Darkness Rises ig-4

by Dianne Duvall

  “Why did you kill them?” she asked. “Are you guys engaged in some kind of turf war or something? Are they encroaching upon your territory?” Such derision and scorn. It didn’t belong in that melodic voice.

  “I have no territory—not here in the States, at least—unless you count the small parcel of land upon which my current abode resides.”

  “You sleep in a crypt or something?”

  He laughed. “No. I like my creature comforts. And, no, I am not engaged in a turf war as you called it. I killed the vampires to protect you.”

  Anger flared in her gaze. “First of all, I don’t need protecting.”

  “The events that transpired the night we met suggest otherwise.”

  “That was a unique situation. Vampires don’t usually travel in packs.”

  “A comment that makes me wonder just how long you’ve been hunting them.” The fact that she still lived led him to believe this was a fairly new endeavor for her.

  “Years,” she responded defiantly.

  He may not be able to read her thoughts clearly, but he could glean enough to know she told the truth. Even so, doubt plagued him. “How many years? You can’t have seen more than twenty-five in your lifetime.”

  “Twenty-seven, not that it’s any of your business. And I’ve hunted vampires for six of those.”

  Astonishment gripped him. This fragile, mortal woman had hunted and fought vampires for six years and survived to tell the tale? With no help from the network?

  So much had been happening in North Carolina in recent years: The uprisings. The battles. And she had hunted vampires through it all?

  “That’s impossible.”

  “Apparently not or I wouldn’t be standing here.” She frowned. “Wait. You said them.”

  “What?”

  “You said them, that I had been hunting them, not us.”

  He swore silently.

  “What are you?”

  “I have fangs. My eyes glow. I heal at an accelerated rate. And I have preternatural speed and strength. What do you think I am?” he retorted. Until he was sure she and her brother were operating independently and weren’t part of some new threat—especially not members of the mercenary group he and the others had recently defeated—he was reluctant to tell her that he was an immortal.

  He had actually once been like her brother: a gifted one, or mortal born with special abilities stemming from advanced DNA, before he had been infected with the vampiric virus. Vampires were human before they were infected and, lacking the advanced DNA, were driven insane by the brain damage it caused.

  She shook her head. “You’re different. You’re not like the others.”

  He arched a brow. “Because I didn’t try to kill you?”

  Her head continued to wag back and forth as her gaze skipped over him. “You’re different.”

  He frowned. She didn’t seem to be checking him out. She seemed to be studying him.

  Did she see something that set him apart from the others?

  “How am I different?”

  “You tell me.”

  Not bloody likely.

  She mimicked his frown and took another step back. “Why have you been following me?”

  She’d caught that, had she?

  Well, curiosity had driven him to watch her. And she did prove to be a very good vampire lure. He hadn’t killed this many vamps on a daily basis in quite some time.

  He should have turned her name and address over to Chris Reordon. But there was something about her. He couldn’t get her out of his head.

  Not that he would admit it.

  “You make good bait,” he stated just to rile her.

  Her face flushed with fury. “I what?”

  Damn, she was beautiful. “You make good bait. Hunting vampires has never been so easy. I just follow you and take out the dullards who can’t resist you and slink after you.”

  “You . . . I . . . Is that an insult? Are you saying only dullards would be attracted to me?” she sputtered.

  If that’s true, you’re standing before a big-ass dullard, he wanted to say. “Of course not. Only dullards would want to kill you.”

  “Oh. Well, you can’t do that. You can’t just follow me and take out any vampires who fall for my trap.”

  He shrugged. “You can’t really stop me, can you?”

  “The hell I can’t.”

  “Well, you could if you ceased hunting and left the slaying of vampires to me,” he suggested.

  She stared at him. “Seriously, what are you?”

  “What are you?”

  “What do you mean? I’m human.”

  “Your brother isn’t.”

  The tip of one of her swords nicked him as she pressed it to his throat. “What do you know about my brother?”

  “That he’s a healer, a gifted one.”

  “I don’t know what a gifted one is, but you leave him the hell out of this,” she snarled.

  “As long as he aids you in your quest, I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

  “I’m not kidding.” Her expression fierce, she pressed forward. “Stay. The hell. Away from him.”

  “If you fear for his safety, you have only yourself to blame. You led me to him.”

  Alarm and self-condemnation flitted across her pretty face.

  “It’s only a matter of time before you lead vampires to him as well,” he pointed out, “if you haven’t already.”

  “I haven’t. I’ve been careful.”

  “Are you sure? Did you know I followed you?”

  Fear suffused Krysta.

  Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

  She’d been so stupid! She’d been so confident! She’d been so sure that she had gotten away clean after each hunt.

  And she had led this vampire straight to Sean?

  Worse than that, she wouldn’t have even known it if he hadn’t told her.

  Her hand began to tremble.

  How many times had Sean begged her to stop? Told her it was too risky? Admitted he feared losing her? And now she could lose him because of her own hubris and carelessness.

  She lowered her sword. “Don’t hurt him. If you’re going to kill one of us, kill me.”

  “Why not kill the both of you?” he posed.

  “Because I’m the one with the quest.”

  “And what quest might that be?”

  “To kill every bloodsucking vampire in existence.”

  He pursed his lips. “That’s quite a quest. I’ve been killing vampires for two hundred years and have barely made a dent.”

  Shock struck her speechless.

  Two hundred years? She didn’t know what stunned her more. That Étienne was that old—he didn’t look a day over thirty!—or that there were really that many vampires on the planet.

  “Are you serious?”

  “Quite.”

  “I had hoped . . .”

  “That vampires were a regional thing?” he finished for her.

  She nodded dumbly. How had he guessed so accurately?

  “They aren’t,” he said, and there was kindness in his voice. Sympathy. From a vampire.

  One who had, if she could believe him, spent the past two centuries—two centuries—killing other vampires.

  Abruptly, the song “Squirrels in My Pants” from Phineas and Ferb filled the air.

  Étienne fumbled in his pocket and withdrew a cell phone.

  She hadn’t even noticed until then that his weapons were all sheathed. Not once, in this entire conversation, had he threatened her.

  He glanced at the caller ID. “One moment, please.” Turning away slightly, he answered. “Oui?” He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. “Maintenant? . . . Je suis dans le milieu de quelque chose . . .” He groaned. “Bien. Bien. Deux minutes.”

  He pocketed the phone.

  “Squirrels in My Pants?” she couldn’t resist asking.

  His handsome face lit with a faint smile. “Inside joke. I’m afraid I must leave.”

>   “Places to go, vampires to party with?”

  He shook his head and backed away. “Go home, Krysta.”

  How the hell did he know her name?

  And why did hearing him say it induce shivers of pleasure?

  “No more hunting,” he ordered. Or implored.

  She just couldn’t read this guy. She was attracted to him, damn it, and it was warping her judgement. So she said nothing.

  “Promise me,” he insisted.

  “I promise,” she said. “No more hunting.”

  His handsome face relaxed into an easy grin.

  “Tonight,” she added. “No more hunting tonight.” She needed to take a step back and try to absorb everything she had learned.

  His scowl returned. “Stubborn wench. Until we meet again then.” He bowed. “Bonne nuit.”

  His form blurred and dashed around the corner, moving so swiftly ordinary humans wouldn’t be able to follow him with their eyes. He could run past some and all they would feel or notice was the breeze his passing created.

  But Krysta could follow his aura. It lit up the night.

  Hurrying to the corner, she peered around the building’s edge.

  Étienne was a distant, dark figure surrounded by phosphorescent, constantly shifting white and purple near the frat house.

  In the blink of an eye, a second dark figure with an identical aura joined him.

  She gasped. The other’s aura hadn’t approached from any direction. It—he—had just appeared out of thin air.

  The stranger touched Étienne’s shoulder. Both vanished.

  Her knees weakening, Krysta leaned against the rough bricks of the building beside her.

  There were two of them. Two vampires with that fascinating aura she had never before beheld.

  And one of them could teleport.

  Or could both of them? She hadn’t heard or seen Étienne’s approach tonight. One second she had been demanding he show himself. The next he had spoken behind her.

  After talking with him, she had assumed he had just jumped down from the roof. Had he instead teleported?

  Was that even what it was called? Teleporting? It sounded so sci-fi. Not vampirish at all.

  Sighing, she took out her cell phone and called Sean.

  A moment later, their battered Dodge Shadow halted before her and the passenger door sprang open.

  Her brother’s curious gaze pierced her as she sank into the bucket seat and slammed the door.

  “No luck tonight?” he asked.

  Kinda hard to miss the lack of blood splatter.

  She shook her head.

  He sent her an encouraging smile. “Maybe you killed them all.”

  She laughed. “I wish.”

  He began the journey home. “You must have scared them off. You haven’t gone this long without fighting one in a few years.”

  She made some noncommittal sound as guilt consumed her. She should tell him about Étienne. She actually opened her mouth to do so three or four times as the engine stuttered and struggled to get them home. But what could she say? I’m being stalked by that gorgeous vampire you saw me with two weeks ago. No, he doesn’t fight me. He claims he’s protecting me. Yes, the vampire. Yes, by all appearances, he is protecting me. He keeps killing all of the vampires I hunt. No, I don’t know what his game is. And, yes, I’m attracted to him. That’s right—attracted. As in I would love to see him naked. It’s sick. I get it. He’s a bloodsucking vampire. But I can’t help it. My freaking heart pounds every time he comes near me and it isn’t from fear that he’ll kill me.

  She gazed into the blackness beyond the passenger window.

  There was just something about him. Something mesmerizing.

  Her reflection’s brow furrowed.

  Was she losing it? Was the strain of six years of battling vampire after insane vampire beginning to get to her? Or . . .

  A chill skittered through her.

  Was the vampires’ madness rubbing off on her? Was it contagious?

  She had been bitten that one time seven years ago. She had assumed, because she hadn’t turned into a vampire overnight, that there had been no long-term damage. What if she were wrong? What if the madness that crippled vampires had slowly but surely been finding and securing a home in her?

  Fear cut through her veins like diamonds.

  Could it be true? Could that be it?

  Even if one bite couldn’t do it, she had been exposed to their blood countless times over the years in battle. How many times did it take?

  “You okay?” her brother asked.

  “Just tired,” she lied.

  “Are you sure?” He took his eyes off the road momentarily to study her. “Are you worried about the vampire who helped you?”

  She sent him a sharp glance. “What do you mean?”

  He shrugged. “It’s just weird that he helped you. You’ve never encountered a vampire who didn’t try to kill or turn you. I’ve been worried that he might . . . I don’t know . . . come back and finish what he didn’t have a chance to start.”

  “If he had wanted to kill me, he had ample opportunity to do so.”

  A scowl creased his brow. “How can you be so sure? Maybe he’s screwing with you? He didn’t get into your head, did he?”

  Relief and anger overwhelmed her as she realized her brother might have just hit the proverbial nail on the head.

  A slew of silent epithets drowned out whatever Sean said next.

  That’s it! It has to be! Étienne has literally gotten into my head. I mean, if he can freaking teleport, a little mind control really isn’t that hard to believe.

  Other vampires could do it. The reason no one knew vampires existed was because victims of vampire attacks who lived could never recall having been bitten or give any description of their attacker. They even laughed outright at the notion that Krysta had saved them from a vampire who had been eagerly draining their blood.

  Not one vampire victim with whom she had spoken had retained any memory of being attacked. If that wasn’t mind control, what was?

  Anger simmered within her. “I am so going to kick his ass,” she growled.

  Sean’s eyebrows rose. “The purple and white vamp?”

  She had told him about Étienne’s aura. “Yes.”

  “What makes you think you’ll see him again?”

  “Oh, I’ll see him again. He left me alive for a reason. And I’m going to kick his ass until he tells me what it is.”

  His frown returned. “Just don’t go looking for him, Krys. Seriously. I have a bad feeling about this.”

  “I won’t,” she was able to say with complete honesty.

  If he stayed true to his recent pattern, Étienne would come looking for her. And when he did . . .

  She smiled grimly.

  He was going to regret messing with her head.

  Chapter 3

  Étienne glanced at his twin as they arrived in David’s large living room. “Are you the smart-ass who changed my ringtone?”

  “Someone changed your ringtone?” Richart asked. “To what?”

  “Never mind.”

  Darnell approached, a tiny kitten in each hand. “Okay, which one do you want?”

  Étienne reached for the little gray and white one. “We’re really doing this?”

  “Yes.”

  A faint, high-pitched scream came from Étienne’s pocket, accompanied by a drumbeat. “There are squirrels in my pants!” a girl cried as Phineas and Ferb’s “Squirrels in My Pants” song began blaring from his phone.

  Every immortal in the room turned to look at him.

  Étienne scowled at his brother.

  Laughing, Richart closed his cell phone and put it away. “I didn’t change it. I just wanted to know what it was.”

  “Asshole.” He took the ridiculously small bottle of milk Darnell handed him. “As I was saying, we’re really doing this?”

  “Every two hours.”

  He groaned. He could still be chattin
g up Krysta if he didn’t have to play feline nursemaid.

  “How much has David done for you over the centuries?” Darnell retorted, his shaved, brown head gleaming in the overhead light.

  “A hell of a lot,” Étienne answered without hesitation. David was like Seth. He gave everything he had to the Immortal Guardians and those who aided them.

  “And what has he asked in return?” Darnell continued.

  “Not a damned thing.”

  “Exactly. So feed the kitten.”

  Étienne cuddled the mewling little bundle of fur to his chest. “Done.”

  Richart took the orange and white kitten and did the same.

  “Every two hours, guys,” Darnell reminded them again as they crossed the room and sank down beside Lisette on one of the sofas.

  Roland and Sarah fed two kittens on another sofa.

  Roland was quite possibly the most aggravating, antisocial immortal on the planet. Seeing him cuddle and nurture a black and white kitten that could fit in the palm of his hand was nothing short of bizarre.

  Grunts and thumps floated up from downstairs, where Seconds sparred in the training room.

  Ami entered, carrying Slim. That scrawny little feline didn’t look fully grown either, though it had long since reached adulthood. It also bore several bare patches, scars, and cuts from its most recent fights with whatever woodland creature it had felt ventured too close to Slim’s new territory: David’s property.

  “Hi, Ami,” Sarah called with a smile.

  “Hi.”

  The men all echoed the greeting.

  Every male Immortal Guardian in North Carolina adored the two women. They loved Sarah for being the first gifted one in history to ask to be infected so she could spend eternity with Roland’s antisocial ass. They loved Ami for . . . well . . . being Ami.

  She was so sweet and shy. And fucking ferocious on the battlefield. A mere week after being named Marcus’s Second, she had helped him stand against and defeat thirty-four vampires. Thirty-four. No mortal had ever attempted such a feat. Hell, no immortal had either until then. Except, perhaps, for Seth or David. Those two had lived thousands of years. Étienne didn’t know half of what they had done.

  “Where’s Marcus?” Sarah asked.

  “Out hunting.”

  “How did he get out of kitten duty?” Roland asked dourly, even though everyone here could clearly see he had a soft spot for animals.