Darkness Dawns

Chapter 4

Roland awoke as the sun was setting, his body wracked with pain. It took several minutes of intense concentration before he was able to distance himself from it enough to open his eyes and take in his surroundings.

The television was on, tuned to a news channel, the volume low.

He was lying on his back on the futon, his left leg bent at the knee and resting against the cushioned back. His right leg was stretched out with his foot hanging off the end. What utterly astonished him and nearly made him forget the pain, however, was Sarah, who was sprawled atop him, peacefully ensconced in slumber.

Her cheek was pillowed by his chest. Emitting a pleasant citrus scent, her hair again clung to his stubbled jaw and fell across his shoulder in curly disarray. One of her small hands loosely clutched his shoulder. The other was tucked into his side. Her full breasts warmed his stomach. Her hips rested against his groin, arousing him despite his discomfort.

Damn, but it felt good.

Giving in to temptation, he wrapped his arms around her and buried his face in her silky hair.

She stirred, her hand tightening on his shoulder as she snuggled closer, then fell still.

He hadn’t slept with a woman in the literal sense in over nine centuries, refusing to let down his guard enough to experience such intimacy as this. Not even with Mary, who had feigned such devotion. He had obeyed the proprieties when he had courted Mary and, fearing her reaction when she found out what he was, had never left himself so vulnerable.

But Sarah didn’t know what he was and he had no intention of telling her. He didn’t want to see the same loathing in her eyes that had darkened Beatrice’s or the fear that had widened Mary’s.

To Sarah, he was just a man.

His body hardened even more when he remembered the way her heartbeat had sped up at his touch.

Her pulse was slow and steady now, the blood in her veins calling him to come and satiate his hunger. As he listened to the steady thrum of it, his own heart began to pound.

Roland slid one hand up her back, tunneling through soft, thick curls, and rested his fingers upon the satiny skin of her neck just over her pulse.

What would she taste like? Sweet like her smiles? Or spicy like her daring spirit?

Would drinking from her merely dull the pain? Or would it set him aflame?

His body was struggling to heal itself. The need for blood lacerated him.

Roland felt his fangs descend and lengthen.

Just one taste. Sarah is sleeping. She need never know.

He could ease her up his chest, lower his lips to the delicate skin of her throat….

Groaning, Roland drew his tongue across her pulse … then froze.

Rearing back, he stared down at her in dismay.

When had he moved her?

One second he had been wondering what she would taste like and the next his lips had been on her flesh. Was he that close to losing control?

He forced his fangs to retract.

“Sarah.” He shook her gently.

She didn’t rouse.

Something like panic struck him. Had he already drunk from her? Was he so far gone that he had drained her and not even been aware of it?

Brushing the hair back from her face and neck, he searched for but found no bite marks. His wounds weren’t healing either, so he couldn’t have fed yet.

“Sarah,” he said louder.

“Hmmm.”

“Sarah,” he practically shouted.

Her eyes flew open, rising to meet his. “What?”

Roland almost laughed, he was so relieved. She was just a sound sleeper.

She blinked three times, then gave him a sleepy smile. “Oh. Hi.”

He smiled back. “Hello.”

Wait for it….

Her eyes widened as Morpheus released his hold and she became aware of her position. “Oh! I fell asleep!”

“We both did.”

“But I fell asleep on you.”

“And normally I wouldn’t complain, but you’re putting pressure on my cracked ribs.”

A blush climbed her cheeks. “I am so sorry!”

Sarah sought a place to put her hands that wouldn’t harm Roland as she endeavored to rise. When her shifting and squirming made her aware of the heavy erection that was pressing into her stomach, she stilled. Her eyes flew up to meet his.

“Yyyeah. Sorry about that,” he said sheepishly. “I can’t help it. You’re a beautiful woman and my body is reacting accordingly.”

His wasn’t the only one. Her mouth went dry at the feel of him. Heat pooled low in her belly.

His smile fell away.

Sarah swallowed hard as she held his gaze, then …

Her breath caught.

His eyes were glowing—actually glowing—with a strange amber incandescence.

Hurtling herself up and off him, she scooted backward until the cold metal arm of the futon hit her butt.

A veil descended over his features as he sat up. “What is it?”

Her heart trip-hammering with alarm, Sarah virtually leapt off the futon to place more distance between them. “Your eyes.”

He glanced down and readjusted the sheet that covered him to the waist. “What about them?”

“They’re—”

He looked up.

His eyes were brown again. Deep, dark brown. Guarded. “Yes?”

Had it been a trick of the light?

Don’t second-guess yourself. You know what you saw.

“They were glowing,” she finished and waited for him to deny it.

“Ah,” he said as if she had mentioned it might rain tomorrow. “I apologize. With everything that has happened, I didn’t think to warn you about that.”

“Warn me about what?” she queried nervously.

What would make someone’s eyes do that? It was like something out of a science fiction movie.

“The affliction that causes my photosensitivity also affects my eyes. I’m told that when the light strikes them at a certain angle, they appear to glow or shimmer strangely.”

“Oh.” Her heartbeat began to slow. “Yes, they do.”

“Forgive me, Sarah. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“You didn’t,” she lied, feeling awful now. Jeeze. It wasn’t his fault. And she had made such a big deal about it, leaping away from him as if he were a friggin’ cobra. “It just … caught me off-guard, that’s all,” she finished lamely.

When he swung his feet around and planted them on the floor, she sat beside him and tentatively asked, “Do you mind my asking what your affliction is?”

He shook his head. “Porphyria.”

Porphyria, she repeated silently. She couldn’t remember if that was what those kids on the news had had or not. “Is it fatal?”

“It would have been this morning had you not found me before the sun did.”

The thought of it made her feel sick. “So as long as you avoid the sun and other bright lights …”

“The illness won’t kill me.”

Good. “Does it cause blindness?”

“No, my eyes are a bit sensitive to bright light but, other than that, function normally if you can overlook the occasional luminescence.”

Reaching out, she rested a hand on his arm. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did. And I’m sorry I fell asleep on you, too.”

“Don’t worry about the former. It is perfectly understandable. And as for the latter …” He leaned toward her and proffered a wicked grin. “The latter was my pleasure.”

Sarah laughed. “I wouldn’t have thought someone with injuries as severe as yours would be capable of reacting to that pleasure.”

He grimaced. “I wouldn’t have thought it possible either, but there you have it.”

It was the closest he had come to a verbal admission of the agony he must be suffering.

His strength was simply extraordinary. If she were in his position, she would be bawling her eyes out and begging for painkillers. As would most people, male or female.

The crunch of gravel outside heralded the arrival of a vehicle as it pulled into her driveway. The engine fell silent.

Rising, Roland wrapped the sheet around his waist and crossed to one of the two windows that looked out onto the front yard.

Sarah grabbed the remote and shut off the television. She heard a car door open and close as Roland brushed the curtains aside and peered through the blinds.

“It’s Marcus.”

She stood, wondering if she should go to the door or wait for Roland to give the okay.

The tension that had stiffened his spine at the sound of the car did not lessen as he continued to stare through the window.

Did he worry that his friend may have been followed?

Boots made hollow thumps on the wooden porch. A knock sounded.

Roland left the window and went to the front door.

Sarah followed and stood a couple of steps behind him as he unlocked and swung it open.

Night had fallen. The moon was almost new. In the country, that meant it was pitch black outside, the darkness broken only by the tiny sporadic flashes of fireflies.

Though the porch light was off, enough light spilled forth from the house to illuminate their visitor.

He was tall, perhaps an inch shorter than Roland, so that would put him at about six foot one. His hair was dark as midnight and fell halfway down his back. Clad in black jeans, a black T-shirt, a black leather jacket, and biker boots, his body was slender but ripped. His jaw was shadowed by several days’ growth of beard and his eyes …

Though he looked to be about the same age as she was—thirty—his brown eyes seemed much older.

“Marcus.” Roland held out a bandaged hand.

Marcus entered and set down the duffle bag and briefcase he carried. “Roland.” Bypassing the hand, he clasped Roland’s forearm and pulled him into a hug. “It’s good to see you.”

Roland winced and gingerly clapped him on the back, then retreated.

Marcus met Sarah’s curious gaze and raised his eyebrows.

Moving to stand beside Roland, she held out a hand. “Sarah Bingham.”

His large, callused fingers clasped hers. “Marcus Grayden. A pleasure to meet you.” His words were endowed with the same British accent that flavored Roland’s.

“Nice to meet you, too.”

Stepping back, he propped his hands on his hips and looked Roland up and down. “I have to admit … if you didn’t look like hell, I’d be laughing. What happened to your clothes?”

Grunting, Roland urged Marcus back toward the door. “I’ll fill you in in a minute. First I need you to have a look outside. Around the house and in the meadow behind it.”

“All right.” Walking out onto the porch, he paused and tilted his head as though listening for something. Then he seemed to sniff the air, almost like a lion seeking the scent of prey. “Do I know what I’m looking for?”

“Yes, more than one.”

His face brightened. “More than one?”

“And possibly a couple of wannabes.”

“Interesting.” Descending the steps, he vanished into the darkness.

Roland closed the door.

“Don’t you think he would have better luck if he used a flashlight?” Sarah asked, puzzled. There were no streetlights or any other form of ambient light, so the man may as well have been walking around blindfolded.

“He’ll ask if he needs one.”

If he needs one? How could he not?

“Is Marcus your brother?”

“No, why do you ask?”

She shrugged. “You both share the same hair and eye coloring. You’re almost the same height. You’re both handsome, have the same build—”

“You think he’s handsome?” he interrupted.

“Sure. Not as handsome as you are. I mean, even covered with blood and truly scary wounds, you—” She broke off. What was she doing?

Clearing her throat, she mumbled, “I just thought you might be related.”

Boots again sounded on the porch.

Marcus must have conceded defeat and decided he needed a flashlight.

“It’s Marcus,” she heard him call.

Roland opened the door. “Anything?”

“All clear,” Marcus responded as he strode inside.

At first, Sarah thought he was joking. There was no way he could have checked her backyard and the meadow beyond already. Even with good lighting and running at top speed he would have only had time to reach the site of her future veggie garden.

His next words, however, belied that and stunned her speechless.

Scowling at Roland, he asked, “Is all the blood on the ground near that spike yours?”

“Yes,” was Roland’s clipped response.

Swearing, Marcus bent and grabbed the handles of his duffle bag, his eyes snagging Sarah’s. “Where’s your bathroom?”

She pointed to it. “You saw the meadow where they staked him to the ground?”

“They staked you to the ground?” he roared, turning on Roland.

“Yes. I don’t suppose you found a couple of corpses lying about, did you?”

“No.”

Sarah looked at Roland. “So the guys I hit with the shovel didn’t die?”

“Apparently not.” He didn’t seem pleased.

She swallowed. “You think they’re going to come back.”

He nodded. “And since you’re the only person nearby, they’ll draw the obvious conclusion that you were the one who helped me.”

That’s what she had feared. “What should I do?”

He hesitated, as though waging some internal debate. “Pack a bag. You can stay with me until this is all sorted out.”

Marcus’s mouth fell open. “What?”

Roland frowned belligerently. “She’ll be safe with me.”

“You never let anyone stay with you. I don’t stay with you. I don’t even know where you live and I’ve known you freakin’ forever!”

“Well, I’m sure as hell not going to let her stay with you. You’re dangerous to be around.”

“According to whom?”

“Seth.”

“Well, Seth doesn’t know everything.”

Roland raised one eyebrow.

“All right. All right. Sometimes Seth does seem to know everything. It’s incredibly annoying. But I would never purposefully endanger an innocent.”

“The key word being ‘purposefully.’”

Sarah raised a hand. “Is anyone here interested in where I might wish to stay?”

Both men turned to her with guilty expressions.

“I’m sorry, Sarah,” Roland said wearily. “I didn’t mean to make you feel you have no say in the matter. I’m only concerned with your safety.”

“I appreciate that.”

Marcus stared at Roland as if his friend had just sprouted a pair of horns. “You’re apologizing? Seriously, what happened to you? Have you been taken over by a pod person?”

Roland’s face darkened with promised retribution.

Sarah touched his arm to calm him and glared at Marcus. “Marcus, don’t poke the bear. In case you haven’t noticed, Roland is in a lot of pain and doesn’t need the added aggravation of you taunting him. Are you here to help him or what?”

Remorse rippled across his features. “I’m sorry. Hurry up and decide this so I can patch him up.”

Roland’s hand brushed the small of her back. “Would you rather stay with family until—”

“No,” she answered immediately, unable to repress a shudder. As far as she was concerned, she had no family. “No, I want to stay with you.”

He nodded. “Pack whatever you’ll need for the next few days. Hopefully, we’ll be able to resolve this swiftly.”

Roland watched Sarah until she entered the bedroom and left their sight, then allowed his shoulders to slump and some of the pain he was feeling to show in his face.

Marcus’s lighthearted facade evaporated. “Hope I didn’t irritate you too much. I was trying to keep her attention focused on me so she wouldn’t notice your eyes.” Slipping an arm around Roland, he practically carried him to the bathroom.

Roland sat on the side of the bathtub as Marcus closed the door. “Are they glowing again?”

“Yes.”

“She’s already seen them. Please tell me you brought sustenance.”

Marcus unzipped the duffle bag and withdrew a small cooler. Inside were half a dozen bags of much-needed blood.

With great relief, Roland allowed his fangs to descend and plunged them into the first bag, draining it swiftly. His body was so depleted it took a second, then a third before his wounds began to heal. His hunger ebbed, as did some of the pain.

Marcus waited patiently, exchanging each empty bag for a full one until Roland was glutted. Putting the cooler away, he handed Roland the clothes he had brought. “Now tell me what happened.”

Roland did so in tones too low for Sarah to overhear, pulling on a pair of black cargo pants and a long-sleeved black T-shirt that would hide the fact that some of the cuts Sarah had tended would soon be gone.

“I’ve never heard of such a large group hunting together,” Marcus commented as Roland sat on the tub again to pull on socks and boots.

“Nor have I and I was definitely their prey. This was no random incident.”

“Why would they take your blood?”

“I don’t know. There have been vamps over the centuries who thought they could avoid the madness that afflicts their brethren by subsisting entirely on the blood of one of us.”

“But if that had been their goal, they would have taken you, not a sample.”

Roland shook his head. “I don’t know their goal. I just know Sarah saved my life and is now caught in the middle, so we need to dispatch these assholes as quickly as possible.”

“She thinks your eyes and photosensitivity are the result of porphyria?”

“Yes.”

The wood floor outside the bathroom door creaked. “It’s awfully quiet in there,” Sarah called worriedly. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes,” Marcus replied loudly.

“Roland?”

He smiled. “I’m all right, Sarah. We’ll be out in a minute. Marcus is just giving me a few stitches.”

“Okay. Feel free to yell if it hurts too much.”

“Marcus would mock me if I did.”

“Not if I hit him with my trusty shovel.”

Both men laughed.

“Beautiful, brave, and possessed of violent tendencies. I like her,” Marcus declared.

Beyond the door, Sarah laughed.

“Speaking of beautiful, brave, and violent women,” Roland broached hesitantly, “I was surprised to learn you were in North Carolina. I didn’t think anything could drag you away from Texas.”

All levity fled as Marcus’s face turned to stone. “There’s nothing there for me now.”

“What happened?” Roland asked, fearing he knew the answer.

Marcus’s dark eyes filled with grief. “It’s over. Bethany is gone.”

A deep sorrow invaded Roland. He had only met Bethany Bennett once, curious to see the woman who had held Marcus’s heart for eight hundred years.

She had been all that his friend had described. Small. Smart. Strong, both physically and emotionally. Brave. Beautiful. Possessed of a great wit and a tendency to tease. (All words and phrases he might use to describe Sarah, now that he thought of it.) Roland had liked her. And didn’t know what Marcus was going to do now that she was gone.

“When?” he asked softly.

Marcus’s throat worked. “Seven years ago.”

Roland closed his eyes. “I’m such a bastard. I didn’t know.” And he should have. Marcus had told him the year he would have to say goodbye to her, but the time had slipped past unnoticed.

“I knew all along how it would end. How it had to end. There was nothing you could have done.”

“I could have been there for you.” The way Marcus had been there for him when Mary had betrayed him.

Marcus snorted. “And done what? Watched me fall apart?”

Roland studied him closely. “Did you fall apart?”

Avoiding his gaze, Marcus closed the cooler and returned it to the duffle bag.

“Marcus?”

“What?” he snapped, jerking the zipper shut. “Do you want me to admit I took it badly? Fine. I took it badly. So badly that Seth now thinks I’m fucking suicidal.”

Alarms sounded. “Are you?”

“No, Roland. I’m just …” Sighing, Marcus raked a hand through his hair. “Tired. And numb. You of all people know how wearying this existence can be when there’s nothing to look forward to and no one to share it with.”

“I do.” And he had hoped Marcus, a hundred years younger and the first immortal he had personally trained, would never come to experience such weariness himself.

Roland was out of his element here. For the second time today, he found himself faced with someone who needed comfort and he was still uncertain how to render it. “You don’t want a hug, do you?” he asked uneasily.

Marcus’s look seemed to question his sanity. “Hell, no.”

Roland nearly wilted with relief. “Good.”

Shaking his head, Marcus produced a half smile. “I should have said yes and dredged up a few tears just to watch you squirm.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t,” Roland returned sardonically.

Upon leaving the bathroom, they found Sarah back in the den, setting a large tote bag down on the futon.

She glanced over her shoulder, then turned to face them. “Wow. You look …” Her gaze made a slow excursion down Roland’s body and back up again, speeding his pulse. “You look great.”

The admiration in those hazel depths made his body harden.

“Are you feeling better?” she continued. “Was Marcus able to help?”

“Yes to both questions.”

Brow furrowed with concern, she closed the distance between them. “You are going to see a doctor now, right?”

“No, I need to get you to safety first.”

“Surely the CIA has emergency medical facilities available for their operatives. Wouldn’t I be safe there?”

Marcus passed them on his way to the front door. “You told her you’re CIA?”

“Yes.”

Sarah turned to Marcus. “It wasn’t his fault. I know it’s supposed to be kept secret, but if he hadn’t told me I would have called 911 and blown his cover.”

As soon as she looked away, Marcus rolled his eyes and mouthed, Lame.

Ignoring him, Roland asked Sarah if her bag was packed.

“Almost. I need a few things from the bathroom, then I’m good to go.”

Roland moved aside so she could slip past him, then crossed over to Marcus.

“You aren’t supposed to tell them you’re CIA,” he said, his voice muted, as he set the duffle bag down and picked up the briefcase. “You’re supposed to let them infer it.”

Roland sent him a warning scowl. “I haven’t had to explain myself to a mortal in centuries. Cut me some slack.”

Balancing the briefcase on the back of the futon, Marcus flipped the latches up and opened it.

Roland smiled when he saw its contents. “You thought of everything, I see.”

“I figured if you had lost your clothes, you’d probably lost your weapons, too.”

“You were right. I did.” He was distributing sais, daggers, and throwing stars to various pockets, boots, and belt loops when Sarah returned and dumped a toothbrush, hairbrush, comb, hair ties, and several small bottles and jars into her tote.

Eyeing his weapons, she crossed her arms beneath full breasts. “Okay, would someone please explain to me why a man posing as an illegal arms dealer doesn’t carry a gun?”

“Amateur,” Marcus mumbled beneath his breath before continuing more clearly. “The knives are part of the persona we created to reinforce the belief of the criminals he deals with that he is a member of a particularly violent eastern European crime family. He also usually carries a couple of .45 semiautomatics but lost them in the fight.”

“Why didn’t you bring him replacements?”

“A miscommunication.”

Since they rarely fought more than one vampire at a time and wanted to avoid drawing attention to their battles, immortals tended to avoid using guns. Vampires did as well, knowing even in their madness that more than one careless vamp had experienced an excruciating death in a sunlit cell after being taken into custody by law enforcement officials.

Pursing her lips in a way Roland found adorable, Sarah left them, disappeared into the bedroom, and returned carrying a Glock 9mm and a spare clip.

“Here,” she said, holding them out to him. “You can use mine.”

Roland raised his eyebrows.

She shrugged. “I used to live in Houston. Crime is pretty bad there and, when a woman in my apartment complex was raped by a burglar, I decided that any man who broke into my place was going to have to be carried out.”

Damn. He really liked her.

Sarah watched him palm the weapon and give it a quick inspection. She kept it in good condition. Clean. Well-oiled. No rust or dust in any of the grooves or crevices. He seemed satisfied.

“There’s a bullet in the chamber and fifteen in the clip,” she told him.

“You any good with it?” Marcus asked.

“Very good,” Sarah answered matter-of-factly. “There’s no point in owning a gun if you aren’t prepared to use it.”

Roland handed it back to her.

“Don’t you need it?” she asked, taking it.

“I want you to hold on to it. If my assailants catch up with us before we reach my home, aim for the major arteries.” Using his index and middle fingers, he pointed out the key arteries on his own body in his neck, arms, abdomen, and inner thighs. “Here, here, here, and here. Got it?”

“Yes.” Every man she had ever chatted with at the shooting range, including cops, had told her to aim for the chest. Then, after seeing what a good shot she was, amended that to the head and chest. Yet, Roland was telling her to aim for major arteries?

That was odd.

“Don’t hesitate,” he stressed earnestly. “If you even think one of them is moving toward you, start shooting.”

“Will do,” she promised.

Marcus cleared his throat. “And don’t shoot us.”

She frowned up at him. “I just told you I’m good. I never miss my target.”

“And I’m asking you not to target us,” he countered, eyebrows raised. “Please?”

She looked at Roland and caught him exchanging a somber glance with Marcus.

Feeling as if she were missing something, she addressed Marcus. “Fine. If it will make you feel better, I promise I won’t shoot you.”

He nodded. “Good. I’m going to hold you to that.”

If she didn’t know better, she would have thought he truly believed she might turn her gun on them later.

Roland grabbed her tote bag. “Let’s get going.”

Marcus collected the duffle bag and briefcase and headed outside.

Sarah stuffed the spare clip into her back pocket and gripped the 9mm tightly with her right hand, nervous all of a sudden.

His expression softening, Roland touched her left arm. “Don’t worry. I won’t let anyone harm you.”

She forced a smile.

Sliding his hand down until their palms met, he linked his long fingers through hers and gave her hand a light squeeze.

Butterflies erupted in her stomach as she followed him onto the porch.

How could something as innocent as holding hands sometimes feel so intimate, she wondered as he locked and closed the door behind them.

Darkness enfolded them, so complete Sarah couldn’t see an inch in front of her face.

When Roland started down the front steps, she remained where she was.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, tugged to a halt.

“I can’t see.”

The porch light flickered, then came on.

Blinking at the sudden brightness, she looked up at the glowing bulb, back at the closed door, then at Roland, who waited on the steps.

He shrugged. “Must be faulty wiring. I turned it on as we were leaving. Come on. We need to hurry.”

Descending the steps, Sarah followed him across the uneven front lawn, then glanced back at the light.

The house was old. The wiring, too. Perhaps she shouldn’t have exchanged the dim yellow bulb that had originally been in the archaic fixture with a hundred-watt one. There had just been too many nights when she had tripped on the uneven ground between the gravel driveway and the front steps because the lower wattage bulb only lit the porch.

The brilliant white light of this bulb spilled down the stairs onto the grass and extended all the way to Marcus’s shiny black Prius, which was parked close behind her sixteen-year-old grungy white piece of crap Geo Prism.

Marcus handed Roland the briefcase, unlocked the passenger door, and started around the front of the car.

Roland released Sarah’s hand and reached for the passenger door handle, then paused.

Marcus stopped short.

Both men tilted their heads to one side, like an animal that hears a noise pitched too high for human ears. As one, they dropped the bags they carried and spun around to face the trees on the opposite side of the house.

Ice skittered down Sarah’s spine as they raised their faces to the sky, drew in deep breaths, and held them.

Man, these guys could be creepy.

Roland’s chin dipped. “They’re here.”