his mouth to answer but a knock sounded at the door. He turned to look in that direction. “Enter.”

A handsome, dark-haired man stepped into the room. “Your attention is required, Your Majesty.”

Constantine nodded. “I will join you momentarily.”

The man bowed his head respectfully and left, but not before casting a curious glance in Resa’s direction.

“Your Majesty?” she asked with a bit of derision.

“A title of respect,” he said in a somewhat harsh tone that had her sitting up a bit straighter. “Do not doubt what I have revealed to you to be the truth, Resa. I am of royal blood and command the respect and allegiance of many. And with my position comes responsibility that you do not, as yet, understand. But in time you will. That I promise you.

“However,” he added as he stood and bent over with his hands propped on the bed. “For now, you will remain here and rest. Upon my return we will speak more of the truth you seek.”

“You mean I’m a prisoner?” she asked, not liking the idea in the least.

“A guest,” he corrected. “Albeit a rather unwelcome one at the moment. Do not suppose for an instant that you are not known to my people, or have not earned great animosity. Even a crown prince finds it a challenge to change such ingrained hatred.”

Resa hadn’t considered what a precarious position she was in. How could she not have realized that she was as much in enemy territory here as he would be in an Alliance stronghold?

“Is your rule sure enough that you can guarantee my safety? If not, then give me my weapons so I can at least defend myself if the need arises.”

He smiled and leaned down lower to graze her lips with his. “You have my word, Resa Vânător. No harm will come to you as long as you are in my domain.”

The soft kiss was enough to ignite a fire inside her. She reached up to take his face in her hands, initiating a kiss that was not gentle or shy. She heard a groan in his throat a moment before one hand moved to the back of her head, fisting in her hair to pull her head back. She may have initiated the kiss, but he quickly became the dominant, plundering her mouth then moving down her neck, leaving a trail of fire in the wake of his lips and tongue.

When he reached the crook of her neck, he paused, nipping lightly at the skin. “You tempt me so,” he whispered against her skin.

“Not tempt,” she whispered in return, wanting more. “Invite.”

He pulled back, releasing her. “Then rest well, my huntress, for when I return your invitation will be accepted.”

She smiled and lay back. “Are you saying I’ll need my energy, Vamp—sorry, Prince Constantine Belenus?”

“Indeed,” he said with a smile sexy enough to fans the flames of desire higher.

“Then hurry back,” she urged.

He gave her another smile, and passed his hand from her forehead, over her eyes. “Sleep, my huntress.”

Resa fought the sudden lassitude that claimed her, making her eyelids heavy, too heavy to keep open. With a sigh of surrender she gave in to the pull and slept.