Darkness Rises

Chapter 4

Étienne wasn’t usually one to panic. Even as a mortal, when fighting, he had always kept his cool.

But seeing Krysta felled by a vampire’s fist . . .

“Krysta!” he called again, after severing that fist and leaving the vampire to bleed out.

His swords swung like the blades of a propeller, cutting through the vampires as though they were no more than air.

Had it been more than a glancing blow, wouldn’t she be down on the ground and either unconscious or dying from a fractured skull? Sarah had nearly died when Bastien had fractured her skull. Her ears had even bled.

Étienne tried to see if Krysta bled from her ears, but couldn’t take his eyes off the damned vampires.

Finally, the last vamp succumbed to Étienne’s swords.

Racing to Krysta’s side, he knelt before her and dropped his weapons. “Are you okay?” He clasped her shoulder with one hand and gently raised her chin with the other.

Her lovely face was pinched with pain. “I’m okay,” she gritted. “My head just hurts like a bitch. I think I might have a concussion. My vision is all fuzzy.”

Her pupils were a little dilated, too.

“What about you?” she murmured. “Are you okay?”

Shock, pleasure, and all kinds of things he refused to examine too closely flowed through him. “I’m fine. Hardly a scratch on me.”

“Must be nice. Help me up, will you?”

“Of course.” He helped her to her feet, wrapping an arm around her when she swayed.

“The bastards all came after me,” she complained, leaning into him.

Did she realize the trust she was placing in him?

He cleared his throat, trying to ignore how good it felt to have her tucked up against his side. “Vampires are often cowards and seek the weaker target.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“I just meant—”

“I get it. I just don’t like it.”

“That I’m stronger than you are?”

“Yes. What’s an Immortal Guardian?”

Étienne swore silently. He had hoped she hadn’t caught that.

“A what?” he stalled, not knowing how to answer.

“You heard me. An Immortal Guardian.” Stepping away, she clung to his arm until she was steady, then released him and met his gaze. “The vampires called you an Immortal Guardian.”

His cursed mind went blank.

“They also called me a Second. What’s a Second?”

Still nothing. What had Roland told Sarah when faced with such questions?

“Who is Bastien the Deceiver?”

He swore aloud then. “Aren’t you supposed to have a concussion? How are you remembering all of this?”

“You’re stalling.”

Yes, he was.

Étienne paced away several steps. “I can’t tell you.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“Can’t.”

“Why?”

“I can’t tell you secrets that are not solely my own to share,” he tried to explain.

“So there are more like you.”

Étienne stared at her, wanting to trust her.

A sharp pain pierced his neck.

Wincing, he reached up, felt something protruding from the skin, and removed it.

“What’s that?” Krysta asked.

His blood went cold as he stared down at the tiny object his fingers clutched.

“Is that a tranquilizer dart?” she asked, voice full of confusion.

Yes, it was. Merde.

“Run,” he ordered as weakness began to infiltrate him.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. This shouldn’t be possible.

“What?” She started to approach him.

Étienne shook his head. “Run!” He closed the distance between them, retrieved her weapons from the ground, and urged her toward the corner of the nearest building. “Call your brother. Choose a safe place for him to meet you a few blocks from here and run there. Don’t stop. Don’t look back. And don’t let anyone follow you home.”

“I don’t understand. What’s going on? Why is your accent getting thicker? What—?”

Another sting. Étienne yanked another dart from the back of his neck and swore foully. The shooters were definitely behind them.

His knees weakened. He didn’t carry the autoinjector containing the antidote anymore. He hadn’t thought there was a reason to. The human threat had been extinguished.

Hadn’t it?

“Please, Krysta. Just trust me on this. Go! Maintenant!”

As his strength waned, he shoved her hard and turned to face his attackers.

Still dizzy, Krysta stumbled and fell to her hands and knees behind the building. The weapons Étienne had thrust into her arms hit the ground a moment before gravel abraded her palms.

What the hell?

Cursing, she dusted off her stinging hands, grabbed the weapons, and spun around, ready to blister his ears.

Étienne staggered, as if he had lost his balance. Turning back to face the way they had come, he gave her his profile. His eyes flashed a brilliant amber.

Bullets slammed into his chest, the guns firing them barely making a sound. His body jerked again and again as blood sprayed from too many wounds to count.

Krysta stared in horror. “Étienne!”

The first wave ended.

He turned his head, met her gaze. “Run, damn you!” he growled. Blood poured from his mouth and down his chin. Drawing his swords, he roared and leapt forward, out of sight.

Krysta’s feet glued themselves to the ground. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

He had pushed her out of the way to save her. If Étienne hadn’t shoved her behind the building, she would have been shot to death beside him.

Her body began to shake uncontrollably.

He could have run. He could have left her there for whoever the hell it was to kill her.

Screams lit the night. The gunfire resumed.

Krysta transferred one of her swords to her left hand, drew out her cell phone, and dialed with shaking fingers.

“Yeah,” her brother answered on the first ring.

“I need you,” she hissed. “Now. Behind . . . Shit!” It took her a moment to get her bearings. “We’re in Research Park behind . . . or on the side of that Environmental Whatever Building. Just find me. Come quiet and stay low. Someone’s shooting at us.”

“What?”

“Just come now! Please! And hurry!”

Pocketing the phone, she drew in a deep breath (which wasn’t nearly as calming as she had hoped it would be), gripped her weapons, and headed for the edge of the building.

Crouching down, she peered around it.

Soldiers?

Men garbed in black camo and armed to the teeth with silencer-equipped automatic weapons were doing their damnedest to kill Étienne. Only they didn’t seem to actually want to kill him. They seemed to want to slow him down or weaken him with blood loss and whatever was in those darts.

And it was working.

Another dart hit Étienne in the throat even as he broke two soldiers’ necks.

He staggered, grabbed another soldier and sank his teeth into his throat.

Krysta’s mouth went dry.

She’d known all along he was a vampire, but seeing him drink blood . . .

The other soldiers evidently viewed their associate as expendable, because they continued to shoot.

Étienne used him as a shield while he drank and fired the man’s automatic weapon at the same time.

His victim sank to the ground, sightless eyes staring up at the sky.

Another dart struck Étienne in the arm.

He lurched sideways. Shook his head drunkenly.

Oh shit.

There were still three soldiers left.

Two moved in for the kill or to capture him or whatever the hell the plan was.

Krysta dropped her swords and drew two daggers. Without giving herself time to think, she stepped into the open and let them fly. One dagger struck a soldier in the throat. The second sank into another soldier’s heart. The third soldier turned his gun on her and fired. She ducked behind the building and hit the ground. Brick and mortar showered down on her as the high-caliber bullets passed right through the building.

A yelp split the night.

The bullets stopped.

“Krysta!”

Relief poured through her at the raspy call, bringing tears to her eyes. “Étienne!”

Scrambling to her feet, she peered around the corner of the building.

Every soldier was down.

Étienne still stood. Barely. Blood saturated his clothing. Dozens of holes perforated his shirt and coat and pants.

He stumbled forward a step and dropped to his knees.

As Krysta limped toward him, she looked around, praying no more soldiers would leap out of the darkness and start shooting.

“C-call your brother,” he wheezed. Fumbling in his pocket, he muttered something in French.

Just as she reached him, he collapsed backward onto the pavement.

Something clunked to the ground by his hip. A cell phone.

“He’s on his way,” she said, kneeling beside him. “Can I call someone for you?”

She picked up his phone and heard the telltale squeak of their car’s brakes, though her brother approached as quietly as he could.

Étienne closed his eyes and mumbled something else in French.

“I don’t understand.” Damn it. Why hadn’t she studied French in high school?

“Krysta?” Sean whispered.

“Over here!” she hissed as loudly as she dared, terrified that more men might be lurking nearby.

Nearly silent footsteps approached. “Oh shit,” her brother swore. “What the hell?”

“Come help me,” she ordered. Tucking Étienne’s phone in his coat pocket, she scooted around to cup his broad shoulders.

“Those don’t look like vampires,” Sean said as he joined her, his eyes on the fallen soldiers.

“They aren’t. They’re humans, and they tried to kill us.”

“Us?” He looked down at Étienne. “Is that . . . ?”

“Yes. Grab his feet.”

“No way. He’s a vampire.”

“And he saved my ass. Again. Come on. Grab his legs. We need to get the hell out of here before more of those guys come along.”

Étienne’s head lolled as they hefted his heavy form and began carting him to the car parked behind the building.

“Is he dead?” Sean huffed.

Étienne wasn’t disintegrating, so . . . “No. They drugged him with something.”

“And shot him all to shit?”

“Yes.”

“Who the hell are they?”

“I don’t know. But he does. As soon as he saw the tranquilizer dart . . .” She shook her head. “He knew what was coming.” Crap, he was heavy. “I didn’t hear anything or see anything. All of a sudden he just shoved me behind the building. Then they opened fire and he fought them.”

“Why didn’t he just run? They’re human. They’d never catch him. And they can’t shoot what they can’t follow.”

She met his gaze and said nothing.

“What? You’re saying—”

“He fought them to buy me time to get away. They would have killed me, Sean. They would’ve shot me, too. They tried to shoot me.”

He looked as confused as she felt.

Together they managed to cram Étienne’s long, muscled body into the backseat.

Sean slammed the door. “Okay, let’s go.”

“Wait.” Running back to the soldiers, she paused and swallowed hard. Creeping forward, she leaned down, grasped the bloodied handle of one of her daggers, and yanked it out of the dead soldier’s throat. The other’s lifeless eyes seemed full of accusation as she pulled her dagger out of his chest.

When she turned around, she found Sean staring at her somberly.

“Krysta, did you . . . ?”

She couldn’t meet his gaze. Limping forward, she circled the car. “Just get us out of here.”

The silence that filled the car as they drove away hurt more than her throbbing head did.

Tonight she had done something she never would’ve thought she could do. Something she didn’t know how she could justify.

Tonight she had killed humans to protect a vampire.

“He’s too long for the futon. Put him on my bed.” Krysta raced for the bathroom while Sean carried Étienne into her bedroom. Grabbing the vinyl shower curtain, she yanked it down and hurried after him.

“Wait.” She jerked the top covers back, spread the curtain over the bed to protect the mattress from bloodstains, covered it with a sheet, then stood back. “Okay.”

Sean dumped Étienne on the bed.

Étienne didn’t move.

“Are you sure he’s still alive?” Sean asked.

Biting her lip, Krysta leaned down and pressed two fingers to Étienne’s blood-slick throat. A long moment passed in which her heart slammed against her ribs and Étienne’s didn’t appear to do anything at all. “I don’t feel anything.” Throat thickening, she feared she might burst into tears.

Had he died protecting her?

Sean said nothing. Face impassive, he moved to the opposite side of the bed, bent over, and felt for a pulse himself.

Minutes passed. Krysta didn’t know how many. But with each, she felt shakier inside and more ready to scream with panic and regret and everything else building inside her.

“He’s alive,” Sean pronounced. “His pulse is so slow he would be declared dead in a hospital, but it’s there.”

Despite her attempts to stop them, a few tears spilled over her lashes. Krysta sank onto the side of the bed, all of her aches and pains making themselves known in a big way now that she wasn’t completely distracted.

“Before we get into what happened tonight,” Sean said as he strolled around to stand before her, “tell me where you’re hurt.”

She scrubbed her hands down her face and hoped he hadn’t noticed the tears. “My head is the worst. I think I might have a concussion.”

Sean closed his eyes a moment, then cupped his large hands around the back of her head. Seconds later, they heated and the pain slowly disappeared. “What else?” he asked, teeth clenched against the pain that now bombarded him.

“Nothing that can’t be patched up with Band-Aids, butterfly closures, and a few stitches.” Healing the head wound would have taken enough out of him that any cuts or gashes he healed on her now would open on his own body. She wouldn’t let that happen. After the mess she had just brought down on their heads, she wouldn’t make him bleed, too.

“Go shower. I’ll stitch you up when you get out.”

Nodding, she grabbed some clean clothes from her dresser. “Do you want to lie down for a while?” His head must be killing him.

He gave her a grim smile. “I can’t. Someone needs to watch our guest.”

Krysta said nothing.

What could she say? She had just welcomed one of the vampires she had sworn to kill into their home and placed them both in danger.

Heading into the bathroom, she closed the door.

The hot water stung her open cuts like salt, making her want to scream as she hurried through her shower. The most she would permit herself, however, was a grunt or two.

Damn, it hurt!

And rushing things didn’t help. She couldn’t be careful with wounds when she was dragging a rough, soapy washcloth across them as quickly as possible because she feared what her brother might do to Étienne if she took too long.

Or what Étienne might do to Sean, if she weren’t there when he awoke.

If he awoke.

She barely took the time to dry off before hurriedly donning a sports bra, tank top, panties, and shorts. Leaving her hair to air-dry in whatever tangled mess it had acquired, she grabbed a smaller towel, held it to the thigh that still bled sluggishly, and hobbled back to her bedroom.

Sean had dragged one of their sagging director’s chairs into the room and sprawled in it, his gaze shifting from the television to Étienne and back.

He didn’t look up when she entered. “Nothing on the news yet.”

Jeeze. She hadn’t even thought of that. But how could what had happened tonight not make the news? A dozen or more soldiers killed in what would be deemed a firefight on an elite college campus?

Just what kind of soldiers had those men been? Military? SWAT?

Crap. What if surveillance cameras had caught it all on tape? She knew where most of the cameras on the various college campuses were positioned and lured vampires away from them so she could destroy them without witnesses. But cameras could have caught her going into the loading area just before the fight broke out. They could have caught her and Sean loading Étienne into the car and fleeing the scene.

What had she done?

“You need to tell me what happened tonight,” Sean said in a low, don’t-fuck-with-me voice. “All of it. And you need to tell me everything else that has been going on.” His gaze went to Étienne, then rose to meet hers. “Because you’ve clearly been holding out on me.”

And he deserved more than that. After all he did for her, all he sacrificed for her . . .

Nodding, Krysta started to sit on the side of the bed.

“No. Sit here. I need to see to your other wounds.”

She hadn’t even noticed the first-aid bag on the floor beside him.

Krysta crossed to him and turned her back to show him the wound in her thigh as he rose.

“What is it with vampires and hamstrings?” he muttered as he knelt behind her and went to work.

It seemed to be one of their favorite places to strike.

“I don’t know.” She gritted her teeth as he began to stitch the wound.

“So?” he prodded.

“He’s been following me.”

“The vamp on the bed?”

“Yes. Ever since the first night I encountered him, he’s been following me and taking out the vampires I lure away before I can engage them.”

“That’s why you haven’t come home battered and bloodied lately?”

She nodded. “He kills the vamps before I can even draw my weapons.”

A pause. “You should have told me.”

“I didn’t know. Not for sure. Not until last night. I knew vampires were following me, I was sure they had taken the bait. But when I spun around to confront them, they were gone just like on the other nights. I heard the sounds of a struggle a few blocks away and ran like hell to see what was happening.”

“You what?”

“By the time I caught up, there was nothing but a pile of clothes. He had already killed them.”

Quiet enfolded them as Sean stitched. It must have been a longer and deeper cut than she had supposed.

“I confronted him. Goaded him into showing himself.”

“Brilliant,” he groused.

She’d let that slide, knowing worry spawned it.

“Did he say why he killed them?”

“He said he was protecting me.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“I know.”

“He’s a vampire and you’re a vampire hunter.”

“I know.”

He finished torturing her with the needle and applied a bandage.

Exhaling a deep sigh of relief, Krysta turned around and sank gingerly into the chair. “He wanted me to stop hunting. He said it was too dangerous and couldn’t believe I’ve been doing it for so long without getting myself killed.”

“I can’t believe you’ve been doing it so long without getting yourself killed.”

“Smart-ass.”

He grunted.

“He said he’s been hunting vampires himself for two hundred years, Sean.”

He glanced up at her as he retrieved some butterfly closures. “Two hundred years?”

“Yes.”

“Why would a vampire hunt other vampires? Is it a territorial thing or something?”

“He said it wasn’t, but wouldn’t go into it. And tonight . . .” She didn’t want to think about it.

“What the hell happened, Krysta?”

“I played my usual Victim Here role, lured some vampires behind the building where you found us, and confronted them before Étienne could snatch them away.”

He nodded at their guest. “I assume he’s Étienne?”

“Yes. They called him an immortal guardian, and thought I was something called a second.”

“What the hell is that?”

“I don’t know. But they were afraid of him and pissed at him all at the same time. And I can see why. There were six vampires and he took out most of them with no help from me and again saved my ass. Then, all of a sudden, someone shot him in the neck with a tranquilizer dart.”

“Vampires can be sedated? Shit. I didn’t even think of that.”

“I didn’t either. As soon as he saw the dart, Étienne told me to run and shoved me behind the building. Then the soldiers you saw appeared and shot him all to hell. They would have killed me, Sean, if he hadn’t saved me. If he had run, they would have come after me. But he stayed and fought and took those bullets so I would have time to get away.”

He sat back. “I don’t understand. Why would a bunch of human soldiers want to kill you, another human? I mean, if they’re vampire hunters like you, wouldn’t they want to protect you?”

“I think they believed I was a second—whatever that is— like the vampires did. Either that or they wanted him and thought I was expendable. Hell, maybe they thought I was his Renfield.”

“Shit.”

“I know.”

“If he wanted to save you, why didn’t he just toss you over his shoulder and run?”

“Maybe he was already too weak. Or maybe he was afraid they’d shoot me before he could get us out of range. Or maybe he just wasn’t thinking straight because of the drug.”

He went back to work. “And your daggers?”

How had they ended up in the throat and heart of two human men?

“I couldn’t let them kill him or capture him after he sacrificed himself to protect me.”

Sean sighed. “Were they military?”

“I don’t know. They didn’t identify themselves. Didn’t shout, Halt! Don’t move! Police! Army! SWAT! Nothing. They just opened fire.”

Zipping his bag closed, Sean sat back on the floor. “What a mess.” He dragged his hands down his face. “I can’t think straight. My head is fucking killing me.”

Guilt suffused her, as it always did when he suffered physical pain after healing her wounds.

“So what’s the plan?” he asked wearily. “What are we going to do with Count Chocula over there?”

“I don’t know.”

Rising, Sean stared down at the unconscious vampire. “Immortal guardian,” he muttered.

“That’s what they called him.”

“His wounds aren’t healing. He probably needs blood.”

“Well, I’d kinda like to keep mine where it is, particularly since I lost some tonight.”

He loosed a tired laugh. “Yeah. Me, too. I guess I should patch him up since he saved your stubborn, reckless ass.”

“I was hoping you would.”

Krysta helped him remove Étienne’s coat, weapons, and shirt.

Both swore when they saw just how many bullet holes he sported.

Krysta didn’t know how he could still live. The vampires she usually hunted often died from blood loss. And Étienne had lost a lot of blood.

They moved on to his shoes and pants.

Sean’s lips twitched.

“What?” she asked as she tugged off a heavy boot.

“Did you know your boy here’s ringtone is “I Feel Pretty”?

She frowned and smiled at the same time. “What?”

“His phone rang while you were in the shower.”

As if on cue, a female voice filled the air, singing, “I feel pretty! Oh so pretty! I feel pretty and witty and gaaaaaay!”

Laughing, Krysta retrieved Étienne’s phone from his pocket and opened it just as it stopped ringing.

“It must have gone to voice mail,” Sean said, peering at it.

“If it rings again should I answer?”

“And bring another vampire down on our heads? I don’t think so. At least not yet.”

They stripped Étienne down to a pair of black, silk boxer shorts.

Although he had a beautiful body, trim and rippling with muscle, Krysta had a hard time admiring it. Blood coated nearly every inch of him, having poured from so many bullet holes. Even his legs were littered with them.

Sean swore.

Krysta nodded.

None of the wounds still bled. Neither did they heal. Some of the holes even appeared to still contain the lead that had carved them.

“We need soapy water and some towels,” Sean said, staring down at his patient. “A butt-load of them.”

Krysta nodded. It was going to be a long night.

Lisette nibbled her thumbnail as she stared at the unconscious immortal male wrapped in titanium chains. Apparently he hadn’t yet awoken, so Roland and Sarah were off hunting while Lisette took second watch.

Lisette didn’t know who the mysterious immortal was, but he fascinated her.

He lay on the floor where Roland had dumped him, his wavy, raven hair shielding much of his face. A face she had not minded staring at in the least these past few weeks as she had spied upon him.

He was strikingly handsome. And so somber. Sad almost. Or maybe lonely? Ami always managed to lure a smile from him, even if only a small one.

Her eyes strayed to his wings. Those beautiful wings.

Only a few feathers peeked out from the blankets and chains.

Was he an immortal? Or was he something else? Something a little more . . . angelic?

She hadn’t posed the question to the others, knowing how ruthlessly Roland would have mocked the notion. But the idea just wouldn’t leave her.

Easing closer to the male, she cautiously leaned in and sniffed his neck.

His scent was . . .

She sighed.

So good. He smelled like she remembered her father’s country estate used to when she was a girl. Like spring rain. Fresh and clean and new.

She smiled. With a hint of the fruity lollipops Ami had given him last night.

What she didn’t smell on him was the virus. Which didn’t necessarily mean anything. As Roland had pointed out, she couldn’t smell it on Seth either. Or David. Or some of the other elder immortals who had lived a great deal longer than she had.

Her gaze returned to his wings.

Still . . .

Her cell phone chirped.

Jumping, she shook her head at herself and stepped back from the captive as she retrieved the phone.

“Oui?” she answered when she saw it was Richart.

“Have you heard from Étienne tonight?”

“No. Why?”

“He was wounded earlier, judging by the pain I felt, and I haven’t been able to reach him.”

The twins had always referred to the unique bond they shared in much the same way the fictional character Adrian Monk described his own ability: It was a gift . . . and a curse.

It sucked that they felt each other’s pain. And only pain. They never felt each other’s pleasure, which—now that she thought of it—would be awkward now that Richart had wed and made frequent love to his wife.

The bond did come in handy, however, in times like this when one might be injured and require aid.

“Did you try Cam?” Surely Étienne’s Second would know something.

“Cameron hasn’t heard from him and is making discreet inquiries.”

“Why discreet?”

“I don’t know. Something’s been going on with Étienne, something he’s been keeping from us. You’ve noticed how distracted he’s been.”

“Yes. I assumed it was a woman, but could glean nothing from his thoughts. He has kept them from me of late.”

And usually did so when he took a lover. Not that such had happened often over the past two centuries. Immortal/human love affairs never ended well.

“Should I call Seth?” he asked, that question telling her more than anything else how concerned he was.

“Would you have wanted Seth to hunt you down when you were with Jenna, recovering from your wounds the time you were tranqed?”

“No.”

“Then there’s your answer. Give it a little more time. If Étienne was wounded badly enough, he may simply be sleeping too deeply for the phone to awaken him.”

“You’re right, of course.”

“Call me when you hear something. And tell Jenna hello for me.”

“I will,” he said, a smile entering his voice.

Lisette had only recently met her new sister-in-law and had never seen her brother as content and quick to smile as he had been with the former single mother. Not since his transformation anyway.

Guilt, an ever-present companion, stirred.

Lisette ended the call and returned her cell phone to her pocket.

Sighing, she focused her attention once more on the prisoner.

And found him staring up at her with piercing brown eyes.