Darkness Dawns

Chapter 13

All was quiet when Bastien awoke. Glancing at the clock, he saw it was late afternoon. The other vampires would still be asleep, rousing only when the sun set. He supposed it was his age that allowed him to wake as early as he did. Perhaps the longer one was infected, the weaker the side effects became, requiring less rest and allowing brief exposure to sunlight.

His thoughts turned to Roland and the woman as he dressed, then began negotiating the underground maze.

Sarah Bingham.

After this morning’s failed attempt had cost him twelve more men—all human—Bastien had set Tanner to seeking out information on her, wanting to know what her role in all of this was.

Apparently Sarah was neither a member of the network nor Roland’s Second. She was a thirty-year-old music theory professor, who—as far as he knew—had never laid eyes on Roland until Bastien and his men had staked him out for the sunrise practically in her backyard.

She was a complication he had not anticipated, but one that may work to his advantage. Killing Roland was his top priority. He would accomplish that feat using any means necessary.

Crossing the basement’s main room, he climbed the stairs.

The farmhouse’s living room was empty. There were only four humans in his employ now. He could hear three of them trolling for snacks in the kitchen.

Bastien entered the study as the fourth, Tanner, pulled a stack of papers from the humming printer.

“Is that tonight’s list?”

Tanner jumped, then turned to regard him with a worrisome amount of relief. “You’re awake. Finally.”

That couldn’t be good.

“What’s wrong?”

Tanner rolled his eyes and set the papers on the neat desktop. “It’s Keegan. He’s been calling every five minutes, wanting to meet with you.”

“Did he say what the problem was?”

“No, he just kept cursing me out for not waking you up. Then cursed me out some more for not telling him where you live so he could do it himself.”

“Thank you for that.” Bastien was still unsure he had done the right thing by trusting the biochemist and didn’t want to leave himself and the others vulnerable.

“Sure thing. Maybe you should call before he has a stroke.” Lowering his voice, he muttered, “Or before I strangle him.”

Bastien smiled. “I’ll wait and go see him when it’s dark.”

“You want backup?”

“No, I can handle him.”

Tanner laughed. “I’m sure you can.”

The phone rang.

Tanner glanced at the caller ID, lifted the receiver, then slammed it down again. “How’s the hunt going?”

“More slowly than I anticipated.”

“Anything I can do?”

“Just what you’re already doing.”

Nodding, Tanner rounded the desk and held out the papers. “Here’s tonight’s assignments.”

Each page had a name and address at the top and Mapquest directions below it.

“There seems to be an endless supply, doesn’t there?”

Tanner’s lips tightened. “Yes, there is.”

Dr. Montrose Keegan fell into the arrogant little prick category. Bastien did not like him. However, that dislike was not intense enough to deter him from accepting an opportunity very few vampires had been given.

Montrose’s twenty-three-year-old brother, Casey, had succumbed to the virus four years earlier. (Drunken college students were easy prey for vampires, which was why so many of Bastien’s men had been under twenty-five years of age when they were transformed.)As commonly happened, the vampire who turned him had almost immediately abandoned him.

Bastien had found Casey and Montrose shortly thereafter and had taken the young vampire under his wing, offering him shelter and instruction as long as Montrose helped him search for a cure and Casey agreed to keep their lair’s location a secret, even from his brother.

The arrangement had worked well so far. Unfortunately, Montrose forgot on occasion just who wielded the power in this game, and needed to be reminded.

Bastien silently let himself into the single man’s house and followed the curses and frustrated thumps and thuds to the basement lab.

His back to Bastien, Montrose stood beside a cluttered desk with a phone receiver held to his ear. Swearing foully, he slammed the receiver down.

Bastien let his fangs descend their full length, made sure his irritation was enough to make his eyes glow, then put on a burst of preternatural speed so he seemed to appear out of nowhere directly in front of the good doctor.

Montrose was so startled, his feet left the floor. “Bastien! Where … H-H-How did you get in?”

Bastien curled his lip, flashing a bit of fang. “Tanner Long is both my employee and my friend. Would you care to explain why you verbally abused and tried to berate him into disturbing my rest?”

Sweat beading on his forehead, the average-size, prematurely balding man took a nervous step backward. “I-It was an emergency.”

Bastien towered over him, scowling menacingly. “An emergency would be finding the teaspoonful of Casey’s remains left behind after an immortal’s attack.”

Montrose paled.

“Casey is even now awakening from the rest you sought to deny me, so there is no emergency. Did you finish the suit?”

“N-no. It’ll be ready tomorrow.”

“Why is it not ready tonight?”

After stuttering several unsuccessful beginnings, Montrose said, “I just—I need to know where you got that blood sample you brought me. Not Casey’s. The other one.”

Bastien frowned. “You know where I got it.”

“From your enemy? The Immortal Guardian?”

“Yes.”

“Where can I find him?”

“In a few days, there won’t be anything left for you to find.”

Montrose shook his head wildly. “You can’t kill him. He isn’t human.”

Bastien laughed. “Neither is your brother.”

“But he was once,” Montrose said earnestly.

Frowning, Bastien studied the man carefully. There was an almost fanatical gleam in his eyes, put there by something he must have found in Roland’s blood.

“What are you saying, Keegan?”

Montrose crossed to one of the tables laden with computers, centrifuges, and assorted medical paraphernalia Bastien knew little about and picked up a labeled glass vial with blood in it. “I’m saying Casey may be a vampire now, but he started out human. This man”—he held up the vial—“didn’t. This man was never human.”

Bastien stared at him.

What the hell?

Though Sarah knew it irked him, Roland didn’t go out to hunt that night. They bathed Nietzsche, shared what for others would’ve been dinner, but for them was brunch, did the dishes, let Nietzsche out, brought the cat back in again when he picked a fight with an opossum, then retired to the living room.

While Sarah caught up on world events through various satellite news channels, Roland paced restlessly. Back and forth. Around and around. Until she couldn’t take it anymore and turned off the television.

“Roland.”

“Yes?” he replied absently.

“Why are you still here?”

“What do you mean?”

“Shouldn’t you be out hunting?”

He frowned. “I’m not leaving you here alone, unprotected.”

“I’m not in danger here.”

“As you were in no danger at my home?”

“You said yourself they must have followed us after the big paranormal rumble. Well, there’s no way they could have followed us here. Seth zapped us here or flashed us or tele-ported us. Whatever you want to call it. There’s nothing to lead them here.”

He resumed his pacing. “Except me, if they see me out hunting and follow me home.”

“Yeah, like that’s going to happen. You’re expecting it now and will know it if they even try to tail you.”

“You have more faith in me than I do.”

“I have complete faith in you,” she told him honestly.

He stopped and turned to stare at her, his expression stunned. “How can you? I’ve failed you twice.”

Now it was her turn to frown. “What? When?”

“When you were harmed running from that bastard Bastien—and me, I might add.” He had never said as much, but she knew her initial fear of him when she had seen him sprout fangs and drink the goth kid’s blood had hurt him. “And again when you were nearly shot and burned alive while in my home and under my protection.”

“I’m here, am I not?” she retorted, coming to her feet. “Safe and secure and still in one piece.”

“I’m not leaving you.”

“What about Bastien? He almost killed you twice. Don’t you want to find him?”

Hell, yes! his expression shouted even as he shook his head. “Your safety is more important to me.”

“Then call Chris Reordon and have him send some guys over to protect me while you go take care of business.”

“I’m not going to entrust your safety to a group of humans I don’t know from Adam.”

“So … what? Bastien goes free?”

His shoulders tensed. “Marcus is searching for him, as is Lisette.”

Sarah crossed the room and stood toe to toe with him. “You know that isn’t good enough.” Reaching up, she stroked his clenched jaw. “You want to be out there with them, hunting this guy down and taking him out yourself.”

Leaning down, he pressed his forehead to hers and sighed. “I don’t see any way around this. I can’t let anything happen to you, Sarah.”

Her heart swelled at the emotion in his deep voice.

He didn’t say it as though he felt obligated to keep her safe. He said it as though he couldn’t bear the idea of her getting hurt.

Pressing a quick kiss to his lips, Sarah took his hand, turned, and began leading him toward the hallway. Through the door to the basement and down the spiral staircase they went, Roland asking no questions.

When they reached the subterranean floor, she turned left instead of toward the bedroom they shared on the right.

“Where are we going?”

Sarah said nothing until they reached the training room, where she flicked on the light. “I want you to teach me how to kick vampire ass.”

“What?”

“Knowing I can defend myself against a vampire attack will help put your mind at ease. Mine, too. So …” She motioned to the weapons and assorted equipment that filled the high school gym–size room. “Teach me.”

He propped his hands on his hips. “No, you are not going to hunt vampires.”

“I don’t want to hunt vampires. Though your chauvinistic, autocratic, I’m-the-man-so-you’ll-do-as-I-say attitude may prod me into it.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“I know. You’re just worried about me and want to protect me. But you can’t be with me every minute—”

When he opened his mouth to interrupt, she hastily covered his lips with her fingers. “Let me finish. You can’t be with me every minute of every day for the rest of my life. Sooner or later I will be in a position where a vampire—not necessarily Bastien—could catch me alone. Don’t you want me to be able to fight him off?”

Roland removed her fingers, kissed them, then linked them with his own. “Yes.”

“Excellent. I should be in pretty good shape.” She exercised six days a week, cardio and weights. “So show me what I need to know to kill something that moves faster than I can follow.”

* * *

Three nights later, Roland called a halt to their latest training session. Panting heavily, Sarah took the towel he offered and mopped her damp face as she collapsed onto one of the padded benches the room boasted.

Roland tried but couldn’t seem to wipe the grin off his face. It had been there for at least an hour now and his cheeks were starting to ache from it. He had not enjoyed himself this much in centuries.

Sarah was a natural. Already in near peak physical condition, she had listened to his instructions, earnestly mimicked them as proficiently as she was able, then—as he drilled her and tested her and put her through her paces—had rapidly begun to carry them out like a pro.

It helped that she had taken a couple of martial arts classes while she was in college. She was swift on her feet, graceful of motion, and such a joy to be around. Her quirky sense of humor reared its head at the most unexpected moments. She would be deadly serious one minute, concentrating on the lesson, then say something the next that would have him folding over with laughter.

“I am so screwed,” she said, dabbing at her neck.

That managed to dim his smile a little. “Why do you say that?” He crossed over and seated himself beside her so their shoulders brushed.

She was dressed like a professional vampire hunter. Black cargo pants that resembled military fatigues with lots of loops and pockets for weapons and ammo rode low on her hips and fit her legs loosely. A black tank top clung to her narrow waist and full breasts in damp patches. New black boots fit her small feet snugly and, he feared, rubbed blisters as she broke them in.

The tote bag carrying her clothing had been destroyed in the fire, so she had had to make do with what she could find here at what she called “David’s Estate.”

Since he never knew when an immortal or one of the network’s humans might drop by, David had made it a habit to keep a supply of men’s and women’s clothing on hand for any in need. Immortals’clothing tended to end up torn and blood-spattered after a confrontation with a vamp. Bloodstains were more difficult to discern on black material, often appearing as simply indeterminate wet splotches, so everything in David’s take-what-you-need wardrobe was black and suitable for combat. Everything except the underwear that was still in new, sealed packages. It was bright white.

Sarah looked great in black. Her pale skin seemed almost to glow in comparison where it wasn’t flushed from her exertions.

“I totally suck at this,” she complained.

He looked at her in surprise. “No, you don’t. I was just thinking that you seem to have a natural talent for it.”

She eyed him dubiously.

Roland tucked a damp curl behind her ear. “I’ve trained many immortals who didn’t learn as fast as you do.”

“I didn’t know you trained other immortals. I thought you preferred solitude.”

“Seth doesn’t always give me a choice in the matter. Sometimes he just pops in, drops some poor sod off, says ‘train him,’ then leaves before I can offer any protest.”

She smiled wryly. “And now you’re stuck training me.”

He drew the backs of his fingers down her warm, damp cheek. “Training you is a pleasure. I told you, you’re a natural. I have not enjoyed myself so much in a very long time.” He sent her a wicked grin. “At least not fully clothed.”

She laughed.

“Why are you so convinced you did poorly?”

“When you attacked me and tested me, you were holding yourself back.”

“I want you to learn the moves and grow comfortable with them before I come at you in earnest with preternatural speed and strength.”

“But you will come at me in earnest, right? Soon?”

“Yes, if you promise to let me heal the bruises or other injuries that will result.”

“Ro-land.”

“Sarah, please,” he said somberly, taking one of her hands in his. “I’m not simply mouthing platitudes when I say I can’t bear to see you hurt. I care about you. It’s going to be very … difficult for me to train you in earnest, knowing I risk hurting you when my every instinct is screaming at me to protect you. I won’t be able to do it unless you assure me I can heal you if anything happens.”

He couldn’t read her expression as she gazed up at him, nibbling her lower lip.

“Okay, you can heal me.”

The tension that had been slowly gathering in his shoulders vanished. “Thank you.”

Raising her free hand, she drew the soft pads of her fingers across his forehead, down his temple, over his cheekbone, and along his jaw in a tender caress that sped his pulse.

“Do you know how easy it would be for me to fall in love with you?” she whispered.

Roland closed his eyes. How could he feel elated and as if his heart were breaking at the same time? “That would be very unwise,” he told her softly.

“Because you don’t feel the same?”

Opening his eyes, he brought the hand he held to his lips for a fervent kiss and shook his head. “No, sweetling. I fear you may have stolen my heart in the first twenty-four hours we were together.”

“Shouldn’t that be a good thing? If we both feel the same way…”

“If I were human, it would be wonderful. We could fall in love with light hearts, marry, have children, grandchildren, grow old together, live happily ever after, and die. But I’m not human, Sarah. I’m immortal. My body will never age. I will remain exactly as I am now while you grow old. And, in time, you would become bitter and doubt my feelings for you.”

She stared down at their clasped hands. “Maybe I wouldn’t.”

He smiled sadly. “If so, you would be the first. There have been other immortals who have loved humans.”

Pulling his hand onto her lap, she toyed with his fingers. “Even if I didn’t, I would still grow old and die.”

He remained quiet, letting her ponder it.

“I would probably come to feel like a chain around your neck. A strong young—at least physically—man tied to a dying old woman.”

“You see how it would be,” he murmured, full of regret. “And I couldn’t give you children.”

“Did the transformation leave you sterile?”

“That’s what we all believed since even those who wished to reproduce with their human lovers were unable to. However, our scientists have come to understand—”

“You have scientists?”

“Both human and immortal, learning everything they can about the virus. How it works. Researching a cure and, barring that, some way to force the virus to mutate in vampires the way it has in us so that we can end their madness and bloodlust.”

“Have you had any luck with that?”

“None so far.”

“What about the fertility problem?”

“We aren’t sterile, but we may as well be. With our males, the virus dramatically decreases the lifespan of our sperm.” He paused uncertainly. “Are you sure you want to hear this?”

“Yes, I want to know everything.”

So be it. “Normally sperm can live inside a woman’s body for up to five days. Ours, however, die pretty much as soon as we ejaculate. Because of the strange symbiotic relationship we have with the virus, it dies with the sperm before the woman can become infected, which is why I haven’t been using condoms.”

“What about immortal women? Can they get pregnant?”

“No, the virus present in the eggs their bodies produce attacks and kills the sperm of human males.”

“And if she sleeps with an immortal?”

“We believe that, if circumstances are optimal, pregnancy could result.” He sighed, reluctant to continue. But she had asked and she should know it all. “In truth, we’re uncertain how the virus would affect a fetus. Or a baby if it were carried to term and delivered. Would the child of two immortals age or remain forever trapped in the form of an infant? Immortal females are always conscious of the time they ovu-late and, when they do, refrain from engaging in intercourse with immortal males for fear of the consequences.”

Her brow furrowed. “So, no children.”

“No children.”

How he wished he could give her children, watch her body swell with his babe, have a tiny replica of Sarah skipping through their home.

Sarah raised her chin and met his gaze. “If the trade-off is having you, Roland, I wouldn’t need children to be happy.”

His heart skipped a beat. “What are you saying?”

“What if you transformed me?”

Stunned, Roland almost forgot to breathe. “You would let me?”

She opened her mouth to speak, paused, then sighed. “I don’t know. All of this is happening so quickly. I want to say yes. But considering what’s at stake, I think I should take more time to think about it.”

“Just knowing you would consider it means the world to me.”

“Then you would do it, if I asked?You would transform me?”

Pleasure and pain again warred within him. “No.”

Her lips parted in surprise. “Why?”

“I told you how the virus works. If you aren’t a gifted one, your body won’t mutate the virus and you will turn vampire instead of immortal.” He fingered a satiny strand of brown hair that had escaped from her ponytail. “Every one of us has black hair and dark brown eyes.”

Understanding dimmed her hazel gaze. “You think I would turn vampire, that I don’t have the right DNA.”

“Do you possess any special gifts you haven’t mentioned?” he asked, not really holding out any hope. “Telepathy? Telekinesis? The ability to shape shift? Teleport? See the future? Know an object’s history by touch? Heal with your hands? See the dead?”

She shook her head with the first gift mentioned and continued wagging it back and forth as he named a few others. “Nothing. No special gifts.”

“Then I won’t transform you and risk your turning vampire.”

Sarah stared up at Roland, so depressed now she didn’t really know what to say. No matter what path they took, they were screwed. They could either go their separate ways, maintain a human/immortal relationship he seemed to think would be doomed, or transform her, which would probably turn her into a bloodlusting lunatic vampire.

“This really blows.”

“I know,” he agreed fatalistically.

“Isn’t there a blood test or something that would let us know for sure whether I have the right DNA?”

“Yes. If you decide you want to be transformed, I can take you to one of our labs and have a sample tested to be sure.”

But she could tell he didn’t think there was a chance in hell she would turn immortal.

Hmm. Alone without Roland. Bitter with Roland. Or murderously crazy.

Sarah wasn’t too thrilled with the choices.

“Anybody home?” a voice called out upstairs.

Roland’s eyes immediately flashed bright amber as fangs burst from his gums.

He was gone in a blink, moving so quickly he seemed to vanish.

Sarah took off after him, running from the room, down the hall, and up the winding staircase.

“Don’t-kill-me-it’s-Marcus!” was shouted, the words emerging one on top of another.

Indistinct masculine voices followed, growing more clear as she reached the ground floor and headed for the living room.

“David gave me the code to get through the security gate and a key,” Marcus was saying. Roland must have asked how he had gotten in without tripping the alarm.

“When?”

“When I moved to North Carolina. Every immortal in the state has one.”

“I don’t.”

“That’s because you’re antisocial,” Marcus replied as though explaining it to a child.

Sarah pursed her lips. She was beginning to think the other immortals used that particular label just to aggravate him.

“If you had accepted his invitation,” Marcus went on, “he would have given you one, too. Hello, Sarah.”

“Hi, Marcus,” she greeted as she joined them, noticing a third man standing nearby.

Roland was scowling at his friend. “Did you make certain you weren’t followed?”

“I saw, heard, and smelled nothing.”

“I didn’t see anything either,” the other man said. He was about five-eleven with dark blond hair, blue eyes, and a muscular build. Stepping forward, he offered his hand to Roland. “Chris Reordon.”

Roland shook it. “I recognized your voice.”

Chris offered his hand to Sarah next.

She smiled. “Sarah Bingham.”

“Nice to meet you, Sarah.”

When Chris gave her a friendly smile, Roland sidled up next to her and draped an arm around her shoulders.

Was he jealous?

The warning scowl he sent the blond certainly seemed to indicate he was as he motioned for them to sit down. “What have you found out?”

Sarah and Roland sat beside each other on the sofa. Marcus took the cushy chair on Sarah’s other side while Chris sat in one of the chairs opposite them and dropped a manila file folder on the coffee table between them.

“The vamps seem to have gone deep underground,” Marcus said wearily. “Lisette and I have spent every hour of darkness searching for them for the past three nights and haven’t found a thing. If they’re feeding, they’re doing it well outside our territory and are being damned careful to stay under our radar on their way in and out.”

“Any idea where Bastien’s lair is?”

“None. There’s been no sign of him either. It’s almost as if they all dropped off the face of the bloody earth.”

Sarah watched Roland’s scowl deepen and wondered if perhaps he and Marcus had killed them all.

If all of his henchmen and fellow vampires were dead, would Bastien flee or stay and rebuild his numbers?

“What about missing persons?” Roland asked Chris. “Could he be busy recruiting?”

Chris shook his head. “No new missing person reports since he torched your house. And my men at the county morgues said there haven’t been any new feeding deaths camouflaged as car crashes, shootings, suicides, or farming acci-dents. As Marcus said, any vamps in the area are finding their nourishment elsewhere.”

So maybe there were no more vampires left, she thought hopefully.

Chris seemed to be following the same train of thought, because he leaned forward and braced his elbows on splayed knees. “Is it possible you killed them all and Bastien is on the run?”

“No,” Roland immediately responded. “This guy has it in for me. He isn’t going to give up after just three skirmishes.”

Inwardly Sarah shook her head. Three skirmishes in two days. Three days of training. All together it seemed as though months had passed.

Marcus nodded. “I agree. Whatever this is, it’s personal. He isn’t going to give up that easily.”

“As to that”—Chris flipped the file open—“I’ve been doing some digging and trying to find out who the hell this guy is. Since you said he looked to be about thirty and is lucid enough to organize and maintain a small army, I figured he had to have been transformed within the past ten years or so. Unfortunately, every Bastien or Sebastien, first or middle name, born in England in the past fifty years has been accounted for. I expanded the search to include Scotland, Ireland, and Wales and came up with the same results, which means it’s an assumed name. He’s going to be hard to track down.”

Vampires were usually fairly easy to trace because, unlike immortals, they tended to keep the names they were given at birth. They might try to change it once or twice to avoid suspicion, but inevitably reverted to the first once the madness kicked in and it became more difficult to arrange and keep up with aliases.

Roland glowered. “So you’ve got nothing?”

“Not exactly,” Chris said, unfazed by Roland’s ire and Marcus’s growing irritation. “Like you immortals, when vampires use assumed names they usually use family names because they’re easier to remember. I put the genealogy geeks on it and they found this.”

Rifling through the papers, Chris chose three, turned them upside down, and slid them across the coffee table to Roland.

Sarah, Roland, and Marcus all leaned forward to peruse them.

It looked like something printed off of various Web pages. One said something about the House of Lords. Another was the passenger list of a ship. She couldn’t tell what the third sheet said. The writing was too small. However, there was an old sketch, displayed near the top, of a man who resembled Bastien.

“The only Sebastien we could link you with is this man,” Chris said, pointing to the sketch, “Sebastien Newcombe, Earl of Marston, born 1783.” It couldn’t be Bastien then. Roland had said vampires rarely even lived one century. “Now, you and Marston were both in London for much of the first two decades of the nineteenth century. Marston died in 1815 under mysterious circumstances. His body was never recovered. That’s a quote and, as you know, a red flag.”

“They can’t be one and the same. Vampires don’t live two hundred years.”

“True. But I wonder if you might’ve killed Marston and all of this is a vendetta handed down father to son to today’s Bastien. Thanks to a flood destroying a few pertinent records, information on Marston’s bloodline becomes a bit sketchy in the twentieth century, right around the time your man would have been born.”

“So Marston was a vampire I hunted?”

“Either that or a human.”

Roland’s voice turned chilly. “Immortals do not kill innocents when they feed.”

“I’m aware of that,” Chris said. “But you do kill minions and minions tend to procreate.”

Marcus frowned. “You think Marston was a minion and Bastien is his descendant?”

Chris shrugged. “Marston wouldn’t be the first member of the nobility to run with the wrong crowd. Nor would your Bastien be the first to be recruited, then later turned by an ancestor. We’ve seen the virus make its way down through family trees before. Remember that vamp in Virginia who turned both of his grandsons a few years ago?”

Sarah nibbled her lower lip as Roland picked up the paper and studied the sketch more closely.

“I don’t know,” he pronounced slowly. “I don’t recall encountering him in London.” He handed the paper to Marcus. “Do you?”

“No, and minions tend to linger longer in my memory because we have to dispose of the bodies.”

Uncertain whether they would be irritated by her pointing out the obvious or appreciate her input, Sarah slowly raised her hand.

Roland glanced over at her with a furrowed brow, then smiled. “We aren’t in a classroom, Sarah. If you have something you wish to say, you don’t have to raise your hand.”

The other two men grinned.

Shrugging, she returned their smiles. “Well … I was just thinking you might be overlooking something….”

Chris frowned.

“I mean, I could be wrong. It just seems so obvious….” She trailed off.

“What does?” Roland asked, reaching out to touch her hand.

Holding his gaze, she said, “Maybe Bastien isn’t a vampire at all. Maybe he’s immortal. And the reason Chris couldn’t find any information on him is that he isn’t a descendant of the Earl of Marston. He is the Earl of Marston.”

Roland and the others stared at her.

“That isn’t possible,” she heard Marcus say.

Sarah continued to hold Roland’s gaze. “You told me yourself not half an hour ago that all immortals share similar physical characteristics. When he landed on the hood of Marcus’s car—”

“Is that what happened to it?” Chris said in the background.

“—I got a good look at him, Roland. He has black hair, dark brown eyes, and is over six feet tall. If he stood next to you and Marcus in a crowd, people would think the three of you were brothers.”

Chris shook his head. “He can’t be immortal, Sarah. Immortals don’t fraternize with vampires, they kill them. And they sure as hell don’t try to kill other immortals.”

Roland turned to look at Marcus.

Both remained silent.

“Has an immortal ever later turned vampire?” she asked uncertainly.

“No, never,” Chris insisted. “Once their bodies mutate the virus, they’re safe from the madness forever. And while there might be one or two immortals I would classify as assholes, they’re never evil the way vampires are. Immortals are good guys. They don’t turn bad no matter what the incentive.”

“Oh.” Discouraged, she returned her attention to Roland, who still stared at Marcus.

“Could Seth have missed one?” he murmured, his expression grave.

Marcus looked ill. “He never has before.”

“Not to our knowledge. Or his.”

“Oh shit.”

Chris’s eyes widened. “You aren’t serious, are you?”

Roland met his disbelieving gaze. “It makes the most sense.”

“But he tried to kill you! Three times!”

Roland laced his fingers through Sarah’s. “If Seth didn’t find him after he was transformed and no other immortal happened upon him and took him under their wing, he will have learned everything he knows from vampires.”

Marcus dragged a hand down over his face. “He probably doesn’t even know he is immortal and thinks he’s a vampire. No wonder he’s so bloody fast and strong.”

Sensing how troubled Roland was by the notion, Sarah surreptitiously inched closer to him.

He squeezed her hand. “This changes everything.”

Marcus nodded. “We sure as hell can’t kill him now.”

“Uh, I hate to sound like a broken record,” Chris said, “but he—tried—to—kill—you. And if he’s been living as a vampire, he’s probably killed a lot of humans in the last two centuries and transformed who knows how many others.”

Marcus emitted a huff of annoyance. “No shit, Sherlock.”

Sarah decided to leap in again before Chris could spout a caustic rebuttal. “You don’t know that. If he’s immortal, that means he isn’t a slave to the bloodlust, right? So maybe he feeds the way immortals did before blood banks came on the scene. Maybe he takes what he needs without killing his victim. He could’ve killed me when they attacked en masse in my front yard, but didn’t.”

“He told his men to,” Marcus reminded her.

“No, he told them I was Roland’s weakness.”

“Then chased after you when you tried to get away,” Roland pointed out.

She chewed her lip. “If he thought you cared about me, he might have thought I would be useful as bait.”

Roland swore and dropped his head back.

Marcus frowned. “What?”

“When his minions were dousing the house with gasoline, one of them told another Bastien had said not to light it until they got Sarah out. I assumed he intended to … I don’t know … punish her for helping me or use her to get to me if we managed to escape. But the minions never specifically mentioned taking her back with them.”

Chris shook his head. “You aren’t actually suggesting he was protecting her, are you?”

Marcus cocked a brow. “If he doesn’t kill humans …”

Sarah thought Chris looked as if he were about to blow a gasket.

“He commands a pack of vampires! Do you think they’re innocent, too?”

“We can’t kill him,” Roland reiterated. “Not until we know for sure.”

“Then what the hell are you going to do—walk up to him, shake hands, and say, ‘No hard feelings’?”

“No.” Roland shared another look with Marcus. “We’ll capture him and turn him over to Seth.”

Marcus nodded slowly. “Do you want to tell Seth, or do you want me to?”

Roland’s hand tightened around Sarah’s. “I will.”