In the Dark (17 page)

“Why would you say that?” Marc asked, just as a commotion broke out at the far end of the room. A woman screamed. Marc swung around when he recognized his sister's all-too-familiar voice. “Julie?”

 

The whole time she'd been dancing, Julie had been aware of Marc's gaze on her, watching her every move. Even though she was angry with him, it was good to know her brother had her back.

She'd never really needed anyone's protection in social situations before. Why would she? All her life, she'd been the predator—stronger, faster, smarter than just about anyone else. That was life at the top of the food chain and she liked it there just fine.

This week, however, things had changed. It was almost funny, but it had never occurred to her that when she finally found her peer group, she'd lose her superior edge. Tonight she had the uncanny feeling that the rules she'd lived by all her life had been turned inside out. The hunter had become the hunted. She wasn't sure if the faint thrills of fear coursing through her body were warranted—or even what was causing them—but warranted or not, there they were.

She was so nervous, she couldn't even engage anyone in normal conversation. Trying to question them would have been completely impossible. At this rate, they'd never find Conrad.

I wonder if Marc's doing any better
. She turned her head to look and finally found him deep in conversation with another woman. It was a shock to realize he wasn't watching her after all. It was a bigger shock, however, to realize the sense of being observed hadn't actually lessened. She was still being watched, just not by Marc.

“Excuse me,” she murmured, smiling an apology at her current dance partner. “I-I have to go now.”

Her pulse was pounding as she skirted the room, trying to work her way through the crowd back to where she'd last glimpsed Marc. The rush of blood was so loud in her ears, she wondered if it was audible to the others as well.

Suddenly, just as she was passing a row of curtained alcoves, a body slammed into hers, knocking her off balance. Julie shrieked as she was shoved through the curtains, the sound abruptly cutting off when she was shoved up against the wall, a heavy, male arm pressed against her throat.

Her fangs lowered defensively. She hissed in warning. But her assailant's teeth were longer and deadlier looking and the growl that issued from his throat had her practically swallowing her teeth in fright.

As he sniffed searchingly at the air around her, Julie got her first good look at his face. Half of it was normal, even good looking. The other half was a mass of scars, centered around a sightless, milky eye. He didn't look very old and he wasn't very big, but his lean arm was corded with muscles and the crazed gleam in his one good eye was anything but reassuring. “I know you,” he growled, eyes narrowing as he stared at her. “What are you doing here? Why are you following me? I thought you were dead.”

Julie shook her head, not knowing how to answer any of those questions. Dead? “I-I-I've n-never b-been here before. And I-I've never seen you in my life.” Maybe he was after someone else? Maybe, if she could just convince him of that, he'd let her go? Or maybe she should try and scream again? Marc was here somewhere, after all. If he knew she was in trouble, he'd come, he'd save her. She could use some saving.

“Are you looking for him?” the stranger asked. “Is that it? Think you're gonna find him? Think I'm gonna lead you to him, huh, bitch? Well, maybe I will. Or maybe I'll just kill you right here.”

Fear had her showing her teeth again, but he grabbed her hair, forcing her head back against the wall, baring her throat.

“Not this time, baby,” he muttered, as he angled his mouth over her throat. “This time, there ain't no one gonna come between us. This time it's just you and me.”

Julie gasped with a sudden realization. All his attention was on biting her—and on preventing her from biting him. But her teeth had never been her only means of defense.

Dropping one hand to his crotch she grabbed his balls and squeezed, twisting and pulling as hard as she could until she felt him start to pull away. When he did, she followed, stomping her heel into his instep and then pushing him back, twisting away and running.

She tore through the curtains and practically knocked into Marc—who'd obviously come looking for her.
About time, too!

“Jules? Are you okay? What's going on?” he asked, but she had no time for questions, no time for answers—no time to even thank him for almost arriving in time to save her life.

“Not now. We're outta here. Let's go.” Grabbing his hand, she ran for the exit without looking back.

Chapter Nine

“Yes, I
am
going back there,” Marc insisted as they got out of the cab in front of the mansion. “Just as soon as I see you settled inside.” It seemed like the hundredth time he'd said it too, although he supposed it could have been less. Maybe it was only two or three dozen times. Whatever. It was still enough that, by now, even his stubborn-as-sin sister should have gotten the idea through her pigheaded skull. There wasn't a chance in hell she was ever gonna get him to change his mind. Not about this.

He still couldn't believe she'd waited until they were actually in the cab, headed away from the club before she clued him in on what had happened. His first instinct had been to turn the cab around, to call the police, to
do something
, until Julie pointed out how very unhelpful the police were likely to be once they'd heard her story of having been attacked by a vampire. So, okay. Point taken. Time to change tactics. He'd drop her off at the house and then go back and deal with it. On his own terms.

Julie glared at him over the roof of the cab. “Stop being so stubborn.” Right. Like
he
was the one being unreasonable. “There's no point in going back there, Marc. He was just some random crazy. He's probably not even there anymore.”

Yeah. Just some random crazy. ”He tried to kill you, Jules,” he growled, louder than he intended, startling a surprised look from Brennan who'd come out to open the gate.

Julie saw him and smiled. “Brennan. Hi.”

“Stop that,” Marc snapped, putting a hand on her back and practically shoving her forward, propelling her toward the house. “There's no time for that now.” There was only one thing either of them had time for right now, and that was getting her safely inside the house. He could find out from Damian just what the protocol was for dealing with situations like these.

Then he'd go back.

“Weren't you the one who said we weren't getting anywhere with all of this?” Julie reminded him as they mounted the stairs to the porch. “Didn't you say we were wasting our time at the clubs, that it was time for a new plan?”

Marc pushed the door open and stepped into the entrance hall. “Yeah, I did. But that was before you got attacked. Now I think we might be on to something.”

“Well, we're not on to something,” she snapped. “I wasn't pumping the guy for information, you know, he was the one asking me questions. Let's just tell Damian we're not going to do this anymore, and then we can go and…oops.” Her voice trailed off as she realized they weren't alone. Damian and Armand were both in the hallway before them.

“
Niños
,” Damian greeted them with an overabundance of false cheer. “Did you have a pleasant evening?” The quiet fury in his voice made them both wince.

“Sure thing…
Dad
,” Marc replied, returning Damian's smile with one just as phony. “It was great.”

“Well,
mon ami
?” Armand eyed Damian coldly. “Do you still insist there's nothing strange going on here, nothing…how did you put it? Nothing for anyone to get upset about?”

Damian said nothing for a moment. Then he threw up his hands and smiled, saying brightly. “I give up. Think what you will, Armand. You will anyway.”

“Ah,
merci
.” Armand smiled too. Grimly. “You're too kind. Fine then. I choose to think that you three—” He paused to glance at them each in turn. “Are up to something and that Conrad ought to be apprised of it. So, are you going to contact him and tell him what it is you're up to, or shall I?”

Damian sighed. “Dear Armand. When I said ‘think what you will', that didn't mean I planned on collaborating with you and your sad little delusions. Just how stupid do you think I am? If Conrad does not wish to be disturbed, then it will not be I who disturbs him. Not for any reason.”

“Fine!” Armand repeated angrily. “Then tell me how to reach him and I'll tell him myself.”

Damian shook his head. “And yet, he would still be disturbed, would he not?”

“What are you so afraid of?” Armand demanded. “What is it you don't want him to know? You can't possibly be
that
concerned about his temper. How stupid do you think
I
am, eh? He would
never
react so unreasonably that you need fear him.”

“Oh, dear,” Damian murmured, his forehead creasing. “Do you really think so? Well then, I'm sure, with your superior knowledge of the man, you must be correct. After all, I've only known him for…what? Not quite five hundred years compared to your…fifty, is it?”

With a suddenness that took them all by surprise, Damian ripped open his shirt and bared one shoulder. Marc felt his eyes widen in shock and watched as Armand's did the same. Beside him, Julie gave a little mewl of dismay. Even in the dim light, the marks stood out vividly against the otherwise smooth flesh. A welter of ugly, raised, white scars extended across Damian's shoulder and down part of his back as though the skin had been raked repeatedly by fangs.

Damian gestured at the scars. “He must have meant these as love bites, I suppose. Is that what you're thinking, Armand? Because I'm sure we both know how very playful he can be when he's annoyed about something such as…oh, I don't know…perhaps being disturbed for no good reason when he's asked not to be?”

“You-you're saying Conrad did that to you?” Armand's quiet voice held a slight tremor. “No. You're lying. He-he wouldn't.”

“You think not?” Lips curled in a mocking smile, Damian shrugged back into his shirt. “Ah well, perhaps you're right once again. Perhaps it was one of those
other
insanely possessive, ill-tempered
Lamia Invitus
brutes with whom I've been acquainted over the years. There were so very many of them, after all, and they're all so much alike. It would be easy to confuse one with another, don't you agree?” Then his face changed. “Of course it was Conrad, you idiot!” Baring his fangs, he snarled, “You dare doubt me? I would
kill
anyone else who'd do such a thing to me. Or die in the attempt!”

His fury seemed to infect the atmosphere, communicating itself to the others. Armand responded in kind, mouth gaping, a feral growl rumbling in his throat, and even Marc felt his temper start to fray.

“Stop it!” Julie ordered, yelling to be heard above the noise. “All of you, calm down!”

The men startled at the sound and struggled to regain their tempers. For a moment, no one spoke.

“This is wrong,” Armand muttered at last, his face troubled. “There's something
wrong
here.” Finally, he drew himself erect. Fixing Damian with a faintly sardonic smile, he nodded at his shoulder. “No, I don't doubt you. But, if it was someone else who'd done that to you, you'd have had no need to kill him. Conrad would have killed him for you.”

Surprise flickered across Damian's face. He nodded. “Yes. I suppose he would. He'd do the same for you, as well. Truce?”

Armand shook his head. “Not until I know what's going on.” He turned on his heel and started to leave the room, then spun back around to face Julie. “
Mademoiselle
,” he murmured, inclining his head. “My apologies, if I've upset you.” Then he straightened again and was gone.

“Wh-what was that all about?” Julie asked, but the fury was back in Damian's eyes. “Upstairs,” he barked, glaring at them both. “Now!”

 

“Neither of you are going anywhere,” Damian said after he'd heard their story. He held up a hand to forestall Marc's protest and added, “Tonight, I mean. It's late and I won't have you risking daylight on a wild-goose chase. Tomorrow, however, is another story. Because you're right, Marc, it's obvious you've finally stirred something up. You need to pursue it.”

“Good.” From his post, just inside the door of Damian's bedroom, Marc nodded. “I can wait 'til tomorrow.”

“But, why?” Julie protested, twisting around on the bed so that she was facing Damian. “This is so stupid, Damian. I don't want to see that guy again! He's nuts. And scary! Besides, he doesn't even care about us. He thought I was someone else.”

Damian sighed. “Yes. That's what concerns me.
Who
did he think you were?”

“Who knows?” She threw up her hands. “Who cares? What difference does it make?”

“It might make a lot of difference.” Looking very grim, Damian got up from the bed and began to pace. “All the difference in the world, in fact.”

“Does she look like our mother?” Marc asked, earning himself a look of approval from Damian and one of annoyance from Julie.

“That's exactly what I'm wondering myself,” Damian admitted. “Unfortunately, I have no idea. As I've told you, Conrad and I were not on the best of terms back then. I never saw the girl and, as you know, he does not like to speak of her.”

“So what if I
do
look like her?” Julie crossed her arms and glared at them both. “Big deal. Even if we were identical, do you really think someone's gonna remember something like that after forty years?”

Damian shrugged. “It's possible. Vampires do tend to have good memories, you know, and genetics…well, that's a very strange thing. There could be some other resemblance between the two of you, besides your looks. It could be something as simple as the taste of your blood, the sound of your voice, perhaps even the way you move.”