Authors: Dianne Duvall

Tags: #Romance, #Paranormal, #Fiction

Night Reigns (27 page)

BOOK: Night Reigns

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Ami’s small, slender fingers hovered near the weapons’ grips as she studied the empty clearing before them. Her pale cheeks and nose began to pinken from the winter chill. White clouds formed in front of her lips with every exhalation.

Damn, but he loved her. That it had happened so swiftly shouldn’t surprise him. Roland had fallen for Sarah in mere days.

Unable to resist touching her in that moment, Marcus settled his hand on her lower back, careful to avoid the two sheathed katanas that rode down its center.

She looked up, green eyes pensive.

“Still have that feeling?” he asked.

“Stronger than ever.”

On his other side, Roland murmured, “What feeling?”

They had arrived at the rendezvous point a couple of minutes ago. Nothing two-legged had stirred in the time since. The large farmhouse that had formerly resided in the picturesque clearing and served as Bastien’s lair had been razed a year and a half ago after the defeat of Bastien’s army. No sign of it remained, not even a weed-strewn cement slab. The maze of tunnels beneath the house, once home to a hundred or more vampires, had been packed with the house’s structural rubble, then filled and augmented with dirt, gravel, and sand that had settled into a low knoll.

Tall trees, a random mixture of deciduous and evergreen, formed an imperfect circle around the clearing. The muddy tire tracks that had once passed for a road now nourished a sprinkling of saplings and the brittle beige remains of thigh-high weeds.

“What do you smell?” Marcus asked Roland.

Chin rising slightly, Roland drew in a deep breath. “Something ... very faint.”

Marcus had caught it, too. An odor so weak it was more like the memory of a scent.

“Men,” Roland continued. “A group of them, though I can’t discern how many.”

“Here now, lingering just far enough away to elude us?” Marcus asked, but didn’t think so. Something about it didn’t feel fresh.

The older immortal shook his head. “More like they’ve come and gone. Though how long ago I know not.”

“Perhaps they came earlier to scope out the battle site. Plan their attack.”

“Those were my thoughts.”

“Look at the grass. Enough blades have been bent and flattened to suggest quite a few.”

“Yes.”

Marcus peered into the shadows, searching for any whisper of movement. His sharp eyes honed in on miniscule broken branches and twigs that confirmed the recent passage of large bodies. Yet nothing aside from foliage bent or swayed.

Ami shifted restlessly beside him. “I smell something earthy.”

“Like freshly turned soil?” The scent was as prominent as that of crushed grasses.

“Yes, but I don’t see anything.”

Neither did he. Nothing that indicated any digging had taken place. Only a clod of dirt here or there that had likely been displaced by heavy boots like his own.

“Something isn’t right,” Roland rumbled.

The hairs on the back of Marcus’s neck prickled. An instant later a new scent reached them.

“We’ve got incoming,” Roland announced grimly, drawing his sais.

Ami curled her fingers around the grips of her Glocks. “How many?”

Marcus sorted through the odors. “Three or four. All vamps.”

Though the vampires were two miles away when Marcus and Roland first detected them, it took them only a minute or so to reach the clearing.

And those sixty seconds seemed to last an eternity.

He could appreciate why Roland now tended to become rather pissy before a confrontation with vampires. Considering his irascible nature, most wouldn’t have noticed a difference. But Marcus knew him well. Even so, he couldn’t have been more surprised by Roland’s answer when he’d questioned him about it.

It’s fucking nerves. Can you believe it? Nine hundred years on the planet, almost as many years spent dispatching vampires on a nightly basis, and
now
I feel a nervousness that borders on fear.

Why? You’ve never stressed over fighting vampires before.

I’ve never had anything to lose before. What I have with Sarah ... I don’t ever want anything to jeopardize that, Marcus. I don’t ever want to lose her. Yet, each night we go out and hunt an ever-increasing number of vampires together, and any one of them could get in a lucky strike.

Footsteps approached.

Marcus fought the urge to move closer to Ami, to reach out and shove her behind him. He couldn’t bear the thought of her getting hurt again and was comforted only by the knowledge that Roland was a powerful healer who could mend all but the most severe wounds if this all went to shit.

It also eased his anxiety a bit to know that Richart was only moments away, ready to teleport in and whisk her to safety if Marcus should order it.

The trees across the clearing parted. Three figures stepped into the moonlight: Roy, flanked on either side by vampires who looked as if their image should grace a frat house’s Facebook page. Golden hair cut short. Pretty boy faces. Fucking lettermen jackets of all things.

Roy himself looked like any number of twenty-year-olds dressed in a hoodie with the hood down, except his jeans weren’t four sizes too large. (It was a little hard to fight when the waist of your pants hung beneath your ass and the crotch was down by your knees.) The uncertainty he had displayed last night was gone, replaced by a smug confidence that—as far as Marcus was concerned—confirmed their suspicions that this was a setup.

Bold as brass, the three vamps strode to the center of the clearing and stopped, legs planted shoulder’s width apart.

Three vampires. Four heartbeats.

His hand still resting on Ami’s back, Marcus tapped her four times with his index finger to warn her a fourth was in hiding, then withdrew and rested his palms on the hilts of his short swords. “I thought this was supposed to be a private meeting,” he drawled, strolling forward.

Roland and Ami followed at his elbows.

Roy shrugged. “Insurance. Can’t blame me for being careful, can you? Besides, if he’s who you say he is,” he nodded at Roland, “then maybe he can help all three of us.”

Marcus stopped a few yards away from them.

The vamps focused their attention on Roland.

“Are you Bastien?” Roy asked.

“Yes,” Roland lied.

Roy slid his gaze to Marcus and Ami. “I thought you wanted Roland and Sarah dead.”

Roland offered Roy a grim smile. “Who says that desire has changed?”

“You’re here with them, aren’t you? Why are you siding with the immortals now?”

“Because I’m immortal, not vampire, a slight misunderstanding the one who transformed me failed to clarify.”

Roy slipped his hand into one of the front pockets of his hoodie and clutched something small secreted away there.

Marcus tensed.

“So now you hunt vampires like me?” Roy’s eyes began to glow.

“Only those who kill indiscriminately, turn humans against their will, and do not desire my help. If you fall into that category, so be it.”

That probably could have been phrased better.

Roy smiled, expectation seeping into his countenance. “So be it.” The hand in his hoodie jerked.

The ground beneath their feet shook with a sudden explosion.

Dirt, rock, and clods of dormant grasses and weeds spewed into the air like geysers as vampires burst from the earth all around them.

What the hell?

Marcus whipped his swords from their sheaths as Roy and his companions drew blades and leapt forward, eyes flashing, lips pulling back in snarls that revealed descending fangs.

Roland and Ami spun in tandem, putting their backs to his. Marcus swung, deflecting the frat boys’ long, bulky machetes. Roland began hurling throwing stars with the speed and power of a crossbow launching an arrow. Gunshots split the night, drowning out shouts and cries of pain as Ami drew her Glocks and fired.

All around them, vampires poured from dirt craters like cockroaches from the sewers. They must have breached the buried tunnels of Bastien’s lair. Breached them, cleared them out, then rigged the soil above them with explosives to blow holes that would allow the ground to vomit them forth like lava.

The scents of men Roland and Marcus had smelled had been faint because they had been crammed into the tunnels underground, waiting to catch the trio off guard. Dozens and dozens and dozens ...

One of the frat boys fell back when Marcus drew first blood. Roy’s broadsword—a weapon rarely found amongst the vampire ranks—sliced through Marcus’s shirt and bisected the flesh of his shoulder.

Growling, Marcus put all of his strength behind his next swing, deflecting the blow meant to sever his head and snapping Roy’s blade in two.

Roy’s mouth fell open as he stumbled back.

Dumb ass.
That’s what happened when you purchased weapons off of cable shopping networks. Marcus’s weapons were centuries old and had been handcrafted by master bladesmiths. The weapons created today for amateur collectors were flimsy by comparison.

Marcus delivered a death blow before Roy could recoup, then puckered his lips and emitted a sharp, ear-piercing whistle.

One of Ami’s Glocks fell silent. He heard a clip hit the ground, followed by a new one being slammed home and ripped from its Velcro anchor. The other Glock fell silent even as she advanced the first bullet into the chamber and recommenced firing the first.

Marcus’s heart pounded as he listened intently, taking out first one frat boy, then the other with relative ease. Half a dozen more vampires took their place.

Roland’s sais, already coated in blood, flashed in Marcus’s peripheral vision.

Ami’s second Glock resumed fire. Blood spattered the back of Marcus’s neck, alerting him to how close she had come to being overridden while reloading.

Damn it!
Where were—

Richart appeared behind Marcus’s current opponent and drove a dagger into his heart. As the vampire dropped, Richart vanished.

A blade sank into Marcus’s thigh.

Grunting, he impaled the vampire who dared wield it.

Richart reappeared three yards away, his back to Marcus, daggers still in hand. Two of the vampires racing toward Marcus jerked to a halt as Richart’s blades sank into their throats. Richart disappeared again as they fell to the ground.

Marcus grinned. He had never fought beside Richart before and had to admire his style.

Chaos rippled through the vampire army. No longer so confident, the vamps began to divide their attention between fighting Marcus, Roland, and Ami and looking around wildly for the figure that kept appearing and disappearing in their midst like the Grim Reaper culling souls.

Marcus seized the advantage, remaining in perpetual motion as vampires continued to scramble forth from the earth.

Chapter 13

Kneeling, Ami ejected an empty clip and slammed the Glock down on the last full clip on her reloading blocks. She never ceased firing the Glock in her right hand as she used her shoe to rack the slide of the Glock in her left, then rose. Every time a vampire went down, another one or two took his place. Even with Étienne, Lisette, Richart, and Sarah now tossed into the mix, they seemed to be making little headway.

Richart appeared several yards away and hissed in pain as the bullet meant for the vampire he slew instead sank into his shoulder.

Horrified, Ami gasped, then jerked back when a vamp took advantage of her hesitation and tried to gut her. The long bowie knife he wielded sliced across her middle, carving a shallow cut from one side of her waist to the other.

Richart disappeared again as Ami’s back hit Marcus’s. Gritting her teeth against the fiery sting radiating outward from the wound, she squeezed the trigger, targeted the major arteries of the vamps closest to her, and struggled to remain on her feet.

“Ami?” Marcus bellowed.

“I’m okay,” she called back, shaken.

The 9mm in her right hand fell empty. Out of clips, Ami holstered it, stepped forward, reached over her shoulder, and drew a katana. The other Glock emptied. Ami holstered it, too, and drew the second katana as she brought the first one down. The vampire in front of her jumped back, tripped over a decaying vamp at his feet, and impaled himself on one of his compatriot’s blades.

Her back safely guarded, Ami concentrated on keeping her breath deep and even as she swung the katanas without pause in the pattern Seth and David had taught her.

These vampires, like the others, thought to easily defeat her. It was all that worked in her favor, because she could match neither their strength nor speed.

Despite her best efforts, Ami began to weaken as the battle continued, worn down by their powerful strikes. Another body fell at her feet. Then another. But blades steadily marked her. A shallow cut here. A deep gash there. Puncture wounds. Bruises.

A blow to the head sent her reeling toward Roland.

A large body appeared behind her. As a strong arm wrapped around her waist, another launched throwing stars with deadly efficiency.

Glancing over her shoulder, Ami offered Richart a breathless
thanks.

“I’m taking you to safety,” he said, grabbing one of her katanas and wielding it against a new onslaught.

“No!” She pushed out of his hold. She would
not
leave without Marcus.

Marcus felt a sting—like that of a bee—in his neck at the same moment Ami cried out behind him. He glanced over his shoulder. Richart was righting Ami as he swung one of her katanas.

When the other immortal told Ami he was taking her to safety, relief rushed through Marcus.

Pay attention!
Étienne snapped in Marcus’s head.

Pain cut through his thigh as a sword (another one?) he failed to deflect sank deep. Marcus gritted his teeth and dispatched his opponent.

Your woman is fine,
the telepathic immortal bit out.
More vamps are coming from the trees.

“No!” Ami shouted as Marcus felt another sting in his neck. “I’m fine!” she insisted behind him. “Just give me my damned sword back!”

Holding off the vampire trudging over the pile of decaying comrades in front of him, Marcus reached up and touched his neck over his pulse. Something was sticking out of it.

Yanking the object out, he spared it a quick glance.

A dart. Like the tranquilizer darts he had seen the authorities use on wild animals.

The vampire in front of him lunged. Marcus dropped the dart and fought the vamp back, mortally wounding him then shoving him back into the vampires clambering up behind him.

The number of vamps attacking them had at last begun to dwindle. If no more arrived, they should be able to defeat the rest and might even manage to take a few captive to question later.

Across the clearing, a tall, lean vampire left the trees and marched forward. He seemed oblivious to the violence and carnage that flitted in and out of his path. His glowing blue gaze, alight with the advanced madness common in older vampires, lit on Marcus and stayed, never deviating as a feral smile distorted his long face.

This
was the so-called vampire king. Marcus knew it without a doubt.

As he braced himself for a renewed attack by the vampires just a few feet away, the vampire king raised what looked like a handgun and fired. Marcus instinctively shifted to avoid being hit, then cursed when Richart grunted in pain.

Swinging around, Marcus saw a dart protruding from Richart’s neck and yanked it free as another pierced his own shoulder.

What the hell was the vamp doing? Was he so far gone that he had forgotten drugs didn’t affect them?

No sooner did the thought enter his head than his knees buckled with sudden weakness.

Marcus staggered, saw another dart lodge itself in Richart’s neck.

“Marcus!”

Ami leaped forward and, still clutching her weapons, threw her arms around him to keep him from falling.

Richart stumbled.

Another dart stung Marcus’s upper back. He tried to speak, but couldn’t. His thoughts scattered.

He heard Richart whisper his sister’s name, looked past him, and saw Lisette drop to her knees. Étienne, too.

Alarm ripped through Ami as Marcus leaned weakly against her.

The lingering vampires began to drop back.

What was happening?

Looking up, she saw a dart of some kind protruding from Marcus’s neck. Dropping a katana, she reached up and yanked it free. “Marcus?”

He didn’t seem to hear her.

Bringing the tip of the dart to her nose, she sniffed ... and felt her blood run cold.

“Richart!” she shouted, panic rising. “Get them out of here! Now!”

Richart vanished. Ami looked around wildly.

Richart reappeared beside his sister. As soon as he touched her shoulder, they disappeared.

“Roland,” Ami called hoarsely and turned to Marcus’s friend for aid. Three darts jutted from his back. She strained forward enough to yank them out. Like Marcus, he wavered on his feet.

Richart appeared beside his brother, touched Étienne’s shoulder, and teleported him away.

“Roland!” Sarah cried and charged toward them, cutting down vampires left and right.

Ami nearly sobbed with relief. Sarah seemed to have escaped the darts.

Had Ami and the others blocked the shooter’s view?

Another dart struck Roland in the shoulder as he turned toward the sound of his wife’s voice.

Ami wrapped her arms around Marcus’s waist and shifted until she was between him and the shooter. “Sarah!”

“I’m here!”

Sarah grabbed Roland just as his knees buckled. Grabbing a throwing star from the bandolier looped across her chest, she hurled it over Ami’s shoulder. Then another. And another. “Roland?” She gave her husband a gentle shake. “Roland, sweetie?” Unlike Ami, she was able to support his full weight with only one arm.

“You have to get them out of here,” Ami begged in a trembling whisper.

Sarah nodded. “We can fight our way out.”

“No. They’ll only drug you like they have the men. Just take them and run.”

Sarah jerked her head to one side. A dart whizzed past her ear and landed in the throat of a vampire behind her.

Unlike the immortals, the vamp instantly collapsed.

Sarah’s conflicted gaze met Ami’s. “What about you? I can’t leave you here.”

“You have to. I lack your speed, and you can’t carry us all.”

“Yes, I can. Just—”

“I’ll slow you down too much. They’ll catch you. They’ll drug you.
Please.
” Ami’s eyes burned with tears. “Don’t let them take him, Sarah.”

“Ami—”

“Wouldn’t you do anything to keep Roland safe?” she demanded. Sarah needed to move. Quickly. Before the vamps stopped taunting them long enough to catch what they were saying.

Richart suddenly appeared beside Sarah, an M16 in one hand.

Tears spilled past Ami’s lashes and slipped down her cheeks. Marcus could no longer stand on his own and leaned his full weight against her. His eyes had lost their glow, as had Roland’s, returning to a deep brown dulled by the drug. She forced a smile. “You see? Richart is here. I’ll be fine.” Richart was far too weak to just teleport them all to safety. The immortal could barely remain upright.

Ami suspected the next dart Sarah had to dodge made her decision for her. “I’ll be back as soon as they’re safe,” she promised.

“No,” Marcus mumbled against Ami’s hair.

She hadn’t even realized he was still conscious.

“Go with Sarah,” she urged him as Sarah bent and draped her husband over one shoulder. “I’ll be fine. There are only a couple of vamps left.”

A couple dozen. Hopefully he wasn’t lucid enough to realize that.

Sarah moved closer and bent down.

Ami removed Marcus’s arms from around her. “I’ll be with you soon,” she promised and helped Sarah drape him over her other shoulder. Then, burying her lips in Marcus’s hair, she whispered, “I love you.”

Ami stepped back and took the weapon Richart thrust at her with clumsy hands.

As Sarah straightened, Richart mumbled something in French, staggered forward, and vanished again.

Sarah looked around with dismay, then met Ami’s gaze. “You can’t hold them off on your own!”

A sharp pain struck Ami’s shoulder. She reached back, yanked the dart out, and held it up for Sarah to see. “You have no choice. There’s nothing you can do now.”

Sarah swallowed hard, bright eyes filling with tears. “I’ll be back as soon as they’re safe,” she vowed again.

Both knew Ami would be dead by then. “Go. I’ll do my best to keep them from following you.”

Turning with a sob, Sarah sped away.

An enraged roar rolled like thunder on the night.

Ami raised the heavy automatic weapon. A familiar numbness trickled through her as she spun to face the vampire leader and braced herself for an attack.

His glowing eyes followed the departing immortals. “Get them!” he bellowed.

As soon as the vampire king began to blur, Ami squeezed the trigger.

Like a marionette dancing on a string, his body jerked with every impact.

The vampires around her shifted, unable to decide whether they should pursue the fleeing immortals or rescue their leader. Ultimately, they chose the latter, converging on Ami and yanking the weapon from her grasp. Ami fought with everything she had left, but proved little challenge to them, her movements growing slower and clumsier as the drug burned its way through her veins.

Vampires—she didn’t know how many—held her immobile, her arms shoved so far up behind her back she feared her shoulders would be dislocated.

The vampire king remained on his feet several yards away. Blood gushed from wounds in his torso. Saliva dribbled from his lips as he leaned over and planted his hands on his knees. Whatever he yelled next was so distorted by rage that Ami couldn’t understand it.

The vampire king stretched a hand down to the ground and curled his fingers around the grip of a machete the length of Ami’s arm. Straightening, he leapt forward and swung the thick blade at the nearest vampire. Over and over, he hacked at his howling victim, then turned on another, slashing wildly, attacking like a rabid dog.

The remaining vampires released Ami and ran like hell in every direction.

Ami searched frantically for the gun they had confiscated, but didn’t see it. Grabbing one of her katanas, she raced for the trees in the direction opposite Sarah’s departure.

Agonized screams and garbled cries of pain rode the breeze, nipping at her heels. Eyes watering, she fought the sluggishness that invaded her limbs, borne on the back of the drug. Her breath emerged in terror-filled gasps, fogging on the cold night air. The cries ceased. A sudden wind whipped her. A body appeared before her.

Ami slammed into it, unable to halt her momentum. Her forehead struck a chin with a resounding crack. Sparkling lights burst into being as she stumbled back and dropped the katana. The world spun dizzily, at its center: the vampire king.

He looked as though he had bathed in blood, every part of him red and glistening.

One of his hands shot forward and closed around her neck, lifting her off the ground.

BOOK: Night Reigns

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