open. Who the hell was ringing his doorbell at—he glanced at the clock on the mantel—4:31 in the morning? And how had he not heard the person’s approach? Was he that weak?
Bing bong.
Well, he wasn’t expecting anyone, so whoever it was must be up to no good.
Bing bong.
And when he stopped leaning on the freakin’ doorbell and decided to break and enter, he would be in for a rude awakening.
Marcus perked up a bit at that. Perhaps he wouldn’t have to go out after all. He could just feed on the burglar.
Bing bong.
If the burglar would get off his ass and get to the bloody burglarizing already!
Bing bong bing bong bing bong.
Growling, Marcus flung himself from the sofa and stalked over to the front door.
Okay, he didn’t stalk. It was more of an agonized, yet determined half-lurch half-skip he would no doubt regret; but pain and the doorbell prodded his temper.
Ready to scare the holy hell out of whoever his new tormentor was, he yanked the door open, then drew up short. “Oh,” he grumbled. “It’s you.”
Unfazed by Marcus’s surly greeting, his visitor arched a dark brow. “Feeling a tad cranky, are we?”
Marcus muttered something disparaging beneath his breath as he turned away and started the long hobble back to the sofa.
Behind him, Seth entered and closed the door. “Care to tell me what happened tonight?”
“In a minute,” Marcus bit out, gritting his teeth against the pain. Oh yeah. His leg was definitely broken.
“As you will,” Seth replied in an accent Marcus had never been able to place. Russian? Middle Eastern? South African? None of them seemed quite right.
He glanced up as Seth strolled past, his hands clasped behind his back. Though Marcus was six foot one, Seth stood a head taller. His black hair, pulled back into a wavy raven ponytail, damn near reached his ass. His nose was straight, his jaw strong, his eyes so dark a brown they appeared black.
Like Marcus, he was cloaked in midnight. Black slacks. Black mock turtleneck. A long black coat. All of impeccable quality and fit. The skin left exposed was tanned and flawless.
Marcus scowled after him. He could’ve at least offered to help.
“I’m making a point,” Seth said in his deep voice.
Great. “Stop reading my thoughts.”
“As soon as you quiet them.”
Marcus said nothing as he continued to make slow progress toward the living room.
Seth was the self-proclaimed leader of the Immortal Guardians. Their mentor. Their justiciar if any should stray beyond the boundaries he set for them.
One by one, he had sought them all out when they were fledgling immortals, most transformed against their will, and shown them a new way of life. He had explained what vampirism was: the result of a parasitic or—as he put it—symbiotic virus that altered their bodies in miraculous ways, yet left them needing regular infusions of blood. He showed them how to temper that need in a manner that strengthened them.
He taught them. He trained them. He guided them.
He was the first, the oldest (though he didn’t look a day over thirty), the most powerful among them. So powerful that, unlike the others, he could walk in daylight without suffering any ill effects at all.
Marcus grunted as he collapsed back against the sofa cushions, grimacing when he realized how badly he was staining them. “I don’t suppose you have any blood on you.”
Seth smiled placidly as he leaned back against the mantel. “None with which I care to part.”
Of course. Marcus would have to do something soon. He still bled from several wounds and continued to weaken. With no convenient burglar on hand, he would have to go out and feed.
“Why did you say you were here again?”
When Seth’s smile turned calculating, Marcus felt a twinge of unease. “There is someone I’d like you to meet.”
Ami nibbled her lower lip as she waited for Seth’s summons. Glancing down at her wrist, she cursed softly when she realized no metal glinted against
Bing bong.
Well, he wasn’t expecting anyone, so whoever it was must be up to no good.
Bing bong.
And when he stopped leaning on the freakin’ doorbell and decided to break and enter, he would be in for a rude awakening.
Marcus perked up a bit at that. Perhaps he wouldn’t have to go out after all. He could just feed on the burglar.
Bing bong.
If the burglar would get off his ass and get to the bloody burglarizing already!
Bing bong bing bong bing bong.
Growling, Marcus flung himself from the sofa and stalked over to the front door.
Okay, he didn’t stalk. It was more of an agonized, yet determined half-lurch half-skip he would no doubt regret; but pain and the doorbell prodded his temper.
Ready to scare the holy hell out of whoever his new tormentor was, he yanked the door open, then drew up short. “Oh,” he grumbled. “It’s you.”
Unfazed by Marcus’s surly greeting, his visitor arched a dark brow. “Feeling a tad cranky, are we?”
Marcus muttered something disparaging beneath his breath as he turned away and started the long hobble back to the sofa.
Behind him, Seth entered and closed the door. “Care to tell me what happened tonight?”
“In a minute,” Marcus bit out, gritting his teeth against the pain. Oh yeah. His leg was definitely broken.
“As you will,” Seth replied in an accent Marcus had never been able to place. Russian? Middle Eastern? South African? None of them seemed quite right.
He glanced up as Seth strolled past, his hands clasped behind his back. Though Marcus was six foot one, Seth stood a head taller. His black hair, pulled back into a wavy raven ponytail, damn near reached his ass. His nose was straight, his jaw strong, his eyes so dark a brown they appeared black.
Like Marcus, he was cloaked in midnight. Black slacks. Black mock turtleneck. A long black coat. All of impeccable quality and fit. The skin left exposed was tanned and flawless.
Marcus scowled after him. He could’ve at least offered to help.
“I’m making a point,” Seth said in his deep voice.
Great. “Stop reading my thoughts.”
“As soon as you quiet them.”
Marcus said nothing as he continued to make slow progress toward the living room.
Seth was the self-proclaimed leader of the Immortal Guardians. Their mentor. Their justiciar if any should stray beyond the boundaries he set for them.
One by one, he had sought them all out when they were fledgling immortals, most transformed against their will, and shown them a new way of life. He had explained what vampirism was: the result of a parasitic or—as he put it—symbiotic virus that altered their bodies in miraculous ways, yet left them needing regular infusions of blood. He showed them how to temper that need in a manner that strengthened them.
He taught them. He trained them. He guided them.
He was the first, the oldest (though he didn’t look a day over thirty), the most powerful among them. So powerful that, unlike the others, he could walk in daylight without suffering any ill effects at all.
Marcus grunted as he collapsed back against the sofa cushions, grimacing when he realized how badly he was staining them. “I don’t suppose you have any blood on you.”
Seth smiled placidly as he leaned back against the mantel. “None with which I care to part.”
Of course. Marcus would have to do something soon. He still bled from several wounds and continued to weaken. With no convenient burglar on hand, he would have to go out and feed.
“Why did you say you were here again?”
When Seth’s smile turned calculating, Marcus felt a twinge of unease. “There is someone I’d like you to meet.”
Ami nibbled her lower lip as she waited for Seth’s summons. Glancing down at her wrist, she cursed softly when she realized no metal glinted against
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