Dark Needs at Night's Edge by Kresley Cole

female was gone and her scent had faded, Conrad had doubts about what had just happened as well. His brothers didn’t pursue it—because they probably knew they wouldn’t believe him. Hesitantly, they left to wait outside.
    After turning off the water, he dried himself. For the first time in perhaps three hundred years, he decided to study his reflection. Stubble, eyes blood red, hair too long and cut unevenly.
    His appearance was disturbing even to him. And this was an improvement over the last several days. He bit out a curse. When human, he’d never given his looks more than a rare and passing thought.
    But then, he’d never wanted to impress anyone before.
    As he changed into the jeans his brothers had left for him—the shirt would be impossible to put on with the cuffs—he considered taking down Nikolai and Sebastian, but he was weakened.
    Besides, he had a better idea... .
    When Conrad exited the room, Sebastian said, “What made you so riled back there?”
    Need to make them think I’m recovering. “Nothing.” Am I recovering? He’d go along with his brothers for now, until he could escape them.
    When Sebastian held up a roll of bandage gauze with his brows raised, Conrad hesitated, then extended his injured arm.
    As Sebastian rebandaged it, Nikolai asked, “How’d you get this?”
    Conrad muttered.
    “Occupational hazard.” Courtesy of Tarut, an ancient and powerful dream demon who worked with the Kapsliga.
    He and the demon had been trying to kill each other for centuries, but neither could quite manage it. Yet just two weeks ago, Tarut had scored a crucial victory.
    He’d marked Conrad with his claws. If the tales about dream demons were true, then whenever he and the demon slumbered at the same time, Tarut could retrieve clues to his whereabouts.
    Conrad had believed the curse of the mark was just folklore, the demons using tales of it to their advantage. But the injury refused to mend.
    And that was only the first part of the curse. Legend held that Conrad couldn’t heal until either the demon had been slain—or Conrad had had both his most fervent dream and most feared nightmare come true.
    “You have to have a dream to lose it,” Tarut had said at their last clash.
    Conrad might actually be closing in on one. He stifled a shudder. His dream... her doom.
    “You look a thousand times better after the shower,” Sebastian said. “You’re definitely getting more focused.”
    He shrugged. It wouldn’t matter. Besides Tarut, Conrad was being hunted by at least half a dozen contingents that wanted him either captured or executed.
    The Kapsliga, his former order, sought his death because he was an abomination to them—a vampire who wore their symbol on his back. They’d made him their priority, dispatching Tarut and other assassins after Conrad.
    Then there were countless offspring of Conrad’s victims, all seeking to avenge their fathers, swords in hand.
    And it was only a matter of time before he became the target of Rydstrom Woede, the fallen king of the fierce rage demons, and Cadeon, his heir.
    Conrad had come by information that they would kill for.
    Dozens of demonarchies held Conrad as enemy number one; he worried about none of them—
    except for the Woede, as the pair was called.
    None of these adversaries would hesitate to destroy anyone who stood in their way. It was possible that Conrad and his brothers could be taken down without his lifting a finger.
    “Are you ready to drink?” Nikolai asked.
    “The only thing I drink that’s not fresh from the vein is whiskey,” he lied.
    In the past, Conrad had drunk bagged blood, but he refused now. Though he was getting thirstier, he didn’t need nourishment as often as other vampires, and he’d be damned if he bent to their will in this.
    Murdoch had called him stubborn, and Conrad couldn’t deny it. After being captured, chained, and drugged, Conrad wouldn’t prove obliging to their futile plans—especially when he wouldn’t be