“Now?”
“Yes.”
“Where? Why?”
Someone shouted something in the background on Chris’s end of the conversation as engine noise flowed over the line. “Where are you?” Étienne asked.
“At the network, getting into a Black Hawk with reinforcements. More will follow on the ground in a Humvee.”
A twig snapped outside. Then another.
Étienne looked toward the window. “Too late. They’re here.”
“Call Richart!”
Chapter 7
Krysta stared at Étienne with wide eyes. Something was wrong. Really, really wrong.
He grabbed her arm and, practically lifting her off the bed, urged her into the den.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
“Richart,” he spoke into his phone. “I need you . . . Yes.” He pocketed the phone. “Does this place have a basement?”
“No. I mean, not really. There’s a crawl space under the house that you can access from outside, but—”
Étienne stopped short and looked toward the bedroom, then the kitchen, his head tilted as though he were listening to something.
Krysta remained quiet, but heard nothing save her heart slamming against her ribs.
Kneeling, Étienne dragged her down with him. While she fought for balance, he drew back his arm and punched through the floor as though it were cardboard. Half a dozen times. Knuckles splitting. Bones cracking.
Krysta gaped at the hole he created, an absurd thought rearing its head: No way were she and Sean going to get their security deposit back.
Without warning, Étienne picked her up and dropped her through the jagged hole.
She grunted as she hit the hard-packed dirt floor. It was only a four or five foot drop, but she didn’t have time to twist around and use her hands to break the fall.
Then, as though they were in a Warner Brothers cartoon, Étienne landed on top of her, flattening her and stealing her breath.
Holy crap, he was heavy!
“Sorry,” he murmured in her ear as he rolled off her and sat up.
“What—?”
Bullets tore through the house overhead. Large bullets, judging by the debris flying around the den and the narrow rays of sunshine beginning to brighten the room.
Her mouth fell open.
Étienne rose into a crouch, eyes staring intently through the hole.
Richart appeared above them. His body jerked as bullets slammed into him.
Étienne lunged up and yanked his brother down into the crawl space with them.
Richart landed hard, too.
Étienne spoke urgently to him in French.
“No,” Krysta protested shrilly. “No way! You can’t do that! You can’t talk in French while I’m sitting here freaking out because I don’t know what the hell is going on!”
Richart rolled onto his stomach and managed to get to his hands and knees.
She swallowed.
His head hung low. Blood dribbled from between parted lips as ragged breath wheezed in and out through them. The front of his shirt bore several holes, as did the back, and began to glisten as blood saturated it.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
He nodded, but didn’t raise his head.
Étienne rested a hand on his brother’s back. “What took you so long?”
“I was . . . making love to my wife . . . not that it’s . . . any of your . . . business. Did you . . . want me to show up here naked?”
Étienne’s gaze went to Krysta. “No.”
She had a feeling he would have said Hell, yes if she weren’t there.
“Take my wrist,” Étienne ordered.
Richart grabbed Étienne’s wrist and sank his teeth into it.
A muscle leapt in Étienne’s jaw.
Krysta knew from experience that being bitten didn’t produce the ecstatic pleasure in real life that it did in movies that romanticized vampires. Rather, it hurt like hell, feeling as though someone had just stuck you with a couple of large needles.
Richart retracted his fangs and released his brother’s wrist.
Bullets continued to fly back and forth overhead like psychotic bees, tearing her rented home apart.
She glanced again at Richart. A couple of misshapen lumps of metal fell out of his shirt and hit the ground as his wounds began to heal.
“Can you teleport?” Étienne asked.
Richart nodded and sat back on his heels.
“Get her out of here,” Étienne said.
“What?” Krysta looked to Étienne as Richart reached out and gripped her shoulder.
The world darkened. Dizziness assailed her. She grabbed Richart’s shirt.
Light burst into being, illuminating a lovely living room with modern furniture.
Krysta gasped. “Did you just teleport me?”
“Oui.”
A pretty, petite woman with red hair and dark brown roots appeared before them, a white and purple aura swirling around her. Her face clouded with concern when her gaze landed on Richart. “Honey . . .” She took a step toward him.
He raised a hand to hold her at bay and vanished.
She looked up at Krysta. “What happened?”
Krysta shook her head. “I’m not sure. Someone was shooting the place all to hell and—”
“Sheldon!” the woman called over her shoulder. “John!” She wore black cargo pants and a black T-shirt that hugged a narrow waist and full breasts Krysta would kill to have. Her hair was mussed and her face flushed, leading Krysta to believe this was the American wife with whom Richart had been making love.
Two men strode up a nearby hallway, coming from the back of the house. Both looked to be around twenty years old. One was roughly five eleven with bright red hair. The other was at least six feet with short, dark brown hair.
Krysta took a wary step backward, then another. She didn’t know these people. She barely knew Étienne.
“What’s up, Mom?” the brunet asked.
The other man’s eyebrows flew up when he noticed Krysta. “Well, hello,” he said in a deep, flirtatious tone.
She scowled. “You’re hitting on me? Really?”
Richart appeared with Étienne, who was pretty much holding his brother upright.
Krysta damned near sank to the floor with relief.
“Sheldon,” Étienne said as the woman hurried forward, “get the protective suits we wear in daylight. John, get Richart some blood. And bring some for me, too.”
The redhead took off toward the back of the house. The brunet raced into a large adjoining kitchen.
“Here, honey,” the woman said, looping Richart’s arm over her shoulder and taking his weight from Étienne, “let me help you to the sofa.”
He smiled and nuzzled her ear. “It’s not as bad as it looks. I’m already healing.”
“Good, because you look like shit.”
He chuckled, then winced.
In all the years Krysta had been hunting vampires, she had never thought of one having a wife.
But they weren’t vampires. They were immortals. Their every movement wasn’t dictated by evil and insanity. The two actually seemed . . . loving. Warm. Affectionate.
Étienne stepped in front of her, blocking her view, and gently clasped her arm with his left hand. “Are you all right?”
She looked up at him, touched by the concern in his handsome face. “Yes. Just shaken, I guess.”
He nodded and pulled her into a hug.
Krysta leaned into him, letting her racing heart calm, her body stop trembling.
John returned from the kitchen. “Here you go.”
Étienne released her and took a bag of blood with his left hand.
Krysta frowned. He wasn’t using his right arm. Or, more specifically, his right hand.
He gave her an uneasy look. “I’m sorry. I have to do this.”
“Do what?”
He parted his lips.
She swallowed as fan
gs descended from his gums. Fangs he sank into the bag of blood.
Oh. Right. Gross.
I’m not drinking it, he spoke directly into her head.
She jumped. “Are you reading my thoughts again?”
No. Your face said it all.
“Oh. Sorry.”
While he continued to syphon the blood into his veins or whatever, she took his right arm and carefully raised it so she could get a look at his hand.
It was a mess of cuts and bruises and who knew how many broken bones. Her little house may be all wood and look like crap on the outside but it had been built to last. Étienne had punched through flooring and heavy support beams alike.
She looked up at him and found him watching her. “Does it hurt?”
He lowered the now-empty blood bag and gave her a wry smile. “Like a bitch.”
She grinned at his use of her words and shook her head. “You saved my life. Again.”
“After endangering it. Those men weren’t after you. They were after me.”
“And I’m expendable.”
“Apparently.”
“Who were they?” she asked.
“That’s what I intend to find out.”
Sheldon entered, his arms full of . . .
Krysta frowned. What the hell was that?
Stepping back, Étienne tossed the empty bag to John, then blurred.
Her eyebrows flew up when he stilled a second later, wearing only a T-shirt and boxers. The rest of his clothes formed a pile on the floor at his feet. “Wow.” She unabashedly ogled his powerful biceps and strong, muscled thighs dusted with dark hair.
Richart’s wife laughed.
Grinning, Étienne reached for the suit Sheldon held out to him. It reminded Krysta of a diving suit, except it appeared to have a rough texture, almost like that of a car tire.
Sheldon took another one to Richart, who rose. Both immortals blurred and donned the suits in only a second or two.
Sheldon himself donned a bulletproof vest and tugged on a helmet with a glass shield.
“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” Richart demanded.
“With you.”
“The hell you are.”
“I’m your Second. Quit bitching and let me do my job.”
Étienne zipped from the room and returned with a mass of weapons. “Do you have any of the antidote?”
Sheldon shook his head, holstering a couple of Glock 18s with long-ass clips, then picking up an M16. “No. The threat was supposed to be over, so I didn’t reorder any when we started running low.”
The two brothers armed themselves in a blink.
“Where’s my suit,” Richart’s wife asked.
“You don’t have one,” Richart responded.
“She could use Lisette’s,” Sheldon suggested.
“No, she can’t,” Richart snapped, glaring at his Second.
“No, she can’t,” Sheldon parroted. “Because Lisette, uh, didn’t bring it back after the last time she—”
“This is still too new to you,” Richart told her. “You haven’t completed your training. I don’t want you to get hurt.” Leaning down, he pressed a kiss to her lips. “Je t’ aime.”
“I love you, too.”
Crossing to Étienne, he clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Ready?”
Étienne nodded.
“Be careful!” Krysta blurted.
Étienne grinned as the two teleported away.
A second later, Richart reappeared, grabbed Sheldon’s shoulder, then they vanished.
Silence fell.
Krysta looked at John, then Richart’s wife. “I don’t know what’s happening.”
Richart’s wife smiled, though worry shadowed her eyes. “We don’t know much more than you do.” Rising, she approached Krysta and held out her hand. “I’m Jenna. Richart is my husband. And John, here, is my son.”
Krysta shook her hand. “Krysta.” She looked back and forth between John and Jenna, who looked as though they were about the same age. “I’m sorry. Did you say he was your son?”
Jenna laughed. “Yes. When I transformed, the virus healed all of the damage age had done to my body.” She pointed to the dark roots that stood out against her red hair. “See? No more gray. I look like a kid again.”
John shook his head and sent Krysta a wry smile. “It’s weird, right? I’m still trying to get used to it.”
Jenna motioned for Krysta to sit with her on the sofa. “Something tells me you’re the reason Étienne has been so distracted lately.”
“He’s been distracted?”
Jenna nodded. “Very.”
Good to know Krysta wasn’t the only one. Étienne had been a major player in her thoughts since that first night she’d encountered him. And her dreams. She hadn’t had many sex dreams in her life, but wow. She had had a couple of doozies since meeting Étienne.
“Oh, wait.” Jenna looked over her shoulder at her son. “John, toss me my phone.”
Krysta turned around in time to see John pick a cell phone up off the bar and sling it Jenna’s way.
Jenna caught it easily. “I’m sorry. I need to make a quick call.” She dialed and held the phone to her ear. “Darnell? Hi. It’s Jenna. Richart and Étienne are—” She tilted her head. “Oh, he did? . . . No, they made it here safely.” She looked at Krysta. “She made it safely, too . . . Our place . . . No, they put on protective suits and headed back with Sheldon . . .” She lowered the phone slightly and addressed Krysta. “Are you injured?”
“No.”
“She’s fine,” she said into the phone. “Okay. Bye.” She set the phone on the coffee table. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think to ask you earlier. I’m still pretty new to this.”
“I’m totally new to this. New to the immortal thing, anyway.”
“Well, Darnell said Chris is on his way to your home with a small army. So Richart and Étienne will have help fighting whomever they’re fighting.”
Krysta nodded.
“John,” Jenna said with a smile, “you can go back to studying. They might be gone for a while.”
He nodded. “Nice to meet you, Krysta.”
“Nice to meet you, too,” she murmured, then turned back to Jenna.
Jenna smiled with pride. “He’s pre-med at UNC.”
“Oh. Great. My brother’s in med school there.” Alarm shot through her at the thought of Sean. “Oh, shit. My brother.”
Jenna leaned forward. “What about him?”
“We live together. Those men were looking for Étienne, but they found him at our house. Do you think they’ll go after Sean? Is Sean in danger?”
Brow furrowing, Jenna reached for her phone again and dialed. “Darnell? It’s Jenna again. Krysta has a brother and is worried he might be in danger . . . Oh. He did? . . . Okay, good. Thanks.”
She set her phone down again. “Chris took care of it.”
“Chris?” The same Chris Étienne expected to threaten her?
“Chris Reordon. Head of the East Coast division of the human network that aids immortals.”
Yep. Same one.
“He sent men over to guard your brother at work. No one will get near him.”
Krysta stared at her. Guard or interrogate? “Could I borrow your phone, please?”
“Of course.”
Krysta dialed Sean’s cell.
“Krys?” he answered almost immediately.
“Yeah. You okay?”
“Yeah.” He lowered his voice. “What the hell is going on? A bunch of Secret Service–looking guys showed up, pulled me aside, and said they’re friends of Étienne and are here to protect me.”
“They are.” She sure as hell hoped they were, anyway.
“Well, they’re freaking out my boss. They told Ed I’m in a witness relocation program and that there may have been a leak. What the hell? Did something happen? Or is this about last night?”
“Something happened. Étienne and I were sleeping and—”
“Oh, shit. Not together, right?”
“What?”
“You didn’t sleep with him, did you?”
She looked at Jenna and turned away, lowering her own voice. “Yes,” she whispered, “but all we did was sleep in the literal sense.”
“Are you crazy?”
“I said we didn’t do anything!”
“You let your guard down with a vampire in the house!”
“He isn’t a vampire. He’s an immortal.”
“A what?”
“Never mind. Some guys with guns showed up.”
Sean swore again.
“I didn’t see them, but assume from the way Étienne and Richart were acting that they were like the soldiers or whatever last night.”
“Are you okay?” he asked again.
“Yes. But the house is all shot to hell.”
“What?”
“And Étienne punched a big-ass hole in the floor.”
“Great. There goes our security deposit.”
Jenna laughed.
Krysta turned back around.
“I’m sorry,” Jenna said. “I didn’t mean to listen. I’m still getting used to the acute hearing thing and haven’t learned how to tune things out yet.”
“Who was that?” Sean asked.
“Richart’s wife.”
“Vampires marry?”
“He isn’t . . . Forget it. Listen, the bottom line is if the soldiers could trace us to our house, they could trace you to your job. So I guess Étienne sent his friends over there to keep you safe.”
“Where are you?”
“At Richart’s house.”
“And you’re sure you’re okay? You haven’t been fed on or brainwashed or anything?”
“I’m fine, Sean. Just a little shaken up.”
Someone spoke in the background. “That was Ed. I have to go. But keep me posted. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“Can you believe this shit is happening, Krys?”
“No.”
“Me either. Be safe.”
“You, too.”
She ended the call.
Bastien stirred, smiling as the dream faded. He and Melanie had been riding through the countryside near the home in which he had been raised. The horses beneath them had been those he had cherished so much as a young man. The air had been sweet and unclouded by pollution. The land quiet, free of the noise of man and machine that assaulted his sensitive ears on a nightly basis now.
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