Darkness Dawns (immortal guardians)

by Dianne Duvall

  Slamming the door shut, he resumed his pacing.

  He was full of rage and pain and adrenaline and hadn’t felt this alive in years.

  Seven years to be exact.

  And Marcus liked it.

  A lot.

  Which was why Seth was worried about him.

  Seth must have intuited it. Marcus didn’t know how, because Seth had not hunted with him or witnessed the change firsthand. Yet Seth had accused him of taking unnecessary risks and being self-destructive before banishing him to small-town North Carolina, where vampires were generally fewer in number.

  Marcus smiled grimly.

  Ah, but Seth’s plan had backfired.

  Tonight had been great. Tonight he had been presented with a challenge that could very well have defeated him. Tonight he felt alive.

  The foliage on the other side of the car parted and Roland emerged, carrying a bloody and battered Sarah.

  Marcus halted, thinking her dead until he picked up her racing pulse. “Is she okay?”

  “She will be.” Roland glanced at the white Geo Prism parked several yards behind the Prius.

  Marcus shrugged. “I thought we might need it to catch up with her if the vamp didn’t get her first.”

  “Sorry about your car,” Roland muttered, heading for the Prism.

  Marcus followed and opened the passenger door for him. “Don’t worry about it. I already called Reordon. He and his cleaning crew will take care of it.”

  Roland said nothing, just eased inside the cramped vehicle.

  Marcus watched his friend curiously. Roland wasn’t behaving in his usual irascible, distance-himself-from-everything-and-everyone manner. In fact, he didn’t seem to want to distance himself from Sarah at all, curtly refusing Marcus’s offer to take her until Roland was settled, instead tightening his hold on her and keeping her with him.

  Roland’s touch was downright possessive as he cradled Sarah on his lap and arranged her just so, ensuring she would be comfortable. Under Marcus’s bemused gaze, he then gently cupped a hand protectively over her head and motioned for Marcus to close the door.

  Marcus closed it, fascinated, and circled the rear of the car.

  Who the hell was this woman and how had she managed to snare Roland’s interest so quickly?

  Because she had definitely snared it.

  Squeezing his long frame behind the wheel, he closed the door and turned the key. The engine sputtered to reluctant life. “Where to?”

  “My place,” Roland said, not looking up as he carefully began to pick pieces of glass out of Sarah’s hair and drop them to the floorboard.

  Marcus pulled onto the road and followed Roland’s directions. “Did the vamp do that to her?”

  “In part. He jumped onto the hood of your car and brought it to a crashing halt.”

  Marcus frowned. Judging by the way the tires had squealed and smoked as Sarah had sped away from the house, she had been going damned fast. “How did he catch her?”

  From the corner of his eye, he saw Roland shake his head. “I don’t know. I’ve never seen a vampire move so swiftly. Fortunately, I got there before he could lay a hand on her and she ran away while we fought.”

  “Did you kill the fucker?”

  “No, Bastien chose to retreat.”

  And Roland hadn’t gone after him? Very telling. “His name is Bastien?”

  “That’s what one of his men called him. By the time I found Sarah, she had tumbled down a wooded hill and was racing across a field.”

  Glancing away from the road momentarily, Marcus saw Roland tenderly smooth his big hand over her hair after the last particle of glass was tossed away. “Was she running from

  Bastien? Or from you?”

  Roland’s lips tightened. “Both, I think.”

  “What did she say when you caught up with her?”

  Roland’s eyes were grim when they met his. “She begged me not to kill her.”

  Silently, Marcus swore and returned his attention to the road.

  That did not bode well.

  Twenty minutes later, Roland gently deposited Sarah on the dark brown sofa in his living room and placed a pillow beneath her head. That she was still unconscious worried him.

  As he knelt beside her, he noticed the blood that coated his hands and forearms and turned to Marcus. “Get me a towel, will you?”

  Marcus disappeared into the kitchen, then returned to the entrance and tossed Roland a towel. “What are you doing?”

  Roland began wiping the blood from his hands. “She has a nasty head wound and some bad bruises and scrapes. I’m going to heal her.”

  “Oh, no, you’re not. Not until you feed. You’ve lost a lot of blood and have much more severe wounds of your own. You know what will happen if you heal her without feeding first.”

  “I’m not going to put my needs before hers, Marcus. She saved my life.”

  “And you saved hers, so the two of you are even.”

  “Hers would not have been in danger if she hadn’t found and helped me.”

  “Oh, please. Do you really think that after babysitting you and watching the sun roast your hairy ass, Ren and Stimpy would have walked past her with a smile and a wave and continued on their merry way? She’s a lovely woman living alone in the middle of nowhere with no one nearby to hear her screams. They were stabbing you because they wanted to know what it felt like. What makes you think they wouldn’t have raped and tortured her just to see what that felt like? If you ask me, she’s damned lucky she did find and help you. So you can stop playing the martyr and feed.”

  Ignoring him, Roland tossed the towel aside and settled his palm on the ribs he had seen Sarah clutching as she ran. Just as he had suspected, three of them were cracked.

  His hand heated as he focused his flagging energy. His own ribs began to ache as hers healed beneath his touch.

  Releasing her, he shifted uncomfortably.

  “Here.”

  A bag of blood appeared a few inches in front of his face. Roland’s gaze followed the arm offering it to its owner.

  Marcus now stood behind the sofa. “I brought it to you in case you were simply too tired or lazy to get it yourself.”

  Roland brushed it aside impatiently. “Get that out of here.”

  “Stop being stubborn,” Marcus demanded. “You need it and she’s unconscious.”

  “But she could wake at any moment.”

  Actually, she already had.

  Chapter 6

  Sarah had been flirting with consciousness ever since Roland had settled her on what felt like a very comfortable sofa.

  Roland was a vampire. Marcus was, too. And she was now alone with them and terrified of what they meant to do to her. She needed to escape but had no hope of outrunning them. So she had enacted the only plan she could think of with her head pounding and sharp pains darting through her chest every time she drew in a breath: feign sleep, eavesdrop, gather information, then sneak away at the first opportunity.

  The hardest part so far had been keeping her heartbeat steady and slow despite her fear and not flinching when Roland had touched her sore ribs.

  Well, no. The absolute hardest part had been not freaking out when Marcus had told Roland to feed, assuming she would be the main course.

  The more she listened, though, the more uncertainty crowded her. Roland didn’t sound like the soulless predator she had seen suck the blood of that goth kid in her front yard. He sounded like the nice guy she had spent the day with. The one who had let her sleep on him without copping a feel, disinclined to complain about her weight resting on his many wounds.

  He sounded protective of her.

  “And Seth thinks I’m unreasonable,” Marcus muttered. “She knows what we are.”

  “And she’s already seen me feed once, Marcus. I don’t want her to see me do it again. She’ll be scared enough when she wakes.”

  “Not necessarily.”

  “Clearly you didn’t see her face when she dove for the
car and screeched away.”

  Inwardly, she winced. Jeeze, that sounded cowardly.

  “I was preoccupied, if you’ll recall,” Marcus responded dryly. “Besides, she was only afraid because she thought you were a vampire like the others. Once you explain that you’re not, that you’re an immortal, she’ll come around.”

  He wasn’t a vampire? What was an immortal?

  “The way Mary did?” Roland asked dryly.

  Who was Mary?

  Marcus snorted. “Mary was a twit, infected by the superstitions of her time and easily influenced by others.”

  “She was not a twit. She was well-educated.”

  “She was a bluestocking, a student of the classics with her head in the clouds. Despite her love of books, she knew little more of the world than her female peers and, as I said, was easily influenced by others. Perhaps if she had been capable of thinking for herself, she wouldn’t have betrayed you the way she did.”

  Roland grunted.

  “None of that matters, anyway, because Mary and Sarah are two different people. Mary would never have hit a man in the head with a shovel to save you. Sarah did.”

  Well, that made her feel better.

  “Plus, I happened to see a number of paranormal romance novels on her bookshelves when we were at her place, so she may not freak out at all.”

  “What do you know about romance novels?” Roland asked skeptically.

  “Bethany liked them. I recognized several she had read.”

  “Well, liking the fiction doesn’t mean Sarah will like the reality.”

  The pain in her head increased minutely when Roland carefully prodded the left side of her forehead, then brushed her hair back.

  “I don’t really care whether she likes it or not as long as she accepts it and doesn’t rat us out.”

  “I’m not worried about that.”

  “Really? You, the king of paranoia, aren’t worried she’ll blab our secret?”

  “If she did, who would believe her? She’d be locked away in a looney bin faster than she could say Nosferatu.”

  “Not if she led the police here.”

  “I’d make sure she couldn’t. She didn’t see the way here. A blindfold or a sedative will prevent her from seeing the way back. Or, better yet, I could have Seth pop in and transport her.”

  Sarah sensed movement above her face before Roland’s hand withdrew.

  “What are you doing?” He sounded surprised.

  “Stopping you from doing something stupid.”

  “Let go of my arm, Marcus.”

  Fear surged to the surface again at that ominous warning.

  “Feed first, then heal her.”

  What did that mean—heal her? Heal her as in render first aid? Why was it so imperative that he feed first?

  She recalled the soothing heat that had suffused her chest when he had touched her ribs moments ago. The sharp pains had vanished, as had the ache. She was once more able to take deep breaths.

  What had Roland done to her?

  “When she wakes, I don’t want the first thing she sees to be me holding a bag of blood to my lips,” Roland bit out.

  Oh crap. He is a vampire.

  “Then hurry up and feed before she wakes.”

  “She’s already close. Her breathing is changing.”

  She swore silently.

  “Then leave the room and feed.”

  “And have her wake up alone? No.”

  A charged silence followed.

  “Oh, man,” Marcus breathed. “You like her.”

  Against her will, Sarah’s eyes flew open and sought Roland’s reaction.

  He was kneeling beside her, his hair mussed and damp with perspiration around his face. The terrible wound in his neck was sealed and no longer bled. A long cut followed his jawline from his right earlobe to his chin where one of his opponents must have tried to slit his throat again and miscalculated, laying open the flesh so deeply that she feared she would see bone if she rinsed away the blood.

  His shirt was saturated with the red liquid, his clothing torn in numerous places. He was also holding his left arm close to his body in a way that made her wonder if it weren’t broken.

  Battered and looking no better, Marcus stood behind the sofa. In one hand, he held a bag of blood similar to those used in hospitals.

  Neither man paid her any attention as they stared at each other.

  Marcus looked concerned. Roland looked bitter.

  “You do, don’t you?” Marcus pressed. “You like her.”

  A muscle in Roland’s cheek jumped. “Don’t you think that would be rather foolish, considering?”

  “Considering what—that she’s smart, pretty, and good with a gun?”

  “No,” Roland said, his voice laden with sarcasm. “Considering she would have used her gun on us if you hadn’t made her promise not to. As soon as she wakes up, she’s going to run screaming for the door.”

  Okay, she knew he was a vampire or whatever, but felt guilty anyway because running and screaming had been her first impulse and he looked as if he knew that and his feelings were hurt.

  Marcus stroked his chin thoughtfully. “I think you’re wrong.”

  “Why, because you know her so well?”

  “No, because you’re so distraught over her injuries and her potential fear of you that you’ve missed something pertinent I have not.”

  His gaze still on Marcus, Roland brushed his fingers through her hair in what seemed an unconscious gesture of affection. “And what might that be?”

  Marcus smiled smugly. “She’s been awake ever since you laid her on the sofa and has not run for the door.”

  Roland’s head snapped down. His brown eyes widening when they met hers, he snatched his hand back as though afraid he would be reprimanded for daring to touch her.

  Minutes passed.

  The silence stretched.

  Sarah cleared her throat. “Um, hi?”

  He frowned. “Why aren’t you screaming?”

  Why indeed? “Because my head is killing me?”

  It wasn’t a lie exactly. Her head was killing her. Yet the truth was that the longer he went without baring his fangs and diving for her throat, the more calm usurped fear’s place.

  Maybe she had a concussion.

  “May I take a look at it?” he asked hesitantly.

  She nodded, then groaned at the agony the small movement spawned.

  His fingers went to her forehead.

  “I don’t think it’s that one,” she whispered, afraid talking louder might make her skull explode. “I think it’s the one in back.”

  His frown deepened. “Forgive me. I didn’t know there was another.” Very carefully, he eased his hand between her head and the pillow it rested upon, tunneling through her hair.

  She flinched and, for a moment, thought she was going to vomit, the throbbing got so bad.

  “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “It’ll get better in just a second.”

  “Roland,” Marcus warned.

  “You’re going to feel a momentary warmth,” Roland continued, ignoring his friend.

  What was he …?

  Sarah blinked. His hand was getting hotter. And, as it did, the pain lessened. It almost felt as though he were holding a heating pad to the wound.

  She looked at Marcus, who was scowling his displeasure, then at Roland again.

  Was he paler than he had been a moment ago?

  He slipped his hand around and covered the cut on her forehead where it had slammed into the driver’s side window.

  Again that odd warmth heated her head where he touched her.

  He closed his eyes. His jaw clenched.

  The pain receded.

  Sarah opened her mouth to thank him and ask him what he had done but ended up sucking in a startled breath instead. As she watched, an abrasion formed on the left side of his forehead high up near his hairline. It darkened, widened, swelled. A deep cut opened his flesh. Blood spilled down his cheek
.

  Swearing, Marcus reached down and yanked Roland’s hand away from Sarah’s face.

  Roland opened his eyes. “What?” His voice was hoarse. “What happened?”

  “You know what happened,” Marcus snapped, releasing him.

  Roland raised a hand and gingerly probed his new wound. His fingers were wet with blood when he lowered them. “Oh.” He glanced at Sarah, then hastily wiped his hand on his shirt as though he hoped to conceal what had just taken place.

  Sarah touched her own forehead and confirmed it.

  No cut. No swelling. Her wound was gone.

  Now Roland sported one just like it.

  The large knot on the back of her head was gone, too. If she were gutsy enough to stroke the back of Roland’s head, would she find a large lump there as well?

  “Are you feeling better?” he asked, voice tight with suppressed pain.

  “Much better.” Her head was fine. Her ribs were fine. What had he done?

  “Please, don’t be afraid, Sarah.”

  “I’m not.” Her answer had been automatic and took even her by surprise.

  It was true. She wasn’t afraid anymore.

  “If you’ll excuse me for a moment.” Rising, Roland staggered and would have fallen into the glass coffee table had Marcus not leapt over the sofa in the blink of an eye and caught him.

  Sarah sat up, heart pounding. “Roland?”

  Careful not to touch his friend’s broken arm, Marcus drew the other across his shoulders and began dragging Roland toward the dining room. “I told you to feed first,” he groused in furious undertones.

  Now she thought she understood why. At least in part.

  Sarah stood. “Is he going to be okay?”

  Marcus nodded and waved her back. “Yes, just … stay there, Sarah. We’ll be back in a moment.”

  He wouldn’t feed in front of her.

  “Is there anything I can do?” she asked uncertainly.

  “Don’t leave,” Roland whispered as they entered the small dining room and passed through it into what she assumed was the kitchen, out of her line of sight.

  “Sit here,” she heard Marcus command.

  The refrigerator door opened and shut.

  Sarah looked around the living room, comfortably if sparsely decorated with very attractive modern furniture.