Stepping into the doorway, Dennis snapped his fingers at two passing vampires. “Weapons.”

Enough machetes and bowie knives were handed over to provide a blade for every recruit present, including the brass-knuckled moron.

Smirking, Eddie crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head as he watched the puny humans swing the blades.

“Now,” Dennis said, regaining their attention. “I am very selective when it comes to finding men worthy of joining my army.”

Really? Since when?

“Not everyone has what it takes.”

The goths all stood taller and straightened their shoulders. The others showed no change.

“Therefore, you must first pass a test if you wish to become one of us.”

“We don’t want to become one of you,” one of the joggers had the balls to say, voice trembling.

Dennis’s eyes flashed a brilliant blue as his fangs descended. “Would you rather I simply drain you dry?”

The jogger swiftly shook his head.

When no further complaints were offered, Dennis continued. “The rules, gentlemen, are very simple. In your hands, you each hold a weapon. You must use those weapons to complete a task I have devised for you.”

“What’s the task?” one of the gangstas demanded.

Dennis reached for the door handle and gestured to Eddie. “In your midst stands a vampire. Your assignment is to kill him or die trying.”

Everyone looked at the designated victim.

Shock zipped through Eddie. Gaping, he dropped his arms to his sides. “What?”

Dennis met his eyes and growled with fury, “Never run from a fight.” To the humans he said, “Whoever still stands after the vampire has been destroyed will become a soldier in my army.” Stepping into the den, he closed the door and slammed the bolt home.

The humans shared glances, then looked at Eddie, their hands tightening on the grips of the unfamiliar weapons they held.

The gangstas nodded to each other, then surged forward.

Oh shit.

In the den, silence reigned. Both televisions had been muted, and the vampires, still as statues, stared at Dennis and the door behind him.

Dennis smiled as screams and thuds erupted inside The Hole, countering the growls of one panicked vampire. “Never run from a fight,” he repeated for the solemn audience.

Someone swallowed audibly.

“Help us!” one of the humans cried, voice hoarse with terror.

Closing his eyes, Dennis tilted his head back and listened to the beautiful music produced within.

“This is bullshit!” Eddie shrieked. “This is bullshit!”

Thud. Thud. Thunk.

The door shook against Dennis’s back. The scent of blood wafted from beneath it.

Dennis inhaled and sighed in ecstasy.

“Help us!”

“Get him!”

“Ahhh!”

Pure bliss.

Monday evening Ami sat at the desk Darnell had had delivered that morning upon hearing the bad news. Based on her conversation with him, she suspected he had engaged in a rather heated argument with Seth over the wisdom of naming Ami Marcus’s Second.

Not that he didn’t like Marcus. Ami had never heard Darnell speak a foul word against him and knew they shared a love of music. But Marcus had been deemed dangerous to be around. His behavior had grown increasingly erratic in recent years. And Darnell feared for Ami’s safety.

Her eyes slid from the heavy Second’s handbook she had been pouring over all day to the laptop before her. Not much activity on the Immortal Guardians Web site. No doubt the Seconds were all busy readying their respective immortals for another night’s hunt.

Whatever would compel Seth to believe Ami would make a competent Second? With all of her … issues … she would think—

Out in the hallway, the door to the basement living quarters opened and closed.

Ami’s heart stuttered.

Setting the handbook aside, she closed her laptop, stood, and followed the sounds of Marcus’s movements to the armory.

Most immortal households possessed such a room, which usually boasted exercise and sparring equipment and wardrobes packed with weapons. Ami stepped into the doorway just as Marcus opened the doors to one of the wardrobes.

The greeting she had thought to offer stuck in her throat. She hadn’t seen him since shortly after Seth had left the previous night. Marcus had been rumpled, dirty, and liberally coated in blood at the time. Now …

She drew in a deep breath and tried to slow her racing pulse.

Now he was all cleaned up and incredibly handsome. Black cargo pants encased muscled thighs. A long-sleeved black T-shirt hugged broad shoulders, arms thick with muscle, and rippling abs. His long, midnight hair had been tamed into a neat ponytail.

Ami had met many immortals during the time she had spent with Seth and David. All shared the same dark good looks. So, why did this one wreak such havoc within her?

“Hello,” she finally forced herself to say.

Marcus spun to face her, his face lit with surprise that rapidly devolved into a frown. For a moment, she thought he would say something, then he turned back to the wardrobe.

Well, after his less than enthusiastic response to Seth’s thrusting her upon him last night, she hadn’t exactly expected him to greet her with smiles and laughter.

Tamping down her nervousness, she strode forward with false confidence until she stood beside him. When he reached into the wardrobe for the belt that held two sheathed short swords, she darted forward and grabbed it first.

“What are you—?”

Ami stepped closer and looped the belt around his hips, her breasts nearly touching his taut stomach.

Marcus sucked in a breath.

Ami kept her gaze lowered and fastened the belt, settling it in precisely the same position it had been in when she had first encountered him. Her knuckles brushed warm, muscled abs shielded by the soft material of his shirt. Her skin flushed with unfamiliar heat.

She backed away a step and reached into the wardrobe for his leather bandolier. “I retrieved all but two of your daggers last night after you left to pursue the last vampire and had Chris Reordon messenger over a dozen more. All of them have been cleaned and sharpened.”

At last, she dared to look up at him.

Marcus stared down at her, his brown eyes lit with a mild amber glow she assumed reflected displeasure. “Did you sharpen them yourself?” he asked, his deep voice inscrutable.

“Of course.”

Gaze dropping, he drew a dagger from one of the bandolier’s sheaths and scrutinized it carefully.

“Sharp enough for you?” Ami asked.

His eyes met hers. “Quite.” He returned the blade to its position in the bandolier. “Don’t take my skepticism personally. I once had a Second who proudly informed me he had spent all afternoon diligently sharpening my every weapon. I took him at his word, went out hunting, and discovered the hard way that he had no idea how to apply a whetstone to a blade. Not one of my weapons was sharp enough to deliver so much as a paper cut.”

“Ooh. Not good.”

“Precisely.”

“Well, I know what I’m doing.”

“Yes, you do. Thank you.”

She grinned. The two words seemed to pain him, as if he really didn’t want to proffer them, but good manners forced his hand.

“You’re welcome. Now, lean down.” She held up the bandolier with both hands. He was so much taller than she was that, without a chair, she couldn’t loop it over his head and shoulder without his aid.

He raised one eyebrow and crossed his arms over his chest in challenge.

She pursed her lips, determined to win this first skirmish. “You either lean down or I clothesline you with it. Your choice.”

Lips twitching, he uncrossed his arms and bowed down, bending his knees as well.

Ami looped the leather strap over his head and one shoulder, holding it while he threaded his arm through it. Once done, the small weapons cache draped across his chest, allowing easy access. She smoothed it into place, her fingers tingling as they slid across his chest, so wide and firm and …

Marcus’s fingers suddenly banded around her wrists and pushed her hands away. “Leave it. That’s good enough.” His voice sounded a bit hoarse. And, when Ami looked up, the glow in his eyes had intensified.

“Did I—?”

Before she could ask him if she had done something wrong, he turned and stalked from the room. A moment later, the front door opened and slammed closed.

A small, triangular-shaped head peeked around the door frame at ankle level, scabbed over where it wasn’t covered in black fur.

“What did I do?” Ami asked Slim, the little electrical sizzles Marcus had inspired slowly dying.

Slim kept his opinion to himself.

Oowwrrrr!

Marcus’s eyes sprang open.

Owwwrrrr!

“What the bloody hell?”

He peered at the clock radio on his nightstand. 2:43 P.M., Tuesday afternoon.

Groaning, he closed his gritty eyes once more. He had hunted vampires until dawn, longer than usual, not because the threat had increased of late, but because he had been reluctant to go home.

Thanks, Seth.

He had managed to avoid Ami upon his return and had gotten down to his bedroom without another confrontation, but then had been unable to sleep. He couldn’t stop thinking about the unsettlingly strong desire her innocent touches had inspired.

Roarawrorrorr!

Sighing, he sat up. Seriously, what the hell was that?

“Shhh,” he heard Ami whisper as he dragged on a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt.

Owrrrrrorrr!

“Oh, quit being such a baby. You’d think I was torturing you.”

As he headed upstairs, Marcus finally identified the weird-ass sounds as Slim protesting whatever she was doing. And it did indeed sound torturous.

He followed the caterwauling to the bathroom on the first floor and stopped outside the closed door. “Ami?” he called.

Owwrrrrrr! Owwwrrrrrr! Owwrrrrrrr! Slim’s calls became frantic.

“Yes?” she responded with hesitance.