Night Reigns (17 page)
Lucky shot.
Agony erupted in her back, on the left side just above her waist, as a blade sank deep and stayed, lodged in her flesh. Driven to her knees by the pain, Ami lost her hold on her left katana. Still swinging the right, she looked up as two vampires appeared in front of her, fangs bared in triumphant smiles.
As soon as Ami had burst into view, weapons blazing—
had there ever been a hotter vision?
—Marcus had tried to circle around to fight at her back. But the vamps proved infuriatingly astute, always remaining between them as if they had videotaped the last battle, studied it like an American football team would the previous year’s Super Bowl footage, and created a new playbook.
had there ever been a hotter vision?
—Marcus had tried to circle around to fight at her back. But the vamps proved infuriatingly astute, always remaining between them as if they had videotaped the last battle, studied it like an American football team would the previous year’s Super Bowl footage, and created a new playbook.
Vampires were not what Marcus would call thinkers. So, who was guiding them?
He needed to take a vamp into custody so they could interrogate him and bring this uprising to an end, but ... when he heard Ami cry out in pain, he went a little Medieval Maddened Immortal on their asses.
Stars and shurikens flew and sank deep into targets. His short swords impaled torsos and severed arteries and limbs. Any wounds he incurred he ignored, moving with such fast fury that most of the vampires had to focus their attention on defending themselves rather than attacking.
As two, three, then four vampires fell, Marcus noticed for the first time a solitary vampire who stood back from the fray near Ami and those she fought. The vamp didn’t participate in the battle or call in reinforcements. He just observed.
As the last vampire in front of him collapsed, Marcus spun toward Ami.
His heart lodged in his throat.
All of her weight was supported by her left leg. The smooth fluid movements that had so impressed him last week had been replaced by awkward hops induced by a wound on the back of her thigh that had already saturated her pant leg with blood. One of her katanas lay on the ground a couple of yards away from her. When she swung the other at the two vampires who circled her, he saw the hilt of a knife protruding from her back.
Roaring in fury, Marcus crossed the distance that separated them in a blink and swung his sword, decapitating one vamp. The other backed away toward the odd vampire who watched everything with an inscrutable expression.
Marcus started toward the pair. A heartbeat later, the voyeur vampire grabbed the other from behind, slit his throat, then sank his blade into his victim’s stomach, severing the abdominal aorta.
Shock halted Marcus’s footsteps.
The wounded one doubled over, trying to clutch both his neck and his stomach at the same time, then fell to the ground. His executioner bent, cleaned his blade on the back of the dying vamp’s shirt, and tucked it away in a sheath at his waist.
The night fell quiet, disturbed only by Ami’s ragged breaths.
Marcus returned one of his swords to its scabbard and backed toward her until he could feel her dwindling body heat just behind him. Reaching out, he took her free hand—wet with blood—and squeezed.
She squeezed back.
“Who are you?” Marcus asked the vampire.
Like many vamps, he looked like a college student: of average height with a thin, rangy build. Short but shaggy hair somewhere between blond and brown brushed thick, brown eyebrows that hovered over pale blue eyes. A couple days’ growth of beard graced his narrow jaw.
“Roy.”
Marcus motioned to the vampire currently gargling out his last breath. “Have a falling out with your friend there, Roy?”
“He would’ve reported me for not fighting.”
“Reported you to whom?”
“Our king.”
Their
king
?
Someone
had delusions of grandeur. “Why didn’t you fight us?”
king
?
Someone
had delusions of grandeur. “Why didn’t you fight us?”
“Are you Roland?”
Ami’s fingers tightened around Marcus’s.
“How do you know that name?” he queried.
“You’re him, aren’t you? You fight alongside a human woman. She’s Sarah?”
How the hell did he know about them? Bastien’s name was renowned worldwide amongst vampires. But Roland’s? And Sarah’s?
“Yes,” he lied, wondering where this would go.
The boy nodded decisively. “I’m looking for Bastien. Can you help me find him? Arrange a meeting?”
“Why?”
“I heard he was helping vampires. I ... I was hoping he could help me.”
Marcus took a step forward. “I can help you.”
The boy stumbled backward. “No! No. You’re immortal. I’d rather deal with Bastien.”
“Bastien is immortal, too,” Marcus informed him. Perhaps all of the vampires hadn’t heard yet.
“I know, but he lived with vampires for two hundred years. He was one of us.” Roy glanced over his shoulder. “Look, there are more of us coming.”
Marcus heard nothing, which meant Roy didn’t either.
“Trust me, they’re coming,” Roy insisted, reading Marcus’s doubt. “I saw Dickie make the call. I don’t know how many, but it could be a dozen or more.”
Marcus swore silently. Ami wouldn’t live through another round. And he would not risk her life for a shot at getting a little information. “Come with us,” he suggested. “I’ll take you to Bastien myself.” As soon as he got Ami to safety.
Roy shook his head, began backing away. “They’ll follow. And when they see how weak Sarah is, they’ll attack her first and use her to bring you down. Leave now, and I’ll head them off, convince them you either fled the fight or left us all for dead and are long gone.”
“You don’t look dead,” Marcus pointed out. Nor did he look as though he had been fighting for his life and doing his damnedest to kill an immortal.
Roy whipped out his large hunting knife.
Marcus released Ami’s hand and prepared to throw a dagger or shuriken.
But Roy didn’t attack. He drew his blade across his own face, sliced his chest open, then sank the knife deep into his own thigh.
Behind Marcus, Ami gasped, expressing the same astonishment he felt.
“They won’t question me,” Roy said through clenched teeth. “Tell Bastien I’ll be at what’s left of his lair tomorrow at midnight.”
As soon as the words left his lips, he turned and sped away in a blink.
“Aren’t you going after him?” Ami asked behind him, her voice hoarse with pain.
Marcus swiveled to face her. “No.”
She was as pale as milk, her soft skin sprinkled with blood. Keeping her weight off her right leg, she stood hunched over slightly, the knife handle sticking obscenely out of her back. Her shirt and pants were saturated around and below the blade. “But—”
“I know where he’ll be tomorrow night.” Retrieving his phone, Marcus dialed Seth’s number.
“But you don’t know how many vamps he’ll bring with him,” she gritted out. “It could be a setup. Another ambush.” Taking his arm, she hopped closer, leaned into him, and pressed her face to his chest.
Heart aching, Marcus wrapped his arm around her and swore when his call went straight to voice mail.
Was Seth always this difficult to reach? Marcus rarely called him.
He pocketed his phone. “I’m sorry, honey, but I’m going to have to take the knife out.”
She nodded. “Give me a three count.”
She was so small, he could reach around her easily and clasp the hilt without having to turn her away from him. He curled his fingers around it.
She tensed, dropped her katana, and clutched his shirt with both hands.
“Ready?”
“Yes.”
“One. Two. Three.” He yanked out the blade.
Ami jerked, but made no sound, alarming Marcus far more than screaming would have. It usually took centuries of being subjected to such wounds to cultivate that kind of stoicism.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
She shook her head, sniffed.
Bending, he slipped an arm beneath her knees and lifted her into his arms. Seconds later, he stood beside her shiny Tesla Roadster.
Déjà vu struck as he lowered her onto the hood. “Where’s the first aid kit?”
“Backseat,” she whispered, curling her hands into fists and bracing them on the cold metal, head drooping. Silent tears fell from green eyes glazed with pain.
Marcus damn near wrenched the passenger door off the car in his haste to fetch the kit, which turned out to be pretty substantial. Most Seconds carried the same since they lacked the incredible healing capacity of the immortals beside whom they fought.
Drawing her shirt up on the left side, he asked her to lean to the right.
Ami grasped the shirt with her left hand and wadded it up just above the injury.
The wound was thick and ragged thanks to the serrated edge of the blade. Marcus placed several sterile gauze pads against it, then wrapped bandages tightly around and around her to hold them in place and keep pressure on it.
Next he addressed the leg wound. Though whatever had sliced into her flesh had missed her femoral artery, the wound continued to bleed profusely. Deep and ugly, the gash stretched across the back of her thigh. Damn vampires and their love of hamstringing their opponents.
Bring ’em down like a gazelle, then fall on ’em like lions
seemed to be their favorite mode of attack.
Bring ’em down like a gazelle, then fall on ’em like lions
seemed to be their favorite mode of attack.
Marcus cut a hole in the back of her pants’ leg to accommodate his work. Ami trembled beneath his hands as he applied butterfly closures, added another thick pad, and wrapped the leg tightly to staunch the flow of blood.
Once done, he lifted her into his arms again. “Just a little longer.”
She nodded against his neck.
Marcus lowered her into the passenger seat, made her as comfortable as possible, and fastened her seat belt. He remembered Roland’s doing the same for Sarah when she had been injured during Bastien’s first large-scale attack and understood now the exaggerated care he had taken.
Had Roland already felt for Sarah then what Marcus, despite his attempts to keep an emotional distance, had begun to feel for Ami?
No, what he
felt
for Ami. No sense in denying it. Every day he was drawn to her more, wanted more time with her, more smiles, more laughter, more teasing. More of everything.
felt
for Ami. No sense in denying it. Every day he was drawn to her more, wanted more time with her, more smiles, more laughter, more teasing. More of everything.
Circling the car, he compressed his large frame and slid behind the wheel, then moved the seat back. As he started the engine and peeled away from the curb, music tinkled in the air.
“That’ll be Seth or David,” Ami gritted out. She started to twist to one side and retrieve her phone, but stopped with a grunt and a wince.
“I’ll get it,” he said. “Where is it?”
“Back right pocket.”
He didn’t know if he’d be able to slip his arm behind her and reach it without brushing or jostling the stab wound.
The music stopped just as his fingers touched her hip.
“Damn,” he said in an attempt to distract her from the pain. “I was hoping to cop a feel.”
A weak smile lit her pinched features. “And I was looking forward to your copping it.”
Smiling, he ran his hand over her hair, cupped her face in his palm.
He felt so much for her in that moment it terrified him.
His phone bleated. Passing a slow-moving SUV, Marcus drew his cell out and answered. “Seth?”
“No. David,” a deep voice with a melodic North African accent replied. “What happened?”
“How did—”
“I heard her scream.”
Marcus looked askance at Ami. “She didn’t—”
“I’m telepathic, Marcus. She doesn’t have to scream out loud for me to hear her.”
Ami had screamed mentally. Probably when he had yanked the knife out of her flesh. It killed him to know he had hurt her so much.
“How badly is she hurt?” David asked. “Does she require healing?”
“Yes.”
“Where are you?”
Marcus told him.
“I’m too far away. I’m in Asheville. You’ll have to take her to Roland. He and Sarah finished their hunt early tonight.”
“I’m already on my way.”
“Good. Please keep me informed.”
Chapter 8
Ami ground her teeth. Every bump the Tesla hit inspired a new tsunami of pain. “Was that David?” she asked as Marcus ended the call.
“Yes.”
He must have heard her scream. If David had tried to speak to her telepathically, she hadn’t heard him. Her thought receptors tended to get a little hinky when she was in excruciating pain.
Marcus gripped the steering wheel so tightly she expected it to break. Ahead of them a car and four SUVs drove with their bumpers practically touching behind a slow-moving truck. The highway was one lane each way with double yellow lines indicating a no-pass zone. Swerving into the opposite lane, he zipped past the other vehicles and cut back in front of the slow driver just in time to avoid a head-on collision with an oncoming, horn-blowing logging truck carrying a full load.
“I’m sorry I hurt you, Ami,” he said, breaking the silence.
She looked at him in surprise. “What? When?”
“When I jerked the knife out. I could’ve removed it more slowly and—”
“Slower would’ve caused more pain.”
He shook his head. “I just don’t like hurting you.”
“I know,” she assured him. She would’ve reached out and taken his hand, but knew the movement would sting too much.
As though reading her thoughts, Marcus peeled one tense hand off the wheel and covered hers where it rested on her thigh.
They exchanged a look, both were comforted.
Then Marcus refocused his attention on the road.
Ami glanced through the windshield. “This isn’t the way home,” she pointed out. “Where are we going?”
His shoulders tensed.
Not the network, she thought with dismay and a touch of that hated fear. She would rather open the car door and throw herself out of the moving vehicle than face the doctors at the network. No matter Seth’s assurances, she would never trust them.
“Marcus? Where are we going?” she repeated when he remained silent.
Marcus gave her an uneasy look from the corner of his eye and muttered something.
“What?”
He sighed. “Roland’s house.”
“Roland Warbrook?” she demanded, cursing the fact that her voice rose in alarm.
“Yes.”
Oh, no, they weren’t. Not if she could help it. “I’m fine, Marcus. Really. A little bed rest and—”
“Bollocks! That knife probably pierced your kidney.”
It had, but the damage had already begun to heal, something she couldn’t tell him because she didn’t want him to realize she was different and ask what she was. Not because she didn’t trust him. But because she didn’t want him to view her as some kind of freak.
Yes, he was different himself as a result of both his advanced DNA and the virus that infected him. But there were many others like him.
Ami was alone.
Besides, the kidney wound wasn’t the worst of her injuries. Earlier she had balled up her shirt just above the knife wound to prevent Marcus from drawing it up higher and seeing the similar puncture wound just beneath her arm. The vamp who had inflicted it had nicked her aorta and missed skewering her heart by mere centimeters. If her body didn’t heal and regenerate as quickly as it did, she would be dead by now.
And there were other injuries he couldn’t see. Organs badly bruised by punches and kicks backed by preternatural strength. A possible concussion.
Though it wouldn’t kill her, it all hurt like hell. “Seth or David could—”
“Seth is unreachable. David is too far away.”
“Then have him meet us halfway!” She would rather wait and endure the pain than face Roland Warbrook.
Marcus frowned over at her. “Roland is only minutes away. Why don’t you want to see him?”
She gave him a
duh
look. “Because he’s
Roland.
”
duh
look. “Because he’s
Roland.
”
Marcus rolled his eyes. “He isn’t as bad as everyone says he is.”
“Um ... yes, he is. I was at Seth’s castle in England a couple of times when Seth brought Roland in to talk to Bastien.” A great deal of blood had been spilled. Furniture had been shattered. Stone walls had cracked. Roland had attacked Bastien like a rabid dog both times, doing his best to tear him apart with his bare hands.
“Oh, don’t judge him by that,” Marcus said, unconcerned. “Roland has a legitimate beef with Bastien. Bastien fractured Sarah’s skull and nearly killed her.”
Sarah had been human at the time. She was immortal now and, according to what Ami had heard, had long since forgiven Bastien for hurting her. Though she did hold a bit of a grudge against him for trying to kill Roland several times.
While Ami could understand their lingering anger, it still didn’t make her want to go anywhere near Roland. “Couldn’t we—”
“Too late. We’re here.”
An epithet left her lips before she could stop it.
Marcus laughed and turned onto a dirt and gravel drive that really didn’t warrant the name. So many weeds and saplings choked the entrance that she hadn’t even noticed it, which was probably the way Roland liked it. If no one noticed it, no one would venture down it.
Roland would never be described as a people person.
The poor condition of the road didn’t exactly endear the immortal to her. Marcus couldn’t avoid bumps and dips and potholes when they were all the road offered. A steady stream of
sorry
s spilled from his lips, accompanied by winces and grimaces and colorful curses. So many that amusement whittled away at Ami’s anxiety.
sorry
s spilled from his lips, accompanied by winces and grimaces and colorful curses. So many that amusement whittled away at Ami’s anxiety.
Halfway down the endless drive they encountered a ten-foot security gate with a small intercom lodged on a short pole in front of it.
Marcus pulled the car up to the speaker and rolled down his window.
“Leave or die,” a deep voice intoned ominously with a British accent.
Marcus sent Ami an apologetic smile and answered, “Roland, it’s me ... Marcus.”
A pause ensued, then ...
“Leave or die,” the voice repeated.
Irritation tightening his features, Marcus opened his mouth to retort.
A female voice, softer, as though distanced from the other end of the intercom, beat him to it. “Ro-land,” she chided in laughing tones. “Let him in.”
Ami assumed that was Sarah, his wife. Sarah had never accompanied Roland on his visits to Bastien, so Ami had never met her.
“No,” Roland responded with no heat whatsoever. “We’re busy.”
“We are not.”
“Yes, we are. We’ve been hunting all night. This is our
us
time.”
us
time.”
Roland wanted
us
time?
us
time?
“Am I going to have to come over there?” Sarah asked, a playful warning in her voice.
“Do you
want
to
come
over here?”
want
to
come
over here?”
Ami blushed at Roland’s heated tone.
Marcus’s patience snapped. “Oh, for shit’s sake! My Second is bleeding to death and you’re talking about sex? Open the gate!”
“Your Second! You brought a mortal to my home? After what happened last time?” Roland sounded furious.
“Okay, first of all,” Marcus gritted, “that was Sarah, and
you
are the one who brought her home with you.”
you
are the one who brought her home with you.”
“That’s neither here nor there. I—”
“Roland, honey,” Sarah interrupted sweetly, “open the gate. If you don’t, Marcus will just jump it with Ami in his arms. And she doesn’t need the increased pain that will cause her.”
“Who the hell is Ami?” Roland demanded. “Wait.” Pause. “Seth’s Ami?”
“Yes.”
Beside her, Marcus bristled.
“
Ami
is Marcus’s new Second?” Roland asked doubtfully.
Ami
is Marcus’s new Second?” Roland asked doubtfully.
“Yes.”
Marcus leaned out the window and bellowed, “Yes! Mine! As in not Seth’s! Now
open the bloody gate!
”
open the bloody gate!
”
Another pause.
“Hmmmm.”
A buzz sounded, and the gate swung open.
Ami was so surprised by Marcus’s possessive declaration that any bumps and jounces that followed on their drive up to the house made little impression.
She didn’t get much of a look at the couple’s home. There were no exterior lights. Immortals didn’t need them. But the Tesla’s headlights briefly illuminated a quaint single-story house with solar panels on the roof and half a dozen hanging baskets overflowing with colorful pansies swaying in the breeze on the front porch.
After killing the engine, Marcus raced around the car to open the passenger door. “See,” he said softly as he leaned in and unfastened her seat belt. “He may be a crotchety old fart on the outside, but deep down he’s a real softie.”
He slid one arm under her knees and, with great caution, the other behind her back.
Ami wrapped her arms around his neck. “
What
about that conversation should have convinced me that he’s soft?”
What
about that conversation should have convinced me that he’s soft?”
“He adores Sarah and will do anything she asks of him.”
Golden light spilled onto the porch as the front door swung open. “You make me sound whipped,” Roland said, his large frame filling the doorway and plunging the porch into near darkness.
“You are,” Marcus informed him. “And couldn’t be happier.”
Ami sucked in a breath when Marcus lifted her.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured, brushing his cheek across the top of her hair as she buried her face in his chest. “It’ll all be over soon.” Turning, he scaled the steps and crossed the porch.
Roland—not what one would expect of a
crotchety old fart
—stepped aside and motioned for them to enter. An inch or so taller than Marcus, he bore the same deep brown eyes and raven hair all
gifted ones
and immortals boasted. His shoulders, clad in a plain, gray T-shirt, were as broad and muscular as Marcus’s, his hair much shorter. His face, admittedly handsome, remained impassive as he watched them enter.
crotchety old fart
—stepped aside and motioned for them to enter. An inch or so taller than Marcus, he bore the same deep brown eyes and raven hair all
gifted ones
and immortals boasted. His shoulders, clad in a plain, gray T-shirt, were as broad and muscular as Marcus’s, his hair much shorter. His face, admittedly handsome, remained impassive as he watched them enter.
The interior of the home was bright and cheerful, sparsely furnished and decorated with modern paintings and large flourishing plants.
Ami didn’t know why, but most immortals tended to be minimalists, their homes lacking all of the excess furniture and froufrou items pricey designers tended to cram their masterpiece rooms with on home decorating shows.
“Hi, Marcus,” a woman in the living room called. As petite as Ami, she possessed long brown hair and sparkling hazel eyes. Extremely unusual for a
gifted one
or immortal.
gifted one
or immortal.
She approached with a smile, her small feet bare. She wore white, blue, and black-striped pajama bottoms and a white tank top. Her wavy hair was dry at the ends and damp closer to her head.
“Hi, Ami. I’m Sarah. It’s nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you, too,” Ami responded. Sarah seemed very kind and approachable—the polar opposite of her husband.
“Marcus, put her over here on the sofa where she’ll be more comfortable.”
Marcus lowered Ami onto a comfy dark leather sofa. New tears sprang to her eyes when he scraped the puncture wound under her arm, and she hastily blinked them back, hoping he wouldn’t notice.
Remorse swept across his handsome, though blood-speckled visage. “Roland?”
Marcus’s friend and mentor approached. “What happened?” he asked. “Was my training so lax that you were unable to sneak up on a lowly vampire without his hearing you and calling in reinforcements?”
“Your training,” Marcus drawled, “didn’t allow for the possibility of new Seconds phoning you as you approached the vampires to inform you that the vamps would summon reinforcements if they heard you coming.”
Roland turned a disapproving glare on Ami.
Ami scowled. “It wasn’t me.”
Marcus frowned at Roland. “Not Ami. She’s perfect. The best Second I’ve ever had. I meant Sheldon, Richart’s new Second.”
Sarah groaned and rolled her eyes.
Roland grimaced. “Sheldon
is
pretty green.”
is
pretty green.”
Ami’s pulse picked up nervously when Roland knelt beside the sofa, far too close for her peace of mind. She damned the fear the monsters had instilled in her when the older immortal hesitated and Marcus moved closer and took her hand.
They must have heard her quickening heartbeat.
Roland’s face and voice softened. “I won’t hurt you, Ami. I’m just going to heal you with my hands. You’ll feel a tingling warmth, then the pain will disappear.”
Surprised by his gentle demeanor, she nodded.
Sarah moved to stand behind the sofa and smiled down at her. “The first time he healed me I thought he was holding a heating pad to my head.”
Other books
Redemption by Howard Fast
The Alpha's Mate (Werewolf Romance) by Fox, Michelle
Olivia by R. Lee Smith
Can't Fight This Feeling by Christie Ridgway
Comet Fall (Wine of the Gods) by Uphoff, Pam
Death in a Beach Chair by Valerie Wolzien
The Highwayman Came Riding by Lydia M Sheridan
We’ll Always Have Parrots by Donna Andrews
Saga of Menyoral: The Service by M.A. Ray
The well of lost plots by Jasper Fforde
