He swung his Tesla into his driveway, cut the engine, and eyed the garage that served as an art studio for production of his larger or messier works. The motion-sensing light above the garage doors didn’t come on. It must need a new bulb.
Making a mental note to change it before Oliver’s vacation ended so his Second wouldn’t look at it, roll his eyes, and declare Nick helpless without him, he headed for the front door.
Music boomed a couple of blocks over, accompanied by a roaring guitar in what reminded Nick of music produced by an eighties hair band. He grimaced. Having preternaturally sharp hearing could really suck sometimes. What would manifest itself as irritating background noise to ordinary humans sounded more to his preternatural ears like a damned DJ—surrounded by massive speakers—was spinning tunes right on his front lawn.
If the inconsiderate ass blasting the music became a repeat offender, Nick would do what he usually did in such instances and get one of his telepathic immortal friends to scare the crap out of him by mentally bellowing at him to turn that shit down every time he cranked up the volume.
He smiled. Such had been astonishingly effective in the past.
Locking the front door behind him, Nick tossed his keys onto the table by the coatrack without reaching for the light switch and started to remove his coat.
A warning crawled up the back of his neck.
He stilled, his hands gripping the lapels. His nose twitched as scents invaded it. Gun oil. Sweat. A brand of deodorant neither he nor Oliver used.
At the same time, heartbeats reached his ears beneath the booming base of the asshole two blocks over.
Multiple heartbeats.
Shit.
Something pricked his chest.
He glanced down. Fury rose when he saw the large tranquilizer dart sticking out of him. Fury and alarm. There were only two drugs on the planet that affected Immortal Guardians: a tranquilizer developed by their enemies that could render both immortals and vampires unconscious within seconds and the antidote that network doctors had created to counteract it.
There should be no one left to use the tranquilizer against them. The immortals had destroyed them all, hadn’t they?
Wait. Nick tilted his head thoughtfully. He wasn’t feeling sluggish. At all.
Another dart struck him.
He smiled. No. This wasn’t the drug mercenaries had wielded against immortals. This was just an ordinary tranquilizer that didn’t do squat to him.
Feigning a stagger, he glanced around the room. There, there, there… there, there, and there. Six men garbed all in black with ski masks and night vision monoculars concealing their faces as they aimed weapons equipped with silencers at him.
Who the hell were these guys?
Another dart pricked him.
Nick glanced down at it, then eyed the man who had fired it. “Oh, you shouldn’t have done that.” He leapt forward in a blur.
Shouts of surprise and alarm erupted. Fingers tightened on triggers. Bullets buzzed through the air like bees high on coke.
Shit. He hoped they wouldn’t hit any of his neighbors.
Fear for Kayla rose.
Since Josh—his other next-door neighbor—was in San Antonio, Nick tried to stay on that side of the house to keep stray bullets from hitting Kayla. Or the neighbors behind him. Or the ones across the street. Life had been a lot less complicated when all a man could fight with was a sword and shield.
Quick as a blink, he disarmed the man with the tranq gun and drew his fist back.
Bullets peppered him. Pain drove him to strike a harder blow than he’d intended.
The man dropped dead at Nick’s feet.
Shit. He needed to keep some of these bastards alive so he could find out what was going on.
He sped on to the next attacker and dragged him in front of him.
The man cried out and danced as bullets struck him, some passing through and hitting Nick. Well, that answered that. These guys weren’t above taking out one of their own in order to capture the prize.
Crashes sounded all around him, crap splintering and flying off shelves as bullets wrecked his home. Glass shattered, fragments sparkling like fairy dust in the little bit of moonlight that swam through the windows. Nick dodged as many projectiles as he could, but even preternaturally fast immortals had their limits. As soon as he reached the next man, he yanked the gun out of the bastard’s hands and swung it like brass knuckles.
As the prick collapsed to the floor, Nick spun toward the next. Stuffing flew from his sofa cushions, floating in the air like snowflakes. Rips and holes appeared in his paintings.
Motherfuckers! That’s it!
Pain and rage engulfed Nick. His shirt clung to him in front and back, saturated with his blood, as he dove at the three remaining men. He grabbed the first. “Who sent you?” he demanded.
When the man tried to shoot him, Nick snapped his neck, dropped him, and stepped over his body.
“Who sent you?” he shouted as he leapt at the next. A bullet nicked his damn carotid artery just before he reached him.
While he yanked the gun from the bastard’s hands, the last man darted out the back door. Nick tossed the weapon aside and punched the man he held in the head.
The man dropped, unconscious, to the floor.
Spinning around, Nick raced for the door. Rampant blood loss from all the holes bullets had carved in him slowed his steps to mortal speeds. Once outside, Nick followed the fleeing man’s scent and felt fear tear through him.
He’d gone over the fence into Kayla’s backyard.
With a last burst of speed, Nick vaulted over the fence.
The man was two steps away from her back door when Nick caught him by the collar and yanked.
The man’s hand tightened on his gun, firing it twice as he flew backward. Thankfully, both bullets pierced Kayla’s roof rather than the windows or the walls.
Despite the weakness that rapidly weighted his limbs, Nick picked the man up and threw him down.
The man cried out as his back hit pavement. His night vision monocular flew off.
Nick fisted the man’s shirt, leaned down over him, and got up in his face, flashing fangs and glowing eyes. “Who sent you?” he snarled.
The man pissed his pants.
Nick’s ears caught the sound of movement inside Kayla’s home.
Swearing, he grabbed the monocular and dragged the man off into the shadows on the opposite side of her home where the floodlights didn’t reach. Once out of sight, he knelt on the man’s chest, drew a dagger, and pressed the sharp tip to the man’s throat right above the pulse that gyrated wildly beneath the surface.
The man stared up at him with wide blue eyes, his irises shrinking as his pupils dilated.
The blinds on Kayla’s sliding glass doors rattled as she peered out. She must have heard something. The bullets piercing her roof? The man’s grunt of pain?
Nick looked toward the back patio to ensure she couldn’t see them.
Dizziness struck. The backyard tilted sideways.
Shaking his head drunkenly, he used his hold on the man beneath him to brace himself.
Maybe that bullet had done more than nick his carotid artery. Maybe the nick was more of a gash.
Inside, Kayla padded toward the back door.
Nick leaned down over the last attacker and hissed, “Tell me who sent you.” As soon as he did, Nick would partake of the man’s blood and try to regain enough strength to get home and call for help.
The man tensed, then shoved a hand up, burying a tactical knife to the hilt in Nick’s belly.