Fallen Embers (30 page)

Rupert hissed in rage. His fist flashed through the air to land in Damian's face, so hard it knocked him out cold. Conrad heard the crunch of bone as Damian's cheekbone shattered. He could smell the blood as his face was split open. And, in that same instant, all his restraint, everything he had ever used to hold the beast in check, dissolved.

He launched himself at Rupert and knocked him to the floor. All of Georgia's warnings were forgotten, everything she'd said about keeping his temper, staying alert, staying safe and alive… But it no longer mattered. Perhaps it was his love for Damian that made him the stronger. Perhaps it was nothing more than his training, thousands of battles fought over the course of hundreds of years. Or perhaps, they owed what happened next to the beast itself—finally set free to act as it pleased, spoiling for a real contest after centuries of being denied.

Only one thing was certain. In that moment, Conrad was Conrad no longer. He was Quintano once again. Quintano the killer. Quintano the monster. Quintano the warrior who knew nothing of fear or mercy, who knew nothing of what it meant to lose a battle. And who wouldn't have cared if he did. Win or lose, it didn't matter. It was all the same, as long as someone died.

The fight didn't last very long; Quintano was in no mood to tarry. It was not in his nature to taunt his opponents. It was not in his nature to inflict pain for pain's sake. His opponent got only one strike in, a slice that tore Conrad's sleeve and left a gash across his arm. The pain barely registered. And then he had him where he wanted him, pinned to the floor.

Was there fear in Rupert's eyes when he realized his death was upon him? Did he try to scream in agony as Quintano ripped his throat out—as a prelude to tearing his head from his body and ensuring he was well and truly dead?

If he had, Quintano didn't notice. He'd never been one to take his time, and tonight was no exception. As was his custom, he fought to win, not to wound. He cared only that his victims died, as quickly as he could manage it, as thoroughly and efficiently as possible. Taking hold of Rupert's head, he dashed it against the marble tiles 'til it broke apart. Then he seized his corpse by the shoulders and began to feed. He drank deep and long and didn't think to stop until there was no more for him to take.

He was reeling from the bloodlust, from the influx of power, from the mingling of bloodlines and the vast surges of energy coursing through him.

Damian.

The thought pulled Conrad back from the brink. He cast one last look at what remained of Rupert, one look to satisfy himself the man was indeed dead beyond all hope of recovery, then he rose to his feet and raced to Damian's side.

His lover was slumped on the floor, his arms still bound behind him, alive—thank the heavens—but seemingly unconscious. The two guards stood motionless, as though afraid to even breathe. Conrad glared at them. “Cut him free,” he ordered. He fell to his knees and then carefully brushed the hair from Damian's face. He was relieved to see that the damage Rupert had inflicted on Damian was already healing. His skin had knit itself back together and Conrad had no doubt his bones were doing likewise.

One of the guards produced a knife with which he cut the rope that held Damian's wrists. Conrad waited, impatiently, until he was finished. Then he gathered Damian into his arms, taking note, as he did, of the bite marks, still leaking blood and venom, across the back of one shoulder. Those would leave scars.

“¿
Caro?
Are you all right? Speak to me,” he pleaded, willing Damian to respond.

Damian groaned. His eyes fluttered open, slowly, reluctantly. Then his gaze found Conrad's face and he was instantly awake, gasping in alarm, struggling to sit up. Conrad tightened his grip to hold him in place. “Stay where you are,” he ordered. “You've not yet recovered your strength.”

“But,
querido
…”

“Damian! Do as I say!”

“But you're injured!”

Conrad shook his head. “No, I'm not. I'm quite well. It's
you
who've been injured.”

“But the blood…”

Blood? One arm still burned like fire with the venom from Rupert's bite, but he was used to such things. “It's nothing, just a scratch.”

“A scratch! You look like you've bathed in an
abattoir
!”

What? Conrad looked down at himself. His clothes were indeed a gory mess. Rupert's end may have been quick, but it had not been clean, and he had not died peacefully. “Well, you're no better off yourself. I fear between us we've made something of a mess of our host's fine hall. Although…” A thought struck him and he glanced around him in surprise, taking it all in. It
was
fine, now that he thought about it. Was there anything here worth salvaging? Should he have the building razed, or keep it for his own use? With the increase in his House, he could use a place where more than a few of his people could gather at once. He was tired of having his privacy disturbed by visitors and uninvited guests. “Since it's now my hall, I doubt anyone will dare complain.”

“
Your
hall?” Damian raised his head to look around. “But where is…? Oh.” He caught sight of Rupert and quickly turned away, shuddering with disgust. “
Dios mio
.”

The look on Damian's face struck at Conrad's nerves. “Do not curl your lip like that,” he snapped. Then he jumped to his feet, bringing Damian up with him.

Damian's eyes were once again wide with fear, but he said nothing, meekly allowing Conrad to grab him by the arm and pull him over to where Rupert lay.

“Look at him!” Conrad ordered. “Look well. For
that
is how an
Invitus
kills. And
that
is what he would have done to you, if I had not killed him first.”

A dozen set of eyes were focused on him—Rupert's people, now his. They watched and they waited. Conrad could feel their emotions. Some felt relief or grim satisfaction. Some feared the punishment they were sure was to come. A few felt hopeful. No one grieved.

“What did you think you were doing by coming here tonight?” Conrad demanded.

Damian hung his head. “I'm sorry,
querido
. I was just… I was
worried
. I needed to ensure for myself that you were safe.”

“Safe?” Conrad snarled. It was absurd, almost laughable. “If you'd wanted me safe, you should have stayed well away. It is because of
you
that I was in danger in the first place!”

It was almost enough to make Conrad regret that he hadn't listened to Georgia, that he hadn't listened to Rupert. He
should
have trained his people better. No one should have to deal with this level of insubordination.

“Must I make every request an order?”

“I'm sorry,” Damian repeated. Raising his head, he gazed earnestly at Conrad, his expression agonized. “But, I could
not
have stayed at home. No, not even if you'd have ordered it. I couldn't
bear
the thought of you coming here all alone. Who knew what you'd be facing? What if it were a trap you were walking into? What then?”

But Conrad had stopped listening. The hurried sound of footsteps approaching had caught his ear. Georgia. He'd almost forgotten about her.

From the moment she appeared, it was clear Georgia knew something had gone terribly wrong. Her gaze swept the room before coming to land on Conrad. “Conrad,” she gasped as a little of the tension left her frame. Clearly she was relieved to see him still standing. Then her glance fell on Rupert, and her expression changed to one of utter devastation. She raised a shaking hand to cover her mouth and whispered, “Oh, no. Oh, no. Oh, what have you done?”

Waves of emotion rolled from her as she hurried forward. Here, at last, was someone who felt true grief for Rupert's death, along with sorrow and despair. And that person was the last person from whom Conrad had expected to feel it. Had she been misleading him all along? Had she really not wanted Rupert dead?

As Conrad stared in speechless confusion, Georgia sank to the floor. Tears filled her eyes as she stared at her master's corpse. She reached out a hand and gingerly touched his blood-soaked throat. “Gone. All gone.”

“Georgia?”

She glanced up at Conrad and asked in stricken tones, “Oh, Conrad. Could you not have left even a little for me? How am I ever to be free now?”

How indeed? The truth hit Conrad full in the chest, like a blow from a well-aimed lance. He had failed her. She could
never
be free now. Or, at least, that was a day
he
would never live to see. For Georgia to be free, Conrad would have to die. No, even that would not necessarily do it. For Georgia to be free—truly free and secure in her freedom—she would have to kill him.

With his newly acquired power, the combined strength he now wielded, the odds of that happening were almost infinitesimal. He would have to be ill, injured, almost dead…even then it would be a risky business.

Stunned and remorseful, Conrad let go of Damian. He stepped quickly over the mess that had been Rupert. Then he reached down and pulled Georgia up from the floor.

Mindless of the blood he was wearing, he wrapped her in his arms, anxious to offer what comfort he could. “Oh, my dear heart. I am sorry. I never meant for this to happen.”

“Why did you not wait? Why did you kill him so thoroughly? Could you not have held out for just a few more minutes? Could you not at least have saved some of his blood for me?”

“I didn't mean to kill him—believe me. Indeed, I was beginning to think I would never succeed in getting him to fight at all. All my attempts at goading him fell short. But then he threatened Damian and I…I lost all control. The beast took over and I…I have no other defense. I'm sorry.”

“Damian?” Georgia lifted her head. She leaned around Conrad to glare at Damian. “But why is
he
here? Why would you bring him with you knowing the danger?”

“I didn't,” Conrad snapped. “I wouldn't. I expressly told him not to come.”

“You told him not to come,” Georgia repeated his words woodenly, as though she could not make sense of the words. “You told him not to come? I do not understand what you're saying. How did he come to be here then? Do your people not follow your orders? How is this possible?”

Conrad had no answer to that. How could he explain that he hadn't precisely “ordered” Damian not to come—in retrospect a huge mistake—without making it sound as though he hadn't taken her concerns about tonight seriously enough? He knew most sires insisted on strict discipline and blind obedience; he rarely bothered with such things. He'd thought it was enough to make his wishes known. And, as a result, he'd stolen her freedom and betrayed the trust she'd placed in him.

“It's true,” Damian said, coming to stand beside Conrad. “I came here of my own volition. I had to satisfy myself that he was not walking into a trap.” As he spoke, he laid one hand on Conrad's shoulder and leaned against him, as close as he could get, making the intimacy between them as obvious as possible. His other hand held tight to Conrad's sleeve. “You will forgive me for saying so, I hope, but while Conrad trusts you, Mistress Georgia, I fear I do not know you well enough yet to share that sentiment.”

Conrad sighed. Damian was jealous and staking his claim. At any other time, Conrad might have found his actions amusing, even endearing. At the moment, he just found them tedious.

Fury sparked in Georgia's eyes. “So it was
you
I have to thank for this. And…because you do not trust me? Well, it is just as well you do not! And you may rest assured that I shall give you little enough cause to do so in the future. I shall
never
forget what you've done tonight. Never. And, however long it takes, I
shall
find a way to repay you!”

“
Muchasmas gracias, señora
,” Damian replied, with every appearance of disaffected calm. “I thank you for the warning. It is so helpful to know where one stands, is it not?”

“Stop it. Both of you.” Conrad spoke mildly, letting just enough power bleed into his voice to make the words a command. Much as he sympathized with Georgia's outrage, he could not allow her to make threats against Damian.

Georgia's mouth twisted into a bitter grimace. “And so it begins. I see I have exchanged one master for another. What next, my lord? Now that I am but a slave to your will. Would you have me thank this graceless whelp for his interference? Or perhaps I should apologize for having inconvenienced him in the first place?”

Damian shrugged. “I suppose an apology would be acceptable. You may begin by addressing me correctly, however, for I was born into nobility as you, I suspect, were not.”

“You dare?” Georgia's voice shook with rage. Conrad had a very good idea that if he were not holding her, she might have lunged at Damian.

“Damian, I said enough!” Clearly, it was going to take a good deal of practice if he wished to make
anyone
obey him. Conrad cast a glance around the room, then raised his voice. “Leave us,” he told the assembled vampires. Then he turned to the guards, still standing a few feet away and gestured at Rupert's remains. “You two. Clean up this mess.”

“She speaks as though you did not do everyone a favor by killing that
perro hijueputa
,” Damian complained, watching dispassionately as the guards dragged Rupert's body away.

“Be quiet,” Conrad ordered. He turned to Georgia. “I do not make slaves of my people,
ciccia
. If you do not know this by now, you should.”

Georgia sighed. “I know. You have a reputation for being a most forbearing master. And I will not deny that my situation has improved somewhat as a result of today's events, but…”