Part 11 (1/2)

Damian sighed. ”No, not really.”

”Do you wish to go out now and look for food? It's not too late yet. I could accompany you, if you'd like.”

Damian shook his head. ”No. Tomorrow night will be soon enough for that. I'll get up then and...and try and find something to eat, I suppose. I don't think I could stomach it right now anyway.”

Can't stomach eating? Or my company? Conrad brushed the question aside because, once again, what did it matter? ”You can't let yourself grow too weak, you know,” Conrad said, pulling the best card he had left, possibly the only card. ”You must stay strong. The twins still need you and...you've already frightened Julie very badly this evening.”

”I know.” Damian nodded. He seemed weary but composed. Surely a victory of sorts. ”I'm sorry for that too. I'll make sure I find her and apologize tomorrow. I'll let her know that...that everything's okay. That I'm fine. That nothing's changed. I'll make up some lie to tell her. But, for now...I just want to be left alone.”

”Very well.” Taking the hint, Conrad s.h.i.+fted Damian from his lap and rose. ”I'll see you on the morrow then.” He contemplated mentioning how happy he was to have Damian back, how willing he was to support him in any way he needed, but decided against it. No doubt that would all be taken the wrong way as well.

”Conrad?”

Damian spoke just as Conrad was opening the door. He glanced back toward the bed, surprised at the unnatural pallor on Damian's face, the bleak look that was once again in his eyes. What else was wrong? What more unhappiness must Conrad bear tonight? ”Yes, my dear? What is it?”

”I didn't- I shouldn't have...” Damian shook his head and tried again. ”I'm sorry. For what I said before I left. And tonight as well. It was...uncalled for. I apologize. I'm only here because I'm needed. I-I know that but, I want you to know that I'm sorry. Truly. And, if you could find it in your heart to look past my behavior, I promise...I promise I won't let you down again.”

Oh, my love. As if you ever could. Conrad shook his head, allowing a small, rueful smile to show briefly on his lips. ”No. Of course you won't. Rest well, Damian.” Then he let himself out of the room and closed the door behind him. Damian let him down? No. Never. If anything, the reverse was true. That was one shoe, it appeared, that was very firmly on the other foot.

Chapter Thirteen.

December 31, 2009 It had only been a few weeks since Marc had been a regular part of the club scene, but so much had happened during those weeks it felt like a lifetime ago. As he checked his reflection in the mirror one last time, he couldn't keep from grinning. He'd spent more time and paid more attention to his appearance tonight than he had at any point in the past twenty years. This obsessing over every detail was so adolescent-and he was hardly that. It might have taken him a while to get here, but in the past few weeks, he'd grown up fast. He wished his sister could be here to share the joke. He could only imagine what Julie would have to say about all his primping and preening.

There was so much he wanted to share with her, so much he needed to talk to her about, but for right now, it was better that he keep his distance, better that she stay safely in the dark. It had been a week since he'd last seen her-the longest they'd ever been separated. He hoped Julie was having fun tonight. She'd always loved New Year's Eve and tonight, for the first time ever, they'd each be celebrating it on their own. He felt a little bit guilty about that as well.

He left his room and headed downstairs, where the rest of the family was already a.s.sembled and waiting for him. Maybe he could have put this off. Maybe he could have done it another night. But he was making a statement, sending a message, taking a stand. And New Year's Eve was the perfect time to do it.

”We're all ready, boss,” Nighthawk said, strolling over to join him, and subtly gesturing at everyone to stand up.

As his crew nervously rose to their feet, Marc nodded at his lieutenant. ”Good job, man. Thanks.” Lieutenant. d.a.m.n it, he still hated the term. Still thought there was far too much of the military, too much of the mob, in it. Not really the impression he wanted to leave anyone with. Even if he himself had fallen into the habit of calling tonight's little excursion a maneuver. He had to call them something, he supposed.

”I did just what you said. Made sure everyone had proper clothes.”

”So I see.” As he glanced over the black-clad sea that was his people, Marc had to suppress the urge to roll his eyes. So, okay, maybe a.s.signing Nighthawk the task of making sure everyone was suitably attired had been a mistake, but after Heather had adamantly refused the task, insisting she was not going to get stuck doing all the girl jobs, he'd been the logical choice. Besides, it only mattered if Marc minded the inevitable jokes and comments people were sure to be making about their apparent attempt to recreate a Matrix poster. But he didn't mind. People could think what they liked. If some of them wanted to draw the conclusion that he and his merry band were just kids playing dress up, he was happy to let them. Being underestimated had never hurt anyone. If anything, it would give them a tactical advantage in the event things turned dicey.

Heather came up beside him and slipped her hand in his, pressing close. Marc turned his head and smiled. ”You ready, sweetheart?”

She nodded, but a small frown creased her brow and Marc was pretty sure she was remembering her earlier visits to Akeldama and the not-so-warm welcomes she'd received there.

He squeezed her hand rea.s.suringly. ”You're with me tonight, all right? No one's gonna bother you, but if you're worried at all, you just stick close.”

She smiled gratefully up at him. ”Okay.”

”Or she could just stay here,” Nighthawk suggested.

Marc shot him a hard look. ”Why's that?”

Nighthawk shrugged. ”I'm just sayin'. Does she really need to go with us? For that matter, I don't know why we're taking everyone. You're talking about takin' on the frat boys, right? Seems to me it would be easier to coordinate a smaller crew.”

”We're not 'taking on' anyone,” Marc corrected. He turned to the group. ”Is that clear? Does everyone understand this? We're not looking for trouble tonight, we're not going there to start fights. This is a...a diplomatic mission. I'm looking to build relations.h.i.+ps. We need to find allies who'll support us. That's why we're all going.” He shot another sharp glance at Nighthawk. ”I don't want there to be any mistake about who we are, what we are, what we stand for. We're in this together.”

”And that's exactly what I'm afraid of,” Nighthawk grumbled. ”We walk in, all of us at once like this, they're gonna take one look, and they're gonna wanna take us all out again. Permanently.”

Marc sighed. He couldn't blame Nighthawk for being worried. After everything they'd all been through, tonight's mission might seem daunting, but Marc didn't know of any other way to do this. And he couldn't do it alone. He needed all of them with him. He needed to be sure everyone here was on the same page. ”Does anyone else feel like Hawk does?” he asked the room. ”Is anyone else having second thoughts or feeling scared about what we're doing tonight?”

Nighthawk started. ”Hey, whoa. What? I didn't mean it like that!”

Marc ignored his outburst. ”I know some of you may have had a bad experience, either at Akeldama, or at one of the other clubs. They may have given you a hard time when you were there before, they might even have chased you out, but that's all in the past. Tonight marks the start of a new year. From here on out, things are going to be different. No one here is alone anymore. No one here is an outcast. And like I just got through telling Heather, if you're worried, stick close to me. If anyone bothers you, if you have a problem with anybody, or even if you're just uncomfortable with what's going on, come to me with it. I've got your backs.”

”And we've got yours,” Nighthawk said.

As the crowd broke out in applause, Heather gripped Marc's hand tighter. ”We're all ready,” she told him, pride s.h.i.+ning in her eyes. ”Let's do it.”

Georgia stared at her face in the mirror of her dressing table. She'd been attempting to complete her toilette when she was struck by the futility of it all. She looked old, drawn and tired. She wasn't sure how much longer she could keep up appearances. Even to her own eyes she looked worse-so much worse-than she had the night she'd arrived here. Was it really only two months ago? She shouldn't be aging at all, shouldn't be ill. Someone was sure to think it odd if she showed up at the party looking so obviously unwell. Even if Damian somehow, miraculously, failed to notice and comment on it, surely someone else would mention how haggard she looked. Then would come the questions, the accusations, and a confrontation with Conrad to which there could only be one possible outcome.

Being torn to pieces in a ballroom, while a mob of vampires in evening dress looked on; that was certainly not how she'd ever thought she'd meet her end. She'd been so sure Christian would be here by now to save her. She'd counted on it, very foolishly it seemed, for when had her timing ever been anything but lamentable?

Perhaps she could pretend to have gotten a lead on Audrey's whereabouts? If she could excuse herself from the party without giving rise to suspicion, if she could hide out from the general population, she might be able to buy herself another day-or two days, or three-but it was still only a matter of time.

”Georgia? Darling, are you in there?” The knock was at the door from the hall. The soft, familiar voice flooded her with sweet relief.

”Christian?” The stool clattered to the floor. She dashed out of her new bedroom and crossed the sitting room at a run, flinging everything aside in her rush for the door. Her hands trembled as she struggled with the lock. Then the door was open. She pulled him inside, pushed him against the wall, threw herself into his arms. ”Oh, thank heaven. I thought you'd never get here.”

”My poor, poor girl. Look at you. You're shaking.” His hands smoothed over her back. ”You really have been up against it, haven't you?”

The gentleness in his touch, the concern in his voice, brought tears to her eyes. Nodding, she lifted her face to his, eager for his kiss. His lips beckoned. Her hunger rose without warning, turning her desperate in an instant. The needy animal, never far from the surface, raged out of control.

Christian's eyes widened in horror as she reached for him, fangs at the ready. ”No!” He held her away. ”Georgie, no. Not the face!”

His fear slapped her back to her senses. She pulled away, dropping her gaze again to hide her blush, her deep humiliation. ”Forgive me.” She gulped the words out, her tongue thick and unwieldy in her mouth. There were times when the animal was all she was, times when it totally consumed her. This could not be one of those times. She couldn't allow it. One shaky breath. Two breaths. Three. The blood still thundered in her ears but at least she had herself mostly in control. ”It's just that I thought... I was beginning to fear... That is, I had started to wonder whether you were coming at all.”

”I know, sweetness,” Christian said, speaking calmly, soothingly. ”I'm sorry to be so late. But it's been one thing after another. My plane was delayed. I was held up in customs. The traffic into the city was an absolute nightmare. I don't wonder you thought I wouldn't get here in time. I was beginning to despair of it myself.”

”Yes, of course.” She motioned him to follow her into the bedroom. ”You've been traveling. How thoughtless of me to have forgotten. You must be famished.” She was famished too, but that would have to wait. Just a little longer now. She crossed to the bureau and picked up the cut-gla.s.s decanter filled with blood that someone had thoughtfully provided. The thick, red liquid splashed into the waiting tumblers as she poured. Say what she would about Damian, he certainly knew how to keep Conrad's household running smoothly and comfortably.

”Here.” She handed Christian one of the gla.s.ses, kept the other for herself. ”Sit. Relax for a minute,” she said, gesturing toward the bed. She righted the stool she'd knocked over earlier and seated herself across from him. ”Tell me everything. How have you been? How's everything at home? I've missed it all so much.”

”Home is just as you left it. I've nothing of any interest to report, other than the fact I've missed you too. Dreadfully so, in fact. But, I suppose that's hardly news, is it?” He smiled fondly at her then put the gla.s.s to his lips and drained it in a series of deep gulps.

Georgia watched his throat work, unable to look away, even though it made the job of calming herself even more difficult. She needed calm before feeding or her venom would be too caustic; she'd cause too much damage. It was a constant fear she lived with, the worry that the pain would become too much, that Christian would reach the end of his tolerance, that he'd run from her, hide from her, leave her doomed. She sipped at her own gla.s.s, and it brought her a little peace, but it couldn't feed the deeper hunger.

”But never mind me. What's been happening here? Are you sure you're all right? You mentioned when we spoke last that Conrad's been acting strangely. You don't think he suspects anything, do you?”

”He can't possibly,” Georgia replied wearily. ”You know as well as I do what would happen if he had even an inkling.”

”I suppose I do. You'd be dead already, if that were the case, wouldn't you? And I'd be next.”