Night Reigns (19 page)

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Authors: Dianne Duvall

Tags: #Romance, #Paranormal, #Fiction

BOOK: Night Reigns
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Marcus leaned forward, pressed a light kiss to her lips, then rose and sat beside her on the sofa. “How do you feel?” he asked.
She leaned into his side. “Light-headed.” And tingly. And hungry, but not for food.
His brow furrowed as he wrapped a heavy arm around her shoulders. “From the blood loss?”
Biting her lower lip, she smiled and shook her head.
Grinning, he whispered, “I’m feeling a little light-headed myself.”
Roland and Sarah entered.
Roland looked strong again and was rubbing ribs Ami suspected Sarah had elbowed hard.
Sarah carried two bags of blood, which she offered to Marcus.
“Thank you.” Taking them, he bit down on one and quickly drained it.
“Would you two like to join us for dinner?” Sarah asked.
“You’re welcome to stay the day as well.”
Ami turned to Marcus. After what had just passed between them, she was sort of anxious to be alone with him.
Marcus set the first empty bag down on an end table. “No, thank you.” He held Ami’s gaze, seeming to gage her response.
Surreptitiously, she lowered one eyelid in a wink, then wondered at her boldness. She had never winked at a man in her life.
His lips twitched as he turned back to Roland and Sarah. “We need to talk, though, before we go.”
Roland sank into a large armchair and drew Sarah down on his lap.
It really was odd to see an immortal so many had disparaged as being cold, antisocial, and sometimes downright sadistic behave so lovingly toward his wife.
“What’s up?” Roland asked, looking as though he would be perfectly content to spend the rest of his existence just as he was: sprawled in his favorite chair with Sarah on his lap, absently combing her fingers through his hair.
Marcus drained the second bag, then filled the duo in on the night’s events.
Roland stiffened. “I’m not surprised he knew my name. Bastien was very vocal in his intent to destroy me. But how the hell did he know about Sarah? Even Bastien didn’t know who she was until just before our final confrontation.”
Marcus shrugged. “Word must have gotten out. Clearly one of Bastien’s vamps spent his spare time chatting with outsiders who had no interest in bowing to a leader.”
“Well, they’re bowing now,” he grumbled.
Sarah nodded. “All of them by the looks of it. We must have taken out ten or twelve tonight.”
Marcus nodded. “I took out eight before the last stop.” He looked at Ami. “Any idea how many we fought together?”
She performed a rapid replay in her mind. “About a dozen, not counting Roy.”
Roland scowled. “I’ll see if Roy is all he claims to be tomorrow.”
“No, you won’t,” Marcus protested. “He thinks I’m you.”
Ami nodded. “And that I’m Sarah. If you show up in our stead, he’ll bolt.”
“
If
he’s telling the truth,” Sarah added.
Marcus turned to Ami. “What do you mean, in
our
stead? You’re not going.”
“Yes, I am.”
“No, you’re not. You’ve lost a lot of blood and need time to recuperate.”
“I’m fine. Besides, how exactly do you intend to stop me? I know where and when the meeting will take place.”
He opened his mouth to prolong the argument, but Roland spoke first.
“So, what’s the plan? You’re just going to waltz up to the lair by yourself ?”
“By ourselves,” Ami corrected him.
Sarah grinned.
“No,” Marcus said. “I’m going to bring him Bastien, and see what happens.”
That pronouncement went over about as well as an all-vegan buffet at a Cattlemen’s Association dinner.
Sarah clamped her lips together and eyed Roland warily as though she thought he might explode.
“First of all,” he began.
“Roland ...” she cautioned.
“The last person I would trust to guard my back during a vampire ambush would be Sebastien Newcombe.”
Now Ami stiffened. “He won’t have to.
I
will be guarding Marcus’s back.” When Marcus opened his mouth, she glared at him. “I
will
be guarding your back, so get over it.”
“Second,” Roland went on, unconcerned by their squabble, “I’m assuming you haven’t heard what happened tonight.”
“We
have
been a little busy,” Marcus reminded him dryly.
“What happened?” Ami asked, worried by the uncertainty that clouded Sarah’s gaze.
“Bastien broke into network headquarters, assaulted several dozen guards, and executed one of the vamps in his apartment.”
Ami’s breath left her in a rush. “What?”
“Son of a bitch!” Marcus exclaimed.
“I don’t believe it,” Ami protested. Bastien wouldn’t do that.
Sarah nodded sadly. “It’s true.”
“Chris Reordon and a hell of a lot of others are again calling for his execution,” Roland added. “I don’t know how he managed it, but Chris took the bastard into custody and weighed him down with chains. Seth is with them now.”
“No wonder Seth didn’t answer when I called,” Marcus murmured.
“He isn’t going to do it, is he?” Ami asked. “Execute him, I mean.”
“I hope so,” Roland said, smiling with such malice Ami shivered.
Sarah frowned. “Roland, don’t be like that. You know things aren’t always as they seem.”
“Most of the time they are,” he countered, clinging tenaciously to his grudge.
“
You
aren’t as you seem,” Sarah pointed out.
Marcus snorted and quipped, “Most of the time he is.” Tightening his arm around Ami, he drew her closer.
Warmed by the contact, she smiled up at him ... and caught him glancing surreptitiously at something behind her.
While Roland cast aspersions on Marcus’s character, Ami subtly looked in the same direction and saw nothing.
Roland and Marcus began to argue strategy while Sarah ran interference. Ami said little, content to let the others hash out the particulars. She already knew what her role would be ... whether they liked it or not.
Bastien’s lair was a large, open field in which a farmhouse used to reside. The farmhouse itself had been unremarkable. Beneath it, however, had been a series of tunnels that had served as the sleeping quarters for Bastien and the hundred or so vampires he had recruited to aid him in destroying Roland and bringing down the Immortal Guardians one at a time.
After Bastien’s defeat, the farmhouse had been burned to the ground and the tunnels packed with debris, dirt, gravel, and sand.
With no trees to block the light of the moon or to stifle the swing of her katanas, Ami should be able to kick ass again.
As talk continued to flow around her, fatigue set in.
Several times, Ami saw Marcus glance to the side as unobtrusively as possible. Roland and Sarah didn’t seem to notice. Ami probably wouldn’t have either if she hadn’t been looking for it and if he didn’t rub his hand up and down her arm each time he did as though needing the contact.
Uneasiness returned with a vengeance as an explanation finally occurred to her.
Was he seeing a ghost?
Gooseflesh broke out on her arms at the thought.
Was someone the rest of them couldn’t see standing right there in the room with them? Watching them? Listening to them?
Though distracted, Ami heard the others come to an agreement. Marcus and Ami would meet Roy as arranged at Bastien’s lair (she had never doubted that much), and Roland would join them and pose as Bastien.
Other than the short hair, Roland did bear a striking resemblance to his nemesis, something she didn’t think he appreciated his wife’s mentioning.
Sarah, after some coaxing, agreed to perform her usual nightly patrols rather than accompany them. This could, after all, merely be a diversion meant to distract the immortals, luring as many as possible to one location, so whatever remained of the new vampire army could sweep through North Carolina’s cities and towns and recruit enough victims to rebuild their numbers without having to look over their shoulders.
Richart and the other immortals in the area would be put on alert. If Roy’s invitation turned into the ambush everyone feared, Richart could then teleport in every able immortal in the state and, if necessary, their Seconds.
That should suffice.
Or so they hoped.
Chapter 9
 
“Nice video. Did you get it off of YouTube?”
Montrose Keegan ground his teeth. He had just spent an hour filling his host in on the events of the past few years and had shown him video footage of the vampires’ battle with Roland and Sarah.
Emrys’s reaction had not met Keegan’s expectations.
Upon learning that vampires existed, should Emrys not have hung on Keegan’s every word? Congratulated him on the genius and courage he had demonstrated in pursuing his research? Listened with awe? Been overwhelmed by all that Keegan had achieved, by his discovering not just vampires, but a new race of humans?
Because he wasn’t. If anything, Emrys seemed amused, as if it were all a joke.
“No,” Keegan said, restarting the video he had just played on his laptop. “I told you, one of the vampires shot it with his cell phone. The one in the middle there, with the glowing amber eyes, is an immortal. The others are vampires. That woman”—he waited until the cell phone’s camera panned left enough to show the small, dark figure—“is Roland’s Second.” “I’m not interested in investing in your film project or whatever it is you—”
“This isn’t fiction!” Montrose blurted out, anger getting the best of him. “This is real video of vampires! Look at their glowing eyes!”
“My son has software that adds those effects to his band’s music videos. In fact, you should visit his YouTube channel and pick up some tips. This is very poorly lit. I can’t even make out their features.”
“Why won’t you believe me? I told you what happened to my brother, what I’ve been trying to accomplish ever since he was infected. I told you about the immortals. I’m offering you access to my research materials and lab notes.”
“Montrose, I’m not sure what you’re hoping to accomplish with all of this. But if vampires existed, we would know it.”
When Montrose started to object, Emrys held up a hand to silence him.
“The general public might not know it, but
we
would.”
“Once again, I told you: The immortals have gone to great lengths to keep all of this secret. They don’t want anyone to know about the vampires, because then
they
would be exposed.”
“The immortals,” Emrys repeated skeptically. “The alternate race of beings who have somehow also escaped our notice.”
“Yes.” Why was he being such a prick? The two had studied together in college, had hung out, joined the same fraternity as legacies. The fact that Emrys had once worked in the military’s bioweapons program (or so he had boasted) should not have made him question Montrose’s work or doubt its validity.
“Won’t you even look at my research?” he asked in desperation. Now that John Florek had been killed, the only other person Montrose could ask for aid was his ex-girlfriend. And he really didn’t want to go there.
Or did he? Hell, it couldn’t be any worse than this.
“Research can be fabricated,” Emrys pointed out dryly, the condescending bastard. “Lab results counterfeited. It will take more than that to convince me.”
“But the video ... They’re moving so fast they blur.”
“Video speed can be altered with software.”
“But the trees are moving at regular speeds!”
“For all I know you could have videotaped those men fighting in front of a green screen, sped it up, then inserted the normal background.”
“I don’t know how to do any of that! I’m a scientist! A doctor! I’ve spent the last four years buried in my lab, not working as a fucking filmmaker!”
Emrys shrugged. “I haven’t seen you in years. How am I supposed to know how you’ve spent that time?”
Montrose rose and began to pace Emrys’s study. “Their eyes are glowing, and they have fangs.”
“The same could have been said of my son two years ago on Halloween. Personally, I doubted the safety of the glow-in-the-dark contact lenses, but he wanted them, and I tend to indulge the boy too much.”
“What is it going to take to convince you?” he demanded. John had not been nearly so difficult to convince. A glimpse of Montrose’s more intriguing research and a video of Casey sprouting fangs and draining a blood bag was all it had taken to draw him in. Time was short. Dennis grew more unpredictable every day. If Montrose didn’t give him the results he demanded ...
Well, he didn’t want to end up like John, did he?
“Bring me a live subject.”
Montrose stopped short. “You want a live vampire?” Excitement raced through him. He could do that.
“And one of your so-called immortals.”
That ... he couldn’t.
Emrys raised a taunting brow. “Why the hesitation?”
“I can get you a vampire. Dennis has assigned two more to work with me. But immortals are stronger and more resilient than vampires. I’ve been trying to get my hands on one for nearly two years now without success.”
Emrys leaned back and sipped his Scotch. “What seems to be the problem?”
“No matter how many vampires we throw at them, the immortals keep coming out on top. Nothing seems to faze them. They’re just ... that much stronger.”
Setting his drink aside, Emrys rose. “Wait here.”
Montrose watched him stroll from the room, then eyed the bottle of Scotch. Emrys hadn’t offered him any when Montrose had arrived on his doorstep unannounced. He had just poured himself a drink and proceeded to do his damnedest to make his old friend squirm.
Or beg.
Hell, if begging was all it took, Montrose would do it. Better to beg Emrys for help than return to Dennis empty-handed.
Emrys re-entered the room before Montrose could decide whether or not to risk pouring himself a drink. In one hand, he carried a metal briefcase, outfitted with a very high-tech lock, that looked as if it would survive a nuclear blast.
Emrys set the case down, facing away from Montrose, on the side table that separated the two armchairs.
Curious, Montrose retook his seat and waited while Emrys entered a security code.
A beep sounded, followed by a click. Emrys opened the case and spun it toward Montrose. “This should aid you in achieving your goal.”
Montrose looked at the contents, then up at Emrys.
What did Emrys know that he didn’t?
Hot water sluiced down over Marcus as steam rose all around him. The wounds that hadn’t yet healed stung at the contact as though being inflicted anew. Blood, some sticky, some crusty, softened and liquified, trailing down his flesh like paint following an artist’s brush.
Bracing his hands on the tiled wall, Marcus ducked his head under the pounding spray. His long hair straightened beneath the assault and fell in a sleek, gleaming curtain.
The water pressure dipped. The temperature fluctuated, shifting from hot to warm. Above him, Marcus heard the clink of metal rings as Ami stepped into the shower in her private bathroom and drew the curtain closed.
He turned the hot water handle until it almost shut off, wanting Ami to have as much hot water as she needed. Besides, cooler water would do him some good. His body ached with the need to race upstairs, join her in her shower, and run his hands over her glistening flesh.
He groaned.
The drive home from Roland’s had been a quiet one. Expectation had vibrated between them, lingering until they had arrived and stood staring at each other in the foyer.
Desire had burned through Marcus as Ami gazed up at him with shy invitation. But her shoulders had drooped with weariness, her face had been smeared with blood, and ... he needed to know the extent of her relationship with Seth before he considered taking things further.
Though Ami didn’t know it, the whole time they had been straining against each other on the sofa, Roland had been yammering in Marcus’s ear (a slight exaggeration—he had been whispering softly enough for his words to pass undetected by humans), asking Marcus why he was tonguing Seth’s woman.
You really are a suicidal bastard, aren’t you?
he had demanded roughly.
I had actually begun to have some hope for you, but ... anyone stupid enough to grab Seth’s woman’s ass must have a death wish. And she
is
Seth’s woman. Every time I see the two together, they’re joined at the hip.
Marcus had been able to block Roland out while Ami wrapped her legs around him and heated his blood with her kisses.
Now, however, those words fluttered back and wouldn’t stop pecking at him.
He reached for the soap and lathered up a soft cloth.
If nothing else, imagining Ami wound around Seth succeeded in dampening his arousal and rid him of the erection he’d sported ever since her lips had touched his. Just the thought of it made his gut clench and his fingers curl into a fist he wanted to plant in Seth’s face.
Which would probably be the last thing he ever saw if it came to that. He had no illusions over which of the two of them would win in a fight.
Ami began to hum upstairs. Marcus smiled, then winced as he scrubbed one of his cuts too hard.
Roland must be mistaken. Ami wouldn’t have kissed him the way she had if she were
Seth’s woman
as Roland persisted in naming her. Even Seth had admitted she couldn’t lie worth a damn. And keeping a relationship with Seth from him would be one hell of a lie.
The water pressure increased suddenly as Ami shut off her shower. Metal rings clinked.
Don’t picture her naked. Don’t picture her naked. Don’t imagine her smoothing one of those fluffy, white towels over her pale, slick, perfect body.
And, just like that, he was hard again.
Sighing, Marcus turned off the hot water and embraced the frigid cold.
After five minutes of such torture, he dried off and covered his icy flesh with a dark gray T-shirt, a pair of black sweatpants, and socks.
He spent another couple of minutes working a comb through the tangles in his long hair, which he left to dry on its own. It took too damn long to dry it with a hair dryer.
Maybe he’d cut it short like Roland’s. It would certainly be less trouble.
He had only let it reach this length—had even grown a beard he’d kept until a couple of years ago—for Bethany.
Setting the comb on the counter, Marcus paused.
The pain that had always accompanied memories of Bethany had dulled significantly.
He frowned. Did that say something about him? Something negative?
Everyone else seemed to think eight years an inordinately long time to mourn Bethany’s loss, but to him it seemed short considering the eight centuries he had loved her.
One of the things that troubled him so much about Ami was that he feared he could come to feel for her what he had for Bethany. Maybe even more. With Bethany, after all, there had been no reciprocation of his feelings. No real chance to build upon those feelings, to know each other as a man and a woman rather than just friends. No intimacy at all. Not one single kiss.
Ami ...
Ami blew Marcus’s mind. If he let her, she could be everything to him, including his undoing. Because she wasn’t a
gifted one
and couldn’t become an immortal. He would lose her.
It always came back to that.
He would lose her just as he had Bethany, only losing Ami would be worse. He had known her kiss. Her touch. Her innocent explorations.
And she did seem innocent, despite the fact that she appeared to be in her early twenties.
Marcus wondered if Roland had felt this conflicted with Sarah. If he had wanted to get as close as possible to her and, at the same time, run far and fast in the opposite direction.
Leaving his basement bedroom, Marcus headed upstairs. Though he called himself every kind of a fool, he found his morose thoughts falling away as every step took him closer to seeing Ami again.

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