Darkness Dawns (immortal guardians)

by Dianne Duvall

  Pebbles and twigs poked and scratched her bare feet, but she ignored them, focusing only on the tree line ahead. Cool shade enveloped them and she was relieved to see the canopy above was dense enough to protect the men from most of the sun’s damaging rays.

  A few yards in, Roland and Marcus both sank to their knees, dragging her down with them.

  “Sorry,” Marcus gasped out and released her.

  Sarah scooted around to kneel in front of Roland. “What can I do?”

  He shook his head, breathing heavily through his mouth, and collapsed onto his back.

  Marcus fell back beside him.

  Panic rising, Sarah stared at them both helplessly.

  She moved closer to Roland. “Do you … do you need blood?” Not knowing how else to help him, she held her wrist above his parted lips.

  One of Roland’s hands came up. His long, bloody fingers gently clasped hers. But, instead of biting her wrist, he carried her hand to his lips for a kiss. “Not enough.”

  She frowned. “I don’t have enough to help you?”

  He gave her hand a squeeze and closed his eyes.

  A lump in his shirt (which she hadn’t noticed in the rush to get him to safety) moved, making her start. A plaintive meow sounded and tears spilled over her lashes. When he had gone back for Marcus, he must have unearthed Nietzsche and stuffed him down his shirt.

  Roland’s breathing slowed.

  Marcus’s was scarcely detectable.

  Were they dying? Trembling, Sarah bit her lip and looked around. Didn’t she even have enough blood to tide him over until …

  Roland’s cell phone lay where she had dropped it.

  An idea forming, she lunged for it. There was only one phone number stored in it. Eyes glued to Roland’s chest, Sarah swiftly dialed it and prayed it was the one she needed.

  Flames stretched toward the clear Texas sky like golden fingers as the sun peeked over the horizon. Smoke billowed upward, cloaking the fading stars in charcoal clouds as cries shattered the dawn.

  Sirens blared. Men in camouflage ran around in panicked disarray, dodging fire trucks and a few civilians who had made it safely outside. Firefighters raced about in their tan and yellow gear, dousing the roaring conflagration that used to be a three-story building with massive streams of water from numerous hoses.

  Two figures materialized amid the chaos, their clothing and long black leather coats covered with blood and full of holes carved by bullets that couldn’t kill them. Even as they strode toward the trees, small misshapen bits of metal emerged from their bodies and dropped to the ground, the wounds left behind sealing themselves within seconds.

  Looped over David’s shoulder was a duffle bag filled with laptop computers, exterior hard drives, CDs, DVDs, and junk drives packed with information they would comb through later.

  Cradled in Seth’s arms was the woman they had come for, her naked, malnourished body wrapped in a bloody lab coat, so light he doubted she weighed more than eighty pounds.

  The darkness of the forest embraced them. Seth carefully adjusted his unconscious burden so her head would be pillowed by his shoulder.

  A moan escaped her chapped, cracked lips between ragged breaths.

  His mouth tightened in fury.

  “We should have killed them all,” David growled beside him.

  “Those we left alive had no knowledge of this.”

  A trebly version of Disturbed’s “Down with the Sickness” split the air.

  Seth halted. It was his cell phone. Turning partially away from David, he said, “Back right pocket. See who it is.”

  David retrieved the phone. When he saw who the caller was, he frowned and met Seth’s gaze. “It’s Roland.”

  Sarah stared at Roland, willing him to keep breathing while she held the cell phone to her ear and counted the rings.

  One. Two. Three. Four.

  Please answer!

  “Hello?” a lightly accented bass baritone voice said finally.

  “Seth?” she practically sobbed in relief.

  “Yes. Who is this?”

  “It’s Sarah. Sarah Bingham. Roland needs your help. I think he’s dying.”

  A giant of a man suddenly appeared before her out of thin air.

  Sarah shrieked and dropped the phone.

  “What happened?” he asked.

  Gaping up at him, she couldn’t find her voice … which, in the end, wasn’t necessary. As soon as he turned his head, he saw Marcus and Roland laid out on the ground and swore fluently.

  He was quite an imposing figure. Standing over six and a half feet tall, he had broad shoulders and a slender, yet muscular, athletic build. His face was utterly flawless. Not too rugged. Not too pretty. Strong jaw. Patrician nose. No wrinkles or sagging skin or anything else she would think the oldest Immortal Guardian would sport.

  Even more astonishing, his dark clothing was wet with blood and riddled with twice as many bullet holes as Roland’s.

  What the hell?

  As he knelt between Marcus and Roland, who looked frighteningly close to death, his dark coat pooled around him and his long black hair fell forward to brush the ground.

  “You are Seth, right?” she asked when she could speak again.

  “Yes.” Peering through the trees at the flames swallowing Roland’s house, he said, “As succinctly as possible, tell me what happened.”

  “The vampire who staked Roland to the ground led another attack on us last night, then sent roughly a dozen men—humans—to finish the job today. I saw Roland follow one outside. The man set the house on fire. I assume Roland killed him. The others are all dead inside.”

  “Are you injured?”

  “No.”

  He rested one of his large hands on Marcus’s chest, then held the other out to her. “Take my hand, Sarah.”

  Roland seemed to trust this man, so Sarah decided she would, too.

  Scrambling forward on her knees, she took his hand.

  “Now, touch Roland.”

  She had no idea if this was a healing ritual or what, but obediently rested her hand on Roland’s chest.

  Seth’s dark, enigmatic gaze caught and held hers. “You may find this a little disorienting.”

  Find what disorienting?

  A feeling of weightlessness similar to that which one experiences in an elevator swept over her. Gripping Roland’s T-shirt tightly, she abruptly found herself in complete darkness.

  Lights flickered on and Sarah stared in astonishment at the spacious living room that had inexplicably replaced the trees.

  Plush cream carpet provided a kinder bed for Roland and Marcus than the hard ground previously had. The scent of vanilla replaced that of smoke.

  Seth released her hand and pulled a cell phone from his back pocket. As he dialed a number and held it to his ear, Sarah stared down at Roland.

  His face was so blistered and bloody, he was nearly unrecognizable.

  Taking one of his hands in hers, she gently stroked his sweat-dampened hair. The lump in his shirt moved and wriggled its way up to the neckline. A second later, Nietzsche’s tousled head poked out beneath Roland’s chin.

  “Hi there,” Sarah whispered, still fighting tears. “You okay, Nietzsche?”

  The little cat looked around, wormed the rest of its body out of the T-shirt, then darted away to hide under a nearby chair.

  Sarah lowered her gaze to Roland. The rise and fall of his chest was barely detectable, the time between breaths so long she feared each one may have been his last.

  “Chris?” Seth spoke suddenly. “Seth. I have need of your cleaning skills…. Roland’s house is on fire with approximately eleven humans inside, one outside, all dead. He lives in an isolated area, so I don’t know how long it will take someone to notice the smoke and call the fire department. They could already be on their way.”

  He rattled off the address. “I doubt it. Knowing Roland, it will be impossible for anyone to trace the house to him. But go ahead, just to be on the saf
e side…. Thank you.”

  As he returned the phone to his pocket, Seth studied Sarah intently. “Roland told you what he is?”

  “Yes, I know he’s an immortal.”

  “And you have no problem with that?”

  “No, I’m glad he is. Otherwise he would be dead right now.”

  Nodding thoughtfully, he leaned forward and placed his hand on Roland’s chest.

  Sarah thought at first he was feeling for a heartbeat.

  Then his hand began to glow. Heat radiated from it.

  Beneath her astonished gaze, the blisters on Roland’s face, neck, arms, and hands shrank, then vanished. Pink skin returned to a natural golden tan. The angry bullet wounds in one of his arms and those visible through the ragged tears in his clothing sealed themselves, smoothed out, and faded to nothingness. A few in his torso spat out mangled lumps of metal she dimly recognized as bullets, then did the same.

  By the time the glow faded and Seth removed his hand, Roland looked whole and healthy again, if a trifle pale.

  Sarah watched Seth turn and place his hand on Marcus. “Roland told me immortals who are healers can’t heal severe wounds without it draining their strength and the wounds opening on their own bodies.” Even when they were in top form. And Seth appeared to have been shot more than the two men he was healing combined. Yet no wounds had opened on him.

  “They can’t,” Seth said. “I can.”

  His hand began to glow again. Bullets emerged from Marcus’s body as his burns faded.

  She frowned. Was Seth stronger because he was older? Or was he different? “Are you not an immortal, then?”

  He smiled, so handsome he would have taken her breath away if Roland hadn’t already turned her head. “I’m about as immortal as they come.”

  Hmm. Sarah couldn’t decide whether that answered her question or not.

  The ethereal glow faded, leaving Marcus as whole as Roland.

  “Does blood make you squeamish?” Seth asked, sitting back on his heels.

  Sarah looked down at Roland’s blood-soaked form, then at the stains on her own clothing. Smiling wryly, she said, “If it did, I’d pretty much be screwed, wouldn’t I?”

  He laughed.

  She nodded to Roland, still holding his hand and stroking his hair. “Is he going to be okay?”

  “Yes, but he needs blood.”

  “I offered him mine, but he wouldn’t take it.”

  His eyebrows rose. “You did?”

  She nodded. “He said it wasn’t enough.”

  “More likely he was afraid that, in his condition, he might lose himself and take too much. There should be a goodly supply of it in the refrigerator. Would you mind getting some while I make them”—he motioned toward Roland and Marcus—“more comfortable?”

  “Just point me in the right direction.”

  He did. “The kitchen is right through there.”

  Sarah stood and hurried to the kitchen, surprised to discover her legs were trembling. The room was dark when she entered. Sliding her hand along the wall, she found the light switch and turned it on.

  Wow. She didn’t know whose place this was, but it was frig-gin’ huge! Most of the two-bedroom frame house she was renting could easily fit inside this kitchen.

  Crossing to the very expensive-looking stainless steel refrigerator, she opened the door on the right. It was nearly empty, spotlessly clean. Maybe all Immortal Guardians were neat freaks.

  It was sort of weird to think of them doing housework. Killing vampires by night, then coming home to clean the fridge, mop the floor, or scour the bathroom by day.

  Ignoring the club soda, organic fruit juices, and natural salad dressings, Sarah bent and pulled open what looked like a modified meat compartment drawer. Bags of blood were neatly stacked inside. There were more in the vegetable bin.

  Seth hadn’t specified how much she should bring, so Sarah took it all. Loading up, she filled her arms, shivering at the cold, elbowed the drawers shut, then let the refrigerator door close itself. The plastic bags weren’t that easy to handle in bulk. They kept shifting and sliding and trying to slip out of her grasp.

  Juggling them as best she could, she hurried back into the spacious living room.

  Marcus and Roland were now conscious and seated, side by side, on one of the three sofas the room boasted. Seth was comfortably sprawled in an armchair across from them. The same one Nietzsche hid beneath.

  Roland’s eyes widened when he saw her.

  “This is all there is,” Sarah said, dumping her load on the coffee table. Seth leaned forward and deftly caught one as it slid off the side toward the floor. “Is that enough?”

  “More than enough,” Marcus said, grabbing a bag and biting into it.

  “Oh. Did I bring too much?”

  Roland leaned forward and picked up a bag. “Had Seth not done the work for us, it would take all of this and more to heal our wounds and replenish our strength. But, since he did, we need only enough to replace the blood we’ve lost.”

  Sarah nodded and tucked her hands behind her back. They were starting to shake and she was beginning to get that swollen-throated weepy feeling now that the danger was over and reaction was setting in.

  She was so glad Roland was going to be all right. So relieved she wanted to crawl into his lap and wrap her arms around his neck.

  Instead, she locked her hands together and did her best to look like she wasn’t about to embarrass herself by falling apart.

  Roland seemed hesitant to feed in front of her.

  Hoping to reassure him, she pasted a smile on her face. “I won’t freak out. I promise. You drinking blood is no more repellent to me than someone else eating one of those greasy triple beef hamburgers I see advertised on television.”

  Roland wasn’t sure he believed that as he brought the bag to his lips. Watching her carefully, he bit down and drew hard with his fangs. No grimace. No shudder.

  One would think she had just handed him a juice box.

  Nietzsche chose that moment to creep out of his hiding place and rub against Seth’s black fatigue–covered calf. His striped and speckled gray fur and white paws were sticky with Roland’s blood and stood out in darkened spikes.

  “Well, what have we here?” Seth picked the cat up, examined him briefly, then settled him in his lap. “Hello, Nietzsche. I didn’t know you were still around.”

  Uh-oh.

  The gaze Seth turned on Roland was inscrutable. “You do realize that cats aren’t actually supposed to live nine lives?”

  From the corner of his eye, Roland saw Marcus frown.

  “Wait a minute,” he said after draining the first bag. “That isn’t the original Nietzsche, is it? That would make him—what—forty years old?”

  “Forty-three,” Seth clarified.

  Roland opted to remain silent and glanced up to catch Sarah’s reaction as their words sank in.

  Her eyes widened. “An immortal cat?” she blurted incredulously. “There are immortal cats?”

  “One immortal cat,” Seth corrected as he stroked Nietzsche’s messy fur.

  Nietzsche closed his eyes in ecstasy and began to purr and work his little paws.

  Seth’s disapproval didn’t have to be verbalized. Even Sarah seemed to sense it and edged closer to Roland.

  Well, what’s done is done.

  “It was an accident,” Roland began, setting his empty bag aside. “I came upon a vampire who was draining a woman dry. When I attacked and started kicking his ass, she freaked out and pepper sprayed me.”

  “Why?” Sarah demanded. “You were trying to help her.”

  “She wasn’t lucid. She thought he was giving her a hickey, not killing her,” he explained. “Before my vision cleared, the vamp got in a lucky shot and cut my carotid artery. It healed, but—by the time I dispatched the vamp, took care of the woman, and got home—I had lost so much blood that I passed out before I could feed. I awoke sometime later to the feel of Nietzsche’s sandpapery tongue l
icking my neck.” He shrugged. “I don’t know how much he consumed, but he hasn’t aged a day since.”

  Marcus studied the cat curiously. “Has it made him more violent? Is that why he attacked the raccoon?”

  “No, Nietzsche has always been very territorial. The little nutcase.”

  Seth sighed. “Let’s keep this between us, shall we? I have my hands full watching over all of you Guardians. I don’t need immortal pets to be thrown into the mix, as well.”

  Roland and Marcus murmured their agreement, then each drained another bag.

  Sarah perched on the sofa arm nearest Roland.

  Seth waited until they were finished to speak. “Tell me what you know of the one who tried to kill you.”

  “Not much more than the last time I talked to you,” Roland said, raking a hand through his hair in frustration. “His name is Bastien. He’s British. And he has raised a small army of both vampires and human minions.”

  Seth’s brow furrowed.

  “He attacked us again last night, shortly after Marcus arrived, as we were leaving Sarah’s home. There were seven vamps with him. A dozen more joined them after the fight began.”

  “All of whom deferred to Bastien and looked to him as their leader,” Marcus threw in.

  Roland nodded. “The plan was to kill me and take Marcus alive.” He gave a quick rundown of the fight and of Bastien leaving to pursue Sarah, eventually ceding the fight and fleeing.

  “You didn’t follow him?” There was no censure in the question.

  “No, I was worried about Sarah and wanted to make sure she was all right.”

  Seth stared at him a long moment, then looked to Sarah. “Were you hurt?”

  “No,” she said at the same time Roland said, “Yes.”

  A flush covered her cheeks as she shifted restlessly beneath their collective scrutiny.

  Roland was about to reach out, take her hand, and draw her down to sit closer to him when she jumped up and bent to collect the full bags of blood that remained on the coffee table.

  “If you’re finished, I’d better go put these up. I’m sure they’re supposed to stay refrigerated.”

  Watching her hurry toward the kitchen, he had to fight the need to follow.

  “The humans who attacked us today were also Bastien’s,” Marcus added.