Murdoch gave Sebastian a quick nod, gratified once again that he’d allied with them. The first time in centuries the four of us have been in the same room.
Conrad drew down his sunglasses, revealing eyes as red as blood. Murdoch’s lips parted, and Sebastian muttered a curse. Nikolai winced, but he squared his shoulders, and the three strode forward—
With uncanny speed, Conrad lunged from his seat. In one astonishing move, he vaulted over the table at them and struck Sebastian with a skull-cracking blow, sending him hurtling into a wall.
Before Murdoch and Nikolai could react, Conrad snatched them by their throats, one in each hand as they fought to free themselves.
“Three hundred years of this,” Conrad hissed, his red eyes blazing with hate.
Then all hell broke loose.
Pace forward… and back. Sit. Carve on tablet for huffish moments. Rise and repeat—
The phone rang. Danii dove for it, answering in a rush, “Murdoch, is that you?”
“We have Conrad,” he said, his voice rough. “He’s… Fallen.”
“Oh, Murdoch, I’m so sorry.” Danii’s heart hurt for him. She knew how much Murdoch cared for his brother, how devastating this was to him.
“He was an assassin, but he drank all of his hundreds, or even thousands, of victims. He took all their memories—and their strength.”
“Is he crazed?” she asked, though she knew the answer.
“He nearly totaled Nikolai’s car. From the inside. We barely captured him, and only because the Lykae Bowen MacRieve showed up and helped take him down. By swinging a bar rail into Conrad’s face.”
“Are you safe? Were you hurt?”
“Let’s just say we’re all glad to be immortal,” he muttered, then added, “We’ve got Conrad locked up on a property outside of town, a place called Elancourt.”
“I know of it.” Elancourt wasn’t far from Val Hall and had always struck Danii as creepy. Surely the decrepit gothic manor there wasn’t even livable. “Why would you put him there?”
“Nïx advised Nikolai to.”
What does she have up her sleeve with this?
“It’s going to take a lot of work for the three of us to make it comfortable for Conrad.”
More time away. Avoiding me.
“But it’s hidden,” he reminded her, which was important considering what they were doing. One of the primary rules of the Forbearer order was to kill Fallen vampires—without mercy.
To harbor one would be considered treason, punishable by death.
“What’s the plan now?” she asked.
“We’ll keep him here, try to rehabilitate him with a potion from the witches. Basically do everything in our power to save him. If we can keep him from killing, this might work.”
The common wisdom was that the Fallen couldn’t be brought back. They couldn’t be rehabbed. “What if he’s beyond saving?” she asked quietly, wishing she could spare him the inevitable failure.
“We might have other options,” Murdoch said cryptically.
Reminded of what Nïx had revealed, Danii asked, “Like using Thrane’s Key? Why didn’t you tell me Sebastian had it?”
“I take it Nïx finally called you.” He exhaled. “Danii, it wasn’t my secret to tell. I keep Sebastian’s, just as I keep yours.”
“Will you use the Key?”
“We plan to in time,” he said. “But it was meant to retrieve all our family. If we bring Conrad back from the past with them, his present self would fade. We’d wipe out three hundred years of his life. At the very least, we want to get him well enough to make the decision. We won’t make this one for him. Not like last time.”
“I see,” she murmured, disappointed that he hadn’t confided something so major—even as she knew that Murdoch couldn’t exactly ask Sebastian to let Danii in on the secret. Because Sebastian didn’t know about her.
In a distracted tone, he said, “Look, when we finish up with Conrad, you and I should visit Riora. Maybe we could get her to help us—we’re in an impossible situation, right?”
He doesn’t even realize how hurtful that is to me.
And he also didn’t realize that Riora was the flighty goddess who’d given Danii the bowling shoes…
CHAPTER 32
“Leave me!” Conrad bellowed, straining against his bonds so hard the manacles cut into his wrists.
Murdoch was baffled by this sudden change in his brother after two weeks of gradual—some would say plodding—improvement. He hesitated, contemplating whether he should try again to reach him, or to leave.
When blood began dripping down Conrad’s wrists, Murdoch stood. “Things are heating up overseas,” he finally said, “and none of us will be back until late tomorrow.” Kristoff had warned that a league of Horde vampires might attack Mount Oblak soon. “Do you want to drink before I go?”
“Get out of my sight!”
“Conrad, calm yourself,” Murdoch said, to little effect. Damn it, he’d thought they’d been making such progress with him. They’d gotten him to drink from a cup without spitting blood in their faces and even to shower. Lately, he’d had long spells of lucidity where he’d engaged the brothers in conversation.
But Conrad was still hallucinating, seeing scenes from all those memories he’d harvested, and more recently—an invisible “ghost woman,” who he believed lived in Elancourt with him.
Then today had come this inexplicable setback. All Murdoch had done was try to talk to him about finding his own Bride, about all the benefits inherent in that—because the brothers had discovered that Conrad… had never been with a woman.
And they’d at last determined why he’d gone mad from the turning. Unbeknownst to the entire family, Conrad had been a vampire hunter for more than half his mortal life, had even secretly joined a monastic order sworn to wipe out the species. He’d given up everything—his freedom, his future, women—for this cause.
Then Murdoch and Nikolai had turned him into his starkest nightmare. No wonder he still struggled.
When Conrad began rocking on the bed in a snarling fury, Murdoch murmured, “I’m leaving,” then traced downstairs. Christ, this was a piss day. Had he actually once lamented that life was too boring? Now it seemed a thousand demands were converging on him.
He couldn’t reach Conrad.
Kristoff prepared for war. The three Wroth brothers were to be ready and on call, yet Murdoch couldn’t shake the feeling that their king had become suspicious of what they’d been doing in their downtime.
And Daniela… Murdoch knew he’d been neglecting her. First he’d had to find Conrad, then capture him. Now Murdoch was investigating his brother’s past for anything that might help him recover. Remarkably, Murdoch had yet to learn of a single instance when Conrad had slain an innocent.
But how many times had Murdoch told Daniela he’d be back at the lodge by a certain time, but then Conrad attempted an escape or went into a rage? Murdoch would call to explain, and oftentimes she wouldn’t even answer. Would she tonight? He dialed her number. “Pick up, Danii,” he muttered. No answer. He tried her again.
Murdoch was growing so weary of his double life. Can’t talk about my Bride, can’t bloody touch her. Even as part of him yearned to be near her, another part of him was growing to hate the temptation that was never satisfied. Having his lips a breath away from her flesh and being denied a taste… He didn’t know how much longer he could hold on.
Where the hell is she?
He could simply trace to the lodge, but she might be out, anywhere within that vast forest. Besides, he’d planned to follow leads this eve.
Yet if he were honest, he’d admit he was reluctant to return to their freezing home. Earlier when he’d left, the first Siberian blizzard of the season had just begun raging, delighting her, and dismaying him. Tonight there would be no warm hearth, no warm wife to gather close to him. No warm body to lose himself in…