Immortals After Dark 05 - Dark Needs at Nights Edge

closer...
    He dimly hears Sebastian ask, “Do you know what will happen to you when your Bride bloods you? Your heart will start to beat again, and you’ll begin to breathe once more. The air is cold and heavy in your lungs, but the pressure feels good if you don’t resist it. And then, with some encouragement from her... all of you will come back to life, like a fire’s been lit.”
    A fire lit. In other words, he’ll be able to get hard again.
    But unlike every other vampire he’s known, he doesn’t want to be blooded. He likes the stillness within him, will hold on to it with everything he is. Dying isn’t so daunting a prospect when you’re halfway there... .
    Creeping closer to his side, the female lowers her tilted head. Listening to my chest? She’s heard Sebastian explaining the lack of a heartbeat and decided to see for herself. Which means she’s sentient.
    He’s held out hope that she is a mindless spirit, unaware of her actions. Or that she’s been like him in bloodlust—unthinking, reacting on instinct. Instead, she is very aware. Suddenly, his position embarrasses him. Chained in bed, at the mercy of others. This is the weakest he’s ever felt in his entire life.
    No, there was another time... .
    Up close, he can see flashes of her ghostly hair tumbling over her shoulder. He swallows, closing his eyes as he waits to feel her hair across his skin. He can’t perceive more than electric pinpricks. They don’t hurt him; they’re not unpleasant.
    When she flits away, he cracks open his lids. Her lips are parted in surprise. “How strange, dément... your heart’s truly still.”
    He just stops himself from jerking back from her, because the ghost is addressing him directly.
    That’s it. He’s lost his fucking mind.
    Her echoing words come slowly. As if they’ve traveled from miles away. He can scarcely hear them—which means no one else would be able to. His hearing is ten times more acute than even his brothers’. A hundred times more than a human’s.
    He knows she’s not speaking to him in the hope of a response, seems to be just testing speech. She looks like she’s tasting the words, determining how they feel rolling on her tongue.
    Wait... Did she call me dément? It means madman in French. He feels heat on the back of his neck. Though most times he reacts just like an animal, sometimes, very rarely, he suffers the emotions he thought he’d lost—like shame.
    There’s a line... But is that how she sees me?
    “You know all this, don’t you?” Sebastian asks, exhaling. “Aren’t you even curious about being blooded? We were forced to do without so much. There is a lot that your Bride could make up for.”
    This yanks his attention from the ghost. Don’t you dare, Sebastian! Don’t bring this up... .

7

    Sebastian lowered his voice to say, “Wouldn’t you want to bed a female once more? It isn’t like you were a man of experience, glutted on women, Conrad. If you’re anything like me, you can count the number of times on one hand.”
    Conrad didn’t deny his brother’s words, instead grinding his teeth, his jaws bulging. The number of times on one hand? How awful, Néomi thought, floating to the foot of his bed to hover there in a sitting position.
    Though she herself hadn’t taken as many lovers as she would have liked—the specter of pregnancy for a working ballerina was too daunting—the ones she’d had, she’d enjoyed to the fullest.
    Even with the filth covering Conrad’s face and the scars on his body, she could tell he had pleasing features. Women would find him attractive. At least enough that he could bed one when he wanted to. And Sebastian was handsome, yet he’d said they’d been forced to go without. She’d heard them talking about their small country having been decimated by plague, embattled for decades—were there no women to take succor from?
    “Le dément... isn’t a man of experience?” she murmured in her weird, ghostly voice. “Intéressant.”
    Though it was still difficult to speak, she marveled at how much more readily her words came with each try. The more she talked, the easier it was becoming, like training oneself to run through knee-high water. Too bad no one would answer, just when she was getting good at it.
    Yet even if no one responded, talking made her feel more... real. Sometimes she felt like the proverbial falling tree in the forest. It could be argued that because no one had seen her or heard her since she’d