Night Reigns

by Dianne Duvall

  Closing the distance between them, Ami brushed his hand aside and replaced it with one of her own. Beneath his dark knit shirt, his flesh was warm and rippled with hard muscle. Her breath caught as a tingle zipped through her.

  Knowing how acute immortals’ hearing was, she glanced up to see if he had noticed and swallowed hard when she found him watching her intently.

  Just pretend he’s Seth, she ordered herself.

  But he wasn’t Seth. And Ami wasn’t accustomed to touching men. At all. Her people forbade such contact even when it was casual in nature. Once she had overcome her fear of Seth, David, and Darnell after they had rescued her, the most startling aspect of her new life had been the way the men had touched her so freely ... and expected her to touch them back. Nothing amorous, of course. None of them thought of her in that way. All three men were simply very affectionate, freely distributing hugs, putting their arms around her, kissing her forehead. (Seth and David were so tall that kissing her cheek would require too much bending.)

  Though it had taken her a while, Ami had eventually learned not to shy away from such familiarity and actually enjoyed returning the gestures now.

  But Marcus was different. Touching him in any way felt ... very intimate and left her heart racing. As it did now.

  Ami smoothed her hand over the left side of his thickly muscled chest and down toward his taut abdomen. He grunted, his head and chest jerking forward slightly whenever she hit a tender spot.

  “Here?”

  “Yes.”

  “And here?”

  “Mmph. Yes.”

  “These two feel broken, but I don’t think these are. Is it just this side?”

  “No.”

  Ami rested her other hand on the opposite side of his chest and continued her examination. Her exploration.

  He grunted, his head almost lowering enough to touch hers.

  Ami frowned. How had this happened? Had he hit the tree with the Busa?

  Raising her head to ask, she nearly choked on her breath. His eyes, glowing a warm, gentle amber, flickered from her face to her hands on his torso.

  Quiet enveloped them, tempered by the sounds of insects and other night creatures.

  “Are you all right?” she asked when he said nothing.

  “Yes.”

  “Your eyes are glowing,” she told him, voice hushed.

  His reaction surprised her. Lowering his lids to hide the luminescence, he turned his head away slightly as though embarrassed. “It’s ... it’s nothing. Just the pain.” Grasping her wrists lightly, he removed her hands from his body.

  Ami felt heat climb into her cheeks. “You need blood. To heal your ribs.”

  His lids lifted as his gaze darted to the pulse that beat wildly at the base of her neck. His lips tilted up in a wry smile. “The bag you gave me was destroyed in the crash. And I believe Seth told me you aren’t on the menu.”

  The notion of him closing those soft, warm lips on her throat spawned what was rapidly becoming a familiar fluttery feeling in her lower belly. “Actually, I didn’t mean me. I have a well-stocked cooler in the backseat.”

  He released her right wrist, but retained his hold on her left, stopping her when she would have turned away to retrieve the cooler.

  She raised her eyebrows in question.

  “Are you afraid of me, Ami?”

  “No,” she answered honestly. She had been at first. She always feared strangers now, thanks to the monsters who had deceived and captured her when she had approached them in friendship. But, even though Marcus had not wanted her in his house, tonight was the first time he had ever spoken to her in anger. Usually, he crept around trying to avoid her and simply appeared chagrined when she caught him.

  Ami thought chagrined an adorable look for him.

  Eyes narrowing slightly, he studied her with enough interest to stir her nerves.

  He started to speak, then straightened and closed his mouth. His brow furrowed. Turning aside, he examined the trees to the west near the Hayabusa, then those to the south. Tilting his head back, he closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath, much like a predator seeking the scent of its prey.

  Ami watched him, wondering what had caught his attention.

  Abruptly, his eyes flew open and flashed a brilliant amber. “Oh shit.”

  “What is it?”

  “Vampires.” Dropping her hand, he clutched her upper arm in a bruising grip and propelled her toward the open driver’s side door with what appeared to be a great deal of alarm. “Get in.”

  “What? Why? How many are there?” she asked, heart thudding.

  “Too many. Tell Reordon he has a security breach.” Though she dug in her heels, he managed to deposit her behind the steering wheel. “Chris calls a guy and tells him where to pick me up. Less than five minutes later, dozens of vampires descend upon me. No fucking way that’s a coincidence.”

  “Dozens!” Vampires hadn’t congregated in those numbers since Bastien’s army had been toppled a year and a half ago. “You can’t defeat dozens by yourself!”

  When she tried to exit the car, he held her in place with a hand on her shoulder. “Tell Chris to send backup.”

  “It won’t get here in time!”

  He looked to the south and said with a new sense of urgency, “Just go, Ami.”

  “No. I’m your Second, Marcus. I fight by your side.”

  “If you fight by my side tonight, you’ll die.” Stepping back, he slammed the driver’s side door and tossed the forest to the south a dark look. “No more time. Go!”

  Before Ami could launch another protest, he drew his swords, leapt over the ditch and blurred as he sped toward the far side of the clearing.

  Ami thrust the car door open with a muttered, “Go, my ass.”

  “Damn it,” he growled in response, already a hundred or more yards away.

  The trees in front of him exploded outward. Branches, leaves, and particles of wood flew like sawdust in every direction as dark figures with glowing eyes lunged toward their target.

  So many!

  Panic struck Ami like a fist. Marcus was right. Neither of them would survive this.

  At best, they would take as many vampires with them as they could.

  She scrambled from the car and, staying low, hurried to the trunk to delve into the weapons cache stored within. Out of sight of the melee, she retrieved a thin leather harness and tugged it on like a shoulder holster, shifting it until the two sheathed katanas it supported settled against the center of her back.

  An immense roar swept through the clearing.

  Far less fierce battle cries answered Marcus’s war cry as the clang and shriek of metal hitting metal erupted.

  As soundlessly as she could, Ami replaced the 9mm’s in her holsters with Glock 18 automatics outfitted with 31-round clips. Neither bore silencers. The nearest home she had seen on the drive here was far enough away that the distance should turn the roar of gunfire into pops that could be mistaken for teenagers shooting off fireworks. Or so she hoped.

  Howls and cries of pain pierced her ears as she withdrew Darnell’s invention: a board an inch thick, four inches wide, and perhaps two feet long, with six full 31-round clips attached to it by Velcro at their bases.

  Foliage, wood chips, and broken branches burst from the trees to the west. Starting, Ami crouched down by the back bumper. A loud thunk sounded as the car shook. With eyes so wide they burned, Ami stared at the broken branch that had impaled the side of the car.

  A multitude of vampires poured from the forest, trampling the shattered Hayabusa as they headed for Marcus.

  With no time to lose, Ami set the board she hugged on the ground, perpendicular to the bumper, then grabbed a second from the trunk. A quick survey of the clearing revealed Marcus, once more in constant motion as he had been the first time she had seen him, fending off attacks from all sides, his midnight hair now loose and floating around him like smoke. But this time he didn’t face eight vampires. Dozens converged
on him, their eyes sparkling like Christmas lights, their weapons like silver tinsel.

  Kneeling by the wooden strip of 31 -round clips, Ami used the car as a shield and drew her Glocks. Her left hand curled around the grip of one cool weapon. She set the other on the ground in front of her, retrieved her cell phone, and, hand shaking, speed-dialed Chris Reordon.

  “Reordon,” he barked.

  Several of the blurred figures circling Marcus stopped and spun in her direction.

  “Oh crap.” Dropping the phone, Ami began firing the Glock in her left hand even as she grabbed its twin with her right.

  She had no time to aim with any precision. All she could do was spray the dark, indistinct forms as they swarmed toward her, eating up the ground between them and rippling like an ocean wave. Each time a bullet struck home, the vampire hit would stumble to a halt, his face and form swimming into focus, eyes flashing cobalt, aqua, green, or silver as he clutched the wound and bleated in pain or growled in fury, fangs bared. Unless she lucked out and hit a major artery, however, only seconds would pass before he regrouped and surged forward.

  Far too quickly, the Glock in her left hand emptied. Still firing the other, she leaned forward and pressed her knee onto the one-by-four to stabilize it. A flick of her thumb ejected the Glock’s empty clip. Ami then slammed the grip down onto a full one, ripped the clip from the board and used her boot heel to rack the slide and advance the first bullet into the chamber. The right Glock emptied just as she began firing with the left and she repeated the process, never ceasing the spray of bullets.

  Bodies began to pile up. In the distance, a circle of corpses formed around Marcus. More cadavers, shriveling and decaying, the stench rising on the brisk breeze, littered the field that separated her from him like jellyfish washed up on a beach.

  Vampires didn’t heal as swiftly as immortals, so if she scored enough hits, they would either bleed out or be incapacitated enough to no longer pose a threat. As the number she and Marcus took out grew, hope began to rise that they might survive this after all.

  Then more vampires poured from the trees.

  Chapter 4

  Marcus grunted as a machete sliced into his side, narrowly missing his kidney. It wasn’t the first wound he had received. Over a dozen others marred his body, painting his form red along with the blood of his enemies. Every breath tortured his damaged ribs. His energy diminished with each new injury as the blood loss curtailed the healing of his wounds.

  As an immortal, he was stronger and faster than the vampires he fought, but only as long as he remained in top or near-top condition.

  Crimson liquid spurted in his face as he rid one of the vampires of his head and another of his left arm, all in one stroke.

  For the first time, fear tempered the elation and life-stirring adrenaline that had flooded him each time death had stalked him since he’d lost Bethany. Instead of glorying in the challenge his attackers presented, he found himself listening for every gunshot that split the night.

  As long as the loud reports bombarded his ears, he knew Ami still lived.

  Why hadn’t she gone? How many clips did she have left? And when the hell did she reload? The firing never ceased. Which meant she was damned good at what she did.

  He smiled. Maybe Seth hadn’t been kidding. Maybe she could kick an immortal’s ass. She was doing a hell of a job kicking vampire asses.

  That familiar elation swelled within him. With renewed vigor, he hacked away at the wave of vampires crashing over him, compartmentalizing the pain as his wounds increased in number.

  Seconds or minutes later, an odd hush settled upon the fray. Not complete. Just different.

  Breaths continued to huff in and out. Grunts, groans, and growls composed a chilling chorus as weapons cut through air, lacerated flesh, and clashed with metal.

  What had changed?

  No gunfire.

  Marcus’s gaze flew to the north, as he tried to spy Ami through the masses swarming between them.

  Had she been hurt? Taken down? Killed?

  A blade pierced his right thigh. Another skimmed the back of his neck.

  Marcus swore.

  This wasn’t working.

  The Prius skidded away several yards, shoved with preternatural strength seconds after Ami fired her last bullet. Left with no cover, she rose, reached over her head, and grasped the handles of her katanas.

  Pain ripped through her hip when a vampire’s blade sank deep.

  Crying out, she drew the swords and swung them in the same movement.

  Vampires, no longer held at bay by the Glock 18’s, surged toward her, moving so swiftly they blurred.

  Ami was fast. Faster than any other Second in the world, according to David. But she wasn’t that fast.

  Wielding her blades in moves she had spent hours perfecting, she swept up, down, left, right, diagonally ... struggling to keep a blade always between her and the vicious forms with glowing eyes and dripping fangs that circled her.

  The vampires toyed with her. Taunted her. Inflicted numerous superficial wounds to inflate her fear. Cuts here. Slashes there. Puncture wounds. Bruises.

  When Ami realized she was holding her breath, she released it in a long whoosh. The most difficult task assigned her during her training had been resisting the urge to hold her breath when hurtled into a physical confrontation. Clearly, she hadn’t yet mastered it.

  Behind her, an agonized scream rent the air. A fountain of blood sprayed over her shoulder as something heavy hit her back, nearly sending her to her knees.

  She stumbled forward, her katanas lowering. The tip of a blade skimmed her left shoulder. A gleaming bowie knife longer and wider than her forearm dove for her throat. Too off balance to do anything but watch it, she sucked in a shocked breath when a short sword appeared in front of her, deflected the bowie, then impaled the vampire who wielded it.

  An arm, holding a duplicate sword, wrapped around her waist and steadied her as a muscled chest came up against her back.

  “Sorry about that,” Marcus said in her ear. He grunted and jerked, then spouted something foul. As soon as she straightened and raised her weapons, he released her.

  The vampires who had been playing cat and mouse with her suddenly didn’t look so smug when their movements slowed enough for her to glimpse their features. Some even dropped back and glanced at their companions uncertainly, goggling at whatever took place behind her and flinching when another body part flew through the air, hitting one in the chest.

  Excitement zinged through Ami when she felt Marcus’s back press against hers.

  “I’ve got your back!” he shouted with a little too much spirit considering the odds of one or both of them losing their heads. She didn’t have to see him to know he was grinning widely and enjoying this far more than he should. It was all there in his voice. “Have at ’em!”

  What followed was nothing short of astonishing. As though they had fought together for decades, Ami and Marcus worked in tandem to protect each other’s back and cut down vampires. Ami faltered only twice when vampires scored a couple of deeper wounds.

  “Ami?” Marcus shouted each time his sensitive ears caught her gasp or yelp.

  “I’m fine,” she called back, gritting her teeth. But exhaustion began to seep in. Pain distracted her. And she lost her breath, dragging in air with ragged pants.

  Ami staggered as a bout of light-headedness shook her.

  Was it the breathing? Fatigue? Blood loss? The blow to the head she had taken before Marcus had joined her?

  Her arms like lead, she paused and leaned forward, striving to reduce her choppy gasps to long, even breaths, unable to find the strength to even raise her weapons high enough to serve as a shield.

  When nothing happened—no blades took advantage of the lull and carved her up, no fists struck her, no fangs closed on her vulnerable throat—she frowned. Straightening, Ami peered at her surroundings. Her eyes widened in disbelief.

  Bodies in various stages o
f decay littered the field, the road, the dirt shoulder.

  Feet shuffling, she turned around just as Marcus yanked one of his swords from the chest of the last vampire standing and spun toward her.

  Like Ami, he gave the land around them a disbelieving once-over. He closed his vibrant amber eyes, tilted his head to one side, and listened, drew in a deep breath. Lids lifting, he met her gaze. A wide, triumphant smile stretched across his handsome face. Throwing his head back, he released an exultant whoop. Then, dropping his swords, he swept forward, wrapped his arms around her, and hoisted her into the air, hugging her tightly and spinning her around. “We did it!” he shouted.

  Letting her own weapons fall, Ami wearily rested her head on his shoulder and twined limp arms around his neck, her feet dangling somewhere in the vicinity of his knees.

  “I can’t fucking believe we did it!” Laughing, he set her down. “There must have been three dozen of them! Are you all right?”

  She nodded, incapable of doing any more at the moment.

  As he paced away, stepping over bodies, wagging his head with that unshakable grin, Ami recalled some of the other immortals’ concerns that Marcus’s grief had turned him into an adrenaline junky who only felt alive when faced with death.

  The fact that they couldn’t see him now was probably a good thing.

  “Three dozen and we kicked ... their ... asses!” He swooped back toward her and, stopping mere inches away, cupped her face in his bloody hands. “You were amazing, Ami! Bloody amazing! I’ve never seen a Second move so fast! So fluidly!” His thumbs smoothed across her cheeks as his glowing amber gaze held hers and the expression on his blood-spattered face softened. “Amazing,” he murmured. Her already laboring heart stuttered when his head lowered and his warm, soft lips met hers.

  Electric.

  Her lids fluttered closed. Ami rested her hands on his chest and clutched his wet shirt, leaning into him when her knees threatened to buckle.

  His tongue slipped out and stroked her lips. She’d never felt anything so incredible in her life.

  Just as she opened her mouth, wanting to touch her tongue to his, he drew back a few inches.