He raised a hand to hold her at bay and vanished.

She looked up at Krysta. “What happened?”

Krysta shook her head. “I’m not sure. Someone was shooting the place all to hell and—”

“Sheldon!” the woman called over her shoulder. “John!” She wore black cargo pants and a black T-shirt that hugged a narrow waist and full breasts Krysta would kill to have. Her hair was mussed and her face flushed, leading Krysta to believe this was the American wife with whom Richart had been making love.

Two men strode up a nearby hallway, coming from the back of the house. Both looked to be around twenty years old. One was roughly five eleven with bright red hair. The other was at least six feet with short, dark brown hair.

Krysta took a wary step backward, then another. She didn’t know these people. She barely knew Etienne.

“What’s up, Mom?” the brunet asked.

The other man’s eyebrows flew up when he noticed Krysta. “Well, hello,” he said in a deep, flirtatious tone.

She scowled. “You’re hitting on me? Really?”

Richart appeared with Etienne, who was pretty much holding his brother upright.

Krysta damned near sank to the floor with relief.

“Sheldon,” Etienne said as the woman hurried forward, “get the protective suits we wear in daylight. John, get Richart some blood. And bring some for me, too.”

The redhead took off toward the back of the house. The brunet raced into a large adjoining kitchen.

“Here, honey,” the woman said, looping Richart’s arm over her shoulder and taking his weight from Etienne, “let me help you to the sofa.”

He smiled and nuzzled her ear. “It’s not as bad as it looks. I’m already healing.”

“Good, because you look like shit.”

He chuckled, then winced.

In all the years Krysta had been hunting vampires, she had never thought of one having a wife.

But they weren’t vampires. They were immortals. Their every movement wasn’t dictated by evil and insanity. The two actually seemed . . . loving. Warm. Affectionate.

Etienne stepped in front of her, blocking her view, and gently clasped her arm with his left hand. “Are you all right?”

She looked up at him, touched by the concern in his handsome face. “Yes. Just shaken, I guess.”

He nodded and pulled her into a hug.

Krysta leaned into him, letting her racing heart calm, her body stop trembling.

John returned from the kitchen. “Here you go.”

Etienne released her and took a bag of blood with his left hand.

Krysta frowned. He wasn’t using his right arm. Or, more specifically, his right hand.

He gave her an uneasy look. “I’m sorry. I have to do this.”

“Do what?”

He parted his lips.

She swallowed as fangs descended from his gums. Fangs he sank into the bag of blood.

Oh. Right. Gross.

I’m not drinking it, he spoke directly into her head.

She jumped. “Are you reading my thoughts again?”

No. Your face said it all.

“Oh. Sorry.”

While he continued to syphon the blood into his veins or whatever, she took his right arm and carefully raised it so she could get a look at his hand.

It was a mess of cuts and bruises and who knew how many broken bones. Her little house may be all wood and look like crap on the outside but it had been built to last. Etienne had punched through flooring and heavy support beams alike.

She looked up at him and found him watching her. “Does it hurt?”

He lowered the now-empty blood bag and gave her a wry smile. “Like a bitch.”

She grinned at his use of her words and shook her head. “You saved my life. Again.”

“After endangering it. Those men weren’t after you. They were after me.”

“And I’m expendable.”

“Apparently.”

“Who were they?” she asked.

“That’s what I intend to find out.”

Sheldon entered, his arms full of . . .

Krysta frowned. What the hell was that?

Stepping back, Etienne tossed the empty bag to John, then blurred.

Her eyebrows flew up when he stilled a second later, wearing only a T-shirt and boxers. The rest of his clothes formed a pile on the floor at his feet. “Wow.” She unabashedly ogled his powerful biceps and strong, muscled thighs dusted with dark hair.

Richart’s wife laughed.

Grinning, Etienne reached for the suit Sheldon held out to him. It reminded Krysta of a diving suit, except it appeared to have a rough texture, almost like that of a car tire.

Sheldon took another one to Richart, who rose. Both immortals blurred and donned the suits in only a second or two.

Sheldon himself donned a bulletproof vest and tugged on a helmet with a glass shield.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” Richart demanded.

“With you.”

“The hell you are.”

“I’m your Second. Quit bitching and let me do my job.”

Etienne zipped from the room and returned with a mass of weapons. “Do you have any of the antidote?”

Sheldon shook his head, holstering a couple of Glock 18s with long-ass clips, then picking up an M16. “No. The threat was supposed to be over, so I didn’t reorder any when we started running low.”

The two brothers armed themselves in a blink.

“Where’s my suit,” Richart’s wife asked.

“You don’t have one,” Richart responded.

“She could use Lisette’s,” Sheldon suggested.

“No, she can’t,” Richart snapped, glaring at his Second.

“No, she can’t,” Sheldon parroted. “Because Lisette, uh, didn’t bring it back after the last time she—”

“This is still too new to you,” Richart told her. “You haven’t completed your training. I don’t want you to get hurt.” Leaning down, he pressed a kiss to her lips. “Je t’ aime.”

“I love you, too.”

Crossing to Etienne, he clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Ready?”

Etienne nodded.

“Be careful!” Krysta blurted.

Etienne grinned as the two teleported away.

A second later, Richart reappeared, grabbed Sheldon’s shoulder, then they vanished.

Silence fell.

Krysta looked at John, then Richart’s wife. “I don’t know what’s happening.”

Richart’s wife smiled, though worry shadowed her eyes. “We don’t know much more than you do.” Rising, she approached Krysta and held out her hand. “I’m Jenna. Richart is my husband. And John, here, is my son.”

Krysta shook her hand. “Krysta.” She looked back and forth between John and Jenna, who looked as though they were about the same age. “I’m sorry. Did you say he was your son?”

Jenna laughed. “Yes. When I transformed, the virus healed all of the damage age had done to my body.” She pointed to the dark roots that stood out against her red hair. “See? No more gray. I look like a kid again.”

John shook his head and sent Krysta a wry smile. “It’s weird, right? I’m still trying to get used to it.”

Jenna motioned for Krysta to sit with her on the sofa. “Something tells me you’re the reason Etienne has been so distracted lately.”

“He’s been distracted?”

Jenna nodded. “Very.”

Good to know Krysta wasn’t the only one. Etienne had been a major player in her thoughts since that first night she’d encountered him. And her dreams. She hadn’t had many sex dreams in her life, but wow. She had had a couple of doozies since meeting Etienne.

“Oh, wait.” Jenna looked over her shoulder at her son. “John, toss me my phone.”

Krysta turned around in time to see John pick a cell phone up off the bar and sling it Jenna’s way.

Jenna caught it easily. “I’m sorry. I need to make a quick call.” She dialed and held the phone to her ear. “Darnell? Hi. It’s Jenna. Richart and Etienne are—” She tilted her head. “Oh, he did? . . . No, they made it here safely.” She looked at Krysta. “She made it safely, too . . . Our place . . . No, they put on protective suits and headed back with Sheldon . . .” She lowered the phone slightly and addressed Krysta. “Are you injured?”

“No.”

“She’s fine,” she said into the phone. “Okay. Bye.” She set the phone on the coffee table. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think to ask you earlier. I’m still pretty new to this.”

“I’m totally new to this. New to the immortal thing, anyway.”

“Well, Darnell said Chris is on his way to your home with a small army. So Richart and Etienne will have help fighting whomever they’re fighting.”

Krysta nodded.

“John,” Jenna said with a smile, “you can go back to studying. They might be gone for a while.”

He nodded. “Nice to meet you, Krysta.”

“Nice to meet you, too,” she murmured, then turned back to Jenna.

Jenna smiled with pride. “He’s pre-med at UNC.”

“Oh. Great. My brother’s in med school there.” Alarm shot through her at the thought of Sean. “Oh, shit. My brother.”

Jenna leaned forward. “What about him?”

“We live together. Those men were looking for Etienne, but they found him at our house. Do you think they’ll go after Sean? Is Sean in danger?”

Brow furrowing, Jenna reached for her phone again and dialed. “Darnell? It’s Jenna again. Krysta has a brother and is worried he might be in danger . . . Oh. He did? . . . Okay, good. Thanks.”

She set her phone down again. “Chris took care of it.”

“Chris?” The same Chris Etienne expected to threaten her?

“Chris Reordon. Head of the East Coast division of the human network that aids immortals.”