In the Dark (36 page)

“I'm sure that's why.” Marc sat down on the edge of the bed, seemingly casual, still following Conrad's lead. “You know how he likes his games. I didn't think you'd mind?”

Conrad shook his head. “It's fine, my dear, but, now that I'm back, I think it's time for the game to end. Is that understood? Both of you? There'll be no more talk of this.”

He glanced at each of them in turn. Marc nodded quickly. “Of course.”

Armand hesitated for an instant longer. Finally, he acquiesced as well. “
Tres bien
,” he sighed, still looking unconvinced. “Whatever you say.”

“I wonder where Julie has disappeared to?” Conrad asked, closely watching for Armand's reaction while pretending to be absorbed in his meal.

“Brennan,” Marc answered.

Armand nodded in agreement. “The gatekeeper. She's developed quite a fondness for the taste of his blood, I think.”

Marc snorted. “I think it's a little more than that. I think she's hoping you'll give him to her for a pet.”

Armand's eyes widened in faint alarm. He gazed anxiously at Conrad. “I'm sure it's nothing serious.”

Conrad smiled serenely back at them both. “Well, if that's what she wants, why should she not have him? After all, I do generally try and give my children whatever makes them happy.”

“You don't mind then?” Armand asked, his relief so obvious Conrad had to work to hide his smile.
Is that all that he's afraid of? That I'd be jealous of her involvement with someone else?

He shook his head. “No, of course not. But, if you would indulge me with just another small favor, Armand, perhaps you would go and check and make sure that's really where she's gone? She's still new to the city. I wouldn't want her wandering off and getting herself in trouble.”

“Certainly.” Armand got up quickly and headed for the door. “Right away. I'd be glad to keep an eye on her for you.”

“I'm sorry,” Marc began as soon as the door closed behind Armand. “It just slipped out. I didn't mean—”

Conrad cut him off with a shake of his head. “There's nothing for you to be sorry about, Marc,” he said as he tossed the empty blood bag back onto the tray and picked up another. “The habits of a lifetime are very difficult to break.”

Marc nodded, his expression troubled, but he said nothing, waiting to speak until Conrad had drained that bag, as well, and reached for a third. “I still don't understand. How did this happen? How did you get locked up like that? What were you even doing there? Damian said it had something to do with us—with me and Julie—is that true?”

“Damian talks too much,” Conrad snapped, his anger souring the taste of the blood. It was not something he wanted to discuss. But he owed Marc a huge debt of gratitude, one that did not allow him to begrudge the boy a few well-deserved answers. “And, not infrequently, he's wrong. What happened to me had nothing to do with you,” Conrad insisted, and it was not quite a lie. “If you must know, I was ambushed. I was caught unaware and…drugged.”

There were not many drugs capable of incapacitating someone like himself, not very many at all. In fact, in the course of his twelve hundred years, Conrad had encountered exactly one. Luckily, that was such a small and obscure piece of information, he had no doubt Marc would fail to recognize the significance of what he'd just been told.

Conrad understood its importance, however, and he could barely suppress the shudder that ran through him as he contemplated what that fact might mean—what it almost certainly
had
to mean. Someone was attempting to revive the cult of the
Lamia Invitus
.

“But…why?”

“Who can say? Revenge, possibly?” Or possibly not. Possibly something far more sinister. “I had arranged to meet with someone who claimed to have a certain piece of information for which I'd been searching. Instead…” Instead, he'd met with the last thing he'd been expecting. “Rest assured I will not leave this business unfinished. I'll do whatever is necessary to discover exactly what was behind the attack. And who. And why.”

“What do you mean who?” Marc stared at him uncertainly. “It
was
Vincent who abducted you, wasn't it? I mean, he was there—that's how we found you. It had to be him!”

Conrad nodded. “Yes, of course, it was. I merely meant that I intend to look into the matter and ascertain whether or not he was working alone.”
As he almost certainly was not
. True, Conrad could recall having seen no one else during his captivity, but he was reasonably convinced the tormented, half-crazed creature who had taken such great pleasure in taunting him these past few weeks had possessed neither the sanity nor the intelligence necessary to have conceived of such a scheme on his own.

Marc was still eyeing him curiously. “The person you'd arranged to see…it wasn't my mother, was it?”

As he took in the hopeful look on Marc's face, Conrad's heart clenched with grief.
Mignonne. Ah, if only it could be so.
He sighed and shook his head. “Of course it wasn't, Marc. Your mother's dead. You know this.”

Marc shrugged, looking very young, very lost. “I know. I just thought, maybe…”

“But, if I want to see her, I need only look at you and Julie,” Conrad said quietly. “I see her in you both, very strongly at times.” Getting up from his chair, Conrad went over to the bed where Marc was seated and pulled him to his feet. “Come. That's enough talk for now.” He put his arms around the boy and hugged him fiercely. “I won't forget what you did for me tonight, you
and
your sister. You have my word on that, Marc. I owe you both a great deal.”

Marc hugged him back, a little hesitantly at first. “We were happy to do it. You know that, right? We'd have done anything to get you back, Grandfather. But, Damian…he's the one who really deserves the credit. I think we'd all be dead now, if it weren't for him.”

“I know,” Conrad murmured, suppressing a shudder. “Believe me, I know.”

As if on cue, the door to the hallway was thrown open and Damian appeared. “
Estoy aquí
,” he announced, striking a theatrical pose. “I am here,
mi señor
. As commanded.”

“So I see.” Conrad's gaze swept over this, the most headstrong, uncontrollable, infuriating of all his children. He wanted to thank him, too, for all he'd done—not just tonight, but over the past forty years, as well. He wanted to acknowledge him for his loyalty, his courage, his sacrifice. He wanted to admit to the very great debt he owed him—a debt he knew he'd probably never be able to repay.

But the very sight of him lounging in the doorway, his expression insouciant, and with a gleaming white cloth wrapped around his throat, drawing attention to the very wounds it attempted to hide, left Conrad with a feeling that was not completely unlike being kicked in the chest by a heavily shod warhorse. A not-soon-to-be-forgotten sensation, he'd experienced it only once before and thought that enough. He had never had any desire to repeat the experience…until now. Now, he very much suspected he might prefer it.

Relaxing his grip on Marc's shoulders, Conrad eased the boy away from him, trying hard to keep his temper in check. “If you wouldn't mind leaving us now, Marc, I would like to speak to your…uncle. Alone.”

“Oh, uh, o-okay.” Marc's gaze moved back and forth between the two men, his expression vaguely worried, but he uttered no protest as he moved toward the door.

Damian stepped aside to let Marc pass, his gaze never leaving Conrad's face. The faint, sardonic smile that curved his lips did nothing to improve Conrad's temper.

“Come in, Damian,” Conrad growled softly. “And shut the door.”

Chapter Twenty

Conrad was angry. That much Damian was having no trouble understanding. Arms crossed, he leaned his shoulder into the doorjamb and watched Conrad pace, not really listening to all the insults that were being hurled at his head. Words like thoughtless, careless, reckless, impulsive—were they touching on anything new here, any ground they hadn't already covered dozens of times? He seriously doubted it.

“You might consider getting off your feet for a while,” he suggested, when Conrad paused for breath. “Have something to drink, why don't you? Frankly,
querido
, you're still not looking all that well.”

“And the fact that you brought them here!” Conrad continued, not even listening. “Here, of all places! You put
all
your lives at risk. You knew I didn't want them here, damn it. You
knew
that.”

“
Ay, dios mio
.
Si, si, si
. I knew. We discussed it. Many times. And if there had been any other way—”

“Especially not Julie. She looks so much like her mother. That makes it all so much worse, so much more dangerous than you could possibly have known.”

“Ah.” Finally, a point on which they could agree! “
Si!
How could I know? When have you ever seen fit to mention any of it to me? But, no matter. As it turns out, it's just as well, I didn't know, for if I had, I might have hesitated. And if it had not been for that resemblance, we might never have found you. So it all worked out, did it not?”

“Thanks only to the luck that favors fools! It could just as easily have
not
worked out—did you never think of that?”

Damian sighed. “I did what I thought was best,
querido
. Can you not just accept that and move on? If you want my opinion, I think it's good that they're here now—however it was accomplished. You've been putting this off for far too long. They need to be part of our world. You cannot protect them any longer by hiding them away. They're not children now and it's dangerous for them to remain so ignorant about the things that concern them.”

“That is
not
your decision to make,” Conrad growled angrily. “Nor was it your place to let Armand think they were yours. Are you truly insane? You can pretend all you want in public that you find such stunts amusing, but you can't tell
me
you didn't realize the danger you were putting yourself in.”

“I wouldn't insult your intelligence by suggesting it,” Damian replied with a shrug. “Or my own. But, again, what would you have had me do? You weren't here. I wasn't at all certain I'd be able to save you in time. Under the circumstances, I deemed it better for them to appear to be under
someone's
protection, in the event there was trouble. Or would you have had me leave them defenseless?”

“That is not the point! It's not your place to make such decisions. How dare you attempt to take such a responsibility upon yourself? How dare you put yourself—and them—at risk like that?”

How dare I?
Damian came away from the doorframe, seething with resentment. “Not my place! Not my place! What is it you're really saying, Conrad, eh? Do you think I'm out to supplant you? To usurp your precious authority? I assure you,
nothing
could be further from my mind.”

Idiot! I would have died for you tonight—and this is the thanks I get? Well, no more. No more…

 

“Let me remind you,
mi querido
—” the expression in Damian's eyes as he stalked across the room was so vicious Conrad started back in surprise— “had that truly been my intention I could have easily accomplished it tonight.” Whipping the cloth from around his neck, Damian threw it at Conrad's chest. “And saved myself a great deal of discomfort in the bargain.”

The cloth fell to the floor. Neither of them made a move to touch it.

“How dare you question my loyalty to you?” Damian continued, his voice raw with so much pain Conrad wanted to wince. “Or to
them
. Or, or, or
at all
, at this point! How dare you?”

“No,” Conrad murmured, his heart heavy with remorse, barely able to speak for the tightness in his throat. “Damian…of course I do not.” He reached a conciliatory hand toward Damian's shoulder, stopping when Damian flinched away, as though expecting to be struck.

Conrad let his hand drop to his side where it immediately curled itself into a fist—apparently in an attempt to match its mate. “That was not what I meant,” he growled, his face hardening just like his hands, until he was unable to unclench either his fists or his jaw. “Stop confusing the issue.”

“May I leave now?” Damian asked. His voice, blunt and final, gave no clue as to what he was thinking.

Conrad frowned in confusion and dismay. “Leave? What are you talking about? Why would you leave?”

“Ah. Of course.” A shudder ran through Damian's frame and he closed his eyes for a moment, as though gathering strength. When he opened them again it was to smile at Conrad with a look of cold politeness. “A thousand pardons,
mi
patrón
,” he sighed, in the dutiful, differential tones of a professional sycophant. “I can see it has quite escaped your attention—and rightly so, for it is of no great importance, at all. I do understand that and I crave your forgiveness for even daring to mention so wholly insignificant a matter. It's just that I have had such a…oh, dear, how shall I put this? Such a
difficult
evening, shall we say?”

Conrad felt his shoulders sag. “Damian, don't.”

Still smiling disingenuously, Damian sketched a wave in the air. “
Si, si
,
I know. Completely my own fault, of course, as you so very charmingly pointed out to me earlier,
muchas gracias, señor
,
for the reminder
.
Still, I'm afraid the ordeal
has
left me feeling rather more fatigued than usual. So, if it wouldn't inconvenience you
too
terribly much, I thought I might, perhaps, be allowed to retire to my room for just a few hours rest?
Por favor, padre mio?
”