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.

Ami.

Bastien hadn’t seen her since she had begun serving Marcus. If she had been killed during the big skirmish the two had landed in last week, Bastien would have slaughtered the bastard for not protecting her. He had overheard a conversation between her and Darnell earlier today and wanted to tell her not to bother defending him when the other immortals blamed him for whatever the hell the vampires were currently doing. But she would only ignore him. Just as she had ignored Seth, David, and Darnell when they had urged her to keep her distance from Bastien in the early painful days of their acquaintance.

His cell phone rang as he squeezed the excess moisture from his long black hair.

He looked at the display.

Unknown caller.

Picking it up, he answered. “What?”

“Sebastien Newcombe?” a female voice asked in a near whisper.

“Who the hell is this?” he countered. The only woman who knew his number was Ami.

“Melanie Lipton.”

He frowned. There was a furtive quality to her speech, as though she feared being overheard. And, though her name sounded familiar, he couldn’t place it. “Why are you whispering?”

If anything, her voice quieted more. “I’m not supposed to be calling you. If they catch me ... I’m not sure what they’ll do. We’ve been on lockdown for a week now, ever since the night Marcus and Ami were nearly killed.”

If she knew about Marcus and Ami, then she was either an immortal or one of the humans the network employed. Thanks to the power they possessed, immortals tended to be bold. This woman, on the other hand, sounded timid and as if she had been crying.

Recognition dawned.

“Did you say Melanie Lipton? As in Doctor Lipton?” he asked, dread pooling in his stomach. He vaguely recalled a Dr. Lipton being mentioned by Joe, Cliff, and Vincent, the sole surviving members of the vampire army (or ramshackle family) he had amassed. Instead of fighting the immortals in that disastrous final battle, the three had surrendered and voluntarily moved into apartments at the network’s primary research facility, full of thus-far futile hopes that the doctors and scientists there could help them stave off the madness that had infiltrated their brethren.

“Yes,” she exhaled with great relief.

“What happened?” It must be bad news, or she wouldn’t have called.

“There’s been an ... incident here at the lab involving Vincent.” Of the three, he had been infected the longest. “He’s been more agitated lately and given to sudden bursts of anger and aggression. He’s been having nightmares, but wouldn’t tell me anything about them.”

They weren’t nightmares. They were fantasies. Twisted desires that had begun to seep insidiously into his mind and shame him in his more rational moments. He had confessed as much to Bastien several times during his visits (which, regrettably, were not as often as he would like, because Bastien was only allowed to enter the network facility and have face to face contact with the vampires when accompanied by another immortal). But those fantasies had been plaguing Vincent for over a year. They had, in fact, begun before he had entered immortal custody.

Had they worsened?

“Today,” Dr. Lipton continued, “he ... he flew into a rage. Several people were badly injured and ...” She sniffed. “There weren’t any immortals on the premises to help us get him under control, so the only way he could be stopped or overpowered was through blood loss. He was shot ... so many times.” Her voice warbled. He could almost see the tears coursing down her cheeks. This woman cared. She didn’t view the vampires as bloodthirsty lab rats, as some of her colleagues did. She truly cared about his men and their suffering.

His hand tightened on the phone. “Did they destroy him?” If they had, he did not doubt that she had tried to stop them.

“No. They waited until he nearly bled out, then restrained him.”

“Are they starving him?” Such would only make the madness worse.

“No. He’s been given blood. And food. But, when he’s lucid ...” She sniffed again. “He really wants to talk to you. And Cliff and Joe are pretty devastated. Not to mention scared.”

“I’ll be there within the hour.”

“Wait,” she said, before he could hang up. “I wasn’t kidding. This place is locked down. Security is tighter than I’ve ever seen it and ...” Her voice lowered even more. Any human walking past would barely hear a breath, but her experience working with his men had clearly taught her much about their sensitive ears. “Some are speculating that you may have tipped the vampires off to Marcus and Ami’s location, so I don’t think they’ll let you in the building.”

Oh, but they would.

“I tried to get them to let Vincent call you, but they refused. They think it’s too big a risk.” Disgust entered her voice. “He isn’t plotting against the immortals. He’s fighting for his sanity. And, after everything he, Joe, and Cliff have told me about you, I don’t believe for one moment that you’re plotting against them either.”

His eyebrows rose. She and Ami might be the only people in the world who believed that.

“If you’ll hold on for a minute, I’ll see if I can sneak my phone into his room and—”

“Don’t bother. I’ll be there within the hour,” he promised again.

“But—”

Ending the call, Bastien crossed to the wardrobe and began pulling out clothes.

Marcus opened his eyes and let sleep fall away. He had patrolled nightly since his and Ami’s big showdown with the vampires and hadn’t found a damned thing. No vamps. No minions. No evidence to indicate what Marion’s involvement had been.

Reordon was beginning to lose it a bit. He insisted Marion was completely trustworthy and damn near choked anyone who suggested otherwise.

But Marcus knew that even those one trusted the most could become one’s greatest betrayers. Just look at Roland, a cautionary tale if ever there was one. He had been turned over to the vampire who tortured and transformed him by his own wife, who had cuckolded him with his brother. Then, a few hundred years later, he had nearly been killed by his fiancée. Roland had expressed no surprise at all when Marcus had informed him the network might have been infiltrated.

“It was only a matter of time,” had been his droll reply. “Why do you think I insisted Seth remove the address of our new home from the memories of everyone but you and David?”

He had said other things then, expressing his opinion of Marcus’s taking on thirty-four vampires at once with only a Second to aid him, using an impressive array of four-letter words. One might almost think he cared.

Almost.

Sprawled in his king-sized bed, Marcus gave his muscles a luxurious stretch, then opened his senses to the house, doing what he did every day upon waking: seek Ami’s location.

Today she was in his study.

He could find her easily now. She had stopped creeping around and sneaking up on him when he had stopped sneaking around and trying to avoid her.

Since the morning they had awakened, curled up in bed together (he still got hard thinking about it), they had fallen into a comfortable routine. Friendly. Efficient.

Dangerous. At least to his peace of mind.

Marcus was becoming alarmingly attached to his Second.

Rising, he performed his evening ablutions.

Second.

For Marcus, the term Second brought to mind fierce warriors, like those who had served him in the past, matching his own height of six foot one and nearing or passing his weight. Ami hardly fit the image.

A foot shorter than him. Half his weight. Delicate build. Beautiful breasts. Full hips. Long, lovely legs.

Marcus cursed his body’s eager response.

A loud rumbling overhead drew his gaze to the ceiling.

What the hell was she doing up there? Rolling a bowling ball back and forth across the floor?

His formerly pristine bamboo floor?

Anticipation thrummed through him as he pulled on boxers, black cargo pants, and a long-sleeved black shirt. Sitting on the cushioned bench at the foot of his bed, he added socks and steel-toed boots.

No longer did he dread rising each day, bored with the drudgery and repetition of his long existence, nothing to look forward to.

No. Seth had been right, curse his hide. Now, when Marcus awoke, his first thoughts were of Ami. Was she home? What was she doing? Had she slept well that morning? What was she wearing? How easily could it be removed?

Damn it.

As far as he could tell, she had had no more nightmares or bouts of insomnia. She seemed content with their situation, their partnership, their friendship. As was he. Ami had an almost childlike fascination with the world and explored it with the same enthusiasm. Marcus never knew what she would do next. What music she would filch from the extensive collection of 78s, 33s, 45s, eight-track tapes, cassette tapes, and CDs he had amassed over the years. What curious questions she might pose.

It was a little like living in London for fifty years, then rediscovering its beauty while showing a tourist around and seeing everything anew.

Leaving his bedroom, he scaled the stairs to the basement door. Stepping out into the house’s main hallway, he turned away from the living room and kitchen area and headed for his study.

Ami didn’t hear him when he arrived in the doorway. No human would have. Sheer habit left him moving silently. Yet she seemed to possess an almost mystical ability to sense his presence where other mortals could not. Normally when he came upon her, only a second or two would pass before she turned and greeted him as cheerfully as if he had entered the front door, slammed it, and shouted, “Honey, I’m home!”

Tonight, however, she was too distracted by the rock music pulsing through the very expensive headphones he had purchased for her the previous night.

Leaning one shoulder against the door frame, Marcus tilted his head and used his preternatural hearing to determine what she was listening to. His lips curled up slightly. Bloodrock. “D.O.A.” How very morbid of her, particularly when she began to sing harmony at the top of her lungs.

Thank goodness she had a lovely voice, surprisingly low and, at times, downright sultry, trailing down his back like warm fingers. And she was a phenomenal mimic, sounding like Sarah Vaughan one night and Lady GaGa the next. He could listen to her for hours ... without the annoying rumbling sound that had infiltrated his bedroom.

He now knew she created it by roller-skating from one side of the spacious room to the other while sorting through his paperwork. The problem: Ami didn’t know how to skate. That fact became painfully evident when she kept latching onto furniture to prevent her feet from flying out from under her.

A rather frightening warmth unfurled inside him. Damn, but she was adorable. Tight jeans faded to a pale blue-gray rode low on her hips and hugged slender legs. A white, sleeveless crop top emphasized bountiful breasts and left a tantalizing strip of pale, narrow waist bare. Her fiery locks were pulled back in a careless ponytail knocked askew by her headphones, rebellious curls springing loose all around her enchanting face. Large emerald eyes. Plump, pink lips that drew his gaze far too often.

Just then, she scrambled for purchase, reached for the sofa and missed, landing squarely on her delectable backside somewhere behind it. Soft, husky laughter filled the room, making his treacherous heart beat faster.

He liked that she could laugh at herself.

Actually, he liked everything about her.

But he could never love her. To love her would be the height of foolishness. He had already been down that road indirectly: had loved a human woman and lost her twice.

One of the many things he had learned during his long stint as an Immortal Guardian was that Seconds could live very short lives, a fate even more likely now that the vampires’ behavior had changed and their numbers had grown.

When Ami’s death inevitably came, it would be unavoidable. Judging by recent events, it could also be sudden and violent.

And, if Marcus loved her, losing her would take from him what little remained of his ever-darkening soul.

Though she couldn’t see him from her position behind the sofa, Ami knew Marcus was there. She could feel him ... like the heat of the sun seeping into her skin, warming her blood and speeding her pulse.

Turning her iPod off, she tugged the headphones down and left them dangling around her neck. “You didn’t see that,” she called wryly.

“If you say so, Oh Graceful One,” he replied.

Ami laughed and used the back of the sofa to tentatively gain her feet.

As always, the sight of him left her breathless. Marcus was as close to her idea of perfection as a man could get. His wavy black hair habitually fell forward across eyes a warm, dark brown. His broad shoulders filled the doorway. His stomach, like the rest of him, rippled with muscle that made her quiver inside each time she inadvertently brushed it while helping him gear up for the hunt each night.

It was odd, but as soon as he had relaxed and begun treating her as a friend, she had become fascinated with him, seeking every tiny insight into his personality and developing an ever stronger longing to touch him.

“Is there some reason you have decided to assault my lovely floors in such a bizarre fashion?” he queried.

Ami glanced down at her bright white skates, then met Marcus’s gaze. “It seemed the thing to do.”

That’s it. Sound natural. Sound buoyant. Let him attribute the weakness in your knees to the roller skates.

His lips twitched. A dimple appeared in his left cheek. Her knees weakened further.

“Darnell called earlier,” she mentioned as she eased around the sofa and—very smoothly, she thought—began to glide across the floor toward him.

His gaze sharpened. “Did he?”

She nodded. Lately, Marcus had reacted oddly to the mention of Darnell, David, or Seth. She didn’t know why. “He—”

The wheels of one skate made contact with the edge of the large ornamental carpet in the center of the room. The skate stopped. Ami kept going, arms flailing as she fought for balance and lost. A desperate attempt to use the stoppers on the front of the skates led to a couple of awkward tippytoe steps before she fell ... right into Marcus’s arms as he leapt forward to catch her.

They almost managed to remain upright. But, as she tried to regain her balance, Ami accidentally tangled her legs with his and swept him off his feet as she fell backward.

Marcus clamped his arms around her waist and yanked her to him with lightning speed, one large hand slipping up to cup the back of her head just before they hit the floor.

Or rather he hit the floor. His knees and elbows impacted the hard bamboo. Ami never touched it. Nevertheless, she felt as though the wind had been knocked from her.

Her breasts were flattened against his chest; her stomach was pressed to his muscled abs. Her hips were locked against his. One of his hard thighs was wedged between hers, supporting his weight and keeping her off the floor.

Her heartbeat skittered wildly as speech deserted her.

“Are you all right?” he asked. Without loosening his hold, Marcus leaned his head back and gazed down at her.

She nodded, breathless.

His brow furrowed with concern. “Are you sure?” Again she nodded.

He was so strong. So handsome.

His frown deepened. “You aren’t talking. That can’t be a good sign. Why aren’t you talking?”

She inhaled deeply, preparing to force some weak explanation through her lips, but paused as the scent of him further heated her blood and made her head spin.

He wasn’t wearing cologne. He never did. How could any man not wearing cologne smell so—she breathed in again—so utterly desirable?

He shifted, inadvertently rubbing his chest against her breasts. Her nipples hardened. Heat danced through her veins. She dropped her gaze to his lips, licked her own as she imagined tasting him.

His arms tightened.

When she glanced up, Ami was thrilled to see the flame of desire—she recognized it now—sparking in his eyes, giving them the same unearthly glow combat did.

Marcus’s head slowly began to lower.

Ami’s excitement trebled.

Was he going to kiss her? Would she finally experience again how soft his mouth was? Learn his taste? Discover whether her heart would burst at the first touch? She had not had time to savor his first kiss, a celebration of their triumph on the battlefield.

His lips mere millimeters from hers, he paused and closed his eyes. The hand in her hair clenched into a fist. Muttering a curse, he suddenly turned his face aside and buried it in the crook of her neck.

At first, Ami worried he would break Seth’s etched-in-stone rule and take her blood. As the moment lengthened, however, she realized he was merely attempting to regain control.

Disappointment washed over her.

Rearing back, Marcus gracefully rose to his feet with her still in his arms. Ami studied his expression as he altered his hold, slipped one arm beneath her knees, and carried her over to the sofa. Other than a tense jaw, his handsome face was impassive, lending no hint of what he might be thinking.

Gently, he deposited her onto the soft cushions and knelt before her.

Her body hummed in scandalous places. “What are you doing?” she asked curiously. Not preparing to ravage her she would wager.

“Removing these,” he answered, and went to work on the laces of one of her skates. “I have lived for eight centuries, Ami. It would be far too humiliating to finally meet my demise in what would undoubtedly become known as the greatest skating catastrophe of the twenty-first century.”

She smiled. “Oh, come on. I’m not that bad.”

Pursing his lips, he glanced up at her and raised one eyebrow.

“Okay, I am. But that’s just because it was my first try. I’ll get better with practice.”

“Not if I have anything to say about it.”

He tugged off the first skate, set it aside, then tackled the other.

Ami repressed a sigh. He had left his long hair loose, and it fell forward over his eyes as it was wont to do. Leaning forward, she gave in to the urge to brush her fingers across his forehead and tuck his hair behind his ear.

He stilled at her touch, but did not look up. “You said you talked to Darnell today.”

“Yes.” Had his eyes grown brighter at the light caress? “He said Reordon was putting the word out, telling everyone to back the blank off. Marion isn’t a sellout.”

Lips twitching, he went back to unlacing her skate. “Blank?”

“He might have used a different word.”

He laughed. “I’ll bet he did. But if Marion didn’t betray us, who did? Chris will never convince me it was a coincidence.”

“It wasn’t. Seth brought in Aiden O’Kearney.”

“I’m not familiar with the name.”

“He’s an immortal who can see past events in real time when he touches objects or visits locations. Aiden said vampires have been taking turns waiting outside Marion’s home every night for weeks.”

Marcus paused and raised his head. “Did he say why?”

“According to what he could glean, a new army is gathering, led by a vampire this time.”

Marcus removed her skate and set it aside. “And this vampire leader advised them to spy on Marion and what? Wait for an immortal to call? How would he even know Marion was part of the network?”

“He didn’t. Aiden said, based on the past conversations he overheard or ... however he does what he does ... the vampire leader posted vamps outside of every garage in North Carolina that is equipped with a tow truck. Apparently Bastien once saw a network cleanup crew using them. I don’t know how these guys know that though.”

“Perhaps Bastien told them,” Marcus suggested, his face darkening.

Ami knew Marcus distrusted Bastien almost as much as his friend Roland did ... with good reason. Bastien had nearly succeeded in staking Roland to the ground and leaving him for the sun to destroy. But Ami knew Bastien better than anyone else did. Seth had brought Bastien to his castle to reform him only days after rescuing Ami, and the two had bonded as they had struggled to adjust to their new circumstances.

“Bastien wouldn’t do that,” she told Marcus. His days of inciting vampires against immortals were over.

“From what I hear he isn’t exactly eager to help us eradicate the vampires.”

“Because he wants to save them,” she insisted.

Marcus sighed and clasped her foot. “We all want to save them, Ami. We’ve been trying for centuries to find a cure or at least some way to keep humans who are infected with the virus from losing their sanity. But we’ve had no success. Yes, we hope the three vampires salvaged from Bastien’s uprising will help our scientists finally succeed. But until then, we can’t just sit back and let the other vamps prey on humans, slaughtering them left and right.”

“I know,” she said, saddened. “He does, too. It’s just difficult for him. He lived among them for two centuries.” Ami considered Bastien something of a kindred spirit. Though he was an immortal, Bastien was essentially alone in the world, unlike any other inhabitant. Ami could relate.

“How else could these new vampires know about the network if Bastien isn’t getting them word?” Marcus asked.

She bit her lip. “Not every vampire he tried to recruit joined his army. Darnell said there’s no way of knowing how many of Bastien’s men may have talked to vamps outside the fold. They clearly kept secrets from him.”

“Pluralitas non est ponenda sine necessitate.”

“Occam’s razor?”

He nodded. “The simplest explanation is usually the better one.”

“Darnell thinks Montrose Keegan might be involved.”

The human professor and biochemist had been helping Bastien search for his own cure to the vampiric virus, but had vanished before the network could pick him up after Bastien’s fall.

“Bastien’s pet?” Marcus asked. “That makes sense ... and doesn’t increase my confidence in Bastien’s loyalty to the Immortal Guardians. They’re probably working together again.”

An opinion Darnell had told her was shared by most of the immortal population.

Ami decided to tackle Marcus’s views of Bastien later. “If Bastien is involved, I’m sure Seth will nip it in the bud. Meanwhile, the Immortal Guardians have been handed a unique opportunity.”

He pondered that a moment, absently rubbing her foot. “If their plan is still in play, we know where most of the vampires will be tonight.”

She nodded. “Loitering around every tow truck in the state, hoping one of the drivers will get a call for a cleanup and lead them to an immortal.”

His hand on her foot shifted, slid to her ankle, and began skimming up and down the bare skin above her socks and beneath her jeans. Sizzling sparks followed every touch.

“We’ll have to strike fast,” he remarked, “take them completely unawares before they can phone their colleagues and warn them.”

“Or call for backup.”

“I assume Reordon is coordinating everything?”

“Yes. The network is researching all possible targets. Chris will e-mail us a list of locations to investigate by sundown. Every immortal in North Carolina. Aiden will join the hunt with a list of his own. Also, Seth will be teleporting David in from Africa tonight, so they’ll be pitching in, too.”

“Sounds like a plan.” He continued to stroke her ankle and calf. “Your skin is so soft,” he murmured almost absently, then seemed to catch himself. Clearing his throat, Marcus stood. “Let’s go see if Chris has sent the list yet.”

His luminous eyes avoiding hers, he turned and headed for the computer on his desk.