“Help you how?”
“We need someone to help us spread the word to the other vampires, impress upon them the importance of avoiding capture by Emrys and his soldiers. I narrowly escaped capture myself, and you know I’m much stronger than you are.”
“Yeah. You wish.”
The words had scarcely left Stuart’s lips before Bastien flew to his side and lifted him two or three feet off the ground with a hand at his throat.
Eyes bulging, Stuart clawed at Bastien’s hand with both of his own to no avail. His face mottled. His legs kicked.
Melanie cleared her throat. “Um . . . Bastien.”
Opening his fingers, he let the vampire drop to the ground. “As I said, I’m much stronger than you.”
Stuart coughed and gasped. Climbing to his feet, he glowered at Bastien.
Melanie ambled over to join them.
Bastien clutched Stuart’s arm. “Do you kill when you feed?”
“Yes,” he responded defiantly.
The emotions flowing into Bastien told him otherwise. Stuart was all boast and no bite.
Releasing him, Bastien stepped back.
“What do I have to do if I join you?” the vamp asked.
“Vampires from all over the globe have been pouring into North Carolina since tales of my uprising leaked, so we know you use a method to communicate that goes beyond word of mouth or congregating at the local pub.”
Stuart rubbed his neck. “There are . . . places on the Internet where a lot of us like to hang out.”
“We’ll need a list of those.”
Stuart shook his head. “I don’t know, man. I need to think about it.”
“Not if you want to live.”
“So, if I say no, you’ll kill me?”
“If you aren’t with us, you’re against us.”
“There’s more,” Melanie said, issuing Bastien a frown. “You’ve been a vampire long enough to notice that older vampires are less than stable mentally.”
Stuart’s gaze strayed to the blond.
“The mental deterioration is a result of brain damage that increases every day you’re infected with the virus. You may be fine now. But you’ll begin to have psychotic episodes in the next year or so. Before then, twisted fantasies will disrupt your thoughts. Disturbing impulses that will become harder and harder to deny.”
Stuart eyed Bastien. “You have that?”
“No. Immortals don’t have to battle the insanity vampires do.”
“Why?”
“I can’t tell you that.”
“Stuart, the two vampires I told you about . . . We’re working with them to find a way to prevent that and to reverse the damage, to find a treatment so being infected won’t result in an automatic mental decline. We want to help vampires.”
“Then why kill us?”
“You leave us little choice,” Bastien said. “If there were a rabid dog in your neighborhood, would you let it run around attacking at will, or would you put it down?”
“We’re trying to spare you both fates,” Melanie explained. “But, we can’t impress upon you strongly enough that either of those—a descent into madness or death at the hands of an immortal—would be preferable to the fate you would meet if you were captured by Emrys and his army.”
“They’re humans. I just don’t see—”
“They have pistols that will sedate you and any other vampire in seconds,” Bastien reminded him. “These are mercenaries armed with automatic weapons. You won’t be able to stand against them. I barely escaped myself.”
Stuart still looked uncertain. “I have to think about it.”
“I’ll give you until tomorrow night.”
Stuart shook his head. “What if I need more time? I mean . . . I don’t know.”
Bastien took the boy’s arm again and felt only fear. No malice. Or triumph. Or anything that might indicate deception. “Three nights,” Bastien conceded. It was a hell of a decision. “Meet me here at midnight or I’ll assume you’ve opted not to join us and will hunt you down. And Stuart . . .”
“Yeah?”
“If I have to hunt you down, there won’t be any talking when I find you. We clear?”
“Yeah.” Stuart took a step back. Then another. Seconds later he vanished into the foliage and Bastien heard him rushing away as fast as he could.
He turned to face Melanie and found her studying him, her pretty face impassive.
“You can kick ass,” he praised, both impressed and puzzled by the fact that she had held her own so well against a vampire.
“Yes.” With a tip of her chin, she indicated the trees through which Stuart had departed. “You’re really going to let him go?”
“Yes.”
“You can’t do that, Bastien.”
He should not like the sound of his name on her lips so much. “He can’t spread the word if I don’t.”
“But he said he’s killed.”
“He was lying.”
“You don’t know that with any certainty, not without one of the telepaths confirming it.”
“I know it with some certainty.”
“How?”
“Don’t you know about my gift?”
“No. Why? What is it?”
“I’m an empath.”
She stared at him in silence for so long he began to feel a bit self-conscious. “You can feel other people’s emotions?” she asked finally.
“Yes. And Stuart’s told me he was lying to try to save his ass.”
Again she stared at him.
“What?” he asked when the silence stretched.
“You can feel my emotions? Right now?”
“No. I have to touch you to feel them.”
“So . . .”
He could see her considering it, trying to remember every time he had touched her or she had touched him. At the network. In her car. At David’s. Trying to remember what she might have inadvertently revealed.
“You might have mentioned it. Given me a little warning.”
“Such didn’t occur to me.”
More silence.
“What do you feel when you touch me?” she asked.
Bastien’s attention dropped to her full lips as she licked them anxiously. “Sometimes I feel your concern. Sometimes uncertainty. Clinical detachment. Fear the first time we met.”
“Well, our first meeting was rather . . . explosive.”
That was putting it mildly.
“What else?”
He knew what she sought. “Sometimes my gift tells me you feel what I feel myself every time I look at you. Or think of you. Or touch you.”
Her soft, smooth neck moved with a swallow. “You’re attracted to me.”
“Yes.”
“I’m attracted to you.”
“I know.”
“What are we going to do about it?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re not going to give me a reason?”
“If you need one, I’m not looking to enter into a relationship just now.” He wasn’t sure how much longer he would be with the immortals. He would only be able to tolerate so much crap before he would have to move on to avoid killing someone. And, for all he knew, if he did move on, they might hunt him down and finally execute him for killing Ewen. Why the hell would he bring a woman into his life now?
“Blunt,” she said. “I can respect that.”
“I’m too old to play games.”
“Some men are never too old to play games.”
“The same could be said of some women.”
“That’s true, though I wish I could say otherwise.” Sighing, she looked around the clearing, then down at the daggers in her hand. She held them out to him.
His fingers brushed hers when he took the weapons, allowing him to feel her emotions. No embarrassment. Mainly frustration and disappointment.
He felt a healthy dose of that himself.
Some men were only interested in physical beauty. Bastien needed a b
rain to go along with that. Without wit and intelligence to intrigue him, after two hundred years a hot body just became the same old same old to the extreme. And no sex was better than sex with someone who bored him.
Melanie would never bore him. She was smart and funny and so damned sexy . . .
“Did you feel anything else when you touched me?” she asked.
“Irritation,” he mentioned. Thinking of her aggravation with him during the meeting, he smiled. “Which reminds me . . . You kicked me.”
She shrugged, lips tilting up just a bit. “You were being an ass. Didn’t anyone ever tell you you can catch more flies with honey?”
“Sure. But who wants to catch flies?”
She laughed. “You’re impossible.”
“So everyone keeps telling me, but in far less pleasant terms.”
Melanie’s Chevy Volt suddenly appeared in the clearing. Richart stood next to it with his hand on the hood.
She jumped, then looked at Bastien. “Doesn’t it startle you when he does that?”
“It did at first, but I’ve spent so much time around him lately that it no longer phases me.”
Richart lifted his hand off the car, took a step, then sank to his knees.
Bastien zipped over and caught him before he could fall forward and hit the ground face-first. “What is it? Have you been tranqed?”
“No.” Richart gripped Bastien’s arm and used it as leverage to gain his feet. “I’ve never teleported a car before and was curious to see if I could do it.”
Bastien released him as soon as he stood, but prepared to throw a hand out as the Frenchman swayed.
Beige grasses and weeds crackled and crunched as Melanie joined them. “Does teleporting weaken you?”
“Teleporting cars does, apparently.”
“What about people?”
Bastien could see her slipping into her physician mode. Odd that even when she was clinical and impersonal he found her utterly alluring.
“Not if I only teleport one person at a time.”
“Do you need blood afterward?”
He sent her a flirtatious smile. “Are you offering?”
Bastien’s fist slammed into Richart’s jaw.
Richart’s head snapped back. Blood sprayed from his lips.
Melanie gasped.
Bastien stared. He really hadn’t meant to do that. Hadn’t he just told Melanie he didn’t want a relationship with her? Behaving like a jealous moron wouldn’t go very far in helping him convince her of that.
Richart staggered back against the car and raised a hand to cup his cracked jaw. “What the hell, man?”
Bastien risked a glance at Melanie, then swore.
Though her eyes were wide, the look in them was too knowing.
“Dr. Lipton is under my protection.”
Richart leaned over and spat blood. “I wasn’t going to bite her, you horse’s ass! It was a joke!”
A harmless joke that every immortal on the planet, himself included, had probably spouted dozens of times. Except tonight it had sent a storm of jealousy thundering through him. “Well, it wasn’t funny.”
Richart grunted as his jaw began to heal. “If you’d just told me you wanted her for yourself, I wouldn’t have opened my mouth. Asshole.”
“He doesn’t want me for himself,” Melanie said. “He isn’t looking for a relationship.”
“It doesn’t matter if he’s looking,” Richart grumbled. “He’s found one. The two of you can’t take your eyes off each other. And in the rare moments you do, you usually touch.”
“What?” Bastien said the same time Melanie did.
Was she as appalled that her feelings were so transparent as he was?
“Don’t worry.” Richart drew out a handkerchief and wiped his crimson lips. “I doubt anyone else has noticed. Bastien is usually too busy pissing them all off.”
“He doesn’t piss you off?” Melanie asked.
“Other than just now”—Richart glared at Bastien—“no. I’ve spent enough time in his company that I’ve become immune to his bullshit.” He tucked the stained cloth away. “We’ll have to either drop by my place or return to the network because now I need blood.”
“The network,” Bastien chose. “I want to run our plan by Cliff and Joe and seek their advice. And we need to drop these guys”—he motioned to the unconscious vampires—“off in the holding room.”
Chapter 5
Once at the network, Bastien and Melanie helped Richart chain the vamps up in the holding room and notified Chris. Then they accompanied Richart to the infirmary, where he drained a couple of bags of blood. As he finished the second one, “Monster” imbued the stark, hospital-like environment with a bit of life.
Richart pulled out his phone, looked at the caller ID, and donned the dopey smile Bastien had come to think of as her smile. “Excuse me.” He turned away and took the call. “Hi.” His voice always softened when he spoke to his mystery lover.
“Hi,” Bastien heard her say, her voice a little flat. He didn’t know if Richart was so smitten that he forgot Bastien could hear both sides of the conversation or if Richart simply trusted Bastien not to run to Chris with any information he overheard, but the immortal rarely sought privacy during the calls unless their talk turned amorous. “Am I interrupting anything?”
“Not at all.”
“You aren’t fighting vampires?” she asked, a teasing lilt entering her voice.
“No. No vampires,” Richart said with a light laugh. “How are you feeling?”
“Not that great. That’s actually why I was calling. I wanted to let you know I’m playing hooky from work again. I think I may have done too much too fast. My fever went back up today and I pretty much feel like crap.”
“I’m sorry, darling. Can I bring you anything? Some soup, perhaps?”
Melanie looked at Bastien.
“His girlfriend,” he murmured. “She’s fighting that flu that’s been going around.”
Melanie grimaced in sympathy. “It’s a nasty one. The network employees who have come down with it have been missing up to two weeks of work and come back noticeably thinner.”
“Are you sure there’s nothing I can do?” Richart asked.
Melanie spoke up. “Orange juice and club soda.”
Richart turned around. “What?”
“Take her some orange juice and mix it with club soda. It will help settle her stomach and give her some vitamin C at the same time.”
Richart nodded. “Thank you.”
“And crackers,” Bastien added. “Saltines.” He had heard Sarah mention that crackers had helped curb her nausea during her transformation. She hadn’t had the flu, but . . . nausea was nausea, wasn’t it?
Richart’s face reflected his surprise at Bastien’s input. “Thank you.”
Bastien consulted his watch. “If you’re going to get her the organic stuff, you need to go now. Whole Foods closes in fifteen minutes.”
“Right,” Richart acknowledged, then spoke into the phone. “I’m going to pick up a few things at the store, then come by, if that’s all right.”
“You know it is,” she said. “But I don’t want you to go to any trouble for me, Richart. You have enough on your plate.”
“It’s no trouble, sweetheart. Try to get some rest. I shall be there shortly.”
Melanie couldn’t help but be curious about the woman who had stolen the French Immortal Guardian’s heart. Everything about him softened when he spoke to her. His voice. His features. His body language. He clearly adored her.
Richart tucked his phone away. “Well. This is awkward. Dr. Lipton . . .” He paused. “Let me think how to word this . . .”
Bastien rolled his eyes. “He isn’t supposed to leave me unsupervised and wants your discretion.”
“Oh.” Really? Bastien was supposed to be watched every minute? “Yes, of course.” She wondered how much of that was distrust on Seth’s part and how much was wanting a bit of protection for the
heavily disliked newcomer. Did Seth and David worry that one of the other immortals might try to avenge Ewen’s death?
Richart pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his face, then tucked it away and combed his fingers through his hair. “How do I look?”
Melanie grinned. “Very handsome.”
Bastien eyed Richart balefully. “If you ask me to check your breath, I’m going to hit you again.”
Richart flipped him off with a grin and vanished into thin air.
Melanie looked up at Bastien. “I know, as a doctor and a researcher, I should find a more clinical way to say this, but that is so cool.”
He laughed. “Yes, it is.”
Dr. Whetsman entered the room, his attention on an open file cradled in his hands. Raising his gaze, he caught sight of them, blanched and—without breaking stride—made a sharp U-turn and strode right back out.
“Who the hell was that?” Bastien grumbled.
“Dr. Whetsman.”
His countenance darkened. “The prick who scratched your face when Vince had his last break?”
“Yes,” Melanie said, stunned that he even remembered her mentioning it. So much had happened since then. And she had only mentioned it the one time when they were facing Vince as he struggled for lucidity.
Bastien’s eyes flashed amber. A growl rumbled forth from his muscled throat.
When he took a step after the retreating doctor, Melanie grabbed his arm. “Whoa there, tiger. Leave him alone.”
“He hit you.”
“He scratched me while he screamed like a little girl and ran away from a crazed vampire.”
His expression changed from fury to amusement to one of self-loathing. “Oh, hell. I forgot you were wounded.” Bending, he scooped her up in his arms and carried her over to an exam table.
Melanie gasped. “What are you . . . ?”
He seated her on it, then began to unwind the bandage he had applied.
“Bastien, you don’t have to . . .” She broke off when he took one of his daggers and applied it to her jeans. Her snug jeans. Which became something very close to Daisy Dukes on one side as he swiftly and efficiently cut away her pant leg above her injury.
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