“Absolutely not. It could kill you, Cliff. Or trigger a psychotic break. One tranquilizer dart drops you—and any other vampire—like a stone. Yet it takes several to sedate an immortal. When I found a stimulant that looked like it might work, I had to multiply its strength exponentially. Any human injected with it would die instantly. It could kill the immortals, too. I don’t know what it would do to a vampire or how it might affect your fragile mental state.”
Bastien tried to open his eyes again. Knifelike pains pierced his cranium, eliciting a groan.
“Bastien?” Melanie queried.
A chain rattled.
“Too bright,” he muttered through clenched teeth.
He heard small, sneaker-clad feet cross the room. The lights dimmed.
Sighing, he cautiously opened his eyes.
Melanie moved to stand beside his bed or cot or whatever the hell uncomfortable surface supported him. Beneath a white lab coat, she wore a baby blue University of North Carolina Tar Heels T-shirt that hugged bountiful breasts and jeans that molded themselves to full hips and shapely thighs. Her chestnut hair was pulled back into a ponytail that made her look like a college student.
“How do you feel?” she asked.
“Like someone dropped an anvil on my head.”
Pretty brow furrowed, she touched his wrist to gauge his pulse and glanced over at the clock on the wall.
Her emotions flowed into him, courtesy of the gift with which Bastien had been born. So much concern. He wasn’t worth it. But he devoured the sweetness of it like a piece of German chocolate pie after a long, long fast.
Relief replaced some of her concern. “Your pulse is strong.”
And running faster than usual thanks to her nearness and her gentle touch.
Her eyes met his. Something skittered through her. He felt it, but wasn’t sure . . .
Was it excitement or nervousness?
It must be the latter. Not that he could blame her. The first time he had met her, he had decapitated a man in front of her. They had met and spoken many times since, but how could she forget such a first impression?
Releasing his wrist, she turned and walked away. “Let me get you some more blood and a cold pack for your head.”
She was through the door before he could tell her not to bother.
“Man,” Cliff said when the heavy door closed behind her, “you had us worried there for a minute.”
Bastien tugged his gaze away from the door and sought the vampire.
Cliff stood a few feet away, a manacle around one ankle. The chain attached to it was titanium and as big around as Bastien’s forearm, keeping the young vampire from straying more than a couple of yards away from the wall behind him.
“What the hell?” When Bastien sat up, invisible sledgehammers assaulted his brain. He pressed the heel of one hand to his forehead and held his breath until the pain eased.
The slender young man shook his head and reached up to twist one of the short dreadlocks he had recently begun to grow. “It isn’t what you—”
The door opened as Dr. Lipton returned. Bastien saw several heavily armed guards posted outside the room before she closed it again.
“Who’s brilliant idea was this?” he demanded and motioned to his shackled friend. “Why are we in the holding room?”
Melanie paused. “Actually, it was my idea.”
He frowned. “Oh.” Damned if his mind didn’t go blank.
Thankfully, Cliff jumped in. “That Reordon prick ordered the guards to lock you up in here, but Dr. Lipton wouldn’t let them and made them take you to the infirmary instead.”
That must have gone over well.
Melanie shrugged apologetically. A blood bag in one hand and an icy gel pack in the other, she approached the gurney upon which he sat. (No wonder it was so damned uncomfortable.)
“When I heard what had happened,” Cliff continued, “I wanted to go see how you were doing, but Reordon said hell no and—long story short—Dr. Lipton argued with him until they reached this compromise.”
“It was the best I could do,” she admitted.
Bastien took the blood and waved away the cold pack. “Thank you. I’m surprised Reordon didn’t chain me up, too.”
“He wanted to. But I needed to remove the bullets and clean your wounds. They weren’t healing properly because of the drug. And Richart wouldn’t hear of it.”
Bastien paused. “Richart protested?” He had taken for granted that the Frenchman loathed him as much as all of the other immortals did, and Richart really hadn’t done anything to make him think otherwise.
She nodded. “He was actually quite emphatic in his defense of you. Mr. Reordon wouldn’t let the fact that you had supposedly killed several humans drop until Richart pretty much made him drop it.”
Bastien grunted. “I didn’t supposedly kill them. I did kill them. At least, I assume I did. Isn’t the drug strong enough to kill a human?”
“Yes,” she confirmed.
A tinny version of Nine Inch Nails’ “The Perfect Drug” filled the air.
It wasn’t until Bastien reached for his back pocket that he realized the hunting clothes he wore were not his own.
Melanie fumbled with a pocket of her lab coat and withdrew his cell phone. “Your clothes were ruined. Richart loaned you those.”
Okay. This was just bizarre. Why was Richart suddenly doing him so many favors?
Bastien couldn’t remember the last time anyone other than Ami or Melanie had done something nice for him with no strings attached. So, what was Richart’s game? What did he want?
Bastien’s fingers brushed Melanie’s when she handed him the phone. His heart skipped a beat at the brief contact. “Yeah?” he answered.
“It’s Tanner.”
Bastien hadn’t seen Tanner Long since the Immortal Guardians had ended Bastien’s uprising. Tanner had been one of the humans who had aided him. The human, he should say. Tanner had been Bastien’s go-to guy. He had been invaluable, the equivalent of an immortal’s Second.
And Tanner had been a friend.
Bastien had not had a friend in a very long time. Which was why he had kept his distance from Tanner ever since the Immortal Guardians had taken both into custody. Tanner was being groomed to become a Second, or personal assistant, to an immortal. If Tanner displayed any friendliness or sympathy toward Bastien, the other Seconds and members of the network would ostracize him. He didn’t deserve that. Not after all he had been through.
“You there?” Tanner’s voice came over the line again.
“Yeah. Just . . . surprised to hear from you.”
“Changing your number and not giving me the new one will do that, asshole, but we’ll discuss that later.”
“How did you get this number?”
“Ami. Now shut up and listen. According to the Seconds’ rumor mill, Reordon has called a meeting. It starts in less than an hour at David’s place. And I know damned well he scheduled it for then, believing you would be unable to attend. I think he’s going to condemn you for taking out the humans and, since Seth has thus far rejected every call for your execution, will push for your permanent removal from the Immortal Guardians’ ranks.”
Hmm. Would that be such a bad thing? Hadn’t Bastien decided just a few weeks earlier that something would have to change? That the whole Immortal Guardian thing wasn’t working out for him? Maybe it was time for him to move on and. . .
Well, he didn’t know what. For the first couple hundred years or so of his immortal existence, he had been driven to seek revenge for his sister’s murder. Once he had found his quarry, he had spent another two decades or so planning that revenge and raising his vampire army.
“Don’t let him do it, man,” Cliff said, his exceptional hearing allowing him to listen to the phone conversation.
“Don’t let him do what?” Bastien asked.
“Don’t let Reordon get you kicked out of the Immortal Guardians. You’re the only one of them who gives a damn
about us—about vampires. Without you fighting for us . . . what hope do we have?”
Hell.
Bastien met Melanie’s gaze, saw the pleading in it.
“Don’t let Mr. Reordon’s prejudice keep you from taking your rightful place among the Immortal Guardians,” she pleaded. “The immortals need you more than they think they do. Cliff and Joe need you, too.”
Again: Hell.
Bastien sighed. “All right,” he told Tanner. “Thanks for the heads-up. I’m on my way.”
“Good.”
“It’ll take me a while because I’m on foot, but—”
“I’ll drive you,” Melanie interrupted.
“No,” Bastien countered. “No, thank you,” he amended. She had already come to his defense once by keeping Reordon from chaining him up. The last thing he wanted was for her to be associated with him even more. Too much unpleasantness would be directed her way.
“Yes,” she retorted, raising her chin stubbornly. “I’m your doctor. You just regained consciousness and need to be monitored for the next few hours as the drug continues to wear off. You aren’t going anywhere without me.”
“He may not be going anywhere anyway,” Cliff mentioned. “How is he going to leave the building? I doubt Reordon gave his men orders to let Bastien go.”
Melanie frowned.
“Don’t worry about that,” Tanner said. “I’ll take care of it.”
Before Bastien could ask him what he meant, he hung up.
Melanie bit her lip as Bastien lowered his phone and ended the call. “If you’re thinking of fighting your way out, you may want to reconsider.”
Fighting his way in the night they had met had resulted in him being wrapped like a mummy in chains. She didn’t want to see that happen again.
Bastien frowned. “Tanner said I wouldn’t have to, but I don’t see how—”
A clunk sounded as the door unlocked, then opened, pushed by Todd.
The soldier did not look happy. “I just got a call from David.”
The elder immortal was warm and friendly, treating all immortals and members of the network like family, yet—at the same time—was nearly as powerful and formidable as Seth.
Todd looked at Bastien. “You’re free to leave whenever you want to.”
Bastien met Melanie’s gaze for a moment, then eyed Todd suspiciously as if he were trying to discern if this were some sort of trick. “I am?”
Todd nodded and opened the door wide. “Mr. Reordon won’t be happy about it, but . . .”
No one gainsays David, went unspoken.
Bastien shrugged. “So be it.”
Melanie headed for the door. “I’ll just get my keys, then we can go.”
Todd scowled as she approached. “You’re not going with him, are you?”
“She has to,” Cliff blurted before Melanie or Bastien could say anything. “Bastien’s still groggy from the drug.”
Was he trying to convince Todd or Bastien, who still looked as though he wanted to protest? Melanie knew Cliff worried about his former leader.
“I’ll have one of my men take him wherever he wants to go,” Todd said. As Melanie passed him in the doorway, he added in a lower voice, “You shouldn’t be alone with him, Dr. Lipton. It isn’t safe.”
Melanie glanced back in time to see Bastien’s eyes flare bright amber with fury. When he opened his mouth to speak, she hurried to prevent it. “He needs to be monitored. We’re still learning about this drug and its effects on immortals. I need to continue measuring his recovery time and keep an eye out for lingering side effects.”
Though both Bastien and Todd frowned, neither—she was pleased to see—could find fault with her explanation.
Cliff sent her a big grin.
What are you doing, Lanie? she asked herself as she crossed the hall to her office.
What I have to.
No, you aren’t. David is a healer. He can tell you anything you need to know about Bastien’s recovery. So could Roland, though getting that one to cooperate would pretty much be impossible.
It wasn’t really about Bastien’s recovery anyway. Yes, she would like to continue monitoring him and see how long the weakness lingered. Any little thing she could learn about this drug without having to inflict it upon test subjects—namely the vampires—would help her in her attempts to combat it. But, as that little voice in her head had pointed out, David or Roland could observe Bastien for her.
Removing her lab coat, she donned the turtleneck she had discarded earlier and topped it with a sweater.
No, it wasn’t about his recovery. It was . . .
She liked Bastien, damn it. She had liked him long before she had ever met him just from the things the vampires had told her about him. He may play the black sheep and be hated by his immortal brethren for past misdeeds, but he seemed to be an honorable man. A compassionate man. He wasn’t the monster Chris Reordon and some of the others thought him. He just wanted to help people. Help the vampires. End the suffering of men he had considered his brothers for two centuries.
Was that so wrong?
Locating her purse, she picked it up and drew her keys from an outer pocket.
Someone needed to stand up for him. Defend him. And, though it may sound ludicrous that a man of his strength and power would need her, she intended to be that someone. She had more insight into his character than anyone.
Except, perhaps, for Ami. Bastien seemed to have a real soft spot for Amiriska.
Melanie frowned as she wondered just how soft a soft spot that was.
She headed back across the hallway.
Todd crossed his arms over his chest as Melanie approached him. “Maybe Dr. Whetsman should accompany him instead.”
She raised one eyebrow. “Dr. Whetsman? Really?”
Todd grimaced and stepped aside. “Yeah, you’re right.”
Melanie entered the room and found Bastien standing beside the gurney. When he wavered, Cliff reached out and took his shoulder to steady him.
“Ready?” she asked.
Bastien nodded once, then gripped Cliff ’s arm to keep his balance.
Todd strode over to the desk, grabbed a pen and a Post-it pad, and leaned down to scribble something on it. Peeling off the top note, he turned and handed it to Melanie.
Three telephone numbers had been scrawled across it.
“The first number is Seth’s. The second is Richart’s. The third is mine. If anything should happen”—his gaze slid to Bastien and back—“call them in that order. Seth can teleport directly to you. If you can’t reach him, Richart can probably teleport to your general area and find you. If he can’t be reached, call me and I’ll track your GPS signal and bring a small army of men.”
Bastien raised one eyebrow. “A small army of men couldn’t stop me last night.”
Melanie sighed. Why did Bastien have to antagonize everyone every chance he could get?
Todd huffed a laugh. “Did you or did you not have to be carried in here?”
Melanie hoped that would end the exchange.
It didn’t. True to form, Bastien spoke in a taunting voice. “Not before I killed every human that was gunning for me.”
Todd’s jaw tightened.
“Enough,” Melanie said, throwing up her hands. “If you two want to continue duking it out verbally later, then feel free. Right now we need to get going. Bastien has someplace he needs to be.” She turned a stern look on Bastien. “Don’t you?”
Some of the tension in his face eased as the corners of his lips twitched. “I suppose I do.” He glanced at Cliff, then down at the manacle around Cliff ’s ankle. “What about Cliff?”
“Todd, would you please release Cliff and escort him back to his apartment?”
The soldier nodded, his countenance relaxing. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Thank you.” Melanie looked to Bastien. “Shall we?”
She noticed he didn’t nod this time and wondered how bad the lingering headache and dizziness were.
“Any time, man. You’ve been doing the same for me for years.”
Bastien strolled over to the door, bumping Todd hard with his shoulder as he passed.
Melanie shook her head and followed him out of the room. She was beginning to suspect Bastien would have had a hard time fitting in with the immortals even if he hadn’t killed one of their own and injured dozens of their human assistants at the network.
In the hallway, the guards’ close scrutiny unnerved her.
Bastien seemed utterly unaffected by it. He also exhibited none of the weakness he had demonstrated in the holding room. Not until they were alone inside the elevator with the doors closed, traveling upward.
Staggering, he threw out a hand and leaned against the wall.
Melanie grabbed his other arm to steady him.
He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them and looked down at her. “You’re irritated.”
She shrugged. “You don’t exactly make it easy for them to like you.”
“I don’t care if they like me.”
“Don’t you?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Why should I? They judged me and condemned me before they even knew me.”
“Well, you have to admit your past is a little . . . dark.”
He emitted a humorless laugh. “And my present isn’t?”
Melanie didn’t know what to say to that.
When the elevator pinged, letting them know the five-story climb to the ground floor was over, Bastien straightened. Melanie’s pulse jumped when he removed her hand from his arm and gave it a squeeze before releasing her.
The doors opened.
Melanie swallowed.
John Wendleck, head of security at the network, waited for them in the lobby with at least two dozen men. “Dr. Lipton,” he said with a nod of his head.
“Hi, John.” She had known him ever since she had come to work for the network right out of medical school and had tried numerous times to coax him into calling her Melanie or Lanie. But he insisted on calling her by her title, telling her merrily that she had earned it.
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