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!”
