Immortals After Dark 05 - Dark Needs at Nights Edge

believe you could soon find your Bride and bed her, but I think he’s glossing over a major component—she needs to want you, too. I could teach you what women like. I could show you how to seduce her.”
    That just made him more furious.
    She hurriedly said, “Listen, this is your room and I’ll respect your privacy, but maybe tonight, I could just sit with you? I won’t say a word. I just don’t want to be alone—”
    “And you know what I want.” She’d noticed that his fangs seemed to sharpen with aggression—they did now. “So be a good girl, and promise me,” he began in a low tone, before yelling, “that you’ll get me a goddamned key!”
    “You said you wanted to kill your brothers. You said you ached to.”
    “So?”
    She made an impatient sound. “So, if I free you, you could just lie in wait and attack them here. I’d be an accessory to murder.”
    Looking as if he could happily throttle her, he said, “I wouldn’t do it here.”
    She shook her head. “I won’t even consider it until you vow not ever to harm them.”
    “Why would you want this?”
    “I feel like I know them, and I think they’re honorable men,” she answered. “They don’t deserve to die, especially not for trying to help you.”
    “If you don’t get me the key, I swear, I’ll torch this rotting heap!”
    “Why do you say these things?” she cried.
    “Because I mean what I say. Now, get out! And don’t return without my key.”
    “This is my house—I don’t have to leave!”
    “Of course you wouldn’t want to! I suppose that’s your lot, to follow the living around like a pathetic lapdog.”
    “L-lapdog?” Had he truly just called her that?
    “Exactly. Doing your tricks, begging for a crumb of attention. Stripping off your clothes.”
    She gasped, tempted to reacquaint him with the ceiling.
    “Run along, ghostling. Unless I haven’t tossed you enough scraps?”
    With a last glare, she twisted and disappeared from the room. Damn him, she didn’t want to be alone. Not tonight.
    Why did men get so angry after showing a vulnerability? Why did it cost them so much to let down their armor? She couldn’t care less that Conrad was a virgin. Well, that wasn’t true, but she definitely wasn’t reacting the way he would think.
    What if I just return and tell him that I’m attracted to him—and that this information doesn’t lessen the feeling?
    So he could yell more at her? Insult her? Was she the type of woman who would rather get insulted than be alone?
    Never.
    Now what to do? Where to go? Conrad’s comments resounded within her as she moped through the hallways of her home.
    At the week’s end, the brothers were all going out and she... wasn’t. Néomi had loved going to gatherings, had adored getting dressed up. She’d loved anything with a social aspect.
    She recalled all the fun things she’d done—beach bonfires at the gulf, houseboat parties on the Mississippi, celebrating Mardi Gras with other bons vivants, lively and hedonistic stage people.
    One Fourth of July, she’d splashed in the fountain in Jackson Square. Under the heat of fireworks above and surrounded by the soft strains of jazz, she’d kissed a complete stranger—his lips had tasted of absinthe.
    I used to be proud, too, the life of the party. No longer. Now she wasn’t above begging like a pathetic dog for a crumb of attention.
    Her mood picked up a fraction when she heard a voice downstairs. Murdoch hadn’t left yet. She traced to him, finding him dialing on his cellular phone. She decided to see if his pockets held any more of those lovely hair combs.
    “Pick up, Danii,” he muttered. When Danii didn’t, he slammed his fist into a wall. If another Wroth punches my house one more time...
    He was so preoccupied that he never felt a thing when she rooted through his pocket—
    And fished out a key.

    For hours, Conrad had wanted to call her back.
    Something about her expression had put him on edge. She’d had a look on her face as if she’d been sentenced to the gallows—part fear, part resignation. Her eyes had been so sad, so different from her earlier excited demeanor, such as when she’d been asking about mermaids, of all things.
    It wasn’t her fault she’d overheard Conrad’s shaming secret, but he’d treated her as if it were—because he was sick of feeling powerless and impotent, sick of being both. He was just about to swallow his pride and call for her when he smelled lit candles and...