Night Reigns

Chapter 3

It took several long seconds for Marcus to draw in enough breath to choke out a response. At last, he managed to gasp, “Something on your mind, Seth?”

Seth growled obscenities, grabbed him by the throat, and yanked him up.

Feet dangling a foot or so above the ground, Marcus clutched the wrist of the arm that effortlessly held him suspended like a marionette. His eyes widened as a low rumbling sound swelled around them. Birds fled to the sky. The branches of nearby trees began to jerk and sway, their leaves rustling like maracas as the ground shook with earthquake-like tremors.

Okay. I ... might have underestimated the seriousness of this situation.

Marcus had never personally seen the tight hold Seth maintained on his temper slip—as it appeared to be doing now—but had heard enough rumors that he decided to dial it back at superhero speeds and see if he couldn’t find a way to avert catastrophe.

“Did I or did I not tell you what would happen if Ami came to harm?” Seth posed in a soft, deadly voice.

Was that what this was about? Ami?

Since he was choking, Marcus could only think a response and hope Seth heard him. I can’t talk to you about this if you crush my trachea.

Seth hesitated, as though tempted to do just that, then released him.

Marcus’s boots hit the ground hard. Careening to one side, he caught himself before he could fall to his knees and stood hunched over as he endeavored to breathe.

The virus raced to repair the damage to his lungs. His ribs would take longer and require a substantial amount of blood. His hands, he was surprised to see, shook quite badly. For a moment there, he had thought Seth really intended to destroy him.

His gaze slid to the irate leader of the Immortal Guardians, who turned and paced away with long, livid strides.

The trees stilled, as did the ground beneath them. The rumbling ceased, leaving in its wake a silence that was almost painful, as dislodged leaves fluttered timidly to the ground.

No insects hummed.

No frogs sang.

Nothing made a sound except the soles of Seth’s boots as they struck the concrete with resounding thuds.

Biting back a groan, Marcus straightened ... as much as his battered body would allow. “What—?” His throat spasmed, and a fit of coughing seized him.

Emitting a sound of impatience, Seth ceased his pacing and barreled toward him.

Marcus took a wary step backward.

“Stand still!” Seth snapped. His large hand again closed around Marcus’s neck, gentler this time. Heat radiated from his palm, increasing as the swelling in Marcus’s throat eased and the pain receded.

As he withdrew his healing touch, Seth glared a warning. “If you say ‘thank you,’ I will kick your ass.”

A shamelessly easy task, it would appear.

Seth once more paced away and stopped with his back to Marcus. Brushing the sides of his long coat back, he propped his hands on his hips and lowered his head. Marcus could almost hear him counting to ten in a bid for patience.

Had Ami accused Marcus of hurting her in some way?

“What exactly did she tell you?” he asked cautiously.

Seth shook his head. “That you have been nothing but civil toward her.”

Really? That was a bit of a stretch, but Marcus thought it wise not to admit as much. “And that made you fly into a murderous rage because ... ?”

Seth swung around. “Because I expected more from you!” The glow in his eyes faded, returning them to their customary brown-black.

Marcus stiffened, biting back a moan at the agony it spawned in his ribs. (Seth had only healed his throat.) This was the first time he had ever landed on the receiving end of Seth’s wrath, and he felt a bit like a teenager being upbraided by a parent for staying out past curfew.

A parent who, if the rumors were true, could kill him with only a thought.

“You knew I didn’t want a Second,” he reminded Seth, his own anger rising. “What did you think I would do? Ask her if I could braid her hair after we gave each other facials and painted our toenails?”

“Get your head out of your ass, Marcus!” Seth roared.

“Did it ever occur to you that I may have had a reason for assigning Ami to be your Second? That, perhaps, my sole motivation for doing so was not simply to piss you off or enforce a rule I have allowed you to break—without complaint—for the past three decades?”

“No,” he answered frankly. “What other reason could there be?”

Again came the feeling that Seth counted to ten, except this time he also muttered something in a language Marcus couldn’t identify.

When next he spoke, Seth softened his words. “It has been eight years, my friend.”

Marcus gritted his teeth against a rising tide of resentment, because he could guess where this was going.

“I know that, for centuries, Bethany was a sort of beacon for you, a candle that held back the darkness, giving you a reason to keep going and to soldier on despite the loneliness so many of us feel. But she is gone. And, this time, she will not be coming back.” Seth really knew how to twist the blade in deeper. “I have given you eight years, have waited for some sign that you are recovering, that you have found some new purpose and are ready to move on. Instead ... you are faltering.”

“I’m fine,” Marcus bit out.

“No, you’re not. You’re faltering. So much so that even Roland is concerned about you.”

That actually gave Marcus pause. Roland was worried about him?

A century older, Roland Warbrook had been the immortal chosen to train and guide Marcus during those first few years after he had been transformed. He was like a brother to Marcus. A grumpy, antisocial, paranoid older brother few liked. One who, until he had met and married Sarah Bingham a year and a half ago, had insisted on living the past nine centuries in complete solitude.

Marcus had never known Roland to take an interest in another immortal’s affairs, including his own. “What makes you think he’s worried about me?” he asked doubtfully.

Seth rolled his eyes. “Gee, I don’t know. Because he told me? We’re all worried about you, Marcus! Roland, Sarah, David, Darnell, Lisette, Étienne, Richart, Reordon ... We’ve all noticed the changes in you, the risks you take now that you didn’t before.”

“What risks?”

Seth motioned to the totaled Hayabusa.

Marcus snorted. “David goes way faster than I do.”

“And David can reattach his own arm if it is severed.”

Shock tripped through him. “Really? I thought he needed you to do that.” David was more powerful than Marcus had thought.

“Don’t change the subject. You know the unique situation we’re facing here. Ever since word leaked that Sebastien was raising a vampire army to bring down the Immortal Guardians, North Carolina has been inundated with them. Instead of facing one or two vamps per night, you’re encountering three or four or more—sometimes in groups—and, instead of phoning for backup, you take them all on yourself.”

“So I like a challenge.”

Seth shook his head. “One should never only feel alive when one is faced with the possibility of death.”

Damn. How did Seth read him so well? “I’m fine,” he insisted once more, not knowing why he still pushed the lie. He hadn’t felt fine in a long time.

“You are not fine. But you will be. Even if I have to kick your ass every night to get you there.”

“How is kicking my ass going to help?” Marcus grouched.

Seth shrugged. “Makes me feel better.”

Marcus responded with an obscene gesture. “So, you thought assigning me a Second would miraculously make everything okay?”

Seth raised one eyebrow. “How often have you thought of Bethany during the past five days?”

Marcus opened his mouth to spout often, then hesitated. With a great deal of astonishment, he realized that until Ami had mentioned her earlier he hadn’t thought of Bethany at all. He had been too consumed with figuring out ways to thwart Ami’s determination to serve as his Second.

Seth smiled smugly and gave him a mocking bow, arms out to the side. “You’re welcome. I assume my check is in the mail.”

Marcus stared at him, pissed because Seth’s plan had worked and torn between guilt and relief that Bethany’s memory for once had faded into the background.

“You needed a distraction, Marcus. Something to shake you up and throw a little chaos into your routine.” Seth’s face darkened. “But I didn’t just do this for you. I did it for Ami, too.” He looked in the direction of Marcus’s home.

For Ami, who had told Seth Marcus had been civil to her when she could just as easily have tattled and told him Marcus had avoided her at every turn and spoken sharply to her when he hadn’t succeeded.

“Look, at the risk of ending up a pile of ashes on the pavement, I have to admit I still don’t understand why you’re so upset. Even Ami told you I haven’t harmed her in any way.”

Seth’s eyes flashed to golden flames. “She isn’t sleeping!” he bellowed.

Marcus’s jaw dropped. “You’re pissed at me because she isn’t getting enough beauty sleep?” Unbelievable. “That’s her choice, not mine. Yes, I changed my sleep schedule in an attempt to avoid her. Call it childish if you like. I really don’t care. But I have no control over the fact that she altered hers to match mine so she could keep hounding me. If she isn’t getting the requisite eight hours—”

“Listen. Very. Closely,” Seth annunciated carefully as he strolled forward. “I didn’t say she isn’t getting enough sleep. I said. She. Isn’t. Sleeping. Period. She hasn’t so much as nodded off since the night before I brought her to you.”

“She told you that?”

“Yes, reluctantly, when I specifically asked her about it.”

“She’s lying.”

Seth stopped no more than two feet away. “Again, if you would get your head out of your ass, you would notice that Ami can’t lie worth a damn and very rarely even tries.”

Marcus stared up at him. “But that would mean she hasn’t slept in—”

“Six days.”

“That’s impossible. My attempts to evade her all failed, and I haven’t noticed any mood swings or hallucinations or problems with concentration or short-term memory.”

“Nor will you. When Ami is sleep deprived, the only physical manifestation you will see is shadowing beneath her eyes.”

Well, she did have that. “This has happened before?” Marcus asked, puzzled.

“Yes.”

“Then why do you think I’m responsible?” Her insomnia could have been triggered by an illness, though Marcus had neither sensed nor scented the presence of anything.

Seth stared at him for a long moment, the glow in his eyes diminishing, then turned and strolled away. “Ami has had a difficult life, Marcus.” A mirthless laugh emerged as he shook his head. “Difficult,” he repeated, making a mockery of the word. “In truth, she has suffered more in the past two years alone than you have in the entirety of your existence.”

Something unpleasant burrowed its way into Marcus’s gut. Seth did not exaggerate. “What happened to her?”

“That is not my story to tell.”

Both cryptic and disturbing.

“Perhaps in time”—he shot Marcus a disgusted look—“if you stop being such a prick, she will entrust you with it. All I will tell you is that, though externally she is perfect ...”

Another disturbing facet Marcus had struggled to ignore. Ami was a very appealing amalgamation of cute and beautiful.

“Internally, her trials have driven her to develop a rather unique subconscious self-defense mechanism that she is helpless to control.”

“Chronic insomnia?” Marcus had never heard of such a thing.

Seth nodded. “She can’t sleep if she doesn’t feel safe.”

Guilt slithered through Marcus’s insides, leaving a sour feeling in his stomach, as he recalled the petty satisfaction he had felt upon seeing the dark circles beneath her eyes. “Are you saying she’s afraid of me?”

Seth pursed his lips. “It isn’t fear. It’s ...” An adequate response seemed to elude him. And such did not happen often. “Meeting new people is difficult for Ami. It is one of the reasons I decided to name her your Second. She needs stability. And, as you are aware, I never know from one day to the next where I will seek my rest, how many immortals or members of the network I will have to meet with or aid, or how many might drop by my homes when I am in residence. Keeping her at my side simply is not in her best interest.”

Keeping her at his side. Once again, Marcus wondered at the extent of their relationship. “So you thought assigning her to an immortal you believe is walking the edge would provide her with the stability she needs?”

Seth scowled. “I trusted you to get your shit together and accept her, not pull a Roland.”

“If I had pulled a Roland, she would have run screaming from the house ten minutes after you left her.”

For some reason, this seemed to amuse Seth. “Don’t underestimate her. Ami may be uncomfortable around strangers and have what some might classify as a unique form of post-traumatic stress disorder, but she can kick your ass.”

“Not possible,” Marcus scoffed.

Seth smiled. “I wouldn’t test her were I you. Just suck it up, accept her as your Second, and everything will be fine.” He pulled a pocket watch out of his slacks and flipped it open. “I have to go. Xavier is waiting for me in Montreal.”

“Wait. Would you fix my bike before you go?”

“Do I look like a mechanic?”

Marcus swore. “Having to run home and regroup will take up valuable hunting time.”

Seth shrugged. “Not my problem. Call your Second.”

In the next instant, he was gone.

Marcus tried to draw in a breath to sigh, but a bolt of pain shot through his chest like lightning and cut it short.

Grunting, he muttered, “You should’ve asked him to fix your bloody ribs, not your bike.”

The sounds of insects, frogs, and other night creatures gradually resumed as he retrieved his cell phone from his coat pocket.

Strolling toward his busted-up Hayabusa, Marcus paused in the middle of the road where it curved sharply to the right (the Busa had opted to continue straight and plow into two trees fused together at their bases) and dialed Chris Reordon’s number.

Seth had—over the centuries, if not millennia—devoted a great deal of time to recruiting and developing a network of humans who now supported the Immortal Guardians’ cause, aiding them in any way they could and keeping their existence (and that of vampires and gifted ones) a secret from the rest of society. Chris Reordon ran the East Coast division of the network in the United States and was rumored to be the best agent, primarily because he had friends in very interesting places. There wasn’t a law enforcement or government agency he had failed to infiltrate. He had even managed to provide real-time Keyhole satellite surveillance images last year when Marcus, Roland, Seth, Étienne, and Lisette had descended upon Bastien’s lair.

“Reordon,” a male voice came over the line.

“Chris, it’s Marcus.”

“Hey, man. How’s it going?”

“Not that great. I wrecked my bike.”

“Ah, hell. Not the Hayabusa.”

“That’s the one.”

“Please tell me it’s just a scratch.”

Marcus studied the wreckage. “I’m sure if you sort through the debris, one or two pieces will have scratches on them.”

“Damn, man. What about you? Are you okay?”

“I will be.”

“What’s your position?”

Marcus answered as specifically as he could, given that he was surrounded by endless cornfields, hayfields, and forest.

“I’ll send Marion to collect the bike and give you a ride home if you want one. He’s closest and can be there in fifteen minutes.”

“Thanks.”

“I’ll also have a new Hayabusa here within the hour and will get it to you as soon as the paint dries.” Marcus preferred solid black vehicles.

“Great.”

“Listen, while I have you on the line, you should know that Lisette has been coming up against vamps in groups of three and four every night in Raleigh instead of once every week or two. Étienne has encountered the same in Fayetteville, as has David in Durham.”

Because of the madness wrought by the damage the virus did to their brains, vampires normally tended to hunt and live alone.

“I took out eight in Chapel Hill a few nights ago, then two more near Carrboro.” Marcus refrained from mentioning Ami’s aid, since she wanted to keep that hush-hush.

Chris swore. “Word must not have gotten out that Bastien is on our side now.”

“Is Bastien on our side now?”

Bastien had somehow escaped Seth’s detection when he was transformed in the nineteenth century and had, until recently, lived his entire immortal existence amongst vampires. From what Marcus had heard, Seth’s attempt to reform Bastien was not going well.

A long pause ensued.

“I don’t know,” Chris answered honestly.

“Could he be up to his old tricks again?”

Believing himself a vampire, Bastien had assembled an army of nearly a hundred vampire followers and over a dozen human minions before launching an attack on the immortals a year and a half ago, beginning with Roland.

“I don’t know how he could while he’s under Seth’s thumb.”

“Then why are the vamps still swarming here and congregating in groups?”

“That’s what we’re all trying to figure out. I just wanted to give you a heads-up.”

“Let the others know the packs are growing. Eight at once wouldn’t pose a threat to David. But Étienne and Lisette may want to start hunting together.”

Younger immortals weren’t as strong and fast as the older ones, and Lisette and her brothers were only two centuries old.

“I’ll call them as soon as I talk to Marion.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem.”

As Marcus returned his cell phone to his front pocket, he heard the faint hum of a car engine and looked in the direction from which it came.

It approached very quickly. Far more quickly than was safe for mortals.

A shiny black metal body flew over the top of a distant hill, then disappeared from view. Tires squealed as the vehicle took a turn too quickly. No red lights reflected off the trees, so the driver must not have even tapped the breaks.

Glancing down, then to the left, Marcus visually measured the tight curve of the road, the speed of the oncoming vehicle and winced at the imagined crash to come.

Perhaps it would be prudent to retreat to a safe distance in order to avoid being further damaged by shrapnel.

The car soared over the last hill, tires leaving the pavement briefly, then accelerated into the straight stretch that led to Marcus. A Prius identical to his own, it plowed forward at speeds Marcus himself traveled. Were he to remain in the road and try to flag the driver down to warn him, the car would be upon him before the headlights illuminated his black-clad form enough to see it.

Pivoting on his heel, Marcus left the blacktop, crossed the narrow dirt and gravel shoulder, and let grasses and weeds envelop his legs as he descended into the adjacent field. Pain arched through his ribs when he leapt over a small ditch. Once he had achieved a good fifteen yards distance, he turned and faced the oncoming imbecile.

The shiny black missile continued to charge forward. Marcus was already cringing in anticipation of the clamor and carnage when brakes screeched.

The scent of burning rubber suffused the air as the driver executed a perfect 360-degree turn, spinning in a complete circle, then a bit farther. Gravel sprayed and dust rose in a cloud as the car skidded to a halt on the narrow shoulder, its headlights illuminating Marcus.

The trunk popped up. The driver flung open the door and leapt out, drawing two 9mm’s from the holsters on her thighs.

Marcus’s jaw dropped.

Her body in a defensive crouch, Ami surveyed the clearing with narrowed eyes.

Nothing moved beyond the trees’ gentle swaying. Nevertheless, she backed toward the rear of the Prius, which was packed with more weapons.

Marcus, looking rumpled, gaped up at her from a dozen or so yards away. “Are you insane?” he bellowed after a long moment.

“I don’t think so,” she answered honestly. Seth, David, and Darnell had all assured her she wasn’t. But there were moments she questioned their judgment.

Sputtering something under his breath, Marcus marched up the sloping ground toward her. “Driving like a bat out of hell on these roads ... Spinning out of control ... You’re lucky you skidded to a stop before leaving the road! You could’ve ended up like my Busa!”

Okay, that got her dander up.

Ami propped her hands (still gripping the 9mm’s) on her hips. “Hey, luck had nothing to do with it. I did that on purpose!”

He jerked to a halt, his mouth falling open again. “You did that on purpose?”

“Yes.”

“That whole”—he drew a circle in the air with a downward pointing index finger—“360-degree spin thing?”

“Actually, it was more like a 450-degree spin, but yes. I can’t see clearly in the dark like you, and I had to use the headlights to check out the area and see what you were up against. And I wanted to see the whole area. Every direction. The spin allowed me to do that.”

“Wait. Is that my car?”

“Yes. I had to borrow it because my Tesla is still at David’s.”

He frowned and started forward again. “How did you know I was in trouble?”

That one required a more careful answer.

She motioned to the scattered remains of his motorcycle. “Solid black isn’t standard for Hayabusas.”

“You recognized my bike? As fast as you were going?”

“Yes.” Only because she had been looking for it. “What happened?”

Clearly he hadn’t been beset by hordes of vampires as she had feared. No vamp remains littered the road or field. His weapons were all sheathed. And he appeared unharmed.

He hesitated.

Interesting. He was hiding something, too. She could almost see his mind working to formulate an answer.

He leapt the small ditch that separated them and landed only a couple of feet away. “How much do you know of my gift?”

The special talents and abilities immortals possessed were not a result of the virus (which was why vampires lacked them). The abilities stemmed from the advanced DNA with which gifted ones were born. The older the immortal, the stronger and more varied the gifts. Younger immortals, because their bloodline had been diluted more thoroughly as a result of gifted ones’ reproducing with ordinary humans over the millennia, usually only boasted one or two gifts that were not nearly as powerful as those of the elders’.

“I know nothing of your gift,” Ami told him. “Nothing of you beyond what I’ve learned during the past week.”

He looked away. “Please don’t laugh when I say this, but ...” Marcus returned his gaze to her. “I see dead people.”

“Dead people? As in ghosts and spirits?”

“Yes.”

“Why would I laugh at that?” she asked, puzzled. “It sounds rather ... unpleasant.”

“It is. But there’s this movie and ... it’s become a bit of a joke... . Never mind.”

Ami slid her weapons into thigh holsters that could accommodate the silencers. “So, that’s what happened? You saw a ghost?”

“Yes. And it distracted me. Sometimes it startles me more than others. And, when I’m riding along faster than you were just driving, it’s a bit disconcerting to look over and see a man, walking beside me, keeping pace.”

Ami shivered. “Yeesh.”

“Exactly. What were you doing out here anyway? You seemed to be in something of a hurry.”

Ooh. That was a tough one.

“Did Seth call you?” he continued.

Ami thought it an odd change of subject, but leapt at the chance to evade his other question. “Yes. That was him calling as you were leaving earlier.”

“He didn’t call you just now?”

“No, why?” She narrowed her eyes. “Did you ask him to assign you another Second?”

“No!”

She blinked at the near shout.

“I mean, no,” he said in more even tones. “I am ... perfectly content with you acting as my Second.” He even added a smile. A rather nervous one.

“You are?”

“Yes.”

Yeah, right. “Then why did you think Seth—?”

“You never told me what you’re doing here,” he interrupted.

She had hoped he’d forgotten that. “I ...” sensed you were in danger and followed the feeling straight to you. Not that she could say as much. He knew she was neither a gifted one nor an immortal, and she doubted he would settle for attributing it to female intuition. She glanced down at her hunting togs. “I was on my way to spar with Darnell.”

She peeked up at him through her lashes to see if he bought it.

He shook his head, smiling. “You really can’t lie worth a damn.”

“Who told you that?” she demanded. She tried, damn it! It wasn’t her fault deception didn’t come naturally to her!

Marcus laughed, brown eyes brightening, then grunted. Pain rippled across his features as he placed a careful hand against his chest off to one side. “It wasn’t an insult, Ami. Trust me.”

She frowned. “What’s wrong? Are you injured?”

“Yeah. I’m pretty sure some of my ribs are broken. Or were. They’re mending, but it still hurts like hell.”

Closing the distance between them, Ami brushed his hand aside and replaced it with one of her own. Beneath his dark knit shirt, his flesh was warm and rippled with hard muscle. Her breath caught as a tingle zipped through her.

Knowing how acute immortals’ hearing was, she glanced up to see if he had noticed and swallowed hard when she found him watching her intently.

Just pretend he’s Seth, she ordered herself.

But he wasn’t Seth. And Ami wasn’t accustomed to touching men. At all. Her people forbade such contact even when it was casual in nature. Once she had overcome her fear of Seth, David, and Darnell after they had rescued her, the most startling aspect of her new life had been the way the men had touched her so freely ... and expected her to touch them back. Nothing amorous, of course. None of them thought of her in that way. All three men were simply very affectionate, freely distributing hugs, putting their arms around her, kissing her forehead. (Seth and David were so tall that kissing her cheek would require too much bending.)

Though it had taken her a while, Ami had eventually learned not to shy away from such familiarity and actually enjoyed returning the gestures now.

But Marcus was different. Touching him in any way felt ... very intimate and left her heart racing. As it did now.

Ami smoothed her hand over the left side of his thickly muscled chest and down toward his taut abdomen. He grunted, his head and chest jerking forward slightly whenever she hit a tender spot.

“Here?”

“Yes.”

“And here?”

“Mmph. Yes.”

“These two feel broken, but I don’t think these are. Is it just this side?”

“No.”

Ami rested her other hand on the opposite side of his chest and continued her examination. Her exploration.

He grunted, his head almost lowering enough to touch hers.

Ami frowned. How had this happened? Had he hit the tree with the Busa?

Raising her head to ask, she nearly choked on her breath. His eyes, glowing a warm, gentle amber, flickered from her face to her hands on his torso.

Quiet enveloped them, tempered by the sounds of insects and other night creatures.

“Are you all right?” she asked when he said nothing.

“Yes.”

“Your eyes are glowing,” she told him, voice hushed.

His reaction surprised her. Lowering his lids to hide the luminescence, he turned his head away slightly as though embarrassed. “It’s ... it’s nothing. Just the pain.” Grasping her wrists lightly, he removed her hands from his body.

Ami felt heat climb into her cheeks. “You need blood. To heal your ribs.”

His lids lifted as his gaze darted to the pulse that beat wildly at the base of her neck. His lips tilted up in a wry smile. “The bag you gave me was destroyed in the crash. And I believe Seth told me you aren’t on the menu.”

The notion of him closing those soft, warm lips on her throat spawned what was rapidly becoming a familiar fluttery feeling in her lower belly. “Actually, I didn’t mean me. I have a well-stocked cooler in the backseat.”

He released her right wrist, but retained his hold on her left, stopping her when she would have turned away to retrieve the cooler.

She raised her eyebrows in question.

“Are you afraid of me, Ami?”

“No,” she answered honestly. She had been at first. She always feared strangers now, thanks to the monsters who had deceived and captured her when she had approached them in friendship. But, even though Marcus had not wanted her in his house, tonight was the first time he had ever spoken to her in anger. Usually, he crept around trying to avoid her and simply appeared chagrined when she caught him.

Ami thought chagrined an adorable look for him.

Eyes narrowing slightly, he studied her with enough interest to stir her nerves.

He started to speak, then straightened and closed his mouth. His brow furrowed. Turning aside, he examined the trees to the west near the Hayabusa, then those to the south. Tilting his head back, he closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath, much like a predator seeking the scent of its prey.

Ami watched him, wondering what had caught his attention.

Abruptly, his eyes flew open and flashed a brilliant amber. “Oh shit.”

“What is it?”

“Vampires.” Dropping her hand, he clutched her upper arm in a bruising grip and propelled her toward the open driver’s side door with what appeared to be a great deal of alarm. “Get in.”

“What? Why? How many are there?” she asked, heart thudding.

“Too many. Tell Reordon he has a security breach.” Though she dug in her heels, he managed to deposit her behind the steering wheel. “Chris calls a guy and tells him where to pick me up. Less than five minutes later, dozens of vampires descend upon me. No fucking way that’s a coincidence.”

“Dozens!” Vampires hadn’t congregated in those numbers since Bastien’s army had been toppled a year and a half ago. “You can’t defeat dozens by yourself!”

When she tried to exit the car, he held her in place with a hand on her shoulder. “Tell Chris to send backup.”

“It won’t get here in time!”

He looked to the south and said with a new sense of urgency, “Just go, Ami.”

“No. I’m your Second, Marcus. I fight by your side.”

“If you fight by my side tonight, you’ll die.” Stepping back, he slammed the driver’s side door and tossed the forest to the south a dark look. “No more time. Go!”

Before Ami could launch another protest, he drew his swords, leapt over the ditch and blurred as he sped toward the far side of the clearing.

Ami thrust the car door open with a muttered, “Go, my ass.”

“Damn it,” he growled in response, already a hundred or more yards away.

The trees in front of him exploded outward. Branches, leaves, and particles of wood flew like sawdust in every direction as dark figures with glowing eyes lunged toward their target.

So many!

Panic struck Ami like a fist. Marcus was right. Neither of them would survive this.

At best, they would take as many vampires with them as they could.

She scrambled from the car and, staying low, hurried to the trunk to delve into the weapons cache stored within. Out of sight of the melee, she retrieved a thin leather harness and tugged it on like a shoulder holster, shifting it until the two sheathed katanas it supported settled against the center of her back.

An immense roar swept through the clearing.

Far less fierce battle cries answered Marcus’s war cry as the clang and shriek of metal hitting metal erupted.

As soundlessly as she could, Ami replaced the 9mm’s in her holsters with Glock 18 automatics outfitted with 31-round clips. Neither bore silencers. The nearest home she had seen on the drive here was far enough away that the distance should turn the roar of gunfire into pops that could be mistaken for teenagers shooting off fireworks. Or so she hoped.

Howls and cries of pain pierced her ears as she withdrew Darnell’s invention: a board an inch thick, four inches wide, and perhaps two feet long, with six full 31-round clips attached to it by Velcro at their bases.

Foliage, wood chips, and broken branches burst from the trees to the west. Starting, Ami crouched down by the back bumper. A loud thunk sounded as the car shook. With eyes so wide they burned, Ami stared at the broken branch that had impaled the side of the car.

A multitude of vampires poured from the forest, trampling the shattered Hayabusa as they headed for Marcus.

With no time to lose, Ami set the board she hugged on the ground, perpendicular to the bumper, then grabbed a second from the trunk. A quick survey of the clearing revealed Marcus, once more in constant motion as he had been the first time she had seen him, fending off attacks from all sides, his midnight hair now loose and floating around him like smoke. But this time he didn’t face eight vampires. Dozens converged on him, their eyes sparkling like Christmas lights, their weapons like silver tinsel.

Kneeling by the wooden strip of 31 -round clips, Ami used the car as a shield and drew her Glocks. Her left hand curled around the grip of one cool weapon. She set the other on the ground in front of her, retrieved her cell phone, and, hand shaking, speed-dialed Chris Reordon.

“Reordon,” he barked.

Several of the blurred figures circling Marcus stopped and spun in her direction.

“Oh crap.” Dropping the phone, Ami began firing the Glock in her left hand even as she grabbed its twin with her right.

She had no time to aim with any precision. All she could do was spray the dark, indistinct forms as they swarmed toward her, eating up the ground between them and rippling like an ocean wave. Each time a bullet struck home, the vampire hit would stumble to a halt, his face and form swimming into focus, eyes flashing cobalt, aqua, green, or silver as he clutched the wound and bleated in pain or growled in fury, fangs bared. Unless she lucked out and hit a major artery, however, only seconds would pass before he regrouped and surged forward.

Far too quickly, the Glock in her left hand emptied. Still firing the other, she leaned forward and pressed her knee onto the one-by-four to stabilize it. A flick of her thumb ejected the Glock’s empty clip. Ami then slammed the grip down onto a full one, ripped the clip from the board and used her boot heel to rack the slide and advance the first bullet into the chamber. The right Glock emptied just as she began firing with the left and she repeated the process, never ceasing the spray of bullets.

Bodies began to pile up. In the distance, a circle of corpses formed around Marcus. More cadavers, shriveling and decaying, the stench rising on the brisk breeze, littered the field that separated her from him like jellyfish washed up on a beach.

Vampires didn’t heal as swiftly as immortals, so if she scored enough hits, they would either bleed out or be incapacitated enough to no longer pose a threat. As the number she and Marcus took out grew, hope began to rise that they might survive this after all.

Then more vampires poured from the trees.