by PG Forte
Damn vampires for their complete lack of morals. Why couldn’t Conrad have behaved like a normal parent and mentioned—sometime before this morning—what great friends Armand and her mother had been? But why ask? This was exactly the kind of thing he never would talk about. For that matter, it was exactly the kind of thing she didn’t want to talk about either. Not even with Damian. Not even with Marc.
She feigned indifference as Armand crossed the room, barely hiding her dismay when he came to a stop right beside her. “Hey, I’ve been looking for you.”
“Oh, yeah?” She kept her gaze focused on the glass in front of her and purposely made her voice as vague as possible. “That’s nice. Why’s that?”
“I was wondering…what did you do with the suitcase you found in the attic last night?”
“The suitcase?” Not what she’d been expecting. She chanced another glance in his direction. His hazel eyes appeared troubled, his expression concerned. She felt her own expression start to soften and quickly reined in her emotions. “Why do you want to know?”
“Because I’ve just come from there and it’s gone.”
“Well, you have nothing to worry about. It’s in a safe place.”
A frown creased Armand’s brow. “What does that mean?”
Julie resumed her study of the glass on the table in front of her. “It means if you’re afraid Conrad’s still planning on throwing all that stuff away—or that he already has—then don’t be. I told him I wanted to keep it and he said okay.”
“I don’t understand. Are you saying you have it?”
“That’s right.” Julie’s temper spiked. The inflection in his voice, the hint of annoyance, the way he’d said you—what was that? Was she some kind of leper now? For three months he’d looked at her as if she were someone special, someone he’d really like to get to know better. There’d been a light in his eyes, a warmth in his voice. That was all gone now.
“Well, I’d like it back, if it’s all the same to you.”
Julie’s jaw tightened. It wasn’t the same to her. Not even close. She shifted the pieces of glass around again, still searching for the perfect design. “Why? What are you going to do with it? It’s mostly clothes, you know. Girls’ clothes. It’s not like you’re gonna wear them or anything.”
“That’s not the point.” Armand pulled one of the chairs out and sat, gazing earnestly at her. “All those things…they have a sentimental value for me, all right?”
For her too. Not that she could ever say so. “Wow. She must have been pretty special, whoever she was, if you’re still carrying a torch for her after all this time.”
“Oui. She was. Very special.”
Right. Julie bit back an angry growl. Well, she’d asked for it, hadn’t she? And, now, how freaking great was this? She was jealous of her own mother. Who was forty years dead. But whose hold on Armand’s affections still clearly surpassed her own.
Or maybe that wasn’t what bothered her either? Maybe it was Armand she was jealous of; because he’d known her mother. He’d seen her smile, heard her laugh, maybe he even knew what it would have felt like if she’d wrapped her arms around you and held you tight. He knew things Julie could only wonder about; things she’d always wanted, never had and never would have.
Whichever of them she was jealous of, one thing was certain. The feeling sucked.
Julie picked up another piece of glass—a heart this time—and stared moodily at it. She was not giving any of this up. Not for anyone. She felt so close to her mother when she touched her things, closer than she ever had before. And yet…still not close enough. Never close enough.
“Look, could you stop playing with those things for a minute?” Armand snapped. “I’m trying to have a conversation with you.”
Julie’s hand clenched hard on the glass heart. “I’m not playing. I’m trying to figure out how I want to put them together.”
“Well, could you stop? What are they anyway?”
“Pieces of a wind chime. Duh.”
“What?”
“A wind chime. You know, like the one in your room?”
Armand’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Where did you get those?”
“They were in the suitcase.”
“No, they weren’t.” He shook his head. “They couldn’t have been. I packed that bag myself and I’m certain no one’s touched it since. If those had been in there, I’d have remembered.”
He sounds just like Marc, Julie thought angrily, always challenging her viewpoint, dismissing what she had to say, never even stopping to consider that maybe—just maybe—she knew what she was talking about. She couldn’t help but respond with a challenge of her own. “Oh, really? You remember everything that well, huh? After all this time?”
Armand nodded at the glass. “I’d have remembered those if I’d ever seen them before.”
“How about a little gold gift box tied up with a red ribbon and addressed to Conrad. D’you remember seeing that?”
“You opened it?” Armand demanded, half rising from his seat. “You had no right.”
“I gave it to Conrad,” Julie corrected. Okay, so, technically, she had opened it. But that really wasn’t what Armand was asking, was it?
“Ah.” Armand’s mouth twisted. He sat back down, averting his gaze as he did, as though he couldn’t bear to look at her anymore, as though the mere sight of her sickened him. “Of course. And he gave it to you. Is that it?”
There was that you again. Julie scowled. “No, he asked me to put it together for him. But, speaking of rights, what right did you have to keep it from him all this time? I asked him, you know. He didn’t even know it was there.”
Armand shrugged. “I was afraid to tell him about it. Who knew what he’d do? I thought it might upset him even more.”
“But why? What was he upset about anyway? He seemed fine this morning. Why did he want you to throw all this stuff out in the first place?”
“It’s a long story.”
“I’m listening.”
He shook his head. “It’s not my story to tell.” He gazed at her searchingly. “You’re not going to let me have the suitcase back, are you?”
He looked so sad, so…vulnerable. Julie wanted to console him, to comfort him, to offer assurances. But the very words that might have allowed her to do so were the ones she was forbidden to speak. Either way, her answer would have been the same. “No. I’m not. But, for what it’s worth, I promise I’ll take very good care of her things.”
Armand got to his feet. “I appreciate that. It’s very kind of you and I’m sure you mean it, too. But, I’m afraid it’s not good enough.” He crossed to the door, pulled it open and then turned back for one last look, one parting shot. “This isn’t over, you know.”
“That’s what you think.” Julie sighed with regret as she watched the door close behind him. Whatever they had, or might have had, it was definitely over now.
Marc leaned back against the bar and swept the club’s interior with a proprietary glance. Satisfaction settled inside him. Agreeing to come to work for Drew had been a brilliant idea. He’d always enjoyed the time he’d spent here, always felt like he belonged, but now it was official. He had authority, prestige, a title—all of which made being here even better than before.
In a way, it was a little bit like his relationship with Elise. As good as things had been between them last summer, what they had now was better, hotter, more satisfying; and all due, in large part, to the inexplicable difference in him.
It was strange how so much could change—seemingly overnight, seemingly without cause. Not that he cared all that much about the reasons why. Maybe it was nothing more than the effects of aging. He had just had a birthday, after all.
“You’re due to take a break soon, aren’t you, Fischer?” Drew asked, sidling up to the bar beside him.
“I suppose I am.” Marc turned to face him. Drew’s typically genial smile was tacked firmly in place but his eyes appeared a touch more thou
ghtful than usual. “Why? What’s up?”
“I think you should take it now. Your girlfriend’s here. Why don’t you go and see what she wants.”
“Elise is here?” The news took Marc by surprise. Coming into the Quintano-owned club had to be just one short step removed from showing up at the Quintano mansion, from Elise’s perspective—and he’d heard enough about her views on the likelihood of that ever happening the night before. More than enough.
Drew frowned. “Is that the name you told me the other night? I can’t remember what you said you’re calling her. I’m talking about your pet feral.”
“Oh. Heather.” Marc’s spirits fell, but whether he was disappointed at the idea of not seeing Elise until after work or over the fact that Heather had ignored his advice and come back here after all, he couldn’t say. Maybe it was both. Obviously this time he’d have to try harder to get his point across. He scanned the club again, impatiently. “Where? I don’t see her.”
“Sorry. I guess I wasn’t clear. She’s outside. She won’t come in, for some reason—not that I’m ungrateful for that, don’t get me wrong—but she’s not leaving either. Says she needs to talk to you, or some such nonsense. Apparently, she won’t go until she sees you.”
“She won’t come in?” Marc felt a wide, triumphant grin spread across his face. He jostled Drew’s shoulder. “That’s right, bro. She won’t come in ’cause I told her not to. Ha! And you said ferals couldn’t be trained.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Drew rolled his eyes. “Except they can’t.” He frowned suspiciously at Marc. “You wouldn’t happen to have…oh, I dunno, maybe turned her by accident, or something, and then forgot about it, did you?”
“What?” Although he and his sister had no personal recollection of their experience with being turned, they’d both received a very thorough explanation of the process from Damian, who had claimed it was important they know about such things. There had even been a follow-up session with Conrad, who’d answered all their questions on the subject and made it very clear that under no circumstances were they ever to attempt to test out what they’d been taught. “Drew, have you lost your mind? How could I do something like that and just forget?”
Drew shrugged. “That I can’t say, and I grant you it sounds absurd, but I’ve been thinking about it and I can’t come up with any other explanation for what’s been going on. She’s been coming around here almost as long as you have, which is odd enough on its own because her kind aren’t known for being consistent. Plus it appears she listens to you, and ferals don’t listen to anyone. Not without regular beatings. Or so I’ve heard.”
At the mention of beatings, Marc’s temper flared. “Hey! I told you. No one touches her.” He’d had a word with the bouncers earlier—just in case—now, he wondered if he’d said enough.
“And that’s another thing. You’re way too protective. It’s not normal.”
Marc growled. “I’ll tell you what’s not normal—all these stupid ideas you’re spouting. Besides, she remembers her sire and I’m not him. I just don’t want to see her get hurt. What’s so wrong about that?”
Drew signaled the bartender for a drink. “Relax, Fischer. I have no intention of hurting the girl. As long as she stays out of my club, I have no reason to, all right? I’m just repeating what everyone knows to be true.” He sighed and shook his head. “Look, we could stand here and debate this all night, but why don’t you just go and see what she wants, okay?”
Heather was pacing the sidewalk when Marc stepped outside to look for her. Her hands were jammed in her pockets, white teeth worrying her lower lip. She kept her gaze on the ground, as though she were afraid to so much as cast her eyes on all the prey passing by.
Anxiety radiated from her and the bouncers had her firmly in their sights; but although everyone attempting to enter the club gave her a very wide berth, Marc was pleased to see that nobody appeared to be giving her a hard time.
“What are you doing here?” he asked as he approached.
“Marc.” She swung around to face him, eyes shining with relief. “I’m so hungry. You’ll help me, won’t you? Please?”
Hungry—yes, he could see that. Marc’s gut roiled as he took in the signs: the shakiness, the sunken eyes, the too-pale skin, the parched look to her mouth. “Why haven’t you been eating? Don’t tell me you’ve already forgotten everything I taught you?”
Heather’s head jerked sideways back and forth. “No. Of course I haven’t. I just…I-I can’t. I’m so hungry I can’t think straight. I don’t know what to do and I don’t want to hurt anybody else but I don’t have any venom left and…and I’m afraid if I start feeding, I won’t be able to stop.”
“All right, come here.” He took hold of her arm and pulled her around the corner and into the alley, out of sight of prying eyes. “Of course I’ll help you. Let me give you a little something first.” He undid one cuff and rolled up his sleeve. “This’ll tide you over until we find you a meal.”
“No. I can’t.” Heather shook her head when he offered his arm. “I’ll hurt you.”
Smiling encouragement, Marc used his other hand to pull her to him. “You really think I’m worried about what a little thing like you is gonna do to me? C’mon, sweetheart, I’m tough. I can take it.” His smile slipped away when she continued to hesitate. “Heather,” he growled, annoyed by her defiance. “Don’t make me say it again. Eat.”
Heather took hold of his arm reluctantly. She drew a shaky breath and bit down and Marc had to force himself not to pull away when the pain shot up his arm. It was blessedly brief, but still sharp enough to wring a soft grunt from his lips.
Why am I doing this, he wondered, while the blood roared in his ears. He wrapped his free arm around her waist and pulled her close, cradling her against his chest. The way he felt about her made absolutely no sense. He barely knew her, he had no interest in taking her to bed and he certainly didn’t owe her anything. And yet, all the same, here he was, ready to take on all comers in her defense, content to just stand here and let her take what she needed from him.
“All right, that’s probably enough,” he said when she paused for breath. She retracted her fangs, but held onto his arm for a moment longer; long enough to carefully wipe her tongue across the wounds she’d made. Marc chuckled. He was touched by her thoughtfulness, misplaced though it was. He was a vampire, not some random neck. His body would heal just as quickly with or without her help.
“Feeling better now?” he asked as he unrolled his sleeve and buttoned the cuff back up.
Heather nodded. “Yes, thank you.”
“So talk to me. Tell me what happened. What’ve you been doing that you managed to use up all your venom and still not get fed?”
Heather’s eyes turned wary. She backed away, scanning the alley, as though looking for a way out. “I-I can’t tell you that. Please, I-I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Stop it.” Marc grabbed hold of her wrist to keep her from bolting. “I’m just trying to help you, damn it.” Anger surged within him. Someone had frightened her—was still frightening her, someone whose hold on her was stronger than his own. Who? Did she have a lover, some selfish prick who wanted her venom all to himself and didn’t care whether she lived or died? Or was it something else, something worse? Had she been fighting? He scanned her up and down, searching her skin for evidence of the beatings Drew had mentioned, even though he knew it was wasted effort. Most wounds would heal within minutes. Only outright mutilation would leave a lasting impression. “Are you all right? Has someone been hurting you?”
“Don’t ask me. Please. Just let it go.”
It was the “please” that did it. He couldn’t disregard her pleas. “I can’t help you if you won’t tell me what’s wrong.”
“I know.”
“Right.” He sighed heavily. “Well, c’mon. Let’s go get you some food—then I have to get back to work.”
“Everything under control?” Drew asked when Marc returned to the
club.
Marc nodded. He ordered a glass of water and drank half of it down before answering. “Everything’s fine. Girl was just looking to improve her technique. Wanted some hunting tips.”
“Which you were pleased to give her, I’ve no doubt.” Drew eyed him closely. “I hope, while you were at it, you thought to suggest she not kill or maim any of her prey? That would be a worthwhile tip, I should think. Assuming she can remember it.”
Marc arched one eyebrow. “I told you the other night, she’ll do fine. She just needed a little guidance.”
“I hope you’re right,” Drew replied with a shrug. “And who knows? Perhaps, if she actually manages to live up to all these high expectations you have for her, you may even have saved her life.”
May have saved her life? Marc frowned. May have? What the fuck was up with that? As far as he was concerned, he had saved her life. Or had he not made his position clear enough? He opened his mouth to correct the oversight, but stopped when he realized he’d lost Drew’s attention. He turned to find Georgia approaching them. Just like the night before, the crowd parted deferentially.
“Lady Lancaster,” Drew murmured reverently. “I’d heard you were back in town. Welcome to Akeldama. You honor us with your presence.” Marc’s eyes widened as Drew lifted the lady’s hand to his lips. Sometimes he forgot how very old school his friend could be.
Georgia beamed at Drew, favoring him with a coquettish look that brought her dimples into play. Then she turned to Marc, her smile diminishing. “Well, if it isn’t the birthday boy.”
Marc hid his mild surprise and smiled back at her. He wasn’t exactly sure when the battle lines had been drawn between them, but he recognized the hint of challenge in her voice. And he’d never been one to back down from a fight. “Hello, Georgia. It’s nice to see you again.”
Drew frowned as his gaze tracked back and forth between them. It seemed he hadn’t missed the undercurrents either. “Can I offer you a drink, my lady? Or something to eat?”
Georgia shook her head. “No, thank you, Mr. Geiger. However, there is one thing I’m hoping you two gentlemen might be able to supply for me.”
