Night Unbound (4 page)

“You're hiding something from me,” she said.

He snorted.
“C'est ridicule!”

“You always sing drinking songs when you don't want me to read your thoughts. What are you hiding?”

“Nothing. By the way, Jenna asked me to invite you to breakfast.”

“You're changing the subject. And thank you, but no. You're newlyweds. You need your privacy.”

He laughed. “The world's most mischievous Second resides beneath our roof, along with Jenna's son. Privacy isn't a possibility.
And
we aren't newlyweds any longer.”

“Pish posh. You're immortal. The two of you will be newlyweds for at least a century.”

His brow furrowed. “You aren't avoiding us because—”

She held up a hand and turned her head, listening.

Richart glanced around, face alert. His mental singing ceased.
What is it?
Though he wasn't telepathic himself and couldn't speak directly into others' minds the way she could, he knew she would pick up on his thoughts.

She shook her head.
Vampires. But . . . something is off.

What?

Four are your typical vampire fare, thoughts a maelstrom of violence and glee over their most recent kills.

And the fifth?

Both could smell them now.

The fifth vamp feigns insanity, but is lucid.

Did he band together with the others for safety's sake?

She shook her head.
He wants something from them.

What?

I don't know. But he intends to kill the others once he obtains it.

The vampires were almost upon them now.

Keep listening,
Richart said.
See what you can learn from the poser.

Should we try to recruit him?

Let's see what his game is first. For all we know, he may be another Bastien or Dennis, looking to raise a damned vampire army to eradicate us.

Just what we need.

This late on a weeknight, few moved about UNCG. Campus security performed occasional sweeps. But professors had long since left. Every once in a while a stray student, driven by either insomnia or stress, walked the campus grounds. But those were few and far between.

Nevertheless, Lisette and Richart waited to confront the vampires until they were in a relatively isolated area, distanced from student housing, in order to reduce the chances of mortals getting caught in the crossfire . . . or witnessing the battle and posting video on the Internet.

I see what you mean,
Richart thought.
It's the large one who's built like a lumberjack, right?

Yes.

The other vampires were a slovenly mess, no longer concerned with personal hygiene. Garbed in jeans and T-shirts with various and assorted smart-ass quips splashed across the fronts, the vampires could easily pass for students if one disregarded the bloodstains on their clothing, as well as the fangs and glowing eyes. The latter gave away the vamps' recent kill as much as the stains and their thoughts did.

Any heightened emotion—anger, excitement, lust, jealousy—made the eyes of both vampires and immortals glow. Which was one of the many reasons immortals had to be careful when they took mortal lovers. Glowing eyes weren't easy to hide.

Of course, that wouldn't be a problem with Zach. His own eyes glowed a beautiful gold, so if she took
him
as a—

She swore.

Why the hell couldn't she stop thinking about him?

What about the others?
Richart queried mentally.
Do we take time to chat, or shall we simply attack?

Attack. They aren't worth saving
. The thoughts of those turned her stomach, the screams of their victims still echoing through their minds like a favorite tune.

The lost causes walked in pairs. Two swaggered in front, wondering aloud if they should seek new victims to torment. The other two scuffed along behind them and agreed, eager for another kill. The fifth brought up the rear.

The gaze that one directed at the others whenever they weren't looking held contempt. He thought them beneath him. Lesser creatures to be used and discarded.

Richart might be right. This might be the next vampire who intended to declare himself king. (
Thank you, Bastien, for putting the idea of such uprisings into their heads.
) Perhaps, like Dennis, this one intended to make lowlives like these his whipping boys.

While Bastien had ruled his vampire army with an iron thumb, he had only used violence to keep the maddest of them in line when they'd strayed and had earned the devotion of his followers by giving them hope. Dennis, Bastien's successor of sorts, had used violence . . . just because. The vampires who had followed him had done so not because they thought he could help them and cure them, but because they had feared he would rip them to shreds if they didn't.

Again Lisette's gaze went to the fifth vampire.

Yes, this one reminded her strongly of Dennis. Already, he imagined tearing his companions apart.

She nodded to her brother.

Richart vanished and reappeared directly behind the first two vamps.

How she envied him his ability to teleport.

With a flash of his long daggers, he decapitated the vamps in front before those behind him could even utter yelps of surprise.

Lisette darted forward at preternatural speed, arriving just as Richart spun around and severed the carotid arteries of the next two.

They stumbled back, grasping their throats as blood spurted and they began to bleed out faster than the virus could save them.

Only the fifth remained.

Just as Lisette arrived, that one delivered a roundhouse kick to her brother's chest. Richart flew backward, hitting the side of a nearby building hard enough to crack the bricks. Dust and mortar exploded around him as he fell to the ground.

Merde!
Lisette ducked the right hook the vamp aimed at her, dodged the upper cut that followed half a second later, and swung her shoto swords. He was so fast!

The lumberjack vamp spun out of reach of her weapons and drew his own: two sais, as long and sleek and well cared for as those Roland carried. And, unlike most vampires, the lumberjack vamp knew how to wield them.

He swung the sais.

Shock rippled through Lisette as she met his every strike. This vampire had been trained. And the bastard was tall, with arms that seemed as long as a gorilla's. But her longer shoto swords made up for her shorter reach.

She swore as one of his blades caught her across the cheek.

Richart?
she called mentally, unable to take her gaze from her opponent long enough to check on him.
Are you all right?

A slew of French expletives filled her mind, grumbled in her brother's familiar voice.

Relief made her smile. So did scoring a deep cut across the vamp's right arm.

Fury mottled his rough-hewn features. His moves grew more careless. His thoughts filled with such hate and violence that it was hard to read any one thought in particular, but she did manage to discern that he had believed he would easily overpower her because she was a girl.

Dumb ass
.

She swept the sai from his right hand.

He curled his empty fingers into a fist and slammed it into her jaw.

Pain exploded through her head as bone cracked. Her fingers tightened around the grips of her swords as her feet left the ground and she flew backward the way her brother had. She didn't know what she hit, but stars burst into being around her, lighting up her vision and muddying it at the same time.

Richart roared over the ringing in her ears.
Lisette!
he shouted mentally as the sounds of fighting resumed.

I'm fine.

Dragging herself to her feet, she staggered a couple of steps until she could regain her balance. Bastard had
punched
her! When was the last time a vampire had caught her off guard or gotten close enough to strike her with his bare hands?

She didn't wait for her fuzzy vision to clear, just dove back into the battle. Racing to her brother's side, she added her blades to his. This vampire might be far more skilled with weapons than those they normally fought, but he couldn't best two of them at once.

They defeated him in short order, cutting his carotid, brachial, and femoral arteries.

Richart looked at her as the vamp fell over onto his side. “What the hell was
that?
”

She shook her head.
Some dumb ass must have turned a martial arts expert,
she told him telepathically. Speaking hurt her cracked jaw too much.

“Brilliant,” her brother complained.

Too bad he wasn't a
gifted one, she told him with a shake of her head
. With those skills, he would've made an excellent immortal.

Richart's look turned uneasy. “You don't think . . . He
wasn't
immortal, was he?”

Nausea took her. Bastien had been immortal, but had lived as a vampire for two centuries. Hastily sheathing her weapons, she removed her cell phone from a back pocket and knelt to snap several pictures of the vamp's face before he could deteriorate beyond recognition.

When she rose, Richart was dialing his own.

“Yes?” the Immortal Guardians' leader said over the line.

“Seth,” Richart said. “We need you. Now. It's important.”

Seth appeared beside them.

Before he could speak a word, Richart pointed to the fifth vamp. “Do you know him?”

Seth frowned down at the vamp. “No.”

“Are you sure?” Lisette pressed without moving her jaw.

He cut her a glance, then knelt beside the vamp and rolled him onto his back. A few seconds passed. “I'm sure.”

Both she and her brother sighed with relief.

Seth rose. “What's going on?”

She fell silent as Richart told him.

His scowl deepening, Seth crossed to Lisette and gently cupped her face in his large hands. A comforting heat suffused her where they touched. The pain in her jaw disappeared as bone healed and swelling receded.

Smiling, she clasped his wrists and gave them a squeeze. “Thank you.”

He nodded and dropped his hands. Turning around, he stared down at the vampire. “It happens every once in a while.”

Richart raised his eyebrows. “Vamps turning someone who can actually challenge us in a fight?”

He nodded. “Ask Roland about the time a vampire turned a master swordsman in the fourteenth century. Roland was so caught off guard he nearly lost an arm.”

Lisette smiled. “I would think turning a human who was better skilled in fighting would backfire on a vampire.”

Seth laughed. “It did. The swordsman killed his maker as soon as he completed the transformation. I'm sure this one did, too.”

Lisette eyed the pile of clothes, all that remained of their fierce opponent. “I think he intended to pull a Dennis and raise an army. He seemed to despise his companions and intended to kill them when they no longer proved useful to him.”

Seth eyed her speculatively. “You gleaned that from his thoughts?”

She nodded.

He motioned to her phone. “Did you take pictures of him?”

“Yes.”

“Send them to Chris. Let's see if his techno geeks can identify him.”

Large warm hands slipped beneath the hem of Lisette's sleep shirt. Tracing a path over her hips and up to skim the sides of her breasts, they eased the shirt over her head and tossed it aside. She hummed in pleasure as those hands returned to her breasts, stroking and teasing. Then lips tasted her, drawing a hardened nipple into a hot mouth to be tormented by her lover's tongue.

She had hoped she would dream about Zach again, but hadn't expected
this
.

A muscled thigh slipped between hers and pressed against the heart of her, sparking heat and need. Smiling, eyes still closed, Lisette buried her hands in Zach's hair, combed her fingers through his . . . short locks?

Her eyes flew open. Stiffening, she glanced down at the chiseled body atop hers, the hand at her breast. . . .

That wasn't Zach's body.

And those weren't her breasts.

Groaning, she realized she'd been drawn into Tracy's dream about her home-improvement hunk.

Lisette separated herself from Tracy in a blink and stood beside the bed. Turning to leave, she glanced back at the writhing duo . . . and felt her mouth fall open.

“What?”
she blurted.

Tracy's eyes, closed in ecstasy, opened and met hers. Her lover raised his head and looked toward the door.

“Holy—” Lisette awoke in her pitch-black bedroom. She heard Tracy curse upstairs. The sound of a door being yanked open followed.

Shocked beyond belief, Lisette sat up.

Bare feet thumped down the stairs with quick steps and padded down the hallway.

A pause ensconced the house in silence. Lisette's door slowly inched open, flooding the room with light from the hallway as Tracy peeked inside.

“Damn it!” Upon seeing Lisette's no doubt wide eyes, Tracy shoved the door the rest of the way open and entered. She wore a different sleep shirt than the one in her dream. Both it and her hair were rumpled, her face full of dread. “It was you, wasn't it? You were there?”

“Yes.”

“You saw . . . ?”

“Everything.”

Her Second flushed a bright red as she covered her face with both hands and groaned.

“I thought you said you were dreaming about a guy at the home-improvement store.”

“This is
so
embarrassing,” Tracy wailed, staggering forward a few steps and collapsing into Lisette's favorite reading chair.

“You're sleeping with
Sheldon?
”

“No!” Tracy nearly shouted, and dropped her hands. Pure misery hid among the red in her face. “No, I'm not. It's just . . . dreams.”

“Erotic dreams. More than one. About Sheldon.” The youngest Second in the area. Possibly in the country. Chris Reordon rarely recruited men or women under the age of twenty-five, claiming he wanted to make sure they were past the party-their-asses-off-now-that-they-were-no-longer-under-their-parents'-roof stage and could be counted on twenty-four hours a day to take care of business.

Sheldon had been a teenager when he had begun to serve, at Richart's request. Apparently Sheldon was the descendant of Richart's first Second. Lisette hadn't even realized until then that her brother had been keeping track of his friend's bloodline.

“Sheldon,” Lisette repeated, trying to wrap her mind around it.

Sheldon was twenty-one or -two now, she thought. And
so
green. He was the kid brother everyone picked on and teased. The screwup. The prankster.

He wasn't the no-shit, tough-as-nails kind of guy who usually attracted Tracy.

“Are you . . . interested in him?” Lisette asked hesitantly.

“No,” Tracy insisted. “No, of course not.” She chewed a thumbnail, brows drawn down in a troubled V. “I mean, that would be crazy, right?”

Certifiable. “Well . . .” Lisette wasn't sure what to say. “He
is
handsome. If he looks as good without clothes in real life as he did in your dream, I can see the physical appeal.”

“He does,” Tracy admitted grudgingly. “I accidentally saw him naked once when I was at Richart's.”

“How did you manage that?”

Tracy rolled her eyes. “He was changing with his damned door open, and I walked past. The boy goes commando under those tight black pants and has no shame.”

“The boy is built,” Lisette pointed out, oddly surprised by the knowledge. It was going to be strange to see him in person again after seeing him naked and aroused in Tracy's dream.

And feeling his hands on her.

She suppressed a shudder.

“But he's just
that,
” Tracy responded. “He's a boy. He's so . . .”

“Young?”

“Yes. He's like a puppy. All exuberance and energy and mischief.”

“All qualities that might not be so bad in a lover.”

Tracy laughed. “And inexperience?”

“With a body like that, I'm pretty sure that's not something you'd have to worry about.”

“Maybe not with sex, but with everything else.”

“I don't know,” Lisette murmured. “Now that I think about it, he's come a long way in the past couple of years. He kicked ass when he backed up Richart and Étienne at Krysta's house that time. And apparently did so again when we stormed the mercenaries' compound.”

“I know. I was with him at the compound.” Tracy shook her head, her lips tilting up in a faint smile. “He was fierce. And freaking funny. I never would have thought I could laugh while so many people were trying to kill me, but damned if he didn't say the most outrageous things.”

Hmm
. Tracy said it with what sounded like affection. “I don't think he's made any other big blunders since he landed Marcus and Ami in trouble shortly after Ami became Marcus's Second. Maybe he
isn't
so inexperienced.”

“But he's still young.”

“So are you.”

Tracy rolled her eyes. “Compared to you, who isn't?”

Lisette laughed. It was true. All mortals seemed young to her. Even octogenarians. “So there's a
minuscule
age gap.”

“I'm nine years older than he is.” Tracy frowned. “Wait. Are you trying to talk me into starting something with him?”

“Many more dreams like the one I saw,” Lisette offered dryly, “and you'll talk yourself into it.”

Tracy sat quietly for a moment.
(Was she actually considering it?)
Then she shook her head. “No. No way. It's
Sheldon,
for crap's sake.” Rising, she headed for the doorway. “You won't tell anyone, will you?”

“Of course not. You know me better than that.”

She smiled. “You rock.”

“So do you.”

Tracy returned to her bedroom, climbed back into bed, and soon found sleep again.

Lisette lay back and stared up at the ceiling.

Why couldn't that have been
her
dream and featured Zach?

And why oh
why
could she not banish him from her thoughts?

 

 

Jealousy seared Zach. He had attempted to lose himself in fantasies of Lisette again and instead had stumbled into one of her own. One of her making love with Sheldon, a young, strapping Second.

How could she want that . . .
boy?

For days, weeks, he didn't know how long, he dwelled on the image of her in bed with that man-child, writhing beneath him, a sensual smile tilting her full\ lips. Fury rose, irrational in the extreme, yet a very effective distraction.

He gritted his teeth as the whip opened new welts across his chest.

How long had it been since he had stumbled into Lisette's dreams for the first time?

And how long did the Others intend to continue this shit?

Desperate for solace, for relief, for escape, he ignored the pain of the lash (Wasn't that fucker's arm tired yet?) and focused once more on Lisette. Deep breaths in, despite his cracked and broken ribs. Deep breaths out, ignoring the pull of cuts and the ache of bruises.

Lisette
.

The cavern around him fell away, replaced by Stygian forest. The light of a full moon filtered down through tree branches and dappled his bare chest and leather pants. A cool breeze ruffled his hair, carrying with it the scent he craved.

Zach strode forward, following it to a slender figure who stood, silhouetted, before a break in the trees. Beyond lay David's sprawling one-story home.

She didn't hear his silent approach.

Zach stopped a breath away from her back. Tendrils of hair escaped her long braid and floated on the wind, tickling his chest. She smelled so good.

“Waiting for someone?” he murmured.

Gasping, Lisette spun around and tilted her head back to look up at him. Her pretty brown eyes lit with pleasure as her heartbeat picked up. “Zach,” she breathed.

The sound of his name on her lips should
not
affect him so strongly.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, her gaze dropping to his chest.

Backing away, he leaned against a tree. “What are
you
doing here? Are you waiting for someone?” He crossed his arms. “Sheldon, perhaps?”

Her brow furrowed. “Why would I be waiting for Sheldon? He's Richart's Second, not mine.”

“Don't you
want
him to be yours? In every sense of the word?” he drawled, trying to keep the jealousy he felt from his voice.

She stared up at him for a long moment.

He knew the instant she realized he had seen them together.

Color exploded in her face. “You saw that?” she asked, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “The dream?”

“Yes.”

She shook her head. “That wasn't my dream, Zach.”

“You were the woman I saw writhing on the bed with Sheldon.”

“Well, you should have stuck around,” she countered. “If you had, you would have seen me separate myself from the woman on the bed and leave the room.”

He frowned. “What?”

“I'm telepathic.”

“I know.”

“Well, do you remember me mentioning—the night Roland, Sarah, and I, ah, questioned you—that I have no control over the ability when I fall asleep? That I'm often sucked into other people's dreams?”

Relief flooded him. “
Tracy
was dreaming about Sheldon.”

“Yes. And I was sucked in.” She grimaced. “I don't know how I'm ever going to be able to look Sheldon in the eye again.”

He smiled, pleased that the young Second didn't interest Lisette. “I'm sure you'll manage.” He nodded to the house. “So what are you doing out here?”

“I don't know,” she admitted. “Habit perhaps. I've watched over Ami for so long, it's hard to stop. Or maybe . . .”

He arched a brow. “Maybe?”

“Maybe I was looking for you.”

Heat swept through his body. “Me?” He straightened away from the tree.

“I was worried about you.” She gave him a long, thorough once-over. “The last time I saw you, you were wounded. And, I have to tell you, you still aren't looking so good. Are you okay?”

He glanced down and swore when he saw the slashes that marred his form. “Don't worry about that.”

“Zach—”

“I'm all right,” he interrupted before she could protest further.

After a moment, she nodded, face pensive. How she tempted him. The sight of her in black pants that hugged full hips and long, slender legs. Full breasts stretching the cotton of her long-sleeved shirt. Moonlight flirting with her pale skin and plump, pink lips. Weapons adorning her like jewelry, an ever-present reminder that she was a warrior and could kick ass.

All beckoned him, daring him to do something reckless.

He moved a step closer.

She didn't back away.

He took another step.

She held her ground.

Barely a breath separated them.

“I want to try something,” he proposed.

Her heartbeat increased. “Okay.”

Lowering his head, Zach pressed his lips to hers. His pulse jumped at the warm contact, racing to match hers.

Her breath caught.

Tilting his head, he increased the pressure, deepened the contact, and drew his tongue across those soft lips. She tasted incredible. Made him want to devour her. And yet . . .

Frowning, he broke the sweet contact. “You didn't pull away.”

Her eyes now bore a faint amber glow. “What?”

“You didn't pull away.”

“Why would I pull away?” she asked, voice husky.

Because I'm me,
he almost said.

Disappointment seared him. The pain of his injuries increased.

Just to be sure . . .

“I'm going to try something else now.”

Her lips quirked up as she arched a brow. “Okay.”

Raising a hand, he cupped her breast.

The amber glow in her eyes flashed brighter.

 

 

Lisette's heart slammed against her ribs.

Zach molded his large, warm hand to her breast as he watched her warily. His eyes shone with a faint golden light. His fingers squeezed gently before he drew his thumb across the taut peak that strained against the cotton of her shirt.

Lust whipped through her, weakening her knees and making her fingers curl with the need to touch him, to stroke him, to explore every muscled inch of him.

Swearing, he withdrew his hand and took a step back.

“What's wrong?” she asked, embarrassed by how breathless she sounded.

“You didn't hit me.”

She stared up at him. “I'm sorry, what?”

“You didn't hit me,” he said, and actually sounded angry.

“I don't . . .”

Turning, he paced away several steps. “I thought this was a dream. I thought I had made it into another of your dreams. But I touched your breast and you didn't hit me, so this must just be another fantasy of mine.”