In the Dark (9 page)

“But not impossible, right?” Marc asked. “Isn't that what you just said? That instinct can always be overcome by emotion?”

“I did not say always, Marcus, and with Conrad's life at risk, it's certainly not a chance I'd be willing to take. You shouldn't either. We cannot allow any of the others to learn of his disappearance before we find him.”

“Because they'd try to kill him?” Marc pressed, still trying to put the unthinkable into words he could understand. Maybe if he repeated them enough, he'd even begin to believe them. “So they could take over the nest—is that what you're saying?” And how exactly did vampires differ from the Borgias, again?

Damian sighed. “It's certainly a possibility. It wouldn't be the first time something like that has occurred. And I must caution you both, once again, that you must
never
reveal the truth about your relationship with Conrad—or your past, or about growing up as you did. Not a word to anyone! The more we can distance you two from the past, and from Conrad as well, the better it will be for all of us.”

“Is that why you told Armand that we were yours?” Julie asked. “That's not really true, is it?”

“Well, of course it isn't,
chica
.” Damian sighed in exasperation. “When have I ever hidden the truth about your parentage from you?”

“Well, you haven't told us much,” Marc answered. “That's for sure.”

Damian frowned. “Only because I know so little about it myself. But, let me assure you, if I
were
actually your sire many,
many
things would have been different over the years.” He shook his head and continued. “As for what I told Armand, it was nothing—a convenient subterfuge, nothing more. Since that was the conclusion he'd already jumped to, it seemed prudent to allow him to continue to think it was the case. In fact, I believe we should tell the same story to everyone you come into contact with. It explains the bond we have between us, it allows me certain privileges I would not enjoy otherwise and it will also enable me to protect you while Conrad is away, much more easily than if the truth were to become known.”

Julie frowned. “Why do
we
need protecting? I thought Conrad was the one in danger?”

“Yeah, and from whom?” Marc added, watching in dismay as Damian's mouth tightened and his gaze skittered uneasily away. “Is this still about the legacies, or whatever you called them? Why would they want to hurt us?”

“Hopefully, they won't,” Damian replied. “But, people do tend to be suspicious of newcomers, you know, and the less anyone notices you, the better. I think, when you go out tonight, if anyone asks, you should tell them your sire has forbidden you to talk about your past. Tell them you think it amuses him to keep people guessing, that he's trying to surround you with an aura of mystery.”

Marc snorted. “Well, that's a joke. Won't that just make everyone more curious?”

“No, not at all.” Damian looked at him in surprise. “Why would you think that? Thanks to Shakespeare, most people, nowadays, assume that any tale hinting at sound and fury has to signify nothing whatsoever.” He paused, smiling slyly. “I've found the harder you try to convince someone that you're hiding something, the less likely they are to believe it. And, if I do say so myself, that's exactly the sort of thing for which I've become famous.”

 

 

 

The fog was settling in when Julie stepped outside the house. Pale wisps of mist swirled between the tree trunks and drifted up the stairs to wrap themselves around the columns of the porch. She took a deep breath and looked around. The cool, moist air carried the scents of earth and moss and stone and…something more. Something warm and delicious that flared her nostrils and teased her senses, tempting her to track it down. Daring her to track it. Waiting for her.

It's right out there, beneath the streetlights, at the edge of the darkness…

It was a comforting, familiar fragrance, one that was always there, always the same, vivid and welcoming, crucial for her survival. It was the scent of life. The scent of prey. The scent of blood. Tonight, however, there was one small difference. Tonight, the blood she sought had a name. Brennan.

She moved silently through the trees, just as she'd been trained to do. It was only habit that had her eschewing the brick path and hugging the shadows, habit and nothing more, she was sure of that. After all, what else could it be? She'd never been shy a day in her life, and what need did she have to be discreet here, of all places? Still, old habits died hard.

Thinking of that brought Armand to mind. Hadn't he said almost the same thing last night? She replayed their conversation in her head. What could he have meant by it? Maybe she could ask Damian…or no, on second thought, maybe not. She'd sensed the animosity between the two men last evening, despite all their scrupulous attempts at politeness, or maybe because of it. She had no idea what their fight was about and no great desire to get in the middle of it.

When she'd reached the edge of the property and the gatehouse finally came into view, still half-hidden between the moisture-laden branches of the trees, Julie was glad for whatever it was that had motivated her to move so cautiously tonight. Brennan was there all right, just as Damian said he'd be, but he wasn't alone. Another vampire was there before her.

Biting back a growl, Julie retreated a step, hunkering down in the shadows to observe the scene before her. Brennan's head was thrown back. Wide-open eyes stared blankly at the sky. His nails scraped the wall at his back with the clenching and unclenching of his fingers. She could hear the rushed, rhythmic whisper of his blood. It drew her fangs out of hiding, flooding her mouth in anticipation of its taste.
Mine
.

She was hit, suddenly, by an unexpected urge to challenge the strange vampire, to demand he end his meal—now—and cede his place to her. The feeling troubled her. She'd never had to share before. Not her food or her toys or her territory. Not with anyone she didn't already know and love. It was an unpleasant surprise to realize how very much she didn't like the idea.

Perhaps that was the reason for the parties? Plenty of prey. Plenty of blood to go around. No need to compete. All under the watchful eye of an older, stronger, more mature vampire, one who commanded enough authority to ensure that everyone in attendance behaved themselves.

Maybe what she'd taken for animosity between Damian and Armand was nothing more than a variation on what she was feeling right now? It was a sobering thought and one that nearly had her turning tail and running back to the house. She'd just wait for a more convenient time. After all, she wasn't
that
hungry…

Correction
, she thought, stiffening slightly as Brennan let out a muffled grunt that caused her stomach to burn and her throat to spasm.
I wasn't that hungry when I left the house
. She was plenty hungry now, however, and the needful yearning was something else she wasn't liking very much.

She crept closer to the fence. Eyes narrowing, she studied the other vampire, critiquing his performance. He certainly wasn't the most elegant eater she'd ever seen and his hold on Brennan—now, that was something else she didn't like. The way he kept him pressed to the wall, as though to ensure he didn't bolt, suggested he wasn't using enough venom to keep his prey decently enthralled. She had never had any need to physically restrain those she fed upon—not even as a child. But, perhaps it wasn't need that drove the stranger either? Maybe he just liked it better that way.

She had to admit his approach held a certain raw appeal. It was crude, yes, even primitive, but it was also direct, primal and vaguely arousing. A soft moan nearly left her throat. She quickly bit her lip, using the small taste of her own blood to calm away her impatience.

Perhaps he heard her anyway, or maybe it was her blood he scented on the evening air because the other vampire abruptly broke off feeding. He raised his head, his expression curious, watchful, guarded. Julie held her breath, forcing herself to stay motionless. The silence deepened. Brennan, still pinned in place, fidgeted restively. Blood was still seeping from his neck. Its scent, and the sound of his movements carried clearly on the still air, setting Julie's teeth on edge.
Let him go
,
she thought with silent urgency, resisting the instinct to growl, refusing to be flushed out of hiding.
Let him go so I can have him
.

Finally, the stranger unbent. Relaxing somewhat, he turned his attention back to Brennan, giving his neck a cursory lick that barely closed the wounds he'd made. “Sorry 'bout the hit and run,” he said just before he faded into the darkness. “'Catch you later, man.” Then he was gone.

Julie remained where she was until she was certain he had left for good and wasn't merely waiting to double back and catch her coming out of hiding. Brennan stayed where he was, as well. Leaning wearily against the wall, he mopped his neck with a tissue he'd taken from his pocket and cursed quietly. Again, Julie considered a return to the house. She liked her meals happy and he hardly seemed in the best of moods. But the scent of his blood called to her.

Checking to see that the coast was clear, she moved out of the shadows and slipped through the gate, forcing herself to step clumsily into the dried leaves that had collected at the edge of the drive.

 

 

Leaves crackled. Brennan lifted his head to stare at the girl who'd appeared, seemingly from nowhere. “Where'd you come from?” he asked, studying her suspiciously as he straightened away from the wall. She seemed somewhat familiar. Had he seen her someplace before?

A cautious smile curved her lips as she gestured vaguely in the direction of the drive. “The house?”

“Oh, that's right.” Brennan's face cleared as he recognized her. “I remember you now. You were here last night. Julie, right?”

She nodded, but he'd bet anything she wasn't really listening—not with the way her gaze kept cutting to his neck. The thinly veiled disgust on her face made him want to squirm. He was tempted to adjust his collar to hide the wounds from her sight, but covering up the mess would only make things worse. His broken skin felt bruised and abraded and he could feel the small cuts still oozing blood. Just perfect. Damn Drew for leaving things this way. What was he thinking? While he wasn't the most particular of the vamps who'd lately developed an apparently unquenchable thirst for Brennan's blood, Drew usually wasn't
this
sloppy, either.

Brennan spared one dismayed thought to the idea he was becoming a perforce connoisseur of vampire bites, then re-focused his attention on the girl. She couldn't be more than twenty—if she was even that old. Despite her long, dark hair and the creamy, pale skin any Goth would happily die for, she seemed a little too wholesome to be hanging around the moldering old mansion, not to mention its more questionable denizens. The thought of what some of them were likely to want to do if they ever got their hands on her…well, that wasn't anything he really wanted to think too hard about.

“So, you want me to call you a cab, or something?” he asked, half tempted to suggest she give serious thought to the idea of leaving now and never coming back.

She shook her head. “Not just yet, thanks.” Bright black eyes lifted briefly to his face, then slid back to his neck. Her lips compressed, as though she'd tasted something unpleasant. “I'm still kind of waiting on my brother.”

Brennan nodded. The unspoken criticism in her gaze was beginning to get to him. What was the deal here, anyway? Maybe she'd like to compare marks? That was fine by him. After spending a solid twenty-four hours in the house, he guessed she'd probably collected her fair share.

Perhaps that was the problem? “First time here?” he asked, with what he hoped sounded like the right amount of sympathy and concern.

“Sort of,” she replied, finally tearing her gaze away from his throat long enough to glance around. “It's different than I'd imagined.”

Brennan let out a short bark of laughter. “Different. Yeah.” That's how he'd felt too. Once. “I hear that.” He found her naive surprise refreshing. Shoving his hands deep into the front pockets of his jeans, he rocked back on his heels and smiled at her. “So, I bet you know what's coming now, right? I gotta ask it. What's a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?”

Julie's eyes widened. Her smile brought out an unexpected dimple. “
Am
I a nice girl?”

He grinned back at her. “You appear to be.”

If possible, her glimmering dark eyes seemed to turn a shade darker. “Well, you know what they say, you can't always trust appearances. Or was that just some kind of line? I guess, working here, you'd get to use that one a lot, wouldn't you?”

Brennan shook his head. “Not like you'd think. With most of the people who come through here, there's no need to ask. I already know what they're after.” The same things he was after—either the money, or the addictive high. Or both. “I think I probably ask it about myself more than anyone.”

Eyeing him curiously, Julie moved a little closer. “Do you? Why's that?”

Wasn't that the billion-dollar question? He sighed. “I dunno. Just stupid, I guess. But, some days, usually when I'm getting ready for work, I'll just kinda find myself staring into the bathroom mirror, wondering what the hell I'm doing here.”

Another step closer. The dimple again. “Maybe you're afraid someone's gonna turn you, and then you won't be able to see your reflection anymore,” she teased.

“Naw, you know that crap about mirrors isn't real, don't you?”

Julie nodded. “Good thing, too. It'd make for a lifetime of bad hair days if it was.” She cocked her head to the side. “So, if you're that concerned about what
you're
doing here, I guess that must mean you think you're a nice
boy
?” Her smile said she thought so, too.