With the thick shadows of the Atchafalaya swamp looming up ahead, Gideon hopped off the back of the old pickup truck he'd hitched a ride on outside the Baton Rouge airport. His leg wound ached like a son of a bitch with every mile he ran, deeper into the dense vegetation and drooping, moss-laden cypress trees of the basin.
Savannah's sister, Amelie, lived on a remote road in this sparsely populated stretch of marshlands. Gideon knew precisely where to find her; after waking in the infirmary, he'd lingered at the Order's compound only long enough to run a quick hack on the IRS databases, which coughed up her address in no time at all.
He crept off an unpaved road to stalk up on the modest, gray-shingled house with its covered porch and soft-glowing light in the windows. There were no cars in the unpaved driveway out front. No sound coming from within the small abode as he stole toward it.
He climbed up the squat steps leading to the porch and front door, his thigh muscle protesting each flex and movement. His talent reached past the thin walls of the house, searching for telltale life energy. Someone sat in the living room, alone.
Gideon knocked on the front door--only to discover it wasn't closed all the way.
"Savannah?"
A muffled groan answered from inside.
"Savannah!" Gideon had his gun in his hand now, storming into the place, his body filled with alarm.
It wasn't Savannah. Her sister, no doubt. The early middle-aged black woman was bound and gagged on a kitchen chair in the center of the living room. Evidence of a scuffle were all around her, toppled furniture, broken knick-knacks.
But no sign of Savannah.
Amelie Dupree's eyes went wide as Gideon approached her with the pistol gripped in his fist. She screamed through the gag, started to flail in panic on the chair.
"Shh," Gideon soothed, working past his terror for what might have happened to Savannah. He tore Amelie's bonds loose and freed the cloth from around her face and mouth. "I'm not going to hurt you. Where's Savannah? I'm here to protect her."
"They took her!"
Gideon's blood ran cold. "Who took her?"
"I don't know." She shook her head, a sob cracking in her throat. "Couple of men came here, showed up about an hour ago. Tied me up and they took my baby sister away at gunpoint."
Gideon's growl of rage was animalistic, lethal. "Where did they take her? What did these men look like?"
Amelie sagged forward, her head in her hands. "I don't know, I don't know! Oh, God, somebody gotta help her. I gotta call the police!"
Gideon took the woman's shoulders in a firm grasp, compelling her to look at him. "Listen to me, Amelie. You have to stay put, call no one. You have to trust me. I'm not going to let anything happen to Savannah."
She stared at him, doubt swimming in her anguished eyes. "Are you the one? Are you the one who broke her heart back there in Boston, sent her back here last night like her whole world was falling apart?"
He didn't answer to that, even though the blame settled heavily on him. "I'm the one who loves her. More than life itself."
"Don't let them hurt her," she cried. "Don't let those men kill my sweet Savannah."
Gideon gave a solemn shake of his head. "I won't. I swear my life on that."
No sooner had he said it, a vehicle approached, pulling up alongside the house outside. The dull rumble of the engine went silent, followed by the crisp thump of two car doors closing a moment later.
Gideon lifted his head, every battle instinct coming alive inside him. He whirled around to head out the front door, his gun at the ready.
There she was.
Standing on her sister's front lawn in the darkness, caught in a headlock by a human man--a Minion, Gideon realized at once. The big thug held the nose of his pistol jammed up against Savannah's temple. She'd been crying, her face streaked with tears, lips ashen from terror.
All the blood rushed out of Gideon's head, started pounding hard in the center of his chest.
It was then he noticed the second man, a Breed male, standing at ease in the shadows of a cypress tree nearby. He was dressed in a tailored navy wool overcoat, his brown hair impeccably cut, and swept back elegantly from his face. Held in a loose grasp in front of him stood a gleaming length of polished steel. The long blade glittered in the moonlight.
Gideon didn't need to see the hilt to know there would be a bird of prey--a falcon--tooled into the handcrafted grip.
Hugh Faulkner's blade.
But this was not the Gen One sword smith Gideon killed back in London all those centuries ago. He'd never seen this vampire before, he was certain.
"Drop your weapons, warrior."
Gideon glanced from the Breed male to the Minion holding Savannah, calculating which of the two he should kill first to give her the best odds of getting away unharmed. Neither was a guarantee, and he was loath to risk making a mistake that carried such a high cost.
"Put them down now," the vampire drawled. "Or my man will blow her pretty head off."
Gideon relaxed his hold on the pistol, then stooped to set it down.
"All of them. Slowly."
He took off his weapons belt and put it on the ground at his feet. The bandaged gash on his thigh was bleeding again, seeping through his pant leg.
The other vampire sniffed the air dramatically, lips peeling back in an amused smirk. "Not so untouchable, after all."
Gideon watched the Breed male turn Faulkner's sword on its tip in the moist earth of Amelie Dupree's front yard. "Do I know you?"
The vampire chuckled. "No one did. Not back then."
Gideon tried to place him, tried to figure out if, or when, their paths might have crossed.