Born in Twilight (10 page)

She eyed the house, shaking her head. “I don't want to be here. I want to be out searching for my child.”

He lifted his brows, amazed in spite of himself. “You can barely function,” he said. “And you obviously aren't thinking clearly. You need to rest, and to feed. Give yourself time to regain your strength, and perhaps even learn a bit about your own nature. It's obvious you know nothing.”

“I don't want lessons, I want my baby!”

He swallowed hard as he faced the blazing purple flames in her eyes. “So do I,” he said. “But it will be dawn soon. There's nothing we can do in the short time of darkness we have left. We'll start our search at sundown.”

She grated her teeth in frustration, but turned to wrench her door open all the same. Jameson gripped her wrist before she could jump out of the car, and she faced him once more. “And I
do
mean
we,
” he told her. “Don't even think about waking before me and slipping away on your own, Angelica. The place may look decrepit, but that's an illusion. My friend Eric keeps it up, and his technological standards are the highest. It's a fortress, Angelica, and I hold the key.”

“I despise you!” She wrenched her wrist free of his grasp, and turned to get out of the car.

Jameson held her there easily, preventing that. “Close the door. We're not quite there yet.”

Scowling at him, she did.

 

The house was as frightening to me as anything could have been. I was terrified. Alone with a monster who seemed to know more of me than I knew of myself. A man who'd taken me from one prison only to bring me to another. This one looking as if it belonged to a band of witches in old Salem. But it didn't. It belonged instead to a band of vampires. And perhaps that was even worse.

We drove past a tall iron gate that hung open and seemed attached only by one hinge. Above us, an arch of black filigree spelled the name Marquand. The drive was littered with broken limbs, overgrown with weeds and lined with scrub trees and briars. And then the house itself loomed before us like a giant demon. It was a tower of gray stone blocks, and ivy had crept over most of it. Large timbers had been nailed over the massive front door. The wrought-iron railing was broken, and leaned over the chipped stone steps like a crippled old man leaning upon a cane. Water stains darkened the stone beneath each tall, narrow window, giving the ghastly illusion that the house had been crying. I shivered at the thought. Beyond the house, a sheer cliff tumbled raggedly down to the sea. I could see the black water churning in the distance, and I could hear the breakers smashing against the rocky shore.

And still Jameson drove his small black car farther. He turned off the drive and drove through the brush, and as we went, it seemed a path opened out where none had been visible before. We drove deep into a tunnel made of briars and brush so dense it was impossible to see outside it. Impossible, I realized, to see
inside
it, as well. Ingenious.

And then Jameson shut off the engine. But he left the keys in the switch. For a fast getaway, I guessed. “Now,” he said, looking at me in the darkness, seeing me just as clearly as I could see him, with his velvety brown, tiger-striped eyes, “you can get out.”

Obeying this man made me cringe, but it seemed there was little else I could do. I opened the car door and got out. He was beside me so quickly I gasped in surprise. And again, he took hold of my wrist. I looked down at his hand, wrapped around me, and I knew he could break that small narrow wrist of mine with one simple twist. And at that same moment, it occurred to me that he hadn't once hurt me. Though he could have, and though it had seemed as if he'd very much like to on more than one occasion, he had yet to cause me any pain. His grip, when he found it necessary to hold me, was tight. Firm. Even unshakable. But not painful.

I thought of the careless cruelty of the one who'd taken me in the alley. He had hurt me. Time and again, without a thought.

It would be a mistake, though, to believe the two were so different. They were the same, both damned, both monsters, demons, servants of Satan himself. I would not let his deceptive gentleness lull me into complacency. I must escape him. And I would.

He led me still deeper into this tunnel of undergrowth, to a wall of the stuff at the very end, and then he pushed some of the branches aside, and stepped forward, and down, pulling me with him.

A staircase…cut into the very earth, and spiraling downward. For just an instant I envisioned the fires of hell awaiting me at the bottom, and I pulled against him.

He turned then, eyes narrow. “It's all right, Angelica. There's nothing here to be afraid of. I know all of this seems absurd, but believe me it's necessary. For our safety. Come.”

Swallowing my fears, I went with him, down into the depths of the earth, and then along a narrow underground passage. We finally emerged from it, passing through a sturdy door and into a larger room, and it was then that I blinked in utter astonishment.

This was not at all what I had expected. A tomblike dungeon, yes. But not this.

The room was large and beautiful. With a stone fireplace at the farthest side, and kindling lying ready on the grate. A fragrant stack of cherry wood stood beside it. The walls had been painted a muted shade of rose, and paintings lined them. Lovely works, and I noticed then that many of them included a fiery sun's loving rays bathing various land and seascapes. Oriental rugs covered the floors, and a velvet settee, heaped with pillows and throws, stood in one corner. An antique cherry rocker in another. A marble-topped table littered with objets d'art in a third. There were oil lamps everywhere, and doors. More doors like the one through which we'd entered.

He closed the huge door through which we'd come, and for the first time, I saw the digital panel on this side of it. He punched some buttons, and a red light came on. It was true, then, what he'd said. I was trapped here, with him.

“You see,” he said, facing me again. “Nothing to fear. Through there is a fully functional bathroom, and you'll find plenty of clothing in various sizes stocked in the closets. You'll be able to bathe and put on some real clothes. That ought to feel pretty good after all those months in nothing but this thing.” As he said it, he touched the thin white gown I wore, brushing his hand over my shoulder. And I shivered.

He let his hand fall to his side again, averting his eyes. “Everything you need is right here. There are exits from each room. Tunnels like the one we came through. They each open onto various parts of the property, so if we need to escape, we can. And here—” he nodded at the small appliance built into the wall, a minuscule refrigerator “—is enough sustenance to keep us going.”

I stared at the little door, aghast. “What…what do you mean?”

He opened the door with a little flourish. I'm not certain what I expected. A long narrow vault holding the bodies of his victims or something equally horrendous, I suppose. But instead, I saw stacks of plastic bags like those used in blood banks and hospitals. My shock must have shown in my eyes, because he tilted his head, and sent me a look as if he knew exactly what I'd been thinking. “You see how little you know, Angelica? We don't feed on the living. That comes straight out of Sunday afternoon monster movies. Why the hell would we prey on innocent humans, when there's blood readily available elsewhere?” And he slammed the door, shaking his head in disgust. “I suggest you feed. I'm going to shower and change. Don't try to leave. The doors will not open without the proper codes. Even if you happened on them by chance, an alarm would sound. And if all of that somehow failed and you did escape, you'd only find yourself out in the open with no shelter in reach and daylight approaching. You'd toast in the sun.” He turned as if to leave me alone there.

“And the sun would kill me?” I asked. I couldn't stop myself from asking. For nine months I'd existed without knowing the first thing about myself. He'd made me realize, in his crude way, how very little I knew. Not even what things might kill me. And these were things I had to understand. The questions that had been boiling inside me at first—the ones I'd buried and ignored in my foolish certainty that none of it mattered, since I'd be human again one day—came bubbling back to the surface with a new urgency. I was a member of a race I knew nothing about. Like a newborn, unfamiliar with her own body. I wanted to know.

His back went stiff, but when he turned to face me once more, his stern expression had softened. His brows rose in bewilderment. “Yes. Of course it would. My God, Angelica, you don't even know that much?”

I lowered my head and turned away from those knowing eyes. I'd revealed too much already. Anything I told this creature would be turned against me, I knew that.

He stared at my back for a long moment, awaiting an answer. An answer I dared not give. So instead, I attempted to change the subject entirely. “Where will I sleep?” I asked.

“Ah, yet another of Eric's marvels. I'll show you.” He moved past me to yet another door and pushed it open. Then waved a hand so that I would precede him inside. “Not my first choice, of course,” he was saying as I walked into the room. “But when you see the safety of these, you'll understand. Eric is a genius about these things. He's installed…Angelica?”

I could not move. I stood rooted to the floor, staring in horror at the two caskets, gleaming at me in the darkness. I could not breathe, I was so terror-stricken. Even looking at them, I could feel myself trapped inside, feel the cramped space closing in on me, hear my own screams and feel my hands beating against the lid, to no avail.

Jameson touched my shoulder, and all my pride left me in a rush. I spun around to face him, falling to my knees and gripping his hands in mine, not caring that I knelt at the feet of a demon. Lowering my head to hide my tears did nothing to keep the sobs from breaking my words into fragmented bits. “I…beg of y-you…” I said, choking on the words. “Do not put me into that box. Please…”

 

Jameson's heart tripped to a stop as he saw what his thoughtlessness had reduced this fierce woman to. Kneeling on the floor, clutching his hands and shaking. She was cold as ice. Damn. How could he have been so cruel as to forget where he'd found her? Sealed in a tiny box and left there for God only knew how long. Left there to die.

He bent down, closing his hands around her small waist and lifting her until she stood again. When he tilted up her chin, he saw the tears staining her cheeks, and he swore. “Jesus, Angel, of course not. I wasn't thinking….” Keeping one arm anchored around her waist, he moved her out of that room as quickly as possible. She was still shaking like a frightened rabbit. “No,” he told her. “God, you truly do think I'm a monster, don't you? You honestly thought I'd force you into one of those coffins, seal you inside the way those bastards at DPI did? How could you think that?”

She closed her eyes, and he could see her battling the panic that had overwhelmed her, fighting for control. “What else would I think? You said I was your prisoner. You said you'd keep me here until we found her.”

“I was thinking of our safety. Eric has those coffins equipped with all sorts of…never mind, it doesn't matter. I should have thought before I ushered you in there. I didn't mean to frighten you like that.”

He turned, crossing the first room again to open a door on the opposite side. And this time he entered first, leaving her to follow at her own pace. He went to the nightstand and bent to light an oil lamp. They didn't need it to see by, but he thought the amber glow made things seem warmer. Less frightening.

She came in, slowly, warily. God, she mistrusted him. He stood where he was and watched her examine the very normal-looking bedroom. A huge canopy bed held state like a royal personage. Rhiannon's doing, of course. She preferred luxury to caution. Always had.

“Is this more to your liking?” he asked.

She stepped farther inside, turning her head, taking in her surroundings.

“Look,” he said, pointing. “The bathroom is through there.”

She looked, nodded, but her glance returned to the bed. When her violet gaze had first fallen there, it had seemed to Jameson that her muscles relaxed a bit. She sniffed and brushed at her eyes.

Her breath escaped her in a trembling sigh as she closed her eyes. “Yes,” she breathed at last. “This is much better.”

Jameson stepped away from the bed, shaking his head in puzzlement as she came forward, tugged the plump satin comforter down and nodded in approval at the way the bed looked.

“You'd better feed now, Angelica,” he said, his voice taking on the tone of a parent instructing an innocent child. “Dawn is only a short while away, and you need the sustenance before you sleep.”

She nodded, absorbing that information. “Yes, all right.” And she moved past him into the front room again. He heard her open the refrigerator, heard the chink of glass as she located the crystal stored in the cabinet above it. Heard her pouring.

How in the world, he wondered, was he going to manage to hate a woman who needed him so desperately? She knew nothing. Nothing about her strength, nothing about her psychic abilities. Not even how to feed, or what could kill her! It was uncanny. He needed her help to find his daughter, but first she needed his help. To know what she was now, what she had become.