So, what’s the plan? she asked as she peered through it. What are we supposed to do with them? Wait. What’s that clicking noise?

Shh. He listened. Counted the clicks until they stopped. What time is it?

She consulted her watch. 3:00 AM.

They must have been ordered to check in at the top of every hour. They were clicking their walkies to give a head count and let their leader know they’re still in position and that all is well.

How many clicks were there?

A dozen.

Why do you think there are so few?

I don’t know, and we’ve run out of time to speculate. The vamps are almost here and we can’t let the mercenaries get them.

What do you want to do?

He needed to read the minds of the soldiers before he killed them to ensure none possessed any information. The current assumption was that they wouldn’t. But he wasn’t comfortable with letting the opportunity go by. And then there were the tracking devices he and Krysta both carried. You take care of the vampires.

Her eyebrows flew up. Really? You trust me to do it by myself?

You could handle those boys with your hands tied behind your back, he said proudly.

Don’t you want to read their minds first to see if any are worth recruiting?

They aren’t. They’re broadcasting as loudly as a bloody boom mobile and I’m getting nothing but depravity. Go get ’em, Tiger.

Are you trying to use slang again or is that a new pet name for me?

Both? I thought, as a warrior, you might want something more fierce than sweetheart.

Rising up onto her toes, she brushed his lips with hers. I like sweetheart.

And I love you. Go do your thing.

She drew her swords and grinned. Will do.

There’s just one more thing . . .

Chapter 17

Krysta confronted the vampires in the shadows where trees and buildings blocked the view of the mercenaries on the rooftops. Only one mercenary lurked nearby, tucked in the bushes several yards away.

Etienne wasn’t kidding about the camouflage. If he hadn’t told her the mercenary was there, then shown her with the scope, she wouldn’t have known it. Even his scent had been dampened so much that it was nearly undetectable.

The vampires stopped short when she halted in front of them.

Yeah. These guys weren’t right. Their eyes were glowing and she hadn’t even confronted them. Their longish hair was unkempt and greasy. Their clothing looked and smelled as though it hadn’t been changed in days and carried the odors of multiple blood types. Their breath alone could kill a person.

Gross. She did not want to know what—or whom—they had been eating.

Breathing through her mouth, she watched them take in her presence, her weapons. They presented an interesting contrast. Two of them constantly fidgeted and twitched. The other two stood deathly still, like twisted mannequins.

The last was a little creepy.

Don’t underestimate the still ones. They’ll be as fast as the others, Etienne spoke in her head.

You just do what you have to do and leave these clowns to me, she ordered.

They didn’t ask if she was an Immortal Guardian. They just attacked.

Krysta began to swing her swords. Her new speed, coupled with her ability to see their auras and anticipate their actions, made it seem as though they moved in slow motion. She struck with such unerring accuracy that they didn’t have a chance.

Don’t get cocky, Etienne warned.

I think you’ve said that before.

She killed them all with an ease that astonished her, earning only the most superficial of wounds herself.

The mercenary there in the bushes will try to tranq you now, Etienne warned. Act swiftly.

Sheathing her weapons, she raced toward the bushes in a zigzag pattern.

Sure enough, a damned dart shot past her, nearly nicking her ear.

Reaching through the foliage, she knocked the tranq gun from the mercenary’s hands, seemingly by accident, and yanked him out into the open.

He was younger than she had expected. Sean’s age. Maybe less. For some reason she had thought he would be older. Face rough-hewn and hard. Skin lined and leathery from too many hours in the sun.

This guy’s skin was smooth and clean-shaven.

Eyes wide, he reached for the tactical knife on his belt.

Krysta knocked it from his grasp and, clutching the front of his shirt with one hand, yanked him close. So close the automatic rifle hooked to the strap around his neck was forced to the side and back, out of reach.

“Run,” she ordered, calling upon all of her high school drama class lessons to present a facade of fear.

“What?” he asked as he pried at her hand.

“Run!” She unobtrusively planted a tracking device on his rifle, then grasped his shirt with both hands and shook. “While you still have a chance. He’s coming. He’ll kill you!”

“You’re one of them!” he spat, unable to break her hold.

“I was turned against my will.” She wished she could squeeze out a few tears, but wasn’t that good an actress. “I—”

“What are you doing?” Etienne demanded behind her.

The mercenary’s fear magnified as he looked over her shoulder.

Krysta released her hold on the mercenary and moved to his side.

When he gripped his rifle, she stayed him. “Don’t. You’ll just piss him off. Run!”

“What the hell are you doing?” Etienne demanded. Remember what I told you. Give it your all. He has to think it’s real. He charged toward her.

Heart stopping with dread, Krysta drew back her fist and swung with all of her preternatural might. Pain shot up her arm as her fist hit his jaw.

Etienne, with all of the flair of a stuntman in a freaking action-adventure blow-’em-up movie, flew backward and struck the wall of the building behind him with a grunt, then collapsed to the ground.

“Go!” she shouted at the mercenary, who gaped first at Etienne and then at Krysta.

He reached for the walkie on his shoulder.

She shook her head. “They’re all dead. I heard him kill them. It’s why he left me to fend for myself with those monsters who attacked me.”

He tried the walkie anyway and got nothing, his panic palpable.

Etienne rose with a groan, eyes glowing with what the mercenary no doubt took for promised retribution, but Krysta suspected was actually . . .

Was that desire?

She grabbed the mercenary by the shoulder and gave him a shove to get him moving.

Whatever it was, she didn’t want to have to hit Etienne again. Her hand was throbbing and she didn’t like hurting him. “Go, damn it!” she cried. “Run!”

“Come with me,” he said, shocking the hell out of her.

Either she was a better actress than she had thought or he wanted to score points with his superiors by capturing an immortal.

Shaking her head, she looked at Etienne. “He’ll catch me. He always catches me. And he’ll torture you for helping me.” She added a hitch to her breath and was pleased at how close to a sob it sounded. “Just go.”

He did.

As the mercenary’s feet pounded the pavement, Etienne stalked toward her. Hold your breath and tense your neck muscles.

She didn’t ask why, just did it.

Etienne wrapped the fingers of one hand around her throat and lifted her off her feet just as the mercenary’s footsteps slowed and he turned to look back.

Krysta wrapped her hands around Etienne’s wrist and kicked her feet, pretending to fight even as she used her new strength to push herself up and ease the pressure on her neck.

Etienne wrapped an arm around her and shot off into the night. The hold on her neck became a caress. Krysta took several deep breaths as the campus swept past. Etienne jumped. The ground fell away and she found herself on the roof of . . .

Actually Krysta didn’t know the name of this building. But they were still on campus and could see the mercenary in the distance.

Etienne set her down, drew out his phone, and dialed.

“Reordon,” Chris answered.

It was so odd to be able to hear both sides of the conversation without the phone being on speaker.

“It’s Etienne. We tagged a mercenary at UNC Chapel Hill. He’s fleeing the campus, heading south on foot. I need a cleanup crew to come collect the eleven dead or unconscious mercenaries he left behind.”

He hung up before Chris could say anything, pocketed the phone, and yanked Krysta into his arms. “I’m sorry. I had to make it look real. I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“No. It was just uncomfortable for a second.”

His arms tightened as he swore in French. (She was beginning to recognize some words now.)

“What about you?” she asked to distract him. “Am I wrong, or did my knocking the crap out of you turn you on?”

Leaning back, he summoned a sheepish smile and pressed his hips against hers to let her feel his arousal. “You weren’t wrong.”

“Really? Are you into the rough stuff?” She had never thought of trying that kind of thing herself.

“I didn’t think so,” he said with a baffled shake of his head, “But you were”—his glowing eyes grew brighter—“magnificent.”

“Hmm. Is this . . . something you want to explore? Sexually?” She wasn’t sure how that would work. She knew without trying it that hurting Etienne wouldn’t turn her on. And she sure as hell didn’t want him to hurt her. Pain tended to piss her off.

“Not really,” he said. “I just adore your strength and seeing you in action aroused me.” He hesitated. “I’d try anything you asked me to, though. In bed or out of it. I want you to be happy.”

She smiled and shook her head. “Let’s leave the pain on the battlefield.”

“Agreed.” He dipped his head and kissed her.

Her pulse leapt.

As he teased her lips with his tongue, she palmed his erection. “Want to do something about this while we wait for the cleanup crew to arrive?” She sure as hell did. She didn’t know if it was the adrenaline still coursing through her veins or just knowing that he wanted her, but she was already wet for him, her body tingling and desperate for his touch.