Night Reigns

Chapter 8

Ami ground her teeth. Every bump the Tesla hit inspired a new tsunami of pain. “Was that David?” she asked as Marcus ended the call.

“Yes.”

He must have heard her scream. If David had tried to speak to her telepathically, she hadn’t heard him. Her thought receptors tended to get a little hinky when she was in excruciating pain.

Marcus gripped the steering wheel so tightly she expected it to break. Ahead of them a car and four SUVs drove with their bumpers practically touching behind a slow-moving truck. The highway was one lane each way with double yellow lines indicating a no-pass zone. Swerving into the opposite lane, he zipped past the other vehicles and cut back in front of the slow driver just in time to avoid a head-on collision with an oncoming, horn-blowing logging truck carrying a full load.

“I’m sorry I hurt you, Ami,” he said, breaking the silence.

She looked at him in surprise. “What? When?”

“When I jerked the knife out. I could’ve removed it more slowly and—”

“Slower would’ve caused more pain.”

He shook his head. “I just don’t like hurting you.”

“I know,” she assured him. She would’ve reached out and taken his hand, but knew the movement would sting too much.

As though reading her thoughts, Marcus peeled one tense hand off the wheel and covered hers where it rested on her thigh.

They exchanged a look, both were comforted.

Then Marcus refocused his attention on the road.

Ami glanced through the windshield. “This isn’t the way home,” she pointed out. “Where are we going?”

His shoulders tensed.

Not the network, she thought with dismay and a touch of that hated fear. She would rather open the car door and throw herself out of the moving vehicle than face the doctors at the network. No matter Seth’s assurances, she would never trust them.

“Marcus? Where are we going?” she repeated when he remained silent.

Marcus gave her an uneasy look from the corner of his eye and muttered something.

“What?”

He sighed. “Roland’s house.”

“Roland Warbrook?” she demanded, cursing the fact that her voice rose in alarm.

“Yes.”

Oh, no, they weren’t. Not if she could help it. “I’m fine, Marcus. Really. A little bed rest and—”

“Bollocks! That knife probably pierced your kidney.”

It had, but the damage had already begun to heal, something she couldn’t tell him because she didn’t want him to realize she was different and ask what she was. Not because she didn’t trust him. But because she didn’t want him to view her as some kind of freak.

Yes, he was different himself as a result of both his advanced DNA and the virus that infected him. But there were many others like him.

Ami was alone.

Besides, the kidney wound wasn’t the worst of her injuries. Earlier she had balled up her shirt just above the knife wound to prevent Marcus from drawing it up higher and seeing the similar puncture wound just beneath her arm. The vamp who had inflicted it had nicked her aorta and missed skewering her heart by mere centimeters. If her body didn’t heal and regenerate as quickly as it did, she would be dead by now.

And there were other injuries he couldn’t see. Organs badly bruised by punches and kicks backed by preternatural strength. A possible concussion.

Though it wouldn’t kill her, it all hurt like hell. “Seth or David could—”

“Seth is unreachable. David is too far away.”

“Then have him meet us halfway!” She would rather wait and endure the pain than face Roland Warbrook.

Marcus frowned over at her. “Roland is only minutes away. Why don’t you want to see him?”

She gave him a duh look. “Because he’s Roland.”

Marcus rolled his eyes. “He isn’t as bad as everyone says he is.”

“Um ... yes, he is. I was at Seth’s castle in England a couple of times when Seth brought Roland in to talk to Bastien.” A great deal of blood had been spilled. Furniture had been shattered. Stone walls had cracked. Roland had attacked Bastien like a rabid dog both times, doing his best to tear him apart with his bare hands.

“Oh, don’t judge him by that,” Marcus said, unconcerned. “Roland has a legitimate beef with Bastien. Bastien fractured Sarah’s skull and nearly killed her.”

Sarah had been human at the time. She was immortal now and, according to what Ami had heard, had long since forgiven Bastien for hurting her. Though she did hold a bit of a grudge against him for trying to kill Roland several times.

While Ami could understand their lingering anger, it still didn’t make her want to go anywhere near Roland. “Couldn’t we—”

“Too late. We’re here.”

An epithet left her lips before she could stop it.

Marcus laughed and turned onto a dirt and gravel drive that really didn’t warrant the name. So many weeds and saplings choked the entrance that she hadn’t even noticed it, which was probably the way Roland liked it. If no one noticed it, no one would venture down it.

Roland would never be described as a people person.

The poor condition of the road didn’t exactly endear the immortal to her. Marcus couldn’t avoid bumps and dips and potholes when they were all the road offered. A steady stream of sorrys spilled from his lips, accompanied by winces and grimaces and colorful curses. So many that amusement whittled away at Ami’s anxiety.

Halfway down the endless drive they encountered a ten-foot security gate with a small intercom lodged on a short pole in front of it.

Marcus pulled the car up to the speaker and rolled down his window.

“Leave or die,” a deep voice intoned ominously with a British accent.

Marcus sent Ami an apologetic smile and answered, “Roland, it’s me ... Marcus.”

A pause ensued, then ...

“Leave or die,” the voice repeated.

Irritation tightening his features, Marcus opened his mouth to retort.

A female voice, softer, as though distanced from the other end of the intercom, beat him to it. “Ro-land,” she chided in laughing tones. “Let him in.”

Ami assumed that was Sarah, his wife. Sarah had never accompanied Roland on his visits to Bastien, so Ami had never met her.

“No,” Roland responded with no heat whatsoever. “We’re busy.”

“We are not.”

“Yes, we are. We’ve been hunting all night. This is our us time.”

Roland wanted us time?

“Am I going to have to come over there?” Sarah asked, a playful warning in her voice.

“Do you want to come over here?”

Ami blushed at Roland’s heated tone.

Marcus’s patience snapped. “Oh, for shit’s sake! My Second is bleeding to death and you’re talking about sex? Open the gate!”

“Your Second! You brought a mortal to my home? After what happened last time?” Roland sounded furious.

“Okay, first of all,” Marcus gritted, “that was Sarah, and you are the one who brought her home with you.”

“That’s neither here nor there. I—”

“Roland, honey,” Sarah interrupted sweetly, “open the gate. If you don’t, Marcus will just jump it with Ami in his arms. And she doesn’t need the increased pain that will cause her.”

“Who the hell is Ami?” Roland demanded. “Wait.” Pause. “Seth’s Ami?”

“Yes.”

Beside her, Marcus bristled.

“Ami is Marcus’s new Second?” Roland asked doubtfully.

“Yes.”

Marcus leaned out the window and bellowed, “Yes! Mine! As in not Seth’s! Now open the bloody gate!”

Another pause.

“Hmmmm.”

A buzz sounded, and the gate swung open.

Ami was so surprised by Marcus’s possessive declaration that any bumps and jounces that followed on their drive up to the house made little impression.

She didn’t get much of a look at the couple’s home. There were no exterior lights. Immortals didn’t need them. But the Tesla’s headlights briefly illuminated a quaint single-story house with solar panels on the roof and half a dozen hanging baskets overflowing with colorful pansies swaying in the breeze on the front porch.

After killing the engine, Marcus raced around the car to open the passenger door. “See,” he said softly as he leaned in and unfastened her seat belt. “He may be a crotchety old fart on the outside, but deep down he’s a real softie.”

He slid one arm under her knees and, with great caution, the other behind her back.

Ami wrapped her arms around his neck. “What about that conversation should have convinced me that he’s soft?”

“He adores Sarah and will do anything she asks of him.”

Golden light spilled onto the porch as the front door swung open. “You make me sound whipped,” Roland said, his large frame filling the doorway and plunging the porch into near darkness.

“You are,” Marcus informed him. “And couldn’t be happier.”

Ami sucked in a breath when Marcus lifted her.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, brushing his cheek across the top of her hair as she buried her face in his chest. “It’ll all be over soon.” Turning, he scaled the steps and crossed the porch.

Roland—not what one would expect of a crotchety old fart—stepped aside and motioned for them to enter. An inch or so taller than Marcus, he bore the same deep brown eyes and raven hair all gifted ones and immortals boasted. His shoulders, clad in a plain, gray T-shirt, were as broad and muscular as Marcus’s, his hair much shorter. His face, admittedly handsome, remained impassive as he watched them enter.

The interior of the home was bright and cheerful, sparsely furnished and decorated with modern paintings and large flourishing plants.

Ami didn’t know why, but most immortals tended to be minimalists, their homes lacking all of the excess furniture and froufrou items pricey designers tended to cram their masterpiece rooms with on home decorating shows.

“Hi, Marcus,” a woman in the living room called. As petite as Ami, she possessed long brown hair and sparkling hazel eyes. Extremely unusual for a gifted one or immortal.

She approached with a smile, her small feet bare. She wore white, blue, and black-striped pajama bottoms and a white tank top. Her wavy hair was dry at the ends and damp closer to her head.

“Hi, Ami. I’m Sarah. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, too,” Ami responded. Sarah seemed very kind and approachable—the polar opposite of her husband.

“Marcus, put her over here on the sofa where she’ll be more comfortable.”

Marcus lowered Ami onto a comfy dark leather sofa. New tears sprang to her eyes when he scraped the puncture wound under her arm, and she hastily blinked them back, hoping he wouldn’t notice.

Remorse swept across his handsome, though blood-speckled visage. “Roland?”

Marcus’s friend and mentor approached. “What happened?” he asked. “Was my training so lax that you were unable to sneak up on a lowly vampire without his hearing you and calling in reinforcements?”

“Your training,” Marcus drawled, “didn’t allow for the possibility of new Seconds phoning you as you approached the vampires to inform you that the vamps would summon reinforcements if they heard you coming.”

Roland turned a disapproving glare on Ami.

Ami scowled. “It wasn’t me.”

Marcus frowned at Roland. “Not Ami. She’s perfect. The best Second I’ve ever had. I meant Sheldon, Richart’s new Second.”

Sarah groaned and rolled her eyes.

Roland grimaced. “Sheldon is pretty green.”

Ami’s pulse picked up nervously when Roland knelt beside the sofa, far too close for her peace of mind. She damned the fear the monsters had instilled in her when the older immortal hesitated and Marcus moved closer and took her hand.

They must have heard her quickening heartbeat.

Roland’s face and voice softened. “I won’t hurt you, Ami. I’m just going to heal you with my hands. You’ll feel a tingling warmth, then the pain will disappear.”

Surprised by his gentle demeanor, she nodded.

Sarah moved to stand behind the sofa and smiled down at her. “The first time he healed me I thought he was holding a heating pad to my head.”

Marcus smoothed Ami’s hair back from her face. “Turn onto your side, so he can tend the stab wound first.”

Roland would realize there was more than one puncture wound as soon as he touched her. Then Marcus would want to know why she hadn’t mentioned the other and, worse, would discern how much the two wounds he had tended had already shrunk. She needed to get him out of the room.

“Marcus, would you please get me a drink of water?”

When Sarah opened her mouth to offer to fetch it, Ami gave her a quick look.

Marcus didn’t seem to notice, just squeezed her hand and said, “Sure. I’ll be right back.”

“Don’t hurry,” she admonished. “You need your strength to recover from your own wounds.”

He nodded and left the room at mortal speed.

As soon as he was gone, she turned onto her side, drew her shirt up, and yanked down the bandage, revealing both wounds.

Sarah gasped.

Roland muttered a curse and covered the wounds with gentle hands. As Sarah had suggested, heat blossomed as though he instead held a heating pad against her. The agony swiftly eased, then vanished completely as both wounds knitted themselves back together, leaving no sign that they had ever existed other than the dried blood.

Marcus returned with a glass of water as Roland turned his attention to the gash in her hamstring.

“Feeling better?” he asked, kneeling beside Roland and handing her the glass of water.

Ami rolled onto her stomach, giving Roland better access to the back of her thigh, and leaned up enough to sip some water. “Yes.”

Marcus placed a light hand on her back, his eyes on the cut Roland healed.

Relief loosened the knot in Marcus’s shoulders when Roland removed his hand and revealed unblemished flesh.

“Don’t relax yet,” Roland warned. “I’m not finished.”

Brows drawing together, Marcus looked to Ami, who avoided his gaze by drinking more water, then to Roland, whose eyes glowed faintly with anger.

“There’s a lot of bruising, both external and internal,” his friend announced grimly. “Some hemorrhaging, too.” Roland drew the back of Ami’s shirt up almost all the way to her neck.

Fury flooded Marcus. Just like last time, vivid bruises had formed, appearing days old and painting her pale flesh in large, ugly smudges.

Roland began at her shoulders and drew his hands down her narrow back, erasing the fearsome wounds. “Would you please turn onto your back again, Ami?” he asked.

Marcus lifted his hand, let it hover above her as she rolled over, then settled it on her shoulder. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

She nibbled her lower lip. “I didn’t want to worry you.”

“You didn’t want to worry me?” he repeated, voice rising.

“Not any more than you already were,” she confirmed.

“You could have died, Ami!”

“No. It ... it isn’t that bad,” she protested and looked to Roland.

“Yes, it is,” he corrected her.

Her lips tightened in annoyance as she narrowed her eyes.

Roland drew her shirt up to just beneath her breasts.

Her stomach was as black and blue and—in some places—puffy as her back. Marcus wondered if she might suffer some illness that made bruises form so quickly. Seth hadn’t seemed concerned about it, but ... it didn’t seem right. Normal.

Roland flattened his palms on her stomach.

Ami flinched.

His anger draining away, Marcus shifted, sat on the floor, and leaned in close to settle his chin on the cushion, inches away from her ear. He curled one arm around her head, playing with her hair, and stroked the other up and down her bloodstained arm.

She turned her head, her nose nearly brushing his.

“A little bed rest?” he murmured, repeating her earlier claim that that was all she needed.

She raised her forearm and brushed the back of her hand against his shoulder. “If I’m too much trouble, you’ll want to be rid of me.”

“Don’t count on it. I’m afraid you’re stuck with me.” Two weeks with her and he wasn’t sure what he’d do without her. Didn’t want to know what he’d do without her. Her companionship. Her laughter and teasing. Her incredible fighting skills, always at the ready when he needed her.

A stray thought occurred. “How did you know I was in trouble?” She had shown up at precisely the right moment, when vampires were converging on him from all sides, and she had done the same thing a week earlier.

Marcus didn’t believe in coincidences.

“I had a copy of the map Reordon sent you, knew the garages you would be checking and the route you would take.”

“And, what, followed me on a hunch?”

“Perhaps she thought you needed a babysitter,” Roland drawled, his voice strained.

Marcus hadn’t asked Roland if he had suffered any wounds himself that night. If he had and had not yet recovered, the wounds he healed on Ami would open on his own flesh as his energy faltered.

Guilt stilled Marcus’s tongue and prevented him from dealing Roland a scathing retort.

“Don’t hit me,” Roland said.

Still fondling Ami’s hair, Marcus raised an eyebrow. “For suggesting I need a sitter?”

“No, for this. I do it with good intentions.” He looked up at Sarah. “Don’t you hit me either, wife.”

Her eyebrows rose.

Appearing genuinely wary, Roland raised Ami’s shirt above her full breasts, scarcely concealed beneath a tan bra.

Face flushing a deep red, Ami hastily tried to tug her shirt down again.

Marcus reached over to stay her. Severe bruising covered most of her chest around and beneath her heart, indicating significant internal bleeding.

Had she come so close to death then? Had her heart been damaged? How had she continued to remain upright? To fight? What had happened to her in the past that would allow her to endure such wounds so placidly?

“Let him heal you,” he entreated softly.

She stilled.

Sarah shifted restively behind the sofa. “Roland, do you need to feed first?”

“No. I’m fine, love.”

Though she clearly doubted his words, Sarah offered no further protest as he rested a palm over Ami’s heart.

Marcus suppressed the urge to coldcock his friend. He wanted no one’s hands on Ami’s breasts but his own. And his hands had never even touched Ami’s breasts. Except in his fantasies.

The horrible bruising on her chest began to fade and shrink, leaving healthy, alabaster skin behind. When Roland removed his hand, her body was once more perfect in every way.

“Thank you, Roland,” Marcus said, offering him his arm.

Roland grasped it with a weary smile. “Anytime, my friend.”

Sarah circled the sofa and took Roland’s other arm. “Let’s go get some blood in you.”

Roland nodded. As he rose, he staggered a little. Marcus held on to his arm until he regained his balance.

Ami sat up and pulled her shirt down. “Thank you, Roland.”

Looking exceedingly uncomfortable, Roland said, “You’re welcome?” He looked to Sarah, who smiled and nodded. “Yes,” he said more firmly. “You’re welcome.”

Marcus laughed and met Ami’s gaze. “I did tell you he’s antisocial, right?”

Roland cuffed him on the side of the head, then swore as he listed to the side.

Sarah wrapped her arm around his waist to steady him and drew him away toward the kitchen. “Marcus,” she tossed over her shoulder, “would you like me to bring you some blood?”

“Yes, please.” He could use a bag or two.

As soon as Sarah and Roland entered the kitchen and left his sight, Marcus leaned forward and drew Ami into his arms. Ami wrapped hers around his neck and rested her head on his shoulder.

“You’re right,” she said, her warm breath tickling his neck. “He’s not that bad.”

“I heard that,” Roland called from the kitchen.

They both laughed.

Marcus closed his eyes and sighed, rubbing his cheek against her hair.

“Are you okay?” she asked hesitantly.

“You scared me,” he admitted. “And infuriated me.” She should have told him the extent of her injuries.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t intend to.”

“Your safety is more important than mine, Ami.”

“Not according to the network’s handbook.”

“Bugger the network’s handbook. You’re my Second, and I’m telling you that your safety comes first.”

Her arms loosened as she drew back and looked him in the eye. “Marcus, I’m not the first Second you’ve had. You know what my job entails and—”

Leaning forward, he sealed her lips with his own, silencing the protest she would have made.

You’re the one who is saving the world, saving humanity. You’re the one who must be protected at all costs. He’d heard it too many times from previous Seconds. He wouldn’t listen to it from Ami. He wouldn’t lose her to violence as he had so many others.

He wouldn’t lose her. Period.

Though Ami had lost a lot of blood, what remained rushed through her veins at top speed as Marcus’s mouth closed over hers. He caught her lower lip between his teeth, drew his tongue across it in a slow, sensuous stroke, then begged entrance. Ami granted it gladly.

How could he taste and smell so good after a long night hunting? She heard his breath catch, felt his hands fist in her shirt. His hips parted her knees as he rose onto his own and almost roughly pulled her forward until her bottom met the edge of the leather cushion. His arms tightened, pressing her breasts to his chest, her stomach to his, her core flush against the erection straining against the front of his cargo pants.

Ami hummed her approval and tunneled her fingers through his soft hair, dislodging it from the ponytail he had tamed it into before hunting. So many new feelings assaulted her. Foreign sensations she knew instinctively comprised lust, desire, need.

Marcus answered with a groan, slid his hands down to cup her bottom and hold her still as he ground against her.

Ami gasped as fire shot through her. She clutched him tight as his lips burned a path down her neck.

So good. Once more she understood why such contact had always been forbidden her in the past. She couldn’t seem to get close enough, wanted to feel his warm bare skin against hers.

She curled her legs around his hips, urging him on as he moved against her.

Marcus growled his approval and slid one hand up to cup the side of her neck. His breath warmed the skin just beneath her ear as he nipped the lobe, careful not to break the skin with his sharp fangs.

A shiver tingled through her. She couldn’t think, couldn’t concentrate on anything but the amazing way he made her feel.

His mouth returned to hers, devouring hungrily.

She liked this. His hard body pressed to hers. The sharp spikes of pleasure that darted through her with every roll of his hips against her, every caress of his wicked, wicked tongue.

“No,” Marcus murmured against her lips so softly she almost didn’t hear him.

Her hands stilled. Had she accidentally pulled his hair?

“Shut it,” he whispered.

Frowning, she drew back.

Inches away, Marcus sighed. When his lids lifted, his amber eyes glowed brightly.

“Did I do something wrong?” she asked, unsure.

“No.” His husky voice was rife with irritation. “Roland is being a pain in the arse.”

Ami looked toward the kitchen, half afraid the surly immortal would be standing there watching them. He wasn’t, but ... She met Marcus’s gaze. “He can hear us, can’t he?”

“Yes,” Roland said in the kitchen. Thump. “Ow! What was that for?”

“Don’t embarrass her,” Sarah hissed.

Marcus dropped his head forward.

Ami touched his silky hair, brushed it back from his forehead.

He raised his chin. His lips began to tilt up in a weary smile, but froze as something drew his gaze beyond her. Starting, he reared back and reached for one of his few remaining shuriken.

Heart in her throat, Ami swung around to look over her shoulder.

The room behind her was empty.

As she turned back to Marcus, he relaxed with a light curse.

“What—”

He shook his head and mouthed, Later.

Ami nodded, knowing he couldn’t tell her now if he didn’t want Roland or Sarah to hear him.

Marcus leaned forward, pressed a light kiss to her lips, then rose and sat beside her on the sofa. “How do you feel?” he asked.

She leaned into his side. “Light-headed.” And tingly. And hungry, but not for food.

His brow furrowed as he wrapped a heavy arm around her shoulders. “From the blood loss?”

Biting her lower lip, she smiled and shook her head.

Grinning, he whispered, “I’m feeling a little light-headed myself.”

Roland and Sarah entered.

Roland looked strong again and was rubbing ribs Ami suspected Sarah had elbowed hard.

Sarah carried two bags of blood, which she offered to Marcus.

“Thank you.” Taking them, he bit down on one and quickly drained it.

“Would you two like to join us for dinner?” Sarah asked.

“You’re welcome to stay the day as well.”

Ami turned to Marcus. After what had just passed between them, she was sort of anxious to be alone with him.

Marcus set the first empty bag down on an end table. “No, thank you.” He held Ami’s gaze, seeming to gage her response.

Surreptitiously, she lowered one eyelid in a wink, then wondered at her boldness. She had never winked at a man in her life.

His lips twitched as he turned back to Roland and Sarah. “We need to talk, though, before we go.”

Roland sank into a large armchair and drew Sarah down on his lap.

It really was odd to see an immortal so many had disparaged as being cold, antisocial, and sometimes downright sadistic behave so lovingly toward his wife.

“What’s up?” Roland asked, looking as though he would be perfectly content to spend the rest of his existence just as he was: sprawled in his favorite chair with Sarah on his lap, absently combing her fingers through his hair.

Marcus drained the second bag, then filled the duo in on the night’s events.

Roland stiffened. “I’m not surprised he knew my name. Bastien was very vocal in his intent to destroy me. But how the hell did he know about Sarah? Even Bastien didn’t know who she was until just before our final confrontation.”

Marcus shrugged. “Word must have gotten out. Clearly one of Bastien’s vamps spent his spare time chatting with outsiders who had no interest in bowing to a leader.”

“Well, they’re bowing now,” he grumbled.

Sarah nodded. “All of them by the looks of it. We must have taken out ten or twelve tonight.”

Marcus nodded. “I took out eight before the last stop.” He looked at Ami. “Any idea how many we fought together?”

She performed a rapid replay in her mind. “About a dozen, not counting Roy.”

Roland scowled. “I’ll see if Roy is all he claims to be tomorrow.”

“No, you won’t,” Marcus protested. “He thinks I’m you.”

Ami nodded. “And that I’m Sarah. If you show up in our stead, he’ll bolt.”

“If he’s telling the truth,” Sarah added.

Marcus turned to Ami. “What do you mean, in our stead? You’re not going.”

“Yes, I am.”

“No, you’re not. You’ve lost a lot of blood and need time to recuperate.”

“I’m fine. Besides, how exactly do you intend to stop me? I know where and when the meeting will take place.”

He opened his mouth to prolong the argument, but Roland spoke first.

“So, what’s the plan? You’re just going to waltz up to the lair by yourself ?”

“By ourselves,” Ami corrected him.

Sarah grinned.

“No,” Marcus said. “I’m going to bring him Bastien, and see what happens.”

That pronouncement went over about as well as an all-vegan buffet at a Cattlemen’s Association dinner.

Sarah clamped her lips together and eyed Roland warily as though she thought he might explode.

“First of all,” he began.

“Roland ...” she cautioned.

“The last person I would trust to guard my back during a vampire ambush would be Sebastien Newcombe.”

Now Ami stiffened. “He won’t have to. I will be guarding Marcus’s back.” When Marcus opened his mouth, she glared at him. “I will be guarding your back, so get over it.”

“Second,” Roland went on, unconcerned by their squabble, “I’m assuming you haven’t heard what happened tonight.”

“We have been a little busy,” Marcus reminded him dryly.

“What happened?” Ami asked, worried by the uncertainty that clouded Sarah’s gaze.

“Bastien broke into network headquarters, assaulted several dozen guards, and executed one of the vamps in his apartment.”

Ami’s breath left her in a rush. “What?”

“Son of a bitch!” Marcus exclaimed.

“I don’t believe it,” Ami protested. Bastien wouldn’t do that.

Sarah nodded sadly. “It’s true.”

“Chris Reordon and a hell of a lot of others are again calling for his execution,” Roland added. “I don’t know how he managed it, but Chris took the bastard into custody and weighed him down with chains. Seth is with them now.”

“No wonder Seth didn’t answer when I called,” Marcus murmured.

“He isn’t going to do it, is he?” Ami asked. “Execute him, I mean.”

“I hope so,” Roland said, smiling with such malice Ami shivered.

Sarah frowned. “Roland, don’t be like that. You know things aren’t always as they seem.”

“Most of the time they are,” he countered, clinging tenaciously to his grudge.

“You aren’t as you seem,” Sarah pointed out.

Marcus snorted and quipped, “Most of the time he is.” Tightening his arm around Ami, he drew her closer.

Warmed by the contact, she smiled up at him ... and caught him glancing surreptitiously at something behind her.

While Roland cast aspersions on Marcus’s character, Ami subtly looked in the same direction and saw nothing.

Roland and Marcus began to argue strategy while Sarah ran interference. Ami said little, content to let the others hash out the particulars. She already knew what her role would be ... whether they liked it or not.

Bastien’s lair was a large, open field in which a farmhouse used to reside. The farmhouse itself had been unremarkable. Beneath it, however, had been a series of tunnels that had served as the sleeping quarters for Bastien and the hundred or so vampires he had recruited to aid him in destroying Roland and bringing down the Immortal Guardians one at a time.

After Bastien’s defeat, the farmhouse had been burned to the ground and the tunnels packed with debris, dirt, gravel, and sand.

With no trees to block the light of the moon or to stifle the swing of her katanas, Ami should be able to kick ass again.

As talk continued to flow around her, fatigue set in.

Several times, Ami saw Marcus glance to the side as unobtrusively as possible. Roland and Sarah didn’t seem to notice. Ami probably wouldn’t have either if she hadn’t been looking for it and if he didn’t rub his hand up and down her arm each time he did as though needing the contact.

Uneasiness returned with a vengeance as an explanation finally occurred to her.

Was he seeing a ghost?

Gooseflesh broke out on her arms at the thought.

Was someone the rest of them couldn’t see standing right there in the room with them? Watching them? Listening to them?

Though distracted, Ami heard the others come to an agreement. Marcus and Ami would meet Roy as arranged at Bastien’s lair (she had never doubted that much), and Roland would join them and pose as Bastien.

Other than the short hair, Roland did bear a striking resemblance to his nemesis, something she didn’t think he appreciated his wife’s mentioning.

Sarah, after some coaxing, agreed to perform her usual nightly patrols rather than accompany them. This could, after all, merely be a diversion meant to distract the immortals, luring as many as possible to one location, so whatever remained of the new vampire army could sweep through North Carolina’s cities and towns and recruit enough victims to rebuild their numbers without having to look over their shoulders.

Richart and the other immortals in the area would be put on alert. If Roy’s invitation turned into the ambush everyone feared, Richart could then teleport in every able immortal in the state and, if necessary, their Seconds.

That should suffice.

Or so they hoped.