passionate explorations. He just didn’t feel right about making love with her without first revealing who and what he was.
“Earth to Richart.”
Richart blinked and realized his Second stood in front of him, holding out two daggers. “Oh. Thanks.”
Sheldon shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest as he watched Richart tuck the blades into the sheaths on his thighs. He was young for a Second, only twenty years old. Inexperienced. And not the quickest learner. But Richart liked him and appreciated the boy’s humor and teasing nature.
“When are you going to tell her?” Sheldon asked. He alone knew Richart was seeing someone.
“That I can’t see her tonight?”
“No, genius. That you’re two hundred years old. Don’t you think she should know she’s sleeping with Methuselah?”
“First, thank you for that,” Richart offered dryly as he grabbed a couple more daggers. “Second, we haven’t slept together yet. And third . . .”
“What?”
“It isn’t the easiest topic to broach. And telling her could put her in danger.”
Sheldon frowned. “You mean Reordon? He wouldn’t harm her, would he?”
Chris Reordon took his job protecting Immortal Guardians very seriously. “At the very least, he would interrogate and threaten her to ensure her silence. And if she didn’t react well and told someone else . . .”
Sheldon scowled. “No wonder Roland kept Reordon away from Sarah. But Jenna wouldn’t blab, right? I mean, you know her.”
“And Roland knew his fiancée several centuries ago when he told her. Did she accept him? No. She betrayed his trust, and he awoke the next morning to a mob wielding fire, wooden stakes, and pitchforks.”
“Wow. No wonder he’s such an untrusting bastard.” Sheldon glanced at the clock. “Almost time for the meeting.”
Richart took out his cell phone. “I really hate to do this. It’s her night off, and I didn’t get to see her yesterday.” But when Seth called a meeting, one didn’t balk at attending.
Disappointed, Richart dialed her number.
Chapter Three
A biting winter wind ruffled Richart’s hair. Barren limbs of deciduous trees clacked together overhead while the leaves of evergreens fluttered and swished.
What’s going on with you? a female voice with an accent identical to his own asked in his head.
Richart glanced over at his sister and brother, who examined him much like they would a previously undiscovered insect.
Stay out of my head, he warned them. Both were telepathic. Richart lacked that gift and had often bemoaned the fact as a child until he had learned he could teleport and they couldn’t. They could still read his thoughts or send him their own, though.
We know when you block your thoughts and have respected your desire for privacy, Lisette said and shared a look with Étienne. But we don’t have to read your mind to know something is up.
Richart frowned at the dark forest that surrounded them.
A vampire, claiming he desired the Immortal Guardians’ help, had arranged a rendezvous with Marcus, Ami, and Roland (the last of whom the vampires believed was Bastien) in a clearing that had once been the site of Bastien’s lair. Seth had ordered Richart, his siblings, and Roland’s wife, Sarah, to follow and linger downwind in case it was a trap.
Sarah likely had no notion the French immortals were communicating silently and stood off to the side, staring intently into the trees as if she could see her husband waiting on the other side.
In lieu of answering, Richart decided to change the subject. Did anyone else notice the way Marcus looks at his Second?
Étienne smirked. As if he wishes to devour her? No, I didn’t notice at all.
Richart smiled.
Rustling sounds, a mile or two distant, reached their ears. The vampires’ scents—four instead of only the one who had arranged the meeting—followed.
Étienne drew his katanas.
Richart palmed two daggers as Lisette drew a pair of shoto swords.
“I thought this was supposed to be a private meeting,” they heard Marcus drawl.
“Insurance,” a vampire responded arrogantly. “Can’t blame me for being careful, can you? Besides, if he’s who you say he is, then maybe he can help all three of us.”
Richart caught Lisette’s gaze and raised an eyebrow.
It’s a trap, she confirmed with a frown. Three face our brethren while a fourth lingers in the trees, but . . . She shook her head. Their thoughts are all so loud and jumbled, I can’t discern what the trap entails.
Richart looked to Étienne, keeping an ear tuned to the conversation that continued in the clearing.
Étienne wagged his head back and forth. The madness has taken them. Their thoughts are impossible to