To Curse the Darkness (15 page)

“Tell us about Georgia,” Julie prompted quietly. “What changed when you met her?”

“What changed?” Conrad glanced up at her in surprise. “Why,
everything
changed, child. I told you that already. It was Georgia who taught me that I did not have to kill in order to survive, that I could take what I needed without causing injury or even pain. That there was still more to me than just an unreasoning beast. Even that it was possible to mostly keep the beast in check. You could have no idea how much that meant to me. Here at last was someone I could learn from, someone who had been through a similar ordeal and yet had somehow managed to rise above it. From that first night we met…nothing was ever the same. In truth, she saved my life that night. None of you would be here now if it weren't for her. I doubt I would still be alive myself.”

“Did you ever go back to your mistress?”

“No. Again, how could I have gone back to that savagery? Even when I believed Georgia was dead, when I thought I'd have to wander the earth alone for the rest of eternity, I refused to return to that hellish existence.”

“Your mistress must have wanted you to. Didn't it hurt you to resist?”

“What of it? Do you think that mattered to me? I welcomed the pain. Whatever discomfort I felt at defying her orders, it was as nothing compared to the suffering I knew would await me were I to return.”

Damian's heart stalled at the savage fury in his lover's face. He wished desperately that there were some way to subtly urge Julie out of the way, but he was paralyzed by the fear that any movement on his part, any sound, would set Conrad off.

“It wasn't until much later—when I felt her hold on me begin to weaken and I knew that she was dying—that I sought her out. At that point there was nothing on this earth that could have stopped me from returning.” Conrad's voice held all the finality of a solemn vow. “Had I been in chains, I would have found a way to free myself—even at the cost of cutting off my own arm. I crossed deserts to get to her, traveled day and night and thought nothing of it. I would have walked through fire, and done so gladly, all for the chance of making certain she was dead.”

Chapter Twelve

Desierto de Tabernas

Late Fourteenth Century

The late-afternoon sun cast its glittering rays over the harsh landscape, nearly obscuring the narrow, rock-strewn path that angled upward to cut diagonally across the westward facing cliff side. Quintano's eyes were dazzled by the glare. He was all but blinded as he started his ascent, but he forged ahead just the same.

What did it matter that he couldn't see with any degree of clarity where he was going? It wasn't as though he knew the precise location of the cave he was seeking anyway. As long as he did not lose his footing and fall into the ravine, he would eventually reach his destination. Always assuming he was not merely chasing after shadows.

With no time for maps or study, and no money to offer in exchange for information, he lacked factual evidence there even
was
a cave, that it could be accessed from this path or that his quarry awaited within. But he knew he could not be mistaken.

He could feel her vile, disgusting presence in every cell of his body. Recalling how that had come to be only fueled the angry need that drove him.

It was her blood that ran in his veins. Her blood that had made him a monster, that had kept him alive even when he'd prayed for death. That was the reason he could sense her. She had taken away his natural life and made him what he was: her creature bound to do her bidding, no matter what. But not anymore.

Tonight would see the end of his bondage—one way or the other. He would not rest until he'd returned the “favor” she'd done him. He would not be content 'til he'd ended her unnatural existence and tossed her lifeless body off the cliff and into the desert below. Let the jackals or the vultures or whatever scavenging creatures liked to make their homes in such desolate spots make a meal of her. It was probably a better end than she deserved, but sadly he'd never developed a taste for torture. He would gain nothing by sinking to her level. Any end—as long as there was no coming back from it—would be enough to satisfy him.

As he inched his cautious way along the path, a thought occurred and made him pause. Perhaps it would be more prudent if he waited until nightfall to make this final approach. His target would be more easily acquired then. He would be stronger after dark.

But then again, so would she.

Lavinia
. He wondered what she was up to. Could she sense him in the same way he sensed her? Had she recognized him yet? Had she begun to know what it was to feel fear? Or had she deluded herself into believing he'd show her mercy? If he closed his eyes he could almost see her, hunkered down in her cave amid the bones and boulders, waiting for him, licking her lips in anticipation…

No. He could not delay. Prudence was a luxury he could not afford. He needed to get to her now, before anyone else did or before she regained any more of her strength. A delay of even several hours could prove deadly.

His mind made up, he started moving forward once again. If only he knew what had occurred to precipitate this crisis. He'd gone years without thinking of her. That hated voice in his head, that sense of her inside him, squatting like a parasite within his mind, had ceased to bother him centuries earlier.

He never knew why. Perhaps she'd grown bored when all her attempts to bend him to her will had failed to yield any discernible results. Perhaps she'd assumed he'd been captured and imprisoned and was thus unable to follow her orders and return. Perhaps she'd simply found other forms of entertainment to pursue, and so had forgotten all about him.

He didn't actually care what the reason was. He'd been happy—supremely so—to be ignored and overlooked. He'd devoutly wished he might remain so indefinitely. Had he been overly optimistic to imagine he could be that lucky? Yes, undoubtedly. But it was a worthy aim, and with that in mind, yes, he'd been prudent. He'd taken care to keep as low a profile as he could and never stray too close to the borders of her territory.

Otherwise, however, he'd mostly done as he pleased, which left him as free as anyone who was not truly his own master ever could be.

That had all changed a fortnight ago when Lavinia's foul voice had returned to plague his thoughts. This time, however, there was one crucial difference, staggering in its implications. He could tell right away that she was dying, and he was gripped by a vicious, insatiable need to be there. Not just to witness her demise, no, but to be the cause of it.

He'd almost set off that very night, but the urge was too sharp, too sudden, too inexplicable; he didn't trust it. So he'd forced himself to wait, to think things through.

Much as he would rejoice at her death, did he really want to risk gambling away his hard-won freedom for the selfish satisfaction of knowing that
his
was the hand that dealt the final blow? Only a fool would wager so large a stake on so small and meaningless a victory. He might be willing to kill her, he might even find enjoyment in the act, but it was hardly a necessity. If she was truly going to die, she could do so on her own, without any help from him.

As much as he hated her, he had not quite lost his mind. There was a possibility—slim, but present nonetheless—that this could be some sort of trap. If it was, and he would not put anything past her, it would be best not to even appear cognizant of the bait.

He had good reason to be wary of her and all the loathsome power she'd once wielded over him. He'd been lucky to have gotten away from her. Against enormous odds he'd found a way to circumvent her hold on him. It seemed highly unlikely he'd be equally lucky a second time around.

On the other hand, what if his luck had already run out?

If he stayed away, how could he be sure what the outcome would be? What if she didn't have the decency to just die of her injuries? What if someone else were to kill her and inherit her power, and thus gain control over him? Someone more subtle than she, whose ways were as yet unknown to him. Someone whose snares he might fail to discern until it was too late.

A great heaviness had settled on his spirits when at last he recognized the truth. Inaction was not a viable answer. There was only one way to preserve his freedom, and that was to have no master at all. And so it seemed that killing her would not be a small and meaningless victory after all. It would, in fact, be everything.

A vicious hunger burned within Quintano's bones as he slogged uphill, the ache made worse by the sunlight, the parched landscape and even his own growing exhaustion. For once in his life, however, he welcomed the discomfort it brought. He wanted the beast unhinged, wild, and desperate for nourishment—desperate not just for any blood, but for
her
blood, the blood of his maker. Hopefully, that need would be enough to see him through the next few hours. Enough to make him lose all control once he finally had her in his sights. Enough to ensure he attacked her, no matter what, without fear or reservation, even if it seemed all chance to kill her had passed.

As well it might have done.

In the last few days, he'd felt her growing stronger. At first he wasn't certain what he was feeling. He'd hoped it was merely that, as the distance dwindled between them, he could sense her more strongly. Now he knew that was not the case. She was regaining her strength. She was clawing her way back from the brink of death. If she recovered too much before he reached her, all would be lost.

That thought alone was almost enough to make him turn tail and run.

But he could not bear the thought of returning to a life of servitude and degradation at her hands. If the only way to ensure her death was to throw them both off the cliff, he would make that leap.

The path before him dwindled away to the narrowest of trails, forcing him to proceed even more slowly. He growled impatiently. She was almost within his grasp, so close he could all but feel her excitement. How else to explain the sense of anticipation—separate from his own—that hummed now through his veins? That eagerness that caused her heart to race, and his own to beat in tandem with it? His empty stomach roiled, not just with hunger now, but also with dread.

She knew he was coming—and she wasn't afraid. That could not be good.

Still, with no other plan to fall back upon, he continued to forge ahead, silently cursing the arid landscape. Out of all the places in the world where she could have chosen to hide out, why had she picked so inhospitable a spot to go to ground?

His footsteps faltered as he thought about it. Because, of course, she hadn't
actually
picked it…had she? The most logical explanation—the one that had seemed so obvious he hadn't even bothered to question it until now—was that her being here was happenstance. She'd been chased here; she'd come here out of desperation; what other explanation could there be?

No one would have come here by choice…would they? Weak as she'd been when he first became aware of her, the environment alone could have killed her. The fact that it hadn't, that was nothing more than luck…or was it something more?

Why was she still here then? Why wasn't she dead?

He paused once again to ponder the matter. There could be many reasons why she might have survived initially. Perhaps her pursuer had lost her trail or given up the chase. Perhaps he'd met with an unfortunate accident. Perhaps she'd stumbled across food, conveniently weak and undefended, at just the right time…

All those scenarios were possible, but none of them explained why Lavinia would have continued to tarry here once the danger had passed. And the danger had to have passed, because nothing else could explain why she seemed to be flourishing.

Something was keeping her here. Either she was trapped and unable to leave, which seemed unlikely, or this
was
a trap—just as he'd originally feared. Her improved condition suggested the latter. In fact, the more he thought about it, the more certain he became.

Injured, alone, desperate for nourishment and safety, she must have laid a trap for those she knew could not resist coming after her. And Quintano was not the first to have fallen into it.

Someone else had come here before him. Someone who had fallen by her hand and whose blood she'd spilled to save her life—just as Darkness had always done.

We sacrifice your lives that we might prolong our own…

Fear clawed at his innards. Momentarily lightheaded, he leaned against the sun-warmed rock while he considered his next move. Should he do the prudent thing—retreat and hope she forgot about him once again? Or should he forge foolishly ahead, pinning his hopes on the slim chance that he could still overpower her?

It didn't take him long to reach a decision. A fool he might be, but he hadn't come all this way for nothing. He couldn't go back to the life he'd been living—that path was closed to him. If he ran now, he'd be forever on the run, always looking over his shoulder, wondering when and from whence the next threat would come.

He took a deep, shuddering breath, then let go the fear. What would be would be. If his life was to end tonight, so be it. So long as he could take her soul to hell along with his own, he'd die content. With that thought uppermost in mind, he drew his sword and continued up the path toward the cave where he knew he'd find her, toward whatever destiny awaited him.

Chapter Thirteen

Big Sur, California

“Come on, what's taking so long?” Marc asked, pacing restlessly around the half-empty room. “Aren't you finished yet?”

Elise looked up from the open box in front of her. She glanced around the room, making a point to allow her gaze to linger on all the items that remained. “Does it look like I am? No. I am not, okay? Why? Are we on a timetable? What's your rush?”

“I don't know. Just restless, I guess. I'm anxious to get back.” He sat on her sofa, drawing her attention to the fact that there was no way they were going to be able to get her furniture into his car. It suddenly occurred to her he hadn't said anything about hiring a truck—or extra muscle. Did he have a plan at all, or was he expecting her to leave most of her belongings behind? She'd already done that once, not too many months ago. She really hadn't planned on going there again. And definitely not so soon!

“Damn it.” She sat back on her heels and glared balefully at him. She should have found out what he was thinking before she'd said yes to him.

“What now?” he asked with an exaggerated show of patience.

“What's the plan for getting my furniture out of here?” she asked, feeling more than a little resentful. It had taken months to get the place finally looking and feeling like home.

“Wait a minute. The furniture's yours too?” Marc asked in disbelief.

“Yes, of course. Who'd you think it belonged to?”

“I don't know. I…I guess I assumed you'd rented this place furnished, or something.”

“Well, I didn't.”

“Are you kidding me? You managed to accumulate all this stuff in just a few months' time, and yet you still don't have a phone?”

Ah, so that's what this is all about
. “Look, sugar, it is not
my
fault that you forgot to pack a charger when you set out on this little mission to kidnap me. Your phone's dead. Deal with it.”

Marc ran his hand through his hair. “I know it's not your fault. I never said it was. But, damn it, Elise, I am not kidnapping you. You know that, right?”

“Do I? Coulda fooled me.” Shaking her head, she went back to work, carefully packing her dishes so they wouldn't break. She loved her dishes, damn it. Each one had been handpicked and individually purchased from local thrift stores and antique shops. It didn't matter that she never planned to actually use them for food. They looked pretty on her shelves, and that made her happy. She could still recall how, back in the day, when she was still human, the idea of owning her own things, being able to plant her feet under her own table and eat off her own china had been an impossible dream—along with not having to break her back working in someone else's fields, not having to spend hours a day on her knees, scrubbing the floors of someone else's house. Only ladies had lived like this back then. She had
not
been a lady and never would be. So having this was not something she could ever take for granted. Nor was it something she ever again wanted to do without.

Besides, the dishes were practical as well as pretty. They would have come in very useful if she'd ever decided to invite guests over, and they went well with her coffee cups—and those she did use.

“Also, I told you already; I didn't want a phone. Why would I want something that could be used to trace me or help pinpoint my location? Who would I want to call? You are familiar with the concept of hiding out, aren't you?”

“Yes, I'm very familiar with it,” Marc snapped. “I spent most of my childhood moving from one untraceable location to another. I know all about burning bridges and cutting ties and not looking back, and still I don't
ever
recall it being this big a deal before.”

Elise stopped wrapping and stared at him. What the hell was he talking about? “Did you grow up in the witness protection program or something?”

“What?”

“Because, if you did, that would explain why you don't seem to understand how this works. I'm pretty sure they have entire teams that help move you.”

Marc's face had gone oddly blank—like even he was startled by his story. “No, I… Fuck,” he muttered as he turned away. “Never mind. Just hurry up, okay?”

Elise studied him thoughtfully, watching as he raked his hand through his hair again—a gesture she was rapidly coming to recognize as being a major “tell”. “So what are you anxious about? And don't pretend it's just garden variety restlessness, because I'm not buying it.”

“I don't know.” He sighed. “I have a bad feeling, that's all. It's probably nothing.”

Uh-oh
. “A bad feeling? What does that mean? Are you psychic or something?”

“No.” Marc snorted. “Not that I know of. I just really want to get back on the road.”

“Because…?”

“Because I feel like there's danger. Like something's wrong.”

“Danger? Where? You don't mean here?” Maybe she'd dismissed the notion someone else could be after her too quickly.

“I don't know. Maybe, but I don't think so. It feels more like it's at home. But it's making me crazy because I feel like I should be there dealing with it, instead of being here doing nothing, just twiddling my thumbs waiting on you.”

“Hey, if you want to leave, go right ahead. Don't let me stop you; I'll just stay here. I didn't ask for you to come ‘save' me. I was doing just fine on my own.”

Marc glared at her. “Cute. But we've had this conversation before. You know I can't leave you behind.”

“You mean you're not going to.”

“Same thing.”

“Not really.” It had been worth a try, she supposed, even though she couldn't honestly say she was too broken up by the fact that he wouldn't leave her. Especially not if it turned out he was right and there was some dangerous situation going on. And probably he
was
right. She'd known enough presentient people in her life to have developed a good deal of respect for them. She'd learned the hard way not to discount those “bad feelings” such people got from time to time.

She glanced around her snug little cottage once again and sighed sadly. She hated the idea of leaving it all behind. She wouldn't go so far as to say she'd been happy there, but she hadn't been completely
un
happy either, and at least she'd always felt safe—right up until now.

Ironic, really. As Marc seemed to love reminding her, the ease with which he'd found her meant that she clearly hadn't been as safe as she'd assumed after all. Maybe that realization was the reason for her change of mood, or maybe his restlessness was rubbing off on her. She was suddenly edgy too, feeling more helpless by the moment. “I don't know what to do. It's going to take too long to pack everything, and we can't fit it all in your car anyway. But I don't want to leave it all behind either.”

“How about this.” Marc crossed the room and crouched by her side. “What if we leave everything here for now. Just pack a couple of changes of clothes and anything you absolutely have to have, and then let's head back to the city. In a couple of days, after I get everything sorted out, I'll rent a van and I'll send some of my guys down here. They'll pack everything up for you and bring it all back to the city. That way, you'll have everything you need without having to lift a finger. How's that sound?”

“I guess it sounds all right.” Better than any of the alternatives she'd come up with. Reluctantly she got to her feet. If her life had taught her anything, it was the importance of knowing which battles to pick. This suddenly didn't seem like a good time to dig in her heels. “You promise they'll take everything though, right?”

“Yes. Absolutely. I promise.”

“Fine then. I'll go pack some clothes and we can leave. Happy?”

“Very much so. Thank you.”

This time, when Marc sighed in relief, Elise felt an echo within her own chest, as though she'd just released a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. “Anytime, sugar. Anytime.”

* * * * *

“Well? Is everything all right?” Julie chewed at a torn nail and watched as Christian peered through a microscope at a sample of her blood. “How does it look?” He was seated on a stool at his lab table, getting ready for the procedure that would help save Georgia's life—a procedure that was beginning to feel a lot more daunting to Julie with every passing minute. Christian's extended silence wasn't helping. Had he been wrong about her not being infected? What was he looking at anyway?

“It looks fine,” he said at last. “More than fine, really. It's actually quite remarkable.”

“Glad to hear it.” Julie sighed in relief, wishing the butterflies dancing and swooping around inside her would calm the fuck down. “So, tell me again why we can't just do a simple transfusion. You know, like you see on TV when there's a medical emergency? How they get people to come in and donate blood…” Julie's voice trailed off as she stopped to consider her audience. Given how old Christian was, who knew whether or not he actually watched TV. Maybe he'd never picked up the habit. “You do know what I'm talking about, right? TV, or…or movies, maybe? There's gotta be some movies like that too, I would think. Do you go to the movies at all?”

Christian shot her an exasperated glare. “Yes, I have been to the cinema,” he said as he spun around to face her. “I've been to the theater as well. And the opera. And a circus. And the ballet. Once I even visited a karaoke bar.”

“You did?”

“Yes. Is there a reason why we're discussing this particular subject right now?”

Julie shrugged. “I was just wondering. I wasn't sure if you understood what I was talking about.”

“I do hope you're not basing all of your medical knowledge on something you've seen on a screen of some sort. Because, if so, I must tell you that fictional portrayals of such things are rarely ever accurate.”

“I know that. I'm not entirely stupid, you know.” Julie sighed. Actually, now that she thought about it, he probably
didn't
know that. Why would he? She hadn't acted very smart around him. But was that really her fault? The fact that he was “family” had made her think it was okay to let down her guard a little. He'd certainly never given her the impression he was genius material either. In fact, he'd acted a little like an airhead most of the time. Had it been intentional, an effort to deceive her? Or had she only seen what she'd wanted to see?

What she'd seen was big, blond and easy on the eyes. He'd looked like the perfect distraction: someone fun and attractive, already in a relationship—and therefore unlikely to be expecting a commitment from her—and not nearly dangerous enough to qualify as a mistake. Exactly what she'd needed to take her mind off Brennan. She hadn't bothered to look beneath the surface, and maybe he'd taken advantage of that. In retrospect, it did seem like he'd gone out of his way to disarm her.

On the other hand, there'd been plenty of people who'd tried to warn her away from him. So, yeah, it probably was her fault. She should have known better.

She cast another glance in his direction, admiring the scenery and hoping to hell that she was not still letting
that
affect her judgment. Usually he reminded her of a Viking or a Norse god. But right now, here in the lab he'd set up in the spare bedroom of the suite he shared with Georgia, he put her more in mind of a charismatic, evil scientist. It was not a comforting connection to have made.

“I never said you were stupid, Julie. It just seemed like an odd time for this discussion.”

“It isn't really. The point I was making—that I'm still trying to make—is that maybe we don't have to reinvent the wheel. People have managed to transfer blood from one person to another long before tonight. They do it all the time, in fact, in hospitals across the world. And generally without biting, or pain, or the possibility of diseases being transferred to otherwise healthy people. I'm pretty sure that doesn't just happen in fiction.”

“You're right, of course. But you're talking about humans. I'm sure I don't have to remind you that vampire physiology is considerably different. It seems to me that Georgia stands a much better chance of benefiting from your blood—of having it be absorbed and integrated into her system, of having it actually help to heal her—if she receives it orally. If we were to try and introduce it directly into her bloodstream, on the other hand, I'm concerned about the effect it could have on her. I'm afraid her body might treat it as it would an infection or a toxin and attempt to fight it off. Given her already weakened condition, I wouldn't want to chance something like that happening. That much stress to her system could very well prove fatal.” He shot her an anguished look. “So while I do understand your reservations, I'd be very reluctant to try that method. I fear it would do more harm than good.”

Julie chewed on her lip. Reservations? Yeah, she had a few of those. And there was also some stuff she was “very reluctant” to try as well.

Right now, trying something that was beginning to sound a lot more dangerous and potentially painful than she'd originally thought it would be pretty much topped her personal no-fly list. The more she learned about this plan of Christian's, the less she liked it. “And there really isn't any other way? Are you sure?”

“If I knew of one, wouldn't I have suggested it?”

“I don't know. Would you have?”

Christian sighed. “I deserve that, I suppose. I realize I've given you little enough reason to trust me.”

“Ya think?” Julie rolled her eyes. “Let's recap for a minute. You lied to me. You pretended to be my friend just so you could get your hands on my blood and learn my so-called secrets—”