Immortals After Dark 05 - Dark Needs at Nights Edge

again.”
    “Not a man! No longer!” He ground his teeth. “I’m a killer, that’s all.”
    “Most in the Lore believe you’re lost. That the red automatically means we have no choice but to destroy you. I do not agree. Mark me, Conrad. One way or another, you will be cured of this,” Nikolai vowed, his voice fierce, his gray eyes turning black, as if with emotion. No matter what had occurred, she knew that Nikolai indeed loved his younger brother. “We have resources at our disposal that you can’t begin to comprehend.”
    Nikolai’s answer seemed to be just cryptic and confident enough to intrigue Conrad. “And exactly how long am I to be jailed and drugged?”
    “A month. We’re going to keep you from killing for a month. If there’s no change by then, we will... reevaluate.”
    Any interest in Conrad’s expression dimmed. “I don’t have that long.”
    “Why? What do you mean?”
    Conrad didn’t answer, seeming to go adrift in his own thoughts, his red eyes skittering in her direction again. She could have sworn he began following her movements, so she floated to the window seat. But he continued staring at the spot where she’d just been.
    She saw the exact moment Nikolai knew he’d get no further, because he looked whipped with disappointment. With a grave nod to Conrad, he traced out, and seconds later, Murdoch appeared.
    He turned the folding chair around and sat, leaning forward, elbows to his knees. “We’ve missed you, Con,” he said quietly. This brother seemed weary to Néomi, like a man undertaking an arduous journey. And his expression constantly looked as if he’d just, at that very instant, determined he wasn’t even halfway there.
    “I know you hate Nikolai and me for what we did to you,” he began. “But we can’t take it back.”
    What did Nikolai and Murdoch do? These undercurrents, the tensions, the unspoken words—she had to admit all of this was fascinating to her.
    “No matter how you treat us, Nikolai won’t give up on this. Not until he’s convinced you’re beyond salvation.”
    Conrad smiled, his teeth still bloodied, fangs prominent—the most menacing smile Néomi had ever seen. As she shivered, he said, “Convince him then, brother. There’s no delivering me from being evil.”

6

    When does the goddamned sun set in this place? He checks the sun’s progress—no different from twenty seconds ago—then studies his brother’s tired visage.
    “Con, I can’t convince Nikolai to give up on you, not when I won’t,” Murdoch says. “Just cooperate with us. Life can be good again.”
    Murdoch is much altered from how he’d been as a human. Back then, he’d been lighthearted. Women had found him charming, and he’d had few cares past servicing every pretty maid within a hundred-mile radius.
    All I had was cares, no time for women, and a distinct lack of charm.
    “Tell me what you’ve been doing these three hundred years. I haven’t seen a glimpse of you since the night right after you died and rose.”
    He hates to be reminded of that. Swords in hand, he and Sebastian had been defending their four gravely ill sisters and father from marauding Russian soldiers. Two against battalions; they’d had no chance. Nikolai and Murdoch had returned home to find five dead from plague and two brothers mortally wounded, barely clinging to life.
    Unconscious, he hadn’t been able to fight off Nikolai when he’d dripped his vampiric blood down his throat. He’d woken a monster.
    Neither Sebastian nor he had wanted to be turned, but then he’d had quite a bit more reason to resent the betrayal. Changed to the very thing I’d been conditioned to hate and trained to destroy...
    “Don’t want to tell me?” Murdoch says. “Then I’ll leave tonight to dig on my own, now that I know what you were—”
    “What I am. I’m still a killer for hire.”
    “Look at yourself.” Murdoch seems to stifle his exasperation. “Who’d hire you?”
    His face heats. “Fuck off, Murdoch.” His brother makes him sound like a washed-up failure. Which he doesn’t give a damn about—except that he doesn’t want the female to believe this. The one who isn’t real. The one I’m about to see.
    Almost sunset... any second now. At the window she flickers in the last of the muted light. He begins to make out a more distinct shape.
    “Very well,” Murdoch says as he stands. “Con, you can resist us because you hate what we are or because you resent our actions. But