Hunger Read online

  Hunger

  Lillie J. Roberts

  ©Copyright Lillie J. Roberts

  First Edition

  Ebooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold to another party as this is an infringement of the copyright of this work.

  All rights are reversed. No part of this book may be used or reproduce in any manner except for excerpts and quotations for articles and reviews.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events are a product of author’s imagination or have been used fictitiously or fictionalized, and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to people, living or dead, actual events, locales, or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Acknowledgments

  I want to take a moment to remember all the strong women in my life that have helped me to be the person I am today. Some I know or are related to me … Mom, Grams, my sisters, multitudes of aunts and cousins. My daughter and nieces. Sisters of the web (you know who you are). Some are dear friends. Some I have lost. Some I have never met, but they have greatly influenced my life.

  I have but one thing to say …

  Thank you.

  And, for all those yet to come …

  There are glass ceilings to be shattered.

  Let’s get ready to crush them.

  Dedication

  For all the vampire story lovers in the world …

  of which I am one.

  Table of Contents

  Hunger

  Acknowledgment

  Dedication

  Part One

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Part Two

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Part Three

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Part Four

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  About the Author

  Also by Lillie J. Roberts

  Part One

  “Get the fuck away from me!” he shouted, brandishing a knife, drawing attention.

  “Look, this can only end one of two ways.” I eyeballed him. “The easy way or the hard way.”

  He danced away before lunging in with the blade, sneering. “Fuck off.”

  Christ, this isn’t how this night was supposed to go. I just wanted it over. Done with. I glanced around, those drawn by the shouts became confused and turned away.

  Sighing, I set my sights on him. “So, you want to make this hard. All right then.”

  Prologue

  Chicago, the old and the new … blended cultures all leading to the festering wonderland where I found myself, jostling elbow to elbow over the sidewalks, inhaling the competing fragrances. Italians, Irish, Asians, Germans, and the new additions, Puerto Ricans, Mexicans, and Middle Eastern born people. It made for a mass of human population boiling over with need, want, and ferocity, the same as always. It didn’t make any difference to me. But it was also a hunting ground and that was important to me. Injustice never set well in my gut and as the enforcer for the greater Chicagoland area, it became my problem. Fuck, what’s taking him so long? I leaned against the peeling side of a once magnificent building going to pot, watching and waiting.

  So far, I’d been out two days … two long days, hiding from the sun, missing my own bed and my love, Michela, my savior and redeemer. The thought of missing her sweet arms, of her … Damn. That alone was enough to piss me off.I didn’ttake on all of the criminal element in the city, even as a vampire, I wouldn’t be able handle it. But thisman’s utter lack of—humanity, that was the topping on the cake, bringing my beast to life. There wasn’t anything I despised more than someone happy with violence, unable or unwilling to contain himself. Our contacts in the police department claimed he was that and more, calling himself Blood Master, information never given to the news agencies. If he wasn’t stopped, how many more would he torture? Maim? Kill to satisfy his sick needs?

  The night surrounded me and I drew it in tighter, virtually invisible to the human eye, observing, prowling … Christ, I hope he’s planning to make an appearance soon. I stamped my feet. It’s gotten cold, the crowd’s winnowing out, and I’ve been away from home far too long. I had other things to do. I itched to return to my sun protected rooms. With my patience wearing thin, my shoulders tightened. The night was becoming longer than it needed to be.

  Finally, traces of his foul wonderings greeted me as he mused about his next victim, hoping she’d scream and beg, hoping she’d plead for her life, beg for the lives of her husband and daughter.He’d done his homework. I could taste his self-induced high of what he planned to do. It disgusted me, reviled me, and yet it was I who was the monster.

  There he was, jaunting down the sidewalk, keys jiggling nervously in his pocket, anxiousness in his footsteps, and eagerness in his dull, brown eyes. As he glanced up at the pretty blonde in front of him, his smile widened, his lusterless eyes lighting up. His sharpened, pointy canines peeked below his upper lip, but they were only for show. He wasn’t one of my kind, but he liked to pretend, to invoke fear. He exalted the powerful feeling. So did I.

  His footsteps quickened and mine followed his. He was close, almost within touching distance. Almost. He licked his pale, thin lips, greasy hair flopping on his forehead, sweat gathering on his brow. His thoughts rang loudly in mine. Now, grab her now!

  With a crumpled up ball of dirty, white fabric clutched in his hand, he reached out as he crossed the darkened alley’s threshold. The shadows slipped away from me, and I stepped further back, sliding my sunglasses into place. No need for the one feature that proved what I was to give me away.

  He stifled her muffled scream as her heels scraped along the rough concrete. His form slumped against the crumbling brick of the adjoining building. Damn, she’s already passed out. Fun and games’ll have to wait. He kissed the top of her head tenderly before he dragged her further into the alley and straight into my waiting embrace.

  “Hey! Let go of me!” He stank of anger and need. It poured into the atmosphere and my beast rolled, just a little, inside of me.

  My arms opened and they tumbled to the ground, the woman now a dead weight, landing on top of him. “My apologies.” I offered my icy hand, and he looked at it and shivered.

  “Get away from me, fuckwad.” He threatened with a blade pulled from a hidden pocket in his right boot. But knifes no longer held any fear for me.

  “Look, I wanna get out of here. I’m tired and it’s cold. We can have a chat or we can … not.” I eyeballed him. He was nothing special, average height and weight, nondescript. He wouldn’t stand out in a crowd. He thought himself the perfectly hidden.

  He stabbed in the air, missing me by more than a foot. “Chat?” He laughed. “You think you can take me?”

  “All right then, it’s going to be the hard way,” I said, letting my senses wander out, turning those attracted by the noise away. Humans are easily led to believe they didn’t see what was right in front of them, what they didn’t want
to be involved in.

  My nose twitched with the odors of the night air. Pheromones leaked from his body … fear, lust, and one I preferred not to think of, death, all mixed together with the heady floral bouquet of the young woman. It made me greedy to take what he was offering.

  He tried to lift himself and the woman up off the ground, feet shuffling out from under him, debris hampering his escape.

  “I said to get the fuck away from me!” He shoved the blade closer, so close it nicked the pale flesh of my arm. A frown broke across my features and his face lost its color. The wound opened and a bead of black blood oozed for a moment before sealing itself closed.

  “What the fuck are you?” he wondered, pushing himself up. The woman now lay forgotten in the dirt of the alley, moans coming from her lips.

  “Your worst nightmare.” As fast as a blink, I was on him. My nose pressed to his throbbing carotid artery, tasting the terror surrounding him. Real fangs blossomed into sight and sank deep into his sallow skin. My beast had been denied for so long. New moans joined those of the woman, still unconscious on the ground.

  He struggled, fighting harder to break my grip, which only tightened.

  Finally, his body sagged against mine, his heartbeat a flutter, and I sealed the wound, letting him drop to the grimy alley.

  His would-be victim lay at my feet. My gaze swept over her. She appeared to be in her late twenties, kind of cute too. I bent over and shifted her slight weight in my arms, carrying her across the street to the empty bus stop bench. I eased her onto it and stepped back.

  “Wh … what happened?” She came to consciousness slowly and shook her head.

  “You stumbled on the sidewalk and hit your head pretty hard. I helped you across the street. Are you okay? Can I call someone for you?” My Ray Bans were back in place, a shadow of a smile lifted the corners of my lips.

  “No, no, I’m fine. Damn, maybe I shouldn’t have had that last margarita.” She sat up and sucked in a deep breath and released it in a tremor. “I feel like I just …” She ran a trembling hand through her hair. “I’m late. It’s my husband’s night with the baby.” She teetered on her feet and my hand shot out to steady her. “Thanks again.”

  I grinned my best smile. “I’m glad I was passing by.” My watch dinged, signally the lateness of the hour. I had other places to be. “Are you sure you’re okay, I really need to be going.”

  “Yeah, I’m good. Thanks for your help.”

  “My pleasure.”

  She pulled out her phone and began hurriedly dialing, a dazed look on her face as she walked away, speaking in hushed tones.

  A scream echoed through the darkness. My gaze found the alley where a small group clustered around a body. My sunglasses slipped down the bridge of my nose, showing the difference in my gaze. Time that I was out of here.

  I only allowed myself to stop after rounding the corner. My shoulders shifted, and I climbed inside the jet-black Mustang. The engine gunned, tires squealing. Untamed power roiled, feeding my beast’s other needs. This is why I was made vampire, not that my life started out this way, or how I imagined my fate to be all those years ago—centuries before I became what I was today. Before my rebirth and new beginning.

  Chapter One

  I am vampire, born of death and blood.

  Being alive for a very long time has its ups and downs, six hundred years of experiences and questions. I’ve been asked, “Would you have done things differently?” Of course, but would I change what I was? Probably not, at least upon reflection.

  For more years than I cared to remember, I allowed myself to be guided by baser instincts, hunting where, when, and whom I desired. No one was safe. Pity to the human who stumbled into my path. Bloodlust is a powerful force when you’re lost in its grip, heroin to the addicted. It feels like good sex to let the beast run wild, lascivious, carefree, and without regard. The violence, the blood, the seduction of the hunt … potent aphrodisiacs when your beast roars to life. At times, I still miss the old days. Not that I would go back. Life is hard when death is your only friend.

  The most arduous part of my existence is the missing bits of my humanity. The piece between death and rebirth not so much lost as changed. Life and death hold a different meaning to the undead. Do we covet what we no longer have? Yearn for it in the deepest, darkest part of our non-beating hearts? Surely it’s human nature to want what has been lost. But would we give up life, even the undead of the vampire, for the sleep without end? To never return from the one true death? Not likely. Life is prized in all of its forms. Besides with my sins, my death would be of nightmarish proportions, certain hell. I’ve watched enough vampires meet their grizzly ends, to dissolve into ash, a husk of what once was—no, my preference for my undead existence was well founded.

  Companionship, on the other hand, was something I seldom lacked. Vampirism was kind this way—the perfect predator. There was always a willing body to share my bed, along with their life sustaining fluids, and I’ve had my share. It’s a fine art learned through many years of practice to know when enough life had been taken to sustain one’s self and yet enough left for my human meal to continue unharmed.

  As I came to terms with my unchangeable state, I began to glory in my existence of feasting, fantasizing, and pretending to be alive. Until one day, my conscience reasserted itself, and it all happened quite unexpectedly when injustice was served harsh and cold, right in my face.

  *

  My life as the vampire began during the age of the Black Death—the exact year unknown to me. Peasants worked hard to support our lord in the manner he was accustomed. Our lives were harsh, the land and climate harsher with little relief. It was never warm anymore. Snow covered the ground, even in summer. Years mattered little to us. Death from exposure, starvation, or disease came soon enough. But the Black Death was beyond anything lord or peasant had ever seen. There was no discrimination, no reason. It just killed.

  Death came to our village in the form of Holy Crusaders, bringing with them their sick and dying. They laid waste to our farmland, marauding and destroying everything they touched. My memory refused to lie—it was a day painted in crimson and colored by destruction. Whoever survived their murderous hands was granted the grace of mere hours. The Black Death was a tireless master.

  *

  On the last day of my fifteenth summer, the stranger happened upon our home. My father, mother, and two younger sisters lay beside me, cold and dead, and I awaited my turn. Fever chills shook my body, each breath torturous, creaking like a rusty spindle. The rats crept ever closer as I became weaker, sneaking in to see if I had enough strength to throw them off. I gave up the fight, waiting for what the Afterlife might bring. Pus oozed from the pox dotting my arms and legs. Blood gathered beneath my flesh, and soon it would blacken. My lungs burned as blood coated my lips. I was bleeding to death from the inside out. Tending my family had brought sure knowledge, there would be no healing. Not for me, not for all of civilization.

  With my strength ebbing, I begged for release from the pain and anguish … from life. Oblivion became my hope. The old preacher said to pray to the Christian God, and I did that death would come swift and easy.

  The stranger had not come expecting to find his next meal or anyone alive in our village for that matter. The last band of survivors told him no one was left and to enter at the cost of his own life. Little did they know, he’d faced his end long ago, and the Black Death could not take up residence in his body. Death and the stranger were well acquainted.

  He heard my groans as he stole through the village during the darkest part of the night, made even darker by the lifeless bodies stacked like timber, forgotten. He entered the now squalid little home my mother had once been proud of and knelt down beside me. Pity and regret leaked into his voice as he whispered in my ear, “Boy, do you want to live?”

  Though I was dying, my instincts told me there was something different about this man. Dread bubbled up inside me. Death might be prefe
rable to this man’s touch, for who would traveled in the night to creep amongst the corpses?

  My fevered eyes found his face, and my fear flew away as my heart hammered. Was he a figment of my infection deluded mind? My family had begun to whisper to me, inviting me to join them in death. I could hear the laughter of my two baby sisters, they’d always liked to play and they wanted to again now. I could feel their hands upon me, pulling me down.

  “Brother,” they called, “come with us.”

  It would be a relief to let go of this life. I wanted to embrace them, but the will to survive was stronger and this … immortal … gave me a choice.

  “Yes, Godling, I want to live.” Maybe he was a creation of my fractured imagination, come to save me from the reality of my life’s ending.

  “I am not one of your Gods.” He glanced at the bodies, and his nose wrinkled. It would be later that I appreciated how the scent of death must have affected him. He shifted me into his arms as if I were nothing more than a feather, carrying me into the forest to rest upon a pine needle bed. Then, he lifted his arm to his lips, pierced his flesh, and brought his freshly bloodied wrist to my cracked lips. “If you want to live, boy, this is the price. Drink, so you may draw breath tomorrow.”

  His blood dripped, slicking my lips. As if my tongue had a mind of its own, it licked the sticky stuff to find it was nectar to my parched and dying body. When again he held his arm to my lips, I opened my mouth greedily, swallowing with zest. As dawn approached, a great weariness settled over me, exhaustion like I’d never known. Maybe death was there to take me after all. The stranger leaned in one more time and uttered, “Sleep.” My eyes fluttered closed into a trancelike slumber.