To Curse the Darkness (23 page)

Chapter Eighteen

“What's
he
doing here?” Julie whispered, pitching her voice so that only Armand could hear.

He glanced at her curiously. “He's here for you, of course. Why? What's wrong? I thought you'd be more pleased.”

She shook her head, not trusting herself to speak.

“I went looking for him as soon as I heard about your plan to save Georgia. I knew you'd need to eat afterward, and as luck would have it, Nighthawk knew exactly where to find him.”

“Of course he did.” She sighed. “I suppose that's my fault now too.”

“I don't see how ‘fault' enters into any of this,” Armand observed as he set her down on his bed. He lowered himself to sit beside her. “As I said, it was a lucky break. It saved me a good deal of time. I suspected you'd be hungry after your ordeal, and I thought you'd find it a comfort to have someone familiar, rather than to be faced with a stranger at a time like this.”

“A comfort?” Hysterical laughter bubbled up inside her. He'd brought her comfort food? Well, of course he had. She rolled away from him and buried her face in the pillows. She didn't know whether to laugh or cry, but she was pretty sure she didn't want him to see her do either. She felt wrecked—tired and hungry and far too emotional. Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe she'd been wrong to let her desire for Armand overrule her common sense. “Damian would have suggested cookies. Or maybe ice cream. Possibly a mani-pedi.” Not this. Never this. There was nothing even remotely comforting about having Brennan sprung on her like this tonight.

“And what good would any of those have done you?”

“I don't know,” she muttered, feeling miserable. But she
did
know. They would have made her feel loved. They would have made her feel cared for, just as they always had when she was a child. This just left her feeling torn.

She tensed as the bed dipped and Brennan settled beside her, on the opposite side from Armand—she didn't miss that little detail—so that she was caught between them. Was there a metaphor in that? Hard not to think so. From an emotional standpoint, this was exactly where she'd spent most of the past year: caught between two men, both of whom she cared about entirely too much.

“How're you doing, babe? You okay?”

Julie shook her head. “No. Definitely not okay.” It should have been a dream, a fantasy, a serendipitous surprise, the next best thing to heaven. Here she was, in bed with two of her favorite men, sandwiched between them, in fact—but for all the wrong reasons. “You shouldn't be here, Bren.”

“No kidding.” Brennan laughed softly, stroking his fingers through her hair like he always used to do. The familiar gesture started an ache in her heart—the one part of her body that hadn't already pained her. “I really shouldn't be. For so many reasons.”

“Then why are you?” she snapped, feeling unreasonably annoyed. Had it really been necessary for him to agree with her so enthusiastically? She turned her head to look at him and was immediately hit by his scent. Her body reacted instinctively, fangs lengthening automatically, with no conscious thought on her part—and a lack of control she thought she'd outgrown decades ago. She barely stifled the urge to reach for him, to sink her teeth deep into his flesh and drink, and drink, and drink…

She clamped a hand over her mouth. “Go away. Please.” She could taste her venom as it streamed down her throat, a semicaustic flood that threatened to choke her. When had it ever felt like that? Her voice emerged as a growl. “I don't want you to see me like this.”

To his credit, Brennan didn't so much as flinch. “Why's that? Afraid I'm gonna learn your secret? That I'll figure out you're a vampire?” He shook his head. “Hate to break it to you, boo, but I already know.”

A vampire. Someone who lives by drinking the blood of those such as yourself. Yes. That's what I am. But, you already know that, don't you?

Conrad's voice echoed in her head, mocking, with an edge of anger. The memory of his face as he'd said it, his frown filled with so much sorrow and self-disgust, tore at her heart.

Julie found herself frowning as well. The memory made no sense. Why would he have said that? When would he have said that? Surely she must have imagined it?

She pushed the thought away and forced her attention back to the here and now. “You don't like vampires, remember? Or has that changed all of a sudden?” Had Brennan forgotten how bad things had become near the end? All the reasons why they couldn't stay together? Maybe he had, or maybe she'd just imagined that too?

The smile disappeared from Brennan's face. “No, that hasn't changed.” He shot a hostile glance in Armand's direction. “I
don't
like vampires—not in general, and especially not when they show up at my house in the middle of the night and roust me out of my fucking bed. But I love
you
. That hasn't changed either. He said you needed me, so here I am.”

Somehow, hearing him say things like that only made it worse. Julie groaned once again. “I love you too.” But that still wasn't enough. It hadn't been enough last winter, it wasn't now, it never would be. Not for either of them. That had never been more true than right now.

She knew how much he hated being viewed as nothing more than a convenient food supply—which was how most of her kind had treated him. That was what she'd been trying to save him from by sending him away in the first place! Ironic, then, that he'd come back here tonight so that she could treat him the same damn way.

Because this right here? This was
not
about love. It wasn't about friendship or companionship or even comfort—at least not on her end. This wasn't about any of the things she'd ever wanted or hoped for or believed her relationship with Brennan could be.

This was all about the hunger, that furious ache, hot as lava, chewing away at her bones, running like wildfire through all her veins. It was about the urgent, entirely unspecific need to take in as much blood as she could get—from pretty much anyone. She was not in the mood to be picky. She was not even in the mood to be civil, goddamn it. “Brennan…”

Brennan shook his head. “No. It's okay. I get it. But you need to listen to me now. Just because we're not together anymore, that doesn't mean we don't still care about each other, does it? Or that we can't help each other out every now and then?”

Julie blinked back tears. “No. You're right. It doesn't mean that.” At least she hoped it didn't.

Perhaps he had a point. She'd used her abilities to help him, after all. So maybe she
could
use his blood now, to save herself, without it ruining even the memory of what they'd had together. Maybe. She thought some more about it and then shook her head. No, probably not.

Behind her, Armand sighed. “
Tres bien
. I'll leave you two alone for a while. You'll be okay now, yes?”

“No!” Turning, Julie grabbed frantically for his arm. “Stay. Please, stay.” She didn't trust herself to be alone with Brennan—to be alone with anyone human. No one else should trust her either. She was too unhinged.

Armand didn't answer right away, but the look on his face, the way he steadfastly refused to meet her gaze, was not encouraging.

Julie felt herself begin to panic. “Armand, please. Please.”
I need you.

He shrugged. “Very well. If that's what you want.”

“It is. Thank you.” Relieved, Julie turned back to Brennan, only to find he had peeled off his shirt while she had been talking to Armand—no doubt to keep from bleeding all over it. Her fangs erupted past her gums again. The sight of his arms and naked chest was like spitting a mouthful of alcohol at a raging fire—a good idea only if your intention was to immolate your face. The hunger she'd been trying so hard to smother flared up anew. Out of control. Worse even than before. Hard on its heels came fear.

Because, fuck, she just wanted to climb all over him.

This was never going to work. She was too tired, too strung out. Her need was too strong. She couldn't trust herself to temper her bite, couldn't summon the patience she'd need to prepare him correctly—could barely even recall all the steps she'd need to take to do so. A small sob broke from her lips.

Brennan gazed searchingly at her. “Jules? Are we okay?”

She shook her head. She couldn't even trust herself to speak to him. Every time she even thought about opening her mouth or closing the small distance between them, she felt her self-control begin to slip once more. “I…I c-can't do this.”

“What's wrong?” Armand leaned over her shoulder to ask. “You're not eating. Why not?”

Face flaming, she turned to him. She lowered her hand and whispered, “I can't.”
I'm afraid I'll lose control. I'm afraid I'll hurt him.
But she couldn't even bring herself to say the words. “I don't know what I'm doing.”

“Shhh.” Armand gathered her against his chest and cuddled her close, his voice a soothing whisper in her ear. “It's okay. You're just a little confused right now—that's to be expected. You're tired and hungry; you need to eat. Everything will fall into place once you do.”

“No.” She shook her head. “You don't know. You don't understand.”

“Tell me then.”

She paused, gathering the courage to speak. All her life everything had come so easily to her. If Damian were to be believed, she and Marc had been born already knowing how to feed. But tonight, for the first time ever, she felt broken, lost, ashamed. She didn't even know who she was anymore. “I'm afraid,” she confessed at last. “What if I lose control? What if I… What if I hurt him?”

Armand pulled back to look at her. “Is that all that's worrying you? Oh,
chérie
, of course you won't.”

“You don't
know
that.”

“Yes,” he replied, insufferably calm. “I do.”

Julie glared at him. Why wouldn't he take her fears seriously? If Damian were here, or Conrad, surely they would've listened to her. Damn it, she should have stayed upstairs.

“Listen to me now. You won't hurt anyone because
I won't let you
.
D'accord
?” He waited for her grudging nod and then continued, “Good. Now, what do you need me to do? How can I help?”

Julie hesitated. She hated even having to ask. But he was right. She needed to eat; there was no way around that, and the longer she put it off, the worse it would get. But she couldn't even glance in Brennan's direction as she mumbled, “Could you… Do you think you could…help me get started? Like you did for Georgia?”

For an instant, Armand's arms tightened around her. His voice was warm against her skin. “But of course.” Then he let her go and looked across at Brennan. “If I may?” He gestured at Brennan's neck.

Brennan hesitated at first, and Julie could smell his fear, his reluctance. She forced herself to meet his gaze then, trying hard to smile, to reassure him, but her lips were too shaky, her fangs far too visible to be convincing. “It's okay, Brennan. Really. It'll be better this way.”

He studied her expression for a moment, then shrugged. “Sure. What the hell, right? I didn't come all this way for nothing.”

Armand quickly settled into the task of preparing Brennan's neck for his bite. The stroke of his tongue along the column of Brennan's throat was seductive, as was the flutter of Brennan's pulse in response. She knew that flutter so well. For months it had been her tongue that had lingered there, testing the flesh, tasting the skin, tracing the veins that ran beneath.

Her heart began to pound in anticipation. She knew Brennan's flavor so well, had longed for it in the months they'd been apart. And that only served to ramp up the need that already seemed to be eating through her bones.

Julie caught just a glimpse of Armand's fangs as they unsheathed—one flash of glistening white, one fluid moment of elongation. And then they disappeared again, buried in Brennan's neck.

She felt Brennan jerk, felt the shock of the venom as it hit his system, like a sharp blow to her solar plexus, leaving her winded. The memory of how it had felt to be on the receiving end of Armand's bite rolled over her like a wave. All her self-control seemed on the verge of washing away.

By the time Armand lifted his head, Julie was practically delirious with hunger. Blood seeped from the wound on Brennan's neck, a vibrant trickle, life-giving red. A whimper crawled up her throat.
Want it. Now!

Armand glanced sharply in her direction. He assessed her quickly, frowning as he did. “Don't move,” he ordered, fixing her with a stern glare as he circled back around to the other side of the bed.

He settled behind her once again. He banded one arm around her middle, threaded his other hand in her hair; then he gently guided her to lie down on her side. Until that instant, Julie hadn't even realized that she'd sat up at some point, or that her entire body was on edge, vibrating with tension, poised like a snake about to strike.

When had she moved? She tried to remember but couldn't. Her mind felt foggy and imprecise, every thought blurred by hunger, by need. Every thought but one. The fear of hurting Brennan still stood out crisp and clear—more urgent than ever. She could see herself reaching for him and pinning him to the bed, could imagine herself tearing at his throat until great gouts of blood gushed forth. “Armand,” she murmured anxiously. “Please…”

“No worries,
chérie
,” he replied in soothing tones as he snuggled her close and draped one strong leg over hers, further anchoring her. “You'll be all right. I have you now. I won't let go.”

He brushed a soft kiss in that spot where neck met shoulder, and for an instant Julie was sure he'd bite her, very much
wanted
him to bite her—until she remembered that he couldn't. Or, at the very least, that she shouldn't let him. Not now. Not until they knew with absolute certainty that she had not become infected, that she wasn't in danger of infecting others. Of infecting him.