Rage boiled up within him, muting the pain of his many wounds. He had thought to find survivors here, unable to believe all nineteen of his men could have been annihilated.

Last night, when they had made their first attempt to kill Roland, four had been destroyed, but three of their seven had survived. Had the mortal woman not intervened, his enemy would now be dead and he and the rest of his men would be celebrating their victory.

He growled deep in his throat, a rough, bestial sound.

He had returned tonight to finish Roland off. To seek his vengeance. Confident that it would at last be done.

Finding two Immortal Guardians instead of one had surprised him but had not overly concerned him. With another dozen vampires—flushed from feeding—on the way, they had outnumbered the immortals ten to one.

The woman had posed no threat. She was a human and, based on her panicked flight, not Roland’s Second as he had previously supposed. They should have had no difficulty destroying his enemy and taking the other captive.

Yet Bastien alone remained. His men were dead, disintegrating beneath his baleful gaze. And his enemy had again escaped his clutches.

Swearing foully, he strode purposefully into the darkness.

This wasn’t over. He would seek new victims to alleviate his pain, then devise another plan.

One way or another, Roland Warbrook would die.

After retrieving Sarah’s tote for her, Roland had grabbed a change of clothes (shoes, socks, boxer shorts, T-shirt, and slacks—all black) and slipped into the guest bedroom. Marcus must have been injured worse than he had let on, because he had not roused the whole time Roland was showering and changing. Sleep that deep among immortals was a clear indication that significant healing was taking place.

Now, as Roland stood in the kitchen, peering into the refrigerator, he became aware of Sarah’s presence in the entrance.

“Hi,” she said softly.

Roland looked over at her and stared, arrested by her beauty. “Hi.”

Her slender figure was encased in low-riding jeans and a comfortably formfitting gray T-shirt that made his body react in ways that would soon have his eyes glowing if he wasn’t careful. Surrounded by thick curls that were still damp at the ends, her lovely face was clean and makeup free. Her ears, where they peeked through the heavy strands, were pink from the heat of the hair dryer.

That made him smile.

Her tiny feet were bare.

“Would you be interested in a salad?” he asked, surprised he sounded so casual.

“If I can have a taste of whatever is producing that wonderful aroma afterward, yes.”

Pulling organic lettuce, carrots, spinach, tomatoes, and sliced almonds from the refrigerator, he set them on the counter beside the sink. “It’s eggplant Parmesan.”

Her hazel eyes—more green than brown tonight—widened. “Eggplant Parmesan?” She moved toward him as though he held in his hands the key to a great treasure. “You made eggplant Parmesan while I was in the shower? Seriously, don’t tease me. It’s one of my all-time favorite meals, so if you tell me you made it and you didn’t, I may have to hurt you.”

He smiled. “If by making it, you mean removing it from the fridge and popping it in the oven, then yes, I made it while you were in the shower.”

“Ooh, goody goody goody goody.” She danced over to his side, outwardly as happy as a child on Christmas morning. “I didn’t even realize I was hungry until I smelled it and now I’m ravenous.” She took two carrots from the bag. “Perhaps now might be a good time to warn you that I may be small, but I can put away a lot of food.”

He laughed. “Nothing wrong with a healthy appetite.”

She used his environmentally friendly dishwashing soap to clean the carrots, rinsed them, then looked at him expectantly. “Where is your carrot peeler?”

“In the drawer to your left. What are you doing?”

Opening the drawer, she retrieved the peeler. “Helping you make the salad.”

He frowned. “You don’t have to do that, Sarah. You’re my guest.” Guests weren’t supposed to prepare their own meals, were they?

She shrugged. “I know. But I want to.”

Since he enjoyed her company, he didn’t press it. And was soon glad he hadn’t. Shoulder to shoulder, they prepared the vegetables. Sarah peeled the carrots while he washed the lettuce and spinach.

He felt a moment’s uneasiness when she pulled out his butcher knife. Roland and humans with sharp knives generally did not mix well. More often than not, one or the other ended up bloody. But he said nothing and was careful to hide the sudden tension he felt.

Or so he thought.

Glancing at him from the corner of her eye as she sliced the carrots with the speed and dexterity of a professional chef, she said, “If you don’t stop looking at me like you expect me to plunge this between your shoulder blades, you’re going to forfeit your portion of the eggplant Parmesan.”

He shook his head, feeling another smile tug at his lips. “You really aren’t afraid of me, are you?”

Pausing, she lowered the knife, turned toward him, and leaned one hip against the counter. “I was … when I saw you bite that goth kid. And when I was running through the meadow, mostly because I was in a full-blown panic and didn’t know whether it was you or the vampire chasing me.”

“When you saw it was me, you fainted,” he pointed out. That bothered him far more than it should, as did her begging him not to kill her just before she lost consciousness.

“Yeah, I’ve never done that before,” she said with some amazement. “But I knew you knew that I had seen what you are and assumed you would be angry. And, in my defense, I had just slammed my head into both a car window and a tree.”

True. “And now?”

“No,” she said simply. “I’m not afraid of you.”

Though he was beaming inside, he nodded solemnly. “Then you may continue wielding the knife.”

She tossed a carrot slice at him.

Both grinning, they finished preparing the salads.

Sarah carried them to the table, setting one on the end and the other in front of the chair catty-corner to it. Roland followed with plates loaded with eggplant Parmesan.

“Is tea all right?” he asked. “I’m afraid we don’t consume wine or other alcoholic beverages.”

“I don’t, either. Tea is great,” she answered.

While he took a large pitcher from the refrigerator and pulled two glasses down from an upper cabinet, she gathered the utensils.

“Isn’t Marcus going to join us?”

“He’s still resting.” At least he had been when Roland had finished showering. “He’ll eat later, once his knee is better.”

Holding her chair for her, Roland seated Sarah, then himself. He was glad she had arranged their plates close together instead of putting them at opposite ends of the table. This was more pleasant. Cozier.

“You never told me why immortals were different from everyone else as humans,” she said as she started on her salad.

He even liked the way she ate. She hadn’t been kidding when she said she could put away a lot of food. She had an amusingly healthy appetite, but impeccable table manners.

“We didn’t know ourselves until the last few decades when DNA and gene mapping were tackled by scientists and members of the medical community.”

“That must have been tough, being different without knowing why.”

“Actually, the why of it remains a mystery. It is only the how that we have finally come to understand.”

Her salad soon a thing of the past, she slipped her first forkful of the eggplant Parmesan between her lips, closed her eyes, chewed, and hummed in ecstasy. “Man, this is good. I love eggplant Parmesan but don’t know how to cook it.”

Roland’s gaze fell to her lips, the gentle motions of her throat as she swallowed. “Perhaps you would like to join me the next time I prepare it.”

“I’d love to,” she answered without hesitation, seemingly unaware of how her easy acceptance of his rare invitation affected him.

“So what did you find out? How are you different from the rest of us?”

It took him a moment to recover. “Apparently, every human being has forty-six DNA memo groups that provide the blueprints for their existence. Our scientists have discovered that those of us who were gifted ones have seven thousand.”

Chapter 8

Sarah stared at Roland as he forked a piece of eggplant into his mouth and chewed. “Seven thousand?”

He nodded and took a drink of tea.

“And the rest of us only have forty-six.”

“Yes.”

“All of us.”

“Yes.”

“You have seven thousand.”

He ate another piece of eggplant.

“How is that possible?”

“We don’t know.”

Her mind raced as she savored the delicious meal. There didn’t seem to be that many explanations.

“I feel a little weird asking this,” she said hesitantly, “but is it possible you guys are aliens?”

“As in extraterrestrials?”

“Yes.”

“Some have suggested as much, that perhaps we are the descendants of aliens who either crashed or came to Earth, seeking a new home.”

Wow. “You sound like you don’t believe that’s the case.”

He shrugged. “It just seems like we’d know if such were true. Wouldn’t the aliens have wanted their children and future generations to know why they’re different, what planet their ancestors came from? Wouldn’t they have told them and passed the story down from generation to generation?”

“I would have.”

“Other immortals hypothesize that there have always been two species of humans living on Earth. Those who believe in evolution ask why humans would not evolve into separate species. Animals certainly have.”

“And creationists?”

“Creationists point out that, in the Bible, when Cain slew Abel and was banished, he went to live in the land of Nod and was marked by God so those he met there would not kill him as punishment for murdering his brother. There was no information given regarding the inhabitants of Nod. Until then, the only humans mentioned were Adam and Eve and their children. But clearly there were others on the planet. Some speculate that those were the gifted ones.”