Free Darkness Dawns by Dianne Duvall Page A

end. How it
had
to end. There was nothing you could have done.”
    “I could have been there for you.” The way Marcus had been there for him when Mary had betrayed him.
    Marcus snorted. “And done what? Watched me fall apart?”
    Roland studied him closely. “
Did
you fall apart?”
    Avoiding his gaze, Marcus closed the cooler and returned it to the duffle bag.
    “Marcus?”
    “What?” he snapped, jerking the zipper shut. “Do you want me to admit I took it badly? Fine. I took it badly. So badly that Seth now thinks I’m fucking suicidal.”
    Alarms sounded. “Are you?”
    “No, Roland. I’m just …” Sighing, Marcus raked a hand through his hair. “Tired. And numb. You of all people know how wearying this existence can be when there’s nothing to look forward to and no one to share it with.”
    “I do.” And he had hoped Marcus, a hundred years younger and the first immortal he had personally trained, would never come to experience such weariness himself.
    Roland was out of his element here. For the second time today, he found himself faced with someone who needed comfort and he was still uncertain how to render it. “You don’t want a hug, do you?” he asked uneasily.
    Marcus’s look seemed to question his sanity. “Hell, no.”
    Roland nearly wilted with relief. “Good.”
    Shaking his head, Marcus produced a half smile. “I should have said yes and dredged up a few tears just to watch you squirm.”
    “I’m surprised you didn’t,” Roland returned sardonically.
    Upon leaving the bathroom, they found Sarah back in the den, setting a large tote bag down on the futon.
    She glanced over her shoulder, then turned to face them. “Wow. You look …” Her gaze made a slow excursion down Roland’s body and back up again, speeding his pulse. “You look great.”
    The admiration in those hazel depths made his body harden.
    “Are you feeling better?” she continued. “Was Marcus able to help?”
    “Yes to both questions.”
    Brow furrowed with concern, she closed the distance between them. “You
are
going to see a doctor now, right?”
    “No, I need to get you to safety first.”
    “Surely the CIA has emergency medical facilities available for their operatives. Wouldn’t I be safe there?”
    Marcus passed them on his way to the front door. “You told her you’re CIA?”
    “Yes.”
    Sarah turned to Marcus. “It wasn’t his fault. I know it’s supposed to be kept secret, but if he hadn’t told me I would have called 911 and blown his cover.”
    As soon as she looked away, Marcus rolled his eyes and mouthed,
Lame.
    Ignoring him, Roland asked Sarah if her bag was packed.
    “Almost. I need a few things from the bathroom, then I’m good to go.”
    Roland moved aside so she could slip past him, then crossed over to Marcus.
    “You aren’t supposed to
tell
them you’re CIA,” he said, his voice muted, as he set the duffle bag down and picked up the briefcase. “You’re supposed to let them infer it.”
    Roland sent him a warning scowl. “I haven’t had to explain myself to a mortal in centuries. Cut me some slack.”
    Balancing the briefcase on the back of the futon, Marcus flipped the latches up and opened it.
    Roland smiled when he saw its contents. “You thought of everything, I see.”
    “I figured if you had lost your clothes, you’d probably lost your weapons, too.”
    “You were right. I did.” He was distributing sais, daggers, and throwing stars to various pockets, boots, and belt loops when Sarah returned and dumped a toothbrush, hairbrush, comb, hair ties, and several small bottles and jars into her tote.
    Eyeing his weapons, she crossed her arms beneath full breasts. “Okay, would someone please explain to me why a man posing as an illegal arms dealer doesn’t carry a gun?”
    “Amateur,” Marcus mumbled beneath his breath before continuing more clearly. “The knives are part of the personawe created to reinforce the belief of the criminals he deals with that he