In the Dark (39 page)

Joy filled her heart. The pain receded. He snatched the sheet away from her. The look in his eyes so full of love, of concern, of despair, drove even the last faint shreds of discomfort away—at least for a while. “I knew you'd come,” she murmured, smiling up into his face.

“
Ah, chérie
.” He stared at her in horror. “
Ma pauvre, pauvre petite
. What have I done to you?”

She rolled her head back and forth on the bed—all the motion she could manage. “Not you.” If there was one thing of which she was certain, it was that none of this was Conrad's fault. He'd done nothing but what she'd asked of him.

Sometimes, things just happened and maybe this was the way it was supposed to have been all along. She'd still have forever, in a way. And didn't some people claim that death was the ultimate adventure? But, most important of all, she knew now she'd always have his love. Always. “I love you.”

“And I you,” he sobbed as he fell to his knees at her side. Fumbling though his tears, he lifted her hand in his and pressed his lips to her palm.

The feel of his tears, trickling between her fingers, made her smile. “I know.”

He lifted his head, his expression hopeless. His gaze swept over her. Eyeing the still-bloody sheets, he groaned. “I can't fix this,
mignonne
. I thought I could. I'd hoped to try and turn you again but…they didn't leave you enough of your own blood.”

“I know.” The echoing silence where her heartbeat should have been had already told her that. “I didn't change my mind last winter.” It was important to her that he know that. “I really wanted to stay with you. I
hated
leaving. But I had no choice.”

Conrad nodded. “It was the babies, wasn't it? I didn't understand that then. I do, now, but at the time I thought… I'm so sorry,
mignonne
, I know you tried to tell me.”

“Yes.” She should have known he'd have figured it out. He was so wise, so worldly, so wonderful. He was still crying, however, so probably there were still some things he didn't understand. And, now, there was no time left for her to teach him.

She sighed a little then, for that was her one regret. She wouldn't be able to show him that she'd been right all along.
Love is all you need
. No matter who said it, it was still the truth. She supposed someone else was going to have to explain that to him because the pain was beginning to creep back in now, a reminder she was running out of time.

Before it ran out completely, there was still one last thing she needed him to do for her. Rousing herself for one final effort, she met his gaze. “My babies…”

 

It was well after dawn when Conrad finally returned to the house. Armand crept out cautiously to meet him in the foyer, his heart leaping in trepidation.

Just like a rabbit's
, he thought failing to find the irony at all amusing. “Conrad? You're so late getting home. What's happened? Is something wrong?”

The bleak look in Conrad's eyes was painful to see. Painful and terrifying. “Desert Rose,” he answered heavily, “is dead.”

“
Mon Dieu!
” Armand felt lightheaded with the shock. “How? How did you find out?”

Conrad stared at him for a moment longer in silence, as though he were attempting to read his thoughts. Armand began to shake with the fear of what those thoughts might reveal. When Conrad reached for him, Armand flinched.

Conrad's face darkened. “Is that how it is,
mon cher
? You're afraid of me again?” He stared at him for a moment longer, then nodded. “Very good. You're learning. I'm very unlikely to be in a sociable mood for quite some time to come.” He drew himself erect. Exerting what appeared to be an enormous effort of will, he smiled. “Which is why I've decided to shut things down here, for the time being. I'll be closing up the house, immediately, and going away. Let everyone know, will you, dear? Tell them they'll all have to make alternate arrangements for a while.”

Armand nodded shakily. “All right. I'll tell them. Wh-where shall I say we're going, in case they need to reach us?”

Conrad shook his head. “I said I, Armand, not we. I will be traveling, I'm not sure where, precisely, but it's likely I'll be out of contact with everyone for a while. You, of course, are welcome to stay on here as long as you like. The household accounts are still in your name and I'm sure I can trust you to run things for me in my absence.”

“I-I'd rather go with you, if…if I might?” Armand said, embarrassed by the shakiness of his voice, by the fear and the guilt and the loss he was feeling. By the suspicion that it was his fault. All of it. Everything.

There were so many things he could have handled better—that he
should
have handled better. Small wonder Conrad wished to rid himself of so unsatisfactory a companion.

“I'm sorry, my dear. It's not possible.”

“Why? Have I…have I done something to displease you?”

“No,” Conrad shook his head again, sadly, and headed toward the stairs. “Never think that. This has nothing to do with you.” He was halfway up the stairs when he paused and turned back. “Armand, if you would, can I ask you to do me one more favor?”

“Anything,” Armand replied, starting for the stairs, until Conrad's next words stopped him.

“I need you to reach someone for me. A vampire named Damian. I'm afraid I've lost touch with him, but ask around would you? I'm sure someone will know how to contact him. Tell him— No, wait,
ask
him if he would please come by and see me. At his earliest convenience, tell him. There's a…a matter of some importance I need to discuss with him. Could you do that for me?”

“Of course,” Armand repeated once again, watching as Conrad continued his ascent, leaving Armand and all his inadequacies behind. Leaving them both alone in their grief.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Present Day

Conrad glanced up wearily when Armand entered the room. He supposed he'd taken something of a risk sending him to check on Julie, but he had to know how things stood. “Well?” he asked, gazing at him expectantly. “What did you find out?”

“It's like we thought,” Armand answered, crossing again to the chair in which he'd been seated earlier, just perching on the edge of it, this time. “She's gone home with Brennan. They're down the street in his apartment…eating ice cream.”

“Ice cream?” Conrad swallowed another mouthful of blood from the vinyl bag in his hand as he thought about it.
Just like anyone raised human might do. Damian must be so proud.

“Did you want to send someone over there to keep an eye on them?”

“I don't think that will be necessary,” Conrad said, keeping his voice deliberately casual. “Do you?”

Armand shrugged. “Not really. I mean, why? He's only human. So, aside from the possibility of brain freeze, it's not like she could get hurt.”

Finding the bag in his hand was already drained, Conrad reached for another from the stack on the table and quickly bit into it, hoping to hide the bitterness in his expression. It was true that humans could never hope to best vampires physically, but where in the world had Armand gotten the idea they could not inflict emotional damage?
He certainly didn't get the idea from me
.

He couldn't say he was too surprised by Julie's choice, however. “She seemed somewhat disenchanted with vampires tonight. Is this something new for her?”

“I don't know.” For a moment, Armand hung his head. He looked miserable at the thought. “I guess…maybe it is. And, I'm sorry for my part in that, Conrad, I know I overreacted. But, when I saw you like that, I really thought…”

“I know.”

“What happened to you?” Armand asked, rushing to get the words out. “I mean,
mon Dieu
, you looked so awful at first…and where have you been all this time? Damian kept trying to tell me you didn't wish to be disturbed, but I knew he was up to something and…I mean, clearly, that was all just lies. Wasn't it?”

Conrad shook his head, brushing the question aside. Marc had already forced him to say more than he wanted to about the subject. Enough was enough. “I don't wish to speak of it tonight. Let's just say that I was paying the price for some old sins.”

A frown creased Armand's forehead. “But—”

“Not tonight,” Conrad repeated tiredly. Tomorrow, perhaps, he could start thinking up a plausible story to explain where he'd been. Tomorrow he could start trying to determine whether this latest threat to the twins' safety had been eliminated—or merely postponed. But, tonight…tonight he just wanted to forget.

“Is it true what she said—Julie I mean. Did they really save you?”

“Yes.” Conrad reached for another bag. He didn't want it—the taste was bland, flavorless, impersonal. Without savor. Without heat. But his body demanded nourishment, so he drank it anyway.

“I would have done the same, you know,” Armand murmured quietly. “I mean, if I'd known. And if I could have…”

“I know you would.” Conrad smiled at him. “And I thank you for that,
mon cher
.”

Armand sat back a little in his chair, his face troubled. “They're very secretive, these twins of yours. They wouldn't tell any of us a single thing about themselves. Nothing at all about what they were up to, or where they'd come from. And…if they're really not Damian's spawn, then tell me, how is it they have such a bond with him?”

A whispering coldness encircled Conrad's heart. Was this normal curiosity, or something more? “They're not Damian's,” he insisted firmly. “You will wipe the idea from your mind, Armand, and forget you ever heard it. I don't know why he finds it so amusing to play these little games of his, but this one ends now. The twins are
mine
. That's all you, or anyone else, ever need know about them.”

“
Oui
.
Je comprends
,” Armand replied, staring glumly at the floor. “But, there's more to the story than that, isn't there? Something else you're not telling me.”

Conrad sighed. “Suffice it to say there are certain things you're better off not knowing.”

Armand's eyes were tinged with pain when he raised them to meet Conrad's gaze. “You used to trust me.”

“I still trust you,
mon ami
, but some knowledge is too dangerous to share. I don't wish to see you hurt.”

“
Ah,
merci
.” If possible, Armand looked even more wounded than before. “Apparently, then, you don't mind if Damian gets hurt. That must be what you're saying,
n'est pas
? Because I feel certain he is in your confidence.”

Conrad shook his head. “I assure you, I would much rather have kept both of you out of this. It was unavoidable that he be told some of it. But, even he knows less than he thinks he does.Now, if you don't mind, Armand, I think I'd like to get some rest.”

“
D'accord
.” Nodding, Armand got to his feet. “I could stay with you, if you'd like it?” he asked hopefully.

“No.” Conrad sighed. “Thank you, my dear, but this is one of those nights when I'm better off alone.”

“As you wish then.” Armand shrugged and headed for the door, stopping to ask, “But, tell me, now that you're back, will the twins be staying on here? Or will you be sending them back to…wherever it is you've been hiding them?”

The idea startled Conrad. He hadn't really thought that far ahead. Now that he had…
Damn you, Damian. I wonder if this wasn't part of your plan all along
? “They'll be staying,” he told Armand firmly. “Right here.”
Where I can keep my eyes on them.

A small smile lightened Armand's features. “
Tres bon.
That will be nice. Perhaps things are looking up then, after all, no?” Then he turned toward the door, once again, and left.

Conrad watched him go with mixed feelings. Despite Armand's obvious interest in the girl, he seemed not to have made the connection yet between Julie and her mother. He was not likely to miss seeing something like that forever. “And what shall I do about you then, my dear?” Conrad wondered. But there was no point in worrying about that tonight. He had enough to deal with, at the moment.

He forced down another half bag of blood. It, too, did nothing to alleviate his body's cravings, or succeed in washing the taste of Damian from either his mouth or his mind. That was hardly a surprise. After all, it had taken the better part of one hundred years to do it the first time—and that was with him gone.

Reaching into his pocket, he took out the cloth Damian had thrown at him earlier. The sight of it, white linen, stained red with his lover's blood, brought back memories of another place and time. Of a hospital room and a dying girl. Of another lost love. Another tragic mistake.

“
Ah, chérie. Ma
pauvre petite
,” he sighed. “I do miss you.” Still. Always. Just as he'd known he would. Hadn't he told her, right at the start, that she was someone he could never forget? “It's been harder than I think you could ever have realized keeping my promise to you, and yet I would have had it no other way.”

He thought back again to the night she died, how he'd walked for hours through the city streets, his heart in pieces, with no thought at all as to where he was going, where he might end up. Plotting, planning, struggling to make sense of what had happened, trying to wrap his mind around the enormity of the task he was facing, feeling almost overwhelmed by the impossibility of it all…

Vampires were made, not born. He knew that to be an indisputable fact.
Pregnant women who were turned invariably lost their young. Their bodies either reabsorbed the fetal material or drained the unborn infants of their blood and expelled the desiccated husks. Desert Rose, or Suzanne, as he should probably call her, must have continued to ingest human food to ward off the change. She'd have had to resist the urge to feed on blood, resist her body's demands that she complete what they'd started, that she become vampire.