“What’s the task?” one of the gangstas demanded.
Dennis reached for the door handle and gestured to Eddie. “In your midst stands a vampire. Your assignment is to kill him or die trying.”
Everyone looked at the designated victim.
Shock zipped through Eddie. Gaping, he dropped his arms to his sides. “What?”
Dennis met his eyes and growled with fury, “Never run from a fight.” To the humans he said, “Whoever still stands after the vampire has been destroyed will become a soldier in my army.” Stepping into the den, he closed the door and slammed the bolt home.
The humans shared glances, then looked at Eddie, their hands tightening on the grips of the unfamiliar weapons they held.
The gangstas nodded to each other, then surged forward.
Oh shit.
In the den, silence reigned. Both televisions had been muted, and the vampires, still as statues, stared at Dennis and the door behind him.
Dennis smiled as screams and thuds erupted inside The Hole, countering the growls of one panicked vampire. “Never run from a fight,” he repeated for the solemn audience.
Someone swallowed audibly.
“Help us!” one of the humans cried, voice hoarse with terror.
Closing his eyes, Dennis tilted his head back and listened to the beautiful music produced within.
“This is bullshit!” Eddie shrieked. “This is bullshit!”
Thud. Thud. Thunk.
The door shook against Dennis’s back. The scent of blood wafted from beneath it.
Dennis inhaled and sighed in ecstasy.
“Help us!”
“Get him!”
“Ahhh!”
Pure bliss.
Monday evening Ami sat at the desk Darnell had had delivered that morning upon hearing the bad news. Based on her conversation with him, she suspected he had engaged in a rather heated argument with Seth over the wisdom of naming Ami Marcus’s Second.
Not that he didn’t like Marcus. Ami had never heard Darnell speak a foul word against him and knew they shared a love of music. But Marcus had been deemed dangerous to be around. His behavior had grown increasingly erratic in recent years. And Darnell feared for Ami’s safety.
Her eyes slid from the heavy Second’s handbook she had been pouring over all day to the laptop before her. Not much activity on the Immortal Guardians Web site. No doubt the Seconds were all busy readying their respective immortals for another night’s hunt.
Whatever would compel Seth to believe Ami would make a competent Second? With all of her ... issues ... she would think—
Out in the hallway, the door to the basement living quarters opened and closed.
Ami’s heart stuttered.
Setting the handbook aside, she closed her laptop, stood, and followed the sounds of Marcus’s movements to the armory.
Most immortal households possessed such a room, which usually boasted exercise and sparring equipment and wardrobes packed with weapons. Ami stepped into the doorway just as Marcus opened the doors to one of the wardrobes.
The greeting she had thought to offer stuck in her throat. She hadn’t seen him since shortly after Seth had left the previous night. Marcus had been rumpled, dirty, and liberally coated in blood at the time. Now ...
She drew in a deep breath and tried to slow her racing pulse.
Now he was all cleaned up and incredibly handsome. Black cargo pants encased muscled thighs. A long-sleeved black T-shirt hugged broad shoulders, arms thick with muscle, and rippling abs. His long, midnight hair had been tamed into a neat ponytail.
Ami had met many immortals during the time she had spent with Seth and David. All shared the same dark good looks. So, why did this one wreak such havoc within her?
“Hello,” she finally forced herself to say.
Marcus spun to face her, his face lit with surprise that rapidly devolved into a frown. For a moment, she thought he would say something, then he turned back to the wardrobe.
Well, after his less than enthusiastic response to Seth’s thrusting her upon him last night, she hadn’t exactly expected him to greet her with smiles and laughter.
Tamping down her nervousness, she strode forward with false confidence until she stood beside him. When he reached into the wardrobe for the belt that held two sheathed short swords, she darted forward and grabbed it first.
“What are you—?”
Ami stepped closer and looped the belt around his hips, her breasts nearly touching his taut stomach.
Marcus sucked in a breath.
Ami kept her gaze lowered and fastened the belt, settling it in precisely the same position it had been in when she had first encountered him. Her knuckles brushed warm, muscled abs shielded by the soft material of his shirt. Her skin flushed with unfamiliar heat.
She backed away a step and reached into the wardrobe for his leather bandolier. “I retrieved all but two of your daggers last night after you left to pursue the last vampire and had Chris Reordon messenger over a dozen more. All of them have been cleaned and sharpened.”
At last, she dared to look up at him.
Marcus stared down at her, his brown eyes lit with a mild amber glow she assumed reflected displeasure. “Did you sharpen them yourself?” he asked, his deep voice inscrutable.
“Of course.”
Gaze dropping, he drew a dagger from one of the bandolier’s sheaths and scrutinized it carefully.
“Sharp enough for you?” Ami asked.
His eyes met hers. “Quite.” He returned the blade to its position in the bandolier. “Don’t take my skepticism personally. I once had a Second who proudly informed me he had spent all afternoon diligently sharpening my every weapon. I took him at his word, went out hunting, and discovered the hard way that he had no idea how to apply a whetstone to a blade. Not one of my weapons was sharp enough to deliver so much as a paper cut.”
“Ooh. Not good.”
“Precisely.”
“Well, I know what I’m doing.”
“Yes, you do. Thank you.”
She grinned. The two words seemed to pain him, as if he really didn’t want to proffer them, but good manners forced his hand.
“You’re welcome. Now, lean down.” She held up the bandolier with both hands. He was so much taller than she was that, without a chair, she couldn’t loop it over his head and shoulder without his aid.
He raised one eyebrow and crossed his arms over his chest in challenge.
She pursed her lips, determined to win this first skirmish. “You either lean down or I clothesline you with it. Your choice.”
Lips twitching, he uncrossed his arms and bowed down, bending his knees as well.
Ami looped the leather strap over his head and one shoulder, holding it while he threaded his arm through it. Once done, the small weapons cache draped across his chest, allowing easy access. She smoothed it into place, her fingers tingling as they slid across his chest, so wide and firm and ...
Marcus’s fingers suddenly banded around her wrists and pushed her hands away. “Leave it. That’s good enough.” His voice sounded a bit hoarse. And, when Ami looked up, the glow in his eyes had intensified.
“Did I—?”
Before she could ask him if she had done something wrong, he turned and stalked from the room. A moment later, the front door opened and slammed closed.
A small, triangular-shaped head peeked around the door frame at ankle level, scabbed over where it wasn’t covered in black fur.
“What did I do?” Ami asked Slim, the little electrical sizzles Marcus had inspired slowly dying.
Slim kept his opinion to himself.
Oowwrrrr!
Marcus’s eyes sprang open.
Owwwrrrr!
“What the bloody hell?”
He peered at the clock radio on his nightstand. 2:43 P.M., Tuesday afternoon.
Groaning, he closed his gritty eyes once more. He had hunted vampires until dawn, longer than usual, not because the threat h
ad increased of late, but because he had been reluctant to go home.
Thanks, Seth.
He had managed to avoid Ami upon his return and had gotten down to his bedroom without another confrontation, but then had been unable to sleep. He couldn’t stop thinking about the unsettlingly strong desire her innocent touches had inspired.
Roarawrorrorr!
Sighing, he sat up. Seriously, what the hell was that?
“Shhh,” he heard Ami whisper as he dragged on a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt.
Owrrrrrorrr!
“Oh, quit being such a baby. You’d think I was torturing you.”
As he headed upstairs, Marcus finally identified the weird-ass sounds as Slim protesting whatever she was doing. And it did indeed sound torturous.
He followed the caterwauling to the bathroom on the first floor and stopped outside the closed door. “Ami?” he called.
Owwrrrrrr! Owwwrrrrrr! Owwrrrrrrr! Slim’s calls became frantic.
“Yes?” she responded with hesitance.
“What the hell are you doing to my cat?”
“Um ... nothing. Why? Did we wake you? Ouch! Cut it out!”
Marcus turned the knob and entered.
A couple of wadded-up bath towels rested beside the sink. Puddles of water dotted the countertop and tile floor. The sliding doors to the shower/tub combo were closed, but he could see movement through the frosted glass.
Marcus crossed the room and peered over the top of the shower doors.
Garbed in what appeared to be two or three layers of sweatpants and just as many sweatshirts, Ami sat cross-legged in the tub with a vigorously struggling Slim in her lap. Several inches of water surrounded them, leaving her a semi-dry island Slim both needed and wished to escape.
Marcus felt laughter begin to swell inside him.
Ami’s hair was damp, bedraggled, and pulled back into a ponytail that listed to one side. Wet, soapy splotches and cat hair speckled her shirt. Her cheeks were pink, her expression harried.
And Slim looked like a tiny, enraged hedgehog, his fur standing out in all directions in wet spikes.
As soon as Slim saw Marcus, he bunched up the muscles in his hind legs, then leapt straight up, paws scrabbling at the shower doors in a bid to reach freedom ... and failing.
Ami shrieked as the maddened cat fell back toward her.
Slim landed in the water beside her with a splash, then scampered up into her lap and prepared to launch again.
“Oh no, you don’t!” she warned, wrapping her arms around him before he could jump.
Slim’s yowls and howls began anew.
Marcus couldn’t help it. He burst into laughter, the sight they made too hilarious to deny.
“Oh, shut up,” she grumbled, and began scooping water over Slim, Marcus assumed to finish rinsing him.
“What in the world made you decide to bathe him?” he asked.
“When he came home today his fur was matted down with I-don’t-want-to-know-what in several places, and he smelled like ...”
“Like what?”
“Pee,” she said, wrinkling her nose with such disgust he laughed again.
“Why didn’t you just bathe him in the sink?”
“I tried! But he kept getting away from me. In here, there’s no place for him to go.”
Slim’s skinny little butt wiggled from side to side as he bunched up his hind legs in preparation for another jump.
“Okay! Okay!” Ami declared, reaching for the glass doors. “You’re clean enough.” Her eyes met Marcus’s. “Would you please dry him off?”
Nodding, Marcus grabbed a towel and caught Slim, who launched himself from the tub as soon as the glass door slid back. “What about you?” he asked, wrapping the wriggling, ill-tempered bundle in the fluffy cotton.
Her eyes narrowed. “I can dry myself, thank you.” Glancing down, she grimaced. “After I shower. Gross. I’ll be out in a few minutes.”
And just like that, the arousal that had tormented Marcus all morning returned.
Frowning, he left the bathroom, closed the door, and headed for the living room.
“This isn’t going to work,” he told Slim, whose pale green gaze held both relief and accusation.
As he dried the cranky cat, Marcus vowed to try harder to avoid any and all contact with his new Second.
Ami hadn’t seen Marcus in two days, not since the incident with Slim on Tuesday.
Was he angry because she had bathed his cat?
More likely he simply hoped that if he avoided her long enough and kept her from doing her job, she would grow frustrated and insist on leaving.
A board creaked in the hallway.
Ami’s head snapped in that direction. Aha!
As quietly as she could, she tiptoed out of the study, down the hallway, and into the armory, arriving just in time to see Marcus—clad only in socks, boxer shorts, and a T-shirt—stepping into specially designed pants that afforded complete protection from the sun.
Sneaky immortal. He must have thought she slept during the day, must have borrowed one of the d’Alençons’ suits, and intended to head out before she woke.
“Leaving early?” she asked.
His head jerked up. Frustration swept across his handsome features before he turned away.
Ami’s gaze fell to his thighs as he tugged the pants up over them. Heavy with muscle, they sported a sparse coating of curly dark hair.
Heat blossomed within her. Would that hair be soft or coarse?
Before she could speculate on what his black silk boxers hid, the heavy material covered them as well.
Ami strode forward and grabbed the rubber shirt while Marcus zipped up the pants. The ensemble was much like a diving suit, but had a rough, automobile tire-like texture. Immortals generally hated wearing the suits because they were so hot and uncomfortable, so he must be pretty desperate to escape her if he was willing to be stuck in one all night.
Marcus frowned when she held up the shirt, front open.
Turning away, he shoved his arms into the sleeves and allowed her to tug it up over his broad shoulders.
“You might want to focus tonight’s hunt on Winston-Salem,” she suggested. “Several missing person reports have popped up there in the past forty-eight hours, so the vampires must either be hunting or recruiting.”
He grunted a possible acknowledgment and turned to face her.
Ami brushed his hands aside and zipped up the front of his shirt herself. Seemingly resigned, he waited impatiently while she armed him with his short swords and daggers.
When she glanced up at him, his eyes were glowing faintly again. “Do you want to eat before you leave?” she asked, suddenly breathless beneath his intense stare.
Something flared in his amber gaze. “No.”
Ami nodded and grabbed the mask that accompanied the protective suit. Her pulse picked up as she rose onto her toes. Reaching up, she brushed his hair—so soft—back from his forehead.
His eyes brightened. His jaw clenched.
Ami swallowed nervously and gently pulled the mask down over his face and the raven silk that framed it.
Those eyes never left her as he reached up and adjusted it.
A heavy silence fell between them that seemed to last minutes.
Then Marcus strode from the room—and the house—without another word.
Her breath emerging in a whoosh, Ami leaned back against one of the wardrobe doors.
Marcus scaled the basement stairs Friday evening, then paused on the landing. Silently urging the door open a crack, he peered into the dim hallway beyond. The doorways that peppered it all lay dark and empty. Light filtered in from the large living room at one end. The stairs above him that led to the second floor were dark.
Satisfied, he eased into the hallway and soundlessly closed the door behind him.
A stereo played in the living room, the volume courteously low. Etta James crooned one of his favorite songs: “At Last.”
Marcu
s flattened his body against one wall and crept forward, unable to prevent himself from singing along in his head as he kept his ears peeled for signs of his Second.
Ami had been with him for five days now and was proving to be damned hard to avoid.
Or ignore.
He had hoped that if he simply avoided all contact with her, she would grow bored, complain to Seth that she wasn’t needed here, and be reassigned. But that hadn’t worked out so well. Every time he turned around, Ami was there. And, though her smile bore a certain hesitance, her determination to fulfill her duties as his Second made a mockery of his own stubbornness. He couldn’t even arm himself anymore. The minute he crossed the threshold of his weapons and training room, she magically appeared and began to load him up with blades.
As Marcus approached said threshold, he eyed it suspiciously. Had she rigged it with some kind of motion sensor or a hidden camera? How else could she know he was in there every single time?
Passing by it without entering, he continued forward. This morning, he had stashed his weapons in his basement bedroom in hopes of finally managing to evade her notice.
He frowned.
That was another thing. The woman only slept when he did. He had tried altering his sleep schedule, even going so far as to don the protective suit Seth’s human network had devised for the Immortal Guardians and leave while the sun was still high in the sky.
No luck. Ami had pulled the rubbery mask down over his long hair herself.
No matter what time of day or night he rose and ventured forth, she magically appeared.
He paused. Directly ahead lay the front door with its heavy-duty reinforced locks and titanium hinges and chain. On the wall beside it hung an alarm touch pad. What he could see of the living room appeared bare. The long room continued around to his left beyond his line of sight. On the opposite side of the front door lay a small dining area with a breakfast bar that separated it from the spacious kitchen around on the right, which he also could not see.
Night Reigns Page 4