In the Dark (23 page)

“I know that, sugar, but do you know what a really good way
not
to find someone in a place like this would be? It would be to stand around—all menacing-looking—like you've been doing for the past ten minutes. Keep it up much longer and the expression on your face is gonna spook the humans. I'm surprised it hasn't already.”

“What expression?” he asked, momentarily distracted when she moved into his arms and pressed herself close for what was definitely
not
a slow dance. The feel of her body as it shimmied against his, caused his arms to tighten around her. “What expression?” he repeated, grasping at anything that might keep his thoughts in check.

“The one that says what you really want right now is to sink your teeth into the nearest neck.” She swayed sinuously, her body rubbing up against his in a manner that was becoming progressively more difficult to ignore.

“Then I guess whoever said looks were deceiving was dead wrong.” Pulling her even closer, Marc took control of the dance, rocking them both to the sensuous sounds, enjoying the way their bodies moved so perfectly together. “Because that's
exactly
what I want to do right now.”

“Well, in that case…” Without missing a beat, Elise dipped to the side and then back, flipping her hair behind her shoulder and baring her neck with one smooth move. “Mine's pretty near.”

It was the most blatantly erotic thing she could have done. Marc hardened instantly. Fisting one hand in the coils of her hair, he dropped his head to within an inch of her shoulder letting his open mouth
almost
caress her skin as it traveled up toward her ear.

His head was reeling. He forced himself to pull away. “I said that's what I
want
to do, but that's not really going to help me find my guy, now is it?”

Elise shivered. She was breathing hard and her cheeks were flushed, but the smoky gaze had vanished from her eyes. A worried frown furrowed her brow as she met his gaze. “Your little chickie must be confused, Marc, or maybe she just misunderstood. Nobody would come here looking to make that kind of trouble.”

Marc's temper rose as he recalled the look of panic on Julie's face. “My
sister
is not often confused about things like being slammed up against a wall by a complete stranger. What part of ‘I'm gonna kill you' would
you
find difficult to understand?” His sister. His kin. His responsibility. His
right
to retaliate.
I'm gonna kill the bastard when I find him. I'm gonna rip his stinking heart out
. A low, ugly growl purled up his throat. “Maybe the guy didn't come here looking for trouble, but he sure found it.”

“Calm down, sugar,” Elise soothed. “You're getting that scary look on your face again.”

“Good.”

Elise sighed. “You know, I'm a little surprised Conrad isn't handling this himself. He has a pretty solid rep for being
very
protective of his people. Why don't you just step back and let him deal with this?”

Marc eyed her suspiciously even as he slid his hands lower on her back and ground his hips into hers. She couldn't possibly think he was going to let her seduce him into forgetting what had happened here last night, could she? What did she think she was going to accomplish by discouraging his search, anyway? Or, maybe that was the wrong question. Maybe what he should be asking himself was, what was she afraid he'd find?

“I told you. Conrad's not in town right now, so I can't leave it to him.” Marc's heart clenched as his thoughts turned to the questions of where Conrad might be and whether or not they'd be able to locate him before time ran out.

“So, you're acting on your own then?” Elise's expression was guarded now and Marc couldn't decide if she sounded relieved or disappointed.

“Not exactly. Damian sent me to handle it. But, that's not important.” He let her go and took a step away from her. “And neither is this. Much as I'd like to dance with you all night, I've got other things to do.”

“Wait.” Elise clutched his sleeve, stopping him. “Don't disappear yet. We should go somewhere more private and talk about this some more. I might know things.”

He glanced at her hand, so tense it trembled, and then back to her face, taut with something that looked very much like fear. “What things?”

“Things that might help you. Things I can't talk about here.”

Marc nodded. “Okay. Fine. I'm staying at Conrad's house. We can talk there.”

“Oh, no, no, no, I don't think so.” Elise shook her head. “You're cute, sugar, but not worth dying for. I'd just as soon keep my skin intact, if it's all the same to you.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“Bad blood. There have been some
misunderstandings
between our nests in the past. We're not on the best of terms and we definitely
don't
visit. Why don't I take you back to my place?”

Marc looked at her in surprise. “Why, so we can get
my
ass kicked instead? Thanks, but I think I'll pass.”

Elise shook her head again. “Not what I meant. I wouldn't take you back to my nest tonight either, not if you paid me to. That would likely get us both killed. I have a loft in SoMa where I spend most of my time these days. I thought we could go there.”

“I don't know.” Marc glanced around the club, once again attempting to detect the scent of his prey. Despite all his warnings to himself, it was very possible he was getting distracted, after all—by his attraction to Elise, by the atmosphere in the club, even by his own brotherly concerns.

Finding Julie's attacker might be an important part of the search for Conrad, it might even be a worthy endeavor on its own, but it wasn't necessarily his end goal. What information could Elise have that would be worth the possible waste of a night, worth letting Conrad's trail grow even colder, worth risking his death?

Elise leaned closer. “You're not going to find him that way. He's not here.”

Marc glanced at her in surprise. “Who's not here?”

“The vampire you're looking for. The one with the scars.”

“And how would you know that?”

The look in her eyes was calculated, but confident. “Because, sugar, it just so happens I know who he is.”

 

“Oil paints, huh?” Marc's nose wrinkled at the scent. Vaguely disappointed, he followed Elise into her loft. The smell of paint, turpentine and linseed oil was so pungent it obliterated any other more subtle fragrances, like those that might have been left by the loft's owner.

“Yes, and in case you're thinking of telling me I should move with the times, don't.” She removed her wrap and tossed it over the back of a chair. “Despite the advances made to acrylics over the last fifty years or so, I can't bring myself to like them. To me, the pigments still seem to lack a certain…vibrancy.”

Marc gazed at the space around him. It was big, apparently L-shaped, mostly empty, with high ceilings and one entire wall of windows that looked out over the city. “Must get awfully bright in here during the day,” he said as he strolled over to check out the view.

“Black-out curtains. Set on timers.” Elise smiled at him over her shoulder. She turned on the stereo and soft, sultry jazz filled the air. “It's an affectation, I'll admit it, given my aversion to sunlight, but what's an artist's studio without windows?”

“So, you're actually an artist then?”

“As opposed to what?” she asked as she joined him at the window. “A hobbyist? A wannabe? Just another pretentious dabbler lucky enough not to need to work for a living?”

“I didn't mean anything like that,” Marc protested. “You could simply be someone who likes to paint, couldn't you? Do I get to see some of your work?”

“Maybe later.” She cocked her head to the side and studied him curiously. “Are you always so cynical, or do you just not trust me?”

“Why cynical?” he asked in surprise.

“Oh, please.” Sliding her arms around his neck, she gazed up at him mockingly. “‘Are you actually an artist?'”

“I already explained that,” he replied, shaping her waist with his hands, enjoying the feel of her body, warm, solid, inviting. “And, as far as trusting you goes, well, I'm here, aren't I?”

“Mm, so you are.”

She leaned in, obviously intending to kiss him, but he stopped her before she could fit her mouth to his. “I'm here to find out about scar-face. Remember?”

“Is that really the only thing you want from me?” Her smile said she already knew the answer, but wanted to hear it from him anyway.

“No,” he admitted with a small shake of the head. “You know it isn't. But I can't let what I
want
get in the way of what I
need
. I need to find this guy, Elise—soon. And I need your help to do that. I need you to tell me everything you can about him.”

Elise nodded. “I can tell you his name and who he is. I can tell you some of his story. I can even hazard a pretty good guess as to what might have prompted him to attack your sister—assuming he did. Would that help?”

“Can you tell me how to find him?” Marc asked

“Possibly. But, before I do that, I'll need a little something from you.”

“Like what?”

“I'll need to be sure I can trust you.”

“You can trust me.”

This time, when she moved in close, he made no move to stop her. He let her capture his mouth in a kiss that set his heart pounding and made his head reel. The taste of her—earthy and intoxicating—was everything he'd hoped it would be. Growling in satisfaction, he clasped the back of her head with one hand, banded his other arm around her waist and took control, loving the way her hands fisted in his shirt, as though she wanted to rip it from his back.

When she pulled away, it was all he could do to let go. His soul was screaming for him to take her, to make her deliver on everything she'd promised. But the look in her eyes, hot and demanding, said she wanted that too. He tried to be appeased with that.

Her hand fumbled for his. “What are we doing?” he asked as she drew him back toward the entrance. His voice sounded as leaden as his footsteps. “You're not trying to kick me to the curb already, are you?”

Amusement danced in her eyes when she turned her head and smiled at him. She pointed to a short staircase he'd missed seeing on the way in. “Bedroom.”

“What about the information you promised me?” he asked, even as he followed her up the stairs to a rose-curtained aerie set high above the rest of the loft.
Ars longa, vita brevis
, read the legend stenciled over the bed in foot-high sepia letters.
Life is short, art long
. The words filled his soul with foreboding. Were they a warning, and, if so, for whom?

“All in good time,” she murmured, pushing him onto the bed, her teeth already bared, as she followed him down. “Love first.”

Love?
He took hold of her hair, pulling her head back and forcing her to meet his gaze.
That's not exactly what I would have called it
. “But, afterwards,” he insisted. “You
will
tell me. Everything.”

“I'll tell you,” she promised, hunger burning in her eyes. “I'll tell you everything you need to hear.”

Then her teeth found his throat and he let her go. He gasped in surprise as dark waves of bliss rocked through him and his eyes rolled back.
Vita brevis
. The words mocked him from the wall above his head.
Life is short
. He feared it might be true. He just hoped it would be long enough.

Chapter Twelve

This place is positively a warren
, Julie thought, frowning as she searched the house for her brother. She was seriously regretting not having taken Armand up on his offer of a tour. It might have helped if she at least knew where she was going.

Where the hell could he be
? All week Marc had been on her case, anxious to leave the house as soon as the sun went down, begrudging her every second she spent with Brennan. Tonight, with the fear that time might be growing short for Conrad nagging at her conscience and the dread of having to face her attacker eating at her nerves, her brother was nowhere to be found.

Didn't that just figure? And after all the work she'd put into getting herself ready.

She'd gotten up early—well before sunset—and bribed one of the gardeners into going into town and purchasing a couple of burgers for her so she could surprise Brennan with breakfast in bed before he had to be on duty. She'd been feeling really good when she got back to the house, after that. Confident. In control. Grounded. All set to take on almost anything, even a half-blind, homicidal vampire with a serious grudge on.

Now, her resolve was already beginning to fray around the edges, and her confidence was definitely on the wane. If she didn't find Marc soon…

Maybe he's taken my advice
, she thought hopefully. Maybe her brother was fortifying his
own
nerves with a little last-minute, pre-rumble snackage. With that in mind, and in hopes of catching him unawares, she eased open the next door she came to as noiselessly as possible and peeked inside.

Her eyes widened. No Marc. Instead, she'd stumbled into the most amazingly well-equipped home gym she could ever have imagined, with weights and mats and racks full of weapons, and all manner of climbing apparatus. Big to begin with, the room appeared even more immense thanks to the addition of several floor-to-ceiling mirrors.

On the wall across from the door, a ballet bar had been installed. Armand, with one leg extended along the waist-high bar, was warming up. Eyes closed, he hummed quietly to himself, stretching, bending, reaching, all with such fluidity and grace Julie found herself unable to look away.

In general, she tended to favor guys who were big and buff—
a la
Brennan. But, watching Armand, she had to admit that lean, lithe and compact was not without its own very special appeal. The sight of him sent a small shockwave through her system. He was beautiful. There was just no getting around it. He was lean, graceful, strong, and, as she'd already observed, so definitively male that every female fiber of her being once again stood up and took notice.