Night Reigns

by Dianne Duvall

  Why had she come here? She had been warned that humans would greet her with violence, but naively had hoped for warmth and friendship. Curiosity, perhaps.

  Well, they had indeed greeted her with curiosity. But it was a vile, sadistic curiosity that she could never have imagined.

  She tried to look around, but couldn’t move and, thus, could see very little. As usual, the monsters covered their hair and faces with green masks and caps. Their hands bore semiclear protective gloves when they swam into her range of vision.

  Her torturers spoke behind those masks, but she couldn’t hear them. She had heard nothing but her own mental cries since they had deafened her an hour earlier.

  One of the butchers leaned over and dangled a tool in front of her eyes that looked like something one might use to cut flowers or trim small tree branches. His eyes crinkled at their edges, smiling with such malice.

  He hated her, took pleasure in hurting her. She wished she could understand why.

  Ami followed his progress with dread as he circled the table and stood by her right side. His soft fingers—so warm compared to her own—slipped beneath hers, and lifted them from the steel surface.

  What felt like the blade of a knife touched the underside of her pinky finger. Another touched the top. Agony shot through her hand and up her arm. More screams erupted in her head.

  What had he done?

  He leaned over her again to show her something, eyes taunting and watching her closely.

  She struggled to focus on the small, pale, blurry ovals pinched between his thumb and index finger. The indistinct objects looked as though he had dipped one end in something red.

  She didn’t know what they were, why he wanted her to see them, until he turned them over and she saw the nails.

  Her fingers. He had cut off her two smallest fingers at the first knuckle.

  Silent wails of anguish echoed within the confines of her skull. Roars of fury. Prayers for death. Vows of vengeance. Coherent thought fled, replaced by the spitting, slathering ramblings of an animal kicked once too often.

  Then, amidst the madness: a voice. Deep. Calm. Soothing. One she had heard before and labeled a meaningless manifestation of her slowly fragmenting mind.

  We are here, it said. He said. Louder. Almost as if he stood just outside the room. We will be with you soon, little one, and will take you far away from here.

  Her mind silenced.

  Just a little longer, then you will be free.

  A cruel trick. Nothing more. Yet she begged the voice to hurry. To do as he promised and set her free. Or kill her and end her misery.

  A scalpel sank into her chest, pressed deep, then began carving a path down between her breasts.

  Tears welled. The bright white lights above her wavered, then solidified as the moisture spilled down her temples and her vision cleared.

  Cold metal slipped into this newest wound, cracked her chest open, and left it gaping wide, her heart exposed to the monsters hovering around her.

  Yes, only death would end this, she decided. She only wished she could take the monsters with her.

  It was her last coherent thought before scalding electricity burned through her and everything went white.

  Marcus couldn’t recall ever having seen someone become trapped within the confines of a nightmare before.

  It wasn’t like in the movies. Ami’s head didn’t thrash back and forth on her pillow. She didn’t toss and turn and become entangled in the sheets. She didn’t speak or call out. She didn’t suddenly lurch into a sitting position and wake with a horrified scream.

  Somehow what she did seemed so much worse than the fictionalized versions. Had he not been watching her as closely as he had been for the past ten hours, he wouldn’t even have noticed the nightmare ensnare her.

  Ami lay on her back, as she had for most of the day. Her breathing hitched once, twice, thrice as though she were sobbing so hard in her dreams that her physical body couldn’t help but manifest a response. Her eyes moved restlessly behind pale, closed lids. Tears welled in the corners, then spilled over her lashes and quietly trailed down her temples. Her body twitched. Such a slight movement. Hardly discernible. Her hands clenched in the covers, clutching the soft material so tightly her knuckles whitened.

  The vaguest trace of a whimper sounded deep in her throat. It hinted of pain. And fear.

  Of what did she dream?

  Unsure how to help her, Marcus reached out and cupped his hand over her forearm, gave it a light, reassuring stroke.

  Her whole body jerked. Her eyes opened, blinked, sought his face in the dim room. “What?” she asked, as though they had been conversing and she hadn’t quite caught the last thing he had said.

  “You were having a nightmare,” he whispered.

  “Oh.”

  She sat up, dislodging his hand, and shoved the covers down. Scooting to the edge of the bed, she stood, walked into the bathroom and closed the door.

  Marcus didn’t think she was aware of her own nakedness and sorely wished he hadn’t noticed it himself. Once Seth had left, Marcus had removed her bra, panties, and bandages and sponged the dried blood off of her.

  Ami had a beautiful body. Slender. Athletic. Muscles honed from her training, but neither bulky nor masculine. Narrow waist. Flat abs. Full hips. Round, firm ass. Breasts large enough to fill his hands.

  Pure perfection.

  No matter how much clothing she wore in the future, every time he looked at her he would be helpless against imagining her like this. Which meant he would spend the entirety of her years as his Second with a raging erection.

  Lovely. How the hell would he hide it from her?

  The toilet flushed. Water ran in the sink. The bathroom door opened, and Ami shuffled over and climbed back into bed.

  Swallowing hard, Marcus rose and leaned over her to draw the covers up to her chin.

  One of her hands reached out and captured his. Intertwining their fingers, she sighed and rolled away from him, taking his hand with her.

  Marcus stood for a moment, back bent, hand now tucked against her chest as she slipped into slumber.

  Awkward.

  “Screw it,” he muttered. He was exhausted and could use some sleep himself. Lowering himself to the mattress, he slipped beneath the covers and spooned up behind her.

  Perhaps his presence would keep her nightmare from returning.

  Yes, of course it would.

  At least, that was what he told himself as he buried his face in her hair and nestled closer.

  Ami woke, instantly alert. Rested. No aches or pains. No fear or anxiety. Warm.

  So warm.

  “Go back to sleep,” a deep voice murmured in her ear. “It was just a nightmare.”

  For a moment, she forgot to breathe.

  Marcus was in her bed, his hard body spooned up behind her, one arm tucked around her and clutching hers near her chest, his wrist brushing her breast. His breath tickled the back of her neck and stirred her hair as he yawned and cuddled closer.

  “Marcus?”

  “Hmm?” He sounded like he was half asleep.

  “What’s going on?”

  She had never been this close to a man before. Every inch of Marcus’s front—covered in some soft, thin material—was pasted to every inch of her back. Her bare back. And it felt ... so good.

  No wonder such close contact had been forbidden her.

  Leaning up on one elbow, Marcus withdrew his hand and urged her to roll onto her back.

  Ami stared up at him, heart racing. His lids were at half mast, his jaw heavily stubbled. His long, raven hair was deliciously tousled, dangling in his face and giving him a handsome, piratical look not unlike Jack Sparrow.

  “Are you awake?” he asked, brushing her hair back from her forehead.

  “Yes,” she answered.

  He pursed his lips and squinted playfully. “You seem awake.”

  She raised one eyebrow. “As opposed to when I seem asleep?”
r />   He grinned. “You’re definitely awake. How do you feel?”

  When he sat up, she saw that he was wearing a thin gray T-shirt and worn black sweatpants. She also saw the entirety of her bare breasts and stomach as the covers fell back with him.

  Gasping, she grabbed the sheet and yanked it up to her chin.

  “Oh.” He shifted around a bit to give her more material to work with and drew the blanket over his lap. “Sorry about that.”

  Heat climbing her cheeks, she nodded, then froze.

  Her bruises were gone. And her cuts. And he had seen it. Why wasn’t he asking her how she had healed so quickly?

  “I didn’t betray you and call Roland,” Marcus said, watching her. “Seth healed you.”

  Thank goodness. “He did? When?”

  “While you were sleeping.”

  “Oh.”

  “I ...” He cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable, and motioned to the bed they occupied. “I was worried about you. Seth told me you would be fine, but ... I was reluctant to leave you until you woke up. And you were having nightmares. I thought ... hoped ... my presence would soothe you.”

  “Did it?” she asked curiously.

  “Yes.”

  “Thank you.” The first time Darnell had awoken her from a nightmare, she had come up swinging. “I didn’t hit you, did I? Or tell you about the dreams?” The memories?

  “No.”

  Good.

  “Thank you, Ami,” Marcus said softly. “I didn’t have the chance to say it before.”

  “For what?” she asked, perplexed. She had been nothing but a pain in his backside ever since Seth had assigned her to him.

  “For saving my life. I could never have stood alone against so many vampires. If you had left as I’d urged you to, they would have either captured me or destroyed me.”

  And if she had left, some of those vampires could very well have followed and killed her, though that hadn’t been what had driven her to stay. “I think we saved each other last night,” she told him with a smile.

  “Actually it was the night before last. You’ve slept the clock around. And are no doubt famished.” Patting her covered knee, he turned away and stood with his back to her. “I’ll go fix us some brunch.”

  He left without looking back.

  Odd. Almost the entire time he had been talking to her, she could’ve sworn his eyes had possessed a mild glow.

  What did it mean?

  Chapter 6

  Bastien prowled the high school gym-sized training room that lay beneath David’s sprawling North Carolina home.

  Target practice and sparring with dummies hadn’t relieved enough of his pent-up energy. He needed a live target. Someone he could really kick the crap out of. Like one of the many Immortal Guardians, Seconds, and network employees who roamed this place as if it were their own.

  And curled their lips whenever they crossed his path.

  Unbelievably powerful, David was also sickeningly generous, welcoming any and all immortals and those who aided them into his home. He had even welcomed Bastien when Seth had ignored the many calls for his execution.

  Giving up on working out his frustration physically, Bastien shut off the light and strode down the long underground hallway to the bedroom he had chosen for his own: the last one on the right. As far from Darnell and the occasional visitor as possible.

  He stripped off his weapons, then his clothes, and stepped into a steaming shower.

  Something would have to change soon. This whole Immortal Guardian thing just wasn’t working out for him.

  Of course, being a vampire (or at least believing he was a vampire) hadn’t worked out for him either. For two centuries he had thought himself a vampire and dedicated his existence to hunting down the immortal who had butchered his sister. But Roland Warbrook hadn’t been her killer. Her own husband, Bastien’s best friend Blaise, had been the fiend.

  Again and again Bastien asked himself why he hadn’t seen it. Even after Blaise had accidentally transformed him, Bastien hadn’t suspected him. Like the most gullible dolt on the planet, he had trusted Blaise and believed every damning thing he had said about Roland and the immortals, loathing them, plotting their demise.

  “Only to discover I’m a fucking immortal myself,” he murmured derisively. What a joke.

  He was the black sheep of the immortal family. The weird cousin no one wanted to invite to Thanksgiving dinner, but did anyway out of some grudging sense of obligation, hoping all the while that he wouldn’t come or that his flight would be canceled.

  Seth kept dragging him along damned near everywhere he went as if such would force the others to forget his past sins and ... what ... like him? Welcome him into the fold?

  Dream on.

  David did the same when Seth was otherwise occupied. As if Bastien actually gave a rat’s ass whether or not the immortals accepted him.

  Turning the faucet off, he grabbed a towel and swept away the water beading on his skin.

  The house was quiet. Empty for a change, except for Darnell, David’s disgustingly competent Second, whom Bastien had on several occasions wanted to strangle.

  A certain lingering sense of self-preservation always stayed his hands. Both Seth and David seemed to view Darnell as a son. If Bastien ever gave in to his impulse and shut the smart-ass Second up permanently, he would probably only live long enough afterward to mouth the word, “Oops.”

  Plus Ami would kick his ass if Seth and David didn’t behead him first.

  Ami.

  Bastien hadn’t seen her since she had begun serving Marcus. If she had been killed during the big skirmish the two had landed in last week, Bastien would have slaughtered the bastard for not protecting her. He had overheard a conversation between her and Darnell earlier today and wanted to tell her not to bother defending him when the other immortals blamed him for whatever the hell the vampires were currently doing. But she would only ignore him. Just as she had ignored Seth, David, and Darnell when they had urged her to keep her distance from Bastien in the early painful days of their acquaintance.

  His cell phone rang as he squeezed the excess moisture from his long black hair.

  He looked at the display.

  Unknown caller.

  Picking it up, he answered. “What?”

  “Sebastien Newcombe?” a female voice asked in a near whisper.

  “Who the hell is this?” he countered. The only woman who knew his number was Ami.

  “Melanie Lipton.”

  He frowned. There was a furtive quality to her speech, as though she feared being overheard. And, though her name sounded familiar, he couldn’t place it. “Why are you whispering?”

  If anything, her voice quieted more. “I’m not supposed to be calling you. If they catch me ... I’m not sure what they’ll do. We’ve been on lockdown for a week now, ever since the night Marcus and Ami were nearly killed.”

  If she knew about Marcus and Ami, then she was either an immortal or one of the humans the network employed. Thanks to the power they possessed, immortals tended to be bold. This woman, on the other hand, sounded timid and as if she had been crying.

  Recognition dawned.

  “Did you say Melanie Lipton? As in Doctor Lipton?” he asked, dread pooling in his stomach. He vaguely recalled a Dr. Lipton being mentioned by Joe, Cliff, and Vincent, the sole surviving members of the vampire army (or ramshackle family) he had amassed. Instead of fighting the immortals in that disastrous final battle, the three had surrendered and voluntarily moved into apartments at the network’s primary research facility, full of thus-far futile hopes that the doctors and scientists there could help them stave off the madness that had infiltrated their brethren.

  “Yes,” she exhaled with great relief.

  “What happened?” It must be bad news, or she wouldn’t have called.

  “There’s been an ... incident here at the lab involving Vincent.” Of the three, he had been infected the longest. “He’s been more agitated l
ately and given to sudden bursts of anger and aggression. He’s been having nightmares, but wouldn’t tell me anything about them.”

  They weren’t nightmares. They were fantasies. Twisted desires that had begun to seep insidiously into his mind and shame him in his more rational moments. He had confessed as much to Bastien several times during his visits (which, regrettably, were not as often as he would like, because Bastien was only allowed to enter the network facility and have face to face contact with the vampires when accompanied by another immortal). But those fantasies had been plaguing Vincent for over a year. They had, in fact, begun before he had entered immortal custody.

  Had they worsened?

  “Today,” Dr. Lipton continued, “he ... he flew into a rage. Several people were badly injured and ...” She sniffed. “There weren’t any immortals on the premises to help us get him under control, so the only way he could be stopped or overpowered was through blood loss. He was shot ... so many times.” Her voice warbled. He could almost see the tears coursing down her cheeks. This woman cared. She didn’t view the vampires as bloodthirsty lab rats, as some of her colleagues did. She truly cared about his men and their suffering.

  His hand tightened on the phone. “Did they destroy him?” If they had, he did not doubt that she had tried to stop them.

  “No. They waited until he nearly bled out, then restrained him.”

  “Are they starving him?” Such would only make the madness worse.

  “No. He’s been given blood. And food. But, when he’s lucid ...” She sniffed again. “He really wants to talk to you. And Cliff and Joe are pretty devastated. Not to mention scared.”

  “I’ll be there within the hour.”

  “Wait,” she said, before he could hang up. “I wasn’t kidding. This place is locked down. Security is tighter than I’ve ever seen it and ...” Her voice lowered even more. Any human walking past would barely hear a breath, but her experience working with his men had clearly taught her much about their sensitive ears. “Some are speculating that you may have tipped the vampires off to Marcus and Ami’s location, so I don’t think they’ll let you in the building.”