Nietzsche rolled over onto his back and struck a cute pose as she approached again, offering his tummy up for a rub.
Sarah obediently stroked his soft fur, smiling faintly when he rumbled with purrs of satisfaction. Once he had gotten used to her being around, Nietzsche had begun to come to her for treats and caresses almost as often as he did to Roland.
When Chris failed to reply to her announcement, she glanced up and found him turned around on the sofa, watching her over its back, his expression inscrutable.
“You think there’s no chance, don’t you?” Giving the cat a last stroke, she recommenced circumnavigating the big room. “Roland does, too.”
“It isn’t impossible,” he said slowly, swiveling around as he followed her progress, “just improbable.”
And she had thought the day couldn’t get any grimmer.
“Roland told me gifted ones always have black hair and brown eyes, no matter their race. I have neither.”
“Actually, there’s a gifted one in DC who has brown hair.”
Stopping short, Sarah stared at him. “What?”
Chris nodded. “She came to my attention … about six years ago when her college roommate was murdered in their dorm room.”
“She’s a gifted one?You’re sure?”
“I’m sure. It caused quite a stir when the police ran her DNA. I had to call Seth in to wipe a hell of a lot of memories and to explain things to her.”
“And she had brown hair?” Her heart began to thud in her chest.
“Just a bit darker than yours.”
“Why doesn’t Roland know about this?” He would have told her if he did.
Chris rolled his eyes. “Roland avoids all of us like the plague and this didn’t make it onto the Immortal Guardian’s website. Not very many people know.”
Which would explain why Marcus hadn’t said anything either when he had realized Roland was falling for her.
“Does the woman have any special gifts?”
He nodded. “She has minor psychic abilities. Knows someone is going to call before the phone rings or that she’s going to receive a package before the postman arrives. That sort of thing. Not enough to enable her to pick the Lotto numbers, but enough for her to notice.”
And there came reality, crashing back down again.
She sighed. “My eyes aren’t brown and I have no gifts.”
His look turned sympathetic. “Hazel is close to brown. And maybe you simply have a gift that’s mild enough you haven’t noticed it yet.”
It was nice of him to try. “Thanks, Chris, but—” She broke off, her gaze drawn beyond him to the corner as Nietzsche suddenly flipped onto all fours and looked toward the hallway.
Sarah followed his gaze and saw nothing. The hallway was empty, the doorways leading to the library, bedrooms, and basement all open and equally bereft.
“What is it?” Chris asked, sitting up straighter.
“Nothing, I think.”
Nietzsche dropped into a crouch, belly practically touching the cushion, ears laid back, and hissed.
An icy tingle of fear swept down Sarah’s spine.
What the hell?
A blur of motion burst from the hallway and rocketed toward the sofa. Blood sprayed from Chris’s mouth and nose as his head slammed back. Then he fell sideways, unconscious, onto the cushions.
As the blurry form looming over him stilled, it solidified into a man and turned to face her.
Oh shit. Bastien.
A heavy weight struck her in the stomach as he tossed her over his shoulder.
She hadn’t even seen him move!
The room blurred. Her stomach lurched.
Sarah struggled to get her bearings as the light suddenly dimmed and cooler air buffeted her.
Were they down in one of the tunnels?
How had he known about the tunnels?
Heart racing, hands shaking, she reached under her shirt, withdrew the Glock he must not have noticed in his hurry, aimed at the dark blurs she assumed were his legs and fired twice.
The tunnel abruptly swam into focus as his momentum stalled and blood spurted from both of his hamstrings.
Bastien stumbled and went down.
Sarah went down with him. Her back hit the ground first and knocked the breath from her. Her head ricocheting off the hard-packed dirt, she slid several yards, then skidded to a halt. Dust rose up around her, choking her, making her cough. She groaned as her head began to throb.
Rolling to her side, Sarah fought to breathe and ignored the bright sparkles that danced through her vision. Sluggishly, she dragged herself to her feet and glanced around.
The tunnel they were in, like all the others, was dimly lit with low-wattage bulbs activated by motion sensors. She couldn’t see the exit, so this must be one of the longer tunnels.
Bastien rose up between her and the entrance, one hand clamped to the back of his right thigh.
Sarah looked around frantically for the Glock she had dropped upon impact. Spotting it a couple of feet in front of her to the right, she dove for it.
Bastien snatched it away before she was even halfway there.
As Sarah jumped back, he turned and hurled it all the way to the entrance. His eyes, when he turned to face her, glowed amber with rage.
“Apparently your immortal friends didn’t bother to tell you that shooting vampires doesn’t kill us.” His lips pulled back from sharp fangs, igniting fear within her. “It only pisses us off!”
She screamed when he raced toward her, expecting him to rip out her throat in retribution.
His shoulder hit her stomach and lifted. The tunnel blurred. Cool wind whipped her as she dangled upside down again. Blood rushed to her head, increasing the pounding in it.
The bullet wounds weren’t even slowing him.
Fear made Sarah’s pulse drum loudly in her ears. She couldn’t let him take her. He’d kill her if he did or—worse—use her to kill Roland.
Her breath coming in panicked gasps, she reached into one of the few pockets still accessible in this position and withdrew a throwing knife. Grasping the wooden handle tightly, she held her breath, drew her arm back, then thrust it down as hard as she could.
Bastien cried out and jerked to a halt.
Sarah kept going, flying forward for a long weightless moment until she slammed into a wall. She heard a loud crack as she hit hard dirt or stone. Pain spiked through her head. Landing in a heap on the floor, she closed her eyes and gritted her teeth.
Dizziness assailed her. Nausea rose.
When she opened her eyes, they refused to focus.
Drawing her knees up under her, she braced a trembling hand against the wall and struggled to rise.
Bastien was an obscure blur a few yards away, though she thought he was standing still.
“You stabbed me in the ass?” he roared.
The pain in her head intensified. Tears spilled over her lashes and down her cheeks as she fought to remain upright.
Bastien stared in furious disbelief at the bloody knife he had just yanked out of his right butt cheek.
Was the woman insane? Didn’t she understand who and what she was dealing with?
Tossing it the way of the Glock, he sent her a look that, in the past, had been known to make grown men wet their pants.
It didn’t seem to faze her in the least, though she was crying, he noticed uncomfortably.
Hell, he’d rather have her fight him than cry. He never had been able to abide a woman’s tears.
“How many damned weapons are you carrying?” he demanded, hardening his heart. She was a pawn, nothing more. A temporary thorn in his side he would use to bring his enemy down.
Peering around blearily, she abruptly slid down the wall, landing hard on her ass. Her arms settled limply at her sides.
He frowned. “Sarah?”
She didn’t respond, just sat there, blinking hard as if something was wrong with her eyes.
When a small stream of crimson liquid emerged from one ear, a cold chill shivered down his spine.
Oh shit.
Bastien swiftly closed the distance between them and knelt before her.
“Sarah? Can you hear me?”
Slipping a hand around to the back of her head, he found it wet with blood.
They had been traveling at a good velocity when she had stabbed him. He hadn’t meant to lose his hold on her, but he had had a four-inch blade stuck in his ass.
Had she hit the wall hard enough to fracture her skull?
Damn it! She wasn’t supposed to have gotten hurt. She was supposed to have come along docilely, too terrified to fight, and lured Roland into a trap. Then, once the asshole was dead, Bastien would’ve released her and she would’ve gone on her merry mortal way.
“Sarah,” he repeated softly, trying to get her to focus on him. “Sarah?”
“What?” she whispered.
She was totally out of it. Through his touch, he could feel her pain and confusion. She wanted Roland. Probably wanted him to heal her, since Bastien’s research indicated Roland could heal with his hands. Not that he would.
Performing a quick search of her pockets, Bastien relieved her of the rest of her arsenal of weapons. His mind raced as he pulled a mask from his front pocket and jerked it on. Though it wasn’t as fancy as those the immortals had been wearing when they had left, it would protect him from the worst of the sun’s damage. And what it didn’t block, the route through dense forest he had carefully plotted would.
Slipping one arm around Sarah’s back and the other beneath her knees, he gently scooped her up into his arms.
“Roland?” she murmured plaintively.
“Easy, princess,” he soothed, positioning them beneath the exit. “You’ll see him soon.”
Roland peered over Marcus’s shoulder as they watched for the satellite image to appear on the small screen.
They had left Chris’s van a couple of miles away and, approaching stealthily on foot, had arrived in the forest that overlooked Bastien’s farmhouse five minutes ago.
Though the satellite image was due any minute, the wait was excruciating.
Roland continued to feel uneasy about leaving Sarah with only mortals to protect her.