Predatory

Page 43

With great reluctance, Jenna stepped back. “Okay.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said softly as he stepped out into the night. “Feel better.”
“I already do.”
For the next week Richart lived a dual life. He began each evening by having dinner with Jenna. Sometimes he took her out. Sometimes he cooked for her at her place. Then they parted ways. She went to work, and he left to hunt and fight bloody battles with vampires.
He thought about her all the time. Her laugh. Her smile. Her wit. Her delectable body pressed to his. He was falling in love with her and thought—hoped—she might be falling in love with him. Her face lit up when she saw him, as did his own, he was sure. They never ran out of things to talk about when they were together. And the passion building between them. . .
Richart was having a hard time concealing his nature from her.
Whenever immortals experienced strong emotion, their eyes glowed. That was damned difficult to hide when the slightest touch of her hand enflamed him. Hell, just looking at her made him want to rip her work clothes off and lick every inch of her body.
But he resisted the urge and, though he knew it frustrated her, was glad either work or her son frequently intruded and kept them from doing more than the most basic of passionate explorations. He just didn’t feel right about making love with her without first revealing who and what he was.
“Earth to Richart.”
Richart blinked and realized his Second stood in front of him, holding out two daggers. “Oh. Thanks.”
Sheldon shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest as he watched Richart tuck the blades into the sheaths on his thighs. He was young for a Second, only twenty years old. Inexperienced. And not the quickest learner. But Richart liked him and appreciated the boy’s humor and teasing nature.
“When are you going to tell her?” Sheldon asked. He alone knew Richart was seeing someone.
“That I can’t see her tonight?”
“No, genius. That you’re two hundred years old. Don’t you think she should know she’s sleeping with Methuselah?”
“First, thank you for that,” Richart offered dryly as he grabbed a couple more daggers. “Second, we haven’t slept together yet. And third . . .”
“What?”
“It isn’t the easiest topic to broach. And telling her could put her in danger.”
Sheldon frowned. “You mean Reordon? He wouldn’t harm her, would he?”
Chris Reordon took his job protecting Immortal Guardians very seriously. “At the very least, he would interrogate and threaten her to ensure her silence. And if she didn’t react well and told someone else . . .”
Sheldon scowled. “No wonder Roland kept Reordon away from Sarah. But Jenna wouldn’t blab, right? I mean, you know her.”
“And Roland knew his fiancée several centuries ago when he told her. Did she accept him? No. She betrayed his trust, and he awoke the next morning to a mob wielding fire, wooden stakes, and pitchforks.”
“Wow. No wonder he’s such an untrusting bastard.” Sheldon glanced at the clock. “Almost time for the meeting.”
Richart took out his cell phone. “I really hate to do this. It’s her night off, and I didn’t get to see her yesterday.” But when Seth called a meeting, one didn’t balk at attending.
Disappointed, Richart dialed her number.
Chapter Three
A biting winter wind ruffled Richart’s hair. Barren limbs of deciduous trees clacked together overhead while the leaves of evergreens fluttered and swished.
What’s going on with you? a female voice with an accent identical to his own asked in his head.
Richart glanced over at his sister and brother, who examined him much like they would a previously undiscovered insect.
Stay out of my head, he warned them. Both were telepathic. Richart lacked that gift and had often bemoaned the fact as a child until he had learned he could teleport and they couldn’t. They could still read his thoughts or send him their own, though.
We know when you block your thoughts and have respected your desire for privacy, Lisette said and shared a look with Étienne. But we don’t have to read your mind to know something is up.
Richart frowned at the dark forest that surrounded them.
A vampire, claiming he desired the Immortal Guardians’ help, had arranged a rendezvous with Marcus, Ami, and Roland (the last of whom the vampires believed was Bastien) in a clearing that had once been the site of Bastien’s lair. Seth had ordered Richart, his siblings, and Roland’s wife, Sarah, to follow and linger downwind in case it was a trap.
Sarah likely had no notion the French immortals were communicating silently and stood off to the side, staring intently into the trees as if she could see her husband waiting on the other side.
In lieu of answering, Richart decided to change the subject. Did anyone else notice the way Marcus looks at his Second?
Étienne smirked. As if he wishes to devour her? No, I didn’t notice at all.
Richart smiled.
Rustling sounds, a mile or two distant, reached their ears. The vampires’ scents—four instead of only the one who had arranged the meeting—followed.
Étienne drew his katanas.
Richart palmed two daggers as Lisette drew a pair of shoto swords.
“I thought this was supposed to be a private meeting,” they heard Marcus drawl.
“Insurance,” a vampire responded arrogantly. “Can’t blame me for being careful, can you? Besides, if he’s who you say he is, then maybe he can help all three of us.”
Richart caught Lisette’s gaze and raised an eyebrow.
It’s a trap, she confirmed with a frown. Three face our brethren while a fourth lingers in the trees, but . . . She shook her head. Their thoughts are all so loud and jumbled, I can’t discern what the trap entails.
Richart looked to Étienne, keeping an ear tuned to the conversation that continued in the clearing.
Étienne wagged his head back and forth. The madness has taken them. Their thoughts are impossible to separate, as if all are shouting at once. There are only four of them, but . . . So many voices. It’s as though they suffer from multiple personality disorder. I can’t discern their plan.
Richart nodded.
“So be it,” the vampire addressing Marcus said with satisfaction.
Boom!
Pain pierced Richart’s ears as an explosion shook the ground beneath his feet. The scent of multiple vampires abruptly tainted the air as gunshots sounded and the clang of metal striking metal disrupted the night.
A shrill whistle followed as Marcus signaled for them to join the fight.
Sarah darted forward so fast she seemed to vanish.
Richart teleported to the clearing. His eyes widened.
So many!
He swiftly thrust a dagger into the heart of one of the dozens of vampires surging toward Marcus, Ami, and Roland.
Those three stood back to back to back, Ami firing her Glocks, Marcus wielding his short swords, and Roland cutting through the vampires with his sais.
As the vamp Richart impaled sank to the ground, Richart teleported again, appearing several yards away, arms extended, daggers held tightly in his palms. His blades slit the throats of two vampires racing toward Marcus and severed their carotid arteries. As they dropped to the ground, Richart teleported again and again and again, taking out vampires every time, spawning utter chaos as the vampires began to divide their attention between fighting Marcus and the others and looking around wildly for him.
Richart smiled darkly. He loved his gift. Loved the fear it inspired in his opponents.
He teleported over to his brother and took out two of the many vampires clamoring to kill him.
Étienne laughed, never ceasing his swings.
Grinning, Richart teleported over to the mob that continued to assault the trio in the center of the clearing. As soon as he appeared, sinking his blade into yet another vamp, a bullet struck him in the shoulder.
Ami gasped, her guns falling silent.
Richart couldn’t fault her for shooting him. He had teleported between her and her target. He waved it off and teleported again as she resumed fire.
The battle waged on.
For every vampire the immortals and Ami killed, two or three seemed to take their place. Richart couldn’t believe their numbers. Even Bastien had not commanded an army this large.
And where the hell were they all coming from?
The gunshots ended as Ami ran out of ammo and exchanged her firearms for katanas.
Richart kept one eye on her as he continued to fight, knowing her strength could not match that of the insane vampires slathering around her like rabid dogs.
Sure enough, a vamp ducked one of her swings and hit Ami hard in the head.
Richart teleported behind her and caught her as she reeled dizzily. Wrapping one arm around her waist to steady her, he hurled throwing stars with the other until she regained her feet.
“Thanks,” she rasped over her shoulder.
“I’m taking you to safety,” he announced, grabbing one of her katanas and fending off the onslaught.
“No!”
It didn’t matter if she protested. She was injured and vulnerable. The vampires were targeting her as an easy kill.