Dark Needs at Night’s Edge (Immortals After Dark #5)(31)
Author: Kresley Cole

This was exactly what made her so dangerous to him – she did make him imagine all the things that could be. Such as having her as his Bride.

His dream… her doom. He shook his head hard. The curse couldn’t touch her – even if it was real. She couldn’t physically be harmed. But he still wanted to go on the offensive with Tarut. "Néomi, when my brothers come back, you have to get the key."

She gave him a mysterious shrug that said everything and nothing. "I’m tired, mon grand. I’m going to sleep."

He spoke French fluently. Mon grand meant my big man. A teasing term of affection.

"Where do you go?" When he’d searched the house for her, he’d seen that the master bedroom had a few spare pieces of furniture, but that wasn’t where she went when she wasn’t with him. She had to have a secret hiding place.

"Oh, here and there."

"Will you come back tomorrow?"

She sauntered over to him. "Honestly, vampire" – with a wave of her hand, she brushed his hair from his forehead – "if you stay charming like this, how will I ever be able to stay away?" With that, she disappeared.

But she was coming back. Because she couldn’t help herself.

Suddenly Conrad found his lips curling.

18

"And we’d been doing so well… " Néomi muttered, which only angered Conrad more.

Over the last three days Conrad’s road to recovery hadn’t been straight and even – more curving, filled with hairpin turns and many double-backs.

They were presently on a double-back.

"Néomi, make the vow that you’ll get me the key!" He paced menacingly in front of the window seat she occupied. "My brothers will doubtless return tonight."

They were already a day overdue. "I’ve told you I don’t want to talk about this." Giving him his freedom wasn’t even an option for her. Murdoch had said that Conrad would relapse if released too soon, and she still feared he would attack his brothers if he went into a rage at the wrong time.

If her resolve wavered, she had only to remind herself that Conrad had spit blood at Nikolai’s face less than two weeks ago. For centuries, his loyal brothers had searched for him – Néomi wasn’t going to be the blunderheaded ghost who stupidly freed him just when he was 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.

Chapter 11

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 been in eighty years. Two broken souls together in this broken place had found a kind of contentment.