Darkness Dawns

Chapter 9

Roland’s pulse increased as warmth unfurled in his chest like a cat awakening from a nap. Sarah returned her heels to the floor and gazed up at him with tenderness softening her hazel eyes.

“Why did you do that?” he asked, reaching up to touch the tingling skin her lips had brushed.

She smiled. “I wanted to. And you looked like you might need it.”

Had he? The old anger had risen up to choke him as it always did when he thought of Edward. Yet it had dissolved the instant she kissed him, her delectable scent sweeping over him, intoxicating him.

He had needed it. Needed that and so much more. He needed her. He needed …

Slowly lowering his head, Roland claimed her lips in an excruciatingly gentle exploration.

Her breath caught. Eyelids drifting closed, she parted her lips and invited him within.

Roland eagerly complied, his tongue gliding in to stroke and tease hers. His body tightened as lust hit him hard. Touching her sides just beneath her arms, he drew her nearer. She was so small. So delicate. He could feel the faint ridges of her ribs beneath his fingers as his thumbs brushed the sides of her full breasts.

Sarah thought her heart might burst from her chest as Roland’s lips seduced hers, first gently, then hungrily, speeding her pulse. Fire danced through her as his thumbs stroked the sides of her breasts, straying ever closer to the sensitive peaks. Again she rose onto her toes so he wouldn’t have to bend down so far. Smoothing her hands up his chest and around his neck, she leaned into him and buried her fingers in his hair, clutching a silky fistful.

He wrapped his arms around her and pressed her to him, a low growl rumbling in his throat. Sarah winced when one of his hands slid up her back and put fleeting pressure on the large bruise a tree had spawned. At least, she assumed there was a bruise. She had forgotten to look earlier, but it hurt badly enough.

His other hand followed the same path, triggering the same sharp pain.

A niggling thought pricked her.

Dragging her lips from his, she turned her head aside and tried to clear her muddled thoughts.

Roland merely kissed a path along her jaw and down her neck, making her knees go weak.

“Wait,” she protested feebly.

His body hard and throbbing with need, Roland drew his tongue across the pulse that beat rapidly just beneath the soft skin at the base of Sarah’s neck. “You smell so good,” he whispered hoarsely.

“That isn’t me. It’s your expensive bath products.”

He shook his head. “It’s you.” He drew in a long, deep breath and held it a moment. It was stronger now and mingled with the even more enticing scent of her budding arousal. “You could set me down blindfolded in the middle of a packed football stadium and I could find you by your scent alone. No perfume on the planet can compare.”

She tasted good, too, he discovered, brushing his lips over her soft skin. And there was so much more of her he wanted to taste. To feel. To stroke. Explore.

Resenting the T-shirt that kept him from touching bare flesh, he caressed her back and sought her succulent lips once more.

“Wait,” she said again, pressing against his chest. “Where are your hands?”

A groan of frustrated desire welled up inside him, but he didn’t let it escape. Swearing silently, Roland forced himself to take a step back, held his hands out to his sides where she could see them, and wished fervently that she had waited a little longer to come to her senses. They were both breathing hard as she stared up at him with lips red and swollen from his kisses. Her lovely breasts rose and fell rapidly beneath the cotton of her T-shirt, making him clench his hands into fists to avoid reaching for her.

He supposed he should apologize. He had taken an innocent gesture of affection and turned it into something else entirely. Not what she had expected, he was sure.

“Were you healing me again?” she demanded breathlessly.

He blinked at the odd question. “What?”

“Your hands were on my back. Were you trying to heal me on the sly again?”

He frowned. “What’s wrong with your back?”

Her fingertips still touched his chest, holding him at bay. She waved the other hand dismissively. “Just answer the question. The last time you kissed me, you only did it to distract me while you healed me.”

She didn’t really believe that, did she?

The suspicion and hurt reflected in her eyes suggested she did.

Well, hell.

“Distracting you while I healed you was only an excuse. I’ve wanted to kiss you ever since I woke up with your beautiful body stretched atop mine and your enchanting scent making my head swim.” He paused. “No. No, that’s not true. I’ve wanted to kiss you ever since you held me in your kitchen after helping me remove the spikes. That was a bit earlier.”

Her hands falling limply to her sides, she swallowed visibly. “Really?”

He nodded slowly, then took a step closer as a spark of heat returned to her eyes.

When she backed into the counter, he braced his hands on either side of her, trapping her in between. “You don’t know how much I regret passing out this morning. Missing the feel of your hands bathing my naked flesh.” Leaning down until his lips nearly touched the sensitive skin beneath her ear, he drew in a slow, deep breath. “I love your scent.” He let his lips follow a path down her neck to the hollow where it met her shoulder, still close but not touching, breath warming her skin. “Your every touch inflames me, leaves me hard and aching, unable to hide my reaction to you.” Raising his head, he stared down at her. “Can you truly not know how much I want you?”

Reaching up, she rested her palm against his cheek. Roland covered her small hand with his and held it there, savoring her touch.

“Your eyes are glowing again,” she whispered.

“They’ll always glow when I want you.” He hesitated. “Does it … frighten you?” Disgust you?

Smiling, she shook her head. “I think it’s beautiful.” Her hand moved beneath his and he released it, expecting her to withdraw. Instead she curled her fingers around his neck and drew him toward her. Leaning forward, she brushed her lips against the base of his throat, tasting him with her tongue.

Roland did groan then, pulse leaping, and rested his hands on her hips, gripping the material of her jeans tightly.

She placed her other hand on his chest and slid it down, burning a path across his stomach, making the muscles there quiver until she was cupping the heavy erection that strained against the front of his slacks.

Igniting at her bold caress, he stared down at her and saw the glow from his own eyes reflected in hers.

“I want you, too,” she murmured.

Roland swooped down and captured her lips, devouring her even as the hunger devoured him from the inside out. Finding her breast with one large hand, he stroked a hardened nipple through the thin T-shirt and lace that covered it.

She tore her lips from his with a gasp and began to stroke him through his slacks. “What are you doing to me?”

He licked and kissed a fevered path down her throat. “If you have to ask, I’m not doing it right.”

She responded with a sound that was part laugh, part moan. “If you weren’t doing it right, I wouldn’t be this tempted.”

Continuing to stroke and squeeze him, she drove him nearly mad with lust.

Giving her nipple a pinch, he poised his mouth above her other breast. “How tempted are you?”

“Extremely tempted.”

Roland fastened his mouth onto her breast, dampening the material of her T-shirt, finding the hardened peak and teasing it with his teeth.

She groaned, inflaming him further. When she abandoned his erection, he nearly protested. Then both of her small hands reached around, grabbed his ass, and pulled him flush against her as she rose onto her toes.

“I’m not like this,” she gasped.

Leaning his body into hers, he slid his free hand down the outside of her thigh, tucked his hand beneath her knee, and drew her leg up over his hip. “I like you like this,” he murmured around her breast. He could feel her heart beating wildly in her chest.

He rocked against her, urged on by those hands on his ass and her leg over his hip.

“You don’t—” She moaned, arched into him. “Y-you don’t understand. I don’t”—another gasp—“I don’t have sex with men I’ve just met.”

He slid the hand at her knee up her thigh, down over her lovely ass and farther until he was stroking her hot, moist center through the damp material of her jeans. “By sex I assume you mean intercourse?”

“Yesss.”

He raised his head and met her hungry eyes. “No problem. I can give you orgasms without it.”

Sarah stared into those glowing eyes, then grabbed a fistful of his hair and dragged his mouth to hers. His fingers continued to stroke her through her jeans as his body thrust against hers, increasing the pressure, raising the pleasure, making her wild with need.

She began an almost frantic foray with her hands, gliding them over his back, his arms, his chest, feeling the hard, heavy muscle ripple beneath her palms. His lips left hers, sweeping down her neck, briefly closing over the pulse that raced just beneath the skin before returning to her breast. Her head fell back.

The hand teasing her other breast slid around her back and crushed her to him.

Pain burst through her in a shattering wave. Sarah stiffened and thought she may have cried out.

His head jerked up, his eyes seeking hers.

Blackness swam at the edges of her vision.

She didn’t know what he saw in her face, but his hands left her in a rush.

Concern flooding his features, he eased her thigh off his hip and lowered her foot to the floor. “Sarah?”

She shook her head, unable to speak, unable to breathe it hurt so badly. Tears welled in her eyes.

“Where does it hurt?”

She shook her head again.

Gently cupping her face in one large palm, he held her gaze as the amber glow in his began to fade to brown. “Breathe,” he commanded softly.

She did, each breath choppy and torturous, realizing only then that she was clutching fistfuls of his T-shirt. Jeeze, it hurt. Every time she inhaled, it felt as though someone were pounding her back with a sledgehammer.

His thumbs brushed aside a few tears that escaped as she gradually began to recover. “If you can’t tell me,” he enjoined quietly, “show me. Is it your upper or lower back?”

Had the pain not begun to mellow from agony to hurts-like-hell, she probably would have told him, knowing he could end it. But she remained silent, breath coming a little easier now.

Perhaps her expression revealed that it was no longer that she couldn’t tell him, but wouldn’t, because she could actually see the frustration well up within him and spill over his handsome features.

“Don’t be stubborn. I’m at full strength. It won’t harm me.”

“Yes, it will.” Uncurling her hands, she let them fall to her sides and did her best to appear normal.

Roland’s jaw clenched as he released her and took a step back. “Don’t make me regret being honest with you, Sarah.”

Clearly he wasn’t buying it. “You said it hurts you when you heal, that you absorb both the wound and the pain.”

“It is fleeting!” he practically shouted. “Do you have any idea how much pain I have suffered over the centuries?”

“Yes, and I don’t want to be the source of any more,” she insisted.

He started to respond, then clamped his lips shut. Silence filled the kitchen as he visibly wrestled with his temper. “Is that the true reason you don’t want me to heal you? Or is there another?”

She frowned. What other reason could there be?

Before she could ask, he turned and strode, fuming, from the room.

Nietzsche, seated beside his now-empty bowl, gave her a condemning look, then began to groom himself.

She was still standing there, unconsciously staring at the cat, when Marcus poked his head in a few minutes later.

He took one look at her face and sighed. “That’s what I thought.” He entered the kitchen, his upper body bare, one hand holding a sheet wrapped around his waist. Pink scars that only hours ago had been open cuts marred the muscles of his chest, abdomen, and arms. “Here’s the thing,” he said. “When you reject Roland’s gift, you’re rejecting him.”

How did he know …?

Dread filled her. “How much did you hear?”

He smiled. “Enough. Sorry about that. Couldn’t help it.”

Heat flooded her face. She had forgotten about their hyper-acute hearing. “I’m not rejecting his gift,” she said, trying not to think about the heavy breathing and moaning he must have heard.

“That probably isn’t how he sees it.” Coming closer, he leaned against the cabinets beside her. “Look, we immortals tend to be a little … sensitive about our gifts. Every one of us has been feared, ostracized, or even abused because of them in the past. And not just by strangers. If you let Roland touch you to bring you pleasure”—her flush deepened—“but don’t let him touch you to heal you with his gift, what else is he supposed to think but that that part of him repels you?”

She threw her hands up. “That I don’t want to hurt him!” Why was that so hard for them to understand?

He snorted. “Sarah, the vampire who transformed Roland didn’t just feed on him, he tortured him. For months.” Roland had left out that part of the story. “In comparison, healing whatever wounds you have would hurt him about as much as removing a splinter. And the pain would be just as fleeting since he’s at full strength and your wounds aren’t life-threatening.”

She eyed him uncertainly, thinking he must be exaggerating the part about it being so painless, but …

Did Roland really think that part of him repelled her?

“Besides,” Marcus added, “healing you will bring him peace. I could feel his concern for you all the way from the guest room and I’m not even an empath.”

She thought about it a moment longer, her back still screaming at her.

When you reject Roland’s gift, you’re rejecting him.

Nodding slowly, she touched Marcus’s arm in a brief gesture of thanks, then left the kitchen.

Steaming water flowed into the whirlpool tub with a dim roar as Roland stood in the bathroom, a packet of herbs forgotten in one hand. Since Sarah had refused to let him heal her, he had intended to run a bath for her that would soothe her aches and bruises. But that may not be necessary now.

Bending, he turned off the tap, tossed the herbs onto the counter, and crossed to the doorway.

Sarah stood in the center of the bedroom, looking uncertain, apologetic, and pained. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean … I don’t want you to think I …” She looked away, brow furrowing, then met his gaze once more. “Would you please heal my back, Roland?”

“Of course,” he said, heart pounding as he strode toward her, not stopping until they nearly touched.

She had to tilt her head way back to look up at him. “I wasn’t rejecting you,” she said earnestly. “I just didn’t want to cause you pain.”

“Knowing you’re suffering pains me more than healing your wounds would.”

She nodded, swallowing. “Would you help me remove my shirt?”

He stayed her hands when she reached for the hem. “Let me close the door.” He didn’t want Marcus to catch a glimpse of her on his way back to the guest room.

When the door was closed and ensured their privacy, he rejoined her and reached for the hem of her T-shirt.

Raising her arms, she winced and bit her lip, holding her breath until he had dragged the shirt over her head and she could lower them again.

Ignoring her bountiful breasts, barely covered in black lace, Roland tossed the shirt aside and examined the pale bruises forming on her chest that she had failed to mention.

“These don’t hurt that much,” she said, following his gaze. “In the front, my arms caught the brunt of it and you healed them when you healed my cuts.”

Remaining silent, he circled behind her so he could view the damage there, then swore foully. A bruise the width of his fist, already livid against her pale, pale skin, crossed her back from lower shoulder blade to shoulder blade. Narrower strips of bruises crisscrossed it. Still others polka-dotted the flesh in between, giving the illusion that she had been beaten, whipped, and stoned all at once.

His gaze dipped down to her bottom and beyond. “Is this all of it?” he asked grimly.

There was the slightest hesitation. “No, I pretty much hurt all over. Except for my hands.”

Reaching around her, he unbuttoned, then unzipped, her jeans.

He heard her heart begin to pound a rapid rhythm as he tucked his thumbs in the sides and drew them down her legs. Her hand came to rest on his shoulder as she stepped out of them and kicked them aside.

Roland knelt there for a moment, fighting down the arousal that had never left him. Her body was all that he had known it would be. Slender. Toned. Muscles causing gentle ripples. Her hips were full, not boyishly skinny like so many actresses’ hips were, and—with her breasts—formed a perfect hourglass. Her bottom was round and firm and, beneath her black bikini panties, probably just as bruised as the rest of her. Had it not been, he might have leaned forward and sunk his teeth in for a love bite.

Roland shook himself and shifted his focus to healing her. Wrapping his hands around one delicate ankle, he summoned the energy within him and felt heat blossom in his palms, then suffuse her skin, mending tissue and withdrawing pain. Up her calf and shin he slowly trailed them, over her knee to her thigh. The higher they climbed, the faster her heart beat.

Stopping just short of the panties, still damp from their love play, he began again at the other ankle. Her skin was velvety smooth, tempting him to linger, feeding the need that still rode him.

When both legs were healed, the pain and blotchy bruising erased, he fingered the top edge of her panties, then peeked at the bottom beneath. She was bruised there, too. Sarah offered no protest as he stood and slipped his hands beneath the scrap of fabric to cup her succulent flesh. He saw her throat work as she swallowed, her eyelids fluttering closed.

Energy sizzled, passed from him into her, imbued her with warmth, then returned to him carrying her pain. Marcus hadn’t lied. Roland barely felt it, an ache he easily dismissed until he worked his way up her back to the place where it looked as if she had been hit with a baseball bat. The skin there wasn’t merely bruised. It was puffy and swollen.

Even the lightest touch made her jump and clench the hands at her sides into fists.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I have to touch it to heal you.”

She nodded.

It hurt more to heal this one. He was surprised she had been able to hide it from him and wished she would have let him attend to it earlier and spare her that. As the swelling decreased, the tension in her shoulders eased, pouring out of her like water. After another minute or two, the marks above it were gone as well and the perfection of her narrow back was restored.

Sarah sighed with relief as the last of her discomfort vanished. She thought that was the end of it, that Roland was finished. But just as she started to turn around, he moved closer, pressing his front to her back. His fingers slipped between her arms and her sides. Those large hands flowed over the twitching skin of her stomach and settled low over one hipbone.

A now familiar tingling heat filtered into her as he absorbed the bruise forming there. He nuzzled her ear with his lips as his hands caressed their way up to the ribs on her left side. Once the soreness she had forgotten there was healed, he slid his hands up the sides of her breasts to her chest and shoulders, then very slowly down over her upper arms, which sported quite a few faint bruises, particularly on the left side where her body had slammed into the car door as the Prius had careened to a halt.

By the time the last bruise, cut, or ache was healed, there was very little of her that had gone untouched. It was almost as if Roland were not only healing her, but learning her—every curve, dip, and valley—much as a sculptor would a subject he wished to commit to memory so that he might reproduce it later with clay or stone. It wasn’t sexual (though heat that had nothing to do with his gift lingered long after his hands had moved on). But tender. So tender.

And intense.

When he finished, he surprised her by wrapping his arms around her shoulders, just above her breasts, and resting his cheek atop her hair. Peace filtered through her, as though they had stood like this many times, basking in each other’s nearness.

Reaching up, she lightly grasped the arms crossed over her chest. “Thank you, Roland.”

He nodded, a contented sigh ruffling her bangs. “Sleep with me tonight,” he murmured, so softly she nearly missed it.

With his supernatural hearing, he probably had no difficulty hearing the increase in her pulse rate.

Leaning to one side, she looked up at him over her shoulder.

His eyes found hers, reading the question in them. “Just sleep,” he promised. “I want to be near you.”

And she knew that it was not for the purpose of protection, but because he felt the same pull she did.

“Okay.”

He pressed a light kiss to her temple, then stepped back and dragged his T-shirt over his head.

Sarah swallowed and decided she would forgo the nightgown she had brought with her and sleep in her underwear so she could feel that warm, hard, muscled flesh pressed against her with as little material between them as possible.

They took turns in the bathroom, Sarah first. As she climbed into the bed, she marveled at the soft white sheets and just how big the mattress was. It was comfortable, too, she discovered as she snuggled down against the pillows, wondering why the thought of sharing it with Roland didn’t make her nervous.

Roland emerged from the bathroom, leaving the light on and the door cracked. “The dark curtains prevent sunlight from getting in, so it’s pretty much pitch black in here with the light off. If you rise before me, I don’t want you to trip and hurt yourself.”

“Thank you.”

He doffed his slacks and tossed them onto a chair. Clad only in black boxers, he crossed to the door, muscled thighs rippling with every movement, and flipped the overhead light off.

Sarah was glad the bathroom light was still on so she could watch him approach.

“I always sleep in the buff. Is that all right?”

She nodded and watched, breath held, as the boxers hit the floor. He was so beautiful.

The mattress dipped as he slid beneath the covers. Turning toward her, he propped himself on one elbow and studied her intently. Then, leaning down, he brushed her lips with a light kiss. “Goodnight, Sarah.”

“Goodnight.”

It felt like the most natural thing in the world when he urged her to roll onto her side, facing away from him, and spooned up behind her. His chest was warm and solid at her back. His hips and thighs cradled hers. Even as the erection trapped against her bottom sped her pulse, exhaustion swept over her and seemed to seep into her very bones.

One of Roland’s heavy arms circled her waist and held her tight against him as he buried his face in her hair.

Wrapped comfortably in his embrace, Sarah drifted into sleep.

Seth and David’s search took them well outside the city of Houston. Venturing farther and farther west, they passed through grazing and farmlands and one small town after another until they thought they had finally found what they sought.

Seth stood in the shadows of numerous tall pine and oak trees. It wasn’t even June and the hard clay soil beneath his boots was already cracked with drought. Pine cones, pine nettles, decayed leaves, and an abundance of acorns carpeted the bare ground where grass and weeds should have been growing, but couldn’t. Though the hot, humid breeze carried with it many annoying mosquitoes, none buzzed around his tall, still frame.

Ten yards from the trees’ edge stood a chain-link fence with razor wire strung across the top. A single two-lane road led in and out of a gated entrance guarded by men in camouflage carrying assault rifles. Beyond lay an open field the size of a football stadium, a mostly empty parking lot, and a large three-story structure that was curiously devoid of windows, save those that bordered the front entrance.

There were plenty of surveillance cameras anchored to the building’s roof and more heavily armed men in camouflage on the grounds.

David emerged from the darkness behind Seth without a single rustle of leaves or snapping of twig. “This is it,” he said softly. “I’m certain of it. The woman is being kept in there.”

Seth nodded. Her cries were so loud here he had to partially block them out to keep them from distracting him.

“I circled the building,” his friend continued. “The fence has no weak points. Not that a fence could stop us. Guards walk the perimeter on all sides. As far as I could see, there are no blind spots in the video surveillance.”

We are here, Seth told the woman soothingly. We will be with you soon, little one, and will take you far away from here.

The screaming stopped, the silence that followed almost painful in its absence.

Had she understood him? Could she sense that they were near?

Just a little longer, then you will be free.

She spoke an unintelligible sentence or two. Then her words dissolved into whimpers of pain.

David cocked his head to one side. “Does the fact that it’s guarded either by the military or by mercenaries concern you at all?”

“A little,” Seth answered honestly. “Not because we cannot breech it, but because I cannot puzzle it all out. What is this place? It’s not a prison or a military base, yet soldiers guard it. Why is she kept here? Whoever she is, they have been torturing her for months. Why would they do that?”

“Who are they?” David posed rhetorically.

“Exactly. What information could she possibly have that would make this acceptable and why the hell would she continue to withhold it?”

“You don’t think she’s a vampire, do you? Or an immortal who was taken without our knowledge? Because if the government ever finds out we’re real, we’re going to have some serious problems on our hands.”

“If she were vampire or immortal, I would understand what she is saying.”

“I can’t decipher her speech either and I know almost as many languages as you do. Hers doesn’t sound at all familiar.”

“Well, we’ll know the answers soon enough.”

David nodded slowly. “This is going to get ugly.”

“Most likely,” Seth agreed. “Be careful not to let any of the bullets pass through you and hit our mystery lady.”

“Of course.”

“Shall we?”

While the guards continued their slow stroll about the building, oblivious to the encroaching menace in the shadows, Seth’s and David’s silhouettes blurred, then shifted, becoming something altogether different.

Sarah jerked awake, heart pounding as it often did when something yanked her out of a sound sleep.

What had done it?

Rolling onto her back, she turned her head.

Roland was sprawled on his stomach, arms tucked beneath his pillow, sound asleep. He looked so sweet, so boyishly handsome, she had to smile.

Until a thunk came from the front of the house.

Roland didn’t stir as she slipped out of bed and hurriedly donned her T-shirt and jeans.

It was probably just Marcus up and about or Nietzsche getting into something he shouldn’t, but she wasn’t going to take any chances. She would check just in case.

Opening the bedroom door, she crept down the hallway.

A quick peek showed her an empty living room. Sarah continued through it and into the dining room, then the kitchen, keeping an eye out for Nietzsche.

Another thunk sounded, louder this time. It was the sound of a car door closing.

The sun had been up for at least an hour, so it wasn’t vampires.

Sarah told herself not to panic. It could always be UPS or FedEx or the postman making a delivery.

Two more thunks sounded.

Or not. Postal delivery men and women did not arrive in groups of four.

“Pop the trunk,” a man called out.

Gravel crunched as another car pulled up out front.

Oh, crap.

Grabbing the butcher knife from the dish drainer, Sarah ran for the bedroom. She could hear multiple male voices now as four more car doors opened and closed.

Roland’s enemy worked with humans (if you could call those two flunkies she had hit with her shovel humans). He must have sent more here to kill Roland while daylight weakened him.

“Roland!” she hissed in a loud whisper, hurrying into the room and around the foot of the bed. “Roland, wake up!” Grabbing his shoulder, she shook him hard.

Oh, no! She’d forgotten about Marcus!

She glanced toward the bedroom door, then squeaked when Roland turned onto his back, grabbed her by the throat, flipped her over him, and slammed her down on the bed so fast her head swam.

His hand tightened, robbing her of air. His face, above hers, was twisted in a snarl, fangs extended, eyes glowing brightly.

“It’s me,” she croaked, struggling to breathe.

He blinked. The snarl vanished. “Sarah?” His grip loosened abruptly. “I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?” His fingers stroked her abused throat. “I should have told you that I sleep much more deeply when I’m healing from an injury and don’t react well to being startled awake.”

Before she could answer, his gaze strayed to the knife she clutched, then returned to hers filled with betrayal.

Okay, he had woken up with her standing over him with a knife in her hand. It looked damning, true. But the fact that he thought her capable of killing him really pissed her off. Especially after what had passed between them last night.

Sarah placed her empty hand in the center of his chest and shoved. “I didn’t come in here to kill you, damn it!” she whispered with a snarl of her own. “I came in here to warn you!”

Rolling out of bed, he rose smoothly to his feet.

Far less graceful, Sarah scooted off the bed beneath his watchful gaze. “I’m pretty sure your enemy has found you. A noise woke me. I went to check it out and heard two cars pull up out front. At least eight men got out, by the sounds of it.”

“How did they know where to find me?” he asked, the implication being she had told them.

“Ooh, I am so going to kick your ass for that later. I don’t know how they knew. I don’t even know where here is. I was unconscious when you brought me here. Remember?”

Roland had forgotten that. Grabbing the slacks and T-shirt he had discarded last night, he tugged them on and crossed to the armoire. Uncertain what to think, he yanked the doors open and began plucking weapons from the substantial display within.

Sarah joined him, stiff with indignation. The part of him that felt remorse for accusing her vied with that which silently suggested she could have seen his address on a piece of mail and called someone while he slept.

“They’re human,” she snapped, tossing the knife inside and grabbing a Sig Sauer P226 X-Five Tactical 9mm and two twenty-round clips. “Use guns.”

Lips clamped tight with fury, she turned and stomped toward the door.

He grabbed a Glock 10mm. “Where are you going?”

“To warn Marcus.”

“The hell you are.”

The front door could burst open at any moment. He wasn’t about to let Sarah put herself in those men’s sights. Catching up with her before she could take another step, he curled a hand around her upper arm.

Jerked to a halt, she turned on him and growled, “Don’t touch me.”

Oh yeah. She definitely had a temper and he had clumsily ignited it.

But now wasn’t the time.

Roland yanked her toward him. “Look, this isn’t the first time I’ve awoken to find the woman I care about standing over me with a knife in her hand. I drew a faulty conclusion. I was wrong. Be pissed at me later. Right now you need to get your ass in the bathroom, put your back to the wall either in the tub or behind the toilet, and shoot anyone who comes through the door who isn’t me or Marcus.”

He pushed her none too gently in that direction as Marcus hurried into the room, hair tousled with sleep, completely naked. “What’s going on?”

Sarah stopped and gaped.

Roland grimaced and threw up a hand. “Put some fucking clothes on before I go blind.”

Marcus rolled his eyes. “My clothes are a torn, bloody mess. I was hoping I could borrow some of yours.”

Grumbling, Roland crossed to the closet, displeased to notice Sarah still staring. “Sarah, get in the bathroom.”

He almost smiled when the abrupt command yanked her attention back to him.

“I’m not your dog to do your bidding,” she snapped.

Well, hell.

Marcus raised one eyebrow. “Trouble in paradise?”

A pair of jeans and a sweatshirt hit him in the face. “Shut up.”

While Marcus bent to pull on the jeans, Roland returned to stand in front of the petite, seething beauty he was so smitten with, effectively blocking her view.

“I’m trying to protect you, Sarah.”

Some of the anger left her face, allowing him to see the fear beneath. “I know you are, but I’m not going to cower in the bathroom and let you two take on all of them yourselves when I can help. I told you, I’m very good with a gun.”

“How many are we talking?” Marcus asked as he zipped his pants.

“At least eight,” Roland told him.

Sarah took a step closer, her body nearly touching his, and tilted her head back to look up at him. “Let me help you, Roland. Please.”

He couldn’t bear it. He had to touch her.

Slipping his free arm around her waist, he drew her up against him, dipped his head, and took her lips in a long, thorough kiss that resurrected memories of the previous night.

Her face was flushed, her pupils dilated, when he released her.

“Stay low,” he instructed. “And remember that bullets go through walls. You don’t have to be exposed for them to shoot you.”

“Or vice versa,” Marcus added, dragging the sweatshirt over his head and raking a hand through his hair. “Oh shit. Do you smell that?”

Roland had caught the pungent scent a half second before Marcus had spoken. Fury swept through him. “Yes.”

Sarah inhaled deeply. “What is it? I can’t smell it.”

“Gasoline,” they both answered grimly.

Roland urged Sarah over to the wall beside the door frame. “Remember what I said. Stay low. Shoot as many as you can. If they set the place on fire, go out the window and hide in the forest.”

“What about you? It’s morning. The sun’s up.”

“We’re both back to full strength. We can tolerate brief exposure to sunlight.”

Marcus stuffed his pockets with knives, throwing stars, and ammunition, grabbed a shotgun, and left the room.

Roland returned to the armoire, stuck several daggers into his back pockets, added several clips for the Glock, then headed for the doorway.

Sarah watched his approach with wide eyes full of trepidation.

As he drew even with her, he paused, kissed her again, then pressed his forehead to hers. “Don’t get hurt.”

“Be safe.”

Roland could hear the men speaking in low murmurs as they doused the exterior of his home with gasoline. They must think immortals lapsed into the same near comatose state vampires did when the sun rose.

“Don’t light it yet, man,” one said. “Remember? We’re supposed to go in and get the Guardian’s whore out first.”

“What for?”

“Hell if I know. But no way am I fuckin’up the way Derek and Bobby did.”

Leaving Sarah, Roland strode down the hallway and entered the living room. His eyes met Marcus’s. This was sounding more and more like a personal vendetta.

He had assumed that, like the rest of his kind, Bastien simply despised all Immortal Guardians and had thought to bag himself one. But this vamp had tried to kill him two nights in a row, tenaciously tracked him to his home so he could send his human minions to finish the job, and now he wanted Sarah because he thought she was Roland’s woman?

“What are you doin’?” another asked.

“Pickin’ the locks.”

“I thought we were just gonna break the door down.”

“Nuh-uh. These guys are supposed to be dead to the world, but I don’t want to take any chances. We’re goin’ in quiet.”

Roland held up his left hand, fingers extended, touched the tip of his middle finger to his thumb, indicating eight, and pointed to the door. Then, pointing to the east side of the house, he held up two fingers.

Marcus nodded and held up two, pointing to the west side.

Melting back into the shadows, they waited.