Her lovely lips stretched in a wide grin as she tranqed another mercenary.

Dropping the empty auto-injector, she drew her Sigs.

That must have been her last.

More men poured into the hallway.

What, was the fucking cafeteria down this way or something?

He and Melanie formed a united front. He sliced and diced with his daggers. She cut men down with her 9mms.

A second explosion rent the night outside. Then a third. And a fourth.

Bastien and Melanie stepped over bodies, forcing their way forward until they finally reached the first door.

Bastien looked inside. Unbelievable. It was a cafeteria.

They made their way to a door on the other side.

Melanie peeked inside. “Training room,” she announced.

Great.

Were there even any men left out in the barracks for Lisette and Étienne to worry about?

Melanie jerked again. Two holes appeared in her clothes, one in her hip and one above it at her waist, just beneath the lower edge of the damned vest. Blood quickly began to moisten her cargo pants.

Bastien swore.

“That’s my line,” she gritted and, eyes blazing amber with pain and fury, shot her assailant in the head.

Bastien eased closer to her.

“I’m fine,” she growled.

No, she wasn’t. Multiple wounds always slowed the healing. She was limping badly.

The mercenaries, like sharks drawn by chum in the water, all turned on her, sensing weakness.

“Richart!” Bastien called and dove in front of her as the men fired.

Half a dozen bullets hit him as he dropped his daggers, then drew and swung his katanas in sweeping arcs, severing heads, limbs, and arteries.

Richart appeared in the midst of the mercenaries, blades flashing. As soon as those he didn’t kill noticed him, he vanished and reappeared farther down.

Again and again he teleported, instilling fear and delivering death while Melanie’s guns and Bastien’s swords continued to claim lives.

The last man fell.

All three immortals swung around to face the entrance of the hallway.

No mercenaries rushed forward to save their comrades. All seemed to be occupied in battles in the other hallways.

Bastien let his shoulders slump. His torso riddled with bullet wounds, he turned to Melanie.

Breath ragged, she leaned against the wall. She nodded to him that she was okay. “It’s just going to take some getting used to,” she said through clenched teeth. “The pain. I’m not used to it.”

Richart shook some of the blood off his blades. “It took me a century to get used to it. You should feed.”

Melanie shook her head. Since her transformation, she had only sunk her new fangs into bagged blood, allowing them to draw it directly into her veins. She had not yet fed from a person. And, even though she wouldn’t actually be drinking it, she couldn’t help but feel a bit nauseated at the thought of it.

Or was the nausea simply a result of her wounds?

Either way . . . “We need to find Cliff and Joe. I’ll feed after that.” On bagged blood, back at David’s place.

Richart looked to Bastien.

That grated a little. It was her decision, after all.

Bastien nodded.

Melanie frowned, eyeing the holes in the front of his shirt. “Do you need to feed?”

“Later. Let’s find Cliff and Joe.”

The foundation of the building suddenly shook as thunder rumbled outside. The walls vibrated. Cracked.

All three fought for balance and dodged pieces of ceiling that fell down around them.

“Was that a bomb?” she asked, peering toward the front of the building. She had seen no flash of light.

Bastien shook his head. “I think Seth just found Emrys.”

Ami’s heart pounded so erratically she had difficulty breathing. Standing in the doorway, she stared inside. Not at the vampire manacled to the table, but at the two men standing over him.

Her feet glued themselves to the floor. Her body began to tremble.

“Ami?” Marcus crowded her side and rested a hand on her back.

She couldn’t speak. Couldn’t pry her tongue from the roof of her mouth. Or silence the screams that erupted in her head.

Marcus’s hand clenched, tugging her shirt tight.

Fear and hatred and remembered pain must have tumbled the barriers of her mind, allowing the screams to batter him through the mental channel she used to communicate with him.

The foundation of the building suddenly shook beneath their feet. Thunder rumbled outside.

Seth must have heard, too. And David. Somewhere in the building the latter emitted a roar of rage.

Wind buffeted her as two presences loomed behind her.

“Is that him?” Seth asked.

Yes.

“Which one?” Marcus demanded.

Both of them were there. In Texas. Both of these men tortured me.

Seth growled and shoved Marcus aside. In a blink, he was across the room, the older of the two humans shoved up against the wall two or three feet off the floor, a dagger at his throat. “Emrys, I presume?”

Marcus shot forward and claimed the other before David could. His prey tried to swing a bone saw at him. Marcus knocked it out of his hands, grabbed him by the throat, and spun him around so his back was pressed to Marcus’s chest. A dagger appeared in Marcus’s hand and pricked the man’s throat.

David touched Ami’s back.

Forcing herself to breathe, she took a jerky step forward. Then another. Then another until she stared up into the eyes of the man Marcus held. He was only a few inches taller than her. Paunchy. Pale.

“Remember me?” she asked, infusing the words with all of the loathing she felt for him.

“No,” he lied, voice high and tense.

“You will,” she promised.

Bastien followed Melanie, cursing the fact that she was faster than him. He skidded to halt beside her just inside the door of what appeared to be an operating room with an observation gallery overlooking it.

Seth was choking one human and applying enough pressure with his dagger to make him wet himself.

Marcus held another man against his chest while Ami addressed him.

Melanie made a sound of distress and hurried over to the form on the operating table. Dried blood from countless wounds covered Cliff’s bare flesh. A couple dozen of them hadn’t healed and oozed blood. His eyes were closed.

Melanie leaned over him, drew a hand over his dreadlocks. Tears welled in her eyes and spilled onto Cliff’s forehead and cheek. “Cliff?”

“How do we free him?” Bastien asked the humans

Seth rammed his victim against the wall. “Answer him.”

The man clamped his lips shut.

Seth offered him a sinister smile.

The man grimaced in agony, abandoned trying to pry Seth’s hand loose, and started to claw at his own head.

Seth turned to Melanie. “There are several buttons on the underside of the table that open and close the cuffs.”

Bastien found the buttons for her and pressed them.

“It’s okay, Cliff,” she whispered. “We’re going to take you home.”

Bastien lifted the young vampire into his arms. As Melanie headed for the doorway, Bastien looked down at his friend.

Cliff’s eyelids raised a fraction. Just enough to expose sleepy, glowing eyes devoid of recognition.

And brimming with madness.

Unconsciousness reclaimed him.

Bastien swallowed hard, fought the grief and fear that rose within him. The madness couldn’t vanquish Cliff. It was too soon. They needed more time. And would have had it if he hadn’t been tortured.

Bastien swung toward Seth with a snarl.

We’ve got it covered, Seth promised, dark anticipation in the glowing golden gaze that met his.

Bastien nodded and followed Melanie out into the hallway.

Seth spun around and slammed Emrys back-first onto the table hard enough to knock the wind out of him at the very least.

Emrys cried out.

David waved his hand. The manacles clamped down on the mercenary leader’s limbs.

“I can make you rich!” Emrys screeched. “I can make you all rich!”

Seth’s lips stretched in a smile that nearly made Bastien shiver. “I can make you scream.”

The man began to shout for help.

None would come.

Ami stepped away from the man Marcus held and approached the table.

As the door swung closed without visual assistance, Bastien saw her reach for a scalpel.

“Dr. Lipton.”

Melanie turned away from the door behind which screams arose.

The French immortals all faced her, expressions somber.

“Melanie,” she corrected mechanically. Pain still rode her hard and she was feeling a little shell-shocked by the night’s events.

“We’ve found Joe,” Richart announced. And the gentle way he spoke warned her of what would follow.

Lisette came forward and touched her arm. “He’s conscious. But . . . there is only madness in his thoughts.”

Étienne nodded, face full of regret. “Only the ravings of a lunatic.”

Melanie stared through them. She couldn’t do this. All the pain and death and . . .

She couldn’t lose Joe tonight. Couldn’t stand quietly by while Bastien drew his katana and swung it. Couldn’t watch Joe’s head leave his body and tumble to the floor. See his body shrivel up until nothing of him remained.

Tears welled in her eyes and spilled over her lashes as she turned to Bastien. She shook her head. “Please . . . Not tonight. Not here. Not . . . like this. Not without even trying to bring him back to us. Please.”

His eyes glowed a vibrant amber that illuminated the moisture shimmering in them. These were his friends. She knew she was making it harder on him by asking him to delay the inevitable, but . . .

The relief she felt when he nodded weakened her knees and nearly landed her on the floor.

The siblings motioned to a doorway down the hall.

Melanie limped forward and passed through it.

Joe lay still on a table identical to the one that had restrained Cliff. Manacles, coated with blood from his struggles and the wounds the butchers had inflicted, held his arms, legs, and head down. His chest rose and fell in quick bursts.