Étienne blurred and shot away.
When the three vamps hesitated, Tar Heel scowled and indicated with a furious wave that they should get their asses moving.
They blurred and shot away, too.
Krysta, drew the tranquilizer gun Étienne had insisted she carry. One dose, he had told her, would either kill a human or sedate a vamp.
She eyed the vamps nervously.
They shifted from foot to foot, hands clenching and unclenching on their weapons, gazes shifting back and forth from one end of the alley to the other.
Étienne had better be right about them.
Until he had met Krysta, Étienne had not felt real fear in . . . almost two centuries. He had had some scary moments in the first years following his transformation, but nothing like this.
Krysta was wounded and bleeding and he had just entrusted her care to two vampires. He continued to monitor those vampires’ thoughts. But, if they changed their mind and either attacked her or left her to fend for herself, he may not be able to get back to her in time to save her.
The notion terrified him.
Sticking to the shadows, Étienne headed first for the building from which he knew a mercenary was playing sniper and guiding the others. He leapt up to the roof, not bothering to soften his landing.
The mercenary swung around. Eyes wide, he raised a tranquilizer gun. This was probably the bastard who had shot Krysta.
Étienne closed the distance between them and knocked the gun aside before the man could squeeze the trigger.
Wrapping one hand around the man’s throat and lifting him onto his toes, Étienne drew a tranquilizer dart—one with a human dose—from one of his pockets. “You wanted me,” he growled as the man fought his hold. “You got me.”
He shoved the dart into the man’s throat. The soldier had just enough time to realize what had happened and wet himself before he passed out.
Étienne dropped him and drew out his cell phone as he stepped off the roof.
“Oui?” Richart answered.
Étienne landed nimbly on the ground. “Mercenaries are attacking us at UNC,” he said, whisper soft. “Meet me at the northeast corner of Chapman Hall.”
Richart appeared a few feet away.
Étienne pocketed his phone and swiftly filled his brother in telepathically.
Drawing his weapons, Richart stared at him as they headed toward the larger group of mercenaries and came up behind them. You left two vampires guarding Krysta? Are you out of your fucking mind?
I hope not.
The mercenaries approached the entrance to the alley. Had they not all been edging forward with caution, they would have already reached it.
While Étienne dashed toward their front, blocking their entrance, Richart teleported directly into the middle of the group.
Étienne grinned as chaos erupted.
On the other side of Sitterson Hall, screams of pain split the night as the vampires went to work on the other group of mercenaries.
Étienne tore into the soldiers, trying to read the minds of those he killed or wounded. Most were so full of fear and hatred—almost as much hatred as he encountered in a vampire’s mind—that he couldn’t discern their leader’s name or the name of their PMC.
Bullets and tranquilizer darts flew in every direction. When one hit Étienne, he administered the antidote without missing a beat. The soldiers began to panic as their numbers dwindled and started taking out each other with friendly fire as they swung their weapons in wide arcs, trying to hit anything that moved.
Étienne lost count of the mercenaries they fought and wondered how the hell Chris would clean up something this big on a college campus. They were damned lucky it was often deserted this late.
Three mercenaries broke for the alley.
Étienne started after them, then stopped and resumed fighting when he heard Krysta fire her tranquilizer gun.
He heard one of the three vamps he had sent after the other contingent fall to a tranquilizer dart. The other two started to freak out and considered bolting.
Hold it together, he ordered sternly, remembering Tanner—Bastien’s Second—telling them that the vampires Bastien had led had all feared him. Fall back into the alley so the others can help you, but do not let any of the soldiers harm the woman. Fail me in this or flee the battle and I will torture you myself when I hunt you down.
He was actually a bit surprised when that snapped them out of it.
Several bullets slammed into his back.
Bastards. Étienne spun around and swung a sword at the shooter. No, two shooters.
Are you leaving any alive? Richart asked dryly.
Ummm . . .
Richart laughed.
Ah, hell. Krysta has run out of darts and is leaping into the fray in the alley.
Go to her. I have this.
Another quick head count yielded few enough soldiers left here that Étienne felt comfortable leaving his brother to face them alone. Because of his gift, Richart tended to fare far better than other young immortals when facing large numbers.
Étienne raced into the alley.
Half a dozen soldiers fought there.
All four vampires remained in perpetual motion as they darted in and out and around the men, delivering cuts and gashes and fatal wounds.
Krysta hung back, a sword in the hand of her uninjured arm, waiting for an opportunity.
The vamps parted. She darted in and swung, slicing through an arm wielding a tranquilizer gun, then jumped back as one of the vamps circled around again.
Damned if it didn’t look like they were all working together. Krysta must be wondering if Hell had frozen over.
The last two soldiers gave up on following orders and trying to bring them down alive. Planting their backs to each other, they opened fire with their silencer-equipped automatic weapons. Once again, panic shot through Étienne.
Krysta.
The smaller of the two vamps he had left guarding her tackled her and took her to the ground, covering her body with his. The other three vamps and Étienne were hit with bullets as Étienne rushed forward and cleaved the soldiers’ heads from their bodies.
Both dropped to the ground.
Stark silence engulfed them, broken only by the harsh breaths of Étienne and the vampires.
Richart appeared beside him. The vampire covering Krysta clambered to his feet. Krysta rose and, staring at the vamp in utter disbelief, sidled over to the d’Alençons.
Four vampires—bleeding from multiple wounds, standing side by side, hands still clutching weapons—faced them.
The silence stretched as all waited for action.
“Thank you,” Krysta said to the one who had taken several bullets for her.
He nodded once, jaw clenching, hand not loosening its hold on his blade.
She glanced at Étienne. “Now what?”
“I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “I’ve never gotten this far before.” Only Bastien had ever successfully recruited vampires.
Speaking of which . . .
He sheathed one of his weapons, drew out his phone again, and dialed.
“What?” Bastien answered.
“It’s Étienne. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I have a situation and could use your help.”
Bastien grunted. “I bet that hurt.”
“Where are you?” Étienne asked, refusing to take the bait.
“In Melanie’s office at the network.”
“Richart is on his way.”
He pocketed his phone and met his brother’s gaze. “He’s in Melanie’s office.”