Flames stretched toward the clear Texas sky like golden fingers as the sun peeked over the horizon. Smoke billowed upward, cloaking the fading stars in charcoal clouds as cries shattered the dawn.
Sirens blared. Men in camouflage ran around in panicked disarray, dodging fire trucks and a few civilians who had made it safely outside. Firefighters raced about in their tan and yellow gear, dousing the roaring conflagration that used to be a three-story building with massive streams of water from numerous hoses.
Two figures materialized amid the chaos, their clothing and long black leather coats covered with blood and full of holes carved by bullets that couldn’t kill them. Even as they strode toward the trees, small misshapen bits of metal emerged from their bodies and dropped to the ground, the wounds left behind sealing themselves within seconds.
Looped over David’s shoulder was a duffle bag filled with laptop computers, exterior hard drives, CDs, DVDs, and junk drives packed with information they would comb through later.
Cradled in Seth’s arms was the woman they had come for, her naked, malnourished body wrapped in a bloody lab coat, so light he doubted she weighed more than eighty pounds.
The darkness of the forest embraced them. Seth carefully adjusted his unconscious burden so her head would be pillowed by his shoulder.
A moan escaped her chapped, cracked lips between ragged breaths.
His mouth tightened in fury.
“We should have killed them all,” David growled beside him.
“Those we left alive had no knowledge of this.”
A trebly version of Disturbed’s “Down with the Sickness” split the air.
Seth halted. It was his cell phone. Turning partially away from David, he said, “Back right pocket. See who it is.”
David retrieved the phone. When he saw who the caller was, he frowned and met Seth’s gaze. “It’s Roland.”
Sarah stared at Roland, willing him to keep breathing while she held the cell phone to her ear and counted the rings.
One. Two. Three. Four.
Please answer!
“Hello?” a lightly accented bass baritone voice said finally.
“Seth?” she practically sobbed in relief.
“Yes. Who is this?”
“It’s Sarah. Sarah Bingham. Roland needs your help. I think he’s dying.”
A giant of a man suddenly appeared before her out of thin air.
Sarah shrieked and dropped the phone.
“What happened?” he asked.
Gaping up at him, she couldn’t find her voice … which, in the end, wasn’t necessary. As soon as he turned his head, he saw Marcus and Roland laid out on the ground and swore fluently.
He was quite an imposing figure. Standing over six and a half feet tall, he had broad shoulders and a slender, yet muscular, athletic build. His face was utterly flawless. Not too rugged. Not too pretty. Strong jaw. Patrician nose. No wrinkles or sagging skin or anything else she would think the oldest Immortal Guardian would sport.
Even more astonishing, his dark clothing was wet with blood and riddled with twice as many bullet holes as Roland’s.
What the hell?
As he knelt between Marcus and Roland, who looked frighteningly close to death, his dark coat pooled around him and his long black hair fell forward to brush the ground.
“You are Seth, right?” she asked when she could speak again.
“Yes.” Peering through the trees at the flames swallowing Roland’s house, he said, “As succinctly as possible, tell me what happened.”
“The vampire who staked Roland to the ground led another attack on us last night, then sent roughly a dozen men—humans—to finish the job today. I saw Roland follow one outside. The man set the house on fire. I assume Roland killed him. The others are all dead inside.”
“Are you injured?”
“No.”
He rested one of his large hands on Marcus’s chest, then held the other out to her. “Take my hand, Sarah.”
Roland seemed to trust this man, so Sarah decided she would, too.
Scrambling forward on her knees, she took his hand.
“Now, touch Roland.”
She had no idea if this was a healing ritual or what, but obediently rested her hand on Roland’s chest.
Seth’s dark, enigmatic gaze caught and held hers. “You may find this a little disorienting.”
Find what disorienting?
A feeling of weightlessness similar to that which one experiences in an elevator swept over her. Gripping Roland’s T-shirt tightly, she abruptly found herself in complete darkness.
Lights flickered on and Sarah stared in astonishment at the spacious living room that had inexplicably replaced the trees.
Plush cream carpet provided a kinder bed for Roland and Marcus than the hard ground previously had. The scent of vanilla replaced that of smoke.
Seth released her hand and pulled a cell phone from his back pocket. As he dialed a number and held it to his ear, Sarah stared down at Roland.
His face was so blistered and bloody, he was nearly unrecognizable.
Taking one of his hands in hers, she gently stroked his sweat-dampened hair. The lump in his shirt moved and wriggled its way up to the neckline. A second later, Nietzsche’s tousled head poked out beneath Roland’s chin.
“Hi there,” Sarah whispered, still fighting tears. “You okay, Nietzsche?”
The little cat looked around, wormed the rest of its body out of the T-shirt, then darted away to hide under a nearby chair.
Sarah lowered her gaze to Roland. The rise and fall of his chest was barely detectable, the time between breaths so long she feared each one may have been his last.
“Chris?” Seth spoke suddenly. “Seth. I have need of your cleaning skills…. Roland’s house is on fire with approximately eleven humans inside, one outside, all dead. He lives in an isolated area, so I don’t know how long it will take someone to notice the smoke and call the fire department. They could already be on their way.”
He rattled off the address. “I doubt it. Knowing Roland, it will be impossible for anyone to trace the house to him. But go ahead, just to be on the safe side…. Thank you.”
As he returned the phone to his pocket, Seth studied Sarah intently. “Roland told you what he is?”
“Yes, I know he’s an immortal.”
“And you have no problem with that?”
“No, I’m glad he is. Otherwise he would be dead right now.”
Nodding thoughtfully, he leaned forward and placed his hand on Roland’s chest.
Sarah thought at first he was feeling for a heartbeat.
Then his hand began to glow. Heat radiated from it.
Beneath her astonished gaze, the blisters on Roland’s face, neck, arms, and hands shrank, then vanished. Pink skin returned to a natural golden tan. The angry bullet wounds in one of his arms and those visible through the ragged tears in his clothing sealed themselves, smoothed out, and faded to nothingness. A few in his torso spat out mangled lumps of metal she dimly recognized as bullets, then did the same.
By the time the glow faded and Seth removed his hand, Roland looked whole and healthy again, if a trifle pale.
Sarah watched Seth turn and place his hand on Marcus. “Roland told me immortals who are healers can’t heal severe wounds without it draining their strength and the wounds opening on their own bodies.” Even when they were in top form. And Seth appeared to have been shot more than the two men he was healing combined. Yet no wounds had opened on him.
“They can’t,” Seth said. “I can.”
His hand began to glow again. Bullets emerged from Marcus’s body as his burns faded.
She frowned. Was Seth stronger because he was older? Or was he different? “Are you not an immortal, then?”