Darkness Dawns (3 page)

She nibbled her full lower lip. “I suppose that’s true.”

“If it will ease your mind, I’ll call my handler and he can confirm who I am.” Hopefully Seth, the leader of the Immortal Guardians, would catch on fast and play along. Or maybe come up with something better. Roland just wasn’t up to the task himself. “He’s going to have to send someone in to extract me anyway.” And would no doubt use this as an excuse to lecture him again about his refusal to have a Second.

Seconds (a rather outdated term, he supposed) were humans who protected immortals like himself during the day and generally came to their aid whenever they needed it. They and the rest of the human network Seth had fostered also helped hide the existence of immortals, vampires, and
gifted ones
from the general public by presenting facades of normalcy and providing a number of other services.

Seth required every Immortal Guardian to have a Second. Roland, however, steadfastly refused. It was the only issue over which he had ever butted heads with Seth, whom no one sane would ever want to piss off. The eldest amongst them, the immortal leader was so powerful he could walk in daylight without suffering any adverse effects at all. He possessed abilities the rest of them lacked that could make even Roland’s hair stand on end. And had. On more than one occasion.

When it came to this, however, Roland absolutely would
not capitulate. Anything else Seth asked of him he would do. He owed the man a great deal and would not hesitate to die for him if need be. But welcome a Second into his home and give him his trust?

No way.

The dozen or more poor sods who had been sent to him over the years as his Second had all left … eagerly … of their own free will within twenty-four hours and damned near wet their pants in fear if they ran into Roland again later, so Seth had long ago stopped sending them.

The issue remained a contentious one, though.

Roland watched as Sarah crossed to the entertainment center and retrieved a black telephone. The cord trailing after her, she returned and set it beside him on the futon.

“No cell phone?” he asked curiously. It seemed as though everyone and their grandmother had one these days.

She smiled wryly. “No, I like my brain the way it is—tumor free—and plan to keep it that way, thank you.”

“The phone companies claim they’re safe.”

She snorted. “And cigarette companies claimed cigarettes were safe. I think I’ll listen to the neurologists who don’t profit from the product sales and stick to landlines.”

Fortunately, as an immortal, he didn’t have to worry about that sort of thing.

When he would have picked up the phone’s receiver, Sarah stopped him. “Use the speakerphone. I’ve seen too many news reports about criminals who posed as law enforcement officials to gain their victim’s trust and would like to hear for myself that you are who you say you are.”

That would make this a bit trickier.

Roland pressed the speakerphone button and dialed Seth’s cell number.

As he watched, Sarah knelt on the floor beside him, pulled off her baseball cap, and ran a careless hand through her hair. A lovely dark chocolate brown that contrasted
vividly with her alabaster skin, it fell in shining, subtle waves down to her waist.

“You have beautiful hair,” he told her as she picked up one of the discarded towels and pressed it to the stab wounds in his abdomen.

A masculine throat cleared. “Roland?”

That could not possibly be a blush he felt climbing his cheeks at the sound of the immortal leader’s deep, accented voice. He hadn’t blushed since his days as a squire. “Yes.”

“What—are you high? You just told me my hair is beautiful.”

From the corner of his eye, Roland saw Sarah unsuccessfully attempt to stifle a smile. “I wasn’t talking to you,” he grumbled.

“Uh-huh. So, what’s wrong?”

Sarah leaned forward to whisper, “How does he know something is wrong?”

Seth answered for him. “Because he only calls me when he’s desperate. Who is that you have with you, Roland?”

“Sarah,” she answered for him.

“That explains the caller ID.”

“Who might you be?” she asked.

“Seth.”

“And what is the nature of your relationship with Roland?”

There was just no way this was going to go well.

“I suppose you might call me his boss,” Seth said slowly. “Why?”

“Something has come up,” Roland interjected before Sarah could ask any more questions.

“Clearly,” came his dry reply. “Are you injured?”

He glanced down at himself. “Yyyeah. A little bit.”

Sarah’s mouth fell open. “A little bit?” she repeated incredulously. “There are two-foot-long spikes sticking out of your hands!”

“Actually, they’re more like a foot and a half.”

“Roland, are you all right?” Seth asked, concern coloring his voice.

“Yes.”

“No, he isn’t,” Sarah insisted. “He needs medical attention but he doesn’t want me to call 911.”

Seth,
Roland thought,
if you can hear me, I told her I’m a CIA agent working undercover, posing as an illegal arms dealer, and can’t call 911 because it would blow four years of undercover work.

Several seconds of silence ticked by while he waited and hoped for a response.

That is so weak.

Both relieved and astounded that Seth could truly read his thoughts over long distance (the man was just too freakin’ powerful), Roland responded rather belligerently,
Well, it works for Marcus.

Marcus doesn’t
tell
mortals he’s CIA. He leads them toward drawing the conclusion themselves.

“Have you taken this woman into your confidence, Roland?” Seth spoke aloud.

“I have. She saved my life.”

“Then you have the CIA’s gratitude, ma’am. However, I must ask that you comply with his wishes. If you call for an ambulance, the police will get involved and four years of undercover work will go down the drain.”

Disbelief washed across her pretty features. “Did you not hear me mention that they drove metal spikes through both of his hands?”

“Roland, explain.”

He drew in a deep breath, wincing at the pain in his cracked ribs. “I was tracking a potential buyer”—
vamp
—“and was basically led into an ambush that included six of his colleagues.”
There were seven vampires plus two human minions. I took out four of the vamps and seriously injured two others before they staked me to the ground and left the
minions to guard me until the sun rose. Had Sarah not come along when she did and freed me, I’d be toast.

“An ambush,” Seth muttered thoughtfully.

“It was a very well-orchestrated attack.”
Have you ever heard of vampires doing such?

No. I’ve seen them travel in pairs, occasionally even threes, but—because of the madness that gradually afflicts them all—most prefer solitude.

“Something isn’t right, Seth. I don’t think this was an isolated incident.”
The last vamp standing took a sample of my blood. It seemed to be the entire purpose of their attack. They knew who I was, that I was an immortal, before I ever confronted the bait vampire. How is that possible?

Were it another immortal, I might think you had simply been careless. But I know how paranoid you are and how meticulously you guard your privacy. The fact that so many vampires are living together—let alone investigating, plotting, and planning attacks—is unheard of.

“I would join you and get to the bottom of this, but I can’t,” Seth said, his voice grim. “I have a situation here that requires my full attention.”

Roland was not surprised. The leader of the Immortal Guardians frequently had his hands full. “No problem. I’ll look into it myself.”

“Um, hello?” Sarah called. “Are you people insane? You aren’t going to be able to look into anything at all if you bleed to death on my futon.”

How bad are your wounds?

I’ve stopped the bleeding, but they aren’t healing. I could really use some blood.

Too bad you don’t have a Second who could bring you some.

Roland ground his teeth. “What is David’s number? I’ll call him and see if he’ll let me borrow Darnell for a few hours.”

David was a fellow immortal, Darnell his Second. And, as luck would have it, they lived only an hour away.

“David can’t help you. He and Darnell are here in Texas with me.”

That gave him pause. Whereas Roland had lived centuries, David had lived millennia. The second-oldest immortal, David enjoyed powers that only Seth’s exceeded.

Sending for David was tantamount to calling in the big guns.

“David is with you?”

“Yes.”

Forcing his fingers to do his bidding, Roland picked up the receiver and brought it to his ear.

Sarah started to protest but quieted when he touched her shoulder in a silent bid for leniency.

“What kind of situation are we talking, Seth? Do you need my help?”

“No, David and I can handle it.”

“Are you sure? I can put this on hold and be there in a few hours.”

“I appreciate the offer, but I would prefer that you remain there and see what you can uncover.”

“All right.”

Sarah pursed her lips, raised one dark eyebrow, and looked pointedly at the phone.

Returning the receiver to its cradle, Roland switched back to speakerphone.

Sarah couldn’t believe the man had just offered to fly to Texas to aid his boss, who clearly was also a good friend, when he sat before her covered in blood and ravaged by wounds that would make anyone with a weaker stomach than hers vomit.

That was loyalty. That was dedication.

Two qualities that seemed regrettably rare nowadays.

She studied Roland curiously. If he had opened the telephone conversation by saying,
Hey, Seth, do me a favor and
tell this woman I really am a CIA agent,
she would have remained skeptical. But Seth had confirmed his status as an undercover agent—as well as the length of time he had been working this case—with no verbal hints from Roland, so she was inclined to believe him.

Besides, foolish though it may be, she
wanted
to believe him.

The fingers of one of his hands still rested on her shoulder, the spike carefully angled away from her face.

How could he stand it? How could he bear such horrific wounds so casually? So stoically? And what exactly did he plan to do about them if he didn’t intend to call 911?

“Who else can I call?” Roland asked. His words carried a British accent.

“Marcus.” Seth’s accent wasn’t as easy to identify.

Roland’s forehead, speckled with blood, crinkled in a frown. “How is that going to help me? Marcus is in Houston.”

“Not anymore. I transferred him to North Carolina last month. He’s staying just outside of Greensboro.”

“He is?”

The news seemed to please him.

Sarah peeled back the towel she held to his stomach, relieved to see that the stab wounds no longer bled. On the outside. Was he bleeding internally?

“Who is his Second?”

“What’s a Second?” she whispered.

Roland lowered his voice. “It’s like a partner whose sole duty is to watch your back throughout your investigation.”

“Oh.” Where had Roland’s Second been this morning? It didn’t look as though anyone had been watching
his
back. Other than her. And she had just stumbled onto the scene.

“Marcus doesn’t have a Second,” Seth said. “And before you say anything, he wasn’t assigned one because Marcus is dangerous to be around right now. You simply
refused
one because you’re antisocial.”

Roland scowled. “I’m not antisocial. I just want to be left alone.”

Sarah must have made some sound of amusement, because Roland met her gaze, then smiled sheepishly.

Her heart gave a little flutter.

Even with his face smeared with blood and dirt, he was attractive.

Then he frowned. “Wait. What makes you think Marcus is dangerous?”

“His behavior has grown erratic of late. I’m afraid any Second I place with him will quickly end up dead. Lisette is still in the area, though, and has a very competent Second. Would you prefer to call her?”

“No, just give me Marcus’s number.”

Sarah released her hold on the towel and picked up the pen and small tablet she kept on the coffee table. As Seth dictated the number, she wrote it down with Marcus’s name beside it.

Roland thanked Seth. “Don’t forget to call me if you need reinforcements.”

“Don’t worry about me. Just see what you can find out. And keep Sarah safe.”

Sarah’s stomach sank. Keep her safe?

Roland pressed the speakerphone button to hang up.

Her gaze met his.

The truth lay in his troubled, dark brown eyes.

“He thinks they’re going to come after me for helping you, doesn’t he?”

She thought she caught a flash of guilt before he looked away, down at his stomach, then at his hand.

When he spoke, his voice was hushed, weary. “Sarah, would you please clean these spikes up for me so I can remove them?”

Swallowing hard, she nodded and rose.

As Roland stood, the white towel loosened and started to fall. She hastily grabbed it and resecured the ends at his narrow waist.

“Thank you.”

Again Sarah nodded and led him over to the kitchen sink.

He was so polite … in a gruff sort of way. It just made all of this seem that much more surreal.

Turning on the cold tap, she picked up the hand sprayer and began to carefully rinse the dirt, roots, and other crud off the long, pointed length of metal protruding from the back of his right hand.

It just couldn’t be real. Any of it.

The violent struggle that had left this man staked to the ground in the field.

Her knocking two men unconscious with a shovel.

The frantic race for shelter.

His refusal of medical attention.

Finding out the sickos who had done this to him would now be after her.

It was all a bad dream, right? One of those really nasty nightmares in which you knew you were dreaming and needed to wake up, but couldn’t?