by PG Forte
“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.”
“I know that, sugar, but do you know what a really good way not to find someone in a place like this would be? It would be to stand around—all menacing-looking—like you’ve been doing for the past ten minutes. Keep it up much longer and the expression on your face is gonna spook the humans. I’m surprised it hasn’t already.”
“What expression?” he asked, momentarily distracted when she moved into his arms and pressed herself close for what was definitely not a slow dance. The feel of her body as it shimmied against his, caused his arms to tighten around her. “What expression?” he repeated, grasping at anything that might keep his thoughts in check.
“The one that says what you really want right now is to sink your teeth into the nearest neck.” She swayed sinuously, her body rubbing up against his in a manner that was becoming progressively more difficult to ignore.
“Then I guess whoever said looks were deceiving was dead wrong.” Pulling her even closer, Marc took control of the dance, rocking them both to the sensuous sounds, enjoying the way their bodies moved so perfectly together. “Because that’s exactly what I want to do right now.”
“Well, in that case…” Without missing a beat, Elise dipped to the side and then back, flipping her hair behind her shoulder and baring her neck with one smooth move. “Mine’s pretty near.”
It was the most blatantly erotic thing she could have done. Marc hardened instantly. Fisting one hand in the coils of her hair, he dropped his head to within an inch of her shoulder letting his open mouth almost caress her skin as it traveled up toward her ear.
His head was reeling. He forced himself to pull away. “I said that’s what I want to do, but that’s not really going to help me find my guy, now is it?”
Elise shivered. She was breathing hard and her cheeks were flushed, but the smoky gaze had vanished from her eyes. A worried frown furrowed her brow as she met his gaze. “Your little chickie must be confused, Marc, or maybe she just misunderstood. Nobody would come here looking to make that kind of trouble.”
Marc’s temper rose as he recalled the look of panic on Julie’s face. “My sister is not often confused about things like being slammed up against a wall by a complete stranger. What part of ‘I’m gonna kill you’ would you find difficult to understand?” His sister. His kin. His responsibility. His right to retaliate. I’m gonna kill the bastard when I find him. I’m gonna rip his stinking heart out. A low, ugly growl purled up his throat. “Maybe the guy didn’t come here looking for trouble, but he sure found it.”
“Calm down, sugar,” Elise soothed. “You’re getting that scary look on your face again.”
“Good.”
Elise sighed. “You know, I’m a little surprised Conrad isn’t handling this himself. He has a pretty solid rep for being very protective of his people. Why don’t you just step back and let him deal with this?”
Marc eyed her suspiciously even as he slid his hands lower on her back and ground his hips into hers. She couldn’t possibly think he was going to let her seduce him into forgetting what had happened here last night, could she? What did she think she was going to accomplish by discouraging his search, anyway? Or, maybe that was the wrong question. Maybe what he should be asking himself was, what was she afraid he’d find?
“I told you. Conrad’s not in town right now, so I can’t leave it to him.” Marc’s heart clenched as his thoughts turned to the questions of where Conrad might be and whether or not they’d be able to locate him before time ran out.
“So, you’re acting on your own then?” Elise’s expression was guarded now and Marc couldn’t decide if she sounded relieved or disappointed.
“Not exactly. Damian sent me to handle it. But, that’s not important.” He let her go and took a step away from her. “And neither is this. Much as I’d like to dance with you all night, I’ve got other things to do.”
“Wait.” Elise clutched his sleeve, stopping him. “Don’t disappear yet. We should go somewhere more private and talk about this some more. I might know things.”
He glanced at her hand, so tense it trembled, and then back to her face, taut with something that looked very much like fear. “What things?”
“Things that might help you. Things I can’t talk about here.”
Marc nodded. “Okay. Fine. I’m staying at Conrad’s house. We can talk there.”
“Oh, no, no, no, I don’t think so.” Elise shook her head. “You’re cute, sugar, but not worth dying for. I’d just as soon keep my skin intact, if it’s all the same to you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Bad blood. There have been some misunderstandings between our nests in the past. We’re not on the best of terms and we definitely don’t visit. Why don’t I take you back to my place?”
Marc looked at her in surprise. “Why, so we can get my ass kicked instead? Thanks, but I think I’ll pass.”
Elise shook her head again. “Not what I meant. I wouldn’t take you back to my nest tonight either, not if you paid me to. That would likely get us both killed. I have a loft in SoMa where I spend most of my time these days. I
thought we could go there.”
“I don’t know.” Marc glanced around the club, once again attempting to detect the scent of his prey. Despite all his warnings to himself, it was very possible he was getting distracted, after all—by his attraction to Elise, by the atmosphere in the club, even by his own brotherly concerns.
Finding Julie’s attacker might be an important part of the search for Conrad, it might even be a worthy endeavor on its own, but it wasn’t necessarily his end goal. What information could Elise have that would be worth the possible waste of a night, worth letting Conrad’s trail grow even colder, worth risking his death?
Elise leaned closer. “You’re not going to find him that way. He’s not here.”
Marc glanced at her in surprise. “Who’s not here?”
“The vampire you’re looking for. The one with the scars.”
“And how would you know that?”
The look in her eyes was calculated, but confident. “Because, sugar, it just so happens I know who he is.”
“Oil paints, huh?” Marc’s nose wrinkled at the scent. Vaguely disappointed, he followed Elise into her loft. The smell of paint, turpentine and linseed oil was so pungent it obliterated any other more subtle fragrances, like those that might have been left by the loft’s owner.
“Yes, and in case you’re thinking of telling me I should move with the times, don’t.” She removed her wrap and tossed it over the back of a chair. “Despite the advances made to acrylics over the last fifty years or so, I can’t bring myself to like them. To me, the pigments still seem to lack a certain…vibrancy.”
Marc gazed at the space around him. It was big, apparently L-shaped, mostly empty, with high ceilings and one entire wall of windows that looked out over the city. “Must get awfully bright in here during the day,” he said as he strolled over to check out the view.
“Black-out curtains. Set on timers.” Elise smiled at him over her shoulder. She turned on the stereo and soft, sultry jazz filled the air. “It’s an affectation, I’ll admit it, given my aversion to sunlight, but what’s an artist’s studio without windows?”
