Shadows Strike - Dianne Duvall
Chapter One
Fog stole across the ground and curled cool fingers around Heather Lane’s ankles. Shivering, she pried her gaze away from the eBook on the tablet in her lap and studied her surroundings.
Tall, dark, hulking trees surrounded the small clearing in a cylinder of dense foliage her eyes couldn’t penetrate. A full moon had set about an hour ago, leaving behind blackness and twinkling stars occasionally obscured by wispy clouds. Slouched in her comfy tailgating chair, Heather glanced at her watch. 5:43. The sky would soon begin to brighten with dawn. Until then, lawn lights encircled her like a fairy ring, providing ample illumination.
It was so peaceful here, the quiet and dark beauty loosening the knots stress tended to lodge in her shoulders.
She dropped her gaze to her tablet once more.
A faint rustling sound distracted her.
“Please let that be birds or squirrels up, foraging about early,” she murmured.
Unable to locate the culprit, she lifted her feet and propped them on the portable footstool that matched her chair. She really didn’t want to encounter any less-cute members of the rodent family. Or snakes. But if she did, she might as well make it harder for them to skitter or slither up her pants leg.
A breeze whipped the fog into a mild frenzy, carrying with it a noise that seemed out of place amongst the chirping of crickets, croaking of frogs, and scuttling of squirrels.
Please, let it be squirrels.
Heather tilted her head to one side, listening.
Seconds later she heard it again.
Was that . . . voices?
Setting her tablet aside, she sat up straighter and lowered her feet to the ground.
A faint shout floated on the night. Then another. And another. Words indiscernible.
Her eyes fixing on the forest to the west, Heather tucked her tablet into the backpack beside her chair.
Branches snapped in the distance, the pops and cracks increasing in volume as if some huge creature barreled through the forest toward her.
Heart hammering in her chest, she slipped her hand deeper into the backpack and curled her fingers around the grip of the Walther PPQ 9mm she kept hidden there.
Thuds. Curses. Grunts. Branches still crackling. Foliage rustling.
She rose, withdrawing the weapon. What the hell was coming?
Dark figures burst from the trees on her left.
At first, she couldn’t determine what the hell she was seeing. Even with the lawn lights aiding her, it looked almost as though a blurry tornado had spiraled into the clearing. Then...
Her eyes flew wide as the tempest’s movement slowed.
Men. Seven of them. With eyes that glowed brighter than the stars above.
As they noticed the lawn lights, half of them paused to examine their surroundings.
Eyes that glowed and long, glinting fangs that didn’t look like the cheap plastic store-bought fangs she saw each year on Halloween. These looked real.
The other half of the men fought some foe dressed all in black, circling him like hyenas and darting in to strike whenever they saw an opening.
The vibrant blue gaze of one of the males who had gone still latched onto Heather. His lips stretched into a sneering smile.
Oh crap.
Raising the 9mm, Heather aimed it at him, hoping she wouldn’t have to pull the trigger.
Red liquid splattered one side of the sneering man’s face.
She swallowed. Was that blood?
Two men fell limply to the ground behind him.
Yeah. That was blood.
The figure in black stilled and looked her way. He was well over six feet tall with broad shoulders encased in a long, black coat. Large hands clutched gleaming sais that dripped crimson liquid. His handsome face—bracketed by short, wavy, black hair—might as well have been carved from stone. Dark brows. An angular jaw shadowed with stubble. Luminescent amber eyes that caught and held hers as his lips parted, revealing fangs that rivaled those of his opponents.
“What the hell are you waiting for?” he growled. “Shoot them!”
He sprang back into motion. Blood sprayed as two more . . . vampires? . . . fell beneath his blades.
Ignoring his fallen comrades, the sneering vampire took a step toward Heather. Then another. Then shot forward in a blur.
Heather stumbled backward and fired her weapon.
Brah! Brah! Brah! Brah!
Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep!
Heather jerked awake. Heart racing, she glanced over at her alarm clock and threw a hand out to hit the button. 5:00.
When the annoying beeps ended, she slumped back against the covers and waited for her heart to stop slamming against her ribs.
Frustration pummeled her.
She would never feel rested as long as she kept battling freaking vampires in her sleep!
Tossing back the covers, she stomped into the bathroom to brush her teeth. Seriously, who dreamed about vampires?
Heather zipped through her morning ablutions.
She didn’t even read vampire novels or watch vampire movies, yet almost every night she had the same damned dream.
Fifteen minutes later, clad in a comfy black jogging suit, she tied her sneakers, looped her backpack over one shoulder, grabbed her tailgating chair, and headed out onto the back deck. Cool air washed over her as she strode toward the handful of steps that led down to the backyard. A bucket full of bright solar-powered lawn lights awaited her at their base. Snagging the handle, she tromped toward the trees that bordered the back of the property.
The dream had begun haunting her about a year earlier.
A whole year of the same dream over and over again, never varying.
A year of that hot, dark, and dangerous vampire clad all in black ordering her to shoot the other vampires.
Vampires, for crap sake!
Grumbling beneath her breath, she trudged through the trees that thickened into forest, letting the lawn lights show her the way.
Discovering the reason behind the dream had become an obsession. She had to find some logical explanation for it, because the roommate she’d had in college—a psychology major who had psychoanalyzed everyone she had met and their pets—had thought the recurring dream a symptom of some mental illness when Heather had asked her about it.
“Mental illness, my ass,” Heather griped as, minutes later, she stepped into a clearing.
Stepped into the clearing. The one from her dream.
Heather still couldn’t believe she had found it. She hadn’t even thought it real, had assumed it a fictional manifestation of she-didn’t-know-what in her dream. She might not have ever found it if she hadn’t finally located a house farther away from town that she’d wanted to rent and had just happened upon the clearing while scanning satellite maps for nearby waterways that—in heavy rains—might flood the rental property. (She had lost almost everything she’d owned in a flood once. She wouldn’t do it again.)
She had no idea who owned the property that bordered the small parcel she had rented, unwilling to buy in the current housing market until she was sure she wanted to make North Carolina her home. Or if anyone owned it. But as soon as Heather had signed the lease and moved into her new home, she had begun to visit the nearby clearing in hopes of finding . . .
Well, she didn’t know what. Something to explain why she kept dreaming about the place. And once she had begun visiting the clearing, the battle scene that continued to replay itself over and over again in her dreams had—in rare instances—been supplanted by surprisingly erotic dreams about the vampire in black. Dreams of his hands roving her body as his lips devoured hers, his bright amber eyes full of passion and possession.
She swallowed. Yeah. She needed to get to the bottom of the damned dreams.
Dropping her backpack near the center of the clearing, Heather set up her chair and the footstool that came with it.
At least no one had bedeviled her about trespassing. Yet.
She created her fairy ring of lawn lights and set the bucket aside. Fog stroked her ankles as she surveyed the peaceful meadow. Stars sparkled above her like diamonds. The moon, however, had already sought its bed.
Satisfied with the lights, she sank down into the chair and retrieved her tablet from her backpack.
The recurring dream of fighting vampires in this clearing might not be a sign of mental illness, but she wondered if coming out here before dawn every damned morning might be.
What the hell was she thinking?
Ethan rolled down the window of his Rimac Concept One and embraced the remainder of the night as he sped toward David’s place.
His own home had been too quiet of late. Lisette, the woman with whom Ethan had been smitten for the past century, had married a year or so ago and spent all of her time with her husband Zach . . . something that still grated a bit. And Ethan’s mortal Second, Ed, had a new lady love with whom he spent a great deal of time.
Without Lisette or Ed, Ethan’s only company at home was silence.
David’s house, on the other hand, always bustled with activity. Love. Laughter. Mischief. Mayhem. Life was never boring at the incredibly powerful elder Immortal Guardian’s home. Ethan was never lonely at David’s home.
So, yet again, Ethan found himself speeding toward it as dawn approached.
The metallic scent of blood assaulted his nose, riding on the breeze that buffeted him.
Hitting the brakes, Ethan brought the car to a halt on the road’s dirt shoulder and cut the engine. The quiet of the countryside enfolded him as he stepped from the vehicle and drew in a deep breath.
His lips curled. Vampires. He couldn’t tell how many. The vamps’ scents were nearly indiscernible beneath the blood of their recent victims, which no doubt coated them liberally.