Darkness Dawns

Chapter 5

Such menace glittered in Roland’s dark gaze that Sarah found herself taking an involuntary step backward.

As if the movement drew his notice, he took her arm and urged her to stand behind him. Marcus moved to Roland’s side, the two forming a solid barrier that protected her front while the car protected her back.

“I count eight,” Marcus murmured, his stance alert.

“As do I.”

Eight men? How could they count eight men, she thought wildly, when she couldn’t hear anything but frogs and that weird bug she had never encountered before moving to North Carolina that sounded sort of like a cicada, but not really?

Ch-ch-ch … ch-ch-ch … ch-ch-ch.

“I thought you said you took out four of them,” Marcus said as Sarah strained to hear whatever it was they heard.

“I did.” “Took out” as in killed? “And severely wounded two others.”

“Then who the hell are we facing?”

Roland shook his head. “I don’t know who he is or what he wants, but he appears to have raised quite an army.”

“The one who staked you to the ground?”

“Yes.”

“Unbelievable.”

Sarah concurred. This was all unbelievable. Shouldn’t these guys be nervous or tense or sweating or something? Maybe jumping in the car so they could get the hell out of there? Especially when one considered how the previous night’s confrontation had ended.

Instead, they seemed relaxed, their bodies loose, their deep voices casually ominous.

Unlike them, she was a bit of a wreck. Her palms were sweating. Every muscle was tense. And her fingers were clutching the Glock in a death grip.

The foliage on the opposite side of the large front yard parted in several places. Dark figures emerged from the shadows, growing more distinct as they stepped into the dim outer reaches of the porch light. Men. Six, no seven. All young, in their late teens and early twenties.

Marcus and Roland stood with their arms at their sides, feet shoulder’s width apart.

Peering between her two massive protectors, Sarah anxiously took stock of those they were up against.

There were three, around twenty years old, who were decked out in goth gear. Black T-shirts with skull faces emblazoned on them in dramatic patterns. Ragged black jeans. Big black boots. Lots of chains and spikes and studs and body piercings. They were all around five-ten and sported the same hairstyle: two-inch shocks that stood up like porcupine quills. The only difference was the coloring. One had cherry-red hair. One had royal blue hair. And one was bleach blond.

The next in line looked to be a boy no older than sixteen or seventeen. Standing five foot eight, he had brassy orange hair, was liberally covered with freckles, and had a feral look about him that screamed serial killer in the making.

On the other side of him stood a pair of identical twins who nearly matched Roland and Marcus in height. Unlike their comrades, who were all thin and lanky, these two had broad shoulders and thick muscles clearly defined by tight gray T-shirts and faded jeans. With long, straight, flaxen hair, they would’ve looked perfectly at home dressed as medieval Vikings.

The guy on the other side of them had shoulder-length greasy brown hair and looked like he had just stepped off the pages of an ad for an ′80s grunge band, plaid shirt and all. He, too, stood around five foot ten or eleven.

As Sarah completed her visual inventory, an eighth figure materialized from the darkness and moved to stand in front of the others, who fanned out in a loose horseshoe around him.

She swallowed.

This man was almost as scary as Roland when Roland was at his most intimidating.

He was tall, an inch or two above six feet, with shoulder-length black hair. His taut, muscled body was clad in black jeans and a black T-shirt, his broad shoulders encased in a long black coat. His face was clean-shaven, his jaw strong.

He would be quite handsome if he didn’t give her a major case of the creepin’ willies.

“So,” he spoke, his attention focused on Roland, “it’s true then. You can’t imagine my disappointment when I arose, expecting to be handed your remains in a coffee can and was instead informed that you had been rescued.”

Sarah recognized his voice as that of the Brit who had told the kid stabbing Roland to let the sun finish him off.

Beside Roland, Marcus snorted. “This is the prick you mentioned earlier?”

“He’s the one.”

The feral ginger turned to the leader. “You still want him dead?”

“Yes.”

“And the other one?”

“Take him alive.”

“Look,” Marcus said, amiably apologetic, “I know I’m prettier than he is. And I’m flattered. Really. But I feel like I should tell you … I’m really not into guys.”

Clearly they were all homophobes.

An explosion of violence erupted in the front yard.

As Sarah looked on, immobilized by shock, the grunge kid, Vikings, and ginger attacked Marcus while the leader and the three goths went for Roland. Fear, more intense than any she had ever experienced, cemented her feet to the ground and made her heart slam against her ribs.

It wasn’t right.

It wasn’t normal.

Roland whipped out a couple of sais—long steel daggers with sharpened prongs that extended on either side of the main blade—while Marcus drew short swords. Together they expertly engaged their opponents, who were armed with everything from big bowie knives to machetes to short swords of their own. Fending off three and four at a time, Roland and Marcus forced them back and kept them distanced from Sarah. It was like watching Neo and his friends in The Matrix fight, only these men all wielded deadly blades and moved so swiftly they became a blur.

This isn’t possible, her panicked brain whispered.

No one moved that fast. World record–breaking Olympic athletes didn’t move that fast!

And, of them all, Roland and Marcus were the fastest.

Blood sprayed in an arc, light from the porch sparkling off the crimson droplets as the blue-haired goth stumbled back, his throat sliced open. He didn’t even have time to raise a hand to it before Roland buried one of his sais in the kid’s chest, spun, and parried a blow the leader aimed at his back with a short sword.

Roland’s eyes were glowing again. And his weren’t the only one’s. Marcus’s. The leader’s. The Vikings’. Everyone’s eyes glowed green or blue or amber.

Everyone’s but hers.

And their teeth …

The blue-haired goth sank to his knees, emitting horrible gagging and gasping noises, mouth open to expose what could only be described as fangs.

Her heart skipping a beat, Sarah looked at the leader, whose lips were drawn back in a snarl of rage, revealing more fangs.

Oh shit.

The Vikings—fangs.

The ginger kid—fangs.

These guys weren’t …

They weren’t … vampires … were they?

Vampires don’t exist.

Then why did the ginger kid just sink his fangs into Marcus’s arm?

Marcus rewarded him by cutting his femoral artery, damned near severing the kid’s leg in the process.

Were Roland and Marcus vampire hunters?

“The woman is his weakness!” the leader growled suddenly.

Instantly, the goth with the bleach-blond hair dropped back, slunk to one side, and edged his way around Roland. His glowing cerulean eyes fastened on Sarah. There were several cuts and slits in his clothing, which glistened damply. The material parted as he moved toward her, revealing pale, blood-coated flesh torn open where Roland had scored hits with his arsenal of blades.

His mouth twisting in an evil smile, the boy stalked her slowly, fangs gleaming. Sarah took a step backward, then belatedly remembered the weapon in her hand.

Raising the Glock, she flicked the safety off and fired once. The bullet entered dead center between the goth’s eyes and exited the back of his head, accompanied by a disgusting amount of flesh.

His head snapped back. “Ahh!” Then he glared at her. “Bitch, that hurt!”

Crap. Aim for the arteries.

As he started toward her, Sarah fired three more times in quick succession. Blood spurted from his neck, abdomen, and thigh.

His face contorting in fury, he lunged toward her.

Wind stirred her hair as a blur of motion swept past her and hit the goth. Metal glinted in the dim light. The goth fell to the ground. Above him, Roland paused, panting, bleeding from several wounds on his torso and arms.

His eerie eyes met hers. “Are you all right?”

She nodded, too frightened to speak.

The leader’s short sword swung while Roland was distracted and sliced into his neck. Blood splattered Sarah’s face and front.

“No!” she screamed as Roland reeled backward, scarlet liquid pouring down his chest.

Turning the Glock on the leader, she fired repeatedly, eyes filling with tears. His body jerked with each impact.

Sarah paused, blinking to clear her vision.

She had hit him once in the head and five times in the chest and he was still standing. A throwing star embedded itself in his collarbone, drawing the leader’s attention to Marcus.

Sarah turned to Roland.

Holding one hand to his neck, he staggered and nearly fell. His shirt and pants were already saturated. His face was utterly colorless.

“Roland.”

It was her fault. He had been protecting her. If she hadn’t distracted him, he would’ve seen the blow coming and avoided it.

She started toward him.

The last goth kid hissed and sprang at her.

Roland moved in a blur, intercepting her attacker. There was a loud crack. The cherry-haired goth screamed as a jagged bone protruded from his forearm.

Roland twisted the other arm up behind the kid’s back. His face contorted in agony, the goth held himself motionless.

Roland raised his head and met her gaze.

Every ounce of blood in her body sank to Sarah’s feet.

His eyes glowed even brighter than they had before. His face was lined with pain.

And now Roland sported a set of fangs as sharp and deadly as the others’.

Terror engulfed her. Her limbs began to shake.

“Look away, Sarah,” he growled, his handsome features harsh.

She shook her head, nearly tripping over the briefcase and tote as she stumbled back until Marcus’s car stopped her.

“Look away!”

She couldn’t.

Roland swore fiercely, then bent and sank his teeth into the goth’s neck.

He was one of them. Roland was one of them! He was a vampire!

Sarah looked around wildly.

The Vikings were down. So was the grunge guy and the ginger kid, whose body, she saw with horror, was beginning to shrivel up like a mummy’s.

Marcus was fighting the leader. Her front lawn was awash with blood. A dozen more men with glowing eyes were exiting the trees across the yard.

She glanced back.

Roland was drinking the goth kid’s blood, his luminous gaze watching her every move.

Sliding along the car, away from Roland and his prey, Sarah fought down hysteria. Her breath came in short, panicked gasps, while a voice in her head shouted, Go! Run! Get the hell out of there!

When she reached the front bumper, her foot kicked something that made a tinkling noise. Barely visible in the shadow she cast lay Marcus’s keys.

Sarah bent, grabbed them, and bolted for the driver’s door. Scrambling inside, she slammed the door shut, locked it, locked the passenger door, set the gun on the seat beside her, and shoved the key into the ignition.

She couldn’t reach the pedals.

Groping around the base of the seat, she found the adjustment lever, pulled it, and scooted the seat up as far as it would go.

Through the passenger window, she saw Roland drop the goth’s limp body to the ground.

Sarah turned the key. The engine roared to life.

His eyes met hers for one drawn-out moment, full of rage and something else, before he turned and met the onslaught of the new vampires.

Putting the car in reverse, she stomped on the accelerator and turned to look behind her just as the back bumper slammed into a vampire who had circled around and been heading for Roland’s back.

She hadn’t even seen him coming.

His body rolled up, hit the back windshield, and slid off to the side as she turned the wheel, backed into the two-lane blacktop road in front of the house, and hit the brakes.

Putting the car into drive, she flipped on the headlights and floored it.

Tires squealed. The smell of burning rubber filled the air as the car rapidly accelerated.

Trees whipped by, dark, unfocused giants. Fireflies blinked and sparkled as she passed. The only sounds that met her ears were the humming of the engine, those weird North Carolina bugs, and her rasping, gasping breaths.

In the rearview mirror, her tiny house, its porch light, and the macabre battle taking place in front of it shrank, then disappeared from view as the road curved, rose, and dipped.

Sarah’s whole body was trembling. Her thoughts were scattered. Her actions driven solely by the need to get away. Fast. Too fast to navigate the bends and curves of the road safely, but she couldn’t bring herself to slow down. She turned on the high beams, hoping it would compensate for the lack of streetlights and let her see any deer that may have ambled onto the road in time to avoid hitting them.

Vampires, she thought hysterically.

Vampires were real.

And Roland was one of them.

The hood of the car abruptly buckled when a man seemingly dropped out of the sky and landed on it in a crouch.

Sarah screamed as the front of the car nose-dived into the pavement. The air bag exploded into her face, slamming her head back into the headrest. The rear end of the car kept moving forward, tires squealing as the car spun around and came to a jarring halt facing the trees on the side of the road.

Not wearing a seat belt, Sarah was hurled like a rag doll into the driver’s side door. Glass shattered, showered her, cut her as pain shot through her head and the left side of her face and body.

The engine sputtered, then faltered into silence.

Dazed, she grabbed the armrest to lever herself upright. Shards of glass sliced into her forearm and through the gauze bandages on her palm. Wincing, she yanked her hand back and sluggishly straightened in her seat.

The air bag wilted as it deflated, allowing her to peer blearily through the front windshield.

The dark figure crouched on the hood slowly rose to his full height.

It was the lead vampire in the long black coat.

Sarah whimpered when he met her gaze and smiled menacingly, fangs glinting in the ambient light of the high beams.

Terrified, she searched for the Glock but couldn’t find it. It wasn’t on the seat, under the seat, or on the floorboard.

The vampire stepped off the car and landed gracefully on the pavement.

Seeing nothing else she could use as a weapon, Sarah gritted her teeth, picked up a triangular piece of glass, and curled her fingers around the wide end.

Aim for the major arteries.

Blood welled and saturated white gauze as the sharp edges cut through the bandages and sliced her skin like a knife. The odor of burned rubber spoiled the late spring breeze that ruffled her hair.

Strolling to the driver’s side door, the vampire stopped within striking distance.

Sarah tensed, biding her time.

Something large slammed into the vampire, knocking him back at least fifteen yards.

The glass shard cut deep as Sarah jerked in surprise.

Leaning forward, she saw … Roland, picking himself up and turning to swing his sais at the other vampire.

Was he protecting her? Or was he saving her for himself so he could—what—bite her? Suck her blood? Kill her?

Screw that!

Turning the key, she mentally urged the engine to start. Come on.

It coughed a few times but did no more.

Come on!

She tried again and again. But it wouldn’t start.

Damn it! Her hands slick with blood, she fumbled with the door’s lock, unable to grip it. Close to screaming with frustration, she wiped her fingers on her shirt, then finally succeeded.

Throwing the door open, Sarah lurched out and raced for the trees illuminated by the headlights. They were denser than those around her house, the underbrush thicker. Weeds that reminded her of ferns brushed her thighs as she surged forward.

The light faded, penetrating the shadows only so far, and Sarah soon found herself stumbling blindly through complete darkness.

Unable to see where she was going, fearing she would run headlong into a tree and knock herself unconscious, she slowed to a brisk walk, hands outstretched before her.

Branches slapped her in the face, neck, chest, and hands, embedding the glass particles more deeply and tugging at her bandages. Her many cuts stung. Her head throbbed. Moisture welled in her eyes.

If she could just get away …

Far, far away.

She could no longer hear the grunts and thumps and sounds of the fight. Only the thrashing of the foliage as she plowed ahead, the ch-ch-ch sound of those freaky bugs, the croaking of frogs, and her own frantic heartbeat pounding in her ears.

Sarah didn’t know how far she had gone or how long she had been fleeing when her foot unexpectedly met empty air.

Flailing her arms for balance, she lost the battle and tumbled forward as the ground dropped off in front of her. Her hands and knees hit the dirt hard but didn’t stop the momentum that sent her rolling and jouncing down a hill.

The trunks of saplings felt like baseball bats striking her as she went, the thin branches of bushes and weeds like whips. Pain burst through the back of her head just before she skidded to an agonized halt.

Moaning, Sarah rolled onto her back. Flashing lights that had nothing to do with fireflies winked at the edges of her vision. Dizziness assailed her, making her feel as if she were lying on the deck of a ship being tossed about by a violent storm. If she could see her surroundings, no doubt they would be spinning nauseatingly.

Shifting to her side, she braced her aching hands on the cool grass and cautiously sat up.

The throbbing in her head intensified, as did that in her newly bruised ribs. But she couldn’t just sit there. She had to keep moving.

Unable to suppress a groan, Sarah managed to gain her feet with the help of the tree that had ultimately ended her descent.

With the hill behind her, she headed forward, arms extended.

There didn’t seem to be any more trees or shrubs. Just tall weeds or grasses that stroked her knees.

North Carolina was full of rolling meadows and hay fields. She must have wandered into either one or the other.

A branch snapped behind her, somewhere up the hill.

Panic returning with a vengeance, she took off running. Though she had left the shadows of the trees, her surroundings were no brighter, so she couldn’t see a thing.

Blindly racing forward at top speed was nearly as terrifying as knowing that a vampire was pursuing her. Sarah had not experienced this kind of darkness until she had moved to North Carolina. (The sky of a sprawling metropolis like Houston was never completely dark unless a hurricane like Ike took out the power.)

Tripping over some unseen object, she went down hard on her hands, elbows, and knees. Got up. Raced forward, breath coming in gasps that spawned sharp, stabbing pains in the right side of her chest. Fell hard. Got up. Raced forward, tears now streaming down her face. Tripped. Stumbled. Kept going. Tripped. Fell hard.

She almost couldn’t get up this time. Pain and fatigue clawed at her. If only she could see where she was going….

Holding her right side, where one of the saplings had struck her ribs, she took off at a jog, too damned tired to go any faster, and slammed face-first into a tree.

Rebounding off it, she staggered back a step. Strong hands abruptly gripped her upper arms as amber eyes blazed down at her.

It wasn’t a tree.

Screaming, she fought with all of the measly strength she had left.

“Sarah!” a familiar voice called as the hands gently shook her.

She sagged weakly. “Roland?”

“Yes.”

The dizziness returned.

“P-please don’t kill me,” she murmured, then sank into oblivion.

Roland caught Sarah as she fainted. Slipping one arm around her back and the other beneath her knees, he lifted her up and settled her against his chest. Her head lolled and came to rest on his shoulder.

Fiery pain shot through the arm his new nemesis had broken. Because Roland had lost so much blood again, the limb had only healed superficially.

It didn’t matter. Pain he was familiar with. Fear he wasn’t.

And it had definitely been fear that had gripped him when he had seen the lead vampire take off and chase Sarah after she had driven away.

Bastien, he had heard one of the flunky reinforcements call him.

Giving in to impulse, Roland buried his face in Sarah’s tangled, leaf-strewn hair. The pleasant citrus scent was now suppressed by that of the forest mulch she had collected in her flight.

His preternaturally enhanced senses reassured him that her heartbeat, though rapid from sprinting and panic, was strong.

The intense relief he felt was disquieting.

Roland raised his head. She looked like hell. Unlike Sarah, he could see clearly in full darkness and his first glimpse of her had been a shock.

The left half of her face was smeared with blood that oozed from a gash near her hairline. Her clothing was torn in half a dozen places and coated with so much dirt, leaves, and grass that even if he hadn’t seen the path she had cleared on her way down the hill, he would have known she had taken a bad fall.

The bandages he had carefully wrapped around her hands were gone. Her fingers and palms bled from numerous cuts, some of which still had pieces of glass lodged in them. So did her left forearm. Her right forearm and elbow were scraped. Both arms, her chin, and her collarbone sported pink patches that would no doubt morph into ugly bruises over the next few days.

She must have been in agony. Yet she hadn’t given up.

When he had reached the bottom of the hill, Roland had been astounded to see her running blindly across the meadow.

Running. Not walking.

He frowned down at her.

Had she been running from him or from Bastien?

Just as he had hoped, she had wasted no time in leaving after he had tackled the bastard, breaking several of the vamp’s ribs, so she couldn’t have known who the victor would be.

Not that he would call himself the victor. He hadn’t defeated Bastien. Bastien had decided a strategic retreat was in order when it had become clear he wouldn’t win.

Worried about Sarah, Roland had elected not to pursue him.

If Sarah had known Roland was the one trailing her, would she have stopped or continued to run? He had seen the horror suffuse her face when she had realized what he was. It was the same he had seen consume Mary when he had mistakenly taken her into his confidence.

He barely knew Sarah, so it shouldn’t have hurt.

But it had.

“Arghhhhhhhhh!”

Roland stiffened when that male roar rent the air.

A warning? A charge sounded?

“What the hell happened to my car?”

Marcus.

Relaxing, Roland shook his head and started back to face his friend’s wrath, jostling his precious burden as little as possible.

He snorted, a sound rife with self-mockery.

Precious burden? Sarah didn’t mean anything to him. Never would mean anything to him. Never could.

It didn’t matter that she was one of the most intriguing women he had met in centuries. Nor that she had been all that is kind to him, laughed with him, teased him, slept curled up against him on her futon. So soft and sweet.

Now that she knew what he was, she would despise him.

And, knowing that, only a fool would allow himself to care for her.

Sighing deeply, the self-proclaimed fool trudged up the hill and forged through the trees.

Marcus paced back and forth beside his car in long, angry strides that would’ve been more impressive if they weren’t hampered by a pronounced limp. When the lead vampire had taken off after Sarah, Roland had quickly finished off his foes and followed, leaving Marcus behind to battle the half dozen who were left of the new arrivals. Not that he had minded. He could handle it and had, though not before a Marilyn Manson look-alike (why did so many new vamps find it necessary to submerge themselves in goth facades?) had shattered his right kneecap.

That particular vamp had then unwillingly supplied the blood that had healed his leg enough for Marcus to continue and eliminate all comers.

After which he had raced here and found this.

Freakin’ vamp would pay!

Swearing fluently, he stepped into the open driver’s door and, despite his wounds, effortlessly pushed the vehicle off the road. He wasn’t sure what was wrong with it beyond the obvious damage done to the body (it looked like someone had dropped a wrecking ball on it), but it wouldn’t start.

Slamming the door shut, he resumed his pacing.

He was full of rage and pain and adrenaline and hadn’t felt this alive in years.

Seven years to be exact.

And Marcus liked it.

A lot.

Which was why Seth was worried about him.

Seth must have intuited it. Marcus didn’t know how, because Seth had not hunted with him or witnessed the change firsthand. Yet Seth had accused him of taking unnecessary risks and being self-destructive before banishing him to small-town North Carolina, where vampires were generally fewer in number.

Marcus smiled grimly.

Ah, but Seth’s plan had backfired.

Tonight had been great. Tonight he had been presented with a challenge that could very well have defeated him. Tonight he felt alive.

The foliage on the other side of the car parted and Roland emerged, carrying a bloody and battered Sarah.

Marcus halted, thinking her dead until he picked up her racing pulse. “Is she okay?”

“She will be.” Roland glanced at the white Geo Prism parked several yards behind the Prius.

Marcus shrugged. “I thought we might need it to catch up with her if the vamp didn’t get her first.”

“Sorry about your car,” Roland muttered, heading for the Prism.

Marcus followed and opened the passenger door for him. “Don’t worry about it. I already called Reordon. He and his cleaning crew will take care of it.”

Roland said nothing, just eased inside the cramped vehicle.

Marcus watched his friend curiously. Roland wasn’t behaving in his usual irascible, distance-himself-from-everything-and-everyone manner. In fact, he didn’t seem to want to distance himself from Sarah at all, curtly refusing Marcus’s offer to take her until Roland was settled, instead tightening his hold on her and keeping her with him.

Roland’s touch was downright possessive as he cradled Sarah on his lap and arranged her just so, ensuring she would be comfortable. Under Marcus’s bemused gaze, he then gently cupped a hand protectively over her head and motioned for Marcus to close the door.

Marcus closed it, fascinated, and circled the rear of the car.

Who the hell was this woman and how had she managed to snare Roland’s interest so quickly?

Because she had definitely snared it.

Squeezing his long frame behind the wheel, he closed the door and turned the key. The engine sputtered to reluctant life. “Where to?”

“My place,” Roland said, not looking up as he carefully began to pick pieces of glass out of Sarah’s hair and drop them to the floorboard.

Marcus pulled onto the road and followed Roland’s directions. “Did the vamp do that to her?”

“In part. He jumped onto the hood of your car and brought it to a crashing halt.”

Marcus frowned. Judging by the way the tires had squealed and smoked as Sarah had sped away from the house, she had been going damned fast. “How did he catch her?”

From the corner of his eye, he saw Roland shake his head. “I don’t know. I’ve never seen a vampire move so swiftly. Fortunately, I got there before he could lay a hand on her and she ran away while we fought.”

“Did you kill the fucker?”

“No, Bastien chose to retreat.”

And Roland hadn’t gone after him? Very telling. “His name is Bastien?”

“That’s what one of his men called him. By the time I found Sarah, she had tumbled down a wooded hill and was racing across a field.”

Glancing away from the road momentarily, Marcus saw Roland tenderly smooth his big hand over her hair after the last particle of glass was tossed away. “Was she running from

Bastien? Or from you?”

Roland’s lips tightened. “Both, I think.”

“What did she say when you caught up with her?”

Roland’s eyes were grim when they met his. “She begged me not to kill her.”

Silently, Marcus swore and returned his attention to the road.

That did not bode well.

Twenty minutes later, Roland gently deposited Sarah on the dark brown sofa in his living room and placed a pillow beneath her head. That she was still unconscious worried him.

As he knelt beside her, he noticed the blood that coated his hands and forearms and turned to Marcus. “Get me a towel, will you?”

Marcus disappeared into the kitchen, then returned to the entrance and tossed Roland a towel. “What are you doing?”

Roland began wiping the blood from his hands. “She has a nasty head wound and some bad bruises and scrapes. I’m going to heal her.”

“Oh, no, you’re not. Not until you feed. You’ve lost a lot of blood and have much more severe wounds of your own. You know what will happen if you heal her without feeding first.”

“I’m not going to put my needs before hers, Marcus. She saved my life.”

“And you saved hers, so the two of you are even.”

“Hers would not have been in danger if she hadn’t found and helped me.”

“Oh, please. Do you really think that after babysitting you and watching the sun roast your hairy ass, Ren and Stimpy would have walked past her with a smile and a wave and continued on their merry way? She’s a lovely woman living alone in the middle of nowhere with no one nearby to hear her screams. They were stabbing you because they wanted to know what it felt like. What makes you think they wouldn’t have raped and tortured her just to see what that felt like? If you ask me, she’s damned lucky she did find and help you. So you can stop playing the martyr and feed.”

Ignoring him, Roland tossed the towel aside and settled his palm on the ribs he had seen Sarah clutching as she ran. Just as he had suspected, three of them were cracked.

His hand heated as he focused his flagging energy. His own ribs began to ache as hers healed beneath his touch.

Releasing her, he shifted uncomfortably.

“Here.”

A bag of blood appeared a few inches in front of his face. Roland’s gaze followed the arm offering it to its owner.

Marcus now stood behind the sofa. “I brought it to you in case you were simply too tired or lazy to get it yourself.”

Roland brushed it aside impatiently. “Get that out of here.”

“Stop being stubborn,” Marcus demanded. “You need it and she’s unconscious.”

“But she could wake at any moment.”

Actually, she already had.