An Unwanted Hunger Page 8

  It was not his words, but the way he opened his mind and let her see the truth behind them that had her placing her hand in his. Hoping that Constantine would forgive her, she ran with him into the night.

  Chapter Eight

  Across the globe, in a lavish mansion on the eastern shore of the Mediterranean Sea, a large, muscular man sat alone in the well-stocked library, the only light that of the fading day coming in through the opened doors to the balcony overlooking the sparkling water of the sea.

  Another man entered quietly and stopped before the desk.

  “Are you quite sure Azarth has made contact?” the man seated spoke without looking up from the document he was reading.

  “Positive, sir,” the man in front of the desk replied. “It would seem that Azarth has a hidden agenda we did not suspect. Information indicates that he has switched camps. While outwardly he maintains the appearance of being a loyal follower of the Heir, there is reason to believe that his allegiance may have changed.”

  “Are you saying that he now supports the Priest?”

  “No, sir. Not entirely. He has had contact with the Priest and their liaisons appear amicable, but thus far no overt actions have been taken.”

  “Then what you are saying is that it is nothing but speculation.”

  “Not exactly, sir.”

  The seated man looked up at the other, pinning him with a stare hard enough to make the man shift uncomfortably from one foot to the other. Leonidas Kahan Branueesh, Primus Nuria, was not a patient man. Or a forgiving one. As the eldest son of the Praetor of Nuria, the desert world of the system of V’Kar, Leonidas commanded respect and obedience. Even in exile. “I suggest you be exact. My patience is wearing thin.”

  “Two visitors have been observed with Azarth. The Priest, who was at Azarth’s home during the time the Dhampir was ensconced in Constantine’s stronghold, and another, unidentified male at a separate time. Our analysts agree that this warrants attention since the Priest’s factions have begun relocation.”

  “You have confirmation of that?”

  “No, sir,” the subordinate replied with a downcast look. “But I can see no other reason why he—”

  “Did I ask for your opinion, Donar?”

  “No, sir, you did not.”

  “Then please refrain from giving what has not been requested. What word is there from the latest Alliance skirmish?”

  “An attack was led upon an abode in which Constantine was alone with the Dhampir. The attack was led by Bram.”

  “Bram himself led the attack?” Leonidas was surprised by the news. Bram tended to sequester himself behind the battle lines unless it was a matter of the highest priority, for leading the battle himself put him in the position of being vulnerable to capture. And whoever captured Bram, if lucky enough to break him, would hold the secrets of the Alliance.

  “The outcome?”

  “Constantine’s forces were in danger of being overrun when reinforcements arrived. Valian reinforcements. Together they overwhelmed the Alliance. The Crown Prince was extracted and taken to safety. Bram escaped with less than a dozen of his warriors.”

  “And the Dhampir?”

  “That is a mystery. She was not extracted with Constantine. In fact, it was she who gave the order for his extraction. After that, it is unclear what happened. Her body is not among the dead and there have been no reports of her.”

  “If she is not with Constantine,” Leonidas murmured, “then the most probable explanation is that the Priest has her.”

  He considered it for a few moments before continuing. “I want you to have Daevas and Pavor assigned to Azarth. They are to keep him under constant surveillance and report directly to you. You, in turn, will report to me immediately upon receiving any information.”

  “Yes, sir. At once.” Donar nodded and started to back away.

  “That is not all.” Leonidas stopped him with his words. “I want you to contact Orcus. He is to insinuate another informant within the Priest’s organization. I must know every move the Priest makes and if he does indeed hold the Dhampir.”

  “I will contact Orcus at once.” Donar bowed his head. “Is there anything else, sir?”

  “No.” Leonidas dismissed him. “You may go.”

  Donar turned and left the room. For a few moments Leonidas stared across the room, lost in thought. Abruptly he picked up the phone and dialed a two-digit extension.

  “I want a meeting with Constantine and the Priest. Make it happen. Now.”

  He hung up the phone and leaned back in his seat. Perhaps it was time to forge a new treaty with the other factions of the V’Kar. Albeit a temporary one, but one that would benefit them all. Unite and rid themselves of the Alliance once and for all. And then…then all their attention could turn to the battle for V’Kar.

  * * * * *

  Constantine hurled the crystal glass across the room, watching it shatter into thousands of glittering shards as it hit the wall. It’d been over six hours and still there was no word from Resa. Had he been able to establish a mental link with her he would have been merely angry that she had not contacted him. But to not be able to sense her had “angry” pushed aside in favor of a more difficult emotion. Fear.

  A tap on the door had him snarling, “Come!”

  The door opened and one of his aides stepped timidly inside. “Sire, Leonidas has requested a meeting.”

  “For?”

  “A truce.”

  Constantine’s laugh was a bark that lacked humor. His aide hesitated for a moment then continued, “For the elimination of the Alliance.”

  That Constantine could believe. The Alliance plagued them all. And perhaps a truce between the three factions could serve to rid them of that old thorn. But trusting Leonidas was no easy task. The animosity between their worlds was deep and long-lived.

  “Has the Priest been invited to this peace conference?”

  “Yes.”

  Constantine considered it for a few moments, pacing the room with his hands clasped behind his back. Finally he stopped. “Inform the Nurian that we shall agree to the conference. Providing that a neutral location is selected. One not under the control of either power.”

  “Sire,” the aide nodded and left, closing the door softly behind him.

  Constantine went to his desk for his journal and pen and took a seat in front of the window. For a moment he stared unblinkingly, blind to the landscape that lay beyond the glass.

  Despite his intentions to capture his feelings on the current situation and the proposed truce, when he opened the journal and began to write, the words that took shape came from a memory lodged deep in his mind. A scene from long ago…

  Sunlight glinted in bright sparks from the golden domes of the Imperial Palace in the distance. Heat shimmered from the street and the ancient stone of the Imperial Hippodrome, creating visual distortions. The wide avenue leading to the Hippodrome had been cleared of all traffic, vehicles being replaced by bodies. Imperial troopers spaced equidistantly along the avenue guarded the barriers, keeping the populace from the street.

  All streets leading to the Hippodrome were packed with people. Those without a clear view of the avenue itself turned to watch enormous vid-screens that decorated the sides of buildings.

  Sleek fighter craft streaked in formation overhead, performing an elaborate aerial ballet. Small, one-man security pods cruised above the heads of the people, scanners sweeping the crowd.

  A transport ship appeared at the far end of the avenue, high above the buildings. The thunder of its twin engines competed with the roar of the crowd as it slowed and hovered.

  A hatch opened in the belly of the ship and a smaller craft dropped from its bowels to descend to street level.

  A hush fell over the throng as a hatch opened in the side of the small craft and a landing ramp slid forward. Two of the Emperor’s Imperial Sentinels stepped from the craft to take up positions on either side of the hatch. A low murmur rippled down the avenue like
a wave as Leonidas and Octavian stepped into view.

  Four additional Sentinels emerged behind them, taking mirror positions to each side of them, one fore and aft.

  A deafening cheer went up as horns blared and the processions commenced. Leonidas’ contempt was clear on his face as he beheld the spectacle.

  Watching from the comfort of the Imperial box in the Hippodrome, I studied the scene displayed on the vid-screen. It was surreal. Almost as if we had stepped backward in time. As if ten million years of history had vanished. Once more the Imperial Troops were arrayed in golden armor and plumed helmets, the modern armament and communication glasses incongruous to the billowing capes, plaited loincloths and gem-encrusted gauntlets. Banners fluttered, horns trumpeted and armored war horses snorted and pranced as they led the procession.

  To Leonidas’ credit, no sign of weakness was evident on his face as obscenities and curses were shouted at him. His face showed nothing but disdain for those who hurled denunciations toward him.

  I understood and even admired him. He did this as much for his people as for himself. Never would they see him humbled or defeated. He had to have been thinking the same thoughts as I. That at this moment every person on all three of our worlds watched. This was a media spectacle. I doubted there was a person alive on any of the three worlds who was not glued to the broadcast.

  Leonidas walked with shoulders square and head high. I found myself wondering what emotions boiled within his heart, within the heart of his people. Were they overcome with defeat and hopelessness or did there burn the fire of vengeance within them? I suspect the latter held true for Leonidas.

  The procession slowed as they neared the massive tunneled entrance of the Hippodrome, the dim interior a welcome respite from the stares and taunts.

  The riders split at the far opening to circle the Hippodrome. Riders fought to still the nervous mounts in place as they took positions rimming the floor. Leonidas stepped from shadow to sun and stopped to cast a challenging look around.

  The stands were filled to overflowing, tier after tier packed with screaming, shouting people. The Emperor’s box was open to the elements, the protective shield having been lowered for the event. Royal banners whipped and snapped from the railings.

  I felt I could read his thoughts as his challenging gaze lifted to the Emperor’s box where we sat. In some respects I agreed with what he must have been thinking. Never one to miss a media opportunity, the Emperor had staged a media circus, a dramatic, symbolic and lavish spectacle to mark his victory.

  Leonidas started forward, his head held high. My father the Emperor watched him and Octavian approach with a satisfied smile. Illustrious in the traditional yet outdated royal vestments, he was the perfect picture of sovereignty. The glittering crown circling his brow and the shining lamé of his golden cloak seemed to bathe him in a glow.

  As Heir Apparent, I sat to the left of the Emperor. Out of respect to the men standing in the dirt below, I kept all expression from my face. My brother, RaJahn, second-in-line to the throne, seated beside me, paid no such respects to the men, or made no effort to conceal a conceited smile, his delight at the sight before him evident.

  To the Emperor’s right sat Azarth Vahn L’Par Dahl Azoz, Minister of Science and longtime advisor and friend of the Emperor. Seated beside Azarth was the Eldest of the Order of the Sisterhood, her black-robed figure a stark contrast to the colored finery that surrounded her.

  On either side of the Emperor’s box were seated the members of the J’Zhan. Among them was Leonidas’ own father, Branueesh Kahnn, Praetor of Nuria. As always, his father’s face was stoic, his bearing proud. He did not bat an eye as his son was led across the floor of the Hippodrome to gaze upward at the Emperor.

  The guards halted and motioned for Leonidas and Octavian to step forward. Leonidas scowled at the slender, pale-skinned man who moved beside him.

  Octavian had to look up to meet Leonidas’ eyes, but there was no fear in the blue depths. Vazanti, Heir to the throne of Valia, Octavian had been Leonidas’ enemy as long as I could remember. Intelligent in that covert, secretive manner so common to a physically weaker race, Octavian had been a constant thorn in Leonidas’ side.

  Leonidas should have known better than to allow himself to be talked into an alliance with the Valians. Particularly this one. Octavian’s ties to the SyFeth De’Fane V’Kar were tight.

  The most ancient order of their peoples, the Order had always kept well hidden in secrecy and sorcery. Unmarried but not celibate, they drew their members from all three of the V’Karian worlds, and insinuated their own into every circle of power. Abominable creatures, they wielded power without ever lifting a weapon. While none of the ruling powers would ever admit to fearing them, in truth they lived in perpetual fear of what would become of them should the Sisterhood decide to take a stance against them.

  And Octavian was one of them. In an Order historically forbidden to men, he held the rank of High Priest, making him the second male in their history to occupy such a position. Considering his current situation, this would cause one to assume that the power carried far less weight than anyone had imagined, for Octavian stood on the executioner’s block beside Leonidas while the true instigators of the doomed coalition, the Order, remained out of reach and untouchable.

  Leonidas’ eyes wandered and I saw that his resolve almost faltered when he saw Riana, his wife, and his council of advisors seated on the front rows along one side. Well guarded, they were not shackled. Riana’s eyes sought his. I watched with fascination at the change in his expression when their eyes met. He would display courage no matter what he faced. For her, his would be a noble death. She would remember him with pride.

  “Leonidas Kahan Branueesh, Primus Nuria,” a voice came over the speakers.

  Silence fell. Leonidas stared squarely at the Emperor as the herald continued. “Octavian Ishban, Vazanti Valia. For the crime of treason, the Alfas J’Zhan has agreed and has been granted Imperial license by Shah D’Harahn V’Kar, Atohl Vox TraaNur to issue sentence upon you and all those who have been found guilty of aiding and abetting the crime of treason.

  “The sentence is death.”

  A roar went up from the crowd. At last the moment all had awaited.

  “However…” The herald’s voice brought quiet. “In deference to your honorable houses and lords, who had no foreknowledge of your intent, Shah D’Harahn V’Kar, Atohl Vox TraaNur, in his infinite compassion, has agreed to rescind the sentence of death in favor of exile,” he paused again for effect, “if there is any present here today who will accept the sentence of death in your stead.”

  There would be and could be no offers from the councilors, advisors or troops of either side. They too had been found guilty and would die with their leaders.

  Before anyone could stop her, Leonidas’ wife Riana shrugged off her guards and lightly vaulted the wall to the Hippodrome floor. “I volunteer.”

  “No!” Leonidas bellowed and moved toward her, only to be covered by four of the Imperial troopers.

  The Emperor rose from his throne, a smile on his face. “Let it be done.”

  And so began Leonidas’ descent into hell. Riana would die and he would be sent into exile. But not before he saw her staked out in the harsh sands of his home, in the midst of the Nurian wasteland, dying a breath at a time.

  * * * * *

  Resa took a look around the well-appointed room. Tasteful and elegant, it held a distinctly European appeal. Ironically, so did the man seated across from her. The cut of his clothes and fine Italian leather of his shoes spoke of culture and refinement. And sensuality.

  Had it not been for her bond to Constantine, she had no doubt that she would have been far more affected by him. Even with that bond, she could not deny the power of his attraction. He was, by any standards, beautiful. Tall, slim but with obvious firm and developed musculature, he exuded an air of sexuality, a promise of satisfaction unparalleled.

  And he fit the image of a Vam
pyre to the letter.

  “Would you care for something to drink?” he asked.

  “No. All I want is answers. Answers you promised.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Well?” she asked when he said no more.

  He smiled and once more she was struck with the power of his appeal. How could any woman, unprotected with a bond such as she had with Constantine, resist him?

  “Thank you,” he said, giving her a shock.

  “You can read me?”

  “A bit. Most of your thoughts are denied me. I can only assume the reason is one that is, to be honest, rather unbelievable.”

  “Oh? What’s that?”

  “That you’ve bonded with Constantine.”

  “What would make that so unbelievable?”

  Octavian chuckled. “Dear woman, Constantine is the Crown Prince of V’Kar. To mate with a woman outside of his rank, not to mention a woman of less than pure lineage, would be unthinkable. Should the Emperor discover such an act has occurred, Constantine would be passed over in favor of his younger brother RaJahn.”

  Resa felt her gut tighten. It was true. In binding himself to her, Constantine had endangered his chance of succeeding to the throne. The enormity of it brought a swell of emotion that had tears threatening.

  “Which makes it even more important that I get the answers I need,” she said, trying to ignore the emotions that sought to overwhelm her. “You said the Vox…”

  “Narr,” he supplied the missing word.

  “Yes, you said I carry a Vox Narr. What is that? A disease?”

  “Hardly.”

  “Then what is it?” She was getting a little frustrated.

  “Do you know of the cataclysm that nearly destroyed our system?”

  “Yes. Some.”

  “Very well. When this cataclysm occurred, dormant symbiote life forms were awakened, left there by those who came before us. They were discovered by SyFeth, the woman you know as Pandora, and her confidante, Amara.

  “Our people were dying by the thousands and despite all the efforts of our scientists, no cure could be found to stop it. Our worlds were in peril of extinction. Until SyFeth found the Vox Narr.