Immortals After Dark 05 - Dark Needs at Nights Edge

improving.
    Hiding the key from him was risky—she could predict the anger she was inviting, but she didn’t want Conrad to dwell on it, not when he was slowly but surely recovering. If he was aware that she had it, he would do nothing but browbeat her for it, obsessing over it.
    She’d never lied to him, instead evading the subject, but she knew if he ever discovered she already had the means to his freedom hidden in a slipper in her studio he’d be murderous... .
    He halted his pacing. “I know you see my brothers as heroes, but if I don’t improve, they will kill me, Néomi.”
    She didn’t believe that but knew she couldn’t convince Conrad. “Do you think I would ever let you be harmed here?” Anyone who tried to kill her vampire would find himself tossed into the bayou pour les alligators.
    “You don’t understand what’s at stake!” he snapped, raising his voice to just under yelling. “In case you didn’t hear them, they’re keen to ‘put me out of my misery’!” A muscle in his jaw ticked—a portent that always signaled a rage was nearing.
    Unfortunately, he still continued to have them. A male like him simply couldn’t stand to be trapped. This situation was making him feel powerless on a continual basis, and he had difficulty moderating his aggression.
    Sometimes he seemed like a powder keg about to go off. And yet she found an honesty, a purity about his fierceness. Louis had been all false faces and deception. Conrad’s ferocity was raw and bare. You knew exactly what you were getting.
    This didn’t mean she would meekly accept it when he was hurtful. She’d once read an article about setting boundaries with the people in your life. If their behavior proved unacceptable to you, you didn’t reward them with more attention. When Conrad grew unpleasant, she simply left—which had the lamentable outcome of angering him even more.
    Eventually his temper would cool, and he’d find her at the folly or in the tangled garden. As he gazed at anything but her face, he’d hold out his hand and gruffly say something like “Come” or “Do not stay away... .”
    “Damn it, Néomi! Why wouldn’t you do this for me?”
    When he punched her wall, she reached her limit. “I’ve asked you over and over not to damage my house, Conrad,” she said in as calm a tone as she could manage. “My home might not look like much, but it’s all I have. If you can’t respect my wishes, then I don’t want to be around you.”
    So he couldn’t follow, she traced outside into the late-afternoon sun. Starting at the overgrown gardens. From there she floated along the buckling, overgrown path to the folly.
    As she approached, she heard unseen creatures slipping beneath the water. They sensed her easily enough. Why couldn’t others? Why did it have to be only Conrad et les animaux... ?
    Anytime he tried to get control of his temper, he strode out here and paced. When she spied a worn path winding around the cypress knees along the bank, she felt another pang. What am I going to do with him?
    He was trying so hard. And he had made progress.
    She’d seen him take a rag to his dirty boots, cleaning them as best as he could, like the soldier he’d once been. He showered every day, brushed his teeth, and shaved. Well, maybe he shaved every other day. But she liked the stubble. Every sunset, she battled her repugnance and brought him a mug of the blood left by the brothers, which Conrad drank only because it obviously cost her so much to serve it. Already his color was better, his muscles growing even bigger.
    And as he improved, they talked more and more—two people who desperately needed to. Often they’d hit a rhythm, a bandying back and forth, as if their thoughts were interlocking pieces. She’d told him, “When we talk, I like how our words ebb and flow. There doesn’t seem to be a need to remark on each comment, no need to clarify—it’s as if we both understand that we understand each other. It’s like dancing.”
    “Or sex?”
    She’d smiled. “Only if it’s great.”
    He’d given her a confident nod. “Then we would have great sex.”
    Lord, we would... .
    They seemed to fit in every way. Yes, he was half-mad, but as a Prohibition-era ghost with a penchant for stealing condoms, moon pies, and bras, she wasn’t exactly in touch with reality herself.
    Conrad could see her; her presence seemed to be the only thing that calmed his mind. He was healing, and she was happier than she’d