"Air," she gasped. "I need a ... air - "
She fumbled with the mechanism on the glass door, finally yanking it open and all but stumbling out to the balcony. Hunter was right beside her as she clung to the wrought-iron railing and drew in gulp after gulp of the cleansing, open night air. She felt his presence like a wall of heat at her side, the large shape of him looming close, watching her in silent concern.
"I'm okay," she murmured, everything still spinning around her, lungs still caught in a vise. "It's nothing ...
I'm all right."
He reached out and took her chin gently in his hand, turning her face toward him in the dark. His scowl was deeper now, those probing golden eyes searching beneath the furrowed line of his brow. "You are not well."
"I'm fine. I needed some fresh air, that's all." She drew back slightly and he let his hand fall away. The warmth of his touch lingered. She could feel the broad lines of his fingers ghosted on her skin as she exhaled a shaky breath.
He stared at her, watching her tremble even though it was barely cold in the sultry New Orleans night. "You're not well," he said again. His voice was softer this time, but no less firm.
"Your body needs more rest. You need nourishment."
His gaze went to her mouth as he spoke. It lingered there, putting a new kind of clamor in her veins.
"When was the last time you had a meal, Corinne?"
God, she didn't even know. Probably more than twenty-four hours by now, since the last thing she'd eaten was at the compound in Boston before they'd left for Detroit. She gave him a vague shrug. She'd long become accustomed to the empty feeling of hunger during her time in captivity. Dragos had fed her and the others only frequently enough to keep them alive. Sometimes, when her rebellion had landed her in solitary confinement, she'd been allowed to eat even less than that.
"I'm okay," she said, uncomfortable with Hunter's probing scrutiny and concern. "I just needed to be outside for a little while. All I need is a bit of air."
Looking none too convinced, he cast a measuring glance over the balcony to the street below. Sounds drifted up on the pleasant night breeze: people talking and laughing as they strolled by, vehicles rumbling over cobblestones on the adjacent avenue, the musician on the nearby corner segueing from one soulful tune to another. The aromas of roasting meats and spicy sauces put a traitorous growl in Corinne's stomach.
Hunter looked back at her then, his head cocked in question.
"Okay," she said. "I could eat something, I suppose."
"Then come with me," he replied, already stalking back toward the room. Corinne followed, part of her simply eager to be down on the vibrant street outside, back among the living. A more cautious part of her understood that if she was to put her plan in motion tonight - seeking a way to contact Henry Vachon on her own - then she had better fill her stomach and gird herself for the desperate mission that lay ahead of her.
Chapter Fourteen
They ended up at a small restaurant a few blocks from the hotel and away from most of the tourist traffic.
It didn't look like much to Hunter. A dark cave of a place with no more than twenty tables corraled on the opposite side of a modest, rough-hewn stage and postage-stamp-size dance floor. The trio onstage was playing something slow and sultry, the female singer pausing to nod appreciatively at the man on the piano and another who blew a string of mournful notes from a short brass trumpet.
The air was clouded with the mingled odors of greasy food and strange spices, grill smoke and perfume, and far too many human bodies for his liking. But Corinne seemed more than pleased to be there. As soon as she'd heard the music pouring out into the street, she had homed in like a missile and insisted it was where she wanted to eat.
Hunter had no stake in the matter. As it was her body that required sustenance, he'd been more than willing to let her decide where they would go.
As for his own needs, it had been a few days since he'd fed. He'd gone longer, but it was unwise to push his Gen One metabolism much closer to a week without sating its thirst. He felt the twinges of that thirst quirking in his veins as he sat at the corner table with Corinne, his back to the nearby wall, his gaze perusing the crowd of humans who filled the cavernous old establishment.
He wasn't the only Breed male visually sifting the throng of Homo sapiens. He'd spotted the pair of vampires as soon as he and Corinne had walked in. They posed no threat at all, just a couple of Darkhaven civilians idly evaluating potential Hosts the same way he was. As soon as they noticed him watching them from across the way, they retreated into the hazy shadows like a couple of minnows that had just gotten a whiff of a shark in their pool. After the young males disappeared, he glanced across the little table at Corinne.
"Is your meal sufficient?" he asked.
"Incredible." She set down her drink - some kind of clear, alcohol-based concoction that had been poured over ice cubes and a fat wedge of lime. "Everything is or, rather, was delicious."
He'd hardly needed to ask, based on how quickly - and enthusiastically - she'd attacked the plate of almond-crusted fish and steamed vegetables. And that had been after she'd already had a bowl of spicy soup and two crusty rolls from the basket perched at the edge of the table. Even though she clearly enjoyed the food, she seemed to grow quiet, pensive, the longer they sat there. He watched her run her fingertip along the rim of the short cocktail glass. When her gaze met his across the candlelit table, he found himself snared in her exotic dark eyes. The glow of the small flame played with their color, darkening their usual greenish blue to deep forest green. There was a hauntedness to Corinne Bishop's eyes, her most painful secrets walled behind an impenetrable thicket of changeable green.