Immortals After Dark 05 - Dark Needs at Nights Edge

uttered the name of her home.
    Conrad had been forced here, sensing it was the first step on a doomed path. His dream... her doom.
    “You need to stay away from me.” I have to escape this place. “For your own good.”
    Her brows drew together. “Vampire, I don’t know if I can.”
    Nikolai walked in then, Sebastian behind him. “What’s going on in here?”
    Conrad lunged in front of her, snapping his teeth at his brothers. Fury churned at the idea of her undressed and in the same room with them. His fangs sharpened with his aggression. To her he gave a half-growl, half-hiss over his shoulder. “Leave. Now.”
    “But they can’t—”
    “I said now!” he bellowed, making her squeeze her eyes shut. She flickered before she vanished.
    He’d frightened her. He should frighten her.
    “What the hell’s going on, Conrad?” Nikolai had another syringe at the ready.
    Can’t have another. He needed to process what had just happened with the female. Clutching his forehead, he struggled to beat back the rage. To stifle the memories that accompanied the fury. Nikolai hesitated with the shot—he was the one who’d said mastering the memories was possible. Conrad endeavored to do it now... .
    Time ticked by... Control it. He must have been succeeding because Nikolai ultimately pocketed the syringe.
    “You brought it back, Conrad,” Sebastian said proudly. “That’s the first step.”
    Nikolai was more cautious. “Who were you talking to?”
    “Just leave me to dress.” Conrad’s tone was weary now, his body fatigued from the battle in his mind. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
    Now that the female was gone and her scent had faded, Conrad had doubts about what had just happened as well. His brothers didn’t pursue it—because they probably knew they wouldn’t believe him. Hesitantly, they left to wait outside.
    After turning off the water, he dried himself. For the first time in perhaps three hundred years, he decided to study his reflection. Stubble, eyes blood red, hair too long and cut unevenly.
    His appearance was disturbing even to him. And this was an improvement over the last several days. He bit out a curse. When human, he’d never given his looks more than a rare and passing thought.
    But then, he’d never wanted to impress anyone before.
    As he changed into the jeans his brothers had left for him—the shirt would be impossible to put on with the cuffs—he considered taking down Nikolai and Sebastian, but he was weakened.
    Besides, he had a better idea... .
    When Conrad exited the room, Sebastian said, “What made you so riled back there?”
    Need to make them think I’m recovering. “Nothing.” Am I recovering? He’d go along with his brothers for now, until he could escape them.
    When Sebastian held up a roll of bandage gauze with his brows raised, Conrad hesitated, then extended his injured arm.
    As Sebastian rebandaged it, Nikolai asked, “How’d you get this?”
    Conrad muttered. “Occupational hazard.” Courtesy of Tarut, an ancient and powerful dream demon who worked with the Kapsliga.
    He and the demon had been trying to kill each other for centuries, but neither could quite manage it. Yet just two weeks ago, Tarut had scored a crucial victory.
    He’d marked Conrad with his claws. If the tales about dream demons were true, then whenever he and the demon slumbered at the same time, Tarut could retrieve clues to his whereabouts.
    Conrad had believed the curse of the mark was just folklore, the demons using tales of it to their advantage. But the injury refused to mend.
    And that was only the first part of the curse. Legend held that Conrad couldn’t heal until either the demon had been slain—or Conrad had had both his most fervent dream and most feared nightmare come true.
    “You have to have a dream to lose it,” Tarut had said at their last clash.
    Conrad might actually be closing in on one. He stifled a shudder. His dream... her doom.
    “You look a thousand times better after the shower,” Sebastian said. “You’re definitely getting more focused.”
    He shrugged. It wouldn’t matter. Besides Tarut, Conrad was being hunted by at least half a dozen contingents that wanted him either captured or executed.
    The Kapsliga, his former order, sought his death because he was an abomination to them—a vampire who wore their symbol on his back. They’d made him their priority, dispatching Tarut and other assassins after Conrad.
    Then there were