Little had changed on the estate since he was a mortal. He had made sure of that.
Bastien had not lived the pristine life the other Immortal Guardians had after being transformed. Seth had not come to him and trained him, found a Second to help him conceal his nature, or paid him a wage. Bastien had had to fend for himself.
He didn’t resent it. How could one miss what one had never had?
He had simply done what he had to do to survive, which had included using his ability to feel other people’s emotions and his newfound strength and speed to acquire the money needed to buy his family’s ancestral estate and ensure it remained how he remembered it from happier times.
In the dream, he had been taking Melanie around to all of his favorite places. His favorite fishing spot as a boy. His favorite thinking spot as an adolescent. His favorite trysting spot as a young man.
As he stretched and woke fully, he decided he would have to take her there for real. Get away from everything.
If Seth would let him.
He grimaced. Going from leader to subordinate had not been easy and still chafed at times. But, if that was what it took to stay with Melanie, he would do it without complaint.
Or with little complaint.
Rolling onto his side, he reached for Melanie and found cold sheets.
Frowning, he lifted his head and followed the light to the corner of their bedroom.
Melanie sat at her desk, garbed only in one of his large T-shirts. Bathed in the light of a small lamp, she peered down at another of her thick medical books. Several more rested in piles at each elbow and clogged the floor-to-ceiling shelves beside the desk.
She leaned forward, one elbow resting on the wooden surface, while she scoured the text at preternatural speeds. Brow furrowed, she turned the page, read, turned the page, read, careful not to make a sound.
Bastien sat up, the sheet tangling around his waist. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”
Jumping, she spun around. “I’m sorry. Did I wake you?”
He shook his head. “No. What’s wrong?” He knew her well and didn’t have to touch her to know her shoulders were knotted with tension.
She looked down, toyed with the corners of the book’s pages.
“Melanie? Talk to me, love. Tell me what’s troubling you.”
She sighed. “I’m flying blind, Bastien.” When she raised her head, her hazel eyes glistened with tears.
Swearing silently, he leapt from the bed and crossed to kneel at her side, unconcerned with his nudity. (She knew every inch of his body.) Reaching up, he cupped her face and caught the tear that spilled over her lashes.
“Everyone is counting on me to carry Ami safely through this pregnancy,” she said, “and I’m flying blind.”
“Tell me what you need and I’ll get it for you. Tell me how I can help you and I will.”
She shook her head. “Chris and Seth have already seen to it that I have all the books and equipment I need.”
“Then I’ll get you what you need beyond that.”
“You can’t. That’s just it.”
Bullshit. He could feel the worry and fear coursing through her. She was stressed as hell and he would do whatever it took to help her.
“All right. Tell me your top three concerns and we’ll see how to alleviate them.”
“Let’s start with the fact that I’ve never been pregnant myself and have never spent any time around pregnant women, so I don’t know what’s normal. The books only say so much. They say it isn’t uncommon for some women to experience cramping during pregnancy, but I’m not clear on how much. Is it constant or sporadic? Do they mean super mild, I’m ovulating cramping? Or moderate, I’m about to get my period cramping? Or full blown, where the hell are the painkillers cramping? How much is too much? How often is too often? When should I be concerned? How do I know what’s normal and what might be a result of difficulties that could arise from Ami’s being an alien, Marcus being an immortal, and the baby possibly being infected with the virus? Or from the difficulty women on her planet have carrying babies to term?”
Bastien thought furiously. They needed someone with experience to be their guide. “The network employs thousands of humans. Surely one of them must be a . . . woman . . . female . . . I don’t know what you call them . . . vagina doctor.”
Melanie laughed. “Vagina doctor?”
He smiled, relieved to have lightened her mood a bit. “I’ve had very little contact with doctors in my lifetime. You know what I mean.”
“They’re called OB/GYNs.”
“Thank you.”
“You know Seth wants Ami’s being an alien to be kept secret, especially from the mortal employees. If any of them were captured and tortured—”
“Seth took care of that. The men who were hunting her are dead. And Seth wiped the memories of those with whom they sought to join forces.”
“So you think he’s going to let down his guard? Him or Marcus?”
“No. You’re right.” There must be something else. “Wait.” He grinned. “I have the answer.”
“You do?”
“We’ll bring Jenna into the loop.”
“Richart’s wife?”
“Yes. She has a son. She’s been through pregnancy and can help you get a better idea of what’s normal and what isn’t.”
“If we brought her into the loop, we’d have to ask her to keep secrets from the man she loves. I wouldn’t feel right about doing that.”
“Then we’ll bring Richart into the loop, too. We don’t necessarily have to tell them Ami’s from another world. We can just tell them she’s pregnant. That alone, they’ll know, is cause for concern because we have no idea what the virus will do to a baby.”
She looked thoughtful.
“We’re going to have to bring all of the local Immortal Guardians into the loop soon anyway. The cats and kittens will help conceal the baby’s heartbeat, but how long do you think we’ll be able to hide Ami’s growing belly? She’s tiny, like you, and weighs less than a hundred pounds. A thirty-pound weight gain is not going to go unnoticed.”
“That’s true. They’ll all think our concern revolves around the virus. They won’t know we’re worried about alien and gifted one DNA mixing unless we tell them.” She nodded. “Jenna would be a huge help. She could tell me all of the little things the books don’t. Things that, in the human world, would be considered insignificant. The more information I have, the better I can monitor Ami and know normal from abnormal.”
He dropped his hand to her knee and squeezed it. “Great. So, what’s your next concern? We can solve it, too.”
Her frown returned. “I don’t think there’s a solution for this one.”
“You didn’t think there was a solution for the other one either, but we came up with one. Come on. Let’s hear it.”
“It’s Ami’s regenerative capabilities. Her body heals as fast as yours does when you’re at full strength.”
Ami’s regenerative capabilities actually exceeded that of most Immortal Guardians. When Ami had been tortured and the butchers had removed two fingers and two toes, the digits had grown back on their own. The most an immortal could do in that situation was hope that David or Seth could reattach them.
“Isn’t her swift healing a plus in health matters?”
“Not if something goes wrong with the delivery and I have to perform a C-section.”
“Oh, shit.”
“Exactly. How will I keep her body from healing the incision while I operate?”
“Shit.” He thought furiously. “When Seth and David rescued Ami, the fuckers had cracked her chest open and were shocking her heart. How did they keep her from healing too quickly for them to work?”
“The drug.”
“Then why don’t you—?”
“I have no idea what effect it might have on the baby. In strong enough doses, it will knock you out cold and slow your healing. Once you’re given blood, your wounds heal, but you remain unc
onscious. And, while all encounters seem to suggest immortals can’t overdose on it, vampires can. When given too strong a dose, they die. Any human given the drug dies instantly.”
“And we don’t know what the baby is or will be: alien, immortal, gifted one, vampire, or a combination thereof.”
“So there’s no way to predict what will happen if the baby is exposed to it. It’s too risky to use.”
There had to be something. If not something medical, then some power Seth or David could use. “Wait. When he was so pissed at me for putting Ami in danger, Seth must have used telekinesis or—I don’t know—a reversal of his healing abilities, because it felt like a fist was squeezing my heart. Maybe he and David could prevent her body from healing if it came to that.”
Another thoughtful pause. “You may be right. I’ll ask them.”
He smiled. “You see? We’ll figure it out.” Rising, he took her hand and drew her up to stand before him. “We can do anything as long as we’re together.”
She smiled up at him. “I believe we can.” Sliding her arms around his waist, she leaned into him for a hug.
Bastien held her for many long moments, so fucking glad they were together. He would do anything for her. Anything. And hoped she knew it.
“Let’s go to bed,” he murmured into her hair. “We’ll tackle number three tomorrow.”
Nodding, she let him guide her back to their king-sized bed.
Chapter 8
Richart, Étienne, and Sheldon crouched in the crawl space beneath Krysta’s house. Bullets still whizzed past overhead, and damned if it didn’t look like a grenade had exploded in the small kitchen. Something had blown a hole in the floor over there.
Sheldon gaped at the chaos above them.
“Can you believe this shit?” Étienne muttered.
Richart shook his head. “How much damage do they think we can take?”
“A hell of a lot, apparently, but they must know Krysta can’t.” Fury ignited within him.
The ground beneath the house was uneven, so the crawl space was about five and a half feet high on one side of the house and only about a foot high on the other.
Richart stuck close to the ground and crept over to the vertical wood slats that enclosed them. “Come here.”
Étienne crawled over to him, Sheldon at his side.
“See? There in the trees just off the yard. There. And there. They have the house surrounded.”
“Stupid bastards are risking shooting each other through the house.”
Richart chuckled. “That would be convenient.”
“There’s a farmhouse in the distance there, beyond the trees. If you teleport us there, we can come up behind them and take them out instead of bursting out of this place and giving them instant targets.”
“Sounds good.” Richart looked at him a moment. “Is Krysta the reason you’ve been so distracted lately?”
“Yes.”
“I know you’re pissed that they put her in danger, but don’t follow Bastien’s example. Try to leave a couple alive for questioning and read the mind of every man you can before you kill the rest.”
“If I must.”
The brothers reluctantly donned the head coverings, which looked like rubber ski masks, then added shades and gloves.
“I hate this shit.”
Richart nodded. “Makes me feel like I’m suffocating.”
“Let’s do this fast, then.”
“Wait,” Sheldon said. “What do you want me to do?”
Étienne and Richart looked at each other and said, “Stay here and keep them busy.”
Sheldon frowned. “Kinda boring, but I’ll make it work.”
Shaking his head, Richart touched Étienne’s shoulder.
Sunlight bathed them as they appeared beside the farmhouse. In unison, they stepped back into the shade.
As younger immortals, they could not tolerate full sunlight without wearing the protective suits the network had designed. They wouldn’t burst into flames or explode the way movie vampires did. They would instead quickly begin to sunburn, and things would go downhill from there.
Older immortals, at full strength, could withstand several minutes before they would begin to suffer consequences. David could endure several hours. Seth was completely unaffected by daylight.
Étienne envied him as he shifted in the uncomfortable suit. Damn thing chafed. “You take the west and north. I’ll come up behind them on the east and sweep around to the south.”
“Be careful.” Richart vanished.
Étienne raced eastward, entered the trees, and circled around to head back toward Krysta’s house. Whoever this new group hunting immortals and vampires was, they were well funded and large. There were at least two dozen soldiers on this side of the house, arcing around to the south.
Someone on the other side cried out.
Étienne smiled. Richart had already gone to work. And few could compete with him in combat. How could you shoot or stab what kept disappearing?
Étienne swooped down on five soldiers who seemed intent on filling this side of the house with enough holes to make the damned walls collapse. Their thoughts focused on shooting blindly into the house, wondering if anyone was actually in the house, if this was just a bullshit mission, and if the guy who had just cried out had been hit by friendly fire.
The fact that the latter didn’t seem to bother them much spoke volumes about their character.
Knowing the immortals needed information, Étienne tamped down his desire to make these pricks pay for trying to kill Krysta and knocked the first two unconscious. The other three spun around.
He caught a fleeting Holy shit! Vampires are real! thought before he accidentally hit the third one too hard and killed him.
The last two turned their weapons on him. Blood spurted from their chests as they jerked and danced like marionettes on strings and dropped their aim. One squeezed and held the trigger. A couple of mercenaries to the south cried out as they were hit.
Étienne heard Sheldon whoop and credited him with the hits. Don’t get cocky, he spoke into Sheldon’s mind. Stay low and stay mobile.
“Dude,” Sheldon said over the racket, “stay out of my head. You startled me so badly I nearly shot myself in the foot.”
In the distance, Richart laughed.
Smiling, Étienne shook his head.
A quick scan of the mercenaries’ minds as they fell and breathed their last told him nothing of their employers.
Determined to come out of this with something, he made his way to the south, taking out soldiers as he went. Thanks to the jackass who had shot his colleagues, several of the soldiers were looking his way as Étienne swept toward them. A few got in lucky shots. One managed to tranq him. But the antidote he had taken earlier, once injected, not only countered the effects of the drug already in his system, it had a prophylactic effect, protecting him from reaction to further exposure for several hours.
Fortunately for him, it still worked.
Étienne wasn’t used to taking prisoners and kept instinctively striking killing blows.
Sheldon apparently hadn’t mastered the shoot-to-wound mind-set either, killing as many as Étienne did. The boy may not be the brightest bulb, but he was damned proficient with a weapon.
Are you helping Richart at all? Étienne risked asking. His brother had not been dosed with the antidote. If he were hit with a tranquilizer dart, he would lose a lot of speed and strength. If he were hit with enough, he would go down.
“Richart doesn’t need help. He keeps popping up between two groups and the stupid bastards are panicking and shooting each other.”
Nevertheless, keep checking on him. He doesn’t have the antidote.
Sheldon laughed. “One of them just tranqed himself. Dumbass.”
Shaking his head, Étienne ignored the wounds opening on his body as bullets tore through flesh.
Wagner’s “Ride of the Valkyrie” rose in the distance, the music swelling as the whup
-whup-whup of a helicopter approached.
“What the hell is that?” one of the mercenaries demanded, firing his weapon at Étienne as he looked up into the trees.
Étienne smiled. “The cavalry.” He knocked the firearm from the distracted man’s hand and punched him hard enough to give him a concussion.
The man dropped like a stone. As did two of his comrades.
The branches above Étienne began to thrash and sway as a Black Hawk helicopter slowed and hovered overhead. Ropes fell to the ground. Soldiers in green camouflage tumbled from the open doors and slid down the lines to land fluidly on their feet.
A blond—just under six feet tall—issued orders with hand signals, sending half the troops to Richart’s side of the house, then leading the rest to Étienne.
And still the music roared.
Bodies in a ready-for-anything crouch, tranquilizer guns loaded with the human dose of the tranquilizer aimed and ready to fire, network soldiers nodded to Étienne as they flowed past him.
Mercenaries dropped like flies as tranquilizer darts found vulnerable throats.
Shaded by the trees, Étienne tugged off his protective shades, head covering, and gloves, and smiled as the blond strolled toward him. “You do like to make an entrance, don’t you?”
Chris Reordon grinned. “May as well have fun with it. Besides, it will help me with the coverup. Any calls the neighbors make to nine-one-one will be intercepted and they’ll be told we’re filming a movie.”
“That won’t attract spectators?”
He shrugged. “If it does, my guys will steer them away.”
The walkie-talkie on his shoulder squawked. “Location secure,” a tinny voice declared. “Targets down.”
Chris reached up and pressed a button. “Set up a perimeter and stay sharp. If they repeat last night’s performance, they’ll have a second team sweep in shortly.”
“Yes, sir.”
The network guards began to check the downed men and call out their conditions.
“Dead.”
“Dead.”
“Dead.”
“Dead.”
Chris frowned at Étienne.
Étienne pursed his lips. He thought he had left some alive.
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