In the Dark (28 page)

Sitting up beside him, Desert Rose frowned. “It's not nonsense. And I've known for months. Besides, that's why I was asking questions, so I could learn what I didn't know.”

“Ah, of course. I beg your pardon,
mignonne
,” Conrad responded with a laugh. “Two months of dread and denial and a handful of answers undoubtedly qualifies you to make such a momentous decision. My dear, how can you expect me to take such a request seriously? What makes you think you want to do such a thing anyway? As a way of life, it hardly recommends itself.”

Her mouth set in a stubborn line, she answered, “You know why I want it. I want it because of you. I've never known anyone like you before and I just… Well, don't you want to be with me forever, too?”

Perhaps it would be better to lie and tell her that,
no, he didn't
. But he was too selfish to do so. He couldn't bear to deprive himself so soon of that look in her eyes, so tender and trusting, so certain to be transitory. He thought he'd lost it once, already. Surely, tomorrow would be soon enough to banish it again, and for all time. “Forever is a very long time,
mignonne
.” His heart ached as he remembered the last person he'd thought would love him that long. “And love, by itself, is not always enough.”

“Of course it is,” she said, sounding sulky and cross. “Don't be silly, Conrad. It has to be. Don't you know what they say?
Love is all you need
. I think that's from the Bible or Shakespeare or something.”

“No, I believe it's the Beatles you're quoting,” he replied, smiling wryly. “Which is
not quite
the same thing.”

She rolled her eyes. “Well, who cares who it was? That's not the point anyway. How much did
you
know about being a vampire before you were turned? Why did
you
want to become one?”

“I didn't,” he snapped, doing his best to tamp down the unreasoning rage the topic invariably engendered. “I knew nothing about them, nor did I want to, but I was given very little choice in the matter.”

“Wh-what do you mean?” she asked, looking stricken. “How come? What happened?”

There was a term for those, like him, who'd had the transformation forced upon them. A term that could be used to refer to both the process involved and that which it produced.
Lamia Invitus
. The Unwilling. Conrad shook his head. “I do not speak of it. Ever.”

Thinking about it, however, was not so easy to avoid. He could still recall the dark cell in which he'd been imprisoned, its stone walls stained with soot, the air around him filled with the stench of death and gore, with the screams of the tormented—his own among them.

Again and again, his flesh was scored by knives whose blades had been dipped in a potion specifically designed to keep the cuts from closing, to keep his blood flowing freely. The fiery agony that danced within his wounds would have brought him to his knees had he not been manacled to the wall. Worst of all was being forced to watch as his lifeblood was drained off to fill one of the golden chalices which were all she who would become his sire would deign to drink from, scorning to let her lips touch human skin.

Within his view she'd sampled the draught when it was brought to her, along with those of the others, as one might test a new wine from an untried vineyard. Carelessly. Callously. Casually. With the air of one who would not scruple to waste the entire vintage if she found it not quite to her liking.

A part of him hoped she'd choke on the taste of him, but another part prayed her judgment of it would be favorable, so that she might allow him to live.

Was it for several days she'd toyed with him in this fashion, or merely hours? He never knew. It was only after he'd been rendered dizzy and sick from blood loss, too weak to even protest his torment, when his eyesight was failing, his heart barely beat and it seemed as though death could be no more than a single breath away, that the choice was offered to him. Drink or die.

“I'm sorry,” Desert Rose whispered, forcing his thoughts back to the present when she threw herself against his chest and held him tight. “Don't look like that. Please. It's too sad. I can't stand it.”

“It's all right.” He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, more grateful for her warmth than he wanted to admit. He kissed her head. “It was a long time ago,
mignonne
. A very long time.”

“Was it…was it very painful what they did to you?” she asked, her voice muffled.

“Did I not just tell you I would not speak of it?”

“I know.” There was a trace of trepidation in her eyes as she gazed at him, but it did not appear to be due to any fear of what he might do to her if she persisted in questioning him. “But…was it?”

“Excruciating,” he growled, hoping that would be the end of it. It wasn't, of course.

“Is it always that way when you turn someone—painful, I mean?”

Ah, so that's what she's worried about
. “Getting scared, are you?” he asked with just a touch of malice in his tone. “Having second thoughts?”

She shook her head. “No.” But in her eyes the question remained.

He smiled grimly. “Well, perhaps you should be.”

“Tell me,” she urged, her voice but a whisper. “Is it?”

“No,” he sighed at last. “Though it's true there are parts of the process that some people find objectionable, it isn't painful. Or, at least…it doesn't have to be painful. Satisfied now?”

“Almost.” She gazed at him speculatively. “So, if it wasn't anything you wanted…are you saying you're sorry now that it happened?”

Conrad's eyes grew wide. Was he? Amazingly, he couldn't recall ever having been asked that question before. Certainly there were many things he'd done since becoming a vampire that he regretted, entire decades he wished he could forget. But if, in that single fateful moment which was all the time he'd been given to reach his decision, he'd chosen otherwise there was so very much he would have missed.

“No,” he sighed again. “I'm not sorry. I did what I thought was best at the time. As Cicero put it, ‘while there's life, there's hope'. Faced with the same circumstances again today, I believe my decision would be the same. Still, one should have more choice in the matter than I was given.”

“Well, see?” she said sitting up again, speaking with the air of someone trying to explain the obvious. “That's what I'm talking about. You're not sorry and you didn't even
want
to do it. I do want it. And, it's my choice to make, isn't it?”

“It's my choice as well,” he reminded her. “And it is not one I would make lightly.”

Conrad lapsed into silence, staring at her thoughtfully, contemplating the very thing he'd told himself repeatedly last November he would never again do: ignore all the painful lessons experience had taught him and turn someone with whom he was already far too obsessed.

Why the hell shouldn't he do what he wanted? Why worry about the possibility of future regrets—his or hers? Hadn't he earned the right to sire whomever he pleased, whenever and however it suited him to do so? Even at its worst, it was unlikely this could ever top some of the mistakes he'd already made.

Although his taste for it had waned considerably in the past several hundred years, in his younger, more careless days he'd sired his share of vampires, many of them, if truth be told, on little more than a whim. It wasn't a matter of resources. He could certainly afford to care for another mouth to feed and he knew he would love teaching her the ways of his kind, guiding her steps, watching as she explored her new existence. That was always a pleasure.

“Well?” she asked, her expression hopeful.

“I'll think about it.”

Her face fell. “What's to think about? Besides, I've
already
thought. That's
all
I've done—for two whole months. I want it now.”

He gazed at her skeptically, unmoved by her argument. “You've done nothing for two months but think about becoming a vampire? Why do I find that hard to believe?”

Dropping her gaze she muttered, “That's not what I meant. I thought of nothing but how much I wanted to be with you.”

“So very young.” He lifted her chin so he could gaze into her eyes. His conscience pained him. “I wonder if it would not be best if I sent you away, after all? I may be doing you a very grave disservice,
ma petite
, letting you stay here—for even one more night, or by letting you fill your mind with thoughts of forever when all you should be thinking about is today. You've seen so little of the world yet.”

“Send me away?” She gazed at him piteously, her dismay making her appear even younger, which did nothing to help her cause. “You wouldn't do that. Would you?”

“It might be the kindest thing I could do,” he said gently.

Her face turned mutinous. “Well, I don't care. Because I won't go.”

“You won't go. Is that a fact?” Conrad allowed himself a moment longer to bask in the innocence, the purity, the sincerity of her feelings for him. Then he lunged at her. Shoving her flat on her back, he pinned her beneath him. She struggled at first, but settled down quickly when he snarled at her, letting all his teeth show. “
You
will do as you are told. I don't know what makes you think I would even consider turning someone like yourself. You would make a most unruly spawn. You're headstrong, impatient, willful, petulant. My dear, the vampire who sired you, if he were not already insane to begin with, would surely be driven mad, in no time at all, by his attempts to control you.”

A spark of anger gleamed in her eyes as she gazed up at him. “No one controls me.”

Conrad grimaced. “Believe me, I've noticed. Which is exactly why you would make such a terrible vampire.”

“You're not being very nice,” she protested, squirming beneath him once again. Her face was flushed and she was clearly uncomfortable with the position she was in.
Good.
He let her stay that way.

“If you are looking for someone to be nice to you, I think you would do well to reconsider your plans,
mignonne
. I am rarely
ever
nice. There is a reason we vampires are feared. A very good reason, as it turns out. As a sire, you would find me often harsh and frequently cruel. I would demand total obedience from you and if I didn't get it, I
would
give you cause to fear me, and probably to hate me, as well. Do you understand?”

“Yeah,” she muttered, frowning back at him. “I got it.” Then her face changed. Her eyes narrowed. Conrad frowned. Rather than backing down or dissolving into tears, which is what he'd been expecting her to do, she now looked…thoughtful. “What about Armand?” she asked after another moment. “He's one of you too, right?”

“Ye-es,” Conrad replied slowly, wondering where her thoughts were headed. Then it hit him. His hands tightened on her shoulders and he gave her a shake, surprising a startled squeak out of her. “You will not even
think
about appealing to him to sire you,” he growled in earnest this time. “He already knows better than to entertain such a notion without first seeking my permission, but tomorrow I will make my feelings on the matter doubly clear to him. If
anyone
is going to sire you it will be
me
. Me, or no one. Is that understood?”

Desert Rose glared. “Let go of me, jerk. I don't
want
anyone else to do it. All I was saying was that Armand's not afraid of you, is he? So you can't be as bad as all that. Quit acting like such a freak. You're tying to scare me away, but it's not gonna work. You're just making me mad.”

Reluctantly, Conrad let her go. “As I told you earlier, my dear, you'd do well to be more afraid than you are—both of me and this step you're considering. This is not something you should take lightly. Not if you've any sense at all, which, at the moment, I must tell you, I am finding hard to believe. As for Armand, you are very much mistaken. I can assure you I've rendered him quite terrified upon occasion, as recently as last December, in fact, in the wake of your regretfully abrupt departure.”

Sitting up, she looked at him doubtfully. “After the party? Why? What happened?”

“I sent him to look after you, to keep you from leaving. He failed me.”

The girl's eyes widened. “Well, that wasn't his fault. He couldn't have known I was gonna run. You didn't hurt him, did you?”

Conrad said nothing. He almost wished he could say he had. The girl had no awareness of danger whatsoever.

“Conrad, you didn't, did you?”

“No, I didn't hurt him. But, I have hurt others, including some who I loved very much. And, speaking of loved ones,” he said with a scowl, “I must say,
chérie
, you do seem to have developed quite a
tendresse de cœur
for the boy.”

She looked puzzled. “I've developed a what?”

“
Une tendresse
. A tenderness. You know, a crush? It's really quite sweet. Very…touching,” he lied. It wasn't touching at all. Or sweet. It was irritating, is what it was. Absolutely infuriating. And another good reason not to turn her. Surely, it would not be fair to any of them.

If he didn't turn her, on the other hand, what assurance did he really have that someone else would not? The thought of that—of someone else's blood mingling with hers, of someone else owning her allegiance—was worse than almost anything else he could think of.

“Oh, you're just crazy,” she sighed. After a minute she murmured hesitantly, “Conrad?”

“Yes? What now?”

“That other vampire. The one in the garden. What did he want with me?”

“I think he was looking to feed from you. Why?”

“So he wasn't…he wasn't really going to hurt me?”