Darkness Dawns (immortal guardians)

by Dianne Duvall

  Seth rubbed Nietzsche’s chin. “How did they find you?”

  Guilt pricked Roland as he recalled accusing Sarah of helping them. “Bastien must have circled around, lingered downwind, and followed us.”

  Marcus shook his head. “If he followed us, he did it on foot. I would’ve seen and heard a car or motorcycle even with the headlights off.”

  “And considering his injuries,” Roland said, “he would’ve had to have been damned determined. This feels like a personal vendetta to me.”

  “Personal vendetta or not, this needs to be taken care of,” Seth decreed. “The more vampires he creates and humans he brings into the fold, the greater the risk of exposure. Too many humans have cell phones that take pictures now. With an army of vamps that size all feeding in one area, it’s only a matter of time before someone catches something on video.”

  “We’re working on it.” It was a lame response, but the best he could do at the moment. “Where are we, by the way? Whose house is this?”

  “David’s. He said to tell you that you’re welcome to stay as long as you need to.”

  “That’s very generous of him. Thank him for me, will you?”

  “Sure.”

  Roland exchanged a look with Marcus.

  Marcus returned his attention to Seth. “All right. Since he won’t ask, I will. Is the blood all over your clothes ours or yours?”

  Seth glanced down, as though only then noticing his condition. “Mine.”

  That was it, nothing more.

  His exasperation showing, Marcus sighed. “Are those bullet holes?” he pressed, motioning to the numerous small tears in his clothing.

  “Yes.”

  Marcus turned to Roland. “You know, I didn’t register until this very moment just how alike the two of you are.”

  Both Seth and Roland frowned. Seth, because he apparently wasn’t pleased with the comparison, and Roland because, for once, it bothered him that he was the thorn in everyone’s side.

  Was he really that big a pain in the ass?

  “Yes,” Seth answered the unspoken question, then grinned when Roland reached up and stroked one eyebrow with his middle finger.

  “Look,” Marcus said, “I only asked because there must be at least two or three dozen of them. Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine, Marcus. When Sarah called, I was just wrapping something up and didn’t have time to change.”

  “Do you need blood?”

  He shook his head. “My wounds have healed.”

  Roland stared at him. “What exactly is going on in Texas? Could it be related to whatever is happening here?”

  “No,” Seth said decisively. “We aren’t—” He broke off. Tilting his head to one side, he looked away as though listening to something. Pulling out his cell phone, he dialed a number and held it to his ear. “What’s wrong?”

  Roland glanced at Marcus, wondering to whom Seth was speaking.

  “Where is she now?” Seth asked the unseen speaker.

  Marcus raised one eyebrow.

  “I’ll be right there.”

  Nietzsche mewed a protest as Seth set him on the carpet and rose, tucking his phone back in his pocket.

  “I have to go.”

  Marcus stood. “Wait. Does David have a computer?”

  “A laptop, but he took it with him.”

  “Then can you drop me at my place? I want to do a little cybersleuthing and see what I can come up with.”

  In answer, Seth reached out and touched Marcus’s shoulder. “Keep me posted,” he told Roland.

  Then the two vanished.

  Chapter 11

  All was quiet when Seth appeared in his Houston home.

  Well, not entirely quiet.

  The sound of rapid, jagged breaths drew him upstairs to one of the many guest bedrooms he kept for visiting immortals and their Seconds.

  Darnell, David’s Second, stood in the hallway out of sight of the bedroom, brow furrowed. David stood in the doorway, hands raised in a gesture of peace. That, coupled with his height, muscled body, and blood-soaked clothing, however, apparently did little to reassure the object of his attention.

  Seth brushed by both men and entered the room, pausing a step inside. No doubt he was equally intimidating, though, for once, he did not intend to be.

  Across the room, the young woman they had rescued cowered on the floor, squeezed into a corner between a dresser and the wall.

  “What happened?” he asked David, his eyes on the woman.

  “She awoke shortly after I began to heal her and panicked,” David murmured. “With those wounds, she shouldn’t move. But I couldn’t bring myself to restrain her. I didn’t want to frighten her.” He shrugged helplessly. “I’ve tried talking to her, but she doesn’t respond. Mine is not the voice she is accustomed to hearing in her head.”

  Seth nodded and took a step toward her.

  The woman flinched and pressed her body tighter into the corner, knees practically touching her chin. Her red hair had been carelessly cropped and hung in short, lank strands about a pallid face. Dark hollows painted the skin beneath wide, fear-filled green eyes and sharp cheekbones. She was small and frail, so thin as to be skeletal. Clearly she had been starved. But her torture had not ended there.

  Dozens, if not hundreds, of cuts, burns, and puncture wounds covered her arms and legs. The two smallest fingers on her right hand had been cut off at the first knuckle, the wounds still raw and unbandaged. Though he couldn’t see her feet now—they were hidden beneath the hem of the robe David had wrapped around her—he knew that two of her toes were missing as well.

  The worst of her wounds lay in her torso. When Seth and Marcus had burst into the room in which she had been confined, she had been naked, manacled to a table, her chest laid open as two men in surgeons’ scrubs shocked her exposed heart with small metal paddles. Had he not heard her screaming in his head, Seth might have thought she had died during open heart surgery and that they were trying to resuscitate her. But she hadn’t been dead. And because they hadn’t sedated her, she had felt everything they were doing to her.

  “Did you heal her chest?” he asked quietly.

  “Not completely. I was almost finished when she awakened.”

  Cautiously, Seth took another step toward her, bending so he wouldn’t tower over her quite so much. “Easy,” he crooned when she gave another start. “Easy. We aren’t going to hurt you. We want to help you.”

  Do you remember me? he asked her telepathically. Perhaps his voice sounded different when he spoke aloud than it did when he spoke to her in her mind. Or perhaps her captors had deafened her. There was no way of knowing yet how deeply some of her injuries went.

  Her gaze flew to his, clung.

  You called for help and I answered you.

  Tears welled in her tragic eyes and spilled down sunken cheeks.

  My name is Seth. He took another step. Then another.

  She looked at David anxiously, then back at Seth.

  David won’t hurt you. He was trying to heal you when you woke up and became afraid.

  Seth sank to his haunches so their faces would be on more of an even level, then eased ever closer, extending his right hand, palm up.

  You are safe now. Those men will not find you here. Wo n’t you let us help you?

  Her gaze dropped to his bloody clothing and hand and a question arose amid the fear in her expression.

  He smiled. They did not want to let you go. But we heard you calling out to us and refused to leave without you. Both of us were injured, but we have recovered.

  He was close to her now. Almost close enough to touch.

  Please. I can feel your pain. Let us ease it. Let us heal you as we did ourselves.

  Hesitantly, she reached out and placed her left hand in his.

  Seth smiled. Covering it, he slowly slid his other hand up her arm to her elbow. As he did, the cuts, burns, and bruises he touched healed and disappeared.

  Her breath caug
ht.

  You see? We wish only to help you.

  Taking her right hand, careful not to put any pressure on her damaged fingers, he drew her to her feet.

  Her ordeal had left her severely weakened. Seth steadied her when she would have staggered and fallen, and sent her another smile. When he looked down to make sure he didn’t tread on her bare feet with his big boots, he froze.

  “David, did you heal her foot?” he asked neutrally.

  “No, I started with her chest and got no further. Why?”

  He met his friend’s concerned gaze. “Her missing toes have grown back.”

  “What?” David took a step forward so he could better see her feet. “How is that possible? She’s human.”

  Both men looked to the woman for an answer.

  The fear returned to her face tenfold.

  Chiding herself for being such a coward, Sarah left the kitchen and entered the living room only to find it empty save for Roland, who stood beside the newly stained sofa.

  “Where is everybody?”

  “Gone,” he said simply, circling the coffee table and slowly approaching her. “Seth had some emergency that required his attention and Marcus was eager to get home.”

  “I didn’t even hear them leave.”

  His lips quirked wryly. “They didn’t use the door.”

  “Oh.” Seth had done that teleportation thing again.

  Freaky.

  Sarah wrung her hands in front of her in a vain attempt to stop their trembling.

  Pausing several feet away, Roland studied her, his crimson-streaked brow furrowed. “Are you all right?”

  She nodded, lowering her gaze when her vision wavered with tears. A lump lodged itself in her throat as the trembling spread from her hands to the rest of her body.

  “Sarah?” he asked, voice soft with concern.

  Shaking her head—she was so not all right—she strode forward until her forehead met his chest.

  His arms came around her, strong and reassuring.

  Sarah slid her own around his waist and burrowed closer, tears streaming down her cheeks.

  “Shh,” he whispered. “It’s all right.” His large hands slid up and down her back in long, soothing strokes. “Everything is going to be all right.”

  She nodded, embarrassed by her tears, yet helpless to stem their flow.

  He rested his chin atop her head and held her tight. “I’m so sorry about all of this, Sarah.”

  Shaking her head, she spoke between sniffles. “It isn’t your fault some jerk wants to kill you.”

  He laughed and tightened his hold on her. “Yes, but I didn’t have to drag you into it.”

  “You didn’t drag me. I pretty much plowed my way in.”

  “And, though it’s selfish of me to admit it, I’m very glad you did.”

  Her tears abated beneath his tender, calming influence. Raising her head, Sarah took a step back, a little disappointed when his arms fell away.

  “I’m sorry I keep crying.” She swiped at her damp cheeks. “You must think I’m a total basket case.” Her body was still racked with shivers, yet he was as relaxed as though they had just spent a pleasant day sightseeing.

  He raised a hand, brushing the hair at her temple back with gentle fingers. “If you knew what I truly thought of you, you would never stop blushing.”

  She stared up at him. “I wouldn’t?”

  He slowly wagged his head from side to side. “You were magnificent today. Confronted with a dozen men armed with semi- and automatic weapons, you didn’t panic. You wielded your 9mm with cool precision and faced down three of them on your own, then saved my ass. Again. And Marcus’s.”

  His view of what had happened sounded a lot better than her own. “I was terrified,” she countered. Not cool under fire. Not magnificent. Terrified. “I thought you were going to die. When I saw you with all those wounds and the sun scorching your skin … I thought you were going to die, Roland.” And damned if more tears didn’t well up and spill over her lashes just at the thought of it.

  He stared at them as though mesmerized. “Blood loss will not kill me. It may hurt like hell, but it won’t kill me. I can slow my pulse and metabolic rate so that I can survive as long as it takes for another blood source to come along. But the sun … The sun will roast me, Sarah, when I’m that injured and I don’t know that I would have made it to the forest if you hadn’t hauled us there, then called in the cavalry. Are those tears for me?”

  She almost didn’t catch the question tacked onto the end with no pause. “Yes,” she admitted. “I’ve gotten a little attached to you.”

  His brown eyes turned amber, began to glow. “I’ve grown attached to you, too.” He stroked a finger along her jawline.

  She didn’t know what to say to that. “I can’t seem to stop shaking.”

  Taking her hand, he gave it a squeeze. “I can remedy that.” He turned and strode through the living room.

  Sarah let him pull her along after him into a hallway with several closed doors.

  “It’s been a couple of decades or so since Marcus came to visit me,” he said, opening a door on the right. The room inside appeared to be a library. “But he stayed here when he did and I seem to recall him mentioning …” He opened the door across from it and Sarah peered past him into a stairwell that led down into darkness. “A basement,” he finished with a smile. “Excellent.”

  She didn’t know how a damp, chilly basement was going to help her, but tromped down the stairs behind him anyway. Perhaps, after the incident with the sun, he found the idea of being underground soothing. She probably would if she were in his position.

  The wooden steps were cool beneath her bare feet.

  At the bottom lay a wide carpeted hallway that led to the left and to the right. Roland went right and opened the first door they encountered.

  When he flicked on the overhead light, she saw it was a lovely bedroom. Not cold or damp at all. “It’ll do,” he announced dismissively.

  She glanced up at him. “I liked yours better, too.”

  He gave her another of those heart-stopping smiles over his shoulder and drew her forward through the room and into a bathroom nearly as large as the bedroom.

  Jeeze. Immortals really had a thing for luxurious bathrooms.

  As she glanced around at her opulent surroundings, Roland took her by the shoulder and steered her away from the sinks. “Don’t look in the mirror.”

  Which, naturally, made her gaze fly straight to one of the two mirrors mounted above the double sinks. When she saw her reflection, her eyes widened. There was blood smeared all over the middle and left side of her face from forehead to chin. She looked like friggin’ Carrie on prom night.

  Roland’s reflection in the mirror grimaced. “Sorry about that. It came off my shirt when I held you.”

  “That’s okay.” She refrained from mentioning that seeing her pale, wide-eyed face liberally coated with ruby liquid gave her the creeps.

  Crossing to the shower, Roland opened the glass door and leaned in. The faucet squeaked a little as he turned on the hot water. Almost instantly, steam began to spill forth. He turned on the cold tap, adjusted the temperature to suit him, then straightened and turned to face her.

  “Now,” he said, prowling toward her, “let’s get those clothes off.”

  Her pulse skittered wildly. “What?”

  “The best thing we can do to stop the shaking is get you into a nice hot shower. You’ll feel much better once you’re warm and the remnants of the day are washed away.”

  Sarah had no idea what he had just said. She couldn’t concentrate when he was staring at her with those incandescent eyes. Especially since he was pulling his ragged T-shirt over his head while he spoke. Beneath lay bloodstained muscles that rippled and flexed as he tossed the material aside. There were no signs of any wounds. Only pure perfection.

  “What am I supposed to be doing again?” she asked absently.

  “Taking your clothes off
and enjoying a steamy shower.”

  “And your plans are?”

  He smiled and reached for the hem of her shirt. “To enjoy it with you.”

  Sarah let him pull her shirt over her head, her tongue inconveniently tied.

  “Seth wouldn’t have brought us here if he didn’t think it was safe,” he went on. “But until I double-check the security myself, I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

  She nodded. That worked for her.

  “Don’t worry.” His face softened, though his eyes still glowed. “I’ll respect your No Sex with Strangers rule and keep my pants on. You, however”—a teasing glint entered his eyes—“should feel free to take off as much as you want.”

  Even covered with blood, he tempted her.

  She had told him she didn’t have sex with men she had just met, men she didn’t really know, but … when Sarah took into account what she did know about Roland, were the things she didn’t really that important? So she didn’t know his favorite color or his favorite ice cream flavor. No, wait. Actually she did know those. His favorite color was green and he liked banana nut soy cream, one of her own personal favorites. She didn’t know his favorite movie or what kind of music he preferred, what his favorite television show was.

  But she knew he was honorable, that he had spent every night for nearly a thousand years defending and protecting humans like herself from those who preyed upon them, suffering untold injuries in the process, then turning around and doing it all over again the next night. She knew he placed her safety above his own and wouldn’t hesitate to risk his life in order to save hers. She knew he had willingly drawn her pain and injuries into himself to ease her discomfort and would do so again.

  He had been nothing but kind to her since the moment they had met. He was patient with crazy kitties. He was very loyal to his friends and clearly felt affection for them, though he hid it behind a gruff facade when in their presence.

  She knew his troubled past, some of it anyway, and suspected he was as leery of surrendering himself to another as she was. Yet he was capable of such tenderness, such passion, as she had learned firsthand last night. Just thinking about it made her body clench.