Dark Needs at Night's Edge

35

My time's running out, Néomi thought at the beginning of their third week together.

She didn't know how she knew this, but she sensed it strongly. Running out soon. She'd become convinced that she wouldn't last through even the first month with Conrad.

And she couldn't stop thinking that he would probably be there to see her meet her end. She'd known they would be in a relationship when it happened, but she hadn't truly comprehended that he would witness her death.

The death that promised to be violent.

The guilt was heavy. Why didn't I think of this before? Even knowing that, she couldn't force herself to part from Conrad to spare him. She was greedy for every possible moment with him, and she knew he was as well.

Last night, when she'd run the backs of her fingers over the scar on his torso, he'd said, "I used to hate that scar. But no longer." He'd met her gaze, and the words had seemed to spill from him. "Néomi, it brought me to you. If I'd known what was in store for me, I'd have helped the Russian plunge his sword."

After hearing that, she'd become convinced that what he felt for her was more than just what a vampire felt for his Bride. He was as in love with her as she was with him.

Yet even with that realization, she felt like their little world was falling apart in general. He was so wearied, but tried to hide it, just as she tried to hide her growing tension and dread.

As though he sensed her foreboding, he seemed determined to make every moment count... .

That night his gift of a dazzling scarlet gown along with the promise of a surprise destination were enough to distract Néomi's mind from her fears, at least for a short while.

When he'd traced her to Italy for dinner, she'd become genuinely excited.

Her vampire had reserved a private garden terrace at La Pergola, atop Monte Mario. "Conrad, the view is spectacular!" Below them lay Rome at night, lit like a dream. "Mon Dieu, is that St. Peter's dome? I've only ever seen it on a postcard. This is such an incredible surprise!"

"Oh, this?" When he gave a casual shrug, it drew her gaze to his dark dinner jacket, tailored to perfection over those broad shoulders. "This isn't it. This is just nourishing my mortal until it's time for the real surprise."

"Better than this? You must tell me!"

"Then it wouldn't be a surprise." He gave her a wry grin. "Also known as une surprise... ."

Once they were seated in plush chairs, the server brought by a trolley filled with chilled champagnes. As he poured, the man barely did a double take at Conrad's sunglasses, but Conrad still tensed. She wished his eyes didn't bother him so much.

When they were alone, he rubbed his hand over the back of his neck. "You must hate them. The blood red."

She shook her head. "I think they're the red of fire. And the color deepens and darkens when you look at me—which I love. Besides, with the sunglasses, you look like a movie star."

"Or a drug addict."

"I don't believe the two are mutually exclusive, mon grand," she said, coaxing a grin from him. As she sipped her champagne, she asked, "Wouldn't one have to reserve this spot months in advance?"

"One would."

She quirked a brow. "But you wouldn't?"

"You should know by now that regarding you, I stint on nothing."

The meal bore this statement out. Dish after dish began to arrive, costly wines accompanying each course. As she savored some of the most delectable food and drink she'd ever tasted, she tried to get him to reveal the surprise. He sipped his whiskey, lazily forked some food around, and grinned smugly at her attempts to get him to crack... .

"You're so pleased with yourself, vampire."

"It's too good of a surprise to reveal. How's your food?"

Some dishes were bold, some subtle; each caressed her palate. She smiled over her wineglass. "C'est exquis comme tes lèvres." Delicious like your lips. He shot upright when she rubbed her stocking-clad foot up his leg.

In a huskier voice, he said, "You can use your considerable wiles"—his gaze dropped to the low neckline of the dress he'd given her—"all you like, but I'll never break."

For dessert, the server brought to the table a miniature chest of drawers, handcrafted of silver. Inside each tiny drawer was a different kind of petit four.

"That's it," she said, sampling all the delights, "I'm never leaving,"

"Don't worry—we'll come back."

She forced herself to smile through the pang she felt. "At least once a week for the petit fours alone."

After their dinner, Conrad said, "Ready for your surprise?"

"Yes, I'm about to die!" she said, immediately wishing she could take back those words, but she masked her disquiet.

He covered her eyes, as he liked to, then traced her yet again. She sensed different weather, fresh smells. And she heard a new language—French.

With his other hand warm on her bared back, he led her toward a spot that sounded more crowded than where they'd arrived. Then he uncovered her eyes.

Her lips parted on a gasp. She was standing in front of L'Opéra Garnier, the lavish home of the Paris Ballet. Shivers skipped up and down her arms. Tonight's performance? Roméo et Juliette.

It was one of her favorite Shakespeare plays, and one she'd always dreamed of seeing choreographed. To experience it here? In Paris? Her eyes watering, she said, "Conrad, this is the most wonderful thing anyone's ever done for me."

And the most desirable man she'd ever known was offering his big hand to take her there. "Come," he murmured. "Or we'll be late."

Dazed, she let him guide her up the steps inside the palace. With the sounds of the orchestra tuning in the background, she was overwhelmed by the splendor, gazing from the artistry gracing the ceilings down to the elaborate marble designs beneath her heels.

When they took their seats—in the best box—she purred, "Oh, vampire, you're gooood. It's almost as if... you stint on nothing?"

With a sexy grin, he removed his sunglasses and said, "I'm glad you approve."

From the instant the curtain rose, her heart pounded nonstop. During the performance, she was in heaven, struck by how much ballet had both evolved and remained the same. The medium of dance perfectly suited the tale, the music its sublime partner.

Yet Conrad sat with his arms crossed over his chest, a critical look on his face. "You shame them," he grated, which just made her love him more.

"Well, thank you for that, but I believe I'd be a bit short and busty compared to these modern dancers."

"I happen to have a thing for short and busty ballerinas."

She gave him a slow smile. "I'm glad you approve."

"Exceedingly so." A hank of thick black hair fell over one of his eyes. "Do you miss it?"

"I do. It was thrilling to perform for an audience. And I miss the camaraderie in the troupe." She even missed her muscles aching from the exertion of a taxing rehearsal. "But I'm happy that I get to share this with you." His hand found hers.

Once the curtain closed, she teared up at the tragic ending—though it was expected and accepted—because it had a new meaning for her now. Néomi, too, would be separated from the man she loved. She didn't want to be, lamenting that she was in this position.

But it was expected. She'd accepted it. And she didn't regret a moment—

He slipped a felt-covered box into her hand. "What is this?" she asked, though she knew.

With a swallow, she opened the case. Inside lay an exquisite platinum ring, with a vibrant blue sapphire center stone flanked by diamonds.

"Be my wife, Néomi."

When she could take her eyes from the ring, she gazed up at him. He'd asked her here. Awash in the beauty of this place, her heart was full with emotion from the dance—and from loving the man who'd given this night to her. Under any other circumstances, she would have been crying with joy.

"Conrad... " The need to confess everything burned within her. But she feared robbing herself of this time with him. It's running out. Their gazes held. And I can't tell you.

Giving the ring back would be one of the hardest things she'd ever done. Though it was tearing her apart, she handed him the box. "I'm so sorry," she whispered. "I can't."

He accepted it from her without a word. But a muscle ticked in his jaw.

When Néomi refused his ring, the world tilted askew.

Like a punch in the gut, Conrad realized that even after everything—the time they'd shared, their enjoyment of each other—she still would make no commitment to him.

And she hadn't even needed a second to consider what he was offering.

The fatigue he'd ignored returned redoubled. The frustration from his stymied search mounted. He was failing at every turn.

Conrad couldn't find what he needed and couldn't secure what he had.

The more Néomi pulled away, the more crazed he felt. He wanted her to the point of madness. Conrad was a man who knew exactly where that point lay.

He decided at that moment that he simply wouldn't let her go.

Conrad had feared that if he took this stand, he would remind her of Robicheaux. That bastard had demanded she stay with him as well.

Yet there was a difference between never letting her go when she actually wanted to stay and keeping her only because he couldn't live without her.

Conrad believed Néomi wanted to be kept by him. He'd oblige her.