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Dark Needs at Night's Edge (Immortals After Dark, Book 4), by Kresley Cole
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New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author Kresley Cole continues her seductive and “devilishly passionate” (RT Book Reviews) Immortals After Dark series with this tale of a vampire shunned by his own kind and a beautiful phantom, bound together by a passion they cannot resist.
Néomi Laress, a famous ballerina from a past century, became a phantom the night she was murdered. Imbued with otherworldly powers but invisible to the living, she haunts her beloved home, scaring away trespassers—until she encounters a ruthless immortal even more terrifying than Néomi herself.
To prevent him from harming others, vampire warrior Conrad Wroth’s brothers imprison him in an abandoned manor. But there, a female only he can see seems determined to drive him further into madness. The exquisite creature torments him with desire, leaving his body racked with lust and his soul torn as he finds himself coveting her for his own.
Yet even if Conrad can win Néomi, evil still surrounds her. Once he returns to the brutality of his past to protect her, will he succumb to the dark needs seething inside him?
- Sales Rank: #584709 in Books
- Brand: Pocket Books
- Model: 3782120
- Published on: 2008-04
- Released on: 2008-04-29
- Original language: English
- Number of items: 1
- Dimensions: 6.75" h x 1.00" w x 4.19" l, .40 pounds
- Binding: Mass Market Paperback
- 384 pages
- Great product!
From Publishers Weekly
A New Orleans ballerina in the 1920s, Neomi Laress had her life cut short by a murderous fiancé. She has haunted her estate, Elancourt, for the past 80 years, desperately seeking contact. Conrad Wroth is a self-loathing vampire mercenary with serious bloodlust. His brothers bring him to Elancourt to try to make him sane again, but he soon gets drawn into Neomi's difficult world, and the two fall for each other. But since Neomi isn't embodied, they can't touch. And that's just one of their problems. The banter of secondary characters, particularly Mariketa the Witch, distinguishes this standard story of an unattainable woman who needs saving and a rageful man who needs taming. (May)
Copyright © Reed Business Information, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved.
About the Author
*Sign up for Kresley's email newsletter to receive the latest book release updates, as well as info about contests & giveaways ( kresleycole.com/newsletter/ )
Kresley Cole is the #1 New York Times bestselling author of the electrifying Immortals After Dark paranormal series, the young adult Arcana Chronicles series, the erotic Gamemakers Series, and five award-winning historical romances.
A master's grad and former athlete, she has traveled over much of the world and draws from those experiences to create her memorable characters and settings.
Her IAD books have been translated into eighteen foreign languages, garnered three RITA awards, and consistently appear on the bestseller lists, in the U.S. and abroad.
You can learn more about her and her work at kresleycole.com or facebook.com/KresleyCole
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
Dark Needs at Night’s Edge Outside Orleans Parish
Present day
Stay sane, act normal, he chants to himself as he strides down the rickety pier. On either side of him, water black like tar. Ahead of him, muted light from the bayou tavern. A Lore bar. A lone neon sign flickers over flat skiffs below. Music and laughter carry.
Stay sane . . . need to dull the rage. Until the endtime.
Inside. “Whiskey.” His voice is low, rough from disuse.
The bartender’s face falls. Like last night. Others grow skittish. Can they sense that I ache to kill? The whispers around him are like metal on slate to his ragged nerves.
—“Conrad Wroth, once a warlord . . . madder than any vampire I’ve seen in all my centuries.”
—“A killer for hire. If he shows up in your town, then folks from the Lore there’ll go missing.”
Missing? Unless I want them found.
—“Heard he drains ’em so savagely . . . nothing’s left of their throats.”
So I’m not fastidious.
—“I heard he eats them.”
Distorted rumors. Or is that one true?
Tales of his insanity spreading once more. I’ve never missed a target—how insane can I be? He answers himself: Very fucking much so.
Memories clot his mind. His victims’ memories taken from their blood toll inside him, their number always growing. Don’t know what’s real; can’t determine what’s illusion. Most of the time, he can scarcely understand his own thoughts. He doesn’t go a day without seeing some type of hallucination, striking out at shadows around him.
A grenade with the pin pulled, they say. Only a matter of time.
They’re right.
Stay sane . . . act normal. Glass in hand, he chuckles softly on his way to a dimly lit table in the back. Normal? He’s a goddamned vampire in a bar filled with shifters, demons, and the sharp-eared fey. Christmas lights are strung up in the back—through the eye sockets of human skulls that frame a mirror. In the corner, a demoness lazily strokes her lover’s horns, visibly arousing the male. At the bar, an immense werewolf bares his fangs, bowing protectively as he tosses a small redhead behind him.
Can’t decide if you should attack, Lykae? That’s right. I don’t smell of blood. A trick I learned.
The couple leaves, the redhead all but carried out by the Lykae. As they exit, she peers over her shoulder, her eyes like mirrors. Then gone. Out into the night where they belong.
Sit. Back against the wall. He adjusts the sunglasses that shade his red eyes, dirty red eyes. As he scans the room, he resists the urge to rub his palm over the back of his neck. Watched by someone unseen?
But then, I always feel like that.
He swoops up the drink, narrowing his eyes at his steady hand. My mind’s decayed, but my sword hand’s still true. A ruinous combination.
He takes a liberal swallow. The drink. The whiskey dulls the need to lash out. Not that it has disappeared.
Small things enrage him. An off look. Someone approaching too quickly. Failing to give him a wide enough berth. His fangs sharpen at the slightest provocation. As though a living thing hungers inside me. Ravenous for blood and a throat to tear. Each time he acts on the rage, others’ memories blight more of his own.
He still has enough sanity to stalk his targets—his brothers. He will mete out retribution to Nikolai and Murdoch Wroth for doing the unspeakable to him. Sebastian, the third brother, was a victim like him, but must be slain—simply because of what he is.
And my time grows nigh. Like an animal, he recognizes this. He’s found them in this mysterious place of swamps and haze and music. He’s seen Nikolai and Sebastian with their wives. He might have felt envy that his brothers laugh with them. That they touch them possessively, with wonder in their clear eyes. But hatred drowns out any confusing jealousy.
Offspring will follow. He’ll kill their females as well. Destroy them. Destroy myself. Before my enemies catch up with me.
He adjusts the bandage under his shirt on his left arm. The slashed skin beneath it will not heal. Five days ago, he was marked by a dream demon, one who tracks him by this very injury. One who promised that most coveted dream and most dreaded nightmare would follow the mark.
His brows draw together. The hunter will soon become the hunted—his life is nearing its end.
A whisper of regret. The thing he regrets most. He tries to remember what he covets so dearly. Another’s memories bombard him, exploding in his mind. His hand shoots up to clasp his forehead—
Nikolai enters the bar, Murdoch behind him. Their expressions are grave.
They’ve come to kill me. As he expected. He thought he could draw them out by returning here again and again. He lowers his hand, and his lips ease back from his fangs. The bar empties in a rush.
Then . . . stillness. His brothers stare at him as if seeing a ghost. Insects clamor outside. Rain draws near and steeps the air. Just as lightning strikes in the distance, Sebastian enters, crossing to stand beside the other two. He’s allied with them? This he hadn’t expected.
He removes his sunglasses, revealing his red eyes. The eldest, Nikolai, stifles a wince at the sight, but shakes it off and advances. The three seem surprised that he’ll stay to engage them, that he hasn’t traced away. They are strong and skilled, yet they don’t recognize the power he wields, the thing he’s become.
He can slaughter them all without blinking, and he’ll savor it. They haven’t drawn their swords? Then they walk to their doom. Can’t keep them waiting.
He lunges from his seat and hurdles the table, knocking Sebastian unconscious with a blow that cracks his skull and sends him flying into the back wall. Before the other two can raise a hand in defense, he snatches them by their throats. One in each tightening hand as they grapple to free themselves. “Three hundred years of this,” he hisses. Their struggles do nothing; their shocked expressions satisfy. Squeezing—
Wood creaks behind him. He shoves back and heaves his brothers at a new enemy. Too late; that Lykae’s returned and slashes out with flared claws, ripping through his torso. Blood gushes.
He roars with fury and charges the werewolf, dodging claws and teeth with uncanny speed to barrel him to the ground. Just as his hands are about to meet around the Lykae’s corded neck, the beast claps something to his right wrist.
A manacle? Clenching harder, he grates out a rasping laugh. “You don’t think that will hold me?” Bones begin to pop beneath his palms. The kill is near, and he wants to yell with pleasure.
The werewolf cuffs his left wrist.
What is this? The metal won’t bend. Won’t break. They goddamned mean to take me alive? He leaps to his feet, tensing to trace. Nothing. Sebastian on the floor, pouring blood from his temple, has him by the ankles.
He kicks Sebastian, connecting squarely with his brother’s chest. Ribs crack. He whirls around—in time to catch the bar rail the Lykae swings at his face.
He staggers but remains on his feet.
“What the fuck is he?” the Lykae bellows, swinging the rail again with all his might.
The brutal hit takes him across his neck. A split second of faltering. Enough for his brothers to tackle him.
He thrashes and bites, snapping his fangs. Can’t break free . . . can’t . . . They attach the manacles at his wrists to another chain. He kicks viciously, stunned when they trap his legs as well.
Choking with rage, he strains against his bonds with all his strength. The metal cleaves his skin to the bone. Nothing.
Caught. He roars, spitting blood at them, dimly hearing them speak.
“I hope you came up with a good place to put him,” Sebastian says between ragged breaths.
“I bought a long-abandoned manor,” Nikolai grates, “place called Elancourt.”
Chills course through him even through his fury; pain erupts from the injury on his arm. A dream. His doom. He can never go to this Elancourt—knows this with a savage certainty. He’s too strong for them to trace him—there’s still time to escape.
If they take him there, they won’t take him alive. . . .
* * *
Under a clouded nighttime sky, the spirit of Néomi Laress knelt in the drive at the very edge of her property line, gazing hungrily at the newspaper, lying wrapped in wet plastic.
Today the deliveryman—that capricious fiend—had missed the drive again, this time tossing the bundle squarely onto the desolate county road.
Néomi was starving for that paper, desperate for the news, reviews, and commentary that would break up the monotony of her life—or her eighty-year-long afterlife.
But she couldn’t leave the estate to seize it. As a ghost, Néomi could manipulate matter telekinetically, and her power was nearly absolute at Elancourt—she could rattle all the windows or tear off the roof if she wanted to, and the weather often changed with her emotions—but not outside the property.
Her beloved home had become her prison, her eternal cell of fifteen acres and a slowly dying manor. Among fate’s other curses, each seemingly designed to torture her in personal and specific ways, Néomi could never leave this place.
She didn’t know why this was so—only that it was, and had been since she’d awakened the morning after her murder. She recalled seeing her haunting reflection for the first time. Néomi remembered that exact moment when she’d realized that she’d died—when she’d first comprehended what she’d become.
A ghost. She’d become something that frightened even her. Something unnatural. Never again to be a lover or friend. Never to be a mother, like she’d always planned after her dancing career. As a storm had boiled outside, she’d silently screamed for hours.
The only thing she could be thankful for was that Louis hadn’t been trapped here with her.
She stretched harder. Must . . . have that . . . paper!
Néomi wasn’t certain why it continued to arrive. A past article had recounted the problems inherent with “recurrent billing of credit cards,” and she supposed she was the benefactress of her last tenant’s credit card negligence. The delivery could end at any time. Every one was precious.
Eventually she gave up, defeated, sitting back in the weed-ridden drive. Out of habit, she made movements as if she was rubbing her thighs, yet felt nothing.
Néomi could never feel. Never again. She was incorporeal, as substantial as the mist rolling in from the bayou.
Thanks, Louis. Oh, and may you rot in hell—because surely that’s where you went. . . .
Usually, at this point in the newspaper struggle, she’d be battling the urge to tear her hair out, wondering how much longer she could endure this existence, speculating what she’d done to deserve it.
Yes, on the night of her death, she’d refused to die, but this was ridiculous.
But even as desperate as she was for the words, she wasn’t as badly off as usual.
Because last night a man had come into her home. A towering, handsome man with grave eyes. He might return this night. He might even move in.
She shouldn’t get too excited about the stranger, to have her hopes crushed yet again—
Lights blinded her; the shriek of squealing tires ripped through the quiet of the night.
As a car shot forward onto the gravel, she futilely raised her arms to protect her face and gave a silent cry. It drove straight through her, the engine reverberating like an earthquake when it passed through her head.
The vehicle never slowed as it prowled down the oak-lined drive to Elancourt.
Most helpful customer reviews
67 of 71 people found the following review helpful.
Five Blue Ribbons from Romance Junkies!
By Janine B.
A slow descent into madness. That is the life of Conrad Wroth, a vampire warrior. For each kill he makes, the memories of his foes become his own. With each additional kill, the voices in his head become more pronounced until he can't differentiate between his thoughts and thoughts of his defeated enemies. Knowing that insanity is his final reward, he is determined to kill those who made him into the monster he is - his brothers.
Hoping to save their brother from the madness that is overwhelming him, Nikolai, Sebastian and Murdoch capture the defiant Conrad and imprison him in an old, vacant mansion. They don't see the apparition that Conrad sees - the ghostly vision of a stunningly beautiful woman, sure to drive him to further madness as desire begins to consume him.
Néomi Laress has been in a non-corporeal form since her tragic death eighty years ago. Not seen or heard by others, she is astounded that the madman now occupying her home can see her. Though his form is fine, his uncontrollable rages make Néomi cautious. Her presence seems to slightly calm the beast, while his presence brings some brightness to her isolated world. The two begin a mutual journey that could very well be their salvation, or their final destruction.
First, let me say that I have been thoroughly captivated by Cole's well developed world of the Lore. Upon hearing the concept of this book, admittedly I was concerned. How could the author deliver a satisfying romantic pairing between an insane vampire and a ghostly apparition? My uncertainty was quickly put to rest. From the very first page, Kresley Cole hypnotically pulled me into another romantic adventure of her Immortals After Dark Series with DARK NEEDS AT NIGHT'S EDGE.
I never should have doubted the ability of this prolific writer. With a talent for paranormal that has no equal, Ms. Cole creates a hero of dark driven needs and a bold heroine of strength and courage. Conrad Wroth is power personified, but with an irrepressible rage that he struggles to contain after his first meeting with Néomi. His attraction to the lovely ghost competes with his need for revenge. With a strength born of her long imprisonment as a ghost, Neomi is daringly attracted to unattainable life as well as the powerful vampire. The unlikely pairing of these two contrary personas is both compelling and breathtaking.
Prepare yourself for a wickedly exhilarating ride through the world of the Lore with Kresley Cole's latest offering. I can't recommend Conrad and Neomi's book enough. Fabulous, Ms. Cole! Simply fabulous!
0 of 0 people found the following review helpful.
the Dancer and the Assassin
By Daria
I have always loved Kresley Coles Immortal After Dark Series, Ive read a few though not in order mores the pity. (smiles)
I love the characters in this full novel, some parts dragged a bit but then other flowed smoothly and kept you wanting to read.
We meet Conrad a touch more than a mad vampire, his older brothers are trying to help gain a bit or normalcy. His brothers still see the potential good in Conrad. But when Conrad starts talking to himself they think he has a set back.
A dancer, a well know Ballerina killed in her home and left to haunt its halls. Neomi doesn't know what to think about the red eye'd vampire that has invaded her home.
Each such a sad soul, slightly broken but fixable? Can Conrad give Neomi something tangible to hold on to? Will Neomie be that one that calms the monster inside?
all over a great story I enjoyed seeing Nix and Markita the awaited. A few pretty hot scenes and as norm a evil baddie lurks. fate, choices and descisions. Enjoy
0 of 0 people found the following review helpful.
A Rare Treat
By Chelsea Marie Spencer
I usually don't give books five stars, but the fact is I can't find much to complain about with this one--it was a delightful page-turner.
The Plot:
Conrad is one of the Fallen vampires, having committed the forbidden act of killing while feeding. He has become mad and powerful, as well as cold. His brothers trap him in an old house in an attempt to rehabilitate him. This house happens to be the haunting place of ghost Neomi, who in life was a beautiful ballerina. Conrad is the only one who can see Neomi, and he quickly comes to enjoy her company--despite the fact that she is as insubstantial as air.
What Makes it A Five Star Read:
I was initially uncertain about the concept of a ghost as the female lead--but as it turns out, it makes the story. The imagery of the long-dead ballerina is beautiful and fascinating. To me it was incredibly romantic to have two characters fall in love although they could not touch one another.
As the story unfolds, we see a lot of return characters from previous books--including Nikolai, Sebastian, Bowen, and Mariketa. If you are a fan of the series, this is a nice bonus.
I recommend this book to any fan of The Immortals After Dark series. I highly recommend the series to any paranormal romance fans looking for something fun and different. The reading order is as follows:
Playing Easy to Get (An Anthology that Includes Nikolai's story)
A Hunger Like No Other
No Rest for the Wicked
Wicked Deeds on a Winters Night
Dark Needs at Night's Edge
Dark Desires After Dusk
Kiss of a Demon King
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