Dark Needs at Night’s Edge (Immortals After Dark #5)(7)
Author: Kresley Cole

He stumbled to his feet. Confusion appeared to mount within him. "Someone’s here. Real?" His voice sounded even raspier than last night.

"Conrad, be calm," she said slowly.

His eyes glowed a deeper red. "Show – yourself!" Could he possibly be responding to her words? Or did he merely have some kind of vampire’s sense that he wasn’t alone?

With a low growl, he backed against the wall as he worked on the manacles. Finally he looped his bound hands under his feet to bring them forward. Seeming to relish the chance to fight, he intently scanned the room for an enemy, for a kill.

As Néomi hovered about him, waving her hand in front of his face, his eyes darted wildly, his head jerking right, then left. Frowning, she brandished her forefinger, stabbing his eye, passing straight through it.

He didn’t blink.

She floated backward as if pushed. He can’t see me. Heavy disappointment settled over her.

Beautiful female? Just the ramblings of a madman. She’d seized on the words no matter how unlikely they were because she’d been desperate.

The elation of the night had set her up for the bitterest disappointment. She gave one last frantic wave at his eyes –

He snapped his teeth, the sound like a bear trap; she reacted with a startled cry and raised her hands, shoving him away, sending him like a cannonball into the high-backed chair. When the chair slammed into the opposite wall, it collapsed from the impact, exploding into a cloud of splinters, tufts of upholstery filler, and plaster.

Battling to be freed from the shambles, he yelled in a foreign language, what had to be oaths. Yet he appeared to like the violence – or at least to be accustomed to it.

"Conrad… wait!" she managed to bite out. Where are the brothers? With their syringes? Yes, the three men were in and out, but they were never gone long.

Once he made it to his feet, he began tearing through the room, banging on the walls with his chained hands, knocking holes in the brittle plaster.

"Stop hurting… my house!"

He didn’t. Instead, he snatched up the fireplace tools and swung them round, chucking them with so much force that the poker embedded itself into the brick of the fireplace, bobbing there. When his frenzied gaze landed on the defenseless nightstand, she said, "No closer."

Conrad charged for it. Without thinking, she swept him up to the ceiling. He closed his eyes tight, then opened them, seeming astounded to be still regarding the floor.

He thrashed and fought her hold. He was strong, and soon she was forced to drop him, more hastily than she’d intended – he landed flat on his face. When he rose, she saw that his forehead was gushing blood into his eyes and alongside his nose.

She hadn’t meant to hurt him! "Dieu, je regrette!"

"Conrad!" Nikolai yelled from downstairs, appearing in the doorway a split second later. He swept a baffled glance over the chaotic scene. "What the hell are you – "

Nikolai never finished his question because Conrad swung his bound arms at him. As though hit by a battering ram, Nikolai flew out of the room and over the landing to the first floor.

Conrad charged out the door with a wide-eyed Néomi right behind him. Though his speed was still superhuman, he was slower than he’d been last night – even with his ankles free. They’d already weakened him drastically.

Chapter 3

As Nikolai lumbered to his feet, Sebastian stood on the stairs, arms outstretched. But Conrad planted his chained hands on the railing and leapt down, evading any contact. When he turned toward the front entry, he found Murdoch barring his way.

Nikolai yelled, "Conrad, it’s impossible for you to leave! Damn it, the sun!"

What would happen to Conrad in the direct light of day? She gasped when he charged Murdoch, tackling him into the mahogany front doors. They wrenched one completely free of its hinges, flattening it onto the front porch.

Just before they surged into the morning sun, Murdoch traced back to the protective cover of the porch; Conrad continued. Should she try to stop him?

Nikolai started to follow, but Sebastian snatched his shirt and lugged him back to the shade. "He won’t get far, Nikolai."

Néomi stood beside the brothers. Out of habit, she shaded her eyes as the four of them watched Conrad racing down the drive. I didn’t mean to drop him like that. He must be so bewildered.

"He’s going to burn," Nikolai said, sounding in pain.

Just as Néomi had, Murdoch put his hand to his forehead. "And then he’s going to learn."

The sun sears his eyes as if they’ve been doused with acid. Fight on. The bayou is just down the drive, then across the road. He can scent the dark water.

His skin begins to burn. He grits his teeth against the pain.

Bayou just across the road. He can make it, could survive in the shade there. Flames growing.

He nears the property line. Gaining distance away from whatever entity seems bent on tormenting him. A being he can’t see to fight, with no throat to savage. A disembodied voice had echoed all around him.

Almost there… Burning… burning…

Suddenly his sight goes black; a force shoves him back on his ass. Once his vision clears, his eyes widen. Crumbling blue walls surround him. He yells in disbelief. Confusion wells.

The same bedroom! He’s in… the same goddamned room.

Crouched on the floor, he knocks his head against the wall again and again until the needle pierces his arm.

4

Something is happening to the patient.

Over the last week, Néomi had begun noticing an eerie awareness in those red eyes that wasn’t there before, the blankness in his gaze receding with each day.

And she would know. She’d done little else but study him since his bizarre return, seldom retiring to her own room – her secret studio, hidden downstairs. Even now as Conrad lay in the bed once more, sleeping, she floated above the end of his mattress, continuing her vigil.

When he’d returned that first morning, he’d been raging, banging his head against the wall as if to blunt whatever was inside his mind. Plaster had snowed down on him and stuck to his bloody cheeks. Once the brothers had rechained him – tethering him to the bed this time – Conrad had been unreachable, drugged and muttering foreign words in his low, harsh voice.

To be fair, she would’ve been addled, too. One moment she’d been watching him running, the next she’d heard his unholy roar just upstairs.

No longer was Néomi the only one trapped here. Apparently, witches truly had put a boundary spell on Elancourt. As long as Conrad wore those chains, he couldn’t cross the property line. The chains also rendered it impossible for him to teleport – or trace, as they called it.

Néomi couldn’t put her finger on exactly when she’d first sensed a change in him. Whenever his brothers had spoken to him, Conrad had muttered incoherently, and yet she’d begun to get the feeling that he was… coherent. At least intermittently.