Darkness Rises

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 fangs 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.

Little had changed on the estate since he was a mortal. He had made sure of that.

Bastien had not lived the pristine life the other Immortal Guardians had after being transformed. Seth had not come to him and trained him, found a Second to help him conceal his nature, or paid him a wage. Bastien had had to fend for himself.

He didn’t resent it. How could one miss what one had never had?

He had simply done what he had to do to survive, which had included using his ability to feel other people’s emotions and his newfound strength and speed to acquire the money needed to buy his family’s ancestral estate and ensure it remained how he remembered it from happier times.

In the dream, he had been taking Melanie around to all of his favorite places. His favorite fishing spot as a boy. His favorite thinking spot as an adolescent. His favorite trysting spot as a young man.

As he stretched and woke fully, he decided he would have to take her there for real. Get away from everything.

If Seth would let him.

He grimaced. Going from leader to subordinate had not been easy and still chafed at times. But, if that was what it took to stay with Melanie, he would do it without complaint.

Or with little complaint.

Rolling onto his side, he reached for Melanie and found cold sheets.

Frowning, he lifted his head and followed the light to the corner of their bedroom.

Melanie sat at her desk, garbed only in one of his large T-shirts. Bathed in the light of a small lamp, she peered down at another of her thick medical books. Several more rested in piles at each elbow and clogged the floor-to-ceiling shelves beside the desk.

She leaned forward, one elbow resting on the wooden surface, while she scoured the text at preternatural speeds. Brow furrowed, she turned the page, read, turned the page, read, careful not to make a sound.

Bastien sat up, the sheet tangling around his waist. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

Jumping, she spun around. “I’m sorry. Did I wake you?”

He shook his head. “No. What’s wrong?” He knew her well and didn’t have to touch her to know her shoulders were knotted with tension.

She looked down, toyed with the corners of the book’s pages.

“Melanie? Talk to me, love. Tell me what’s troubling you.”

She sighed. “I’m flying blind, Bastien.” When she raised her head, her hazel eyes glistened with tears.

Swearing silently, he leapt from the bed and crossed to kneel at her side, unconcerned with his nudity. (She knew every inch of his body.) Reaching up, he cupped her face and caught the tear that spilled over her lashes.

“Everyone is counting on me to carry Ami safely through this pregnancy,” she said, “and I’m flying blind.”

“Tell me what you need and I’ll get it for you. Tell me how I can help you and I will.”

She shook her head. “Chris and Seth have already seen to it that I have all the books and equipment I need.”

“Then I’ll get you what you need beyond that.”

“You can’t. That’s just it.”

Bullshit. He could feel the worry and fear coursing through her. She was stressed as hell and he would do whatever it took to help her.

“All right. Tell me your top three concerns and we’ll see how to alleviate them.”

“Let’s start with the fact that I’ve never been pregnant myself and have never spent any time around pregnant women, so I don’t know what’s normal. The books only say so much. They say it isn’t uncommon for some women to experience cramping during pregnancy, but I’m not clear on how much. Is it constant or sporadic? Do they mean super mild, I’m ovulating cramping? Or moderate, I’m about to get my period cramping? Or full blown, where the hell are the painkillers cramping? How much is too much? How often is too often? When should I be concerned? How do I know what’s normal and what might be a result of difficulties that could arise from Ami’s being an alien, Marcus being an immortal, and the baby possibly being infected with the virus? Or from the difficulty women on her planet have carrying babies to term?”

Bastien thought furiously. They needed someone with experience to be their guide. “The network employs thousands of humans. Surely one of them must be a . . . woman . . . female . . . I don’t know what you call them . . . vagina doctor.”

Melanie laughed. “Vagina doctor?”

He smiled, relieved to have lightened her mood a bit. “I’ve had very little contact with doctors in my lifetime. You know what I mean.”

“They’re called OB/GYNs.”

“Thank you.”

“You know Seth wants Ami’s being an alien to be kept secret, especially from the mortal employees. If any of them were captured and tortured—”

“Seth took care of that. The men who were hunting her are dead. And Seth wiped the memories of those with whom they sought to join forces.”

“So you think he’s going to let down his guard? Him or Marcus?”

“No. You’re right.” There must be something else. “Wait.” He grinned. “I have the answer.”

“You do?”

“We’ll bring Jenna into the loop.”

“Richart’s wife?”

“Yes. She has a son. She’s been through pregnancy and can help you get a better idea of what’s normal and what isn’t.”

“If we brought her into the loop, we’d have to ask her to keep secrets from the man she loves. I wouldn’t feel right about doing that.”

“Then we’ll bring Richart into the loop, too. We don’t necessarily have to tell them Ami’s from another world. We can just tell them she’s pregnant. That alone, they’ll know, is cause for concern because we have no idea what the virus will do to a baby.”

She looked thoughtful.

“We’re going to have to bring all of the local Immortal Guardians into the loop soon anyway. The cats and kittens will help conceal the baby’s heartbeat, but how long do you think we’ll be able to hide Ami’s growing belly? She’s tiny, like you, and weighs less than a hundred pounds. A thirty-pound weight gain is not going to go unnoticed.”

“That’s true. They’ll all think our concern revolves around the virus. They won’t know we’re worried about alien and gifted one DNA mixing unless we tell them.” She nodded. “Jenna would be a huge help. She could tell me all of the little things the books don’t. Things that, in the human world, would be considered insignificant. The more information I have, the better I can monitor Ami and know normal from abnormal.”

He dropped his hand to her knee and squeezed it. “Great. So, what’s your next concern? We can solve it, too.”

Her frown returned. “I don’t think there’s a solution for this one.”

“You didn’t think there was a solution for the other one either, but we came up with one. Come on. Let’s hear it.”

“It’s Ami’s regenerative capabilities. Her body heals as fast as yours does when you’re at full strength.”

Ami’s regenerative capabilities actually exceeded that of most Immortal Guardians. When Ami had been tortured and the butchers had removed two fingers and two toes, the digits had grown back on their own. The most an immortal could do in that situation was hope that David or Seth could reattach them.

“Isn’t her swift healing a plus in health matters?”

“Not if something goes wrong with the delivery and I have to perform a C-section.”

“Oh, shit.”

“Exactly. How will I keep her body from healing the incision while I operate?”

“Shit.” He thought furiously. “When Seth and David rescued Ami, the fuckers had cracked her chest open and were shocking her heart. How did they keep her from healing too quickly for them to work?”

“The drug.”

“Then why don’t you—?”

“I have no idea what effect it might have on the baby. In strong enough doses, it will knock you out cold and slow your healing. Once you’re given blood, your wounds heal, but you remain unconscious. And, while all encounters seem to suggest immortals can’t overdose on it, vampires can. When given too strong a dose, they die. Any human given the drug dies instantly.”

“And we don’t know what the baby is or will be: alien, immortal, gifted one, vampire, or a combination thereof.”

“So there’s no way to predict what will happen if the baby is exposed to it. It’s too risky to use.”

There had to be something. If not something medical, then some power Seth or David could use. “Wait. When he was so pissed at me for putting Ami in danger, Seth must have used telekinesis or—I don’t know—a reversal of his healing abilities, because it felt like a fist was squeezing my heart. Maybe he and David could prevent her body from healing if it came to that.”

Another thoughtful pause. “You may be right. I’ll ask them.”

He smiled. “You see? We’ll figure it out.” Rising, he took her hand and drew her up to stand before him. “We can do anything as long as we’re together.”

She smiled up at him. “I believe we can.” Sliding her arms around his waist, she leaned into him for a hug.

Bastien held her for many long moments, so fucking glad they were together. He would do anything for her. Anything. And hoped she knew it.

“Let’s go to bed,” he murmured into her hair. “We’ll tackle number three tomorrow.”

Nodding, she let him guide her back to their king-sized bed.