Shadows Strike

by Dianne Duvall

  But life had grown incredibly dangerous for immortals of late. So many enemies had risen up against them. Both vampire and human. Until he gained some assurances that she wouldn’t tell her father or any of her other contacts, he couldn’t explain the differences between vampires and immortals. He couldn’t even tell her that he was an immortal.

  “Yes.” Technically, he didn’t lie. Vampires didn’t want humans to know about them either, especially after rumors of recent events had circulated the globe.

  “Are you afraid I’ll tell someone?”

  “Yes.”

  She shook her head. “Who would believe me?”

  “Your father might, if the two of you are close.”

  She considered that for a moment. “I think Dad would worry that I’d suffered a mental breakdown or something if I started babbling about vampires.”

  Five years ago, Ethan would have agreed. Now . . . not so much. “You haven’t told him about the dreams?”

  “No. I won’t tell him about this, either. As I said, he’d only worry about me.”

  “Would you be willing to sign a confidentiality agreement, vowing not to tell anyone what you learned tonight or what I’m prepared to tell you?”

  She stared at him. “Seriously?”

  “Yyyyyeah,” he said with some regret.

  “There are vampire lawyers?” she asked incredulously.

  Several lawyer/bloodsucker jokes sprang to mind, but Ethan opted to keep them to himself. “Not vampire. Human. The humans who work with us—”

  “Humans work with you?” She seemed more taken aback by that than by the lawyers.

  He nodded. “And they’re very protective of us. The powers that be will have my ass if I don’t let the humans talk to you so they can be assured of your silence.”

  She pulled her hand from his grasp. “Be assured of my silence how? By making me disappear? Because you look like you think they’re going to—”

  “No,” he hastened to correct her. “They won’t harm you. They’ll just talk to you and ask you to sign a confidentiality agreement. That’s all. I’ll be with you the whole time.” Holding her hand, if she would let him. And he would kick Reordon’s ass if Chris upset her.

  A full minute ticked past.

  “Do I have any choice in this?” she asked, her pretty face grim.

  “Not really. But I promise, Heather, no harm will come to you. You’re a gifted one. These confidentiality agreements aren’t just meant to protect us. They’re meant to protect you and other gifted ones, too. Once you understand all that being a gifted one entails, you’ll likely conclude that hiding what you are has been the wisest decision you’ve ever made.”

  She studied him for several long minutes. “Okay, I’ll sign. Now tell me what you meant by that. Why are gifted ones so special?”

  It didn’t surprise him that she would wish to know that first. Being different and not understanding why sucked. “Gifted ones are men and women like you and me who were born with gifts ordinary humans don’t possess. Those gifts are a result of extremely advanced DNA.”

  Her brows drew down. “How advanced?”

  “Every human has forty-six DNA memo groups that provide the blueprints for his or her existence. According to our researchers, gifted ones have seven thousand.”

  She stared at him, unblinking. “Seven thousand?”

  “Yes.”

  “And everyone else has forty-six?”

  “Humans have forty-six.”

  “If they’re human, then what the hell are gifted ones?”

  “We don’t know the source of our advanced DNA. We just know—or rather we’ve learned, over the millennia—that it’s best to conceal knowledge of our differences from the general public.”

  “What do you think would happen if humans found out?”

  “In the past, they slew those whom they discovered were different. Today they would dissect you, experiment upon you, and seek to duplicate and exploit your gifts for monetary gain . . . if they didn’t kill you outright.”

  She gave him a slow nod. “Yeah. That’s pretty much what my dad told me.”

  “So he knows you’re telepathic?”

  “Of course.”

  “And he’s never told the men he works with?”

  “The army? No. He tells them the same thing I do, that I’m a FACS specialist.”

  That was good. That was very good, and should help ease Reordon’s concerns regarding the military.

  She pursed her tempting lips. “This might be a good time for me to admit I’ve used my gift for my own monetary gain.”

  “How so?” Judging by her current modest lodgings, she wasn’t wealthy.

  “I paid my way through college with money I acquired gambling.”

  He fought a smile. He knew many telepathic immortals, Lisette included, who had gambled their way to an impressive fortune.

  “But I always chose the guys I fleeced carefully,” she hurried to add. “They were all either assholes or bored multimillionaires or billionaires who wouldn’t miss it. Or both. With a few freaks thrown in.”

  Ethan laughed. “Good for you. I admit I’ve done the same.”

  “You’re telepathic, too?”

  “No. It’s the photographic memory thing.”

  “Counting cards?”

  He nodded. “And everyone really does have a tell. When you remember every second of everything you see, you identify those quickly and can guess—”

  “If your opponent is bluffing.”

  “Exactly.”

  “I don’t feel so bad now.”

  He winked. “I never felt bad.”

  Her lips quirked up in a smile as her brown eyes lit with amusement. “So . . . any other revelations you’d care to make while I’m sitting down?”

  “Actually, yes,” he said. “I’m not a vampire. I’m an immortal.”

  She studied him a long moment. “This is going to be one of those days, isn’t it?”

  Again he laughed and wished his damned back didn’t hurt so much when he did. “The traits humans have long associated with vampires—fangs, superior speed and strength, enhanced senses, photosensitivity, greater regenerative capabilities, and a need for blood—are a result of a very rare symbiotic virus. Vampires are humans who have been infected with it. Immortals are gifted ones who have been infected with it. In humans, the virus causes progressive brain damage that drives them insane. With gifted ones, however, our advanced DNA protects us from the brain damage, as well as some of the other, more corrosive aspects of the virus.”

  “So no insanity?”

  “No insanity.”

  “Lucky you.”

  “Absolutely. Immortals live longer. We’re stronger. We’re faster. The older an immortal is, the greater his speed and strength, and the more sunlight he can tolerate. Older immortals also possess stronger and more varied gifts, because their bloodlines have been diluted less by ordinary human DNA over the millennia. So we spend our nights and—on very rare occasions—days hunting and slaying psychotic vampires who prey upon humans.”

  “Wow.”

  He frowned, unsure what had spawned the solitary word. “Wow what?”

  “Wow. Those humans who work with you and keep your existence a secret must really be hard-core. With a lot of connections. How the hell have they managed to keep all of this a secret? Especially today, when everyone and their brother has a cell phone that can record video and instantly upload it to the Internet? Someone must have seen something by now.”

  He shrugged. “As you said, they’re hard-core and have connections.”

  “I’m guessing anyone who tries to renege on that confidentiality agreement you want me to sign tends to meet a swift, untimely end.”

  “Honestly, I have no idea what the network does to those who attempt to betray us. I haven’t had much hands-on contact with the network until recently. But, again, you have nothing to worry about, Heather. Once they learn you’re a gifted one, they’ll want to
protect you the way they do us. I know I already said this, but you really don’t want anyone to find out about your advanced DNA. Now more than ever.”

  His cell phone chirped. Ethan drew the phone out of his back pocket and saw that it was Ed, his Second. “I’m sorry. I have to take this.”

  She nodded.

  “Yeah?” he answered.

  “Are you at David’s?” Ed asked in his gruff voice.

  “No. I’m”—he glanced at Heather—“at a friend’s.”

  She watched him curiously.

  “What friend’s?”

  Ethan didn’t want to go into detail and sought some way to avoid it.

  Heather caught his attention. “Do you want me to give you some privacy?” she asked, voice low.

  “Was that a woman?” Ed asked with an astonishment that grated on Ethan’s nerves.

  Ethan mouthed No to Heather and rose. “Yes,” he answered Ed.

  “Hot damn! You’re finally getting laid,” came Ed’s jovial response.

  Ethan lowered his voice. “It isn’t like that.”

  “It had better be like that. You’ve been celibate for decades. That shit isn’t natural.”

  Ethan turned his back to Heather. “It hasn’t been that long, damn it.” Hell, Lisette had just broken things off with him a year ago, not that Ed knew anything about that. “Did you call just to piss me off or did you want something?”

  “I called to find out where you are. The sun is rising and your ass tends to fry in it when you’re stuck outside. I wanted to make sure you were settled somewhere safe for the day.”

  Ethan sighed. “I’m safe.”

  “You suffer any injuries tonight?”

  “A few,” he admitted. His Second’s job was to keep tabs on him and keep him safe. He wouldn’t begrudge the man his ability to do so.

  “Do you need blood?”

  “No, I’m good.” An overstatement, but he didn’t want Ed to rush to his damned rescue. “Just sit tight. I’ll talk to you later.”

  “If you say so. Have fun. And do everything I wouldn’t do,” he added, laughter in his voice.

  Ethan ended the call and turned back to Heather.

  She raised her eyebrows. “Was that your girlfriend?”

  He shook his head. “My Second.”

  “Second what? Second wife?”

  He grinned. “No, Ed is my Second, or human guard. My Renfield, if you will.” Most movie buffs were well-acquainted with the fictional character Renfield, who had been Dracula’s human assistant in films for almost a century.

  “So . . . he keeps you safe during the day?”

  “Yes.”

  “You really can’t go out in daylight?”

  “Correct.”

  She studied him. “Please don’t take this the wrong way, but . . . are you bullshitting me, Ethan? I really want to believe you, but it’s all so . . .”

  “Weird?” he suggested, using her word.

  “Yes.”

  He smiled and held a hand out to her. “Come here.”

  After the slightest hesitation, she rose, circled the sofa, and placed her small hand in his.

  Damned if that didn’t make him feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

  Ethan led her over to the window that wasn’t shaded by the front porch’s roof. Releasing her hand, he raised the blinds halfway, then held his hand in the bright morning sunlight that flowed inside. His skin swiftly began to pinken with a sunburn that deepened and darkened to an angry red before blisters began to form. He gritted his teeth as pain rose.

  “Stop!” Pushing him back, Heather hastily lowered the blinds.

  Ethan’s hand burned as though he had just rested it upon a hot stove.

  Heather carefully took it in both of her own and inspected it. Her brow furrowing, she raised her gaze to his. “You didn’t have to do that.”

  “I’ve been asking you to believe a hell of a lot, Heather. Most of it on faith. This was something I could prove to you with ease so you wouldn’t be left doubting.”

  When she looked down at his stinging hand, her hair flowed forward and shielded part of her face from him.

  Ethan reached out with his free hand and brushed the hair back, tucking it behind her ear.

  Her breath caught.

  Fingers tingling from the brief contact, he struggled to suppress the urge to bury them in the silky brown tresses and draw her closer. “I want you to feel safe with me,” he murmured. “I want you to feel comfortable with me.”

  “I do,” she whispered. “I probably shouldn’t, but I do.” She glanced at his hand. “Does it hurt?”

  His lips quirked wryly. “Not as much as my back.”

  “Where the vampire stabbed you?”

  He nodded.

  “Is there anything I can do? Would you like me to take a look at it?”

  He hadn’t been able to do much with it on his own beyond splashing some alcohol on it and clumsily dabbing it with a towel. “I’d appreciate that. Thank you.”

  Smiling, she led him over to her kitchen’s breakfast nook and motioned for him to sit in one of the two chairs at her small table.

  Ethan pulled it out, swung it around to face him, and sat down, straddling it.

  “Take your shirt off,” she ordered.

  He drew his long-sleeved T-shirt over his head and draped it over the chair’s back. When he looked at Heather, he found her staring at his chest.

  Was that admiration in her gaze? Or was she checking out his wounds?

  Heather glanced up. A pink flush mounted her cheeks as she moved to stand behind him.

  Admiration. That was promising.

  She hissed in a breath.

  “Is it that bad?” he asked over his shoulder.

  “Well, it isn’t bleeding, but . . . yeah. It looks pretty bad.”

  Mortified that Ethan had caught her ogling his chest, Heather stared at his broad back.

  Sooooo much muscle, which rippled as he folded his arms over the back of the chair and leaned forward.

  The ragged edges of the deep puncture wound the vampire’s knife had carved gaped a little, revealing damaged muscle she didn’t examine too closely, afraid she might see bone if she did. Had Ethan been human, the wound would no doubt still be bleeding profusely.

  “Do you have any butterfly closures?” she asked.

  He nodded. “In my bag.”

  Heather retrieved his duffel bag and returned to his side. “Anything you don’t want me to see in here?”

  “No. You might want to avoid touching the clothing, though. It’s probably still sticky with blood.”

  Kneeling down, she unzipped the bag and peered inside. Wadded-up bloody clothing, some spare blades, and first aid supplies. Nothing that would raise red flags. No naked selfies, freaky porn, severed body parts, or anything else alarming.

  “Do you want me to pour some rubbing alcohol over it?” she asked, rising with the butterfly closures in her hand.

  “Yes, please. I splashed some on it earlier, but did a pretty half-assed job.”

  He made no sound when Heather saturated a cloth she retrieved from the bathroom with alcohol and held it to the wound. He was so tall, she didn’t even have to bend down when she leaned in close and blew on the stinging flesh.

  Ethan tensed and rested his forehead on his arms.

  Regretting the pain she must be causing him, Heather carefully pinched the edges together and secured them with butterfly closures. She taped a gauze bandage over everything, then rested a hand on his warm shoulder.

  Weren’t vampires . . . or immortals . . . supposed to be cold?

  “How’s that?” she asked, shifting to his side so she could see his face.

  He raised his head. “Thank you.”

  She swallowed. “Your eyes are glowing.” A beautiful, vibrant amber. “Is it from the pain?”

  He gave his head a slow shake. “It’s from your touch,” he rumbled, his voice deep and husky. “I like the feel of your hands on me, yo
ur warm breath on my skin.”

  Her heart kicked into high gear again, slamming against her rib cage.

  Ethan took the hand she had rested on his shoulder and raised it to his lips. “Don’t be afraid,” he murmured and drew her toward him.

  She nodded, pulse racing as his gaze dropped to her lips. When she licked them nervously, his eyes brightened.

  Releasing her hand, he wrapped his free arm around her waist and urged her closer until she was pressed up against the back of the chair he faced.

  With him seated, Heather could look into his mystical eyes without having to tilt her head way back.

  His lips brushed hers. Featherlight. Sparking excitement and a desire for deeper contact.

  “I am so drawn to you,” he murmured and kissed her again, lingering this time.

  Heather leaned into the back of the chair and dared to touch his tongue with her own. Shocks of pleasure darted through her like little sparks of lightning.

  His arm tightened a moment before he released her lips. Those brilliant amber eyes met hers. “What are you thinking?”

  “I’m questioning my sanity.”

  “Damn.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I want to kiss you again, but I don’t want to frighten you.”

  She gave him a slow nod. “Okay.”

  Disappointment darkened his features.

  “Then I’ll kiss you this time,” she decreed. Cupping his strong, stubbled jaw in her hands, she captured his lips with her own.

  He tasted so good. Too good. Too tempting by far. As tempting as he had in those damned erotic dreams she couldn’t forget.

  And the man knew how to kiss, how to stroke and tease until her body went up in flames. She had never in her life been so aroused by the simple touching of lips to lips, tongue to tongue.

  Both moaned when she broke the kiss.

  She pressed her forehead to his. “You don’t know how confusing this is for me.”

  “I can hazard a guess.”

  Leaning back, she studied his ruggedly handsome features, drew her thumbs across his budding beard, and sobered. “I just met you,” she told him, “but I’ve seen you in my dreams almost every night for a year. It makes you feel . . . familiar to me. As if we’ve lived next door to each other for a year, seen each other every morning when we stepped outside to fetch the newspaper, smiled and waved and retreated inside three hundred and sixty-five times, never speaking until you suddenly decided to round the hedges that separated our properties, introduce yourself, and ask me if I’d like to have a cup of coffee with you.”