Fallen Embers (2 page)

“Called?” Quintano stared blankly at her.

“Yes. How are you addressed? By what name or title are you known? I realize we have not been properly introduced and perhaps you consider it unseemly for a lady to be so bold as to ask outright, but given the manner of our meeting it seems foolish for us to stand on ceremony with one another. Will you not tell me what I might call you?”

“I'm known as Quintano.”

“Even more odd. You
do
hail from the lands across the channel, do you not?”

“I do.”

“Well then, that can hardly be the whole of your name. I know something of the language and customs of your people—not much, but enough to serve me. I believe ‘Quintano' means fifth, does it not? The fifth of what, exactly, are you? Or were you perhaps named for that strange device I've heard tell of, the one the French use for training jousters?”

Quintano shrugged. “My mistress must have found it fitting for some reason, I suppose. Although whether she considers me a number or a tool, I neither know nor care. Perhaps it's both.”

“Were you born a slave that your mistress should have had the naming of you? Did your parents never refer to you by anything else? Or were you taken so young that you can no longer recall your previous life?”

Quintano glared at her. “Of course I remember it—though I do so to my sorrow. Neither slave nor monster was I at my birth. I was a free man once upon a time.”

“Then, as I said, surely you must once have been called something else. Why will you not tell me what name you used to go by?”

“Because I am no longer the man I once was. That man is dead. It is fitting his name die with him.”

“Oh, nonsense. Surely, there must be something left of the man you used to be?”

“No. He is deceased entirely. And if I choose not to dwell on his memory any more than I must, that is my right. I pray you will cease speaking of it also, 'fore I lose my temper and repent my decision to save you.”

The lady tossed her head. “Oh, very well. Quintano it is. And, since we're doing away with all formality, you may call me Georgia, if it pleases you.”

“I thank you, but I doubt our acquaintance will be of sufficient duration to warrant my calling you anything.”

Georgia's eyes narrowed. “Shall I take that as a threat?”

“You may take it in whatever manner you like. If it pleases you to feel yourself threatened, you are by all means free to do so. Perhaps you choose to be offended by my words and wish to fight me over them? If that be the case, I am happy to oblige you. If, on the other hand, like me, you feel you've had enough bloodshed for one evening—and enough conversation—you may take yourself hence and leave me in peace, which I would like even better. All I
meant
was that I am hungry and intend to leave here shortly to go in search of food. As it seems unlikely we shall ever meet again, I see no reason to be burdened with remembering either you or your name.”

“Ah, yes. That was what I meant to ask you. Thank you for reminding me. A moment ago you said that you have no choice but to kill for your sustenance. Why do you say that? It seems a very strange exception to make. Surely anyone you feed upon would prefer you rob them of everything else, if you'd but spare their lives?”

He scowled at her. “Aye, I'm sure they would. But what of it? What we want in life and what we receive are seldom the same thing. Nothing but their life's blood will suffice. If I am to live, then they must die.”

“But that's exactly what I mean. You don't actually need to
kill
those you feed upon, do you?”

“Why do you pretend not to understand my meaning? Or would you try and persuade me we do not share the same nature, you and I?”

“No, not at all.” She shook her head. “I know you for what you are,
Invitus
. I recognized you from the start. Although these poor, deluded creatures—” she indicated the dead men, “—seemed not to have recognized either of us as such. Strange, is it not? Perhaps we were the first of our kind they'd encountered.”

“
Invitus
?” Quintano repeated the strange word curiously. “I fear I am not familiar with the word.”

Georgia's eyes widened in surprise. “Are you not? It's quite common. It's the name given to those of us who were taken without consent and made to suffer most grievously for our new life. Perhaps your clan employs a different term?”

Quintano shook his head. His “clan” employed no special words that he was aware of to describe what they were—and why should they? They were all the same: vile creatures, miserable and damned. He nodded toward the dead vampires. “Are you suggesting that these knaves might have actually chosen this existence for themselves? That they were
not
forced into it? If that be the case, I'm doubly pleased to have killed them.”

Georgia shrugged. “I know not how they came to be, but it would not surprise me to learn that the choice was theirs to make. It is for most of us, after all, and not so difficult to imagine. The desire to alter one's destiny, to live for centuries without the need to toil for one's food, without the specter of age or infirmity—it lures many.”

“And have they no concern for the blood that will be on their hands, or the stains on their souls, the eternal damnation they may be choosing for themselves? What of the innocents whose lives are forfeit for the sake of their survival—have they no thought for them?”

“It seems most unlikely. Indeed, I do believe you are the first I've ever encountered to express such thoughts aloud. I would say that the majority of us consider ourselves to be superior beings, and therefore well within our rights to take what we please—even more so when it causes no harm. Who were you, before your turning, that you should find it so hard to understand such things? Were you already a man of such wealth and importance that you felt no need to improve your station or better yourself? Or were you perhaps a priest that you should still be so concerned with the state of your soul?”

“I was a soldier,” Quintano snapped. “A man of no importance, and with no claim to virtue. And yet
never
would I have chosen to be as I am now. To be turned into a ravening beast, forced to kill for each meal—how is that an improvement to anyone's station? And how is it
you
find it hard to understand such things? Why do
you
not fear for your soul?”

He stopped abruptly when it struck him that he was lying to himself. He
had
chosen this path. True, he'd made his decision at the point of death with no clear knowledge of what his choice entailed, but all the same, the choice had been offered him and he had taken it.

“What a very puzzling creature you are.” The woman folded her arms around her knees and stared thoughtfully at him. “You talk quite like a fledgling at times, moody, naïve, shockingly uneducated. Is it possible you actually
mean
what you say? Have you really received no instructions
at all
, for example, in how to eat without killing?”

Quintano growled angrily. He was half-tempted to snatch the woman from her rocky perch and set his fangs to her flesh. “To eat without killing? Oh! Yes, of course. Why would I not want
that
? How far more pleasant it must be to listen to one's food scream in pain while one steals the life from them. Or perhaps you are one of those who prefer to rip out your victims' throats aforetime, so they are silent as they slowly succumb to agony and blood-loss? I
should
have left you to your fate. I'm heartily sorry now that I had any hand in saving you.”

The woman's back stiffened. The wary look, which had left her eyes in the last few minutes, was back with a vengeance. “Is it possible you really do not know this? We
need not kill
in order to feed. In most cases we need not even cause pain.”

Quintano sprang to his feet. “You lie!”

The woman rose also, more slowly. “Why would I? What purpose would it serve me to make up such a story, if it wasn't true?”

“How should I know what demons drive you? Perhaps you wish to torment me with false hopes. Perhaps you seek merely to ease your own conscience.”

She shook her head. “My conscience is quite clear; although, again, I thank you for your concern. You, on the other hand, appeared so troubled by the need to kill, that I thought it might ease your mind to learn otherwise. I thought to repay you, in some small way, for your kindness to me. I can see now I was mistaken. I think it best to end this discussion—and our acquaintanceship—immediately.”

She moved swiftly, reaching for the branch she'd so recently tossed back into the flames, but Quintano was swifter. He grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her roughly. “Tell me the truth.”

Her fangs descended. She glared at him through eyes that had gone silver-grey. “I
have
told it to you.”

“Then show me. Now. Prove to me it can be done.”

“Unhand me,” she growled. “I take orders from no man save one, and you are not
he
. I will show you nothing.”

“You will!”

“Never.”

“You will show me what I wish to see,” Quintano insisted. “You'll prove your story true, or I shall kill you.”

“Kill me?” A wild, bitter laugh issued from her throat. “Ah, your true colors, at last. What of your word to me? What of your promise not to take from me unwillingly?”

Quintano howled, unable to fashion a single word in response. He'd known it was a mistake to save her.

Georgia nodded. “I see. Well, my lord, if that's to be the way of it, so be it. You are certainly free to
try
and kill me. Others have. Why, you would not even be the first to attempt such a thing
tonight
. But have a care. Are you so certain you'll succeed where so many others before you have failed? I am not without resources, and I will
not
make your task easy for you.”

Quintano did not doubt it. Not for an instant. “Show me,” he repeated angrily.

“No.”

He
should
kill her—and quickly, before she had the chance to utter even one more lie. But what if it
wasn't
a lie? That was the doubt that stilled his hand—even more than the promise he'd given. What if there was even the smallest chance she was telling the truth, the tiniest hope that he need not live like this any longer? Shuddering with the effort, Quintano retracted his fangs and forced the beast that raged within him back into hiding. He gentled his hold on the woman—not so much that she might wrench herself free, but enough to make it clear that his intention was to do her no harm. He gazed at her imploringly. “Georgia, please. I beg you. If this is true, you must show me. I
need
to know.”

Chapter Two

San Francisco, California

Present Day

The music was making Marc hungry. That was hardly surprising since it was exactly what it had been designed to do. Still, it worried him. He leaned against the bar and cast a concerned glance across Akeldama's crowded dance floor, trying to gauge how the formerly feral vampires he'd brought here tonight were faring. Just because he could withstand the pulsing temptation didn't mean they could do the same. Tonight's outing was an experiment. He wasn't yet confident enough in their training to allow them to come here on their own, and the music was a major contributor to his anxiety.

The layering of amplified human heartbeats beneath an otherwise unremarkable dance mix was something he'd expressly forbidden at his own club, and with good reason. Ferals didn't need the additional stimulation. What merely sharpened a normal vampire's appetite was often enough to send one of his people off on a killing rampage. At least, that's how it had been when he'd first found them. They'd made a lot of improvement since then. It might be time to revisit his earlier decision.

“Well, look who's finally poked his head out of the man-cave.”

Marc turned to stare at his sister in surprise. “Julie? Hey. What are you doing here?” He was a little chagrined at not having sensed her presence aforetime. He thought he'd honed his tracking skills to an impressive level. Either the music was more of a distraction than he'd realized, or he'd been fooling himself. Then again, he hadn't exactly been looking for her. The last he'd heard, Julie took every opportunity to avoid places like this. “It's good to see you.”

He examined his sister a little more closely. There was an uncharacteristic sadness in her eyes. It looked like the last few months had been hard on her as well. Or was his imagination working overtime?

“I guess I could ask why you're here too,” Julie replied, studying him just as closely. When her gaze touched on his eye patch she flinched and looked away. “I wasn't exactly joking about the man-cave thing. Word is you haven't been getting around that much.”

“I know. I have been sticking close to home a lot lately.”

Julie made a face. “Home? You mean that dodgy old warehouse?”

Marc shrugged. “I just came here tonight to see Drew.”

“Oh.” Julie's mouth drew tight. “You're here to see
Drew
. Sure, that makes sense. I mean, you guys are so close—all that history. I can see where you'd want to make a special point to see
him
. You must really miss him a lot, huh?”

Marc sighed. Even without the sarcasm, he'd have recognized that tone. He'd heard it often enough growing up. His sister was feeling left out once again. Experience told him he would not be winning any points by mentioning that he and Drew had seen each other frequently in the last few months. “C'mon, Jules. Don't be like that. You know I've missed you too.”

“Seriously, Marc? How would I know that?”

“Super-twin powers?” he joked feebly.

“You haven't been back to the house since Christmas,” Julie said, openly pouting now. “That was months ago! I get that you and Conrad had one of your usual blow-outs, but what's new about that?”

“It's nothing,” Marc insisted quickly. “Don't worry about it. We're fine.”

“Uh-huh. You know what's really funny? All that shit you just said—it's nothing, everything's fine, don't worry about it—that's the same crap Conrad and Damian keep dishing out too. So I guess you all must think I'm stupid or something.”

“Would you listen to yourself? Where's all this self-pity coming from? No one thinks you're stupid.”

“Well I don't know how else to explain it. You're all acting like I haven't known you my entire life, like I can't tell when one of you is lying to me—not to mention when
all
of you are. You up and disappear without a word. They're all worried and concerned about the friends you're keeping and this new House you've supposedly started. Not that they're willing to tell me what's so horribly wrong about it. And I'm supposed to believe it's all just business as usual? Give me some credit, Marc! I know there's gotta be more to it than just
nothing
. What happened?”

“You know, if you're really that concerned, you could've stopped by to see me too,” Marc pointed out, mostly to change the subject. “It's not like you didn't know where I was—since clearly you did.” The way she kept talking about the four of them, how well they knew each other, how
long
they'd known each other, made him nervous.

She was making them sound a little too much like a nuclear family—which they pretty much were. That was something no one else must ever suspect.

“You mean come by the warehouse?”

“Sure. It works both ways, you know.”

A faint shudder wracked Julie's frame. “No. I couldn't. I hate that place. I don't know how
you
stand it. Why do you stay there, Marc? Why can't you come back home?”

Marc cast another quick glance at his charges, to make sure they were still doing okay. “I told you; that
is
my home.” Even as he said it, he felt torn. Sure he missed his old family—especially his sister—but he knew in his heart that, at least for right now, his place was with his new family. He wished he could confide in Julie, explain things to her, tell her some of what he'd learned. They'd been each other's confidants for most their lives. He missed being able to bounce ideas around and talk things through with her.

Mostly, he wished he could tell her the truth about himself. He wasn't just fine, these days; he was stellar. He was feeling better and stronger, clearer and more confident than ever before. But if he told her that, he'd have to tell her why. He'd have to tell her everything and that would be bad for two reasons. Not only would it put her in even more danger, but if she hadn't experienced any changes in her own life, it might depress her even further.

“It's not so bad, you know,” Marc said.

“What isn't?”

“The warehouse. If you came by once in a while, maybe you'd see that. You didn't used to like
this
place either, right? Time was you'd use any excuse to keep from coming to the clubs. And look at you now, here on your own.”

If she could get used to the warehouse, if he could somehow convince her to move in there with him, that would be one less reason for him to worry, one less person for him to miss, one less loyalty to feel torn about. He could risk telling her everything then, secure in the knowledge that he could find a way to make her feel special just the way she was. Besides, strong as Conrad was, he was still hampered by the need to behave conventionally. Marc was under no such constraints. So if he and his ferals couldn't keep Julie safe, no one could.

His sister was staring at him as if he'd grown another head. “What makes you think I like it here now? Or that I'm alone? I'm only here because of Christian. He wanted to come and I promised I'd show him around.”

“Christian? Who's that?”

“Wow, you really have been out of the loop, haven't you? See? That's another reason you should stop by more often. You don't know about
anything
that's going on anymore. I could be seeing
ten
new guys and you wouldn't even know.”

“Jules. Enough already. Let it go.”

“Okay, fine. Have it your way. I won't say another word on the subject.”

“Yeah. I wish.” Marc grinned at his sister. “So…Christian?” he prompted when the silence dragged on.

Julie shrugged. “I don't know what you want me to tell you. He's new. You don't know him.”

“How new? Whose House? Where's he from?”

Julie rolled her eyes. “Okay, not
new
exactly. I think he's actually pretty old. He's one of ours, but he's only been
here
a little while. That's what I meant when I said he was new. He's visiting from England and we've been…well, we've kind've been…you know, hanging out. Unlike
some
people I could name, he actually
wants
to spend time with me.”

“I never noticed you had a problem finding people to spend time with,” Marc pointed out. “Either human or vampire.”

“Yeah, well, you'd be surprised 'cause it happens more than you think.” She glanced around impatiently. “Now where did he…? Oh, there he is.” Catching sight of someone across the room, she waved him over. “I guess it's a lucky break, you both being here tonight. He's been pestering me to introduce him to you for weeks.”

“Has he?” Marc watched the vampire approach. “Why's that?”

“How should I know? Just being friendly, I guess. I told you; he's new. He doesn't know any better. He must think you're interesting.”

“Ha-ha.” Ever since Marc had learned how “special” he and his sister were, he'd started second-guessing everyone's motivation for being his friend, for finding him “interesting”. “I hope that's all it is.”

Julie's eyes narrowed. “What's that supposed to mean?” Luckily, Marc was saved the trouble of answering by Christian's arrival.

“Hullo, hullo. You must be Marc,” he said as he leaned around Julie to extend his hand toward Marc. He smiled broadly. “Well. This
is
a pleasure. I've heard
so
much about you.”

“Have you?” Marc eyed Christian closely as they shook hands. He didn't miss the way Christian's other hand rested just a little too possessively at Julie's waist. “Who's been talking, I wonder?”

Julie sighed loudly. “See, myself, I would've gone with a simple ‘nice to meet you'. But that's just me.”

Marc shot his sister an unrepentant grin. “How am I supposed to know if it's nice yet? We just met.”

“Exactly right,” Christian agreed, obviously unruffled. “And as for who's been talking, well, everyone really. You're quite a popular fellow around these parts. I understand you've been making remarkable progress rehabilitating feral vampires. That's an achievement that's got everyone talking—and rightly so. I didn't realize such a thing was even possible.”

“That's been the general consensus up until now,” Marc admitted. “I suspect it's just never been tried.”

“Well, whatever it is, it sounds quite brilliant. I'd love to pop 'round some time to see your setup. I've been trying to talk your sister into paying you a visit, but she's not been too keen on the idea.”

“So I've heard.” Marc shot a curious look at his sister, who was rolling her eyes and looking seriously annoyed. No doubt she felt like they were ganging up on her. He'd been half-tempted to use Christian's interest as a way of teasing Julie into stopping by—until the stubborn jut of her chin had stopped him cold.

He knew his sister well enough to realize now was not the time for that. He'd have to proceed cautiously or risk putting her back up. Push Julie too hard and all you'd end up with was a fight. Unfortunately for Christian, it appeared that was a lesson he had yet to learn.

A small commotion on the other side of the room gave Marc the excuse he needed to make his escape. “Look, I gotta go deal with that,” he said, leaning in to quickly peck his sister on the cheek. “Take care of yourself, okay? I'll come by the house soon for a visit.”

“You'd better,” Julie replied, still pouting.

“I will,” Marc told her, turning serious once again. “I promise.”

Julie watched as her brother walked away—running off to deal with his precious ferals, no doubt. It was stupid to feel jealous and left out, but she was managing it nicely all the same. And wasn't that just like her brother? No one could coax Julie's inner child out to play quite like Marc. Even after all this time, he was still an expert at pushing buttons she'd forgotten she even had.

“I'm too old for this shit,” she muttered, feeling grumpy and out of sorts.

“What's that, love?” Christian asked, leaning in so he could hear her over the noise in the club.

The rapid patter of his heart—nervous, excited—was at odds with his careless tone. Julie squirmed restlessly. “Nothing,” she said as she pushed him away. “You ready to leave?”

Christian backed off at once. “Leave? Now?” He appeared less than pleased by the idea—surprise, surprise. “Wouldn't you rather wait for your brother to come back? I'd've thought you two would have more to talk about after all this time.”

Julie shrugged. “No, not really.” Come to think of it, Christian's interest in Marc
was
starting to seem a little peculiar. Something else she'd have to thank Marc for the next time they talked. Leave it to him to put the idea in her head that it was something out of the ordinary. Leave it to him to make her start wondering if Christian's interest in
her
wasn't unlikely as well. She didn't need this much drama in her life! “You can stay and talk to him yourself, if you want to,” she told Christian, not even caring that she sounded like a total brat. “But I've had enough of this place. So, with or without you, I'm going home.”

“Without” was sounding better all the time, come to think of it. Maybe she'd get changed and go out for a run before bed. A long run always helped to clear her head and, if she got tired enough, she'd fall right to sleep as soon as she lay down. Anything that kept her from staying awake half the day, staring at the walls while the sun trudged across the sky, was a good thing. “Seriously. Stay if you want. I don't mind.”

“No, I'll come with you,” Christian said.

He sounded a little truculent, but so what? The odds were good it had nothing to do with her. And, either way, it was not her job to try and figure Christian out. She'd go home. She'd go for a run. She'd stop thinking about all her troubles—for at least a few hours. She couldn't wait. “Okay, great. Let's go then.”