Darkness Rises ig-4

by Dianne Duvall

  “We’re still standing because we outnumber you, jackwad.”

  “I’m two hundred years older than you. Two hundred years stronger than you. Were your numbers twice what they are now, I could still defeat you.”

  Really? Krysta asked mentally. That was damned impressive.

  No. I’m bluffing. One of the elder immortals could, though.

  More curses and denials and posturing. The blood-covered vamps and a few of the others were getting pretty amped up.

  Krysta tightened her grip on the shoto swords, watching their auras carefully for any hint of impending attack.

  “Though they’re human,” Étienne stubbornly persevered, “the mercenaries pose a serious threat. They’ve developed a new weapon to use against us. A tranquilizer—”

  “Drugs don’t work on us,” a vamp snorted.

  “This one does. It takes several darts to incapacitate an immortal. But a single dart will drop one of you in your tracks instantly and land you on the dissection table.”

  Krysta nodded. “I’ve seen the darts in action. He isn’t bullshitting you. These guys could take out every one of you without even getting near you.”

  “They’re just fucking with us!” a bloody vamp snapped.

  “No, we’re not,” Étienne said, never raising his voice. “We’re proposing an alliance.”

  “Vampires working with immortals?” another scoffed. “My ass!”

  Étienne raised an eyebrow. “Your ass will be tortured if you’re caught. I suggest you work with us and—”

  “Fuck this shit! Fuck him up!” the vamp with the saturated shirt shouted.

  His orange aura shot toward Étienne a second before the vamp did. Half a dozen more did the same. The others darted toward Krysta.

  She swung her swords, striking flesh as they closed in on her. Two fell back with howls of rage and pain. Then a third.

  A blade cut across her hamstring.

  Hissing in pain, she spun and sliced.

  The vamp behind her bent forward, clutching his middle.

  Yelps and hisses and gurgles of pain filled the night as Étienne tore into his opponents and Krysta continued to hold her own.

  The tip of a blade pierced her side.

  Gritting her teeth, Krysta swiveled and stabbed the vamp attacking on her left.

  Pain exploded in her head.

  She staggered. Shit! A vamp must have punched her. Her knees weakened as little sparkly bits of glitter flirted with her vision.

  Brilliant purple and white swept in a circle around her, laying out all of the vampires swarming around her as he had once before.

  Étienne paused in front of her, his face close to hers. “Are you all right?”

  A vamp came at his back.

  “Behind you!”

  He spun around, swinging his sword, and swept the vampire’s head from his body.

  The vampire beside him gaped and lowered his weapon, wide eyes latching onto Étienne. “Oh, shit!” He took a step back, then jerked and danced as holes opened in his chest and blood sprayed.

  Two more vampires fell, their torsos peppered with bullets.

  Krysta jerked as a bullet pierced her shoulder. Another filled her arm with fire.

  Her hand went numb. Her sword fell to the ground.

  Swearing, Étienne dropped a katana and swept Krysta behind him, holding her there with one arm as he backed up against the nearest wall.

  A dart pierced a vampire’s neck. He collapsed to the ground, unconscious. Another vamp fell to a dart.

  The remaining vampires froze, then raced for the opposite building, flattening themselves against the wall. There were only . . . five vampires left, those not killed by mercenaries having been taken out by Étienne or Krysta.

  A vampire directly across from them stared at Étienne with wide eyes. “That shit was true?” he cried, voice high with fear. “What do we do?”

  The others all waited in fearful silence.

  Krysta, call Cam. Don’t use names. The mercenaries may be listening.

  She sheathed her other shoto sword and yanked out her cell phone. As soon as he answered, she whispered, “Mercenaries are attacking us!”

  While she gave their location, Étienne ordered two vamps to cross the alley and join them.

  They must have been too afraid to do anything but obey, because they only hesitated a second before they streaked across and hit the wall beside them.

  A flurry of bullets whizzed past, missing them and ricocheting off the pavement with little sprays of asphalt and dirt.

  “Protect the woman,” Étienne commanded.

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” Krysta demanded shrilly, stuffing the phone back in her pocket.

  I’m going to sweep around and come up behind the soldiers , he said.

  You can’t take them out alone!

  I don’t intend to.

  Before Krysta could ask him what he meant, he continued. The mercenaries are on foot.

  The vamps all gasped and gaped at Étienne.

  Was he talking to them telepathically, too?

  “Dude,” the vampire beside her said, “how’d you do that?” A former Tar Heel hunting his old stomping grounds, according to his T-shirt.

  It doesn’t matter. As I said, the mercenaries are on foot and are closing in on us. The bulk of the group will strike from the east. The rest plan to circle around and attack us from the west, essentially boxing us in here.

  “Let’s just run,” the second vamp hissed.

  Let them live now and they will find you another night.

  All of them swore.

  Decide quickly, gentlemen, and don’t say anything that will indicate your impending actions. They’re listening.

  The Tar Heel looked at his fellows and nodded.

  One by one they all nodded back.

  He turned to Étienne and gave him a thumbs-up.

  Smart man. You stay here with André the Giant, he said, indicating the huge, hulking vamp on the Tar Heel’s other side, and guard the woman.

  I can’t believe this shit, Krysta muttered to him.

  Étienne glanced at her from the corner of his eye. I’ve read their thoughts. Any intention they had of harming you is gone. He nodded to the three vamps across the alley. I’m going to meet the larger group head-on. You three meet those who are circling around to the south. Keep moving. They can’t tranq or shoot what they can’t see. Stay between them if you can and maybe you’ll luck out and trick them into killing each other. Go. Now.

  Étienne blurred and shot away.

  When the three vamps hesitated, Tar Heel scowled and indicated with a furious wave that they should get their asses moving.

  They blurred and shot away, too.

  Krysta, drew the tranquilizer gun Étienne had insisted she carry. One dose, he had told her, would either kill a human or sedate a vamp.

  She eyed the vamps nervously.

  They shifted from foot to foot, hands clenching and unclenching on their weapons, gazes shifting back and forth from one end of the alley to the other.

  Étienne had better be right about them.

  Until he had met Krysta, Étienne had not felt real fear in . . . almost two centuries. He had had some scary moments in the first years following his transformation, but nothing like this.

  Krysta was wounded and bleeding and he had just entrusted her care to two vampires. He continued to monitor those vampires’ thoughts. But, if they changed their mind and either attacked her or left her to fend for herself, he may not be able to get back to her in time to save her.

  The notion terrified him.

  Sticking to the shadows, Étienne headed first for the building from which he knew a mercenary was playing sniper and guiding the others. He leapt up to the roof, not bothering to soften his landing.

  The mercenary swung around. Eyes wide, he raised a tranquilizer gun. This was probably the bastard who had shot Krysta.

  Étienne closed the distance between them and knoc
ked the gun aside before the man could squeeze the trigger.

  Wrapping one hand around the man’s throat and lifting him onto his toes, Étienne drew a tranquilizer dart—one with a human dose—from one of his pockets. “You wanted me,” he growled as the man fought his hold. “You got me.”

  He shoved the dart into the man’s throat. The soldier had just enough time to realize what had happened and wet himself before he passed out.

  Étienne dropped him and drew out his cell phone as he stepped off the roof.

  “Oui?” Richart answered.

  Étienne landed nimbly on the ground. “Mercenaries are attacking us at UNC,” he said, whisper soft. “Meet me at the northeast corner of Chapman Hall.”

  Richart appeared a few feet away.

  Étienne pocketed his phone and swiftly filled his brother in telepathically.

  Drawing his weapons, Richart stared at him as they headed toward the larger group of mercenaries and came up behind them. You left two vampires guarding Krysta? Are you out of your fucking mind?

  I hope not.

  The mercenaries approached the entrance to the alley. Had they not all been edging forward with caution, they would have already reached it.

  While Étienne dashed toward their front, blocking their entrance, Richart teleported directly into the middle of the group.

  Étienne grinned as chaos erupted.

  On the other side of Sitterson Hall, screams of pain split the night as the vampires went to work on the other group of mercenaries.

  Étienne tore into the soldiers, trying to read the minds of those he killed or wounded. Most were so full of fear and hatred—almost as much hatred as he encountered in a vampire’s mind—that he couldn’t discern their leader’s name or the name of their PMC.

  Bullets and tranquilizer darts flew in every direction. When one hit Étienne, he administered the antidote without missing a beat. The soldiers began to panic as their numbers dwindled and started taking out each other with friendly fire as they swung their weapons in wide arcs, trying to hit anything that moved.

  Étienne lost count of the mercenaries they fought and wondered how the hell Chris would clean up something this big on a college campus. They were damned lucky it was often deserted this late.

  Three mercenaries broke for the alley.

  Étienne started after them, then stopped and resumed fighting when he heard Krysta fire her tranquilizer gun.

  He heard one of the three vamps he had sent after the other contingent fall to a tranquilizer dart. The other two started to freak out and considered bolting.

  Hold it together, he ordered sternly, remembering Tanner—Bastien’s Second—telling them that the vampires Bastien had led had all feared him. Fall back into the alley so the others can help you, but do not let any of the soldiers harm the woman. Fail me in this or flee the battle and I will torture you myself when I hunt you down.

  He was actually a bit surprised when that snapped them out of it.

  Several bullets slammed into his back.

  Bastards. Étienne spun around and swung a sword at the shooter. No, two shooters.

  Are you leaving any alive? Richart asked dryly.

  Ummm . . .

  Richart laughed.

  Ah, hell. Krysta has run out of darts and is leaping into the fray in the alley.

  Go to her. I have this.

  Another quick head count yielded few enough soldiers left here that Étienne felt comfortable leaving his brother to face them alone. Because of his gift, Richart tended to fare far better than other young immortals when facing large numbers.

  Étienne raced into the alley.

  Half a dozen soldiers fought there.

  All four vampires remained in perpetual motion as they darted in and out and around the men, delivering cuts and gashes and fatal wounds.

  Krysta hung back, a sword in the hand of her uninjured arm, waiting for an opportunity.

  The vamps parted. She darted in and swung, slicing through an arm wielding a tranquilizer gun, then jumped back as one of the vamps circled around again.

  Damned if it didn’t look like they were all working together. Krysta must be wondering if Hell had frozen over.

  The last two soldiers gave up on following orders and trying to bring them down alive. Planting their backs to each other, they opened fire with their silencer-equipped automatic weapons. Once again, panic shot through Étienne.

  Krysta.

  The smaller of the two vamps he had left guarding her tackled her and took her to the ground, covering her body with his. The other three vamps and Étienne were hit with bullets as Étienne rushed forward and cleaved the soldiers’ heads from their bodies.

  Both dropped to the ground.

  Stark silence engulfed them, broken only by the harsh breaths of Étienne and the vampires.

  Richart appeared beside him. The vampire covering Krysta clambered to his feet. Krysta rose and, staring at the vamp in utter disbelief, sidled over to the d’Alençons.

  Four vampires—bleeding from multiple wounds, standing side by side, hands still clutching weapons—faced them.

  The silence stretched as all waited for action.

  “Thank you,” Krysta said to the one who had taken several bullets for her.

  He nodded once, jaw clenching, hand not loosening its hold on his blade.

  She glanced at Étienne. “Now what?”

  “I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “I’ve never gotten this far before.” Only Bastien had ever successfully recruited vampires.

  Speaking of which . . .

  He sheathed one of his weapons, drew out his phone again, and dialed.

  “What?” Bastien answered.

  “It’s Étienne. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I have a situation and could use your help.”

  Bastien grunted. “I bet that hurt.”

  “Where are you?” Étienne asked, refusing to take the bait.

  “In Melanie’s office at the network.”

  “Richart is on his way.”

  He pocketed his phone and met his brother’s gaze. “He’s in Melanie’s office.”

  Nodding, Richart vanished.

  The vampires gasped.

  “How does he do that?” the Tar Heel asked. According to his thoughts, his name was Jeremy. He seemed to be the most lucid of the group.

  “Stick around and you’ll find out.” Étienne looked at the vamp on the far right, who was considering bolting. “Don’t run. You won’t get far and having to chase you will piss me off.”

  The vampire swallowed.

  “Now, all four of you did me a solid,” he went on, then looked to Krysta. “That’s a saying, right?”

  Though her pretty face was pinched with pain, she smiled. “Yes.”

  He returned his attention to the vamps. “All of you did me a solid, so you can relax and stop worrying about me attacking you.”

  Jeremy’s shoulders loosened a bit. “What about Kenny?”

  “The one felled by the tranquilizer dart?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m good with him, too.” Satisfied that the vamps were in line, he carefully pulled Krysta into a hug. “Are you okay?”

  She nodded, leaning into him. “Do you think Richart could take me home to Sean while you guys work out whatever it is you’re going to do?”

  He swore. “I should have had him do that first.”

  She shook her head. “I would have missed out on the hug.”

  One of the vamps—Ben, according to his thoughts—leaned toward another and whispered, “Is it me or does this look like it’s about to turn into a chick flick?”

  Krysta laughed, then grunted in pain.

  Étienne put just enough distance between them to peel off her coat.

  She growled at the agony it caused.

  “I’m sorry. I want to make sure you aren’t losing too much blood.” The bullet that had struck her arm had thankfully missed her brachial artery. The wound in her shoulder
still bled sluggishly, but didn’t look too bad.

  Draping her coat over her shoulders, he drew her into his arms again.

  Richart reappeared with Bastien at his side.

  The vamps tensed and eyed the two anxiously.

  Bastien’s eyebrows rose. “I’ll be damned. He wasn’t bullshitting me.”

  “Richart,” Étienne said, “would you take Krysta to my place so her brother can heal her?”

  “Of course.”

  Releasing her, Étienne touched a finger to Krysta’s chin and tilted her head back so he could lower his lips to hers for a soft kiss.

  “Chick flick,” Ben whispered in a singsong voice.

  Krysta smiled. “That one’s a keeper.”

  Shaking his head, Étienne stepped back.

  Richart touched her shoulder and whisked the two away.

  Bastien sighed. “When Richart returns, have him take you, too.”

  Étienne opened his mouth to protest. They had quite a mess to clean up.

  Bastien held up a hand. “Don’t worry. I’ve got this.” He glanced at their vampire audience. “And a cleanup crew is on the way to take care of the rest, most likely with Reordon to oversee them. So do it. Everyone here can see that you want to be with her.” He raised his eyebrows at the vamps.

  They nodded.

  “It’s totally obvious,” Jeremy said.

  “So obvious,” Ben agreed.

  Étienne sighed. He really did want to be with her, so he would trust Bastien this time.

  Jeremy shifted. “Who’s the new guy?”

  “Someone with whom I thought you might feel more comfortable,” Étienne said. “Sebastien Newcombe.”

  They stared, then exchanged amazed looks.

  “Sebastien as in Bastien?” Jeremy asked. “The Bastien, who raised and led an army of vampires in war against the immortals?”

  “Yes,” Bastien responded. “But I don’t like to brag.”

  Étienne sighed and motioned to the vamps. “Bastien, meet our new recruits.”

  The vampires all relaxed. Apparently, they were new enough that they didn’t consider him Bastien the Deceiver as the crazier ones did.

  “There’s a fifth around the corner there. He was tranqed while helping us hold off the mercenaries,” Étienne added.

  “I’m Jeremy,” Tar Heel proclaimed eagerly.