Ashes of the Day (5 page)

“Was it? I’m not so sure.” Good as it had been, it was also touch and go. And, in any case, nothing was worth the risk of hurting Damian, of possibly losing him. But the look on Damian’s face reminded Conrad there was more than one way to be hurt. He sighed wearily. “All I meant was that I have no wish to test my control at this stage of my recovery. I don’t wish to injure you. You cannot possibly object to that!”

“Not if you put it that way, I suppose.”

“What other way is there to put it? And, by the way, in case I have not said so before, I am very pleased you’ve agreed to share my rooms, you know.”

“Are you? Even though you’re still so concerned about your condition that all you can think about—even at a time like this—is the possibility you might end up hurting me?”

“It’s hardly
all
I can think about, my dear, but yes. Even so.”

“All or part, it makes no difference. It’s obviously enough of a concern that you must mention it repeatedly,” Damian pointed out. “And, as such, I wonder how it was that you came to give in so readily to Georgia’s demands. She must have hidden powers of persuasion I’ve yet to notice. Or is she a weakness of yours as well?”

Conrad frowned. There was definitely a peevish note to Damian’s tone. It rasped against his temper, threatening to further unsettle his mood. “She’s nowhere in your league, if it makes you feel any better, neither as a weakness nor as a source of irritation. Georgia would never dare make such demands of me. Nor would anyone else, for that matter. Only you.” And now perhaps Marc. That was not a pleasant realization either. Conrad’s mouth twisted into a grimace as he thought about it. What would he do, if that turned out to be the case?

Marc was his spawn, his child. Under normal circumstances, he would never be anything else. Could Conrad accept him as an equal? Could he cope with so vast a change? Could the beast?

“And yet, I cannot help but notice she wanted my rooms and now she has them,” Damian continued, unmindful of the direction Conrad’s thoughts had taken.

Conrad sighed. “She never asked for your rooms, Damian.” He forwent pointing out that Georgia did not actually have Damian’s rooms yet either. “She merely asked to bring Christian here—a request she was well within rights to make. The choice to give her your rooms, to have you here with me rather than at the other end of the hall, was mine.”

“Is that so? The timing of your request would seem to suggest otherwise.”

“Are you calling me a liar?” Conrad’s eyes widened.

Damian dropped his gaze. “No. No, of course not. Never.”

Conrad doubted there would ever be an “of course” about that, much less a “never”. Nor should there be, if he were honest. However, for the moment, he was happy for them both to pretend. “All right then. Good. And now, perhaps, we can have an end to this discussion.” He slanted his mouth over Damian’s. A kiss was as good a way of shutting Damian up as any other Conrad had found, better than most, in fact.

As he finally settled into Conrad’s arms, Damian asked, “I wonder if Marc will still be attending the party, now that he’s moved out.” His tone suggested he was making an effort to change the subject. Conrad appreciated the intention but, unfortunately, he found this topic no better than the last.

“I sincerely hope not.”

“
¡Querido!
” Damian glared reproachfully at him. “You don’t mean that.”

“Actually, my dear, I’m fairly confident I do. Things are…complicated between the two of us just now. I think a little time apart would serve us well.”

“You’ve had ten years apart. Was that not enough?”

“Obviously not,” Conrad snapped. “Or I would not have suggested otherwise.” Then he stopped and shook his head. “Come, my friend, let us not revive that argument again for there’s naught to be gained by discussing it further. They’re here now, for better or worse, and we must all learn to deal with it. For all that they look to be fully grown, I fear the future will be no more certain than the past. There are doubtless many changes yet in store for them, and many challenges for us.”

Chapter Three

July, 1975

“There, there,
chiquita
,” Damian murmured tenderly as he wiped the tears from Julie’s face with a soft cloth. The little girl sat on the counter next to the kitchen sink where Damian had put her while he washed the blood from her scraped knee. “It’s all right, little one. Dry your eyes. Does it still hurt very badly?”

Julie shook her head, but her lower lip continued to tremble and the occasional sob still wracked her slight frame. “N-no. Not
too
bad.”

“That’s my brave girl.” Damian saw no sense in driving home the point that the cause of her upset, the small cut she’d received while riding her bicycle, was already healed. He understood how she was feeling. He too found it difficult at times to recover his equilibrium once it had been sufficiently disturbed. His tendency to stay upset long after he ought to have recovered was something Conrad had never understood or properly appreciated.

“I told you we should have gone to the park,” Marc observed from his perch on one of the kitchen stools. “We almost never fall off when we ride our bikes there.”

Damian nodded. “Yes, Marc, you’re quite right.” The local park, with its smooth pavement and gently graded paths, was much easier for beginning cyclists to navigate than the uneven terrain and brick patio in their own backyard. On the other hand, there were usually other parents at the park, too many of whom might be inclined to notice cuts and scrapes that healed over too quickly. “But, as I’ve already explained to you, it gets dark very late during the summer months. It’s not practical for you two to spend much of your evenings at the park right now. Most boys and girls your age are already home in their beds and fast asleep.”

“Why can’t we go there during the day like the other children do?”

Because you’re not like the other children
. Damian sighed. No. That was another point he need not mention. Marc was over-sensitive enough on the subject. “Because you’re already very lucky in that you get to stay up all night. I’m sure all those other children wish they could do the same.”

Julie frowned. “I don’t want to go to the park during the day. The sun makes my head hurt—my tummy too.”

“That’s ’cause we can’t ever eat when we’re there,” Marc said. “The other kids do. They have sandwiches and cookies and things like that. I bet that’s why the sun doesn’t bother them. They
like
it when it’s sunny!”

Julie’s eyes abruptly silvered. “They do not, Marc! You’re making that up. That’s stupid.”

Marc snarled back at her, his fangs dropping plainly into view. “I’m
not
making it up.
You’re
stupid.”

“Am not!”

“Are too!”

“Children!” Damian scowled at them both. “Enough! I will not stand for you calling each other names. You will both calm down—
inmediatamente
—and apologize at once.”

The twins scowled mutinously at him, their little chests heaving as they fought to regain control. Finally, their fangs safely back within their gums, their eyes returned to normal, they muttered, “Sorry,” in grudging tones. But then Marc fixed Damian with a stubborn glare. “Tell her I’m right. You
know it’s true. They
do
like it. They said so.”

Damian nodded. “
Sí
. It’s very possible they did. And if it makes you feel any better, I’m sure when the two of you are older you won’t mind the sun so much either. I know it’s hard right now, but you just have to be patient,
mis niños
. Everything will get easier with time. When you’re older, you’ll be able to do almost anything you want.” At least he hoped that would be the case.

“But maybe if we ate the same food they eat, like cookies or something, we wouldn’t have to wait until we’re older.”

“No, Marc.” Damian shook his head. “No matter what kind of meal you ate, or when you ate it, you still would not be at your best when the sun is shining. That’s just the way things are,
chico
. And cookies are not even a meal—as I know I’ve told you several times already. They’re something children eat just for the fun of it.” He lifted Julie from the counter and set her on her feet. “But all this talk of cookies reminds me of something I’d almost forgotten. Are you two ready now to hear about the surprise I promised you yesterday?”

The twins both nodded.

“
Bueno
.” Damian smiled. “As it happens, I got up early today and went to the store while you were both still asleep and bought some supplies. Tonight I thought we would all learn how to bake cookies. And then, maybe, the next time you see the other children at the park, or perhaps if we invite them back here to play some time, you can share your snacks with them. Does that sound like something you’d enjoy,
niños
?”

“Yes!” Marc bounced excitedly. “I would! I would!”

“What kind of cookies are we making?” Julie asked cautiously. “Are they good? Will I like them?”

“I hope so,
chica
. I bought enough ingredients to make several kinds, so I’m sure at least one of them will suit you. I thought we’d make chocolate chip cookies and oatmeal raisin and peanut butter and something called Snickerdoodles—although possibly not all of them tonight.”

Julie giggled. “Snickerdoodles? That’s funny. Why’s it called that?”

Damian shrugged. “I have no idea,
niña
. But they’re made with both sugar and cinnamon so I’m sure they must be very tasty.”

Julie giggled again. “That’s another silly word. Cinnamon. What does
it
mean?”

“It’s a spice,” Marc answered, looking very pleased with himself. “Don’t you remember? Grandfather told us all about the spices. They’re those things that grow on islands and people want them to make their food taste better, so they come in big ships and steal the spices and make everybody slaves.”

“They used to do that, Marc,” Damian corrected. “Not so much anymore.”

Julie frowned. “Ships? I thought it was camels. Didn’t he say that they piled all the spice things up in big bundles on top of camels and then rode them across all those horrible, dry, sunny deserts?”

Damian sighed. He’d really have to have a word with Conrad about what he thought he was teaching the children. “I’m sure your grandfather wouldn’t say anything that wasn’t so,
chica
, but once again, nowadays most people simply buy their spices in a store. And, if they’re going to travel to remote islands or cross deserts, or travel any distance at all, they generally do so by airplane.”

“We don’t,” Marc pointed out.

“Very true.” Damian suppressed a shudder as he thought about it. Like most vampires he found the dehydrating effects of plane travel intensely uncomfortable. Then again, the same could be said for long ocean voyages, or traversing endless deserts… Most forms of travel, actually. It was not too hard to imagine how the silly rumor about vampires needing to sleep in their native soil got started, given how reluctant most of them were to stray too far from the comfort and safety of familiar surroundings.

He and Conrad were lucky in that the eastern portion of this continent held an abundance of suitably obscure communities in which to hide—most of them at a reasonable distance from either oceans or deserts. Moving every few years might be tedious, but at least it did not have to be actually painful. Assuming they could continue to avoid running into any others of their kind, they stood a good chance of raising the children with a minimum of danger, discomfort or death. Still, that was not a subject he need think about tonight. He smiled brightly at both of the children. “Now, let’s get started. Shall we?”

Damian was lifting the last tray of cookies from the oven when he heard the front door open. Soft masculine laughter reached his ears. Conrad. The sound was unmistakable. The sexy intent behind that chuckle was something else with which Damian was familiar. Too familiar.
No. Not this again
. His chest was suddenly so tight he could hardly breathe. His heart thudded painfully. Once, fool that he’d been, he’d believed that particular laugh—that particular intent—was reserved for him alone. Carefully, he placed the tray on the stovetop and listened harder.

Two sets of footsteps. Conrad’s, of course, and…a woman’s, by the sound of it. High heels, a little unsteady on the hardwood floor. Maybe too much to drink, or a touch too much venom? Had Conrad brought her home for the children’s dinner, or did he have something else in mind? The footsteps bypassed the living room and continued down the hallway.
Ah. Well, that answers that question
. More laughter floated back to taunt Damian. A bedroom door closed. A lock was turned. Damian bit back a snarl. “Marc, go and knock on your grandfather’s door for me, if you’d be so kind, and ask him if he intends to feed you and your sister anytime soon.”

“What?” The little boy frowned. “Why? I thought we were eating cookies tonight?”

“
Sí
. And so we are. But, as I keep telling you, they’re just a snack. If you’re eating your dinner very soon, we might want to save the cookies for afterward, so as not to spoil your meal.”

Marc’s eyes narrowed. The stubborn look on his face indicated another argument was about to ensue.

Damian fixed the boy with a stern glance. “Marcus, did you not hear what I said?”