Night Reigns

Chapter 2

Breath heaving, body bathed in a cold sweat, Eddie Kapansky glanced over his shoulder as he raced through the forest.

Nothing.

He faced forward again and almost ran into a low-hanging branch. Ducking swiftly, he scarcely managed to avoid it.

“Come on, Eddie. Get your shit together,” he muttered. Traveling at preternatural speeds required hypervigilance. Low branches like the one that had just brushed the top of his dark blond hair could easily remove a vampire’s head.

The bitter taste of fear still flooding his mouth, he glanced behind him once more and sought any signs that the immortal might be following him. When he faced forward, his eyes widened and a yelp escaped him as another branch nearly decapitated him.

Eddie slowed to the speed of a human run, then a jog, then a walk. Finally he stopped.

Fog formed in front of him as his breath whooshed out like air from a bellows. If he hadn’t been too dense to comprehend the irony, he might have appreciated that of humans’ assuming vampires’ hearts didn’t beat when his was doing its damnedest to burst from his chest.

Closing his slack mouth, he quieted his gasps as much as he could, peered into the darkness around him, and listened.

Wind. The gurgling of the stream that had soaked his damned sneakers. Cows in the barn he had passed. Bats. He hated fucking bats. (Another irony that eluded him, since many humans thought vampires could turn into bats.) Animal. Animal. Insect. Animal.

No Immortal Guardian.

He should be relieved, but he was too damned scared. That fucker had taken out everyone but him. By himself!

Well, the woman had helped some. Eddie should have drained her dry. She wasn’t an immortal. She didn’t move like one. She didn’t have fangs. Her eyes didn’t glow. So she must be human. Which meant he might have actually found the elusive, ass-kicking immortal known as Roland Warbrook.

Dennis would be pleased.

Eddie looked ahead. Thick trees and undergrowth prevented him from seeing far, but he thought he was only a mile or two from the lair. He hoped the latter. Any closer and the guys might have heard the girly scream he’d just let out when he almost ran into the branch.

After giving himself another minute to get his breathing under control and stop his trembling, he set off again. The trees parted on a bucolic scene: a rolling meadow that glistened from the evening’s rain laid out like a carpet around a sprawling single-story frame house with a wide front porch and peeling white paint.

Several tree stumps littered the yard. Dennis had ordered them to cut down any trees that grew close to the house so they would be able to see their enemies coming. If those enemies should ever find them, that was.

Considering what had happened to Bastien’s army, Eddie hoped this place remained off the Immortal Guardians’ radar.

Of course, had they not been too lazy, the vampires could have simply uprooted the trees. They sure as hell had the strength. Eddie had once uprooted one to show off for a girl he had dated before Dennis had recruited him. But instead of oohing and ahhing over his new super-strength, then giving him a blow job, she had freaked out, and he’d ended up killing her.

Dumb bitch. Making him lose his temper like that.

(Usually at this point in his recollection of the event, a voice in his head would make a tching sound and say You know your mamma raised you better than that. What the hell’s wrong with you, boy? But that voice had grown quieter and quieter of late, until it had ultimately disappeared.)

Eddie crossed the large lawn in a mortal lope, clomped up the stairs, and entered the unlocked front door.

The interior of the house had been gutted and turned into a huge den. Instead of load-bearing walls there were support pillars that gave the place an open, loft feel. Sofas, lounge chairs, coffee tables, end tables, stools, and even a picnic bench—all scavenged from lawns, porches (gotta love some small town Southerners’ propensity for putting indoor furniture on their front porches), and curbside offerings the night before heavy trash day—filled most of the room.

Vampires, all male and almost all Eddie’s age (twenty-five) or younger, lounged by the dozens, laughing, bragging of the night’s kills, and watching one of two big-ass flat screen televisions.

“’Sup?” Henry asked from his position at the front window. He must be one of the four lookouts tonight.

“Is Dennis here?” Eddie asked, nerves still jangling.

“Yeah. He’s in The Hole with some new recruits.” The Hole was the only bedroom that had been left standing. All four walls, as well as the door, had been reinforced with a butt-load of concrete and steel, then outfitted with manacles. The ceiling had been removed, and the walls extended up into the attic, where Dennis had replaced a large portion of the roof with glass supported by steel bars, allowing the mid-day sun to bake any vampire left in there who had gone so psycho Dennis could no longer control him.

Or any immortal unfortunate enough to be captured.

They’d yet to manage that one.

“Why?” Henry asked, gaze sharpening. “Somethin’ happen?”

Nodding, Eddie sidled closer to him and lowered his voice. “I think I found Roland.”

Henry’s eyes bugged out. “Roland the Immortal Guardian Roland?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re shittin’ me.”

“Nope.”

“Daaaaaaamn. We been lookin’ for him for months.” He looked past Eddie’s shoulder, as if expecting to see Roland standing there, then met his gaze. “What’d ya do with him? Where is he?”

“Chapel Hill.” Eddie fought the urge to squirm. He didn’t relish telling everyone he had been unable to defeat the immortal.

Henry’s eyes narrowed. “You left him in Chapel Hill?” Eddie grimaced. “I didn’t exactly have a choice. Me, Skinny John, Walter, and Kurt met up with Jason, Max, Big John, and Karl over at the Walmart off of 15-501 and were headed for UNC to see if we could find some fresh victims when this Immortal Guardian comes out of nowhere and ...” He shrugged. “It was on.”

“Are you sure it wasn’t Bastien?”

“Yeah. This guy had a woman with him like Roland did.”

“Did she have brown hair?”

“I think so.” It had been hard to tell with her hiding in the trees.

Henry nodded and slapped him on the shoulder. “Good job, man.” He glanced through the window for a second, then once more abandoned his duty. “So the guys are holdin’ him in Chapel Hill?”

Eddie swallowed, stomach souring. “No.”

“What do ya—”

“I’m the only one who made it out alive.”

Henry stared at him. “What?”

“The others are all dead. Roland and his woman destroyed them.”

“They’re dead?” he exclaimed, voice rising.

Eddie looked around as every eye in the house focused on them. “Yeah.”

“Who died?” he heard someone mutter.

Henry shook his head. “You outnumbered him eight to one!”

Eddie bristled at the scorn in his voice. “He had the woman with him. She was armed and—”

Henry sputtered and waved a hand. “The woman doesn’t count. She’s human for shit’s sake! If you can’t kick a human woman’s ass, what the hell good are ya?”

“Well, she sure as hell didn’t fight like a human!”

“Are you saying she was immortal?”

“No, but—”

“Then you should have killed her and kicked Roland’s ass.” Some of the other vamps rose and strode forward to form a semicircle around them.

“Look, you weren’t there,” Eddie snapped. “You’ve never even seen an Immortal Guardian. They aren’t like us.”

“What do you mean?” Wes asked, his butt-ugly mug alight with curiosity. He was a fairly new recruit, turned by Dennis himself only a few months ago.

“Yeah,” Howard tossed in. “How’re they different from us?”

“They’re faster,” Eddie began, his apprehension falling away now that Henry’s contempt had been overshadowed by the other guys’ awe and eagerness to hear a firsthand account of a fight with an immortal.

“How much faster?” Norm asked.

“Like ... fifty times faster,” Eddie said. “And stronger. A lot stronger. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“So what happened?”

He named the guys who had fought beside him again, then—giving plenty of bloodthirsty description and exaggerating his own skills—laid out what had transpired.

“So you just ran?” Henry growled as Eddie wrapped it up.

“No, I didn’t run,” Eddie lied. “At least not the way you make it sound. He cut down seven guys, Henry. I was the only one strong enough to fend off his death blows, but even I could see I wouldn’t be able to take him alone, so I came back here for reinforcements.”

“What for?” Henry pounced. “If he’s as fast as you say he is, he could be all the way to Winston-Salem by now.”

Eddie racked his feeble brain for a response that wouldn’t make him sound like a wuss, opting not to mention the second encounter that had led to Keith’s and Bill’s destruction.

“At least he can confirm what no one else has been able to,” Wes said. “Roland is still in North Carolina.”

Howard nodded. “Which means Bastien probably is, too. I bet Dennis will be happy to hear that.”

Eddie heard the heavy door of The Hole open and moved until, between the vamps congregating around him, he spotted Dennis in the doorway.

“Eddie,” Dennis spoke in that commanding voice of his.

At least he seemed to be in a decent mood tonight. Eddie would rather face Jason, Michael Myers, and Freddy Krueger all together than Dennis in a temper.

Straightening, Eddie said, “Yes, sir?”

“A moment, please.”

“Yes, sir.”

The other vampires parted, allowing Eddie to slip through them and join Dennis in The Hole’s doorway.

“I could use your help evaluating some potential recruits,” Dennis said, drawing him into the room.

“Sure,” Eddie answered, willing to do anything to put off telling Dennis that he had had Roland in his grasp and had failed to capture him. He had hoped being able to confirm that Roland was still in the area would make up for the fact that he had run like a little pussy. But after Henry’s reaction ...

A somewhat battered kitchen table rested in the center of The Hole, the only furnishing it boasted. On the opposite side of it, looking almost like slovenly soldiers just returned from a weekend bender, a dozen and a half men stood. All were human and younger than Eddie by a few years. None had yet been transformed by the vampires who had captured them. Dennis liked to transform the recruits himself whenever possible. And these recruits were pretty lame.

Eddie curled his lip as he studied them.

There were a few of the typical, totally wasted college students: the type who liked to pants other students and routinely sought ways to humiliate those weaker than themselves for fun. They didn’t seem to be all that sure what was going on. Or to care, for that matter.

There were also about a handful of tough-as-nails gang-bangers or gangstas or whatever, sporting tattoos, saggy-baggy pants, and FU attitudes. A few goths had been rounded up. Decked out in black clothes with pale makeup, dyed black hair, and nose rings, they looked positively orgasmic over being in the same room with two real-life vampires.

A couple of late night joggers had been wrangled, too. That pretty much summed it up.

Losers, Eddie thought smugly. I could take these guys in a heartbeat.

One of the pros of becoming a vampire was not having to worry about getting your ass kicked anymore. He’d been bullied a lot as a kid. And as a teenager. And once had been beaten badly enough to land in the hospital his sophomore year at Duke. (His mamma had just shaken her head and told him he shouldn’t have been running his mouth the way he had.)

But now, he was the bully. Now, he kicked ass.

And even if these guys wanted to kick his ass once Dennis turned them, they wouldn’t be able to, because any soldiers caught fighting amongst themselves were locked in The Hole just before sunrise.

“This, gentlemen, is another of my soldiers,” Dennis said, settling a hand on Eddie’s shoulder in friendly camaraderie.

Dennis considered himself a king and the other vampires his soldiers in a war that would free them all from the tyranny of the Immortal Guardians and allow them to take their rightful place as the most powerful creatures in existence.

In other words, he wanted to take over the world. Eddie thought that was so cool.

The goths turned their adoring gazes on Eddie, who puffed out his chest and gave them just enough of a superior smile to show the tips of his fangs, which still hadn’t receded from the fight.

“Rising to take our rightful place as leaders in this world and grasping the power and all of the wealth that will accompany that will require bloodshed.”

The drunken frat boys looked confused. The goths ... didn’t really seem to be paying attention. They were just so hyped about meeting vampires. The gangstas looked unimpressed. And the joggers were shaking in their ass-toning sneakers.

“If you join my army, you will need to familiarize yourself with the weapons we use and our methods of fighting. Eddie, let’s provide them with a display, shall we?”

When Dennis drew a dagger from a sheath on his belt and laid it on the table, Eddie drew his bowie knife and placed it next to the dagger, then removed his other bowie, a switch blade, and brass knuckles.

That was it for him.

Dennis lined up three more daggers and two swords—the kind you saw martial arts guys use in movies—on the table alongside the others.

Eddie had always thought Dennis a bit of a dweeb when it came to his blades. Their leader had such a boner for weapons, carrying six or more at a time, sharpening them every night, even when he didn’t use them.

But after fighting the immortal earlier ... Eddie had to admit that Dennis might be on to something. The Immortal Guardian had been covered with weapons. Two short swords, probably a dozen or more daggers (Eddie still couldn’t figure out how exactly the prick had thrown those when he had held a longer blade in each hand), and at least a dozen of those slick throwing star thingies.

The metal offering on the table between Dennis and the potential recruits actually seemed sort of pathetic in comparison.

Dennis motioned to the table with a smile. “Step forward. Choose a weapon. Lift it. Get a feel for it.”

When one of the goths picked up the brass knuckles and put them on backwards, Dennis sighed heavily and gave Eddie a help this idiot out before I kill him look.

Snorting, Eddie swaggered around the table and, yanking the heavy brass from the goth’s fingers, probably spraining a few in the process, demonstrated the proper way to don them, then the way to use them, swinging at the air in front of the goth’s face.

Stepping into the doorway, Dennis snapped his fingers at two passing vampires. “Weapons.”

Enough machetes and bowie knives were handed over to provide a blade for every recruit present, including the brass-knuckled moron.

Smirking, Eddie crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head as he watched the puny humans swing the blades.

“Now,” Dennis said, regaining their attention. “I am very selective when it comes to finding men worthy of joining my army.”

Really? Since when?

“Not everyone has what it takes.”

The goths all stood taller and straightened their shoulders. The others showed no change.

“Therefore, you must first pass a test if you wish to become one of us.”

“We don’t want to become one of you,” one of the joggers had the balls to say, voice trembling.

Dennis’s eyes flashed a brilliant blue as his fangs descended. “Would you rather I simply drain you dry?”

The jogger swiftly shook his head.

When no further complaints were offered, Dennis continued. “The rules, gentlemen, are very simple. In your hands, you each hold a weapon. You must use those weapons to complete a task I have devised for you.”

“What’s the task?” one of the gangstas demanded.

Dennis reached for the door handle and gestured to Eddie. “In your midst stands a vampire. Your assignment is to kill him or die trying.”

Everyone looked at the designated victim.

Shock zipped through Eddie. Gaping, he dropped his arms to his sides. “What?”

Dennis met his eyes and growled with fury, “Never run from a fight.” To the humans he said, “Whoever still stands after the vampire has been destroyed will become a soldier in my army.” Stepping into the den, he closed the door and slammed the bolt home.

The humans shared glances, then looked at Eddie, their hands tightening on the grips of the unfamiliar weapons they held.

The gangstas nodded to each other, then surged forward.

Oh shit.

In the den, silence reigned. Both televisions had been muted, and the vampires, still as statues, stared at Dennis and the door behind him.

Dennis smiled as screams and thuds erupted inside The Hole, countering the growls of one panicked vampire. “Never run from a fight,” he repeated for the solemn audience.

Someone swallowed audibly.

“Help us!” one of the humans cried, voice hoarse with terror.

Closing his eyes, Dennis tilted his head back and listened to the beautiful music produced within.

“This is bullshit!” Eddie shrieked. “This is bullshit!”

Thud. Thud. Thunk.

The door shook against Dennis’s back. The scent of blood wafted from beneath it.

Dennis inhaled and sighed in ecstasy.

“Help us!”

“Get him!”

“Ahhh!”

Pure bliss.

Monday evening Ami sat at the desk Darnell had had delivered that morning upon hearing the bad news. Based on her conversation with him, she suspected he had engaged in a rather heated argument with Seth over the wisdom of naming Ami Marcus’s Second.

Not that he didn’t like Marcus. Ami had never heard Darnell speak a foul word against him and knew they shared a love of music. But Marcus had been deemed dangerous to be around. His behavior had grown increasingly erratic in recent years. And Darnell feared for Ami’s safety.

Her eyes slid from the heavy Second’s handbook she had been pouring over all day to the laptop before her. Not much activity on the Immortal Guardians Web site. No doubt the Seconds were all busy readying their respective immortals for another night’s hunt.

Whatever would compel Seth to believe Ami would make a competent Second? With all of her ... issues ... she would think—

Out in the hallway, the door to the basement living quarters opened and closed.

Ami’s heart stuttered.

Setting the handbook aside, she closed her laptop, stood, and followed the sounds of Marcus’s movements to the armory.

Most immortal households possessed such a room, which usually boasted exercise and sparring equipment and wardrobes packed with weapons. Ami stepped into the doorway just as Marcus opened the doors to one of the wardrobes.

The greeting she had thought to offer stuck in her throat. She hadn’t seen him since shortly after Seth had left the previous night. Marcus had been rumpled, dirty, and liberally coated in blood at the time. Now ...

She drew in a deep breath and tried to slow her racing pulse.

Now he was all cleaned up and incredibly handsome. Black cargo pants encased muscled thighs. A long-sleeved black T-shirt hugged broad shoulders, arms thick with muscle, and rippling abs. His long, midnight hair had been tamed into a neat ponytail.

Ami had met many immortals during the time she had spent with Seth and David. All shared the same dark good looks. So, why did this one wreak such havoc within her?

“Hello,” she finally forced herself to say.

Marcus spun to face her, his face lit with surprise that rapidly devolved into a frown. For a moment, she thought he would say something, then he turned back to the wardrobe.

Well, after his less than enthusiastic response to Seth’s thrusting her upon him last night, she hadn’t exactly expected him to greet her with smiles and laughter.

Tamping down her nervousness, she strode forward with false confidence until she stood beside him. When he reached into the wardrobe for the belt that held two sheathed short swords, she darted forward and grabbed it first.

“What are you—?”

Ami stepped closer and looped the belt around his hips, her breasts nearly touching his taut stomach.

Marcus sucked in a breath.

Ami kept her gaze lowered and fastened the belt, settling it in precisely the same position it had been in when she had first encountered him. Her knuckles brushed warm, muscled abs shielded by the soft material of his shirt. Her skin flushed with unfamiliar heat.

She backed away a step and reached into the wardrobe for his leather bandolier. “I retrieved all but two of your daggers last night after you left to pursue the last vampire and had Chris Reordon messenger over a dozen more. All of them have been cleaned and sharpened.”

At last, she dared to look up at him.

Marcus stared down at her, his brown eyes lit with a mild amber glow she assumed reflected displeasure. “Did you sharpen them yourself?” he asked, his deep voice inscrutable.

“Of course.”

Gaze dropping, he drew a dagger from one of the bandolier’s sheaths and scrutinized it carefully.

“Sharp enough for you?” Ami asked.

His eyes met hers. “Quite.” He returned the blade to its position in the bandolier. “Don’t take my skepticism personally. I once had a Second who proudly informed me he had spent all afternoon diligently sharpening my every weapon. I took him at his word, went out hunting, and discovered the hard way that he had no idea how to apply a whetstone to a blade. Not one of my weapons was sharp enough to deliver so much as a paper cut.”

“Ooh. Not good.”

“Precisely.”

“Well, I know what I’m doing.”

“Yes, you do. Thank you.”

She grinned. The two words seemed to pain him, as if he really didn’t want to proffer them, but good manners forced his hand.

“You’re welcome. Now, lean down.” She held up the bandolier with both hands. He was so much taller than she was that, without a chair, she couldn’t loop it over his head and shoulder without his aid.

He raised one eyebrow and crossed his arms over his chest in challenge.

She pursed her lips, determined to win this first skirmish. “You either lean down or I clothesline you with it. Your choice.”

Lips twitching, he uncrossed his arms and bowed down, bending his knees as well.

Ami looped the leather strap over his head and one shoulder, holding it while he threaded his arm through it. Once done, the small weapons cache draped across his chest, allowing easy access. She smoothed it into place, her fingers tingling as they slid across his chest, so wide and firm and ...

Marcus’s fingers suddenly banded around her wrists and pushed her hands away. “Leave it. That’s good enough.” His voice sounded a bit hoarse. And, when Ami looked up, the glow in his eyes had intensified.

“Did I—?”

Before she could ask him if she had done something wrong, he turned and stalked from the room. A moment later, the front door opened and slammed closed.

A small, triangular-shaped head peeked around the door frame at ankle level, scabbed over where it wasn’t covered in black fur.

“What did I do?” Ami asked Slim, the little electrical sizzles Marcus had inspired slowly dying.

Slim kept his opinion to himself.

Oowwrrrr!

Marcus’s eyes sprang open.

Owwwrrrr!

“What the bloody hell?”

He peered at the clock radio on his nightstand. 2:43 P.M., Tuesday afternoon.

Groaning, he closed his gritty eyes once more. He had hunted vampires until dawn, longer than usual, not because the threat had increased of late, but because he had been reluctant to go home.

Thanks, Seth.

He had managed to avoid Ami upon his return and had gotten down to his bedroom without another confrontation, but then had been unable to sleep. He couldn’t stop thinking about the unsettlingly strong desire her innocent touches had inspired.

Roarawrorrorr!

Sighing, he sat up. Seriously, what the hell was that?

“Shhh,” he heard Ami whisper as he dragged on a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt.

Owrrrrrorrr!

“Oh, quit being such a baby. You’d think I was torturing you.”

As he headed upstairs, Marcus finally identified the weird-ass sounds as Slim protesting whatever she was doing. And it did indeed sound torturous.

He followed the caterwauling to the bathroom on the first floor and stopped outside the closed door. “Ami?” he called.

Owwrrrrrr! Owwwrrrrrr! Owwrrrrrrr! Slim’s calls became frantic.

“Yes?” she responded with hesitance.

“What the hell are you doing to my cat?”

“Um ... nothing. Why? Did we wake you? Ouch! Cut it out!”

Marcus turned the knob and entered.

A couple of wadded-up bath towels rested beside the sink. Puddles of water dotted the countertop and tile floor. The sliding doors to the shower/tub combo were closed, but he could see movement through the frosted glass.

Marcus crossed the room and peered over the top of the shower doors.

Garbed in what appeared to be two or three layers of sweatpants and just as many sweatshirts, Ami sat cross-legged in the tub with a vigorously struggling Slim in her lap. Several inches of water surrounded them, leaving her a semi-dry island Slim both needed and wished to escape.

Marcus felt laughter begin to swell inside him.

Ami’s hair was damp, bedraggled, and pulled back into a ponytail that listed to one side. Wet, soapy splotches and cat hair speckled her shirt. Her cheeks were pink, her expression harried.

And Slim looked like a tiny, enraged hedgehog, his fur standing out in all directions in wet spikes.

As soon as Slim saw Marcus, he bunched up the muscles in his hind legs, then leapt straight up, paws scrabbling at the shower doors in a bid to reach freedom ... and failing.

Ami shrieked as the maddened cat fell back toward her.

Slim landed in the water beside her with a splash, then scampered up into her lap and prepared to launch again.

“Oh no, you don’t!” she warned, wrapping her arms around him before he could jump.

Slim’s yowls and howls began anew.

Marcus couldn’t help it. He burst into laughter, the sight they made too hilarious to deny.

“Oh, shut up,” she grumbled, and began scooping water over Slim, Marcus assumed to finish rinsing him.

“What in the world made you decide to bathe him?” he asked.

“When he came home today his fur was matted down with I-don’t-want-to-know-what in several places, and he smelled like ...”

“Like what?”

“Pee,” she said, wrinkling her nose with such disgust he laughed again.

“Why didn’t you just bathe him in the sink?”

“I tried! But he kept getting away from me. In here, there’s no place for him to go.”

Slim’s skinny little butt wiggled from side to side as he bunched up his hind legs in preparation for another jump.

“Okay! Okay!” Ami declared, reaching for the glass doors. “You’re clean enough.” Her eyes met Marcus’s. “Would you please dry him off?”

Nodding, Marcus grabbed a towel and caught Slim, who launched himself from the tub as soon as the glass door slid back. “What about you?” he asked, wrapping the wriggling, ill-tempered bundle in the fluffy cotton.

Her eyes narrowed. “I can dry myself, thank you.” Glancing down, she grimaced. “After I shower. Gross. I’ll be out in a few minutes.”

And just like that, the arousal that had tormented Marcus all morning returned.

Frowning, he left the bathroom, closed the door, and headed for the living room.

“This isn’t going to work,” he told Slim, whose pale green gaze held both relief and accusation.

As he dried the cranky cat, Marcus vowed to try harder to avoid any and all contact with his new Second.

Ami hadn’t seen Marcus in two days, not since the incident with Slim on Tuesday.

Was he angry because she had bathed his cat?

More likely he simply hoped that if he avoided her long enough and kept her from doing her job, she would grow frustrated and insist on leaving.

A board creaked in the hallway.

Ami’s head snapped in that direction. Aha!

As quietly as she could, she tiptoed out of the study, down the hallway, and into the armory, arriving just in time to see Marcus—clad only in socks, boxer shorts, and a T-shirt—stepping into specially designed pants that afforded complete protection from the sun.

Sneaky immortal. He must have thought she slept during the day, must have borrowed one of the d’Alençons’ suits, and intended to head out before she woke.

“Leaving early?” she asked.

His head jerked up. Frustration swept across his handsome features before he turned away.

Ami’s gaze fell to his thighs as he tugged the pants up over them. Heavy with muscle, they sported a sparse coating of curly dark hair.

Heat blossomed within her. Would that hair be soft or coarse?

Before she could speculate on what his black silk boxers hid, the heavy material covered them as well.

Ami strode forward and grabbed the rubber shirt while Marcus zipped up the pants. The ensemble was much like a diving suit, but had a rough, automobile tire-like texture. Immortals generally hated wearing the suits because they were so hot and uncomfortable, so he must be pretty desperate to escape her if he was willing to be stuck in one all night.

Marcus frowned when she held up the shirt, front open.

Turning away, he shoved his arms into the sleeves and allowed her to tug it up over his broad shoulders.

“You might want to focus tonight’s hunt on Winston-Salem,” she suggested. “Several missing person reports have popped up there in the past forty-eight hours, so the vampires must either be hunting or recruiting.”

He grunted a possible acknowledgment and turned to face her.

Ami brushed his hands aside and zipped up the front of his shirt herself. Seemingly resigned, he waited impatiently while she armed him with his short swords and daggers.

When she glanced up at him, his eyes were glowing faintly again. “Do you want to eat before you leave?” she asked, suddenly breathless beneath his intense stare.

Something flared in his amber gaze. “No.”

Ami nodded and grabbed the mask that accompanied the protective suit. Her pulse picked up as she rose onto her toes. Reaching up, she brushed his hair—so soft—back from his forehead.

His eyes brightened. His jaw clenched.

Ami swallowed nervously and gently pulled the mask down over his face and the raven silk that framed it.

Those eyes never left her as he reached up and adjusted it.

A heavy silence fell between them that seemed to last minutes.

Then Marcus strode from the room—and the house—without another word.

Her breath emerging in a whoosh, Ami leaned back against one of the wardrobe doors.

Marcus scaled the basement stairs Friday evening, then paused on the landing. Silently urging the door open a crack, he peered into the dim hallway beyond. The doorways that peppered it all lay dark and empty. Light filtered in from the large living room at one end. The stairs above him that led to the second floor were dark.

Satisfied, he eased into the hallway and soundlessly closed the door behind him.

A stereo played in the living room, the volume courteously low. Etta James crooned one of his favorite songs: “At Last.”

Marcus flattened his body against one wall and crept forward, unable to prevent himself from singing along in his head as he kept his ears peeled for signs of his Second.

Ami had been with him for five days now and was proving to be damned hard to avoid.

Or ignore.

He had hoped that if he simply avoided all contact with her, she would grow bored, complain to Seth that she wasn’t needed here, and be reassigned. But that hadn’t worked out so well. Every time he turned around, Ami was there. And, though her smile bore a certain hesitance, her determination to fulfill her duties as his Second made a mockery of his own stubbornness. He couldn’t even arm himself anymore. The minute he crossed the threshold of his weapons and training room, she magically appeared and began to load him up with blades.

As Marcus approached said threshold, he eyed it suspiciously. Had she rigged it with some kind of motion sensor or a hidden camera? How else could she know he was in there every single time?

Passing by it without entering, he continued forward. This morning, he had stashed his weapons in his basement bedroom in hopes of finally managing to evade her notice.

He frowned.

That was another thing. The woman only slept when he did. He had tried altering his sleep schedule, even going so far as to don the protective suit Seth’s human network had devised for the Immortal Guardians and leave while the sun was still high in the sky.

No luck. Ami had pulled the rubbery mask down over his long hair herself.

No matter what time of day or night he rose and ventured forth, she magically appeared.

He paused. Directly ahead lay the front door with its heavy-duty reinforced locks and titanium hinges and chain. On the wall beside it hung an alarm touch pad. What he could see of the living room appeared bare. The long room continued around to his left beyond his line of sight. On the opposite side of the front door lay a small dining area with a breakfast bar that separated it from the spacious kitchen around on the right, which he also could not see.

A faint noise came from that direction. Ami must be in the kitchen.

Tensing, he prepared to make a mad dash for the front door.

“I think the coast is clear,” a voice whispered loudly in his ear.

Marcus’s head snapped around so quickly his neck popped. And he was pretty sure his feet left the floor when he jumped with surprise.

His gaze swung down.

Ami stood mere inches away, her emerald eyes twinkling with mischief as she stared up at him with an impish grin.

“How did you do that?” he demanded, too shocked to feel anger. Because of his preternaturally acute hearing, even immortals would be hard put to catch him unawares.

Exaggerated innocence washed across her pretty features. “Do what?”

“Sneak up on me like that.”

Brow furrowing, she gave his arm a sympathetic pat. “Well, rumor has it you’re over eight hundred years old, Marcus. Perhaps your hearing is starting to go.”

There was such an overabundance of false concern in her voice that he actually found himself fighting the urge to smile.

Before he could do so, he spun on his heel and started for the door.

“It isn’t going to work, you know,” she called after him.

He stopped, turned back to face her.

All levity had fled. Now she studied him gravely. “What isn’t?”

“Ignoring me won’t make me go away.”

“Are you so certain of that?” he countered sardonically.

She responded with a slow nod. “Yes. I don’t duck responsibility.”

He stiffened, the anger that had eluded him earlier now rising. “Are you saying I do?”

She tucked her thumbs in the front pockets of her jeans. “I’m saying Seth assigned me to serve as your Second, and nothing you do or say will keep me from doing my job.”

This tiny mortal woman thought she could hold her own against him? “Your confidence is misplaced,” he warned her.

“My confidence is exceeded only by my stubbornness.”

He could vouch for that. “I don’t need a Second!” he practically shouted in frustration.

Her delicate shoulders rose and fell in a shrug. “Clearly Seth thinks you do.”

“I don’t give a damn what Seth thinks!”

A spark of temper ignited in her eyes. “Well, you should. He’s worried about you, Marcus. It’s been eight years—”

He swore violently, cutting her off. Seth had told her about Bethany?

Swiveling once more, he strode toward the door. “I’m not discussing this with you. It’s none of your fucking business.”

“You aren’t alone,” she insisted.

He emitted a derisive snort. Next she would remind him that he had friends who cared about him and who were there for him and wanted to help him, blah blah blah.

Except ... she didn’t. She said, “I know what it is to grieve.”

And there was something in her voice, as she continued, that made his steps slow, then halt altogether. Something that seemed to resonate in the dark, hollow void that now resided deep inside him.

“I know what it is to lose your compass. To suddenly find yourself floundering without direction, far from the path you were treading. How ... exhausting it can be, knowing you’ll never find that path again, to just trudge forward anyway, forcing one foot in front of the other again and again in what feels like an utterly useless endeavor. I know what it is to live without hope.”

He glanced over his shoulder.

Her gaze avoided his. “What I’m trying to say is ...”

A long moment of silence followed, during which he noticed for the first time the shadows beneath her eyes. Evidently staying up late to pester him and match his sleep schedule had left her as fatigued as it had him.

A huff of annoyance escaped her. “I don’t know what I’m trying to say. Wait here for a moment, please.”

As he stood, motionless, she headed into the kitchen.

“Hi there, Slim,” she murmured as she left his sight. “What are you up to, you crazy kitty?”

He liked the way she walked. Though small, she didn’t take mincing little steps. Nor did she engage in a lot of contrived hip swaying. No, with Ami there were only long, strong, purposeful strides that triggered some long dormant predatory desire in him to follow after her and pounce.

Marcus frowned. Where the hell had that thought come from?

She returned carrying a cloth cooler about the size of a child’s lunch box and held it out to him. “Here.”

He took it. “What’s this?”

“As far as I can tell, you haven’t been eating regularly, so I made you brunch.” Most immortals only ate two meals a night: the equivalent of brunch and dinner. “There’s a bag of blood, some green tea with ginseng, and a sandwich. Whole-grain bread. Meatless smoked turkey. Lettuce. Tomato. Red onion. Bell pepper and a few slices of jalapeño pepper. All organic. I didn’t know if that was to your taste, but Seth, David, and Darnell love it.”

Marcus’s stomach rumbled hungrily in anticipation, earning him a faint smile.

David was the second oldest immortal in existence. Darnell was his Second. How much time had Ami spent with them?

The phone rang.

Ami shrugged. “I hope the hunt goes well tonight.” Striding down the hallway to the study, she flicked on the lights and disappeared inside.

Marcus heard her lift the receiver.

“Hello?”

“Hello, sweetheart,” a familiar, deep, accented voice spoke on the other end.

“Seth!” she cried joyfully. “Where are you? Are you in North Carolina?”

“No, I’m in Montreal, but thought I’d call and see how things are going.”

Scowling, Marcus slipped outside and headed for his motorcycle.

What exactly was Ami’s relationship with Seth? He hadn’t really thought about it before but ... there seemed to be a great deal of affection between them. More than he could recall seeing or hearing Seth express for any other woman. Not that he knew much—or anything—about Seth’s love life.

Stashing his brunch in the underseat storage compartment, Marcus donned his helmet and straddled the bike, flipping the tail of his coat loose. He had had both the Suzuki Hayabusa and his helmet (originally dual colored) custom painted a sleek solid black to help him blend in better with the night.

A cool breeze carried with it the typical sounds of North Carolina. The buzzing, trilling, and shushing of insects. The call of an owl. Bat wings fluttering overhead. The slow lumbering progress of an opossum and the sprightly steps of a raccoon deep within the forest. Deer grazing. Frogs growling or peeping or twanging like plucked guitar strings.

Though the air here wasn’t as crisp and clean and sweet as that which had bathed him as a boy, it was better than the air found in larger cities that, too often, were blanketed in a haze of pollution.

Slowly, he cruised down the long, winding gravel driveway, keeping a careful eye out for the little brown rabbits that had lately made a habit of chewing the grasses and weeds that sprang up between the pebbles. Sure enough, four eyes—low to the ground—glinted in the headlight as two furry bodies hastened into the heavy undergrowth on his left.

Smiling, feeling the tension begin to melt away, Marcus swung onto a narrow two-laned highway, then shot forward. Pure pleasure engulfed him as he went from zero to seventy in three seconds. Wind yanked back the long raven hair that fell several inches below his helmet. His long coat fluttered behind him like wings as he steadily accelerated.

Traveling this road at these speeds would be insane for a human. But, damn, what a rush for an immortal with preternaturally sharp reflexes. Up and down, swinging one way then the next, leaning into the curves until his knees nearly scraped the pavement. Streetlights were few and far between here, but his enhanced night vision eliminated any need for them. Marcus could see the deer grazing by the road long before the headlight struck them and had no problem evading those that ventured too close or darted across in front of him.

The bike left the pavement and went airborne momentarily at the top of a short, steep hill. Adrenaline pumped through his veins as he tore into another curve. He felt so alive and free at times like these. What he wouldn’t give to get his hands on David’s Tomahawk, a true work of art with two closely spaced front wheels, the same in back, and a top speed of roughly four hundred miles per hour.

That precious baby wasn’t even street legal. Not that that had stopped David.

As he entered a rare straight stretch, Marcus glimpsed movement from the corner of his eye and glanced to his right, expecting to see a deer bounding along or perhaps one of those huge raven-winged vultures swooping past.

His blood turned to ice as his gaze instead fell upon a man. He was perhaps in his late thirties with skin the color of milk chocolate and a haggard face. His shirt was untucked, ragged, the neckline frayed and bloodstained.

He couldn’t have been more than five feet away. And, though Marcus by far exceeded the fifty-five mile per hour speed limit, the man’s weary stroll somehow managed to keep pace.

As if sensing Marcus’s stare, the man turned his head and met his gaze with dark, unfathomable eyes.

Marcus swallowed hard, unable to repress a shiver.

One would think he might be accustomed to this by now: seeing ghosts or spirits or whatever one chose to call them. He had been seeing them ever since he was too young to understand that no one else around him could. Yet it never failed to catch him off guard.

As Étienne often said, the shit was creepy.

Tearing his gaze away, Marcus looked back at the road, then swore when another figure materialized directly in his path. The front of the heavy Hayabusa squirmed as he broke hard and swerved to avoid the second man, who threw out his arm as Marcus drew even with him, plucked him from the back of the bike, spun around, and slammed him back first to the pavement.

Pain crashed through Marcus, beginning in his chest, then radiating outward, so severe it temporarily deafened him ... which some might view as a good thing because right about now his Busa was probably smashing into a tree.

Marcus struggled to breathe, each short, choppy gasp like a knife jamming into his flesh. The momentum with which he had slammed into his attacker’s outstretched arm had broken most of his ribs.

His opponent, on the other hand, showed no sign of pain as he ripped the helmet from Marcus’s head and, eyes glowing gold, snarled, “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kill you here and now.”