Darkness Dawns

Chapter 7

Roland finished removing the glass from Sarah’s palm and moved on to her wrist and forearm.

“Why does the virus affect you differently?” she asked curiously.

“Until recently we could only speculate. Like other immortals, I was different as a human, before my transformation, but didn’t know why. Back in the day, as they say, we were called gifted ones: men and women who were born with special talents we hid more often than not in order to avoid being accused of witchcraft and drowned or burned or stoned to death.”

He was both pleased with and wary of how well she was taking all of this. His explanation seemed to fascinate rather than horrify her.

It also appeared to be distracting her from the pain he was causing her.

“It became apparent early on that I had been born with the ability to heal with my hands.”

“That isn’t a result of the virus?”

He shook his head. “One of my earliest memories is of finding a bird with a broken wing in the bailey not far from the steps of the keep. I felt sorry for it and picked it up, cupping my hands around it to hold it still. The next thing I knew, the wing was mended and the bird was flying away. Several men and women who had seen it crossed themselves. I didn’t understand why.”

His mother, having witnessed the miracle, had rushed to his side. “My mother stared at me with such fear in her eyes.”

You have been blessed, sweetling, with a wondrous gift. But others will not see it so, she had told him in the seclusion of her solar. They will think you cursed. They will fear you and seek to harm you. You must never again use it when the eyes of others are upon you. Only heal in secret.

“Your mother was afraid of you?” Sarah asked, brow furrowed.

“No, she was afraid for me. With good reason. Many a gifted one was slain because of his or her differences.”

The eleventh century in which he had been born had lacked the legions of lawyers and hate-crime legislation that kept most men’s sadistic natures in check today. Anyone viewed as different had been hated, distrusted, or feared outright and had been made to suffer for it. (One of the downsides of living so long was seeing firsthand how little progress mankind made in certain areas.)

He repositioned her arm so he could better see her elbow. The glass pieces here were deeper as a result of her tumble down the hill and other falls.

“Thank you, Roland.”

He looked up at the softly spoken words. She was staring at him with what might almost be mistaken for fondness in her hazel eyes.

“Thank you for healing my ribs and my head.”

He held his breath when she raised her free hand and drew her fingers lightly across his forehead where it had bled.

“Why did you do it? Why did you heal me without feeding first when you knew it would hurt you?”

Why did her every touch affect him so? He was so distracted, he could think of no other answer but the truth. “I could not bear to see you suffer.”

“But you could’ve fed and rebuilt your strength in just a few minutes.”

“A few minutes were too many.”

When she lowered her hand, her palm fitted itself to his kneecap, then slid to one side as her fingers tucked themselves into the crease of his pants along the bend.

Roland’s vision honed in on that small, pale hand resting on his knee. Fire licked its way up his thigh to his groin as she exerted enough pressure to urge his leg against hers.

It seemed to be a gesture of affection. One he didn’t know how to respond to or how to interpret. Damn his antisocial ass.

Had he isolated himself from the world so much that he couldn’t decipher the meaning of a woman touching his knee?

His body reacted as though it were a sexual overture. He wanted desperately to kiss her. To taste those full, pink lips. Press her back against the sofa. Lean his hard body into hers. There was just something about Sarah that constantly set him aflame.

But he seriously doubted she had meant it as such. The way she pressed his knee against hers felt almost like a hug.

If he were seated next to her, would she have embraced him?

“Thank you,” she said again.

An adequate response eluding him, he nodded and went back to digging for glass.

“Did healing my hand just now hurt you?” she queried.

“The wounds didn’t open on me,” he assured her. “That only happens when I’ve been weakened physically first and haven’t fed or if I try to heal mortal wounds.”

“But did it hurt you?”

He didn’t want to answer that. She was softhearted and—

“Roland?”

Persistent.

He sighed. “Only for a moment. But it was worth it.”

Her frown told him how much she disliked that. “Can all immortals heal with their hands?”

“No, whatever gifts we were born with—healing, precog-nition, telepathy, telekinesis—remain with us after the transformation. The older the immortal, the greater and more varied the gifts.”

“What can Marcus do?”

Roland grimaced, thinking of it. “Marcus’s gift is rather unsettling. He can see spirits.”

“Spirits as in ghosts?”

“Yes. And when I say he sees them, I mean he really sees them. It isn’t like those charlatans on television who claim your dead Aunt Esther is talking to them and says to tell you not to worry about the money.”

Sarah laughed.

“Marcus is the real deal. He sees dead people and it is neither cool nor comfortable.”

She bit her lip. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t laughing at Marcus’s gift. I was laughing at your description of the fakers.”

He raised his head long enough to smile at her. “I know, Sarah.”

She smiled back.

“I should warn you, he’s a bit sensitive about it.” Extremely sensitive. “When Marcus was a boy, his stepfather thought he was mad and beat him nearly every day until Marcus was old enough to run away and squire for the Earl of Fosterly. He was careful after that never to reveal his ability, even when he met other gifted ones. It wasn’t until after he was transformed that he finally mentioned it, and then, reluctantly.”

“I can see why. Do you have any gifts in addition to the healing?”

“I have minor telekinetic abilities, but they’re weak enough that they aid me little in battle.”

“Telekinetic? That’s wild.”

Concentrating, Roland made one of the pillows beside her rise into the air without warning. Sarah jumped and stared at it with wide eyes. It hovered there for a heartbeat, then flew forward and gently bounced off her face.

Laughing, she caught it with her free hand and met his gaze.

“I couldn’t resist,” he confessed with a grin.

“Uh-huh.” She set the pillow aside. “Your telekinetic abilities don’t seem so weak to me.”

He shrugged. “It requires time to focus that I often lack when fighting vampires.” Roland set the tweezers aside. “I think that’s it.” He started to cover her palm with his free hand.

Sarah grabbed his wrist. “Don’t.”

He raised his brows. “Don’t what?”

“Heal me. I don’t want to hurt you.”

Roland stared at her. He had just spent a good half hour or more hurting her and she was worried about the few seconds of discomfort healing her cuts would cause him? If it weren’t for him, she wouldn’t have any cuts.

He waved away her concern. “I told you. The pain is fleeting.”

Her chin jutted forward. “Fleeting or not, I won’t let you do it.”

She wouldn’t let him? She, a five-foot-one-inch, ninety-five-pound mortal female, wouldn’t let him, a six-foot-two-inch immortal sporting two hundred pounds of muscle—

Oh, screw it. He had never been the bully type. If she didn’t want him to heal her, he wouldn’t force it. Damn it.

Roland let his gaze wander over her charmingly stubborn expression, then focused on those lush, pink lips.

Although … perhaps he wouldn’t have to force her. Perhaps there was another way.

She had been wreaking havoc on his thoughts and senses with her innocently provocative touches ever since he had met her. If he were to take a page from her book …

Without giving himself a chance to think about it or to point out that he was probably only using this as an excuse, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers.

Her breath caught at the tentative touch, but she didn’t pull away. Her lips parted in surprise.

Hell. This was a mistake.

She tasted as good as she looked. As good as she smelled. She was intoxicating, like a fine wine that went straight to Roland’s head. One sip wasn’t enough. He needed more and took advantage of her parted lips to deepen the kiss.

When Roland’s tongue stroked her lower lip and delved inside to duel with her own, flames whipped through Sarah, searing her from her head to her toes. Her heart began to pound. Her whole body flushed.

Releasing his wrist, she cupped his face. The coarse stubble on his jaw abraded her palm as he tilted his head to heighten the contact, teasing, exploring, tantalizing.

The man kissed as though he had spent centuries learning everything there was to know about it. She had never been so turned on so quickly in her life!

When Roland leaned farther toward her, she met him halfway, scooting to the sofa’s edge, wanting to feel him against her.

He continued to devour her lips even as he began to stroke her fingers.

Sarah at first attributed the warmth that suffused her hand, then her forearm, to the burning desire Roland’s kiss was kindling. She felt his hand slide up her arm, curling around her elbow in a gentle caress, and delighted in his touch, wanting more … until awareness of what he was doing finally penetrated her hazy thoughts.

He was healing her!

Tearing her mouth from the heat of his, she looked down at the arm he was still fondling. Sure enough, the cuts had all healed.

Sarah glared at him, feeling absurdly hurt as she struggled to catch her breath. It had been a ploy? “You tricked me.”

Roland returned her stare blankly, his eyes all aglow.

That made her feel a little better. He had said they only did that when he was experiencing strong emotions.

Or sometimes pain. Maybe it wasn’t desire. Maybe it was a result of the pain healing her cuts had caused him.

“You tricked me!” she repeated, clinging tenaciously to her anger. “You knew I didn’t want you to heal me, so you kissed me to distract me, then healed me anyway.”

“I did?” He glanced down at her arm and slid his fingers across her newly mended skin, making it tingle.

“Don’t even bother trying to deny it.”

“I’m not denying it. I’m surprised it worked.” Then, in more of a mutter, he added, “Never in my life have I had such a hard time concentrating. I can’t believe I even remembered to heal you.”

Her anger evaporated.

He stilled … as though realizing he had said too much.

Satisfaction sifted through her. He had been as swept away by the kiss as she had.

His beautiful, iridescent eyes met hers.

A slow smile curled her lips. “Caught in your own web?”

“Very much so.”

She liked that he didn’t deny it. And her ego liked that he was attracted to her.

Unfortunately, he showed no such elation.

“You have that look about you again,” she told him.

“What look?”

“The same one you had earlier, like you’re waiting for me to scream or freak out or something.”

“Probably because I am.”

It was a little heartbreaking to see that spark of vulnerability fused with resignation in his eyes.

Sarah captured one of his hands in hers. “If I didn’t scream earlier, why would I scream now?”

He studied their clasped hands and said simply, “It’s what most women do when they realize they’ve just been kissed by a monster.”

“A monster?” she repeated derisively. “What kind of crackpots have you been dating?”

His lips twitched as he met her gaze. “I would not be so quick to judge. Did you or did you not run from me in fear earlier?”

Busted. He would have to remember that. “I wasn’t running from you. I was running from the vampires.”

Knowing better, Roland raised one eyebrow.

“Okay, I was running from all of you. But I thought you were like them. Give me a break. I didn’t even know you weren’t human until … what … an hour ago? I’m still trying to catch up and think I’ve done fairly well under the circumstances.”

“Remarkably well,” he agreed. “I suppose that’s why I keep waiting for the axe to fall. It’s so contrary to what I’ve dealt with in the past.”

“That really sucks.”

“Yes, it does.”

She looked down at their hands, turning his palms up. “Are you okay?”

Roland stared at her, perplexed. “Okay?”

“You healed my hand and arm. I’m sure it must have hurt.”

“I’m fine.” His perpetual arousal in her presence pained him more than healing her minor cuts and scratches had.

“Good. No more tricks then?”

“Not as long as you allow me to heal you whenever I deem it necessary.”

She raised her head, eyes narrowed in mock anger. “You left out stubbornness when you were listing the characteristics of an immortal.”

He grinned, feeling unusually light at heart. “I was stubborn as a human.”

“I can believe that.”

“Perhaps because it is a trait you’re personally familiar with?” he teased.

“I plead the Fifth.” She brushed her hair back from her forehead, making a face when she felt the blood and dirt that matted the tangled strands. “I know you very sweetly assured me that I don’t stink, but I would love to wash all of this off me.”

“Of course.” Rising, he unsuccessfully tried to banish an image of her standing naked beneath a steaming spray of water.

That one was going to linger.

He eased around her knees, then pulled her up to stand beside him.

She winced.

“What is it?” He did a quick visual inspection of her body and found no obvious injuries. There could be bruises, though.

Her face went blank. “Nothing.”

“You winced.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“I was looking right at you.”

“Maybe it wasn’t a wince. Maybe I was trying not to sneeze. There was a lot of pollen in that field, you know.”

“No more than there was in the meadow behind your house and you didn’t sneeze once all day.”

She tapped her chin with one finger. “Dust?”

“Try again. I’m what you humans call a neat freak. My home is immaculate.”

She looked around, taking in the modern living room and what could be seen of the dining room. “You’re right. It is. And beautifully decorated.”

“Thank you. You aren’t going to tell me why you winced, are you?”

She gave him a bright smile he found impossible not to return. “No. Now, how about that shower?”

He shook his head, vowing to discover whatever bruises, aches, or pains troubled her later. “As you wish.”

Perhaps when she was resting. She was a pretty sound sleeper. He wouldn’t be doing anything to her that she hadn’t done to him if he were to sneak in, examine her while she slumbered, and rid her of any lingering bruises and scrapes.

Women were funny, though. And she was again looking at him as she would a normal man. The last thing he wanted to do was jeopardize that and once more become a monster in her eyes.

Turning her hand in his, he laced his fingers through hers and led her out of the living room, down the hallway, and into the master bedroom. All the while, he waited for an objection or a casual withdrawing that didn’t come.

How sad was it that he had been without human contact for so long that simply holding a woman’s hand set his heart to racing?

Well, not holding any woman’s hand. Holding Sarah’s hand set his heart to racing.

He flicked on the overhead light.

Sarah stopped short.

Unwilling to relinquish the warm contact, he stood at her side and entertained himself by stroking the back of her hand with his thumb while she perused the large bedroom.

“This is beautiful, Roland.” Sarah took in the forest-green walls, the beautiful hardwood floors, the postmodern paintings, and the ebony-stained armoire, four-poster king-size bed, and matching bedside tables.

“You like it?” he asked tentatively.

“I love it. Green is my favorite color.”

His face lit with a gorgeous smile that made the butterflies return to her belly. “Mine, too. The shower is right through here.”

Her hand still in his, she followed him to an open door on the far wall. Roland leaned in, flicked on the light, then stepped aside so she could join him in the doorway.

“Oh, wow,” she breathed as she peered inside. “This is totally my dream bathroom.” Wanting to hold his hand a little longer, she drew him in after her as she moved to the center of the room and turned in a slow circle.

“Believe it or not, the house had no bathroom when I bought it. There was only what the locals called a johnny house out back.”

“How long have you had this place?” she asked, unable to imagine it.

“A century or so. There were originally five bedrooms. I kept two, made one a library, one a home gym, and converted the fifth into a small bath for the guest room and this larger master bath.”

“You did all this yourself?” she asked incredulously.

“There wasn’t much else for me to do during the long days.”

“I am beyond impressed.”

All earth tones, it was like something out of an interior design magazine. Lovely stone tiles in complementary shades. A shower large enough to hold half a dozen people. A whirlpool bathtub so long Roland could stretch out completely in it (with room left over for her to join him, not that she should be thinking that). Rich mahogany cabinetry. Brushed nickel hardware. Plants galore and candles in wall sconces and scattered around the tub.

She stared at Roland, unable to turn her mind away from images of him soaking in a warm bubble bath with candlelight glinting off his damp, golden skin.

“You do realize you’re going to have to pry me out of here with a crowbar, right?”

He laughed. “Take as long as you want. Shower. Soak in a nice hot bath.” He opened the cabinet beneath the sink to show her several bottles containing bubble bath in varying scents.

Oh jeeze. He does take bubble baths.

Now she would never get those drool-inspiring images out of her head.

“I think I saw your tote in the backseat when we arrived,” he went on. “I’ll go look and, if Marcus brought it, will leave it outside the door for you. Otherwise, you’re welcome to borrow some of my clothes. Take anything you need from the closet.”

“Thank you.”

He gave her hand a squeeze, then released it and crossed to the door. “Call me if you need anything.”

Like his large hands smoothing over her slick, soapy body?

“Will do.”

With one last smile, Roland exited and closed the bathroom door behind him.

In the blood-soaked front yard of Sarah’s small frame house, a silhouette emerged from the trees. A light breeze toyed with the hem of his long black coat as he strode forward, limping heavily. The sweet scent of late spring blossoms was tainted by the pungent odors of blood, sweat, and decaying corpses.

Bastien stared at the remains of the men he had led into battle. His battle.

The vampiric virus was hard at work. In a frantic bid to live despite the cessation of flowing blood, it would feast upon the dead flesh of its host until there was nothing left. Not even bones. Minutes hence, the only evidence of the violence that had taken place here would be the crimson-stained grass and ragged pieces of clothing that no longer housed bodies.

Rage boiled up within him, muting the pain of his many wounds. He had thought to find survivors here, unable to believe all nineteen of his men could have been annihilated.

Last night, when they had made their first attempt to kill Roland, four had been destroyed, but three of their seven had survived. Had the mortal woman not intervened, his enemy would now be dead and he and the rest of his men would be celebrating their victory.

He growled deep in his throat, a rough, bestial sound.

He had returned tonight to finish Roland off. To seek his vengeance. Confident that it would at last be done.

Finding two Immortal Guardians instead of one had surprised him but had not overly concerned him. With another dozen vampires—flushed from feeding—on the way, they had outnumbered the immortals ten to one.

The woman had posed no threat. She was a human and, based on her panicked flight, not Roland’s Second as he had previously supposed. They should have had no difficulty destroying his enemy and taking the other captive.

Yet Bastien alone remained. His men were dead, disintegrating beneath his baleful gaze. And his enemy had again escaped his clutches.

Swearing foully, he strode purposefully into the darkness.

This wasn’t over. He would seek new victims to alleviate his pain, then devise another plan.

One way or another, Roland Warbrook would die.

After retrieving Sarah’s tote for her, Roland had grabbed a change of clothes (shoes, socks, boxer shorts, T-shirt, and slacks—all black) and slipped into the guest bedroom. Marcus must have been injured worse than he had let on, because he had not roused the whole time Roland was showering and changing. Sleep that deep among immortals was a clear indication that significant healing was taking place.

Now, as Roland stood in the kitchen, peering into the refrigerator, he became aware of Sarah’s presence in the entrance.

“Hi,” she said softly.

Roland looked over at her and stared, arrested by her beauty. “Hi.”

Her slender figure was encased in low-riding jeans and a comfortably formfitting gray T-shirt that made his body react in ways that would soon have his eyes glowing if he wasn’t careful. Surrounded by thick curls that were still damp at the ends, her lovely face was clean and makeup free. Her ears, where they peeked through the heavy strands, were pink from the heat of the hair dryer.

That made him smile.

Her tiny feet were bare.

“Would you be interested in a salad?” he asked, surprised he sounded so casual.

“If I can have a taste of whatever is producing that wonderful aroma afterward, yes.”

Pulling organic lettuce, carrots, spinach, tomatoes, and sliced almonds from the refrigerator, he set them on the counter beside the sink. “It’s eggplant Parmesan.”

Her hazel eyes—more green than brown tonight—widened. “Eggplant Parmesan?” She moved toward him as though he held in his hands the key to a great treasure. “You made eggplant Parmesan while I was in the shower? Seriously, don’t tease me. It’s one of my all-time favorite meals, so if you tell me you made it and you didn’t, I may have to hurt you.”

He smiled. “If by making it, you mean removing it from the fridge and popping it in the oven, then yes, I made it while you were in the shower.”

“Ooh, goody goody goody goody.” She danced over to his side, outwardly as happy as a child on Christmas morning. “I didn’t even realize I was hungry until I smelled it and now I’m ravenous.” She took two carrots from the bag. “Perhaps now might be a good time to warn you that I may be small, but I can put away a lot of food.”

He laughed. “Nothing wrong with a healthy appetite.”

She used his environmentally friendly dishwashing soap to clean the carrots, rinsed them, then looked at him expectantly. “Where is your carrot peeler?”

“In the drawer to your left. What are you doing?”

Opening the drawer, she retrieved the peeler. “Helping you make the salad.”

He frowned. “You don’t have to do that, Sarah. You’re my guest.” Guests weren’t supposed to prepare their own meals, were they?

She shrugged. “I know. But I want to.”

Since he enjoyed her company, he didn’t press it. And was soon glad he hadn’t. Shoulder to shoulder, they prepared the vegetables. Sarah peeled the carrots while he washed the lettuce and spinach.

He felt a moment’s uneasiness when she pulled out his butcher knife. Roland and humans with sharp knives generally did not mix well. More often than not, one or the other ended up bloody. But he said nothing and was careful to hide the sudden tension he felt.

Or so he thought.

Glancing at him from the corner of her eye as she sliced the carrots with the speed and dexterity of a professional chef, she said, “If you don’t stop looking at me like you expect me to plunge this between your shoulder blades, you’re going to forfeit your portion of the eggplant Parmesan.”

He shook his head, feeling another smile tug at his lips. “You really aren’t afraid of me, are you?”

Pausing, she lowered the knife, turned toward him, and leaned one hip against the counter. “I was … when I saw you bite that goth kid. And when I was running through the meadow, mostly because I was in a full-blown panic and didn’t know whether it was you or the vampire chasing me.”

“When you saw it was me, you fainted,” he pointed out. That bothered him far more than it should, as did her begging him not to kill her just before she lost consciousness.

“Yeah, I’ve never done that before,” she said with some amazement. “But I knew you knew that I had seen what you are and assumed you would be angry. And, in my defense, I had just slammed my head into both a car window and a tree.”

True. “And now?”

“No,” she said simply. “I’m not afraid of you.”

Though he was beaming inside, he nodded solemnly. “Then you may continue wielding the knife.”

She tossed a carrot slice at him.

Both grinning, they finished preparing the salads.

Sarah carried them to the table, setting one on the end and the other in front of the chair catty-corner to it. Roland followed with plates loaded with eggplant Parmesan.

“Is tea all right?” he asked. “I’m afraid we don’t consume wine or other alcoholic beverages.”

“I don’t, either. Tea is great,” she answered.

While he took a large pitcher from the refrigerator and pulled two glasses down from an upper cabinet, she gathered the utensils.

“Isn’t Marcus going to join us?”

“He’s still resting.” At least he had been when Roland had finished showering. “He’ll eat later, once his knee is better.”

Holding her chair for her, Roland seated Sarah, then himself. He was glad she had arranged their plates close together instead of putting them at opposite ends of the table. This was more pleasant. Cozier.

“You never told me why immortals were different from everyone else as humans,” she said as she started on her salad.

He even liked the way she ate. She hadn’t been kidding when she said she could put away a lot of food. She had an amusingly healthy appetite, but impeccable table manners.

“We didn’t know ourselves until the last few decades when DNA and gene mapping were tackled by scientists and members of the medical community.”

“That must have been tough, being different without knowing why.”

“Actually, the why of it remains a mystery. It is only the how that we have finally come to understand.”

Her salad soon a thing of the past, she slipped her first forkful of the eggplant Parmesan between her lips, closed her eyes, chewed, and hummed in ecstasy. “Man, this is good. I love eggplant Parmesan but don’t know how to cook it.”

Roland’s gaze fell to her lips, the gentle motions of her throat as she swallowed. “Perhaps you would like to join me the next time I prepare it.”

“I’d love to,” she answered without hesitation, seemingly unaware of how her easy acceptance of his rare invitation affected him.

“So what did you find out? How are you different from the rest of us?”

It took him a moment to recover. “Apparently, every human being has forty-six DNA memo groups that provide the blueprints for their existence. Our scientists have discovered that those of us who were gifted ones have seven thousand.”