Born in Twilight (24 page)

“This place is fabulous,” Tamara said, sinking into one of the chairs. The thing seemed to hug her. “I wonder if the plumbing is finished? What I wouldn't give for a hot bath about now.”

Jameson stiffened. “You won't be staying that long.” Tamara lifted her head, and eyebrows at the same time. “What do you mean? We can't very well go on, Jamey, with them blocking the road.”

“You know damned well you can,” he told her. “You just take to the woods, and skirt around them. Borrow another vehicle south of town and continue from there.”

Roland tilted his head to one side. Eric crooked a brow. “What about you?”

“I'm staying,” he said. “I'll stick around just long enough to find out what they're looking for. If it isn't my daughter, then I'll move on exactly the way you did.”

“And go back to White Plains?” Eric asked.

He only nodded.

Tamara got up, pacing, running her hands over the crocheted afghan that was draped over the back of the sofa. “We'll all stay,” she said, though it was obvious she knew he'd argue. “And then we'll leave together.”

“Tam—”

“Jameson is right.” It was Angelica who spoke, and they all turned to face her, with surprise in their eyes. “You're good friends, but you were already nearly killed in this search. I know you want to help us. But think of what it would do to Jameson if one of you lost your life in the process. Think of how he would feel.”

Grating his teeth, Eric nodded. Roland lowered his head. Even Rhiannon seemed resigned.

“There's time enough left tonight for you to get out of here,” Jameson said. “I don't want you trapped in this town with DPI agents milling around like flies. I won't be here myself any longer than I have to.”

He saw Tamara's eyes moisten. But she nodded. “All right,” she said. “I…I guess I'd feel the same way if I were in your place.”

“You know damn well you would.” He turned to Angelica, then, knowing the toughest battle would be this one.

“Don't even suggest it,” she said.

He drew a deep breath. “I can find out what we need to know by myself,” he said. “There's no need for us both to take the risk. Go with them. Meet me back in White Plains.”

“And if Amber Lily is here? What then, Jameson? You might pass by her and not even realize it. No. No, if you want me to leave you'll have to drag me out of here. Otherwise, I'm staying.”

“Angelica—”

“I'm her mother,” she said, staring at him with so much determination and fire in her eyes that he knew the fight was lost. “I have every right to be here. And here is where I'm staying.”

He closed his eyes, lowered his head.

Tamara came to him then, hugged him hard. “I love you, Jamey. Be careful. Please.”

He hugged her back. Then said his goodbyes to each of the others. He noticed, not for the first time, that they seemed just as reluctant to leave Angelica as they were to leave him. She had a way about her. Worked right into a person's soul before he knew what the hell had hit him. Obviously, he wasn't the only one so beguiled by her magic.

Finally, the others slipped out the back and vanished into the forest's sheltering arms. Jameson watched them go, and then he paced. He needed a plan. He needed a solid, safe plan whereby he could find out what the hell was going on in this town without being seen. And without putting Angelica in danger.

But he was damned if he could think of any way to do it.

She sat on the sofa, her fingers absently toying with the afghan on its back. And he didn't like looking at her there, because he wanted her so much it was painful.

So he stalked into what would no doubt be the kitchen when finished. It was now no more than stark white wallboard with blotches of spackling compound in regular patterns. A stepladder stood in the room's center, with a painter's apron tossed over one rung.

He turned when Angelica came in behind him, knowing she was there even before he saw her.

“We can't just sit here,” she told him. “We have to find out what they're searching for.”

“And how do you suggest we do that, Angelica? Walk up to one of them and ask?”

“Not one of them, but one of the residents of the town. It should be a simple enough mission.” She had the crocheted throw in her hands now. As he watched, she wrapped it around her like a shawl, complete with a hood that hid her hair.

“You're not going out there,” he told her.

“They've seen you a lot more recently than they've seen me, Vampire. In fact, when I was held there, very few people ever saw me. Most of them wouldn't recognize me even without my little disguise. I'll walk back to that little shop we passed, on the pretense of buying something. It will be simple.”

“No.”

She came closer to him, put her hands on his upper arms. “Jameson, please. We have to do something. I can't just sit here, it's driving me crazy.”

Jameson saw the desperation in her eyes. Dammit, he couldn't refuse her when she looked at him that way. What was wrong with him, anyway, that he found even the smudges on her face endearing? He sighed hard. “All right, if you insist on this, then I'll go with you.”

She rolled her eyes. “You shouldn't. You'd be too easily recognized, Vampire,” she told him. “You told me yourself how often you've dealt with them.”

But for once he was ready for her arguments. “I'll follow you. I'll keep to the shadows. No one will see me.”

“And if they do, they'll think nothing of some dark stranger stalking a lone woman in the middle of the night,” she said.

“My way or no way, Angel. I go with you or you don't go at all.”

“While we argue over this, our daughter could be…” She closed her eyes, not finishing. “All right,” she said. “You win.” And she lifted her head to search his face.

He restrained himself from wiping a smear of dirt from her cheek. It wouldn't be wise to touch her just now, when she was looking so vulnerable…so beautiful. “Go on, got get cleaned up,” he told her. “You're sure to attract notice like that.”

She looked down at her clothes as if she'd forgotten the state she was in. “Okay.”

He watched her go in search of a bathroom, listened to the sounds she made, the water splashing over her skin. She was quick, back in minutes, looking cleaner, but no less worried.

Not waiting for his permission, she walked past him, going back through the living room to the door they'd entered.

“Wait, Angelica,” he said, hurrying after her, putting a hand on her shoulder. “If you're going on the pretense of buying something, you'll need cash. Here.” He pressed several bills into her warm hand. Felt it shaking with anticipation of what she was about to learn. “Go slow,” he warned, “and keep your head down. Be careful, Angelica. I'll be close by if you need me.”

She met his eyes, held them for one long moment, and he thought she might have wanted to say something. But then she seemed to change her mind. She turned, and hurried out the door.

Jameson turned in a slow circle, pushing his hands through his hair. He didn't like what he was feeling. Didn't like it a bit, and didn't want to think about it. Not now, when he had to focus everything in him on finding his daughter. But soon. Soon he was going to have to come to grips with this thing that seemed to have taken possession of his very being.

Soon. Right now, he had an angel to follow.

 

I knew he'd kept his promise to follow me. I could feel the infuriating man, close to me, wherever I went, though I never once saw him. I glanced behind me often. I felt him close. But he seemed invisible.

The store was not far away. I found it easily, and thanked my stars that it was still open. Though nearly deserted. It seemed most people in this town had taken to their homes early tonight. Likely these troops of inquisitive government agents had frightened them half to death. The place was one large room, cluttered with bric-a-brac and snack foods. A bell over the door tinkled merrily as I stepped in from beneath an old-fashioned red-and-white-striped awning.

“Hello,” a friendly, male voice said, and I looked up, startled. But it was only the man who stood behind the counter, and his eyes held no malice. His head was shiny pink, with not a hair to be found, and he wore rectangular bifocals low on his nose. “Can I help you find something?”

“Do you have postcards?” I asked, trying to keep any hint of fear from my voice. The shop smelled of fresh coffee, and peppermint sticks.

“Sure do.” He came around the counter and led me to a rotating rack filled to overflowing with scenic postcards. “Lookin' for anything in particular?”

“I'll know it when I see it,” I said with a tight-lipped smile. And I began scanning the cards as if in search of just the right one.

“So you're a tourist. Didn't think I recognized you.”

“Yes, just passing through.” I pulled a card with a photo of trees and mountains and blue sky. “Seems I picked a bad time to visit here,” I said. “Judging by the roadblocks and those men roaming the town. Was there a prison break or something nearby?”

The man shook his head, clucking like a hen as I handed him the card and he headed back to the register. “Crying shame, is what it is. What the world's coming to, I'll never know.” He punched buttons and the register chimed. The drawer slid open. I handed him a dollar bill.

“What happened?” I ventured.

He shook his head again. “Kidnapping,” he said. “Some young couple was traveling just north of town, and had a flat. Got out to change the tire, and when they got back in, their little baby daughter was gone. Someone snatched her, right outta that car.”

I lost my breath. My God, could what that guard have said been true? My baby had been stolen from me by DPI, and then stolen from them by…by whom?

“I know,” he said, shaking his head. “It's a terrible thing. Can't believe it could happen right here in Petersville. Never had anything like this happen around here before. Goddamn perverts oughtta be shot.”

I caught my breath, tried to speak. “What are they doing to find the baby?”

“Well, they've got a roadblock set up south of town. Checking every vehicle that passes. They got search parties goin' through the woods, and more men going door to door askin' questions. Personally, I don't think it's gonna do 'em any good. One of those kind gets hold of a child…well, they rarely find 'em. Alive, anyway.”

I braced my hands on the counter to keep my knees from buckling. “Alive?”

“Them kind usually go for the older kids. Can't imagine what they'd want with a little one like that. Sick sons-a-bitches.” He dug for change and closed the drawer. “Here you are, miss.”

I held out my hand for the chilled coins. “Thank you,” I muttered and turned to go.

“Don't forget your postcard,” he called, and I turned back again. The card still lay on the counter. I picked it up, but I knew my hands were shaking badly. “You have a nice trip, now,” he called as I left the shop. I only nodded, and stepped outside.

S
he was shaken. More than shaken, when she came out the door with the bells that chimed with every movement. She stepped under the striped awning onto the broken sidewalk, stood perfectly still for a moment, closing her eyes. And then she shivered visibly, and she turned and she ran.

Jameson was so startled by it that he didn't react at first. Just stood there dumbfounded and watched her go, watched the blanket shawl fly from her shoulders unnoticed as she disappeared, ducking around the corner of a building.

He shook himself and went after her, all thoughts of remaining hidden fleeing his mind. He paused where the blanket had fallen, picked it up and pressed its woolen softness to his hands. Damn. Something was wrong. Whatever she'd learned in that store had hit her hard.

For just a moment he wondered why a more obvious explanation for her flight didn't occur to him. Shouldn't he be assuming she'd run away, not from what she'd heard in the shop, but from him? Shouldn't he be thinking that she'd fled as she'd promised she would, intent on finding his child and taking her far from the reach of a monster like him?

Probably. If he truly believed the things he'd been telling himself about Angelica from the start, he would, no doubt, have been thinking those thoughts. If he'd truly accepted his own rash judgment of the woman—that she saw them all as some lesser species, as animals, saw herself as somehow better than the rest of them, the things he'd been chanting like a mantra in his mind—then he'd have been furious with her right now.

But he wasn't furious. He was worried. And there was, for some reason he could not explain, no question in his mind that she had not run from him. Why?

Because she'd risked her life to save the lives of his dearest friends. To save
his
life. Because he'd seen the way she'd hugged Tamara and the affection in her eyes when she bantered with Rhiannon. Because he'd seen her slowly become aware of her newfound strength, and watched her explore it and test it. Running beside him like a mischievous wood nymph. Leaping to see how high she could go. Reveling in the beauty of the night. Marveling at her psychic powers. Taking on four armed men like a lioness protecting her cub, and frightening one of them nearly to death as she questioned him about her child.

Angelica was none of the things he'd believed her to be. Least of all, selfish. And she would not deny him his child. Not when she knew how much that baby meant to him. And she did know. Because she couldn't help but know. They were connected, the two of them. She felt what he did. And he felt…

He closed his eyes, sought for her with his mind. Anguish! Tears! Sobs that were painful in their intensity. And fear, a sickening, gut-churning fear. Those were what he felt right now, and the sensations came clearly, from her. From Angelica.

Jameson walked to the edge of the building, and looked down the wide lane that ran along its side, twisting up a hill and then vanishing into the forest. She'd gone this way. And he would find her.

She might still detest him. Hell, part of him couldn't even blame her for that. He'd condemned her for a fool from the night he'd taken her from her cell. He'd made her his prisoner, threatened her, and then given in to the physical urges he knew she could not control—because, dammit, he couldn't control them either.

Yes, she probably had more reason than ever to think of him as a monster, and to hate him. But he realized slowly that he'd lied when he'd said he hated her.

He'd never hated her. Not even on that long-ago night when she'd nearly taken his life.

Jameson turned and walked along the road she'd taken, searching for her with his mind. And it wasn't long before he found her.

Just inside the edge of the forest, she lay facedown on the moss-covered ground, her entire body shaking with the force of her sobs. He stood there for a moment, wondering at the pain he felt seeing her like this. Not her pain, though he felt that too. But his own. Why did it tie his stomach in knots to see her crying? Why did his throat close up tight? Why did his eyes burn?

“Angel,” he whispered.

She drew a shuddering breath, and pushed herself up on her hands, lifting her head, looking at him. Her face was wet with tears, her eyes swollen and stricken. Some force compelled him to move forward, and he dropped to his knees in front of her, his hands sliding beneath her arms and closing around her as he pulled her tight to his chest. “Angel,” he whispered again, though speaking was agony. “Don't cry. Please, it kills me to see you cry.” His fingers tangled in her hair, as if of their own will, and he cupped the back of her head. Her damp face pressed to his neck, where his skin absorbed her tears. Her arms encircled his waist.

“It's t-true,” she sobbed. “Someone has taken her, Jameson. They don't know who has our baby. They don't know where she is. What if—”

“Shh.” He stroked her hair, her shoulders, her back, willing the spasms to stop wreaking havoc on her slender body. “She's away from them, Angel. She's away from DPI. They can't hurt her now.”

“But what kind of person would take her? What if it's some horrible, demented—”

“No.” He clasped her shoulders and set her away from him, just a little. Just enough so he could look into her eyes as he spoke to her, enough so she could see the conviction in his eyes. “You'd feel it if she were in pain or distress. You know you would. And you don't. You don't.”

She blinked at the tears that pooled in her amethyst eyes, and stared so deeply into his that he felt she could see everything he'd ever been, or ever would be. “No,” she said softly. “No, I don't.”

“Then she's safe. We have to believe that, Angel. She's safe for now. And away from those bastards who held her. We'll find her before they do. I swear to Christ, Angel, we'll find our daughter.”

He saw her lips tremble, and impulsively he pressed his lips to them, his only thoughts at that moment of stilling their tremors. Of soothing and calming this woman. He tasted her tears. When he lifted his head away, she searched his face.

“I'm so afraid for her, Jameson.”

“I know. I am, too.” He forced himself to let his arms fall away from her. Because he knew that in a few more moments, he wouldn't be able to.

“No,” she said. Jameson looked at her, let her see his confusion. “I need…” she began, but her voice trailed into silence.

“What, Angel?”

“You. Your strength. Please, just hold me. Don't let me go, not now. I've never felt so alone. I've never needed this way before, and I can't…”

He'd sworn he'd refuse her the next time she came to him this way. He'd sworn…ah, but he'd been a fool. He could never refuse her. If she came to him a million times, he'd accept her a million times. He…

No. It wasn't that.

He pulled her into his arms again, holding her close, and she clung to him as if she'd shatter should he let her go. She turned her face up to his, and he kissed her. No questions, no worrying over the repercussions. The guilt she'd feel when it was over. The revulsion that would swamp her when she realized that she'd given herself, once again, to a man she despised. It would come. He didn't doubt that. But he didn't care. She needed him. She'd said so. And Jameson needed her, right now, too. She was the only person in the world who truly understood his anguish over their missing daughter. The only one who could. It was the one thing they shared, this agony. And it seemed only fitting they share the comforting as well.

He kissed her, and her lips parted when he nudged them with his tongue. He tasted her mouth, knew its sweetness was his addiction. He'd never get enough of this…never get enough of her. Her hands became feverish, tugging his shirt open, tearing its buttons and scattering them on the forest floor. And then her mouth drew away from his, and she kissed his neck, and his chest, and his belly as he knelt there in the pine needles. Each touch of her mouth on his skin made him tremble, and he reached down to grip her tattered dress by the hem, and pulled it over her head.

Her naked breasts tantalized him, rubbing against his chest as she kissed his lips once more, their nipples hardening and pressing into him. His hands on her shoulders, he pushed her backward, until she lay down, and then he fell on her, feeding on her breasts like a man possessed. He suckled her hard, fiercely, bit at those distended nipples while her hands clasped his head to her.

This was madness. Sheer madness. But he couldn't fight it. Didn't want to fight it.

He rose, and pulled her to her feet. And then giving a gentle shove, he pressed her back against the stringy trunk of a pine. She stood braced there, panting, eyes half-closed, lips wet from his kisses, nipples erect and pulsing. And he released the button and the zipper on his jeans, and pushed them down until he could step out of them. Then he knelt, and kissed the sable curls between her legs. His tongue slipped between her lips, tasting the salty moistness there, and she gasped. He pressed his hands to her thighs, parting them, and then he pushed his face into her, licking up inside her, growing more frenzied with each taste of her, and driving deeper with his tongue. To devour her wasn't enough, though he tried. He used his teeth and his mouth, heard her cries and felt her hands tugging at his hair.

And then he rose once more, sliding his mouth up over her belly, tasting her breasts on the way, and then taking her mouth again, holding her to the tree with his body while his hands worked to make her as crazy for him as he was for her.

“Take me, Vampire,” she whispered and she laid her head back against the pine, tilting her chin up and offering her luscious throat. Offering him everything. All of her. “Make it good. Make me forget…”

Gripping the back of her thighs and lifting, parting, he plunged himself inside her. She cried out in pleasure, and he thrust deeper, withdrawing and sinking himself to the root again and again. He felt her body responding, felt the tightening around him. Her hands at the back of his head again, guiding his mouth to her throat. “Do it,” she moaned. And he did. He opened his mouth over her soft flesh, and then he bit down, piercing her skin, and then her jugular. He thrust his hips forward, burying himself inside her even as he was drinking from her. And when she came, every part of her vibrated. Her legs locked around his waist and jerked tight, pulling him deeper. Her head tipped back farther pressing his fangs more deeply into her throat. Her back arched as she pressed herself open to take him all the way. Her arms clenched around him, and she screamed. His seed shot into her, and he held her there to receive it. All of it. And then he held her still longer, until the madness receded, and his body relaxed, and they sank to the ground as one.

And he didn't want it to be over. He wasn't ready for her guilt and revulsion. Her hatred of him and his kind. As he held her, he caught her chin, tipped her head up, and he lowered his, and he kissed her. Their passion was spent, and they were, for the moment at least, sated. Even drowsy. But he kissed her all the same. And it was a tender kiss, long and slow and gentle.

When he lifted his head, she opened her eyes, searching his face, her expression one of confusion.

“You're not my prisoner, Angelica. You never really were,” he told her. “Whenever you feel you want to strike out on your own, you're free to go.”

“I don't want to leave you,” she whispered, and for just an instant, there was something in her eyes that took his breath away. “Not ev…” She bit her lip, averted her gaze. “Not until we find Amber Lily.”

He only nodded. And then he released her, though to his surprise she seemed in no hurry for him to do so. He got to his feet and gathered up their clothes. And before he put his on, he went to her with the poor misused dress that had seen better days. And he slipped it over her head, and gently helped her put her arms through the sleeves, relishing every instant he could spend touching her.

She sat there on the ground, staring up at him, watching as he put his own clothes on. And she said, “I've been so wrong…about…so many things.”

He didn't want to misunderstand her. He didn't dare jump to conclusions, because it would destroy him. “About what, Angelica?”

She closed her eyes. The breeze came very gently, lifting her hair, making it dance. And then her head came up, and her eyes opened wide. “Listen,” she said.

Frowning, Jameson listened. But he didn't hear a thing, apart from the usual myriad forest sounds. “What is it, Angel?”

“Don't you hear them?” She tilted her head. “Bells, Vampire. Church bells.”

He felt a little shiver race up his spine, because there were no bells. My God, had his poor dark Angel been pushed too far? Had she slipped over the edge, to the black bottomless pit of insanity?

“Angel,” he whispered, taking her hand. But she was already getting to her feet, turning toward her imaginary sound, looking as if she were mesmerized or worse. And she started walking.

“Angel, wait. Where are you going?”

“To church,” she whispered, and then she turned to face him, her eyes perfectly sane. “It's been too long, Jameson. I accused God of turning His back on me, but I was wrong. I was the one who turned my back on Him. Don't you see? Hilary…she made it all so clear to me. When she was dying there in the woods…she told me God was still with me, guiding my steps. She told me that He would help her keep her promise, to watch over Amber Lily until she was safe in our arms again. And now…now those bells.”