No matter what time of day or night he rose and ventured forth, she magically appeared.
He paused. Directly ahead lay the front door with its heavy-duty reinforced locks and titanium hinges and chain. On the wall beside it hung an alarm touch pad. What he could see of the living room appeared bare. The long room continued around to his left beyond his line of sight. On the opposite side of the front door lay a small dining area with a breakfast bar that separated it from the spacious kitchen around on the right, which he also could not see.
A faint noise came from that direction. Ami must be in the kitchen.
Tensing, he prepared to make a mad dash for the front door.
“I think the coast is clear,” a voice whispered loudly in his ear.
Marcus’s head snapped around so quickly his neck popped. And he was pretty sure his feet left the floor when he jumped with surprise.
His gaze swung down.
Ami stood mere inches away, her emerald eyes twinkling with mischief as she stared up at him with an impish grin.
“How did you do that?” he demanded, too shocked to feel anger. Because of his preternaturally acute hearing, even immortals would be hard put to catch him unawares.
Exaggerated innocence washed across her pretty features. “Do what?”
“Sneak up on me like that.”
Brow furrowing, she gave his arm a sympathetic pat. “Well, rumor has it you’re over eight hundred years old, Marcus. Perhaps your hearing is starting to go.”
There was such an overabundance of false concern in her voice that he actually found himself fighting the urge to smile.
Before he could do so, he spun on his heel and started for the door.
“It isn’t going to work, you know,” she called after him.
He stopped, turned back to face her.
All levity had fled. Now she studied him gravely. “What isn’t?”
“Ignoring me won’t make me go away.”
“Are you so certain of that?” he countered sardonically.
She responded with a slow nod. “Yes. I don’t duck responsibility.”
He stiffened, the anger that had eluded him earlier now rising. “Are you saying I do?”
She tucked her thumbs in the front pockets of her jeans. “I’m saying Seth assigned me to serve as your Second, and nothing you do or say will keep me from doing my job.”
This tiny mortal woman thought she could hold her own against him? “Your confidence is misplaced,” he warned her.
“My confidence is exceeded only by my stubbornness.”
He could vouch for that. “I don’t need a Second!” he practically shouted in frustration.
Her delicate shoulders rose and fell in a shrug. “Clearly Seth thinks you do.”
“I don’t give a damn what Seth thinks!”
A spark of temper ignited in her eyes. “Well, you should. He’s worried about you, Marcus. It’s been eight years—”
He swore violently, cutting her off. Seth had told her about Bethany?
Swiveling once more, he strode toward the door. “I’m not discussing this with you. It’s none of your fucking business.”
“You aren’t alone,” she insisted.
He emitted a derisive snort. Next she would remind him that he had friends who cared about him and who were there for him and wanted to help him, blah blah blah.
Except ... she didn’t. She said, “I know what it is to grieve.”
And there was something in her voice, as she continued, that made his steps slow, then halt altogether. Something that seemed to resonate in the dark, hollow void that now resided deep inside him.
“I know what it is to lose your compass. To suddenly find yourself floundering without direction, far from the path you were treading. How ... exhausting it can be, knowing you’ll never find that path again, to just trudge forward anyway, forcing one foot in front of the other again and again in what feels like an utterly useless endeavor. I know what it is to live without hope.”
He glanced over his shoulder.
Her gaze avoided his. “What I’m trying to say is ...”
A long moment of silence followed, during which he noticed for the first time the shadows beneath her eyes. Evidently staying up late to pester him and match his sleep schedule had left her as fatigued as it had him.
A huff of annoyance escaped her. “I don’t know what I’m trying to say. Wait here for a moment, please.”
As he stood, motionless, she headed into the kitchen.
“Hi there, Slim,” she murmured as she left his sight. “What are you up to, you crazy kitty?”
He liked the way she walked. Though small, she didn’t take mincing little steps. Nor did she engage in a lot of contrived hip swaying. No, with Ami there were only long, strong, purposeful strides that triggered some long dormant predatory desire in him to follow after her and pounce.
Marcus frowned. Where the hell had that thought come from?
She returned carrying a cloth cooler about the size of a child’s lunch box and held it out to him. “Here.”
He took it. “What’s this?”
“As far as I can tell, you haven’t been eating regularly, so I made you brunch.” Most immortals only ate two meals a night: the equivalent of brunch and dinner. “There’s a bag of blood, some green tea with ginseng, and a sandwich. Whole-grain bread. Meatless smoked turkey. Lettuce. Tomato. Red onion. Bell pepper and a few slices of jalapeño pepper. All organic. I didn’t know if that was to your taste, but Seth, David, and Darnell love it.”
Marcus’s stomach rumbled hungrily in anticipation, earning him a faint smile.
David was the second oldest immortal in existence. Darnell was his Second. How much time had Ami spent with them?
The phone rang.
Ami shrugged. “I hope the hunt goes well tonight.” Striding down the hallway to the study, she flicked on the lights and disappeared inside.
Marcus heard her lift the receiver.
“Hello?”
“Hello, sweetheart,” a familiar, deep, accented voice spoke on the other end.
“Seth!” she cried joyfully. “Where are you? Are you in North Carolina?”
“No, I’m in Montreal, but thought I’d call and see how things are going.”
Scowling, Marcus slipped outside and headed for his motorcycle.
What exactly was Ami’s relationship with Seth? He hadn’t really thought about it before but ... there seemed to be a great deal of affection between them. More than he could recall seeing or hearing Seth express for any other woman. Not that he knew much—or anything—about Seth’s love life.
Stashing his brunch in the underseat storage compartment, Marcus donned his helmet and straddled the bike, flipping the tail of his coat loose. He had had both the Suzuki Hayabusa and his helmet (originally dual colored) custom painted a sleek solid black to help him blend in better with the night.
A cool breeze carried with it the typical sounds of North Carolina. The buzzing, trilling, and shushing of insects. The call of an owl. Bat wings fluttering overhead. The slow lumbering progress of an opossum and the sprightly steps of a raccoon deep within the forest. Deer grazing. Frogs growling or peeping or twanging like plucked guitar strings.
Though the air here wasn’t as crisp and clean and sweet as that which had bathed him as a boy, it was better than the air found in larger cities that, too often, were blanketed in a haze of pollution.
Slowly, he cruised down the long, winding gravel driveway, keeping a careful eye out for the little brown rabbits that had lately made a habit of chewing the grasses and weeds that sprang up between the pebbles. Sure enough, four eyes—low to the ground—glinted in the headlight as two furry bodies hastened into the heavy undergrowth on his left.
Smiling, feeling the tension begin to melt away, Marcus swung onto a narrow two-laned highway, then shot forward. Pure pleasure engulfed him as he went from zero to seventy in three seconds. Wind yanked back the long raven hair that fell several inches below his helmet. His long coat fluttered behind him like wings as he steadily accelerated.