Phantom Embrace (2 page)

Stanislav laughed. “I remember him.” He nodded to Vampire #6. “Did I see him pull a gun?”

Yuri nodded and glanced around, but didn't see it. “He must have fallen on it.”

“Dumbass,” Stanislav muttered. “Good thing you kept him from firing it.”

Yuri laughed. “I know. What about you? Are you injured?”

His friend glanced down at his left arm, then shrugged. “A few cuts. Nothing more.”

Stanislav had an impressively high tolerance for pain, thanks to the sadistic vampire who had turned him. So
a few cuts
could refer to anything from shallow slices that didn't need stitches to deep gashes that left his arm barely attached.

Yuri studied his friend's movements as Stanislav sheathed his shoto swords and bent to retrieve the weapons the vampires had dropped. Satisfied that Stanislav's wounds indeed posed no threat, Yuri sheathed his own swords, drew his cell phone from a back pocket, and made a quick call.

“Reordon,” Chris Reordon, who headed the East Coast division of the human network that aided immortals, answered.

“It's Yuri. Stanislav and I just took out six vampires at Duke.”

Chris grunted. “Any human casualties?”

“Two. Both slain before we arrived.”

“Where are you?”

Stanislav, whose preternaturally sharp hearing enabled him to hear both sides of the conversation, identified the building for Yuri.

Yuri passed it along to Reordon.

“I'll have a crew there in five minutes,” Chris vowed.

Yuri pocketed his phone, then pursed his lips and looked at Stanislav. “I should've asked him what to do with the gun.”

Stanislav shrugged. “Just toss it in a Dumpster with the rest of the weapons. I'm sure anything a vampire would carry would be far inferior to the arsenal of weapons the network keeps at its disposal.”

True.

Yuri waited another minute for Vampire #6 to finish disintegrating, then gathered his clothing and weapons together with that of a couple of the other vampires in one fell swoop and deposited it all in the nearest Dumpster.

Stanislav did the same while they waited for Chris's crew to arrive and collect the human victims.

* * *

Cat entered the home of David, the second eldest and second most powerful immortal on the planet. Located in the North Carolinian countryside with no nearby neighbors who might panic upon seeing powerful warriors come and go with bloodstained clothing (hunting insane vampires was a violent, messy business), this sprawling one-story home appeared to be the hub of the Immortal Guardians' world here on the East Coast.

Cat had been drawn to this place—and to these people, these warriors—ever since her brother Bastien had raised a vampire army and done his damnedest to bring the immortals down.

What a terrifying time that had been. Terrifying and frustrating and heartbreaking. She had known Bastien was in the wrong, that he had focused his quest for revenge upon the wrong man, but had had no way to convey it to him.

And she had feared every day that it would be his downfall.

Had Seth, the Immortal Guardians' leader, not been so forgiving, she knew her brother would be dead now, killed in that final battle between his vampire army and the Immortal Guardians.

American and British immortals Ethan and Edward entered David's home behind her and strolled past, their long black coats glistening with the blood of the vampires they had slain.

Krysta and Étienne, still newly wed, called greetings and offered the duo smiles.

Étienne's twin, Richart, and Richart's wife Jenna added their own hellos.

Yes, Cat thought, as she watched the immortals smile and trade jests, it was the people who drew her here time and time again. They were different. And not just because they were infected with the same virus that afflicted vampires. No, these men and women, these immortals, had been born like Cat—with special gifts no humans or vampires possessed.

Krysta could see auras. Étienne and his sister Lisette were both telepathic. Richart could teleport. Jenna, as the descendant of a healer, had been born with far greater regenerative capabilities than ordinary humans enjoyed.

Roland, considered the antisocial one of the group, and his wife Sarah entered from the hallway on the opposite side of the room. Roland could heal with his hands and bore some telekinetic abilities. Sarah had prophetic dreams.

Bastien, Cat's brother, could discern one's emotions through touch and determine truth from falsehood. His wife, Dr. Melanie Lipton, had minor precognitive abilities.

And Cat? Cat had always been able to see an object's history, glimpse those who had held it and the like, by touching it. She just hadn't understood
why
she could until she had begun haunting David's home after David and Seth had captured her brother and pretty much forced him to join the Immortal Guardians' ranks.

Every immortal, or
gifted one
, as they had called themselves before being infected with the vampiric virus, had been born with advanced DNA, the origins of which Cat still didn't understand.

That advanced DNA lent immortals their gifts and, thankfully, offered some protection from the more corrosive aspects of the virus that infected them. Immortals didn't suffer brain damage the way humans did and, thus, weren't driven insane. This enabled them to live . . . well . . . forever, unless their heads were stricken from their bodies. The older the immortal, the more powerful and plentiful his or her gifts, because their bloodlines had been less diluted by ordinary human DNA.

David, who had lived thousands of years, was such a powerful healer that he could reattach severed limbs. He could also shapeshift, among other things, and could withstand several hours of exposure to daylight before he began to suffer the consequences younger immortals suffered immediately.

Seth . . .

Well, she'd yet to find anything the immensely powerful Immortal Guardians' leader
couldn't
do.

Bastien and Melanie entered, laughing and holding hands like teenagers.

Dawn must be approaching.

Many of the immortals in the area congregated here at David's after each night's hunt. Some spent the days there, too.

Frowning at the bay window, Cat wondered how the two Russian immortals she had followed earlier had fared in their battle.

For a moment, when she had knelt down to address the stray cat, the taller one—Yuri—had seemed to look right at her.

Excitement had skittered through her.

Then she had heard the vampires coming.

After spending two hundred years with Bastien and his psychotic vampire friends, Cat could no longer abide being near the fiends. And when the immortals inevitably defeated the vampires in battle, setting their spirits free . . .

Cat shuddered.

No. She'd had to leave.

The front door opened once more and, as though conjured by her thoughts, Yuri and Stanislav entered.

A little thrill darted through her as it always did in Yuri's presence. She wasn't sure why. There was just something about him that drew her to him and always compelled her to single him out with her gaze, even when a host of other warriors surrounded him.

She didn't think it was because he was handsome. They were
all
handsome.

Although Yuri did seem to be even
easier on the eye
, as she'd heard one of the female Seconds say, than the others.

He stood about six foot four, just under a foot taller than her own five foot five. He kept his black hair short in back and on the sides, but long enough on top to reveal a tendency to wave. Dark brows hovered over piercing brown eyes that seemed to miss nothing. She'd once heard him tell Bastien that his patrician nose used to be crooked from being broken in a brawl in his youth, but had straightened when he had transformed. His lips were a little fuller than most men's, but were by no means feminine. A perpetual five o'clock shadow hugged his strong jaw.

Broad shoulders. A slender, yet muscular build. A smooth stroll that did odd things to her insides.

Cat drifted into a corner and watched the other immortals call greetings and trade gibes with him before Yuri headed down the hallway toward the basement stairs. No doubt he intended to wash the night's hunt off him in the bedroom he'd claimed when Seth had transferred him to North Carolina a couple of years ago. Just before he turned into the basement stairwell, Yuri glanced over his shoulder and looked in her direction.

Perhaps, Cat thought, her attraction to him simply resulted from times like this when he
almost
seemed to acknowledge her presence.

The others never did. Except for Marcus, who had only done so once. He had bellowed at her to get out when he had been arguing with Ami and Cat had inadvertently intruded.

Speaking of whom . . .

Marcus and Ami passed Yuri in the hallway and joined the others in the living room. Ami was about a foot shorter than her husband, with slender arms and legs and a huge protruding belly that turned her walk into a waddle.

The couple sank onto a cushy sofa and began to chat with Roland and Sarah.

Cat eased forward, her eyes on the petite redhead.

Ami shifted, as though the babe in her belly wouldn't allow her to get comfortable.

Cat claimed the empty space beside Ami and lowered her eyes to Ami's round tummy.

A few minutes later, her careful scrutiny was rewarded when the babe shifted. What appeared to be the faint shape of a knee slid across the knit shirt that molded itself to Ami's torso.

Ami absently placed a hand over the knee and gave it a pat.

Pleasure and pain warred within Cat.

She remembered how that had felt. Her married friends had expounded upon the beauty of feeling a child move within them when they were breeding. But in the privacy of her bedchamber, when Cat had lowered the bedcovers and raised her nightgown to watch this limb or that shift and slide and press against her skin from inside her belly, she had thought it a strange combination of funny and creepy.

Her chest tightened.

How nervous she had been. Nervous and excited and afraid all at once. She had barely been more than a child herself and had had no idea what caring for a babe would entail. Nor had she known what childbirth would bring. Women had spoken of it only in the most generic of terms back then. She'd known it would be painful. That it would be messy. And that she might not survive it.

But she had loved the baby within her so much that she had thought it well worth the risk.

Ami gave her big belly one last stroke, then dropped her hand to her lap.

Ami carried a baby girl.

All of Cat's friends—her mother, too—had thought Cat had carried a boy.

Her eyes burned. How many times had she wondered, with something akin to panic, what she would do with a boy? If raising a son would be harder than raising a girl in the male-dominated world in which she had resided? How great a role she would be able to play in his life? If he would love her as much as she already adored him?

Immortals continued to move about the room, but Cat paid them no heed.

Eyes burning, she reached a hand out and rested it on Ami's belly.

Ami didn't react, just kept chatting with Sarah.

On Ami's other side, Marcus frowned at Cat and looked—for a moment—as though he would shove her hand away from his wife and unborn babe.

But he didn't.

It only made Cat want to weep more.

She liked to think she would've been a good mother. That she would've raised a fine young man. As fine and honorable as the warriors in this room.

How she regretted having been denied the chance to do so.

How she hated her husband for murdering her before she could birth their child.

Cat squeezed her eyes shut as memories of violence and death attempted to intrude. A tear slipped down her cheek. She couldn't think of that tonight. Couldn't bear it.

Lifting her lashes, she withdrew her hand from Ami's tummy, glanced away, and looked directly into Yuri's warm brown eyes.

Her breath caught. When had he seated himself across from her?

Her heart did an odd trip-hammer thing in her chest as he continued to meet her gaze.

Or
appeared
to meet her gaze. Did he
see
her?

He couldn't possibly. Only Marcus could see her because the gift with which he had been born enabled him to see spirits and ghosts.

Frowning, she glanced over her shoulder.

Tracy and Nichole, two of the Seconds or human assistants who aided immortals, sat behind her, laughing and talking as they explored something on one of those electronic tablets.

Ah. He must be looking at one of them.

Cat turned back around, cursing herself for feeling so disappointed. For a moment . . .

Again Yuri seemed to meet her gaze.

No, it wasn't just his looks that drew her, she thought. It was the uncanny way he had of appearing to look right at her.

It happened with others from time to time. She would find herself standing between two people and one would seem to look her right in the eye. But it happened often enough with Yuri to make her wish it weren't coincidence.

She sighed.

And now even more sadness afflicted her.

Well, she didn't want to stay here and watch Yuri admire whichever woman behind her had caught his attention.

Rising, Cat strolled across the room and, passing through a few walls, looked in on the kittens snoozing in David's study.

Chapter Two

Yuri had never been much of a talker.

He wasn't antisocial, like Roland. He just would rather listen and observe and toss in a word here or there than do the constant back-and-forth thing.

Lounging on the sofa, he let the conversations of his brethren flow around him and tried to forget the tear that had slipped down the cheek of the beauty beside Ami.

Who
was
the mysterious woman who haunted both David's home and Yuri's thoughts? Why did she linger here? Why did she follow Yuri on his hunts on occasion?

Was she an Immortal Guardian who had been slain in the line of duty? Or a Second?

He'd lost so many Seconds of his own over the centuries. Mortal men he had loved like brothers.

“How did tonight's hunt go?”

Yuri looked around at the sound of his current Second's inquiry.

Dmitry stood next to him, munching an apple.

“It went well.”

Dmitry nodded. “Where are your weapons?”

“In the armory.”

“I'll clean and sharpen them for you. Anything else you need me to do?”

“I could use a new coat,” Yuri said. “A vampire tried to hamstring me, so mine's looking a little ragged now.”

Dmitry scowled. “I hate it when they do that. Why don't the bastards just learn how to fight?”

“One of the vampires we fought tonight
did
,” Yuri admitted with a wry smile. “He actually proved to be quite a challenge.”

“Really?” Surprise lightened Dmitry's blue eyes. He knew Yuri wasn't easy to defeat. “Do you need blood?”

“No, I'm good.” His wounds had been superficial enough to heal without an infusion.

“Okay. I'll have a new coat for you before tomorrow night's hunt. Anything else? Something to eat, perhaps?” Dmitry held up a second apple.

Smiling, Yuri held out his hand. “I'll take it.”

Dmitry tossed it to him. “Let me know if you need anything else.”

Yuri shook his head and rose. “I think I'm going to turn in.” Leaving the living room, Yuri resisted the urge to peer into every doorway he passed in search of the woman in the long, cream-colored dress.

David's home boasted a basement that, with a few recent additions, was twice the size of the ground floor. A large sparring or training room took up a lot of square feet on the left. The rest of the basement provided bedrooms that now had all been soundproofed for any immortals who chose to spend the day there.

And a lot did. Almost every immortal in the area, in fact. They had really been sticking close to offer their support and protection to Ami, the first mortal woman ever to conceive a child by an immortal.

Yuri strode down the long hallway. Entering the bedroom he had claimed for his own, he closed the door behind him.

Blessed silence.

Tugging off his boots, he sank down in one of the two chairs in his reading nook. He and Stanislav had spent many a morning in those chairs, poring over books filched from David's extensive library.

Now Yuri retrieved his favorite dagger and applied it to the apple.

No sooner had he placed the first slice between his lips than the woman in the cream-colored dress walked through his door.

Yuri paused, then began to chew slowly as he watched her.

Sadness clung to her, weighing every movement, though no tears stained her cheeks, he noted with some relief.

He cut another slice, slipped the fruit—both tart and sweet—between his lips.

This wasn't the first time she had visited his quarters. She had been to his room more times than he could count since Seth had transferred him here.

Yuri hadn't known how long or how brief a time he would spend in North Carolina, so he had simply claimed this room at David's home rather than choosing a house and going to the trouble of moving all of this things down from New York.

She meandered around the room, studying his possessions.

There hadn't been very many personal effects at first. Yuri had thought his stay would be brief, so he hadn't brought much with him.

Then this lovely spirit had begun to visit and had seemed so curious about the few items he had brought with him.

Giving in to what he had considered an absurd urge to please her, Yuri had asked Richart to teleport him to his apartment in New York so he could retrieve more.

Sap
. A smart-ass voice spoke in his head.

Yuri ignored it.

Every week or so, he put out something new. His first pocket watch—now an antique. His mother's brooch, also an antique. Hell, almost all of his favorite things were antiques. Even his favorite quill.

And each time the beauty in the cream-colored dress would find the new objects, she would pause and admire them, then appeared to touch them.

Could
she touch them? he wondered idly. Some spirits were endowed with that ability. Some weren't. Or so he had observed over the centuries.

Could she touch
him
? he wondered next, then cursed the flutter of excitement and, yes, arousal, that struck at the notion. Of course she couldn't touch him, nor would she. The woman hadn't even spoken to him.

He continued to munch the apple.

He found he didn't mind her silent company. He was a quiet man himself, so the fact that she never spoke didn't bother him. Much. He wouldn't mind having his curiosity appeased, though curiosity had proven detrimental in the past.

She
seemed curious about
him
. Or so he thought. Why else would she spend so many hours here, sitting with him while he read or watched television or continued to try to figure out the electronic gadgets Dmitry kept buying him?

And if Yuri were honest with himself, it had become harder and harder in recent decades to keep loneliness at bay. It was actually kind of nice, having her here with him.

Setting the dagger and the half-eaten apple on the nightstand, he rested his head against the chair's high back and closed his eyes.

So odd to know that someone was in the room with him, yet to hear no heartbeat, no clothing rustling, or the like. With his hypersensitive ears, he
never
enjoyed such silence in another's presence.

Her grief called out to him, though, niggling him until he did something he had vowed never to do again.

“I can feel your sadness,” he murmured, not knowing why he spoke. “I wish I could alleviate it, little one.”

No response came, of course.

Sighing, he opened his eyes, half expecting her to be gone, and found her staring at him from across the room.

“
Is
there anything I can do to alleviate it?” he asked her.

She glanced behind her, as she always did when she caught him watching her, then returned wide eyes to him. “Can you see me?” she asked in a whisper, her expression a mixture of hope and disbelief as she touched a hand to her chest.

“Yes.”

If anything, her eyes widened more. “You can
hear
me?” Her words carried a British accent.

He smiled. “Yes.” And he thought her voice lovely.

Her face lost all sadness and acquired such a look of astonishment that he had to laugh.

She took a hesitant step closer. “You ... Are you like Marcus, then? You can see ... ?”

“Ghosts? Spirits?”

She nodded, but didn't seem fond of either term.

“Yes. For as long as I can remember. Though I can probably count on one hand the number of spirits with whom I've conversed.”

She stared at him.

He smiled. “I see I've surprised you.”

“Yes, you have.” She took another careful step closer, as though she feared he might bolt if she stood too near. “So, you were looking at
me
upstairs? I thought you were looking at Tracy or Nichole.”

He shook his head. “I was looking at you. And I saw you at the university tonight as well.”

“I thought you were looking at the cat!” she exclaimed, her features brightening with a beguiling grin.

Again he laughed. “Stanislav was looking at the cat.
I
was looking at
you
.”

She motioned to the empty chair. “May I join you?”

He stood and motioned to the chair. “Of course.” Once she perched on the edge of the cushioned seat, he reclaimed his own.

“If you've seen spirits all of your life,” she asked, “why have you conversed with so few?”

He picked up his apple and dagger and carved off another slice. “Some spirits never acknowledged my presence.” It felt odd, unmannerly, not to offer her a piece. “They didn't seem to see me, or those around me. Rather they went about whatever chores they were performing as though they were alone.”

She nodded. “I've seen such spirits. There is something different about them.”

He eyed her curiously. “Have you ever spoken with them?”

She shook her head. “They ignore me as they do you.”

Interesting.

“What about the other spirits?” she asked. “Spirits like me? Why did you not converse with
them
?”

He placed another apple slice in his mouth, buying time and considering his words. “Some spirits,” he said at length, “are like the vampires I hunt. They delight in inspiring fear and sparking chaos. If one acknowledges them at all—one need not even say a word, just making eye contact will do—the spirits will do everything they can to make one's life a living hell.”

Her pretty face grew somber. “Sometimes the vampires' spirits are like that. They terrify me.”

“Is that why you left as soon as we encountered the vampires earlier?”

She nodded. “I didn't want to be around when you killed them and freed their spirits.”

Another mystery solved.

“What about the others?” she asked.

Yuri hesitated. “May I be honest with you, at the risk of hurting your feelings?”

“Yes. I always prefer honesty to lies.”

She might change her mind once he spoke. Yuri feared what he intended to say might come across as rather harsh.

He set the dagger and apple core aside. “When I was a boy, I was told more than once never to feed a stray dog. When I asked why, I was told that if I fed the stray, I would never be able to rid myself of it, that it would keep coming back. I learned, rather painfully, that the same held true for spirits.”

She clasped her hands in her lap.

“I spent most of my childhood fearing the spirits only I could see, so I didn't attempt to speak to one until I had approached, oh, ten and eight summers or thereabouts and thought myself invincible as all young men do. He seemed a benign spirit. Not menacing at all. So I thought it safe to try.” Yuri drew in a deep breath. “Well, once the spirit learned I could see and speak with him, he stuck to me like glue. I never had a moment's peace afterward. Never had a moment's privacy. And I could not rid myself of him no matter how hard I tried.”

She bit her lip.

“Even had he been a more likable fellow, it would've aggravated me,” Yuri continued, irritation rising at just the thought of that pain in his arse. “But this spirit felt he had to offer his opinion—usually a critical one—on
everything
. And he wouldn't even give me privacy when I, uh, sought the company of women.”

Her cheeks acquired a rosy glow.

Perhaps he shouldn't have mentioned that part. “I'm a quiet sort,” Yuri explained. “I appreciate my privacy. Yet he wouldn't
give
me any. The damned man, spirit, whatever, was still dogging my heels when I was attacked and transformed by a vampire and would no doubt
still
be plaguing me today had Seth not done something to rid me of him.”

“What did he do?”

“I don't know. He wouldn't tell me.”

Her brow furrowed. “I can see it angered you.”

He grimaced. “Did I raise my voice?”

She nodded.

“Forgive me.” He offered her a wry smile. “It wasn't the best period of my life.”

“So you never spoke to a spirit again?” she posed tentatively.

“Actually, I did. Several decades later. I found myself living in a city with an alarmingly large spirit population. One in particular drew my sympathy, so I spoke to her.”

“And?”

He laughed. “And she and all of the other spirits in the vicinity did their damnedest to make me their errand boy once they discovered I could see and hear them.”

She frowned. “I don't understand.”

“They wanted me to carry messages to the living for them.” He could laugh about it now, but it had not been the least bit funny at the time. “In the movies, ghosts always have some meaningful message they wish whoever can see them to tender to their loved ones.”

“I don't know if that would work,” she said. “Who, other than your immortal brethren, would even
believe
you if you approached them and said you had a message for them from their dead husband or wife or father?”

“No one would, or did, as far as I could tell. But then I was never asked to carry any noble messages. One spirit wanted me to fetch some jewels he had stashed in his favorite gentlemen's club and take them to his mistress because he didn't want his wife to get her greedy little hands on them. His words. Not mine. And there were other, uglier errands. I ended up having to ask Seth for another transfer to get away from them all.”

“How . . . unpleasant.”

“Yes.”