“No, I’m glad he is. Otherwise he would be dead right now.”
Nodding thoughtfully, he leaned forward and placed his hand on Roland’s chest.
Sarah thought at first he was feeling for a heartbeat.
Then his hand began to glow. Heat radiated from it.
Beneath her astonished gaze, the blisters on Roland’s face, neck, arms, and hands shrank, then vanished. Pink skin returned to a natural golden tan. The angry bullet wounds in one of his arms and those visible through the ragged tears in his clothing sealed themselves, smoothed out, and faded to nothingness. A few in his torso spat out mangled lumps of metal she dimly recognized as bullets, then did the same.
By the time the glow faded and Seth removed his hand, Roland looked whole and healthy again, if a trifle pale.
Sarah watched Seth turn and place his hand on Marcus. “Roland told me immortals who are healers can’t heal severe wounds without it draining their strength and the wounds opening on their own bodies.” Even when they were in top form. And Seth appeared to have been shot more than the two men he was healing combined. Yet no wounds had opened on him.
“
They
can’t,” Seth said. “I can.”
His hand began to glow again. Bullets emerged from Marcus’s body as his burns faded.
She frowned. Was Seth stronger because he was older? Or was he different? “Are you not an immortal, then?”
He smiled, so handsome he would have taken her breath away if Roland hadn’t already turned her head. “I’m about as immortal as they come.”
Hmm.
Sarah couldn’t decide whether that answered her question or not.
The ethereal glow faded, leaving Marcus as whole as Roland.
“Does blood make you squeamish?” Seth asked, sitting back on his heels.
Sarah looked down at Roland’s blood-soaked form, then at the stains on her own clothing. Smiling wryly, she said, “If it did, I’d pretty much be screwed, wouldn’t I?”
He laughed.
She nodded to Roland, still holding his hand and stroking his hair. “Is he going to be okay?”
“Yes, but he needs blood.”
“I offered him mine, but he wouldn’t take it.”
His eyebrows rose. “You did?”
She nodded. “He said it wasn’t enough.”
“More likely he was afraid that, in his condition, he might lose himself and take too much. There should be a goodly supply of it in the refrigerator. Would you mind getting some while I make them”—he motioned toward Roland and Marcus—“more comfortable?”
“Just point me in the right direction.”
He did. “The kitchen is right through there.”
Sarah stood and hurried to the kitchen, surprised to discover her legs were trembling. The room was dark when she entered. Sliding her hand along the wall, she found the light switch and turned it on.
Wow.
She didn’t know whose place this was, but it was frig-gin’ huge! Most of the two-bedroom frame house she was renting could easily fit inside this kitchen.
Crossing to the very expensive-looking stainless steel
refrigerator, she opened the door on the right. It was nearly empty, spotlessly clean. Maybe
all
Immortal Guardians were neat freaks.
It was sort of weird to think of them doing housework. Killing vampires by night, then coming home to clean the fridge, mop the floor, or scour the bathroom by day.
Ignoring the club soda, organic fruit juices, and natural salad dressings, Sarah bent and pulled open what looked like a modified meat compartment drawer. Bags of blood were neatly stacked inside. There were more in the vegetable bin.
Seth hadn’t specified how much she should bring, so Sarah took it all. Loading up, she filled her arms, shivering at the cold, elbowed the drawers shut, then let the refrigerator door close itself. The plastic bags weren’t that easy to handle in bulk. They kept shifting and sliding and trying to slip out of her grasp.
Juggling them as best she could, she hurried back into the spacious living room.
Marcus and Roland were now conscious and seated, side by side, on one of the three sofas the room boasted. Seth was comfortably sprawled in an armchair across from them. The same one Nietzsche hid beneath.
Roland’s eyes widened when he saw her.
“This is all there is,” Sarah said, dumping her load on the coffee table. Seth leaned forward and deftly caught one as it slid off the side toward the floor. “Is that enough?”
“
More
than enough,” Marcus said, grabbing a bag and biting into it.
“Oh. Did I bring too much?”
Roland leaned forward and picked up a bag. “Had Seth not done the work for us, it would take all of this and more to heal our wounds and replenish our strength. But, since he did, we need only enough to replace the blood we’ve lost.”
Sarah nodded and tucked her hands behind her back. They were starting to shake and she was beginning to get that
swollen-throated weepy feeling now that the danger was over and reaction was setting in.
She was so glad Roland was going to be all right. So relieved she wanted to crawl into his lap and wrap her arms around his neck.
Instead, she locked her hands together and did her best to look like she wasn’t about to embarrass herself by falling apart.
Roland seemed hesitant to feed in front of her.
Hoping to reassure him, she pasted a smile on her face. “I won’t freak out. I promise. You drinking blood is no more repellent to me than someone else eating one of those greasy triple beef hamburgers I see advertised on television.”
Roland wasn’t sure he believed that as he brought the bag to his lips. Watching her carefully, he bit down and drew hard with his fangs. No grimace. No shudder.
One would think she had just handed him a juice box.
Nietzsche chose that moment to creep out of his hiding place and rub against Seth’s black fatigue–covered calf. His striped and speckled gray fur and white paws were sticky with Roland’s blood and stood out in darkened spikes.
“Well, what have we here?” Seth picked the cat up, examined him briefly, then settled him in his lap. “Hello, Nietzsche. I didn’t know you were still around.”
Uh-oh.
The gaze Seth turned on Roland was inscrutable. “You do realize that cats aren’t actually
supposed
to live nine lives?”
From the corner of his eye, Roland saw Marcus frown.
“Wait a minute,” he said after draining the first bag. “That isn’t the
original
Nietzsche, is it? That would make him—what—forty years old?”
“Forty-three,” Seth clarified.
Roland opted to remain silent and glanced up to catch Sarah’s reaction as their words sank in.
Her eyes widened. “An immortal cat?” she blurted incredulously. “There are
immortal cats?
”
“
One
immortal cat,” Seth corrected as he stroked Nietzsche’s messy fur.
Nietzsche closed his eyes in ecstasy and began to purr and work his little paws.
Seth’s disapproval didn’t have to be verbalized. Even Sarah seemed to sense it and edged closer to Roland.
Well, what’s done is done.
“It was an accident,” Roland began, setting his empty bag aside. “I came upon a vampire who was draining a woman dry. When I attacked and started kicking his ass, she freaked out and pepper sprayed me.”
“Why?” Sarah demanded. “You were trying to help her.”
“She wasn’t lucid. She thought he was giving her a hickey, not killing her,” he explained. “Before my vision cleared, the vamp got in a lucky shot and cut my carotid artery. It healed, but—by the time I dispatched the vamp, took care of the woman, and got home—I had lost so much blood that I passed out before I could feed. I awoke sometime later to the feel of Nietzsche’s sandpapery tongue licking my neck.” He shrugged. “I don’t know how much he consumed, but he hasn’t aged a day since.”
Marcus studied the cat curiously. “Has it made him more violent? Is that why he attacked the raccoon?”
“No, Nietzsche has always been very territorial. The little nutcase.”
Seth sighed. “Let’s keep this between us, shall we? I have my hands full watching over all of you Guardians. I don’t need immortal pets to be thrown into the mix, as well.”
Roland and Marcus murmured their agreement, then each drained another bag.
Sarah perched on the sofa arm nearest Roland.
Seth waited until they were finished to speak. “Tell me what you know of the one who tried to kill you.”
“Not much more than the last time I talked to you,” Roland said, raking a hand through his hair in frustration. “His name is Bastien. He’s British. And he has raised a small army of both vampires and human minions.”
Seth’s brow furrowed.
“He attacked us again last night, shortly after Marcus arrived, as we were leaving Sarah’s home. There were seven vamps with him. A dozen more joined them after the fight began.”
“All of whom deferred to Bastien and looked to him as their leader,” Marcus threw in.
Roland nodded. “The plan was to kill me and take Marcus alive.” He gave a quick rundown of the fight and of Bastien leaving to pursue Sarah, eventually ceding the fight and fleeing.
“You didn’t follow him?” There was no censure in the question.
“No, I was worried about Sarah and wanted to make sure she was all right.”
Seth stared at him a long moment, then looked to Sarah. “Were you hurt?”
“No,” she said at the same time Roland said, “Yes.”
A flush covered her cheeks as she shifted restlessly beneath their collective scrutiny.
Roland was about to reach out, take her hand, and draw her down to sit closer to him when she jumped up and bent to collect the full bags of blood that remained on the coffee table.
“If you’re finished, I’d better go put these up. I’m sure they’re supposed to stay refrigerated.”
Watching her hurry toward the kitchen, he had to fight the need to follow.
“The humans who attacked us today were also Bastien’s,” Marcus added.
Seth rubbed Nietzsche’s chin. “How did they find you?”
Guilt pricked Roland as he recalled accusing Sarah of helping them. “Bastien must have circled around, lingered downwind, and followed us.”
Marcus shook his head. “If he followed us, he did it on foot. I would’ve seen and heard a car or motorcycle even with the headlights off.”
“And considering his injuries,” Roland said, “he would’ve had to have been damned determined. This feels like a personal vendetta to me.”
“Personal vendetta or not, this needs to be taken care of,” Seth decreed. “The more vampires he creates and humans he brings into the fold, the greater the risk of exposure. Too many humans have cell phones that take pictures now. With an army of vamps that size all feeding in one area, it’s only a matter of time before someone catches something on video.”
“We’re working on it.” It was a lame response, but the best he could do at the moment. “Where are we, by the way? Whose house is this?”
“David’s. He said to tell you that you’re welcome to stay as long as you need to.”
“That’s very generous of him. Thank him for me, will you?”
“Sure.”
Roland exchanged a look with Marcus.
Marcus returned his attention to Seth. “All right. Since
he
won’t ask, I will. Is the blood all over your clothes ours or yours?”
Seth glanced down, as though only then noticing his condition. “Mine.”
That was it, nothing more.
His exasperation showing, Marcus sighed. “Are those bullet holes?” he pressed, motioning to the numerous small tears in his clothing.
“Yes.”
Marcus turned to Roland. “You know, I didn’t register until this very moment just how alike the two of you are.”
Both Seth and Roland frowned. Seth, because he apparently
wasn’t pleased with the comparison, and Roland because, for once, it bothered him that he was the thorn in everyone’s side.
Was he really that big a pain in the ass?
“Yes,” Seth answered the unspoken question, then grinned when Roland reached up and stroked one eyebrow with his middle finger.
“Look,” Marcus said, “I only asked because there must be at least two or three dozen of them. Are you all right?”
“I’m fine, Marcus. When Sarah called, I was just wrapping something up and didn’t have time to change.”
“Do you need blood?”
He shook his head. “My wounds have healed.”
Roland stared at him. “What exactly is going on in Texas? Could it be related to whatever is happening here?”
“No,” Seth said decisively. “We aren’t—” He broke off. Tilting his head to one side, he looked away as though listening to something. Pulling out his cell phone, he dialed a number and held it to his ear. “What’s wrong?”
Roland glanced at Marcus, wondering to whom Seth was speaking.
“Where is she now?” Seth asked the unseen speaker.
Marcus raised one eyebrow.
“I’ll be right there.”
Nietzsche mewed a protest as Seth set him on the carpet and rose, tucking his phone back in his pocket.
“I have to go.”
Marcus stood. “Wait. Does David have a computer?”
“A laptop, but he took it with him.”
“Then can you drop me at my place? I want to do a little cybersleuthing and see what I can come up with.”
In answer, Seth reached out and touched Marcus’s shoulder. “Keep me posted,” he told Roland.
Then the two vanished.
All was quiet when Seth appeared in his Houston home.
Well, not entirely quiet.
The sound of rapid, jagged breaths drew him upstairs to one of the many guest bedrooms he kept for visiting immortals and their Seconds.
Darnell, David’s Second, stood in the hallway out of sight of the bedroom, brow furrowed. David stood in the doorway, hands raised in a gesture of peace. That, coupled with his height, muscled body, and blood-soaked clothing, however, apparently did little to reassure the object of his attention.
Seth brushed by both men and entered the room, pausing a step inside. No doubt he was equally intimidating, though, for once, he did not intend to be.
Across the room, the young woman they had rescued cowered on the floor, squeezed into a corner between a dresser and the wall.