Old Sins, Long Shadow Read online

  Marc nodded. “All right,” he said as he headed toward the door. He glanced curiously back at Damian, who hadn’t moved. “You coming?”

  “Not just yet,” Damian replied, his tone vaguely musing.

  Conrad glanced sharply at him. Had he not just dismissed them both? How was it that every order he gave lately was treated as though it were nothing more than a casual suggestion? “Was there something else you wanted?” he asked, after Marc departed.

  Damian nodded. “Sí. I wanted to thank you for showing such restraint with Marc. His behavior tonight was most provoking. I’ve never seen him act so belligerently. I don’t know what could have gotten into him.”

  “Ah, well, who’s to say? We really can’t know what to expect from either of the twins, can we? They are unique, after all. At some point that fact is bound to make itself manifest in some fashion.”

  “You think that’s what this is?”

  “I don’t know what it is yet. But one thing is certain. He can’t continue to make scenes like this in public. Sooner or later it’s going to attract the wrong kind of attention.”

  “Neither of them have ever shown the least sign of any type of aberrant behavior before now,” Damian pointed out. “Perhaps it’s just an isolated incident?”

  “Perhaps. Still, I worry about what kind of effect their being here is having on them. There’s no telling what manner of dormant traits might be activated by nothing more than the sheer proximity of so many others of our kind. Which is yet another reason I was reluctant to bring them here.”

  Damian drew in a startled breath. “I’ve already apologized for that once already, have I not? And I tell you again, there was nothing else to be done.”

  Conrad gazed at Damian in dismay. So much for his hopes of not arguing with him. “My dear, I didn’t mean…” He took a deep breath and tried again. “We’ve been through this before. I was not criticizing you, Damian. I was merely making an observation. Whenever they would have gotten here the situation would ultimately have been the same. We don’t know what they will eventually become. Perhaps the myths and legends pertaining to the Lamia Infragilis are nothing more than fairy tales. I rather hope that is the case, if you must know. But, all the same, it will be quite some time before I’m ready to let down my guard in that respect.”

  Damian nodded. “Very well. Then may I ask you something else?”

  Conrad steeled himself. “Go on.”

  “It’s about what you and Marc were talking about—about leaving a changeling unattended. You suggested it was unthinkable, painful even. That no one would do such a thing except by force.”

  “I know what it is I said, Damian. I was here, you know, and it was not all that long ago.”

  “Is it true?”

  “I can’t imagine what reason I’d have to lie about something like that. Can you?”

  “Conrad…”

  “Yes. It’s true.”

  A startled look flashed across Damian’s face. For half an instant, Conrad thought he looked dismayed. Or was that just wishful thinking? A moment later, his expression had composed itself. “I see,” he said at last, his voice subdued.

  Conrad nodded. A flutter of excitement unsettled his heart. Perhaps Damian was not quite as indifferent to him as he’d led Conrad to believe. Perhaps there was reason to hope, after all. A bitter smile tugged at his lips. “Yes, my dear. I’ve no doubt you do.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Sevilla

  Fifteenth Century

  Tonight would be their last night together. Just the thought of it made Conrad’s heart contract in pain. He held Damian close, wanting to commit every detail to memory—the heat of his skin, the silk of his hair, the whisper of his blood as it called for Conrad to come and take it…

  And, all the while, his own damned soul howled urgently: Do it. Take it now. Leave nothing behind. It’s the last you’ll ever have of him. Why waste even a drop for foolish sentiment’s sake? What comfort has memory ever brought you?

  It was a most persuasive argument. If there was one lesson Conrad had learned well with the passing of centuries it was that memory was indeed a fleet and fickle thing and time, never a respecter of anyone’s wishes, would always prevail. His only real enemy, his only real friend, time would eventually bring to naught all his efforts, impartially erasing everything he wished to preserve and everything he yearned to forget. In that regard, at least, this night was no different from all the nights that had ever come before.

  Tomorrow, the baron’s party was scheduled to leave Sevilla. Conrad had already used his influence over his titular employer to convince him to put off his departure twice. To attempt to delay things a third time would be unwise, would only cause comment and draw attention. Would merely delay the inevitable.

  Had he not known from the start this moment must come? Why then did he feel such surprise at the aching in his heart? Such was life, after all: nothing but pain and loss and the occasional bright bits of happiness on which the pain and loss were founded.

  Yet, despite everything he tried to tell himself, Conrad knew that tonight was different in at least one respect. Tonight, the thought of never seeing Damian again had him thinking the unthinkable. For the first time in his undead life, Conrad found himself struggling against the urge to do the one thing he’d always sworn he would never do: to take someone’s humanity away from them—by force, if necessary—without their having requested it; to turn someone without his consent or, in this case, without even his knowledge.

  Because, really, where was the harm in it? It would not be like his own turning, he could certainly ensure that! For Damian the experience would involve no pain, no guilt, no trauma, no despair. He would not be broken or tortured or enslaved. Or forced to commit murder upon foul murder in order to survive.

  Afterward, if it turned out there were regrets, Conrad would have forever to make it up to him. Entire centuries in which to shower Damian with wealth and ease, with anything his heart could wish for. Except, perhaps, that which he desired the most.

  And therein lay the problem. For, if the prospect of spending just a few short decades removed from his beloved Sevilla was anathema to Damian, how much less appealing would he find the prospect of enduring an eternity in exile?

  An eternity of pain and loss. However desperately Conrad wanted to keep Damian by his side, how could he even consider visiting such a fate upon someone he’d come to care so much about?

  “Don’t leave me,” Damian whispered suddenly.

  His face was buried in Conrad’s neck and his voice—so softly hesitant, so completely unlike his usual sure tones—left Conrad convinced, for a moment, that it was only wishful thinking; just his mind playing cruel tricks on him.

  “Did you say something, caro?” he asked, pulling away so he could look into his face once more.

  Damian nodded, his expression hopeless, his dark eyes wild with anguish, wet with tears. “Please, querido, I cannot bear to lose you. Will you not take me with you when you go?”

  Conrad’s mouth fell open in surprise. “You wish to come with me, to leave Sevilla?” Not a trick then, but a cruel taunt just the same. Could it ever be so simple? Hope caught at his heart and set it racing, even as he fought to hold his emotions in check.

  It was dangerous to hope for too much. Had he not learned that lesson as well? Who could say how Damian would feel when he learned of Conrad’s true nature. It was entirely possible the truth would prove too much for him to handle. “But, my love, I thought you said…”

  “I know.” Damian sounded miserable as he pushed away from Conrad and sat up. “I know I told you I would not ask for anything from you beyond these few short weeks and, at the time, I meant it. Truly I did. I thought the memory of these hours we’ve spent together would be enough, that I’d be content to go back to the life that’s been planned for me. I was wrong. And now…I swear if you do not take me with you when you leave here tomorrow, if you force me to watch you ride away from this
place without me, I shall die!”

  Conrad couldn’t help but smile at the unrestrained passion in his lover’s voice. Tenderly, he brushed the hair back from Damian’s face. “Calm yourself, caro. You shall not die. Of that much, at least, let me assure you. For I have known many men who’ve suffered far greater hurts than this and survived them.”

  Damian’s eyes widened. “Have you?” Frowning, he dashed away his tears, looking for all the world as though he’d just been insulted. “Well, despite whatever your vast experience in such matters may have led you to believe, Conrad, let me assure you that I shall indeed die. For I intend to throw myself from the parapet in the very instant you are gone from my sight. I wonder how many men you have known to survive such hurts as that?”

  “What’s this you say?” Appalled, Conrad sat up quickly. “You will do no such thing!” He didn’t doubt Damian’s resolve for a second. It would be just like him to act on the threat, if for no other reason than to prove his point. “Are you hearing me? I will not have it. In fact, I forbid you even to think it. Whatever else occurs, you must promise me it will not come to that!”

  Damian’s jaw was set in a militant line. He stared back at Conrad wordlessly.

  “Promise me.” Conrad ordered. He could not for the life of him recall the last time he’d been forced to repeat himself like this—and to a mere human!

  For a moment longer than Conrad would ever have believed possible, Damian continued to meet his eyes with stubborn intractability. Even when he was finally forced to drop his gaze, the promise Conrad had demanded was not forthcoming.

  “I’m sure you’re quite right, querido,” Damian murmured in nonchalant tones. “As always. I see now I should have kept my foolish notions to myself. Pray do not give the matter a second thought. If you must go, then you must go. What else is there for either of us to say? I surely would never wish for you to worry yourself on my account.”

  Conrad sighed. “Mi amor, it’s not that I do not want you with me. I do, of course. But you do not know what you are asking. There is much you do not know about me, about the world I inhabit. Sometimes things…are not exactly as they appear at first glance.”

  Damian hung his head. “Please, Conrad, do not speak to me as though I were a child. I assure you I know quite well what it is I am asking of you, and maybe it seems it is too much. You will lose your position with the baron. The duke will send men to slay us both. We will be on the run, our lives at risk, for who knows how long? Years, perhaps. Why should you wish for such an encumbrance? Why would anyone seek to inconvenience themselves in such a fashion? But, oh, please…will you not at least consider it? I can be quite useful, you know, and I swear I will never give you cause to regret it. Not even for an instant. I will do whatever you ask of me. Anything at all. I will work for you, be a slave for you. I will meet any requirement you set for me, obey every command you choose to give.”

  “Silence,” Conrad ordered angrily. “Keep quiet, can’t you?” A slave? He could not keep from scowling at the thought. Others might do so, but he did not make slaves of his lovers. “I will hear no more of this! I have no need for such promises from you, Damian, and it is clear you know nothing about me that you even think it necessary to make them. Were I to take you away with me, it would not be because I wished for a slave—understand that first of all. And, in such an event, it would fall to me to see that our needs were met, not you.”

  “I only meant—”

  “Let me finish! The baron is of no importance to me, the duke even less so. They are both welcome to send as many men after us as they please. I promise, I shall not be inconvenienced in the slightest. Rather, I shall dispatch the lot of them and be glad for the exercise.”

  Damian sighed. “I did not mean to offend you.”

  “You didn’t.” Conrad pulled him close and softly kissed him. “You couldn’t.” After a moment, he set him away, already regretting what he was about to do, for innocence, once lost, could never be recovered. “Forgive me, amor. I wish I knew of an easier way to accomplish this.” And, so saying, he set free the beast within, unsheathing his fangs, allowing his eyes to turn luminous; allowing all the power at his command to rise to the surface.

  Damian shrank back in alarm. “Dios mio,” he whispered as his eyes roved over Conrad’s changed features. “This cannot be. Wh-what are you?”

  “I am as you see me now,” Conrad replied with a shrug. “I am Vampire.”

  “¿Qué dice?” Damian’s forehead puckered into a disbelieving frown. “Oh, please. A soulless demon spawned in hell? Of course you are not! Pray spare me these attempts at humor, Conrad. I am not in the mood for such jokes tonight.”

  In answer, Conrad grabbed Damian by the back of the neck and yanked him forward. “Do you think it wise to bait me, mortal, when I’m already so close to devouring you?”

  Keeping a tight rein on his control, he trailed the tips of his teeth over Damian’s neck just hard enough to scratch the skin, enjoying the faint hitch in Damian’s breathing, the shivers of fear that coursed through him, the frantic racing of his heart. Damian’s fingers scrabbled at Conrad’s chest. Did he seek purchase there, or was he attempting to push himself away? Conrad could not be sure, but the beast inside him licked its lips in anticipation all the same.

  No matter what the cause, it rejoiced to feel a man struggling within its arms once again, and it coiled itself tighter, awaiting the chance to spring free. Awaiting the chance to feed, to draw blood, to drink life.

  “I wonder,” Conrad murmured. “Will you still think I’m joking after your blood has gone to fill my belly? It could happen, you know, if you push me too far. You would not be the first I’ve killed.”

  Pulling back, while he could still resist the urge to make good on his threat—to sink his fangs deep into Damian’s flesh and drink his fill—Conrad ran his tongue over the torn skin, knitting it back together, licking up the blood that had pearled from the slight wound, shuddering at the taste. So sweet. So pure. So perfect.

  No, the beast howled in frustrated fury. What are you doing? He’s mine. Give him to me.

  “I do not understand,” Damian moaned, gazing anxiously at him. “This cannot be so. Why are you doing this? Is it a trick? Would you use the threat of fairy-tale monsters to frighten me away from you? Such subterfuge is beneath you, Conrad. It insults us both.”

  At that, Conrad very nearly came undone. A low growl left his lips. Damian shuddered again in response.

  The fact that his lover obviously found it easier to believe him a coward and a liar than the monster he was, made Conrad almost blind with rage. It took a moment before he’d recovered enough to speak calmly. “This is no trick, hidalgo. And you’d do well to either hold your tongue or accept me at my word. For six hundred years I have been as you see me now. I know nothing of my soul’s disposition. It is possible, I suppose, that I still possess one; but if so, it is surely so black with sin as to be utterly useless. The conditions of my spawning were beyond hellish, of that, too, let me assure you, and as a result I am indeed more demon than I hope you will ever have cause to realize.”

  “A demon,” Damian repeated with patent disbelief. “Truly?”

  “In every sense of the word.”

  “Ay, Dios mio.” Damian’s eyes narrowed. He searched Conrad’s face as though seeking answers. “Six hundred years? And do you not age? Are you immortal then? Explain it to me, Conrad.”

  Conrad shrugged. “I fear I do not fully understand it myself—even after all this time. In appearance, I believe I have changed very little over the centuries. But do not ask me to predict the future, for I know not what it holds. Having witnessed the deaths of many of my kind, I know only that I can be killed. When or whether I shall meet such a fate, remains yet to be seen.”

  For a moment longer, Damian studied his face. At last, he sighed. Laying a hand along Conrad’s cheek, he smiled at him. “Very well then, my demon lover. If that is truly what you are, so be it. You should know, of co
urse, it matters not to me what you choose to call yourself. Unless styling yourself a monster makes you all the more willing to run away with me. And if that be the case, then I’m indeed glad for it.”

  “Perhaps you will change your mind when you’ve heard the rest.” Conrad sighed. “My world is filled with monsters, caro—some as bad as I, some worse—and a human such as yourself would not survive for very long among us. If you truly wish to come away with me, I know of only one method by which I might hope to keep you safe from such fiends. You must allow me to make you into one as well.”

  “It is for me to decide?” Much to Conrad’s surprise, a smile broke across Damian’s face. “But you yourself are willing? Bueno. Tell me, what must we do? Is it a very lengthy process? Can we begin it immediately? Do we leave here tonight? What is your plan?”

  “I have no plan as yet,” Conrad admitted. He was bemused by Damian’s reaction, relieved and far too excited by the prospect with which he was suddenly faced. “I fear you have caught me by surprise once again.” A small part of him was still urging caution. Damian’s eager expression offered clear proof he could not possibly have understood what it was he was agreeing to, but, mostly… Ah, mostly he just didn’t care. However imperfect Damian’s understanding might be, he had agreed. He’d chosen. He’d given Conrad his consent. Surely no one could expect him to hold out for anything more than that!

  “Well, what must be done?” Damian prompted. “Let us start with that.”

  Conrad shrugged. “We must first find a way to smuggle you out of the palace without anyone being the wiser—that goes without saying. The more time we can purchase before the alarm is raised, the greater our chances for a successful escape. Then, since there is a very real possibility we will be followed, no matter how careful we are, I must determine how best to neutralize the threat. Finally, before we leave civilization too completely behind us, I must turn you. For that, we must find a place where I might keep you safely hidden for three days, possibly longer, while you sleep. That, I fear, may prove the most difficult part of all”