Phantom Shadows

Chapter 8

Melanie opened her eyes.

The bland walls of the OR swam into focus. Machines she had used to monitor numerous patients in the past hummed and beeped.

Where was Bastien?

She glanced around.

Linda sat beside her, her nose and cheeks blotchy pink, her eyes red-rimmed. She turned away and pulled a tissue from a box on the bedside tray.

Melanie looked beyond her. Dr. Whetsman stood across the room, his back to her, writing something in a patient file. Two more members of the medical staff bustled about, cleaning up the mess tending . . . her . . . had left behind?

Where was Bastien? Hadn’t they been at UNC together?

Yes. Richart had been there, too. They had taken out a handful of vampires and then . . .

Someone had shot her in the chest.

The little line on one of the machines began to jump up and down faster.

Had mercenaries gotten him? Neither Bastien nor Richart had been aware of the soldiers’ presence prior to them shooting her. Had the soldiers shot the immortals, too? Tranqed them? With none of the antidote on hand to combat the drug’s effects . . .

“Where’s Bastien?”

Linda let out a surprised gasp and spun around. “Lanie?”

“Where is he?”

So much fear darkened her friend’s gaze. “Do you know what day it is?”

“Yes. It’s Friday night. Or Saturday morning, depending on the time.”

“Saturday morning. And the date?”

“It’s the . . .” Hell, what was the date? “The fifteenth.”

“Do you know how old you are?”

“Old enough not to want to voice it.”

Linda burst into watery laughter, then lunged forward and hugged her. “Thank goodness. We were afraid . . .”

“What?”

“You crashed. Your heart stopped and we couldn’t get it going again . . . We bagged you and kept up chest compressions until Roland got here, but we didn’t know what or how much damage may have been done before he arrived and healed you.”

Crap. They had feared she had suffered brain damage? “I’m fine, honey.” She patted Linda’s back. What had happened to—

Shouting erupted in the hallway. Then gunshots. More shouting.

The doors to the OR flew open, one of them knocking the crap out of Dr. Whetsman, who dropped unconscious to the floor.

Linda bolted upright and spun around.

Melanie leaned to one side and looked past her.

Bastien stood just inside the doors, blood spilling from one-two-three-four gunshot wounds in his torso, the gaze he pinned on her frantic.

Richart materialized beside him. “You crazy bastard! I would have teleported you here if you had just given me a chance!”

Bastien didn’t appear to hear him. He crossed to Melanie’s side. His long hair was sticky with congealing blood. His face looked like he had wiped it clean, then dragged his hands through his crimson hair and touched his face, staining it again. His neck was red. His clothes clung to him damply. Everywhere. He looked as if someone had dunked him in a vat of blood.

Linda rose and backed away slowly. She had expressed to Melanie several times concern over Bastien’s trustworthiness.

“Are you . . . all right?” he asked, hands clenching as if he wanted to reach out and touch her but held himself back.

“I’m fine.” Her gaze dropped to his wounds. “Are you?”

He nodded, the tense muscles in his face relaxing into almost a smile. “I’m good.”

She raised one eyebrow. “I heard gunshots.”

“The damned guards posted outside Cliff’s apartment didn’t want to let me pass.”

Étienne appeared in the doorway. “You stupid bastard! Why didn’t you just let Richart teleport you?”

Melanie raised one eyebrow and gave Bastien a slight smile. “Still acting, then thinking?”

He grinned. “What would Reordon’s guards do if I didn’t liven things up around here periodically and keep them on their toes?”

Linda bent and checked on Dr. Whetsman.

“How is he?” Melanie asked.

“He’s fine,” she said and left him on the floor. Neither of them cared much for the man. He was a brilliant physician, but knew it and made damned sure everyone else knew it, too.

When Melanie started to sit up, Bastien slipped an arm around her back to help her.

She would have told him she didn’t require the aid, but she liked it. She positively tingled whenever he touched her. It didn’t even have to be flesh against flesh to start her heart racing.

His eyes began to glow, reminding her he could feel her emotions.

“That really isn’t fair, you know,” she protested, removing the pulse monitor so the spike in her heartbeat wouldn’t be noticed by any of the humans present. Not that many remained. Those who did sidled out of the room as soon as they could manage it.

He shrugged. “True, but since the advantage is mine, you won’t hear me complaining about it.”

She had to laugh as she took stock of her body. Other than suffering a bit of weakness, she felt surprisingly normal. “This is amazing. I can’t believe I was shot in the chest and—what—a couple of hours later feel almost normal.”

“Thrice,” Bastien said, face darkening.

“What?”

“You were shot thrice in the chest.”

Three times? Hell. She only remembered the first one. “How did—”

“Richart brought Roland to you.”

She frowned. “That’s what Linda said, but . . . You mean, the Roland?”

“Yes.”

“Roland Warbrook?”

“Yes.”

“And he just . . . touched me with his hands—”

Bastien’s eyes flared brightly. Was he jealous?

“—and now I’m fine?” she finished.

“We had to give you blood,” Linda threw in.

Bastien nodded. “Roland can heal your wounds, but he can’t replace the blood you lost.”

“Well, technically, he can,” Richart corrected. “He could have transfused you with his own blood, but you lost so much that—had he done so—the virus would have inundated your system and you would have been transformed.”

Knowing she had come so close to dying was frightening.

Her gaze strayed to Bastien’s chest. “Did the soldiers shoot you, too, or are all of those from the guards here?”

“I took a few from the soldiers.”

Étienne drew her attention. “And he was tranqed again.”

She looked at Bastien. “How many times?”

“Three or four. I think.”

He had been unconscious for hours the last time he had been tranqed. Without the antidote . . .

“How long have I been out?” she asked. She shouldn’t have lost a lot of time if Roland healed her swiftly. No wonder Linda had feared she’d suffered brain damage.

“Not long,” Bastien said, increasing her confusion. “I didn’t lose consciousness this time. I was tired afterward. A little woozy, perhaps—”

“Insane, perhaps,” Étienne muttered.

“But I think the antidote you’ve concocted may do more than we thought. It didn’t just alleviate the weakness after I had been tranqed. It seemed to have a preventative effect as well and acted as a buffer when I was tranqed again later, keeping me from feeling the full effects.”

“That’s . . .”

“Fantastic,” he said, his praise warming her.

“Yes. But it’s also worrisome. I didn’t expect it to do that, so I have to wonder what else it might do that I didn’t anticipate.”

He shrugged off her concern. “It worked perfectly. I feel a bit tired, but otherwise am myself.”

Étienne raised his eyebrows. “What you did at UNC is normal for you?”

Uh-oh. “What did you do?” Melanie asked.

Bastien shot the Frenchman a warning glare. “Only what needed to be done.”

“Could you be a little more specific?”

“No.”

When no more was forthcoming, Melanie shook her head. “I’m going to hear about it eventually.” She pushed the covers back, revealing a standard hospital gown that covered her to her knees. “If not from the network rumor mill than from Cliff or Joe. Those guys hear everything around here. If Mr. Reordon bitches about it—and I’m guessing from the looks you’re getting from the d’Alençons that he will—then Cliff and Joe will hear it.”

Bastien shifted his weight from one foot to the other, glanced at the French immortals, and looked for all the world like a little boy not wanting to cop to hitting a baseball through the window. “I . . . brought your shooter to justice.”

“Thank you.” She had no problem with his killing the man who would’ve succeeded in killing her had Roland not been available to aid her. That shooter had known nothing of Roland and his healing ability. So when he had shot her, he had meant for her to die. “Was there just the one?”

Bastien had been attacked by a dozen or more last night. A lone gunman seemed odd. Unless Emrys’s operation was smaller than they had guessed.

“No. There were others,” Bastien said, seeming to steel himself.

“How many?”

“I lost count.”

She eyed his bloody clothing. What exactly had he done?

“I killed them,” he stated.

“All of them?”

She let that sink in as he stood stoically before her.

Did he think she would condemn him? This was war. She knew well what this group was capable of, what they would do if they got their hands on any of the immortals or on Ami. Clearly they believed human Seconds, which they must have thought her, were expendable.

Bastien looked so grim.

If the others weren’t here, she’d put her arms around him and comfort him. It wasn’t as if he enjoyed the killing.

“He did tonight,” Étienne said darkly.

Bastien frowned at him. “Who did what?”

“Because they hurt me,” she said.

Bastien’s expression darkened as his gaze ping-ponged between them. “Stop reading her thoughts.”

You would defend him?

The unfamiliar voice in her head startled her. Yes. Wouldn’t you?

I saw the bodies.

I assume you’ve also seen his thoughts.

A look of unease passed over the immortal’s attractive face.

When Bastien took a menacing step toward Étienne, Melanie swung her legs over the side of the bed and leaned forward to snag Bastien’s hand.

He glanced back.

She met Étienne’s gaze squarely. You’ve seen his thoughts? she repeated.

Yes.

Did he kill for the hell of it? Did he kill for the fun of it? Or did he kill them because they tried to kill me?

Bastien gave her fingers a gentle squeeze. “Dr. Lipton?”

Étienne sighed. “You may as well drop the formality. One, I’ve heard your thoughts and know your concern for her extends beyond that of a work colleague. And two, I’ve seen your thoughts and keep coming across her naked.”

Richart tried without success to choke back a laugh. “Nothing to say?”

A muscle in Bastien’s cheek jumped. “I’m debating over whether or not I should kick Étienne’s ass for seeing Melanie naked.”

Richart burst into laughter.

“It wasn’t real! It was fantasy!” his brother protested.

“I don’t care. She was naked.”

Melanie felt heat bloom in her cheeks and didn’t know why the hell she should feel embarrassed. It wasn’t as if she really were naked. As Étienne had said, they were talking about fantasies he had seen in Bastien’s head.

How hot was it that Bastien was picturing her naked?

I was naked in his thoughts? she asked, unsure if Étienne was still tuning in.

A lot.

And we were doing . . . ?

Things that would make you blush even more than you are now.

I don’t suppose you could show me, could you?

It doesn’t work that way.

Damn.

His lips twitched.

Bastien tugged her hand. “I can’t hear what he’s saying to you. Should I kick his ass?”

“As if you could,” Étienne murmured.

“No.” Melanie said, “It’s fine.”

All three immortals suddenly looked at the ceiling.

“What is it?”

“Reordon,” Bastien grunted.

“And he’s pissed,” Richart said needlessly.

If Bastien had once more plowed through Chris’s guards, she was surprised it had taken Chris this long to join them.

She looked to the twins. “He’ll chain Bastien up.”

Étienne frowned. Easing farther into the room, he closed the door behind him. “For being shot by the guards?”

Surprised, Melanie stood and stared up at Bastien. “You didn’t hurt any of them?”

He shrugged and watched her carefully. “I was in a hurry. Perhaps next time.”

She smiled and shook her head.

Richart turned to his brother. “It’s true. Chris will order the guards to restrain him and chain him up.”

“But he didn’t hurt anyone.”

“He didn’t hurt anyone the night he was drugged either. Not here, anyway. He was unconscious when I brought him in, but Chris wanted to restrain him in the holding room.”

Étienne’s brow creased as he swore and glared at Bastien. “I can’t believe you’ve put me in a position where I’ll actually have to defend your sorry ass.”

Bastien’s lips compressed in a tight smile. “You don’t hear me asking for your help, do you?”

Melanie tightened her fingers around his in warning. “I’ll ask for it.” When Bastien started to protest, she held up her free hand to shut him up. “Can you two buy us some time?”

At most, she thought one or the other of them might keep the guards at bay long enough to convince Mr. Reordon that Bastien had indeed left his men unharmed. Maybe offer a token protest when Bastien was escorted to the holding room or tranqed or shot. So she was shocked when Richart strode toward them. “I’ll teleport him out of here.”

She held on to Bastien’s hand. “Where he goes, I go.”

“That’s what we thought,” the brothers said simultaneously.

Richart motioned to their entwined hands. “It’s easier for me to take you one at a time. I’ll take Bastien first, then immediately return for you, Dr. Lipton.”

“Melanie.”

“As you wish, Melanie.”

“Where are we?” Bastien asked when he and Richart appeared inside a house.

“My home. I’ll return in a moment.”

Bastien clutched his arm. “You should leave her there.”

“I should,” Richart agreed. “But I gave her my word.”

As soon as Bastien released him, the other immortal vanished.

When he reappeared, Melanie was with him.

She grinned up at Bastien. “That is so awesome.”

Try though he might, he couldn’t prevent himself from returning her smile. Not because he thought it was cool, too. (It was the only perk to having to hunt with Richart nightly.) But because he found her smile so enchanting and irresistible. So utterly free of guile.

Richart let out a piercing whistle.

Bastien heard a thud sound in some distant room.

“Damn it!” a male they couldn’t see shouted. “I told you not to do that! You scared the crap out of me!” It must be Sheldon.

Bastien met Richart’s gaze. “Have you told him he doesn’t have to shout for you to hear him?”

“Several times.” He seemed amused rather than annoyed by his new Second’s slow learning curve.

Melanie aimed her smile up at Richart. “I’m dying to know how you do that.”

“It’s easy. I just purse my lips and blow.”

Laughing, she shoved him. “Not the whistling. The teleporting.”

Richart, no more immune to her charm and goodness than Bastien was, grinned down at her. “I wouldn’t mind knowing that myself.”

“Really? Could I by any chance talk you into letting me run a few tests? I’d love to do an MRI while you teleport and see what lights up.”

Richart’s smile faltered beneath a look of supreme unease. Immortals tended to be nearly as uncomfortable around doctors—on the doctors’ territory at least—as Ami was. And Ami still broke out in a cold sweat if she had to go anywhere near the network.

Melanie touched Richart’s forearm, resurrecting Bastien’s jealousy. “Just think about it.”

His stance relaxing, the Frenchman nodded. “I will.” He motioned to the living room around them—modern, with more clutter than Bastien was accustomed to seeing since most immortals were neat freaks. David’s place, despite the heavy traffic it saw, was usually immaculately clean and tidy. “Please make yourself at home. The kitchen is through there. Bastien, there is blood in the modified meat compartment in the refrigerator. There’s a bathroom just down the hall. There are four guest rooms on this floor and four more in the basement. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask Sheldon.”

How long did he think they would be here?

“Oh, and Bastien . . .” His words turned brittle. “Tread carefully with my Second. Mistreat him in any way and you will answer to me.”

Bastien had lived with vampires with vicious mentalities and violent tempers that could explode at any moment for two centuries. He was confident he could best the other immortal in a fight, but frankly had no interest in doing so. Richart had just done him a solid. Bastien may be the asshole others thought him, but he didn’t forget things like that.

“I don’t abuse children.”

Giving him an abrupt nod, Richart vanished.

Silence descended upon the room.

“So,” Melanie said.

Bastien raised one eyebrow. “So?”

“You picture me naked?”

He had hoped she had forgotten about that—damn Étienne and his prying—but, since she hadn’t, he saw no reason to deny it. “Yes, I do.” He didn’t feel any embarrassment. He was a man with healthy sexual appetites and she was a very appealing woman. He did experience some confusion, however, when she exhibited no anger over the admission.

She didn’t call him a swine or a dog or whatever animal women currently called men who did something inappropriate.

She merely eyed him speculatively, making him feel as if she were trying to imagine him naked, then said, “I should warn you that I probably won’t live up to your expectations.”

Every muscle in his body tightened. He swallowed. Hard. “What?”

“I’m going to go out on a limb and guess that I don’t look nearly as good naked as you think I do.”

“I seriously doubt that.”

“I’m just saying . . . I didn’t exercise regularly until I underwent training by the network and . . . I’ve lost weight since then and . . .”

“And?”

She pursed her lips. “Even though I’m in shape now, certain body parts aren’t what I would like them to be.”

He was quiet for a moment. “I’m sorry. I don’t know how to respond to that.”

She grinned. “You don’t have to respond at all. I just wanted to make sure you knew that clothing can hide a lot of flaws.”

Said the flawless woman who made his body harden even when she tried to convince him she was unattractive. Or that she wasn’t as attractive as he might imagine. Or . . .

Actually he wasn’t sure. “I’m certain you’re just being overly critical of yourself.”

She tilted her head to one side. “Could be. The media does condition women to believe they should look a certain way. But, just to be on the safe side, you might want to imagine me with smaller breasts when you fantasize about me.”

Again he remained silent for a moment. “Could I just say that this is the most peculiar conversation I’ve ever had?”

She laughed. “Why?”

“Well, for one thing, you seem convinced that I am laboring under certain delusions concerning your appearance. I’m not.”

“My breasts aren’t this big. I’m wearing a push-up bra.”

“I know.”

The look of surprise on her face was too adorable. “What?”

“I know you’re wearing a push-up bra.”

Now she was silent. “If you tell me you have two gifts and that one of them is X-ray vision, I’m going to have to hurt you.”

He laughed. “I don’t have X-ray vision. But, as you know, all of our senses are heightened. I can hear the faint rustle of the padding that humans can’t. And your breasts don’t move the way they would in a bra without the padding.”

“Wow. You guys really notice the little details, huh?”

“With you, yes.”

A teasing smile curved her lips. “So you stare at my breasts?”

“Yes,” he said, returning her smile, and shook his head in bafflement. “And for some reason, admitting that makes me feel like a naughty schoolboy caught peeking up his teacher’s skirt.”

“Cool.”

Again he laughed.

“So what’s the other reason?”

He tried to recall what they had been talking about but now could only think of her breasts.

Her smile widened into a grin. “The other reason this is the oddest conversation you’ve ever had,” she prodded.

Ah. “You seem to believe I’m going to see you naked at some point in the future. That’s never going to happen.”

“Says you.”

He grinned. “Are you trying to make me laugh again?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because you don’t seem to laugh very often. And I like it when you laugh. It makes me happy.”

Hell. He was in so much trouble. There was only so much a man could withstand.

“I like you, Sebastien.”

“I don’t know why,” he murmured.

“I see what the others don’t.”

Once more, he found himself at a loss for words, because the desperation with which he wanted her to see something good in him—something he could never seem to find himself—was terrifying.

“Now, I know you don’t like to be touched,” she began.

What nit told her that? his inner voice screamed.

“But brace yourself.” She took a step closer. “Because I’m going to give you a hug.”

He stiffened.

Don’t let her touch you! Not now! Not after that weird-ass conversation that left you fixated on her body and feeling all soft and mushy inside because she likes to see you laugh!

Stepping closer, she slipped her arms around his waist, pressed the front of her delectable body to the front of his, leaned her weight into him, and rested her cheek on his chest.

He closed his eyes. It felt wonderful. She felt wonderful.

Though he willed himself not to give in to temptation, he found himself wrapping his arms around her slight form and holding her tight.

“Thank you for saving my life tonight,” she said softly.

“I didn’t. Richart and Roland did.”

She shook her head. “I remember what you did now. You put yourself between me and the shooter.”

“It made no difference. The bullet just went through me and hit you anyway.”

“For all you know, he may have been aiming that third bullet at my head. When you stepped between us, you blocked his view and he couldn’t do anything but a body shot. Then you whisked me to safety behind the building.”

He hadn’t thought of that, but knew it to be standard practice. How many times had he heard Darnell tell the Seconds he trained to hit the body first to disable, then follow up with a head shot?

The idea left him cold.

But not cold enough to keep him from getting hard at the feel of her. The scent of her. The sheer seduction of her.

How he wanted to let his hands wander down and see if that hospital gown gaped in the back the way some did.

“Okay, I’m going to say something now and don’t want you to take offense,” she said then, voice changing.

“Okay,” he agreed warily.

“E wwww. Gross. I forgot you were covered with blood.” She leaned back. Sure enough, her face and hair were now sticky with some of the gore that coated his clothing. And the hospital gown looked as if someone had dipped a sponge in red paint and dabbed it repeatedly.

“Sorry.” He reached under his coat and into one of his back pockets to draw out a pristinely clean white kerchief.

Gently clasping her chin with his thumb and forefinger, he wiped the blood from her cheeks and nose and forehead.

Her brown eyes stared up at him so intently he felt her gaze like a touch.

“There,” he murmured when her face was clean, and stuffed the kerchief back in his pocket.

Her gaze didn’t waver. “You know what?” she said, voice equally hushed. “Screw it. In for a penny, in for a pound.”

Reaching up, she clasped his face in both hands and drew his lips down to meet hers.

Electricity seized him, sizzling his blood and stiffening every muscle in his body.

She tasted as good as she looked. As good as she smelled. So good no force on Earth could have kept him from deepening the kiss. Teasing her lips apart, he slipped his tongue inside to seek hers.

Melanie thought if her heart pounded any harder it might burst right out of her chest.

The man could kiss.

Heat consumed her as his soft, warm lips moved against hers. And when his tongue stole inside . . .

She rose onto her toes and slid her arms around his neck. Their bodies came into alignment, breasts to chest, abs to abs, hips to hips. His erection strained against his zipper. His strong arms locked around her and pressed her so close she almost couldn’t breathe.

Bastien had fantasized about her naked form, imagined what she looked like. Well, Melanie hadn’t had to imagine. She had seen Bastien naked when she had tended his wounds after he was drugged. Every firm, delectable inch of him from that gorgeous mane of hair, down muscle and sinew, to his large feet.

She had wanted to know Bastien the man for weeks. Now she wanted to know his body. Wanted to taste and touch and—

One of his big hands slid down and cupped her ass over the gown, grinding her against him.

Her breath caught. Sparks shot through her.

“Dude, did you hear me? I said stop—Whoa!”

Melanie cursed the interruption when Bastien relinquished her lips and glared over her head at Richart’s Second.

“Oh, sorry. I didn’t know you had Jenna with—Holy crap! It’s you!”

Jenna? That must be the name of Richart’s girlfriend.

Melanie raised her head.

Bastien’s eyes glowed a vibrant amber, the passion in them swiftly replaced by irritation.

Sighing—talk about spoiling the moment—she unglued her front from Bastien’s and turned to face the intruder.

The man who stood gaping at them was unusually young for a Second. He had attended the meeting at David’s, but she hadn’t paid that much attention to him because she had been so distracted by Bastien.

As she studied Sheldon’s smooth face and red hair, she guessed he was no more than twenty years old. Most—if not all—other Seconds were over twenty-five. She had once heard Chris say he liked to make sure his recruits had made it past the I’m-going-to-party-my-ass-off-and-go-wild-now-that-I’m-out-of-my-parents’-house phase and were ready to get down to business. Immortals needed their Seconds to be on call and ready to rush to their aid and fight, if necessary, twenty-four hours a day. If the Seconds were drunk off their asses from partying with their friends, they could get their immortals killed instead of helping them.

And there was also the matter of discretion. Seconds were forbidden to speak of their profession to anyone. (Melanie didn’t know what Chris did to those who spilled the beans and didn’t want to know.) Seconds who spent their weekends partying could not be counted on to keep their mouths shut. And those young enough to still succumb to peer pressure would be more likely to brag about their cool gig in order to get attention or to increase their chances of getting laid.

So Sheldon was a real rarity.

Richart’s Second stared at Bastien for what felt like five minutes. “Um . . . would you excuse me for a moment?” Taking three slow steps backward, he leaned out into the hallway. “Richart?” The bellow vibrated with nervous tension.

Behind her, Bastien sighed heavily. “You don’t have to shout. If he were standing outside on the lawn, he could hear you whisper.”

“Oh. Right.” A moment passed. “Richart?” he said in a normal voice.

Melanie tried not to laugh. “He isn’t here.”

“Oh.” He cleared his throat. “So. Did he, ah . . .” His gaze returned to Bastien. “Did you . . . force him to bring you here?”

“Oh, for shit’s sake!” Bastien snapped. “No!”

She did laugh then. She couldn’t help it. “I assume you’re Sheldon?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I’m Dr. Lipton.” She held out her hand. “You can call me Melanie.”

Much to her surprise, Sheldon strode forward and clasped her hand. “Nice to meet you, Melanie.”

Bastien moved to her side. “You can call her Dr. Lipton.”

She expected the young Second to fall victim to Bastien’s stern warning and acquiesce.

Instead, he said, “So . . . Melanie . . . what brings you to our humble home?”

“I was wounded earlier tonight by some of Emrys’s soldiers.”

“Son of a bitch!” He frowned at Bastien. “Did you get ’em?”

“All of them,” he answered, some of the harshness leaving his expression.

“Good.”

There was more to Sheldon than met the eye. “That’s why Richart brought us here. He knew Mr. Reordon would go on a rampage and want to lock Bastien up for not leaving any of them alive.”

Sheldon tilted his head to one side as he studied Bastien. “Well, you did kinda deviate from the plan. The whole point was to catch some of them and interrogate them. But I get why you killed them instead. I would’ve offed the fuckers, too.” He nodded to Melanie. “How are you doing? Do you need anything? Should I get the med kit? I aced field medicine during my training, so if you—”

“I’m fine, thank you. Roland healed me.”

“Roland Warbrook?”

“Yes.”

“Wow. You really have a knack for making friends with antisocial bastards, don’t you?”

Bastien’s lips curled up. “Yes, she does.”

Sheldon clapped his hands together. “Well, I assume Richart will be back once things cool down. What can I do for you in the meantime?” He eyed Bastien. “No offense, dude, but you look like shit. You need some blood?”

“I do actually.”

“Follow me.” He led the way out of the living room and into a spacious kitchen. “Melanie, can I fix you something to eat? I suck as a cook, but can warm you up some of the vegetarian pot pie Richart made earlier.”

“No, thank you.”

He crossed to the refrigerator, opened it, and bent down to retrieve bags of blood from the meat compartment. He handed them to Bastien. “Are you sure? It’s better than it sounds. I mean, I thought any pot pie that was all organic and didn’t contain meat would taste like whale snot, but the shit is delicious.”

Melanie laughed. She could sort of see why Richart was willing to put up with Sheldon. “I don’t—”

“You should eat something,” Bastien interrupted. “We both should. It’s been a long night. And it may not be over yet. We don’t know what’s going to happen once Chris burns Seth’s ears with his interpretation of what went down.”

She nodded. “You’re right. Thank you, Sheldon. We’d appreciate it.”

“My pleasure. Would you guys like to shower and change first?”

Melanie glanced down at her now-sticky hospital gown. “I’d love to, but I don’t have anything to change into.” Anything in Richart’s size would swallow her.

“No problem. One of the guest rooms is reserved for Richart’s sister. Lisette doesn’t stay the day often, but she keeps several changes of clothes here for when she does. I don’t think she’d mind you borrowing something.”

Lisette was close to her size, so Melanie fervently hoped she’d find something that would fit. She wasn’t sure how much the back of her hospital gown exposed, but it felt pretty breezy back there. And, while she wouldn’t mind Bastien catching a glimpse of her butt, she would rather not flash Sheldon.

“If you’re sure . . .”

He led them out of the kitchen. “I’m sure. Lisette’s great. Let me show you to the guest rooms.” Stopping, Sheldon turned around and eyed them speculatively. “Or guest room. Are you guys together? Because when I walked in on you a minute ago, you were—”

“No.”

Sheldon’s eyebrows rose at Bastien’s clipped response. “It was a momentary . . . digression.”

Now Melanie raised her eyebrows. “Says you.”

Bastien smiled. “Would you stop saying that?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because it makes you smile.”

Sheldon started walking again. “Momentary digression, my ass,” he mumbled.

“I can hear you,” Bastien reminded him.

“I know.” Sheldon guided them to guest bedrooms that were next to each other. “I’ll be back in a minute with some clothes, Melanie.”

Once the Second was gone, Bastien stared down at her in silence.

He was thinking again. Or, she should say, he was thinking too much again. She could almost see the thoughts swirling around behind those gorgeous brown eyes and knew what he would say before he said it.

“About what happened . . .”

Yep. She had figured he was obsessing over that. Poor guy. The immortals had really done a number on him, convincing him he was the evil monster they seemed to think him. Now he probably thought kissing her would taint her somehow. She was going to have to do something about that. She just needed a little time to decide what.

“I assume you mean the kiss?” she asked innocently.

“Yes.”

“The warm, wet, pulse-racing, make-me-want-to-strip-you-naked-and-rub-every-inch-of-my-body-against-yours kiss?”

His eyes flared, an involuntary reflection of his arousal. “That’s the one.”

“What about it?”

“It shouldn’t happen again.”

“You didn’t like it?” Okay, teasing him was mean, but she couldn’t resist.

“You know I did,” he admitted, voice deepening in a way that sent a sensual shiver through her. “If my eyes didn’t clue you in, I’m sure other body parts did.”

“Very impressively,” she agreed.

“Even so, it wouldn’t be a good idea.”

“You’ve said something similar before.”

“I meant it. I care about you, Melanie. A lot. And . . . I don’t want to sound condescending . . . I just don’t think you understand how bad things will get for you if you’re associated with me romantically. We’re not just talking dirty looks or snide comments. We’re talking the possible destruction of your career. Chris Reordon doesn’t trust me and never will. Give him even the tiniest reason and he will lock me up. We’re here right now because he wants to chain me up in the holding room.”

And she would really like to know why Chris hated Bastien so much. Her boss was usually a levelheaded guy. Friendly. There if you needed anything. But with Bastien . . . it just seemed personal.

“I’m not worried about that.”

“You should be.” He said it with such concern. “Your work at the network is invaluable. If anyone can find a cure for this virus or a method of preventing or treating the damage it causes in humans, you can.”

That was both an incredible compliment and a heavy burden to bear. So much expectation . . . If she failed them . . . “Look, don’t put me on a pedestal, Bastien.”

“Don’t underestimate yourself, Melanie. You’re too important. And you like your job, don’t you?”

“Absolutely.” And she knew how rare that was. So many people were stuck in jobs they hated, working with people they didn’t like. There may be a lot of pressure involved with her job, but she enjoyed it and liked most of the people she worked with (Dr. Whetsman was the exception).

“Being with me will jeopardize all of that,” Bastien continued. “Right now, you have the highest level clearance at the network and access to any and all information you need. If word gets out that you and I . . . If anyone suspects you might have tender feelings for me, that clearance will be revoked. You will no longer be trusted at the network and they will shut you out. I wouldn’t even put it past Chris to deny you further access to Cliff and Joe.”

Okay. That got her attention. Would Chris really do that? Would he take it so far? Let his dislike of Bastien flow over onto her?

Even if it did, wouldn’t the importance of her research tie his hands?

“Trust is everything, Melanie. You don’t want to lose theirs and have your every decision countermanded, your every motivation questioned. Such becomes tiresome very quickly.”

Something to ponder, true. But Melanie wasn’t willing to give up what Bastien made her feel for a few negative what-ifs. She felt certain she could find a way around any obstacle Chris might throw in their path.

“So no more kissing?” she asked slowly.

The look that crossed his face was a mixture of relief and regret. “Yes.”

“Okay.” Rising onto her toes, she leaned into him and captured those silken lips with her own.

No one tasted better than Sebastien. No one kissed better. And he may think kissing her a bad idea, but he didn’t pull away.

He wound his arms around her waist even as she slid hers up around his neck.

Melanie pushed him back into the wall and leaned into his large, firm, muscular form.

Bastien groaned. “You’re making this very hard for me.”

She grinned and rubbed her hips against his. “That’s sort of the whole point.”

He smiled. “You aren’t going to give up, are you?”

She stared up at him, at his glowing eyes, his face so relaxed with that handsome half smile. “No,” she said somberly. “I haven’t felt this way in a long time, Bastien.”

His smile slowly faded. “Nor have I.”

“I’m not going to refrain from exploring what’s happening between us because others may not approve. It’s too important.”

He stroked her hair. “You’re so fearless. I wish I could be, too.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You are. You went up against I-don’t-know-how-many soldiers on your own tonight.”

“For you.”

“Well . . .” She drew a hand down to his chest. “When it comes to us, I want you to follow your feelings, not do what you think is best for me. If you don’t want to kiss me because you aren’t interested—”

“You know I am,” he said gruffly.

“Then stop thinking and act.”

“There will be consequences.”

“We’ll deal with those as they arise.” She couldn’t help but notice he wasn’t pushing her away. “So, are we going to do this?”

“Dude, I say go for it,” Sheldon said as he strolled down the hall toward them. “Melanie is smokin’ hot and you’re . . . you.”

As Melanie reluctantly moved away from Bastien, whose arms she was happy to note were a little slow to release her, Sheldon held out a pile of folded clothes.

She took them. “Thank you.”

He nodded and sized the two of them up. “I can hold off on warming up the pot pie if you guys want to have sex. Just let me know so I can put in my earbuds and blast Disturbed in case one of you is a screamer.” He looked pointedly at Bastien.

Melanie laughed.

Bastien scowled. “How has Richart not killed you yet?”

“That’s what his brother and sister keep asking.”

“And Ami,” Bastien added with an evil grin.

Anxiety instantly darkened Sheldon’s face. “Really? Has she said something to you? Is she coming for me? She isn’t coming for me, is she?”

Wow. He seemed genuinely afraid of Ami. Did he know what she was? That she was different? Or was it something else Melanie hadn’t heard about?

“I don’t know,” Bastien said slowly. “I suppose it depends in part on my treatment during our stay here. Ami and I are close friends, you know.”

Sheldon swallowed. “Seriously?”

“Yes.”

Melanie started to wonder why Bastien wasn’t worried about Ami being associated with him, then realized he didn’t have to. Seth would kill anyone who treated Ami badly.

Sheldon forced a laugh and clapped Bastien on the shoulder. “Dude, I was totally joshing you about the screaming thing. You want me to hold off on the pot pie? ’Cause I don’t mind.”

“No.” Bastien sent Melanie a rueful smile. “Go ahead and heat it up. We’ll join you shortly.”

“Yes, sir. And, if you change your mind, don’t worry about it. I’ll keep it warm for you.” After giving Melanie a grinning thumbs-up, he hurried down the hallway and out of sight.

Bastien shook his head. “That boy is strange.”

Melanie smiled. “But I can see why Richart likes him.”

“And why Ami doesn’t.”

Melanie laughed.

Bastien moved closer, bent his head, and touched his lips to hers in a brief caress. “Shall I meet you out here in ten minutes?”

His touch sent her slowing pulse racing again. “Make it fifteen. It takes me awhile to comb my hair out when it’s wet.”

“Take your time. I’ll be here when you’re ready.”

She smiled and stole another kiss. “So will I.”