“I will,” he said, a smile entering his voice.
Lisette had only recently met her new sister-in-law and had never seen her brother as content and quick to smile as he had been with the former single mother. Not since his transformation anyway.
Guilt, an ever-present companion, stirred.
Lisette ended the call and returned her cell phone to her pocket.
Sighing, she focused her attention once more on the prisoner.
And found him staring up at her with piercing brown eyes.
Chapter 5
“I feel pretty! Oh so pretty!”
Krysta jerked awake.
“I feel pretty and witty and gaaaaaaay!”
Sitting up in the director’s chair, she winced and rubbed her aching neck. She must have fallen asleep.
Her gaze went to Étienne.
He lay as he had ever since she and Sean had finished cleaning and bandaging his wounds. Still as death. The rise and fall of his chest so faint it seemed an illusion.
She reached for the cell phone she had dropped on the battered table beside her. Sean shuffled into the room, eyes puffy from sleep, boxers and T-shirt as rumpled as his short, black hair.
“How’s your head?” she asked.
“Better.”
She glanced at the phone. “It’s someone named Richart.”
“Are you going to answer it or let it go to voice mail?”
Glancing at Étienne, she answered the call.
Before she could say one word, a slew of French poured over the line. Biting her lip, she waited for it to end.
An expectant pause ensued.
Diving in, Krysta asked, “Do you speak English?”
“Yes,” the man replied in a voice and accent very similar to Étienne’s. “Who is this? Where did you find this phone?”
“In the owner’s pocket. Who is this?” she countered.
“Where is he?”
She looked at Sean, who watched her with furrowed brow. “You didn’t answer my question.”
“I’m his brother.”
Not what she had been expecting. “Vampires have brothers?” she asked, realizing the moment she said it what a stupid question it was. Of course they did. They had all been human once. It was just hard to remember that once they turned monstrous.
Sean’s eyebrows flew up as he mouthed, “His brother?”
She nodded.
A tense silence followed.
“Hello?” she asked at length.
“If you have harmed him in any way,” the man began, his deep voice so full of menace that she felt a twinge of fear.
“I haven’t.” She thought she heard a sigh of relief. “But someone else has. And I’m a little worried that they might come after us.”
Sean nodded, sharing her concern.
They still had seen nothing about it on the news and didn’t know whether that was a good thing or a bad thing. Both feared it was bad.
“How sorely is he wounded?”
“I’m pretty sure he needs blood.”
“Did you give him any?”
“Um . . . no.”
“Yet you know what he is.”
“If you mean, do I know he’s a vampire, then yes.”
Another long pause. “Tell me where you are located.”
Covering the phone, she whispered, “He wants to know where we are.”
Sean looked as uneasy as she felt. “I don’t know . . .”
“Who is there with you?” Richart demanded.
“My brother.”
“Who else?”
She bit her lip. If Étienne was a two-hundred-year-old vampire and Richart was his brother, then Richart must be a vampire, too. What if Richart planned to bring a few of his bloodsucking friends? What if they didn’t share Étienne’s rare desire to protect humans?
“You hesitate,” he pointed out.
“Look, I’m just not used to trusting vampires, okay? How do I know you won’t bring a horde of others along with you and kill us both?”
“I wouldn’t need a horde of others to kill you,” he responded simply.
Crap.
“Honey,” she heard a woman say in the background with an American accent, “if you’re trying to reassure her that you won’t hurt them, saying things like that won’t help.”
Krysta raised her eyebrows.
Sean mouthed, “What?”
“I think he has a girlfriend,” she whispered.
“Étienne?”
“No.” He’d better not. “His brother.”
Wait. Why should it matter to her if Étienne had a girlfriend?
“I shall come alone,” Richart tried again. “Unarmed. You may arm yourself however you will.”
She looked at Étienne, so still and pale.
Hoping she wasn’t making a huge mistake, she gave Richart their address.
Sean left the room, then returned in jeans with two holstered 9mms, socks, and sneakers.
Krysta rose and reached for a shoto sword.
Richart repeated her address. Krysta heard typing in the background.
“Here it is,” the woman with Richart said.
“Is there a satellite image of it? Or a street view?”
“The closest street view,” the woman said, “is this. A gas station a couple of miles away.”
“Thank you, my love.”
Krysta could have sworn she heard them kiss.
“Be careful,” the woman cautioned.
“Always,” he murmured. Then louder to Krysta, “One moment, please.”
“Okay.”
“What?” Sean asked, tying his laces.
“This is so weird.” She had never really thought of vampires as anything other than monsters.
A laugh came over the line. “It worked,” Richart said, with a great deal of surprise in his voice.
“What did?”
“Open your front door.”
Frowning, Krysta strode past Sean into the den and crossed to the front door.
Her hand tightening on her sword, she glanced back.
Sean stood in the doorway of her bedroom, one Ruger aimed at the door, one aimed at Étienne.
Krysta turned the lock with the hand holding the phone and opened the door. Tilting her head back, she eyed the figure standing on the front porch.
A mirror image of Étienne stared back.
“Holy crap,” she whispered. “Richart?”
The vampire’s gaze moved past her to take in her brother and the rest of their tiny abode. He drew in a deep breath, nostrils flaring, then nodded. “May I come in?”
Swallowing, she stepped back.
Richart nodded to Sean, who nodded back, but didn’t lower his weapons.
Krysta closed the door. “Étienne is in there.”
Richart’s boots thudded loudly on the worn wood floor as he strode toward the bedroom.
Sean eased back into the room, never shifting his aim from the two vampires.
“Sean.”
“It’s all right,” Richart said, surprising her. “I understand.” Once in the room, he leaned down over his brother and drew back the sheet. “His wounds are not healing?” All were covered by bandages.
“No.”
“Étienne, mon frère?”
No response.
“How deep are the cuts?”
“Not cuts,” she corrected. “Bullet wounds.”
He looked at her sharply, then glanced at Sean. “Your weapons have not been fired tonight.”
“It wasn’t us,” Sean confirmed. “I removed the bullets, but didn’t stitch the wounds because they weren’t bleeding. I just bandaged them instead.”
“You have my gratitude,” Richart uttered with a bow. Turning back to his brother, he peeled one of the bandages back and muttered something in French.
Krysta fervently wished she knew French.
Richart took his brother’s forearm in his hands and raised Étienne’s wrist to his lips. As he parted his own, fangs descended.
“Wait!” Krysta protested.
He met her gaze. “What?”