Immortals After Dark 05 - Dark Needs at Nights Edge

of the French Quarter in summer. On every street, haunting music played. I frolicked in fountains and went jazzmad—which, incidentally, could be used as a successful legal defense in my time.” She tilted her head at him, and her hair swayed over her pale shoulder. “I wonder what you would’ve thought about that time and place.”
    “It would have been alien to me. My culture worshipped the military and discipline.”
    “Mine worshipped jazz, hooch, and the relentless pursuit of pleasure. The warlord and the ballerina—as different as we can be.”
    “What did being a ballerina entail?”
    “Performance after performance. Though I did like to play, when not on tour, I also trained six days a week without fail.”
    “I could tell. When I saw you dance.”
    “Ah, that’s right. You witnessed it. The day before yesterday cracked up to be a bad day for Néomi, the lapdog.”
    He scowled but still asked, “Why are you so... patient with me? After the things I said?”
    “Because I know you didn’t mean them. And because I don’t believe you’re as bad as everyone thinks.”
    She had no idea. It would be best to end her flirting and playful looks of interest now. “Néomi, you have an idealized image of me in your mind. Let me make this plain for you. Less than two weeks ago, I killed a being, and I drank blood from his neck like a beast drinks from a gutter.”
    Wide-eyed, she said, “Well, that image certainly does dampen your attractiveness! But luckily you have a deep voice, which I like more than I should—so that neutralizes all that beast and gutter business.”
    He alternately liked and hated when she played as if she was attracted to him. “You make it sound so easy to dismiss.”
    “What’s past is past, Conrad. Now you must learn from it and move on. If I’d had your mentality, I would always have been a burlesque dancer. I never would have aspired to being a ballerina, a profession that brought me great joy. Imagine all the things you’re missing out on. Your Bride, a family, contentment. Unlike me, you can have a future—it’s out there, just waiting for you to claim it. You have so much to look forward to, if you’d just stop looking back.”
    This was exactly what made her so dangerous to him—she did make him imagine all the things that could be. Such as having her as his Bride.
    His dream... her doom. He shook his head hard. The curse couldn’t touch her—even if it was real. She couldn’t physically be harmed. But he still wanted to go on the offensive with Tarut. “Néomi, when my brothers come back, you have to get the key.”
    She gave him a mysterious shrug that said everything and nothing. “I’m tired, mon grand. I’m going to sleep.”
    He spoke French fluently. Mon grand meant my big man. A teasing term of affection.
    “Where do you go?” When he’d searched the house for her, he’d seen that the master bedroom had a few spare pieces of furniture, but that wasn’t where she went when she wasn’t with him. She had to have a secret hiding place.
    “Oh, here and there.”
    “Will you come back tomorrow?”
    She sauntered over to him. “Honestly, vampire”—with a wave of her hand, she brushed his hair from his forehead—“if you stay charming like this, how will I ever be able to stay away?” With that, she disappeared.
    But she was coming back. Because she couldn’t help herself.
    Suddenly Conrad found his lips curling.

18

    “And we’d been doing so well... ” Néomi muttered, which only angered Conrad more.
    Over the last three days Conrad’s road to recovery hadn’t been straight and even—more curving, filled with hairpin turns and many double-backs.
    They were presently on a double-back.
    “Néomi, make the vow that you’ll get me the key!” He paced menacingly in front of the window seat she occupied. “My brothers will doubtless return tonight.”
    They were already a day overdue. “I’ve told you I don’t want to talk about this.” Giving him his freedom wasn’t even an option for her. Murdoch had said that Conrad would relapse if released too soon, and she still feared he would attack his brothers if he went into a rage at the wrong time.
    If her resolve wavered, she had only to remind herself that Conrad had spit blood at Nikolai’s face less than two weeks ago. For centuries, his loyal brothers had searched for him—Néomi wasn’t going to be the blunderheaded ghost who stupidly freed him just when he was