Dark Needs at Night's Edge iad-5

by Kresley Cole

  Yet no sign of Tarut.

  Conrad had continually debated whether he was making things worse by staying with Néomi. Ultimately, he'd admitted what he'd always known: the damage had already been done. She'd been in danger since the night of the gathering. He'd been offered his dream—and he'd selfishly accepted it.

  Even if Conrad was separated from her for a thousand years, she would still be what he treasured above all things—and what he feared losing most.

  If only I could turn her into a vampire. Then she wouldn't be so utterly vulnerable. But he knew females never made it through the transition. Not one of his four sisters had risen... .

  In a way, he'd always been relieved that they hadn't. They'd been sensitive girls—he couldn't imagine them waking from the dead with a cup of blood shoved in their faces. Now Conrad wondered if they would have grown from their childhood. Could they have adapted? He'd never know.

  Once he'd finished the mug, he traced directly to the bathroom to shower and shave, allowing her to sleep longer. Under the hot water, he cursed under his breath. He'd forgotten to make plans for them tonight. Where in the world to take her... ?

  Yet when he entered the room, he found her awake and smiling to see him. She made his heart speed up just to see her. "You're up and dressed? But not to go out?"

  She was wearing a red negligee, with her creamy breasts spilling out. Her hair was long and free as she knew he liked it. Even his beaten body stirred behind his towel.

  Every time he took her, he fell more deeply under her spell. After three hundred plus years of musing what sex would be like, he'd had high expectations. She continued to shatter them.

  "I don't want to go out tonight," she said. "Maybe we could relax here?" She sat on the bed and patted the spot beside her. "I could rebandage your arm."

  He eyed her suspiciously. "Are you intent on managing me for something?"

  She plucked up the roll of gauze. "My intentions with your body are pure."

  Once he sat beside her, she rose to her knees and wound the gauze around his arm.

  "There's more to this hunt than merely striking first, isn't there?" When he nodded, she said, "Tell me."

  "As soon as you tell me about your secret." Thoughts of what it could be plagued him.

  "Are we to quarrel, Conrad? I'd rather spend the night massaging your back and making love, but if you insist... "

  "You must know I'll only let this go for so long. I have unfinished business—but when I'm freed of that worry, I'll track down everything you keep from me."

  Conrad had two theories. It was possible that she'd made a deal with a sorcerer—one of the very ones he'd had considered using to resurrect her. One like that could have embodied her, but they tended to extract devastating promises.

  A witch could have done it as well, but Conrad didn't think this was the case. Though Néomi had said she had "lots of money," she probably hadn't factored in eight decades of inflation. Surely she didn't have the kind of money necessary to get even a meeting with a powerful witch. Conrad had heard of some turning their noses up at millions.

  She sighed. "Quel dommage. What a pity, then. If you're after my secret, then we'll be quarreling often. So we might as well enjoy this night. Tell me, where did your hunt take you?"

  "Moscow."

  "Were you careful?"

  "Always," he said, which wasn't remotely true. To get to a demon snitch, Conrad had ambushed a subterranean demon lair, fending off two gangs to drag his howling prey by the horns up to the surface.

  Even though he had a reason to be more careful, with an actual person waiting at home for him, Conrad couldn't allow others to think he'd changed.

  God, how he'd changed.

  Tonight, Conrad had given the snitch his standard threat: "Talk. Or I'll drink you, harvest your memories anyway, and slaughter everyone I see in them." But the snitch had smelled of fear and cheap gin. Conrad had not only been disinclined to drink the demon; he'd found the idea repugnant.

  The last thing Conrad had tasted before he'd left had been Néomi's sweet lips. Drink the demon with the same mouth he kissed his Bride... ?

  The rumors of his past brutality were helping him now, but one of these days, someone would call his bluff. Would he be forced to return to his old ways to protect his Bride?

  If he had to, Conrad would once again become the thing they feared.

  "There. All done." She finished his bandage by brushing a kiss on it.

  Strange, he'd had no reservations about entering that lair, and yet, as his gaze flickered over Néomi's smiling face, he realized that this one-hundred-pound, mortal ballerina scared the living hell out of him.

  She hailed the end of life as he knew it. Was his life so great before her? Hell, no. But at least he'd understood it. Now it seemed he could understand nothing, was having to rethink everything.

  A future, a family, a real home. Were these things now possible for a man like him?

  "Do you worry about me when I'm gone?" he asked.

  "Always. From the tidbits of information you've given me, I've gleaned that you're seeking to kill an eight-foot-tall demon who'll be surrounded by a group of swordsmen, ready to lay down their lives to protect him. Do I have that right?"

  "You do."

  She quirked a brow. "Oh, then what's to worry about?" She motioned for him to lie on his front. "How long will you hunt him?"

  "Till I have his head," he said, stretching across the bed.

  "How long will that take?"

  "Considering our past pace—it could take weeks, months, even a year."

  "That long?" she asked as she straddled him. "When you're out, do you ever come across information about your brothers?" Reaching forward, she began to knead his aching neck muscles.

  He just stifled a groan. "No, nothing yet."

  "Is there to be a war in the Lore?" she asked.

  "There's always war in the Lore."

  "But this concerns your family."

  "I have other concerns right now."

  "Because of your brothers, you're alive to be here with me right now." She pressed her thumbs firmly into his shoulders, unraveling the coils of tension there. "Is it so bad?"

  "Yes, I hate this."

  She chuckled.

  His brothers had said life could be better, that all he'd needed was his Bride. And now, his life was in no way fixed, but sometimes he'd found himself feeling... hopeful. He wasn't assured of their happiness together—she was mortal and vulnerable and seemed determined to make no commitment to him; he was still half-mad and had numerous assassins competing for his head. But there was indeed possibility.

  He owed them for that. "Would it please you if I said I'll concentrate on them when I finish with Tarut?"

  "Yes, mon grand. It really would."

  Conrad would do nothing else until he'd first secured Néomi's safety. Life and death were beginning to have new meaning for Conrad. Instead of being only a taker of life, he was becoming a protector. The ease with which he was assuming the role surprised him.

  No wonder all his foes had searched to discover if Conrad had a Bride. She was his sole weakness. And one he'd never anticipated having. Conrad hadn't exploited this vulnerability enough in his enemies, because he hadn't comprehended the unimaginable power of it.

  Fear for her overruled everything.

  Because if she died, he couldn't simply walk into the sun to join her. He had no delusions that they'd deserve to go to the same type of afterlife.

  Again he saw three obstacles between them. Tarut's curse, her secret, and... his own dark needs. Each time they were together, he struggled not to take her neck.

  It wasn't as if he hungered for her blood to nourish him—he'd been gulping back mugs of bagged blood to keep from biting her, drinking so much that he'd begun to put on more muscle. His body was strengthening even as his resolve was flagging.

  No, his vampire nature made him resent that last barrier between them. He should know his own Bride's tas
te. His instinct was screaming within him that if they shared the connection of his bite, then she would cleave to him.

  But he was strong—he could drain her so quickly. Her mortal body would cede its blood until she died with his fangs still in her neck. He shuddered with dread.

  "Did I hurt you?" she asked, climbing off him.

  "What? No, not at all." He turned to his back. "I was lost in thought." If he could just secure any kind of bond with her. "Néomi, I want to speak with you about—"

  "Massaging my front?" She reclined with her arms over her head and a seductive smile curling her lips. "Indeed, I would love that."

  They'd stayed in bed the entire night.

  Though Conrad had yet to sleep, he remained awake once she'd nodded off, musing that he'd spent so much time and energy hunting that he hadn't been able to focus on winning her over.

  Holding her to his chest, he pondered what to do. He'd already bought her a ring, and awaited the right time to ask her to marry him.

  Sometimes when she looked at him, he was confident her feelings for him ran deep, and that she would say yes. Other times, he got the opposite impression—that she was merely biding her time, planning to leave him soon. How to convince her to stay... ?

  What if he'd already gotten her pregnant? That would bind them together as nothing else could. But then he'd become a father. He waited for the wave of aversion that idea should bring.

  When none came, he explored the thought more, picturing Néomi carrying their babe and Conrad protecting them against the world. The idea felt right. She'd nurture, and he'd provide. Very right.

  He'd never wanted children before.

  Now he wanted their children.

  What if he hadn't already gotten her pregnant? An anxious feeling immediately seized him.

  He set her on the bed, then rose to kneel between her thighs. When he spread them wide, she woke with a gasp. As she watched him with heavy-lidded eyes, he gripped his shaft, feeding it into her, then sank deep into her heat.

  She gripped his hips, guiding him to thrust as she needed. With each slow plunge, her fingers tightened into his skin.

  Her hair was shining, spread across the pillow. Her blue eyes gazed up at him with trust—and something more. He cupped her chin. "So beautiful, Néomi."

  "Conrad," she murmured. "I... I need you." She said the words the way she might tell him she loved him for the first time.

  In answer, he rasped, "I need you, too." Realization struck him. His brows drew together, his breath shuddering out. Néomi had once asked him if he'd ever been in love, and he'd easily answered no. Now he knew why he hadn't.

  Because he'd never met her.

  It somehow seemed right that he'd never loved before her. That she simply was the emotion for him, the two equaling each other.

  I'm in love with her... .

  In the hours remaining till dawn, he took her again and again. But when the sun began to rise, he left her sleeping and dragged himself from their bed. She turned with a whisper, seeming to seek him. When she wrapped her slim arms around his pillow, nuzzling it, his heart took up too much room in his chest.

  He longed to stay here with her. To feel her breaths on his skin as she slept warm and soft against him.

  But Conrad knew what he wanted. Knew the obstacles between them. Though he was exhausted, he rose and dressed, mindlessly pulling on his boots for another hunt.

  I'll have her. Or I'll die trying.

  35

  My time's running out, Néomi thought at the beginning of their third week together.

  She didn't know how she knew this, but she sensed it strongly. Running out soon. She'd become convinced that she wouldn't last through even the first month with Conrad.

  And she couldn't stop thinking that he would probably be there to see her meet her end. She'd known they would be in a relationship when it happened, but she hadn't truly comprehended that he would witness her death.

  The death that promised to be violent.

  The guilt was heavy. Why didn't I think of this before? Even knowing that, she couldn't force herself to part from Conrad to spare him. She was greedy for every possible moment with him, and she knew he was as well.

  Last night, when she'd run the backs of her fingers over the scar on his torso, he'd said, "I used to hate that scar. But no longer." He'd met her gaze, and the words had seemed to spill from him. "Néomi, it brought me to you. If I'd known what was in store for me, I'd have helped the Russian plunge his sword."

  After hearing that, she'd become convinced that what he felt for her was more than just what a vampire felt for his Bride. He was as in love with her as she was with him.

  Yet even with that realization, she felt like their little world was falling apart in general. He was so wearied, but tried to hide it, just as she tried to hide her growing tension and dread.

  As though he sensed her foreboding, he seemed determined to make every moment count... .

  That night his gift of a dazzling scarlet gown along with the promise of a surprise destination were enough to distract Néomi's mind from her fears, at least for a short while.

  When he'd traced her to Italy for dinner, she'd become genuinely excited.

  Her vampire had reserved a private garden terrace at La Pergola, atop Monte Mario. "Conrad, the view is spectacular!" Below them lay Rome at night, lit like a dream. "Mon Dieu, is that St. Peter's dome? I've only ever seen it on a postcard. This is such an incredible surprise!"

  "Oh, this?" When he gave a casual shrug, it drew her gaze to his dark dinner jacket, tailored to perfection over those broad shoulders. "This isn't it. This is just nourishing my mortal until it's time for the real surprise."

  "Better than this? You must tell me!"

  "Then it wouldn't be a surprise." He gave her a wry grin. "Also known as une surprise... ."

  Once they were seated in plush chairs, the server brought by a trolley filled with chilled champagnes. As he poured, the man barely did a double take at Conrad's sunglasses, but Conrad still tensed. She wished his eyes didn't bother him so much.

  When they were alone, he rubbed his hand over the back of his neck. "You must hate them. The blood red."

  She shook her head. "I think they're the red of fire. And the color deepens and darkens when you look at me—which I love. Besides, with the sunglasses, you look like a movie star."

  "Or a drug addict."

  "I don't believe the two are mutually exclusive, mon grand," she said, coaxing a grin from him. As she sipped her champagne, she asked, "Wouldn't one have to reserve this spot months in advance?"

  "One would."

  She quirked a brow. "But you wouldn't?"

  "You should know by now that regarding you, I stint on nothing."

  The meal bore this statement out. Dish after dish began to arrive, costly wines accompanying each course. As she savored some of the most delectable food and drink she'd ever tasted, she tried to get him to reveal the surprise. He sipped his whiskey, lazily forked some food around, and grinned smugly at her attempts to get him to crack... .

  "You're so pleased with yourself, vampire."

  "It's too good of a surprise to reveal. How's your food?"

  Some dishes were bold, some subtle; each caressed her palate. She smiled over her wineglass. "C'est exquis comme tes lèvres." Delicious like your lips. He shot upright when she rubbed her stocking-clad foot up his leg.

  In a huskier voice, he said, "You can use your considerable wiles"—his gaze dropped to the low neckline of the dress he'd given her—"all you like, but I'll never break."

  For dessert, the server brought to the table a miniature chest of drawers, handcrafted of silver. Inside each tiny drawer was a different kind of petit four.

  "That's it," she said, sampling all the delights, "I'm never leaving,"

  "Don't worry—we'll come back."

  She forced herself to smile through the pang she felt. "At least once a week for the petit fours alone."

  After th
eir dinner, Conrad said, "Ready for your surprise?"

  "Yes, I'm about to die!" she said, immediately wishing she could take back those words, but she masked her disquiet.

  He covered her eyes, as he liked to, then traced her yet again. She sensed different weather, fresh smells. And she heard a new language—French.

  With his other hand warm on her bared back, he led her toward a spot that sounded more crowded than where they'd arrived. Then he uncovered her eyes.

  Her lips parted on a gasp. She was standing in front of L'Opéra Garnier, the lavish home of the Paris Ballet. Shivers skipped up and down her arms. Tonight's performance? Roméo et Juliette.

  It was one of her favorite Shakespeare plays, and one she'd always dreamed of seeing choreographed. To experience it here? In Paris? Her eyes watering, she said, "Conrad, this is the most wonderful thing anyone's ever done for me."

  And the most desirable man she'd ever known was offering his big hand to take her there. "Come," he murmured. "Or we'll be late."

  Dazed, she let him guide her up the steps inside the palace. With the sounds of the orchestra tuning in the background, she was overwhelmed by the splendor, gazing from the artistry gracing the ceilings down to the elaborate marble designs beneath her heels.

  When they took their seats—in the best box—she purred, "Oh, vampire, you're gooood. It's almost as if... you stint on nothing?"

  With a sexy grin, he removed his sunglasses and said, "I'm glad you approve."

  From the instant the curtain rose, her heart pounded nonstop. During the performance, she was in heaven, struck by how much ballet had both evolved and remained the same. The medium of dance perfectly suited the tale, the music its sublime partner.

  Yet Conrad sat with his arms crossed over his chest, a critical look on his face. "You shame them," he grated, which just made her love him more.

  "Well, thank you for that, but I believe I'd be a bit short and busty compared to these modern dancers."

  "I happen to have a thing for short and busty ballerinas."

  She gave him a slow smile. "I'm glad you approve."

  "Exceedingly so." A hank of thick black hair fell over one of his eyes. "Do you miss it?"