In the Dark (37 page)

He batted his eyes at Conrad who had to struggle for breath. “Enough now,” he murmured pleadingly.

But Damian merely gazed at him expectantly. “May I go?”

“Yes!” Conrad growled, his temper spent. “Go, then!” He watched as Damian turned on his heel and fled the room, slamming the door behind him as though he would have liked to have brought the whole house crashing down on Conrad's head. Conrad almost wished he could have.

 

“Damian, can I talk to you?” Marc asked, intercepting him just outside Conrad's room.

Damian gritted his teeth. It was all he could do to keep from screaming,
Not now!
He shook his head. “Look, Marc, if this is another argument…”

“It's not!” Marc answered quickly. “I promise. I just want to apologize.”

“An apology?” Damian eyed him with surprise. “Well, now, that makes for a refreshing change.” Laughing softly, he sat down on the stairs leading up to the third floor, pulling Marc down to sit beside him. “So, what is it you wish to apologize for then, eh,
hijo mio
? As you must know, we're all deeply in your debt tonight. We could never have found Conrad without you.”

Marc hung his head. “You trusted me,” he said, looking miserable. “I mean, when you brought us here you told us that you did. And then tonight you…” His voice trailed off. Damian held his tongue and waited. He was pretty sure he knew what was coming next.

When Marc continued, there were tears in his eyes. “I didn't believe you, you know? At first, I thought you were making things up. Then I thought you were lying. I guess I didn't want to believe it, but you were right all along. If I'd gone there by myself tonight, if I'd found Conrad like that and I'd been alone, I…I…I think…I think I might have killed him.” Marc buried his face in his hands. “I mean it, Damian. I really think I would have.”

“But you didn't, did you?” Damian rubbed Marc's back and murmured soothing words. “It's over now. Don't dwell on it.”

“But I…I
wanted
to, you know? Or…oh, I don't know. Maybe ‘wanted to' is not the right way to say it. It was like…like I couldn't help myself. Something just came over me. I guess I went nuts, or something. And you…I thought for sure
you
were gonna do it. When you told us to leave? I thought that was why. I thought, when we left…but, I told myself I couldn't do anything to stop you, that you were too strong and…and that I shouldn't even try. You'd just saved Julie's life and I told myself I
owed
you for that, and that…that you knew what you were doing, and that I had no business trying to get in your way, but that was all bullshit. The truth is, I was
glad
. Because, at least…at least it would be
you
doing it, instead of me.”

“I know,” Damian sighed, remembering his own fears on Marc's behalf. “I saw your face. I could tell that you felt the urge, I could see how hard you were struggling to resist it—and you did, Marc. You won your battle. Let it go. Everything will be okay now.”

“Okay?” Marc stared at him. “How could anything like that be okay? I'm not who I thought I was, Damian. I'm not even who
you
thought I was and…and how come no one else felt like that? Not you, not Julie, not Armand. What's wrong with me?”

Damian shook his head. “Nothing's wrong with you, Marc. You have to understand that it's different for Julie, for females in general, I think. Since she doesn't have the physical strength for such a fight, and she's not yet old enough to have acquired the mental prowess she'd need to overcome Conrad's will, she very naturally didn't feel the same compulsion to attack him that you did. That's why, when I realized it would take too long to try and convince you to stay here tonight, I insisted she come with us. I knew she wouldn't be affected like you would be and I was hoping she'd provide a…a calming influence on your temper.”

“Like she did for you and Armand, you mean? Julie was right about him, you know, he wasn't trying to attack Conrad either.”

Damian sighed. “Ah, well, who's to say? I may have misjudged him. It's possible, I suppose. On the other hand, by the time we got him back here, Conrad was already a great deal stronger than he was when we found him. You had no more trouble then, yourself, did you? Also, there were three of us protecting him at that point. That would have ameliorated Armand's response considerably. I still suspect, however, that had Armand been in the caves with us tonight, he too would have been affected, just as you were. Luckily, we'll never know.”

“How come
you
weren't affected?” Marc asked, sounding so resentful Damian almost laughed.

Reaching over, he ruffled Marc's hair. “Who's to say I wasn't? Still, over the course of five hundred years, I think it would be almost impossible not to develop
some
small measure of self-control.” He shrugged. “Or, maybe it's not that either. Perhaps it was simply years of practice. I can recall
many
occasions when I've felt the urge to kill Conrad much more strongly than I did tonight.”

Marc shook his head. “You're joking, Damian, but it isn't funny. You trusted me to be different, to be stronger. And…and you shouldn't have. I didn't deserve it.”

“Well, maybe trust is like love then, eh,
chico
? Maybe it's something that can't really be earned and doesn't need to be warranted. When it's given, it's a gift. And the best we can hope for or expect from ourselves is that we accept it with a grateful heart and try to be worthy of it.”

“Maybe.” Still looking troubled, Marc nodded toward Conrad's door. “Do you think he'll let us stay here now? Or is he going to want to send us back East?”

“I don't know.” Damian looked at him curiously. “Is that what you want, to stay within the nest? It will mean living as a vampire, you know. You cannot go on pretending to be human here. It would draw too much attention.”

Marc nodded. “I know. But I still feel like I screwed up tonight. I need another chance to try and prove myself. I'm never going to learn to deal with…with what I am, if I don't face it.”

“I think you're not giving yourself enough credit. You're young. You're still learning. You'll make mistakes—we all do. But, what you and Julie have had to go through in your lifetime is so much harder, in its own way, than anything most of the rest of us have had to face. I chose this life, Marc. You didn't. Never forget that.”

“Was it worth it?”

Damian sighed. “There are benefits, you know, to being what we are. Although, in moments like these, I'll admit, it's not always easy to remember that.” He stood up then and hauled Marc to his feet as well. “Now, enough talk. Let's get some sleep, yes? We've all had a long, hard night—and you've had two of them in a row, I think.”

Marc shrugged. “I guess.”

“
Bueno
. Tomorrow we'll see what we can do about convincing Conrad to let you stay. Maybe Julie can appeal to him. She seems to have his ear tonight.”

“Maybe. Assuming she even wants to stay.”

“Let's not worry about that just yet.” Damian hugged him again, briefly, and let him go with a pat on the back. As Marc walked away from him, Damian followed him with his eyes, thinking back on all the things they'd talked of—love and trust and choices. “Perhaps I also overreacted tonight,” he mused quietly. “Conrad's been through an ordeal of his own these past few weeks. I should have been more patient with him. Perhaps I could take a leaf from Marc's book.”

Resolving to swallow his pride and apologize for his outburst, Damian turned back toward Conrad's room, but the sight of Armand quietly opening the door and slipping inside stopped him in his tracks.

Rage and resentment re-ignited in Damian's heart, burning up all his good intentions as he felt, once again, the sting of betrayal.

There's no need for you to kill anyone on my behalf
, Conrad had told Armand, going so far as to thank him for the thought—
to thank him! Dios mio, what next?
For it was not just
anyone
Armand had been threatening to kill tonight, was it? Oh, no. No, it was Damian whose life he'd been so eager to end. And
still
Conrad had hugged him, kissed him, fawned over the little pissant—as though he'd done
anything
to deserve such attention. Now, no doubt, he'd be rewarding him further by taking him to his bed.
Buenísimo
.

What about me, mi amor? I can kill for you, I can bleed for you, I can almost die for you—is that still not enough?

Damian hit the stairs running. The third floor. The fourth floor. The roof. Never stopping until he'd pushed through the door that led out to the widow's walk at the top of the house. He leaned on the rail, breathing hard, feeling the cold kiss of mist on his face. He couldn't decide if he wanted to throw back his head and howl at the moon, or hurl himself forward, over the roof, to come crashing down onto the wide marble stairs, gleaming in the moonlight, five flights below.

The stairs were tempting. A fall from this height must surely prove fatal, even for one such as he, and if he died, it would serve Conrad right. The bastard would
never
be able to get the blood out of that snowy white stone. He'd be forced to think of Damian every time he left the house.

But, no, knowing Conrad, he probably wouldn't either. He'd probably just cement over the stains and tread blithely unconcerned over Damian's dust for the rest of his days.

“Which would serve
me
right,” Damian grumbled, sinking to the floor of the walk, staring sightless up at the sky. “Idiot that I am. Idiot that I have always, always been for you.”

He really shouldn't be so surprised things had turned out this way. He'd always known Conrad wouldn't take him back—not really, not in the way he wished he would, the way it used to be. All the same, he'd gone on hoping. Until tonight. “Ah, but I suppose I would have done it anyway. Wouldn't I?”

Of course he would. Even knowing how it would all turn out, knowing he'd be once again left with nothing, he would still have walked into that cage and put himself at Conrad's disposal. He would still have bled for him, endured agony for him. What other choice was there?

Still, a small part of him had dared to hope that it would, at last, be enough, that his sins would finally be forgiven, that Conrad would see his sacrifice for what it was and be grateful enough to give him another chance. That he'd take him back. That he'd
want
him back. That he'd love him again.

But, apparently, the gates to the garden were still closed to him, even after all this time. And, if even risking death was not enough to effect the change he sought, to undo what had been done…he supposed they always would be. Yes, he really should have known.

Exhausted, drained, defeated, he stared up at the sky where dawn was just about to break, where the morning star was already twinkling in the indigo light. The same star he'd once taught the twins to wish upon, when they were very small…

Conrad had laughed, indulgently, when he'd come upon them standing, hand in hand, on the lawn; faces lifted, eyes trained on the twinkling lights, so far overhead. Later, he'd chided Damian for filling their heads with such notions. “For I doubt the heavens are at all concerned with the likes of us.”

“They're children, Conrad. What harm could there be in letting them dream? Or, would you take away their innocence so soon? Besides, have you never wished for something you knew you couldn't have?”

“Frequently. Only I'm not fool enough to believe that wishing will ever make such dreams come true.”

Damian sighed. “
Ay, dios mio
. He was right, I suppose. I
am
a fool.” The thought made him laugh. “A Fool for Love—truly, that is a horrible
cliché
. I should be ashamed of myself for thinking of anything so trite.”

Still, he supposed, even a fool could continue to dream, could he not? Even a sinner could hope for salvation. Even a vampire could wish upon a star.

Chapter Twenty-One

Friday, October 31st, 1969

“Just be patient,” Suzanne murmured, addressing her remarks to the squirming bulges that seemed to fill her belly. She rubbed her hands over her abdomen in what she hoped was a soothing manner. They were hungry. She could always tell. Linda, her midwife, had said that was nonsense—that they were getting all the nutrition they needed on a constant basis through their umbilical cords. But Suzanne knew better.

What did Linda know about vampires, anyway?

“He'll be here soon,” she whispered as she glanced around her once again, peering through the shadows, hoping to catch sight of a familiar figure hurrying toward her. “And then we'll get something to eat. I promise. I'm hungry too, you know.”

Twilight was creeping up on Golden Gate Park, bringing the unseasonably warm day to a close. But, tonight, even the day's end failed to lift Suzanne's spirits. The sights, the sounds, the smells, the season, it was all too poignantly, achingly familiar.

Had it really been only one year since she met Conrad? She could hardly believe it. She couldn't believe she'd come back here, now, either. She'd planned on never coming anywhere near San Francisco, not ever, ever again. Surely, the memories would be too painful—that's what she always figured. She sighed now and shook her head. They were. They were just as bad as she'd imagined. She'd been right about that part, too. She was getting a little tired of being right all the time. It was highly overrated.

On the other hand, her carefully laid-out plan to stay in Nepenthe, to raise her children in the small, secluded coast town—that had clearly been a mistake, a fantasy doomed to failure. She'd figured that out too, of course. Finally. But only recently, and it was possible she'd left it too late.