Born in Twilight: Twilight Vows (9 page)

“You didn't have a clue, did you, Angelica?”

Dumbly, I shook my head, then faced him and, realizing what I'd just admitted, bit my lower lip.

“Who made you?” he asked, searching my face. “What kind of vampire would bring you over and leave you alone?”

I met his dark eyes, lifting my chin. “You ask me things that don't concern you.”

He blinked, but finally nodded and stopped waiting for my answer. Apparently he'd realized it was not forthcoming. Taking my arm, he led me through the parking lot to a small black sports car that seemed to be crouching there, waiting like a bandit in the night. It was completely concealed in the shadows.

He opened a door, and I slid into a seat so low that it seemed to rest atop the road. Then he slammed the door, moved away and got in on the other side, sliding behind the wheel. He started the engine and we rolled away, unnoticed. And when the place that had nearly been my deathtrap was finally out of sight behind us, I turned to him. “How will we find our child?” I whispered. “Where will we begin?”

He met my eyes, and his seemed to blaze in the orange-red glow of the dash lights. “We'll begin by finding out which of them knows,” he said. I saw his hatred for my former captors—
his
former captors, if his story was true—flare in his eyes. Saw it for the first time. I knew that hatred well, for I felt it, too. “And then we take them. We question them, one by one, until we get the answers we need.”

“They will never tell us,” I said, shaking my head and losing hope rapidly.

“They will,” he replied, and he fixed his eyes on the road ahead. “If they want to live.”

J
ameson drove away from White Plains, and as he did, he tried to keep his eyes, and his mind, on the highway ahead of him. But that was useless, because his curiosity about the woman in the seat beside him seemed to gain strength with every mile that passed. He'd asked her about her origins. Twice now, and he'd been rudely slapped down on both occasions. He wouldn't give her the satisfaction of asking again.

But he couldn't help but wonder about her. What kind of woman had she been in life? When had she been changed, and by whom? And why did she seem to detest her own race so thoroughly?

She leaned back in the passenger seat, her head resting against the black leather, her eyes closed. She wasn't sleeping. No. Not at all. She was feeling. As Jameson let his thoughts slip unnoticed into her mind, he sensed her every aspect was focused on feeling that connection she'd described to him. The one that would tell her when her child—his child—was near. Her mind seemed almost to sniff the air through which they sped, to search every car they passed, and every building, and every field and every woodlot. And the farther they went, the more desperate that search became, until he could almost hear her soul crying out to the child.

She'd taken only a very little sustenance from him. And he realized now that it was not enough. She was draining her own energy, sapping her strength in this mental search, and as little as she understood about her own nature, Jameson was surprised at her ability to even try it. Instinctive, he supposed.

She was paling, now. Her eyelids twitched in protest, and a gentle shudder worked through her body. He wanted to despise her. And he should. He certainly should. She'd attempted to murder him. She'd handed herself over to his oldest enemies, allowed herself to be used by them, and because of her, they now had his child. The only child he'd ever have. In the hands of the people he despised with everything in him. All because of her.

And yet he didn't quite hate the woman. He shrugged and mentally shook himself. It was natural that he couldn't hate her just now. She was barely able to remain conscious, as weak as she was. Months of captivity, and God knew what kind of abuse. Pale and trembling and sickly. No, he couldn't hate any person in this kind of sorry state. Not even her. He'd worry about hating her later. No doubt it would come in time. He touched her shoulder.

“Angelica,” he said, and then schooled his voice before going on. It should have the sharp ring of command, rather than that quiet hint of concern. “Stop, you're not strong enough.”

Her eyes opened, but slowly, and she blinked at him as if rousing from a deep slumber. And then her gaze focused, her eyes narrowed. “What do you care how strong I am? You detest me, remember?”

“It's not something I'm likely to forget,” he told her. “And my only concern about your strength, Angelica, is that you not waste all of it and kill yourself before I find my little girl.”

Something flashed in her eyes. A fierceness that surprised him. Even when she'd attacked him all those months ago, he'd sensed no viciousness in her. Only desperation. This was quite different. Like a lioness eyeing a careless hunter and licking her chops. A half-dead lioness, still managing to stir up a healthy rage for what she perceived as a threat to her young.

“You need to understand something,
Vampire,
” she spit at him, making even this harsh whisper sound violent. “No matter what you do to me, no matter how you try, you will never have that innocent child. I am her mother, though not long ago I'd have believed it impossible. I am her mother. And I will raise her in a fine and moral manner. She will not be touched by the likes of you. I will not have her corrupted by your evil. If you want her…” She closed her eyes, took a breath, as if the very act of speaking was draining her. “You'll have to kill me.”

Jameson closed his eyes very briefly and shook his head as if to shake the confusion away. “The likes of me?” he repeated, searching her weary face in brief glances. “Angelica, you
are
the likes of me.”

“No.” She turned her face away from him, staring out the window into the night. “I'll never be like you.”

“And how can you be so sure of that, when you have no idea what I'm like?” He turned the wheel, taking the exit that led to the isolated estate on Long Island, which through a series of tricky legal maneuvers and several transfers of deed still legally belonged to Eric. It had been so many years since he'd been sighted there that DPI had long ago stopped keeping the place under surveillance. Eric had been there, though. And he'd been busy.

“I know what you're like,” she said, and her whisper was weaker now.

She was remembering. Remembering something that made her stomach heave and her heart race with fear. A dark alley, and an amazingly strong man, holding her down and—

“Stop it!” She snapped her head around to face him, eyes filled with fury. “Stop invading my mind, damn you!”

Anger rose up, but it was brief and gut level. She had every right to order him to keep out of her thoughts. He knew better than to read another's mind without permission. It was just that he was so damned curious about her, and…and those frightening memories he'd just glimpsed made him even more so. He sighed hard. “I don't like you, Angelica. That's no secret. But if you're to be of any help at all in finding our daughter, you're going to need to learn a bit more about your own nature. And I suppose there's no one else to teach you, so…”

She let her head fall back against the seat. “I don't want to know anything you might want to teach me.”

He lifted his brows. “No? Not even how to guard your thoughts? Not even how to keep monsters like me from reading your mind whenever the mood strikes?”

She sent him a sidelong glance, filled with suspicion and mistrust.

“It's very easy, Angelica, and once the technique is learned, your thoughts will only be readable if and when you intend them to be.”

Her head came around a little farther, eyes narrowed. “Black arts, no doubt. Sorcery. Satanism.”

“I don't believe in Satan,” he said. “So it can't be that.”

“Heretic,” she muttered.

Jameson shrugged. “Close your eyes and envision your mind as a house, your thoughts as its inhabitants. And you as the master of the household.”

She frowned, not closing her eyes or doing anything he told her to. But she was filing it all away for later consideration, he thought.

“Others wish to invade your home, and it's your responsibility to protect those who live there. So you build a wall. Pick any material you like. Brick or steel or stone. But see yourself, very clearly, building that wall, making it solid and strong, raising it higher and higher, until your house is no longer just a house, but a castle. A fortress. Impenetrable.”

A bit of the suspicion left those violet eyes. They widened, and for once, looked directly into his. And their impact, when she did, jolted him like an unexpected blow to the chest. When their gazes met, something happened. It was as if her eyes probing his were the trigger to release the memories he'd vowed to put from his mind. The feelings…the desire…the touch of her lips and…

He blinked, and jerked his own gaze back to the road ahead, breaking the powerful connection. He realized he'd missed his turnoff, and pulled a U-turn in the road and headed back the other way. Then, clearing his throat, he went on, trying very hard to pretend he'd noticed nothing unusual when their eyes had met. Her mind. He'd been telling her how to protect her mind. “See yourself as the keeper of the wall you build,” he said. “You can send messages out to others at will, and—”

“I can?”

He glanced at her again. Wider now, those eyes, and filled with purple wonder. Moments ago they'd been passion-glazed as she felt the same things he had. But like him, she'd done her best to hide it. And focused instead on the words they'd been saying. Words, floating on the surface of a still lake, while the deeper waters churned into chaos just below.

She was looking so innocent right now. So surprised at what he'd told her. He caught himself halfway to smiling at her, and checked it with ease. “Yes, of course you can. And you can hear the thoughts of others as well.”

“Yes,” she said, very softly. “I do hear them. All of them, all the time. It's maddening. Like a constant roar in my head, with nothing clear. Everything jumbled and garbled. I—” She looked up quickly, as if everything she'd just said had tumbled from her lips without her consent. As if only just now realizing that she was speaking to him as if he were something other than a monster. And she clamped her jaw, gave her head a tired shake.

It angered him. But he spoke all the same. “Your wall will admit only the messages you wish to receive. All others will bounce off it like carelessly aimed arrows.”

Her brows rose, and she looked at him, doubting, but hoping, he could see that much.

He shook his head, looking straight ahead and refusing to see that distrust in her eyes anymore. “Try it and see for yourself if you're so certain I'm a liar. Go on, do it. Concentrate. Build your wall.”

Her lips thinned and she rolled her eyes, but seconds later, he saw her leaning back, relaxing, and focusing inwardly on the things he had told her. He gave her time, waited several moments, driving slowly and looking at the coastline as it came into view.

And then he sent his mind to hers, seeking and probing. And he found her wall. Felt it there, a flimsy barrier. His stronger will could break through if necessary, but her defenses would get stronger with time.

“Very good,” he said. “Not bad at all, in fact.”

She looked at him through narrowed eyes. “You're trying to confuse me with all this nonsense.”

“Am I?” he said. And then he focused his mind on hers, and without speaking aloud, said,
We're near the sea now, Angelica. See it, off in the distance?

And he saw her stiffen, and turn toward him as if he'd spoken. Saw her flinch when she noticed that his lips were not moving. Saw her look off in the direction he'd mentally indicated, and notice the Atlantic shore.

“It's…it's uncanny. It's unnatural,” she whispered.

“No, not to us it isn't. And it can be damned convenient. Especially when you find yourself in a scrape. You can send out your cry for help across the miles, and bring others to your aid.”

She lowered her head, shook it. “I'd rather take my chances with my own trouble, thank you all the same.”

“And why is that, Angelica?”

She lifted her brows and her shoulders at the same time. “Same reason it's unwise to deal with the devil, Vampire. He can't be trusted. Nothing made of true evil can be.”

“So we're like Satan himself, now, are we? Made of evil? Not to be trusted? I didn't realize you were in such close contact with the Almighty, Angelica. Has He told you all this personally? Or are you judging me without divine assistance?”

“I don't need to judge you,” she whispered. “You've already shown your true colors. You began as my rescuer and became my captor. I'll know better than to make the mistake of trusting your kind ever again.”

“If I were untrustworthy, that wouldn't necessarily mean that all vampires were, oh Angel of wisdom. And while we're at it, let's set the record straight. I began as your rescuer, that's true. Then I became your victim when you tried to murder me. And then, dark Angel, I became your lover.” He enjoyed the little gasp that statement instigated. He even smiled a little. “True, it was only in a test tube, but we mated, nonetheless. And now, Angelica, I am both rescuer and captor, but only to prevent you from playing the role of child abductor.”

She lowered her head, closed her eyes.

“How can anyone so detest the very thing they are?” he asked, half to himself. “You
are
a vampire, Angelica. When you condemn us, you condemn yourself.”

“I'm not the one who's condemned you,” she whispered. “God has. And for some reason, He's turned His wrath on me as well.”

He tilted his head to one side, saw the utter torment on her pretty face. “You believe this is some form of punishment from God?”

“It's hell,” she whispered. “I died in that alley, and this is hell.”

“What alley?” He knew…she'd been made in an alley, and against her will, quite obviously. But he wanted to know more. Wanted to know everything.

She averted her face, bit her lip, refused to answer him.

“You know, Angel, you're really without a clue. You have no inkling of what being a vampire is all about. You're jumping to conclusions without the slightest bit of evidence. Do you have any idea how self-righteous and arrogant that is?”

“I'm one of the damned,” she whispered, her throat apparently very tight. “Do you really think I care if I seem arrogant to you?”

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered.

She flinched and turned her head away. Jameson let the silence stretch between them. Then he saw their destination bathed in the headlights' white glow, and he nodded toward it, thinking he could change the dreary subject. “This is where we'll be staying, for now. A base of operations. At least until they catch on. It probably won't take them long.”