Darkness Rises

Chapter 2

Sebastien slipped through the front door of David’s home. The amount of time he spent here was ironic, considering how eager he had been to leave this place a couple of months earlier.

Of course, he hadn’t left under the circumstances he had assumed he would. He had thought he would tell the Immortal Guardians to kiss his ass and either leave and never see them again or fight them to the death. Most likely the latter.

Instead he had fallen in love with a mortal doctor (who was now immortal), gotten her into all kinds of trouble, then married her and moved into a quaint home in the country.

Life could be strange as hell sometimes. Who could’ve foreseen that fate for him?

Well, maybe Seth. That bastard seemed to know almost everything. Very annoying.

No one called a welcome when Bastien closed the door behind himself. The French immortals—Étienne, Richart, and Lisette—lounged on a couple of sofas along with Richart’s wife, Jenna, watching some movie with a lot of explosions while they snacked on pita chips.

Lisette barely spared him a glance. Richart nodded. Jenna sent him a tentative smile. Étienne didn’t even seem to notice his presence. Tracy, Lisette’s Second, was on the other side of the living room flirting with a human Bastien thought might be Ethan’s Second. Bastien knew neither the American immortal nor his Second well. Sheldon, Richart’s Second, entered from the kitchen, carrying a pizza the size of a fucking big rig wheel.

When he caught sight of Bastien, he reverse-nodded. “’Sup?” He stopped short. “Dude. What’s the deal with your coat? It’s moving.”

“Is David here?” Bastien asked, offering no explanation.

His eyes fastened on Bastien’s coat pockets, Sheldon said, “Yeah, he’s in his study.”

Bastien strode toward the darkened hallway. “Thank you.”

As he reached the entrance to David’s study, he heard Sheldon murmur to Richart, “I think something’s wrong with Bastien. He just thanked me.”

A sigh escaped him. That was Melanie’s influence.

Seated at his massive desk, David perused what Bastien assumed was another medical text. As usual, his long dreadlocks were pulled back with a leather tie.

“Got a minute?” Bastien asked.

The elder immortal raised his head—and his eyebrows—at the polite query and motioned for him to enter.

Bastien stepped inside and closed the door behind him, not that it did much good. Unless they were closeted in one of the quiet rooms, any immortal in the house could hear their conversation.

David was the second eldest immortal in the world and wielded incredible strength and power. Unlike younger immortals, who had only one or two gifts, David possessed several. He was such a powerful healer that he could reattach severed limbs. He could shape-shift, something most of them hadn’t realized until the last big battle they had engaged in with Emrys’s mercenaries. He could also hurl Bastien across the room with a thought. So, though he was perhaps the most even-tempered immortal, it was nevertheless wise not to cross or anger him.

Bastien had never felt comfortable around David. Melanie didn’t understand why, but it was the same reason she puzzled him herself. David had always been kind to Bastien, welcoming him into his home and defending him when the other immortals had all called for his execution. He had behaved casually and almost like a brother toward Bastien since the moment the two had met.

Bastien didn’t understand it.

“Those had better not be for me,” David warned as Bastien approached his desk.

“Actually, they are.”

“Are you off your nut?”

Bastien laughed. “No. Read my mind so we can talk without the others listening.”

“All right.”

Can you hear me? Bastien asked mentally. He wasn’t telepathic himself and could only hear the elder’s thoughts if David spoke them in Bastien’s head.

One moment. Lisette?

There was a pause. Yes?

Close your mind to us.

Bastien hadn’t thought of that. He still wasn’t used to being around the telepaths.

Done, she responded grudgingly.

Étienne?

Nothing.

Étienne, close your mind to us.

Still nothing.

Étienne!

What? Why’d you elbow me?

Because David is speaking to you, Lisette said. And I only knew that, David, because you were projecting it. I’m out.

Who did what now? Étienne asked.

Never mind, David told him, then met Bastien’s gaze. He’s distracted and won’t hear us. Go ahead.

Reaching into his pockets, Bastien began to withdraw the motherless kittens he had found earlier. They were tiny, eyes barely open, and clumsily scrambled toward each other on David’s desk, forming a squirming, furry pile. I thought these would buy us some time.

David frowned, but couldn’t resist picking up one of the kittens and stroking it. The white and orange fur stood out starkly next to the elder immortal’s black as midnight skin.

Buy us time or consume our time? he queried. These need frequent feeding. Where is their mother?

Hit by a car. And, yes, they need feeding. Every two hours, I think, which will be a pain in the ass. But . . . listen.

The kittens began to mew as they vied for position in the pile. Beneath those sounds . . .

Heartbeats, David said as understanding dawned.

Until you decide what to tell the others about Ami’s pregnancy, this will help conceal it from them. With these little guys roaming the house, anyone who hears the baby’s heartbeat will assume it’s a kitten’s. Hell, who here has spent enough time around a pregnant woman since transforming to tell the difference?

True. David set the kitten down next to its brothers and sisters, then picked up a black and white one. Smart thinking. He smiled when the kitten clumsily walked up his arm and sank its claws into one of his long dreadlocks. He caught it before it became too entangled and held it up before his face. He’s cute, isn’t he?

Bastien smiled. Yeah. I dropped by the pet store and bought cat milk, bottles, and everything else we’ll need. It’s in my car.

Get it and meet me in the living room.

Bastien went to the car and retrieved a large bag of essentials, some of which he was pretty sure weren’t essentials, but the saleslady had been nice and hadn’t shied away from him the way so many humans did. When he returned to the house, David was just entering the living room with all six kittens cradled in his large hands.

The television shut off.

“Hey!” several protested and turned toward him.

“What the hell is that?” Sheldon asked, staring at the kittens.

“Your new assignments.”

Krysta’s nerves jangled as she strolled through the quiet college campus, adding a stagger here and there for show.

She had hunted every night for the past two weeks with nothing to show for it. No vampire attacks. No vampire deaths. No glimpses of the mysterious . . . other. The vampire who had saved her ass.

Why was his aura so different? He clearly was a vampire. Same fangs. Same glowing eyes. Same incredible speed and strength. Just no orange aura.

An owl hooted.

Why had he helped her?

What was his agenda?

And why hadn’t she seen him again?

A nice breeze blew her hair back from her face.

She was beginning to suspect he had been following her each night as she hunted.

Not just following her. Protecting her.

The notion was insane. As insane as the vampires she loathed so much. And yet, there had been moments when she would have sworn she had drawn out some vampires, just as she had the night she had met Mr. Tall, Dark, and Hot.

He isn’t hot.

Yes, he is.

Damn it, he is.

Some nights, she had heard faint footsteps behind her and caught glimpses of shadows stalking her. Shadows with flowing orange auras. She had continued her helpless, drunken student act until she was sure, then had turned down this street, into that alley, and . . .

Found herself alone. Safe. Unassailed.

It made no sense.

Last night, she had heard a muffled thump, followed by a metallic clatter as she drew her weapons and spun around to face the vampires she had thought were pursuing her. Once more faced with an empty alleyway, she had hurried forward, rounded the corner, and found a flashy bowie knife—typical vamp weaponry—lying on the sidewalk.

She hadn’t mentioned it to her brother. If Sean thought the new vampire was stalking her or playing some weird game with her, he would argue like hell to get her to stop hunting.

And it did seem like a game. She just couldn’t figure out the rules or the why’s of it.

Her favorite frat house again boomed music. Shadows danced on the curtains.

Sighing, Krysta headed down the hill toward it.

She really didn’t feel like being around people right now. Especially drunk, gropey people. But she had a job to do.

As she approached the sidewalk that led to the porch steps, the shadows on this side of the house shifted minutely. A dark figure with an orange aura slipped around the corner. Another joined it.

Perfect. She had no interest in making small talk. And being around drunk people was a lot more fun when she was drunk, too.

Krysta continued past, faking a stumble, and dropped her purse. Mumbling to herself, she scooped it up and staggered to one side. A shake of her head at herself and she headed farther down the hill, where she paused at an intersection.

Pretending to look both ways allowed her to catch a glimpse of wisps of bright orange behind her.

Score!

Finally. A fight. She needed one to clear the cobwebs. To get rid of this frustrated, pent-up energy. To feed her need for vengeance.

Adrenaline flooded her veins as she crossed the street and turned down a dark, narrow side street. She couldn’t see well in the dark like vampires could, but the vamps’ glowing auras tended to light the field of battle for her.

A scuffing sound behind her halted her footsteps. Swinging around, she drew her swords with a triumphant smile, and...

“Damn it!”

No vampires faced her with leering, evil intent. No vampires faced her at all.

She was alone. Again.

More rustling sounded.

Racing back to the street, she flew around the corner and skidded to a halt.

Nothing. Just an empty road glowing green from the streetlight at the corner.

The unmistakable shick, ting, and clang of metal striking metal split the air several blocks away.

“Oh, no you don’t,” she growled and took off running. She didn’t care that she raced down a sharply sloped hill that would make it damned near impossible to stop once she got going. She didn’t care that she ran with an unsheathed sword in each hand. (Her mother and father’s frequent admonitions not to run with scissors chose that moment to dance through her head.) She didn’t even care that anyone who saw her would likely call the police and report a madwoman fleeing through Chapel Hill, waving deadly weapons, and get her arrested.

She had only one goal in mind: Get to those damned vampires before Mystery Man did whatever the hell he’d been doing for the past two weeks and disappeared.

Her heart pounding in her chest, she honed in on the battle’s location and managed to put on the brakes enough to zip around the corner at a speed that would keep her from rolling ass over elbows downhill.

She jerked to a halt and stared.

The darkened alley was deserted except for a Dumpster about twenty-five yards away and—she released a growl of fury—a pair of jeans, a bloody blue sweatshirt, and a pair of bright red Chucks spread out on the pavement as if they had been laid out by some kid’s mother.

Krysta sheathed one of her swords, stomped over the place a vampire had clearly fallen, and grabbed the sweatshirt. “Oh, come on!” she shouted, her voice echoing on the somnolent night. She shook the sticky clothing at the sky. “Where are you?” she demanded. Turning in a circle, she examined every nook and cranny at street level, then peered up at the rooftops.

She could see no sign of Mystery Man’s unique purple and white aura. Had he already left?

Krysta tossed the shirt down in disgust. “This is bullshit.”

A low chuckle wafted on the night.

Eyes widening, she drew her second sword and turned in a slow circle. “Damn it! Show yourself!”

“Well, since you asked so nicely,” a deep voice laced with a French accent purred behind her.

Gasping, she spun around and swung a shoto.

Once more, he caught her wrist. “Careful.” The warning was gentle, carrying neither malice nor anger.

Krysta stared.

His touch sent electricity tickling its way up her arm. His flesh was warm, his long fingers free of calluses.

Her heart slammed against her ribs as butterflies erupted in her stomach.

She should be furious. Frightened. Instead, she felt as excited as she would on a first date.

Crap.

Stepping back, she withdrew her arm from his grasp.

Dropping his hand, he tilted his head and studied her with those entrancing amber eyes.

Yeah, he was hot all right.

Short, midnight hair glinted in the moonlight. Faint stubble shadowed a strong jaw. Straight nose. Broad shoulders. What was clearly a well-developed, muscular build beneath a black T-shirt that clung to him courtesy of the vampire blood that saturated its front. Slim waist. Slim hips. All revealed by the gap in the long, black coat he wore.

She didn’t let her gaze stray farther. The last thing she wanted to do while facing him was blush like a schoolgirl if he had a nice package.

His tempting lips stretched in a slow smile.

Usually, the minds of mortals were revoltingly easy for Étienne to read. Krysta’s thoughts, for some reason, were proving rather elusive, although he had caught something about his package.

He grinned.

Her pretty brown eyes narrowed. “Who are you?”

He performed a gallant bow and offered his hand. “Étienne d’Alençon.”

She raised one eyebrow. “If you think I’m going to put away my weapons, think again.”

He had expected no less from this bewitching warrior. “As you wish.”

She motioned to the clothes of the vampire he hadn’t had time to discard. “What happened here?”

“Exactly what you think happened.” He had taken out the vampires who had fallen for her ruse, damn her and her insistence on putting herself in danger.

“You killed a vampire?”

“Three actually.”

“Where are the other two?”

“Deteriorating on the roof.”

Her gaze darted to the building beside them, up to the edge of the roof, then returned to him. “You fought them up there?”

“No. Down here.”

“And you—what—carried them up there?”

“Threw them. Two of them, anyway. I didn’t have time to toss the last one before you arrived.” Again, he smiled. “You’re very fast for a mortal.”

As she stared up at him, he tried again to read her thoughts and couldn’t. Was she a gifted one like her brother? If so, what was her gift? Neither had referenced it the night he had followed them home. And he hadn’t seen her demonstrate one.

“Why did you kill them?” she asked. “Are you guys engaged in some kind of turf war or something? Are they encroaching upon your territory?” Such derision and scorn. It didn’t belong in that melodic voice.

“I have no territory—not here in the States, at least—unless you count the small parcel of land upon which my current abode resides.”

“You sleep in a crypt or something?”

He laughed. “No. I like my creature comforts. And, no, I am not engaged in a turf war as you called it. I killed the vampires to protect you.”

Anger flared in her gaze. “First of all, I don’t need protecting.”

“The events that transpired the night we met suggest otherwise.”

“That was a unique situation. Vampires don’t usually travel in packs.”

“A comment that makes me wonder just how long you’ve been hunting them.” The fact that she still lived led him to believe this was a fairly new endeavor for her.

“Years,” she responded defiantly.

He may not be able to read her thoughts clearly, but he could glean enough to know she told the truth. Even so, doubt plagued him. “How many years? You can’t have seen more than twenty-five in your lifetime.”

“Twenty-seven, not that it’s any of your business. And I’ve hunted vampires for six of those.”

Astonishment gripped him. This fragile, mortal woman had hunted and fought vampires for six years and survived to tell the tale? With no help from the network?

So much had been happening in North Carolina in recent years: The uprisings. The battles. And she had hunted vampires through it all?

“That’s impossible.”

“Apparently not or I wouldn’t be standing here.” She frowned. “Wait. You said them.”

“What?”

“You said them, that I had been hunting them, not us.”

He swore silently.

“What are you?”

“I have fangs. My eyes glow. I heal at an accelerated rate. And I have preternatural speed and strength. What do you think I am?” he retorted. Until he was sure she and her brother were operating independently and weren’t part of some new threat—especially not members of the mercenary group he and the others had recently defeated—he was reluctant to tell her that he was an immortal.

He had actually once been like her brother: a gifted one, or mortal born with special abilities stemming from advanced DNA, before he had been infected with the vampiric virus. Vampires were human before they were infected and, lacking the advanced DNA, were driven insane by the brain damage it caused.

She shook her head. “You’re different. You’re not like the others.”

He arched a brow. “Because I didn’t try to kill you?”

Her head continued to wag back and forth as her gaze skipped over him. “You’re different.”

He frowned. She didn’t seem to be checking him out. She seemed to be studying him.

Did she see something that set him apart from the others?

“How am I different?”

“You tell me.”

Not bloody likely.

She mimicked his frown and took another step back. “Why have you been following me?”

She’d caught that, had she?

Well, curiosity had driven him to watch her. And she did prove to be a very good vampire lure. He hadn’t killed this many vamps on a daily basis in quite some time.

He should have turned her name and address over to Chris Reordon. But there was something about her. He couldn’t get her out of his head.

Not that he would admit it.

“You make good bait,” he stated just to rile her.

Her face flushed with fury. “I what?”

Damn, she was beautiful. “You make good bait. Hunting vampires has never been so easy. I just follow you and take out the dullards who can’t resist you and slink after you.”

“You . . . I . . . Is that an insult? Are you saying only dullards would be attracted to me?” she sputtered.

If that’s true, you’re standing before a big-ass dullard, he wanted to say. “Of course not. Only dullards would want to kill you.”

“Oh. Well, you can’t do that. You can’t just follow me and take out any vampires who fall for my trap.”

He shrugged. “You can’t really stop me, can you?”

“The hell I can’t.”

“Well, you could if you ceased hunting and left the slaying of vampires to me,” he suggested.

She stared at him. “Seriously, what are you?”

“What are you?”

“What do you mean? I’m human.”

“Your brother isn’t.”

The tip of one of her swords nicked him as she pressed it to his throat. “What do you know about my brother?”

“That he’s a healer, a gifted one.”

“I don’t know what a gifted one is, but you leave him the hell out of this,” she snarled.

“As long as he aids you in your quest, I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

“I’m not kidding.” Her expression fierce, she pressed forward. “Stay. The hell. Away from him.”

“If you fear for his safety, you have only yourself to blame. You led me to him.”

Alarm and self-condemnation flitted across her pretty face.

“It’s only a matter of time before you lead vampires to him as well,” he pointed out, “if you haven’t already.”

“I haven’t. I’ve been careful.”

“Are you sure? Did you know I followed you?”

Fear suffused Krysta.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

She’d been so stupid! She’d been so confident! She’d been so sure that she had gotten away clean after each hunt.

And she had led this vampire straight to Sean?

Worse than that, she wouldn’t have even known it if he hadn’t told her.

Her hand began to tremble.

How many times had Sean begged her to stop? Told her it was too risky? Admitted he feared losing her? And now she could lose him because of her own hubris and carelessness.

She lowered her sword. “Don’t hurt him. If you’re going to kill one of us, kill me.”

“Why not kill the both of you?” he posed.

“Because I’m the one with the quest.”

“And what quest might that be?”

“To kill every bloodsucking vampire in existence.”

He pursed his lips. “That’s quite a quest. I’ve been killing vampires for two hundred years and have barely made a dent.”

Shock struck her speechless.

Two hundred years? She didn’t know what stunned her more. That Étienne was that old—he didn’t look a day over thirty!—or that there were really that many vampires on the planet.

“Are you serious?”

“Quite.”

“I had hoped . . .”

“That vampires were a regional thing?” he finished for her.

She nodded dumbly. How had he guessed so accurately?

“They aren’t,” he said, and there was kindness in his voice. Sympathy. From a vampire.

One who had, if she could believe him, spent the past two centuries—two centuries—killing other vampires.

Abruptly, the song “Squirrels in My Pants” from Phineas and Ferb filled the air.

Étienne fumbled in his pocket and withdrew a cell phone.

She hadn’t even noticed until then that his weapons were all sheathed. Not once, in this entire conversation, had he threatened her.

He glanced at the caller ID. “One moment, please.” Turning away slightly, he answered. “Oui?” He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. “Maintenant? . . . Je suis dans le milieu de quelque chose . . .” He groaned. “Bien. Bien. Deux minutes.”

He pocketed the phone.

“Squirrels in My Pants?” she couldn’t resist asking.

His handsome face lit with a faint smile. “Inside joke. I’m afraid I must leave.”

“Places to go, vampires to party with?”

He shook his head and backed away. “Go home, Krysta.”

How the hell did he know her name?

And why did hearing him say it induce shivers of pleasure?

“No more hunting,” he ordered. Or implored.

She just couldn’t read this guy. She was attracted to him, damn it, and it was warping her judgement. So she said nothing.

“Promise me,” he insisted.

“I promise,” she said. “No more hunting.”

His handsome face relaxed into an easy grin.

“Tonight,” she added. “No more hunting tonight.” She needed to take a step back and try to absorb everything she had learned.

His scowl returned. “Stubborn wench. Until we meet again then.” He bowed. “Bonne nuit.”

His form blurred and dashed around the corner, moving so swiftly ordinary humans wouldn’t be able to follow him with their eyes. He could run past some and all they would feel or notice was the breeze his passing created.

But Krysta could follow his aura. It lit up the night.

Hurrying to the corner, she peered around the building’s edge.

Étienne was a distant, dark figure surrounded by phosphorescent, constantly shifting white and purple near the frat house.

In the blink of an eye, a second dark figure with an identical aura joined him.

She gasped. The other’s aura hadn’t approached from any direction. It—he—had just appeared out of thin air.

The stranger touched Étienne’s shoulder. Both vanished.

Her knees weakening, Krysta leaned against the rough bricks of the building beside her.

There were two of them. Two vampires with that fascinating aura she had never before beheld.

And one of them could teleport.

Or could both of them? She hadn’t heard or seen Étienne’s approach tonight. One second she had been demanding he show himself. The next he had spoken behind her.

After talking with him, she had assumed he had just jumped down from the roof. Had he instead teleported?

Was that even what it was called? Teleporting? It sounded so sci-fi. Not vampirish at all.

Sighing, she took out her cell phone and called Sean.

A moment later, their battered Dodge Shadow halted before her and the passenger door sprang open.

Her brother’s curious gaze pierced her as she sank into the bucket seat and slammed the door.

“No luck tonight?” he asked.

Kinda hard to miss the lack of blood splatter.

She shook her head.

He sent her an encouraging smile. “Maybe you killed them all.”

She laughed. “I wish.”

He began the journey home. “You must have scared them off. You haven’t gone this long without fighting one in a few years.”

She made some noncommittal sound as guilt consumed her. She should tell him about Étienne. She actually opened her mouth to do so three or four times as the engine stuttered and struggled to get them home. But what could she say? I’m being stalked by that gorgeous vampire you saw me with two weeks ago. No, he doesn’t fight me. He claims he’s protecting me. Yes, the vampire. Yes, by all appearances, he is protecting me. He keeps killing all of the vampires I hunt. No, I don’t know what his game is. And, yes, I’m attracted to him. That’s right—attracted. As in I would love to see him naked. It’s sick. I get it. He’s a bloodsucking vampire. But I can’t help it. My freaking heart pounds every time he comes near me and it isn’t from fear that he’ll kill me.

She gazed into the blackness beyond the passenger window.

There was just something about him. Something mesmerizing.

Her reflection’s brow furrowed.

Was she losing it? Was the strain of six years of battling vampire after insane vampire beginning to get to her? Or . . .

A chill skittered through her.

Was the vampires’ madness rubbing off on her? Was it contagious?

She had been bitten that one time seven years ago. She had assumed, because she hadn’t turned into a vampire overnight, that there had been no long-term damage. What if she were wrong? What if the madness that crippled vampires had slowly but surely been finding and securing a home in her?

Fear cut through her veins like diamonds.

Could it be true? Could that be it?

Even if one bite couldn’t do it, she had been exposed to their blood countless times over the years in battle. How many times did it take?

“You okay?” her brother asked.

“Just tired,” she lied.

“Are you sure?” He took his eyes off the road momentarily to study her. “Are you worried about the vampire who helped you?”

She sent him a sharp glance. “What do you mean?”

He shrugged. “It’s just weird that he helped you. You’ve never encountered a vampire who didn’t try to kill or turn you. I’ve been worried that he might . . . I don’t know . . . come back and finish what he didn’t have a chance to start.”

“If he had wanted to kill me, he had ample opportunity to do so.”

A scowl creased his brow. “How can you be so sure? Maybe he’s screwing with you? He didn’t get into your head, did he?”

Relief and anger overwhelmed her as she realized her brother might have just hit the proverbial nail on the head.

A slew of silent epithets drowned out whatever Sean said next.

That’s it! It has to be! Étienne has literally gotten into my head. I mean, if he can freaking teleport, a little mind control really isn’t that hard to believe.

Other vampires could do it. The reason no one knew vampires existed was because victims of vampire attacks who lived could never recall having been bitten or give any description of their attacker. They even laughed outright at the notion that Krysta had saved them from a vampire who had been eagerly draining their blood.

Not one vampire victim with whom she had spoken had retained any memory of being attacked. If that wasn’t mind control, what was?

Anger simmered within her. “I am so going to kick his ass,” she growled.

Sean’s eyebrows rose. “The purple and white vamp?”

She had told him about Étienne’s aura. “Yes.”

“What makes you think you’ll see him again?”

“Oh, I’ll see him again. He left me alive for a reason. And I’m going to kick his ass until he tells me what it is.”

His frown returned. “Just don’t go looking for him, Krys. Seriously. I have a bad feeling about this.”

“I won’t,” she was able to say with complete honesty.

If he stayed true to his recent pattern, Étienne would come looking for her. And when he did . . .

She smiled grimly.

He was going to regret messing with her head.