by PG Forte
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 abou
t 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.
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?”