Darkness Dawns (20 page)

Ten yards from the trees’ edge stood a chain-link fence with razor wire strung across the top. A single two-lane road led in and out of a gated entrance guarded by men in camouflage carrying assault rifles. Beyond lay an open field the size of a football stadium, a mostly empty parking lot, and a large three-story structure that was curiously devoid of windows, save those that bordered the front entrance.

There were plenty of surveillance cameras anchored to the building’s roof and more heavily armed men in camouflage on the grounds.

David emerged from the darkness behind Seth without a
single rustle of leaves or snapping of twig. “This is it,” he said softly. “I’m certain of it. The woman is being kept in there.”

Seth nodded. Her cries were so loud here he had to partially block them out to keep them from distracting him.

“I circled the building,” his friend continued. “The fence has no weak points. Not that a fence could stop us. Guards walk the perimeter on all sides. As far as I could see, there are no blind spots in the video surveillance.”

We are here,
Seth told the woman soothingly.
We will be with you soon, little one, and will take you far away from here.

The screaming stopped, the silence that followed almost painful in its absence.

Had she understood him? Could she sense that they were near?

Just a little longer, then you will be free.

She spoke an unintelligible sentence or two. Then her words dissolved into whimpers of pain.

David cocked his head to one side. “Does the fact that it’s guarded either by the military or by mercenaries concern you at all?”

“A little,” Seth answered honestly. “Not because we cannot breech it, but because I cannot puzzle it all out. What is this place? It’s not a prison or a military base, yet soldiers guard it. Why is she kept here? Whoever she is, they have been torturing her for months. Why would they do that?”

“Who are
they?
” David posed rhetorically.

“Exactly. What information could she possibly have that would make this acceptable and why the hell would she continue to withhold it?”

“You don’t think she’s a vampire, do you? Or an immortal who was taken without our knowledge? Because if the government ever finds out we’re real, we’re going to have some serious problems on our hands.”

“If she were vampire or immortal, I would understand what she is saying.”

“I can’t decipher her speech either and I know almost as many languages as you do. Hers doesn’t sound at all familiar.”

“Well, we’ll know the answers soon enough.”

David nodded slowly. “This is going to get ugly.”

“Most likely,” Seth agreed. “Be careful not to let any of the bullets pass through you and hit our mystery lady.”

“Of course.”

“Shall we?”

While the guards continued their slow stroll about the building, oblivious to the encroaching menace in the shadows, Seth’s and David’s silhouettes blurred, then shifted, becoming something altogether different.

Sarah jerked awake, heart pounding as it often did when something yanked her out of a sound sleep.

What had done it?

Rolling onto her back, she turned her head.

Roland was sprawled on his stomach, arms tucked beneath his pillow, sound asleep. He looked so sweet, so boyishly handsome, she had to smile.

Until a
thunk
came from the front of the house.

Roland didn’t stir as she slipped out of bed and hurriedly donned her T-shirt and jeans.

It was probably just Marcus up and about or Nietzsche getting into something he shouldn’t, but she wasn’t going to take any chances. She would check just in case.

Opening the bedroom door, she crept down the hallway.

A quick peek showed her an empty living room. Sarah continued through it and into the dining room, then the kitchen, keeping an eye out for Nietzsche.

Another
thunk
sounded, louder this time. It was the sound of a car door closing.

The sun had been up for at least an hour, so it wasn’t vampires.

Sarah told herself not to panic. It could always be UPS or FedEx or the postman making a delivery.

Two more
thunks
sounded.

Or not. Postal delivery men and women did not arrive in groups of four.

“Pop the trunk,” a man called out.

Gravel crunched as another car pulled up out front.

Oh, crap.

Grabbing the butcher knife from the dish drainer, Sarah ran for the bedroom. She could hear multiple male voices now as four more car doors opened and closed.

Roland’s enemy worked with humans (if you could call those two flunkies she had hit with her shovel humans). He must have sent more here to kill Roland while daylight weakened him.

“Roland!” she hissed in a loud whisper, hurrying into the room and around the foot of the bed. “Roland, wake up!” Grabbing his shoulder, she shook him hard.

Oh, no!
She’d forgotten about Marcus!

She glanced toward the bedroom door, then squeaked when Roland turned onto his back, grabbed her by the throat, flipped her over him, and slammed her down on the bed so fast her head swam.

His hand tightened, robbing her of air. His face, above hers, was twisted in a snarl, fangs extended, eyes glowing brightly.

“It’s me,” she croaked, struggling to breathe.

He blinked. The snarl vanished. “Sarah?” His grip loosened abruptly. “I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?” His fingers stroked her abused throat. “I should have told you that I sleep much more deeply when I’m healing from an injury and don’t react well to being startled awake.”

Before she could answer, his gaze strayed to the knife she clutched, then returned to hers filled with betrayal.

Okay, he had woken up with her standing over him with a knife in her hand. It looked damning, true. But the fact that
he thought her capable of killing him really pissed her off. Especially after what had passed between them last night.

Sarah placed her empty hand in the center of his chest and shoved. “I didn’t come in here to kill you, damn it!” she whispered with a snarl of her own. “I came in here to warn you!”

Rolling out of bed, he rose smoothly to his feet.

Far less graceful, Sarah scooted off the bed beneath his watchful gaze. “I’m pretty sure your enemy has found you. A noise woke me. I went to check it out and heard two cars pull up out front. At least eight men got out, by the sounds of it.”

“How did they know where to find me?” he asked, the implication being she had told them.

“Ooh, I am
so
going to kick your ass for that later. I don’t
know
how they knew. I don’t even know where
here
is. I was unconscious when you brought me here. Remember?”

Roland had forgotten that. Grabbing the slacks and T-shirt he had discarded last night, he tugged them on and crossed to the armoire. Uncertain what to think, he yanked the doors open and began plucking weapons from the substantial display within.

Sarah joined him, stiff with indignation. The part of him that felt remorse for accusing her vied with that which silently suggested she could have seen his address on a piece of mail and called someone while he slept.

“They’re human,” she snapped, tossing the knife inside and grabbing a Sig Sauer P226 X-Five Tactical 9mm and two twenty-round clips. “Use guns.”

Lips clamped tight with fury, she turned and stomped toward the door.

He grabbed a Glock 10mm. “Where are you going?”

“To warn Marcus.”

“The hell you are.”

The front door could burst open at any moment. He wasn’t about to let Sarah put herself in those men’s sights.
Catching up with her before she could take another step, he curled a hand around her upper arm.

Jerked to a halt, she turned on him and growled, “Don’t touch me.”

Oh
yeah. She definitely had a temper and he had clumsily ignited it.

But now wasn’t the time.

Roland yanked her toward him. “Look, this isn’t the first time I’ve awoken to find the woman I care about standing over me with a knife in her hand. I drew a faulty conclusion. I was wrong. Be pissed at me later. Right now you need to get your ass in the bathroom, put your back to the wall either in the tub or behind the toilet, and shoot anyone who comes through the door who isn’t me or Marcus.”

He pushed her none too gently in that direction as Marcus hurried into the room, hair tousled with sleep, completely naked. “What’s going on?”

Sarah stopped and gaped.

Roland grimaced and threw up a hand. “Put some fucking clothes on before I go blind.”

Marcus rolled his eyes. “My clothes are a torn, bloody mess. I was hoping I could borrow some of yours.”

Grumbling, Roland crossed to the closet, displeased to notice Sarah still staring. “Sarah, get in the bathroom.”

He almost smiled when the abrupt command yanked her attention back to him.

“I’m not your dog to do your bidding,” she snapped.

Well, hell.

Marcus raised one eyebrow. “Trouble in paradise?”

A pair of jeans and a sweatshirt hit him in the face. “Shut up.”

While Marcus bent to pull on the jeans, Roland returned to stand in front of the petite, seething beauty he was so smitten with, effectively blocking her view.

“I’m trying to protect you, Sarah.”

Some of the anger left her face, allowing him to see the
fear beneath. “I know you are, but I’m not going to cower in the bathroom and let you two take on all of them yourselves when I can help. I told you, I’m very good with a gun.”

“How many are we talking?” Marcus asked as he zipped his pants.

“At least eight,” Roland told him.

Sarah took a step closer, her body nearly touching his, and tilted her head back to look up at him. “Let me help you, Roland. Please.”

He couldn’t bear it. He had to touch her.

Slipping his free arm around her waist, he drew her up against him, dipped his head, and took her lips in a long, thorough kiss that resurrected memories of the previous night.

Her face was flushed, her pupils dilated, when he released her.

“Stay low,” he instructed. “And remember that bullets go through walls. You don’t have to be exposed for them to shoot you.”

“Or vice versa,” Marcus added, dragging the sweatshirt over his head and raking a hand through his hair. “Oh shit. Do you smell that?”

Roland had caught the pungent scent a half second before Marcus had spoken. Fury swept through him. “Yes.”

Sarah inhaled deeply. “What is it? I can’t smell it.”

“Gasoline,” they both answered grimly.

Roland urged Sarah over to the wall beside the door frame. “Remember what I said. Stay low. Shoot as many as you can. If they set the place on fire, go out the window and hide in the forest.”

“What about you? It’s morning. The sun’s up.”

“We’re both back to full strength. We can tolerate brief exposure to sunlight.”

Marcus stuffed his pockets with knives, throwing stars, and ammunition, grabbed a shotgun, and left the room.

Roland returned to the armoire, stuck several daggers into
his back pockets, added several clips for the Glock, then headed for the doorway.

Sarah watched his approach with wide eyes full of trepidation.

As he drew even with her, he paused, kissed her again, then pressed his forehead to hers. “Don’t get hurt.”

“Be safe.”

Roland could hear the men speaking in low murmurs as they doused the exterior of his home with gasoline. They must think immortals lapsed into the same near comatose state vampires did when the sun rose.

“Don’t light it yet, man,” one said. “Remember? We’re supposed to go in and get the Guardian’s whore out first.”

“What for?”

“Hell if I know. But no way am I fuckin’up the way Derek and Bobby did.”

Leaving Sarah, Roland strode down the hallway and entered the living room. His eyes met Marcus’s. This was sounding more and more like a personal vendetta.

He had assumed that, like the rest of his kind, Bastien simply despised all Immortal Guardians and had thought to bag himself one. But this vamp had tried to kill him two nights in a row, tenaciously tracked him to his home so he could send his human minions to finish the job, and now he wanted Sarah because he thought she was Roland’s woman?

“What are you doin’?” another asked.

“Pickin’ the locks.”

“I thought we were just gonna break the door down.”

“Nuh-uh. These guys are supposed to be dead to the world, but I don’t want to take any chances. We’re goin’ in quiet.”

Roland held up his left hand, fingers extended, touched the tip of his middle finger to his thumb, indicating eight, and pointed to the door. Then, pointing to the east side of the house, he held up two fingers.

Marcus nodded and held up two, pointing to the west side.

Melting back into the shadows, they waited.

Sarah’s heart was racing, her hands clammy, as she listened to the front door creak open. Two men cried out simultaneously. Victims of knives or throwing stars?

Gunfire erupted, so loud she jumped a foot. (She always wore protective earmuffs at the firing range.) Squatting with both hands wrapped tightly about the Sig Sauer’s grip, she peeked around the doorjamb.

What she could see of the living room was utter chaos.

No wonder Roland and Marcus had looked more angry than concerned that they might be killed. The two of them moved so swiftly that, in the split second it took the humans to aim their weapons, the immortals could leap across the room, leaving them firing either at empty space or their own men.

A tall, thin man stepped into view and stayed there. Sarah raised the 9mm, sighted down the barrel … but hesitated to pull the trigger. Roland and Marcus kept swooping past in a blur and she was terrified of accidentally hitting one of them.

Her target glanced up, saw her, and yelled, “She’s in the back!” over the nearly constant gunfire. He took a step forward and went rigid, the hilt of one of Roland’s daggers protruding from his throat.