Phantom Shadows

by Dianne Duvall

“What are they?” she asked.

  “The antidote Bastien tested. If you get tranqed, use this to counteract it.”

  Roland tucked his away. “Let’s go.”

  Marcus broke out in a cold sweat as he watched Ami pack on the weapons. “Please rethink this.” He didn’t want her to risk falling into Emrys’s hands. Didn’t want to find out what being at those people’s mercy again might do to her.

  “I have to.”

  “No, you don’t. It’s too risky. And you know damn well Seth would not want you anywhere near that place.” Marcus had tried without success to reach the immortal leader at least ten times in the seconds or minutes that had passed since Bastien had called.

  “Bastien is right. We haven’t been able to locate Emrys or his base through any means we’ve tried. This may be our only chance. If I can get close enough to his men, I can memorize as many signatures as I can and . . .” She looked up as she tied the bottom of one of her Glock 18 holsters to her thigh. “I know I can lead you all to them. I did it before with the vampire king. I can do it now.”

  Marcus knelt in front of her. Brushing her hands aside, he finished tying the holster for her, then tied the other. When he finished, he leaned his face into her stomach and wrapped his arms around her hips. “I can’t lose you, Ami. I can’t.”

  He heard her swallow, and wondered if her throat had as big a lump lodged in it as his did.

  Her fingers tunneled through his hair and held him close. “You won’t lose me.” She pressed her lips to the top of his head. “A handful of immortals will be there to protect me.”

  “Such has been the case before. Look how that ended.”

  She rested her cheek on his hair. “We’ll be fine. Maybe you can kick some ass while we’re there. Won’t you enjoy that?”

  He chuckled and shook his head.

  She stiffened, then relaxed. “Hi, Richart.”

  Marcus sighed. Rising, he turned to face the other immortal. “You’ll take us both at once or you won’t take us at all. I’m not letting Ami out of my sight.”

  Richart nodded and held something out to him. “The antidote. Use it like an EpiPen if you’re hit with a dart.”

  Marcus nodded and tucked it into one of his many pockets.

  “Ready?”

  He nodded and wrapped an arm around Ami.

  Richart reached forward and touched their shoulders.

  Melanie was helping another injured guard down the hallway when Richart, Marcus, and Ami appeared in a corner near the entrance of the escape tunnel.

  Ami’s face was pale, but set with determination. After a quick look to take in the damage, she closed her eyes and stood very still.

  Beside her, Marcus loomed protectively, weapons in hand, face dark. Melanie thought that if anyone so much as sneezed, Marcus would be on them in an instant.

  Melanie helped the wounded man through the jagged hole in the wall and turned back to aid more. It was like a war zone. Explosions frequently rumbled in the distance or rocked the building. A cloud of dust hovered in the hallway, tickling her lungs and leaving her eyes gritty. The network’s headquarters was huge and employed hundreds of men and women from dozens and dozens of occupations. Doctors. Nurses. Accountants. Lawyers. Hackers. Internet monitors. Translators. Actors. Weapons trainers. Martial arts trainers. Electronics geniuses. Cooks. Linguists. Repairmen.

  The names of the dead had been dropped by the wounded as they made their way to her and asked for aid. And more were dying. She could tell by the grim expressions on the faces of Cliff, Joe, and Stuart as they rescued those they could.

  Marcus’s eyes widened as a blur sped toward them from the elevator shaft. Raising his weapons, he stepped in front of Ami.

  Melanie reached over and placed a hand on his arm. “Wait.”

  He scowled at her. “Is that—?”

  Cliff halted in front of them. An elderly woman, skinny as a rail, was cradled in his arms. Her hair a tangled mess dragged from a formerly neat chignon, she stared at Melanie with round, blue eyes.

  “Ma’am? Are you hurt?” Melanie asked.

  The woman shook her head. “The ceiling collapsed. I was trapped and couldn’t move until this young man freed me. I told him I could walk, but—”

  Cliff lowered the woman to her feet. “I said I could walk faster.”

  The woman nodded, her expression slack with amazement. “He could.”

  Cliff took a step back, sent Marcus a cautious glance. Then, nodding to Melanie, he took off back toward the elevators.

  Melanie guided the older woman through the hole, asked one of the guards forming a relay line in the tunnel to help her, and turned to face Marcus.

  Just as she had anticipated, the immortal’s face was full of disapproval.

  “They let the vampires out?”

  “In case you hadn’t noticed, the vampires are helping us. The immortals are fighting the soldiers above ground and are doing their damnedest to keep them from demolishing the whole building. The vampires are working on the inside, taking out the soldiers they encounter and rescuing all of the network employees they can.”

  As if on cue, another blurred form shot toward them through the throng. Joe halted, a man draped over his shoulder. The vampire eyed Marcus impassively as he lowered the man’s feet to the floor.

  The man straightened, brushed at the dust on his torn suit, and squinted up at Joe. “Thank you.”

  Joe turned luminescent blue eyes on Melanie. “He isn’t injured.”

  The man shook his head. “I’m fine. A few bruises is all. I just can’t see shit without my glasses.” Eyelids nearly touching, he peered around them. “Where are we?”

  “Sublevel 5,” Melanie told him. She motioned to another of the guards in the tunnel. “This man will help you evacuate. Thank you, Joe,” she added with a smile for the vampire.

  “Yes,” the man said over his shoulder. “Thank you, Joe.”

  Melanie had no idea if the man knew he had been saved by a vampire rather than an immortal.

  Joe nodded and raced away.

  Marcus muttered something Melanie couldn’t hear over the sounds of war.

  Melanie saw a woman with a bad head wound staggering toward her and hurried over to offer what aid she could.

  Killing or capturing the mercenaries—the d’Alençons seemed convinced now that they were mercenaries—would’ve been a hell of a lot easier if Bastien didn’t constantly have to dodge bullets fired from the helicopter that hovered above them. He had hoped one of the dumbasses in the Humvees would hurl a grenade at him so he could lob it into the second helo and eliminate it like the first, but no such luck.

  Bastien swore when another dart stuck him in the neck. That was the fifth one and, so far, Melanie’s antidote was working splendidly. Bullets peppered his body as he plowed through a cluster of soldiers. Grunting, he swung his blades and savored their screams.

  Leaping up onto the Sisu, he slit another soldier’s throat and took possession of the machine gun. Finally. He’d take out the Black Hawk and—

  As he aimed the heavy weapon at the chopper, what looked like a huge martial eagle with a ten- or twelve-foot wingspan swooped out of the lightening sky and dove through the helicopter, in one door and out the other. Soldiers, weapons, and ammo tumbled out and fell to the ground.

  The helicopter wobbled erratically as the pilots panicked.

  The raptor wheeled around and dove straight for the nose of the copter. At the last second the eagle spread its wings and extended its legs forward. Its talons drove through the front windows, shattering glass and bending metal, and clutched the two pilots.

  The engine whined as the helicopter began to spin. Deftly avoiding the blades, the eagle yanked the pilots through the shattered windows and dropped them like stones.

  What. The. Hell.

  Bastien barely noticed the helicopter crash and burn. His gaze followed the eagle as it swooped down and ducked into the forest.

  Bullets struck Bastien.<
br />
  Swearing, he turned the machine gun on the soldiers firing at him. When that bunch had fallen, he looked back at the forest, searching for the raptor.

  David stepped from the trees.

  Shit. David could shape-shift? Nobody had told him immortals could shape-shift.

  The elder immortal was garbed all in black. As he strode into the melee, his long dreadlocks wove themselves into a braid and knotted at the base. His eyes flashed bright amber. He reached over his head and drew two drool-worthy Masamune swords.

  I know Ami is here.

  A chill accompanied that deep voice in Bastien’s head.

  If anything happens to her, you’re dead.

  David’s large form blurred. More screams joined the chorus of others already splitting the night.

  A bullet ripped through Bastien’s thigh.

  Shaking off the distractions, he leapt down and raced for the nearest soldier. The soldier’s companions yelped when Bastien yanked him from their midst and ducked into the forest to feed on him.

  As warm blood entered his veins, the virus swiftly began to repair the many wounds Bastien had suffered, pushing bullets from his flesh, closing the holes, and stopping the bleeding.

  The sun would crest the horizon soon. The towering trees around them would offer some protection, but all needed to be at full strength.

  Dropping the soldier, Bastien returned to the battle.

  Stuart did one more sweep of Sublevel 3. When he found no more survivors, he headed for the elevator shaft.

  Two forms shot past in a blur. The other vampires.

  Stuart liked Cliff. But didn’t really know what to think about Joe. The blond vamp was throwing off some eerie vibes.

  Since those two headed into Sublevel 2, Stuart leapfrogged up to the first basement level.

  This floor was all shot to shit. Huge, gaping holes in the ceiling let him see a sky brightening with approaching dawn. If this didn’t end soon, whoever was left up here would die here, because he wasn’t going to fry in the sun for anyone.

  He had almost fried once right after he was turned. He hadn’t understood what had happened to him and . . .

  Stuart shuddered, remembering.

  Fear trickled in. Or rather more fear. That immortal down on Sublevel 5 was freaking him out, staring at him with those fury-filled eyes every time Stuart delivered another walking wounded.

  What the hell was he so pissed about? Stuart hadn’t meant to bring all of this down on their heads. How was he supposed to know that tracking thing had been stuck in his head? He hadn’t felt anything. The stupid drug the mercenaries had given him must have slowed the virus’s ability to repair enough to keep the virus from pushing the damned thing out. Or maybe they did something to keep it in there.

  If he had known it was there, he would have cut it out himself. Probably. That shit had hurt. But the knowledge that someone was tracking him or stalking him was creepy. And irritating. Like the time his parents had secretly tracked him using a GPS device and busted him for going to a party that had had drugs and alcohol at it.

  So it’s not like he had wanted that thing in his head. Or wanted to help those human pricks.

  And wasn’t Stuart helping the immortals and their human friends now to make up for it?

  He was doing his part. Making up for his mistake.

  Yet that ass avenger on Sublevel 5 kept glaring at him as if he wanted to cut Stuart into little pieces.

  Whatever.

  Stuart studied every dusty, dirty lump and peered between chunks of ceiling and whatever the hell used to be upstairs, looking for an arm or leg or any body part belonging to someone who might be trapped.

  Beneath the screams and weapons fire outside (What the hell was going on up there? It sounded like the fucking Band of Brothers!), a moan sounded.

  Stuart traced it to a pile of granite tile beneath another hole in the ceiling. He started tossing rubble aside.

  A woman. It was a woman. He grimaced when he saw the bone protruding from the pudgy arm he uncovered. Ugh! Nasty! Her leg was even worse. He really wasn’t cut out for this crap.

  Her face, reddish-brown hair, and clothes were nearly white with dust. “Thank you,” she huffed. “Thank you.”

  She raised her eyes, met his, and screamed.

  “No-no!” Stuart held up his hands. “It’s okay! It’s cool. I’m here to help you.”

  The screaming stopped, thankfully, because this chick had a set of lungs.

  She still looked scared as hell though.

  “It’s okay,” Stuart repeated and leaned down.

  Debris shifted behind him.

  Stuart swung around. A dozen human soldiers stalked toward him.

  Oh shit. Okay. What should he do? He didn’t have a weapon and these guys were armed out the ass.

  Grabbing huge hunks of cement and stone, he started hurling them at the soldiers at preternatural speeds.

  He scored a lot of hits before the bullets started flying. Some struck him. Some missed. He thought one might have hit the woman at his feet because she screamed again and started crying.

  Pissed off now, Stuart zipped around and came up behind the soldiers. He’d never broken someone’s neck before. It was disturbingly easy.

  Only three or four soldiers remained when Stuart had to dodge the first tranquilizer dart. If one of those hit him, he was a goner.

  He had to go on the defensive then, dodging the deadly drug. Something hit him in the stomach and bounced to the ground. Ducking another dart, Stuart glanced down.

  Oh shit! A grenade!

  He leaped away.

  Fire. Pain. Deafening noise.

  He knew nothing else for he wasn’t sure how long.

  He was down. Something heavy was on top of him. He tried to move. One arm, two. One leg, two. He nearly wept he was so relieved. No missing limbs at least.

  The woman continued to cry. He almost couldn’t hear her for the ringing in his ears.

  Stuart dug his way out of the rubble. The soldiers huddled around the woman. It looked like they were trying to fasten a harness or something around her. Were they going to take her prisoner?

  A little wobbly on his feet, Stuart crept up behind them and snapped their necks.

  The woman thanked him again and again as he lifted her into his arms and staggered back toward the elevator shaft.

  Weird. She felt heavy. He should have been able to carry her above his head with one hand and twirl her like a pizza. But she felt heavy. And he felt tired. And thirsty.

  He paused at the edge. “It’s gonna be okay,” he murmured and stepped off into air.

  Instead of landing smoothly, he hit what was left of the elevator roof hard. Pain shot up his legs as he stumbled and nearly fell through the opening.

  The woman screamed again and clung tightly to him.

  “’s okay.” Stuart dropped through into the elevator and started making his way through the throng down the long, seemingly endless hallway.

  The human doctor—what was her name?—saw him coming. Face creased with concern, she waved two of the guards over to take the woman.

  “Stuart?” the doctor said. “What happened?” She took his arm.

  “Explosion.” His vision was all wonky. The color was off or something.

  “Come with me.”

  He trudged after her. His body hurt all over. Cramped. He felt like something was trying to eat him from the inside out. Like . . . like he had when he had first been transformed.

  His fangs cut his lip. Salty blood hit his tongue. He needed to feed.

  The doctor led him out of the hallway and into . . . He didn’t know. He couldn’t concentrate. He hurt too much.

  She said something as she left him and opened a cabinet. Cold air rushed out and danced around his legs. A refrigerator?

  She walked back toward him, held something out. “. . . losing a lot of blood . . . not healing . . . need to feed.”

  Yes, he did need to feed.

 
Knocking whatever she held aside, he grabbed her arm, yanked her close, and sank his fangs into her neck.

  Sweet, sweet relief.

  He nearly wept with it as the cramping ceased and the pain began to recede.

  Cliff waited while Joe handed off another wounded employee to the guards in the tunnel. “We’re both pretty banged up,” he told his friend. “Let’s stop off and get some blood before we go back.”

  Joe nodded.

  Cliff didn’t need the blood so much himself. But Joe was looking a little ragged. He’d been injured. The scent of blood was every-freaking-where. And they’d had to take out some human soldiers who had infiltrated the upper floors. Cliff worried that the strain of everything might send Joe over the edge. If he replenished what he’d lost, maybe it would help him maintain control.

  Cliff nodded to the immortal by the tunnel, unsurprised when the large warrior didn’t nod back. Marcus, he’d heard one of the guards call him.

  Marcus looked pissed and ready to rip everyone to shreds as he stood sentinel in front of a pretty, petite woman with red hair. Her eyes were closed, her brow furrowed as if she were concentrating very hard on something. Maybe she was an immortal with one of those cool gifts.

  Joe made his silent way to the lab they both had frequented so many times. Dr. Lipton kept a special refrigerator stocked with blood in there.

  Cliff followed. The crowd in the hallway began to thin. There were still a hell of a lot of explosions overhead, though, and quite a few humans trapped on Sublevel 2, so he thought this thing was far from over.

  A few steps inside the lab, Joe stopped short.

  Cliff bumped into his back. “What is it?”

  Joe didn’t answer.

  Cliff stepped around him and felt his heart drop into his stomach.

  The new vampire was down on the floor with Dr. Lipton in his lap, his fangs buried deep in her neck.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” Cliff bellowed and rushed forward.

  Stuart raised his head and snarled something.

  Dr. Lipton lay still, eyes closed, blood trailing down her neck.

  Cliff lifted her with care, then backhanded Stuart, sending him flying across the room to shatter the already cracked sheetrock on the far wall. “Dr. Lipton?” He placed his hand on her neck to try to stanch the flow of blood. “Melanie?”