The vampires’ numbers began to decrease. Then more arrived on the scene, eyes glowing blue, green, silver, or amber.
What the hell?
Aidan glanced over at his brothers-in-arms.
Bastien fought with smooth precision. Though he was a mere two and a half centuries old or thereabouts, Bastien’s skill exceeded those of other immortals his age.
Aidan supposed the immortal would have to have been stronger and faster. He had, after all, once raised and commanded an army of vampires he had pitted against the Immortal Guardians. It would’ve been imbecilic to live in a lair with over a hundred psychotic vampires if he hadn’t been capable of defeating any who rebelled against him.
Those years of command had also, Aidan guessed, made it harder for Bastien to bow to Seth’s leadership and obey his orders. The younger immortal’s induction into their ranks had not gone smoothly, according to Cliff.
Speaking of whom…
Aidan removed another vampire’s head, then glanced over at Cliff.
Though his movements were as smooth and precise as Bastien’s, Cliff exhibited none of the cool detachment found in Bastien’s expression.
No, Cliff tore his opponents apart with a rage and ferocity that even Aidan found disturbing.
When the vampires’ numbers dwindled to only five or six, Bastien backed away several steps and allowed Cliff to take on his opponents.
Aidan followed Bastien’s example, confident Cliff could defeat those who remained.
Bastien cast Aidan a grim look.
Unspoken concern leapt back and forth between them.
The last vampire fell.
Aidan studied the dozens of vampire bodies that lay in various stages of decay around them.
“What the hell is going on?” Bastien asked, echoing Aidan’s thoughts. “Why so many?”
“I don’t know.” Aidan looked to Cliff.
The vampire’s chest rose and fell with rapid breaths as he stared down at his fallen foes. His eyes glowed not just with amber light but with the madness that fought so hard to consume him.
Cliff’s hands fisted around the hilts of his short swords. His biceps—riddled with cuts and gashes—bulged as he fought an inner battle Aidan didn’t have to hear to recognize. The voices in Cliff’s young, damaged mind called for more blood. More violence. More death.
Bastien sheathed his weapons and looked to his friend. “Cliff?” he asked, voice gentle.
Cliff didn’t respond.
Sheathing his own weapons, Aidan slowly approached Cliff and touched his shoulder. It took a lot of effort to keep those voices from invading his own mind, but Aidan managed to do it and focused his healing gift on sending warmth and soothing energy into his friend.
Gradually Cliff’s breathing slowed. The muscles in his arms and shoulders relaxed.
The young vampire drew in a long deep breath, held it, then slowly released it. The glow in his eyes fading, he looked over his shoulder at Aidan. “Thank you.”
Aidan gave his shoulder a squeeze, then released him. He met Bastien’s gaze while Cliff bent and used the shirttail of one of the fallen vampires to wipe the blood from his weapons.
Dread filled the British immortal’s eyes.
Cliff frowned as he straightened. “How many were there?”
Aidan glanced around. “Two dozen, give or take.”
Bastien shook his head. “They’re amassing again.”
Aidan agreed. “But under whose leadership?”
“I don’t know. Did you see anything in their thoughts?”
Aidan’s phone rang. “I didn’t have time to read them.” Retrieving his phone, he glanced down to see who was calling. “It’s Brodie.” His Second. “Yes?” he answered as Bastien’s phone rang.
The two immortals shared a concerned look.
“Chris has called a meeting,” Brodie said.
Aidan heard Bastien’s Second, Tanner, echo the news when Bastien answered.
“When?” Aidan asked.
“Tomorrow,” Brodie responded. “Just after sunset. At David’s place.”
“Okay. Thanks.” Aidan pocketed his phone.
Bastien did the same. “What do you think it’s about?”
Aidan shook his head. “I don’t know.” But if it was about Veronica Becker, he hoped Chris would bring them good news.
Shortly after sunset the next day, Aidan and Brodie strolled up the walk to David’s sprawling home. A cacophony of voices met Aidan’s sensitive ears as friendly conversation ebbed and flowed within.
“We may be the last to arrive,” he commented.
Brodie cast him an amused look. Because you took too long prettying yourself up for you-know-who.
Aidan laughed when he caught the thought. Perhaps he had spent an extra minute or two trying to tame his wavy hair. He would be seeing Dana later and would rather not look like Medusa when he did.
When he reached the front door, Aidan opened it without knocking and strode inside. Brodie entered behind him and closed the door.
Though it was only one story, David’s house was large with high ceilings and furnishings that were both modern and comfortable. It also boasted a basement that was even larger than the ground floor, providing his immortal family with multiple bedrooms and a large gym in which they could train and spar during the day.
Until Zach had joined their ranks, David had been the second oldest and most powerful Immortal Guardian in the world. He had lived so long that—like Seth—he had witnessed biblical events and was Seth’s second-in-command. Though Zach exceeded David in age, Aidan really wasn’t sure which one of them would win if those two ever fought. He saw little chance of that happening though. David was the most even-tempered Immortal Guardian Aidan knew and considered all immortals and their Seconds family. Treated them like family, too, opening the doors of all his homes to them, inviting them to come and go as they pleased, and providing them with a warm family atmosphere in which to decompress after a hunt.
Several men and women called a greeting to Aidan as they abandoned the sofas and love seats in the living room on the right and headed for the dining room on the left.
Aidan didn’t bother to remove his coat as he and Brodie followed. He was hoping this would be a short meeting. And even if it wasn’t, he didn’t have to worry about becoming overheated since immortals could control their body temperature.
David nodded to Aidan and seated himself at the head of the table. His Second, Darnell, took the chair on his left. Chris Reordon brushed past Aidan and plunked a battered, soft leather briefcase down beside the chair to David’s right.
Seth already occupied the seat at the foot of the table and spoke softly to Ami, who sat on his left. Her husband Marcus occupied the chair beside her, listening to Seth while he arranged construction paper and crayons on the table in front of him and balanced little Adira in his lap.
Roland Warbrook sat on Marcus’s other side. He had long been deemed the most antisocial, untrusting immortal on the planet. Yet he smiled at Adira as she chattered away and waved a green crayon at him. Marcus had been like a brother to Roland for roughly eight hundred years. And Roland clearly adored his friend’s toddler.