Hunger Untamed H3 Read Online Free PDF Page B

recovered.
    “My girl has it,” he murmured. Didn’t matter if the server heard him, because fate had smiled down with a million watts. He’d found his in.
    His strides ate up the room and, not much of a surprise, people parted to let him through. A person could choke swimming through the clouds of rich perfumes and spicy colognes, eyes watering from the fumes, but he kept moving. Beneath his feet, silken gowns were trampled. Some miracle kept toes from the same treatment.
    He felt the stares of a dozen people trained on him, but Victor had eyes for his target. On the other side of the room, chatting it up with a pair of humans, the blood slave from the other night stood.
    She probably had no idea they were fewer than a hundred feet apart, separated only by a dozen people or more. Right now, he needed her.
    Victor knew expensive taste and quality apparel. Apparently, so did she. From what he could tell of it, the dress she wore could have stopped traffic and with just the right haughty look turned the right way, she could have stopped men in their tracks.
    Glancing down at his cotton twill shirt, the black pleated pants, he had the fleeting wish he’d dressed for the occasion. Instead, he’d come prepared to be able to run, climb and fight without being hampered by his choice in clothes.
    The slave’s elegant wear almost shamed him. Still, his curiosity had been piqued by her presence alone. What did she hope to accomplish by being here?
    By the time he’d come close enough to catch her attention, just when he needed a few more people to get out of his way, she moved. Her expression had hardened, lips drawn tight. If she’d ever had any awareness whatsoever of Victor, the attention fluttered into the night. He followed her gaze, and it suddenly made sense.
    There, on the other side of the room, lounging in a chair made for a king, Giancarlo Sage was being worshiped.
    Like the blood born he was, Sage surveyed the room as if bored by it all, despite the gathering being held in his honor. His dark eyes were unfocused but homed in the general vicinity of the small crowd flanking him. Hundred-dollar haircut, starched collar and thin tie couched in a custom-made pinstriped suit kept him among the stylish elite.
    Unlike the partygoers, the flute dangling from his long fingers wasn’t pink in hue. The deep, seductive red fluid filling the glass was unmistakable. While his guests deserved top-quality champagne, probably costing him a thousand dollars a cork, Giancarlo Sage demanded the best for himself. Pure, undiluted blood. Probably came from a virgin or some shit.
    Victor tracked back to the blood slave—damn it, why didn’t he know her name?—and it startled him to find she’d stalked closer to Sage’s position. The black coat she wore fluttered, her hand reaching into its depths. Stomach twisting, he recognized the determined glint in her fierce eyes.
    “Don’t,” he whispered. There, just beyond where she stood, the slave had also attracted the attention of another man. Although a bold sweep of jealousy shuttled through Victor, he knew better than to think a potential competitor set his nerves on edge.
    No, he didn’t like the way the man had pushed back the lapels of his coat, revealing the butt of a small pistol in a holster. He’d trained his sights on the slave and when she began to weave through the crowd to get closer to Sage, the vampire pushed away from the wall and began shadowing her.
    Victor, not to be outdone, moved in.
    Victor weighed the options. He needed to get to Sage before the slave did. Find out what he knew about the slaughtered adolescents. If he’d taken part, as others suspected, then turn him over to the werewolves for retribution. On the off chance he was innocent, let him live to see another day, hoping like hell there’d be no payback from daring to impugn a member of the Council.
    Should the latter prove true, he couldn’t allow the blood slave to touch a single hair on the