Which was good - because he wasn't anything like he'd always been.
Staring into his mug, he reflected on his latest hunt. He'd chased down his final solid lead, and it hadn't generated any additional ones. Another failed search.
Conrad had nothing new to go on, and fatigue had begun setting in hard as he searched relentlessly for Tarut. When Conrad did sleep, his nightmares were grueling.
He dreamed of Néomi in ghostly black-and-white again, her cheeks and eyes shadowed. He saw her trapped somewhere in the dark, screaming in horror, choking on it.
The image was so agonizing to him, he wondered if it was some sort of dream demon's weapon that Tarut was wielding.
So Conrad had ceased sleeping for the most part, using the time to hunt longer in whatever part of the world was still night.
He'd gone to all of the demon's lairs, and to all of his comrades', mercilessly combing for leads. Conrad had been attacked twice so far, by human Kapsligas who didn't know better. He'd dealt them a lesson, but hadn't killed them - they weren't enough of a challenge to truthfully claim self-defense.
Yet no sign of Tarut.
Conrad had continually debated whether he was making things worse by staying with Néomi. Ultimately, he'd admitted what he'd always known: the damage had already been done. She'd been in danger since the night of the gathering. He'd been offered his dream - and he'd selfishly accepted it.
Even if Conrad was separated from her for a thousand years, she would still be what he treasured above all things - and what he feared losing most.
If only I could turn her into a vampire. Then she wouldn't be so utterly vulnerable. But he knew females never made it through the transition. Not one of his four sisters had risen... .
In a way, he'd always been relieved that they hadn't. They'd been sensitive girls - he couldn't imagine them waking from the dead with a cup of blood shoved in their faces. Now Conrad wondered if they would have grown from their childhood. Could they have adapted? He'd never know.
Once he'd finished the mug, he traced directly to the bathroom to shower and shave, allowing her to sleep longer. Under the hot water, he cursed under his breath. He'd forgotten to make plans for them tonight. Where in the world to take her... ?
Yet when he entered the room, he found her awake and smiling to see him. She made his heart speed up just to see her. "You're up and dressed? But not to go out?"
She was wearing a red negligee, with her creamy br**sts spilling out. Her hair was long and free as she knew he liked it. Even his beaten body stirred behind his towel.
Every time he took her, he fell more deeply under her spell. After three hundred plus years of musing what sex would be like, he'd had high expectations. She continued to shatter them.
"I don't want to go out tonight," she said. "Maybe we could relax here?" She sat on the bed and patted the spot beside her. "I could rebandage your arm."
He eyed her suspiciously. "Are you intent on managing me for something?"
She plucked up the roll of gauze. "My intentions with your body are pure."
Once he sat beside her, she rose to her knees and wound the gauze around his arm.
"There's more to this hunt than merely striking first, isn't there?" When he nodded, she said, "Tell me."
"As soon as you tell me about your secret." Thoughts of what it could be plagued him.
"Are we to quarrel, Conrad? I'd rather spend the night massaging your back and making love, but if you insist... "
"You must know I'll only let this go for so long. I have unfinished business - but when I'm freed of that worry, I'll track down everything you keep from me."
Conrad had two theories. It was possible that she'd made a deal with a sorcerer - one of the very ones he'd had considered using to resurrect her. One like that could have embodied her, but they tended to extract devastating promises.
A witch could have done it as well, but Conrad didn't think this was the case. Though Néomi had said she had "lots of money," she probably hadn't factored in eight decades of inflation. Surely she didn't have the kind of money necessary to get even a meeting with a powerful witch. Conrad had heard of some turning their noses up at millions.
She sighed. "Quel dommage. What a pity, then. If you're after my secret, then we'll be quarreling often. So we might as well enjoy this night. Tell me, where did your hunt take you?"
"Moscow."
"Were you careful?"
"Always," he said, which wasn't remotely true. To get to a demon snitch, Conrad had ambushed a subterranean demon lair, fending off two gangs to drag his howling prey by the horns up to the surface.
Even though he had a reason to be more careful, with an actual person waiting at home for him, Conrad couldn't allow others to think he'd changed.
God, how he'd changed.
Tonight, Conrad had given the snitch his standard threat: "Talk. Or I'll drink you, harvest your memories anyway, and slaughter everyone I see in them." But the snitch had smelled of fear and cheap gin. Conrad had not only been disinclined to drink the demon; he'd found the idea repugnant.
The last thing Conrad had tasted before he'd left had been Néomi's sweet lips. Drink the demon with the same mouth he kissed his Bride... ?
The rumors of his past brutality were helping him now, but one of these days, someone would call his bluff. Would he be forced to return to his old ways to protect his Bride?
If he had to, Conrad would once again become the thing they feared.
"There. All done." She finished his bandage by brushing a kiss on it.
Strange, he'd had no reservations about entering that lair, and yet, as his gaze flickered over Néomi's smiling face, he realized that this one-hundred-pound, mortal ballerina scared the living hell out of him.