To Curse the Darkness (21 page)

“Change of plans,” Marc announced as his gaze swept the room, pinning both of them in place. “I have to go out again, and I need you both to stay put while I'm gone.”

”You want us to stay here in this
room
?” Heather asked in disbelief.

Marc shook his head. “No, hon. You can leave the room, just not the warehouse. And I mean
not at all
. No joke. I don't want you to so much as step foot outside the building—not for any reason whatsoever. Not until I'm back, got that?”

“What if we get hungry?”

“Well, hopefully we have something on tap. We should if Hawk's been doing his job and keeping us stocked up. If we don't, talk to Hawk. I'll let him know, before I leave, that I expect him to make sure you both have everything you need. But you're not to go out and get it yourself. You'll wait for him to bring it back and eat it here, understood?”

“Wait,
he
can go out but we
can't
? That's not fair!”

“I don't care if it's fair! Just do what I say. I'll be back as soon as I can.”

Heather nodded sadly. “Okay.”

Watching them, Elise felt a sharp surge of emotion, a feeling she couldn't quite put a name to, something that left her chest feeling hollow and brought a rush of tears to sting her eyes. It was clear the girl didn't fear Marc at all—though anyone with any sense would know she should! He was too dangerous to be trusted, too nice to be safe. On the other hand, it was equally clear that he would walk through fire to protect the girl.

The warmth, the trust, the love between the two of them was palpable.
Why couldn't I have had that?
Elise fought against the sudden yearning that swelled inside her. What did it matter why? She hadn't had it. She never would. Wishing your life could be different from what it was led only to sorrow. It was a waste of time. She'd learned that years ago. It was why she rarely indulged in self-pity or regret. Besides, nothing in life was permanent anyway, neither the good nor the bad. Both could be swept away at a moment's notice. You did the best you could with what you had and hoped for better days to come.

“You too, Elise,” Marc said, turning his attention her way and startling her out of her funk. “I need you to promise me that you'll stay here until I get back.”

Oh, do you
? Once again, Elise opened her mouth to speak, to argue, to point out that they all had “needs” that were doomed to go unmet, and this was likely one of them. But the words she wanted to say dried up on her tongue when it once again occurred to her that doing what Marc wanted her to do, pleasing him with her compliance, was exactly what she wanted for herself. It was, in fact, the
only
thing she wanted for herself.

And that scared her more than almost anything else ever had.

“Elise?” Marc prompted.

When had this happened? How had it happened? She struggled for a moment longer, terrified of giving in…and then did it anyway. “Yes, fine. I'll stay here. I won't go anywhere until you get back.” As the words left her mouth, she felt as though a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She hadn't felt anything like this since… Well, she wasn't sure exactly. Not for a very long time.

After Marc left, Elise turned to Heather. “I've been thinking. When we're finished in here, how about you give me a tour of the rest of the place?”

Heather looked at her doubtfully. “A tour?”

“Yes. You know, show me around and where everything is. Maybe introduce me to whoever's here.”

“All right,” Heather said slowly, with a look in her eyes that held more than a trace of suspicion. “I guess we could do that.”

Elise pasted her brightest and most innocent-seeming smile on her face. “Thank you. I'd really like that.”

She had no idea how long Marc would be gone. She'd have to move fast. But if she was very lucky, perhaps by the time he returned she'd have been able to figure out exactly what kind of unholy mess she'd gotten herself stuck in the middle of this time.

Chapter Sixteen

“Surely that's enough now?” Damian pleaded—not for the first time. “Conrad, please. Can you not put a stop to this already? It's gone on for so long.”

Armand barely bit back his own growl of frustration as he turned his head to glare at the other man. Damian had paused in his pacing to gaze at Conrad with anxious eyes. That alone was unusual. Of the two, it was Conrad who was more likely to pace, to give voice to his feelings with actions rather than words. But from the moment Julie's consciousness had faded, everything had changed. Damian's carefully crafted façade had cracked. There was a wild-eyed, desperate look about him now. In fact, if Damian had had a sword with him right now, or if Conrad had not been present—sword or no—Armand wouldn't have given any odds on Georgia's life. Or Christian's life either. He was quite sure Damian would cut them both down without a second thought if he believed it would help Julie. Given the hollow, haunted look on Christian's face, he thought so too.

Conrad's metamorphosis was quieter, but no less disturbing. Eyes burning with intensity, he had perched himself at the foot of the bed, where he might watch the women, and so that he might intervene at the first sign of trouble—or so Armand hoped. If that were the only difference, it would be unremarkable. But with every minute that ticked by, Conrad's presence in the room seemed to be expanding, as though he was somehow pulling strength out of the ether. Like an immense, dark star, he commanded more and more of Armand's attention just by sitting there.

None of which, Armand thought grimly, was helping at all to calm anyone's nerves. Damian was not the only one concerned about Julie's condition. Armand was worried too. No, he was more than worried. Ever since Julie had gone limp, dropping Georgia's hand and mumbling incoherently about wanting to live forever before falling into a sort of swoon, Armand had been terrified. Even now, his heart continued to kick at a frantic pace, as though executing endless repetitions of
petit battements
. Damian's agitation only made things worse, however, because if
he
didn't trust Conrad to know how and when to take action, how could any of them?

Armand pushed the thought away. Of course Conrad would know—he must! Hadn't he already promised that he would not let Julie come to harm? Armand had to believe he meant it. He had to believe Conrad knew what he was doing, if only because it was a certainty that none of the rest of them did!

“Conrad…”

“Patience, Damian,” Conrad murmured yet again, speaking in as gentle a voice as Armand had ever heard him use. “We just need to give them a little more time.”

“But how do you
know
that? How can you be sure she's all right? Look at her! She's still not awake! That cannot be a
good
thing.”

“It is neither good nor bad. Nor do I find it nearly as surprising as you apparently do. Why should her body not seek refuge in sleep? And why should you not wish her to be able to escape from any…unpleasantness?”

“Why? Because it's not normal, that's why!”

Armand bit back another growl. What the fuck did that mean? Nothing was “normal” at the moment. Secretly, however, he worried that Damian might have a point.

“I disagree,” Conrad answered mildly. “Losing so much blood at one time would naturally put a strain on her system. In that way, this is not so different from some other activities I could think of. Siring a new spawn, for example. Or coming to the aid of someone who is on the brink of death, baring your throat to give him succor.” Conrad smiled thinly. “Truly, my dear, if you ever should wonder from whence she gets her determination, the strength of will that drives her, the willingness to sacrifice herself for another, you need look no farther than your own mirror.”

Damian paled. “So this is
my
fault? If she comes to harm… Is that what you're saying? That
I'm
to blame for this?”

“No. Of course that's not what I'm saying!” Conrad snapped. He paused, and again Armand had the sense that he was gathering strength. After a moment, he continued more calmly, “Whatever happens, the responsibility for it rests solely on my shoulders, as it should. All I meant to imply was that she gets her courage from you. You may take that as a compliment, if you please.”

“A compliment? Really?”

“Indeed. Though your astonishment suggests I do not proffer them often enough. Something I'll attempt to rectify in the future.”

“Stop it. This is no time for making jokes.”

“And I wasn't joking. In truth, as often as you've terrified me with all the unnecessary risks you take, and as often as I've complained about your foolishness in doing so, especially without proper forethought, still I cannot help but admire your bravery. But, please, I pray you, cease looking so stricken! Haven't I assured you that I will not allow her to be harmed? What more need I say to convince you?”

“Why waste time talking when the means to convince me are so close to hand? Simply do as I ask. Put a stop to this now. That would convince me far better than words ever could.”

“I could do that, but what purpose would it serve? Yes, yes,
besides
assuaging your nerves. Do we not owe it to Julie to give this endeavor every chance of succeeding? To push it as far as we can without causing her injury? Otherwise, it will all have been for naught. Or worse yet, she might elect to put us all thorough this again.”

“Again? Heaven forfend. Whatever for?”

Conrad gestured at the bed. “Look for yourself. Is it not obvious that Georgia's condition has improved somewhat already? I think there can be no doubt on that score. But it's too soon to know yet if she's healed. If we stop this now, before it's completely necessary to do so, if we do not give Julie every chance to achieve a complete cure, then what have we actually accomplished? Oh, we might have forced the disease into remission and thus bought Georgia a little more time, but was that really all Julie intended?”

Damian shook his head. “I no longer know. I know that what she said made sense to me at the time, or so I recall having thought, but now…it seems impossible that we agreed to allow this. What were we thinking?”

“I don't know,” Conrad answered. “No more than I know if this gamble we're taking will pay off. But what I do know is this: if Julie fails in her larger goal, if it turns out Georgia still harbors remnants of the disease, then we must be able to assure our girl that she did everything possible, that we allowed her to go as far as she could, and that nothing will be gained by making a second attempt. Otherwise, I would be most surprised if she does not insist upon it.”

“
¡Ay! Dios mio
,” Damian grumbled as he turned away. “No! Impossible. I feel as though my heart is already torn in two. How can I bear to see her go through this again?” Armand could not be certain, but from the set of his shoulders, the suspicious brightness in his eyes, he suspected Damian was struggling to hold back a flood of tears.

Silence descended on the room, broken only by the greedy, sucking sounds of Georgia, eagerly feeding at Julie's throat. Armand shuddered. Usually he found such sounds arousing. Tonight, they sickened him. His hand tightened convulsively on Julie's, willing her to return the pressure, but her fingers, noticeably cooler than before, remained lax.

As though she was aware of Armand's desire to snatch Julie away from her, Georgia shifted slightly. She pulled Julie more fully into her embrace, using her free hand to gently cradle the younger woman's face. It was a tender, almost maternal-seeming gesture, but one that nonetheless managed to add to Armand's concerns for Julie's well-being. Conrad was right. The improvement in Georgia's condition was both obvious and undeniable. But that only made the contrast between the two women's appearances more disturbing. With every passing second, it seemed that Georgia's color improved. But even as the glow of health returned to her skin and her nails, Julie's pallor increased. Until her face had become waxy and pale, her breathing abnormally shallow…

How much longer?
Armand glanced anxiously at Conrad, willing him to do or say something.
How long can she last? How much more of this can she take? How much more can any of us take
?

For once, Armand found himself in complete agreement with Damian. Sitting helplessly by, watching as Julie wasted away right before their eyes: it was nothing short of torture.
How much longer?

“Now?” Damian asked again, even more impatiently than before. “Conrad, please! Surely it's been long enough by now?”

“Not. Yet.” Tension radiated from Conrad. His eyes remained focused on the two women, and he seemed poised to spring into action, and yet…

Damian resumed pacing. “I still don't see how this bears any resemblance to…to any of those other things you mentioned,” he said, reverting to that earlier topic. “Neither the spawning nor what I went through with you. This seems to me entirely different. Why would you even mention them in the same breath? They're not at all the same.”

Conrad sighed. “I meant the loss of blood, primarily. The point I was making was that it's natural for such things to leave one exhausted. Surely you cannot argue with that?”

“Of course I can,” Damian replied peevishly. “And who says I was exhausted? You're overstating the case. The pain was by far the worst of it—and even with that I never lost consciousness. Do not dare pretend otherwise!”

“No, you did not lose consciousness.” Conrad's eyes flashed gold as he swung around to face Damian. “And do you know why?
Because I did not allow it.
Do you not recall how I ordered you to stop? How I demanded you find me another source of nourishment? Why do you think I was so insistent on that point? It was
your
well-being with which I was concerned. Just as now, I am concerned with Julie's.”

“But of course!” Damian said, all but shouting in his excitement. “Why did we not think of this before? Oh, Conrad, please, you must make her stop! Georgia is obviously recovered enough now to eat on her own. Only give me a few minutes. I'll find someone else to take Julie's place. Surely any of the servants will do at this point?”

Was it possible? Armand felt his hopes rise as well, until Conrad shook his head.

“I'm sorry, my dear, but you're not thinking this through. It's not merely a matter of nourishment. Have you forgotten that Georgia is ill?”

“Are you mad? Of course I have not forgotten! How could any of us forget? But what of it? The humans cannot become infected, so how does it have anything to do with them?”

“That is not the point. Yes, Georgia might be recovered enough to derive some nourishment from them for now—although how much and for how long remains to be seen. But the disease might still be present. And, aside from Julie, there is no one capable of effecting a cure.”

“There's also her brother,” Christian said, speaking up suddenly from his post at the other side of the bed. He'd been silent for so long, so still and motionless, Armand had almost forgotten he was there. “And, granted, I haven't actually run any tests on Marc's blood,” Christian continued, “but it's reasonable to assume it's of a similar type to his sister's, with identical characteristics. We could try him next, perhaps, if this does not succeed.”

Damian howled in fury. He launched himself at Christian, only to be stopped by Conrad, who grabbed his lover and held him fast.

Conrad's face was dark with rage as he glared at Christian. “Her brother—yes—whose blood we must now pray is similarly blessed. If this attempt does not succeed, we will
not
be trying it again. This is not just our best but our only shot, for we must keep Marc in reserve against the possibility that your other suppositions might also prove groundless. If Julie's immunity is compromised, our only hope for saving
her
lies with her brother.”

“Of-of course,” Christian stammered. He lowered his gaze and seemed to shrink into himself. “I didn't mean… That is, I hadn't thought…” But no one was paying him any attention nor seemed to care what he thought. Damian, still caught in Conrad's grasp, finally gave up the fight. He began to sob quietly, burying his face against Conrad's neck, his hands tightly clutching Conrad's waist. Conrad, his face stoic, continued to hold him, stroking his back and murmuring soothing words into his ear.

Armand turned his attention back to Julie, both relieved and disheartened to note no difference in her condition. Or was there? He bent his head to her, holding his breath and listening closely. The sure susurration of her heart…had it always been so slow? Had the beat just faltered? There. Yes. There it went again. Alarmed, he raised his head. “Conrad?”

But Conrad was already in motion. “That's enough, Georgia,” he said as he set Damian aside. Two quick steps and he was leaning across the bed, his presence overwhelming as he ordered sharply, “Stop it. Now.”

Armand's heart beat violently, a series of rapid
frappe
-like kicks that knocked against his ribs even as his lungs seemed to seize. What if Georgia wouldn't listen? What if she was unable to stop? What if it was already too late?

Even as he thought it, however, Georgia pulled away. Her throat worked for a moment longer as she stared at Julie, her expression bemused, the bloodlust still apparent in her heavy, somnambulant eyes. Armand's breath caught when she darted in quickly once again. But it was just to seal the wounds on Julie's neck with a single swipe of her tongue. Armand exhaled. The gesture was effortless, as elegant as it was efficient. It bespoke centuries of practice, but even more, it signaled a level of health and vitality such as Armand doubted he'd ever witnessed in Georgia before—not in all the years he'd known her. He was, quite frankly, terrified.