by PG Forte
Armand stared at him in surprise. Usually, even the most desperate of the city’s undesirables seemed to possess an instinct that warned them away from his kind. The thought that it was maybe Julie who’d lured this one into taking a chance he should not have taken, that it was her apparent defenselessness being targeted, left him speechless with fury. Even though he knew her to be anything but defenseless.
“Hurry up, man. And don’t think about making a sound—either of you—or I’ll cut you. I’ll cut you both.”
Armand cast a quick, sideways glance at Julie to see how she was reacting to the threat. If this bastard had frightened her… But no, her expression betrayed only mild curiosity, laced with perhaps a touch of amusement. Armand breathed a sigh of relief. Their would-be assailant would probably never know how lucky he’d just gotten.
Armand couldn’t help but smile. Lucky or not, no crime should go unpunished. “Chérie, could I, perhaps, interest you in a little dessert?”
Julie’s brown eyes danced with mischief. Her fangs peeked teasingly from between her lips as she grinned back at him. “Oh, yes, please, Armand. I think we have to—don’t you?”
“Indeed, Mademoiselle. Your wish is my command.”
Before the startled man knew what hit him, Armand had twisted the blade from his hand and pushed him back into the alcove where he’d been lying in wait. He smiled grimly at the surprised dismay on the other’s face. “Now, it’s you who won’t make a sound, eh?”
Bracing the would-be mugger with an arm across his chest, Armand stared deeply into his eyes, impressing his will upon the human until his struggles ceased. Then, almost tenderly, he fisted his hand in his victim’s hair, turned his head to the side and bared his throat.
“Would you do the honors?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder to smile invitingly at Julie.
Nodding, she slid closer. Her breasts jostled Armand’s arm as she leaned in close and stroked her tongue along her victim’s neck. Armand could not have said which of her actions he found the most erotic. He watched, mesmerized, while she prepared the man with her usual exquisite care and then, just when he was certain she was about to begin her meal, she did something that completely surprised him.
She backed away, lowering her eyes in a show of submission as unexpected as it was electrifying. For an instant, Armand had trouble breathing. Never in a million years would he have guessed she’d do something like this. Never in a million years would he have suspected how badly he wanted her to.
He was so startled, so spellbound, he could only stare in amazement until the figure in his grasp began to squirm. Turning, Armand took the man’s throat in his jaws, stunning him with a jolt of venom. He swallowed deeply—allowing himself just the one, warm, satisfying mouthful, and that was enough. He pulled away.
Meeting Julie’s gaze, Armand inclined his head toward the man and murmured humbly, “Please.”
It was all he could think to say and he hoped she’d understand the gesture for what it was, a demonstration of his desire to provide for her, to sacrifice even his own sustenance, to make sure her every need was met…even if it could only ever be symbolic.
After all, it wasn’t as though she couldn’t fend for herself. It wasn’t as though either of them were starving tonight, or even particularly hungry at the moment. Even more importantly, it wasn’t as though they both didn’t still have Conrad to provide and care for them, to sacrifice for them if need be, and to decide for them both whether or not this flirtation they’d begun would be allowed to go forward. In some ways, that was the greatest risk of all.
Right now, however, none of that mattered. She’d given him a gift and he just wanted to do the same for her.
For what felt like a very long moment, Julie studied his face. Her eyes were dark mysteries, revealing nothing of her thoughts. Perhaps her thoughts were not so different from his own. Perhaps she, too, was wondering what Conrad would think about this. Finally, she smiled. Armand sighed with relief—and with pleasure—as her body, warm and pliant, was pressed against his arm once more.
And then, just when he was sure the night could not hold any more surprises, she angled her head, letting him watch as she slowly and deliberately inserted her fangs into the very holes he’d just made. For the second time tonight, breathing became an impossibility.
Armand’s fangs spasmed. Blood surged so quickly through his veins it left him dizzy. The curve of Julie’s neck as she bent to her meal had him aching to taste her. When she paused and glanced over her shoulder at him, and he was certain he read desire in her eyes, his control completely deserted him.
He released his hold on the man in his grasp, leaving him to slide, unheeded, down the wall, and seized Julie by the shoulders. The sweet taste of blood was on her lips, still warm and fresh, as he claimed her mouth. He took no notice of the human as he first crawled, then stumbled away. He was unimportant. The entire world was unimportant. Only she mattered now.
Her scent surrounded him and for one brief instant, a vague sense memory skittered uneasily across the surface of Armand’s thoughts. A faint recollection of something not quite this, but close, very close, tried to form connections within his mind, but then Julie moved more fully into his arms. Meeting him once again on equal terms, she kissed him back and with that, the elusive memory—along with any others that might have followed it—was lost.
Regaining what he could of his control, Armand banded his arms more tightly around Julie’s body. He backed her deeper into the now-deserted doorway, using his own body to shield her from the night, from prying eyes, from any harm that might threaten her. When he came up for air, just long enough to drag one ragged breath into his lungs, she bit softly on his lip. Venom spread swiftly through his system, a warm tide of want that left him reeling with desire.
Worth the risk, he decided as he fell back into her kiss. Their hearts beat rapidly in tandem and now it was his own blood he tasted on her tongue. How was it, he wondered, that his thoughts could be this hazy yet still crystal clear? Or that what once seemed uncertain, should now feel so sure? Definitely worth the risk.
“You think I killed someone?” Marc repeated, startled by the accusation. “Is that supposed to be some kind of joke? You don’t really believe that, do you?”
Elise met his gaze, but only for an instant. The skeptical look in her eyes was not reassuring. Hell yes, she thinks that. He stared back at her, stunned into silence, wondering what he could say to change her mind—or why he should even try. Hadn’t he suspected her of something almost as bad? Didn’t he still?
She shrugged and looked away again, clearly uncomfortable. “Look, Marc, you asked, I told. Now, would you please let me go?”
“No. Not while you’re talking nonsense, I won’t.” He tightened his grip on her arms, giving her a small shake to emphasize his point. “Now you listen to me. This is crap, Elise. I think I’d know it if I’d killed someone and I’m telling you I didn’t. You can either believe me, or…hold on.” He paused as a thought occurred to him. “What if I watched someone die, would that do it?” He held his breath, hoping she’d just answer his question, without asking any in return.
Elise shrugged. “I wouldn’t think so. This is kind of a big deal, Marc, so I can’t imagine it could ever be quite that simple. If proximity were all it took, we’d all be powerhouses. But how could you not know what happened? You must have felt something!”
Marc shook his head. “A little vague much? Felt something when? What kind of something would we be talking about?”
Annoyance flared in her dark eyes along with something that looked a good deal like spite. “How should I know? Why don’t you go and find someone who’s done this kind of thing before and ask him? Ask Conrad. I’m sure he’d be able to tell you, probably better than anyone, how it’s supposed to feel when you’ve drained the life out of a person and taken on the mantle of his or her power. He made quite a career of it, in his younger years, or so I’ve always heard. How else do you think h
e amassed so much wealth?”
“Enough,” Marc snarled, love and loyalty warring with common sense. “Don’t talk about him like that. You hear me? You know nothing about him. Nothing at all.”
It was not the first time he’d heard rumors of dark deeds in Conrad’s past. Even Damian had occasionally dropped hints of such things. But if it existed, it was a side of himself Conrad had never shown to the twins—not once in all the time they’d known him. He’d been strict with them, yes, but always gentle, always fair. If there’d ever been a time he’d been anything else, Marc was not sure he wanted to hear about it. He especially didn’t want to hear about it now.
“I’m sorry,” Elise murmured, her voice subdued. She closed her eyes for a moment and took a long, shaky breath. “Please let me go?”
Marc bit back a growl. He could smell the fear as it rose from her skin. Damn it, he wasn’t trying to frighten her. “Sure.” He released her shoulders and backed up a step, his hands held high. “Whatever you say. Just don’t kick me out yet, all right? I need help.”
Elise said nothing. He watched as she crossed to her easel and picked up a palette knife. His eyebrows rose and for an instant he felt like laughing at the absurdity. Was she planning to attack him with that thing? Or merely attempting to arm herself in case he attacked her? She picked up a tube of paint and squirted a crimson splotch onto the waiting palette. Marc sighed. Okay, then. Maybe she just wanted to paint. He wasn’t altogether certain whether he felt relieved about that or disappointed. A little tussle could have been fun; a small lesson even more so.
He watched as she applied several slashes of color to the canvas—red and black and yellow. The colors of anger. The colors of fear. No wonder he preferred her earlier work.
“So, who was he?” she asked after several moments had passed. After Marc had gone back to sitting on her couch and she had transferred a good portion of her fear onto the canvas.
He knew immediately what she meant. It was the question he’d been expecting all night, the question he’d been hoping she wouldn’t think to ask. He feigned ignorance, just the same. “What do you mean? Who was who?”
“The vampire you said you watched die. Who was he?”
Marc studied her profile for a moment, wishing he had some idea what she was thinking. “Why ask? You already know the answer to that. Don’t you?”
Elise’s shoulders sagged as she turned from her easel, her face grim. “Vincent. I guess I was hoping you’d tell me I was wrong.”
“And what were you hoping for when you sent me after him?” Marc asked, crossing the room again to stand in front of her. “That he’d kill me, instead? You had to know it would end badly for one of us.”
Elise shook her head, her expression grim. “Actually…no. I did not know that. Not for certain. I was foolish enough to hope the two of you might find a way to settle your differences without bloodshed.”
Marc stared at her, surprised. “You seriously expected me to try and reason with a madman? Funny, I hadn’t figured you for the rose-colored-glasses type. There was no way that could have happened. But if it’s any consolation, there wasn’t all that much.”
Elise frowned. “There wasn’t that much what?”
“Bloodshed. It was quick. Probably painless. Not that he deserved painless, by the way, but he really didn’t bleed at all.”
“He didn’t bleed…” Elise repeated slowly, her tone guarded. “I don’t understand. How is that possible? He is dead, isn’t he? I mean, isn’t that what you’re saying? And you’re certain that’s the case?”
“Dead certain,” Marc quipped, trying hard to keep a lid on his temper. “Dead and burned, to be precise. Sorry if things didn’t pan out the way you hoped they would.”
A faint flush appeared on Elise’s cheeks. Her eyes gleamed darkly. “Don’t be absurd.”
What was that look in her eyes, Marc wondered. Was it anger? Sorrow? Guilt? “That place was a death trap, Elise. You knew it and you sent me out there anyway. You had to know one of us wasn’t making it out of that stinking cavern alive. The question all along has been which of us you were betting on. And, I gotta tell you, the way you’re reacting right now…well, it’s not what I’d call reassuring.”
This time there was no mistaking the fear on Elise’s face. Her eyes had taken on a metallic sheen. When she nervously licked her lips her fangs were visible. “What exactly are you blaming me for, Marc? I didn’t send you anywhere. You’re a big boy. You made the decision to go after Vincent all on your own. You asked where you could find him and I told you. If you’ll recall, I also told you not to go out there by yourself. If you didn’t think trying to hunt him down could prove dangerous, even after I’d warned you about his mental state, then maybe you’re the one who was being naive. Vincent was…not well. He hadn’t been himself for quite some time. I’m happy he didn’t kill you, sugar. That’s the truth, whether or not you believe it. But Vincent was my friend once too, and that’s how I choose to remember him. So you’ll excuse me if I can’t share your joy at the news of his demise.”
Marc considered her argument. He really couldn’t find fault with anything she’d said. She could still be lying, of course, but for the first time in months he felt like he had a reason to trust her. It was a huge relief.
“Fair enough,” he said at last, nodding slightly as he played her words back to himself yet again. “And as long as you’re not expecting me to share your sorrow, I guess we’re okay.” That was the one thing he couldn’t do. Not after witnessing all the hell Vincent had put Conrad through. But she didn’t know about that and he wouldn’t fault her for her loyalty to her friend. No matter how misplaced he believed that loyalty to be.
“Now, put away your teeth,” he said as he gently removed the palette knife from her hand and pulled her toward him. “Unless you’ve another use planned for them, that is.”
He needed to give some serious thought to the evening’s revelations. He’d need to find someone with wisdom and experience to advise him. But later for that. For the past few months he’d let fear and his own guilt keep him out of Elise’s bed. That was a mistake, and it was past time he rectified it.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she asked, still gazing warily at him, even as she let herself be drawn into his arms.
Marc leaned in to feather kisses along her jawline. “Well, the way I look at it, we just had our first fight. So I figure now’s the perfect time for a little make-up sex.” He pulled aside the collar of her shirt and let his questing tongue trace over the veins in her neck.
Elise shivered in response. He could hear the fevered rushing of her blood. The fingers that clutched his arms trembled. So did her voice. “I don’t know about this, Marc. Do you really think it’s a good idea?”
“Oh, yeah.” Marc smiled as his mouth located the exact spot he’d been searching for. “I think it’s an excellent idea. And don’t act coy. You want it too. Besides, it’s either this or coffee.”
Chapter Nine
Drew was the only one left in the club when Marc returned to Akeldama. “Hey. Sorry I’m late,” Marc called in greeting as he crossed to the bar where his friend, ledger in hand, appeared to be inventorying the stock. “You about ready to go?”
Drew turned and shot Marc a quick, appraising glance. “You’re back. Good. I was beginning to think I’d made a serious mistake in letting you go off on your own with that feral.”
Marc stared at him in surprise. “Is that supposed to be a joke? What’d you think she was gonna do? Roll me in the alley?”
Drew shrugged. “Who knows what kind of trouble she might have caused you? I certainly wasn’t looking forward to having to inform Conrad if you’d come to any harm.”
Conrad’s boy. The words whispered in Marc’s head. He groaned in annoyance. “Oh, hell. Not you too? Look, I don’t know why everyone has the idea I can’t make a move without Conrad’s say-so, but it isn’t true. So quit acting like I’m not allowed to cross the street by mys
elf.”
Drew laughed grimly. “I’m sorry if you feel yourself inconvenienced by our concern for your well-being, Marc, but that’s just the way things work around here. The only opinion that counts is Conrad’s. As long as you’re the favorite son, so to speak, everyone’s going to be dancing on eggshells to ensure we don’t do anything to you that might cause him to take offense. Whether or not you take offense is entirely irrelevant.”
Marc felt his temper spike. “So is that why you offered me the job? Because you were trying to please Conrad?”
Drew’s eyes widened in surprise. “No. To be honest, the thought never entered my mind. I just thought it was good business. You’re a big hit with the customers and you’re in here all the time anyway. Why not make it worthwhile for both of us?”
“Okay then. Good to know.”
“But, speaking of your working here, you should know I like to keep my employees happy, safe and protected—even from themselves. The humans we employ to serve us are a lot like children. They don’t react well if you raise their expectations only to disappoint them. Danny was waiting half the night for you to get back. I finally sent him home just a few minutes ago.”
“I know. And there’s nothing to worry about. I caught up with him outside, just as he was leaving. He’s all taken care of. Couldn’t leave my main man hanging, right?” He smiled at the memory. It had been a brief snack—he hadn’t wanted to blunt his appetite for tonight’s hunt, after all—but still satisfying.
“Glad to hear it. Good workers aren’t all that easy to find, after all, and they’re even harder to keep. Danny’s one of the best we have. He’s fast, dependable, not easily spooked—”
Marc snorted. “Yeah, not much. All evidence to the contrary, right?”
Drew’s frown deepened. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Oh, come on, Drew. What do you think it means? You saw how he reacted to Heather. That wasn’t spooked? Please.”
“Heather? Am I supposed to know who that is?”
