"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.
He didn't think she would tell him her thoughts. And as much as he found himself curious, he didn't think it his place to ask. Instead he sat in silence as she closed her eyes and swayed with the music coming from the stage. Above the din of voices and serving clatter, he heard Corinne humming softly along with the singer's sorrow-filled words. After a long moment, her lids lifted and she found him looking at her. "This is an old Bessie Smith song," she said, regarding him expectantly, as though he should know the name.
"It's one of her best."
He listened, trying to understand what Corinne enjoyed about it. The sound was pleasant enough, a lazy stroll of a song, but the lyrics seemed mundane, almost nonsensical. He shrugged.
"Humans write songs about strange things. This singer seems overly affectionate toward her new kitchen appliance."
Corinne had her glass to her lips, in the midst of finishing the last swallow of her drink. She stared at him for a long moment before a smile broke over her lips. "She's not singing about a kitchen appliance."
"She is," he countered, certain he hadn't misheard the lines. He studied the singer now, then gave Corinne an affirming nod when the lyric came around again. "Right there. She says after her man left her, she went out and bought the best coffee grinder she could find. She says it more than once, in fact." He scowled, unable to find logic in any of the words. "Now she's moved on to some apparent affection for a deep-sea diver."
Corinne's smile widened, then she laughed out loud. "I know what the lyrics say, but that's not what they mean. Not at all." Her eyes still dancing with amusement, she cocked her head at him in question. Studying him now. "What kind of music do you like, Hunter?"
He wasn't sure how to answer. He'd heard some of the stuff the other warriors played at the compound, but he had no particular affinity toward any of it. He'd never thought about music one way or the other, never paused to consider if any of it appealed to him. What would be the point in that?
Now he looked at lovely Corinne Bishop, sitting just an arm's length across from him, bathed in candlelight and holding him in her beautiful, smiling gaze. He swallowed hard, struck by just how exquisite she truly was.
"I like ... this," he replied, unable to drag his gaze away from her. She was the first to break eye contact, looking down as she took the crisp white napkin from her lap and dabbed at the corners of her mouth. "It's been so long since I've had a wonderful meal like this. And blues music, of course. I used to listen to this kind of music all the time ... before."
"Before you were taken," he said, seeing her expression grow reflective, haunted. He knew she'd been very young when Dragos had abducted her. He'd heard she had been full of life, always laughing and ready for adventure. He could see traces of that in her now, as she unconsciously swayed with the more lively tune that was coming from the stage, her foot tapping out a quiet beat beneath the table. "Brock has mentioned to me that he used to accompany you out to dance clubs when he knew you in Detroit."
"Accompany me?" When Corinne's head came up, she wore a wry half-smile. "If that's what he told you, he was just being polite. I was an insufferable pest when Brock bodyguarded for me. I used to drag him out to every jazz club in a fifty-mile radius of the city. He didn't approve, but I think he knew that if he refused to take me, I'd find a way to go on my own. I'm sure there were many times he must have hated having to watch over me."
Hunter shook his head. "He cared for you. He still does."