by PG Forte
Weak laughter greeted her pronouncement. “She’s right.”
Relieved, Armand turned toward the sound. “Conrad?”
“She’s right,” Conrad repeated, though it hurt to admit it. Tonight they’d all lived up to their sordid reputations—at least in part. Glancing up at Marc, he smiled sadly. “It’s all right, Marc. You can put me down now.”
The guilty, furtive look in the boy’s eyes left Conrad with little doubt that he, too, was in agreement with his sister’s assessment, which was no more than could be expected, just one of many reasons Conrad had not wanted either one of the twins exposed to this sort of thing. They’d both inherited their mother’s eyes. He’d seen such eyes grow wide with loathing once. It had been enough.
Still, despite all the dissension, it was good to be home. It was good to be back in his own front hall, standing on his own two feet. He smiled at the concerned faces around him, faces he’d feared he’d never see again. “Listen to the girl, all of you. She’s the only one of you talking any sense tonight.” Then he opened his arms. “Julie?”
She ran to his embrace. “I can’t stand this. They’re gonna hurt themselves. Make them stop.”
“I will,” he promised. “You have my word. I’ll make sure they behave.” Holding her close, whispering for her ears alone, he said, “You remind me a lot of your mother tonight, my dear. She would have been very proud of you, I think.”
He kissed her forehead. “Thank you for caring so much,” he said as he set her away from him. He turned to Armand. “You too, mon cher, and much as I appreciate the sentiment, I assure you, there will be no need for you to kill anyone on my behalf tonight.”
Casting one last wary look in Damian’s direction, Armand moved to Conrad’s side. “You’re really all right then?”
Conrad smiled. “I will be—now.” Drawing Armand close, he kissed his cheek, draped his arm across the younger man’s shoulders. And kept it there. Partly for support, it was true, but mostly to keep Armand from getting any closer to Julie. Just in case. Her resemblance to her mother seemed so strikingly obvious to him. Could Armand really have not noticed it? “I see you’ve already met my two youngest,” he murmured, adding a subtle warning to his tone as he added, “They’re both very special to me, Armand. Treat them well.”
“Yours?” Armand cast a startled glance at Damian. “But you said you sired them?”
Conrad’s mouth dropped open. “You said what?”
A small smile glimmered on Damian’s lips. He appeared completely engrossed in the study of his nails. “Oh, well, I suppose it’s possible I may have given that impression.”
Armand snorted. “May have?”
“Why would you do such a thing?” Conrad demanded in outrage.
Damian’s gaze mocked him. “It amused me, of course. Why else? And, as you weren’t around to dispute it…I thought, oh, well, why not?”
You know why not. Is there no end to your recklessness?
Clearly unconcerned with Conrad’s outrage, Damian tossed back his hair. Blood glistened in the fresh gashes along his neck. Conrad shuddered in revulsion. “Go and clean your neck,” he ordered, his voice harsh with pain. “Then come see me. I want to talk to you.”
Damian’s face froze. He glared coldly at Conrad. Then, without a word, he turned and disappeared down the hallway, toward the back of the house.
A strangled sound burst from Julie’s mouth. “Excuse me,” she murmured as she fled for the front door. “I need some air.”
Armand made a move as though to follow her. Conrad tightened his grasp on his shoulders. “Stay,” he murmured, glancing quickly at Marc who was staring unhappily after his sister, as well. “Marc, would you happen to know if there’s any more blood in the refrigerator?”
“I think there is.” Looking surprised, Marc refocused his attention. “Did you want me to get you some?”
“Please. As much as we have. Bring it to my room—you know where that is, yes? Good.” He turned to Armand. “And you, mon cher, would you accompany me there?”
“Mais oui,” Armand replied automatically, but Conrad didn’t miss the way his eyes kept straying back toward the front door. “Of course I will.”
Julie ran down the drive, not stopping until she reached the gate. “Brennan?” she called softly. “Are you still here?”
“Julie?” His voice came to her through the fog. “Hey, I was just leaving.”
Reorienting on the sound, she leapt at him and threw herself against his chest, practically sobbing in relief when Brennan’s arms closed around her. “Listen, sweetheart, it’s been kind of a long day. Do you think maybe we can do this another time? ’Cause, right now, if it’s all the same to you, I just wanna kick back, park my happy ass on my couch with some junk food, maybe watch TV for a couple of hours, then fall asleep. I think you might have been right about me needing to relax.”
“Just hold me a minute,” she mumbled into his chest, trying hard not to cry. “Please?”
“Hey, what’s all this?” Brennan’s hands closed on her arms. Holding her away from him, he backed her up until her face was illuminated by the street lamp. “Are you all right?”
Julie shook her head. “Not really.”
Brennan sighed. “Look, if this is something to do with your family…you gotta know I’m not gonna be much help with that, right?”
Julie blinked back tears. “I know. I wouldn’t expect you to. It’s got nothing to do with that. I just…I don’t want to be around them right now. I want…something more normal. More human. Can’t I please stay with you tonight? An evening of junk food and television is sounding really good right now.”
“It is, huh?” A small smile curved Brennan’s lips. “Well, okay, if you’re down for sharing a six-pack and a coupla sandwiches, you’re on.”
Then he kissed her. Long, slow, sexy, sweet. Human. Julie let herself relax. She let herself remember how to breathe, and how it felt to not be so tense and worried and frightened and upset all the time. It had only been a week since she’d had that, but it seemed so much longer. She really missed it.
When he let her go, she smiled at him. It was a shaky smile, that was true, but at least she wasn’t tearing up anymore. “You wouldn’t happen to have any ice cream at your place,” she asked hopefully. “Would you?”
“A vampire who eats ice cream?” Brennan threw an arm around her shoulders and laughed. “Wow. I think I’ve heard just about everything now. Sure, I think I can scrounge up some ice cream for you.” He smiled and kissed her again. “C’mon, let’s go be normal.”
“Thank you, my dear.” Conrad said reached for one of the PVC pouches from the tray Marc had deposited on the table beside his armchair. He bit into it hastily. His ravenous body had already assimilated all the blood he’d consumed during the drive back to the house and was clamoring for more.
“Is there anything else I can get for you, Grandfa—” Marc began, shutting up abruptly, his expression guilt-ridden.
Armand, who’d been eyeing Conrad worriedly from the second armchair, glanced sharply at Marc. “Grandfather. That’s what you were about to say, wasn’t it? That’s how you referred to him the night you arrived. It’s why I thought—” Turning his head, he transferred his gaze back to Conrad. “I don’t understand. If he’s not Damian’s, why does he call you that?”
“It’s a joke, Armand.” Conrad smiled reassurance at Marc. “Just a private joke between the two of us. Isn’t that so, Marc?”
Marc nodded quickly. “Of course. I can’t really remember how it started.”
“Nor I.” Conrad shrugged. “But, no doubt that’s what gave Damian the idea to claim paternity. Isn’t that right?”
“I’m sure that’s why.” Marc sat down on the edge of the bed, seemingly casual, still following Conrad’s lead. “You know how he likes his games. I didn’t think you’d mind?”
Conrad shook his head. “It’s fine, my dear, but, now that I’m back, I think it’s time for the game to end
. Is that understood? Both of you? There’ll be no more talk of this.”
He glanced at each of them in turn. Marc nodded quickly. “Of course.”
Armand hesitated for an instant longer. Finally, he acquiesced as well. “Tres bien,” he sighed, still looking unconvinced. “Whatever you say.”
“I wonder where Julie has disappeared to?” Conrad asked, closely watching for Armand’s reaction while pretending to be absorbed in his meal.
“Brennan,” Marc answered.
Armand nodded in agreement. “The gatekeeper. She’s developed quite a fondness for the taste of his blood, I think.”
Marc snorted. “I think it’s a little more than that. I think she’s hoping you’ll give him to her for a pet.”
Armand’s eyes widened in faint alarm. He gazed anxiously at Conrad. “I’m sure it’s nothing serious.”
Conrad smiled serenely back at them both. “Well, if that’s what she wants, why should she not have him? After all, I do generally try and give my children whatever makes them happy.”
“You don’t mind then?” Armand asked, his relief so obvious Conrad had to work to hide his smile. Is that all that he’s afraid of? That I’d be jealous of her involvement with someone else?
He shook his head. “No, of course not. But, if you would indulge me with just another small favor, Armand, perhaps you would go and check and make sure that’s really where she’s gone? She’s still new to the city. I wouldn’t want her wandering off and getting herself in trouble.”
“Certainly.” Armand got up quickly and headed for the door. “Right away. I’d be glad to keep an eye on her for you.”
“I’m sorry,” Marc began as soon as the door closed behind Armand. “It just slipped out. I didn’t mean—”
Conrad cut him off with a shake of his head. “There’s nothing for you to be sorry about, Marc,” he said as he tossed the empty blood bag back onto the tray and picked up another. “The habits of a lifetime are very difficult to break.”
Marc nodded, his expression troubled, but he said nothing, waiting to speak until Conrad had drained that bag, as well, and reached for a third. “I still don’t understand. How did this happen? How did you get locked up like that? What were you even doing there? Damian said it had something to do with us—with me and Julie—is that true?”
“Damian talks too much,” Conrad snapped, his anger souring the taste of the blood. It was not something he wanted to discuss. But he owed Marc a huge debt of gratitude, one that did not allow him to begrudge the boy a few well-deserved answers. “And, not infrequently, he’s wrong. What happened to me had nothing to do with you,” Conrad insisted, and it was not quite a lie. “If you must know, I was ambushed. I was caught unaware and…drugged.”
There were not many drugs capable of incapacitating someone like himself, not very many at all. In fact, in the course of his twelve hundred years, Conrad had encountered exactly one. Luckily, that was such a small and obscure piece of information, he had no doubt Marc would fail to recognize the significance of what he’d just been told.
Conrad understood its importance, however, and he could barely suppress the shudder that ran through him as he contemplated what that fact might mean—what it almost certainly had to mean. Someone was attempting to revive the cult of the Lamia Invitus.
“But…why?”
“Who can say? Revenge, possibly?” Or possibly not. Possibly something far more sinister. “I had arranged to meet with someone who claimed to have a certain piece of information for which I’d been searching. Instead…” Instead, he’d met with the last thing he’d been expecting. “Rest assured I will not leave this business unfinished. I’ll do whatever is necessary to discover exactly what was behind the attack. And who. And why.”
“What do you mean who?” Marc stared at him uncertainly. “It was Vincent who abducted you, wasn’t it? I mean, he was there—that’s how we found you. It had to be him!”
Conrad nodded. “Yes, of course, it was. I merely meant that I intend to look into the matter and ascertain whether or not he was working alone.” As he almost certainly was not. True, Conrad could recall having seen no one else during his captivity, but he was reasonably convinced the tormented, half-crazed creature who had taken such great pleasure in taunting him these past few weeks had possessed neither the sanity nor the intelligence necessary to have conceived of such a scheme on his own.
Marc was still eyeing him curiously. “The person you’d arranged to see…it wasn’t my mother, was it?”
As he took in the hopeful look on Marc’s face, Conrad’s heart clenched with grief. Mignonne. Ah, if only it could be so. He sighed and shook his head. “Of course it wasn’t, Marc. Your mother’s dead. You know this.”
Marc shrugged, looking very young, very lost. “I know. I just thought, maybe…”
“But, if I want to see her, I need only look at you and Julie,” Conrad said quietly. “I see her in you both, very strongly at times.” Getting up from his chair, Conrad went over to the bed where Marc was seated and pulled him to his feet. “Come. That’s enough talk for now.” He put his arms around the boy and hugged him fiercely. “I won’t forget what you did for me tonight, you and your sister. You have my word on that, Marc. I owe you both a great deal.”
Marc hugged him back, a little hesitantly at first. “We were happy to do it. You know that, right? We’d have done anything to get you back, Grandfather. But, Damian…he’s the one who really deserves the credit. I think we’d all be dead now, if it weren’t for him.”
“I know,” Conrad murmured, suppressing a shudder. “Believe me, I know.”
As if on cue, the door to the hallway was thrown open and Damian appeared. “Estoy aquí,” he announced, striking a theatrical pose. “I am here, mi señor. As commanded.”
“So I see.” Conrad’s gaze swept over this, the most headstrong, uncontrollable, infuriating of all his children. He wanted to thank him, too, for all he’d done—not just tonight, but over the past forty years, as well. He wanted to acknowledge him for his loyalty, his courage, his sacrifice. He wanted to admit to the very great debt he owed him—a debt he knew he’d probably never be able to repay.
But the very sight of him lounging in the doorway, his expression insouciant, and with a gleaming white cloth wrapped around his throat, drawing attention to the very wounds it attempted to hide, left Conrad with a feeling that was not completely unlike being kicked in the chest by a heavily shod warhorse. A not-soon-to-be-forgotten sensation, he’d experienced it only once before and thought that enough. He had never had any desire to repeat the experience…until now. Now, he very much suspected he might prefer it.
Relaxing his grip on Marc’s shoulders, Conrad eased the boy away from him, trying hard to keep his temper in check. “If you wouldn’t mind leaving us now, Marc, I would like to speak to your…uncle. Alone.”
“Oh, uh, o-okay.” Marc’s gaze moved back and forth between the two men, his expression vaguely worried, but he uttered no protest as he moved toward the door.
Damian stepped aside to let Marc pass, his gaze never leaving Conrad’s face. The faint, sardonic smile that curved his lips did nothing to improve Conrad’s temper.
“Come in, Damian,” Conrad growled softly. “And shut the door.”
Chapter Twenty
Conrad was angry. That much Damian was having no trouble understanding. Arms crossed, he leaned his shoulder into the doorjamb and watched Conrad pace, not really listening to all the insults that were being hurled at his head. Words like thoughtless, careless, reckless, impulsive—were they touching on anything new here, any ground they hadn’t already covered dozens of times? He seriously doubted it.
“You might consider getting off your feet for a while,” he suggested, when Conrad paused for breath. “Have something to drink, why don’t you? Frankly, querido, you’re still not looking all that well.”
“And the fact that you brought them here!” Conrad continued, not even listening. “Here,
of all places! You put all your lives at risk. You knew I didn’t want them here, damn it. You knew that.”
“Ay, dios mio. Si, si, si. I knew. We discussed it. Many times. And if there had been any other way—”
“Especially not Julie. She looks so much like her mother. That makes it all so much worse, so much more dangerous than you could possibly have known.”
“Ah.” Finally, a point on which they could agree! “Si! How could I know? When have you ever seen fit to mention any of it to me? But, no matter. As it turns out, it’s just as well, I didn’t know, for if I had, I might have hesitated. And if it had not been for that resemblance, we might never have found you. So it all worked out, did it not?”
“Thanks only to the luck that favors fools! It could just as easily have not worked out—did you never think of that?”
Damian sighed. “I did what I thought was best, querido. Can you not just accept that and move on? If you want my opinion, I think it’s good that they’re here now—however it was accomplished. You’ve been putting this off for far too long. They need to be part of our world. You cannot protect them any longer by hiding them away. They’re not children now and it’s dangerous for them to remain so ignorant about the things that concern them.”
“That is not your decision to make,” Conrad growled angrily. “Nor was it your place to let Armand think they were yours. Are you truly insane? You can pretend all you want in public that you find such stunts amusing, but you can’t tell me you didn’t realize the danger you were putting yourself in.”
“I wouldn’t insult your intelligence by suggesting it,” Damian replied with a shrug. “Or my own. But, again, what would you have had me do? You weren’t here. I wasn’t at all certain I’d be able to save you in time. Under the circumstances, I deemed it better for them to appear to be under someone’s protection, in the event there was trouble. Or would you have had me leave them defenseless?”
