was part of the reason he'd found such an unusual feeling of ease with her—because he knew he couldn't harm her either. Even when he got free, he wouldn't be able to accidentally injure her if he lost control.
But how to get free? Not one of his brothers had returned since that day he tried to convince them of Néomi's existence—the day they'd left for Mount Oblak, the Forbearer Castle.
Conrad knew that meant one of two things had happened.
Kristoff had possibly discovered that they were keeping Conrad alive. The second law of the Forbearer order? Kill the Fallen without measure. Just by keeping Conrad alive, they'd been committing treason. Kristoff had likely imprisoned them at Mount Oblak, vowing to free them as soon as they gave up Conrad's location.
Which they would never do. For all their faults, they were as loyal as men came.
The other possibility? They'd fallen in battle. And Conrad didn't know how he felt about that. Over the last week, he'd become keenly aware that if not for his brothers, he would never have known Néomi.
Now that he was somewhat more rational, able to quell the worst of his rage, the thought of losing all three of them left him unaccountably troubled.
Revealing details of his past to her had forced his mind back to better times. He'd recalled how Nikolai had bailed him out of scrape after scrape. He'd thought back to the day the four brothers had made the fateful decision to take control of their country's defense: No one else is getting the job done. Conrad remembered being proud because not one of them had hesitated.
If his brothers lived, he would not be able to destroy them as planned. He didn't want to have anything to do with them, but he couldn't kill them... .
'Don't you want to try the whiskey?' she asked, pausing her dance.
'What? Yes.' He'd planned to let it breathe a minute for every year of its age. But she looked so expectant. He supposed more than half an hour would be sufficient, and the taste would only grow increasingly complex with time. He poured a dram, swirling it in the tumbler, letting it coat the glass.
He took his first sip, just preventing his eyes from sliding closed in pleasure. 'My God, that's what it should always be like.' The taste was bracing yet smooth, the elements distinct but complementary.
'Is it better than what you usually drink?'
'Other whiskey or blood?' he asked.
'Either one.'
'It shames other whiskey—and it's better than the blood I've been drinking.'
Conrad instinctively knew that it wouldn't compare to hers.
'Bien,' she said, resuming her steps.
As his gaze followed her, he wondered what would it be like to pierce her pale skin with his fangs. If she were a flesh and blood woman, what would it be like to cup her breasts as he sucked her neck?
He had never touched a woman's breasts. He often tried to imagine what Néomi's would feel like from what he'd seen of them. They'd be soft against his rough palms, giving to his grasp... .
He'd always yearned for a woman of his own. He'd dreamed of not letting her leave the bed for days as he explored her, discovering how to pleasure her. He'd wanted to learn how to make his woman pine for him if he had to leave and cry his name as he entered her.
Cry his name in a sultry voice tinged with French.
Suddenly fantasies ran riot in his mind, of kneading her ass at the same time he suckled her nipples. Of petting her pale little body for hours until she came again and again for him—
'You look content, mon trésor.'
He coughed into his fist. 'I have to say, I've been in worse jails.' And having such a desirable cellmate didn't hurt either. Though the need to pursue Tarut grew more pressing with each hour, and a promising hunting ground awaited, he also found himself on edge from the idea of leaving her here for even a short time.
Suddenly, she twirled around and brushed a sizzling kiss on his cheek. His eyes narrowed suspiciously at her, but she merely laughed. 'It's called—say it with me—a-fec-shun.'
He'd just assumed she flirted because that was her nature. Yet could she... could she truly be interested in him? Even be attracted to him—with his red eyes and scars? Maybe she wanted more, as he did.
But then there was no one else to attract her. He had no competitors here.
'Why would you show me affection?'
She answered, 'Because I... feel it?'
'Why?'
With a laugh, she asked, 'Why, why, why? Must you question everything good?'
'Yes, when it's illogical. You know nothing about me—'
'I know more about you than any other woman does, n'est-ce pas? You don't have to muster up the nerve to divulge your secrets to me, while secretly hoping I don't run away screaming. I know them all. I'm still here.' Eyes bright, lips curling, she said, 'And I know that you're my favorite man. Dans le monde entier.'
'Because I'm the only one in the entire world who can see and hear you.' She gave him that mysterious shrug. He knew she was likely playing, the flirtations meaningless. But damn it, her words still got to him. It was becoming easier to pretend the sentiment was real.
'You don't know what to do with affection, do you?'
'I... have no idea,' he admitted. 'I don't know my way around this. It makes me feel weak. You make me feel that way sometimes.'
'How a man as powerful as you could feel weak, I'll never know. This disturbs me. What would you suggest I change so you don't feel that way?'
He scrubbed a hand over his face, struggling to convey what he was thinking. 'You make me uneasy at times because you and everything you do are so unfamiliar to me.'
'Like what?'
'Your laughter. It's as if you spend every second of the day merely awaiting a time to be able to laugh or tease.'
'I sound très terrible. How do you stand being near me? It must be because of your saintlike patience and calm?' She topped off his glass.
20
Once she'd finished dancing, Néomi floated to the chair beside Conrad's.
The thoughtful vampire had pulled up two of them in front of the fire. He continued to treat her like a woman instead of a ghost. He opened doors for her, and though she could never take it, he often held out his hand for her.
Little things like this increased his already devastating attractiveness.
'Conrad, what was it like in the Kapsliga?'
'Regimented,' he answered shortly, no doubt predicting where she was headed with this.
'Was it terribly difficult to abstain?' She'd been prying to uncover more about this part of his life. She was probably as tenacious at this as he was about the key. Or as he had been.
No longer did he ask her to retrieve it—because his brothers had stopped coming.
She suspected Conrad felt let down that they still hadn't returned. It must prey on him, wondering what had happened to them. Though he'd never admit it.
'Why are you so curious about this?' He swigged his whiskey. Though she might've expected him to take from the bottle, he drank it neat from the glass, and slowly.
'Because I want to know more about you.'
'Then why not ask me about the Great War, about our greatest victory or shrewdest defense—'
'Because I am also a female?'
'I can't argue that.' He lifted his glass to her. 'Ask what you will.'
She made like she was sitting. 'Did you abstain only because of your vow?'
'You heard my brother—Wroths keep their vows. That would've been enough. But there wasn't much temptation anyway. Healthy women near the front line were scarce. Especially any who weren't already obsessed
