Immortal Nights

by Lynsay Sands

  "Don't! Just take Jet and go," Mary insisted frantically.

  "No, I--" Giving up on finding the start of the chain, Abigail stuck the dart gun back in her mouth and grasped a length of chain in both hands. She took a deep breath, and then jerked like she had done with the rope. There may have been a lot of chain, but the links weren't very large. It didn't snap apart like the rope had, but it did start to separate. Biting hard on the dart gun in her mouth, Abigail tugged again and this time it did break.

  "Damn, Abigail," Mary muttered, sounding stunned. "You're Hercules in a sundress."

  Startled at hearing her own thoughts aloud, Abigail glanced to Mary with surprise and then released a nervous laugh.

  "I think we're going to be good friends, Mary," she said, dropping the two ends of the chain.

  Abigail started to reach for another length of chain, only to pause and stare in amazement as the whole thing began to unravel and drop to the floor around Mary like bad knitting. Apparently, the amount of chain used hadn't been overkill after all, but their kidnappers really should have tried a more complicated wrap or something, Abigail thought as she removed the dart gun from her mouth. She'd just let it drop to her side when Mary cried out in alarm.

  Jerking her eyes to Mary's face, Abigail noted that the other woman was looking past her shoulder, and immediately whirled. Her eyes widened when she saw Sully in the now open door, a gun aimed at her chest.

  Abigail saw him pull the trigger. It was kind of weird actually and seemed almost slow motion. His finger moved, pressing on the trigger, there was a small explosion, and the gun jumped. Even as something shot out of the barrel, Sully was pulling the trigger again.

  Abigail knew Sully's weapon wasn't a dart gun before the first bullet hit her in the chest. By the time the third bullet ripped into her, she'd raised the dart gun she held and was pulling the trigger.

  The dart hit Sully midchest. The man jerked, peered down, and then fell backward, his head hitting the ground hard.

  "Abs?"

  Recognizing Jet's concerned voice, Abigail turned toward him. That's when the pain hit. The slow-motion sensation she'd been experiencing ended and the pain roared in. Abigail was unconscious before she hit the floor.

  "Gentlemen."

  Tomasso and Dante paused at that quietly growled word from Lucian. Both then glanced reluctantly back as the man approached the slight incline they had just rushed up.

  "Think," he ordered once he reached them. "You cannot just go charging in there."

  "They have Abigail and Mary," Tomasso growled, keeping his voice low as Lucian had, in an effort to avoid being overheard by the men in the villa before them.

  "They also have those damned drug darts," Lucian countered and then added, "So unless you want to find yourself naked in a cage again, this time with your women naked in cages next to you, I suggest we come up with a plan."

  Tomasso went cold at the thought of Abigail naked and afraid in a cage. And then he was struck by the realization that she might already be in that predicament. The possibility almost brought him to his knees. Tomasso had vowed to himself that he would protect her, and had already failed miserably at the task. That knowledge was a hard pill to swallow.

  Abigail deserved better. She was . . . everything. Tomasso had met many women over the years, some he had liked, some he had admired, some he had found attractive, but Abigail was the first woman he'd met who embodied all of those things for him. She was wicked smart, picking up on things others would have needed explained to them. Her nervous chatter when she was uncomfortable was adorable and made him smile. Her kindness and caring though, and her concern and loyalty to her friend, those were characteristics that really made her shine in his mind.

  Tomasso knew Abigail felt guilty about not worrying enough about Jet during their misadventures. The woman wore her emotions plainly on her face and he'd seen the guilt flicker there several times as they discussed her friend. But he thought it a wonder that she'd even considered the man with all that had been happening to them at the time.

  And she was so strong, Tomasso thought with admiration. Another woman might have plopped down on the beach and waited either to be rescued, or for him to go get help. Or they would have wept and moaned or grown hysterical at their plight. Not his Abigail. She had stayed strong, ready to save herself and even him when he was laid low with his injury. She'd also remained upbeat throughout, usually smiling, often finding something to laugh at, but also prepared to do what needed doing.

  In his eyes, Abigail was also the most gorgeous woman he'd ever encountered. Tomasso knew she hadn't believed he saw her that way before the turn, but he had and still did. The woman was a rare jewel, and he had lost her like a careless child misplacing a toy.

  "You don't think this is the trap you thought they were setting, do you?" Justin asked suddenly, drawing Tomasso's attention back to the matter at hand. "Maybe they're in there waiting for us right now."

  No one responded at first, Tomasso supposed because, like him, they were now considering that it very well could be a trap. Perhaps Jake and Sully had known about the cameras, and expected them to go look at them and then follow the trail here to the villa. Perhaps the two men were inside even now, watching them from behind curtains, waiting to shoot them with their darts when they approached.

  Even as Tomasso had the thought several shots rang out from the villa. He wasn't the only one to flinch and half duck as he glanced around to see where the shots were coming from. But Tomasso was the first to realize the sounds came from a proper gun, not a dart gun. He also noted that they had been slightly muffled, as if they'd come from inside rather than from an open window.

  Cursing, Tomasso turned on his heel and charged for the villa, Abigail his main concern. He knew she wasn't likely to die from a gunshot wound, but she could be hurt, and Jet could die. Tomasso knew without a doubt that Abigail would somehow blame herself for Jet's death if that happened.

  The sliding doors into what would have been the living room/dining room in their own villa were open, Tomasso saw as he leapt over the tall flowered bushes and landed on the terrace. Picking up speed, he headed for them and rushed inside to see that this villa was the same as their own and he was indeed in a living/dining area that replicated theirs. His gaze shot around the space and--spotting feet sticking out of the door that should lead to the master bedroom--Tomasso headed that way even as Dante rushed through the doors behind him. Recognizing by the size of the feet that they didn't belong to Abigail or Mary, Tomasso's next concern was for Jet, so when he reached the door, he was very relieved to see that the feet belonged to Sully.

  Still, that fact startled him, and Tomasso paused briefly to stare at the man, before the sound of rattling chains drew his gaze into the room.

  Mary, he saw, stood with a circle of chains around her and she was struggling to get still more chain off of her hands, alarm on her face as she peered toward the floor. It was only then Tomasso saw Abigail and Jet. The man was trussed up like a hog and squirming like a worm, trying to inch his way toward Abigail who lay a few feet away.

  "Dante!" Mary cried with relief, and the sound of her voice was enough to knock Tomasso out of his momentary shock. He started forward just in time to avoid being trampled by his twin as Dante rushed to his life mate.

  Tomasso's gaze slid over Abigail as he hurried toward her, noting the pretty blue sundress with hundreds of white polka dots . . . and, he realized with horror, three bloodred ones blossoming on her chest.

  "He shot her!" Jet cried anxiously as Tomasso knelt next to Abigail. "Is she alive?"

  "Yes," Tomasso answered as he scooped her up in his arms and pressed her close. He started to turn, but paused as he spotted the bodies through the open bathroom door.

  "Take the women back to the villa," Lucian growled, moving past Tomasso to begin untying Jet as Dante finished freeing Mary from the chains and scooped her up as well. "Justin and I will take care of things here."

  "The villa?"
Jet cried with alarm. "Abigail needs a hospital. She's been shot, for Christ's sake."

  Tomasso didn't wait to see how Lucian would handle the man, but simply turned and carried Abigail out of the villa. He was aware that Dante was on his heels as he stepped outside, so wasn't surprised when he heard Mary's voice directly behind his right ear, asking, "Abigail's going to be all right, isn't she? He shot her three times. I'm sure he hit her heart, but she's immortal now, so will recover. Won't she?"

  "Si, bella. She will be fine," Dante assured her and then asked, "Why was she not chained up like you?"

  That caught Tomasso's interest and he unconsciously slowed to hear the answer. It allowed Dante to move up beside him.

  "They didn't know Abigail was a vampire," Mary explained. "She had the sunglasses on that Jet bought her, and they heard the doctor talking about her having dengue fever and thought she was still mortal like Jet so they only tied her wrists to the bed."

  "Ah," Dante murmured.

  They walked in silence for a moment and then Mary said with awe, "She was so strong, Dante."

  Tomasso glanced over to see the blonde peering at Abigail with concern. "She snapped her ropes like they were spaghetti, and then just tossed that man in the white T-shirt across the room like he was a dishrag when he tried to--"

  Tomasso glanced at Mary sharply when she suddenly cut herself off. Eyes narrowing, he growled, "When he tried to what?"

  Mary hesitated, but in the end admitted, "He was trying to blackmail her into letting him rape her in exchange for Jet's life."

  "Let him rape her?" Dante asked with disbelief. "Is that not a contradiction in terms?"

  "He wanted her to pretend to enjoy it," Mary explained. "If she didn't convince him she enjoyed it, he threatened to kill Jet painfully, or make him beg to die. Something like that," she muttered, and then added angrily, "And the whole time he was telling her what he wanted, he was pushing the dart gun up under her skirt. I'm surprised he didn't shoot her in the groin when she broke her ropes."

  Tomasso felt rage roll over him. That Abigail had been forced to suffer through such . . .

  Swallowing the bile crawling up his throat, Tomasso picked up his pace, leaving the other couple behind as he hurried the rest of the way to their villa.

  Eighteen

  Abigail opened her eyes to a rose-colored room with colonial furnishings and quickly closed her eyes, then opened them again. When she was still in a rose-colored room with colonial furnishings, she immediately checked to see that she wasn't chained down or otherwise restricted. Much to her relief, Abigail was unfettered except for an IV leading to a nearly empty bag of blood that hung from a stand next to the bed.

  The sight of the IV reminded her of being shot, and Abigail quickly lifted the duvet and sheets covering her to check her chest, but there wasn't much to see. She was all healed. All that remained to even show she'd been shot were three puckered scars. Abigail suspected those would soon be gone too.

  Sighing, she closed her eyes again and shook her head wryly. She seemed to be forever waking up in different places. Even in her dreams she--Oh, hey! Was this another dream? Abigail wondered and opened her eyes again, but wasn't sure how she would tell. There should be signs in dreams to give you the heads-up, she thought. A poster board on the wall that said something like, "This is a dream. Enjoy!" would be good.

  The bedroom door opening drew her attention, and Abigail felt a smile claim her lips as she watched Tomasso enter carrying a tray with various items on it. He eased the door closed with his foot, and then took the tray to a small table with two chairs that sat by the window. Balancing the tray on one hand, he carefully set out the items on the tray: two covered plates, two cups, a pot of something steaming, and two glasses of what looked like water. Silverware followed and finally a single rose in a bud vase. Once the last item was off the tray, Tomasso stepped back and eyed the table as if considering the quality of his presentation.

  "It's lovely," Abigail said and Tomasso jerked around in surprise.

  "You are awake," he murmured, setting the tray on the end of the bed as he walked over to peer down at her.

  "Yes." She smiled wryly. "And once again I'm waking up in a new place."

  Tomasso frowned. "There was only the villa and now here."

  "No," Abigail assured him with a faint smile. "Since meeting you I've woken up on the floor of a cargo plane, on a beach, in a shower, in the bedroom in the villa, and now here."

  "In a shower?" he asked uncertainly.

  "It was a dream," she explained. "It started in the shower."

  "Ah. Yes, I remember now," Tomasso murmured and when Abigail peered at him with confusion, explained, "We shared that dream."

  "We did?" she asked blankly. Was that even possible?

  "Shared dreams are another symptom of life mates," he explained.

  "Really?" Abigail asked with amazement.

  "Si."

  "Oh."

  Abigail was trying to decide how she felt about that when Tomasso asked, "Are you hungry? I thought you might wake soon so . . ." He turned to wave to the table he'd so carefully arranged.

  "Yes, I think I am," Abigail admitted and sat up, only to pause as she remembered that she was naked under the sheets and duvet covering her.

  "A robe," Tomasso murmured and moved to a closet to quickly retrieve a silky white robe. Carrying it back, he held it up expectantly.

  Abigail hesitated, but then decided it was foolish to be shy after everything they'd done together. Besides, he'd probably been the one to strip her. Taking a deep breath, she quickly tossed the sheets and duvet aside and scrambled out of bed to slip her arms into the robe. Abigail couldn't prevent the blush that covered her from head to toe as she did though.

  Tomasso helped her on with the robe, sliding it up her arms and even reaching around to close it and tie the sash in front. Abigail half expected him to take the opportunity to kiss her neck and slide his hands over her body as he usually did, but that didn't happen. In fact, he was surprisingly businesslike about the matter, as chaste as if he were dressing a child.

  A little surprised, Abigail moved to the table when he urged her that way and settled in the chair he held for her. She eyed him a little uncertainly, though, as he removed the silver warming covers on the plates and set them aside, and then moved to claim the chair opposite hers.

  "Where are we?" she asked finally when Tomasso didn't even glance her way, but picked up the water by his plate and took a sip.

  Tomasso swallowed as he set the glass back and said, "Toronto."

  "As in Canada?" she asked slowly.

  He nodded and picked up his fork, his gaze on his plate of food. Abigail glanced down to see what captivated his attention so fully and saw that he had spaghetti and meatballs, a Caesar salad, and garlic bread piled high on his plate. Her gaze then dropped to her own plate to see that it held a bowl with some kind of soup in it. An invalid's meal, but she didn't feel like an invalid. She felt pretty normal actually and would have preferred some real food, the kind you had to chew. For instance, the contents of his plate were looking tasty, she thought, but returned her attention to Tomasso again and asked, "Why?"

  "Why what?" he asked uncertainly.

  "Why are we in Canada?" she elaborated.

  "Oh." His gaze dropped to his plate again. "Because--" Tomasso stopped and frowned at his spaghetti.

  "Because?" Abigail urged.

  Sighing, he set his fork back on the table and stared at his plate as he admitted, "Because I feared you would not wish to wake up in the villa when it so closely resembled where you had been . . . taken."

  Abigail's eyes narrowed. His hesitation before using the word taken was very odd, as was the fact that he had seemed reluctant to even explain. And why wouldn't he look at her? She frowned briefly and then her eyes widened.

  "He didn't rape me, Tomasso," she said quickly.

  "Perhaps not, but he sexually assaulted you," Tomasso responded soberly.

 
; "No. He didn't," Abigail assured him. "He never touched me."

  "He used his dart gun," he argued and she blew a raspberry.

  "He ran his dart gun up my leg a bit is all," Abigail said with exasperation, and then admitted, "It wasn't pleasant, but it was far and away from rape. I didn't feel violated so much as pissed off. Now if it had been his hand . . ." She shuddered at the very thought of that creep touching her that way, and then shook her head. "But he didn't. I'm fine. Really. There was no need to leave the resort." Abigail paused and scowled before adding, "And I wish you'd look at me. Your refusal to do so makes me feel like you now see me as dirty somehow."

  "No. Never," Tomasso said firmly, finally looking at her. "You are an angel. It would not have mattered if Jake had raped you, you would still be an angel in my eyes. I was trying not to look at you because . . ." He paused, hesitated, and then cursed and stood up. He then just stood there waiting as if the action should explain everything. When Abigail just peered at him in confusion, not comprehending, he gestured to his groin with both hands, arrowing them toward the spot as he bent his knees. "Because this is what you do to me."

  Abigail lowered her gaze to the area he was framing and felt her eyebrows crawl up her forehead. The man's pants were bulging out as if his penis was trying to erect a tent in them.

  "And I feared," Tomasso continued, "that after what happened you may not be ready to--You might need some time to--" He paused helplessly, and Abigail stood quickly and moved around the table to throw her arms around him.

  "You are the most wonderful man," she breathed, squeezing him tightly.

  Tomasso stilled, and then let his arms close carefully around her, almost as if he feared she would break. Voice uncertain, he asked, "I am?"

  "Yes," Abigail said, pulling back to meet his gaze, her expression solemn. "Few men would be so thoughtful and sweet. And few men are as smart and handsome and brave. I like you, Tomasso. I find you incredibly attractive in all ways and I respect you."

  Tomasso smiled slowly, and then, voice soft, said, "I love you too, Abigail."

  "I didn't--" Abigail began with alarm, her face flushing, and then cut off the denial, because what else was love except that powerhouse combination of like, respect and attraction? After a moment, she nodded. "Okay, I love you." Raising her head she added sadly, "But I don't know how you can love me."