Darkness Dawns (Immortal Guardians #1)

Darkness Dawns (Immortal Guardians #1) Page 10

He glanced down and readjusted the sheet that covered him to the waist. “What about them?”

“They’re—”

He looked up.

His eyes were brown again. Deep, dark brown. Guarded. “Yes?”

Had it been a trick of the light?

Don’t second-guess yourself. You know what you saw.

“They were glowing,” she finished and waited for him to deny it.

“Ah,” he said as if she had mentioned it might rain tomorrow. “I apologize. With everything that has happened, I didn’t think to warn you about that.”

“Warn me about what?” she queried nervously.

What would make someone’s eyes do that? It was like something out of a science fiction movie.

“The affliction that causes my photosensitivity also affects my eyes. I’m told that when the light strikes them at a certain angle, they appear to glow or shimmer strangely.”

“Oh.” Her heartbeat began to slow. “Yes, they do.”

“Forgive me, Sarah. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“You didn’t,” she lied, feeling awful now. Jeeze. It wasn’t his fault. And she had made such a big deal about it, leaping away from him as if he were a friggin’ cobra. “It just … caught me off-guard, that’s all,” she finished lamely.

When he swung his feet around and planted them on the floor, she sat beside him and tentatively asked, “Do you mind my asking what your affliction is?”

He shook his head. “Porphyria.”

Porphyria, she repeated silently. She couldn’t remember if that was what those kids on the news had had or not. “Is it fatal?”

“It would have been this morning had you not found me before the sun did.”

The thought of it made her feel sick. “So as long as you avoid the sun and other bright lights …”

“The illness won’t kill me.”

Good. “Does it cause blindness?”

“No, my eyes are a bit sensitive to bright light but, other than that, function normally if you can overlook the occasional luminescence.”

Reaching out, she rested a hand on his arm. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did. And I’m sorry I fell asleep on you, too.”

“Don’t worry about the former. It is perfectly understandable. And as for the latter …” He leaned toward her and proffered a wicked grin. “The latter was my pleasure.”

Sarah laughed. “I wouldn’t have thought someone with injuries as severe as yours would be capable of reacting to that pleasure.”

He grimaced. “I wouldn’t have thought it possible either, but there you have it.”

It was the closest he had come to a verbal admission of the agony he must be suffering.

His strength was simply extraordinary. If she were in his position, she would be bawling her eyes out and begging for painkillers. As would most people, male or female.

The crunch of gravel outside heralded the arrival of a vehicle as it pulled into her driveway. The engine fell silent.

Rising, Roland wrapped the sheet around his waist and crossed to one of the two windows that looked out onto the front yard.

Sarah grabbed the remote and shut off the television. She heard a car door open and close as Roland brushed the curtains aside and peered through the blinds.

“It’s Marcus.”

She stood, wondering if she should go to the door or wait for Roland to give the okay.

The tension that had stiffened his spine at the sound of the car did not lessen as he continued to stare through the window.

Did he worry that his friend may have been followed?

Boots made hollow thumps on the wooden porch. A knock sounded.

Roland left the window and went to the front door.

Sarah followed and stood a couple of steps behind him as he unlocked and swung it open.

Night had fallen. The moon was almost new. In the country, that meant it was pitch black outside, the darkness broken only by the tiny sporadic flashes of fireflies.

Though the porch light was off, enough light spilled forth from the house to illuminate their visitor.

He was tall, perhaps an inch shorter than Roland, so that would put him at about six foot one. His hair was dark as midnight and fell halfway down his back. Clad in black jeans, a black T-shirt, a black leather jacket, and biker boots, his body was slender but ripped. His jaw was shadowed by several days’ growth of beard and his eyes …

Though he looked to be about the same age as she was—thirty—his brown eyes seemed much older.

“Marcus.” Roland held out a bandaged hand.

Marcus entered and set down the duffle bag and briefcase he carried. “Roland.” Bypassing the hand, he clasped Roland’s forearm and pulled him into a hug. “It’s good to see you.”

Roland winced and gingerly clapped him on the back, then retreated.

Marcus met Sarah’s curious gaze and raised his eyebrows.

Moving to stand beside Roland, she held out a hand. “Sarah Bingham.”

His large, callused fingers clasped hers. “Marcus Grayden. A pleasure to meet you.” His words were endowed with the same British accent that flavored Roland’s.

“Nice to meet you, too.”

Stepping back, he propped his hands on his hips and looked Roland up and down. “I have to admit … if you didn’t look like hell, I’d be laughing. What happened to your clothes?”

Grunting, Roland urged Marcus back toward the door. “I’ll fill you in in a minute. First I need you to have a look outside. Around the house and in the meadow behind it.”

“All right.” Walking out onto the porch, he paused and tilted his head as though listening for something. Then he seemed to sniff the air, almost like a lion seeking the scent of prey. “Do I know what I’m looking for?”

“Yes, more than one.”

His face brightened. “More than one?”

“And possibly a couple of wannabes.”

“Interesting.” Descending the steps, he vanished into the darkness.

Roland closed the door.

“Don’t you think he would have better luck if he used a flashlight?” Sarah asked, puzzled. There were no streetlights or any other form of ambient light, so the man may as well have been walking around blindfolded.

“He’ll ask if he needs one.”

If he needs one? How could he not?

“Is Marcus your brother?”

“No, why do you ask?”

She shrugged. “You both share the same hair and eye coloring. You’re almost the same height. You’re both handsome, have the same build—”

“You think he’s handsome?” he interrupted.

“Sure. Not as handsome as you are. I mean, even covered with blood and truly scary wounds, you—” She broke off. What was she doing?

Clearing her throat, she mumbled, “I just thought you might be related.”

Boots again sounded on the porch.

Marcus must have conceded defeat and decided he needed a flashlight.

“It’s Marcus,” she heard him call.

Roland opened the door. “Anything?”

“All clear,” Marcus responded as he strode inside.

At first, Sarah thought he was joking. There was no way he could have checked her backyard and the meadow beyond already. Even with good lighting and running at top speed he would have only had time to reach the site of her future veggie garden.

His next words, however, belied that and stunned her speechless.

Scowling at Roland, he asked, “Is all the blood on the ground near that spike yours?”

“Yes,” was Roland’s clipped response.

Swearing, Marcus bent and grabbed the handles of his duffle bag, his eyes snagging Sarah’s. “Where’s your bathroom?”

She pointed to it. “You saw the meadow where they staked him to the ground?”

“They staked you to the ground?” he roared, turning on Roland.

“Yes. I don’t suppose you found a couple of corpses lying about, did you?”

“No.”

Sarah looked at Roland. “So the guys I hit with the shovel didn’t die?”

“Apparently not.” He didn’t seem pleased.

She swallowed. “You think they’re going to come back.”

He nodded. “And since you’re the only person nearby, they’ll draw the obvious conclusion that you were the one who helped me.”

That’s what she had feared. “What should I do?”

He hesitated, as though waging some internal debate. “Pack a bag. You can stay with me until this is all sorted out.”

Marcus’s mouth fell open. “What?”

Roland frowned belligerently. “She’ll be safe with me.”

“You never let anyone stay with you. I don’t stay with you. I don’t even know where you live and I’ve known you freakin’ forever!”

“Well, I’m sure as hell not going to let her stay with you. You’re dangerous to be around.”

“According to whom?”

“Seth.”

“Well, Seth doesn’t know everything.”

Roland raised one eyebrow.

“All right. All right. Sometimes Seth does seem to know everything. It’s incredibly annoying. But I would never purposefully endanger an innocent.”

“The key word being ‘purposefully.’”

Sarah raised a hand. “Is anyone here interested in where I might wish to stay?”

Both men turned to her with guilty expressions.

“I’m sorry, Sarah,” Roland said wearily. “I didn’t mean to make you feel you have no say in the matter. I’m only concerned with your safety.”

“I appreciate that.”

Marcus stared at Roland as if his friend had just sprouted a pair of horns. “You’re apologizing? Seriously, what happened to you? Have you been taken over by a pod person?”

Roland’s face darkened with promised retribution.