Vampire's Faith

Book 8: Dark Protectors

by Rebecca Zanetti

Genres: Romantic Suspense; Paranormal; Fantasy Romance; Paranormal Romance; Vampires; Action & Adventure Romance

Synopsis

The Dark Protectors are back! All new stories and a great entry point for new fans! Vampire King Ronan Kayrs wasn't supposed to survive the savage sacrifice he willingly endured to rid the world of the ultimate evil. He wasn't supposed to emerge in this time and place, and he sure as hell wasn't supposed to finally touch the woman who's haunted his dreams for centuries. Yet here he is, in an era where vampires are hidden, the enemy has grown stronger, and his mate has no idea of the power she holds.

Dr. Faith Cooper is flummoxed by irrefutable proof that not only do vampires exist... they're hot blooded, able to walk in sunlight, and shockingly sexy. Faith has always depended on science, but the restlessness she feels around this predatory male defies reason. Especially when it grows into a hunger only he can satisfy—that is if they can survive the evil hunting them both.

Release date: June 19, 2018

Publisher: Kensington

Print pages: 376

Sample

CHAPTER ONE 

Dr. Faith Cooper scanned through the medical chart on her tablet while keeping a brisk pace in her dark boots through the hospital hallway, trying to ignore the chill in the air. “The brain scan was normal. What about the respiratory pattern?” she asked, reading the next page. 

“Normal. We can’t find any neurological damage,” Dr. Barclay said, matching his long-legged stride easily to hers. His brown hair was swept back from an angled face with intelligent blue eyes. “The patient is in a coma with no brain activity, but his body is…well…” 

“Perfectly healthy,” Faith said, scanning the nurse’s notes, wondering if Barclay was single. “The lumbar puncture was normal, and there’s no evidence of a stroke.” 

“No. The patient presents as healthy except for the coma. It’s an anomaly,” Barclay replied, his voice rising. 

Interesting. “Any history of drugs?” Sometimes drugs could cause a coma. 

“No,” Barclay said. “No evidence that we’ve found.” 

Lights flickered along the corridor as she passed through the doorway to the intensive-care unit. “What’s wrong with the lights?” Faith asked, her attention jerking from the medical notes. 

“It’s been happening on and off for the last two days. The maintenance department is working on it, as well as on the temperature fluctuations.” Barclay swept his hand out. No ring. Might not be married. “This morning we moved all the other patients to the new ICU in the western addition that was completed last week.” 

That explained the vacant hall and nearly deserted nurses’ station. Only one woman monitored the screens spread across the desk. She nodded as Faith and Dr. Barclay passed by, her gaze lingering on the cute man. 

The cold was getting worse. It was early April, raining and a little chilly. Not freezing. 

Faith shivered. “Why wasn’t this patient moved with the others?” 

“Your instructions were to leave him exactly in place until you arrived,” Barclay said, his face so cleanly shaven he looked like a cologne model. “We’ll relocate him after your examination.” 

Goose bumps rose on her arms. She breathed out, and her breath misted in the air. This was weird. It’d never happen in the hospital across town where she worked. Her hospital was on the other side of Denver, but her expertise with coma patients was often requested across the world. She glanced back down at the tablet. “Where’s his Glasgow Coma Scale score?” 

“He’s at a three,” Barclay said grimly. 

A three? That was the worst score for a coma patient. Basically, no brain function. 

Barclay stopped her. “Dr. Cooper. I just want to say thank you for coming right away.” He smiled and twin dimples appeared. The nurses probably loved this guy. “I heard about the little girl in Seattle. You haven’t slept in—what? Thirty hours?” 

It felt like it. She’d put on a clean shirt, but it was already wrinkled beneath her white lab coat. Faith patted his arm, finding very nice muscle tone. When was the last time she’d been on a date? “I’m fine. The important part is that the girl woke up.” It had taken Faith seven hours of doing what she shouldn’t be able to do: Communicate somehow with coma patients. This one she’d been able to save, and now a six-year-old girl was eating ice cream with her family in the hospital. Soon she’d go home. “Thank you for calling me.” 

He nodded, and she noticed his chin had a small divot—Cary Grant style. “Of course. You’re legendary. Some say you’re magic.” 

Faith forced a laugh. “Magic. That’s funny.” Straightening her shoulders, she walked into the ICU and stopped moving, forgetting all about the chart and the doctor’s dimples. “What in the world?” she murmured. 

Only one standard bed remained in the sprawling room. A massive man overwhelmed it, his shoulders too wide to fit on the mattress. He was at least six-foot-six, his bare feet hanging off the end of the bed. The blankets had been pushed to his waist to make room for the myriad of electrodes set across his broad and muscular chest. Very muscular. “Why is his gown open?” 

“It shouldn’t be,” Barclay said, looking around. “I’ll ask the nurse after you do a quick examination. I don’t mind admitting that I’m stymied here.” 

A man who could ask for help. Yep. Barclay was checking all the boxes. “Is this the correct patient?” Faith studied his healthy coloring and phenomenal physique. “There’s no way this man has been in a coma for longer than a couple of days.” 

Barclay came to a halt, his gaze narrowing. He slid a shaking hand through his thick hair. “I understand, but according to the fire marshal, this patient was buried under piles of rocks and cement from the tunnel cave-in below the Third Street bridge that happened nearly seven years ago.” 

Faith moved closer to the patient, noting the thick dark hair that swept back from a chiseled face. A warrior’s face. She blinked. Where the hell had that thought come from? “That’s impossible.” She straightened. “Anybody caught in that collapse would’ve died instantly, or shortly thereafter. He’s not even bruised.” 

“What if he was frozen?” Barclay asked, balancing on sneakers. 

Faith checked over the still-healthy tone of the patient’s skin. “Not a chance.” She reached for his wrist to check his pulse. 

Electricity zipped up her arm and she coughed. What the heck was that? His skin was warm and supple, the strength beneath it obvious. She turned her wrist so her watch face was visible and then started counting. Curiosity swept her as she counted the beats. “When was he brought in?” She’d been called just three hours ago to consult on the case and hadn’t had a chance to review the complete file. 

“A week ago,” Barclay said, relaxing by the door. 

Amusement hit Faith full force. Thank goodness. For a moment, with the flickering lights, freezing air, and static electricity, she’d almost traveled to an imaginary and fanciful place. She smiled and released the man’s wrist. “All right. Somebody is messing with me.” She’d just been named the head of neurology at Northwest Boulder Hospital. Her colleagues must have gone to a lot of trouble—tons, really—to pull this prank. “Did Simons put you up to this?” 

Barclay blinked, truly looking bewildered. He was cute. Very much so. Just the type who’d appeal to Faith’s best friend, Louise. And he had an excellent reputation. Was this Louise’s new beau? “Honestly, Dr. Cooper. This is no joke.” He motioned toward the monitor screen that displayed the patient’s heart rate, breathing, blood pressure, and intracranial pressure. 

It had to be. Faith looked closer at the bandage covering the guy’s head and the ICP monitor that was probably just taped beneath the bandage. “I always pay back jokes, Dr. Barclay.” It was fair to give warning. 

Barclay shook his head. “No joke. After a week of tests, we should see something here that explains his condition, but we have nothing. If he was injured somehow in the caved-in area, there’d be evidence of such. But… nothing.” Barclay sighed. “That’s why we requested your help.” 

None of this made any sense. The only logical conclusion was that this was a joke. She leaned over the patient to check the head bandage and look under it. 

The screen blipped. 

She paused. 

Barclay gasped and moved a little closer to her. “What was that?” 

Man, this was quite the ruse. She was so going to repay Simons for this. Dr. Louise Simons was always finding the perfect jokes, and it was time for some payback. Playing along, Faith leaned over the patient again. 

BLEEP 

This close, her fingers tingled with the need to touch the hard angles of this guy’s face. Was he some sort of model? Bodybuilder? His muscles were sleek and smooth—natural like a wild animal’s. So probably not a bodybuilder. There was something just so male about him that he made Barclay fade into the meh zone. Her friends had chosen well. This guy was sexy on a sexy stick of pure melted sexiness. “I’m going to kill Simons,” she murmured, not sure if she meant it. As jokes went, this was impressive. This guy wasn’t a patient and he wasn’t in a coma. So she indulged herself and smoothed his hair back from his wide forehead. 

BLEEP 

BLEEP 

BLEEP 

His skin was warm, although the room was freezing. “This is amazing,” she whispered, truly touched. The planning that had to have gone into it. “How long did this take to set up?” 

Barclay coughed, no longer appearing quite so perfect or masculine compared to the patient. “Stroke him again.” 

Well, all righty then. Who wouldn’t want to caress a guy like this? Going with the prank, Faith flattened her hand in the middle of the guy’s thorax, feeling a very strong heartbeat. “You can stop acting now,” she murmured, leaning toward his face. “You’ve done a terrific job.” Would it be totally inappropriate to ask him out for a drink after he stopped pretending to be unconscious? He wasn’t really a patient, and man, he was something. Sinewed strength and incredibly long lines. “How about we get you out of here?” Her mouth was just over his. 

His eyelids flipped open. 

Barclay yelped and windmilled back, hitting an orange guest chair and landing on his butt on the floor. 

The patient grabbed Faith’s arm in an iron-strong grip. “Faith.” 

She blinked and then warmth slid through her. “Yeah. That’s me.” Man, he was hot. All right. The coming out of a coma and saying her name was kind of cool. But it was time to get to the truth. “Who are you?” 

He shook his head. “Gde, chert voz’mi, ya?” 

She blinked. Wow. A Russian model? His eyes were a metallic aqua. Was he wearing contacts? “Okay, buddy. Enough with the joke.” She gently tried to pull loose, but he held her in place, his hand large enough to encircle her entire bicep. 

He blinked, his eyes somehow hardening. They started to glow an electric blue, sans the green. “Where am I?” His voice was low and gritty. Hoarse to a point that it rasped through the room, winding around them. 

The colored contacts were seriously high-tech. 

“You speak Russian and English. Extraordinary.” She twisted her wrist toward her chest, breaking free. The guy was probably paid by the hour. “The jig is up, handsome.” Whatever his rate, he’d earned every dime. “Tell Simons to come out from wherever she’s hiding.” Faith might have to clap for her best friend. This deserved applause. 

The guy ripped the fake bandage off his head and then yanked the EKG wires away from his chest. He shoved himself to a seated position. The bed groaned in protest. “Where am I?” He partially turned his head to stare at the now-silent monitor. “What the hell is that?” His voice still sounded rough and sexy. 

Just how far was he going to take this? “The joke is over.” Faith glanced at Barclay on the floor, who was staring at the patient with wide eyes. “You’re quite the actor, Dr. Barclay.” She smiled. 

Barclay grabbed a chair and hauled himself to his feet, the muscles in his forearms tightening. “Wh—what’s happening?” 

Faith snorted and moved past him, looking down the now-darkened hallway. Dim yellow emergency lights ignited along the ceiling. “They’ve cut the lights.” Delight filled her. She lifted her voice. “Simons? Payback is a bitch, but this is amazing. Much better than April fool’s.” After Faith had filled Louise’s car with balloons filled with sparkly confetti—guaranteed to blow if a door opened and changed the pressure in the vehicle—Simons had sworn vengeance. 

“Louise?” Faith called again. Nothing. Just silence. Faith sighed. “You win. I bow to your pranking abilities.” 

Ice started to form on the wall across the doorway. “How are you doing that?” Faith murmured, truly impressed. 

A growl came from behind her, and she jumped, turning back to the man on the bed. 

He’d just growled? 

She swallowed and studied him. What the heck? The saline bag appeared genuine. Moving quickly, she reached his arm. “They are actually pumping saline into your blood?” Okay. The joke had officially gone too far. 

Something that looked like pain flashed in his eyes. “Who died? I felt their deaths, but who?” 

She shook her head. “Come on. Enough.” He was an excellent actor. She could almost feel his agony. 

The man looked at her, his chin lowering. Sitting on the bed, he was as tall as she was, even though she was standing in her favorite two-inch heeled boots. Heat poured off him, along with a tension she couldn’t ignore. 

She shivered again, and this time it wasn’t from the cold. 

Keeping her gaze, he tore out the IV. 

Blood dribbled from his vein. She swallowed and fought the need to step back. “All right. Too far, Simons,” she snapped. “Waaaay too far.” 

Barclay edged toward the door. “I don’t understand what’s happening.” 

Faith shook her head. “Occam’s razor, Dr. Barclay.” Either the laws of physics had just changed or this was a joke. The simplest explanation was that Simons had just won the jokester title for all time. “Enough of this, though. Who are you?” she asked the actor. 

He slowly turned his head to study Dr. Barclay before focusing back on her. “When did the shield fall?” 

The shield? He seemed so serious. Eerily so. Would Simons hire a crazy guy? No. Faith tapped her foot and heat rose to her face, her temper stirring. “Listen. This has been fantastic, but it’s getting old. I’m done.” 

The guy grabbed her arm, his grip unbreakable this time. “Did both shields fail?” 

Okay. Her heart started to beat faster. Awareness pricked along her skin. “Let go of me.” 

“No.” The guy pushed from the bed and shrugged out of his gown, keeping hold of her. “What the fuck?” He looked at the Foley catheter inserted into his penis and then down to the long white anti-embolism stockings that were supposed to prevent blood clots. 

Faith’s breath caught. Holy shit. The catheter and TED hose were genuine. And his penis was huge. She looked up at his face. The TED hose might add a realistic detail to a joke, but no way would any responsible medical personnel insert a catheter for a gag. Simons wouldn’t have done that. “What’s happening?” Faith tried to yank her arm free, but he held her tight. 

Dr. Barclay looked from her to the mostly naked male. “Who are you?” he whispered. 

“My name is Ronan,” the guy said, reaching for the catheter, which was attached to a urine-collection bag at the end of the bed. “What fresh torture is this?” 

“Um,” Faith started. 

His nostrils flared. “Why would you collect my piss?” 

Huh? “We’re not,” she protested. “You were in a coma. That’s just a catheter.” 

He gripped the end of the tube, his gaze fierce. 

“No—” Faith protested just as he pulled it out, grunting and then snarling in what had to be intense pain. 

God. Was he on PCP or something? She frantically looked toward Barclay and mouthed the words security and Get the nurse out of here. 

Barclay nodded and turned, running into the hallway. 

“Where are we?” Ronan asked, drawing her toward him. 

She put out a hand to protest, smashing her palm into his ripped abdomen. “Please. Let me go.” She really didn’t want to kick him in his already reddening penis. “You could’ve just damaged your urethra badly.” 

He started dragging her toward the door, his strength beyond superior. A sprawling tattoo covered his entire back. It looked like…a dark image of his ribs with lighter spaces between? Man, he was huge. “We must go.” 

Oh, there was no we. Whatever was happening right now wasn’t good, and she had to get some space to figure this out. “I don’t want to hurt you,” she said, fighting his hold. 

He snorted. 

She drew in air and kicked him in the back of the leg, twisting her arm to gain freedom. 

Faster than she could imagine, he pivoted, moving right into her. Heat and muscle and strength. He more than towered over her, fierce even though he was naked. She yelped and backpedaled, striking up for his nose. 

He blocked her punch with his free hand and growled again, fangs sliding down from his incisors. 

She stopped moving and her brain fuzzed. Fangs? Okay. This wasn’t a joke. Somebody was seriously messing with her, and maybe they wanted her hurt. She couldn’t explain the eyes and the fangs, so this had to be bad. This guy was obviously capable of inflicting some real damage. His eyes morphed again to the electric blue, and somehow he broadened even more, looking more animalistic than human. 

“I don’t understand,” she said, her voice shaking as her mind tried to make sense of what her eyes were seeing. “Who are you? Why were you unconscious in a coma? How did you know my name?” 

He breathed out, his broad chest moving with the effort. The fangs slowly slid back up, and his eyes returned to the sizzling aqua. “My name is Ronan Kayrs, and I was unconscious because the shield fell.” He eyed her, tugging her even closer. “I know your name because I spent four hundred years seeing your face and feeling your soft touch in my dreams.” 

“My—my face?” she stuttered. 

His jaw hardened even more. “And that was before I’d accepted my death.” 

 

 

CHAPTER TWO 

Ronan kept a tight grip on the woman while moving out of the room into another area: A corridor of sorts with no windows. Why were there no windows? Was he underground? Only dim yellow candles glowed from the ceiling. “Where are we?” he asked, choosing a direction at random and moving. 

She pulled back, digging in her heels. 

He paused, not wanting to harm her. “Stop fighting me.” They had to get away from this place with smells that burned his nostrils. What was that stench? Why had his cock, head, and arm been hooked up to those objects? “We must go.” To have her in his hands after he’d given up the dream of her was too much. He needed to acquire safety and regroup. To find his people. Perhaps she could help him do so. “You’re one of the Enhanced. Take me to your king.” 

She jerked her arm, nearly freeing herself. “King? Are you nuts?” 

He blinked, looking down at her. She was smaller than she’d seemed in his dreams when she had whispered her name to him. Long black hair, olive-colored skin, stunning amber-colored eyes. Brown with a glow much brighter than in his dreams. She wore dark boots, blueish pants, a pink shirt with a white overcoat. “Nuts? No.” Perhaps her king was dead. “Your father, then. Let’s seek him.” 

Her chin lowered while her dark eyebrows rose. “Seek? All right, crazy man. Release me, now.” 

Why wasn’t she cooperating? He stood to his full height. “I am Ronan Kayrs of the Kayrs ruling family. Obey me, woman.” 

She snorted. 

He gaped. What had happened to the world he’d protected? A chill swept down his back, and he looked around. The floor was comprised of odd tiles, and boxes with blinking colors covered a raised table-like area. His heart thumped. “When am I?” 

She kept her gaze on his face. “Excuse me?” 

“Year, woman. Give me the year.” He’d learned the hard way that time was fluid and felt different in other places. Other realms. “Or just a century. Give me that.” 

“Twenty-first century,” she said, her voice softening along with her eyes. “Please let me get you some help. You’re hurt.” 

He looked down at his mostly naked body. The holes in his head, arm, and inside his cock had already healed, but his knees still trembled. He wasn’t at half-strength yet. And the long white material on his legs appeared ridiculous. “Are these the fashion of the day?” 

She patted his arm, leaning toward him. “No. Those are to prevent blood clots, since you were lying in a bed.” 

Blood clots? “My blood doesn’t clot.” He bent, shoved the offending garments off with his free hand, and kicked them aside. He looked around. “I require clothing.” 

The tall man from earlier ran around a corner with two other men, these wearing brown garb with what appeared to be weapons at their belts. As soon as they came into sight, the first man drew back and let the other two with weapons slowly approach him. 

“Don’t hurt him,” Faith said, holding out her hand to partially ward them off. “He’s sustained extensive head trauma.” 

Truth be told, his head did hurt like a motherfucker. “Leave us,” he ordered, not surprised when they continued advancing. “What the hell has happened to the world?” he muttered. 

“Amen, buddy,” Faith said, her body tensing. “Release me, and let’s figure this out.” 

He looked around, his gaze catching on a drawing of himself lying on the table. “Did you draw that?” 

She frowned and followed his gaze. “That’s a picture of you. They probably put it on the news to see if you have any family or friends.” 

“The news?” His mind worked rapidly to catch up despite the headache. “That drawing was taken away and shown to others? Publicly?” How big was the world now? “When?” 

“I don’t know when,” she said, pulling against his hold once more. 

Pain flashed through his palm, burning up his arm and right into his heart. 

She gasped and tried to jump back. 

“Sorry,” he said, wincing. It wasn’t much of a surprise, though. “Did I burn you?” 

Her eyes wide, she slowly nodded, her scent of wildflowers filling his head. “How did you…ah, do that?” Her hand was still up toward the advancing soldiers as if she was trying to keep control of the situation. 

“It’s the marking,” he explained, facing her but tracking the men out of the corner of his eye. “The mating marking.” How could she not be aware of the phenomenon? 

“Huh?” she asked, her body tensing again. 

What was happening? The two soldiers were getting closer, so he released her and held up his palm to show them the design. “Here. I am Ronan Kayrs. This is my marking, and this is my mate. I don’t know to whom you align, but please take your leave.” 

The duo stopped. 

Faith slowly backed toward the tall table. “Head injury,” she said to the soldiers as if by way of explanation. “We need to get him to a room in the north wing.” Then she studied his hand. “Nice tattoo.” 

Tattoo? “No. Marking.” He looked at the jagged edges of his family marking with the K surrounded by fierce lines. “It appears when we find our mate. Surely you’ve dreamed of me.” 

“Right.” She edged farther down the counter, her voice a little too high. “We’re going to get you some help. I promise.” 

He turned his attention to the soldiers, seeking their vibrations. “You’re human,” he said, glancing instantly to his woman. “Why are human soldiers guarding you?” None of this was making sense, and it was time to go. “Faith?” 

“Listen, buddy,” the taller of the two men said, his gaze remaining on Ronan’s face. “My name is Joe. I’m security, and I’ve been hit in the skull before. I know how you’re feeling. How about we take you to the north wing so you can meet with a nice head doctor there and get some clothes?” 

Ronan tilted his head to the side to study Joe. The man appeared to be about thirty years old with blond hair and earnest blue eyes. He looked fit and his hand rested lightly on a square-shaped contraption. “I do not wish to harm you, Joe.” Even though Ronan was weak from the fall, he could overpower a couple of humans. Ronan checked out the other man. This guy was at least fifty, with a neatly trimmed gray beard and bushy hair. “Nor you, elder.” 

“Elder?” the guy asked, looking toward his friend. “All right.” He drew a barrel-shaped weapon from his belt and pointed it at Ronan. “Enough talk.” 

“Agreed,” Ronan said. Apparently, the soldiers weren’t going to listen. He hated fighting naked. Nor would he attack two humans without further provocation. 

“Joe?” the elder said. 

“No—” Faith protested, just as Joe pushed something on the box. 

Two wires sprang out, landing on Ronan’s chest. Lightning shot through him, zipping painfully. He gasped, looking down at the twin metal squares. His innards protested, but he couldn’t help but smile. Delight mixed with the pain. “You’ve learned to harness lightning.” He yanked the offending wires out of his body and tossed them back at Joe. “Very impressive.” He nodded at Faith. “Lightning. I never would’ve thought it.” 

Her chin dropped. “How are you still standing?” 

Oh. “The weapon is probably meant for humans, sweetheart.” His heart rate was slightly elevated, but it still clutched as a horrible thought hit him. “Tell me my people still exist.” Of course they did. What a ridiculous fear. Vampires and demons couldn’t be banished, even though he’d felt two of his brothers die. He just didn’t know which two. Yet. 

“Ah,” she said, looking toward the soldiers. “Was that thing charged?” 

“Yes,” the elder said, moving to the left and pointing the other weapon at Ronan. “I don’t want to shoot you, but I will.” 

Ronan sighed. “I do not particularly wish to be shot.” The lightning had hurt and no doubt this was a bigger weapon. If they kept attacking him, he would never regain his strength. “What does that release?” Might it be fire? That could harm a vampire-demon hybrid. 

“What’s he on?” Joe asked Faith, looking down at his box. 

“Undetermined,” Faith said, squinting to study Ronan. “The tox report came back clear, but obviously…” 

The air changed. The hair rose on the back of Ronan’s neck. He inhaled, searching for a scent. “Faith. We must go.” The drawings of him had called attention to his location. “Now.” He moved toward her. 

The elder fired. 

Something exploded and pain ripped into Ronan’s shoulder. Instinct took over, and he leaped across the space, grabbing the elder by the neck and throwing him into the wall. Before Joe could move, Ronan punched him squarely in the jaw, tossing him back several yards to land on the floor, where his head hit with a loud thump. The elder dropped to the ground, also unconscious.