Edge of Twilight (4 page)

She made a sound, a sob that caught in her throat, and he realized she was crying.

Edge took an instinctive step closer, jerking into motion like a kneecap tapped by a doctor's mallet, before stopping himself. He dismissed the gut reaction, covering it with his more characteristic sarcasm. Just what he needed, he told himself. More blubbering females. What the hell was wrong with this one?

The other one was beside her a second later, and then the two hugged each other fiercely, both of them sobbing. The other girl was clearly the mortal one. She had short hair, as blond as his own. It would be curly if allowed to grow long, but in its present state it shot out in all directions in a stylized mess that looked good on her. She was attractive. She smelled faintly of magic. He thought she'd been doing more than stocking the shelves and managing the register in that shop of hers. She'd been studying, experimenting a bit, and keeping it to herself, he thought.

“I can't wait until morning, Alicia,” Amber said, when she could control her sobbing enough to speak. “I need to leave sooner. As soon as I can get ready.” She sniffled, wiping her eyes and stepping out of the other woman's arms. “I didn't see any sense in giving Mom a reason to object.”

“And she would have. She's trying, Amber, but she can't help but be overprotective. Throw a few things in a
bag, hon. I'll go online and get the directions while you pack.”

Amber nodded, and the two went up the exterior stairs to the second floor apartment, arm in arm, locking the door behind them.

Not that a locked door had ever been a problem for Edge.

E
dge couldn't take his eyes off the woman, and she was that, a woman, not a girl, and not a child—of promise or anything else. Twice, she stopped what she was doing, went very stiff and alert. She felt his presence, despite all his efforts to conceal it. She felt his eyes on her.

He leaned against the bricks on the little balcony outside her bedroom, watching her through the sheer black curtains as she packed clothing into a suitcase. Every now and then she would pause as grief swept over her. He could feel it. She wasn't shielding herself tonight—either because she thought there was no one around who could read her, or because she didn't care. He rather thought it was the latter. He wasn't certain what had happened to her tonight; he thought perhaps someone had died. It was that kind of grief. And yet, there was something else lying beneath it. Something she was struggling to ignore. A kind of stubborn denial. A streak of rebellion he recognized. A fighter looking for a fight.

It was buried under all that grief, but it was there. He would know it anywhere.

As she moved around her bedroom, adding items to her suitcase, he was finally able to see her face. She had
these huge, deep, wide-set eyes, oval and thickly fringed. They were stunning, her eyes—such a dark shade of blue he'd thought at first they were ebony. The rest of her face was beautiful, pale and delicate and finely boned. He'd never been overly fond of beautiful women. Wouldn't have given this one a second look—if he'd had any choice in the matter. But it didn't seem as if his mind or body were obeying his personal preferences here. She drew him on so many levels his head was spinning.

It must be one of her powers, he decided.

He turned away. But he had to watch her, had to figure out what she was doing, how he could best get her to tell him what he needed to know. So he looked back again, just in time to see her glancing out her bedroom door into the hall, before closing the door and locking it. She was trying to be quiet, acting…sneaky.

Frowning, he watched, riveted.

She climbed up onto a chair and, reaching above her head, pushed one of the ceiling panels upward. Now
this
was interesting. Reaching into the opening, she tugged out a large file box, one of those cardboard numbers for storing documents and file folders. Edge moved closer to the glass, riveted as she climbed down, set the box on her bed and removed the lid. Her lips pursed, she tugged something out of it: a black three-ring binder, with a white label on its spine.

Squinting until his eyes watered, Edge focused on that spine and eventually managed to read the words on its label.

X-1: Volume A.

“X-1,” he whispered. It was Stiles's name for her. Then those binders—the box was full of them—had to be his notes. “I'll be damned,” he muttered. “She's got everything he learned about her—all of it, right there.”

And maybe the answers Edge needed. The key to Stiles's vulnerability.

She skimmed pages for a while, and Edge slipped inside her mind, trying to listen in. Her parents thought these notebooks were still locked in the safe at their home, he heard her thinking. She felt a little guilty about that. Someone called Eric had made copies of everything and taken them to his lab, while the originals had been secured in the house at Irondequoit Bay. Only they weren't. They were here, hidden in her bedroom. He couldn't get deep enough to read through her eyes, to see what she was seeing—but he felt her frustration before she slammed the book closed.

Whatever she was looking for, she wasn't finding it.

She dragged another suitcase from underneath her bed, slung it onto the mattress and opened it. Then she piled the notebooks into it, lining them up carefully, side by side, then adding a second layer, narrow front to wider spine. Finally she laid a few articles of clothing over the top and then zipped the bag. She put the empty cardboard box under her bed, double-checked the ceiling panel to be sure it was in place, and then unlocked and opened her bedroom door.

“I'm about ready,” she called, snagging the two suitcases from the bed and heading into the hallway.

Edge left his post then, jumping to the ground, and creeping around to the front of the apartment again, where she'd left her car. The trunk popped open before she even exited the house. Remote control, he guessed. Then she was hurrying from the apartment, with her friend on her heels. She slung the cases easily into the trunk and slammed it, then went to the driver's door.

The blonde handed her a sheaf of papers and a grocery
bag. “Here are your directions. And a few snacks for the road.”

Amber Lily—God, the name was ill suited to her, Edge thought. She was more vibrant than amber and far tougher than any fragile lily. At any rate, she took the bag and peered inside. Then the other one took it back from her, opened the passenger door and set it on the seat. She laid the sheets of paper on the dashboard and turned to Amber again. “I love you, you know.”

“I know. And I know why you're not going with me.”

“Do you?”

Amber nodded. “I do. And I'm grateful. You're right, Alicia. I need to go alone.”

“I'll come later. Give you a few days to be alone with Will.”

Who the hell was Will? Edge wondered. And he wondered it with a passion that surprised him.

“I don't know how alone I'll be. Aunt Rhi's there. And don't forget ‘Fina. I'll be lucky if she lets him out of her sight.”

“She's not going to handle this well.”

“I can't imagine her handling it at all,” Amber said. She lowered her head. “God, they're so in love. I just don't know how she'll go on if he dies.”

“I'm afraid…she might decide not to try,” Alicia said softly.

Amber stared into her friend's eyes. “Let this be a lesson to us both. A girl can't afford to fall so deeply in love that she can't live without a guy. It's too risky.” She shook her head. “God, when I see how desperately my parents need each other it scares the hell out of me. If one of them should lose the other…”

“I know. I know. But that's not going to happen.”

“It could. But not to me. Never to me.”

“You wouldn't know it to see how you're reacting to this news about Will.”

Amber lowered her eyes, sighed. “It's different with Will, and you know it.” She sighed softly. “Will saved my life. I just can't help thinking there might be some way I can…return the favor.”

“Oh, Amber, don't,” Alicia said softly. “Don't get your hopes up. You may be Superchick, but you're not a goddess. You don't have the power to cure cancer.”

“I know that,” she said.

But Edge got the feeling she didn't really mean it. He felt that stubborn determination, that fight, kicking its heels up somewhere inside her again. She tamped it down and wrapped the other woman, Alicia, in her arms. “But if there were anything I could do, I would. I owe him my life, you know. If I could give it to him, I'd do it in a minute.”

“He wouldn't take it if you offered.” Alicia kissed Amber's cheek, then brushed her fingers over it, maybe to wipe away a tear. “Go, and be careful.”

“I will.”

Amber got into the car, put in the key. Alicia pulled something from a pocket and handed it through the window to her.

“A CD?”

“My favorite traveling mix. Stroke-9. Matchbox-20.” She frowned. “Ever notice all our favorite bands have numbers in their names?”

“Sum-41 on there?”

“Actually, they are.” The two of them laughed. Amber took the CD from its case and slid it into the player. Music, smooth and mellow, wafted from the car. Amber put the car in gear, pulled it slowly away from the curb.

Alicia stood there for a long time, watching her, waving.

Edge tore himself away from the emotional goodbye long enough to dash into the apartment—the two women had left the door unlocked, and the one who might sense him there was gone. He moved through the apartment far too fast for human eyes to detect him and found the computer easily—it was in Alicia's bedroom, and its screen still showed the driving directions the girl had printed out for her friend. He read the screen quickly. She was heading to some place called Harbor Rock, in Salem Harbor, just outside Salem, Massachusetts. He memorized the route, all of ten hours by car. He was slightly surprised that it tended to avoid the Thruway, which would have been faster. Then he ducked into Amber's bedroom when he heard Alicia coming back inside. He exited through the same window he'd been looking through moments ago, closed it behind him, and then headed away from the apartment, into the darkness.

A few blocks away, he found his Mustang. It had been glossy and black in its youth. Now it was dull and faded, and he owed the little car a paint job in return for its years of loyal service. It would do until he got where he needed to be, though. He planned to be riding in a fancy little Ferrari within a few hours.

Amber Lily was as soft hearted as they came—she'd revealed as much. Going by the neighborhood and what he'd seen of the apartment, not to mention the car, he would say she was fairly well spoiled, too, used to being pampered. Softhearted and sheltered.

This would be like taking candy from a baby. He would just have to be careful—because despite appearances, she was no baby.

 

Amber had been driving for two hours, and it was after 5:00 a.m. when she hit something. She felt the impact, the thud, saw the form bouncing off the hood of her car. A person! God, she'd never seen him! Her stomach lurched as her foot jammed the brake pedal to the floor. Tires squealed, and the stench of hot rubber assailed her. “God almighty, where did he come from?”

She wrenched her door open and lunged from the car, only to be jerked back by the force of the seat belt. Fumbling, impatient and clumsy, she got it unbuckled and scrambled out of the car, racing to where the man lay very still on the pavement.

“God, are you all right? I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I just didn't see you.” He was lying facedown. She knelt beside him and touched his shoulder. “Please,” she whispered. “Please be all right.”

He moaned, and Amber opened her senses, probing his mind for pain, for injuries. But what she found there shocked her so much that she jerked her hand away from him, shot to her feet and backed rapidly toward her car. “You're a vampire!”

Slowly he brought his hands upward, pushed his upper body off the pavement, and lifted his head. “That doesn't mean I'm not hurting like hell right now.”

He turned over, the better to look at her, and she sucked in a breath so fast she hurt her lungs. My God, it was
him!
The vampire from her dreams!

She stopped backing up, but she didn't move any closer, either. She watched him like a hawk as he got himself upright, brushed the dirt from the front of his leather jacket and jeans. He wiped the blood from his scraped cheek, then stared at a smear of it on his thumb.

“How do you know what I am?” he asked, as if he'd
just thought of it. Then he widened his eyes a little, lowered his hand. “Was it an accident at all, you hitting me? Or are you one of those vamp hunters I keep hearing about?”

She relaxed a little. If he was afraid of her, she probably had no reason to be afraid of him. Other than the dream, at least. The one where she felt certain he was bringing her a gift—death in a pretty box. Whatever the hell that meant. “I'm no vampire hunter.”

He frowned at her, took a step closer. She didn't back away, so he took another. He was limping a little. He had the posture of a wolf sniffing the air, but he wasn't sniffing. He was feeling. Sensing. “You're one of the Chosen—and yet, not exactly. You're not mortal. But you're not one of us, either.”

She pursed her lips, lowered her head. “Look, it doesn't matter what I am. I'm no threat to you.”

“Not unless you're behind the wheel, at least.” He tempered the words with a smile, and when he smiled, a dimple cut into his cheek. He held her gaze, and her heart turned a somersault.

My God, she thought. Looking into his eyes had the same impact on her as it did in the dream. It was like electrocution. It made her heart race and her stomach feel tight. It heated her blood and tingled her skin. Who was he?

He closed the remaining distance between them, still limping, and extended a hand. “They call me Edge.”

She took his hand. It was large and very strong. She liked the slight pressure it exerted around hers, and the way her blood warmed and pooled somewhere in her center at his touch. “Edge, huh? That a nickname?”

“What, you don't like it?” He pressed his free hand
to his heart, keeping his other one around hers a second longer. “I suppose yours is better?”

He was asking her name. “Amber Bryant.”

He blinked and drew his brows together. “Not Amber
Lily
Bryant?”

With a sigh, she nodded. It was tiring, being something of a legend, at least among the undead. “Guilty, I'm afraid.”

“Well, that explains the mixed vibes you send out. You're the Child of Promise.” Shrugging he said, “But I'm afraid it doesn't suit you at all.”

“What? My name?”

He nodded. “No more than mine did, originally. It sounds like something fragile and delicate. A hothouse flower afraid to go outside. You don't look like a hothouse flower to me. Exotic, yes. But wild. Tough.”

“So you're saying I need a nickname?”

He nodded. “Amber Lily.” He
snapped
his fingers. “Al.”

“Al? That's exotic and wild?”

“No, but it's tough. How about Alby?” He smiled. “Yeah. Alby.”

She lifted her brows. “I could get used to it.” In truth, it made her skin tingle when he rolled it off his lips.

He finally released her hand and ran his own over his side, wincing a little as he did.