In the Dark (26 page)

“I'll let him know you're here,” he told her, then added, “you
will
wait, this time, won't you?”

She nodded. “I'll wait. But…can I use your restroom in the meantime?”

“Of course.” Armand gestured toward the hallway. “You remember where it is, I assume, yes? Just don't leave 'til I get back.”

Conrad was reading in the salon when Armand located him. “What's wrong now?” he asked, without looking up from his book.

Armand's eyebrows rose. “What makes you think something's wrong?”

“Someone's heart is beating like a rabbit's. That's usually a good indication, don't you think?”

“I suppose you're right,” Armand replied as he sat down in the armchair across from Conrad's. “At least you know it's not mine. That has to count for something, I imagine.”

Conrad chuckled. “Yes, that would have suggested a disaster of unimaginable proportions was about to befall us.” He put down his book and met Armand's gaze, smiling tolerantly. “Since that's not the case, what
is
going on?”

Armand bit back a sigh. He liked that smile. He was going to hate making it disappear. “She's back.”

“I see.” Conrad's smile dissolved. “And who, precisely, are we talking about?”

“That girl from last winter? Desert Rose? She's come back. She's here now, asking to speak with you.”

“Back?” Conrad repeated the word as though it were utterly unfamiliar to him. He shook his head. “No. Absolutely not. I do not take people back, Armand. Don't you know that about me yet?” He started to pick up his book and then stopped and scowled. “And, while we're on the subject, would you please tell me what it is I'm paying a guard for? So that any stray waif who's out for a stroll in the neighborhood can drop in on us uninvited? I
don't
think so. Have a word with the man about that, will you, my dear?” he said as he picked up his book.

“It's not the guard's fault. He called the house, just as he's supposed to. I'm the one who thought you might want to see her.”

“Well, you thought wrong. Now, get rid of her.” Conrad's face remained impassive and his eyes stayed fixed on his book, but Armand was having a hard time believing he was actually reading anymore. For one thing, his eyes seemed a little
too
fixed.

Armand watched him stare blankly at the page for another full second, then rose to his feet. “
Très
bien
. No doubt you're right. I'm sure whatever it is that's brought her out on such a night as this, it can't be of any real importance. I'll just send her back out into the rain then, shall I?”

“Please do.”

He made it halfway to the door before Conrad stopped him. “Wait.”

Armand turned back, his face a mask of polite inquiry. “Yes, Conrad? Is there something else you require?”

Conrad put down his book once more and stood. His expression grim, he muttered, “Show her in.”

Armand inclined his head. “As you wish.” He pivoted around again and headed for the door, unable to keep from grinning.

Behind him, he heard Conrad growl, “And stop looking so damned pleased with yourself.”

The girl was waiting in the foyer when Armand returned. Still looking damp and disheveled, she gazed at him hopefully. “Well?”

“He'll see you,” he said, nodding in the direction of the salon. “Go on in.” She took a deep breath and pressed her hands to the front of her coat, as though attempting to calm her nerves. Conrad's right, Armand thought, taking a moment to listen. Her heart was tripping all over itself. He laid a hand on her arm and smiled reassuringly. “Relax,
chérie
. It will be okay, you know?”

She smiled shakily back and nodded her thanks. As he watched her go, Armand gave half a second's thought to the idea of going up to the attic for some of the clothes she'd left behind. She could use something dry to change into. But Conrad had insisted her belongings be thrown out with the trash. Did he really want to risk angering him now with the knowledge his orders had not been followed exactly to the letter? No, he decided after debating the matter with himself, no good could ever come of that. Besides, the fact that her clothes were wet would just give Conrad another excuse, in the unlikely event he needed one, to take them off her.

Armand glanced around, appreciating the silence, appreciating the fact that no one was likely to be needing him for anything else tonight, then turned and headed for his apartment. Even though he'd only just gotten up a short while earlier, this seemed like a very good time to try and catch a nap.

 

Conrad paced to the mantle while he waited for Desert Rose to appear. What the devil was she thinking, coming back like this? He'd had many lovers who wandered in and out of his life over the course of centuries, but generally they came and went at his say so. He couldn't decide if he thought her incredibly brave or suicidally stupid to be among the very few to try things the other way around.

Still, he had to admit Armand had a point. She could be up to something and he'd be smart to find out what it was. He just hoped it wasn't anything too foolish, such as an attempt to blackmail him with the threat of exposing his secret.

He wasn't worried on his own account. He'd accumulated more than enough wealth and influence over the years. He could afford not to be concerned by such things anymore. No one believed in vampires nowadays anyway, and people in power seldom wished to alienate someone like himself, someone who might otherwise be counted on to donate generously to a variety of their pet causes. Penniless, itinerant young people given to making outrageous accusations, on the other hand, seldom fared half as well. He supposed he owed it to the girl to make sure she understood that, before she did something she'd regret.

“Conrad? Hi…”

The sound of her voice in the doorway had him spinning around to face her, instantly dismissing all suspicions about her motives. Her voice was too sweet and her smile too shyly hopeful, they made his heart want to melt on the spot. He stanched the urge as best he could, plastered a remote expression on his face and responded to her greeting. “Good evening, my dear. This is a surprise. What can I do for you?”

“Oh. Uh, nothing, really.” The smile left her face. She rolled one shoulder in a small shrug and murmured, “I just uh…you know, I missed you, that's all. I thought I'd stop by and, and tell you that.”

“Thank you.” He'd missed her too, not that he would ever admit it. “Was that all you wanted?”

“No.” Desert Rose took a deep breath and lifted her chin. “I also want to apologize.”

Conrad's eyebrows rose. “You do? For what, exactly?”

“For the way I…the way I acted the night of the party. I must have been having a really bad acid flashback, or something. You wouldn't believe some of the things I thought I saw.”

“Wouldn't I?” he asked quietly, watching her face. Where was she going with this?

“No. I mean…why would you? It wasn't real. I was just hallucinating, probably because somebody slipped me something, without telling me. I wish they hadn't, because, whatever it was they gave me, it made me think I was seeing things that…that I couldn't really have seen.”

“You were drugged?” Conrad found himself frowning as he crossed the room to where she stood. “Is that what you think happened?” He had no idea why the idea should annoy him so much. If that was what she wanted to believe, he should let her. In fact, he made a mental note to remember the idea. It would make a useful defense if ever any similar problems arose in the future.

But he was also tired of the game, of the pretense, of the lies. It had been fun once, but they'd burned that bridge last December. They could not go back over it now. Tonight, he needed her to accept or reject him for who and what he was.

“I don't mean someone here gave it to me,” she said quickly. “In fact, I'm sure they didn't, I'm sure it happened someplace else…” Her voice trailed off and she hung her head, looking miserable. “I know it was really stupid of me. I should have known better. I should have stayed and, and…”

“Stop it,” Conrad ordered, lifting her chin and forcing her to meet his gaze. “That's not what happened and you know it.”

“It's not?” Panic flared in her eyes. She swallowed hard. “Then- then what…?”

“We both know what you saw that night. Don't we?”

He could hear her heart thundering in her chest. “Wh-what are you saying? That it's true? That you really are a…a…”

“A vampire,” he supplied helpfully. “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?”

“You never drank mine?”

“Oh, but I have, sweet one.” Sketching a finger down along one side of her neck, he smiled as he remembered the pleasure he'd taken… “Here.” He moved his finger to a point on the opposite side, near her shoulder and softly stroked. “And here.” Then he picked up her hand. Pressing his lips to the pulse point in her wrist, he murmured, “and here.”

“I never felt it. Wouldn't something like that… I mean…that night in the garden, I-I saw your teeth. How could it not have hurt me if…if you did what you say you did?”

“You felt it. You just never knew what it was you were feeling. And, why would I wish to hurt you when it's so much more pleasurable for both of us when I don't?”

“I don't understand,” she protested again. “How did you… Were you… I mean…”

He looked at her questioningly. “What is it that's confusing you? Am I really a monster? Yes. I'm one of those things your parents, no doubt, tried to warn you about when you were a child—a demon, lurking in the dark, seeking to take advantage of your youth and innocence, looking to steal the life from you, and possibly your soul as well.”

“No.” She shook her head vehemently. “You're none of those things. Besides, that's not what I started to ask you. Were you always like this?”

“Was I born this way?” He smiled at the question. “No, my dear. No one is born a vampire. We do not reproduce in that fashion. We cannot have children—not with other vampires, not with humans, not at all. I was once as human as you are now. Until I was turned. Many years ago.”

“Turned? How? Were you…were you bitten?”

“Well, that is usually how the process begins,” he replied. Usually. Not always. But there were few events in his long life that Conrad was more loath to revisit than those surrounding his “birth” as a vampire.

“So, then, if you bit me…does that mean that I'm going to…to turn…into one now, too?”

“No.” Dropping her hand, he took a step back, scowling at the idea, at the dark uncertainty in her gaze, at the fearful trembling of her lips. “Of course you are not. What is it you think? That we're like rabid dogs, infecting every creature with whom we have contact? I promise you, if every person who was ever fed upon by a vampire was invariably turned, the human race would have long ago ceased to exist and all vampires would have starved to death. The process of becoming vampire is more complicated than simply being bitten. I have
never t
urned anyone who did not wish for it—nor would I
ever
do such a thing.” To do so would be to make himself no better than the monster who'd sired him in just so vile a manner. “To even think such a thing is to insult me.”

“I'm sorry,” she said crowding him so suddenly he was taken by surprise when she wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged him tight, her head pressed to his chest. “Don't be mad at me. I'm just trying to understand how things are.”

“It's not you I'm angry with.” He folded his arms gingerly around her, frowning as he felt his sleeves and the front of his shirt grow damp. “
Mignonne
, I don't know if it has escaped your attention, but your clothing is quite wet.”

She nodded. “It's been raining. There's not a lot of places around here to stay dry.”

“And you did not think it might be a good idea to go somewhere else to get out of the rain?”

“I missed you,” she murmured, snuggling closer. “I didn't want to go anywhere else. I just wanted to see you again, but I was too afraid to come in.”

“Afraid you'd find out the monsters were real?” he chided sadly.

“No.” Raising her head, she smiled up at him, her expression as open and trusting as a child's. “Afraid I'd find out you hadn't missed me as much as I missed you. Or that you wouldn't want me back.”

Conrad exhaled slowly, his heart and mind at war. “Have I said any of that?”

She shook her head. “You didn't have to. I can tell.”

“Let's get you upstairs and into some dry clothes,” he suggested, pressing his lips to her forehead, stalling for time. “We'll talk about that later.”

 

It would be good to let her down gently, Conrad told himself while he foraged through the walk-in closet in his bedroom, searching for something for her to put on. It would be better still if he could give her some of her own clothes to change into but, for once, Armand had been regrettably efficient.

As it was, he was going to have to lend her one of his own shirts to wear and find her a warm place to sleep while her wet clothes were drying. Tomorrow, he'd sit her down and explain that, no matter how much either of them might wish it, things could not go back to the way they'd once been. Then he'd kiss her good-bye and send her off to a hotel with enough money for her to live on until she got on her feet.

Best of all, of course, would be for him to send her away now—tonight—before either of them became any more embroiled with each other. Maybe, if she hadn't been wet, if it hadn't been raining, if he could have stood the thought of making her cry, he would have done just that.