Now Comes the Night (5 page)

“Would you be serious, Conrad?” His face grim, Damian sat up and wrapped his arms around his knees—a clear sign, if ever Conrad had seen one, that Damian did not consider “not talking” to be an option at this point. “Much as I dislike finding myself allied with Armand, I have to admit that, on this one subject, he and I may be in agreement.”

Conrad frowned as he struggled to wrap his mind around this new idea. “Help me to understand this. Are you saying you discussed Julie at some point? With Armand. Whom you despise.”

“Oh, despise.” Damian waved the idea away. “I’d hardly put it that way. We’ve had our differences.
Absolutemente
, that goes without saying. But had we met under other circumstances, I’m sure I’d have liked him well enough. I can quite see why
you
might have found him irresistible. I don’t hold it against you, you know.”

“Thank you,” Conrad replied dryly. “You’ve no idea how gratified I am to hear it. And I know I need hardly ask if you discussed anything you oughtn’t have with him. So, what
did
the two of you find to talk about?”

Damian quirked an eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to mean? He and I have lived under this same roof for almost ten years now. It’s hardly the first time we’ve spoken to one another. And what do you think we talked about? Surely you must have noticed that he’s taken a more-than-casual interest in the girl? And she in him, as well, although to a much smaller extent, I’m pleased to say. Still, that being the case, I had to find out what his intentions toward her might be. What would you expect?”

“So you asked him his intentions? How splendid. I’m sure he couldn’t possibly have found anything at all unusual about that.”

“No, no. Nothing so obvious. I merely allowed her name to come up in conversation and then asked him for his thoughts. Oh, and I may have also mentioned how badly I thought you might possibly react were anyone to attempt to lead Julie on or toy with her affections in any way. But I do think he’d already figured that part out on his own.”

“Yes. I’ve no doubt he did.” Conrad lay back against his pillows and closed his eyes, feeling more than a twinge of regret. Unfortunately, Armand was no stranger to Conrad’s temper either. “I’m sure it wasn’t at all necessary for you to caution him, Damian. He’s quite intelligent, you know, and would surely never be so foolish as to go against my wishes and risk… Well, and risk angering me.” Conrad’s voice faltered a little as memories assaulted him of an eerily similar conversation he’d once had, a conversation about Armand and Julie’s mother—another girl in whom he’d taken a more-than-casual interest. Conrad’s head reeled at the implications. As little as Damian might like being allied with Armand, Conrad was sure he’d absolutely abhor being compared to Georgia. Best not to mention it then.

After a moment, it occurred to Conrad that Damian had fallen silent as well, uncharacteristically so. Curious, Conrad opened his eyes again. He was surprised at the dark look on Damian’s face, the distance in his gaze. Was he angry? Was he upset with Conrad again? Had he somehow guessed the trend of Conrad’s thoughts? “So…you were saying you agreed with Armand on some topic?”

Damian nodded, but his eyes remained bleak and his voice, when he answered, held little of its usual animation. “
Sí
. The lack of interest she shows in socializing with other vampires, her clear preference for humans. It’s as disturbing as Marc’s involvement with the ferals—and equally inexplicable. It’s not good for her, Conrad. Shouldn’t she be showing a little interest in
someone
after all this time? Even Armand would be an improvement!”

“And what do you mean by that, I wonder? She could do much worse for herself than Armand.”

Damian grimaced. “Exactly my point. And so she is. But, again, my main concern right now is that her behavior might lead people to wonder if she does not, perhaps, regret being turned. Or even if it were not her decision to make. Which, of course, it was not.”

Conrad’s eyes narrowed. “We’ve talked about this already, have we not? I’m confident no one would even dare to suggest I might have forced such a thing on anyone. I do hope this is not just another attempt on your part to convince me to let you take credit for siring the twins, because as I told you once already, I will not allow it. The subject is not open for discussion.”

“No, no. That’s not it at all.” Damian quickly shook his head. “I assure you, I have quite given up on that idea. It’s just… I only want our girl to be happy, Conrad—and safe too, that goes without saying—which means blending in much more than she has been and…”

“Go on. What else is troubling you?” He knew there was more. The indecisive expression on Damian’s face told him that much.

Damian sighed. “Well, she does seem to be falling rather hard for Brennan, you know.”

“Yes, and what of it? I thought you approved of the boy? Was it not you who urged me to agree to her request that she keep him to herself?”

“As a
divertissement
,
sí
, certainly. It benefited them both, or so I thought. He was being overworked and she needed some way to occupy her time, but…”

“But?” Conrad prompted once more when the silence again threatened to continue unabated.

This time, Damian had the grace to look embarrassed. “I didn’t think they would become so serious, so enamored with each other. Now I very much fear it will end in heartbreak.”

Conrad snorted derisively. What was there to wonder about? However or whenever it ended, heartbreak was inevitable. Such was the case with any
affaire de coeur
. It was a fact of life, as dependable as gravity.

“I just wish she could find someone who would not grow old so soon, or die too young, or otherwise leave her bereft after only a few years. Someone who will continue to be there for her, for as long as she needs him. Someone we might even eventually, perhaps, be able to trust with the truth about her and Marc.”

Conrad sighed. “You worry too much.” He and Damian both knew—and all too well—the pain one courted when one opened one’s heart in such a fashion, giving oneself over to a love that was doomed to die. Perhaps it was not the kind of thing either of them would wish on their daughter, but what was one to do? To seize the day, to hold tight with both hands to whatever bright bits of joy the world offered—in the end, was that not what life was all about? But maybe Damian did not feel the same. Did the love not outweigh the loss for him?

For a moment, Conrad considered asking. He was sure Damian would not hesitate to tell him his thoughts on the matter, even if the answer was not to Conrad’s liking, but he wasn’t all that sure he wanted to know. Words, once uttered, could not be unspoken and sometimes too much honesty between lovers was worse than too little. “So we’re matchmaking now, are we?” he asked instead, hoping to tease Damian out of his glum mood. “My dear, if you wished to throw a party so that Julie may find herself a husband, why did you not say so from the start? And, that being the case, I’m sure you won’t mind if I avoid it as my presence there would likely only serve to scare away her prospective suitors.”

Damian frowned crossly. “Must I ask you again to be serious? It’s not like you to be so cavalier about these things, Conrad. You are in a very strange mood tonight.”

“Yes? Well, I could say the same about you.” Conrad’s happy mood was gone now. Instead, he was feeling hungry and grumpy and distinctly out of sorts. “Stop complaining. What will be, will be. We can only do our best for them. Besides, it was you who chose the time for this annoying conversation. I had it in mind to engage in other activities this evening.”

Despite being in agreement with Damian about Julie’s chances of finding lasting happiness with Brennan, Conrad was still not convinced it wasn’t better to allow her to continue on her present course. Dating within her species was equally hazardous—never mind dating someone as quick-witted as Armand. He was inquisitive and she had secrets. That did not make for a felicitous combination in Conrad’s mind. Rather, it seemed a guaranteed recipe for disaster.

Just thinking of that left Conrad almost unbearably depressed. He cared so very much for them both. If only circumstances were different, it would have given him great joy to see them happy together. As it was, how could he ever allow either of them to take such a risk? How could it possibly work out? How could that not end in a tragedy much worse than simple heartbreak?

Damian sighed. “It was all so much easier when the children were small.”

Conrad stared at him in surprise. “
Caro
, it was
never
easy.”

“Wasn’t it?” Damian shrugged. “Ah, well, perhaps you’re right. But it seems so now, doesn’t it? Looking back on it?”

“Hindsight, my dear, is rarely the clear lens it’s so often assumed to be. I find it almost always contains an element of distortion.” Raising the twins had been a daunting task, a perilous undertaking. Every step of the way had been fraught with danger. Conrad was very well aware that the fact they’d succeeded was due in no small part to Damian’s efforts. Surely allowing him to throw the occasional party was little enough recompense. “So, tell me, when is this proposed gala to take place?” Though he tried to put a brave face on it, Conrad’s spirits, already low, sank to an even new low when a terrible new thought assailed him. “Please,
caro
, you’re not going to suggest Christmas, are you?”

Anything but that. The memories of the last Christmas party Conrad had thrown here were still too raw, too painful. Not even for Damian’s sake could he put himself through something like that—never mind what it would do to Armand! No. He couldn’t. It would be too cruel.

“No, I was thinking New Year’s Eve. Maybe something formal. You remember, don’t you Conrad? How much the children always enjoyed the parties we threw when they were younger?”

But what Conrad remembered most about those parties had nothing to do with the children. He bit back a sigh and nodded. “Yes.”

Damian hesitated. “Is that ‘yes to the party’ or ‘yes, you remember’?”

“Yes to both.” Conrad forced a smile. “And since you’ve mentioned it would be formal, might I at least assume you won’t be insisting on our all wearing costumes this time around?”

“Oh, no. No costumes. Just the masks will do.”

“Masks?” Conrad growled in frustration. “Is that
really
necessary?”

Damian shrugged. “Well, not strictly necessary, no. And certainly
you
need not wear one, if you don’t wish to. ‘Your house’ and all of that. I’m sure no one will be in the least surprised if you choose not to. But I did think it might make things more comfortable for Marc. If he and everyone else were wearing masks, it’s bound to make his disfigurement less obvious, don’t you agree? So yes, to answer your question, I did intend to stipulate on the invitations that this was to be a masked ball. Unless you
really
don’t want me to?”

“No, go ahead. Do as you please.” As long as it was clear that he himself was exempt from Damian’s edicts, Conrad didn’t really care what his lover saw fit to require from the rest of the nest. “As long as it makes you happy, my dear. That’s really all I care about.”

A look of pleased surprise crept over Damian’s face. He smiled and ducked his head. “
Me haces feliz.
”
You make me happy.

Conrad smiled back at him. “
Muchas gracias, mi amor. Me haces muy feliz también.
”
You make me very happy as well.
“And, now, if you’re certain there’s nothing else you wish to ask me for…?”

Damian laughed softly. “Oh, I didn’t say that. I believe you mentioned something about ‘other activities’ we could be engaging in? We still have time for that, do we not?”

A soft snarl rose in Conrad’s throat. The hunger awoke more fully within him, like a cat stretching and purring with pleasurable intent. “Yes,” he said as he speared his fingers into Damian’s hair. “Yes, I believe we do.”

Chapter Three

July, 1973

Music shook the ground beneath Damian’s feet as he surveyed the audience attending the outdoor concert. The air around him vibrated like a living thing. It danced across his skin like a lover’s caress. He breathed deep, inhaling the mingled scents of patchouli and pot smoke and hot, sweaty bodies pressed close together. Most of all—most importantly of all—he smelled the rich, life-giving, mouth-watering scent of all that blood running just beneath the surface.

Hoping to give his ears a rest, he had stationed himself on a patch of bare earth and trampled grass behind one of the large speakers that had been set up in the fairground’s open field while he looked the crowd over, seeking suitable prey.

Despite the noise and the other distractions, outdoor concerts like this one were among Damian’s favorite hunting grounds these days, offering the chance for a little entertainment coupled with nutrition and, more often than not, the opportunity to slake a little of his sexual hunger as well. The darkness, the crowds, the multiplicity of secluded corners, all provided excellent camouflage. And the drugs and alcohol ingested by most of the attendees guaranteed they’d remember little of their encounters with him, and believe even less.

He felt a tinge of envy as he scanned the crowd of people with their blissed-out expressions. It had been so long since he’d felt anything like that himself. As a vampire, he’d proved immune so far to every manmade mind or mood-altering drug he’d encountered and so was denied the peace that might have come from being able to temporarily forget the pain, the loss, the regrets, the mistakes—all the suffering that was an inevitable part of being alive.