Phantom Shadows

Chapter 2

“Stop beating yourself up,” a male voice said.

It sounded familiar to Bastien, but he couldn’t quite place it, muffled as it was. It felt as though someone had stuffed cotton in his ears.

“I can’t help it,” a woman responded. “I’m failing . . . everyone.”

That voice was one he would always be able to identify. Dr. Melanie Lipton’s warm tones wrapped around him like a soothing blanket and eased the pounding in his head. They also tempted him into cracking open his eyelids.

Bright light pierced his eyes, driving him to squeeze his lids closed again.

What the hell?

“You aren’t failing anyone,” the male insisted. “Look how much you’ve helped me and Joe.”

Dr. Lipton answered with a sad laugh. “Yeah, I’ve really helped you.”

Bastien didn’t like the defeat that colored her voice. Melanie was the strongest, bravest human in the network. The only human gutsy enough to work with the vampires on a daily basis.

“You have,” the male insisted. Cliff. One of the young vampires who had followed him when Bastien had led the uprising against Roland and the other immortals. “I haven’t had a single episode since you started administering the drug.”

“You said it makes you feel sluggish.”

“Hey, sluggish is better than murderous. I’m not hurting people. That’s exactly what I hoped for when I came here.”

“I didn’t even create the drug,” Melanie despaired. “I just watered down the one our enemies developed.”

“And you’re the only one around here who thought to try it.”

“I’m sure someone else would have eventually.”

Cliff snorted. “I’m not.”

“Joe doesn’t like it. I had to give him enough to make him sleep before we brought Bastien in here.”

“I heard.”

“The virus seems to be progressing more rapidly in him. He was turned eight months after you were and you aren’t exhibiting nearly as much hostility as he is.”

Cliff swore.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“No, it’s . . . Knowing I’m not as bad off as he is, that I may not lose it as quickly as he is or as quickly as Vince did . . . It’s a relief, you know? But I feel guilty as hell saying it.”

“You shouldn’t. It’s completely understandable and Joe wouldn’t hold it against you. I’m sure he would feel the same way.”

Silence fell, heavy with despair.

Melanie sighed. “How are the—”

“Shh.”

“What—?”

“Shhhh.”

Bastien strained to hear whatever Cliff heard, but his ears still felt funny.

“Reordon’s leaving. He went ahead and scheduled the meeting.”

“When is it?”

“In an hour. Bastien’s going to be pissed.”

“Well, there’s nothing I can do about it. I tried to talk Mr. Reordon into delaying it and—”

“You could try the antidote.”

“No. I can’t. Not without knowing all of the possible repercussions. And it may not even be an antidote.”

“You won’t know the repercussions until you try it on someone. Try it on me.”

“Absolutely not. It could kill you, Cliff. Or trigger a psychotic break. One tranquilizer dart drops you—and any other vampire—like a stone. Yet it takes several to sedate an immortal. When I found a stimulant that looked like it might work, I had to multiply its strength exponentially. Any human injected with it would die instantly. It could kill the immortals, too. I don’t know what it would do to a vampire or how it might affect your fragile mental state.”

Bastien tried to open his eyes again. Knifelike pains pierced his cranium, eliciting a groan.

“Bastien?” Melanie queried.

A chain rattled.

“Too bright,” he muttered through clenched teeth.

He heard small, sneaker-clad feet cross the room. The lights dimmed.

Sighing, he cautiously opened his eyes.

Melanie moved to stand beside his bed or cot or whatever the hell uncomfortable surface supported him. Beneath a white lab coat, she wore a baby blue University of North Carolina Tar Heels T-shirt that hugged bountiful breasts and jeans that molded themselves to full hips and shapely thighs. Her chestnut hair was pulled back into a ponytail that made her look like a college student.

“How do you feel?” she asked.

“Like someone dropped an anvil on my head.”

Pretty brow furrowed, she touched his wrist to gauge his pulse and glanced over at the clock on the wall.

Her emotions flowed into him, courtesy of the gift with which Bastien had been born. So much concern. He wasn’t worth it. But he devoured the sweetness of it like a piece of German chocolate pie after a long, long fast.

Relief replaced some of her concern. “Your pulse is strong.”

And running faster than usual thanks to her nearness and her gentle touch.

Her eyes met his. Something skittered through her. He felt it, but wasn’t sure . . .

Was it excitement or nervousness?

It must be the latter. Not that he could blame her. The first time he had met her, he had decapitated a man in front of her. They had met and spoken many times since, but how could she forget such a first impression?

Releasing his wrist, she turned and walked away. “Let me get you some more blood and a cold pack for your head.”

She was through the door before he could tell her not to bother.

“Man,” Cliff said when the heavy door closed behind her, “you had us worried there for a minute.”

Bastien tugged his gaze away from the door and sought the vampire.

Cliff stood a few feet away, a manacle around one ankle. The chain attached to it was titanium and as big around as Bastien’s forearm, keeping the young vampire from straying more than a couple of yards away from the wall behind him.

“What the hell?” When Bastien sat up, invisible sledgehammers assaulted his brain. He pressed the heel of one hand to his forehead and held his breath until the pain eased.

The slender young man shook his head and reached up to twist one of the short dreadlocks he had recently begun to grow. “It isn’t what you—”

The door opened as Dr. Lipton returned. Bastien saw several heavily armed guards posted outside the room before she closed it again.

“Who’s brilliant idea was this?” he demanded and motioned to his shackled friend. “Why are we in the holding room?”

Melanie paused. “Actually, it was my idea.”

He frowned. “Oh.” Damned if his mind didn’t go blank.

Thankfully, Cliff jumped in. “That Reordon prick ordered the guards to lock you up in here, but Dr. Lipton wouldn’t let them and made them take you to the infirmary instead.”

That must have gone over well.

Melanie shrugged apologetically. A blood bag in one hand and an icy gel pack in the other, she approached the gurney upon which he sat. (No wonder it was so damned uncomfortable.)

“When I heard what had happened,” Cliff continued, “I wanted to go see how you were doing, but Reordon said hell no and—long story short—Dr. Lipton argued with him until they reached this compromise.”

“It was the best I could do,” she admitted.

Bastien took the blood and waved away the cold pack. “Thank you. I’m surprised Reordon didn’t chain me up, too.”

“He wanted to. But I needed to remove the bullets and clean your wounds. They weren’t healing properly because of the drug. And Richart wouldn’t hear of it.”

Bastien paused. “Richart protested?” He had taken for granted that the Frenchman loathed him as much as all of the other immortals did, and Richart really hadn’t done anything to make him think otherwise.

She nodded. “He was actually quite emphatic in his defense of you. Mr. Reordon wouldn’t let the fact that you had supposedly killed several humans drop until Richart pretty much made him drop it.”

Bastien grunted. “I didn’t supposedly kill them. I did kill them. At least, I assume I did. Isn’t the drug strong enough to kill a human?”

“Yes,” she confirmed.

A tinny version of Nine Inch Nails’ “The Perfect Drug” filled the air.

It wasn’t until Bastien reached for his back pocket that he realized the hunting clothes he wore were not his own.

Melanie fumbled with a pocket of her lab coat and withdrew his cell phone. “Your clothes were ruined. Richart loaned you those.”

Okay. This was just bizarre. Why was Richart suddenly doing him so many favors?

Bastien couldn’t remember the last time anyone other than Ami or Melanie had done something nice for him with no strings attached. So, what was Richart’s game? What did he want?

Bastien’s fingers brushed Melanie’s when she handed him the phone. His heart skipped a beat at the brief contact. “Yeah?” he answered.

“It’s Tanner.”

Bastien hadn’t seen Tanner Long since the Immortal Guardians had ended Bastien’s uprising. Tanner had been one of the humans who had aided him. The human, he should say. Tanner had been Bastien’s go-to guy. He had been invaluable, the equivalent of an immortal’s Second.

And Tanner had been a friend.

Bastien had not had a friend in a very long time. Which was why he had kept his distance from Tanner ever since the Immortal Guardians had taken both into custody. Tanner was being groomed to become a Second, or personal assistant, to an immortal. If Tanner displayed any friendliness or sympathy toward Bastien, the other Seconds and members of the network would ostracize him. He didn’t deserve that. Not after all he had been through.

“You there?” Tanner’s voice came over the line again.

“Yeah. Just . . . surprised to hear from you.”

“Changing your number and not giving me the new one will do that, asshole, but we’ll discuss that later.”

“How did you get this number?”

“Ami. Now shut up and listen. According to the Seconds’ rumor mill, Reordon has called a meeting. It starts in less than an hour at David’s place. And I know damned well he scheduled it for then, believing you would be unable to attend. I think he’s going to condemn you for taking out the humans and, since Seth has thus far rejected every call for your execution, will push for your permanent removal from the Immortal Guardians’ ranks.”

Hmm. Would that be such a bad thing? Hadn’t Bastien decided just a few weeks earlier that something would have to change? That the whole Immortal Guardian thing wasn’t working out for him? Maybe it was time for him to move on and. . .

Well, he didn’t know what. For the first couple hundred years or so of his immortal existence, he had been driven to seek revenge for his sister’s murder. Once he had found his quarry, he had spent another two decades or so planning that revenge and raising his vampire army.

“Don’t let him do it, man,” Cliff said, his exceptional hearing allowing him to listen to the phone conversation.

“Don’t let him do what?” Bastien asked.

“Don’t let Reordon get you kicked out of the Immortal Guardians. You’re the only one of them who gives a damn about us—about vampires. Without you fighting for us . . . what hope do we have?”

Hell.

Bastien met Melanie’s gaze, saw the pleading in it.

“Don’t let Mr. Reordon’s prejudice keep you from taking your rightful place among the Immortal Guardians,” she pleaded. “The immortals need you more than they think they do. Cliff and Joe need you, too.”

Again: Hell.

Bastien sighed. “All right,” he told Tanner. “Thanks for the heads-up. I’m on my way.”

“Good.”

“It’ll take me a while because I’m on foot, but—”

“I’ll drive you,” Melanie interrupted.

“No,” Bastien countered. “No, thank you,” he amended. She had already come to his defense once by keeping Reordon from chaining him up. The last thing he wanted was for her to be associated with him even more. Too much unpleasantness would be directed her way.

“Yes,” she retorted, raising her chin stubbornly. “I’m your doctor. You just regained consciousness and need to be monitored for the next few hours as the drug continues to wear off. You aren’t going anywhere without me.”

“He may not be going anywhere anyway,” Cliff mentioned. “How is he going to leave the building? I doubt Reordon gave his men orders to let Bastien go.”

Melanie frowned.

“Don’t worry about that,” Tanner said. “I’ll take care of it.”

Before Bastien could ask him what he meant, he hung up.

Melanie bit her lip as Bastien lowered his phone and ended the call. “If you’re thinking of fighting your way out, you may want to reconsider.”

Fighting his way in the night they had met had resulted in him being wrapped like a mummy in chains. She didn’t want to see that happen again.

Bastien frowned. “Tanner said I wouldn’t have to, but I don’t see how—”

A clunk sounded as the door unlocked, then opened, pushed by Todd.

The soldier did not look happy. “I just got a call from David.”

The elder immortal was warm and friendly, treating all immortals and members of the network like family, yet—at the same time—was nearly as powerful and formidable as Seth.

Todd looked at Bastien. “You’re free to leave whenever you want to.”

Bastien met Melanie’s gaze for a moment, then eyed Todd suspiciously as if he were trying to discern if this were some sort of trick. “I am?”

Todd nodded and opened the door wide. “Mr. Reordon won’t be happy about it, but . . .”

No one gainsays David, went unspoken.

Bastien shrugged. “So be it.”

Melanie headed for the door. “I’ll just get my keys, then we can go.”

Todd scowled as she approached. “You’re not going with him, are you?”

“She has to,” Cliff blurted before Melanie or Bastien could say anything. “Bastien’s still groggy from the drug.”

Was he trying to convince Todd or Bastien, who still looked as though he wanted to protest? Melanie knew Cliff worried about his former leader.

“I’ll have one of my men take him wherever he wants to go,” Todd said. As Melanie passed him in the doorway, he added in a lower voice, “You shouldn’t be alone with him, Dr. Lipton. It isn’t safe.”

Melanie glanced back in time to see Bastien’s eyes flare bright amber with fury. When he opened his mouth to speak, she hurried to prevent it. “He needs to be monitored. We’re still learning about this drug and its effects on immortals. I need to continue measuring his recovery time and keep an eye out for lingering side effects.”

Though both Bastien and Todd frowned, neither—she was pleased to see—could find fault with her explanation.

Cliff sent her a big grin.

What are you doing, Lanie? she asked herself as she crossed the hall to her office.

What I have to.

No, you aren’t. David is a healer. He can tell you anything you need to know about Bastien’s recovery. So could Roland, though getting that one to cooperate would pretty much be impossible.

It wasn’t really about Bastien’s recovery anyway. Yes, she would like to continue monitoring him and see how long the weakness lingered. Any little thing she could learn about this drug without having to inflict it upon test subjects—namely the vampires—would help her in her attempts to combat it. But, as that little voice in her head had pointed out, David or Roland could observe Bastien for her.

Removing her lab coat, she donned the turtleneck she had discarded earlier and topped it with a sweater.

No, it wasn’t about his recovery. It was . . .

She liked Bastien, damn it. She had liked him long before she had ever met him just from the things the vampires had told her about him. He may play the black sheep and be hated by his immortal brethren for past misdeeds, but he seemed to be an honorable man. A compassionate man. He wasn’t the monster Chris Reordon and some of the others thought him. He just wanted to help people. Help the vampires. End the suffering of men he had considered his brothers for two centuries.

Was that so wrong?

Locating her purse, she picked it up and drew her keys from an outer pocket.

Someone needed to stand up for him. Defend him. And, though it may sound ludicrous that a man of his strength and power would need her, she intended to be that someone. She had more insight into his character than anyone.

Except, perhaps, for Ami. Bastien seemed to have a real soft spot for Amiriska.

Melanie frowned as she wondered just how soft a soft spot that was.

She headed back across the hallway.

Todd crossed his arms over his chest as Melanie approached him. “Maybe Dr. Whetsman should accompany him instead.”

She raised one eyebrow. “Dr. Whetsman? Really?”

Todd grimaced and stepped aside. “Yeah, you’re right.”

Melanie entered the room and found Bastien standing beside the gurney. When he wavered, Cliff reached out and took his shoulder to steady him.

“Ready?” she asked.

Bastien nodded once, then gripped Cliff ’s arm to keep his balance.

Todd strode over to the desk, grabbed a pen and a Post-it pad, and leaned down to scribble something on it. Peeling off the top note, he turned and handed it to Melanie.

Three telephone numbers had been scrawled across it.

“The first number is Seth’s. The second is Richart’s. The third is mine. If anything should happen”—his gaze slid to Bastien and back—“call them in that order. Seth can teleport directly to you. If you can’t reach him, Richart can probably teleport to your general area and find you. If he can’t be reached, call me and I’ll track your GPS signal and bring a small army of men.”

Bastien raised one eyebrow. “A small army of men couldn’t stop me last night.”

Melanie sighed. Why did Bastien have to antagonize everyone every chance he could get?

Todd huffed a laugh. “Did you or did you not have to be carried in here?”

Melanie hoped that would end the exchange.

It didn’t. True to form, Bastien spoke in a taunting voice. “Not before I killed every human that was gunning for me.”

Todd’s jaw tightened.

“Enough,” Melanie said, throwing up her hands. “If you two want to continue duking it out verbally later, then feel free. Right now we need to get going. Bastien has someplace he needs to be.” She turned a stern look on Bastien. “Don’t you?”

Some of the tension in his face eased as the corners of his lips twitched. “I suppose I do.” He glanced at Cliff, then down at the manacle around Cliff ’s ankle. “What about Cliff?”

“Todd, would you please release Cliff and escort him back to his apartment?”

The soldier nodded, his countenance relaxing. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Thank you.” Melanie looked to Bastien. “Shall we?”

She noticed he didn’t nod this time and wondered how bad the lingering headache and dizziness were.

Bastien clasped Cliff ’s arm and pulled him into a man hug. “Thanks for watching over me.”

“Any time, man. You’ve been doing the same for me for years.”

Bastien strolled over to the door, bumping Todd hard with his shoulder as he passed.

Melanie shook her head and followed him out of the room. She was beginning to suspect Bastien would have had a hard time fitting in with the immortals even if he hadn’t killed one of their own and injured dozens of their human assistants at the network.

In the hallway, the guards’ close scrutiny unnerved her.

Bastien seemed utterly unaffected by it. He also exhibited none of the weakness he had demonstrated in the holding room. Not until they were alone inside the elevator with the doors closed, traveling upward.

Staggering, he threw out a hand and leaned against the wall.

Melanie grabbed his other arm to steady him.

He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them and looked down at her. “You’re irritated.”

She shrugged. “You don’t exactly make it easy for them to like you.”

“I don’t care if they like me.”

“Don’t you?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Why should I? They judged me and condemned me before they even knew me.”

“Well, you have to admit your past is a little . . . dark.”

He emitted a humorless laugh. “And my present isn’t?”

Melanie didn’t know what to say to that.

When the elevator pinged, letting them know the five-story climb to the ground floor was over, Bastien straightened. Melanie’s pulse jumped when he removed her hand from his arm and gave it a squeeze before releasing her.

The doors opened.

Melanie swallowed.

John Wendleck, head of security at the network, waited for them in the lobby with at least two dozen men. “Dr. Lipton,” he said with a nod of his head.

“Hi, John.” She had known him ever since she had come to work for the network right out of medical school and had tried numerous times to coax him into calling her Melanie or Lanie. But he insisted on calling her by her title, telling her merrily that she had earned it.

Well, he wasn’t merry now. He was all business.

Melanie stepped off the elevator, Bastien beside her.

Before Bastien could muscle his way through the guards or do something else to rile them, she asked, “Did Todd by any chance call you?”

“He did. These men”—he motioned to the soldiers standing at attention behind him, fingers on the triggers of their automatic weapons—“are going to accompany you wherever you choose to take Mr. Newcombe.”

Not a good idea. Bastien was bound to say or do something to set them off and she really didn’t want to end up digging more bullets out of him.

“I’mmmmm pretty sure my Chevy Volt won’t hold this many,” she commented.

Beside her, Bastien laughed. It was the first time she had heard him do so, the deep rumble warming her insides like hot cocoa.

John’s lips twitched. “I’m sure it won’t,” he agreed. “Two men will ride with you. The others will follow in separate vehicles.”

“That really isn’t necessary—”

“I believe it is. You’re an important member of our family.” Chris worked hard to make the network feel like a family. “We just want to make sure nothing happens to you.” His eyes shot Bastien a warning.

Bastien stiffened. “I didn’t harm her when I breeched the network. What reason would I have for harming her now?”

“You threatened her life and forced her to allow you access to Vincent.”

Guilt rose up inside Melanie, souring her stomach. Bastien had done no such thing, but had told Chris he had when interrogated. To protect her. Melanie had freely and willingly aided Bastien in seeing Vince that last time. But Bastien had feared she would lose her job and all credibility if she admitted as much.

“That was then. This is now,” Bastien gritted.

“I have no way of knowing what motivates you from one moment to the next,” John spoke evenly. “If you mean her no harm, you shouldn’t object to the added security.”

Melanie could have sworn she actually heard Bastien’s teeth grind together.

“So be it,” he said again and headed for the back doors.

The tension in her Chevy as they left the network was about a twenty-one on a scale of one to ten. Bastien sat beside Melanie in the passenger seat, large and powerful even when not in motion. Two soldiers sat in the backseat, automatic weapons in hand.

“I’m going to have to ask you to take your fingers off the triggers, gentlemen,” Bastien said after several long minutes, his gaze on the darkened scenery that zipped past outside his window. “There are a lot of bumps in North Carolina’s roads that could precipitate an accidental discharge.”

In the rearview mirror, Lanie saw the men exchange smug glances.

“If it happens, it happens,” one drawled.

Bastien continued to stare out the window. “If you should accidentally shoot me, I’ll merely break your arms and all of your fingers to prevent such stupidity from happening a second time,” he said blandly. “But if you accidentally shoot Dr. Lipton, I’ll rip your throats out so swiftly you’ll bleed to death before the men in the vehicles behind us even realize something has gone wrong. Just something for you to consider.”

Again the men exchanged a look, this one neither smug nor confident. Both shifted, removing their fingers from the triggers she assumed.

“A wise decision,” Bastien commented.

Thanks to an unusual amount of traffic on the road, they were late arriving at David’s sprawling one-story estate.

Bastien opened and exited his door before Melanie could remove the key from the ignition. Grabbing her purse, she reached for the door handle only to have it slide from her grasp as Bastien opened the door for her.

He held out a hand.

Surprised, she took it and exited the car. “Thank you.” Her pulse picked up, doing jumping jacks as though she were a girl out on her first date.

Nodding, he released her hand and eyed the soldiers clambering out of the back. “Your services are no longer needed. A number of immortals and their Seconds are inside. I’m sure they can keep my violent impulses in check.”

“Our orders are to stay close until Dr. Lipton leaves your company,” one said, then met Melanie’s exasperated gaze. “We’ll be out here if you need us.”

She doubted they would listen if she tried to send them on their way, so she nodded and headed for David’s front door.

David maintained an open-door policy in all of his residences. Anyone with the access code—human, gifted one, or immortal—was welcome to enter and make him- or herself at home no matter the hour.

Bastien guided Melanie up to the front door with a hand on the small of her back. If anyone asked, he would say he did so to provoke the soldiers currently glaring holes in him. But he really just wanted to touch her again.

When he had taken her hand and helped her from the vehicle . . . the emotions that had flooded him where they had touched had taken his breath away. Excitement. Attraction. A touch of shyness. All of the things he felt himself when he looked at her. At Melanie.

He only allowed himself to speak her first name in his thoughts, hoping verbal formality would help him remember to keep his distance.

Bastien punched the code into the electronic keypad beside the door.

The high-tech security system wasn’t for David’s benefit. The second eldest immortal in existence was incredibly powerful. He could hear the approach of even the quietest vampires long before they reached his door and dispatch them if necessary. The Seconds and human employees of the network, however, could not. Nor could younger immortals. Not to the extent that David could. And David wished to keep those he considered family safe.

Melanie entered the house before Bastien, her scent enchanting him. She didn’t wear perfume. No doubt her close work with the vampires had taught her that any strong fragrance—no matter how sweet—could offend rather than please.

Male voices filled the house with a constant hum. The meeting must not have begun yet, because the bits and pieces of conversation Bastien picked up were fairly frivolous.

The living room ahead of them was empty. But the dining room to the left bustled with activity.

A table long enough to seat twenty-four dominated the space. David sat at one end, thin dreadlocks drawn back from his face and falling down to his hips. At his elbow, Darnell spoke softly to him, asking if they shouldn’t try one more time to convince Ami to leave the country.

Bastien may not like Darnell, may have even wanted to shove the Second’s smoothly shaven head through the wall a time or two, but he had to give the man credit for watching over Ami and putting her safety above everything else.

Ami and Marcus were just taking their seats on David’s other side. Ami seemed oblivious to Darnell’s comments, but Marcus listened closely as he drew his wife closer and wrapped a possessive arm around her narrow shoulders.

Roland and Sarah sat beside Darnell. Bastien still felt nothing but animosity whenever he encountered the nearly millennium-old immortal. Old habits were hard to break, and the hatred Bastien had nursed in his heart for Roland had lasted two hundred years.

Sarah smiled at Ami and engaged her in conversation. If Bastien hadn’t already liked the newly transformed immortal before, he would now just for befriending Ami. Ami had endured so much pain, so much torture since her arrival in their world . . .

She deserved as much kindness as she could find.

The other immortals stationed in the area filled most of the remaining seats: Lisette d’Alençon and her twin brothers, Richart and Étienne, all roughly Bastien’s age of two centuries. Their Seconds: Tracy, Sheldon, and Cameron. Yuri and Stanislov. Bastien knew little of those two immortals, nor of their Seconds, who were also present. Ethan, an American immortal barely a century old, and Edward, a Brit like himself, were present, too.

Chris Reordon circled the table, distributing more of his precious files and handing out friendly comments with each.

Melanie strode forward. Bastien followed.

With the exception of Ami—who viewed all doctors and scientists with a fear that bordered on absolute terror—those present greeted Melanie with smiles that morphed into scowls and tight-lipped rejection when their gazes shifted to Bastien.

Fuck you, too.

The frowns on Lisette’s and Étienne’s faces deepened, telling him they were once more prying into his thoughts and didn’t like what they heard.

What did he care? He didn’t need their friendship or acceptance. He didn’t need anything from them at all.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Chris demanded.

“I’ll escort him out,” Roland said, a malicious smile lighting his features as he rose.

Sarah placed a hand on his arm. “No, you won’t. There will be no fighting between you two tonight.”

Roland hesitated. Usually Sarah could coax the dour immortal into doing almost anything, but restraining his impulse to kill Bastien may be beyond even her capabilities. Roland would never forget that Bastien had once fractured her skull.

Bastien sent Sarah a smile. “Hello, sweetheart. How’s the head?”

Melanie gave him a reproving look.

Hell. He couldn’t seem to help himself.

Roland’s eyes flashed bright amber. His jaw clenched with fury.

Sarah’s grip tightened on his arm as she visibly restrained him now. Offering Bastien a sweet smile, she said, “My head’s just fine, thank you. How’s your ass?”

There was a moment of stunned silence, then Lisette and her brothers all burst into laughter. The other immortals joined in, as did the Seconds.

Roland glanced at his wife, caught the playful wink she sent him, and relaxed, retaking his chair.

Judging by the confusion on Melanie’s face when she looked up at him, she hadn’t heard the whole story.

Shrugging sheepishly, he explained, “Sarah stabbed me in the ass.”

She blinked. “She did?”

He nodded and, catching Sarah’s eye, tipped an imaginary hat to her.

Sarah grinned and shrugged as if to say, I had to do something.

When the laughter died down, Chris said, “I still want to know what he’s doing here.”

“Sebastien is here at my invitation,” David told him, which was news to Bastien. “We need him here if we’re going to fully understand what happened last night.”

As usual, Chris balked. “How are we supposed to trust him to tell us the truth?”

David sighed heavily. “I can read his thoughts, Chris. As can Lisette and Étienne. And Seth when he arrives. We’ve been over this before.”

When Chris opened his mouth to continue bitching and moaning, David raised a hand. “Think wisely before you question my decisions in the future. I’m growing tired of having to explain myself. To you or to anyone else.”

Chris clamped his mouth shut and immediately wiped all expression from his face.

David may be kindhearted, but it was still exceedingly unwise to piss him off.

Richart rose and drew out the empty chair beside him, motioning to Dr. Lipton.

Melanie smiled and seated herself, offering him a muted thank you.

Bastien took the chair on the other side of her, cursing the jealousy he felt slither through him. Richart wasn’t interested in Melanie. He had his mysterious human lover.

Yet the other immortal’s attention still rankled.

And it shouldn’t, Bastien reminded himself. Melanie wasn’t his and would never be his.

Her shoulder brushed his arm as she swiveled to loop her purse’s strap over the back of her chair. “Sorry,” she murmured.

Bastien nodded, but said nothing. She was nervous. His gift syphoned her emotions with each tiny brush against him and told him sitting at a table with so many ultra-powerful beings . . . Well, it didn’t frighten her exactly. But she wasn’t comfortable.

Bastien leaned down and whispered in her ear, “We’re all just like Cliff, Joe, and Vincent, only without the madness.”

She pursed her lips and looked pointedly at Roland.

Bastien couldn’t help but grin. “Okay, I’ll give you that one.”

She smiled back, eyes twinkling as some of the stiffness left her shoulders.

He supposed it could be a tad intimidating, being surrounded by men and women who could read your thoughts, teleport, move things with their minds, heal with their hands, and more. He was just so accustomed to it that it hadn’t occurred to him that it might take some getting used to.

The faint tones of “Mack the Knife” sounded. At the other end of the table, Sarah drew out her cell phone. “Hello?”

“It’s Seth,” came the immortal leader’s response. “Just calling ahead.”

She smiled, as did every immortal present. “Thank you.”

While she returned her phone to her pocket, the Immortal Guardians’ leader materialized beside the empty chair at the end of the table opposite the one David occupied.

Sarah had only been with the immortals for a couple of years or thereabouts and still jumped whenever Seth or Richart suddenly appeared in the room, so Seth had taken to calling ahead to warn her.

Returning her smile, Seth seated himself in the empty chair.

Chris handed him a file folder, reluctantly handed a couple more to Bastien and Melanie, then seated himself.

Seth opened the file and perused its contents.

The front door opened.

Bastien glanced over his shoulder and was surprised to see Tanner enter.

“Sorry I’m late,” Tanner said, crossing swiftly to the table and taking one of the last two seats.

“No problem,” Seth responded. “Glad you could make it, Tanner.”

Tanner took the file folder Chris handed him and opened it to glance at the papers within. Though his blond hair was windblown, he still looked like an accountant as he reached up to adjust his glasses.

What was he doing here? Was he already one of the immortals’ Seconds?

Bastien’s gaze slid to the surly immortal whispering in Sarah’s ear. Hell. Seth wasn’t going to assign him to Roland, was he? Roland was notorious for scaring the crap out of any Second sent to serve him, which was why Seth had allowed him to go without one all of these centuries.

Or perhaps Tanner had been assigned to Marcus? Was Ami no longer going to serve as Marcus’s Second now that they had married?

That would actually be a relief. She had come too close to death too many times since being assigned to that volatile immortal.

Seth closed the file and folded his hands atop it. “So, tell us what happened last night, Sebastien.”

Surprised that he had been asked directly, Bastien complied.

Every brow present furrowed as his words floated around the table.

“You couldn’t have spared even one?” Chris asked. Leave it to him to ignore everything except the deaths of the humans. Hell, if Bastien had let every human soldier live, Chris no doubt would have still found fault with his actions.

“Not without risking capture myself.”

Richart nodded. “It’s true. He was barely conscious when I found him, with two darts on the ground beside him. By the time I got him to the network, he was out cold.”

“How are you feeling, Sebastien?” Seth queried softly.

Bastien fought the urge to squirm, uncomfortable with the concern in the elder’s voice. He had yet to figure out why Seth gave a damn about him. “I’m fine.”

Seth’s gaze shifted to Melanie. “Dr. Lipton?”

Melanie sent Bastien an apologetic look. “He’s still a little groggy and hasn’t yet fully regained his strength. I understand he’s roughly the same age as the d’Alençons, so—based on the time it took them to recover when they were hit—I’d say he should recover fully during the next few hours. Certainly by dawn.”

Seth nodded. “I assume you’d like to observe him while he does so?”

“Yes, if that’s all right.”

“Of course. We rely on your medical expertise in matters such as this and know you need to gather as much information as you can.” The words, as well as the warning look that accompanied them, seemed to be directed at Bastien.

Bastien scowled. The bastard had better not be reading his thoughts again.

Of course I’m reading your thoughts, Seth said. As is David. And most likely Étienne and Lisette. How else can we reassure the others that you are sincere in your claims?

“These men . . . these soldiers . . . weren’t out to kill,” Richart continued. “They were out to capture and would have done so had Bastien left any standing. Perhaps if I had returned sooner, we could have taken one or more alive. But alone, Bastien had no choice but to protect himself.”

“This is so bad,” Darnell muttered.

Several heads nodded.

“Chris,” David spoke, “have you succeeded in tracking down your missing contacts?”

Chris shook his head. “No. There’s no trace of them at all, or of their families. Nothing to tell me where they may have gone or where they were taken or if they’re dead or alive. Or that they ever were. It’s as if they never existed.”

Bastien may frequently think about dismembering Chris, but he couldn’t help but sympathize with him over this. Reordon had spent years cultivating contacts in the various government agencies that were swathed in secrecy. Years tapping those contacts for information and enlisting their aid whenever the Immortal Guardians needed it. When those contacts had mysteriously disappeared a few weeks ago . . .

It didn’t take much of an imagination to guess what had happened to them. The Immortal Guardians’ new enemy had gotten his hands on them. And the blame for it—all of what they were currently dealing with—could be laid squarely at Bastien’s feet. He had inadvertently set all of this into motion when he had begun his quest for revenge a lifetime ago.

“Any luck finding new contacts?” Seth queried.

Chris shook his head. “Some. But it’s slow going. I don’t know who exactly we’re dealing with, who we’re fighting, who has the power and influence needed to wipe the slate clean the way they did, so I have to be even more careful when approaching potential aids. There are a handful who escaped scrutiny and survived the sweep only because I hadn’t yet called upon them to act. I couldn’t then and can’t now because they’re still working their way up the ranks and aren’t yet in a position to find out what I need them to.”

“Any word on who this Emrys prick is?” Marcus broached, his voice tight with hostility.

It was a hostility shared by all those familiar with Ami’s past: Bastien, David, Darnell, Chris, and Seth. Melanie, too, he imagined, since she had been allowed into the loop.

Emrys had been one of the bastards responsible for Ami’s capture a few years ago, as well as the months of torture she had endured afterward. Bastien didn’t know how Emrys had escaped Seth’s and David’s wrath when they had rescued Ami, and hoped like hell he wouldn’t again. If anyone needed to pay for past sins, Emrys did. Preferably with blood.

“I’m getting closer, but still can’t say definitively.”

“Did you find out how he was connected to Keegan?” Bastien asked.

Fucking Montrose Keegan. Bastien wished he had never worked with the man. How the hell had Montrose known Emrys?

“They went to college together and were in the same fraternity, but appear to have parted company once they graduated,” Chris said and motioned to the file in front of Bastien. “Keegan pursued a teaching career. Emrys went to work in the military’s bioweapons program. Everything I could dig up tells me they lost contact and didn’t speak again until Montrose looked him up during the vampire king’s reign.”

“Is Emrys still military?” Sarah asked.

“I don’t know. All of the intel on him stops approximately four years ago. There’s no mention of him retiring or being discharged from the army. Nor is he on any active duty lists or stationed on any known bases. We know he reappeared briefly in Texas a couple of years ago. But I still haven’t been able to ascertain whether the facility he surfaced in was military or mercenary. And there’s a big void in his history between his army days and his days at the facility. I’m still digging, but . . . as I said, it’s taking time.”

“Just be careful,” Ami pleaded softly. “I don’t want you falling into their hands. I don’t want you disappearing like the others.”

“May I say something?” Melanie asked, looking around the table tentatively.

“Of course, Dr. Lipton,” David said.

“While I was waiting for Bastien to regain consciousness, I had Linda examine the darts Richart found and it appears the dosage of the drug they deliver has increased substantially.” She looked up at Bastien. “That’s why it didn’t take as many darts to fell you as it did Richart, Étienne, and Lisette.”

“Same drug, but more powerful?” Darnell said. “Emrys must have been behind this attack. He’s the one who gave Dennis the drug.”

Bastien wished he would have killed Dennis—the self-proclaimed vampire king who had led the last uprising—when he had first met him over a decade ago. He simply hadn’t perceived how crazy the bastard was. Or would become.

“And who else would know the original drug wasn’t powerful enough?” Darnell continued. “Only someone who had interacted directly with Montrose Keegan and had access to his notes and those damned movies Dennis made of the battles. As far as we know, Keegan didn’t talk to anyone else.”

“As far as we know,” Roland reiterated.

Chris shook his head. “I don’t know who he could have talked to. Anyone else would have had him committed if he had started rambling about vampires and immortals.”

“It’s worth looking into,” Bastien said, seeing where Roland was going and reluctantly agreeing. “When I worked with Montrose, he worked alone. I’m certain of it. Even when I pressured him to speed up his research. But I was sane.”

“That’s debatable,” Roland muttered.

Bastien ignored him. “Dennis wasn’t. If Montrose feared him even more than he did me—”

“He did,” Ami spoke up. “When Dennis took me to Keegan’s lab”—she swallowed as if just saying the word resurrected fears that threatened to choke her—“Montrose was terrified of him. And there was blood. Old blood. On some of the papers I rifled through looking for a weapon. And on the walls. I don’t know what happened down there, but . . .” She shook her head. “Montrose was visibly shaking while Dennis talked to him. He was terrified of him.”

Marcus drew Ami closer and kissed the top of her head.

Bastien nodded. “If Dennis was pressuring Montrose to find a drug that would incapacitate us or at least weaken us enough to defeat, I’m sure he was issuing more frightening ultimatums than I did. Montrose may have taken his plea for aid to others besides Emrys.”

Chris retrieved a small spiral notebook and a number two pencil from his jacket pocket. Flipping the notebook open, he began to scribble notes. “I’ll look into other med school chums. Hell, I’ll look into all of his old school chums, both those he kept in contact with and those he didn’t.”

Sarah pointed to Chris’s notebook. “You might want to check out the professors he studied with while pursuing his doctorate.” Until Roland had turned her, Sarah had been a music theory professor at University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. “His students, too. Particularly any grad students with whom he worked closely.”

Nodding, Chris continued to write.

“Did he have any family?” Darnell asked.

Bastien shook his head. “Just his brother Casey. Casey said their parents were killed in a car accident almost a decade ago. It’s why Montrose was so protective of him.”

“What about grandparents?” Sheldon asked.

Tracey snorted. “How the hell would grandparents fit into the equation?”

Sheldon shrugged. “Money? I don’t know.”

Chris kept writing. “I already looked into that. The grandparents are dead. Both sides of the family.”

“What about girlfriends?” Sarah suggested.

Étienne scoffed. “Who the hell would date Montrose Keegan?”

“Hey,” Sarah retorted, “some women choose brains over brawn.”

He tossed her a flirty grin. “You didn’t. But if you’re of a mind to . . . have I by any chance mentioned that at university I—” Étienne’s file folder flew up and hit him in the face a moment before his chair was telekinetically yanked out from under him, landing him on his ass.

Even Bastien had to laugh.

Grabbing the chair with a curse, Étienne regained his feet and once more seated himself beside his siblings. “Are you going to do this every time we have a meeting?”

“Are you going to flirt with her every time we have a meeting?” Roland ground out.

Étienne muttered something in French.

The chuckles quieted.

Seth leaned back in his chair. “All right. Now that we know a little more about the attack on Bastien last night, let us discuss how to address this latest threat while Chris pursues his leads.”