Darkness Rises (Immortal Guardians #4)

Wait. Why should it matter to her if Etienne had a girlfriend?

“I shall come alone,” Richart tried again. “Unarmed. You may arm yourself however you will.”

She looked at Etienne, so still and pale.

Hoping she wasn’t making a huge mistake, she gave Richart their address.

Sean left the room, then returned in jeans with two holstered 9mms, socks, and sneakers.

Krysta rose and reached for a shoto sword.

Richart repeated her address. Krysta heard typing in the background.

“Here it is,” the woman with Richart said.

“Is there a satellite image of it? Or a street view?”

“The closest street view,” the woman said, “is this. A gas station a couple of miles away.”

“Thank you, my love.”

Krysta could have sworn she heard them kiss.

“Be careful,” the woman cautioned.

“Always,” he murmured. Then louder to Krysta, “One moment, please.”

“Okay.”

“What?” Sean asked, tying his laces.

“This is so weird.” She had never really thought of vampires as anything other than monsters.

A laugh came over the line. “It worked,” Richart said, with a great deal of surprise in his voice.

“What did?”

“Open your front door.”

Frowning, Krysta strode past Sean into the den and crossed to the front door.

Her hand tightening on her sword, she glanced back.

Sean stood in the doorway of her bedroom, one Ruger aimed at the door, one aimed at Etienne.

Krysta turned the lock with the hand holding the phone and opened the door. Tilting her head back, she eyed the figure standing on the front porch.

A mirror image of Etienne stared back.

“Holy crap,” she whispered. “Richart?”

The vampire’s gaze moved past her to take in her brother and the rest of their tiny abode. He drew in a deep breath, nostrils flaring, then nodded. “May I come in?”

Swallowing, she stepped back.

Richart nodded to Sean, who nodded back, but didn’t lower his weapons.

Krysta closed the door. “Etienne is in there.”

Richart’s boots thudded loudly on the worn wood floor as he strode toward the bedroom.

Sean eased back into the room, never shifting his aim from the two vampires.

“Sean.”

“It’s all right,” Richart said, surprising her. “I understand.” Once in the room, he leaned down over his brother and drew back the sheet. “His wounds are not healing?” All were covered by bandages.

“No.”

“Etienne, mon frère?”

No response.

“How deep are the cuts?”

“Not cuts,” she corrected. “Bullet wounds.”

He looked at her sharply, then glanced at Sean. “Your weapons have not been fired tonight.”

“It wasn’t us,” Sean confirmed. “I removed the bullets, but didn’t stitch the wounds because they weren’t bleeding. I just bandaged them instead.”

“You have my gratitude,” Richart uttered with a bow. Turning back to his brother, he peeled one of the bandages back and muttered something in French.

Krysta fervently wished she knew French.

Richart took his brother’s forearm in his hands and raised Etienne’s wrist to his lips. As he parted his own, fangs descended.

“Wait!” Krysta protested.

He met her gaze. “What?”

“He’s lost enough blood, don’t you think?”

Richart considered her for a moment, then seemed to come to some decision. “Our fangs are like needles. They siphon the blood of anyone we bite directly into our veins and, if necessary, can infuse others with our blood.”

Sean lowered his aim slightly, medical curiosity brightening his face. “Really? So you can transfuse him just by biting him?”

“Yes.” Richart bent his head and sank his fangs into his brother’s wrist.

Krysta shared a Holy Crap! look with Sean.

It didn’t take long at all, which was actually frightening. If he could infuse his brother with blood that swiftly, then he could drain a human that quickly, too.

As could Etienne.

Lowering his brother’s arm, Richart systematically removed all of Etienne’s dressings. “Thank you,” he said, “for caring for him and bandaging his wounds.”

The mortal siblings nodded.

The male even holstered his weapons.

“Why did you do it?” Richart couldn’t resist asking. They clearly weren’t Seconds or other members of the human network or they would have known Etienne wasn’t a vampire.

“He saved my life,” the woman said. “I would have died tonight if it weren’t for him.”

Ah. “A vampire attacked you?”

She shared a look with her brother. “Sssssssort of. But they weren’t—”

“More than one vampire?”

“Yes. There were six. But we took care of them.”

Tossing the bandages in a nearby rubbish bin, Richart stared at her. “You fought alongside him?”

“Yes.”

“Both of you?”

“No. Just me. My brother came later and got us out of there.”

Richart stared down at Etienne. Odd that there were so many bullet holes. Vampires usually stuck to blades like the immortals, knowing—even in their madness—that attracting too much mortal attention would likely lead to their demise.

Etienne’s wounds slowly began to close and heal. Neither human expressed the amazement Richart would have expected upon seeing such.

Hmm.

Etienne looked much better, but it took longer for his wounds to close than it should have. And he wasn’t rousing.

Richart nudged him. “Etienne.”

Nothing.

The healing sleep could be deep.

Richart shoved him hard. Hard enough to wake him even from a healing sleep. “Etienne! REveiller!”

Still nothing.

“Something is wrong,” he muttered, his concern mounting.

“I think it’s the drug,” the woman said.

Richart’s head snapped up. “What?”

“The drug.”

“You drugged him?” Fury rushed through him. Only one drug existed that could knock out an immortal like this. And, if these two possessed it, it meant they were the enemy.

An enemy who should have been destroyed months ago.

Both mortals took a cautious step back as his eyes began to glow.

The male raised his weapons.

“No,” the woman blurted. “We didn’t drug him. That’s what I was trying to tell you. The vampires weren’t the biggest threat tonight. It was the soldiers who arrived after we defeated the vampires.”

He swore. “Soldiers?”

“Yes.”

“Describe them.”

She did, and told him everything that had happened from the time the vampires had been defeated to Etienne being felled.

“C’est impossible,” he whispered. They had eradicated the mercenary threat. Completely. Darnell had erased all of the computer files and cyber files. Seth and David had wiped the memories of those they had allowed to live. The rest of the mercenaries had been killed.

It just wasn’t possible. They had left no dangling threads.

Immortals didn’t even carry the tranquilizer antidote with them anymore because no one was supposed to have that drug. No one but the researchers at the network, and none of them would use it against one of the immortals they aided.

The woman shifted, easing her weight off one leg. “Who were they?” She had limped when she had followed him into the room. She must have been injured, too.

“I didn’t ask your name,” he said, still reeling.

“Krysta Linz. This is my brother Sean.”

Richart performed an abbreviated bow. “Richart d’Alençon.” There was only one way to confirm that this drug was the same one the mercenaries had used against them. “Please excuse me for a moment. I will return shortly.”

Too shaken to worry about their reaction, he teleported to his home. “Sheldon!”

“Yeah?” His young Second entered Richart’s bedroom, holding a sandwich in one hand. As soon as he caught Richart’s expression, he sobered. “Oh shit. What happened?”

“Do we have any of the tranquilizer antidote left?” Richart asked as he gathered a change of clothes for Etienne.

Nodding, Sheldon set the sandwich down and left the room. Richart followed him to the bathroom in which Sheldon kept much of their first-aid paraphernalia.

A solitary autoinjector was stashed in one of the drawers.

Jenna appeared in the doorway as Sheldon grabbed it and handed it over without a word.

Richart didn’t think he had ever seen the young man look so worried. “Thank you.” He met Jenna’s gaze.

“Is it Etienne?” she asked.

He nodded. Knowing she would understand if he explained later, he teleported. Returning to his brother’s side, Richart dropped the clothing on the bed.

Krysta and Sean jumped at his reappearance.

Removing the cap, Richart pressed the autoinjector to Etienne’s neck.

“Is that an EpiPen?” Sean asked.

Richart shook his head. An EpiPen wouldn’t do squat to an immortal. They were unaffected by all but two drugs: The mercenaries’ tranquilizer and the antidote Dr. Lipton had developed to counter it.

Turning the used autoinjector over and over in his hand, he waited.

Etienne opened his eyes.

The first thing he noticed was his brother looming over the lumpy bed that supported him. The second was Krysta and her brother.

As the lethargy induced by the tranquilizer rapidly faded, Etienne sat up and took stock of the situation. They were in the mortals’ home, in Krysta’s bedroom. Etienne wore only his boxer shorts, a bedspread covering him from the waist down. Instead of being riddled with wounds and stained red with blood, his body was clean, healed, and carried the pleasant citrus scent he associated with Krysta.