by P. G. Forte
Paul’s lips twisted into what he probably hoped would pass for a smile. It looked more like a grimace. “Yeah, I guess I am.”
Damian shook his head. “Ah, Pablito.” Sighing once more, he leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on Paul’s mouth. “Why couldn’t you just leave well enough alone?” He should say no. He should say good-bye—and mean it. He should nip this infatuation in the bud and make every effort to avoid Paul from here on in. Dalliances like this had no place in his life. They should have no place in Paul’s life right now either. The best thing he could do for both of them was to end this now. Then again, if he were committed to playing it safe and always doing what he should then he should also have wiped Paul’s mind nine years ago. He should have left Paul’s apartment earlier tonight while the boy was still asleep or, better yet, he should not have come here at all. But what was life without a few risks?
Paul drew a shaky breath. “D…please,” he murmured as his hand closed on Damian’s arm clasping it tightly, as though he could somehow keep him from pulling away.
Damian pulled away just the same—not far, just enough to enable him to smile at the boy. “I think it’s very likely actually,” Damian murmured as he traced Paul’s lower lip with his thumb. “In fact I’ll be extremely surprised if I don’t see you there again before the week is out.”
The smile Paul gave him was breathtaking. He cupped a hand around Damian’s neck and lunged upward to press an ardent kiss against Damian’s lips. “Good. I’ll look forward to it.”
“As will I,” Damian answered. He was surprised to find he really meant it.
The sun was challenging night’s hold on the horizon when Damian returned home. “You’re out late.” Conrad’s voice greeted him from the shadows that still wreathed the front porch.
Damian shuddered in response. He’d been so caught up in his thoughts, he hadn’t even noticed Conrad’s presence. A very dangerous oversight. “My apologies if I’ve kept you up. I was scouting our new surroundings and became…somewhat distracted.”
Conrad rose from the chair in which he’d been sitting and stalked closer. “So I assumed. Although I was surprised when you didn’t bring something home for the children. I trust you didn’t encounter any trouble tonight?”
Damian shook his head. “No. No trouble at all.” A guilty qualm unsettled him. “The children, are they…?”
“I fed them,” Conrad answered. “I took them out with me, in fact. I think you may be right about this place. I think it might turn out to be exactly what they need right now.”
“Sí. I hope so too,” Damian replied somewhat absently.
“You hope so?” Conrad smiled wryly. “Is that all you have to say about it? I thought for certain you’d take the opportunity to reiterate your complete conviction of the fact—as well as to remind me again how often you’re proved right.”
Damian blinked. Was Conrad teasing him? Well, it really was a night for surprises, wasn’t it? He smiled. “Let me apologize again, then, this time for being unclear. I meant simply that I hoped the matter was too obvious to need mentioning.”
Conrad chuckled softly. “My dear, you never fail to surprise me.” He took a step closer then froze, his nostrils flaring. A soft growl vibrated the night air.
Damian stifled the urge to back away. Conrad’s senses were always extremely acute and Damian was suddenly distressingly aware of the fact that he must reek of Paul.
“You said something about being distracted tonight?” Conrad murmured in dangerous tones. “Did anything occur that I need know about?”
Damian shook his head, striving for a disinterested tone. “No. I’ve just been sampling a little of the local population. I don’t think I’d realized how very tired I’d grown of the suburbs and their limited resources. I believe I may have over-indulged as a result.”
“I see.”
“In fact, if you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll go to bed now. If you’d like, I’d be happy to take the children with me tomorrow evening when I go out. Perhaps you’d like a chance to…to find some entertainment for yourself.” Damian blinked at the words as soon as they were out. He was shocked to realize the idea didn’t upset him nearly as much as he’d thought it would. “It may do you some good.”
Conrad seemed surprised as well. “Yes, well, thank you, my dear. I’ll give your suggestion some thought.”
Damian nodded and headed toward the front door. In the evening, he’d make sure to subtly direct Conrad to either of the first two bars he’d visited tonight. He’d keep his knowledge of the last one, the one where he’d met Paul, to himself for now. He was aware of the sharp glance Conrad shot after him as he slipped inside the house. It sent a shiver down his spine. He could only hope the look in those narrowed eyes was laced with surprise rather than suspicion.
Chapter Eight
December 22, 2009
From his usual vantage point, on the elevated walkway that spanned one long wall in the warehouse, Marc leaned his forearms on the railing and swept the interior of the impromptu dance club with a glance. He nodded in approval. Everyone appeared to be behaving.
“It’s looking good down there tonight,” he murmured for the benefit of the guards that flanked him. “But stay alert. This is not time to get complacent.”
Just as he had on the roof earlier, he opened his senses. Not a trace of unrest stained the air tonight. Not a hint of distress. From the mass of bodies moving together on the dance floor, to the handful of couples occupying the chairs and couches in the lounge, everyone’s emotions seemed safely contained.
As always, he paid particular attention to the lounge—where most of the feeding took place. Located along the wall opposite his perch and separated from the dance floor by nothing more than a couple of steps and some velvet ropes, what the lounge lacked in privacy, it made up for in safety. Everything that occurred here tonight—or any night—took place under his watchful eye.
He had people standing by to assist him. He had emergency systems in place. But the ultimate responsibility lay with him. At the first hint of something gone wrong, he was ready to move. He was ready to instantly neutralize the danger. But nothing was going to go wrong. It was all under control.
As if seeking further proof, Marc’s eyes flicked to the view-screens set on top of the cage that housed the DJ and lighting equipment. The cameras merely confirmed what he already knew. It was a good night. The plan would work. It was already working. They were learning. Hearts, minds and base natures, he was winning them over to his way of thinking. He was molding them into model citizens, into vampires who knew how to channel their instincts, control their impulses and play nice—both with each other and their food. Soon, they’d be ready. Soon, he’d have everything he needed to win Conrad over as well.
His gaze dipped lower, sweeping the cage itself. His gut clenched as he remembered all that had occurred there. The cage was ready too, if the need arose, although that was something he saw no reason to mention. Heather had begged him to tear the chain-link monstrosity down. Nighthawk had even volunteered to do the job, with his bare hands, if necessary. But Marc had refused them both. That cage was an inescapable fact of their lives, or so he’d told them. It had been a turning point, the tragedy from which he was determined they were all going to rise.
Pretending it didn’t exist, or that the danger and pain it represented—a danger that continued to threaten them all—didn’t exist, was foolish. Besides, it amused him to see how Heather had handled her fears, and her frustration with his refusal. Using glitter and Day-Glo spray paint and pulsing lights, she’d managed to turn the once-forbidding structure into a work of industrial art. It was now both practical and pretty—in a My-Little-Pony-vomited-rainbows kind of way. Which actually suited Marc’s plan even better. Looking at it now, no one would ever guess that, if he needed to, he could have it returned to prison-cell status with little more than the snap of his fingers.
Suddenly, something in the atmosphere shifted. Marc straig
htened up, scanning the crowd, searching for the source of the disturbance. “Shit. What now?” And just when things were going so well too.
The men beside him stiffened in alarm. “Something wrong, boss?” Nighthawk asked cautiously.
“Yes, there’s something wrong,” Marc snapped, biting off his next remark—can’t you feel it?—when he realized they couldn’t. “There.” He pointed at a lithe, elegant figure calmly making its way through the eddying crowd, blond hair gleaming in the flashing lights. Georgia. “See that? What’s she doing here?”
Nighthawk and the other guard exchanged looks. Nighthawk grimaced. “Whatever she fucking wants to, that’s what.”
“What?” Marc blinked in surprise. Not the response he’d been expecting. He shook his head. “No. Fuck that. Not in here she doesn’t. Let’s go.” He headed for the stairs, but Nighthawk stepped in front of him, blocking his way.
“Boss, wait. You don’t want to mess with her. She’s dangerous. Don’t you know what she is?”
“Dangerous?” Marc snapped. “Really? And you think I’m not?” At the moment, he was feeling very dangerous.
“Not like her,” the other guard said from behind him. “She’s Invitus, man. They’re off-the-charts-scary. She’ll chew you up one side and down the other.”
Invitus. Like Conrad. Marc nodded. Yeah, that explained a lot, didn’t it? “Good to know. Thanks for filling me in. Now, out of my way, Hawk. I mean it.”
The glare Marc shot at Nighthawk had the big man flinching. Surprisingly, he stood his ground. Lowering his head, like a wounded bull, he whined, “C’mon, man, don’t do this. We’ve got a good thing going here. Don’t screw things up for us now. We need you.”
Marc blew out an exasperated breath. They did need him. That was exactly his point. And he needed to get downstairs. Now. He could feel fear spreading through the crowd below him like a slow, black tide, rippling outward. How long until it edged over into panic? How long before the entire club erupted in chaos?
“I don’t have time for this shit.” Turning away, Marc leaped onto the railing. He took a moment to orient himself, to catch his balance. Then he jumped. The air behind him shivered as Nighthawk rushed forward in a last-minute attempt to grab him and pull him back, but Marc was already out of reach. He hurtled through the air, landing with a loud crash on the top of the cage. Dozens of eyes turned in his direction. As they tracked his progress, he could feel each gaze like twin pinpricks of pressure, like tiny lasers scoring his skin. He ignored them. Three quick steps across the metal mesh took him to the other side of the structure where he launched himself once again into space.
This time, he landed in a crouch on the concrete floor, exactly where he wanted to be, less than a foot and a half in front of Georgia. She stiffened and snarled, blue fire flashing in her eyes. Marc felt buffeted by the force of her anger. For just an instant, an unreasoning terror ripped through him. Then it was gone, swept away on the rising tide of his own anger. These were his people. This was his place. And she was putting everything he was working toward at risk just by coming here.
He rose to his feet and coolly met her gaze. “Hello, Georgia. What are you doing here?”
Georgia’s eyebrows rose. She seemed speechless at first, a state of affairs that, sadly, didn’t last too long. She recovered almost as fast as he had. A small smile curved her lips. “Marc. My, my. You do have a most interesting way of greeting people, don’t you? And, it’s funny, but I was about to ask you the same thing.”
“What am I doing here?” Marc shrugged. “What’s it look like? I’m throwing a party. And, I’m sorry, but you’re not invited.”
Georgia shook her head. “Such manners. I wonder what Conrad would think of this behavior?”
“I’m sure he’d be good and pissed.” That was for damned certain and maybe it should have given Marc pause. It didn’t. “So why don’t you run back to the mansion now and tell him all about it?”
Georgia’s smile grew wider. “Big words, fledgling. I shall quite enjoy watching him discipline you.”
“Yeah, I bet you would like that, wouldn’t you?” Marc ignored the fledgling gibe. If she wanted to think he was newly turned, let her. If she was fishing for information, on the other hand, he wasn’t taking her bait. “I’ll be sure to give you a heads up so you can be on hand. If it happens.” And, who knew? Maybe this time it would. He couldn’t recall any other time that he and Conrad had been so much at odds with one another—not even when he was a teenager. The breakdown in his relationship with his sire was not something of which Marc was proud. Unfortunately, his other responsibilities took priority. If Conrad couldn’t understand that…well then, Marc was just going to have to find a way to make him understand, or suffer the consequences. “On the other hand, I’m asking you nicely. If you don’t leave now, maybe I’ll be the one complaining to Conrad and you’ll be the one he disciplines.”
It had been a shot in the dark, but apparently it struck its mark. Georgia blanched slightly. “I didn’t come here looking for a fight, Marc. I merely wish to speak with you. In private. It’s in your own best interests to hear me out, you know. But, if you’d rather not…” She shrugged, her meaning clear. If he wanted a fight, that was fine with her. If he wouldn’t listen to what she had to say, that was fine too. Either way, it was his funeral.
And either way, it would cause a ruckus—something he was trying desperately to avoid. Marc nodded. “Okay. Fine. You’ve got five minutes.” He wasn’t sure he believed her, but he saw no reason to take unnecessary chances. He really wasn’t the spoiled child she so obviously thought him, even though he did tend to act that way around her more than he cared to admit. No doubt that was Damian’s influence at work.
Marc turned his head. He’d felt Nighthawk creep up a few moments earlier to stand several paces away. Now, he pinned him with a gaze. “I’m going up to my office. Keep an eye on things down here. If anything happens I want to be informed of it. Immediately. No playing Lone Ranger and trying to deal with stuff on your own. Got it?” Eventually, he’d have to trust them to monitor things for themselves but not tonight. With Georgia here, itching to report back to Conrad if anything went wrong, now was definitely not that time.
“I want to come with you,” Heather whispered, slipping her hand into his. She was shivering a little as she pressed her shoulder into his arm and Marc could smell her fear.
“I’d like that too,” he told her. “But then who’s going to keep an eye on the big guy for me? Make sure he stays in line, okay?”
Heather nodded. “Okay.”
Then she turned to scowl at Nighthawk who rolled his eyes and muttered. “Yeah, that’s great. Just what I need.”
“All right, c’mon.” Marc jerked his head in the direction of the stairs. Georgia took the hint and preceded him. If she was nervous about having him behind her, she gave no indication of it. It could have been an act, but Marc was pretty sure she wasn’t putting on a show. From what he’d observed, Georgia didn’t fear much and if she was really Invitus, he guessed she didn’t need to. He could sense the power within her. He had from the start. And while he could sort of understand why that might freak some people out, especially the ferals who were jumpy enough all on their own, he didn’t feel threatened by it himself. If anything, it turned him on.
It was an odd state of affairs, and not necessarily a good thing. And, come to think of it, that was probably Damian’s fault as well.
Georgia hesitated when she reached the top of the stairs and looked to him for direction. Marc took the lead and guided her down the walkway to the room he’d designated for his personal use. He was pretty sure it had been Audrey’s before him, if the wall of video screens and the shelves of books were anything to go by. Not to mention the massive desk—so large it had to have been assembled inside the room.
He’d re-routed the camera feeds and had the desk emptied and its contents boxed up but, other than that, and except for the addition of a comfortable couch wh
ere he could sleep on the days he didn’t feel like going home, he hadn’t really made any changes.
Georgia had stopped a few paces into the room. She glanced around curiously. Marc left her standing where she was and went to sit behind his desk. It was a fairly imposing piece of furniture, but he wasn’t surprised when she failed to be intimidated by its majestic bulk.
“I still don’t understand what you’re doing here,” she said as she seated herself in the visitor’s chair. “Or what all those creatures downstairs are doing here either.”
Creatures? Marc bristled at the term. “And I still don’t understand how that’s any of your business.”
“Conrad has charged me with the task of finding the vampire who used to run this place,” Georgia answered. “Among other things. That’s how it’s my business. And, even if you weren’t motivated by a desire to assist our sire in any way he wishes, which I should certainly think you would be, one would imagine you might also have a more personal reason for wanting her found.”
Marc leaned back in his chair, resisting the urge to adjust the patch that concealed his missing eye. “Personal. Yeah, that’d be one way of putting it.” He certainly couldn’t fault Georgia’s logic on that one. Popping his eye out of its socket had always seemed damned personal to him as well.
“And, yet, instead of helping you seem determined to interfere, to impede my investigation, to thwart Conrad’s very wishes. Frankly, I find your behavior incomprehensible.”
“I don’t see how my being here interferes with anything you’re doing to find Audrey. And I’m certainly not bothering Conrad either.”
“Audrey, is it? I find it curious that you know her name.”
“Really? You think it’s curious that I’d remember the name of the woman who half-blinded me less than two months ago? Why’s that? It was my eye she got, not my brain. Besides, she told it to me.” That was not quite true, but it was close enough. “Seems like the kind of thing that would stick with you, know what I mean? Anyway, you still haven’t answered my question. How am I bothering you?”