Darkness Dawns

Chapter 10

Sarah’s heart was racing, her hands clammy, as she listened to the front door creak open. Two men cried out simultaneously. Victims of knives or throwing stars?

Gunfire erupted, so loud she jumped a foot. (She always wore protective earmuffs at the firing range.) Squatting with both hands wrapped tightly about the Sig Sauer’s grip, she peeked around the doorjamb.

What she could see of the living room was utter chaos.

No wonder Roland and Marcus had looked more angry than concerned that they might be killed. The two of them moved so swiftly that, in the split second it took the humans to aim their weapons, the immortals could leap across the room, leaving them firing either at empty space or their own men.

A tall, thin man stepped into view and stayed there. Sarah raised the 9mm, sighted down the barrel … but hesitated to pull the trigger. Roland and Marcus kept swooping past in a blur and she was terrified of accidentally hitting one of them.

Her target glanced up, saw her, and yelled, “She’s in the back!” over the nearly constant gunfire. He took a step forward and went rigid, the hilt of one of Roland’s daggers protruding from his throat.

Another man dove into the hallway and ran toward her. Sarah fired three shots and he collapsed on the floor. Two more followed. The one in front raised a .45.

Sarah ducked back and sank lower as he fired. Wood splintered from the door frame above her head.

Scooting backward, she aimed at the wall between her and the hallway and fired several shots in the men’s direction. One cried out and created a series of thuds as he went down. The other burst into the bedroom, firing as he came.

Had she been standing, he would have hit her.

Instead, Sarah took him out with a bullet to the head.

“Sarah!” Roland bellowed from the living room.

“I’m fine!” she shouted back, unable to look away from the dead man’s blank stare.

There were tiny pauses in the shooting as the men ran out of ammunition and replaced their mags. These were, more often than not, punctuated by screams of pain as Roland and Marcus took advantage of the lull and the men’s divided attention and struck.

Even though bullets from the other room would sporadically burst through the wall above her with a spray of Sheet-rock, Sarah began to think they might just make it through this intact.

Then the acrid scent of smoke teased her nostrils, spurring an even greater influx of fear.

The house was on fire.

Roland swore as two more bullets ripped through his shoulder and arm. Humans had been a lot easier to defeat before semiautomatic and automatic weapons had been invented.

When the bastards had registered that the two Immortal Guardians they had come to kill were not only awake but also as strong and fast and powerful as they were at night, the minions had decided their best bet at making it out of this alive was to back themselves against the front wall and spray the room with bullets.

It was a very effective strategy. Even with his preternatural speed, Roland couldn’t get near them without being hit. He only hoped Sarah was staying low in the bedroom.

As Roland yanked the gun from one man’s hand, turned it back on him, and fired multiple times, he saw another duck out the front door.

The sun had risen over an hour ago. The last thing Roland should do with blood loss weakening him and his body struggling to heal the eight or nine bullet wounds he now sported was expose himself to direct sunlight. But he had no choice.

In the blink of an eye, he was outside, squinting against the bright light and gritting his teeth as his skin instantly began to redden and burn. The man he had followed gaped at him as flames leapt up from the lighter he had dropped and rapidly spread around the gasoline-soaked side of the house.

“But it’s daylight,” the man blurted stupidly as Roland closed in on him.

“Surprise, asshole.”

The idiot’s cry for help ended when Roland snapped his neck.

Darting back inside, Roland slammed the door shut. The abrupt shift from light to the darkness provided by heavy curtains covering the windows left the humans panicked and discombobulated. Unfortunately, it didn’t last long. Flames snuck in windows shattered by stray bullets and latched onto curtains. The thick material quickly ignited, allowing daylight in and escorting the fire inside. By the time only two humans remained, most of the living room was engulfed, so he and Marcus couldn’t take time to feed and replenish their strength.

Smoke formed a dense cloud near the ceiling as the last human fell. Both Roland and Marcus had been shot roughly a dozen times. Though none of the bullets had severed arteries, at least as far as Roland could tell, some had damaged major organs and were taking their toll.

Marcus was having a difficult time breathing, thanks to several chest wounds. Every cough the smoke spawned was agonizing for both men as they staggered down the hallway to the bedroom.

“Sarah,” Roland called so she wouldn’t shoot them as they stepped over two dead men and approached the doorway.

“I’m here.”

He nearly tripped over a third as they entered the otherwise deserted bedroom.

Emerging from the bathroom with a damp towel held over her mouth and nose, Sarah stopped short. Her eyes widened as she beheld the holes in his blood-soaked clothing and the sunburn that painted his skin a mottled maroon.

“We have to go,” he rasped. “Now.”

Her heart in her throat, Sarah watched Roland cross to a window and open it, weaving on his feet. He looked terrible. As did Marcus, who leaned against the wall, wheezing and coughing up blood. Hurrying to Marcus’s side, she handed him one of the damp cloths she held.

Nodding his thanks—she wasn’t sure he was capable of speech—he held it over his mouth and nose.

“Sarah.”

She turned to see Roland punching out the screen. At his urging, she swiftly joined him.

He waved away the cloth she offered and took her hand, helping her through the window. Once she was out, he grabbed his cell phone off the bedside table and thrust it at her. “Get to the trees.”

“What about you?”

“We’ll be right behind you.”

“I’m not leaving without you.”

He swore.

The flames had followed the gasoline trail around the house and were creeping closer and closer to the window.

“The fire is spreading,” he choked out and gave her a shove that nearly sent her sprawling. “We’re immortal. You aren’t. Now go.”

Unwilling to abandon him, she backed away a few feet and waited anxiously as he ducked inside and disappeared from view. At least a full minute passed before he returned, helping Marcus through the window.

Sarah glanced up at the smoldering roof. The eaves were narrow, providing not nearly enough shade to protect them as Roland exited the window with a grunt of pain.

Marcus’s skin immediately pinkened. Roland’s, already abused, began to blister.

Hoisting Marcus’s arm over his shoulder, Roland started for the trees, half-dragging half-carrying his friend, every step a struggle.

Sarah ignored his scowl and hurried to his side. Pulling Marcus’s other arm across her shoulders, she lent her own strength and herded them as quickly as possible to the shelter of the forest.

Pebbles and twigs poked and scratched her bare feet, but she ignored them, focusing only on the tree line ahead. Cool shade enveloped them and she was relieved to see the canopy above was dense enough to protect the men from most of the sun’s damaging rays.

A few yards in, Roland and Marcus both sank to their knees, dragging her down with them.

“Sorry,” Marcus gasped out and released her.

Sarah scooted around to kneel in front of Roland. “What can I do?”

He shook his head, breathing heavily through his mouth, and collapsed onto his back.

Marcus fell back beside him.

Panic rising, Sarah stared at them both helplessly.

She moved closer to Roland. “Do you … do you need blood?” Not knowing how else to help him, she held her wrist above his parted lips.

One of Roland’s hands came up. His long, bloody fingers gently clasped hers. But, instead of biting her wrist, he carried her hand to his lips for a kiss. “Not enough.”

She frowned. “I don’t have enough to help you?”

He gave her hand a squeeze and closed his eyes.

A lump in his shirt (which she hadn’t noticed in the rush to get him to safety) moved, making her start. A plaintive meow sounded and tears spilled over her lashes. When he had gone back for Marcus, he must have unearthed Nietzsche and stuffed him down his shirt.

Roland’s breathing slowed.

Marcus’s was scarcely detectable.

Were they dying? Trembling, Sarah bit her lip and looked around. Didn’t she even have enough blood to tide him over until …

Roland’s cell phone lay where she had dropped it.

An idea forming, she lunged for it. There was only one phone number stored in it. Eyes glued to Roland’s chest, Sarah swiftly dialed it and prayed it was the one she needed.

Flames stretched toward the clear Texas sky like golden fingers as the sun peeked over the horizon. Smoke billowed upward, cloaking the fading stars in charcoal clouds as cries shattered the dawn.

Sirens blared. Men in camouflage ran around in panicked disarray, dodging fire trucks and a few civilians who had made it safely outside. Firefighters raced about in their tan and yellow gear, dousing the roaring conflagration that used to be a three-story building with massive streams of water from numerous hoses.

Two figures materialized amid the chaos, their clothing and long black leather coats covered with blood and full of holes carved by bullets that couldn’t kill them. Even as they strode toward the trees, small misshapen bits of metal emerged from their bodies and dropped to the ground, the wounds left behind sealing themselves within seconds.

Looped over David’s shoulder was a duffle bag filled with laptop computers, exterior hard drives, CDs, DVDs, and junk drives packed with information they would comb through later.

Cradled in Seth’s arms was the woman they had come for, her naked, malnourished body wrapped in a bloody lab coat, so light he doubted she weighed more than eighty pounds.

The darkness of the forest embraced them. Seth carefully adjusted his unconscious burden so her head would be pillowed by his shoulder.

A moan escaped her chapped, cracked lips between ragged breaths.

His mouth tightened in fury.

“We should have killed them all,” David growled beside him.

“Those we left alive had no knowledge of this.”

A trebly version of Disturbed’s “Down with the Sickness” split the air.

Seth halted. It was his cell phone. Turning partially away from David, he said, “Back right pocket. See who it is.”

David retrieved the phone. When he saw who the caller was, he frowned and met Seth’s gaze. “It’s Roland.”

Sarah stared at Roland, willing him to keep breathing while she held the cell phone to her ear and counted the rings.

One. Two. Three. Four.

Please answer!

“Hello?” a lightly accented bass baritone voice said finally.

“Seth?” she practically sobbed in relief.

“Yes. Who is this?”

“It’s Sarah. Sarah Bingham. Roland needs your help. I think he’s dying.”

A giant of a man suddenly appeared before her out of thin air.

Sarah shrieked and dropped the phone.

“What happened?” he asked.

Gaping up at him, she couldn’t find her voice … which, in the end, wasn’t necessary. As soon as he turned his head, he saw Marcus and Roland laid out on the ground and swore fluently.

He was quite an imposing figure. Standing over six and a half feet tall, he had broad shoulders and a slender, yet muscular, athletic build. His face was utterly flawless. Not too rugged. Not too pretty. Strong jaw. Patrician nose. No wrinkles or sagging skin or anything else she would think the oldest Immortal Guardian would sport.

Even more astonishing, his dark clothing was wet with blood and riddled with twice as many bullet holes as Roland’s.

What the hell?

As he knelt between Marcus and Roland, who looked frighteningly close to death, his dark coat pooled around him and his long black hair fell forward to brush the ground.

“You are Seth, right?” she asked when she could speak again.

“Yes.” Peering through the trees at the flames swallowing Roland’s house, he said, “As succinctly as possible, tell me what happened.”

“The vampire who staked Roland to the ground led another attack on us last night, then sent roughly a dozen men—humans—to finish the job today. I saw Roland follow one outside. The man set the house on fire. I assume Roland killed him. The others are all dead inside.”

“Are you injured?”

“No.”

He rested one of his large hands on Marcus’s chest, then held the other out to her. “Take my hand, Sarah.”

Roland seemed to trust this man, so Sarah decided she would, too.

Scrambling forward on her knees, she took his hand.

“Now, touch Roland.”

She had no idea if this was a healing ritual or what, but obediently rested her hand on Roland’s chest.

Seth’s dark, enigmatic gaze caught and held hers. “You may find this a little disorienting.”

Find what disorienting?

A feeling of weightlessness similar to that which one experiences in an elevator swept over her. Gripping Roland’s T-shirt tightly, she abruptly found herself in complete darkness.

Lights flickered on and Sarah stared in astonishment at the spacious living room that had inexplicably replaced the trees.

Plush cream carpet provided a kinder bed for Roland and Marcus than the hard ground previously had. The scent of vanilla replaced that of smoke.

Seth released her hand and pulled a cell phone from his back pocket. As he dialed a number and held it to his ear, Sarah stared down at Roland.

His face was so blistered and bloody, he was nearly unrecognizable.

Taking one of his hands in hers, she gently stroked his sweat-dampened hair. The lump in his shirt moved and wriggled its way up to the neckline. A second later, Nietzsche’s tousled head poked out beneath Roland’s chin.

“Hi there,” Sarah whispered, still fighting tears. “You okay, Nietzsche?”

The little cat looked around, wormed the rest of its body out of the T-shirt, then darted away to hide under a nearby chair.

Sarah lowered her gaze to Roland. The rise and fall of his chest was barely detectable, the time between breaths so long she feared each one may have been his last.

“Chris?” Seth spoke suddenly. “Seth. I have need of your cleaning skills…. Roland’s house is on fire with approximately eleven humans inside, one outside, all dead. He lives in an isolated area, so I don’t know how long it will take someone to notice the smoke and call the fire department. They could already be on their way.”

He rattled off the address. “I doubt it. Knowing Roland, it will be impossible for anyone to trace the house to him. But go ahead, just to be on the safe side…. Thank you.”

As he returned the phone to his pocket, Seth studied Sarah intently. “Roland told you what he is?”

“Yes, I know he’s an immortal.”

“And you have no problem with that?”

“No, I’m glad he is. Otherwise he would be dead right now.”

Nodding thoughtfully, he leaned forward and placed his hand on Roland’s chest.

Sarah thought at first he was feeling for a heartbeat.

Then his hand began to glow. Heat radiated from it.

Beneath her astonished gaze, the blisters on Roland’s face, neck, arms, and hands shrank, then vanished. Pink skin returned to a natural golden tan. The angry bullet wounds in one of his arms and those visible through the ragged tears in his clothing sealed themselves, smoothed out, and faded to nothingness. A few in his torso spat out mangled lumps of metal she dimly recognized as bullets, then did the same.

By the time the glow faded and Seth removed his hand, Roland looked whole and healthy again, if a trifle pale.

Sarah watched Seth turn and place his hand on Marcus. “Roland told me immortals who are healers can’t heal severe wounds without it draining their strength and the wounds opening on their own bodies.” Even when they were in top form. And Seth appeared to have been shot more than the two men he was healing combined. Yet no wounds had opened on him.

“They can’t,” Seth said. “I can.”

His hand began to glow again. Bullets emerged from Marcus’s body as his burns faded.

She frowned. Was Seth stronger because he was older? Or was he different? “Are you not an immortal, then?”

He smiled, so handsome he would have taken her breath away if Roland hadn’t already turned her head. “I’m about as immortal as they come.”

Hmm. Sarah couldn’t decide whether that answered her question or not.

The ethereal glow faded, leaving Marcus as whole as Roland.

“Does blood make you squeamish?” Seth asked, sitting back on his heels.

Sarah looked down at Roland’s blood-soaked form, then at the stains on her own clothing. Smiling wryly, she said, “If it did, I’d pretty much be screwed, wouldn’t I?”

He laughed.

She nodded to Roland, still holding his hand and stroking his hair. “Is he going to be okay?”

“Yes, but he needs blood.”

“I offered him mine, but he wouldn’t take it.”

His eyebrows rose. “You did?”

She nodded. “He said it wasn’t enough.”

“More likely he was afraid that, in his condition, he might lose himself and take too much. There should be a goodly supply of it in the refrigerator. Would you mind getting some while I make them”—he motioned toward Roland and Marcus—“more comfortable?”

“Just point me in the right direction.”

He did. “The kitchen is right through there.”

Sarah stood and hurried to the kitchen, surprised to discover her legs were trembling. The room was dark when she entered. Sliding her hand along the wall, she found the light switch and turned it on.

Wow. She didn’t know whose place this was, but it was frig-gin’ huge! Most of the two-bedroom frame house she was renting could easily fit inside this kitchen.

Crossing to the very expensive-looking stainless steel refrigerator, she opened the door on the right. It was nearly empty, spotlessly clean. Maybe all Immortal Guardians were neat freaks.

It was sort of weird to think of them doing housework. Killing vampires by night, then coming home to clean the fridge, mop the floor, or scour the bathroom by day.

Ignoring the club soda, organic fruit juices, and natural salad dressings, Sarah bent and pulled open what looked like a modified meat compartment drawer. Bags of blood were neatly stacked inside. There were more in the vegetable bin.

Seth hadn’t specified how much she should bring, so Sarah took it all. Loading up, she filled her arms, shivering at the cold, elbowed the drawers shut, then let the refrigerator door close itself. The plastic bags weren’t that easy to handle in bulk. They kept shifting and sliding and trying to slip out of her grasp.

Juggling them as best she could, she hurried back into the spacious living room.

Marcus and Roland were now conscious and seated, side by side, on one of the three sofas the room boasted. Seth was comfortably sprawled in an armchair across from them. The same one Nietzsche hid beneath.

Roland’s eyes widened when he saw her.

“This is all there is,” Sarah said, dumping her load on the coffee table. Seth leaned forward and deftly caught one as it slid off the side toward the floor. “Is that enough?”

“More than enough,” Marcus said, grabbing a bag and biting into it.

“Oh. Did I bring too much?”

Roland leaned forward and picked up a bag. “Had Seth not done the work for us, it would take all of this and more to heal our wounds and replenish our strength. But, since he did, we need only enough to replace the blood we’ve lost.”

Sarah nodded and tucked her hands behind her back. They were starting to shake and she was beginning to get that swollen-throated weepy feeling now that the danger was over and reaction was setting in.

She was so glad Roland was going to be all right. So relieved she wanted to crawl into his lap and wrap her arms around his neck.

Instead, she locked her hands together and did her best to look like she wasn’t about to embarrass herself by falling apart.

Roland seemed hesitant to feed in front of her.

Hoping to reassure him, she pasted a smile on her face. “I won’t freak out. I promise. You drinking blood is no more repellent to me than someone else eating one of those greasy triple beef hamburgers I see advertised on television.”

Roland wasn’t sure he believed that as he brought the bag to his lips. Watching her carefully, he bit down and drew hard with his fangs. No grimace. No shudder.

One would think she had just handed him a juice box.

Nietzsche chose that moment to creep out of his hiding place and rub against Seth’s black fatigue–covered calf. His striped and speckled gray fur and white paws were sticky with Roland’s blood and stood out in darkened spikes.

“Well, what have we here?” Seth picked the cat up, examined him briefly, then settled him in his lap. “Hello, Nietzsche. I didn’t know you were still around.”

Uh-oh.

The gaze Seth turned on Roland was inscrutable. “You do realize that cats aren’t actually supposed to live nine lives?”

From the corner of his eye, Roland saw Marcus frown.

“Wait a minute,” he said after draining the first bag. “That isn’t the original Nietzsche, is it? That would make him—what—forty years old?”

“Forty-three,” Seth clarified.

Roland opted to remain silent and glanced up to catch Sarah’s reaction as their words sank in.

Her eyes widened. “An immortal cat?” she blurted incredulously. “There are immortal cats?”

“One immortal cat,” Seth corrected as he stroked Nietzsche’s messy fur.

Nietzsche closed his eyes in ecstasy and began to purr and work his little paws.

Seth’s disapproval didn’t have to be verbalized. Even Sarah seemed to sense it and edged closer to Roland.

Well, what’s done is done.

“It was an accident,” Roland began, setting his empty bag aside. “I came upon a vampire who was draining a woman dry. When I attacked and started kicking his ass, she freaked out and pepper sprayed me.”

“Why?” Sarah demanded. “You were trying to help her.”

“She wasn’t lucid. She thought he was giving her a hickey, not killing her,” he explained. “Before my vision cleared, the vamp got in a lucky shot and cut my carotid artery. It healed, but—by the time I dispatched the vamp, took care of the woman, and got home—I had lost so much blood that I passed out before I could feed. I awoke sometime later to the feel of Nietzsche’s sandpapery tongue licking my neck.” He shrugged. “I don’t know how much he consumed, but he hasn’t aged a day since.”

Marcus studied the cat curiously. “Has it made him more violent? Is that why he attacked the raccoon?”

“No, Nietzsche has always been very territorial. The little nutcase.”

Seth sighed. “Let’s keep this between us, shall we? I have my hands full watching over all of you Guardians. I don’t need immortal pets to be thrown into the mix, as well.”

Roland and Marcus murmured their agreement, then each drained another bag.

Sarah perched on the sofa arm nearest Roland.

Seth waited until they were finished to speak. “Tell me what you know of the one who tried to kill you.”

“Not much more than the last time I talked to you,” Roland said, raking a hand through his hair in frustration. “His name is Bastien. He’s British. And he has raised a small army of both vampires and human minions.”

Seth’s brow furrowed.

“He attacked us again last night, shortly after Marcus arrived, as we were leaving Sarah’s home. There were seven vamps with him. A dozen more joined them after the fight began.”

“All of whom deferred to Bastien and looked to him as their leader,” Marcus threw in.

Roland nodded. “The plan was to kill me and take Marcus alive.” He gave a quick rundown of the fight and of Bastien leaving to pursue Sarah, eventually ceding the fight and fleeing.

“You didn’t follow him?” There was no censure in the question.

“No, I was worried about Sarah and wanted to make sure she was all right.”

Seth stared at him a long moment, then looked to Sarah. “Were you hurt?”

“No,” she said at the same time Roland said, “Yes.”

A flush covered her cheeks as she shifted restlessly beneath their collective scrutiny.

Roland was about to reach out, take her hand, and draw her down to sit closer to him when she jumped up and bent to collect the full bags of blood that remained on the coffee table.

“If you’re finished, I’d better go put these up. I’m sure they’re supposed to stay refrigerated.”

Watching her hurry toward the kitchen, he had to fight the need to follow.

“The humans who attacked us today were also Bastien’s,” Marcus added.

Seth rubbed Nietzsche’s chin. “How did they find you?”

Guilt pricked Roland as he recalled accusing Sarah of helping them. “Bastien must have circled around, lingered downwind, and followed us.”

Marcus shook his head. “If he followed us, he did it on foot. I would’ve seen and heard a car or motorcycle even with the headlights off.”

“And considering his injuries,” Roland said, “he would’ve had to have been damned determined. This feels like a personal vendetta to me.”

“Personal vendetta or not, this needs to be taken care of,” Seth decreed. “The more vampires he creates and humans he brings into the fold, the greater the risk of exposure. Too many humans have cell phones that take pictures now. With an army of vamps that size all feeding in one area, it’s only a matter of time before someone catches something on video.”

“We’re working on it.” It was a lame response, but the best he could do at the moment. “Where are we, by the way? Whose house is this?”

“David’s. He said to tell you that you’re welcome to stay as long as you need to.”

“That’s very generous of him. Thank him for me, will you?”

“Sure.”

Roland exchanged a look with Marcus.

Marcus returned his attention to Seth. “All right. Since he won’t ask, I will. Is the blood all over your clothes ours or yours?”

Seth glanced down, as though only then noticing his condition. “Mine.”

That was it, nothing more.

His exasperation showing, Marcus sighed. “Are those bullet holes?” he pressed, motioning to the numerous small tears in his clothing.

“Yes.”

Marcus turned to Roland. “You know, I didn’t register until this very moment just how alike the two of you are.”

Both Seth and Roland frowned. Seth, because he apparently wasn’t pleased with the comparison, and Roland because, for once, it bothered him that he was the thorn in everyone’s side.

Was he really that big a pain in the ass?

“Yes,” Seth answered the unspoken question, then grinned when Roland reached up and stroked one eyebrow with his middle finger.

“Look,” Marcus said, “I only asked because there must be at least two or three dozen of them. Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, Marcus. When Sarah called, I was just wrapping something up and didn’t have time to change.”

“Do you need blood?”

He shook his head. “My wounds have healed.”

Roland stared at him. “What exactly is going on in Texas? Could it be related to whatever is happening here?”

“No,” Seth said decisively. “We aren’t—” He broke off. Tilting his head to one side, he looked away as though listening to something. Pulling out his cell phone, he dialed a number and held it to his ear. “What’s wrong?”

Roland glanced at Marcus, wondering to whom Seth was speaking.

“Where is she now?” Seth asked the unseen speaker.

Marcus raised one eyebrow.

“I’ll be right there.”

Nietzsche mewed a protest as Seth set him on the carpet and rose, tucking his phone back in his pocket.

“I have to go.”

Marcus stood. “Wait. Does David have a computer?”

“A laptop, but he took it with him.”

“Then can you drop me at my place? I want to do a little cybersleuthing and see what I can come up with.”

In answer, Seth reached out and touched Marcus’s shoulder. “Keep me posted,” he told Roland.

Then the two vanished.