Broken Dawn

by Duvall, Dianne

  Though Kayla reluctantly withdrew her touch, she didn’t back away.

  “Someone switch to video call,” Oliver grumbled, “so I can see what the fuck is happening.”

  While Marcus fiddled with her phone, Kayla anxiously studied Roland.

  Oliver swore when Marcus angled the phone so he could see Nick’s condition.

  Roland closed his eyes.

  When Kayla shifted her attention to Nick, she sucked in a breath. The ragged holes in his chest began to close. As she watched in utter astonishment, the edges of each wound drew together, sealed, scarred, then flattened out and healed as new flesh replaced the old. Blood still coated him, but the wounds disappeared with astonishing swiftness.

  She reached toward Nick’s chest.

  Marcus caught her wrist. “Wait until Roland finishes.”

  Incapable of speech, she nodded.

  Marcus gave her wrist a reassuring squeeze before he released it and studied his friend. “Roland? How are you doing?”

  Roland kept his eyes closed. “There’s a lot of damage, but I can take it.”

  Kayla didn’t know what that meant.

  Minutes passed. Or was it seconds that felt like minutes?

  She didn’t know. It just seemed as though half an hour crept by while her heart tried to fight its way out of her chest. The lump in her throat refused to subside. Her eyes constantly burned with the need to blink, or maybe to weep.

  At last, Roland withdrew his hands and sat back.

  Kayla looked from him to Nick and back. “Is he going to be okay?”

  Roland nodded and caught Marcus’s eye. “He needs blood. And I can’t give him mine. I need it after healing him.”

  A heavy silence fell.

  Marcus glanced her way. “Kayla, why don’t you get cleaned up while we give Nick a transfusion?”

  She glanced down. Bright red splotches marred her white tank top and gray yoga pants. Raising her gaze, she shook her head. “I’m fine.”

  Oliver peered out from her phone. “It’s okay, Kayla. They’re just going to give him some blood and clean him up for you.”

  She had almost lost Nick tonight. She wasn’t going to leave him. “I can clean him up myself.”

  Marcus cleared his throat. “He probably wouldn’t want you to see him like this.”

  “Like what? Naked?” She shook her head. “We shower together every night. He won’t mind.”

  Marcus looked at Roland.

  Roland’s lips tightened. “He meant Nick probably wouldn’t want you to watch us transfuse him.”

  She stared at him blankly. “Why? Nick saw them give me a transfusion at the hospital.”

  “It isn’t the same,” Roland murmured.

  “Kayla,” Oliver said, “just trust me on this, okay? You’ve seen enough tonight, had enough shocks—”

  “And I’m still here,” she pointed out. “Nick almost died. I’m not leaving him.”

  No one moved.

  “Well?” she prodded. “Go ahead. You said he needs blood. Give him blood before he suffers organ damage or whatever the hell else massive blood loss can cause. Please.”

  Marcus swore. “Fine. Just… try not to freak out.”

  It was a blood transfusion. Why would she freak out?

  Marcus lifted Nick’s wrist, bringing it closer to his face. His lips parted, and what could only be described as long, sharp fangs descended over his canines.

  Her eyes widened as shock tore through her.

  Marcus was a freaking vampire?

  He sank his fangs into Nick’s wrist.

  “Oh shit!” Kayla whipped up the 9mm and aimed it at Marcus’s forehead.

  In a blur of motion, Roland yanked the weapon from her hand before she could pull the trigger.

  “Shit!” No way in hell was she going to let that bastard drain the last of Nick’s blood.

  Deprived of her weapon, she leapt up and dove toward the stove. On the wall beside it, an array of cooking knives clung to a magnetic strip of wood. She grabbed the gleaming chef’s knife, spun around, and slammed into a hard chest.

  Roland caught her wrist before she could lunge forward and plunge the blade into Marcus’s back. “Easy,” he said, his voice low. “Take it easy.”

  “He’s a vampire!” she blurted as she strained against his hold. “He’s going to drain him!” Tears blurred her vision for the hundredth time since finding Nick unconscious and bleeding on her floor.

  “He isn’t a vampire,” Roland said, his tone still gentle despite the hard look about him. “He’s an immortal.” Never loosening his grip on her wrist, he slipped around behind her and looped an arm around her waist. Slowly he inched her sideways until she could see around the counter. “Marcus isn’t draining him. He’s infusing him with his own blood. Look at Nick’s face. See the color returning to it?”

  She stared, heart hammering in her chest. Nick’s face did seem to be a little less pale.

  “Our fangs behave like needles,” Roland murmured. “They draw blood directly into our veins and can also do the opposite, infusing one of our brethren with blood if he’s been sorely wounded and is in need.”

  One of our brethren. “Y-You have fangs, too?”

  “Yes. As does Nick.”

  “No, he doesn’t.” She would’ve seen them if he did. She would’ve felt them when they kissed.

  “They’re retractable.”

  Of course they were.

  Her fractured thoughts tried to piece themselves back together but instead just kept rebounding off each other and bouncing around inside her skull.

  Roland gently pried the knife from her hand and set it on the counter. “You knew Nick was different before this.”

  She nodded numbly. She’d known he was fast and strong and healed quickly… unless someone shot him full of bullets. But the shape-shifting? And the fangs?

  Roland backed away from her, placing some distance between them and keeping his body between her and the knives. “He’s still Nick, Kayla. He’s still the man you knew yesterday and the day before and the day before that. He’s just a little more different than you thought.”

  She released a choked laugh that sounded disturbingly close to a sob. “Just a little, huh?”

  He sighed. “I’m sure he didn’t want you to find out this way. I’m sure he sought a… gentler way to explain it.”

  She glanced up at him. “And what way might that be?”

  “I don’t know.” He shook his head as he watched Marcus and Nick. “But it isn’t an easy thing to confess when one’s differences are so great.” His expression and the sorrow in his voice reminded her of Nick just then. “My first wife drove a dagger into my heart after I told her.”

  Her eyes widened.

  “Hundreds of years later when I found another woman I thought I could spend my life with and shared my secret again, my betrothed betrayed me. Within hours, she and her family tried to kill me.”

  Shit.

  He shook his head. “I thought no woman would ever accept me for who and what I am until I met my Sarah.” He motioned to Nick and Marcus. “All this came as a shock to her, too. But she saw past it to who I am and… loved me anyway.” His lips turned up slightly at the corners. “Still does.”

  Marcus released Nick’s wrist and sat back. “I don’t think it was your fangs or your gift that frightened the others away. I think your being an antisocial, curmudgeonly arse did it.”

  Roland laughed. “Perhaps.” His expression sobered when he looked down at Kayla. “But such is rare in this world—people viewing us as men rather than monsters.”

  As Kayla stared down at Nick, a snippet of the conversation they’d shared the day of her accident returned to her.

  You don’t want to forget, he’d said, his voice deep and husky and flavored with a hint of disbelief she hadn’t fully acknowledged at the time.

  I don’t want to forget, she had assured him. But someone in your past did. Someone rejected you because of who and wh
at you are.

  And he’d nodded.

  Who? she’d asked.

  Almost everyone I’ve ever loved.

  Kayla swallowed hard past the lump in her throat.

  She wouldn’t do that to him.

  She couldn’t do that to him.

  She loved him too much.

  Crossing to Nick, she sank to her knees beside him once more and took his hand.

  When Marcus rose, he reeled backward.

  Roland swore and leapt to his side, steadying him. “You gave him too much blood.”

  Marcus shook his head. “He needed it.”

  Nick sighed and shifted, then stiffened. His eyes flew open. His fingers clamped down around hers. He met her gaze, looked down at his bare, bloody body, peered up at Roland and Marcus—who still bore fangs—then searched her face. His Adam’s apple bobbed in a hard swallow. “If I turn back into a cat, is there any chance you might forget whatever the hell you just saw?”

  Kayla laughed, then bit her lip and burst into tears.

  Alarm filled his handsome features as he hastily sat up.

  Lunging forward, she wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in his neck. Sobs wrenched themselves from her chest.

  Nick closed his arms around her and stroked her hair. “Shhhh. It’s okay,” he murmured. “It’s okay.”

  But it wasn’t. She had almost lost him.

  “It’s okay, sweetheart.” He pressed a kiss to her hair. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

  Roland cleared his throat. “I’m going to take Marcus next door and get him some blood. I assume you keep some on hand?”

  Nick’s chin bumped the top of her head when he nodded. “In the usual place.”

  “Do you know why those men attacked you?”

  “No. They were waiting in my house when I got home. You’ll find five there, all down. I followed the sixth into Kayla’s yard. He’s over on the other side of her house.”

  “No worries. We’ll take him to your place, then call the network and see if they can help us sort it out.”

  “Thank you. Both of you.”

  Footsteps retreated. Her back door opened and closed.

  Quiet descended as Nick held Kayla.

  Even the jackwad two blocks over had stopped blasting music.

  A throat cleared, drawing his attention to Kayla’s abandoned cell phone.

  Oliver shook his head. “I knew I shouldn’t have taken a vacation. You okay, man?”

  Nick glanced down at Kayla, who wept against his bare chest, then slowly shook his head. Hell no, he wasn’t okay. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

  Oliver nodded, understanding. “Listen, I’m going to cut my vacation short and—”

  “No, you’re not.” Nick knew the rules. He knew Seconds were supposed to protect their immortals at any cost. And he knew they took that shit seriously and wouldn’t hesitate to sacrifice their lives to save those of their immortals.

  More than one of Nick’s Seconds had died while protecting him in the past. He didn’t want a repeat of that. And Oliver had already almost died backing him up at the damn base they’d blitzed.

  “You’re going to stay right where you are and fucking relax,” Nick ordered. “I can handle this.”

  “You don’t even know what the hell this is,” Oliver countered.

  “But I survived it.”

  “By passing out, buck naked and bleeding, on Kayla’s floor.”

  Irritation rose. “You heard Marcus. They’re going to call the network in on this. Just stay put until we hear what they have to say about it.”

  Oliver stared at him for a long moment. Glancing away, he began to fiddle with something Nick couldn’t see. “Fuck that. I’m on my way.” Then he held up a white sheet of paper with words scrawled across it.

  YOU AREN’T THE ONLY ONE WHO NEEDS PROTECTING.

  Nick’s chest tightened. Oliver was right. What would’ve happened if he hadn’t caught that last attacker? Nick had already been weakened from blood loss when he gave chase. What if he’d collapsed before he even reached the fence? What would have happened to Kayla if that bastard had kicked in her damn door and charged inside?

  Swallowing hard, he nodded. “All right. I’ll see you when you get here.”

  Oliver ended the call.

  And still Kayla wept.

  Shaken by the what-ifs, terrified that this might indeed prove to be more than she wanted to deal with, Nick drew Kayla onto his lap and held her tight.

  He couldn’t lose her.

  Not to death.

  Not to secrets.

  He just couldn’t.

  Resting his cheek on her head, he rocked her there on the kitchen floor. “I’m so sorry, Kayla.” He smoothed his hands up and down her back. “I’m so sorry.”

  He wasn’t even a hundred percent sure he knew the source of her tears because there were so many damn things to choose from.

  Fear?

  Hell, yes. She could’ve been attacked by the bastards who had attacked him. She’d found out he could shape-shift. Two powerful, imposing immortals had invaded her home. And she’d seen at least one of them sprout fangs. There was a virtual smorgasbord of things to choose from that could’ve easily induced enough fear to spark tears.

  Betrayal?

  Yes, damn it. Because he had withheld a shitload of information about himself and his life from her despite their close relationship. And most considered withholding information synonymous with lying. Or, if not, it might be viewed as indicative of a lack of trust. Either one sucked balls and, yeah, could spark tears.

  Anger?

  Yes. If he needed the reasons for that, he need only review those listed under fear and betrayal.

  Regret?

  He closed his eyes. Damn, he hoped it wasn’t regret. He hoped like hell she wasn’t crying because she believed tonight heralded the demise of their relationship, one into which she now regretted entering.

  He tightened his arms around her and buried his face in her hair. “Kayla.” He didn’t know what else to say. What else could he say to make this right?

  “Tighter,” she whispered hoarsely.

  His own eyes began to burn as he complied.

  “Tighter,” she whispered again.

  Nick held Kayla as tightly as he could without hurting her. “I’m so sorry.”

  Chapter Ten

  He was such a selfish bastard. Nick told himself as much over and over again as he held Kayla while she wept. He had done this to her. Yet here he was, praying she would forgive him and love him in spite of everything.

  “I thought you were going to die,” she murmured, her voice cracking.

  And a new possibility arose.

  Fear for him? Could her tears have sprung from a fear for him?

  Loosening his hold, he leaned back just enough to tip his chin down and study her.

  Her pretty hazel eyes were red-rimmed and brimmed with moisture. Her freckled cheeks were pink. Her nose, too. And a goodly amount of his blood painted her pale skin.

  When a lock of hair fell across her eyes, he brushed it back, then cupped her face with one hand.

  Her lower lip trembled. “I thought I was going to lose you.”

  A glimmer of hope flared.

  Nick pointed to his chin. “As long as this big, hard head remains atop my shoulders, I won’t die.”

  A watery chuckle escaped her before she bit her lip. “Unless you stay out in the sun too long?”

  And there it was—the big-tusked elephant in the room.

  Nick sighed as resignation tried to kick hope to the curb. “I’m not a vampire, Kayla.”

  Though her tears stopped, her breath continued to hitch from residual sobs. “Do you have f-fangs?”

  “Yes.”

  Her pulse increased. “Can I see them?”

  Wishing he didn’t have to do this, Nick parted his lips and let his fangs descend.

  She stared at them a long moment. Swallowed. Met his gaze. “You could really t-tear
up a steak with those.”

  He forced a smile. “I’m sure I could.”

  “Why do you have fangs, Nick?”

  “Because I’m infected with a virus that behaves like no other on the planet. We don’t know where or how it originated. We just know that once it infects a person, it takes on a symbiotic role of sorts and conquers, then replaces the immune system. As long as the host lives, the virus lives. To ensure that it does, the virus changes us, gives us preternatural speed, strength, and extremely heightened senses. It can repair almost any damage—that spawned by injury or by aging—but requires blood to do it, so during our transformation it causes us to grow fangs that we can use to infuse ourselves whenever necessary.”

  “Like a vampire.”

  He nodded, unable to deny the resemblance.

  She took a moment to absorb that. “Is this virus contagious?”

  “No.”

  “How does it spread?”

  “It isn’t airborne. It’s blood-borne. But I would have to drain almost all your blood, then return it to you infused with the virus, infecting you on a massive scale, in order to transform you.”

  She stared at him. “Does garlic harm you?”

  “No.”

  “Crosses?”

  “No. That’s misinformation we circulated centuries ago to give us a method of identifying possible threats.”

  “So if someone walked up to you reeking of garlic and wielding a cross…”

  “We would know it was time to get out of Dodge.”

  She nodded. “Does sunlight harm you?”

  “Yes. One of the downsides of the virus is that it causes extreme photosensitivity. The younger the immortal, the less time he or she can spend in the sun.”

  “Do you burst into flames like in the movies?”

  “No. Our skin will first pinken with a sunburn, then blister, then…” He shrugged. “Things rapidly go downhill from there.”

  “How long can you stand in direct sunlight before you start to burn?”

  “If I’m at full strength? A few minutes. If I’m not, the sun will start to burn me immediately.”

  “Tonight you were so injured you couldn’t make it back over the fence. You barely made it in here before you passed out. If I hadn’t gone out there after hearing a noise… what would’ve happened to you?”