Dark Needs at Night's Edge (24 page)

“I know. Believe me, I know.”

“So what are you going to do if he asks you to marry him or something? Isn't he from the seventeenth century? Guys from the past seem to get really weird about issues like marriage. And I should know, since I married one.”

“I've thought and thought about it, and I've decided that I can't in any way promise my future when it's so uncertain.” She didn't want Mari to think she was complaining, but pretending with Conrad was already difficult at times—Néomi didn't know how she could make it through even a short marriage ceremony.
Till death do us part…possibly next week.

“Has he told you he loves you yet?”

“No, and I'm glad for it.” Néomi knew he'd fallen for her as deeply as she had for him, but she dreaded that he would tell her he loved her. “Whenever I sense he's about to get serious, I keep the mood light.”

“What would be so bad about him telling you that?”

“I wouldn't be able to stop myself from saying it back! And once he knows for certain how I feel about him, he'd never accept that I won't marry him.”

“Yeah, that would be a strange conversation: ‘I love you with all my heart!' ‘Then you'll marry me!' ‘Meh.'”

“Exactement—”
She froze. “He's home! I must go!”

“Don't be a stranger, Néomi!” Mari made her tone ominous. “No. Really. Don't be. Or my crew and I will show you a bar tab you'll never forget.”

Her worry for Conrad evaporating, Néomi laughed. As she dashed out of the studio and up the stairs to their room, she wondered what side of him she'd get tonight.

V
icious, eager to torture, and impatient to drink,
he thought as he sank down onto the front steps with a weary exhalation, mug of blood in hand. So far, everyone he'd seized to question about Tarut had believed the notorious Conrad Wroth was the same as he'd always been.

Which was good—because he wasn't anything like he'd always been.

Staring into his mug, he reflected on his latest hunt. He'd chased down his final solid lead, and it hadn't generated any additional ones.
Another failed search.

Conrad had nothing new to go on, and fatigue had begun setting in hard as he searched relentlessly for Tarut. When Conrad did sleep, his nightmares were grueling.

He dreamed of Néomi in ghostly black-and-white again, her cheeks and eyes shadowed. He saw her trapped somewhere in the dark, screaming in horror, choking on it.

The image was so agonizing to him, he wondered if it was some sort of dream demon's weapon that Tarut was wielding.

So Conrad had ceased sleeping for the most part, using the time to hunt longer in whatever part of the world was still night.

He'd gone to all of the demon's lairs, and to all of his comrades', mercilessly combing for leads. Conrad had been attacked twice so far, by human Kapsligas who didn't know better. He'd dealt them a lesson, but hadn't killed them—they weren't enough of a challenge to truthfully claim self-defense.

Yet no sign of Tarut.

Conrad had continually debated whether he was making things worse by staying with Néomi. Ultimately, he'd admitted what he'd always known: the damage had already been done. She'd been in danger since the night of the gathering. He'd been offered his dream—and he'd selfishly accepted it.

Even if Conrad was separated from her for a thousand years, she would still be what he treasured above all things—and what he feared losing most.

If only I could turn her into a vampire.
Then she wouldn't be so utterly vulnerable. But he knew females never made it through the transition. Not one of his four sisters had risen….

In a way, he'd always been relieved that they hadn't. They'd been sensitive girls—he couldn't imagine them waking from the dead with a cup of blood shoved in their faces. Now Conrad wondered if they would have grown from their childhood. Could they have adapted? He'd never know.

Once he'd finished the mug, he traced directly to the bathroom to shower and shave, allowing her to sleep longer. Under the hot water, he cursed under his breath. He'd forgotten to make plans for them tonight.
Where in the world to take her…?

Yet when he entered the room, he found her awake and smiling to see him. She made his heart speed up just to see her. “You're up and dressed? But not to go out?”

She was wearing a red negligee, with her creamy breasts spilling out. Her hair was long and free as she knew he liked it. Even his beaten body stirred behind his towel.

Every time he took her, he fell more deeply under her spell. After three hundred plus years of musing what sex would be like, he'd had high expectations. She continued to shatter them.

“I don't want to go out tonight,” she said. “Maybe we could relax here?” She sat on the bed and patted the spot beside her. “I could rebandage your arm.”

He eyed her suspiciously. “Are you intent on managing me for something?”

She plucked up the roll of gauze. “My intentions with your body are pure.”

Once he sat beside her, she rose to her knees and wound the gauze around his arm.

“There's more to this hunt than merely striking first, isn't there?” When he nodded, she said, “Tell me.”

“As soon as you tell me about your
secret
.” Thoughts of what it could be plagued him.

“Are we to quarrel, Conrad? I'd rather spend the night massaging your back and making love, but if you insist…”

“You must know I'll only let this go for so long. I have unfinished business—but when I'm freed of that worry, I'll track down everything you keep from me.”

Conrad had two theories. It was possible that she'd made a deal with a sorcerer—one of the very ones he'd had considered using to resurrect her. One like that could have embodied her, but they tended to extract devastating promises.

A witch could have done it as well, but Conrad didn't think this was the case. Though Néomi had said she had “lots of money,” she probably hadn't factored in eight decades of inflation. Surely she didn't have the kind of money necessary to get even a meeting with a powerful witch. Conrad had heard of some turning their noses up at millions.

She sighed. “
Quel dommage
. What a pity, then. If you're after my secret, then we'll be quarreling often. So we might as well enjoy this night. Tell me, where did your hunt take you?”

“Moscow.”

“Were you careful?”

“Always,” he said, which wasn't remotely true. To get to a demon snitch, Conrad had ambushed a subterranean demon lair, fending off two gangs to drag his howling prey by the horns up to the surface.

Even though he had a reason to be more careful, with an actual person waiting at home for him, Conrad couldn't allow others to think he'd changed.

God, how he'd changed.

Tonight, Conrad had given the snitch his standard threat: “Talk. Or I'll drink you, harvest your memories anyway, and slaughter everyone I see in them.” But the snitch had smelled of fear and cheap gin. Conrad had not only been
disinclined
to drink the demon; he'd found the idea repugnant.

The last thing Conrad had tasted before he'd left had been Néomi's sweet lips.
Drink the demon with the same mouth he kissed his Bride…?

The rumors of his past brutality were helping him now, but one of these days, someone would call his bluff. Would he be forced to return to his old ways to protect his Bride?

If he had to, Conrad would once again become the thing they feared.

“There. All done.” She finished his bandage by brushing a kiss on it.

Strange, he'd had no reservations about entering that lair, and yet, as his gaze flickered over Néomi's smiling face, he realized that this one-hundred-pound, mortal ballerina scared the living hell out of him.

She hailed the end of life as he knew it. Was his life so great before her? Hell, no. But at least he'd understood it. Now it seemed he could understand nothing, was having to rethink everything.

A future, a family, a real home.
Were these things now possible for a man like him?

“Do you worry about me when I'm gone?” he asked.

“Always. From the tidbits of information you've given me, I've gleaned that you're seeking to kill an eight-foot-tall demon who'll be surrounded by a group of swordsmen, ready to lay down their lives to protect him. Do I have that right?”

“You do.”

She quirked a brow. “Oh, then what's to worry about?” She motioned for him to lie on his front. “How long will you hunt him?”

“Till I have his head,” he said, stretching across the bed.

“How long will that take?”

“Considering our past pace—it could take weeks, months, even a year.”

“That long?” she asked as she straddled him. “When you're out, do you ever come across information about your brothers?” Reaching forward, she began to knead his aching neck muscles.

He just stifled a groan. “No, nothing yet.”

“Is there to be a war in the Lore?” she asked.

“There's always war in the Lore.”

“But this concerns your family.”

“I have other concerns right now.”

“Because of your brothers, you're alive to be here with me right now.” She pressed her thumbs firmly into his shoulders, unraveling the coils of tension there. “Is it so bad?”

“Yes, I hate this.”

She chuckled.

His brothers had said life could be better, that all he'd needed was his Bride. And now, his life was in no way fixed, but sometimes he'd found himself feeling…hopeful. He wasn't assured of their happiness together—she was mortal and vulnerable and seemed determined to make no commitment to him; he was still half-mad and had numerous assassins competing for his head. But there was indeed
possibility
.

He owed them for that. “Would it please you if I said I'll concentrate on them when I finish with Tarut?”

“Yes,
mon grand
. It really would.”

Conrad would do nothing else until he'd first secured Néomi's safety. Life and death were beginning to have new meaning for Conrad. Instead of being only a taker of life, he was becoming a protector. The ease with which he was assuming the role surprised him.

No wonder all his foes had searched to discover if Conrad had a Bride. She was his sole weakness. And one he'd never anticipated having. Conrad hadn't exploited this vulnerability enough in his enemies, because he hadn't comprehended the unimaginable power of it.

Fear for her overruled
everything
.

Because if she died, he couldn't simply walk into the sun to join her. He had no delusions that they'd deserve to go to the same type of afterlife.

Again he saw three obstacles between them. Tarut's curse, her secret, and…his own dark needs. Each time they were together, he struggled not to take her neck.

It wasn't as if he hungered for her blood to nourish him—he'd been gulping back mugs of bagged blood to keep from biting her, drinking so much that he'd begun to put on more muscle. His body was strengthening even as his resolve was flagging.

No, his vampire nature made him resent that last barrier between them. He should know his own Bride's taste. His instinct was screaming within him that if they shared the connection of his bite, then she would cleave to him.

But he was strong—he could drain her so quickly. Her mortal body would cede its blood until she died with his fangs still in her neck. He shuddered with dread.

“Did I hurt you?” she asked, climbing off him.

“What? No, not at all.” He turned to his back. “I was lost in thought.” If he could just secure any kind of bond with her. “Néomi, I want to speak with you about—”

“Massaging my front?” She reclined with her arms over her head and a seductive smile curling her lips. “Indeed, I
would
love that.”

They'd stayed in bed the entire night.

Though Conrad had yet to sleep, he remained awake once she'd nodded off, musing that he'd spent so much time and energy hunting that he hadn't been able to focus on winning her over.

Holding her to his chest, he pondered what to do. He'd already bought her a ring, and awaited the right time to ask her to marry him.

Sometimes when she looked at him, he was confident her feelings for him ran deep, and that she would say yes. Other times, he got the opposite impression—that she was merely biding her time, planning to leave him soon. How to convince her to stay…?

What if he'd already gotten her pregnant? That would bind them together as nothing else could. But then he'd become a father. He waited for the wave of aversion that idea should bring.

When none came, he explored the thought more, picturing Néomi carrying their babe and Conrad protecting them against the world. The idea
felt
right. She'd nurture, and he'd provide. Very right.

He'd never wanted children before.

Now he wanted
their
children.

What if he
hadn't
already gotten her pregnant? An anxious feeling immediately seized him.

He set her on the bed, then rose to kneel between her thighs. When he spread them wide, she woke with a gasp. As she watched him with heavy-lidded eyes, he gripped his shaft, feeding it into her, then sank deep into her heat.

She gripped his hips, guiding him to thrust as she needed. With each slow plunge, her fingers tightened into his skin.

Her hair was shining, spread across the pillow. Her blue eyes gazed up at him with trust—and something more. He cupped her chin. “So beautiful, Néomi.”

“Conrad,” she murmured. “I…I need you.” She said the words the way she might tell him she loved him for the first time.

In answer, he rasped, “I need you, too.” Realization struck him. His brows drew together, his breath shuddering out. Néomi had once asked him if he'd ever been in love, and he'd easily answered no. Now he knew why he hadn't.

Because he'd never met her.

It somehow seemed right that he'd never loved before her. That
she
simply
was
the emotion for him, the two equaling each other.