by P. G. Forte
“Conrad, please. I—”
“Enough!” Conrad snarled as he reached the end of his patience. “That’s enough. You will never learn when to stop, will you?”
“Apparently not.” Even at the distance of several feet Conrad had no trouble picking up the frightened pattering of Damian’s heart. Even so, he held his ground. Conrad didn’t know whether he wanted to applaud his lover’s bravery or curse him for his stupidity. Probably both.
Still snarling, Conrad closed the distance between them. He grabbed Damian by the neck and took his lips in a hard, punishing kiss, one that left them both somewhat breathless. “Very well. Since it seems that nothing else will satisfy you, I will talk to Georgia. But when I return, I’ll expect to find you in a much more amenable mood. Much more amenable. Is that understood?”
“Si señor.” Damian stroked the lapel of Conrad’s robe with a touch that straddled the line between placating and flirtatious. “Of course. That is…assuming that, upon your return, you can convince me that all is well and that my fears are groundless. ¿Si?”
“Yes. Of course. Assuming that.”
“And…querido, are you quite sure you do not also wish to reconsider your position vis a vis Armand? I really don’t see why he needs to leave tonight. Can’t you just—”
“Damian.” This time, Conrad meant to ensure that his warning was heeded. He let his guard down a little, just enough to allow a hint of the beast’s savage anger to bleed through. “Don’t push your luck.”
Nighthawk poked his head into the doorway of Marc’s private suite. “You wanted to see me, boss?”
“Yeah. C’mon in.” Marc motioned for the other man to join him. “And close the door. I need to talk to you about something.”
The slight jump in his lieutenant’s heart rate was audible as he approached the table where Marc was packing a few changes of clothing into an overnight bag. “Everything go okay at the club tonight?” Nighthawk asked cautiously. “You didn’t have any trouble, did you?”
“Nope, it went fine. Everybody behaved. How’d things go here?”
“Good. Same as always.” Nighthawk gestured at the bag Marc was packing. “You going somewhere?”
“Just a little trip out of town. No big deal. Probably be gone for a few days though.”
“A’ight. That’s cool. Want me to round up a car?”
Marc paused. How exactly did Nighthawk intend to do that? His lieutenant was undoubtedly resourceful, but not overly concerned with legalities—as witnessed by last year’s still-unsolved string of assaults on the city’s homeless population. At some point, Marc might need to address that issue. Right now, however, it seemed like a subject best left for another day. He shook his head. “Nope. Already got it covered.”
“Suit yourself. So, when do we leave?”
“That’s one of the things I wanted to talk to you about.” This next part of the conversation was why Marc had wanted the door closed. He zipped up his bag, and then turned to face the other man. “We aren’t going anywhere. I need you to stay home and keep an eye on things here for me while I’m gone.”
“What? Whoa. Hold on a minute.” Nighthawk shook his head vehemently. “Back up. I’m not staying here. It’s my job to keep an eye on you. How’m I s’posed to have your back if you leave me behind?”
“Relax, all right? I’m not expecting trouble. It’s just a little road trip.”
“Of course you’re not expecting trouble. That’s exactly when it happens. If you expect it, then you can prepare for it. And if you’re prepared for it, then it’s not even trouble anymore. It’s…exercise.”
Marc smiled. “Which is why I want you here. So you can anticipate all the trouble that could happen, and make sure it doesn’t. Besides, your job is to do what I tell you. I know you’ve got my back and I appreciate that, but I need to know you can also follow orders.”
Nighthawk shook his head. “Marc. Dude. I’m not even fronting here. We need you, man; you know that. You can’t just go off by yourself.”
“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I’m not going by myself.”
“You’re not? So who’re you gonna…? Oh, hell no.” Nighthawk stared at Marc aghast. “You’re not taking Heather? Shit, man, that’s fucked up. I know the chick thinks she’s all bad-ass, especially since you named her your second lieutenant and all, but what good is she gonna be to you in a fight? You’re gonna be so distracted worrying about her, you’ll probably both end up dead.”
Marc nodded. “As it happens, I agree with you. But I’m not taking Heather, either. So I’ll want you to keep an extra close eye on her while I’m gone. Because she’s not going to be any more happy about being left behind than you are.”
Marc wasn’t lying. He really didn’t anticipate trouble. But the best way to hurt him was to strike at those he loved—that had already been proven. Heather was especially vulnerable in that respect, but so was Nighthawk. Not that Marc planned on telling him so. As was the case with so much in Marc’s life these days, the less anyone knew about what he was thinking or feeling, doing or planning, the better for everyone.
“And you think putting me in charge is gonna make her feel better? Dude, the girl hates me.”
Marc nodded. “Yeah, she does. But what do you expect? You can’t really blame her, can you?”
Going feral was enough to drive even the most peace-loving vampire to violence, which was why losing one’s sire was often a death sentence. Marc doubted Nighthawk had ever been much of a pacifist to start with. Still, he’d done his best. He’d tried to hold things together and to take care of the other ferals in his own way, but his judgment was questionable, his patience nonexistent, and he’d frequently used his fists to make his point.
Most of the former ferals, who’d been equally lost, equally at wit’s end, and equally savage, had forgiven him for any lapses. But Heather had never really been like the others. The fact that Nighthawk had probably saved her life just wasn’t enough to make up for the rest of what he’d put her through. Marc couldn’t really fault her for that; if he thought too hard about some of the mistakes Nighthawk had made he’d be angry too. In the interest of doing what was best for his little family, he tried his damnedest to put it from his mind. If he was serious about giving Nighthawk a second chance, he had to stop raking up the coals of his past mistakes. It was time to let those embers die.
“I didn’t say I blamed her,” Nighthawk replied gruffly. “But everyone else has moved on, why can’t she?”
Marc clapped him on the shoulder. “She’s young. Give her some time.”
“Yeah, right.” Nighthawk sighed. “So who are you taking with you?”
“I’m taking my sister. It’s a family bonding kind of trip.” It wasn’t really. It was more of a get-Julie-away-from-Christian kind of trip, at least in part.
“Your sister?” Nighthawk scowled. “What the fuck, man? No offense, but are you shitting me? You sure this isn’t some super-secret, Clan Quintano black op that you’re keeping on the DL?”
Marc sighed. “Would you stop worrying? I know you think I’m going to wake up one evening and change my mind and move back into the mansion. I’m not—okay? This is where I belong; it’s where I want to be. You’re just gonna have to trust me on that.”
Nighthawk looked away. “I trust you,” he said, his voice so quiet that, if Marc had been human, he probably couldn’t have heard him. “Of course I trust you. You’re my sire. What else am I supposed to do? I just hope this ain’t no Wizard of Oz, Mary Poppins type bullshit.”
“What now?”
“You know. ‘Sorry, the wind’s gone and changed again. You kids are on your own.’ That kind of crap.”
Marc laughed out loud; he couldn’t stop himself. The thought of the supposedly bloodthirsty ferals—including big, tough, built like a linebacker Nighthawk—huddled on a couch watching kid flic
ks on TV was irresistibly amusing.
“Hawk, man, I swear, you have nothing to worry about. I couldn’t possibly have this much fun anywhere else.”
“I hope not,” Nighthawk muttered, as gloomy as Eeyore.
“I mean it. Stop worrying,” Marc insisted, sounding a lot more confident than he actually felt. “It’s all going to work out fine.” Because, really, what other option did any of them have?
The morning fog was rolling in, slowly obscuring huge swathes of the city. Armand shivered as a tendril of mist swept across his cheek, its touch as soft as a woman’s hand, as cold as death.
“That everything?” the cab driver asked.
Armand nodded reluctantly. “Yes.” He just managed to avoid wincing when the driver slammed the trunk shut. It sounded so…final. He glanced back at the mansion that had been his home for the past… Merde. Had it really been fifty years? Where had the time gone? No wonder he’d been feeling tired and out of sorts lately. He needed to put a little space between himself and his memories. It was time.
“All right then,” the driver said, obviously impatient to get started. “Ready when you are.”
Armand took one last look, then turned and climbed into the cab. He wished he could be more certain that this was the right thing to do. It was possible the whole plan might blow up in his face. It would certainly not be the first time something like that had happened.
Miscalculations, poor choices, bad timing, he had something of a history where those were concerned. But maybe now was not the best time to dwell on that?
For far too long he’d been telling himself to be patient. Yet when had that ever paid off? He’d been afraid of risking his heart—as though there was anything he could really do to stop himself. He’d been afraid of making mistakes—and that was likely the biggest mistake of all.
So be it. Tonight, he’d reached the end of his rope. He could no longer stand by, watching and waiting, and do nothing. It was time to take action, to leap—without looking ahead, without waiting for a net to appear—and pray that some heavenly agency was still on his side.
Chapter Seven
Georgia had been very nearly asleep when the sound of someone knocking softly on the door to her suite roused her. She took a moment to orient on the sound, allowing her senses to expand outward.
“What is it?” Christian asked as Georgia’s heart started to race. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s Conrad.”
“Now? What does he want?”
“I’ve no idea.” At this hour? It was likely nothing good. “I’ll go and see.”
Christian pulled back the covers on his side of the bed. “I’ll come with you.”
“No.” Georgia shook her head. “You stay here.”
Christian glared at her as she left the room. Georgia bit back a sigh. She knew how much he hated having to sit on the sidelines while she did all the work. He wanted to spare her, to shoulder his share of their burden. It was endearing, in a way, and she could have loved him for that alone, but at the same time, it was unrealistic. He was her creation. As long as she was alive he would always exist in her shadow. He should have become resigned to that reality ages ago.
Her heart was still racing when she pulled open the door. “Conrad? What are you doing up? I thought you’d retired some time ago.” She studied his appearance. He certainly appeared dressed for bed, wearing naught but a dressing gown that exposed more of his legs and bare chest than she’d seen in a very long time. It was distracting, to say the least. But the question she really wanted answered, the one she didn’t even dare ask, was why was he here? “Has something happened?”
“What’s that?” Conrad stared blankly at her for an instant, then shook his head. “Oh! No. No, of course not. Might I come in?”
“Certainly.” Georgia stepped back to allow him entrance.
“We haven’t talked much of late, have we?” Conrad observed, seemingly in no hurry to come to the point. “I trust you have everything you need? These rooms are to your liking, yes?”
“Yes, thank you.” Georgia glanced around, feeling more confused by the minute. Had they not established all of this months ago? “We’ve settled in quite well, I think, which is hardly a surprise. As you know, I’ve always been partial to this suite.” It was where she always used to stay when she’d visited Conrad in years past—until Damian had returned and claimed it for his own. Perhaps that’s what this was about? “Damian doesn’t want to move back in here, does he?”
“No, of course not.” A somewhat silly smile curved Conrad’s lips. “He assures me on a daily basis that he is quite happy where he is.”
“Splendid. You must be very pleased.”
“Yes…” He paused again, his smile dimming, and Georgia waited anxiously for him to resume. “But if you did happen to need something, if there was anything that would make your stay here more comfortable, you need only ask. You know this—yes?”
“Yes, of course.” The truth, however, was that there was only one way in which Conrad could make her stay here more comfortable and that would be to end it, to let her go home. They both knew that was not going to happen. She would not be allowed to leave until Conrad was good and ready for her to go. “May I speak frankly?”
“Of course.”
“I’m sure it will come as no surprise, but I do feel a little reluctant, at times, to ask anything of Damian. You know we’ve never really gotten on. I do so miss the days when Armand ran your household. I always found him so much more congenial. If I could go through him…” She broke off at the look on Conrad’s face. “Is something wrong?”
“No. Not wrong, precisely.” Conrad sighed. “It’s just that…much as I would like to accommodate you, I fear that will not be possible. Armand has left me, it seems.”
“He’s done what? Oh, nonsense. Why would he do such a thing? Or no, I’ve an even better question—why would you allow it?”
“Why should I not allow it?” Conrad answered crossly. “He felt himself in need of a…of a vacation, I believe he termed it. Why should I refuse?”
“A vacation? How odd.”
“Isn’t it? I thought so too. Equally odd, however, is something he mentioned shortly before he left. A rumor he’d heard. Something I had rather expected I would have heard from you, were there any truth to it.”
Once again he paused, clearly expecting her to say something. An uneasy chill, like the flat of a blade, slithered along Georgia’s spine. She held herself still, lest her shiver betray her fearful state. “A rumor? About me? I can’t even imagine what that could be about.” She had no idea to what rumor Conrad was referring and she was far too afraid to hazard a guess—she could only wait, even more anxiously, for him to go on.
Conrad shrugged. “He said there’d been some talk about you and Christian, that the two of you were no longer…as close as you had been in the past.”
“I see.” Georgia frowned, trying to fashion a reasonable response. This was not at all what she’d been expecting.
“Is there aught you wish to tell me?” Conrad asked with surprising gentleness. “About you and Christian? Is he making you unhappy, ciccia?”
“No. No, of course he isn’t.” It always alarmed her when she caught a glimpse of Conrad’s softer side. She had such a hard time trusting it. “I have no idea how such a rumor could have gotten started. Christian and I… I assure you everything is still very much as it has always been between us.” Which was nothing less than the absolute truth. And a greater tragedy she could not even begin to imagine.
“Capital.” Conrad’s relief was hugely and immediately apparent. “I’m very pleased to hear it. But…if there were to be something that you wished to discuss, please remember that you can always come to me. I hope you don’t feel that, just because you may be uncomfortable talking to Damian, that you cannot still talk to me?”
“Aha.” Relief washed through Georgia. She couldn’t help but smile. “I knew it. So, that’s what this is about. Out with it, then. What’s he done this time?”
Conrad’s brow furrowed. “What are you talking about? Who’s done what?”
“Damian. And don’t bother trying to deny it. I know that look on your face too well. It’s not the first time he’s put you in an ill-temper, is it?”
“I did not think my temper so ill,” Conrad snapped crossly. “Indeed, I was in a perfectly amiable frame of mind when I walked in here. I was merely concerned for you. Nor do I understand why you would jump to the conclusion that Damian had done anything to contribute to my mood—either for good or ill.”
“Oh, please.” The fact that Conrad didn’t outright deny the charge spoke for itself. “Why should anything have changed? He’s led you a merry chase since first you met him. He’s still the only one among us who’s ever driven you to completely lose control. Surely, you cannot deny that?”
“No, but if you imagine I take comfort in the fact I’ve not injured more of you, you’re very much mistaken. Having maimed even one of my own was unconscionable.”
Georgia sighed. “My love, as always, you reproach yourself too much. Only consider how badly you were provoked. Damian’s actions were unforgivable.”
“And mine were not?” Conrad shook his head. “It falls to me to protect those who belong to me, not cause them further injury.”
“None of us is perfect, Conrad. But I’ve always found you most forbearing. It’s an admirable trait in one’s sire, as I’m sure you’ll agree.” She only hoped he would be as understanding of her, when the truth came out. “As for Damian, it’s just unfortunate you ever thought to turn him.”
