Sarah likely had no notion the French immortals were communicating silently and stood off to the side, staring intently into the trees as if she could see her husband waiting on the other side.
In lieu of answering, Richart decided to change the subject. Did anyone else notice the way Marcus looks at his Second?
Étienne smirked. As if he wishes to devour her? No, I didn’t notice at all.
Richart smiled.
Rustling sounds, a mile or two distant, reached their ears. The vampires’ scents—four instead of only the one who had arranged the meeting—followed.
Étienne drew his katanas.
Richart palmed two daggers as Lisette drew a pair of shoto swords.
“I thought this was supposed to be a private meeting,” they heard Marcus drawl.
“Insurance,” a vampire responded arrogantly. “Can’t blame me for being careful, can you? Besides, if he’s who you say he is, then maybe he can help all three of us.”
Richart caught Lisette’s gaze and raised an eyebrow.
It’s a trap, she confirmed with a frown. Three face our brethren while a fourth lingers in the trees, but . . . She shook her head. Their thoughts are all so loud and jumbled, I can’t discern what the trap entails.
Richart looked to Étienne, keeping an ear tuned to the conversation that continued in the clearing.
Étienne wagged his head back and forth. The madness has taken them. Their thoughts are impossible to separate, as if all are shouting at once. There are only four of them, but . . . So many voices. It’s as though they suffer from multiple personality disorder. I can’t discern their plan.
Richart nodded.
“So be it,” the vampire addressing Marcus said with satisfaction.
Boom!
Pain pierced Richart’s ears as an explosion shook the ground beneath his feet. The scent of multiple vampires abruptly tainted the air as gunshots sounded and the clang of metal striking metal disrupted the night.
A shrill whistle followed as Marcus signaled for them to join the fight.
Sarah darted forward so fast she seemed to vanish.
Richart teleported to the clearing. His eyes widened.
So many!
He swiftly thrust a dagger into the heart of one of the dozens of vampires surging toward Marcus, Ami, and Roland.
Those three stood back to back to back, Ami firing her Glocks, Marcus wielding his short swords, and Roland cutting through the vampires with his sais.
As the vamp Richart impaled sank to the ground, Richart teleported again, appearing several yards away, arms extended, daggers held tightly in his palms. His blades slit the throats of two vampires racing toward Marcus and severed their carotid arteries. As they dropped to the ground, Richart teleported again and again and again, taking out vampires every time, spawning utter chaos as the vampires began to divide their attention between fighting Marcus and the others and looking around wildly for him.
Richart smiled darkly. He loved his gift. Loved the fear it inspired in his opponents.
He teleported over to his brother and took out two of the many vampires clamoring to kill him.
Étienne laughed, never ceasing his swings.
Grinning, Richart teleported over to the mob that continued to assault the trio in the center of the clearing. As soon as he appeared, sinking his blade into yet another vamp, a bullet struck him in the shoulder.
Ami gasped, her guns falling silent.
Richart couldn’t fault her for shooting him. He had teleported between her and her target. He waved it off and teleported again as she resumed fire.
The battle waged on.
For every vampire the immortals and Ami killed, two or three seemed to take their place. Richart couldn’t believe their numbers. Even Bastien had not commanded an army this large.
And where the hell were they all coming from?
The gunshots ended as Ami ran out of ammo and exchanged her firearms for katanas.
Richart kept one eye on her as he continued to fight, knowing her strength could not match that of the insane vampires slathering around her like rabid dogs.
Sure enough, a vamp ducked one of her swings and hit Ami hard in the head.
Richart teleported behind her and caught her as she reeled dizzily. Wrapping one arm around her waist to steady her, he hurled throwing stars with the other until she regained her feet.
“Thanks,” she rasped over her shoulder.
“I’m taking you to safety,” he announced, grabbing one of her katanas and fending off the onslaught.
“No!”
It didn’t matter if she protested. She was injured and vulnerable. The vampires were targeting her as an easy kill.
“No!” she repeated and shoved him away. “I’m fine! Just give me my damned sword back!”
She didn’t wait, just yanked it out of his hand.
Richart felt something prick the skin beneath one ear.
As he reached up to see what it was (it felt like a bee sting), Marcus whipped around and yanked what looked like a tranquilizer dart from Richart’s neck.
A similar dart hit Marcus in the shoulder.
Richart frowned. Drugs didn’t affect immortals. Didn’t the vamps . . . know . . . that?
Weakness engulfed him. Richart stumbled and grunted as a vampire took advantage and stabbed him in the side. Lashing out, Richart searched the blood-painted mass of fighting, snarling bodies around him and saw his sister drop to her knees. “Lisette.”
“Richart!” Ami shouted.
Vision fuzzy, he turned and found her propping up a barely conscious Marcus, who now sported several of the darts.
“Get them out of here!” she shouted, her pretty, crimson-splashed face panicked. “Now!”
Richart teleported to his sister’s side, touched her shoulder, and took her to David’s home.
David was the second eldest and second most powerful immortal in existence and maintained an open door policy for all immortals, Seconds, and members of the human network. With the drug coursing through his system, slowing his movements, and clouding his thoughts, Richart could think of no safer place.
In David’s spacious living room, David’s Second Darnell, Lisette’s Second Tracy, and Sheldon sat side by side on one of the sofas, their gazes glued to Darnell’s laptop.
As soon as Richart and Lisette appeared, they leapt to their feet.
Richart staggered.
“What happened?” Sheldon asked, eyes wide.
Tracy and Darnell hurried over to catch Lisette as she lost consciousness.
“Drugs,” was all Richart could manage.
“Dr. Lipton!” Darnell bellowed over his shoulder moments before Richart teleported away.