Edge of Twilight (8 page)

“H
as all the comforts of home, don't you think?”

Edge was standing in the window of an abandoned, falling-down church. He'd pushed open the shutters, spoken softly to her as she'd followed her sense of him along the beach. She turned, scanning the darkness. She saw well in the darkness, not as well as a vampire, but far better than a human.

It was always this way, Amber thought as she spotted him there and altered her course, turning toward the church. Everything she did, every talent she had, she weighed against the norms of the undead and of the living, trying to figure out where she fit.

She walked up to the window, stood on the ground looking up at him, six feet above her. “So does this luxury beach house have a door, or…?”

He reached down, bending low. She took his hand, and he easily pulled her up and inside. Her body slammed into his as she landed, and he wrapped his free arm around her waist as if to steady her, and kept her there.

She lifted her head, saw the mischief in his eyes and the heat around the edges of his smile. She felt the firmness of his body against hers and the power of his arms
around her. It felt far too good, made her want far too much more.

He let her go all too soon and turned to walk around the crumbling ruin. She scanned the place, taking in every detail. The duffel bag slung on one of the pews, the other pew that had been placed on the dais, and the odd items that sat upon it among some candles that had been recently snuffed. He watched her look around the place.

“Well?” he asked. “You approve?”

“It's a hovel.”

He shrugged. “Yeah, but it's home.” He brushed a layer of dust off an empty pew, and she sat down.

“You should have stayed with us at the house. Could've had your own room, a soft bed, indoor plumbing….”

“Here I have my own bell.” When she frowned, he pointed upward, and she saw the rope hanging from a hole in the ceiling. “Up above, it's open clear to the steeple. There's a bell at the other end of this rope.”

“If you ring it, you'll blow your cover.”

“It
is
a dilemma.”

She smiled at him. “So what's with the little altar?” As she said it, she nodded toward the pew with the candles and other items. “You into Voodoo or something?”

“It's only a few mementos.”

Sliding off her pew, she moved closer to take a better look. “You mind?”

He shrugged, so she examined the items more closely, even picking up one or two. An earring, a pair of barrettes. “So you wore an earring and barrettes when you were alive?”

“Not exactly.”

She handled the switchblade, examining the initials engraved in the bone handle. B. R. “These aren't yours, are they?”

“Are now.”

He was shifting his weight, his eyes moving rapidly from his keepsakes to her hands on them. It made him uncomfortable, her handling these things. She put the blade down carefully. “If you don't want to tell me, just say so.”

Again, he only shrugged, then turned away. “So what's the deal? Back at the mansion, I mean?”

It was hardly a mansion. She averted her eyes. “I told you about Willem. He's mortal, and he's sick.”

“Dying,” he said.

She sighed. “Not if I have anything to say about it.”

“There's the rub, though, isn't it?” She looked at him sharply. “You don't have anything to say about it. Do you?”

She shrugged. “You might be surprised.”

He licked his lips. “That Egyptian Princess—she bled you, didn't she?”

Amber frowned. “With my full consent.”

“I thought as much. Otherwise I'd have torn into her.”

That brought a smile to her face. He saw it and tipped his head. “What, you think I'd have trouble with her?”

“I don't think, I know.”

He rolled his eyes. “I'm tougher than I look, you know.”

“You look plenty tough. Don't get all offended.”

He sighed. “Doesn't matter. If I'd thought she was harming you—”

“You'd have fought to defend me, huh?”

“Do you doubt it?” He was serious now, his eyes darkening, taking on a look of intense emotion. She got the feeling he was lying but decided to believe. He moved closer, cupped her cheek in one hand and bent toward
her. He was going to kiss her. And she wanted him to, but she knew damn well she was going to lose her focus the minute his mouth touched hers. So she spoke just before it did, while his eyes were closed and his breath was fanning her face.

“What do you really want from me, Edge?”

It caught him off guard. His eyes popped open, and they held the expression of a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. But he caught himself fast, banished the guilty look and replaced it with a lecherous one. “I thought we'd start with the kissing. From there, I have all sorts of ideas.”

Her stomach knotted a little at the suggestion of sex, even though he hadn't actually said it. He didn't have to say it. He practically oozed it. “Beyond that, I mean,” she managed, her words emerging hoarsely from a throat that had gone tight. “Why did you fling yourself in front of my car last night? Why are you pretending to be interested in me now?”

He blinked at her as if in confusion. “Do you cast a reflection, Alby?”

Frowning, she nodded. “Yes. Why?”

“Just wondering if you've ever seen yourself in a mirror.”

She rolled her eyes, told herself not to let his smooth, slow words make her lose track of her mission here, and gently extricated herself from his full body embrace.

“If you have, why would you accuse me of pretending to want you?”

“You've only known me for twenty-four hours, Edge, and half of those you were resting.”

“I wanted you in the first ten seconds,” he said. Then he shrugged. “Being female and half mortal, I suppose you're one of those who believes it's necessary to get to
know a person before indulging in an exchange of mutual ecstasy.”

“Well, yeah. Especially with someone who's being less than honest about his motives.”

“I'm being perfectly honest, Alby. I'm not declaring eternal love, and I'll tell you up-front that I never will. Hell, I'm not even sure I like you much at this point. This—” he ran a finger along her cheek until she shivered “—is purely physical.” He ran his hand slowly down her neck, to her shoulder, from her shoulder down her back, following the curve of her spine. His fingertips left a tingling wave of sensation in their wake. His hand kept sliding lower, until she stepped away from his touch. “I don't believe in self-denial,” he said softly.

“Then I'll do the denying.”

“Hell.” He heaved a sigh and flung himself onto one of the pews, sitting heavily. “So why are you here, Alby? If you didn't come to let me ravish you, what are you doing here?”

She bit her lip. “I already told you, I want to know why you're interested in me. What were you doing on that road?”

“Walking to Salem.”

“Why?”

“Because my car died. I told you that.”

“And why did you throw yourself in front of my car and pretend I hit you?”

He pursed his lips, lowered his gaze to the floor, sighed. “All right. All right, you're too smart for me. I did do that. I thought it was my best shot at getting a ride.” He licked his lips and searched her eyes. “I had no idea who you were, though. Not until after the fact. And I've got no reason to try to fool you now. I already got the ride I was after.”

“Not the only ride you're after,” she muttered.

“Well, that goes without saying.” His smile was one of pure mischief, and it turned her on like nothing she'd ever seen. “The only question now is, how am I going to get you to change your mind?”

She averted her face, felt the blood heating her cheeks.

“How long are you staying in Salem Harbor, Alby?”

She shrugged. “It really depends. There's a…a man who might be able to help me save Willem. If I can find out where he is, I'll leave immediately.”

He nodded slowly. “Then we'll have to make the most of our time together, won't we?”

She felt her brows rise, turned to him in surprise.

“Don't tell me you've forgotten our conversation in the car? I promised I would help you figure out who and what you are.” He shrugged. “It'll give me a chance to charm you out of your clothes, while I'm at it.”

“Right.” She sighed. “So how do you plan to do that?”

“Charm you out of your clothes?”

“Help me figure out what I am.” If she were honest, she would admit she was more interested in the other. She was half afraid he could do it. Half
hoping
he could.

“You come back here tomorrow night, and I'll show you.”

She licked her lips, nerves jumping. “Don't expect anything in return, Edge.”

“Oh, I don't expect—I demand something in return.”

She lifted her brows. “Do you?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“What?”

“This.” He rose from the pew, walked slowly toward her, holding her eyes with his. She didn't move away,
didn't even think about it. He pressed his palms to hers, at her sides, pressed his body to hers, rubbing, and she didn't pull back. No, she stood firm when he pressed himself against her, even, maybe, pressed back a little. He tipped his head to one side, she tipped hers to the other, and he lowered his mouth slowly, slowly closer to hers. Just before his lips touched her, he whispered, “Of course, I won't collect until I've delivered on my promise.”

He started to lift his head away. And Amber heard herself saying, “The hell you won't.” She tugged her hands from his and pressed them instead to the back of his head, pulling him to her, kissing his mouth. She felt his lips trying to pull into a smile as she kissed them; then they trembled and parted, and his arms slid around her waist and pulled her even closer. He pushed her mouth wider, digging inside with his tongue and feeding from her like a man starved to death. She heard a moan, wasn't sure if it was his or hers, and felt as if her very blood were blazing—molten lava crawling beneath her skin.

Finally, when the shaking was so intense she could barely stand and her mind was spinning, he lifted his head away and whispered, “God, Alby, I could eat you alive.”

The words, combined with the blazing hunger in his eyes, sent a jolt of fear through her. She'd never been bitten by a vampire before. She had no idea what it would be like, but she knew he could easily lose control and drain her to the point of death.

His hand pushed her hair from her face. “No, Alby. That's not what I meant.” He shrugged. “Though that would be good, too. I'll do both before I've finished with you.”

She swore under her breath at the rush of desire his words shot through her. “I have…I have to go.”

“But you'll come…here…tomorrow night,” he told her. Then he smiled slowly, devilishly. “I promise.”

Blinking, Amber turned and went to the window, leaped out, landing hard on the ground, and then ran all the way back to the house.

 

Edge had, the way he saw it, two options. He could screw the woman's brains out and wait for her and her friends to get a line on Frank Stiles, then follow them to the man. Or he could screw the woman's brains out and move forward with his plan to leak word of her presence in the Salem area to some of the underworld figures he knew, using her as bait to lure Stiles right here.

Either way, he was going to have her. He'd intended to seduce her all along, from his very first glimpse of her. But what he hadn't foreseen was the fire in her and the impact it had on him. By God, he'd never wanted like this. He hoped she was as strong as she claimed to be, because otherwise, he was liable to hurt her. Having her would be an unplanned bonus. Might feel almost as good as killing Stiles was going to feel.

He wondered if he should wait just a few days. Give her friends time to do their digging. Give himself more time to explore every inch of her, fulfill her every fantasy and violate her every inhibition. If he had to use her as bait, it would, after all, put her at some risk. He didn't care, of course. His goal was all that mattered to him.

And to prove that, he had to move and move now. But he would be sure he nabbed Stiles before the man got within a mile of Amber Lily. It would be a crying shame if anything happened to her before Edge had his fill.

 

The house was quiet. The sun had risen half an hour ago, and everyone except for Amber had slipped quietly
into the comalike day sleep of the undead. Even Will had gone to bed. Amber looked in on him, sleeping soundly beside Sarafina in their queen-size bed. It gave Amber time—time to mull over what she'd learned about Edge the night before.

Dante and Morgan had turned one spare bedroom into a kind of “search-central” headquarters. Two computers with cable modems attached, a telephone with a line splitter, and a fax machine lined the room. If not for the bed, which had been shoved up against the far wall, it would have looked more like an office than a bedroom.

Amber spent a couple of hours there, reading the pages of information Dante and Morgan had gathered. There were file folders full of it. Nothing solid, though. Several out of focus photographs that might have been the scar-faced Stiles or a thousand other men. Numerous eye witness accounts that dragged on in painful detail and told her nothing. She found no pattern to the sightings, no one geographical area where Stiles seemed more likely to be. Paris, Albany, San Diego, Houston. She glanced up at the world map that was mounted to a corkboard and hanging on the bedroom wall, understanding now what all the colored push pins signified.

She went online, searching for clues about Stiles on her own, but again she came up empty. Finally she gave in to the sleepiness that was creeping up on her. She didn't require a lot of sleep. Had never needed the eight hours most people needed. And maybe that was part of what she was, or maybe it was the result of growing up with parents who were only awake by night. Whatever it was, Amber's habit was to nap, an hour here, two hours there. Her body seemed to know just how much sleep it needed, and she always woke up once she'd had it.