She bit her lip.
“Not perfect?”
“There’s just one thing,” she broached with reluctance. “John works until nine tomorrow night and I don’t think he’s planning to meet with his study group, so he’ll probably be home by ten. I’m not sure what you have in mind, but I wouldn’t feel comfortable . . . pursuing anything”—her cheeks filled with a pretty pink—“amorous with him home or expected home any minute.”
He smiled. “I assure you such was not my intention.”
“Oh.” The pink deepened. “Embarrassing. I’m sorry. I was the one being presumptuous. I didn’t—”
He touched her shoulder. “I meant such was not my intention while you feel unwell.”
“Oh,” she repeated, then sent him a shy smile.
“I have a confession to make, Jenna,” he said, defying caution. “Normally, I rarely patronize this store.”
“You’ve been in here at least every other night for the past month.”
He nodded. “Yes. Because, once I met you, I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”
She smiled, all awkwardness falling away. “Really?”
“Yes.”
“Me, too,” she admitted. “It’s funny. The first night you came in, I had the strangest feeling that I knew you.”
Chier. Somewhere in her subconscious she must remember the night he had rescued her. But that time should be nothing but a black void. She should have no memory of it at all, not even enough to make her think she had seen him before.
“You did?” he asked as casually as he could.
She nodded. “I wanted to ask you if we’d met, but was afraid you might think it was a pickup line or something.”
“Ah.” Smooth.
“Have we met?” she persisted, face curious. “The feeling was so strong.”
“I’m sure I would remember if we had.” Not a lie, but misleading.
She nodded, brow faintly furrowed. “Yeah, me too.”
Richart’s phone vibrated in his pocket. Drawing it out, he glanced down to note the caller: Chris Reordon, the mortal in charge of the East Coast division of the human network that aided Immortal Guardians.
Richart gave Jenna’s shoulder another light touch. “I’m sorry. I have to take this.”
She nodded.
“Yes?” Richart answered.
“I just received a call from a woman in distress,” Chris said without preamble. “All she had time to do is say, ‘Oh, crap’ and drop the phone before vampires attacked and gunshots sounded.”
“Could you tell how many there were?”
“No. But, judging by the sounds of it, a hell of a lot. Étienne is at UNC Chapel Hill near Kenan Stadium. I need you to teleport to him and be ready to go as soon as I track down where she is.”
Richart walked a couple of paces away. “Could it be Tracy?” Tracy was his sister Lisette’s Second, and 9mms were her weapons of choice.
“It isn’t Tracy. I would have recognized her voice.”
Relief rushed through him.
“We’re tracing the call now,” Chris continued, “and should have a location by the time you rendezvous with Étienne. If it’s a place you know, teleport directly to the location and join the fight. If it isn’t, Étienne has his car with him and will get the two of you there as fast as he can.”
“I’m on my way.” Tucking his phone away, Richart turned back to Jenna. “Looks like I spoke too soon. It won’t be a quiet night after all. A problem has arisen that requires my immediate attention.”
“Okay.”
“May I have your phone number so I may call you tomorrow to obtain your address?” He didn’t wish to frighten her by admitting he already knew it.
She recited it quickly. “Be careful,” she added as he bowed and backed away.
Warmth filled him. “Feel better,” he replied, earning another smile.
It took Chris longer than anticipated to trace the call, which came from way out in the boonies. Étienne violated just about every traffic law to get the two of them there as quickly as possible. When the car flew over a hill and Richart spied the battlefield ahead, he teleported himself the remaining distance and drew his swords.
Gaping, he took in what must be three dozen shriveling-up vampire corpses scattered across a blood-soaked field. “Merde!”
The threat, it would seem, had been annihilated. All the vampires had been taken out by . . .
His gaze strayed to a battered-all-to-hell black Prius upon which sat a small female figure, nearly hidden behind the irate, eight-hundred-plus-year-old British immortal who stood protectively in front of her, eyes blazing amber fire.
“Really?” Marcus bellowed. “You show up now?”
“The call didn’t come from your phone,” Richart explained. “So Chris didn’t know you were the one who needed help or where to send us until the GPS identified your location.”
“I dialed the number,” the woman murmured, voice pained, “but the vampires attacked before I could say anything.”
Marcus nodded, the eyes he trained on Richart still furious. “It took this long for him to track our location? I thought that shit worked faster than that.”
“No, it took this long for us to get here. You are way out in the sticks, you know.” Richart eyed the two of them curiously.
Marcus continued to stand protectively in front of the woman, one hand tucked behind him, resting on her legs.
Interesting.
Marcus’s scowl deepened. “Why didn’t you just—”
“I’m not as powerful as Seth. I can only teleport to places I’m familiar with, and I’m new to the area.”
The hem of Richart’s long coat fluttered as his brother’s car skidded to a halt inches away.
The driver’s door flew open and Étienne leaped out, weapons at the ready. “Merde! How many were there?” he asked with astonishment.
Richart turned in a circle, taking in the rapidly decomposing remains of the vampires the duo had defeated. “Thirty-four by my count.”
Étienne gaped at Marcus. “And you took them all out by yourself?”
Marcus shook his head. “We took them all out.”
As one, Richart and his brother shifted so they could better see the injured woman, who seemed to want to lose herself behind Marcus.
“Two defeated thirty-four?” Richart said with a shake of his head. It was an unheard of feat. Richart would have thought only Seth—the eldest and most powerful immortal and leader of the Immortal Guardians—would have been capable of such. “Incredible.”
Étienne nodded, his gaze pinned to the woman.
Small, attractive, and blood-splattered, she boasted red hair that must have been dyed. All immortals had black hair.
Well, all but a couple who had brown hair.
“I didn’t know Seth had called in another immortal,” Étienne said, drawing the same conclusion Richart had. “Pleasure to meet you. I am Étienne d’Alençon, and this is my brother Richart.”
Was that jealousy Richart saw flare in Marcus’s eyes?
“Ami isn’t an immortal. She’s my Second.”
Richart felt his jaw drop. “She’s human?” he asked incredulously.
How had one immortal and one human stood against so many vampires?
Once again, he took in the multitude of corpses littering the field.
Vampires had not even attacked in these numbers when Bastien, an immortal who had thought himself a vampire for two centuries, had raised an army and waged war with the Immortal Guardians a couple of years ago.
What the hell was going on?
Chapter Two
Jenna was beset by nerves all day as she anticipated her date with Richart.
It hadn’t taken her long to tidy the apartment. Once done, she rearranged the kitchen cabinets and drawers, placing the nicest of her mismatched dishes and glasses in the front and on top.
She couldn’t remember a time when money hadn’t been tight. Her parents had kicked her out when she had turned up pregnant at sixteen. Her boyfriend’s parents had declared their child-rearing days over and done little more than give Jenna and Bobby, John’s father, first and last month’s rent on their first apartment. The two had married and worked their asses off, but—unable to afford health insurance—had accrued thousands of dollars in debt thanks to the medical bills pregnancy and giving birth had generated. Debt they had still been struggling to pay off when Bobby had been killed in a car accident three years later.
So nice dishes and pretty glasses had been beyond her budget.
Hell, the only furniture she had owned for years—other than baby furniture—had been throwaway pieces other tenants had left out by the Dumpster and an inflatable mattress.
But eventually, she had paid off the debt and managed to put away a little extra here and there until she had acquired enough to furnish the apartment with something that wouldn’t embarrass John when he invited friends over.