Fallen Embers (11 page)

“I didn't say I blamed her,” Nighthawk replied gruffly. “But everyone else has moved on, why can't she?”

Marc clapped him on the shoulder. “She's young. Give her some time.”

“Yeah, right.” Nighthawk sighed. “So who
are
you taking with you?”

“I'm taking my sister. It's a family bonding kind of trip.” It wasn't really. It was more of a get-Julie-away-from-Christian kind of trip, at least in part.

“Your sister?” Nighthawk scowled. “What the fuck, man? No offense, but are you shitting me? You sure this isn't some super-secret, Clan Quintano black op that you're keeping on the DL?”

Marc sighed. “Would you stop worrying? I know you think I'm going to wake up one evening and change my mind and move back into the mansion. I'm not—okay? This is where I belong; it's where I want to be. You're just gonna have to trust me on that.”

Nighthawk looked away. “I trust you,” he said, his voice so quiet that, if Marc had been human, he probably couldn't have heard him. “Of course I trust you. You're my sire. What else am I supposed to do? I just hope this ain't no
Wizard of Oz
,
Mary Poppins
type bullshit.”

“What now?”

“You know. ‘Sorry, the wind's gone and changed again. You kids are on your own.' That kind of crap.”

Marc laughed out loud; he couldn't stop himself. The thought of the supposedly bloodthirsty ferals—including big, tough, built like a linebacker Nighthawk—huddled on a couch watching kid flicks on TV was irresistibly amusing.

“Hawk, man, I swear, you have nothing to worry about. I couldn't possibly have this much fun anywhere else.”

“I hope not,” Nighthawk muttered, as gloomy as Eeyore.

“I mean it. Stop worrying,” Marc insisted, sounding a lot more confident than he actually felt. “It's all going to work out fine.” Because, really, what other option did any of them have?

The morning fog was rolling in, slowly obscuring huge swathes of the city. Armand shivered as a tendril of mist swept across his cheek, its touch as soft as a woman's hand, as cold as death.

“That everything?” the cab driver asked.

Armand nodded reluctantly. “Yes.” He just managed to avoid wincing when the driver slammed the trunk shut. It sounded so…final. He glanced back at the mansion that had been his home for the past…
Merde
. Had it really been fifty years? Where had the time gone? No wonder he'd been feeling tired and out of sorts lately. He needed to put a little space between himself and his memories. It was time.

“All right then,” the driver said, obviously impatient to get started. “Ready when you are.”

Armand took one last look, then turned and climbed into the cab. He wished he could be more certain that this was the right thing to do. It was possible the whole plan might blow up in his face. It would certainly not be the first time something like that had happened.

Miscalculations, poor choices, bad timing, he had something of a history where those were concerned. But maybe now was not the best time to dwell on that?

For far too long he'd been telling himself to be patient. Yet when had that ever paid off? He'd been afraid of risking his heart—as though there was anything he could really do to stop himself. He'd been afraid of making mistakes—and that was likely the biggest mistake of all.

So be it. Tonight, he'd reached the end of his rope. He could no longer stand by, watching and waiting, and do nothing. It was time to take action, to leap—without looking ahead, without waiting for a net to appear—and pray that some heavenly agency was still on his side.

Chapter Seven

Georgia had been very nearly asleep when the sound of someone knocking softly on the door to her suite roused her. She took a moment to orient on the sound, allowing her senses to expand outward.

“What is it?” Christian asked as Georgia's heart started to race. “What's wrong?”

“It's Conrad.”

“Now? What does he want?”

“I've no idea.” At this hour? It was likely nothing good. “I'll go and see.”

Christian pulled back the covers on his side of the bed. “I'll come with you.”

“No.” Georgia shook her head. “You stay here.”

Christian glared at her as she left the room. Georgia bit back a sigh. She knew how much he hated having to sit on the sidelines while she did all the work. He wanted to spare her, to shoulder his share of their burden. It was endearing, in a way, and she could have loved him for that alone, but at the same time, it was unrealistic. He was her creation. As long as she was alive he would always exist in her shadow. He should have become resigned to that reality ages ago.

Her heart was still racing when she pulled open the door. “Conrad? What are you doing up? I thought you'd retired some time ago.” She studied his appearance. He certainly appeared dressed for bed, wearing naught but a dressing gown that exposed more of his legs and bare chest than she'd seen in a very long time. It was distracting, to say the least. But the question she really wanted answered, the one she didn't even dare ask, was
why was he here?
“Has something happened?”

“What's that?” Conrad stared blankly at her for an instant, then shook his head. “Oh! No. No, of course not. Might I come in?”

“Certainly.” Georgia stepped back to allow him entrance.

“We haven't talked much of late, have we?” Conrad observed, seemingly in no hurry to come to the point. “I trust you have everything you need? These rooms are to your liking, yes?”

“Yes, thank you.” Georgia glanced around, feeling more confused by the minute. Had they not established all of this months ago? “We've settled in quite well, I think, which is hardly a surprise. As you know, I've always been partial to this suite.” It was where she always used to stay when she'd visited Conrad in years past—until Damian had returned and claimed it for his own. Perhaps that's what this was about? “Damian doesn't want to move back in here, does he?”

“No, of course not.” A somewhat silly smile curved Conrad's lips. “He assures me on a daily basis that he is quite happy where he is.”

“Splendid. You must be very pleased.”

“Yes…” He paused again, his smile dimming, and Georgia waited anxiously for him to resume. “But if you
did
happen to need something, if there was anything that would make your stay here more comfortable, you need only ask. You know this—yes?”

“Yes, of course.” The truth, however, was that there was only one way in which Conrad could make her stay here more comfortable and that would be to end it, to let her go home. They both knew that was not going to happen. She would not be allowed to leave until Conrad was good and ready for her to go. “May I speak frankly?”

“Of course.”

“I'm sure it will come as no surprise, but I do feel a little reluctant, at times, to ask anything of Damian. You know we've never really gotten on. I do so miss the days when Armand ran your household. I always found him so much more congenial. If I could go through him…” She broke off at the look on Conrad's face. “Is something wrong?”

“No. Not wrong, precisely.” Conrad sighed. “It's just that…much as I would like to accommodate you, I fear that will not be possible. Armand has left me, it seems.”

“He's done what? Oh, nonsense. Why would he do such a thing? Or no, I've an even better question—why would you allow it?”

“Why should I not allow it?” Conrad answered crossly. “He felt himself in need of a…of a vacation, I believe he termed it. Why should I refuse?”

“A vacation? How odd.”

“Isn't it? I thought so too. Equally odd, however, is something he mentioned shortly before he left. A rumor he'd heard. Something I had rather expected I would have heard from you, were there any truth to it.”

Once again he paused, clearly expecting her to say something. An uneasy chill, like the flat of a blade, slithered along Georgia's spine. She held herself still, lest her shiver betray her fearful state. “A rumor? About me? I can't even imagine what that could be about.” She had no idea to what rumor Conrad was referring and she was far too afraid to hazard a guess—she could only wait, even more anxiously, for him to go on.

Conrad shrugged. “He said there'd been some talk about you and Christian, that the two of you were no longer…as close as you had been in the past.”

“I see.” Georgia frowned, trying to fashion a reasonable response. This was not at all what she'd been expecting.

“Is there aught you wish to tell me?” Conrad asked with surprising gentleness. “About you and Christian? Is he making you unhappy,
ciccia
?”

“No. No, of course he isn't.” It always alarmed her when she caught a glimpse of Conrad's softer side. She had such a hard time trusting it. “I have no idea how such a rumor could have gotten started. Christian and I… I assure you everything is still very much as it has always been between us.” Which was nothing less than the absolute truth. And a greater tragedy she could not even begin to imagine.

“Capital.” Conrad's relief was hugely and immediately apparent. “I'm very pleased to hear it. But…if there
were
to be something that you wished to discuss, please remember that you can always come to me. I hope you don't feel that, just because you may be uncomfortable talking to Damian, that you cannot still talk to me?”

“Aha.” Relief washed through Georgia. She couldn't help but smile. “I knew it. So,
that's
what this is about. Out with it, then. What's he done this time?”

Conrad's brow furrowed. “What are you talking about? Who's done what?”

“Damian. And don't bother trying to deny it. I know that look on your face too well. It's not the first time he's put you in an ill-temper, is it?”

“I did not think my temper so ill,” Conrad snapped crossly. “Indeed, I was in a perfectly amiable frame of mind when I walked in here. I was merely concerned for
you
. Nor do I understand why you would jump to the conclusion that Damian had done anything to contribute to my mood—either for good or ill.”

“Oh, please.” The fact that Conrad didn't outright deny the charge spoke for itself. “Why should anything have changed? He's led you a merry chase since first you met him. He's still the only one among us who's ever driven you to completely lose control. Surely, you cannot deny that?”

“No, but if you imagine I take comfort in the fact I've not injured more of you, you're very much mistaken. Having maimed even one of my own was unconscionable.”

Georgia sighed. “My love, as always, you reproach yourself too much. Only consider how badly you were provoked. Damian's actions were unforgivable.”

“And mine were not?” Conrad shook his head. “It falls to me to
protect
those who belong to me, not cause them further injury.”

“None of us is perfect, Conrad. But I've always found you most forbearing. It's an admirable trait in one's sire, as I'm sure you'll agree.” She only hoped he would be as understanding of her, when the truth came out. “As for Damian, it's just unfortunate you ever thought to turn him.”

“You'll forgive me, I hope, if I cannot join you in that sentiment?”

Georgia ignored him. “Only think how differently things might have turned out otherwise. If only fate had not conspired against us. If only we had not been separated so cruelly. Or if you had not gone off to Spain when you did. If only—”

“If only you had not cast me aside so heartlessly?”

“Unkind.” She shook her head in reproach. “And hardly accurate.”

“Perhaps not.” Conrad shrugged. “My point, however, is that we both have plenty to regret.”

“And
my
point is that it's a waste of time to reproach ourselves over things we cannot alter. We are what we are. We can neither escape our nature, nor ever completely undo what's been done to us. We can but try to rise above it. Have you not said so yourself?”

“Possibly.”

“I think, if we are lucky, we may find that we succeed in reining in our errant tempers more times than not. It's not the falling down that matters, it's the being willing to pick ourselves up again and again.”

“Very true,” Conrad said. “Yes.
Very
true. And, do you know what? I thank you. That was very much what I needed to hear tonight.”

Georgia stiffened as he came toward her, his arms outspread. If he hugged her now, if he got too close, would he be able to sense the wrongness in her? Would the next sound out of his mouth be a deadly snarl? A howl of disbelief? Or would he kill her so swiftly, she'd never hear it coming?

Conrad clasped her shoulders lightly, briefly, long enough to press one quick kiss upon her forehead. “I thank you for reminding me of that, my dear. You are always so good for me.” Smiling, he let her go and then headed for the door. “Now, I will leave you to get back to what's left of your night. I apologize for having disturbed you.” He pulled the door open, then paused to look back at her. “But perhaps we might find time, in the next few days, to sit and talk with one another? I miss our chats.”

“I…of course. Indeed. I'll look forward to it.”

“As will I.” And as quick as that, he was gone.

Georgia stared speechless at the door as it closed behind him, then rushed to lock it. She sagged against the wood for a moment, thanking her lucky stars that she was still alive, wondering for how much longer she could keep up the pretense, and why she even bothered. The outcome would be as ugly as it was inevitable.

She couldn't help but wonder what Conrad would want to talk to her about. Perhaps she was reading too much into his remarks. It was possible he had no ulterior motive, that he actually meant what he'd said. After all, she also missed being able to sit and talk with him, without the constant fear that she'd do or say something and give herself away. She missed that quite a lot, in fact.

“So. You wish that you and Conrad had never been separated, do you?” Christian lounged in the bedroom doorway, arms crossed. His eyes practically sparked with anger. “How very touching. Although, I do have to wonder, where would that have left me?”

Georgia sighed. “Don't start. Of course there are things I wish had been different, why would I not? If you reach my age and cannot say the same, I shall be very much surprised.”

“
If
I reach your age?” Christian laughed angrily. “Yes, well, with the way things are going, I should be very surprised by that myself.”

And whose fault will that be?
The old familiar bitterness washed over her, but Georgia was too tired to argue. What was the use? What could either of them say on the subject that they had not already said hundreds of times before? Reproaches
were
a waste of time, as were regrets. Life was what it was.

“Well, I don't know why,” she said instead. “With just a little forethought and proper planning, I know of no reason why you should not live for a very long time indeed.”

Christian frowned. “Really? And how is this? Has a miracle occurred of which I'm unaware? Have you a brilliant new plan you've yet to share with me?”

“Nothing so dramatic. I've merely been giving the matter some thought. It occurred to me that this need only be
my
problem. There's no reason
both
of us should be made to suffer. When I am found out, I've decided 'twould best for you to pretend ignorance. You must act as shocked as everyone else; claim that I lied, that I told you nothing. What is there to suggest otherwise? You display no symptoms, after all. So long as you're careful and do nothing to pass on the disease to anyone else, there's no reason anyone should ever suspect the truth.”

“
When
you're found out?” Christian repeated. “You speak of it as though it were a foregone conclusion.”

Georgia shrugged again. “I think it's best to face facts, don't you? We've had a good run, you and I. We've staved off this doom for quite some time, but the truth is, it's always been inevitable. As things stand now, it will probably happen sooner rather than later. My health is deteriorating. Indeed, it's a miracle I've avoided detection as long as I have.”

“So that's it then? You're giving up?”

“I'm only trying to be practical, to give you a plan for the future. Would you prefer I abandon you to your fate?”

“What you term practical, I call defeatist.”

“Christian…”

“No! I will not listen to any more of this. What has changed all of a sudden? Where's my warrior queen, the woman who would face down armies? She would never give up like this—
never
—not if there was even the slightest chance of winning through.”

“She's tired,” Georgia snapped. “That's what's happened to her! She sees this fight for what it is—a losing battle, one she cannot
ever
win. And she grows weary of this…this endless subterfuge.”

Christian snorted in disbelief. “Does she now? And I'm sure that has nothing to do with Conrad, does it? With his visit here tonight, with the feelings he always stirs up in her.”

“So we're back to that already? Honestly, Christian, this jealousy is absurd. What do you even know of my…of my feelings for Conrad?”