Dianne Duvall: Darkness Dawns

“Something isn’t right, Seth. I don’t think this was an isolated incident.” The last vamp standing took a sample of my blood. It seemed to be the entire purpose of their attack. They knew who I was, that I was an immortal, before I ever confronted the bait vampire. How is that possible?

Were it another immortal, I might think you had simply been careless. But I know how paranoid you are and how meticulously you guard your privacy. The fact that so many vampires are living together—let alone investigating, plotting, and planning attacks—is unheard of.

“I would join you and get to the bottom of this, but I can’t,” Seth said, his voice grim. “I have a situation here that requires my full attention.”

Roland was not surprised. The leader of the Immortal Guardians frequently had his hands full. “No problem. I’ll look into it myself.”

“Um, hello?” Sarah called. “Are you people insane? You aren’t going to be able to look into anything at all if you bleed to death on my futon.”

How bad are your wounds?

I’ve stopped the bleeding, but they aren’t healing. I could really use some blood.

Too bad you don’t have a Second who could bring you some.

Roland ground his teeth. “What is David’s number? I’ll call him and see if he’ll let me borrow Darnell for a few hours.”

David was a fellow immortal, Darnell his Second. And, as luck would have it, they lived only an hour away.

“David can’t help you. He and Darnell are here in Texas with me.”

That gave him pause. Whereas Roland had lived centuries, David had lived millennia. The second-oldest immortal, David enjoyed powers that only Seth’s exceeded.

Sending for David was tantamount to calling in the big guns.

“David is with you?”

“Yes.”

Forcing his fingers to do his bidding, Roland picked up the receiver and brought it to his ear.

Sarah started to protest but quieted when he touched her shoulder in a silent bid for leniency.

“What kind of situation are we talking, Seth? Do you need my help?”

“No, David and I can handle it.”

“Are you sure? I can put this on hold and be there in a few hours.”

“I appreciate the offer, but I would prefer that you remain there and see what you can uncover.”

“All right.”

Sarah pursed her lips, raised one dark eyebrow, and looked pointedly at the phone.

Returning the receiver to its cradle, Roland switched back to speakerphone.

Sarah couldn’t believe the man had just offered to fly to Texas to aid his boss, who clearly was also a good friend, when he sat before her covered in blood and ravaged by wounds that would make anyone with a weaker stomach than hers vomit.

That was loyalty. That was dedication.

Two qualities that seemed regrettably rare nowadays.

She studied Roland curiously. If he had opened the telephone conversation by saying, Hey, Seth, do me a favor and tell this woman I really am a CIA agent, she would have remained skeptical. But Seth had confirmed his status as an undercover agent—as well as the length of time he had been working this case—with no verbal hints from Roland, so she was inclined to believe him.

Besides, foolish though it may be, she wanted to believe him.

The fingers of one of his hands still rested on her shoulder, the spike carefully angled away from her face.

How could he stand it? How could he bear such horrific wounds so casually? So stoically? And what exactly did he plan to do about them if he didn’t intend to call 911?

“Who else can I call?” Roland asked. His words carried a British accent.

“Marcus.” Seth’s accent wasn’t as easy to identify.

Roland’s forehead, speckled with blood, crinkled in a frown. “How is that going to help me? Marcus is in Houston.”

“Not anymore. I transferred him to North Carolina last month. He’s staying just outside of Greensboro.”

“He is?”

The news seemed to please him.

Sarah peeled back the towel she held to his stomach, relieved to see that the stab wounds no longer bled. On the outside. Was he bleeding internally?

“Who is his Second?”

“What’s a Second?” she whispered.

Roland lowered his voice. “It’s like a partner whose sole duty is to watch your back throughout your investigation.”

“Oh.” Where had Roland’s Second been this morning? It didn’t look as though anyone had been watching his back. Other than her. And she had just stumbled onto the scene.

“Marcus doesn’t have a Second,” Seth said. “And before you say anything, he wasn’t assigned one because Marcus is dangerous to be around right now. You simply refused one because you’re antisocial.”

Roland scowled. “I’m not antisocial. I just want to be left alone.”

Sarah must have made some sound of amusement, because Roland met her gaze, then smiled sheepishly.

Her heart gave a little flutter.

Even with his face smeared with blood and dirt, he was attractive.

Then he frowned. “Wait. What makes you think Marcus is dangerous?”

“His behavior has grown erratic of late. I’m afraid any Second I place with him will quickly end up dead. Lisette is still in the area, though, and has a very competent Second. Would you prefer to call her?”

“No, just give me Marcus’s number.”

Sarah released her hold on the towel and picked up the pen and small tablet she kept on the coffee table. As Seth dictated the number, she wrote it down with Marcus’s name beside it.

Roland thanked Seth. “Don’t forget to call me if you need reinforcements.”

“Don’t worry about me. Just see what you can find out. And keep Sarah safe.”

Sarah’s stomach sank. Keep her safe?

Roland pressed the speakerphone button to hang up.

Her gaze met his.

The truth lay in his troubled, dark brown eyes.

“He thinks they’re going to come after me for helping you, doesn’t he?”

She thought she caught a flash of guilt before he looked away, down at his stomach, then at his hand.

When he spoke, his voice was hushed, weary. “Sarah, would you please clean these spikes up for me so I can remove them?”

Swallowing hard, she nodded and rose.

As Roland stood, the white towel loosened and started to fall. She hastily grabbed it and resecured the ends at his narrow waist.

“Thank you.”

Again Sarah nodded and led him over to the kitchen sink.

He was so polite … in a gruff sort of way. It just made all of this seem that much more surreal.

Turning on the cold tap, she picked up the hand sprayer and began to carefully rinse the dirt, roots, and other crud off the long, pointed length of metal protruding from the back of his right hand.

It just couldn’t be real. Any of it.

The violent struggle that had left this man staked to the ground in the field.

Her knocking two men unconscious with a shovel.

The frantic race for shelter.

His refusal of medical attention.

Finding out the sickos who had done this to him would now be after her.

It was all a bad dream, right? One of those really nasty nightmares in which you knew you were dreaming and needed to wake up, but couldn’t?

Roland sucked in a breath through clenched teeth when the cool water made contact with his wound.

“Should I pour alcohol or witch hazel on it to disinfect it?” she asked, reluctant to hurt him more.

Adam’s apple bobbing, he shook his head. “Soap and water will do.”

Sarah obligingly poured dish liquid onto her hands and lathered up the spike.

Its surface wasn’t smooth as she had thought. Rather, it abraded her skin like coarse-grained sandpaper, making it sting.

As soon as she finished rinsing the spike clean and turned off the water, Roland grabbed the horizontal bar wedged against his palm and tensed.