Boots pounded up the stairs from the basement.
Darnell burst into the hallway, the six trainees fast on his heels. “What’s wrong?” His eyes widened when he caught sight of Dr. Lipton. “Oh, shit. How bad?”
“Fatal,” Richart said.
The Seconds all stared somberly.
“David and Seth have their hands full,” Ami told him. “Do you know where Roland lives?”
“No.” He reached into a back pocket and drew out his cell phone. “He’ll have to come here.”
Richart shook his head. “Have him meet us at the network. She won’t live long enough for him to get here. Hopefully, the doctors there will be able to keep her alive until he arrives.”
He vanished in the next instant.
Ami heard some of the trainees gasp. “You call Roland. I’ll call Chris.”
Bastien pitched the last soldier off the roof. The man’s vocal chords had been crushed, so he couldn’t alert any campus stragglers with screams as he plunged to his death.
The snipers were all dead. Now it was time to tackle the soldiers on the ground.
Withdrawing his cell, he dialed Chris.
“Reordon!” the human barked impatiently.
“I need a cleanup crew,” he said and leapt to the dense green lawn below.
“Bastien? What the fuck is going on? Richart just showed up here with Dr. Lipton.”
“Why the hell is he there? Why isn’t David healing her?”
“He can’t. Seth can’t either. They’re both busy elsewhere. The medical team is working on her and Roland is on his way. Now tell me—”
“Ask Bastien where I should meet him,” Richart said in the background.
Knowing now that there was a strong chance Melanie would not make it, Bastien felt an icy calm settle over him. “Tell him to teleport to Peabody Hall. I’m at Fetzer Hall now and am about to sweep through the soldiers between us like a fucking tidal wave.”
“Damn it, we need some of those men left alive to—”
“All you’re getting are corpses. When you send the cleanup crew, send a fucking bus.”
Disconnecting the call, Bastien sped through the darkness toward the first cluster of soldiers.
Chaos infected the remaining soldiers’ ranks as one after another after another ceased communicating over the walkie-talkies. Panicked, unable to spot their attacker even with night vision goggles, they ignored their commander’s orders to maintain radio silence and begged for help, alerting Bastien to all of their positions.
He took out three of a cluster of six in two seconds. The others tried to fire their weapons and retreat at the same time. Shots muffled by top-of-the-line suppressors filled the night, unheard by anyone but Bastien and Richart if he had appeared as instructed.
Bastien didn’t flinch as bullets struck him. Drawing his katanas, he cut the throats of two men, then disarmed the last. Dropping a sword, Bastien yanked the last man forward, sank his fangs into the prick’s neck, and drained him.
Dropping the body, Bastien retrieved his sword and raced for the next cluster. Already his wounds were healing. But he would have continued even if they hadn’t.
These bastards had killed Melanie. By the time this night was over, not one of them would ever draw breath again.
Richart delayed returning to UNC. Roland’s home was half an hour away from the network by car. The Frenchman had seen the doubt on the network doctors’ faces when asked if they could sustain Dr. Lipton for that long. Their best hope, therefore, was for Roland to meet Richart at some halfway point with which Richart was familiar.
Richart paced the agreed upon parking lot impatiently.
The tires of Roland’s black Fisker Karma squealed as he turned into the lot without slowing and slammed on the brakes.
Both front doors flew open. Roland and Sarah hopped out.
“We must hurry,” Richart urged, crossing the brief distance between them and clasping Roland’s shoulder. “I can’t take you both.”
Sarah nodded. “I know. Go ahead. I’ll meet you at the network. Be safe, sweetie.”
“Always,” Roland said.
Then Richart teleported him directly to the network’s OR.
Judging by the frantic activity taking place there, Dr. Lipton had not yet expired. Richart would take that news with him to UNC and hope it would appease Bastien’s wrath.
But first, he had a stop to make.
Étienne d’Alençon knew his brother as well as he knew himself.
The twins were like those sometimes mentioned on the news with a strange combination of awe and skepticism. If Richart’s arm was broken, Étienne felt an ache in his own. If Étienne’s leg was shattered, Richart felt the agonizing pain in his own.
Not the most convenient connection to have, considering the two brothers hunted and fought vampires for a living and were injured damned near every night. But they were used to it.
While Richart didn’t possess the telepathy Étienne and their sister Lisette did, Étienne could often sense when his brother was troubled without reading his thoughts because of the close connection they shared.
Which is what had happened a few minutes ago when Richart had teleported to David’s home.
Hands braced on the shower wall, warm water sluicing down over his hair and rinsing the blood from his battered body, Étienne had felt his brother’s presence and raised his head.
Thanks to his acute hearing, the voices of Richart, Ami, and Darnell had reached him easily. Dr. Lipton had been fatally wounded by the sounds of it.
What the hell had she been doing hunting vampires with them?
No matter.
Something else was agitating his brother.
What is it? he had asked his brother mentally in French.
How soon can you be ready to go? had come his response even as he continued speaking with the others.
A minute. Maybe two. How soon do you need me? He hadn’t asked for what. It didn’t matter.
Get dressed. I don’t want to alarm the others, but . . . I may need help reining in Bastien when I return to UNC.
Étienne had frowned. What do you mean, reining him in?
You’ll see when we get there. I must go.
Étienne had lost the connection when his brother had teleported away.
Swearing, Étienne lathered and rinsed his body at preternatural speeds, then shut off the shower.
David kept a ready supply of new clothing for immortals and their Seconds that rivaled one might find in a department store. So many men and women tromped in and out of the elder immortal’s home (which really did feel like home to many of them), often coming straight from battle, their clothing torn or bloodstained. David liked to be prepared and enjoyed providing his family with anything they might need or that might make them more comfortable, including spare bedrooms and the aforementioned clothing.
Étienne pillaged the wardrobe in the guest room he had been using more and more often of late, pulling out cargo pants, a long-sleeved T-shirt, boxers, and socks. All black.
He didn’t know if David and Darnell had caught on yet, but ever since the immortals in the area had learned that this Emrys prick was itching to get his hands on Ami, they had begun to spend more of their free time here to ensure her safety.
Not that David couldn’t protect her singlehandedly. She just seemed so small and fragile, despite her astonishing ability to kick vampire ass.
And she could kick some serious vampire ass. Étienne had only seen her in action once, but he would never forget it.
Besides he liked it here. His Second, Cameron, had fallen hard for a woman recently and spent every minute he could with her. The house he and Cam inhabited just felt so damned empty now. Since Ami and Marcus had moved in, David’s house was constantly bustling, always entertaining, never boring.