Old Sins, Long Shadow Page 21

  Which was a pretty fucking big assumption to be making, come to think of it. And just how in the hell did the venom factor into her plan? What was she doing with the damn stuff?

  “If you’re through pacing, there’s something I need to speak to you about.”

  Her cool voice had him snarling as he turned to face her. She was everything he despised, yet here he was, willingly putting himself under her thumb. Maybe it was true what they said about ferals, after all. Maybe he was fucking insane. It would explain a lot, come to think of it. “What?” he snapped—angry with her, more angry with himself.

  One eyebrow rose. “You might want to rephrase that. I suggest you start addressing me with proper respect. Unless, of course, you’d like me to rescind my offer of patronage?”

  Like hell she would. He thought about telling her so, but the hulk trio were eyeing him eagerly, clearly spoiling for a fight and he hadn’t come all this way to screw up now. “You’re no one’s sire yet,” he reminded her.

  She smiled. “Actually, that’s not completely true. But it is beside the point. I hear you’ve been having a little trouble keeping some of your people contained.”

  Heather. Nighthawk’s jaw clenched. The stupid bitch was gonna get them all killed. “Yeah? What’s your point?”

  “I understand one of Quintano’s people has become…involved.”

  Quintano? Fuck. If she was right, things were worse than he thought. “I’ll handle it.”

  “No. Don’t. I want you to let things run their course.”

  “What course is that?” he demanded angrily. “If she’s mixed up with one of Quintano’s people… You know he’ll put an end to it, once he finds out.” And an end to Heather as well.

  “Oh, I don’t think we need to worry about him.”

  “You don’t?” Nighthawk stared, shocked by the cool confidence in her smile, the glittering madness in her eyes. When Quintano was involved, everyone worried. “How do you figure?”

  She shook her head. “That’s not important. But since you’re so concerned, why not bring the girl here.” She turned to smile at the three men at her back. “I’m sure we’ll figure out a way to keep her safe and…entertained.”

  The cage, Nighthawk thought suppressing a shudder as the three goons chuckled. “Thanks, but I don’t think that’ll be necessary. I got it covered.”

  The goons laughed harder. The devil shook her head again. “I’ve no doubt you think so, but I’m afraid you misunderstand me. I wasn’t making a suggestion.”

  “Where the hell have you been?” Marc demanded, rising from the stoop in front of Elise’s house where he’d been seated, cooling his heels for far too long.

  She stopped in her tracks, eyebrows raised. “Marc. What are you—”

  “Don’t,” he snarled, cutting her off. She was surprised to see him here? Really? “Don’t you dare start that shit again. You know why I’m here.”

  Sighing, she brushed past him to fit her key in the lock. “What do you want?”

  He pushed her inside, shoved the door closed, pressed her up against the wall—uncomfortably aware it was becoming a pattern. “I want you to answer the question. Where were you tonight?”

  “I was out,” she answered, eyes heating as she gazed at him.

  “That much I figured out on my own. Where? Doing what? With whom?”

  “Remind me again. How is that any of your business?”

  As if she didn’t know. Growling, he lowered his head and kissed her—on the off chance she really didn’t know. Her lips were soft and warm; they parted beneath his almost instantly. Satisfaction unfurled within him. He figured he’d made his point. She knew. But she still hadn’t answered his question.

  “Where were you?” he asked again, planting his hands on the wall on either side of her head, lips sliding down her neck, teeth nipping softly at the tender flesh. “Tell me. Now.”

  Elise moaned. “Nowhere important. I was just…just…” And, suddenly, she was pushing him away. “Where were you?”

  “What?” Marc’s stared at her, taken aback by the savage light in her eyes. “What’s wrong?”

  “This is what’s wrong.” She grabbed hold of his wrist, tearing at his shirtsleeve until she’d bared his forearm. Venom streamed along her fangs—and he’d bet the house it wasn’t the feel-good kind. She dug the nail of her pointer finger into a spot on his wrist where a residual tenderness still lingered. “Who. Have. You. Been. With?”

  Heather. Memories of her tongue sliding over the marks she’d left on his wrist filled Marc’s mind, but it wasn’t that which caused his lips to curve into a small, disbelieving smile. Elise was jealous? Who’d’ve guessed? He gazed at her in surprise. Not that he minded, but she’d never seemed the type. “Sweetheart, it’s not what you think.”

  “Don’t call me sweetheart. And how do you even know what I think?”

  “Look, there’s this feral who’s been hanging around the club. I just gave her a hand.”

  “A hand? Yes. I can see that. Did you give her a piece of your neck, as well?”

  Marc winced. “Okay, poor choice of words. She’s just a kid, El. Totally clueless. I’ve been helping her out; showing her how to hunt, where to find prey, how not to hurt anyone.”

  Elise snorted in disbelief. She shoved him aside. “Well, good for you. And now, perhaps you can show yourself out,” she suggested as she stalked away.

  Marc stared after her retreating form. Show himself out? Sure he could. Didn’t mean he was gonna though. “What are you so mad about anyway?” he asked, following her into the studio portion of her loft. “Even if I was seeing her like you think—what of it? You never said anything about wanting to be exclusive. In fact, you’re the one who always acts so damned surprised to see me every night.” He stopped abruptly. There was a new picture set up on her easel. A nude. He felt his face coloring as he stared at the charcoal sketch of a young man, fast asleep upon a rumpled bed. “Hey, that’s me.”

  “Oh, very good.” Elise rolled her eyes. “Astute as ever, I see.”

  “So maybe I should stick around after all. You might need me.”

  “Need you? Do you really think so?”

  “Sure. You know, as a live model? I’d hate for you to get any of the details wrong. I’ve got my pride, after all.”

  “Oh, believe me I know. You’re so full of yourself already, I think if your head got any bigger the weight of it would likely snap your neck.” Lips pursed, she looked at him for a moment then added, “I appreciate the offer, but I still think you should go.”

  Marc sighed. “Calm down, all right? I swear I have no interest in Heather. Aside from the fact she’s pretty much a child, she’s also not you. For what it’s worth, you’re the only one I’m interested in right now.”

  Elise gazed blankly at him. “Who is Heather?”

  “The feral we’ve been talking about—who else?”

  “The one you’ve been ‘helping’.”

  “Someone had to. Her sire basically abandoned her. It’s a wonder she survived at all. But everyone was ready to kill her, just because she’d never been taught what to do.”

  “Of course they’d want to kill her,” Elise sighed. “If she’s actually feral. They’re generally so crazed they set everyone’s nerves on edge. What I’d like to know is why don’t you want her dead—especially after she attacked you.”

  “She didn’t attack me,” he answered, before the memory of their first encounter resurfaced. “I mean, you know, not really. She was just…confused.”

  “Confused. I see.”

  “Elise…”

  “She’s not the only one who’s confused, sugar. I don’t know who you are anymore and I don’t know what kind of game you think you’re playing, but I’m pretty sure you’re not worth getting myself killed for. Especially not if you’re going to lie to me.”

  “When have I ever lied to you?” Marc demanded, pushing aside the guilty thought that he probably had lied to her at some point
, even if he couldn’t recall it exactly.

  Elise’s gaze turned frosty. “Sugar, as far as I can tell, you’ve been lying ever since you got here tonight.”

  Tonight? “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Well, first of all, you keep claiming this so-called feral is a child.”

  Marc nodded. “She is. I don’t know her exact age, but there’s no way she’s legal.”

  “Semantics. I doubt there’s a vampire alive who gives a fig for human legalities.”

  “Well, I do,” Marc replied stubbornly. “And even if she is legally adult, she’s still too young to make that kind of choice, in my opinion. If she was even given a choice.”

  Elise inclined her head. “Very well, I’ll concede the point. Perhaps you didn’t mean to lie about her age. But, for the record, she couldn’t be a child. Whether or not you’re aware of the fact, Marc, children cannot be turned.”

  “They can’t?” Nothing but the lifelong ban on speaking about his past could have kept Marc’s mouth shut at that point. He was living proof Elise’s theory was false and yet he couldn’t say a word. “Why would you think that?”

  “Because it’s true. People have tried, of course, for many reasons, but it’s always failed.”

  “Always?” He couldn’t help but smirk. “Really? You sure about that?”

  Elise shrugged. “Ask Conrad if you don’t believe me.”

  “Yeah, I’ll do that.” He could just imagine how much fun that conversation would be. “So what are all the other lies you think I’m guilty of?”

  “Perhaps you’re not lying.” Sighing heavily, she sank into one of her armchairs and gazed up at him with troubled eyes. “But if not, then you’re being misled. And such ignorance is dangerous. You’ll likely get us both killed if you keep this up.”

  “Stop talking like that. No one’s gonna die. You hear me?”

  She stared back at him, looking totally unconvinced.

  “All right, fine. Let’s change the subject. What else am I ignorant about?”

  “Well, you clearly know nothing about ferals at all.”

  “So I’ve been told.” He took the chair opposite her and smiled encouragingly. “So okay. Let’s say I admit to being clueless. Enlighten me. Tell me why everyone wants them dead.”

  “It’s just the way things are. Why do wolf packs turn on their leaders when they’re too old to hunt? How do lions know to single out the wounded gazelle?”

  “Is this a natural history lesson or are you trying to make us sound like animals?”

  Elise’s eyes widened. “And what makes you think we’re not animals; just because we walk upright and wear clothes? Anyway, that’s not the point. How long did you say this girl’s been hanging around?”

  “A few months, I think Drew said. He’s seen her. He’s pretty damn certain she’s feral. And new. And not dead yet. Obviously, one of you is wrong.”

  “Well, she wasn’t abandoned—that much you can be sure about. No one goes off and abandons new spawn. Not willingly. It’s rare for it to happen at all but the biologic imperative is especially strong in the beginning. It has to be or none of us would survive. So if you’re not lying about that, then the girl is. Her sire must be dead. Either way, she must have had someone looking out for her or she would never have survived. It’s impossible.”

  Clearly it wasn’t, Marc thought, barely refraining from saying as much.

  “Since anyone not of her bloodline would likely have killed her by now, that means whoever’s been looking out for her must have been another feral—and that’s even harder to believe.”

  “Tell me why.”

  “Because it’s not in their nature to be nurturing.” She shook her head. “Look, I’ve explained what happens when a nest loses its sire, haven’t I? Either there’s someone strong enough to seize control right away or there’s a period of…adjustment.”

  “You mean fighting, don’t you? Like what’s happening with your house now?”

  Elise sighed wearily. “Yes. Exactly. Hopefully, it will resolve itself soon. If not… I suppose things will keep getting worse until it all falls apart. Those of us who are strong enough may be able to go on and, eventually perhaps, establish our own nests. Unfortunately, none of us have spawn of our own anymore, so far as I know, so that just makes it harder for everyone. Having spawn means we’d be able to draw strength from those connections and better our chances for stability. But anyone too young or too weak or too new would be doomed. Which is precisely how ferals are created. The isolation, the confusion, the persecution—it makes them crazy. Left to their own devices they go wild. And then they end up dead.”

  “Shit.” Marc stared at her in dismay. “You’re really up against it aren’t you?”

  Elise glanced meaningfully at the crates stacked up against the wall. “Which is why I’d like to try and get away before things get too bad. Assuming I can.”

  Marc clenched his jaw, resisting the urge to argue. She couldn’t leave. There had to be another way—there just had to be. “What can I do to help?”

  She smiled wanly. “Not a thing, sugar. Not unless you can convince Conrad to establish an alliance between our two houses, throw his support to one of us and kill off the other serious competitors.”

  “Oh, is that all?” he joked weakly.

  She laughed. “Yes. And if you tell me you can pull all that off then I’ll know for sure you’re a liar.”

  “Yeah, no kidding.” What she was asking for was impossible. He reached for her hand, but she pulled it away and got to her feet.

  “I think you should go now,” she said, as she turned her back to him.

  “Elise…” He stood too, intending to take her into his arms. Her voice stopped him.

  “I know I can’t force you, Marc. You’re much stronger than I realized—strong enough to make me change my mind, make me ask you to stay. But I really hope you won’t do that. I’d like to be alone now. Please.”

  “Okay, fine.” How the hell could he argue with that? Besides, he needed to talk to Conrad anyway. About a lot of things. “But this isn’t the end of it.”

  She shook her head but said nothing.

  “It isn’t,” he insisted.

  “I know,” she whispered, so softly he barely heard her. “I know it’s not.” And with that, he supposed he had to be satisfied.

  His thoughts were troubled as he made his way across the city and he kept running their conversation over in his head. He was almost home before it occurred to him that she still hadn’t told him where she’d been all evening.

  Light exploded behind Heather’s eyes as her head connected with the wall. This will all be over in a minute, she reminded herself as she slid to the floor. In a minute, this would be no more than a bad dream. The pain would subside. Hell, even the marks would disappear. All she had to do was hold on for a minute or so and it would all be over.

  “I warned you, didn’t I?” Nighthawk snarled as he picked her up from the floor and slammed her back into the wall. “Didn’t I tell you what would happen if you kept sneaking out, or if you got mixed up with the wrong sort of people?”

  Okay, maybe a couple of minutes. Ten minutes, tops. He couldn’t keep this level of outrage going for any longer than that. She sighed in resignation. “Yes. You told me.” Might as well agree with him. Who knew? Maybe she’d even save herself several minutes of torture.

  “Then why couldn’t you listen? Why’d you have to keep slipping out, running after those fuckers, getting yourself in trouble? I told you to stay put, didn’t I?”

  “But I was hungry.” So hungry. She’d been hungry all the time. Weeks, months, maybe longer. All except for tonight. Tonight she’d finally been able to eat her fill.

  “You nearly got us all killed tonight. Do you know that?”

  She tried to shake her head, but he shoved her against the wall again. Why did it always have to be about everyone else? No matter what she did, he always tried to turn it around, make it ab
out someone else. Or everyone else. How was her hunger anyone’s problem but her own? But even with her head still throbbing with pain, she knew better than to say so. “I’m sorry.”

  “Oh, I’ll just bet you are. But not half as sorry as you’re gonna be.”

  She whimpered softly, because what else was there to say? Besides, the only thing she was really sorry for, at the moment, was for not telling Marc the truth about why she hadn’t been eating. She’d wanted to tell him—she should have, too—but she’d been too afraid.

  Until she met Marc, she’d hurt someone each time she ate. She’d maybe even killed a few of them. She hadn’t wanted to, but she hadn’t known any better. What would he say if he found out? How would he feel about her then?

  But why worry about that? If Nighthawk continued to beat the crap out of her, she’d never have to worry about it again. Or anything else, for that matter.

  “I tried to help you,” he said, his voice suddenly shaky. “I tried every way I could to make things easier for you. You know that’s true, don’t you?”

  No she didn’t. At the moment, she didn’t know shit. All she remembered was the pain. Probably not the answer he wanted to hear though. “Yes,” she said instead. “Yes, you did.” She opened her eyes and attempted to focus on his face. Were those tears in his eyes? They were. Damn, she must really be in trouble this time.

  “Well, it’s too late now.” He shook his head. “I can’t let you ruin everything. I’ve worked too hard for this.”

  There he goes again. It’s all about him, isn’t it? She sighed, but said nothing.

  “You did this to yourself,” he insisted. “You understand me? This is all your own fault.”

  “Sorry,” she mumbled again, even though she didn’t have a clue what he was talking about. How long had he been knocking her around? Was it over yet? It should be over by now.

  Grabbing her arm, he pushed her toward the door. “C’mon, let’s go.”