No!

He stumbled into the room, almost tripping over Samson. On the floor lay Carl, a heap of torn muscle and blood, but he was breathing, his eyes open.

“Where’s Delilah?” Samson asked.

Carl’s response was a gurgle. “Gone.”

“And Nina?” Amaury’s throat was so dry he could barely talk. There was no response from Carl.

Behind them the rest of their colleagues charged into the house, Gabriel barking commands.

“Zane, Quinn—check upstairs. Yvette, Ricky—take the back of the house. Oliver, we need you here.”

Samson knelt next to Carl who’d lost consciousness, blood pouring from his stomach wounds. Why they hadn’t outright killed him, Amaury couldn’t figure out.

“He needs fresh blood. Gabriel, we need a donor.”

Before Gabriel could answer, Oliver pushed through the door. “You’ve got one.”

Without hesitation he crouched down and pulled back his sleeve.

“Carl has never bitten anyone,” Samson explained.

“Well, he’s just gonna have to bite the bullet now, won’t he?” Oliver placed his wrist at Carl’s lips.

“He won’t be able to. One of us will have to open your vein for him.”

Oliver nodded at Samson and stretched his wrist out to him.

“Thank you. But Gabriel will have to do it for you,” Samson said and motioned Gabriel to approach.

Amaury instantly realized why. As a blood-bonded vampire he didn’t take blood from anybody else but Delilah. Even just piercing Oliver’s skin to open the vein would make him taste some of his employee’s blood. Samson’s body would reject the foreign essence, making him sick in the process.

Gabriel took Oliver’s wrist and set his fangs, piercing the skin. A moment later, Oliver placed his wrist at Carl’s mouth again and let the blood drip between his lips. The red liquid ran into his mouth, and seconds later Carl’s lips latched around the wound. He started suckling.

“Nothing in the back of the house,” Ricky announced as he and Yvette came back into the living room. “No sign of them.”

Amaury exchanged a terse look with Samson. Their mates had been taken, and any blood-bonded vampire would give his own life to have his mate returned unharmed. Never in the last four hundred years had he ever thought he’d feel what he felt right now: devastation. Not even the pain he’d experienced in his head all these years could compare to it. Nothing felt as painful as knowing Nina was in the hands of a madman.

“We need to find out what happened and where he’s taken them.” Samson glanced in Gabriel’s direction.

“I’m sorry, Samson: I can’t lock onto Carl’s memories while he’s unconscious. We need to wait until he comes to.”

Amaury shook his head. “We don’t have time. Nina is injured. I smelled her blood.”

He paced nervously. What if the injury was life threatening? He could heal her with his blood, but he had to get to her. He needed to do something.

“She must have been fighting him when he took them. Always the fighter,” he mumbled to himself. He cast a look at Samson who stood motionless next to Gabriel.

“How can you be so calm?”

Samson’s lips pressed into a thin line. “It doesn’t help either Delilah or Nina if we lose our heads. That’s not how we can save them.”

Amaury huffed, but kept his next comment to himself.

Samson put a hand on his shoulder. “I know exactly what you feel right now. I’m going through the same thing.” For a moment the pain was evident in his hazel eyes. Yes, he suffered as much as Amaury did, if not more. Not only did Samson stand to lose his mate, but also his unborn child. Even without his gift, Amaury recognized the pain in his friend.

He clasped his hand over Samson’s. “I know.”

“Upstairs is clear.” Zane and Quinn entered the room. “It must have all happened downstairs. Nothing was disturbed upstairs. No sign of forced entry.”

“You mean they let him in?” Samson asked.

“That’s what it looks like.” Zane nodded at the door. “It doesn’t look like the front door is damaged.”

There was a loud groan from the floor. Everybody’s eyes snapped to Carl who’d released Oliver’s wrist and coughed.

Samson dropped down to his level. “Carl, we nearly lost you.”

“I couldn’t stop them.” Carl’s eyes lowered in shame.

“How many were there?”

“Three. Luther, I recognized him, and two others.” His voice was still weak.