Darkness Dawns (35 page)

Roland and Marcus each took a mask, a pair of gloves, and sunglasses. Slipping his hand inside the rubbery ski mask, Roland held it up for Sarah to see.

She reached out and felt it, wrinkling her nose at the automobile-tire texture, then shrugged. “As long as it protects your pretty face, I’m all for it.”

Grinning, he turned back to the others.

They were all staring at him with wide eyes.

He scowled. “What?”

They blinked.

“Nothing,” Chris mumbled. Pulling an iPhone from one of his pockets, he handed it to Marcus. “Since you’re a little more computer and electronics savvy than the others, you get to hang on to this. One of my contacts is going to download another real-time keyhole satellite surveillance photo at precisely five o’clock. It will confirm how many humans and vamps are inside and, since we don’t know the layout of that massive basement, will hopefully serve as a guide and help you navigate it and find them all. You’ll only get the one photo because he isn’t supposed to be doing this shit and is risking his ass to help us.”

Seth abruptly appeared behind Chris.

Sarah jumped and emitted a startled squeak, then sighed as she met Roland’s amused gaze. “I don’t think I’m going to get used to that anytime soon.”

He smiled. “It’s been nine centuries and I’m still not used to it.”

Chris stepped aside so Seth could join the circle. “I’ve already briefed them.”

“Excellent. Let’s book.”

Roland turned to Sarah as the others filed toward the door.

Her sweet face was pinched with worry as she rose onto her toes and wrapped her arms around him. “Be careful.”

He kissed her. “I will.” Then he kissed her again. “Remember, at the first sign of trouble—”

“Head for the tunnels. I will.”

He kissed her one more time, deeply, drinking in her taste and her scent, then reluctantly set her away from him.

Donning the rubbery mask, gloves, and sunglasses, he followed the others through the front door and out into the late afternoon sunlight.

Sarah’s stomach churned as she nervously paced the perimeters of the living room. Low music and voices changed midsentence as Chris channel-surfed from his position on one of the cushy sofas. Every once in a while, she would feel his gaze stray to her, observe her for several seconds, then return to the television.

All the curtains had been pulled back. Golden sunlight poured in through the western windows and spilled across the plush cream-colored carpet. Sparkling dust motes spun and danced as she passed through them.

Curled in an overstuffed chair in one corner, Nietzsche raised his head and peered sleepily at her as she neared him. Sarah paused to rub his fuzzy head and stroke his chin before continuing on.

It was impossible to remain still when worry was twisting her insides into knots.

“How long have they been gone?” she asked for the second time.

Chris checked his watch. “Seven and a half minutes.”

She groaned. “That’s
all?
” She would’ve sworn at least half an hour had passed. “How much longer until they get there, do you think?”

“Depending on traffic, about fifteen minutes.”

“Why didn’t Seth just pop them over there?”

“You mean teleport them?”

She nodded.

“He can only teleport to places he’s already been. Unless you’re talking to him on the phone. Then he can find you by following the cell signal or zoning in on your brain waves. I can never decide which and keep forgetting to ask.”

Sarah almost smiled. “How can you be so … relaxed about all of this?” He didn’t look at all concerned.

“One: I’ve been at this long enough to have seen them in action and know that they’re extremely good at what they do. And two: I’m not in love with any of them.”

Glancing through one of the northern windows as she passed, she saw the back of one of Chris’s heavily armed men. “Is it that obvious?”

“As obvious as his love for you is.”

Another window. Another guard.

“I’m going to have my blood tested to see if I can be transformed.” She wasn’t sure why she told him. Perhaps to test his reaction since, according to Roland, no
gifted one
had ever willingly been transformed.

Nietzsche rolled over onto his back and struck a cute pose as she approached again, offering his tummy up for a rub.

Sarah obediently stroked his soft fur, smiling faintly when he rumbled with purrs of satisfaction. Once he had gotten used to her being around, Nietzsche had begun to come to her for treats and caresses almost as often as he did to Roland.

When Chris failed to reply to her announcement, she glanced up and found him turned around on the sofa, watching her over its back, his expression inscrutable.

“You think there’s no chance, don’t you?” Giving the cat a last stroke, she recommenced circumnavigating the big room. “Roland does, too.”

“It isn’t im
possible,
” he said slowly, swiveling around as he followed her progress, “just im
probable.
”

And she had thought the day couldn’t get any grimmer.

“Roland told me
gifted ones
always have black hair and brown eyes, no matter their race. I have neither.”

“Actually, there’s a
gifted one
in DC who has brown hair.”

Stopping short, Sarah stared at him. “What?”

Chris nodded. “She came to my attention … about six years ago when her college roommate was murdered in their dorm room.”

“She’s a
gifted one?
You’re sure?”

“I’m sure. It caused quite a stir when the police ran her DNA. I had to call Seth in to wipe a hell of a lot of memories and to explain things to her.”

“And she had brown hair?” Her heart began to thud in her chest.

“Just a bit darker than yours.”

“Why doesn’t Roland know about this?” He would have told her if he did.

Chris rolled his eyes. “Roland avoids all of us like the plague and this didn’t make it onto the Immortal Guardian’s website. Not very many people know.”

Which would explain why Marcus hadn’t said anything either when he had realized Roland was falling for her.

“Does the woman have any special gifts?”

He nodded. “She has minor psychic abilities. Knows someone is going to call before the phone rings or that she’s going to receive a package before the postman arrives. That sort of thing. Not enough to enable her to pick the Lotto numbers, but enough for her to notice.”

And there came reality, crashing back down again.

She sighed. “My eyes aren’t brown and I have no gifts.”

His look turned sympathetic. “Hazel is
close
to brown. And maybe you simply have a gift that’s mild enough you haven’t noticed it yet.”

It was nice of him to try. “Thanks, Chris, but—” She broke off, her gaze drawn beyond him to the corner as Nietzsche suddenly flipped onto all fours and looked toward the hallway.

Sarah followed his gaze and saw nothing. The hallway was empty, the doorways leading to the library, bedrooms, and basement all open and equally bereft.

“What is it?” Chris asked, sitting up straighter.

“Nothing, I think.”

Nietzsche dropped into a crouch, belly practically touching the cushion, ears laid back, and hissed.

An icy tingle of fear swept down Sarah’s spine.

What the hell?

A blur of motion burst from the hallway and rocketed toward the sofa. Blood sprayed from Chris’s mouth and nose as his head slammed back. Then he fell sideways, unconscious, onto the cushions.

As the blurry form looming over him stilled, it solidified into a man and turned to face her.

Oh shit. Bastien.

A heavy weight struck her in the stomach as he tossed her over his shoulder.

She hadn’t even seen him move!

The room blurred. Her stomach lurched.

Sarah struggled to get her bearings as the light suddenly dimmed and cooler air buffeted her.

Were they down in one of the tunnels?

How had he known about the tunnels?

Heart racing, hands shaking, she reached under her shirt, withdrew the Glock he must not have noticed in his hurry, aimed at the dark blurs she assumed were his legs and fired twice.

The tunnel abruptly swam into focus as his momentum stalled and blood spurted from both of his hamstrings.

Bastien stumbled and went down.

Sarah went down with him. Her back hit the ground first and knocked the breath from her. Her head ricocheting off the hard-packed dirt, she slid several yards, then skidded to a halt. Dust rose up around her, choking her, making her cough. She groaned as her head began to throb.

Rolling to her side, Sarah fought to breathe and ignored the bright sparkles that danced through her vision. Sluggishly, she dragged herself to her feet and glanced around.

The tunnel they were in, like all the others, was dimly lit with low-wattage bulbs activated by motion sensors. She couldn’t see the exit, so this must be one of the longer tunnels.

Bastien rose up between her and the entrance, one hand clamped to the back of his right thigh.

Sarah looked around frantically for the Glock she had dropped upon impact. Spotting it a couple of feet in front of her to the right, she dove for it.

Bastien snatched it away before she was even halfway there.

As Sarah jumped back, he turned and hurled it all the way to the entrance. His eyes, when he turned to face her, glowed amber with rage.

“Apparently your immortal friends didn’t bother to tell you that shooting vampires doesn’t kill us.” His lips pulled back from sharp fangs, igniting fear within her. “It only pisses us off!”

She screamed when he raced toward her, expecting him to rip out her throat in retribution.

His shoulder hit her stomach and lifted. The tunnel blurred. Cool wind whipped her as she dangled upside down again. Blood rushed to her head, increasing the pounding in it.

The bullet wounds weren’t even slowing him.

Fear made Sarah’s pulse drum loudly in her ears. She couldn’t let him take her. He’d kill her if he did or—worse—use her to kill Roland.

Her breath coming in panicked gasps, she reached into one of the few pockets still accessible in this position and withdrew a throwing knife. Grasping the wooden handle tightly, she held her breath, drew her arm back, then thrust it down as hard as she could.

Bastien cried out and jerked to a halt.

Sarah kept going, flying forward for a long weightless moment until she slammed into a wall. She heard a loud crack as she hit hard dirt or stone. Pain spiked through her head. Landing in a heap on the floor, she closed her eyes and gritted her teeth.

Dizziness assailed her. Nausea rose.

When she opened her eyes, they refused to focus.

Drawing her knees up under her, she braced a trembling hand against the wall and struggled to rise.

Bastien was an obscure blur a few yards away, though she thought he was standing still.

“
You stabbed me in the ass?
” he roared.

The pain in her head intensified. Tears spilled over her lashes and down her cheeks as she fought to remain upright.

Bastien stared in furious disbelief at the bloody knife he had just yanked out of his right butt cheek.

Was the woman insane? Didn’t she understand who and what she was dealing with?

Tossing it the way of the Glock, he sent her a look that, in the past, had been known to make grown men wet their pants.

It didn’t seem to faze her in the least, though she
was
crying, he noticed uncomfortably.

Hell, he’d rather have her fight him than cry. He never had been able to abide a woman’s tears.

“How many damned weapons are you carrying?” he demanded, hardening his heart. She was a pawn, nothing more. A temporary thorn in his side he would use to bring his enemy down.

Peering around blearily, she abruptly slid down the wall, landing hard on her ass. Her arms settled limply at her sides.

He frowned. “Sarah?”

She didn’t respond, just sat there, blinking hard as if something was wrong with her eyes.

When a small stream of crimson liquid emerged from one ear, a cold chill shivered down his spine.

Oh shit.

Bastien swiftly closed the distance between them and knelt before her.

“Sarah? Can you hear me?”

Slipping a hand around to the back of her head, he found it wet with blood.

They had been traveling at a good velocity when she had stabbed him. He hadn’t meant to lose his hold on her, but he had had a four-inch blade stuck in his ass.

Had she hit the wall hard enough to fracture her skull?

Damn it!
She wasn’t supposed to have gotten hurt. She was supposed to have come along docilely, too terrified to fight, and lured Roland into a trap. Then, once the asshole was dead, Bastien would’ve released her and she would’ve gone on her merry mortal way.

“Sarah,” he repeated softly, trying to get her to focus on him. “Sarah?”

“What?” she whispered.

She was totally out of it. Through his touch, he could feel her pain and confusion. She wanted Roland. Probably wanted him to heal her, since Bastien’s research indicated Roland could heal with his hands. Not that he would.

Performing a quick search of her pockets, Bastien relieved her of the rest of her arsenal of weapons. His mind raced as he pulled a mask from his front pocket and jerked it on. Though it wasn’t as fancy as those the immortals had been wearing when they had left, it would protect him from the worst of the sun’s damage. And what it didn’t block, the route through dense forest he had carefully plotted would.

Slipping one arm around Sarah’s back and the other beneath her knees, he gently scooped her up into his arms.

“Roland?” she murmured plaintively.

“Easy, princess,” he soothed, positioning them beneath the exit. “You’ll see him soon.”

* * *

Roland peered over Marcus’s shoulder as they watched for the satellite image to appear on the small screen.

They had left Chris’s van a couple of miles away and, approaching stealthily on foot, had arrived in the forest that overlooked Bastien’s farmhouse five minutes ago.