Melanie, however, wanted to be sure and had insisted.
When even Richart had expressed some doubt concerning the wisdom of her hunting with them, Melanie had dared to call Seth, who had backed her without hesitation.
Perhaps Bastien’s continued silence was a demonstration of his anger at her having gone over his head.
Hmm. Maybe Seth was one of the reasons Bastien was having such a hard time integrating himself into the Immortal Guardians’ ranks. The other immortals had always deferred to Seth and obeyed his will. He was the oldest among them and, thus, had more experience dealing with the challenges immortals and gifted ones had to face. He was also the most powerful immortal among them, able to kick anyone’s ass. Two, three, a dozen at a time. Though Melanie had heard that there was a pool going—had been for centuries—over who would win in a fight between Seth and David.
Melanie doubted anyone would ever know the answer to that one because the two men reputedly never argued.
“What’s wrong?” Richart continued. “Someone hurt your dainty feelings earlier?”
Again Bastien said nothing.
“Pouting because Seth now thinks you need two babysitters?” the handsome Frenchman taunted.
Nothing.
“Maybe your tussle with your vampire friend damaged your vocal chords.”
“Perhaps I’m just weary from my tussle with your girlfriend,” Bastien drawled.
Richart’s head snapped around. His eyes flashed a bright amber as his body tensed.
“Who do you think would win in a fight between Seth and David?” Melanie blurted. The two sat so close on either side of her that their arms brushed hers. She really didn’t want to be wedged between them when they broke into a brawl.
Richart frowned. “What?”
“Who do you think would win? Seth or David? I was thinking about tossing some money into the pool.” Not really, but who cared? The diversion seemed to be distracting Richart from whatever violence he had been contemplating.
“Seth,” Bastien said.
“Why?” Melanie pressed.
“Because I’ve seen him lose his temper.”
Richart’s eyes lost their glow and returned to a light brown. “You have?”
Bastien nodded, his gaze still searching the slumbering campus.
“What happened? What set him off?” Melanie asked. She had never heard of the Immortal Guardians’ leader losing control.
“I attacked Ami.”
“Merde!”
“What?”
Bastien glanced at her briefly from the corner of his eye. “It was an accident.”
Richart snorted. “You don’t accidentally attack someone.”
“I thought she was an immortal coming up behind me and just . . . reacted.”
Melanie was a little surprised he offered an explanation. Was it for her benefit? “So, what happened?” she asked.
“Seth lost it and . . .”
“What?” Richart pressed.
Bastien shook his head. “His castle nearly came crashing down around us. I’ve never seen such an exhibition of power. And the thing is . . . I think he was holding back. I think that was just a tiny hint of what he can really do.”
Richart muttered something in French.
“I really thought he was going to destroy me that night,” Bastien went on. “I still don’t know why he didn’t.”
Melanie looked at Richart. He seemed pretty impressed.
“You’ve never seen Seth lose his temper?” she asked.
“No. Never.”
Bastien made a sound of amusement. “Trust me. You don’t want to.”
Silence enfolded them once more.
Melanie swung her legs like Popper Knockers, bumping her combat boots together. Before leaving the network, she had donned the hunting gear Seconds normally sported: black cargo pants, black shirt, black sweater over the shirt to accommodate the weather, 9mms in shoulder holsters, knives in sheaths on her thighs.
A long, dark coat covered all and staved off some of the winter chill. Her fingers stiffened, however, as the cold breeze buffeted her, stronger up here on the roof than down at street level. If she didn’t think it would freak the men out or send the wrong message (wrong to Richart), she would stick her hands in each man’s pocket to warm them.
One of the coolest things she’d learned about immortals was that they could regulate their body temperature. Even in icy, below zero temperatures, they could remain toasty warm. If both men threw off their coats and stripped down to their underwear in these frigid temperatures, steam would rise off their skin.
“So this is what vampire hunting entails?” she asked. “This is what you guys do? You just sit around and pick at each other while you wait for vampires to come along?” It was kind of dull. She couldn’t seem to keep herself from fidgeting like a small child forced to sit through an unusually long church service in an itchy wool suit. She just wasn’t accustomed to being idle. It was beginning to get on her nerves.
And her nerves were already stretched taut from sitting so close to Bastien. Though her nose was numb from the cold, she could smell his unique scent and wanted nothing more than to pounce on him and rip his clothes off.
Bastien swore softly and moved a few inches away from her so they no longer touched.
Richart gave him a knowing look and returned his phone to his pocket. “We possess extraordinary hearing. If we sit quietly, we can hear for miles. Our sense of smell is the same. Should a vampire attack and attempt to feed anywhere on campus, we will hear it and smell it, so we don’t have to patrol, as it were.”
“So I was right? You really do just sit here and irritate each other until something happens?”
“He’s being kind,” Bastien said. “We usually walk the campus, searching it visually and widening the area we hear or smell, but want to play it safe tonight.”
“Because I’m here.”
“Yes. If or when vampires make an appearance tonight, we can leave you up here where it’s safe and take them out below.”
The arrogance! “I told you I can kick ass. Didn’t our little encounter with Stuart and company demonstrate that?”
Richart eyed her speculatively. “You helped Bastien defeat them?”
“Yes.” They hadn’t told him much about the battle itself. They had simply told him they’d found a potential recruit in Stuart. Richart had then teleported the unconscious vamps to the holding room, but they had ended up being too far gone. “I thought I held my own very well.”
Richart questioned Bastien silently with his eyes.
“She did,” Bastien confirmed, frowning at Melanie. “You never did tell me how you came to be trained. You’re a doctor, not a Second.”
“Oh, please. I work with vampires every day. Do you really think Mr. Reordon would’ve given me access to Vince, Cliff, and Joe if I hadn’t undergone the same training a Second does? Mr. Reordon wanted to make damned sure I could protect myself if the vampires ever attacked me.”
“Cliff had no difficulty capturing you tonight,” Bastien pointed out with a frown. “You were completely at his mercy.”
Melanie frowned. “That’s because I wasn’t on guard. You were there, giving me a false sense of security.”
“That really was bad form, Bastien,” Richart criticized.
“And don’t think I’ll fall for that crap again,” Melanie warned. “I managed to stop your scuffle, didn’t I? Without the tranquilizer.”
Richart chuckled. “I really wish I could’ve seen that one. You don’t know how many times I’ve wanted to knock him in the head myself since Seth foisted him on me.”
Melanie laughed. “I completely understand.”
Bastien’s scowl deepened. “What is it you Americans say—that’s so funny I forgot to laugh?”
“Wow,” she commented. “I haven’t heard that one in years.”
“Showing your age there, old man,” Richart goaded.
“We’re damned near the same age, dimwit.”
“In years. Not in spirit.”
Melanie grinned. This was much better.
Both men abruptly turned their heads to the north.
Melanie instinctively followed their gaze, but saw nothing.
Richart and Bastien stood.
When Melanie did the same, Bastien took her arm and carefully steered her away from the edge. Both men had been rather astonished by her total lack of acrophobia. Since her father had worked as a high-rise window washer, she assumed the absence of a fear of heights ran in the family.
The immortals seemed to keep an ear tuned to whatever had caught their attention.
“What is it? Is it . . . rats?” She caught herself before saying vamps, unsure if the vampires would be able to hear them.
Bastien’s lips quirked. “Yes.”
“How many?”
He held up a hand and touched his middle finger to his thumb.
Melanie thought back to the hand signals she had had to memorize during her training. Eight. That was a large number to find trolling for victims together. There was no telling how many humans the vampire king and his followers had transformed, but . . . with so many turning up so frequently, the numbers had to be off the charts.
Bastien and Richart both did a quick weapons check.
“We shall return shortly,” Bastien told her.
Richart reached out to touch Bastien’s shoulder.
Oh, hell no. Melanie leapt forward. Her fingers closed around Bastien’s arm just as Richart teleported him.
The world darkened. That bizarre feeling of weightlessness suffused her. Then her feet were touching pavement on the sidewalk near the Physical Sciences building.
Melanie wasn’t sure what Richart said next, but suspected it was a string of French swear words.
“Don’t do that!” he snapped in English.
She offered him a hasty apology. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to leave me behind.”
“We were leaving you behind for a reason!”