Born in Twilight: Twilight Vows (15 page)

God help me, but desire stirred in me anew as I looked down at him there. I pressed my hands to my face in shame. And then I cried. For I did not know this creature I had become. I did not know her at all. And I was not at all certain I wanted to.

“Angelica,” he whispered, and I felt movement as he sat up. His hands touched my shoulders as if he would slip his arms around me and pull me close. Comfort me.

But I could not bear his touch. Not now. Not when I wanted it so.

“How could I have done it?” I whispered.

“Ah, Christ, Angelica—”

“You should have warned me. You knew what would happen to me if I were ever to let you drink from me. Because it was the same when I drank from you. You knew, didn't you? Didn't you, Vampire?”

Lowering his beautiful striped eyes from mine, he nodded. “Yes. I knew what kind of lust would hit you if I drank from you, Angel.” He lifted his head and looked me in the eye. “I just had no reason to think you would do it. Why would I warn you against something I thought you'd never do?”

“You should have. Don't you see what you've done? What you've taken from me? What you've made me?” I turned my face away, snatching at the blankets to cover myself.

“I didn't
make
you into anything, Angelica. You are what you are, and you did to me exactly what you wanted to do. You were the aggressor, Angel. I was barely in my right mind. Hell, if I'd done to you what you did to me you'd be screaming rape.”

I turned my face away in shame, unable to deny that he was right. He was so right.

“You wanted it as badly as I did, Angelica. We're both adults. Why are you so mortified?”

“You made me want it,” I whispered, but I knew, even then, that he spoke the truth. I'd felt desire for him from that first night. It had been a large part of what made me take him then, that first time. It hadn't been hunger alone, but lust. Even then, though I had denied it with everything in me.

“I tried to stop you,” he muttered, as I climbed out of the bed, dragging the covers with me. “But, Angel, you drove me….”

I gritted my teeth and, battling tears, turned away from him.

“You're disgusted by what you did, aren't you?” he asked. “You're ashamed. Aren't you, Angel?”

“Of course I'm ashamed!” I all but shouted.

“Yes. Yes, of course you're ashamed. Disgusted. You gave in to physical desires and made love to a monster. A man you despise and the very thought of it makes you want to throw up.”

I shook my head in denial. He had it all wrong. I had decided he wasn't a monster, that I'd been wrong about him. It was my own lasciviousness that shocked and appalled me. Not him. Lord, I was so ashamed.

“Come back to bed, Angelica,” he said very softly. “Look at you, you're teetering on your feet. The sun is coming up outside. You can't stay awake any longer.”

But I ignored him, and made my way into the adjoining room, wrapping myself in the blankets and sinking onto the settee. My limbs felt heavy. My brain, foggy and dim. I knew it was dawn. My body sensed the sunrise as it had since I'd been made over into this creature I now was. A creature of immoral appetites and uncontrollable hungers. A creature of sin, surely.

He stood in the doorway, looking at me, and he, too, was weakening.

“Leave me alone, Vampire,” I whispered. “I won't shame myself further by sleeping in your arms.”

I saw the anger flash in his eyes. “Sleeping in the arms of a monster, you mean? I'm no more monster than you, Angelica. But have it your way. I won't touch you again. I wouldn't have done so this time, if I hadn't been half-delirious with blood loss. Believe me, I'm no more thrilled by the notion of sex with a person I detest than you are.” And he turned, stepping out of my sight, returning to the bed we'd so recently shared.

So he detested me. I was about to tell him that his assumptions were wrong. That I was ashamed of my sinful nature, and not of having given myself to him. Not of wanting him. For if I were to desire anyone, it seemed quite natural that it should be him. No other man had ever even begun to stir me this way. No, I was ashamed of the desire itself, not the object of it.

But it was just as well I hadn't told him, for now I knew that he detested me, and resented my taking him the way I had.

It only shamed me more to feel a desperate yearning to go into that room with him, to feel his nude body pressed to mine once again. I still hungered for him. More now than before. The coupling had done that, I knew it instinctively. It was as if our souls had joined. The sensation had hit me before, when I'd drunk from him. But now it was greater and more intense. And if I lay with him again, I sensed this link between us would become still stronger. Each time I surrendered to this need, it would have more power over me. It would grow harder and harder to resist.

And resist I must, if there were to be any hope at all for my stained soul.

 * * *

“Come, get dressed. It's night.”

I stirred awake, only to find his hand clasping my shoulder. I pushed him away, shoving him at the very spot where the bandages were before I realized what I was doing, and then I winced and drew away, an automatic response.

“The day sleep is regenerative,” he reminded me. “It heals us.”

I sat up, holding a blanket to my chest, and examined his waist, where I fully expected to see a gaping, bloody hole. But there was none. And then I looked up at him. He stood there, wearing a fresh pair of jeans, slowly buttoning a clean shirt. And the marks I'd put on him with my nails and my teeth, had vanished as well.

“You see,” he said. “You didn't lose so much to me after all. You're a virgin again by now.”

“You bastard.”

His response to that was a bitter smile. He buttoned his sleeves and turned away from me. “You might want to dress, Angelica. We'll have company before long.”

I lifted my brows, and forced myself to look at him again. His gaze had been fixed to my bared neck and shoulders, and gleaming with that need I still felt. I was not flattered by his desire. For I knew that in him it was only physical, and that he hated me. He quickly averted his eyes. “Go on, they're coming even now.”

“Who?” I asked, getting to my feet with the blankets wrapped around me. Fear churned to life in my stomach. Surely if those DPI men had discovered our hideaway he wouldn't be so calm.

“Some friends of mine. Monsters, like me.” He stepped closer, reaching up to stroke my face in a mocking gesture. “Don't be so skittish, Angel. They might want to rip your pretty throat out for the way you left me to die, but I won't let them.”

I know my eyes widened. And then, without warning, the door burst open, and I came face-to-face with a woman who must surely be the queen of all of them. Tall, and regal, with long, perfectly straight raven hair that nearly reached the floor, and black eyes that gleamed with anger. I backed away slowly, my heart racing.

“Jameson!” she snapped in a deep, rich voice. “What reason could you possibly have to frighten her that way? Look at her, she's shaking.”

He did look at me, his mouth twisting in a mocking smile. “It's no more than she deserves, Rhiannon.”

But another woman had entered behind her, a small, gentle-looking creature, with masses of ebony curls. She smiled at me, and came to where I stood. “It's all right,” she said softly. “We're friends. We're here to help, honest.”

“Don't be so quick to comfort her, Tamara,” Jameson said, as two men came in as well, one of them wearing a cloak that reached to the floor. “But I'm lax in my duties. Eric, Roland, ladies, I'd like to introduce Angelica. The vampiress who attacked me less than a year ago, and then left me to die.”

They all stared at me. All those dark eyes, and probing minds. And I turned, and fled into the bedroom, closing the door and turning the locks, even knowing that could not keep them out if they wanted to come for me.

I stood there, trembling, watching that closed door, and waiting. Fully expecting one of them to come crashing through it at any moment. My God, these were his friends. His vampiric protectors. The ones who had saved his life when I'd left him for dead. They'd kill me, surely!

Trembling, I fumbled for some clothing, never taking my eyes from the door. What I ended up pulling over my head was some sort of dress, black gauzy fabric that brushed my shins, and straps that crossed my chest, surrounded my neck and crossed again at my back.

At least I was decently covered now. I wouldn't die naked.

“R
eally, Jameson,” Roland sighed. He turned from staring at the door Angelica had just closed, to face Jameson, his black satin cloak swirling theatrically. “Was that really called for?”

Jameson closed his eyes and shook his head. “She thinks we're all monsters. Worse than the devil himself,” he said, but he was tired. And putting a scare into the holier-than-thou Angelica hadn't given him the pleasure he'd half hoped it would. Acting as if sex with him were going to damn her soul hadn't exactly endeared her to him. She'd been so hungry for him, so wonderfully passionate in his arms…and then, she'd been disgusted by her own actions. Disgusted by him.

It infuriated him!

“Was it really her who attacked you that night?” Tamara asked, her delicate brows lifting.

“Yes.”

“But why, Jameson? Has she told you why?”

He paced to the settee, and sank onto it, sighing. “She hasn't. But I have a pretty good idea.” They were all waiting, expectant eyes on him. “Look, I'll explain it all later. Right now, we need to find Amber Lily and—”

“Amber Lily?” Tamara said, her eyes widening, her lips softening in a tremulous smile. “Oh, Jamey, that's beautiful.”

And he couldn't help smiling back. “Yes, and so is she,” he said. “Angel says that her eyes are wide and round and dark, and that her hair is curly.”

“Angel?” Tamara frowned. “That's an odd thing to call a woman you seem so…angry with.”

Jameson averted his eyes. Unusual, indeed. It was a damned term of endearment. When had he slipped into the habit of calling her that? It had begun as a sarcastic barb. But it had become more.

“Jamey?” Tamara said, searching his face. “Are you sure there isn't something more going on betwe—”

“Enough of this sentimental nonsense.” Rhiannon's voice filled the room with its tone of command, and Tamara cut herself off. “I do believe we have a situation here that needs attention. That
woman
in the next room attempted to murder one of us. Our own Jameson. And I, for one, am not about to let such a crime go unpunished.”

She took a step toward the bedroom. Jameson's stomach clenched. Jesus, what had he done? He'd been furious with Angelica, yes, but why had he run his mouth the way he had? Rhiannon's temper was nothing less than explosive…especially when someone she cared about was hurt. He jumped from his seat and stepped into her path, holding his hands up. “Rhiannon, no! Wait—”

“Wait?” she said, lifting her brows. “That creature fed on you. Tried to murder you, and you tell me to wait?”

Jameson looked past her, searching Roland's eyes for assistance. Roland only shrugged. “She does have a point.”

“Of course I do. I'll never forget the way we found you, Jameson, lying there near death in that crumbling ruin! The woman must pay. Now step aside and let me deal with her.”

“Dammit, Rhiannon, it wasn't like you think!”

She narrowed her eyes. “Move on your own, darling, or I'll do it for you.”

“No. Listen to me, dammit. She'd only just been brought over, and she thought that made her some kind of monster. She refused to feed, thinking it was a sin.”

Rhiannon lifted her brows. “Surely the one who made her could have clarified—”

“She was alone, Rhiannon, and scared to death. By the time I found her she was half-starved and two thirds out of her mind. I don't think she even knew what she was doing.”

“Make all the excuses you want for her, Jameson. She attacked you, and now she's going to regret it.” Rhiannon put one hand on his shoulder and shoved him aside.

Jameson caught himself, and stepped into her path again. “You're not laying a finger on her, dammit! She's the mother of my child, Rhiannon, and if you want her you'll have to go through me.”

Rhiannon tilted her head to one side, folded her arms across her chest and gave him a very small, very smug smile. “That's about what I thought,” she said. “Well now, perhaps you'd best remember this little episode, Jameson dear, before you go terrorizing the poor creature again.” She poked him in the center of the chest with a long, dagger-sharp nail. “Because if you don't, you'll answer to
me.
” And then she turned to Roland, and winked. “Thank you, darling, for not interfering.”

“I knew you were pulling Jameson's chain, Rhiannon. And I was certain you had a point to make.”

Eric lowered his head, shaking it slowly and sighing. “You had me worried,” he admitted. “I thought blood was about to be shed.”

Tamara laughed aloud. “And
I
thought you were going to step in and ruin everything,” she said to Eric.

Jameson just shook his head as his tense muscles finally uncoiled. He'd thought Rhiannon seriously meant to do Angelica harm. He should have known better. The witch was just tormenting him, trying to prove some obscure point or other. “Damn you for that, Rhiannon.”

“You'll thank me for it someday,” she told him. “Now step aside so Tamara and I can attempt to speak with the woman you were so willing to risk your life for.”

“I wouldn't call that risking my life,” he said, but he moved. Now that he knew Rhiannon wasn't going to hurt Angelica, he was more than willing to let her pass.

Rhiannon lifted her regal brows. “Then you don't know me very well.” Then she sailed past him. With a penetrating glance at the door, which released the locks, she walked into the bedroom, Tamara close on her heels.

“Now, Jameson,” Roland said, stepping to the minirefrigerator and opening it. “Where are they keeping this daughter of yours?”

 * * *

Rhiannon was like an ancient queen. She wore a skintight, scarlet dress that swept the floor at her feet, with a dramatically plunging neckline. Her nails were long and sharp and painted bloodred.

Tamara looked like an ordinary young woman. She wore jeans, as Jameson seemed always to wear, too, and a turquoise sweater with pale flowers embroidered all over it. She was petite, soft-spoken, and had a warm, easy smile. Of the two, she was the more approachable, or the one I feared least, anyway.

“Don't look so afraid,” Rhiannon said in her deep, rich tones, and she even smiled a little. “Jameson explained everything. You heard, did you not?”

I nodded, though I was still shaking. “It surprised me…that he'd bother to defend me at all.”

“Why does that surprise you, fledgling?” Rhiannon asked.

“B-because…he hates me.”

Rhiannon slanted a dark glance at Tamara. Tamara winked. “No doubt he'd like you to keep right on thinking that,” she said. “But now you know better, right?”

I closed my eyes, lowered my head and battled the tears that seemed always to be trembling near the surface. “I don't know anything anymore. Not who I am…or
what
I am. Or what I feel.”

“Oh…” Tamara came close to me, sliding her arms around my shoulders, hugging me like a sister. “Oh, Angelica, you're crying! There, now, please. It's going to be all right. I promise you.”

I sniffed and lifted my eyes to hers. Beyond her, I saw Rhiannon roll her eyes, and begin to pace. “How can you not know
what
you are, dear? You're immortal! All this blubbering is no more than a waste of time. You should be reveling in your new nature.
Relishing
it!”

“Rhiannon, it's harder for some. Be patient.” Tamara turned again to me, her eyes very large and very kind. I was surprised to see such things in the eyes of one of the damned. “It takes time, Angelica. But soon you'll realize that you're the same woman you were before. The changes are only physical. So your diet has changed, and you're stronger now. Your senses are heightened, and you'll never die of those bothersome ‘natural causes' that take so many mortals. You won't age. But deep down, inside, where it counts, you're just the same.”

I faced this sweet-faced vampiress, more ashamed than I'd ever been, and I shook my head. “But I'm
not.”
“Sure you are. I'll prove it to you. Tell me, what did you do before you were brought over?”

I blinked away my tears. “I was…I was studying with the Solemn Order of the Sisters of Mercy. In another week, I'd have taken my solemn vows, and…” I broke off there as the two women looked at each other, eyes wide.

“You were…” Rhiannon whispered, “a
nun?
”

“Almost,” I said.

“Good God, no wonder you're so thoroughly distraught!” Rhiannon paced across the floor. “Certainly not a candidate for immortality,” she ranted. “Not this kind, at least. Who brought you over? He took you by force, didn't he? You certainly didn't ask for this! Tell me his name and I'll teach him a lesson about—”

“He's…he's dead.”

Rhiannon seemed to skid to a halt in the center of the bedroom.

I lifted my chin and met her astounded eyes, ready to take whatever punishment she'd attempt to dole out, as I confessed my dark secret. Not only had I attacked her friend and left him for dead, I had actually murdered another of her kind. But I wasn't going to deny it. “He killed an innocent man, right in front of me,” I said. “And then he tried to force me to do the same, to a boy. Just a frightened boy. And I couldn't. So I…” I closed my eyes, swallowed the lump that came into my throat, nearly choking me.

Rhiannon came closer, staring down into my face. “You killed him, didn't you?”

I opened my eyes, but was unable to face her. Looking at my hands in my lap, I nodded once. Only silence came from the two, and when I got up the nerve to look at them again, Rhiannon's lips had curved very slightly at the corners in a mysterious, Mona Lisa smile.

“My, my,” she said. “You might just be made of sterner stuff than is at first apparent.”

“He deserved what he got,” Tamara said softly. “You mustn't blame yourself, Angelica. It's not a sin to kill in defense of another.”

“I wasn't defending anyone when I nearly killed Jameson, though, was I?” I turned and paced away from the two of them, miserable and disgusted with myself. They seemed so good, and so sure of themselves. Graceful and wise, and somehow quite comfortable with what they were. Why couldn't I be like them? I wondered.

“Well,” Rhiannon said, “there might have been a bit more involved there.”

“Yes,” I said. “I was hungry. Such a selfish reason to hurt someone.”

“Somehow I doubt you hurt him much.” Rhiannon's eyes met Tamara's, and it seemed to me they twinkled. “The taking of blood from a living being is more than simply feeding, darling. As I'm certain you learned that night. It's quite sexual, actually. At least, it is if there is already an attraction there.”

I know I blushed. I averted my eyes.

“Don't be embarrassed,” Tamara said. “It takes some getting used to, Angelica. This must be very hard on you. But believe me, if you're still having…
feelings
for Jameson, it's only natural. Once you drink from a man, any existing attraction sort of…well, gets magnified.”

“Magnified, hell, it explodes,” Rhiannon added. “But it should be a comfort to you to know that it works the same way on him.” She smiled more fully now. “And from the way he stepped in front of me to protect you, fledgling, I suspect you two have exchanged a bit more than blood by now.”

“Please, I can't bear to talk about this anymore!” I turned my back to them both, covering my face with my hands.

“Rhiannon,”
Tamara scolded. “Can't you see she's mortified by all of this? She was a nun, for heaven's sake. They're celibate, you know.”

“Well then I'd say she had a narrow escape. She's obviously not cut out for that sort of…chastity.” She grimaced when she said the last word. “The sooner she gets beyond that, the better. It's such a mortal response! We're
vampires,
fledgling. We
feel
as no other creature can feel. It's the best part of being what we are, don't you see that? A gift. A blessing, really.”

I whirled on her, then, horrified by her heresy. “How can you talk about blessings and gifts? Don't you know that you're damned now? We all are!”

Rhiannon stared right into my eyes, blinking in surprise. “First, little one—and you might want to file this away in that righteous little brain of yours for future reference—
never
shout at me. Never. I am older than ten of your lifetimes. I am Rhiannon, of Egypt….”

“Here we go,” Tamara muttered.

“Daughter of Pharaoh, princess of the Nile,” Rhiannon went on. “Worshiped by men. A goddess among women. Envied by all—”

“Enough, already, Rhiannon. She gets the picture. You want to move on to point number two, now?”