Heather stumbled backward and fired her weapon.
Brah! Brah! Brah! Brah!
The vampire stumbled to a halt, four holes now decorating his torso, but he didn’t go down. Fury and pain contorted his sneering features.
“The arteries!” the handsome, amber-eyed warrior shouted. “Hit the major arteries!”
Too terrified to ignore him, she fired again, hitting the sneering vampire in the carotid and femoral arteries. When another vampire raced toward her, she shot his blurry form several times in the chest until he slowed and she could see him better, then sent a bullet through his carotid artery.
Both vampires fell to the ground as a third vampire sped toward her.
Heather fired her Walther again.
Brah! Brah! Brah! Brah! Click. Click. Click.
Shit! She was out of bullets.
The vampire was but a breath away when something swept between them and knocked her down.
Heather hit the ground hard. Dirt and weeds abraded her hands and elbows. A flurry of motion erupted a few feet from her face.
Grabbing the 9mm she had dropped, she scrabbled away and dove for her backpack.
More grunts and thuds and hisses sounded behind her as she upended the pack and rifled through the contents in search of her spare magazine.
There!
Grabbing it, she ejected the empty magazine and shoved the full one home.
“It’s okay,” a deep voice spoke behind her.
Advancing the first bullet into the chamber, she spun around, sat on her butt, and aimed the weapon up at . . . the vampire clad in black.
Bending over, he braced hands that still clasped sais on his knees and nodded toward the corpses on the ground at his feet. Beneath her horrified gaze, the bodies began to shrivel up like mummies. “It’s okay,” he repeated. “It’s over.” Crimson liquid speckled his handsome face. His clothing glistened with damp patches.
Heather adjusted her aim, sighting his carotid artery down the barrel. But her hands shook so violently now that she doubted she could even hit the trees behind him.
He started to straighten, but halted mid-motion and emitted a grunt of pain. Sheathing one of his sais, he reached behind him to feel his back, then swore. His nostrils flared as he drew in a deep breath and clenched his befanged teeth together. He made an odd, jerky movement with his hidden arm, then brought his hand back into view, now clutching a short knife.
Heather stared. Had he just pulled that thing out of his back?
He slung it at one of the deteriorating vampires. “Asshole.” Sheathing his other sai, he pressed a hand to his side and limped toward her. “I’m sorry I knocked you down. Are you okay?”
“Stop!” she blurted. “Don’t come any closer.”
His steps halted. He squinted down at her. Frowning, he reached into his coat.
Heather touched her finger to the trigger. “Keep your hands where I can see them.”
He froze. In slow, incremental movements, he raised the hand he had pressed to his side and held it bloody-palm-out toward her. “Easy,” he crooned. When he withdrew his other hand from his coat, he held up a white handkerchief. “I just need to wipe my eyes. Blood keeps dripping into them and blurring my vision.”
When he seemed to wait for a response, she gave a jerky nod. “Go ahead.”
Heather scrambled to her feet while he wiped his eyes, turning the pristine cloth red. She hadn’t realized until then that a deep gash marred his forehead. Blood did indeed trail down over his dark eyebrows into his eyes.
As soon as he cleared his vision, the dark warrior from her dreams narrowed glowing amber eyes at her.
“Forgive me,” Ethan said, realizing he had made a mistake. “I thought you were Nichole.”
The woman before him appeared to be in her midtwenties and bore the same height—about five foot five or six—and slender build of Sean’s Second, Nichole. The woman’s hair was about the right length—halfway down her back. She was garbed all in black. Although, now that he could see her better, he noted that she wore a slim-fitting jogging suit rather than the black T-shirt and cargo pants Seconds tended to prefer. Instead of black combat boots, colorful sneakers encased her small feet.
“You can lower your weapon,” he told her. Was he so coated in blood that she couldn’t identify him? “I’m Ethan. I’m immortal, not vampire. Are you . . . ?” He tried to think of any Seconds in the area whom he hadn’t met. “Are you Aidan’s Second? Or Alleck’s?” He couldn’t remember if their Seconds were male or female.
The woman didn’t respond, just stared back at him with wide, brown eyes so light they almost appeared golden. She was pretty. Fresh-faced and makeup-free like the girls of his youth. Pale skin lightly dusted with freckles, a pert nose, and lovely lips.
Her aim never wavered.
Unease trickled through him. “You are a Second, aren’t you?”
She inched backward, her gaze darting around the clearing as though seeking some avenue of escape.
Ah hell. “At least tell me you work for the network,” he damned near begged.
She muttered something beneath her breath. Something about a dream.
He frowned. Maybe she had hit her head when she had fallen. “Are you all right?” he asked as he raked his gaze over her. “Are you injured?” He hadn’t thought any of the vampires had touched her, but he had been distracted. If one had bitten her, it would explain her being less than lucid. The glands that formed above the fangs of vampires and immortals during their transformation released a chemical similar to GHB under the pressure of a bite.
But this woman didn’t seem drugged. She didn’t appear acquiescent. She didn’t look as though she were about to pass out. She looked alert. Very much so.
She just seemed a little . . . off.
“Miss? Are you injured?” he prompted again and took a careful step toward her.
“Who are you?” she demanded, tightening her hold on the semiautomatic until her knuckles turned white. “What are you? What are they?” She nodded at the vampires, who would soon be no more than piles of clothing once the virus that infected them devoured them from the inside out in a last, desperate bid to live.
“Please lower your weapon,” Ethan said, infusing his voice with as much calm and reassurance as he could. “I won’t hurt you.”
A laugh of disbelief escaped her before she bit her lip, brow puckering.
Hell. As much as her hands shook, she’d shoot him eventually if he didn’t take the gun away from her. Unwilling to lose more blood than he already had, Ethan leapt forward in a burst of preternatural speed and yanked the weapon from her hands.
Gasping, she stumbled backward, then turned to run.
Ethan reached the trees first and turned to face her.
She stopped short. Backed away.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he repeated, voice soft. He could hear her heart pounding in her chest, as hard and fast as the hooves of a galloping horse.
Again biting her lip, she looked around, took in the piles of clothing where the vampires had fallen . . . and seemed to come to some decision.
Turning her back on him, she crossed to the nearest lawn light, bent, and yanked it out of the ground. She went to the next, bent, and yanked it out of the ground, then continued on to the next and the next until she had gathered every single one of them.
Puzzled, Ethan watched her. “What are you doing?”
Offering no response, she dropped the lights into a bucket he hadn’t noticed and started folding up her chair.
“Miss?”
“Heather,” she said as she knelt and started shoving the belongings scattered on the ground back into her pack. “My name is Heather, not that it matters.” As soon as she finished, she glanced up and opened her mouth—to ask for her gun back, he suspected—but apparently thought better of it and zipped the pack closed.
Rising, she looped it over her shoulder, grabbed the chair with one hand, the bucket with the other, and
started toward him.
Ethan tucked her 9mm into one of the many inner pockets of his coat, then showed her his empty hands so she wouldn’t fear he would shoot her.
Such precaution proved unnecessary. Heather walked right past him and plunged into the trees.
“What are you doing?” When she didn’t answer, Ethan followed. “Heather? What are you doing? Where are you going?” He tried not to notice the sway of her shapely hips as she moved forward in smooth strides, but it had been a long damn time since he had had sex and this woman’s body, hugged so snugly by her soft jogging suit, made him want to strip her bare and—
“I’m going home,” she announced.
Ethan’s eyebrows flew up. “I beg your pardon?”
“I’m going home!” she practically shouted. “I’m going home. I’m going to bed. And I’m going to wait for the damned alarm clock to wake me up.”
She really thought this was a dream?
“I don’t know why it didn’t wake me up this time. It always wakes me up at the same point in the dream. Every freaking time. Right after I look down and see that it’s 5:43. All hell breaks loose. I fire my gun. And the alarm wakes me up.” She shook her head, her wavy, brown hair swinging into motion and sweeping across her back. “Maybe there was a power outage. I can’t remember the last time I changed the backup batteries in that thing. Or maybe the damned thing just crapped out on me. I don’t know.”
“The clock?” he asked, trying to follow her words.
“Yes. I don’t know why the alarm didn’t go off this time, but it didn’t, and I need to wake up. I really need to wake up.”
“This isn’t a dream, Heather. You aren’t asleep.”
The trees thinned.
Heather exited them, leading him into a backyard that had recently been mown. “Yes, I am.”
“No, you aren’t,” he insisted, thinking this the most bizarre conversation he’d had in recent memory. Beyond the lawn, a quaint little frame house painted pale yellow stared back at him over a slightly warped back deck.
Dropping the bucket, Heather spun to face him. “I didn’t know it was real!”
Ethan stopped short, nearly bumping into her. “What?” She smelled good, too. And standing this close to her, towering over her the way he did, gave him a tantalizing glimpse of her cleavage.
What the hell was wrong with him?
“I didn’t know it was real, okay?” She motioned to the meadow on the other side of the trees. “I knew the clearing was real. I knew that much. But I didn’t know you were real. I didn’t know they . . . the freaking vampires . . . were real. I thought you were all symbolic or something. I mean, who the hell knew vampires really existed? And I didn’t know I was going to kill two of them. Or that you would slice and dice the others right in front of me. Or that they would shrivel up and . . . and . . . and . . .” Words seemed to fail her. “The dream never went that far because the damned alarm always woke me up!”
She combed her fingers through her hair in an agitated gesture. Noticing that her hand shook, she rubbed it on her pants leg as if the tremors could be removed like dirt. “I just . . . I need for this to not be real,” Heather finished, turning pleading eyes up to his.
“I’m sorry,” he said, fighting an absurd urge to wrap his arms around her, draw her close, and tell her that this was all a dream, that everything would be okay. “But it is real.”
Heather stared up at him for several seemingly endless minutes. “Your fangs are gone,” she mentioned, her voice soft and low now.
He nodded.
“Your eyes are still glowing.”
Because he was attracted to her and, evidently, had lost all control over his body. Not that he could tell her that. “It takes a little longer for their color to return to normal.”
A bird twittered nearby as the sky began to lighten.
“What did you say your name was?” Heather asked.
“Ethan.”
Another lengthy silence followed.
Oddly, he didn’t mind it. Didn’t feel awkward. Just concerned for her.
“This is real, Ethan?”
“Yes.”
She drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Then thank you for saving my life.”
Chapter Two
Heather willed her hands to stop shaking as Ethan raised his eyebrows. “What?”
“That third vampire would have killed me if you hadn’t taken him out.”
He smiled, flashing straight, white teeth. “Well, I couldn’t have defeated seven vampires without your aid, so why don’t we call it even?”
He had suffered some pretty atrocious wounds.
She eyed his bloody and battered form. “Are you okay?”
He nodded. But she noticed he couldn’t straighten all the way.
“Are you sure?” she asked. “Because you look like hell. Not that I know what you look like without all of the blood and gore.”
He started to laugh, but cut it off with a pained grunt. “Honestly, I’ve been better.” He motioned to the house behind her. “Is this your home?”
She nodded. “Sort of. I’m renting it.”
“We have a lot we need to discuss, Heather. Would you like to do it inside?”
She noticed his eyes kept going to the brightening sky. “Oh. Right. The whole vampire sunlight thing.”
He opened his mouth, closed it, then smiled. “Right. We’ll get to that. First, I need to ask a favor of you.”
She shrugged, his easy manner finally unwinding her nerves and aiding her pulse in slowing. “Ask it.”
“Would you wait here for just a moment? I need to retrieve my car.”
“Oh.” Why did it seem weird that a vampire would drive a car? Too many cheesy movies in which she had seen vampires turn into bats and fly away, perhaps? “Okay.”
“Please don’t make any phone calls while I’m gone,” he added.
Who the hell would she call? Anyone would think she had cracked if she called them, said she had been swept up into a battle between vampires, then proudly displayed a clearing with empty clothing scattered about on the ground. “Okay.”
Ethan tilted his head slightly. “I’ll hear you if you do.”
It was a warning, albeit a very kindly delivered one.
“I won’t make any calls.”
Nodding, he backed away. Then his form blurred and shot away into the forest.
Heather stood there, numbness seeping into her that could not be blamed on the cool breeze.
Was this what it felt like to go into shock?
The mind that had raced with various and assorted freak-outs only moments ago now slowed to a standstill, as if trying to process everything she had seen and done in the past few minutes had overloaded its circuits.
Gravel crunched as a car pulled into her driveway.
She frowned. That couldn’t be Ethan. He hadn’t even been gone a full minute.
Leaving her bucket of lights where she had dropped it, Heather headed for the house, walked around the side toward the front, and stared at the vehicle parked behind her little compact car.
The sleek red and black sports car looked as if it could fly and fairly oozed money. Every man she had ever dated would have drooled and instantly declared it his dream car. Even the damned rims were cool, and Heather never noticed crap like that.
The driver’s door swung open. Ethan stepped out.
The car was so low to the ground that she didn’t think it even came up to his waist. How the hell did he fold his—what?—six-foot-four-inch frame into it?
Closing the door, he strode toward her. A limp marred what might have normally been a smooth, graceful gait.
“Now I know this is real,” she told him with resignation.
“Why?”
She motioned to his car. “Because I’ve never seen anything like that before, so it wouldn’t make sense for it to appear in one of my dreams.”
Nodding, he reached toward her.
Heather�
�s breath caught as butterflies erupted in her belly in anticipation of his touch.
What the hell?
Tucking his long fingers under her backpack strap, he drew it down and off her arm, then looped it over his own shoulder. He motioned to the house. “Shall we?”
Her tongue inexplicably tied, she turned toward the house and headed up the steps to the front porch.
Ethan kept pace with her, his hand lightly brushing her lower back as if she were a date he escorted home.
Her fingers fumbled a little when she tugged the keys from her pocket and unlocked the door.
He didn’t wait for an invitation the way vampires in movies often did. He just entered on her heels. Even standing a bit hunched over, he had to duck to enter.
Heather closed the door behind him and watched him set her backpack down.
He gripped the lapels of his long, black coat. Struggling to shrug it off his shoulders, he winced and issued a soft grunt of pain.
Heather closed the distance between them and brushed his hands aside. “Let me do it.” She could feel his gaze as she eased his coat—sticky with blood—over his shoulders and drew it down his arms.
Touching those broad shoulders—shoulders she had seen bared and bunching as he moved over her in the erotic dreams—drove home again that he was real.
He sighed. “Thank you.”
Nodding, she hung the coat on one of the hooks by the door. Sheesh. The thing was heavy, and she soon discovered why. Numerous bladed weapons were tucked into sheaths in the coat’s lining. As was her 9mm, which she opted not to retrieve for the moment.
Quiet embraced them as she turned to face him.
Heather had been born with the ability to read others’ thoughts, so she rarely experienced complete quiet like this in another’s presence.
“This is weird,” she said.
Ethan laughed and winced once more. “Yes, it is.”
“I’m having a little trouble processing it all.”
“I don’t blame you.”
Heather stared up at him. She was alone with a tall, dark, and dangerous vampire. What the hell should she do?
Shadows Strike Page 2
