Immortals After Dark 05 - Dark Needs at Nights Edge

would. “Conrad, your future’s not settled. You can have good things in your life again.”
    “You’re the perfect punishment for me.”
    “Oh.” Stunned, she rose to leave.
    He reached out to stay her. When he closed his big fist around air, he turned and struck the headboard with frustration. Eyes vacant, burning red, he rasped, “Did any man ever want his penance so much?”
    She said nothing, just settled back beside him to stroke his hair from his forehead. She hated that he was in so much pain and wished she could draw it from him. He’d once been a hero, his life given over to something greater, but now he suffered.
    Néomi had known that he was a broken man who needed saving. Over the last three days, she’d become convinced that he deserved saving.
    Right at that moment, she realized it might just fall to her.
    But how could she help him? She sighed, coaxing him to lie back once more. Néomi had been a dancer, raised in a demimonde concerned with little more than revelry and drinking. What did she know about bringing vampires back from the brink?
    She’d simply have to use the tools she had at her disposal. And really, the medicinal values of Scotch and laughter were underrated.

19

    “Who’s your best friend, mon grand?” she cooed, levitating two bottles. “Who does Conrad love?”
    He was kneeling at the fireplace, finishing his fire. Outside the night was blustery, but inside it would be comfortable. “What have you got?” He stood, brushing his hands off on his pants, then sat on one of the chairs in front of the hearth.
    “A gift for you.”
    “A... gift?” Even he knew his tone sounded perplexed.
    “Oui, also known as a present. Or as the French say, un présent.”
    He accepted the bottles from her, dusting off the label of one. His jaw slackened. “This is Glen Garioch, nineteen twenty-five!” He hesitated even to read the other label. “My God,” he breathed. “Macallan, ’twenty-four. Néomi, this is about a hundred thousand dollars’ worth of whiskey. I can’t drink this—you could sell it. Or have someone sell it for you.”
    “What would I do with money? I have plenty in my safe. Besides, I’d get much more pleasure out of seeing you drink it.” She hovered just behind him, peering over his shoulder, which put her soft words right at his ear. “And then you must describe it to me, very slowly, in that deep, rumbly voice of yours. Is it smoky or earthy like peat? How does it unfold on your tongue? How long does it take for the heat to stroke through you inside?”
    She could read the phone book and make it sound erotic. “You’re sure?”
    “Cheers!” She gave him an odd little smile as she said, “Á votre santé.” To your health.
    “Then I want to drink this and watch you dance.”
    She looked delighted with him; he’d never get enough of that look. “I want to dance and watch my vampire drink.”
    My vampire... Damn, he liked it when she called him that. He knew it was flirting at best, but he couldn’t stem the flush of pleasure.
    He opened the Macallan, letting it breathe. The scent of it hit him, and his lips curled. This would not be whiskey that he would use, as he had in the past. For one thing, he didn’t need it to dull his rage as much as he had before. More importantly, a bottle like this demanded to be savored—
    “I’ll be back,” she said, then vanished.
    He tensed, anxious whenever she left, but she returned in minutes, bearing a windup gramophone over one hand and a crystal tumbler over the other. She handed him the glass, then positioned the gramophone on the floor. Once she’d wound it and set the record needle in place, scratchy music began to play, a slow jazz ballad.
    Making her voice like an announcer’s, she said, “And now! For the matinee! The supremely talented Miss Laress will perform for a lucky audience! Of one!” She smiled coyly. “I’ve remembered an old dance I used to do when I was younger. I think you’ll like it... .”
    As his rare whiskey breathed, Conrad leaned back in the chair in front of the fire, watching the most beautiful female he’d ever seen dance solely for him.
    Though Néomi wasn’t blushing with color, she was still lovely to him—especially when she moved. Hypnotic. This dance was so effortless for her, she would turn to him in the middle of pirouettes or standing splits to smile or wink at him.
    Néomi lived in the moment, laughed easily, flirted constantly. Her natural state was