Darkness Dawns

Chapter 14

The heels of Seth’s boots made sharp percussive sounds on the stone floor as he strode through the castle’s many passageways. Up one. Down the next.

There was an urgency to his steps, a tension in his shoulders that held them rigidly squared. The hem of his leather duster flared out behind him as he swung around another corner, confident of his direction despite the stygian shadows unbroken by either torches or electricity.

In his right hand, a cell phone was clutched so tightly, the plastic threatened to crumble. Roland’s words still spun through Seth’s mind, circling like vultures waiting to pick clean the bones of his reason.

It couldn’t be true.

Roland’s enemy could not be an immortal. He couldn’t have missed one.

Could he?

At last, Seth reached his destination and entered a room large enough to be a ballroom, leaving the door open behind him. Immortals and humans alike were forbidden to cross its threshold or even to open the door and peer within, not that they could. Though there was no visible lock on the large oak door, any who sought to open it in Seth’s absence would find the task impossible, even when force and power tools were applied.

Seth took his responsibilities seriously and generously opened his many homes to the immortals he watched over—as well as the humans who served them so honorably and fought by their sides—whether he was currently in residence or not. Anything they needed, he endeavored to provide. But this …

This was his alone.

No windows graced the room. No moonlight lit his path.

Were it not for the overhead lights that flickered on at his silent command, he would be standing in a dark void. There was no furniture. No ornamentation whatsoever save the elaborate carving that whorled across the floor and up three of the four pale gray marble walls. Only the wall encasing the door bore no markings.

Seth’s hands trembled as he crossed the floor, his steps echoing hollowly in the cavernous room. His heart drummed loudly in his chest. Dread spilled into his stomach, burning like acid.

Hidden amongst the many shadows and crevices the massive engraving created were names, dates, and small notations made in an ancient language that would confound all but the one who had etched them.

Seth found what he sought on the wall opposite the door, tucked away in the northeast corner.

One name. A single notation. And a date.

SEBASTIEN NEWCOMBE, EARL OF MARSTON

EMPATH

1783

The cell phone hit the floor with a clatter.

It was true.

Sebastien, or Bastien, had been a gifted one. When he had been infected with the virus, he had turned immortal, not vampire.

And Seth had not been there to help him.

Staggered by the guilt that inundated him, Seth leaned against the east wall.

How had he missed it?

Though he had never admitted as much to the immortals—to do so would only invite questions he could not or would not answer—there were three phenomena he always felt internally, no matter how far away they took place: the birth of a gifted one, the death of either a gifted one or an immortal, and the transformation of a gifted one into an immortal. The first generated a sort of breathless tingle in his chest, the second a feeling of emptiness, and the third a sick feeling of dread not unlike that he was experiencing now. If he focused on that dread, the individual’s fear and pain would come to him and serve as a beacon he could use to track them down much as he had the mystery woman.

He always felt it. Always followed it. Helped the newly initiated immortals through the difficult transition. Schooled them on their new nature. Gave them purpose, guidance, the comfort of a friend. Then either trained them himself or introduced them to another immortal, who would perform the task in his stead and become their mentor.

Who had done that for Sebastien? To whom had he turned in Seth’s absence? How many humans had he harmed or killed in his ignorance? His anger? His bitterness?

If he had been taught by a vampire, Sebastien’s head would have been filled with lies about the Immortal Guardians who hunted them.

Did he know he was different from his fellow vampires? Did he know he was immortal? Had he ever approached one of the Guardians, hoping for acceptance, and instead been attacked because of his vampiric ways?

Was that what had transpired with Roland, sparking this plot for revenge?

Pressing his back to the wall, Seth slid down and sat on the cold stone floor, boots planted a shoulders’ width apart, knees bent.

How had he missed it?

If Bastien had been turned in his thirties, it would have happened between 1813 and 1823. The first two decades of the nineteenth century had been tough ones. Bloody ones. And not just because of Napoleon Bonaparte’s perseverance. Another vampire had gotten it into his feeble brain that if he amassed enough vampire servants, he could take over the world.

It happened once every millennium or so. A vampire would start turning humans left and right, instructing them to turn more. But the virus was so corrosive that by the time he had transformed sufficient numbers with which he could plan a campaign, he was too stark raving mad to organize or lead them.

This one had been no different. Lost to the madness, he had quickly forgotten his agenda and just kept turning many of his victims instead of killing them, abandoning them and leaving them to fend for themselves. It had taken Roland, Marcus, and other Immortal Guardians years to track down and destroy him and the many fledgling vampires he had spawned.

And at the end of it all, Seth had found himself with an unusually large number of new immortals requiring aid and training.

The hardest had been Lisette. She had been turned in 1815 and, before Seth could locate her, had unintentionally turned both of her brothers. They had been offering her their blood and helping her hide her condition, none of them understanding that repeated feeding would transform them as well.

Three voices calling out to him at once.

Had there been a fourth, drowned out by their collective cries?

Despair overwhelming him, Seth braced his elbows on his knees and let his head fall forward.

How had he missed it?

Had there been others like Sebastien?

He had been so sure he had found them all, but now …

Beneath the self-recriminations and doubt pummeling him, he heard the sounds of bare feet meeting stone and the faint rustle of clothing moving steadily closer.

Through the open door his visitor came. Into the room. His room. The forbidden room.

Padding toward him. Slowing. Hesitating.

From the corner of his eye, he saw small pale toes curl against the cold stone, nearly hidden by the frilly hem of a demure white nightgown.

The mystery woman.

Stunned that she would seek him out, he raised his head and glanced up at her.

Caught midmotion, reaching toward him as though to touch his hair, she gasped, yanked her hand back, and took several hasty steps away.

Three days she had been with them and she was still utterly terrified. Though her wounds had been healed that first morning, she was so traumatized by all that had happened to her that she had neither spoken nor slept. He knew the latter because he, David, and Darnell had taken turns watching over her, gently trying to coax her into trusting them.

After a minimum of seventy-two hours without sleep, he didn’t know what was keeping her upright. Yet there she was, hands nervously clenched in front of her, red hair charmingly disheveled, brow furrowed with concern as her green eyes met his and clung.

Seth did his best to force a smile, wanting to put her at ease.

She was the one person on the planet who would not be subjected to his wrath for daring to trespass.

“Hello, sweetheart,” he greeted her softly. Since she hadn’t spoken, they didn’t know her name.

Upon returning to Texas after healing Roland and Marcus, Seth had gathered his little crew together and teleported them all to his castle in England, wanting to put as much distance as possible between her and the ones who had tortured her.

She had spent the first day cowering in her room, perhaps expecting them to pick up where her captors had left off. The fact that he and David had healed her many wounds—those that hadn’t already healed themselves—had not lessened her fear of them at all. It only seemed to confuse her.

The second day, she had tentatively ventured out, exploring the sprawling castle and frequently observing him and the others from a distance. Seth had called ahead and dismissed the staff, so it was just the four of them. She watched them alertly when they spoke to her, but didn’t answer. Though her small form was emaciated, she refused to eat or drink anything they didn’t prepare in front of her or taste first themselves. Usually both. And always she kept her distance.

This was the first time she had voluntarily come so close to him or reached out to him.

“Are you all right?” he asked, thinking she looked a bit better, though shadows pooled beneath her expressive eyes. There was more color in her cheeks. She had gained a couple pounds. He suspected she would be a beauty once her body filled out with proper nourishment.

She nodded, indicating she was okay, then cocked her head to one side. Pointing to him, she raised her eyebrows.

“Me?” His own eyebrows rose. “You want to know if I am all right?”

She nodded.

He stared at her as understanding dawned. She had felt his distress and had come to see if he was okay. Which meant she was empathic as well as telepathic.

Who was she?

Her body possessed incredible regenerative properties. Both of the fingers and both of the toes that had been crudely amputated had grown back, something even immortals were incapable of achieving (though, with Seth’s or David’s aid, severed limbs could be reattached). She seemed quite powerful.

Not as powerful as himself, but perhaps as powerful as David, whose bloodline was purer than the other immortals because he was so old. Powerful enough, no doubt, to easily detect Seth’s presence if he were to try to peek into her thoughts.

Yet she was neither immortal nor a gifted one.

It was a puzzle he had not been able to solve. And he wished now that the minds of the many dozens of armed guards he and David had had to wade through in order to save her had provided an answer. The men in white lab coats who had been torturing her no doubt could have told him but had been slain out of sheer fury, their knowledge dying with them.

She made a motion with her head, urging him to respond to her silent question.

“Am I all right?” he repeated. Looking away, he stared, unblinking, at the wall opposite him. The automated I’m fine he usually trotted out in response to the question stuck in his throat. “Not really.”

He didn’t offer her an explanation. He doubted telling her about the man he had failed so miserably—the man who had needed his help as much as she had—would reassure her and gain her trust.

Sighing, he leaned his head back.

How had he missed it? How had Sebastien’s cries gone unheard?

Gathering the loose material of her nightgown around her, the mystery woman lowered herself to the floor beside him … beyond arm’s reach, of course. Seated with her back to the wall, she covered those tiny feet with the white material, then wrapped her arms around bent knees.

Her movements ceased.

Quiet descended around them. Seth’s thoughts continued to swirl as she offered him silent solace.

Sprawled on the steps that led to the whirlpool tub, Roland watched as Sarah blow-dried her hair. The bathroom, which connected to the bedroom they had claimed for their own, was as sumptuous as the one he had painstakingly installed in his own former home.

He and Sarah had just shared a very passionate interlude in the tub behind him. She was so beautiful and sensual and funny. No other woman had ever made him laugh during sex. But, with Sarah, he would be mindless with lust one moment and roaring with laughter the next when she made some wildly inappropriate or jesting remark between gasps of ecstasy.

And he enjoyed making her laugh even more, treasured every chuckle he elicited.

A smile curled his lips.

Yesterday morning, when they had retired, he had tossed her onto the bed on her back, told her to hold on tight to the headboard, then pretended he was so far gone with lust that he couldn’t get her pants off. Removing her boots, he had grasped the hem of each pant leg—knowing her belt wouldn’t let them slide down her hips—and pulled hard. Sarah had squealed as her body had risen off the bed at least a foot.

The black jeans hadn’t budged.

Feigning frustration, Roland had growled and yanked and shook. Her body had swung wildly from side to side and bobbed up and down as though she were on an out-of-control hammock. And all the while she had clung to the headboard, dissolving into giggles that made his heart go soft and warm.

Damn, he loved her.

He loved everything about her.

So much that he couldn’t breathe when he contemplated losing her and returning to his customarily cold, isolated existence.

The scent of ripe strawberries filled the room as she directed hot air through her soft brown tresses. A white towel hugged her slender curves from breasts to midthigh, slipping lower and baring more cleavage as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other.

There were two sinks in front of her, above which hung two oval-shape framed mirrors. They had found everything they needed among David’s supplies. His toothbrush, comb, men’s deodorant, and straight razor were clustered around the sink on the left. Scattered around the sink on the right were Sarah’s toothbrush, ladies’ deodorant, comb, styling gel, elastic ties, the toothpaste and shaving cream they shared, and, when she wasn’t using them, her brush and the hair dryer.

He liked seeing their things together, mixing and mingling like a married couple’s.

He liked watching her perform such mundane tasks as drying or braiding her hair. It was why he hadn’t bothered to dry his own, merely running a comb through it and dragging on a pair of jeans before settling in to observe her.

It had rapidly become his favorite pastime. He felt so at peace in these moments. Almost as at peace as he did when he held her as she slept.

The whine of the dryer stopped. Sarah met his gaze in the mirror as she unplugged it and set it aside. “You’re smiling,” she said softly, the corners of her own lips turning up.

He nodded, still surprised by how naturally smiles and laughter came to him now.

She ran a brush through her hair, then set it on the counter.

He sat up, knees splayed, as she turned away from the mirror and approached him. Her cheeks and the tips of her ears were pink from the blow dryer, her skin warm and deli-ciously fragrant.

“I like it when you smile,” she confessed tenderly, tunneling her fingers through his damp hair.

Sighing in bliss, he leaned forward, wrapped his arms around her, and rested his cheek against her stomach just beneath her breasts.

“You make me smile,” he murmured, no longer fighting his feelings for her. He knew it wouldn’t last, that he would lose her in the end, but had not the strength to resist the lure of the happiness—however brief it may be—that she brought him.

Tilting his head back, he rested his chin on her flat stomach and stared up at her. “My life was so barren before we met, Sarah. I couldn’t feel anything anymore. Didn’t let myself feel anything.” Reaching up, he stroked her lovely face. “Then you came along with your courage and teasing and passion and woke me up.”

She cupped his face in one hand, brushing her thumb across his cheek.

“Now I feel so much that, at times, it overwhelms me,” he admitted. “I laugh. I want. I need. I live, Sarah. Because of you.”

Her eyes glimmered with moisture. “I love you, Roland.”

He rose and gathered her into a loose embrace. “I love you, too.”

A tear spilled over her lashes as she smiled up at him. “I am so glad I decided to dig my garden that morning.”

He grinned and stole a kiss. “I am, too.”

She bit her lip. “Even though I’m going to grow old?”

A sobering fact he tried not to contemplate. “We can’t know exactly what the future has in store for us. But I can tell you with absolute certainty that, young or old, I will love you every day we have together and will love you every day thereafter. I don’t pretend to understand how this could have happened so swiftly, but it has. I …” He broke off, uncertain.

“What?”

“I have little experience with this.” He hadn’t even tried to court a woman in centuries. “So I don’t know if it is crass to say this or not.”

She gave him a squeeze. “You can tell me anything.”

Drawing a deep breath, he shared with her the revelation that had come to him over the preceding days. “This is the first time in my nine and a half centuries of existence that I’ve truly fallen in love.”

The words definitely took her by surprise. “But, I thought …”

“I never felt anything close to this with Beatrice. She and I were more like friends with benefits. And with Mary I had even less.”

She stared up at him, saying nothing.

Unease crept in as he began to wonder if he had just put his foot in it. “Sarah? You aren’t blinking, love. What are you thinking?”

Her stomach growled. “You are so getting laid again after I refuel.”

Emitting a bark of relieved laughter, he hugged her to him.

The bleating of his cell phone made him swear. “It’s probably Chris or Marcus reporting in.”

Releasing her, he strode through the doorway into the bedroom and retrieved his cell phone from the bedside table. “Yeah.”

“It’s Chris. I have something you need to see. All of you.”

“When and where?”

“An hour. There at David’s place. I just didn’t want to call the meeting without you okaying it first.”

He frowned. “Who are you calling in?”

“Marcus, Lisette, Étienne, and Seth.”

“Étienne is in town?” He was one of Lisette’s brothers.

Chris made a sound of impatience. “He’s lived in Winston-Salem for the past thirty years!”

Roland scowled. Winston-Salem was only fifty or sixty miles away.

Sarah joined him and touched his arm, offering comfort.

“If we meet here, one of you might inadvertently lead Bastien to us and put Sarah in danger.”

“Since I assume you won’t leave her there alone, that could be said about any meeting place you choose. David’s house is the safest bet. It has an excellent security system and several secret escape routes.”

“What secret escape routes?”

Sarah’s eyebrows flew up.

A long-suffering sigh came across the line and Roland could guess what the man was thinking: If he hadn’t shut David out, he would already know.

“I’ll tell you when I get there. I have to make these calls.”

“Fine,” he grumbled, hanging up. “Chris has found something and is calling a meeting.”

“Here?”

“Yes, they’ll be here in an hour.”

She went to the armoire and started pulling out clothing. “Who? Him and Marcus?”

“Yes, plus Seth, Lisette, and Étienne.”

Even though it had been less than an hour since they had made love, his body hardened as she tossed aside the towel and pulled on a pair of white bikini panties.

“Who is Étienne?” Her bountiful breasts swayed as she reached for a pair of black cargo pants, nipples still rosy from his earlier attentions.

“I can’t remember. All the blood in my head just rushed to my groin.”

She glanced at the erection straining against his zipper, then dropped the pants. A sly smile tilted her lips as her eyelids lowered slightly. Eyeing him as though she were imagining him naked and plunging inside her, she slowly began to circle the perimeter of the room.

“You want me?” she asked in a low, sultry voice that made his body burn.

He stared, riveted, as she raised a hand, slipped her index finger between her full lips, and sucked, reminding him how it had felt to have those lovely lips close around his cock, her tongue stroking him until he lost all control. “Yes.” The word emerged as almost a guttural growl.

“You want to be inside me?”

When she drew that finger down over her chest to stroke her breast, his knees threatened to buckle.

“Hell, yes.”

“Then you’re going to have to catch me.”

By the time the words registered, she was out the door.

Eyes widening, another smile dawning, Roland gave chase. He deliberately refrained from using his preternatural speed, curious to see where she would lead him.

Sarah sprinted down the hall to the training room and darted inside.

Slowing, he entered behind her and paused by the door. Though he wouldn’t have thought he could get any harder, he did when he realized where she was heading.

Bypassing the assorted equipment, she crossed a large empty sparring area with a padded floor and turned to face him.

“Here,” she said, continuing backward with slow sensual steps as she watched him avidly. “I want you to take me here.”

Behind her stretched a wall of floor-to-ceiling mirrors.

Sarah jumped when Roland crossed the distance between them in a single leap. Her heart raced as he prowled toward her with all the grace of a jaguar, eyes glowing, fangs peeking out from between parted lips.

His jeans rode low on his hips, the long, hard ridge of his erection impossible to miss. Barefoot, making no sound on the padded floor, he matched her step for step. The heavy muscles in his chest and rippling abs flexed as he stalked her.

She stopped a few feet from the wall. Roland halted as well, his body so close she could feel his heat, smell his wonderful scent, unclouded by cologne. His head dipped, his warm breath falling upon her neck.

She was already wet and trembling for him.

He inhaled deeply and rubbed his face against her like an affectionate cat as he slipped one arm around her waist. “Turn around,” he whispered.

Her pulse leapt.

Swiveling in his arms, she stared at their reflection in the mirror. This is what she had wanted to see. The two of them locked together. So different, but so good together.

She leaned back into him, raising one hand to cup his head as he nuzzled the base of her neck. The arm around her waist, so strong and tan compared to her pale flesh, tightened, drawing her hips into the cradle of his so she could feel his heavy arousal. Heat seared her as his other hand slid around to cup one breast, kneading, teasing, trapping her hardened nipple between thumb and forefinger, then rolling, pinching.

She moaned, letting her head fall back against his shoulder.

“You like that?” he murmured.

She nodded helplessly, sharp darts of pleasure piercing her.

When he pulled back slightly, she moaned a protest and wavered where she stood.

His arms left her. In the mirror she saw him step back and shuck his jeans, tossing them aside.

He wore nothing beneath them.

Then he hooked his thumbs in the narrow waistband of her panties and tugged them down to her ankles, holding her steady while she stepped out of them.

Moving up behind her once more, he clasped her shoulders, trailed his hands down to her fingers, and drew her arms out away from her sides.

“Look at you.” His heated gaze, glowing that bright, otherworldly amber, swept her form. “I’ve never seen anything more beautiful in my life.”

“Touch me,” she pleaded, every cell on fire.

A wicked grin tilted his lips. “On your knees first.”

Heart slamming against her ribs, she sank to her knees.

Kneeling behind her, he leaned forward to take her earlobe between his teeth, ever careful not to prick her with his fangs. “Spread your legs for me.”

She did so, watching his hand slide around from behind to recapture her breast.

“Wider.”

Breath shortening, she shifted until her knees were widely splayed.

Roland pressed his hard, muscled, very aroused body against her back.

Brushing her hair aside, he pressed heated kisses to the sensitive skin beneath her ear. “Only you, Sarah.” He slid his other hand around her waist and down, burying it in the dark thatch of curls at the juncture of her thighs.

Sarah gasped, breath shortening as she watched his long, tapered fingers part the tender folds of her body, warm and slick with welcome, and delve deep inside her. First one finger, then two while his thumb circled and stroked her clit.

“Only you make me burn like this.”

She couldn’t respond. Couldn’t speak as the pleasure spi-raled through her, building as she rocked her hips helplessly against him.

Roland groaned. She was so wet for him. So wild for him. Her body clenching around his fingers as he stroked her and inflamed her need, his own building until he couldn’t wait any longer. He had to be inside her.

She moaned a protest when he withdrew his fingers, then cried out when he guided his cock to her entrance and plunged into her hard from behind.

The pleasure on her face was almost his undoing.

His whole body trembled as he withdrew, then plunged again. She called his name, raised her arms, and reached back to grip his hair in her fists, drawing his head down.

He slid his hand back into that tempting triangle of curls, stroking her in time to his thrusts. The scent of her was maddening, heightened by her arousal, making him crave more and more of her.

Eyes heavy-lidded, lips parted on gasping breaths, Sarah stared at their reflection in the mirror, watched his hands touch and tease and stroke her.

Pumping his hips, he thrust deeper and faster, the tension rising. She was close. They both were, the pleasure building until it was almost unbearable.

“I love you, Sarah,” he whispered hoarsely, his glowing gaze meeting hers in the mirror.

Her body convulsed around him with the most powerful orgasm she had ever experienced. Crying out, she clung to him desperately. On and on the pleasure went as Roland continued to thrust.

Just when she thought it would stop, Roland’s body stiffened with his own climax, his fingers danced upon her swollen flesh, and a second orgasm claimed her.

When the last ripples faded, they sank weakly to the floor.

Sarah lay on her side, Roland spooned behind her, and fought to regain her breath.

He tightened his arms around her, holding her close, as though he feared his grasp was the only thing keeping her from slipping away.

Looking over her shoulder, she pressed a kiss to his passion-warmed cheek. “I love you, too.”