Kresley Cole - Dark Needs at Night's Edge

Neither Sebastian nor he had wanted to be turned, but then he'd had quite a bit more reason to resent the betrayal. Changed to the very thing I'd been conditioned to hate and trained to destroy...

"Don't want to tell me?" Murdoch says. "Then I'll leave tonight to dig on my own, now that I know what you were—"

"What I am. I'm still a killer for hire."

"Look at yourself." Murdoch seems to stifle his exasperation. "Who'd hire you?"

His face heats. "Fuck off, Murdoch." His brother makes him sound like a washed-up failure. Which he doesn't give a damn about—except that he doesn't want the female to believe this. The one who isn't real. The one I'm about to see.

Almost sunset... any second now. At the window she flickers in the last of the muted light. He begins to make out a more distinct shape.

"Very well," Murdoch says as he stands. "Con, you can resist us because you hate what we are or because you resent our actions. But don't fight just because you're prideful and stubborn." He gives a grin, a hint of the old Murdoch. "What am I saying? If you weren't prideful and stubborn, you wouldn't be Conrad Wroth." He traces out.

Shortly after, Sebastian enters and turns on the overhead light. The glare blazes, and she disappears.

"Turn it off!"

"What? Why?"

"My eyes pain me. Do it."

With a shrug, Sebastian flips off the switch, then sits with his long legs stretched out in front of him. "I understand the anger you feel for Nikolai and Murdoch," Sebastian begins in a measured tone. "I hated them too, you know. For so long, I yearned for revenge. But life can be good again. Better than ever before."

"According to you? There's nothing wrong with my life." Everything's wrong with my life... . How much longer till I can see her?

"Then you'll like it even better sharing it with your fated Bride," Sebastian continues. "She'll calm you, and will help you find clarity. I was on the edge myself before I met mine. One day I had nothing, no real home, no friends, no family. Then as soon as I recognized her as mine, suddenly there was possibility."

Sebastian's obviously musing about her right at this moment, his expression so satisfied. Sickening. "I want you to meet Kaderin soon. Once you're recovered."

They're acting like it's a given that I'll heal.

Impossible. He would know if there was a way to come back from bloodlust. There is no return. No instance of it.

But his brothers' confidence forces him to wonder.

"Kaderin's had... well, her history with fallen vampires is extensive, even for a Valkyrie."

"Kaderin the Coldhearted?" he asks with a slow nod. "An assassin like me. Rumored she snaps vampires' fangs from their decapitated heads, strings them together for her collection. Sounds really fucking calming, Bastian."

Darker outside... The female appears backlit by an iridescent source. He can't discern her features yet. But he can see the outline of her figure. His lips part. Of her breasts.

Sebastian shrugs. "Like I said, Kaderin has a long history with them. Which means we're fighting on the same side. Who knows, you might even have a Valkyrie for a Bride."

Darker. Valkyrie were strange, fey-looking women, with far too much strength for their small bodies—and no hesitation to wade into battles or start wars. If one was his Bride, he'd greet dawn.

Dark.

And there the female is.

Though her image is flickering and colorless like an old TV show, he can make out her dress and her bared arms and shoulders. She's turned away as though perched on the window seat, with her head leaning against the window. He begins to see that she's not entirely colorless. Her nails, her choker, and the ties at her bodice are all a deep crimson.

Are those red petals sprinkled in her wild hair?

The more he can discern of her hazy form, the more he... likes.

She's small in stature, but she has generous breasts. His hands fist behind him again, his fangs subtly aching for that plump flesh. He's never drunk from a woman—and why in the hell has he never drunk from a woman?

He can make out the shine of her nails and the sheen of the slipper ribbons laced up her calves. A slit in her dress climbs up her thigh to reveal a garter.

For some reason, he raises his brows at this. As a vampire who hasn't encountered his Bride, he has no sexual ability or need; her breasts and garters shouldn't interest him whatsoever, not any more than food would.

But they do.

Then... for the first time, he sees her face. And just stifles a curse. He hadn't been deluded that first night.

Figures she'd be fucking beautiful. He grates a short laugh. He would imagine nothing but the best.

Those big blue eyes are another shot of color in her black-and-white image. She has a pert, slim nose and smooth, translucent skin. Her lips are pale, but they're full, especially the bottom one.

As if she feels his scrutiny, she turns to him, easing to her feet. Eerie grace. He makes his expression blank while keeping her in his field of vision.

She tilts her head. Is she studying me? Can she see without the light?

No, she's not real. There's a line between having hallucinations and interacting with them... Can't cross the line.

She appears to walk, though she is floating off the ground. And she's coming directly toward the bed. What does she want from him? Closer... closer...

He dimly hears Sebastian ask, "Do you know what will happen to you when your Bride bloods you? Your heart will start to beat again, and you'll begin to breathe once more. The air is cold and heavy in your lungs, but the pressure feels good if you don't resist it. And then, with some encouragement from her... all of you will come back to life, like a fire's been lit."

A fire lit. In other words, he'll be able to get hard again.

But unlike every other vampire he's known, he doesn't want to be blooded. He likes the stillness within him, will hold on to it with everything he is. Dying isn't so daunting a prospect when you're halfway there... .

Creeping closer to his side, the female lowers her tilted head. Listening to my chest? She's heard Sebastian explaining the lack of a heartbeat and decided to see for herself. Which means she's sentient.

He's held out hope that she is a mindless spirit, unaware of her actions. Or that she's been like him in bloodlust—unthinking, reacting on instinct. Instead, she is very aware. Suddenly, his position embarrasses him. Chained in bed, at the mercy of others. This is the weakest he's ever felt in his entire life.

No, there was another time... .

Up close, he can see flashes of her ghostly hair tumbling over her shoulder. He swallows, closing his eyes as he waits to feel her hair across his skin. He can't perceive more than electric pinpricks. They don't hurt him; they're not unpleasant.

When she flits away, he cracks open his lids. Her lips are parted in surprise. "How strange, dément... your heart's truly still."

He just stops himself from jerking back from her, because the ghost is addressing him directly.

That's it. He's lost his fucking mind.

Her echoing words come slowly. As if they've traveled from miles away. He can scarcely hear them—which means no one else would be able to. His hearing is ten times more acute than even his brothers'. A hundred times more than a human's.

He knows she's not speaking to him in the hope of a response, seems to be just testing speech. She looks like she's tasting the words, determining how they feel rolling on her tongue.

Wait... Did she call me dément? It means madman in French. He feels heat on the back of his neck. Though most times he reacts just like an animal, sometimes, very rarely, he suffers the emotions he thought he'd lost—like shame.

There's a line... But is that how she sees me?