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vulnerable.
    Sarah bit her lower lip.
    The rise and fall of his chest was barely discernible.
    He had told her to wait until an hour before sunset to call Marcus. Though she wanted to do otherwise, she decided to respect his wishes.
    For now.
    In the basement of a large, isolated farmhouse, a pair of russet eyes opened. Bastien perused the darkness briefly to ensure no one had encroached upon his sanctuary.
    When he had confirmed that all was safe and secure, a malevolent smile rife with triumph stretched across his handsome features.
    Revenge was so sweet.
    At last, his enemy was dead.
    The Immortal Guardian who currently went by the name of Roland Warbrook had killed four of Bastien’s men when they had ambushed him the previous night, but Roland had paid for that with his life.
    Paid for that and so much more.
    Bastien closed his eyes, savoring his victory. How the bastard must have suffered as the sun rose and baked him like an oven.
    He wouldn’t have burst into flames the way vampires did in movies. No, he would have blistered, then charred like meat left too long on a grill. His body, already damaged, would have been unable to heal itself. Deprived of blood, thanks to the large sample Bastien himself had extracted, the parasitic virus that infected them all would have turned on its host, devouring him from the inside out until there was nothing left upon which it might feast.
    It was an agonizing death.
    And one Roland had richly deserved. He and all of those like him.
    Rising, Bastien donned the black clothing that allowed him to blend in with the night and topped it off with a long black coat. Once he had armed himself with his usual weaponry, he unbolted the door and left his chamber.
    The ground beneath his farmhouse was riddled with catacombs painstakingly created by himself and his followers. It was a place where they could all rest without fear. Safe from sunlight. Safe from humans. Safe from Immortal Guardians who thought them too stupid to devise such.
    He let a smirk curl his lips.
    Would the immortals still sneer at them when the vampires began to pick them all off, one by one? Or would they realize they were outnumbered and beg for mercy, as so many vampires had in the past?
    Bastien stepped out into a winding tunnel that, like a maze, branched off into numerous dead ends. He had dug and paved this wing himself and he alone knew the way to and from his chamber. Anyone else who tried to find it would inevitably end up lost and answer to him when he heard their pitiful cries for help and hunted them down.
    Upon reaching the central hall, which was an expansion of the original basement, he scaled the stairs that led into the house itself. Though the house was dark, all windows carefully covered, the sun had not yet set. His brethren wouldsleep awhile longer. As the oldest vampire in their midst, he tended to rise before them.
    His human servants, however, were up and about.
    Tanner, the highest-ranking human, awaited him at the top of the steps. Roughly six feet tall with short blond hair and glasses, he looked, dressed, and sounded more like an accountant than the devoted employee of a vampire.
    “They’re in your study.”
    Bastien nodded, anticipation thrumming through him. With two wounded vampires he had needed to get below-ground, he had ordered Derek and Bobby to remain behind and collect whatever was left of Roland after the sun had risen. They would be here now to deliver it.
    Several men lounging on the living room sofas scrambled to their feet as he walked past. Bastien acknowledged the humans with a short nod and continued on, thinking with some amusement of ways he might display Roland’s remains.
    That amusement died as soon as he entered the study.
    Something was wrong. Something Derek and Bobby apparently thought would spark his dangerous temper. He could smell their fear, see the tension in their stiff postures, their nervousness in the bobbing knees they couldn’t keep still as they