Fallen Embers (23 page)

Snarling in fury, Conrad did as she requested. He slid back the bolt, and pushed the door wide. Then he turned away, refusing to even look at her. Neither of them spoke as Georgia took her leave, slipping past him without so much as a glance in his direction.

True to his word, Conrad visited Rupert the following night. By use of threats, he did eventually win some measure of safety for Kendrick and his men, but if there were ever a chance of winning Rupert as an ally, it was lost that night, just as Georgia had predicted. Conrad could not bring himself to be overly concerned. He had already lost the only friendship that mattered.

He did not see Georgia again for a very long time after that. He spent the next several decades living mostly among humans, avoiding his own kind as much as possible. It sickened him to realize how enslaved most vampires were—unable to act on their own or think for themselves. Weak, foolish and short-lived though humans were, at least their minds were free.

Hiding his true nature from all but a few of them, Conrad used his strength and his skill as a warrior to find employment among all the wealthiest families of Europe, for which work he was richly rewarded. As his needs were few, and his employers not so foolish as to attempt to cheat him, he soon accumulated a very sizeable fortune, most of which he left in the care of a trusted few among his people—those like Kendrick, who had families of their own to provide for.

His travels took him all across Europe and into Asia, even to the northernmost parts of Africa. Eventually, he found himself in Italy in the employ of a jovial, somewhat avaricious baron who knew of Conrad's nature and hired him to provide protection.

Although he would not have called himself happy during this time, he much preferred his current status to the centuries he'd spent in captivity. And, overall, he was not discontent with his life.

But there were still times, every now and again, when the wind blew just right, when the gentle scent of certain blossoms reached his nose, or when the moon appeared as a slender curl in a deep blue sky, that he still thought of Georgia, with her blue eyes and her golden hair, her soft sighs as she came undone for him…

“Quintano? Where are you, my captain?” Conrad suppressed a growl as his employer's voice intruded on his thoughts. “I need to talk with you.”

“I am here,” Conrad said as he turned from the balcony where he'd been observing the night sky. “What is it you wish to discuss?”

“There you are!” The baron's jovial expression dimmed. “But, what is this? Why does my captain of the guard look so unhappy? Ah, never mind. This plan I've devised will quickly put the smile back on your face. Do you wish to hear it?”

Conrad bit back a sigh. “Of course.”

“What say you to the idea of our taking a little trip, eh?” The baron rubbed his hands gleefully together. “I wish to open up a most beneficial new trade route to the East. But first we must travel west. We go to Sevilla
,
where purses are deep. There we will secure the proper financial backing needed for our venture. How soon can we be ready to travel?”

Conrad considered the matter. “To Sevilla? I will need perhaps a fortnight to make arrangements. How large a company do you wish to take?”

“Oh, minimal, minimal. Just a small party—one does not wish to show up looking like a beggar, after all. But it is mostly for appearance's sake. I need not worry overmuch about defense, for I have you!”

“For the moment,” Conrad agreed. It would not do for the baron to grow too complacent, or for either of them to get too comfortable with an arrangement that could only be temporary. However monetarily beneficial it was, their partnership could not last long. For now, however, it sufficed. The pay was good, the work was not onerous, and the baron was surprisingly amusing in small doses. “Very well. I shall begin immediately.”

Sevilla.
Conrad rolled the word around in his mind. He'd never been there, but he'd heard that it was a most pleasant city, a glittering jewel in the Spanish crown. It should make for an interesting trip.

He could never have predicted how that particular journey would end, could never have guessed to what extent his life was, once again, destined to change…

Chapter Thirteen

San Francisco, California

Present Day

The sun had not yet set when Conrad found himself once again pulled from sleep. Blessedly, however, for once the dreams that had awakened him had not been unpleasant. Rather, he'd dreamed about that fateful trip to Sevilla, where he'd first met Damian, and where he'd experienced for the very first time what it was to truly love someone, and be truly loved in return.

The man of his dreams was still sleeping peacefully at Conrad's side and Conrad was on the verge of waking him, when he reconsidered. In repose, Damian's expression was relaxed and free from care—a very rare thing of late. He'd been so concerned with the twins, so anxious. Soon enough he would awaken on his own and—no doubt—immediately recommence his worrying. Conrad saw no need to hasten that event.

Being careful not to wake his lover, Conrad slipped out of bed. He dressed as quickly and silently as possible and, within a very few minutes, he was letting himself out of the house.

The small grove of trees that surrounded the mansion beckoned him. Over the years, he'd come to almost enjoy being awake at this time of day, while the rest of his household continued to slumber. True, the sun continued to press on his nerves while it hovered above the horizon, but inevitably it would slip out of sight as night eased itself over the waiting city. Those few, precious moments before the lights went on—as the shadows grew deep and darkness expanded around him—were among his favorites. Walking beneath the trees at that hour, his senses soothed by their cool, green scents, it was easy to imagine that he had been cast backward in time, or that the world was still as it once had been—dark, quiet and untamed.

It was not that Conrad disapproved of progress. In his estimation, the modern world had much to recommend it. But much had been lost as well. There were times when he very much missed what once had been.

An unexpected sound caught his ear—something out of place—the faint squeak of hinges as one of the lesser-used side gates was stealthily opened. Curious, Conrad moved silently in its direction, intending to intercept whoever was slipping secretively onto his estate. He stopped short, eyebrows rising, when he saw who it was.

“Georgia? What are you doing up and about at this hour?”

“Conrad!” Georgia gasped. “I…I… Well, I could ask the same of you,” she said with a toss of her head. “Couldn't I?”

Even more curious now, Conrad moved to join her. “You could. Assuming you were feeling either spectacularly lucky, or even more reckless than is usual.” Conrad's actions were rarely questioned—especially not here. Especially not by her. “Are you?”

Georgia straightened her shoulders and stared back at him boldly. “Perhaps I am.”

“Then I suppose it's fortunate that I'm feeling unusually tolerant this evening.” Conrad smiled. “Very well. I will indulge you with an explanation. As it happens, I am often restless at this time of day. I find myself plagued by dreams. The curse of a misspent life, I suspect.”

“Yes, perhaps.” Georgia's lips twisted into an answering smile, one that suggested that she was no stranger to such dreams. “I suppose all of our sins must catch up with us eventually.”

“It seems a reasonable conclusion.” Conrad's gaze took in her appearance. “You look tired. Have you been out all day?”

Georgia nodded. “I was tracking down a lead last night and did not wish for it to grow cold while I slept.”

“I see.” It was a myth, of course, that vampires could not stand sunlight. It was enervating, to be sure, especially when one was injured or recently fledged, or when food was scarce. But even for the oldest and strongest among them, it was still not comfortable to endure for any length of time. Georgia must have felt it worth the effort—that was promising. “So? What news do you bring?”

Georgia's expression turned chagrined. “Nothing, alas. It was but a false hope. I fear I wasted the day for naught. If you'll excuse me, I think a good meal and a quick nap are in order. After which I'll be good as new and happy to take up the hunt once more.”

“Wait.” As Georgia moved to pass him, Conrad put out a hand to stop her. “Don't go yet. Come and sit with me for a while. I wish to talk with you.”

“Talk?” Georgia's eyes widened in alarm. She glanced around in surprise. “What—here?”

Conrad's gaze followed Georgia's. There were a handful of wrought-iron benches scattered around the property—mostly holdovers from those days when he had been in the habit of throwing elaborate house parties. They made for convenient dining areas, but were only semi-secluded, not quite what he was looking for tonight.

“Let's go inside. There's less chance of being overheard and, if you're hungry, I can have the servants bring us some food. Come,” he repeated, smiling expectantly. He crooked his arm and waited for her to take it.

Georgia cast another long look around her. “Oh, very well. If you insist.”

Conrad studied her more closely. Was she pouting? Her expression was definitely not happy as she slipped her arm in his. And the sigh she heaved was so unexpectedly mournful, so in-tune with his own feeling of unrest, that it prompted Conrad to reach for her hand where it lay upon his arm He squeezed it gently, offering what comfort he could. “You feel it too?”

Georgia stilled. “Feel what?”

Conrad shrugged. “I hardly know how to describe it. A vague malaise. The rush of time flying past us, perhaps?”

“Ah, that.” Georgia's mouth tightened. “In truth, I feel it more than you know.”

“Now then,” Conrad said after they'd settled themselves, drinks in hand, in the salon—he on the sofa, she on one of the armchairs facing it. “Talk to me,
ciccia
. Tell me what's been bothering you.”

Georgia dropped her gaze to stare into the goblet in her hand. “I don't know what you mean. What makes you think there's anything bothering me?”

“Because it's written all over your face.”

She took a small sip and then replied, “As I told you, I spent the day following up on pointless leads. What you're seeing in my face is exhaustion. It will pass.”

“Somehow I doubt that's all it is.”

“Well, I've no idea what else you want me to tell you.”

“Tell me the truth.”

“I have just done so!”

Conrad sighed. “How long have we known each other now? And through how many dire circumstances? I have seen you when you're tired, Georgia, but I've never seen you look so careworn. Won't you confide in me?”

“Careworn?” Georgia's laugh sounded brittle and forced. “Oh dear, has it really come to that?”

“What do you mean?”

“Correct me if I'm wrong, but is not ‘careworn' a word men most oft employ when they wish to suggest that a woman's looks are not to their liking? Does my appearance leave so much to be desired then? I do beg my sire's pardon. Perhaps it's my choice of hairstyle that he finds unflattering?”

“My dear, don't talk such nonsense. Your beauty is intoxicating—as it has always been. And, even if it weren't, I'm certain you are far too wise to be concerned overmuch with
my
opinion of such things.”

“Perhaps not when it comes to fashion.”

“Exactly. No, my dear, what I'm asking about is something quite different. There is something in your expression. I cannot find the words to describe it.” He looked her over once again, searching for words. “You look…sad.”

“Sad…” Georgia repeated the word thoughtfully. “Yes, well, I suppose there might be some small truth to that.” A shudder worked its way up her frame; it was small, but not so subtle that Conrad could have missed it. She shook her head. “I assure you, it's nothing with which you need concern yourself.”

“And yet, I
am
concerned.” He was also growing impatient. They both knew he could compel her to speak—though neither of them would enjoy it. Was that really what she wanted?

“Conrad, please.” She gazed at him entreatingly. “One might be sad for any number of silly or unimportant reasons. Is a little privacy
really
too much to ask for?”

Conrad frowned. Privacy was all well and good, but his heart told him there was more to it than that. This helpless, hopeless tone was something new. Whatever was troubling her, it was clearly not the ‘nothing' she would have him believe. “Georgia…”

“Or if you cannot be dissuaded, can we not at least postpone this conversation for another time? Please, my love. I ask you for little enough. Can you not grant me this?”

Before Conrad could think of a suitable response, a commotion in the front hallway caught his attention. The front door was flung open. Hurried footsteps crossed the foyer.

Georgia jumped to her feet. Conrad smiled in fond amusement as she took up a defensive stance. He was her sire, so he supposed it was natural for her to defend him. While he appreciated the gesture, he doubted there was any real cause for alarm. It was one of the characteristics of this modern age; danger rarely announced itself so loudly.

The salon door opened and, just as Conrad had suspected, no imminent threat to his safety was revealed. That was not to say he wasn't surprised.

“Brennan? What are you doing here?” Typically, when someone left Conrad's employ, he never saw them again, a state of affairs that generally suited everyone quite well. This should have been doubly true in Brennan's case. The boy had been paid handsomely to keep his distance, and all of Conrad's people had been warned that they were to stay away from him as well. Clearly, something had gone wrong.

The boy looked distraught. His eyes were red-rimmed, and his face was pale but determined as he crossed the room. “You have to help me.”

“Do I? Why? What has happened? Has someone been bothering you?” It should be unthinkable that anyone would openly defy Conrad's orders in so flagrant a manner. But, these days, the unthinkable had become almost commonplace.

“Please,” Brennan begged as he fell to his knees in front of Conrad. “I'll do anything. Whatever you want. Whatever
any
of you want. Just, please—”

“Wait.” Conrad lifted a hand in a request for silence. A flicker of motion had caught his eye. He glanced toward the door. “Georgia? Where are you going?”

Georgia froze with her hand on the knob. She turned to face him, her lips twisting into the faint semblance of a smile. “I can see how busy you are at present.” She waved vaguely in Brennan's general direction. “I'm sure you'll prefer to postpone our talk until after you've dealt with…whatever this is.”

Conrad scowled. Georgia was usually right about these things, but at the moment that seemed completely beside the point. He hadn't told her she could leave, and he'd had more than enough lately of people attempting to defy his wishes. “Whatever this is,” he replied, also waving, “it can't be that important. I'm sure it can wait.”

“No!” Brennan clutched at his arm with trembling hands. Conrad all but recoiled at the naked fear coursing through the boy's veins. “No, please. It can't wait. I have no place else to turn. You have to help me—now!”

Once again, Conrad's gaze met Georgia's. She glanced knowingly at him, her hand still wrapped around the doorknob, her whole body poised for flight. Conrad sighed in surrender. “Go ahead then!” he growled. Then he turned his attention back to Brennan. “And as for you, get off your knees! Tell me what's going on. But be quick about it.”

Georgia sighed with relief as she pulled the door shut behind her. She leaned against it, closing her eyes and pressing her hand to her chest in an effort to calm her still-racing heart. Conrad's strength so far outstripped her own that just being in his presence was a sort of torture. Every cell of her being screamed at her to drink her fill, to absorb just a little of that superfluous strength, to ease the pain.

The urge to unburden herself was also all but overwhelming. If he had pushed her just a little harder for answers, she would have given in, told him everything. She shivered—both at the narrowness of her escape and the realization that the noose around her neck was drawing ever tighter. She could not expect her luck to last forever. At the moment, her chances of surviving, for even one more night, had never seemed so slim.

“I might have known.” Damian's voice snapped Georgia from her thoughts.

Her eyes flew open. “I beg your pardon?”

“I said I might have known who was to blame for this uproar.” Damian glanced critically at her. “Doors slamming. People running about. What have you done to upset him this time?”

Georgia straightened away from the door. “Always so sure of yourself, aren't you?” she growled. “Always involving yourself in things that do not concern you, and
always
so misguided.”

Color flared in Damian's cheeks. “Oh, not
always
misguided, my lady, surely. I think you must allow that I'm correct at least part of the time?”

“If you say so.” Georgia shook her head. “I had not observed it. But why you feel yourself entitled to question me is a mystery I do not comprehend. If you must know, I have done nothing to upset anyone this evening. Conrad and I were enjoying a peaceful conversation when we were interrupted by Brennan. If you wish to know more, I'm afraid you'll have to ask someone else.”

“Brennan!” Damian's eyes widened in alarm. “Why is he here?”

A wave of fatigue crashed over Georgia and she had to struggle just to stay erect. “I have no idea. He appears to be in some sort of turmoil, but if I might offer you a piece of advice, you might try to refrain from jumping to conclusions. It's sure to land you in trouble one of these days.”

“So I've been told.”

“Yes, I'm sure you have.” Did Damian's tone seem unusually suspicious, Georgia wondered, or were her fears simply getting the best of her, making her see threats everywhere? “Now, if you'll excuse me…” She gestured toward the stairs, which he was blocking, hoping he'd take the hint and move out of her way.