Phantom Shadows

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.

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. 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">