Phantom Shadows

Chapter 5

Once at the network, Bastien and Melanie helped Richart chain the vamps up in the holding room and notified Chris. Then they accompanied Richart to the infirmary, where he drained a couple of bags of blood. As he finished the second one, “Monster” imbued the stark, hospital-like environment with a bit of life.

Richart pulled out his phone, looked at the caller ID, and donned the dopey smile Bastien had come to think of as her smile. “Excuse me.” He turned away and took the call. “Hi.” His voice always softened when he spoke to his mystery lover.

“Hi,” Bastien heard her say, her voice a little flat. He didn’t know if Richart was so smitten that he forgot Bastien could hear both sides of the conversation or if Richart simply trusted Bastien not to run to Chris with any information he overheard, but the immortal rarely sought privacy during the calls unless their talk turned amorous. “Am I interrupting anything?”

“Not at all.”

“You aren’t fighting vampires?” she asked, a teasing lilt entering her voice.

“No. No vampires,” Richart said with a light laugh. “How are you feeling?”

“Not that great. That’s actually why I was calling. I wanted to let you know I’m playing hooky from work again. I think I may have done too much too fast. My fever went back up today and I pretty much feel like crap.”

“I’m sorry, darling. Can I bring you anything? Some soup, perhaps?”

Melanie looked at Bastien.

“His girlfriend,” he murmured. “She’s fighting that flu that’s been going around.”

Melanie grimaced in sympathy. “It’s a nasty one. The network employees who have come down with it have been missing up to two weeks of work and come back noticeably thinner.”

“Are you sure there’s nothing I can do?” Richart asked.

Melanie spoke up. “Orange juice and club soda.”

Richart turned around. “What?”

“Take her some orange juice and mix it with club soda. It will help settle her stomach and give her some vitamin C at the same time.”

Richart nodded. “Thank you.”

“And crackers,” Bastien added. “Saltines.” He had heard Sarah mention that crackers had helped curb her nausea during her transformation. She hadn’t had the flu, but . . . nausea was nausea, wasn’t it?

Richart’s face reflected his surprise at Bastien’s input. “Thank you.”

Bastien consulted his watch. “If you’re going to get her the organic stuff, you need to go now. Whole Foods closes in fifteen minutes.”

“Right,” Richart acknowledged, then spoke into the phone. “I’m going to pick up a few things at the store, then come by, if that’s all right.”

“You know it is,” she said. “But I don’t want you to go to any trouble for me, Richart. You have enough on your plate.”

“It’s no trouble, sweetheart. Try to get some rest. I shall be there shortly.”

Melanie couldn’t help but be curious about the woman who had stolen the French Immortal Guardian’s heart. Everything about him softened when he spoke to her. His voice. His features. His body language. He clearly adored her.

Richart tucked his phone away. “Well. This is awkward. Dr. Lipton . . .” He paused. “Let me think how to word this . . .”

Bastien rolled his eyes. “He isn’t supposed to leave me unsupervised and wants your discretion.”

“Oh.” Really? Bastien was supposed to be watched every minute? “Yes, of course.” She wondered how much of that was distrust on Seth’s part and how much was wanting a bit of protection for the heavily disliked newcomer. Did Seth and David worry that one of the other immortals might try to avenge Ewen’s death?

Richart pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his face, then tucked it away and combed his fingers through his hair. “How do I look?”

Melanie grinned. “Very handsome.”

Bastien eyed Richart balefully. “If you ask me to check your breath, I’m going to hit you again.”

Richart flipped him off with a grin and vanished into thin air.

Melanie looked up at Bastien. “I know, as a doctor and a researcher, I should find a more clinical way to say this, but that is so cool.”

He laughed. “Yes, it is.”

Dr. Whetsman entered the room, his attention on an open file cradled in his hands. Raising his gaze, he caught sight of them, blanched and—without breaking stride—made a sharp U-turn and strode right back out.

“Who the hell was that?” Bastien grumbled.

“Dr. Whetsman.”

His countenance darkened. “The prick who scratched your face when Vince had his last break?”

“Yes,” Melanie said, stunned that he even remembered her mentioning it. So much had happened since then. And she had only mentioned it the one time when they were facing Vince as he struggled for lucidity.

Bastien’s eyes flashed amber. A growl rumbled forth from his muscled throat.

When he took a step after the retreating doctor, Melanie grabbed his arm. “Whoa there, tiger. Leave him alone.”

“He hit you.”

“He scratched me while he screamed like a little girl and ran away from a crazed vampire.”

His expression changed from fury to amusement to one of self-loathing. “Oh, hell. I forgot you were wounded.” Bending, he scooped her up in his arms and carried her over to an exam table.

Melanie gasped. “What are you . . . ?”

He seated her on it, then began to unwind the bandage he had applied.

“Bastien, you don’t have to . . .” She broke off when he took one of his daggers and applied it to her jeans. Her snug jeans. Which became something very close to Daisy Dukes on one side as he swiftly and efficiently cut away her pant leg above her injury.

“What are you thinking?” he asked, voice light with curiosity. “Your emotions are all over the place.”

It really was disconcerting that he could know what she felt anytime he wanted to simply by reaching out and touching her. The only thing worse would be his being able to read her thoughts.

“Just off the top of my head?” she said. “I’m glad I shaved my legs last night.”

He grinned. “What else?”

“I like you touching me, even though the cut is stinging like crazy.”

His eyes began to glow. “I thought we weren’t going to go there.”

“I’m a grown woman. I can go wherever I want to go.”

“Why would you want to go there?” His tone was pure puzzlement.

“I don’t know,” she answered honestly. Anyone who spent five minutes in his company knew he was something of a mess, still trying to find his way in his new life. Still battling the bitterness of the past. Reluctant to trust after being deceived by—oh—about a hundred of his closest friends.

“There’s just something about you,” she said finally, “that . . . lures me.”

Bastien pilfered first-aid supplies from nearby drawers and cabinets.

Melanie sucked in a pained breath as he disinfected the cut. It felt as though he were holding a blow torch to her skin.

“Sorry,” he said, his eyes losing some of their glow as his brow furrowed.

She nodded, blinking back tears. Crap, it hurt. But it didn’t halt her body’s response when he leaned down and blew on her thigh in an attempt to squelch the fire.

Giving in to temptation, she reached out and combed her fingers through his dark locks.

She had never dated a man with long hair before. Bastien’s fell past his shoulders in a sleek midnight curtain.

It was so soft. She hadn’t expected that. More often than not when men let their hair grow long it looked frizzy, split-endy, or just plain greasy and in need of a wash. Bastien’s appeared as smooth and shiny as that of the models in shampoo commercials. Smoother and shinier than Melanie’s, making her wish she had found a better conditioner or used a curling iron or something to make her brown locks less blah. She was always just so tired when she got home in the morning. Even two extra minutes spent combing a conditioner through her hair in the shower seemed like too much work.

Bastien’s breath halted the moment her fingers sank into his raven tresses. His eyes flared bright amber again. His lids lowered.

Melanie combed his hair back on one side, let it fall forward in graceful waves. Heart pounding, she buried both hands in his hair—so thick—and slid her fingers, nails clipped short to accommodate her work at the computer, along his scalp.

A growl, more like the rumbling purr a leopard might make, arose deep in his throat.

Her pulse spiked.

Bastien braced his hands on the edge of the exam table, gripping it tightly.

“What are you doing, Dr. Lipton?” he asked hoarsely.

“Melanie,” she corrected, heart pounding so hard she was sure Cliff and Joe must hear it in their apartments across the hall.

“What are you doing, Melanie?”

She repeated the action. “Whatever feels good,” she whispered.

That drew a groan from him. Leaning forward, he rested his forehead on her shoulder.

She waited for him to turn his head and nuzzle her neck, maybe take a little bite. But he didn’t. He increased the pressure of his forehead on her shoulder, pressed her back the tiniest bit, the battle raging within him palpable.

“I need you to not do that,” he said, voice low.

“Why?”

“Because every time you touch me I feel how much you want me and it makes me want you even more.”

Her blood heated. “I don’t have a problem with that,” she murmured.

Bastien groaned and did turn his head, then pressed his lips to her throat. “You should.” He lifted his head, stared at her with those incredible, luminescent eyes. So bright. So beautiful. So full of desire.

Mere inches separated them.

He raised one hand, cupped her cheek, smoothed his thumb across her skin.

Melanie had never wanted a man to kiss her more.

He shifted, leaned closer, touched his lips to hers.

Her breath caught.

“I can feel everything you feel,” he whispered.

“Is that the only reason you’re kissing me?”

His head moved from side to side in a barely discernible shake. “You don’t know how much I wish it were.” His lips again closed on hers, firmer, hungrier.

Melanie hummed in pleasure as fire licked its way through her veins. His tongue met hers, stroked, enticed. So hot she thought she might melt onto the table.

Abruptly, he broke the contact and again braced both hands on the table, rested his forehead on her shoulder.

“We can’t do this,” he said gruffly. “I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my long life, Melanie. A lot. And, knowing me, I’ll make many more. I don’t want you to be one of them.”

“What makes you think I’d be a mistake?” She couldn’t change his mind if she didn’t know his train of thought.

He straightened suddenly, shoulders stiff, eyes lowered, though not enough that she couldn’t still see their glow. Bastien may do his damnedest to appear cold and indifferent, but his eyes reflected the strong emotions that whipped through him.

“I won’t do this.” He spoke not another word as he finished cleaning and dressing her wound.

Melanie was impressed by the quality of his work. “You’re good.” She tested the dressing. “Have you studied medicine?”

“Formally, no,” he answered, tossing the discarded makeshift bandage and other trash into the can marked hazardous waste. “But I long ago grew tired of butchering myself every time I had to remove chunks of lead, shards of glass, blades long and short, and once, a wooden stake nearly the width of your wrist. So I purchased a library full of medical textbooks that have helped me improve my first aid skills.”

“Did you understand what Montrose Keegan was doing then? His research?”

“Some. In the beginning, I read all of his notes and paid close attention to his experiments. But destroying Roland and maintaining control of an army of men who were rapidly losing their grips on reality was . . .”

“A full-time job?”

“Yes. How do you feel? Do you require pain medication?”

“For this?” she scoffed. “No.”

When she had first begun her training, she had been so freaking sore all over that she had walked like a century-old human. Hunched over. Bitching and moaning with every step she took. (The last part wasn’t necessarily characteristic of an old woman. But for some reason it had helped her to complain about it.)

She had taken no pain relievers for it though. Her trainers had emphasized the importance of becoming accustomed to pain so that if she ever engaged in battle, the pain of any wounds she might incur wouldn’t totally freak her out.

Mission accomplished. She thought she had held her own rather well tonight.

“By the way, are the vampires you hunt usually so chatty?” she asked.

He laughed, some of the tension in his body easing. “No. Many are boastful or make scathing comments until I strike the first blow. Stuart was something of a surprise. He must be like Cliff. The madness must be progressing more slowly in him, otherwise he would have run off or stayed and fought without listening to a word we said.”

“I hope he can be trusted.”

“I do, too.”

“I guess we’ll find out in three nights. Can I go with you to meet him?”

“Hell, no! It could be a trap.”

“All the more reason to have an extra set of hands—”

“Not gonna happen.”

She could see he wouldn’t budge. “Fine. At least call me and let me know you’re on the way to meet him in case it is an ambush.”

The tension in his face eased. “That I can do. Now, I’d like to go ahead and speak with Cliff before Richart returns so I’ll bid you good night.”

Melanie stared up at him. “I don’t suppose I could talk you into kissing me good night, could I?”

She thought he would refuse. So, when he cupped her face in his large hands, ducked his head, and captured her lips in a fiery hot, tongue-tangling kiss . . .

Well, she lost the ability to think and speak coherently and could only feel.

His eyes blazed brightly when he raised his head. “Good night, Melanie.”

He was through the door before she could find her voice.

Melanie was still thinking about that kiss three nights later while she was supposed to be focusing on the results of Joe’s latest MRI. Though the lab boasted no windows, she knew by the clock that the sun had just set. Bastien would be rising and preparing for the night’s hunt.

Was he still thinking about the kiss, too? Did he regret it? Because she hadn’t seen or spoken to him since.

“Hello.” As though her thoughts had conjured him, he spoke behind her.

Breath catching, she whipped around. “Hi.” His black cargo pants, long-sleeved T-shirt, and coat were clean and outlined his tall, handsome form to perfection. Beside him, Richart nodded to her, then disappeared.

Neither she nor Bastien spoke for a long moment as his gaze roved her like a pair of hands.

“So,” she said when he made no move to give her a hello kiss, “tonight’s the night, huh? You’re meeting with Stuart later?”

He nodded. “I thought I’d come see Cliff first.”

Cliff. Not her. She would’ve been more disappointed if his eyes weren’t glowing faintly with desire.

“Of course.” Melanie slid off her stool and led Bastien not to Cliff ’s apartment, but to her office. Swiping the key card in her pocket, she typed in her personal security code, waited for the beep, and opened the door. “Just a minute.” Grabbing the white lab coat draped over her office chair, she slid her right arm into the appropriate sleeve.

Bastien stepped up behind her, took the coat, and held it for her while she donned it. His hands lingered on her shoulders.

“That isn’t fair,” she whispered, heart racing. He could feel her every emotion, while she remained in the dark.

“I missed you, too,” he admitted. “And want nothing more than to pull you into my arms and see if you taste as good as I remember.”

Smiling, she turned around.

His normally somber expression was as tender as Richart’s was when Richart spoke with his girlfriend. He brushed her cheek with his fingers. “Unfortunately, the matter I need to discuss with Cliff is one of some urgency.”

“I understand.” Heartened by his admission, she crossed to a cabinet, keyed it open, and removed three syringes filled with the sedative. When she turned toward the door, she found Bastien frowning at her. “After what happened with Vince, I always keep some on me when I’m with Cliff or Joe in case one should have a psychotic break. I don’t want to see either of them brought under control with multiple gunshot wounds.”

“Have you had to use them?”

She hesitated. “Once.”

His eyes flared. “When?”

“Last week. On Joe. He—”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

She didn’t want to say, but thought he deserved the truth. “He was so ashamed afterward, Bastien. And he didn’t hurt me. He tried to grab one of the guards and . . . I was afraid you might . . .”

“Do to him what I did to Vince?”

“Yes.”

His lips tightened.

Well . . . he had asked. Melanie strode past him and led the way to Cliff ’s apartment. Cliff was sunk in the cushions of a black leather sofa, feet propped on the coffee table, reading a science fiction novel when they entered.

Melanie smiled at the guard outside the door as she closed it behind them.

“Did you two want privacy?” she asked belatedly.

Bastien shook his head. “I didn’t really want to talk to Cliff.”

“Nice to see you, too,” Cliff said sunnily as he rose and joined them.

“I don’t understand.”

“I wanted to talk to you,” Bastien explained, “and knew we would not be overheard in here.”

Melanie frowned. If Bastien were about to go into some long-winded explanation of why he didn’t want her to hit on him anymore . . .

Her thoughts halted. Wait. Had she been hitting on him? She had never been the aggressor in a relationship before.

And there was that word again: Relationship.

“What’s up?” she asked as casually as she could.

“I sensed you lied and wanted to know why,” Bastien said.

Cliff ’s gaze swung back and forth between them as he eyed them with interest.

“When?”

“At the meeting. When you said you had no antidote to the tranquilizer.”

Oh crap. “What makes you think I lied?” she bluffed.

“I was touching you and felt your guilt.”

Damn it! “You know, that’s really annoying.”

“Tell me about it,” Cliff quipped.

Bastien shot him a quick glare and once more met Melanie’s gaze. “Have you found a way to counteract the drug?”

She opened her mouth to respond.

Bastien reached out and touched her face. “Have you?”

Crap! He’d know if she lied.

“The fact that you hesitate tells me you have. Why are you keeping it from the immortals?”

She sighed. “You’re an immortal, too, Bastien. The faster you come to grips with that—”

“What? The faster they’ll all welcome me into the fold and love me like a brother? Not going to happen. Please answer my questions.”

Cliff cleared his throat. “She thinks she’s found an antidote, but is afraid to test it on anyone because it might be too stressful on their heart. Make it beat fast enough to stop it or something like that.”

Melanie growled. “I told you that in confidence!”

“I know. But if this thing works, it will help Bastien.”

Bastien lowered his hand, brushing her arm and hip on the way down. “Tell me.”

She sighed. “It’s a stimulant. One so strong I wouldn’t use it on a comatose elephant.”

“Sounds like it’s just what we need. What’s the problem?”

Melanie thought that was fairly obvious. “If you were undead like the vampire mythology suggests, I wouldn’t worry. But you aren’t. Your heart beats. The virus infecting you can heal a lot of damage, but it requires the circulation of blood to do so. If this antidote, this stimulant, is strong enough that—like the tranquilizer—the virus can’t counteract it, then instead of just waking you from the tranquilizer, it could cause ventricular fibrillation. Your heart could begin to beat so fast that it would stop beating and quiver instead, no longer circulating the blood through your body and your brain.”

Cliff looked at Bastien. “I tried to get her to test it on me. Hell, I’m already brain damaged, so I figured I didn’t have much to lose. But she wouldn’t.”

Bastien popped Cliff on the back of the head.

“Ow! What the hell?”

“You’re here to prevent or at least slow down the mental deterioration, not speed it up.”

Thank goodness she wasn’t the only one who understood that.

“Thank you,” Bastien said.

She nodded.

“So, this stimulant needs more work? More testing?”

“Yes.” She just didn’t know how she was going to do it.

“How would it be delivered? Once we’re hit with the darts, we don’t have much time to react before we pass out.”

“I’ve put it in auto-injectors similar to the ones you used the other night.”

“I don’t know that that’s the best option. A hypodermic might be faster and easier to handle. You said it’s similar to the ones I used, but not identical.”

“Yes.”

“Could I see one? I may not know much about the chemical itself, but I can at least let you know if you’ll need an easier delivery system.”

“Sure. I’ll go get one.”

Melanie had only made three of them. She took one from the lab and left the other two behind in a locked cabinet.

When she returned to Cliff ’s apartment, he and Bastien were conversing rather vehemently in that way of theirs that was inaudible to human ears. Which was a trip, because it looked like they would be shouting if they were truly alone.

She hoped Bastien was convincing Cliff to stop pressuring her to test the drug on him. She just couldn’t and wouldn’t do it.

All conversation ceased when she entered. Closing the door, she approached Bastien with the auto-injector.

He turned it over and over in his hands, then flipped the lid off. “Could we carry it without the lid? It would slow us down less. And my motor skills were a little sluggish after I was tranqed.”

“The lid is a safety release. You need to keep it on until you use it.”

“Is it like adrenaline? Do you have to administer it in the leg?”

“No. Like the tranquilizer, it can be administered anywhere.”

“And you just push it against your skin and hold it for three seconds?”

She shook her head. “Ten seconds.”

“Ten seconds is too long. We’ll either be fighting vampires who move about in fractions of seconds or humans firing automatic weapons. Could you cut that time in half?”

“We don’t know how the virus will react to delivering too much too quickly.”

A faint tap broke the silence that ensued. Melanie glanced down and realized Bastien had dropped the lid to the auto-injector. He followed her gaze. “Oh. Sorry about that.”

She smiled. “I got it.” Melanie bent down to pick it up. A tingle of foreboding scuttled down her spine, a warning that came too late.

Cliff leapt forward.

Melanie gasped as he wrapped his arms around her in a vicelike grip, yanked her back against him, and flew backward across the room, putting the sofa between them and Bastien.

“Cliff?” She struggled to free herself.

His hold tightening, he eased back several more steps.

Oh shit. Was Cliff having an episode? He hadn’t had one yet, so she hadn’t been expecting it.

Bastien turned to face them.

“It’s okay!” Melanie blurted, terrified he would attack Cliff. “I—”

She tucked a shaking hand in her pocket the same time Bastien reached into his own and drew out the hypodermics containing the tranquilizer that should have been in her hand by now.

He had taken them? When? “What are you . . . ?”

Placing all three plastic needle guards in his mouth, he pulled them off with his teeth and spat them on the floor.

“Bastien . . .”

Drawing his arm back he shoved the needles into his neck and depressed the plungers.

“What the hell are you doing? Are you crazy?” she demanded shrilly.

“We have to see if this”—he held up the possible antidote—“is going to work.”

Alarm shot to the surface as she realized what was happening. Cliff wasn’t having a psychotic break. Bastien was testing the damned serum.

“You can’t do this!” She intensified her struggles, but found them ineffective when pitted against a vampire who already held her immobile. “Cliff, don’t let him do this. Please!”

“It’s his choice, Dr. Lipton.”

Bastien swayed as the triple dose of tranquilizer went to work.

“It could kill him!”

Cliff said nothing.

“Bastien, please! Don’t do this.”

Bastien staggered back a step and nearly lost his balance. Raising the auto-injector with the antidote, he shoved it into his neck on the side opposite the needle marks.

Panic seized Melanie, robbing her of the ability to move, to struggle, to call out. She couldn’t seem to do anything but watch in horror as each second passed.

One. Two. Three. Four.

Bastien tipped to one side and started to fall over, but caught himself by tripping over to the sofa and bracing a hand against it.

Nine. Ten.

Releasing the auto-injector, he let it fall to the floor.

“Well?” Cliff asked, all of the worry she couldn’t see in his face there in his voice.

“I don’t think it’s working.” He closed his eyes. “All I feel is the tranquilizer weighing me down.” His words slowed and slurred.

Melanie hadn’t expected this. She hadn’t considered that there might be no reaction. That it wouldn’t do a damned thing.

She patted Cliff ’s arm. “You can let me go now.”

Giving her shoulders a soft squeeze, he released his hold and stepped back. “I’m sorry. Bastien asked for my help. After all he’s done for me, I couldn’t say no even though it scared the hell out of me.”

She nodded and started forward.

Bastien’s knees buckled.

Cliff leapt over the sofa and caught him. Looping one of Bastien’s arms around his shoulders, Cliff guided him around to sit on the sofa.

“You don’t feel anything at all?” Melanie asked.

He shook his head. “Do you have any more?”

“Bastien—”

“Get it. Maybe the dose isn’t strong enough.”

He leaned forward, braced his elbows on his knees, and let his head droop.

A thousand thoughts racing through her mind, Melanie left the apartment and dashed across the hall to the lab.

“Everything okay, Doc?” one of the guards outside Cliff ’s room called out behind her as she swiped her card and entered the security code with trembling fingers.

“Yes.”

“Are you sure? Because you look a little . . .”

The buzz sounded.

Melanie threw the door open and hurriedly retrieved the other two auto-injectors.

It hadn’t worked. The stimulant hadn’t worked. Why hadn’t it worked? She hadn’t been exaggerating when she had said she wouldn’t use it on a comatose elephant. Any human injected with it would die. Quickly.

But Bastien had felt nothing.

Closing her door, she walked swiftly to Cliff ’s apartment.

“Rattled,” the guard said.

“What?” she asked absently.

“You look a little rattled. Are you sure—?”

“I’m fine.” She forced a smile. “It’s just been one of those days. Nights.”

His expression remained doubtful. “Well, we’re here if you need us.”

“Thank you, Mark. I appreciate that.”

Once inside the apartment, she closed the door and circled the sofa. “Any change?”

Cliff shook his head.

Bastien raised his head and held out his hand.

When Melanie started to remove the cap for him, he stayed her.

“I have to be able to do it myself.”

She handed him the auto-injector.

His fingers were clumsy as he removed the green cap, then pushed the auto-injector into his thigh and held it for ten seconds.

Melanie held her breath.

“Anything?” Cliff asked.

“I think so.” He held out his hand. “Give me another one.”

“You need to give that one more time. It could—”

“I won’t have more time in a fight. Give me another one.”

She handed him the last one.

He had no difficulty uncapping this one.

Despite her concern, she felt a twinge of hope.

He pressed this one into his thigh, too. Held it for ten seconds.

He was right. Ten seconds was too long. Now that she had a better idea of what dosage she should use—an insanely strong dosage—she could cut that time in half.

Bastien tossed the auto-injector on the coffee table and stood. “Okay. It’s getting better. I don’t feel so sluggish now.” Nudging Melanie aside, he stepped away from the sofa and started meandering around the room.

After all of the anxiety that had riddled her over testing the new drug, she couldn’t help but find this a bit anticlimactic.

No sooner had the thought crossed her mind than Cliff blurred and shot across the room, tackling Bastien and slamming him into the far wall.

Melanie’s heart stopped.

Bastien grunted, then flew into motion.

As Melanie watched, eyes wide, mouth gaping, artwork crashed to the floor, along with piles of drywall. The warring vampire and immortal were indistinguishable as they zigzagged with astonishing speed around the living room, smashing furniture and trashing the apartment to a chorus of grunts, thuds, and curses.

Melanie looked around frantically for some way to stop this. She couldn’t alert the guards. Though, if this racket continued, she wouldn’t have to. As much as they loathed Bastien, they would probably just yank her out of the way and open fire, not caring who they hit or how many times they hit them. And Melanie didn’t want either man hurt.

She jumped out of the way when the sofa splintered.

Had the vampires been allowed fully functional kitchens (too many sharp and blunt objects that could be used as weapons), she would’ve gone old school, grabbed a frying pan, and knocked some sense into the two. Aside from that . . .

Her gaze fell upon the bar stools. The vampires were allowed snacks and cereal and the makings for sandwiches, as well as a bar at which they could eat them.

Melanie ducked as the battling duo flew past overhead. Racing over to the bar, she picked up a stool—wooden with a black padded seat—and headed for the center of the room. The next time the writhing, growling, nebulous mass neared her, she concentrated on anticipating their direction and swung. Hard.

Thud! The seat went flying as the wooden stool broke apart, leaving one long leg in her hand.

Bastien slowed to a halt, bent over, and grabbed his head. “Ahh! Shit, that hurt!”

Cliff halted, too, then ducked as Melanie swung the last leg. “Wait! Don’t stake me!”

“Get back, Cliff,” she warned, heart racing, hands clutching the wooden leg so tightly she was surprised splinters didn’t break off and pierce her skin. “Just stay back.”

She eased between the two men, her back to Bastien.

Cliff ’s eyes glowed bright amber. Holding out his hands in a take it easy gesture, he retreated. “Don’t hit me. I’m not crazed.”

She shook her head, not taking her eyes off him. “Your eyes are glowing.” She would have to swing as soon as he blurred. And as close as he was, she still might not be able to hit him.

“If my eyes are glowing, it’s because I’m having fun.”

“I bet you are.”

“Not like that. Not like you’re thinking. This is the most exercise I’ve had since you performed all of those strength and endurance tests on me a couple of years ago. It just felt good to be active again.”

“Active? You attacked Bastien!”

“I told him to,” Bastien spoke behind her.

She risked looking at him over her shoulder. A large red lump graced the center of his forehead. “What?”

“I told him to attack me.”

She lowered the wooden leg and stared at him. The lump in his forehead darkened with a bruise, then began to heal and fade. The fear that had sent adrenaline coursing through Melanie’s veins turned to icy fury. “You what?” she roared.

Uncertainty furrowing his brow, Bastien looked at Cliff. “Should I tell her again?”

“I wouldn’t,” the vampire advised and wisely took another step backward.

Bastien met her gaze. “I needed to know if I could hold my own in a fight after using the antidote. If my breathing would be affected or my heart . . . how long it would take to regain my strength and speed.”

Unbelievable! Melanie threw the wooden leg down. “So you planned all of this?”

“Yes,” Bastien answered.

“Both of you.”

“Yes.”

“Without consulting me.”

He shared another look with Cliff. “Yes.”

“Well, next time send me a fucking memo first!” Melanie shouted, incensed. Here she stood, shaking, thinking Cliff had experienced one of the sudden violent episodes that had begun to afflict Joe, that Bastien would hurt him or even destroy him, or that Cliff would hurt or destroy Bastien while he was still weakened from the drug . . . and the two men in question looked like a couple of kids who had been wrestling on the floor in front of the TV while watching Saturday morning cartoons!

Cliff ’s eyes widened.

“What?” she growled.

“Nothing,” he said quickly. “I’ve just . . . never heard you drop the F-bomb before.”

“Well get used to it because now that I’ll be spending more time with him”—she jerked a thumb in Bastien’s direction—“you’ll probably be hearing it a lot more.”

“Now wait a minute,” Bastien said, all levity fleeing. “I thought we agreed we wouldn’t see each oth—”

“You just blew any chance you had of ditching me by injecting yourself three times with an experimental drug I thought would kill you,” she snapped. “Now I have to monitor your ass for at least twenty-four hours. So congratulations! You’re stuck with me!”