In the Dark (6 page)

Suzanne bit her lip. Fairy tales. What must he think of her, hearing her talk about such silly things? He was older—how much older, she couldn't say, but definitely over thirty—and more worldly and cultured and altogether more fascinating than anyone she'd ever met before. And here she was, when she should be trying to act as sophisticated as possible, saying things only a baby would think to say. “I just meant…well, it's just such a…such a
gas
to be here, don't you think so too? I wonder who owns it.”

He slanted a curious look her way. “Don't you know? Who brought you here, anyway?”

“No one, really. I was with some friends the other day and I guess they'd overheard some other people talking about it. They said they throw parties like this almost every weekend and that it was a real happening scene. So I thought I'd come and see for myself.”

“A happening scene. I see.” They walked a few more steps before Conrad asked, almost hesitantly, “So…is that…is that a good thing then?”

“Conrad! Of course it is!” Laughter bubbled up before she even considered that, perhaps, he was making fun of her, but the look in his eyes told her he wasn't. “Look around you,” she said, slipping her arm free of his so she could twirl in place, her arms spread wide. “It's all so…dreamy.” However older and worldly he might be, there were still things he didn't know. She liked that. She liked the rush of power she got from the thought there were things she could teach him, things she could show him and tell him about—new things, things he might never even think of on his own. The realization left her so jubilant she didn't even protest when he took hold of her hand and pulled her into his arms.

His kiss was nothing like she'd expected. It was earthy and dark, with just a hint of buried sweetness and a taste that was almost familiar. Tempting, yet somehow forbidden, just like the baker's chocolate she'd once watched her foster mother use to make a cake.

The tantalizing scent as it melted in the top of the double boiler had made Suzanne salivate. No matter how much she'd begged for a piece, she wasn't allowed so much as a crumb. So, that night, she'd crept down to the kitchen and stolen a square. It, too, was nothing like she'd expected. Bitter, intense, but exciting, all the same. Like her first sip of coffee. Or her first taste of love.

The press of Conrad's mouth on hers was hypnotic. She couldn't break the spell his kiss laid on her even if she'd wanted to. No more than she could keep from moaning in protest when he pulled away. His hand slid across her bare back, took hold of her hair and tugged. She let her head fall back as his open mouth ghosted, warm and wet, over her neck, as though he was searching for just the right spot. Her heart seemed to stop. The night grew still. Even the breeze seemed to settle as she waited, breathless for…something.

It never came.

Instead, Conrad's mouth reversed course, traveling back up her neck to her ear where he whispered, “So much sweetness. It would be a shame to rush what should be savored. You'll spend the night with me.”

That stopped her—almost. Stifling a gasp, she pushed out of his arms. His eyes blazed red-gold in the light reflecting from the torches and his expression was one of faint surprise, as though her actions startled him, as though he hadn't been expecting her to show even this much resistance.

Why shouldn't she resist? He was The Unknown personified—so much older, worldly, cultured…different. So very unexpected.

On the other hand, why
would
she resist? Wasn't it for exactly this reason she'd left the no-name town she'd grown up in, vowing to put her past, with all its unhappiness, behind her? Isn't this why she'd come to the city—why she'd come here tonight, to this very house—to experience life, to taste freedom, to embrace the unknown?

“All right. I'll stay.” Smiling, she melted back into his embrace and lifted her face for his kiss. It was even headier this time around, darker somehow. Definitely intoxicating. It made her head spin and her eyes grow heavy. When her knees gave way he lifted her into his arms, holding her lightly, as though she weighed nothing at all.

“Just so you know,” he murmured, his voice laced with amusement, as he carried her back toward the house, “I wasn't offering you a choice.”

A choice of what
, she wondered, lazily. But, nestled safely in his arms, she didn't care to pursue it.

She did know one moment of anxiety, however, when he stopped in the hallway to speak to Armand. There was something in the way the other man looked at her. The predatory gleam in his eyes, the subtle flaring of his nostrils, sent shivers running down her spine and had her closing her eyes again, more tightly than before. Had her pressing her face into the silk of Conrad's shirt, curling instinctively closer to him. Like the rabbits she'd once watched in the fields back home, hunkering down on the ground when a hawk passed overhead.

When they started up the stairs leading to the mansion's upper floors she roused herself enough to ask, “Where are we going?”

“I'm taking you to my room.” A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he watched her, as though awaiting her reaction.

She blinked in surprise. “Your room? Do you live here?”

“I do,” he replied, his smile even more evident. “I own this house. This happening scene into which you've stumbled belongs to me. And, you, my sweet, little uninvited one, are about to pay the penalty for trespassing.”

“Things too terrible to mention,” she murmured, trying to think back to what they'd said earlier, causing Conrad to almost miss a step.

His eyebrows rose as he stopped in his tracks and looked at her. “I sincerely hope not. Is that how it seems to you?”

Yawning, she closed her eyes and nestled closer. “No.
You
said that.
I
said it was like a dream.”

Chapter Four

“Stand there,” Conrad instructed as he set the girl down in the middle of his bedroom. She swayed on her feet, blinking sleepily at him, but he wasn't worried. He knew she wouldn't fall—not unless, or until, he wanted her to. Still unwilling to rush, he took his time as he removed his clothes, enjoying the tension, the hunger, the view. Enjoying the knowledge he would soon be satisfying not one but two of his appetites.

Then it was her turn. “Undress,” he murmured. It was a single word, not quite a suggestion, not yet an order, uttered solely so that he might see her response. He held his breath and waited. Would she try again to resist his will as she had in the garden? He half hoped she would, just for the sheer novelty of it.

It had been a very long time since someone had openly defied his wishes and, with most of his outrage over
that
particular betrayal gone now, he almost missed it. Almost. The pain was still a little too fresh, even now, after more than a century. And the sense of loss that accompanied the memory…no, he wouldn't even think about that. He was relieved when she complied, shucking out of her clothes seemingly without any self-consciousness at all.

“Much better,” he sighed approvingly, crossing back to where she stood quietly, wearing nothing but the feathers in her hair. She was lovely. Breathtaking. But when he took her in his arms, he was dismayed to find that she was also trembling—and not in a way that suggested she was cold. “Are you afraid of something,
mignonne
?”

“Should I be?” she asked, hesitantly twining her arms around his neck.

He frowned sternly. “That is not an answer.” He could subdue her, if he had to, temporarily erasing her fears with another, drugging kiss as he'd done in the garden. But useful though the technique was for feeding, when it came to sex he preferred his partners to be more actively involved. Or at the very least, mostly conscious. Besides, he was curious. If she was nervous, he wanted to know the cause.

He slid one hand down her spine, hoping to soothe her. Instead, the trembling increased. Was it possible he'd misread the situation? She
was
very young, after all, and this was not a century in which women matured as early as they had in times past. He pulled back far enough to look into her eyes as he asked, “
Chérie
, you're not still a virgin, are you?”

“What?” His question clearly caught her off guard. She blushed and looked away. “No, I-I mean, why? Why are you asking me that?”

“I'm trying to understand what it is you're afraid of.” He placed a finger under her chin and forced her to look at him. “Now, you will tell me,” he ordered, giving her no choice to be anything but truthful. She shrugged and tried to look away again. He didn't let her. “Tell me.”

“There's nothing to tell! It's just…well, it's not always so nice, you know? I try, but I don't always like it. Sometimes…sometimes it hurts.”

Conrad nodded and bit back a sigh. It was an old story. Very old. And very boring. He thought back on all the women he'd bedded over the centuries. Far too many of them had been so abused, neglected or injured by previous lovers that they'd become disenchanted with the act of love. Far too many of them had come to his bed in moods that spanned the range from skittish to reluctant to angry to resigned…when, really, all he'd been hoping for, from any of them, was eager.

It was little wonder he'd come to prefer men as lovers. At least most of them had been clear about what they wanted from him—and not too shy to ask for it. There were never any
post coitem
tears to contend with and they hardly ever left him with the feeling he'd taken something they had not wished to give, or that he'd done anything wrong by loving them. Which, given society's narrow views on the subject, was almost laughable. Best of all was the fact that their desires, in general, were usually a near match for his own.

“I can't promise you'll like it,” he told the girl now. “Though I will do everything in my power to make it enjoyable for you. What I can promise, however, is that I'll cause you no pain. Or, at most, only a very little bit.”

His fangs were sharp enough that, most of the time, his “victims” didn't even feel the small punctures. Even when they did, the neurotoxins in his venom created such intensely pleasurable sensations, they rarely minded the minor pain that went along with it.

Unless he was angry. Unless he was acting out of jealousy or wounded pride or some other dark emotion. Unless he was using his fangs to rend, to tear, to punish, to scar. That produced an entirely different form of venom, one capable of burning the flesh it touched, capable of hurting even those he loved.

Old memories surfaced, bringing up traces of guilt and remorse. Conrad sighed with regret. “Ah,
mignonne
.” With a tender hand he tucked the braids in her hair back behind her ears, smiling at their whimsical little feathered tips. “My sweet little Indian Princess. I was wrong in what I said to you earlier. One should always have a choice. Do you really not wish to do this?”

She swallowed hard. “I-I didn't say that.”

“You didn't say you wanted it, either. So, what is it to be? Yes, or no?”

Her gaze turned thoughtful. “It's my decision?”

He nodded. “As I said.”

“And if I say no?”

“Then it's no.” He spread his hands wide and took a step back, releasing her from his hold. “I'll be disappointed, to be sure, but…”

“You'll be angry.”

“No, I won't.” Once he might have been, he supposed. His heart twisted in grief as he thought about that. No. Once he
would
have been. Definitely. And he would have done horrible, vengeful things in retaliation. Cruel things. Things he would regret…possibly forever.

“What if I said yes?”

Conrad shrugged. “As I already told you, I will try very hard to make the experience as pleasurable and as memorable for you as possible.”

Her eyes narrowed suddenly. “And what about you—will it be like that for you too?”

“Will it be pleasurable?” He smiled. “Most assuredly.” He looked her over, taking in her lithe figure, her long legs, her small but perfect breasts…as well as her hair and her eyes and everything else that had originally caught his attention. “Never doubt it.”

“What about memorable? I'd like to be memorable too, you know, but I'll bet anything you want that you're gonna forget all about me five minutes after I'm gone.”

“Be very glad I don't take that bet,” he told her, calmly certain. “Because you would lose and, when you did, I'd want a lot. I have had assignations with many women,
mignonne
, and some of them, it is true, I do not remember very well. But, you…” He chuckled softly. “You, I already know I shall not find easy to forget.”

She stared at him suspiciously, clearly wanting to believe him, but not yet sure she did. “How could you know something like that? We haven't even done it yet.”

Conrad shrugged. “Even so.” He could have told her that not “doing it” would likely make their encounter all the more memorable for him, rather than less so, but he held his tongue. He wasn't actively trying to dissuade her.

She studied him for a moment longer in silence. Finally, she nodded. Raising her chin, she gazed at him proudly. “Then I choose yes.”

Just as though she really were a princess
, Conrad mused, mentally shaking his head at the odd mood into which he seemed to have fallen tonight. All this misguided chivalry could not be a good thing. Had he really just offered her the chance to walk away without giving him
any
of what he wanted? It was inconceivable that he should have done so. Unprecedented. Like a lion giving a gazelle the choice of skipping dinner. What could he have been thinking? When had he gotten so…soft?

Whatever the cause, he really shouldn't allow it to continue, not just for his own sake, but for the sake of the others, as well. They depended on him to protect them, to provide for them, to hold the nest together. They needed him strong. Anything less could prove deadly.