Shadows Strike

by Dianne Duvall

  “That’s been out of your system for hours,” Ethan said with a grin.

  “Well . . .” She threw her hands up in exasperation. “I don’t know what to say. You’ve been in my head for a year now and then you kissed me and were all irresistible charm when we finally met—”

  “Dude, you kissed her?” Cliff chimed in. “Awesome!”

  Heather rambled on as though he hadn’t spoken. “Then you showed up tonight with your coffeepot and newspaper and boyish smile—”

  “I thought women liked flowers and chocolates?” Aidan remarked.

  “And now I wake up with you all over me and looking like”—she motioned to his gorgeously muscled chest and flat washboard abs—“that. So . . . of course I’m going to have some . . . inappropriate thoughts.”

  “That is so cool,” Cliff said.

  Ethan’s eyes lit with an amber glow. “Aidan?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You don’t have to be in the same room with us to guard us, do you?”

  Heather’s breath caught. Her pulse picked up at the heat in Ethan’s gaze.

  “Sadly, I do,” Aidan countered. “But even if I didn’t, if the two of you made love in here, I and every vampire on the floor would hear you.”

  “Well, screw that!” Heather blurted. She was not an exhibitionist, visually or verbally.

  Cliff laughed as Aidan continued.

  “And if you sought the privacy of the soundproofed room Chris recently added, I wouldn’t hear it if you were attacked.”

  The glow in Ethan’s eyes faded as he turned his head and studied Aidan. “Anyone who attacked us in a room down here would have to get by you and all of Chris’s men first.”

  “Not necessarily.”

  Heather looked at Ethan. What did that mean?

  Ethan looked as confused as she felt. “Just what the hell is going on?”

  Chapter Nine

  “I’m sorry, could you repeat that?” Ethan requested.

  Seth had returned to the infirmary at sunset and, instead of letting Ethan and Heather leave, had given Heather a change of clothes he’d nabbed from her home, then teleported the two of them to Zach and Lisette’s house.

  Now Ethan and Heather sat, shoulder to shoulder and hip to hip, on a living room sofa, their linked hands resting on Ethan’s thigh.

  Across from them, Seth manned a wingback chair. Zach propped up the fireplace mantel, his arm curling around Lisette’s shoulders as she leaned into him. Their Second, Tracy, occupied a love seat nearby, her brow furrowed.

  “The prophetic dreams Heather has been having,” Seth obligingly repeated, “were planted in her subconscious by Gershom.”

  Shit. That was what Ethan had thought Seth had said.

  This was bad. This was so bad.

  Ethan tightened his hold on Heather’s hand. “Why?” Why would the Other single out Heather and fuck with her mind?

  “We don’t know,” Seth admitted. “That’s what we’re trying to determine.”

  A leaden hush descended.

  “Who is Gershom?” Heather asked, the question timid, as though she too recognized the gravity of the situation.

  Ethan looked to Seth. How to explain it?

  “I have led the Immortal Guardians for thousands of years,” Seth told Heather.

  Her eyes widened. “You’re that old?”

  “Yes. Zach is, too. Aside from David, my second in command, no one else can even come close to us in terms of age and power . . . except for the Others.”

  “The Others?” she parroted.

  “That’s what they call themselves, yes.”

  “There are over a dozen of us. Of them,” Zach corrected himself. “Seth and I are . . . willing exiles, if you will. Defectors.”

  Heather’s brow creased. “I’m sorry. I’m not following you. You keep saying others. Other what?”

  Seth leaned forward and braced his elbows on his knees. “Others are the eldest immortals on the planet. As such, we possess incredible power. Power that can alter the world if we wield it. But we decided long ago that we would not, under any circumstances, interfere with the natural course of mankind. We believed—and had good reason to do so—that any interaction with humans would alter that course and inevitably bring about Armageddon.”

  Heather stared at him. “Armageddon. As in the end of the world.”

  “Yes,” Seth confirmed. “We really did have good reason to believe it, but I can’t go into that with you.”

  Heather cast Ethan a questioning look.

  “David once compared it to time travel,” Ethan attempted to explain. “Have you ever seen time-travel movies in which those who traveled back in time were warned to alter nothing, that even stepping on a bug or killing a butterfly could change the course of history?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s what the Others believe. That any interaction at all with humans will irrevocably set into motion changes that will bring about an apocalypse and destroy us all.”

  Her gaze slid to Seth. “I don’t understand. You’re here, right now, interacting with me. And you protect humans from vampires every night. Doesn’t that contradict what you just told me?”

  “As Zach said, he and I defected from the Others. I fell in love with a human woman many millennia ago and was willing to risk everything to be with her. Once I became part of the mortal world and began living amongst humans, I couldn’t let vampires prey upon them unchallenged. Since vampires and immortals share similar characteristics in terms of speed, strength, and regenerative capabilities, I believed immortals protecting humans from vampires would balance the playing field rather than tilt it. And such gave immortals a purpose.”

  Heather’s gaze slid to Zach.

  Zach’s lips tilted up a bit. “I thought Seth was full of shit and sided with the Others until recently.” He glanced down at Lisette. “Until I understood what it meant to be willing to risk all for the woman you love.”

  Smiling up at him, Lisette rose onto her toes and pressed a kiss to Zach’s chin.

  “The Others,” Seth told Heather, “believe we’re in the wrong and still maintain that any interaction with humans will bring about Armageddon . . . and their own demise. They would like nothing more than to kill me—and Zach—to end our interference in the matters of mankind. But last year, one amongst them . . .”

  “Lost his fucking mind,” Zach snarled.

  Seth glanced at Zach, then nodded at Heather. “Yes. Gershom apparently has lost his mind and actually wants to bring about Armageddon. At least, that is what we believe, since we can find no other explanation for his actions.”

  Heather looked up at Ethan. “Seriously? He wants the world to end?”

  Ethan sighed. “Yes. He already tried to get things rolling once by giving Shadow River the virus so they could raise their mercenary vampire army.”

  Her throat moved in a swallow. “That would do it.” Then the color fled her face as she studied them all. “And now you say this Other, this Gershom, is screwing with my head, planting dreams in my subconscious?”

  “Yes,” Seth acknowledged.

  “Why?” she asked as her hand began to tremble in Ethan’s grasp. “Why me?”

  “We don’t know,” Seth answered.

  Zach cleared his throat. “It could be your connection to your father. I understand he’s a high-ranking officer in the army.”

  “He is. But if this Gershom wants to use my father, why not plant the dreams in my father’s mind? Why go through me? What did he think I would do? And if I’m so important to him, why did he mislead me in the last set of dreams? Why did he let that vampire stab me?”

  Ethan frowned. “What do you mean? Mislead you how?”

  “In the dreams of the battle we fought last night,” she told him, “you always died.”

  Shocked silence took the room.

  “What?” Ethan breathed.

  “That’s why I didn’t call you and tell you about them,” she said, her face full
of sorrow. “I was afraid it would make them come true. In the dreams, I was always leaning down to grab one of the fallen vampires’ weapons when that last vampire came up behind you and stabbed you in the back. In the dreams, you fell to your knees and . . .” Her voice faltered.

  “He took your head,” Seth said grimly. “In the dreams, the vampire decapitated you.”

  “Yes,” Heather whispered.

  Ethan stared at her. “That’s why you threw yourself at my back? Because you knew if he stabbed me it would weaken me enough for him to decapitate me?”

  She nodded. “I couldn’t let him kill you.”

  Releasing her hand, Ethan wrapped an arm around her shoulders and drew her close. “What does it mean?” he asked Seth. Zach. Lisette.

  Seth shook his head, his expression grim. “We don’t know. We can’t even decide who his real concern is. Is it Heather and her connections? Or is it you? Did he purposely mislead her in the dreams so she would save your life?”

  “If he wanted to save my life, why did he orchestrate the vampire attacks in the first place?” Ethan demanded, frustration rising. “I mean, what the fuck, Seth? I don’t know this guy from Adam. What the hell would he want with me? I don’t even have a mind he can control. My damned head is too hard.” Unease trickled through him. “Wait. That couldn’t be it, could it?” He looked back and forth between the elders. “He can’t control my mind, can he? Could he want to manipulate me the way he did Whetsman because he knows you never read my thoughts and wouldn’t guess it?”

  Seth visually consulted Zach for a long minute.

  Ethan didn’t like the look in his eyes, when Seth again met his gaze.

  “It’s possible. We hadn’t considered it from that angle.”

  Ethan swore.

  “But,” Seth qualified, “considering the pain it would cause you, I find it hard to believe he would be able to get you to sleep through his intrusion.”

  “But you’d know it if you saw it, right?” Ethan pressed. “You’d see some evidence that he’s tampered with my mind if you took a look?” He did not want to end up like Whetsman. Ethan did not want to be some prick’s puppet and end up betraying his friends.

  And he didn’t want to hurt Heather.

  “Yes,” Seth responded, no less grim.

  “Then do it,” Ethan said.

  Seth swore. “That isn’t necessary. We aren’t there yet. We can just monitor things and see what happens—”

  “Do it, Seth,” Ethan gritted, understanding his leader’s reluctance.

  The elder dragged a hand down his face and again looked at Zach.

  Hell, even Zach looked grim.

  Lisette’s face filled with dread. “Ethan, you don’t have to do this.”

  Again Ethan thought of Whetsman, who had worked with Gershom for who knew how long and had aided Shadow River, something that had inevitably resulted in a loss of lives, both mortal and immortal.

  Yes, he did.

  Straightening, Heather frowned up at him. “Why don’t they want Seth to read your mind?”

  He tried to shrug it off. “Because it will hurt like hell, but I can take it.”

  “It can also cause brain damage,” Seth told her. “Brain damage I won’t be able to repair. Ethan’s mind is wired differently. Negotiating it is extremely difficult.”

  Alarm filled her features. “Then don’t do it!” She turned back to Ethan. “Ethan, don’t. You don’t have to. Seth said he can wait and—”

  “And what? See if I hurt my friends? See if I hurt you?” Ethan shook his head. “Fuck that. I’m not going to let this asshole turn me into a weapon he can use against you all. The last time he did that, we lost two immortals and seven members of the network. Seth, just do it and get it over with.”

  “Zach,” Seth said.

  Straightening away from the mantel, Zach crossed the room and circled the sofa to stand behind Ethan. He rested his hands on Ethan’s shoulders. “I’ll try to alleviate some of the pain.”

  Ethan nodded and tried to ease away from Heather.

  Heather clung to him like a vine.

  “You’ll have to release him,” Seth informed her.

  She hesitated, face stricken, then took Ethan’s face in her hands and leaned up to kiss him. A long, hungry kiss full of desperation that he eagerly returned.

  No one voiced an objection as the kiss lingered.

  When Heather finally broke the contact, she pressed her forehead to his. “You owe me coffee.”

  He nodded, unable to speak.

  Her brown eyes full of fear, she eased away from him and curled up on the opposite end of the sofa, arms wrapped around herself as though she fought the urge to reach for him again.

  Ethan looked to Seth. “Do it.”

  Across the room, Lisette mouthed, I love you.

  Ethan forced a smile.

  Seth eased out of his chair and down onto his knees. Shoving the coffee table aside, he moved forward until he knelt in front of Ethan and took Ethan’s jaw in one large hand. “Are you sure?” he asked one last time.

  “I’m sure.”

  Agonizing pain struck, as though someone had fired a damned Taser at Ethan and the barbs had embedded themselves in his head. Jolt after jolt of fiery pain pummeled him as that imaginary finger held down the button and sent what felt like a powerful electrical current burning its way through his brain. Ethan’s teeth clamped together as every muscle in his body jerked and tightened. Beneath the torturous assault, he could feel warm tendrils of . . . something seeping through him. Zach, trying to alleviate the pain. But it was about as effective as a mother pressing a kiss to a child’s arm after it had been broken.

  Warm liquid tickled Ethan’s upper lip. Then his chin. His jaw beneath his ears.

  Ethan tried to hold his shit together for Heather’s sake, but soon bellowed from the pain until darkness opened its gaping maw and swallowed him whole.

  In a windowless room, men with dour faces sat around a large, beautifully polished oak table. Some wore military uniforms decorated with multiple medals and insignia. Others wore business suits that identified them as either leaders of the intelligence community or political advisors.

  On one wall, large monitors flashed with color, images, and text.

  Outside the door, heavily armed guards ensured none breached the inner sanctum.

  Thick files full of information on the destroyed army base and one Private First Class Nick Altomari rested on the table before each man.

  “Could he be in collusion with the perpetrators of the attack?”

  General Lane addressed the man videoconferenced in via the laptop at the head of the table. “It’s a possibility, sir.”

  “Not according to our psychiatrists,” a second man objected.

  “Well, what do they say?” the first man asked.

  “That whatever he saw traumatized him so much that it drove him insane. That his mind couldn’t take it and has fabricated this . . . I don’t know . . . fantasy-world explanation to help him deal with what happened that night.”

  “Or to deal with the guilt,” yet another offered. “For all we know he could have orchestrated the whole damned thing.”

  “I say we have our interrogators lean on him harder until he cuts the shit,” a gravelly voice farther down the table barked.

  General Lane shook his head. “There’s an alternative to that.”

  “What?” the man with the gravelly voice snorted. “Your daughter?”

  General Lane ignored him and looked to the head of the table. “Mr. Chairman, my daughter has helped us countless times in the past with interrogations. She is the best in her field.”

  “What exactly is her field?” the chairman asked.

  “She’s a FACS specialist. She reads facial expressions and can tell by even the most minute changes whether or not someone is telling the truth.”

  Grumbles and snide comments erupted.

  “She’s been more effective at telling truth from bul
lshit,” General Lane said over the noise, “than a lie detector at every turn.”

  “Hell, I can beat a lie detector,” the gravelly voice declared.

  “But you can’t beat her. She’d know it in an instant if you tried.” General Lane returned his attention to the chairman. “My daughter is the reason we knew the Brooklyn cell intended to blow up Grand Central Station. She’s the reason we stopped them.”

  Some of the mutters ceased, but a few assholes continued to voice their disbelief.

  “Has she ever been wrong?” General Lane challenged them.

  Silence.

  “We can’t risk knowledge of this leaking to the public,” the chairman intoned.

  “It won’t,” General Lane vowed. “She signed a confidentiality agreement when we first started calling her in. She won’t violate it. She’s completely trustworthy. That’s why the DHS, NSA, FBI, and CIA all use her. They know she won’t talk and she’s always accurate.”

  More silence.

  “You aren’t actually considering this?” the gravelly voiced bastard asked.

  “Bring her in,” the chairman ordered. “At the very least, she should be able to tell us enough for us to decide whether or not we need to loosen the reins on our interrogators.”

  Heather watched in horror as Seth . . . did whatever the hell he was doing to Ethan’s mind.

  Ethan clenched his teeth together until she feared they would crack. His face reddened. The cords in his neck stood out as blood streamed from his nose and ears in steady rivulets. His hands gripped the sofa cushions so tightly the fabric tore.

  Then he bellowed in agony.

  “Stop!” Heather begged, rising onto her knees. “Please!”

  Hands grasped her shoulders. Small, but powerful enough to restrain her.

  Heather looked over her shoulder.

  Lisette stood there, as grim-faced as the others, her eyes glistening with tears.

  “They’re killing him,” Heather choked out.

  Lisette’s throat moved in a swallow as she shook her head. But she didn’t deny it.

  Heather looked back at Ethan.

  Seth’s hand on Ethan’s face began to glow with a golden light.