Never lonely.
Dressing in short order, Étienne added his comfy, but battered boots, then packed on the weapons.
I may need help reining in Bastien when I return to UNC.
What the hell did that mean?
Ready for whatever his brother needed him to do, Étienne scaled the stairs to the ground floor.
Ami and Darnell spoke in tense sentences in David’s study.
It sounded like Dr. Lipton wasn’t going to make it. Étienne didn’t really know her, but would mourn her passing nevertheless. She had helped him and the other immortals during the vampire king’s uprising. And, as David often said, she didn’t have to be immortal to be a member of their extended family.
“Seth needs to tell Roland to cut the shit and let Richart know where he lives,” Étienne pronounced as he passed through the doorway into the study. Roland was fanatical about ensuring no one knew where he lived. Had he not been so paranoid and antisocial, Richart could have teleported directly to his home and Dr. Lipton would have been healed by now.
“I’m pretty sure he will after this,” Darnell said.
Ami agreed. “Richart is meeting Roland at a halfway point so he can teleport him the rest of the way to the network, but even then he may be too late.”
The two were huddled around Darnell’s phone.
“One of the nurses on call is giving us live updates,” Ami explained.
Étienne made himself comfortable in one of the chairs across from David’s massive desk. A copy of the latest Stephen King novel rested atop the gleaming surface, a page near the middle marked with a Stephen King bookmark.
David was a big fan of the horror writer.
Darnell swore. “She’s crashing.”
Richart appeared, the front of his coat and shirt saturated with blood.
How much of that, Étienne wondered as he rose, was vampire blood and how much was Dr. Lipton’s?
His brother met his gaze. “Ready?”
“Oui.”
Richart touched his shoulder.
Étienne knew that most immortals and Seconds found teleporting uncomfortable and disorienting. He’d been teleporting with his brother, however, since Richart had first discovered he could do it as a very young boy, so it didn’t disturb him in the least.
They appeared in the shadows of UNC Chapel Hill’s Peabody Hall.
Étienne—like all of the other immortals who were stationed in the area—was well acquainted with the quiet campus.
The stench of blood and death and fear that traveled on the wind tonight staggered him.
Holy hell. What had happened here?
A quick examination of his brother’s thoughts revealed that Richart had only aided in killing a party of vampires.
But eight destroyed vampires wouldn’t create this stench.
Something moved behind them.
Étienne and Richart both swung around, ready to attack.
Bastien stepped from the deeper darkness, eyes glowing, hair loose and disheveled and sticky with blood. Nearly every inch of him was coated with the liquid. His face was crimson with it. His expression was as feral as the most insane vampire Étienne had ever fought. And his thoughts . . .
Étienne drew his swords and motioned for Richart to step back.
Richart grabbed his arm. “What are you doing?”
“Seth and David made a mistake. I don’t know how or why but . . . somehow they missed it.”
“Missed what?”
“Bastien isn’t immortal. He’s vampire.”
“No, brother. He’s immortal.”
Étienne shook his head. “You can’t read his thoughts. There’s nothing there but chaos and bloodlust and violence.”
Bastien emitted a low warning growl. Étienne wasn’t even sure Bastien knew whom he faced.
“Stand down, Étienne,” Richart enjoined. “He isn’t maddened. Not the way you think.”
“Bullshit.”
“Look deeper into his thoughts. He cares for Dr. Lipton. More than he will admit even to himself. He fears he has lost her. That the mercenaries have killed her.”
What?
Étienne did as his brother advised and delved deeper into Bastien’s thoughts. Normally he would have had a hard time doing so. Bastien was one of those unique immortals who could sometimes protect his thoughts from telepaths. But the doors he usually erected were down, sundered by the white hot rage that teemed within him. And there beneath it all was what Richart had seen without Étienne’s gift: burgeoning love for Dr. Lipton.
The other immortals thought Bastien visited the network on a nearly daily basis to calm the vampires, but Melanie (as Bastien thought of her) was just as great a lure to him. Her kindness. Her patience with Cliff and Joe. The way she seemed to look at Bastien as a man and not the monster everyone else thought him.
Étienne lowered his weapons and looked at his twin.
He didn’t know what to think of it. He loathed Bastien. Not only had the blackguard started all of the shit they were dealing with now by pitting a fucking vampire army against them and employing Montrose Keegan, he had killed Ewen. Both Étienne and Richart had been friends with the Scottish immortal.
Richart spoke to Bastien as though the latter were a wild horse he sought to calm. “What happened here?”
“Is she dead?” Bastien growled.
“Not yet,” Richart responded, then Étienne heard his brother curse silently.
“Not yet?” Bastien choked out. “She can’t be saved?”
Richart had been right. Not madness. Fear and grief.
Bastien’s hands tightened around the hilts of his swords.
Étienne braced himself to fight the immortal, should he choose to attack the messenger.
“I meant no,” Richart corrected swiftly. “Roland is with her.”
Some of the tension in Bastien’s shoulders eased. The threat seemed to pass.
Étienne risked taking his eyes off the dangerously wound immortal long enough to glance around. He could see several bodies in the distance, shoved up against the wall of the next building behind some shrubs.
“That’s why I was late,” Richart continued. “I met Roland at a halfway point and teleported him the rest of the way.”
Bastien swallowed. “Thank you.”
“What happened here?” Étienne interrupted. Judging by the smell, those bodies were only the tip of the proverbial iceberg. “What did you do?”
“Nothing they didn’t deserve,” Bastien replied darkly.
Étienne remembered Bastien claiming the vampires had had to fear him to follow him. Seeing him now, he had no problem understanding why the vamps had been afraid of their former leader. “How many were there?”
“I lost count.”
“Did you leave none of them alive?”
“Not one.”
“Chris won’t like it.”
“I don’t give a flying fuck what Chris does or doesn’t like.” Bastien turned to Richart. “Take me to Melanie.”
Did Chris Reordon know Bastien had a thing for his top researcher? Étienne would think Chris would have limited Bastien’s visits to the network if he had.
“I can’t,” Richart refused bravely. “Not until the cleanup crew arrives.”
“They’ll—”
Richart held up a hand to halt the coming argument. “You’ve left a trail of bodies from here to Fetzer Hall. I don’t want any innocents to stumble upon them and have to be dealt with. We stay until the cleanup crew arrives.”
Jaw clenching, Bastien nodded.
Richart frowned as Bastien staggered backward and leaned against the brick exterior of Peabody Hall. “Are you injured?”
Bastien closed his eyes. “It’s nothing.”
The hum of an engine drew their attention to a chartered bus rumbling up South Columbus Street.
Richart stared. “Chris took you seriously. He actually sent a bus.”
“They’ll need it,” Bastien said, sounding so weary now Étienne began to look for tranquilizer darts. The despised immortal appeared ready to pass out at any moment.