When he had confirmed that all was safe and secure, a malevolent smile rife with triumph stretched across his handsome features.
Revenge was so sweet.
At last, his enemy was dead.
The Immortal Guardian who currently went by the name of Roland Warbrook had killed four of Bastien’s men when they had ambushed him the previous night, but Roland had paid for that with his life.
Paid for that and so much more.
Bastien closed his eyes, savoring his victory. How the bastard must have suffered as the sun rose and baked him like an oven.
He wouldn’t have burst into flames the way vampires did in movies. No, he would have blistered, then charred like meat left too long on a grill. His body, already damaged, would have been unable to heal itself. Deprived of blood, thanks to the large sample Bastien himself had extracted, the parasitic virus that infected them all would have turned on its host, devouring him from the inside out until there was nothing left upon which it might feast.
It was an agonizing death.
And one Roland had richly deserved. He and all of those like him.
Rising, Bastien donned the black clothing that allowed him to blend in with the night and topped it off with a long black coat. Once he had armed himself with his usual weaponry, he unbolted the door and left his chamber.
The ground beneath his farmhouse was riddled with catacombs painstakingly created by himself and his followers. It was a place where they could all rest without fear. Safe from sunlight. Safe from humans. Safe from Immortal Guardians who thought them too stupid to devise such.
He let a smirk curl his lips.
Would the immortals still sneer at them when the vampires began to pick them all off, one by one? Or would they realize they were outnumbered and beg for mercy, as so many vampires had in the past?
Bastien stepped out into a winding tunnel that, like a maze, branched off into numerous dead ends. He had dug and paved this wing himself and he alone knew the way to and from his chamber. Anyone else who tried to find it would inevitably end up lost and answer to him when he heard their pitiful cries for help and hunted them down.
Upon reaching the central hall, which was an expansion of the original basement, he scaled the stairs that led into the house itself. Though the house was dark, all windows carefully covered, the sun had not yet set. His brethren would sleep awhile longer. As the oldest vampire in their midst, he tended to rise before them.
His human servants, however, were up and about.
Tanner, the highest-ranking human, awaited him at the top of the steps. Roughly six feet tall with short blond hair and glasses, he looked, dressed, and sounded more like an accountant than the devoted employee of a vampire.
“They’re in your study.”
Bastien nodded, anticipation thrumming through him. With two wounded vampires he had needed to get below-ground, he had ordered Derek and Bobby to remain behind and collect whatever was left of Roland after the sun had risen. They would be here now to deliver it.
Several men lounging on the living room sofas scrambled to their feet as he walked past. Bastien acknowledged the humans with a short nod and continued on, thinking with some amusement of ways he might display Roland’s remains.
That amusement died as soon as he entered the study.
Something was wrong. Something Derek and Bobby apparently thought would spark his dangerous temper. He could smell their fear, see the tension in their stiff postures, their nervousness in the bobbing knees they couldn’t keep still as they shifted in the chairs positioned in front of his desk.
“You have something for me.”
They leapt to their feet and spun around at his words, faces paling. These two would do just about anything for him in hopes of earning a taste of the vampire’s gifts. It was why he had chosen them to complete this task.
“Where is it?” he demanded.
The twenty-somethings exchanged a terrified look. Bobby had a large bruise in the center of his forehead.
Derek, the one with the bolder nature, girded his loins and spoke. “He, uh … he escaped.”
A haze of fury instantly filled Bastien’s vision, painting the world around him red. In a heartbeat, both men were lifted and slammed to the surface of the desk. His hands tightened around their throats, restricting their airways and pinning them in place.
“He was completely immobilized and at your mercy when we left,” Bastien snarled at the quivering lumps. “What did you do?”
“It wasn’t us!” Derek cried hoarsely as Bobby whimpered and wet himself. “We were watchin’over him like you told us to and were attacked!”
“By whom? He had no way of contacting his fellow Guardians.”
“I don’t know.” He gagged and coughed until Bastien loosened his hold minutely. “I didn’t see who it was. Bobby said it was some crazy bitch with a shovel. She knocked us both out and helped the Guardian get away.”
“A woman?” he growled furiously. “A mortal woman armed with nothing but a gardening tool bested you?”
“W-we didn’t hear her coming,” he blurted. “She was … she was crazy quiet.”
One of the immortals’ Seconds, perhaps?
If so, why hadn’t she been better armed?
Bastien lifted the men and slammed them back down again hard enough to crack the heavy wooden surface of the antique desk. “Damn you! We had him!You say you want to be one of us, but when I give you a task—one simple task—you fuck it up!”
Incensed, his wound from the previous night still paining him, he roared his fury so loudly he woke the slumbering vampires below.
Fangs exploded from his gums.
Derek and Bobby began to scream.
Uncaring, Bastien bent and sank his teeth into Derek’s throat.
Hunger clawed at Roland with razor-sharp talons as he slowly came awake. The need for blood was strong. His wounds had not healed as he slept, as they would have if he had had a few units on hand. He should have taken a minute to feed on the punk who had stabbed him.
But then Sarah would have been afraid of him.
Sarah.
Eyes flying open, Roland saw her in the kitchen. She was closing the oven door and reaching over to return a pot holder to its hook on the wall.
Her bloodstained clothing had been replaced with pale blue, low-riding jeans and an olive green T-shirt that hugged her shapely figure, emphasizing a small waist, full breasts, nicely rounded hips, and a tempting ass. Her hair was still damp from a shower and spilled in thick waves down her back.
He frowned. Was one of her elbows scraped? Had that happened when she’d saved him?
She glanced at him over her shoulder, looked away, then did a double take. Face brightening, she spun around. “You’re awake.”
“Yes.”
Brow furrowing, she crossed to his side. “How are you feeling?”
“About the same.” May as well be honest whenever he could. “How long have I been out?”
“Almost four hours.”
It wasn’t until then that he realized the blood and dirt that had coated him had been washed away. He now sported numerous neat white bandages and was covered with a sheet.
“Did you do all this?”
“Yes.”
He tested the bandage wrapped around his left hand. “Nice field dressing. Are you a doctor?”
She offered him a wry smile. “Not the medical kind. I have a doctoral degree in music theory and teach over at UNC Chapel Hill.”
Beautiful and smart. A marvelous combination. “Well, you did an excellent job. Thank you.”
Her kindness continued to astound him. Even a Second wouldn’t have cleaned him up and made him more comfortable. He would have just bitched and moaned over his sleep being disrupted and given him blood.
Roland’s imagination temporarily soared with images of her touching his bare body while he had slept.
If only he could have remained conscious.
Sarah worried her lower lip and clasped her hands in front of her, suddenly appearing uncertain.
He frowned. “What is it?”
“I’ve been trying to figure out a tactful way to ask you something….”
Oh shit. Had his fangs descended while he was unconscious? A hasty feel with his tongue reassured him that they were receded, as they should be. But if she had seen his fangs earlier, it would explain why she seemed so uneasy.
“Forget tact,” he told her, wondering how he would respond if she asked him if he were a vampire. “Just ask.”
Nodding, she drew in a deep breath, then blurted out, “Are you HIV positive?”
His eyebrows flew up. Not what he had been expecting. “No.”
“Are you sure? Because a lot of people who have it don’t know they have it.”
“I’m 100 percent sure. No HIV. No hepatitis. Nothing. I’m clean.”
The tension left her as she gave him a relieved smile. “Thank goodness.”
Considering how much contact she had had with his blood, he could understand her concern, especially if she had any open wounds of her own.
Again he frowned. “Were you injured, Sarah?”
Wrinkling her nose, she held up her hands to show him scratched and abraded palms. It also allowed him to see her scraped elbow. “I forgot all about it until after I finished cleaning you up. And when I saw it … I admit I got a little worried.”
Roland slowly sat up, clenching his teeth when the movement made it feel as if he were being stabbed anew in the stomach.
“What are you doing?” she asked as he swiveled and lowered his feet to the floor, ensuring the sheet continued to cover him to the waist.
Once the pain had subsided enough for him to unlock his jaw, he motioned to the empty space beside him. “Sit with me for a moment.” It was more a question than an order.
A sweet shyness entered her features as she obligingly sat next to him.
Roland took her hands in his and turned them palms up so he could study the angry red marks. “What happened?”
“Something knocked me down in the meadow before I found you,” she answered. “It was so big and moved so fast I thought it was a bear, but …” She tilted her head to one side, drawing his gaze to hers. “Was it you? And the others?”
