To Curse the Darkness (22 page)

And Julie was still not awake.

Georgia lay back against the pillows and gazed up at Conrad, a hint of trepidation in her gaze. “Thank you.”

A wry smile pulled at the corner of Conrad's mouth. “I don't know that it's I you should be thanking. I had very little to do with any of it.”

“
Au contraire
,” Georgia countered. “I think you had a great deal to do with it. We both know you could have stopped it at any time, my friend. And yet you didn't.”

“No, I didn't.” The thought did not appear to make Conrad very happy. “In any case, I'm pleased to see you looking so much better.”

“I feel much better.” She glanced worriedly at Julie. “But what of her? Is
she
going to be all right?”

Damian groaned as though in pain. Conrad's lips tightened. “Yes,” he answered firmly. “She will be.”

Christian cleared his throat hesitantly. “If I may,” he said as he gestured at Georgia. “She should rest.”

“Yes.” Conrad straightened up. “So she should. It's almost morning.” Still gazing at Georgia, he said, “You must sleep now,
ciccia
, so that your body may continue to heal. We will talk again this evening. I trust I will find you looking and feeling even better then.”

Georgia nodded. “It would be nice if that were so.”

No one spoke again, but they all watched in silence as Christian carefully scooped Georgia into his arms and then carried her out of the room. Armand squeezed Julie's hand again, hoping for a response. Still nothing.

As the door to the bedroom closed behind them, Damian murmured urgently, “Conrad…”

“Yes, Damian. I know.” Conrad turned to Armand. “I'm sorry,
mon ami
, but I need to displace you for a moment.”

Armand hesitated. He glanced again at Julie, so still, so pale, so impossibly frail looking. Relinquish his place at her side, when the last thing she'd ever asked of him was that he stay? A large part of him wanted to refuse. But there was nothing he could do to help her now. He could only pray that Conrad could.

Still, it was with extreme reluctance he let go her hand. Every muscle protested as he stood and moved away. Jealousy clawed at his heart as Conrad took his place.

“Come back to us now, Juliet,” Conrad urged as he folded his arms around her and placed a gentle kiss upon her too-pale cheek. “Please, little one, wake up. The pain is gone—all gone now. It's time for you to find your way home.”

A moment passed. Another moment. Three.

“Listen to me,
carissima
,” Conrad urged again, more firmly now, his face grim. “I know you're in there—I can feel your presence. And I know that you can hear me. It is my blood that's running in your veins, after all; you cannot hide from me forever. I need you to heed me now. I need you to listen to my voice. Open those pretty eyes of yours. Come now, do as I ask. Let me see you.”

And finally—finally!—Julie stirred. Armand's lungs expanded in relief. He rubbed his chest as his heart at last backed off from its punishing pace, one hard, painful thump at a time. The muscle felt bruised. Every cell in his body screamed with exhaustion. It took all his years of training, and every ounce of discipline, to keep from collapsing in a boneless heap on the floor.

“Conrad…” Julie blinked up at him with a sleepy smile. But then she turned her head and glanced over her shoulder at the empty half of the bed. Her expression grew puzzled as her hand trailed over the sheet where Georgia had lain. “I don't understand,” she said as she turned back to Conrad. “What happened? Was it all a dream?”

Conrad shook his head. “No, my dear.” The smile on his face slipped just a little. He rubbed his fingers over her neck. Tracing the slight marks made by Georgia's teeth that still remained. “But perhaps it's best for you to think of it as such. Let the experience fade from your thoughts as though it never was. How are you feeling?”

Julie's lips pursed as she considered the question. “Hungry,” she said as a curious smile danced across her lips. She ran her tongue over the exposed tips of her fangs, and her smile grew wider. “I'm feeling hungry.”

“Well, that is easily rectified,” Conrad replied, smiling back at her. “Damian, what can we—”

“It's already taken care of,” Armand interjected quickly. “I have a meal waiting in my room for her.”

“In
your
room?”

Armand quailed when Conrad turned to look at him. But he stood his ground even when that searching gaze left him feeling flayed—layers of skin and tissue laid open and his heart exposed. “
Oui
. My room.”

After a moment, Conrad nodded. “Very well.”

Julie's eyes widened in vague dismay as he stood up. “Wait. Where are you going?” she asked, reaching a hand out to stop him. “What's happening?”

Conrad took her hand and squeezed it reassuringly. “Everything's fine, child. Don't look so worried. Armand's going to take care of you now. He'll get you something to eat. That is what you want, yes?”

“Armand.” Julie's tongue flicked over her teeth once more. She repeated his name slowly, as though she were dragging up a memory that had lain buried for dozens of years.

Her gaze, when it finally settled on his face, was almost as probing as Conrad's had been. Armand's bruised heart thumped again in guilty protest at the doubt he saw reflected back at him. She didn't trust him. He didn't blame her. But this time he hadn't failed, he wouldn't fail.

“Come,
chérie
,” Armand said, smiling as he approached her, determined to show a confidence he was far from feeling. “I think you'll enjoy what I've arranged for you.”

“Will I?”A spark of curiosity lit up her eyes. The smile she gave him was far more shy than he was used to seeing on her face—but at least she
was
smiling. “All right.”

Relieved, he bent to lift her from the bed. She went into his arms willingly, and held on tight as he straightened up again. But when he turned to leave, Damian was suddenly right there in his face, his expression impossibly aristocratic, implacably determined. And once again, Armand was glad for Conrad's presence—and for the lack of a sword in the hand Damian raised to stop him.

“
Un momento
. Just where do you think you're going?”

Armand bit back an oath. When would it be enough? How many more doubters must he face? How many more hoops would he be made to jump through? “To my room. As I said.”

A huff of laughter broke from Damian's lips. “I think not.”

Armand's jaw clenched. His arms tightened to the point where he thought Julie might protest. She didn't; she merely gazed up at him with hooded eyes, an inscrutable expression on her face. That gave him courage. “I think yes.” He'd had enough. He knew he couldn't have her forever—that went without saying. She was too rare, too special, too far above him. But what he could have was tonight—one, single night in which he might try and make up for all the many times he'd failed her, one night in which to lavish her with all the tenderness and care she deserved. He wanted her in his room. He wanted her in his bed. He wanted
her
. And this time he was not backing down.

“Damian,” Conrad protested mildly. “Calm yourself.”

But Damian ignored them both. His eyes flashed dangerously as his gaze met Armand's. “Give her to me,” he ordered quietly. “You can get whatever food you have waiting and bring it to our suite.”

“Damian!” Conrad protested again, much less mildly this time.

Damian shuddered in response. But he turned on Conrad just the same and stubbornly continued to plead his case, “Why should she not come to us? We have a spare room, do we not? And an extra bed? She can recover there. I want her close.”

“No.” Julie shook her head. Her hands clutched more tightly at Armand. “Stop it. I want to go with Armand.”

“
Chica
,” Damian said reproachfully. “Haven't I always taken care of you?”

“I don't care. I don't want to think right now. I'm too hungry.”

“Let her go,
caro
.” Conrad's voice was weary, heavy with pain, rife with exasperation and sympathy. “You can see it's what she wants.”

“But, Conrad, she's just regained consciousness. Weak as she is, how is she to know what she wants? What if she becomes ill? What if she needs us and we're not there?”

“But we will be there,” Conrad answered. “If she needs us. The house is not
that
big, after all. It's a flight of stairs, no distance to even speak of.”

“I want Armand,” Julie insisted fretfully. She closed her eyes and turned her head, burying her face against Armand's chest—perhaps, Armand suspected, so that she wouldn't see the grief in Damian's eyes. “Please.”

Damian's shoulders sagged. Pain flared in his eyes. He looked defeated. Armand leaned close enough to whisper, “Don't you think you have enough on your plate right now?” He glanced meaningfully at Conrad and added, “He's going to need some looking after too. Don't you think?”

Damian didn't answer right away. His face was stark as his eyes met Armand's; love and pain warred in his expression. Eventually love won.

“Yes.” He breathed the word on a sigh; it was a concession, but just barely. His gaze shifted to Conrad. Slowly, his shoulders straightened, his resolve took hold, his voice grew firm. “Yes, of course. You're quite right.”

As Damian stepped aside to let him pass, Armand felt an unaccountable pang of loss, along with a small spark of jealousy that flared up quickly, and then just as quickly burned itself out again.

There had been a time, Armand recalled as he hurried out of the room, when he would have naturally been the one to look after Conrad. There had been a time, too, when he would have gladly jumped at the chance to cut Damian out of the picture, to take his place, to be once again the first person Conrad looked to for support. But in this moment, both those times seemed very, very long ago.

“I'm just so hungry,” Julie muttered once again as Armand started down the stairs.

He glanced at her in concern. Her voice seemed so much weaker than before. “I know,
chérie.
And
I promise, I have just the thing.”

It was only a few minutes later that Armand was opening the door to his suite. “He we are,” he murmured in soothing tones as he carried Julie inside. “How are you feeling?”

“Hungry.”

“I know,
ma petite
. Just hang on a little bit longer.”

Julie glanced around curiously. Had she been here before? She wasn't certain. The way her vision kept swimming in and out of focus made it hard to tell. Her memory was no help either. Familiar and unfamiliar details blended together in a way that made no sense. She could no longer tell the difference between what was real and what she'd only hoped for, what she'd only imagined.

The wind chime hanging in the corner—she was pretty sure that was real. She was almost certain she'd seen that before. Too bad she couldn't remember when.

“What are we doing here again?” she asked, nerves jangling with uncertainty.

Armand appeared amused by her question. He smiled at her fondly. “Getting you some food?”

Ah, yes. At the mention of food, Julie felt herself perk up a little.
That
she could understand. “Good. Hungry.”

Armand frowned.
Not amused now
, Julie thought as his hold on her tightened and all vestiges of his smile disappeared.

He nodded shortly. “I know.” Then he turned his head to call over his shoulder, “She's worn out. Let's take this into the bedroom. I think she'll be more comfortable in there.”

Who's he talking to?
Julie wondered as he carried her across the suite's small sitting room. Curious, she sniffed the air.
No. Oh, no, no, no
. Just to be certain, she raised her head to gaze back over Armand's shoulder, gasping in dismay as a tall, familiar figure rose from the couch.

One more puzzle piece slotted into place. Armand had promised her food, hinting that he'd prepared something special for her enjoyment. And so he had. Brennan. He'd brought her Brennan.

She dropped her head to rest on Armand's shoulder and groaned. No. Please no. This could
not
be happening.

Chapter Seventeen

Conrad had retreated to his own set of rooms for a much-needed drink when the not-unexpected sound of the front door slamming shut drifted up from the floor below. Angry footsteps crossed the foyer, pounded up the stairs, then stormed down the hallway, heading unerringly toward the study where he waited, a crystal goblet, still half-filled with blood, clutched in his hand.

A moment later, the door to his study was thrust open so violently it crashed against the wall. A fine shower of dust rained down from the ceiling. Conrad assessed the damage wearily, noting the new cracks in the plaster. Wonderful. He was going to have to have
that
fixed now too. His eyes tracked back to the doorway. “Come in, Marc. I've been expecting you.”

“I'll bet you have, you son of a bitch.” A low growl broke from Marc's lips. “Where is she? Damn it, if she's been hurt, I swear I'll…”

Conrad shook his head. “Marc. It's all right. There's no need for you to be upset.”

“No need?” Still snarling, Marc took several hasty steps forward before managing to rein himself in. He stopped, breathing hard. When he spoke, his voice still shook with rage. “Fuck that noise. Give me one good reason why I shouldn't just kill you right the fuck now.”

“Marcus!” Damian appeared in the doorway behind Marc. “Such language!” His face was ashen as he closed the door behind him and stepped into the room. Still, he managed to exhibit a reasonable facsimile of his usual relaxed manner. “Profanity is a sign of an uneducated mind. Stop it at once.”

Marc paid him no attention. His gaze remained locked on Conrad's face. “Well?”

But Conrad was too startled to reply. For the first time in a very, very long time, his authority had been challenged, yet he had not felt the immediate need to challenge back. The beast within him was quiescent, as though it too had been caught off guard by Marc's query. It was an interesting experience, and the possible ramifications… Well, those might be interesting as well. Conrad made a mental note to explore the subject at a later time. For the moment, there was still Marc's question hanging fire.

In truth, there were
many
reasons why Conrad would prefer that Marc not kill him. But could any of them be termed
good
? He was not entirely certain.

Nor was he in the habit of bargaining for his life. Indeed, he could recall having done so only once before. Given how often he'd had cause to regret that decision, he wondered if it was worth it to even try and come up with an answer this time around. Why not say nothing instead? Why not order Damian to stand down and allow Marc to kill him?

Why not let death claim him at last?

Before he had the chance to act on his selfish desires, however, reality caught up with him. Conrad's heart twisted painfully as he realized what it would mean to take the easy path. “Because,” he said at last, still struggling with the urge to stay silent and let fate take its course. “Regardless of how you feel at present, Marc, I truly believe you would eventually come to regret such an action. Take it from me, my child: forever is a very long time to have to live with your mistakes. That is not a fate I would willingly visit upon you.”

In the stunned silence that followed, two sets of dark eyes gazed back at him, one set anguished, the other still seething with anger.

After a moment, Marc looked away. “Yeah. You're probably right,” he admitted reluctantly.

“
Porquería
,” Damian spat. “I've never heard such nonsense. Of
course
he's right. You should be ashamed of yourself for saying such things! What's wrong with you?”

“Seriously?” Marc turned to glare at Damian. “You too? Drop the innocent act, all right? You know damn well what's wrong. Did you think I wouldn't find out? Are you saying you couldn't do
anything
to stop it? Don't lie and tell me
you
thought this was a good idea!”

Damian drew himself erect. “I'll have you know, Marcus, that I am
not
in the habit of lying to you. I don't know why you should think otherwise. And how do you
think
I felt? When I first learned of her plan I was appalled, of course. But your sister…”

“She trusted you—always!”

“I am aware of that.” Damian glanced away, but not before Conrad saw the gleam of tears in his eyes. “Believe me. I am very well aware of that fact.”

“If
you
told her not to do it, she would have listened.”

A pained laugh broke from Damian's lips. “You think so?” He shook his head. “You weren't here, Marc. You don't know. It wasn't that simple.”

“Oh, the hell it wasn't.” Marc flung out an arm, pointing at Conrad. “He had
no right
to use her in that fashion—and you know it.”

Damian sighed wearily. “Marc.
Niño…
”

“No,” Marc forestalled him. “Don't start. Don't make excuses. Don't tell me I'm wrong. Don't say that just because he's her
sire
he can get away with shit like that. Just don't!”

“It was Julie's choice,” Conrad said, coming to Damian's defense. It had been a difficult evening for all of them. Damian did not need Marc's scorn piled on top of everything else. “Even if it were possible for me to have done so, would you really have had me take that from her?”

“
If
?” Marc laughed wildly. “What the hell does that mean? And why not, huh? Because you're so very much in the habit of allowing everyone to make their own decisions all of a sudden? Don't make me laugh.”

“
¡Niño!
”

“It's bullshit, Damian. He's been controlling us our whole lives. You
both
have. Making decisions for us. Influencing our minds. I'm not blind, you know. I see how it is with the others; I see how they have no choice—ever. And they didn't even start out this way! They weren't
born
to it. Julie and I—I guess we
never
had a chance, did we? We've never
really
had a choice in anything.” He stopped suddenly and glared at Conrad. “Why are you shaking your head? You know it's true.”

“Do I?” A small smile found its way to Conrad's lips. “As a matter of fact, Marc, it has occurred to me lately that it's more likely the reverse is true. Maybe it always was, and I've simply been too blind or too arrogant to see it.”

“What's this now?” Damian turned to him, eyebrows raised in surprise.

Conrad quirked an eyebrow. “Think about it. Cast your mind back over the events of the past few days.”

A thoughtful frown creased Damian's brow. After a moment he nodded. “You may have a point,
querido
. Now that you mention it, it would explain…oh, many thing that have perplexed me over the years.”

“Yes. It would, wouldn't it? I'm actually quite surprised that neither of us thought of it sooner.”

“Perhaps these extreme circumstances were needed to bring it to our attention.”

Marc glanced from one to the other. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“What we're saying, Marc,” Conrad replied patiently, “is that your supposition may not be correct. I'm not convinced the facts support it. Indeed, it seems more likely that you and your sister have been influencing
us
, affecting our decisions, our actions—even our thoughts, to some degree—rather than the other way around.”

“That's ridiculous.”

“Is it? I am not denying I've had
some
influence over you; indeed, I think we all know that has been the case. But I have not had as much as I should have had. Certainly it's
never
been to the extent that you seem to think.”

Marc shook his head impatiently. “Whatever. Stop trying to change the subject. Julie had the right to make an informed choice, to know what she was getting herself into.”

Conrad nodded. “And so she did. She knew as much as any of us did.”

“Really? You're saying it was all her idea? That she
knowingly
chose to endanger herself in order to save the life of someone who tried to kill her? No way. I'm not buying that. She couldn't possibly have known what she was getting herself into. And I know she talked to you about it beforehand. So let's just cut the crap. Tell me what you told her. Whatever it was, it must've been pretty damn convincing. Who knows? Maybe it will even make me not want to kill you so much.”

Damian scowled. “Again with this nonsense? We did not raise you to behave in this fashion, Marc, and I will not tolerate much more of it. Your grandfather does
not
need to defend his actions. You've no right to ask him to.”

“It's all right, Damian.” Conrad put down his glass. He held out his hand to his lover, inviting Damian to join him on the couch. “After all, it's nothing I haven't already shared with you and Julie. Marc has a right to know too.”

“I know, but…” Damian glanced searchingly at him and Conrad braced himself for an argument. He was relieved when Damian gave in, instead, tossing his head and muttering, “Oh, very well. If you've made up your mind to unburden yourself once again, I imagine it's pointless to try and talk you out of it.”

“Thank you.”

Still frowning, Damian crossed the room to sit beside Conrad. He hesitated a second, then very deliberately scooted closer, so that his hip nudged Conrad's. Then he stretched himself out until he lay draped across Conrad's lap with his head resting on the arm of the couch.

Conrad glanced at his partner with amusement. What was Damian playing at now? Was he still concerned Marc might make good on his threats? Did he mean to shield Conrad from Marc with his body? Or was it the other way around? Was he anchoring Conrad in place in order to keep
him
from attacking Marc? Who could tell? Perhaps it was a little of both?

“Comfortable?” Conrad inquired wryly.

Damian waved a hand. “Always,” he said as he faked a yawn. “But,
Dios mio
, so much drama we've had tonight! I confess I'm feeling a touch fatigued after all this fuss. Do not mind me,
mis queridos
, but I've heard this story once already tonight, so I hope you'll excuse me if I take a little nap while you speak.”

“As you wish.” Conrad felt a fleeting sense of sadness. He was touched by Damian's actions. That his lover should still have so much faith in him, that he should continue to accept Conrad, even now, even knowing the worst, left him humbled. But he suspected there was a darker reason for Damian to pretend to sleep while Conrad repeated his story. With his eyes closed, it would be easier for Damian to hide his reaction, all the revulsion and horror that any normal person must feel when confronted with a tale of such atrocities.

“Have a seat, Marc.” Conrad gestured at one of the armchairs that faced the sofa, and then at the carafe on the coffee table. “And perhaps you'd like to pour yourself a drink? It's quite a long story, I'm afraid. You might as well make yourself comfortable.”

Marc's lips firmed. He nodded at the carafe. “So who's been bled this time, or don't I want to know?”

Conrad shrugged. “I couldn't tell you. Your uncle, as I'm sure you're aware, produces these things upon my request. Where he gets them from, only he knows for sure. One of the local hospitals, one would presume.”

“Or one would hope, anyway,” Marc said as he poured himself a glass. “Perhaps we can share resources? I'll put my second-in-command in touch with him.” There was a hint of challenge in his tone as he added, “You've met Hawk, haven't you?”

“Yes, of course. As I'm sure he's already informed you, he's had occasion to be here more than once while you were away. I was impressed with his devotion to you—well merited, I'm sure. I trust you found him
undamaged
upon your return?”

Marc opened his mouth as though to speak but then closed it again.

Conrad smiled grimly. He could guess what Marc had been about to say: “no thanks to you,” and he would have been at least partially correct. Conrad could not fault him for thinking it. Nighthawk had been attacked here, on Conrad's property, within his
demesne
.
Such a thing should never have occurred. Under most circumstances, Marc would be well within his right to demand retribution.

Unfortunately, as Conrad knew all too well, justice was oftentimes as fickle as she was blind, denying her favors to those who most deserved them while bestowing them lavishly upon others. This, it appeared, was to be no exception to that rule.

“I think it's fair to say your sister has surprised us all in these past few days,” Conrad observed. “Although, perhaps, that should not have been the case.”

“You're damn right it shouldn't have been the case! It should never have come to that. You were supposed to keep her safe. Damn it, you promised!”

Conrad nodded. “I know I did, Marc. And I regret what happened more than you could possibly know. But life is not always a respecter of our wishes. And despite all our best intentions, we do not always manage to live up to our highest ideals. You were not the first person to whom I made that particular promise, you know. Nor is this the first promise I've ever failed to keep.” He sighed, then continued. “You are correct, of course. Julie did not perhaps ‘choose to endanger herself for the sake of someone who'd tried to kill her'. Nevertheless, she did choose. She acted out of compassion, for the sake of someone she…cares about.”

Marc's gaze met his. They eyed each other steadily for a moment. What Marc saw or thought he saw in Conrad's expression, Conrad had no idea. But eventually his mouth tightened and he nodded shortly. “Very well. Tell me your story. Help me to understand.”