Night Reigns

It wasn’t like in the movies. Ami’s head didn’t thrash back and forth on her pillow. She didn’t toss and turn and become entangled in the sheets. She didn’t speak or call out. She didn’t suddenly lurch into a sitting position and wake with a horrified scream.

Somehow what she did seemed so much worse than the fictionalized versions. Had he not been watching her as closely as he had been for the past ten hours, he wouldn’t even have noticed the nightmare ensnare her.

Ami lay on her back, as she had for most of the day. Her breathing hitched once, twice, thrice as though she were sobbing so hard in her dreams that her physical body couldn’t help but manifest a response. Her eyes moved restlessly behind pale, closed lids. Tears welled in the corners, then spilled over her lashes and quietly trailed down her temples. Her body twitched. Such a slight movement. Hardly discernible. Her hands clenched in the covers, clutching the soft material so tightly her knuckles whitened.

The vaguest trace of a whimper sounded deep in her throat. It hinted of pain. And fear.

Of what did she dream?

Unsure how to help her, Marcus reached out and cupped his hand over her forearm, gave it a light, reassuring stroke.

Her whole body jerked. Her eyes opened, blinked, sought his face in the dim room. “What?” she asked, as though they had been conversing and she hadn’t quite caught the last thing he had said.

“You were having a nightmare,” he whispered.

“Oh.”

She sat up, dislodging his hand, and shoved the covers down. Scooting to the edge of the bed, she stood, walked into the bathroom and closed the door.

Marcus didn’t think she was aware of her own nakedness and sorely wished he hadn’t noticed it himself. Once Seth had left, Marcus had removed her bra, panties, and bandages and sponged the dried blood off of her.

Ami had a beautiful body. Slender. Athletic. Muscles honed from her training, but neither bulky nor masculine. Narrow waist. Flat abs. Full hips. Round, firm ass. Breasts large enough to fill his hands.

Pure perfection.

No matter how much clothing she wore in the future, every time he looked at her he would be helpless against imagining her like this. Which meant he would spend the entirety of her years as his Second with a raging erection.

Lovely. How the hell would he hide it from her?

The toilet flushed. Water ran in the sink. The bathroom door opened, and Ami shuffled over and climbed back into bed.

Swallowing hard, Marcus rose and leaned over her to draw the covers up to her chin.

One of her hands reached out and captured his. Intertwining their fingers, she sighed and rolled away from him, taking his hand with her.

Marcus stood for a moment, back bent, hand now tucked against her chest as she slipped into slumber.

Awkward.

“Screw it,” he muttered. He was exhausted and could use some sleep himself. Lowering himself to the mattress, he slipped beneath the covers and spooned up behind her.

Perhaps his presence would keep her nightmare from returning.

Yes, of course it would.

At least, that was what he told himself as he buried his face in her hair and nestled closer.

Ami woke, instantly alert. Rested. No aches or pains. No fear or anxiety. Warm.

So warm.

“Go back to sleep,” a deep voice murmured in her ear. “It was just a nightmare.”

For a moment, she forgot to breathe.

Marcus was in her bed, his hard body spooned up behind her, one arm tucked around her and clutching hers near her chest, his wrist brushing her breast. His breath tickled the back of her neck and stirred her hair as he yawned and cuddled closer.

“Marcus?”

“Hmm?” He sounded like he was half asleep.

“What’s going on?”

She had never been this close to a man before. Every inch of Marcus’s front—covered in some soft, thin material—was pasted to every inch of her back. Her bare back. And it felt … so good.

No wonder such close contact had been forbidden her.

Leaning up on one elbow, Marcus withdrew his hand and urged her to roll onto her back.

Ami stared up at him, heart racing. His lids were at half mast, his jaw heavily stubbled. His long, raven hair was deliciously tousled, dangling in his face and giving him a handsome, piratical look not unlike Jack Sparrow.

“Are you awake?” he asked, brushing her hair back from her forehead.

“Yes,” she answered.

He pursed his lips and squinted playfully. “You seem awake.”

She raised one eyebrow. “As opposed to when I seem asleep?”

He grinned. “You’re definitely awake. How do you feel?”

When he sat up, she saw that he was wearing a thin gray T-shirt and worn black sweatpants. She also saw the entirety of her bare breasts and stomach as the covers fell back with him.

Gasping, she grabbed the sheet and yanked it up to her chin.

“Oh.” He shifted around a bit to give her more material to work with and drew the blanket over his lap. “Sorry about that.”

Heat climbing her cheeks, she nodded, then froze.

Her bruises were gone. And her cuts. And he had seen it. Why wasn’t he asking her how she had healed so quickly?

“I didn’t betray you and call Roland,” Marcus said, watching her. “Seth healed you.”

Thank goodness. “He did? When?”

“While you were sleeping.”

“Oh.”

“I …” He cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable, and motioned to the bed they occupied. “I was worried about you. Seth told me you would be fine, but … I was reluctant to leave you until you woke up. And you were having nightmares. I thought … hoped … my presence would soothe you.”

“Did it?” she asked curiously.

“Yes.”

“Thank you.” The first time Darnell had awoken her from a nightmare, she had come up swinging. “I didn’t hit you, did I? Or tell you about the dreams?” The memories?

“No.”

Good.

“Thank you, Ami,” Marcus said softly. “I didn’t have the chance to say it before.”

“For what?” she asked, perplexed. She had been nothing but a pain in his backside ever since Seth had assigned her to him.

“For saving my life. I could never have stood alone against so many vampires. If you had left as I’d urged you to, they would have either captured me or destroyed me.”

And if she had left, some of those vampires could very well have followed and killed her, though that hadn’t been what had driven her to stay. “I think we saved each other last night,” she told him with a smile.

“Actually it was the night before last. You’ve slept the clock around. And are no doubt famished.” Patting her covered knee, he turned away and stood with his back to her. “I’ll go fix us some brunch.”

He left without looking back.

Odd. Almost the entire time he had been talking to her, she could’ve sworn his eyes had possessed a mild glow.

What did it mean?

Chapter 6

Bastien prowled the high school gym-sized training room that lay beneath David’s sprawling North Carolina home.

Target practice and sparring with dummies hadn’t relieved enough of his pent-up energy. He needed a live target. Someone he could really kick the crap out of. Like one of the many Immortal Guardians, Seconds, and network employees who roamed this place as if it were their own.

And curled their lips whenever they crossed his path.

Unbelievably powerful, David was also sickeningly generous, welcoming any and all immortals and those who aided them into his home. He had even welcomed Bastien when Seth had ignored the many calls for his execution.

Giving up on working out his frustration physically, Bastien shut off the light and strode down the long underground hallway to the bedroom he had chosen for his own: the last one on the right. As far from Darnell and the occasional visitor as possible.

He stripped off his weapons, then his clothes, and stepped into a steaming shower.

Something would have to change soon. This whole Immortal Guardian thing just wasn’t working out for him.

Of course, being a vampire (or at least believing he was a vampire) hadn’t worked out for him either. For two centuries he had thought himself a vampire and dedicated his existence to hunting down the immortal who had butchered his sister. But Roland Warbrook hadn’t been her killer. Her own husband, Bastien’s best friend Blaise, had been the fiend.

Again and again Bastien asked himself why he hadn’t seen it. Even after Blaise had accidentally transformed him, Bastien hadn’t suspected him. Like the most gullible dolt on the planet, he had trusted Blaise and believed every damning thing he had said about Roland and the immortals, loathing them, plotting their demise.

“Only to discover I’m a fucking immortal myself,” he murmured derisively. What a joke.

He was the black sheep of the immortal family. The weird cousin no one wanted to invite to Thanksgiving dinner, but did anyway out of some grudging sense of obligation, hoping all the while that he wouldn’t come or that his flight would be canceled.

Seth kept dragging him along damned near everywhere he went as if such would force the others to forget his past sins and … what … like him? Welcome him into the fold?

Dream on.

David did the same when Seth was otherwise occupied. As if Bastien actually gave a rat’s ass whether or not the immortals accepted him.

Turning the faucet off, he grabbed a towel and swept away the water beading on his skin.

The house was quiet. Empty for a change, except for Darnell, David’s disgustingly competent Second, whom Bastien had on several occasions wanted to strangle.

A certain lingering sense of self-preservation always stayed his hands. Both Seth and David seemed to view Darnell as a son. If Bastien ever gave in to his impulse and shut the smart-ass Second up permanently, he would probably only live long enough afterward to mouth the word, “Oops.”

Plus Ami would kick his ass if Seth and David didn’t behead him first.