Edge of Twilight (6 page)

“I don't want to sleep. I want to be with Willem when he gets back.”

“He'll be hours yet. You'll be awake by then, I promise.”

Rhiannon pushed the vial to Sarafina's lips, and she swallowed the contents and made a face. She licked her lips and met Amber's eyes. “It's good to see you.”

“It's good to be here.”

“I'm sorry about—all of that.”

“Don't be. I'd have torn the house apart in your place by now.”

She blinked slowly. “It's not as if I didn't know the risks. Risk—that's not even right. When an immortal falls in love with a mortal, the outcome is certain.” She looked at Rhiannon. “It's not as if I wasn't warned.”

“It's not over yet, Sarafina,” Rhiannon said. “Sleep now. Give me time to do what I do best.”

‘Fina lifted her brows. “What's that? Terrorize people?”

“Play goddess, of course.” She slid a look at Amber, and Amber knew exactly what she was thinking.

The two of them stayed there until Sarafina slid into a deep, still slumber. Then Rhiannon touched Amber's shoulder, tipped her head toward the door and led the way back down the stairs.

 

Edge sat outside the house, in the darkness, keeping his presence to himself. He'd heard the scream right after he'd left Alby's side, heard the crashing, breaking glass, and he'd immediately thrown his senses wide-open, even as he raced back to the house on the seashore.

He didn't go inside. He didn't need to. He could see what was going on just as easily from outside, just by probing and prying. It was bad form among his kind to eavesdrop this way, but he didn't really give a damn about the protocol and etiquette of being undead. Never had. Normally this kind of snooping wouldn't go undetected, but the women inside were far too distracted to pay him any mind.

The woman they called ‘Fina was grieving over a dying mortal. Willem. She was his lover, Edge deduced. He felt
her pain and had to shut it out because it was too intense to bear. Nearly paralyzing.

He wasn't sure whether the Child of Promise and her “aunt” Rhiannon were aware of it or not, but it was clear to him the Gypsy Sarafina would not go on once Willem was dead. It was coming through his senses as clearly as the images of her dancing around a fire amid a village of painted wagons and reading palms in exchange for silver in some long-ago time.

It was, of course, nothing to him. He had a feeling she'd known once what he knew now. How foolish it was to care for anyone other than herself. How utterly stupid and self-destructive it was to put anything or anyone above your own well-being.

Stupid. She'd known it once. She'd put it aside. And now she was paying the price. She would die. There was no question. Within a few days—maybe hours—of her mortal lover's death, she would be gone.

He felt a little twist in his gut when he thought how much that was going to hurt Alby. Then he reminded himself that it was nothing to him.
She
was nothing to him.

He focused again. The one called Rhiannon—with her he got a feeling of age and extreme power, and he saw flashes of desert sands and pyramids, Egyptian temples and pharoahs—had drawn Alby into a lower level room, and the two were sitting now. He opened his senses, witnessed it all in his mind.

Rhiannon, seated in a thronelike chair, looked at Alby and said, “We are not going to let this happen.”

“I'm not sure there's anything we can do to stop it.”

“Nonsense. There's one thing. And you know it as well as I do.”

“Rhiannon, I don't know—”

Rhiannon flung up a hand, and Amber fell silent. “You saw it. I saw it. Five years ago, Willem flung Frank Stiles from a cliff to the rocks below. The man should have been dead. But he wasn't. He took a boat and he rowed away.”

“We can't be sure that was him,” Amber said softly, even though she knew that it was. Edge felt the knowledge in her mind, and knew Rhiannon did, as well. “The man in the boat was too far away to see clearly, even for us. Stiles's body could have been swept out to sea.”

“But it wasn't. It revived, he survived, and he lives still.”

“Maybe…”

“An ordinary mortal, Amber. Not even one of the chosen. The rumors, the whispers, they're true. He made a serum from your blood, and he made himself indestructible. If it could be done once, it can be done again.”

The pretty one lowered her head. “We don't know how he did it. There's no formula in his notes. He told no one, not even his most trusted assistants, what he was doing. No one knows how he accomplished it—
if
he accomplished it—other than the man himself.”

Rhiannon seemed to consider that for a long moment. Then she said, “If you had the formula, would you let yourself be used in such a way?”

“I'd give anything to save Willem. How is this any different from offering a kidney or a bone marrow transplant? Of course I'd do it.”

Edge was stunned. Why would anyone be so willing to do so much for someone else? It made no sense to him. A small voice inside whispered that he would have done the same once, a long, long time ago. For his fledglings. For little Bridget. But God, he'd learned how foolish it was
to care that deeply. All the caring in the world couldn't prevent death when it came.

Rhiannon slid a hand over one of Amber's. “Eric wants me to send all of Stiles's journals down to him, along with a pint of your blood. He's working tirelessly to unlock the formula.”

Amber nodded. “But he has copies of everything.”

“I know. I think he believes there may be something he's missed, something a copy machine might not have picked up. A special ink, or perhaps some notes in the linings of the books. I don't know.”

“Then we'll send them. The blood, as well. But…what if he can't do it in time?”

Rhiannon nodded. “I'm working on that. I'm going to find Stiles. And believe me—when I do, he will tell me his secrets.”

A little shiver rippled through Amber—Edge felt its echo in him. He also felt a rush of excitement. If Stiles's immortality was the result of a serum made from the young woman's blood, then the key to his weakness lay within her, as well. Everything the nurse had told him was true. He had to learn the girl's secrets, even the ones she didn't yet know herself. He had to learn what could kill her.

And he had to be around when they located Stiles.

So he could kill the man.

He didn't think the imposing Rhiannon would be willing to take him along on her hunt for the man. But that didn't matter. Rhiannon wasn't going to find Stiles, he decided in that moment. Because Stiles was going to come here. Right here.

He had never had the chance to finish his experiments on the Child of Promise. It must have driven him to madness when she'd escaped. Like Amber Lily herself, Stiles
might not yet know the full range of his powers. He might not even know his vulnerabilities. And that was something he would be burning to know.

Imagine, being unaware of what—if anything—could kill you.

No, Stiles was going to come here, because Edge had the perfect bait to bring him here. Amber Lily Bryant.

Alby.

He would win her trust. He would learn her secrets. He would put out the word that she was here, and then he would use her to lure the man he hated more than any other.

And then he would kill Frank Stiles. It would be easy.

“Rhiannon,” Amber said softly, as the older woman got to her feet. “You'll have to be very careful with him. If you kill him, we'll never learn his secrets.”

“Oh, I won't kill him. I might make him beg me to kill him, but I won't.” Amber nodded.

“You're needed here, Amber. Dante and Morgan are on their way, but Sarafina needs you here. So does Willem. There's no one for him during the daylight hours. It's not good, when he's ill.”

Amber nodded.

“I'll take the blood and the journals to Eric myself.”

“My parents are on their way to him, as well, in hopes they can be of some help.”

“Good. We'll need all the help we can get.” Rhiannon lowered her head, smiling slightly. “If someone had told me I would one day be so desperate to save the life of a mortal, I'd have laughed in their face,” she said. “And yet, I cannot bear to see that bitch of a vampiress in this much pain.”

“It's because she reminds you of yourself,” Amber said.

“Please, she doesn't come close to me. I'm the daughter of a pharoah. A princess of Egypt.”

“She's tough as nails, arrogant and slightly ruthless.”

Rhiannon lowered her head. “And yet she's reduced to…” She cast a glance upward, toward the second floor bedroom. “I can hardly bear to see her this way.”

“I know.” Amber lowered her head. She sighed. “So when do you want to leave?”

“As soon as Willem returns.” She sighed. “I suppose it's a good thing that stubborn mortal insisted on going to tonight's appointment on his own. He must have known Sarafina needed to vent some of this.”

“And that she would never do it in front of him,” Amber added with a nod. “Do you know how to draw blood, Rhiannon?” Amber rolled up a shirtsleeve as she asked the question.

Rhiannon laughed softly, and Amber, realizing the irony of asking what she just had of a vampire, laughed, as well. Then her aunt nodded. “Eric gave me rather detailed instructions. I have everything we need in my room. Paid a late-night visit to a medical clinic in Salem.”

“Let's get it done, then,” Amber said, getting to her feet.

Edge, drawn against his will, had to see this for himself. He crept up to the house, opening his senses to determine their location within. Then he crept inside, up to the bedroom, and watched while Rhiannon tied a rubber tourniquet around Amber's upper arm. She inserted a needle in the crook of Amber's elbow, then released the band.

Scarlet nectar flowed from her pink, healthy flesh, filling the tube and spilling into the plastic bag at its end. It ran in time with her pulse, increasing in pressure each
time her heart beat. Edge's hunger gnawed at him, and his eyes would not move away from the rush of blood into that bag. He licked his lips. His passion stirred. How he would love to taste her. Just once.

“That should do,” Rhiannon said when the bag was full. She removed the needle, pressed a cotton gauze pad to the tiny pinprick and bent the girl's arm over it. Then she gathered the other items. “Lie here for a while. I'll put this away and bring you some juice.”

Edge ducked around a corner as Rhiannon left the bedroom. She paused in the hallway, looking this way and that, a frown etching her brow. He tried to draw himself inward and erect shields. He must have slipped, turned on by the blood.

When she continued on her way, Edge moved into the bedroom.

Amber saw him, and her eyes widened. “What are you doing here?”

“I told you I'd be back.” His stomach knotted. “I felt as if you needed help, felt your blood being drained. But I see I misread the situation.” He moved closer to the bed where she lay.

“Everything's fine, but it's nice to know you would have come charging to the rescue if it hadn't been.”

He took her wrist in his hand, unbent her arm and gently peeled the gauze away from the tiny pinprick. “I'm just heroic that way, I guess,” he whispered. Then he bent his head and pressed his lips to the wound. He tasted the barest hint of her blood, and his mind caught fire.

He heard the breath whisper out of her, and he couldn't resist letting his tongue dart out, licking a hot path over the crook of her elbow, tasting a tiny ruby droplet that lingered there. A shiver worked through his very bones at the taste of her.

She didn't taste like a mortal woman. She didn't taste like a vampire, either. She tasted different, exotic, and the jolt that hit him when her blood touched his tongue was far more powerful than anything he'd ever felt before.

Her fingers curled in his hair. She almost pressed him closer. Almost. Her hand was shaking with the effort she had to make not to. He felt it—everything she felt whispered through him.

Forcibly, he lifted his head away, wondering silently just what the hell kind of power this woman had. He'd never felt anything like her—and he hadn't heard anything about this part of her in the legends. No one had ever whispered that touching her could cause shock, that tasting her could be addictive, or that looking into those deep, dark eyes could prove fatal.

He had to avert his eyes and pull his insides back together, so he turned to take a little bandage from the bedside stand. He peeled off the wrapping, tried not to let his hands shake too badly as he applied it to her wound.

“Th-thanks,” she whispered.

He met her eyes quickly, knowing that his tasting her had shaken her as much as it had him. He thought about kissing her then. Not to further his plan, though it would certainly do that. But just because he wanted to. And Edge had never been one to deny himself anything he wanted. So he leaned a little closer.

“Well now, what have we here?” Rhiannon asked from the doorway.

H
e stopped in midmotion, seeing the alarm in Amber's eyes at the sound of the other woman's voice.

She cleared her throat. “Aunt Rhiannon, this is Edge.”

Rhiannon came forward even as Edge got to his feet, turned to face her and put on his most charming smile. He extended a hand. “It's a pleasure to meet you. I've heard of you. Princess of Egypt, right?”

The beautiful woman's stern expression softened just slightly. “Yes.” She took the hand he offered, shook it. “And how did you meet my Amber Lily?”

“She hit me with her car.”

Rhiannon blinked, shot a shocked look at Amber on the bed.

“It was an accident,” she said. “But I figured the least I could do was give him a ride. He was coming this way anyway.”

Her brows went up. “Really? And what brings you to Salem Harbor, Edge?”

“Amber's Ferrari.”

She made a face, not embracing his humor.

“Actually, I just always wanted to see it.”

She didn't seem to believe him. “Well, now you can.”

He licked his lips. “I, um—I heard the commotion. Is there anything I can do?”

“We have things under control.”

He nodded, then cast a glance at Amber in the bed. “I suppose I should go, then. Leave you to it.”

“It was nice meeting you,” Rhiannon said, stepping to one side of the open doorway.

Amber sat up on the bed, swinging her feet to the floor. “Do you have somewhere to stay?”

He smiled at her. “I'll find a place. I always do.”

She sent Rhiannon a pleading look, to which the other woman responded with a scowl. But then, from outside the room, another voice came.

“That's the problem with royalty. They can be so rude.” A third woman came into the room. She wore a plush robe and looked drained of energy. Her feet dragged a little when she walked, and her eyes were red, as if she had been crying or was suffering a hangover.

Amber shot to her feet, and Rhiannon turned to reach for the woman, but she held her hands up and stopped them both. “Don't.”

Rhiannon sighed, but lowered her arms to her sides. “You should be sleeping.”

She shrugged. “Tell your friend Eric his vampire-tranquilizer needs tweaking. It might have put you out of commission, Rhiannon, but for a vampiress as powerful as I am, it only produces a slight buzz.”

“If you were yourself, Gypsy, I'd show you the meaning of powerful.” Rhiannon said the words gently, though. It wasn't a real threat.

The “Gypsy” crossed the room, gently embraced Amber. “I didn't exactly give you a proper greeting, did I?”

“It's understandable,” Amber said, hugging her back.

As they pulled apart, the vampiress studied Amber, stroked a hand over her hair. “It's redder than last time I saw you.”

“More burgundy than red,” Rhiannon said.

Amber shrugged. “It always seems to be changing. Mom says I have raven hair with bloody highlights.”

She was all about highlights, Edge thought in silence. Her ebony eyes turned darkest midnight-blue if you looked closely enough. He wondered if they had changed, as well, or if they'd always been that way. Not that it mattered in the least to him.

The third woman was facing him now, offering a weak smile and a hand. “I'm Sarafina.”

He took her hand. Her grip wasn't as strong as he would have expected in one as old as she was. The power of a vampire floated around them like a nimbus. It grew with age, and he sensed a depth of it in this woman—nearly as much as he felt wafting from Rhiannon. But it was hiding now, or dormant.

“They call me Edge.”

“And you're a friend of Amber Lily's?”

He glanced her way. “I'd like to be.”

“Then you're more than welcome to stay here with us.”

“'Fina, a word, please?” Rhiannon whispered.

Sarafina shot her a look. “There's no need for secrecy, Rhiannon. I imagine Edge has figured out by now that you don't trust him, and that you guard Amber Lily like your Pandora would guard a freshly downed antelope.”

Pandora?
Edge sent the mental whisper to Amber, wondering if she could hear and respond.

Her pet black panther,
she thought back at him.

He was impressed with her telepathic skills and not
sure how to respond to the likening of Rhiannon to a predatory feline, so he said nothing at all.

Sarafina moved closer to him, studied his face. “Not that she's overprotective, by any means. There are a lot of ruthless sons of bitches who'd give anything to get their hands on our Amber Lily.”

“And you think I might be one of them?” He tried to look shocked, glancing from her to Rhiannon to Amber. “I'm a vampire, ladies. I'm one of you.”

“You're a vampire. Not one of us,” Rhiannon said, her voice soft, dangerous.

He held up both hands. “I didn't come here looking for free room and board.”

Sarafina shrugged. “Still, I can't think of a better way to keep an eye on you than to have you stay right here, with us.”

He smiled at her. “Not on your life, lady.” Then he turned to Amber. “I'm out of here, Alby. But I won't be far.”

He started for the door, and Amber came up behind him. “Edge, you don't have to—”

She stopped speaking when he turned around, snapped an arm around her waist, tugged her hard against him and kissed her mouth. It wasn't a long kiss. It wasn't meant to be. It was a message. And he thought the vampires received it loud and clear.

When he let her go, she frowned at him, almost as if she knew exactly what he was doing. Damn, she was supposed to be weak-kneed and confused. Instead she looked as sharp and nearly as mistrusting of him as the vampires were.

He said, “I'll see you again.” Then he turned on his heel, walked into the hall, down the stairs and out of the house.

 

Amber closed her eyes, squared her shoulders and turned to face the two women. “Don't even start.”

“I don't like him,” Rhiannon said.

“He's up to something,” Sarafina agreed.

“Of course he's up to something.” Amber stalked down the stairs, with the two women right behind her. She headed to the kitchen, put on a kettle, dug in a cupboard for the herbal tea blend she and Willem both favored. Only then did she turn and face the women again. “Sit.”

“Amber…” Rhiannon began.

“Just sit. Sarafina, you're going to fall down if you don't get off your feet.” She took ‘Fina's arm, pulled out a chair for her.

Sarafina sat down. Rhiannon didn't. She folded her arms over her chest and speared Amber with her eyes. “Amber, he's handsome, I'll grant you that,” she said.

Sarafina agreed. “Devastatingly handsome.”

“Hottest man I've ever seen in my freakin' life,” Amber put in.

The two looked at her, wide-eyed.

“Look, I wasn't born yesterday, you know.”

“No. Just twenty-three years ago,” Rhiannon said. “Which really isn't much longer than yesterday.”

“Not to you, maybe. But I'm not stupid.”

“I never said you were stupid, Amber, just…inexperienced.”

“With men, she means,” Sarafina put in.

“Not so inexperienced I can't spot a con a mile away. God, do you think I believe any of this? He appears out of nowhere on a dark road and I don't sense him there? He had to be shielding.” She shook her head slowly. “I've been mulling this over all the way out here. The only
answer I can come up with is that he didn't want me to see him before I hit him.”

Rhiannon blinked, glanced at Sarafina, then looked back at Amber.

“And that he just happened to be going to Salem? Come on, I'd have to be a dimwit to fall for that.”

“But you brought him here all the same,” Sarafina whispered.

Amber nodded, moving behind her to squeeze her shoulders. “Yes. And I'm sorry if it added any more tension to a situation that's already unbearable, Sarafina. I didn't want to make things worse for you.”

“Then why did you do it?” Rhiannon asked.

Amber met her eyes. “I think…I was supposed to.”

“What do you mean?”

Sighing, Amber shook her head. “No. Look, this is my deal, okay? I'm not ready to talk about it, not yet. And certainly not when there's so much else going on.” She leaned closer to Sarafina. “Don't burden yourself worrying about this. I can handle Edge. And don't give up hope on Willem.”

Sarafina jerked her head around to stare into Amber's eyes, then she turned her gaze on Rhiannon. “You're planning something, aren't you?” Amber nodded.

“Amber, don't—” Rhiannon began.

“She has a right to know.” Amber moved to the chair nearest Sarafina's, took her hands, held her eyes. “You remember when Will saved you from Stiles and threw him from that peak into the sea?”

She nodded. “We never found his body.”

“I don't think his body was there. Rhiannon and I—we think he survived.”

“But how…?” Then she blinked, and her eyes widened. “The experiments? You think he was successful?”

“We can't know that for sure,” Rhiannon said.

“But we're going to find out.” The teakettle started whistling, long and slow. Amber got up to shut it off. “The importance of our new friend Edge and his motives for coming here pale in comparison to this.”

Rhiannon sighed. “On that, I suppose I have to agree.”

Amber put a tea bag into her mug, poured the steaming water over it. “Rhiannon is taking a sample of my blood to Eric at Wind Ridge. My parents are going to meet her there. You know Eric and his science. If there's anything to be found, he'll find it. It's just a matter of time.”

“Time.” Sarafina sighed, lowered her head. “That's something we don't have in abundance.”

“Dante and Morgan are on their way, Sarafina,” Rhiannon said. “They're going to work from this end on tracing Frank Stiles. If he is still alive, they'll track him down. And once we know where he is…” Rhiannon didn't finish. She didn't have to.

“It might not matter,” Sarafina said softly. “Even if we found some way to—to do this thing—”

God, Amber thought. She couldn't even say it.

“I'm not sure Willem would surrender his mortality.”

Amber frowned. “Is this something you've discussed, then?”

She shook her head. “We try not to. He's so determined that we live in the moment—so determined to keep me from torturing myself by thinking about the inevitable.” Lifting her eyes, she said, “Or what we thought was inevitable.”

“Then you don't know,” Amber said. “And you won't, not until you ask him.”

“He's such a stubborn man.”

“Aren't they all?” Rhiannon asked. She swallowed hard, facing Amber again. “Still, I don't like the idea of leaving here with that Edge character lurking around.”

“I told you, I can handle Edge,” Amber said.

“We'll watch over her,” Sarafina said. Then she bit her lip. “Though I don't suppose that's very comforting to you, given what happened the last time Amber was in our care.”

“Amber doesn't need to be in anyone's care,” Amber said.

Rhiannon sighed. “Dante and Morgan will be here soon. I suppose between the four of you…” She let her voice trail off.

Amber didn't argue that she could take care of herself, knowing it would fall on deaf ears, anyway. How did a twenty-three-year-old tell a pair of centuries-old immortals that she was a mature adult? It was impossible. She returned to the table with her tea, sat down, sipped it and prayed for patience.

 

Edge smiled at the irony of it as he eyed the abandoned church. He'd stuck close to the peninsula's shoreline, because he liked it. It had been a while since he'd spent any time near the ocean. The sea was dark tonight, moody, mysteriously hiding whatever it held in its depths. It reminded him of Amber Lily's eyes. And for some reason, he needed to keep it in sight. So he walked along the shoreline, covering several miles of distance in very little time. And then he spotted it. The tall steeple had bare patches of ribbing, where the shingles had been torn away by the storms and whims of the sea. Its once white paint barely qualified as a decent shade of pale gray anymore.
It wasn't a large church. Just a simple rectangle, slightly longer than wide, with its back to the sea.

As he walked around the sad little church, he noted the tall windows, arched at the top, fitted with once red wooden shutters, all of them closed now with planks of wood crisscrossing them to keep them secure. At the front, the double doors were similarly boarded up. There had been steps once, but the weather had rotted them away. Only scraps of rotten lumber remained, surrounding a six foot square of black earth underneath the doors like an ugly scar.

Copses of trees stood on either side of the church, but in front of the building, scraggly weeds and a handful of saplings made for thinner cover. Edge walked that way and found the narrow dirt road that probably didn't see much use these days. It had grass growing in the middle, barely worn tracks on either side. It had probably been replaced with a paved, straighter road several decades ago. Maybe a newer church was built somewhere along it. But this one—this one hadn't seen use in a long, long time.

Moving to the side with the most coverage, he easily tugged off the boards, opened the shutters to look in at the broken window. Just as well it was busted, he would have had to break it anyway. He sure as hell wasn't going to yank the boards off the back windows, where beach walkers might notice. And the front doors would be more easily glimpsed, as well, should someone happen by. It was this side or nothing.

He brushed aside the broken glass, careful not to slide his hands over it—he didn't want to bleed to death before dawn. Then he held to the bottom of the window and easily jumped through, landing on his feet on the inside.