Embrace the Twilight (22 page)

“I am, you know.”

She shook her head, short movements left and right, over and over. “You're playing with my mind again.”

“I wasn't playing with your mind in the first place. And none of the stuff I did with you back in that room was acting. I wanted every bit of it, and then some. And I can't really blame it on the blood, because I was craving you like a drug before we ever met outside our minds. And I think you know it, because you were craving me, too.”

“No.”

“Yes. And you want to know why. What the hell it means. And you'll never find out if you zap my brain the way you did those two zombie slaves of yours.”

She sat rigidly, as far from him as she could. “You couldn't be more wrong, Willem Stone.”

“You wish I was wrong. But we both know I'm not. At least I'm honest enough to admit it, Fina. I loved every minute of being chained to that bed, forced to submit to your will. You'll love it, too, when I return the favor one of these nights.”

Her eyes widened, and he saw something he hadn't see before.

“Jesus, you're afraid of me.”

She pursed her lips, crossed her arms over her chest. “Don't be ridiculous. I could snap you like a twig, mortal.”

“Exactly. So what is it about me that frightens you so much?”

“I do not get ‘frightened,”' she told him. “I'm a vampire. I've survived centuries. Monsters. Attacks of all kinds. Vampire hunters from all ages. Nothing frightens me.”

“Right.”

Will focused on his driving. But as he did, he had the feeling he was on to something. It was niggling in the back of his mind. The key to understanding this woman who so puzzled him. And for some insane reason, understanding Sarafina was as important to him as anything had ever been. Including escaping his captors, surviving his missions, even staying alive.

 

Sarafina disliked knowing that he thought her somehow afraid of him. She only wanted to see this mission through to the end and get away from him as soon as possible. She didn't want to admit to him that she'd felt remorse when she'd believed she had succeeded in breaking his will. To admit to that would be to admit to weakness, to a lack of confidence in her own judgment.

Nor would she admit how his lies about wanting her still, about loving her in spite of what she was and what she had done to him, had stirred fire in her belly. Much less the longing it stirred in her heart.

It wasn't true. It couldn't be true. And she refused to believe otherwise, or to acknowledge the answering feelings stirring inside her.

She'd given herself, body and soul, to other men—her fiancé, her vampiric sire, her soul brother. All had betrayed her, left her alone in the end, and the pain of it had shattered her, again and again.

With Willem, there was no question that he would follow the same pattern. Even if, by some quirk of creation, he never intended to, he would leave her in the end. Because he was mortal, and she was not.

There was no future with him. None.

A very soft tone, short and repeating at even intervals a second or so apart, drew Sarafina's mind from her thoughts. She shot him a glance. “What is that?”

He jerked the wheel to the side, stopping the car and flashing his headlights once to get Rhiannon's attention ahead of them.

She must have seen, because she, too, slowed to a stop. Then she reversed her car and pulled it onto the shoulder just ahead of them. Even as she got out and walked toward them, Willem was leaning over Sarafina, rummaging in the glove compartment and finally pulling out the device that was making all the noise. It had a tiny screen marked into a grid, and a small light on that grid was flashing in time with the tone.

“Why have you stopped?” Rhiannon asked, leaning over the side of the car.

“This,” he said, holding it up. He thumbed a dial on the side that lowered the volume of the beeps. “It's a tracking device. I put the other half of it into Amber Lily's bag. It sends out a signal, which this part picks up. It tells me where she is.”

Rhiannon glanced at the box in his hand. “It tells you where her bag is.”

“Well…yes, that's true. But if her bag is with her…”

“Yes, I can see where it might be helpful. Is it in keeping with a mansion about twenty miles ahead?”

He glanced at the box, then at the road. “Are we moving northeast?”

“Yes.”

“Then, yes, that's where she is.”

Rhiannon nodded. “Then he hasn't moved her. She's still at the house in Byram. Or her bag is.”

“This will pinpoint her for us. We'll even be able to tell what room she's in when we get a little closer. There's an elevation readout on the bottom of the screen.”

“That
will
be helpful.” She glanced at Sarafina. “We should feed. Neither of us is at full strength after our little…disagreement.” She glanced at Willem.

“Not while I draw breath,” Sarafina said.

Rhiannon shrugged. “For God's sake, I would only take a little. Just enough to soothe my aching arm. I think you may have broken it.”

“You'll have to kill me first, Rhiannon.”

She sighed. “I'd be more than happy to, if I didn't need you for the mission ahead.”

“Catch a rabbit. Bite your damn cat, if you need it that badly.”

“Please.” She grimaced. “I'll just drain the first of Stiles's men I happen to encounter when we get there.” She glanced at Willem, sent him a wink. “Your loss, pet. I give great jugular.” Then she turned and sauntered back to the Mercedes. She started it up, and the taillights flashed on. Then she pulled slowly into motion again.

Will followed, but as he did, he sent Fina a look. “Why didn't you tell me?”

“Tell you what?”

“That…that you could ease your pain by, um…you know….”

“You need to be at full strength, too, Willem. If I drink from you, I'll weaken you.”

“Not if you only took a little. I've been downing protein drinks all day.”

“What flavor?” she asked. “If they were chocolate, you're history.”

He glanced at her, confusion, then surprise, etched on his face. “I don't believe it. Did you just make a joke?”

She averted her eyes, turned her head.

“Come here.” He reached out to snag her around the waist with his right arm and pulled her across the seat until she sat so close her side was pressed to his. He tipped his head to the left. “Go ahead.”

She eyed his corded neck, licking her lips. She already knew his taste. She wanted it. “When I taste you, Willem, I sometimes…have difficulty knowing when to stop.”

“Yeah, and I have trouble wanting you to.” He slid his hand up to cup her head, gently pressing it into the crook of his neck. The skin touched her lips, and she darted her tongue over it, tasting its salt, feeling the pulse beat against her tongue.

He shivered. “Do it.”

“Perhaps…somewhere a bit less apt to prove deadly.” She slid lower down his body, her head brushing across his belly and over his thighs.

“Oh,
shit yeah,
” he whispered.

With a fingernail, she sliced open the leg of his jeans, just enough to give her mouth access. She tasted the skin of his thigh, kissed it, and then she sank her teeth in.

He sucked in a breath, his muscle going tight, then slowly relaxing as she nursed at the tiny wounds in his thigh. His hand came to the back of her head, fingers twisting in her hair, caressing her nape, urging her on. She felt his hardness, beneath the jeans, pressing against her cheek.

Power—his power, which had been further enhanced by hers when he'd tasted her blood—coursed through her body. The pain in her eased. She tasted the very essence of Willem Stone, felt his heartbeat joining with hers.

And then the blood flow slowed. She'd punctured only a little, not very deeply, and nowhere near a major blood vessel. She sucked the skin until it gave no more sustenance, and then she lifted her head away.

Her pulled her close to him, and she rested her head on his shoulder as he drove for several minutes.

“Better?” he asked at length, his voice a little coarse but in control. “I'm not feeling the pain like I was before.”

“Yes. Much better.” She lifted her head. “And you? Did I take too much?”

“Hell, no. Only next time, I think it might be a good idea to stop the car first.”

She'd been relaxing against him, almost snuggling. As if they were a couple in love. But she stiffened, sitting up slowly, smoothing her hair, and putting cold, empty space in between them.

“There…won't be a next time.”

“The hell there won't.”

She shot him a look. He averted his eyes. “Okay, look,” he said, “you had a good point back there—about there being more important things to worry about right now. But when this is over—”

She pressed a finger to his lips. “Don't.”

He kissed the finger, nodded. “Okay. I won't. Yet.”

She closed her eyes and leaned back against her headrest. Perhaps her relief had been misplaced. Perhaps her efforts to makes him hers to command had worked after all. She hated the idea. But why else would he be acting the way he was?

A
ngelica sat on the floor of the cell, awake, but weak. Stiles had been sure to keep them weak. They had been given sustenance, but knowing it to be drugged, they hadn't imbibed. Roland had poured it out onto the floor in case their hunger became strong enough to overwhelm their common sense.

“This used to be part of Eric's safe haven,” Roland said softly. He was sitting on the far side of the sublevel room. “It was nicer then. Furniture, lamps. Even music.”

Angelica looked around the room, remembering what it had been like before. Sections had been walled off, including the one that led to the secret underground exit. It was nothing but a concrete square now. The only way in or out was a barred doorway that had once consisted of a false wine rack. And none of them were strong enough to break through the barrier. They'd been shot by bullets dipped in a powerful tranquilizer invented decades ago by the DPI. While the day-sleep healed their wounds, only blood would restore their strength. And there was none to be had.

And her daughter, her precious Amber Lily, was in this house. Angelica could feel her. She was frightened and alone, though they hadn't subjected her to torture—not yet, at least. She didn't think Amber had mastered the ability to shield her thoughts to the extent that she could hide intense pain from her own mother. Amber had whispered to her, again and again, that she was all right. That she hadn't been harmed. And Angelica had sent the same reassurances about her own condition back to her daughter, through her mind.

But now she kept her thoughts carefully concealed from her daughter.

Jameson,
she whispered with her mind.
There is a way.

He was pacing the cell, agitated beyond endurance at being trapped, unable to rescue his child. Blaming himself for having let her go on this trip in the first place. He stopped at the bars, his hands curled around them, and he said simply, “No.”

It has to be you. I'm not strong enough, even at full power, to take on all of them. But if you drink from me, it will make you strong again. Strong enough to break through the bars. Strong enough to save Amber Lily.

“Don't be ridiculous, Angelica!” Roland said, getting to his feet. “You're far too weak. It would kill you.”

She met Roland's eyes. “I'm her mother. If that's what it takes to save her, then that's what it takes. There's no question.”

“I won't do it.” Then Jameson shot a killing look at Roland. “Don't even suggest it, because I won't do it to you, either.”

Roland frowned in thought.
Jameson, if it would save her from them—

“I know my daughter,” he snapped. Then he caught hold of his temper and spoke silently.
She could never live with knowing that either of you had to die in order to let her go on. She couldn't. I wouldn't ask her to.

“We have to do something,” Angelica whispered. “We can't simply stay here like this, waiting for them to decide our fate—and hers.”

“Wait!” Roland stood very still, one hand up. “Listen.”

They all went silent, opening their minds.

I'm here. Outside,
Rhiannon's mind whispered, and they all heard her clearly.
I've got the vampiress,

Sarafina, and the mortal, Willem Stone, with me.

Where are you?

In Eric's old quarters in the basement,
Roland replied.

The tunnel…?

Sealed off. Amber Lily is somewhere in the house.

Yes, we know. We think she's on the second floor,

in one of the rear-facing bedrooms.

Roland didn't ask how she knew that. He didn't need to know how. And time was short. Dawn was, even now, approaching.
Get her first. Get her to safety and come back for us.

The moment she's gone, they'll have no further reason to keep you alive. You know that.

Her life is more important, my love. And
you
know that.

Angelica put a hand on Roland's sleeve.
Rhiannon, the guards are sent out onto the grounds just before dusk. They know we can only attack by night, so by day they're lax.

Good.
There was a pause.
The sun is coming up over the horizon. Angelica, before you sleep, tell your daughter to let us know which room she's in—a signal in the window. Perhaps this mortal bodyguard can be of some use to us after all.

I will.

Roland spoke again.
Find shelter. Be sure you're safe until sunset.

I love you, Roland. Stay alive or there will be hell to pay.

Roland smiled and told her he loved her, too. Angelica slid into Jameson's arms and let him hold her. “I hope this man is as good as you think he is,” she whispered.

“He is. I know he is.” He closed his eyes. “God, I
hope
he is.”

 

They'd cased the place, carefully and quietly, but it had been heavily guarded. By the time Rhiannon had finished her “conversation” with her loved ones, the sky was beginning to pale.

“This way,” she said, marching off into the woods across the street from the house, her cat at her side. “There's a shack. I believe it was once used for boiling the sap of maple trees into syrup.”

“And the name of the shack is the sugar shack,” Willem said. Both women simply looked at him as if he'd started speaking in tongues. “Before your time?”

“More likely after,” Sarafina said.

They followed Rhiannon and Pandora along the path into the woods. Rhiannon spoke softly as she walked. “They have Roland, Jameson and Angelica in a hidden room in the basement. It's to the right, at the foot of the stairs. There used to be a large wine rack there that was really hiding the entrance. Now the entrance is barred. There's a tunnel that leads out, underground, but Roland says it's been sealed, possibly at both ends.”

“Maybe we should check it out, see just how well sealed it is.”

Rhiannon nodded. “You'll have plenty of time to do so while we rest.”

He glanced at Sarafina, swallowed hard. “I don't know how comfortable I am with the notion of leaving you two alone, while you're out cold and defenseless.”

Rhiannon glanced over her shoulder. “You don't have a choice. Roland says the security is lax by day. They don't expect an attack from a day-walker like you. If there's a way to get into that house and get Amber Lily out by day, do it.”

Sarafina shook her head. “But won't they kill the others the moment they find her gone?”

“Probably. Which is why it would be better to wait until an hour before sundown to take her. Any later, though, and the guards will be in position.”

Will didn't like that plan.

“She will put something in the window to let you know which room she's in,” Rhiannon went on. “There's the building.”

They climbed the last hill to a ramshackle shed. Will examined it and shook his head. “The sun will get in through all the cracks.”

“There's a crawl space underneath,” Sarafina said, examining the shed's construction as she walked around it. “Here, here's a way in.” She pulled at a loose board and peered through to the space between the dank, damp earth and the building's floor. It was no more than two feet high, and God only knew what sorts of creatures had made a home of it.

Sarafina straightened. Rhiannon dropped to her knees, then flattened her belly to the ground and slithered inside. Her cat crawled in after her.

“Fina…” Will began.

She met his eyes. “Don't die while I rest.” Then she lowered her gaze. “A stupid thing to say. Telling you not to die. It's your inevitable end. You're mortal.”

“And you're not.” He thought maybe he was finally starting to see himself through her eyes. “I'm not gonna die, Sarafina. Not today. Not for a long time.”

“As if it's in your power to promise something like that.”

He licked his lips. “You're right. I can't promise you that. All the more reason to live every single moment in exactly the way I want to live it.” He slid his arms around her waist, pulled her body hard against his and kissed her. Her lips trembled, but then they parted, and her hands curled into his hair and she kissed him back, passionately and hungrily.

Will felt the sun on his skin, so he broke the kiss and moved to put her in the shade of his body. When she looked up at him, her cheeks were damp with tears.

“If I die today,” he told her, “I'll have no regrets.”

“Oh, but I will,” she whispered. Then she turned away and crawled underneath the building.

Will stood there for a moment. Now he knew he understood. She had loved, and she had lost. Over and over again. If she let herself be with him—care about him at all—she was guaranteeing herself a repeat of that pain. Because he would leave her in the end. He would grow old and feeble, and then he would die.

He bent and replaced the board, blocking out the sunlight. Then he stood there for several minutes, wondering how he would feel if he were the one sure to be left alone.

Something cracked the underbrush, startling him so much that he spun around and pulled his gun before he saw the flash of white tail that told him it was only a deer. Still, it was a wake-up call. He couldn't stand here in the open, because if he were seen by the bad guys, they would know right where to begin searching for the women.

Besides, the queenlike Rhiannon had given him his marching orders, laying them out with more authority than most military commanders under whom he'd served.

He checked the ground, carefully rearranging brush and twigs to erase any sign of human—or vampiric—presence near the shack. Then he made his way back through the woods until he could see the narrow, barely paved road and the massive house beyond it.

The front lawn was littered with trees and scrub brush. He crouched low as the sun rose higher and watched as that brush came alive with movement. Men, garbed in camo and armed with rifles that looked like AKs—military issue—emerged from the bushes and weeds. He counted twenty and kept mental note of the way they were stationed at intervals of six or seven yards. He could see those in the front and around the sides of the house, and wished to Christ he could see if there were any in the back.

Rhiannon's information had been dead-on. They weren't too worried about an attack by day. Even as he watched, they gathered in the driveway, near the front gate. And then he spotted four more, coming from the rear of the house to the front to join their comrades there.

A truck rumbled along the road, stopping at the front gate, and the men, looking tired, climbed into the canvas-enclosed back. A handful of fresh troops got out of the truck and took up positions, two in the front of the house and two others in the rear. Then the truck began maneuvering its oversize bulk in the narrow road, to turn around and return the way it had come.

Glancing back toward where he'd left the women, Will made a snap decision he hoped he wouldn't regret. Then he started toward where they had left the vehicles. His bad leg kept him from moving as fast as he would have liked. By the time he reached the cars, it was throbbing, and the truck had already gone by. But it moved slowly. He could catch it.

He dove into his car, fished for the keys and drove. He didn't have to keep the truck in sight. It was raising enough of a dust cloud so that he managed to follow that instead.

But only until it hit the highway ten miles later.

Once it did, he had no idea how far it would travel, and he didn't want to risk leaving the women that long. But he had another thought. He followed the highway to the nearest town, found a hardware store. He bought a chainsaw, and gas and oil for it. Then he returned and reconcealed the car far enough away that the noise he was about to make wouldn't reach the soldiers posted outside the house.

“Now we're playing my game,” he said softly, as he got out of the hidden car and set to work. “And dead or undead, nobody beats me at my game.”

When he finished, he opened the trunk of his car to stow the saw—and he remembered the bag he'd stashed there. The stuff good ol' Mike had sold him. Perfect.

He retrieved the package and, with the help of a sturdy limb, limped the two miles back to what he was beginning to consider his base of operations, then made his way toward that tunnel Rhiannon had mentioned.

 

Sarafina woke and lay still in the tiny, damp crawl space, listening, feeling the vibrations around her, waiting until she was certain no one was about before she even dared to move.