In the Dark (22 page)

Armand nodded. “Would-would you like to eat now?” he asked tentatively. “Shall I find you someone? I know you didn't get a chance to earlier.”

Feeling unbearably weary, Conrad shook his head. “Not tonight. Just leave me now. I need to be alone for a while.” He watched as Armand climbed back to his feet, regretting the fear that still lingered in the younger man's eyes, knowing there was no way he could erase it tonight. “Just make certain everything downstairs has been locked up and cleared away.”

“Of course,” Armand said. He paused a moment then said, “You know, Georgia is still wishing to speak with you. Shall I—”

“Absolutely not.” That was the last thing Conrad wanted to deal with right now. Someone who'd known him long enough to have seen him make the same mistake before. Someone who knew him well enough she'd feel herself entitled to chastise him because it had happened again—just as she'd foreseen. Someone else he might hurt.

“
Well, it's certainly not the smartest thing I've ever seen you do
,” Georgia had told him, no more than a week ago. “
But, I guess it's true what they say: there's no fool like an old fool
.”

At the time, Conrad had brushed her words aside. Tonight…no, his temper definitely couldn't handle that. “Tell her I do not wish to hear it,” he growled. “Any of it. Tell her I said the smartest thing she could do for herself right now would be to leave.” Because if he heard one word of reproach from her, saw one hint of I-told-you-so gleaming in her eyes…

He sighed. “Remind her for me, Armand, would you? Tell her she knows what might happen and I make no promises with regard to my behavior if she elects to stay.”

Armand nodded. “Very well.” His glance straying to the bed, he added, “Perhaps I could come back later, if-if you'd like?”

“No,” Conrad repeated. “Have I not already said that I wish to be left alone? I'll not be fit company for anyone tonight.” His anger making him cruel, he couldn't refrain from adding, “Unless, for some reason, you wish to end up like our friend from the garden. In which case, by all means, please, do stay awhile.” Startled, Armand shook his head. Conrad smiled, maliciously showing all his teeth. “No? Are you quite certain of that?”

“No. I-I mean…yes,” Armand whispered, his voice shaking again. “I'm certain.”

“Ah.” Feigning regret, Conrad leaned back in his chair, idly dragging his tongue back and forth across the point of one fang. “Well, that's a pity.”

As Armand headed toward the door, Conrad stopped him once again. “Armand?”

“
Oui
?”

“I apologize. That was…unnecessary.”

Armand nodded, his eyes dark with sympathy. “It's all right. I-I understand.”

“Do you?” Conrad sighed. “I wonder. But, thank you and…one more thing. Please take her things with you, would you, dear? Pack up everything she left behind and…just get rid of it.”

Armand's eyes widened. “B-but what if she comes back? She might, you know.”

“No.” Shaking his head, Conrad smiled mockingly. “She won't be back. Didn't you hear her, Armand? We're monsters.”

“
Oui
.” Armand smiled sadly back at him. “So they say.”

She won't be back
. Conrad thought about that after Armand had left, carrying her clothes away with him, removing all traces of her presence, anything that could remind him she'd ever been there—other than his memories, or the aching in his heart.

He closed his eyes and tried to quell the ache. It was probably better this way. Georgia was right, it couldn't have lasted. He would have had to break things off soon, anyhow. The girl was becoming a nuisance with all her nonsensical demands. Parties. Trees. Carolers. Who knew what she would have asked for next?

He couldn't have kept her, couldn't have told her the truth and he certainly could never have turned her—even if he had been able to overcome her prejudice against his kind, even if he'd dared take the risk of transforming a temporary obsession into a more permanent one. She was far too willful. That always led to disaster. It was the one character trait which invariably caused him problems.

It took entirely too long to break someone's will, as he'd already learned to his sorrow. Sometimes, four hundred years wasn't long enough for the task. Not that he'd ever really tried all that hard. As much as his vampire nature craved obedience from those around him, the human side of him loved the indomitable spark of will. If he were to be honest, he had to admit he'd have hated to see that spark entirely extinguished. Who wanted to surround themselves with broken people, after all? What kind of a way was that to show your love for anyone?

 

 

 

The sun was threatening to break free of the Eastern hills when Drew and Jason cut through the park on their way back to the mansion. It had taken them the better part of the night to return the maimed vampire to his nest. Drew had at first assumed it was the shock of his injuries that had put the stranger into such a state of confusion he could not direct them to its location, for how could any vampire in his right mind not know his own House?

It was only after visiting several unrelated lairs that they at last found someone who'd recognized his scent and identified him as likely belonging to a small, rather fragmented nest on the city's West side.

Conrad had been right about their reception. With such a graphic example of the results of Conrad's anger bleeding all over their ostentatious marble floor, the other vampires didn't dare touch them. They were furious, however, and Drew didn't doubt that
someone
would be made to pay a very heavy price for their annoyance, probably before the next night was over.

The thought caused an odd sinking sensation in the center of his chest and he had to struggle for most of a minute before he finally recognized it for what it was. Compassion was an emotion he barely could recall from the days when he was still human. He felt it now, pale and unpracticed though it was, and it left him feeling…almost guilty for his part in bringing the wounded vampire to the attention of his nest-mates. Yes, definitely, he felt guilty and sorry, too—for both the young man and his unlucky sire.

“That was an ugly business,” Jason muttered, finally breaking the extended silence.

Drew looked at him in surprise. Jason was not a great intellectual. He kept his thoughts and his words to a minimum. But, had it really taken him this long to arrive at so obvious a conclusion?

“Yes,” Drew agreed. “It certainly was that.”

“I hadn't realized before that Conrad… I mean, did you see what he did to that youngster's face?”

“I saw.” Drew nodded curtly and silently added,
and I don't want to talk about it
.
Not here, not now, maybe not ever.

He picked up his pace, forcing Jason to hurry to keep up with him, hoping that would shut him up. Just because Conrad had been right so far, about their being safe from retaliation, they weren't quite out of the woods yet, neither literally nor metaphorically.

“They won't heal, you know,” Jason muttered, his tone far too critical in Drew's estimation. “Not without leaving terrible scars.”

Far too loud
. Drew glanced about uneasily.
Too loud for this close to morning, too loud for so public a place
. “No. They won't heal.” On the other hand, he wondered if he was the only one to consider how things might otherwise have gone down tonight. Had Conrad been even a little more angry, he might have decided to trace the stranger back to his nest himself. There might have been many more than one scarred vampire tonight, or, none at all, and just a lot of dead ones.

The fact that they weren't all dead, or maimed, that they'd lost nothing more than hunting rights on Conrad's property and the pretty, good looks of one of their own, should have left the House of Rupert Horatio Jones ecstatic. They should all be celebrating their good fortune for having gotten off as easily as they did. They should have welcomed Drew and Jason into their midst as heroes. They should be rushing to put the whole sorry incident behind them, hurrying to forget it had ever happened.

That's what they should be doing. In all likelihood, it wasn't even close.

“Of course, I've heard the stories, just as I imagine we all have,” Jason continued. “But…I didn't realize there were still any of, you know—
their kind
—walking around. I thought they'd all been killed off, as should have been done.”

Drew shook his head and resolutely kept his mouth shut, lest anyone should overhear him seeming to agree with Jason's sentiments. He didn't wish to have Conrad as his enemy, nor any of his ilk.

Live and let live—that was his motto. It had served him well up until now, and the world would have to change a good deal before he saw fit to change his philosophy accordingly.

He did think about pointing out a few of the hard facts of life to Jason. For example, was he really so unhappy under Conrad's rulership that he'd wish to see him replaced? Who did he imagine would be doing all the “killing off” he seemed to be advocating? Absent an act of God, or a large, angry mob, it generally took one of “their kind”, or more likely
more
than one, to eliminate another. Which rendered the entire question of “what should have been done” with them completely academic.

But, such a discussion would, invariably, lead to the use of words that were best left unspoken. “Sun's almost up,” he said as he broke into a run. “Let's hurry.”

There were certain words one did
not
utter casually, or aloud—
not
this close to morning,
not
in so public a place—or, even better,
not at all
. There were words capable of striking terror, even in the heart of monsters such as themselves. Words like
Lamia Invitus
.

Chapter Eleven

Present Day

Marc took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the air inside
Sangria!
His fangs tingled in response. The urge to unsheathe them, to drive their points into the closest accessible neck was almost overwhelming.

There were an awful lot of necks here tonight too, and as far as he could tell, they were pretty much
all
accessible, but that was not what he was here for.

Nostrils flaring, he once again tasted the air, searching for any traces of the scent that had clung to Julie in the cab last night.
If that bastard's here tonight, I'll know it
, he thought confidently in the split second before it occurred to him to be appalled by what he was doing. The mere fact that he
could
do it ran counter to everything he'd ever wanted to believe about himself—before this week. Sampling the air for the scent of something he'd caught just a whiff of the night before? That just wasn't normal.

Then again, neither was he.

Then again, neither was this place.

He glanced around once more. It was disturbing how easy he found it to separate the club's patrons into two groups. There were those who were like him and those who weren't. Even more disturbingly, he could further divide the latter group into those who'd been recently fed upon and those who hadn't yet been sampled.

He could hear the differences in the pulsing of their hearts. The hearts of the hunters beat to a hushed, measured cadence much slower, much quieter than those of their prey. He could smell the change as venom mixed with blood and the sweet, milky scent of it rose, like a mist, from the skin of the bitten.

But there was more…some palpable sense he couldn't really describe. He doubted the word for it existed in any human language. Not quite touch, not quite taste, it was like a tangible hunger and it had him pressing his tongue against the aching buds on the roof of his mouth in an effort to relieve the urge to unsheathe his fangs.

He had not come here for this. He had to stay focused, had to keep his mind on track. But, damn it, Julie had been right last night. The music was distracting as hell.

“Well, look who's come back,” a soft feminine voice murmured at his side.

Marc nodded briefly. “Hello, Elise.”

“Fancy meeting you here again so soon. Did you come here alone tonight? Or has your lady friend already deserted you?”

“My
sister
,” he clarified. “No, she's at home. I came back to look for someone who was here last night.”

Her face brightened. “Ooh, lucky me.”

“That's not quite what I meant,” Marc replied reluctantly, as he once again scanned the crowded room. “There's just…there's someone in particular I need to find.”

“Oh, let me guess. You're searching for a vapid little SFU student, blonde with big blue eyes…or is she a redhead?”

“
He
is a vampire of undetermined age, blind in one eye with a badly scarred face.”

Elise's eyebrows rose. “Ah. Well. As long as you know what you like.”

Marc laughed. “I'm not looking to hook up with him, if that's what you're thinking. My tastes don't exactly run along those lines.” He looked her over once again, admiring her dark skin and darker hair, and added, “Just for the record, I don't generally favor either blondes
or
redheads.”

Excitement danced in Elise's eyes. “Oh now I
am
intrigued. So what
do
you want with him then?”

“He attacked my sister when we were here last night. I want to know why.”

Elise stiffened. She pulled back a step and glanced around nervously. “You shouldn't say things like that. Someone might take it the wrong way.”

“They can take it any damn way they want to. It's the truth.”

“Let's dance,” she suggested, taking his hand and tugging him toward the floor.

Marc frowned. “I'm not here to socialize tonight.”