In the Dark (38 page)

The night before last, she'd woken in a cold sweat.
What the hell was I thinking
, she'd wondered, as she lay in bed feeling panic take hold. Her babies were due any day now. She thought she'd be fine with that. She thought she had everything under control. But, it had suddenly occurred to her that she'd been leaving one very big factor out of all her equations. She knew
nothing
about how to care for baby vampires and no one to ask. What should she feed them?
How
would she feed them? And later, when they were older, how did she explain their seemingly unsociable behavior to the other kids' mommies?

She'd been lucky to hitch a ride up the coast last night—heading for the only place she knew where she might possibly find the answers she needed. Maybe. Or maybe not. Hadn't Conrad claimed that vampires were never born, that babies like hers couldn't possibly live?

Well, she'd show him—and Linda, too—just how wrong all the so-called experts could be. No one knew a child better than its own mother, after all, wasn't that what they said? And she knew hers. Those faint but unmistakable surges she felt in her blood whenever the babies were hungry, for example, or the supposedly inexplicable anemia Linda was so worried about, they weren't mysteries at all. They were proof. Her babies were lucky—luckier than she—they'd been all-the-way turned, instead of half-way, courtesy of her still-too-human blood, she supposed, which must have found its way to them through those miraculous umbilical cords Linda kept raving about.

If only it could have worked both ways
, she thought wistfully;
if only they could have somehow returned the favor and turned me, too
.

Lately, she'd begun to wonder if maybe they had. Certainly something was up. Her senses had definitely sharpened, in the last few weeks especially. Her reflexes were improved. Her stamina was better. And she could tell Linda was getting concerned about her recent lack of weight gain and the continued drop in her blood pressure. Most telling of all, or so she hoped, was the renewed tingling in the roof of her mouth.

During the first few months after she'd left Conrad's house, those tender spots behind her canine teeth had ached and throbbed incessantly. The discomfort had subsided, eventually, leaving her both relieved and depressed. But, now, it was all starting up again.

Still, she tried not to think too much about it. Not yet. There would be time enough for that once the babies were born. Right now, however, they were what was important. She had to concentrate her attention on them.

“Hurry up,” she moaned fretfully, leaning against one of the park's trees for support when she felt another wave of venom-laced exhaustion hit her. Her feet hurt, her heart ached, and that nagging pain in her lower back, which had been coming and going all day long, just wouldn't quit.

If only things had been different, she could be relaxing right now in Conrad's house instead of wandering through the woods wondering what the future might hold. Still, she'd understood when she left, all those months ago, that she could never go back. So, simply showing up at his gate and asking to see him was out of the question.

While it was Conrad she longed for and wanted desperately to see, he wasn't the only vampire she knew either. Recognizing that she couldn't go directly to him, she'd gone for the next best thing. She'd stopped by his house when she first got to town, and left a message for Armand begging him to please come meet her here tonight.

She was sure he'd come. Or, well, pretty sure, anyway. What she was considerably less sure of, however, was whether or not he'd repeat his earlier offer to intercede with Conrad on her behalf. Even if he didn't, even if he told her she was S.O.L. on that count, surely he could, at the very least, point her in the right direction; toward someone who
could
maybe help her.

A thrill of awareness ran through her as her heightened senses picked up the faint sound of footsteps approaching through the grass and the unforgettable scent of vampire. Finally! Smiling in anticipation, Suzanne pushed away from the tree against which she'd been leaning. “Well, it's about time,” she said as she started to turn.

Even before she saw him, she realized her mistake. Her breathing stalled and her heart began to race. She'd been wrong to come here tonight, so very wrong. She'd been expecting a friendly face but the low-pitched growl that reached her ears through the darkening gloam sounded anything but friendly.

 

 

“This had
better
be an emergency,” Conrad grumbled as he reached for the phone. It was his private line that was ringing or he'd have let it go unanswered. Only his family had this number and they all knew better than to call him with anything frivolous, especially now. Armand had picked a hell of a time to go running off on unspecified errands—almost as if he were making excuses to get away for a while. Not that Conrad would have blamed him if that were the case. He'd have left himself, too, if he could have managed it.

For days he'd been in a lousy mood, snapping at everyone around him. Not so surprising, really. The anniversary of his meeting with Desert Rose had crept up on him last week and dealt him a blow from which he'd yet to recover.

“What is it?” he demanded as he put the receiver to his ear. He was momentarily distracted from his own concerns when an unfamiliar voice on the other end of the line identified herself as a nurse calling from one of the local hospitals. Vampire injuries were rare to begin with, when they did occur, however, they were usually either fleeting or fatal and
never
required a trip to the hospital. Perhaps, with all this hallucinogenic drug use on the rise, things were changing? Was it possible vampires could be adversely affected by the chemicals present in the blood they ingested? Would he have to start demanding his children screen the blood of prospective prey now, before they took a bite?

If that were the case, the current century was going to seem a lot less attractive than Conrad had previously found it.

Still, if one of his family had been admitted to the hospital
non compos mentis
,
he'd obviously need to get them out and supposedly into private care as quickly as possible. It would behoove him to listen more closely.

As the voice continued, however, explaining that the injured party, one Suzanne Marie Fischer, a name which meant nothing to Conrad, had been admitted while in labor and had gone on to name him as the father of her twins, Conrad's concern was replaced by outrage.

“Madam,” he interrupted. “You seem to be laboring under a very curious delusion. Perhaps you've been misled due to the unseasonably hot weather we've been suffering through, but tonight is Halloween—not April Fool's Day. I'm afraid I'm in no mood for childish pranks.”

As he slammed down the phone, an unpleasant realization hit him. His privacy had been compromised. This was not a call placed at random. The woman, whoever she was, knew his name. He was going to have to change his damn phone number now. That would require the contacting of far too many people and would seriously disrupt his ordered world. His world had been disrupted enough of late. Perhaps, he should risk not changing the number?

After all, there were some people he was almost certain never to hear from again, if he changed it. One person in particular. The last person to whom he'd given it.

Shoving away from the desk at which he'd sat to answer the phone, Conrad stalked to the window and gazed out at the night, his heart raging with hurt and anger, frustration, remorse.

To have lost her as he had, so soon after her spawning, at the very moment when he had thought to make her his for all time—that's what made it all so intolerable. And all because of what?

Babies. Ever and again it came down to this talk of babies. And now this. It seemed too cruel for this stupid hoax to have been perpetrated on him now—almost nine months after his last conversation on the subject. It was almost as if…

Another realization hit him then, altogether more unpleasant, more unwelcome and much more terrifying than the first. What if the girl had not been speaking hypothetically last February, as he'd always assumed? Could she have left him, not because she
wanted
to become pregnant, but because she already
was
?

It would explain a lot. It would explain almost everything. What it did not explain, however, was why she was contacting him now.

 

The pain was keeping her company
. If Suzanne could still have laughed, that thought would have made her laugh until she cried. But she couldn't cry either.

She supposed that was the good news.

Because, if she
could
have cried, she was sure she'd be crying buckets. Tears of anger, tears of loss, tears of sorrow, tears of pain. Mostly pain. A lot of pain. It was everywhere. It was unremitting. And it wouldn't leave her alone. It was keeping her company now that the hospital staff had given her up and gone quietly away. They thought she was already dead.

No, come to think of it, maybe
that
was the good news.

At least they'd stopped pounding on her chest, trying to get her heart started again. She'd been unconscious for most of that—but not all—and it had been a relief when they'd finally pulled the cool sheet over her head and melted silently away.

She didn't care that they'd gone and left her here. It was peaceful now…except for the pain. But she did care that Conrad wasn't with her yet. She needed him.

He has to come. He will come. He needs to come—soon
.

She was pretty sure he'd come for her, that he'd find her, that he'd know she wasn't dead…yet. On the other hand, she'd been pretty sure Armand would come to her aid in the park tonight too. But, no, she wouldn't think about that.

Conrad is different. He loves me. He'll come.

He had to. She needed him to stop the pain. She felt a momentary panic hit her. What if he didn't come? What if he was still too angry with her for leaving him? What if she stayed like this—stuck in this horrible, undead, pain-filled state—forever? What if she were already dead? What if this was hell?

No. Not dead. Hospital—not hell. And he will come. He will
.

She had to keep believing that. She needed to see him—just one last time. She needed to talk to him, to explain why she'd run. She was ready to die but he had to help her, he had to tell her what to do. Because, the way things were right now, she wasn't altogether certain she
could
die on her own. She didn't know how.

Conrad please. Get here soon.

 

If ever there was a night for miracles, this was it
. Conrad stalked down the hospital corridor in search of Desert Rose—or Suzanne, as the hospital staff insisted on calling her. After months of searching, scouring the city for signs of the girl, he'd finally found her.

That was miracle number one.

The second miracle—and a very doubtful one it was, at best—was the birth of her babies.
Their
babies, he supposed he should be calling them because, in a way, that's what they were. Within seconds of seeing them he'd known them for vampires. He'd known them for his. But, worse and far more damning than even that, he'd known them for doomed.

There were many among his kind—most, perhaps—who would view such a birth as a disaster of the first magnitude, who would stop at nothing to see these babies dead. Or worse.

In all likelihood, he'd thought, as he stared through the nursery window at the children he'd unwittingly sired, he'd be doing everyone a favor by ending their lives right now. As their progenitor, it was his right to do so, and probably his responsibility, as well. But he couldn't yet. Not without seeing their mother first, and making sure she understood.

He had no doubt she'd suffered greatly in order to bring them into the world. He couldn't take them out of it again without at least letting her know why he was doing it, without at least giving her the chance to say a last good-bye to them.

“Where's their mother?” he asked the nurse who'd so helpfully pointed the children out to him. As though he could ever have needed her assistance with that. As though their identity and lineage was something he could ever have failed to recognize—instantly. Or as though the world had, overnight, become filled with infant vampires. The world hadn't. Of that, at least, he was still reasonably certain. “Take me to her. Where is she?”

The woman's lips compressed. Regret filled her eyes. “I'm sorry. Didn't anyone tell you? I'm afraid we lost her.”

“Lost?” No! Bitter fury consumed Conrad's soul. He stared at her uncomprehending. “What are you talking about?”

“She was still conscious when they brought her in, which is when she asked that you be called. But she'd already lost such a lot of blood in the attack and the doctors couldn't seem to get her stabilized. Her blood pressure kept dropping and they had to do a C-section, but—”

“No.” Conrad had heard enough. She couldn't be dead. He wouldn't allow it. Grabbing the woman by her shoulders he bent all his considerable will on her mind, not giving a damn if it cracked under the strain and the weight and the pressure. The girl was his. He would not be denied. “Where is she?” he demanded again. “Give her to me!”

He'd left the woman, seemingly unharmed, although badly shaken, leaning against the nursery window and hurried off on his search. It was a night for miracles, he reminded himself once again. And now…now he only needed one more.

 

Suzanne was still conscious, caught in a hazy web of pain that wouldn't let her go, when the door of her room was thrust open. A gust of air buffeted the sheet and she stiffened in fear in the instant before Conrad's presence filled the room. And now, if she still could have cried, it would be tears of relief she'd shed.