Dianne Duvall: Phantom Shadows

The holding room was usually reserved for vampires. Thick steel walls reinforced with several feet of concrete held in captives. Titanium chains as thick as her biceps dangled from links in the walls above a single cot. By the door, out of reach of those manacles, resided a desk.

When the immortal hesitated, Melanie spoke. “Shouldn’t he be taken to the infirmary?”

“Not after killing humans.” Chris denied. “Protocol states—”

“Fuck protocol,” the immortal interrupted. “These were not ordinary humans. They resembled Special Ops soldiers, were heavily armed, and carried with them several tranquilizer pistols issuing the only drug that has ever proven to be effective against us. We have a serious problem on our hands.” He looked to Melanie. “Where is the infirmary?”

“This way,” she said. Without looking at Chris, she turned and led the way down the hallway to the sizable infirmary.

Since immortals usually moved silently, the boots clomping down the hallway behind her told her Chris and all of the guards followed as well.

At her direction, the immortal laid Bastien on an empty bed.

“Richart d’Alençon,” he introduced himself with a nod.

She smiled. “Melanie Lipton.” Pulling on a pair of vinyl gloves, she began to unbutton Bastien’s blood-spattered shirt. “Do you know how many darts he was hit with?”

He reached into his pocket. “I found two on the ground beside him.” He showed her, then set them aside and helped her remove Bastien’s clothing.

She frowned. “Two shouldn’t have rendered him unconscious. Didn’t it take more than that for you when you were hit?”

He nodded as he dropped Bastien’s long coat to the floor. “I believe I was tranqed four times or more before I lost consciousness. Either blood loss is compounding it or he removed some darts before I arrived.”

Chris stood at the foot of the bed, brow creased, arms crossed over his chest. “Why weren’t any of the men left alive for questioning?”

“I don’t know. I wasn’t there.”

“I thought you were supposed to be watching him.”

Richart’s eyes flared bright amber as his jaw tightened. “There were four vampires. Two remained at UNC and two headed for Duke. Bastien took the latter. I took the former. Should I have left the two at Chapel Hill to freely troll for victims in order to watch Bastien dispatch the vampires he followed?”

Still frowning, Chris said nothing.

“I caught up with Bastien just before the human soldiers arrived. The women the vamps had snatched needed to be taken to safety. I could not stay without risking their lives.”

“I don’t like it. The men were human. He should have been able to disarm them without killing them.”

The incandescence in Richart’s eyes faded a bit. “In Bastien’s defense, I can tell you that in battle it is almost always kill or be killed. Considering these men were armed with the tranquilizer and filling him with bullets, leaving one alive may not have been an option for him.”

Melanie silently applauded the immortal.

While the Frenchman stripped Bastien’s shirt from him, Melanie retrieved several bags of blood from storage in the next room and set up an IV pole beside the bed.

Bastien’s smooth, muscled chest and eight-pack abs were riddled with ragged holes, some of which still contained bullets.

Melanie eyed Richart as she found Bastien’s vein with a needle and attached the canula. “I know they can’t do anything about the drug coursing through him, but wouldn’t it be better for a healer to be brought in to take care of his wounds? There are so many.” She would have to remove the bullets herself if they didn’t.

“David is in Egypt,” he replied.

David was the second oldest immortal in existence and was a very powerful healer . . . among other things.

“Seth is somewhere in Asia, but mentioned stopping by David’s place tomorrow. The only other healer in our area is Roland Warbrook. And he would rather watch Bastien die a slow, agonizing death than raise a finger to help him.”

Well, Melanie had to admit, she could understand Roland’s animosity. Bastien had, after all, nearly killed Roland’s wife. And had tried on several occasions to kill Roland himself. After raising a vampire army to conquer the Immortal Guardians.

Bastien’s past was a complicated one. And she suspected she didn’t know the half of it.

“Shouldn’t Dr. Whetsman be doing this?” Chris queried.

Yes, but . . . “Dr. Whetsman avoids face-to-face contact with vampires.”

Richart frowned. “Bastien isn’t a vampire.”

“It doesn’t matter. Dr. Whetsman wouldn’t make that distinction, because Bastien lived amongst vampires for so long and led them in the first uprising.”

“How long has this been going on?” Chris asked. He may not like Bastien, but he didn’t want any of his people shirking their duties.

“Since Vince.”

Vincent was one of the vampires who had followed Bastien a couple of years ago. Though he, Cliff, and Joe (two other vampires) had surrendered, hoping the network could help them, Melanie and her colleagues had found no way to stop the mental deterioration the virus caused in humans. In time, Vincent had broken, flying into a rage and injuring Dr. Whetsman and several others before Chris’s men had stopped him.

“He doesn’t have any contact with them?” Chris pressed.

“No. Only Linda and I do.”

When Chris opened his mouth to say more, Melanie held up a hand. “They respond better to us.”

“Because you’re women,” Richart offered shrewdly.

She nodded. “They’re more careful around us. Protective even. The men tend to aggravate the vampires more.”

“Dr. Whetsman aggravates me and I’m human,” Chris muttered. “If he wasn’t so damned brilliant, I would have fired his ass a long time ago. Hold up for a minute,” he added when Melanie rolled her tray of instruments close to the bed and prepared to begin extracting bullets. “Let me go ahead and call Roland. I don’t want Seth to chew me out later for not giving it a try.”

Melanie looked at Richart, who shrugged, his face indicating his belief that such was a useless endeavor.

While Chris dialed, Melanie replaced the blood bag that had already emptied itself into Bastien with a full one.

“Roland. Chris Reordon. We have a man down who could use your healing skills . . . Immortal . . . Multiple bullet wounds . . . I know blood will heal those, but he’s also been tranqed, so the process has been slowed significantly. The virus is too busy trying to counteract the drug to—” He looked at Richart. “Bastien.” Wincing, he held the phone away from his ear.

Melanie could only make out a word here and there, but those she did were of the four letter variety.

Richart pursed his lips and whistled, eyebrows raising. His preternaturally enhanced hearing no doubt allowed him to hear everything the reclusive, antisocial immortal growled.

Chris ended the call.

Melanie raised one eyebrow. “I’m guessing that was a no.”

“You guessed right,” Chris said and motioned to the unconscious immortal. “Dig in.”

Grimacing at his choice of words, Melanie reached for the forceps.

A trebly version of Skillet’s “Monster” broke the silence.

Richart retrieved a phone from his back pocket, glanced at the caller ID, then answered. “Oui?”

Melanie didn’t understand anything he said after that. Her knowledge of French was pretty much restricted to yes, no, and cheese. And she wasn’t sure why she knew the last one.

Richart ended the call and returned the phone to his pants. “I teleported Lisette to the scene to frighten away any curious humans before I brought Bastien here. She said your cleaning crew has arrived.”