he the strength, he would have laughed.
Then her words sank in. Sheldon was here? What was Sheldon doing here?
Where was here? His mind was all foggy.
Had he and Jenna spent her night off at his place? All of the things he had planned to do to that lovely body of hers and he had fallen asleep? Sheldon must have laughed his ass off when he had gotten home.
“Wake up, Richart. I need to know you’re okay.”
That didn’t sound like he’d fallen asleep.
He tried again to force his eyelids open.
Her hand tightened on his as she combed her fingers through his hair.
“That’s it. Open your eyes for me.”
At last, he succeeded and tried to bring his surroundings into focus.
What was wrong with his eyes?
What was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he think straight or hold on to a thought for more than a fleeting second?
As his vision cleared, he realized he lay in Jenna’s bed, a blanket drawn up to his waist, leaving his chest bare. His Second was sprawled in a chair across the room, legs straight, feet splayed, arms dangling over the chair’s arms, head back, mouth gaping as he emitted periodic snores.
At least I’ve located the damned chainsaw.
Daylight framed the closed blinds on the only window the room boasted. A discarded IV stand sporting an empty bag of blood stood sentinel beside the bed.
“Richart?” Jenna sat beside him, her hip a gentle pressure against his. Faint signs of fatigue lined her pretty face.
He curled his fingers around hers, still trying to find his voice.
“How do you feel?” she asked.
It took a couple of attempts to coax sound to emerge. “Like I have the worst hangover ever. What happened?”
She shook her head. “Sheldon wouldn’t tell me what happened before you got here, just that you were out on assignment and something went terribly wrong. John and I were having dinner here last night when you suddenly . . .” She closed her eyes for a moment. “It feels so weird to say this.”
“What?”
“You . . . teleported into the living room.”
Alarm surged through him.
“Sporting fangs.”
He clamped his lips shut.
“Drenched in blood.”
Holy hell.
“With glowing eyes.”
Every curse word he knew in every language he had ever learned paraded through his mind.
She knew. At least part of it anyway. “You called Sheldon?” he asked, avoiding her gaze.
“No. Your cell phone was shattered in whatever fight left you so torn up. He came looking for you around noon.”
She knew.
John knew.
She’d never forgive him.
Fear-induced adrenaline surged through him, finally resurrecting a few memories.
The ambush. The vampire king. The darts.
Grabbing the pillow from behind his head, he threw it at his somnolent Second’s slack face.
Feet flying up, Sheldon snorted and jackknifed into a seated position. “I didn’t do it!” His eyes sought and found Richart. “Oh, shit. You’re awake. Man, you had me worried.” He crossed to the bed.
Richart squeezed Jenna’s hand and pulled himself up into a seated position. The room tilted. Dark clouds invaded his vision and swirled around before clearing as the dizziness ebbed. “Étienne and Lisette?”
Jenna moved to sit at his side and wrapped an arm around him for support.
A tiny spark of hope flared. She wouldn’t do that if she hated or feared him, would she?
“As of half an hour ago, they still haven’t regained consciousness,” Sheldon said, “but their wounds have healed like yours.”
“Roland and Marcus?”
“They’re awake, but not at full strength.”
“Ami?”
The younger man’s gaze darted to Jenna and back. He raised his eyebrows in question, silently asking if he should speak freely.
“Just say it. I’m going to tell her everything as soon as you leave anyway.”
“The vampire king or one of his followers captured her.”
Dread flooded Richart’s stomach like acid.
“Bastien tracked their scents to Carrboro and lost them,” Sheldon continued, “but Marcus went after her as soon as he woke up and found her.”
“She’s alive?”
Sheldon nodded.
“In what condition?”
“I don’t know. Last I heard Darnell was heading over to Marcus’s place to check on her. I’m sure Seth has been called in by now to heal her.”
Richart dropped his legs over the side of the bed and braced his bare feet on the carpet. Leaning forward, he propped his elbows on his knees and dropped his head into his hands.
“It wasn’t your fault,” Sheldon told him.
Richart shook his head. “I should have stayed. I shouldn’t have teleported that last time. I thought I could take her away from there.”
“If you had stayed, you would have died.”
And Ami still would have wound up in the vampires’ hands. The vampire-hunting profession