Now Comes the Night

by P. G. Forte

  “So you asked him his intentions? How splendid. I’m sure he couldn’t possibly have found anything at all unusual about that.”

  “No, no. Nothing so obvious. I merely allowed her name to come up in conversation and then asked him for his thoughts. Oh, and I may have also mentioned how badly I thought you might possibly react were anyone to attempt to lead Julie on or toy with her affections in any way. But I do think he’d already figured that part out on his own.”

  “Yes. I’ve no doubt he did.” Conrad lay back against his pillows and closed his eyes, feeling more than a twinge of regret. Unfortunately, Armand was no stranger to Conrad’s temper either. “I’m sure it wasn’t at all necessary for you to caution him, Damian. He’s quite intelligent, you know, and would surely never be so foolish as to go against my wishes and risk… Well, and risk angering me.” Conrad’s voice faltered a little as memories assaulted him of an eerily similar conversation he’d once had, a conversation about Armand and Julie’s mother—another girl in whom he’d taken a more-than-casual interest. Conrad’s head reeled at the implications. As little as Damian might like being allied with Armand, Conrad was sure he’d absolutely abhor being compared to Georgia. Best not to mention it then.

  After a moment, it occurred to Conrad that Damian had fallen silent as well, uncharacteristically so. Curious, Conrad opened his eyes again. He was surprised at the dark look on Damian’s face, the distance in his gaze. Was he angry? Was he upset with Conrad again? Had he somehow guessed the trend of Conrad’s thoughts? “So…you were saying you agreed with Armand on some topic?”

  Damian nodded, but his eyes remained bleak and his voice, when he answered, held little of its usual animation. “Sí. The lack of interest she shows in socializing with other vampires, her clear preference for humans. It’s as disturbing as Marc’s involvement with the ferals—and equally inexplicable. It’s not good for her, Conrad. Shouldn’t she be showing a little interest in someone after all this time? Even Armand would be an improvement!”

  “And what do you mean by that, I wonder? She could do much worse for herself than Armand.”

  Damian grimaced. “Exactly my point. And so she is. But, again, my main concern right now is that her behavior might lead people to wonder if she does not, perhaps, regret being turned. Or even if it were not her decision to make. Which, of course, it was not.”

  Conrad’s eyes narrowed. “We’ve talked about this already, have we not? I’m confident no one would even dare to suggest I might have forced such a thing on anyone. I do hope this is not just another attempt on your part to convince me to let you take credit for siring the twins, because as I told you once already, I will not allow it. The subject is not open for discussion.”

  “No, no. That’s not it at all.” Damian quickly shook his head. “I assure you, I have quite given up on that idea. It’s just… I only want our girl to be happy, Conrad—and safe too, that goes without saying—which means blending in much more than she has been and…”

  “Go on. What else is troubling you?” He knew there was more. The indecisive expression on Damian’s face told him that much.

  Damian sighed. “Well, she does seem to be falling rather hard for Brennan, you know.”

  “Yes, and what of it? I thought you approved of the boy? Was it not you who urged me to agree to her request that she keep him to herself?”

  “As a divertissement, sí, certainly. It benefited them both, or so I thought. He was being overworked and she needed some way to occupy her time, but…”

  “But?” Conrad prompted once more when the silence again threatened to continue unabated.

  This time, Damian had the grace to look embarrassed. “I didn’t think they would become so serious, so enamored with each other. Now I very much fear it will end in heartbreak.”

  Conrad snorted derisively. What was there to wonder about? However or whenever it ended, heartbreak was inevitable. Such was the case with any affaire de coeur. It was a fact of life, as dependable as gravity.

  “I just wish she could find someone who would not grow old so soon, or die too young, or otherwise leave her bereft after only a few years. Someone who will continue to be there for her, for as long as she needs him. Someone we might even eventually, perhaps, be able to trust with the truth about her and Marc.”

  Conrad sighed. “You worry too much.” He and Damian both knew—and all too well—the pain one courted when one opened one’s heart in such a fashion, giving oneself over to a love that was doomed to die. Perhaps it was not the kind of thing either of them would wish on their daughter, but what was one to do? To seize the day, to hold tight with both hands to whatever bright bits of joy the world offered—in the end, was that not what life was all about? But maybe Damian did not feel the same. Did the love not outweigh the loss for him?

  For a moment, Conrad considered asking. He was sure Damian would not hesitate to tell him his thoughts on the matter, even if the answer was not to Conrad’s liking, but he wasn’t all that sure he wanted to know. Words, once uttered, could not be unspoken and sometimes too much honesty between lovers was worse than too little. “So we’re matchmaking now, are we?” he asked instead, hoping to tease Damian out of his glum mood. “My dear, if you wished to throw a party so that Julie may find herself a husband, why did you not say so from the start? And, that being the case, I’m sure you won’t mind if I avoid it as my presence there would likely only serve to scare away her prospective suitors.”

  Damian frowned crossly. “Must I ask you again to be serious? It’s not like you to be so cavalier about these things, Conrad. You are in a very strange mood tonight.”

  “Yes? Well, I could say the same about you.” Conrad’s happy mood was gone now. Instead, he was feeling hungry and grumpy and distinctly out of sorts. “Stop complaining. What will be, will be. We can only do our best for them. Besides, it was you who chose the time for this annoying conversation. I had it in mind to engage in other activities this evening.”

  Despite being in agreement with Damian about Julie’s chances of finding lasting happiness with Brennan, Conrad was still not convinced it wasn’t better to allow her to continue on her present course. Dating within her species was equally hazardous—never mind dating someone as quick-witted as Armand. He was inquisitive and she had secrets. That did not make for a felicitous combination in Conrad’s mind. Rather, it seemed a guaranteed recipe for disaster.

  Just thinking of that left Conrad almost unbearably depressed. He cared so very much for them both. If only circumstances were different, it would have given him great joy to see them happy together. As it was, how could he ever allow either of them to take such a risk? How could it possibly work out? How could that not end in a tragedy much worse than simple heartbreak?

  Damian sighed. “It was all so much easier when the children were small.”

  Conrad stared at him in surprise. “Caro, it was never easy.”

  “Wasn’t it?” Damian shrugged. “Ah, well, perhaps you’re right. But it seems so now, doesn’t it? Looking back on it?”

  “Hindsight, my dear, is rarely the clear lens it’s so often assumed to be. I find it almost always contains an element of distortion.” Raising the twins had been a daunting task, a perilous undertaking. Every step of the way had been fraught with danger. Conrad was very well aware that the fact they’d succeeded was due in no small part to Damian’s efforts. Surely allowing him to throw the occasional party was little enough recompense. “So, tell me, when is this proposed gala to take place?” Though he tried to put a brave face on it, Conrad’s spirits, already low, sank to an even new low when a terrible new thought assailed him. “Please, caro, you’re not going to suggest Christmas, are you?”

  Anything but that. The memories of the last Christmas party Conrad had thrown here were still too raw, too painful. Not even for Damian’s sake could he put himself through something like that—never mind what it would do to Armand! No. He couldn’t. It would be too cruel.

  “No, I
was thinking New Year’s Eve. Maybe something formal. You remember, don’t you Conrad? How much the children always enjoyed the parties we threw when they were younger?”

  But what Conrad remembered most about those parties had nothing to do with the children. He bit back a sigh and nodded. “Yes.”

  Damian hesitated. “Is that ‘yes to the party’ or ‘yes, you remember’?”

  “Yes to both.” Conrad forced a smile. “And since you’ve mentioned it would be formal, might I at least assume you won’t be insisting on our all wearing costumes this time around?”

  “Oh, no. No costumes. Just the masks will do.”

  “Masks?” Conrad growled in frustration. “Is that really necessary?”

  Damian shrugged. “Well, not strictly necessary, no. And certainly you need not wear one, if you don’t wish to. ‘Your house’ and all of that. I’m sure no one will be in the least surprised if you choose not to. But I did think it might make things more comfortable for Marc. If he and everyone else were wearing masks, it’s bound to make his disfigurement less obvious, don’t you agree? So yes, to answer your question, I did intend to stipulate on the invitations that this was to be a masked ball. Unless you really don’t want me to?”

  “No, go ahead. Do as you please.” As long as it was clear that he himself was exempt from Damian’s edicts, Conrad didn’t really care what his lover saw fit to require from the rest of the nest. “As long as it makes you happy, my dear. That’s really all I care about.”

  A look of pleased surprise crept over Damian’s face. He smiled and ducked his head. “Me haces feliz.” You make me happy.

  Conrad smiled back at him. “Muchas gracias, mi amor. Me haces muy feliz también.” You make me very happy as well. “And, now, if you’re certain there’s nothing else you wish to ask me for…?”

  Damian laughed softly. “Oh, I didn’t say that. I believe you mentioned something about ‘other activities’ we could be engaging in? We still have time for that, do we not?”

  A soft snarl rose in Conrad’s throat. The hunger awoke more fully within him, like a cat stretching and purring with pleasurable intent. “Yes,” he said as he speared his fingers into Damian’s hair. “Yes, I believe we do.”

  Chapter Three

  July, 1973

  Music shook the ground beneath Damian’s feet as he surveyed the audience attending the outdoor concert. The air around him vibrated like a living thing. It danced across his skin like a lover’s caress. He breathed deep, inhaling the mingled scents of patchouli and pot smoke and hot, sweaty bodies pressed close together. Most of all—most importantly of all—he smelled the rich, life-giving, mouth-watering scent of all that blood running just beneath the surface.

  Hoping to give his ears a rest, he had stationed himself on a patch of bare earth and trampled grass behind one of the large speakers that had been set up in the fairground’s open field while he looked the crowd over, seeking suitable prey.

  Despite the noise and the other distractions, outdoor concerts like this one were among Damian’s favorite hunting grounds these days, offering the chance for a little entertainment coupled with nutrition and, more often than not, the opportunity to slake a little of his sexual hunger as well. The darkness, the crowds, the multiplicity of secluded corners, all provided excellent camouflage. And the drugs and alcohol ingested by most of the attendees guaranteed they’d remember little of their encounters with him, and believe even less.

  He felt a tinge of envy as he scanned the crowd of people with their blissed-out expressions. It had been so long since he’d felt anything like that himself. As a vampire, he’d proved immune so far to every manmade mind or mood-altering drug he’d encountered and so was denied the peace that might have come from being able to temporarily forget the pain, the loss, the regrets, the mistakes—all the suffering that was an inevitable part of being alive.

  Just as well, he supposed. Living forever was difficult enough without the need to be battling multiple addictions added to it. Still, it would be nice, every now and again, to be able to relax his guard and set grim reality aside. There was very little that could give him that longed-for respite. Vampire venom, if it were strong enough, or supplied in large enough quantities might do so, but given his current living situation and the choices he and Conrad had both made, his chances of scoring a sizable hit in the foreseeable future were slim to none.

  This was not the time to indulge in useless self-pity, so he pushed the melancholy thoughts away and continued his search. Usually, and especially at events like these, he liked to linger over his meals, to play the field, sample what more than a few generous “donors” had to offer. In short, to make a night of it. Tonight, however, he was not hunting for himself. The children were hungry. Pickings had been slim the past few nights and they needed to be fed. It was his job to find a suitable source of sustenance and bring it home to them as soon as could be.

  Just then, his gaze landed on exactly what he was looking for. A young man, isolated from the crowd, was dancing by himself at the edge of the lawn, conveniently close to the boxwood hedge that separated the concert grounds from the parking lot beyond.

  A shining mop of sun-streaked brown hair gleamed gold and bronze as the dancer moved and swayed to the music. Damian cocked his head to the side and studied his potential prey more closely. The boy, for surely he was no more than eighteen or twenty, looked to be in good health, young and strong and of a decent size for Damian’s purposes. The fact that he moved with an athletic, sensual grace that couldn’t help but catch Damian’s attention and whet his appetite for more than just blood, was entirely beside the point.

  If circumstances were different, Damian would have taken great pleasure in joining him in his dance, maneuvering the boy even farther from the crowd, taking him back behind the row of trees and experiencing for himself how that lithe, muscular body would feel as it moved against his own. Sadly, he had no time to waste on such things right now.

  Still pondering life’s many injustices, Damian began his approach. The boy had shut his eyes as he danced. He was spinning ‘round in circles now with his arms extended outward as though he were flying. Clearly, he was lost in his own private world. A very good thing from Damian’s perspective.

  Most people could be disarmed with no more than a glance and a softly worded suggestion. If he could get within biting range before his prey was even aware of his approach it would make his job even easier. One venomous bite would relax the boy’s muscles, breach his emotional defenses and leave him open to suggestion. Two would silence whatever feeble protests he might still have felt like making. Three, on the other hand, would likely be too much. It could render him unconscious—a last resort obviously, since that would unnecessarily complicate the matter of getting him discreetly into the parking lot where Damian’s van was waiting.

  Easiest of all, and by far the most pleasurable option, would be if the boy were to leave willingly, to accompany Damian for reasons that had nothing at all to do with threats or coercion or the kind of encouragement that could only be found at the tip of an exposed fang. The odds of that happening might be slim, but they were far from impossible. And, with instincts honed by over four hundred years of dealing with men like himself, men whose blood burned hot for other men, Damian was not without hope in this case.

  The dancer’s eyes opened when Damian was still a few feet away. Heat flared in their sea-blue depths as he came to a complete stop and simply stared. A slight flush mounted the boy’s cheeks and Damian’s sensitive hearing had no trouble picking up the increase in his heart rate. Encouraged, he moved closer, making no attempt to disguise his own interest.

  As Damian’s gaze swept boldly over the boy’s lanky frame he found further confirmation that his initial suspicions were correct. The young man’s narrow chest, clearly visible beneath the sheer, white, Indian cotton shirt he wore, heaved quickly. The jeans he wore were faded and snug—and growing more snug by the second.

  “Hi.” The bo
y’s first attempt at speech was a breathy squeak. “I mean…” He cleared his throat and tried again, tossing his hair back and adding a somewhat lopsided smile to his greeting. “Hey, man. Like, what’s happening?”

  Damian bit back a laugh at the young man’s flustered attempts at sounding “cool”. His smile turned carnal. “Hello. I couldn’t help noticing you, all by yourself over here, and I was wondering if, perhaps, you might be interested in going somewhere a little more private?”

  “Wi-with you?” The boy’s eyes grew even wider. His Adam’s apple bobbed rapidly as he swallowed several times in quick succession. “I-I sure! Did you mean, like…like, now? Yeah, I could…I could do that. Definitely. Where…um I mean, where did you want to go?”

  “Not far.” Damian chuckled softly, amused by the way the boy continued to stare at him as though he were a dream come true, the answer to every prayer he’d ever made. It was endearing. He nodded toward a gap in the hedge that led to the parking lot. “Come with me.”

  The boy practically jumped into motion. Hurrying across the grass in Damian’s wake, then more carefully picking his way over the loose rocks and exposed roots that lined the shortcut. “I, uh, I’m Paul, by the way.”

  Damian’s steps slowed to a stop. He’d expected this to be an anonymous encounter. Most casual pick-ups were, after all. At least in his experience. And he’d assumed Paul’s understanding of this would be in line with his own.

  Damian turned and eyed the boy more carefully. Up close, he looked even younger than Damian had originally guessed. Doubts assailed him. Even vampires had standards, after all. “How old are you, Paul?”