As the last vampire in front of him collapsed, Marcus spun toward Ami.

His heart lodged in his throat.

All of her weight was supported by her left leg. The smooth fluid movements that had so impressed him last week had been replaced by awkward hops induced by a wound on the back of her thigh that had already saturated her pant leg with blood. One of her katanas lay on the ground a couple of yards away from her. When she swung the other at the two vampires who circled her, he saw the hilt of a knife protruding from her back.

Roaring in fury, Marcus crossed the distance that separated them in a blink and swung his sword, decapitating one vamp. The other backed away toward the odd vampire who watched everything with an inscrutable expression.

Marcus started toward the pair. A heartbeat later, the voyeur vampire grabbed the other from behind, slit his throat, then sank his blade into his victim’s stomach, severing the abdominal aorta.

Shock halted Marcus’s footsteps.

The wounded one doubled over, trying to clutch both his neck and his stomach at the same time, then fell to the ground. His executioner bent, cleaned his blade on the back of the dying vamp’s shirt, and tucked it away in a sheath at his waist.

The night fell quiet, disturbed only by Ami’s ragged breaths.

Marcus returned one of his swords to its scabbard and backed toward her until he could feel her dwindling body heat just behind him. Reaching out, he took her free hand—wet with blood—and squeezed.

She squeezed back.

“Who are you?” Marcus asked the vampire.

Like many vamps, he looked like a college student: of average height with a thin, rangy build. Short but shaggy hair somewhere between blond and brown brushed thick, brown eyebrows that hovered over pale blue eyes. A couple days’ growth of beard graced his narrow jaw.

“Roy.”

Marcus motioned to the vampire currently gargling out his last breath. “Have a falling out with your friend there, Roy?”

“He would’ve reported me for not fighting.”

“Reported you to whom?”

“Our king.”

Their king? Someone had delusions of grandeur. “Why didn’t you fight us?”

“Are you Roland?”

Ami’s fingers tightened around Marcus’s.

“How do you know that name?” he queried.

“You’re him, aren’t you? You fight alongside a human woman. She’s Sarah?”

How the hell did he know about them? Bastien’s name was renowned worldwide amongst vampires. But Roland’s? And Sarah’s?

“Yes,” he lied, wondering where this would go.

The boy nodded decisively. “I’m looking for Bastien. Can you help me find him? Arrange a meeting?”

“Why?”

“I heard he was helping vampires. I … I was hoping he could help me.”

Marcus took a step forward. “I can help you.”

The boy stumbled backward. “No! No. You’re immortal. I’d rather deal with Bastien.”

“Bastien is immortal, too,” Marcus informed him. Perhaps all of the vampires hadn’t heard yet.

“I know, but he lived with vampires for two hundred years. He was one of us.” Roy glanced over his shoulder. “Look, there are more of us coming.”

Marcus heard nothing, which meant Roy didn’t either.

“Trust me, they’re coming,” Roy insisted, reading Marcus’s doubt. “I saw Dickie make the call. I don’t know how many, but it could be a dozen or more.”

Marcus swore silently. Ami wouldn’t live through another round. And he would not risk her life for a shot at getting a little information. “Come with us,” he suggested. “I’ll take you to Bastien myself.” As soon as he got Ami to safety.

Roy shook his head, began backing away. “They’ll follow. And when they see how weak Sarah is, they’ll attack her first and use her to bring you down. Leave now, and I’ll head them off, convince them you either fled the fight or left us all for dead and are long gone.”

“You don’t look dead,” Marcus pointed out. Nor did he look as though he had been fighting for his life and doing his damnedest to kill an immortal.

Roy whipped out his large hunting knife.

Marcus released Ami’s hand and prepared to throw a dagger or shuriken.

But Roy didn’t attack. He drew his blade across his own face, sliced his chest open, then sank the knife deep into his own thigh.

Behind Marcus, Ami gasped, expressing the same astonishment he felt.

“They won’t question me,” Roy said through clenched teeth. “Tell Bastien I’ll be at what’s left of his lair tomorrow at midnight.”

As soon as the words left his lips, he turned and sped away in a blink.

“Aren’t you going after him?” Ami asked behind him, her voice hoarse with pain.

Marcus swiveled to face her. “No.”

She was as pale as milk, her soft skin sprinkled with blood. Keeping her weight off her right leg, she stood hunched over slightly, the knife handle sticking obscenely out of her back. Her shirt and pants were saturated around and below the blade. “But—”

“I know where he’ll be tomorrow night.” Retrieving his phone, Marcus dialed Seth’s number.

“But you don’t know how many vamps he’ll bring with him,” she gritted out. “It could be a setup. Another ambush.” Taking his arm, she hopped closer, leaned into him, and pressed her face to his chest.

Heart aching, Marcus wrapped his arm around her and swore when his call went straight to voice mail.

Was Seth always this difficult to reach? Marcus rarely called him.

He pocketed his phone. “I’m sorry, honey, but I’m going to have to take the knife out.”

She nodded. “Give me a three count.”

She was so small, he could reach around her easily and clasp the hilt without having to turn her away from him. He curled his fingers around it.

She tensed, dropped her katana, and clutched his shirt with both hands.

“Ready?”

“Yes.”

“One. Two. Three.” He yanked out the blade.

Ami jerked, but made no sound, alarming Marcus far more than screaming would have. It usually took centuries of being subjected to such wounds to cultivate that kind of stoicism.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

She shook her head, sniffed.

Bending, he slipped an arm beneath her knees and lifted her into his arms. Seconds later, he stood beside her shiny Tesla Roadster.

Déjà vu struck as he lowered her onto the hood. “Where’s the first aid kit?”

“Backseat,” she whispered, curling her hands into fists and bracing them on the cold metal, head drooping. Silent tears fell from green eyes glazed with pain.

Marcus damn near wrenched the passenger door off the car in his haste to fetch the kit, which turned out to be pretty substantial. Most Seconds carried the same since they lacked the incredible healing capacity of the immortals beside whom they fought.

Drawing her shirt up on the left side, he asked her to lean to the right.

Ami grasped the shirt with her left hand and wadded it up just above the injury.

The wound was thick and ragged thanks to the serrated edge of the blade. Marcus placed several sterile gauze pads against it, then wrapped bandages tightly around and around her to hold them in place and keep pressure on it.

Next he addressed the leg wound. Though whatever had sliced into her flesh had missed her femoral artery, the wound continued to bleed profusely. Deep and ugly, the gash stretched across the back of her thigh. Damn vampires and their love of hamstringing their opponents. Bring ’em down like a gazelle, then fall on ’em like lions seemed to be their favorite mode of attack.

Marcus cut a hole in the back of her pants’ leg to accommodate his work. Ami trembled beneath his hands as he applied butterfly closures, added another thick pad, and wrapped the leg tightly to staunch the flow of blood.

Once done, he lifted her into his arms again. “Just a little longer.”

She nodded against his neck.

Marcus lowered her into the passenger seat, made her as comfortable as possible, and fastened her seat belt. He remembered Roland’s doing the same for Sarah when she had been injured during Bastien’s first large-scale attack and understood now the exaggerated care he had taken.

Had Roland already felt for Sarah then what Marcus, despite his attempts to keep an emotional distance, had begun to feel for Ami?

No, what he felt for Ami. No sense in denying it. Every day he was drawn to her more, wanted more time with her, more smiles, more laughter, more teasing. More of everything.

Circling the car, he compressed his large frame and slid behind the wheel, then moved the seat back. As he started the engine and peeled away from the curb, music tinkled in the air.

“That’ll be Seth or David,” Ami gritted out. She started to twist to one side and retrieve her phone, but stopped with a grunt and a wince.

“I’ll get it,” he said. “Where is it?”

“Back right pocket.”

He didn’t know if he’d be able to slip his arm behind her and reach it without brushing or jostling the stab wound.

The music stopped just as his fingers touched her hip.

“Damn,” he said in an attempt to distract her from the pain. “I was hoping to cop a feel.”

A weak smile lit her pinched features. “And I was looking forward to your copping it.”

Smiling, he ran his hand over her hair, cupped her face in his palm.

He felt so much for her in that moment it terrified him.

His phone bleated. Passing a slow-moving SUV, Marcus drew his cell out and answered. “Seth?”

“No. David,” a deep voice with a melodic North African accent replied. “What happened?”

“How did—”

“I heard her scream.”

Marcus looked askance at Ami. “She didn’t—”

“I’m telepathic, Marcus. She doesn’t have to scream out loud for me to hear her.”