Darkness Dawns
Page 41Sarah thought Chris looked as if he were about to blow a gasket.
“He commands a pack of vampires! Do you think they’re innocent, too?”
“We can’t kill him,” Roland reiterated. “Not until we know for sure.”
“Then what the hell are you going to do—walk up to him, shake hands, and say, ‘No hard feelings’?”
“No.” Roland shared another look with Marcus. “We’ll capture him and turn him over to Seth.”
Marcus nodded slowly. “Do you want to tell Seth, or do you want me to?”
Roland’s hand tightened around Sarah’s. “I will.”
Chapter 14
The heels of Seth’s boots made sharp percussive sounds on the stone floor as he strode through the castle’s many passageways. Up one. Down the next.
There was an urgency to his steps, a tension in his shoulders that held them rigidly squared. The hem of his leather duster flared out behind him as he swung around another corner, confident of his direction despite the stygian shadows unbroken by either torches or electricity.
In his right hand, a cell phone was clutched so tightly, the plastic threatened to crumble. Roland’s words still spun through Seth’s mind, circling like vultures waiting to pick clean the bones of his reason.
It couldn’t be true.
Roland’s enemy could not be an immortal. He couldn’t have missed one.
Could he?
At last, Seth reached his destination and entered a room large enough to be a ballroom, leaving the door open behind him. Immortals and humans alike were forbidden to cross its threshold or even to open the door and peer within, not that they could. Though there was no visible lock on the large oak door, any who sought to open it in Seth’s absence would find the task impossible, even when force and power tools were applied.
Seth took his responsibilities seriously and generously opened his many homes to the immortals he watched over—as well as the humans who served them so honorably and fought by their sides—whether he was currently in residence or not. Anything they needed, he endeavored to provide. But this …
This was his alone.
No windows graced the room. No moonlight lit his path.
Were it not for the overhead lights that flickered on at his silent command, he would be standing in a dark void. There was no furniture. No ornamentation whatsoever save the elaborate carving that whorled across the floor and up three of the four pale gray marble walls. Only the wall encasing the door bore no markings.
Hidden amongst the many shadows and crevices the massive engraving created were names, dates, and small notations made in an ancient language that would confound all but the one who had etched them.
Seth found what he sought on the wall opposite the door, tucked away in the northeast corner.
One name. A single notation. And a date.
SEBASTIEN NEWCOMBE, EARL OF MARSTON
EMPATH
1783
The cell phone hit the floor with a clatter.
It was true.
Sebastien, or Bastien, had been a gifted one. When he had been infected with the virus, he had turned immortal, not vampire.
And Seth had not been there to help him.
Staggered by the guilt that inundated him, Seth leaned against the east wall.
How had he missed it?
Though he had never admitted as much to the immortals—to do so would only invite questions he could not or would not answer—there were three phenomena he always felt internally, no matter how far away they took place: the birth of a gifted one, the death of either a gifted one or an immortal, and the transformation of a gifted one into an immortal. The first generated a sort of breathless tingle in his chest, the second a feeling of emptiness, and the third a sick feeling of dread not unlike that he was experiencing now. If he focused on that dread, the individual’s fear and pain would come to him and serve as a beacon he could use to track them down much as he had the mystery woman.
He always felt it. Always followed it. Helped the newly initiated immortals through the difficult transition. Schooled them on their new nature. Gave them purpose, guidance, the comfort of a friend. Then either trained them himself or introduced them to another immortal, who would perform the task in his stead and become their mentor.
Who had done that for Sebastien? To whom had he turned in Seth’s absence? How many humans had he harmed or killed in his ignorance? His anger? His bitterness?
If he had been taught by a vampire, Sebastien’s head would have been filled with lies about the Immortal Guardians who hunted them.
Did he know he was different from his fellow vampires? Did he know he was immortal? Had he ever approached one of the Guardians, hoping for acceptance, and instead been attacked because of his vampiric ways?
Was that what had transpired with Roland, sparking this plot for revenge?
How had he missed it?
If Bastien had been turned in his thirties, it would have happened between 1813 and 1823. The first two decades of the nineteenth century had been tough ones. Bloody ones. And not just because of Napoleon Bonaparte’s perseverance. Another vampire had gotten it into his feeble brain that if he amassed enough vampire servants, he could take over the world.
It happened once every millennium or so. A vampire would start turning humans left and right, instructing them to turn more. But the virus was so corrosive that by the time he had transformed sufficient numbers with which he could plan a campaign, he was too stark raving mad to organize or lead them.
This one had been no different. Lost to the madness, he had quickly forgotten his agenda and just kept turning many of his victims instead of killing them, abandoning them and leaving them to fend for themselves. It had taken Roland, Marcus, and other Immortal Guardians years to track down and destroy him and the many fledgling vampires he had spawned.
And at the end of it all, Seth had found himself with an unusually large number of new immortals requiring aid and training.
The hardest had been Lisette. She had been turned in 1815 and, before Seth could locate her, had unintentionally turned both of her brothers. They had been offering her their blood and helping her hide her condition, none of them understanding that repeated feeding would transform them as well.
Three voices calling out to him at once.
Had there been a fourth, drowned out by their collective cries?
Despair overwhelming him, Seth braced his elbows on his knees and let his head fall forward.
How had he missed it?
Had there been others like Sebastien?
He had been so sure he had found them all, but now …
Beneath the self-recriminations and doubt pummeling him, he heard the sounds of bare feet meeting stone and the faint rustle of clothing moving steadily closer.
Through the open door his visitor came. Into the room. His room. The forbidden room.
Padding toward him. Slowing. Hesitating.
From the corner of his eye, he saw small pale toes curl against the cold stone, nearly hidden by the frilly hem of a demure white nightgown.
The mystery woman.
Stunned that she would seek him out, he raised his head and glanced up at her.
Three days she had been with them and she was still utterly terrified. Though her wounds had been healed that first morning, she was so traumatized by all that had happened to her that she had neither spoken nor slept. He knew the latter because he, David, and Darnell had taken turns watching over her, gently trying to coax her into trusting them.
After a minimum of seventy-two hours without sleep, he didn’t know what was keeping her upright. Yet there she was, hands nervously clenched in front of her, red hair charmingly disheveled, brow furrowed with concern as her green eyes met his and clung.
Seth did his best to force a smile, wanting to put her at ease.
She was the one person on the planet who would not be subjected to his wrath for daring to trespass.
“Hello, sweetheart,” he greeted her softly. Since she hadn’t spoken, they didn’t know her name.
Upon returning to Texas after healing Roland and Marcus, Seth had gathered his little crew together and teleported them all to his castle in England, wanting to put as much distance as possible between her and the ones who had tortured her.
She had spent the first day cowering in her room, perhaps expecting them to pick up where her captors had left off. The fact that he and David had healed her many wounds—those that hadn’t already healed themselves—had not lessened her fear of them at all. It only seemed to confuse her.
The second day, she had tentatively ventured out, exploring the sprawling castle and frequently observing him and the others from a distance. Seth had called ahead and dismissed the staff, so it was just the four of them. She watched them alertly when they spoke to her, but didn’t answer. Though her small form was emaciated, she refused to eat or drink anything they didn’t prepare in front of her or taste first themselves. Usually both. And always she kept her distance.
This was the first time she had voluntarily come so close to him or reached out to him.
“Are you all right?” he asked, thinking she looked a bit better, though shadows pooled beneath her expressive eyes. There was more color in her cheeks. She had gained a couple pounds. He suspected she would be a beauty once her body filled out with proper nourishment.
She nodded, indicating she was okay, then cocked her head to one side. Pointing to him, she raised her eyebrows.
“Me?” His own eyebrows rose. “You want to know if I am all right?”
She nodded.
He stared at her as understanding dawned. She had felt his distress and had come to see if he was okay. Which meant she was empathic as well as telepathic.
Who was she?
Her body possessed incredible regenerative properties. Both of the fingers and both of the toes that had been crudely amputated had grown back, something even immortals were incapable of achieving (though, with Seth’s or David’s aid, severed limbs could be reattached). She seemed quite powerful. ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">