Embrace the Twilight (16 page)

She lifted and lowered herself rapidly, her body slamming down over his so powerfully it hurt, and yet the pleasure was so intense it didn't matter. It all blurred together, the pain and ecstasy, melding into one blinding sensation too potent to identify.

The orgasm rocked him to the core. And as the waves subsided, he realized her forefinger was in his mouth and he was sucking at it like a nicotine addict sucking on a cigarette.

He turned his head away, letting her finger go. And only when she moved her hand away did he dare to look up at her face. She wasn't looking at him but straight ahead, or maybe within herself. She looked…off. Upset. As if someone had just hit her upside the head with a two-by-four and she was still seeing stars. He hoped that was how she felt. It was how
he
felt, and he would have hated like hell to be there alone.

“Sarafina,” he whispered. “I felt everything you felt, just now.” He arched against her, still inside her, causing delicious friction that made her close her eyes and shiver with pleasure. “God, I still do,” he said.

“Quiet.”

“But, Fina…”

She pressed her forefinger to his lips to silence him. A scarlet drop beaded there, and he couldn't stop himself from licking it away.

“Sleep, Willem. Sleep and let the elixir of my blood do its work. Once it has…” A single tear rolled freely down her cheek. “Once it has, you won't lie to me anymore.”

He was tired, some heavy weight settling over him, even as she slid hers off him and got to her feet on the floor. “It won't work, Sarafina. Not on me. I'll never become like your drones are. Mindless, obeying without question. It's gonna be different with me, Sarafina.”

“Silence.” She smoothed her dress down over her hips, leaned over him to press her mouth to his again.

When she lifted it away, he said, “It's already different with me. You're drowning in me as much as I am in you, aren't you?”

“Sleep,” she commanded, straightening, turning toward the door.

But before she did, Will saw more tears welling in her eyes. They flowed like rivers over her flawless, pale skin. A sob was torn from her chest as she fled from him.

 

Rhiannon liked the modern conveniences, though Roland detested them. She liked flying by jet, when she could get a red-eye flight that posed no danger of exposure to the sun. She liked fast cars, though Roland's dislike of motor vehicles bordered on the phobic. She liked clothes and furs and jewels, and she liked music and art and travel.

Roland had very few likes and only a handful of passions. She was, of course, one of those. His dear Jameson was another; like a son to him, though Rhiannon herself had been of the opinion the young one could use a good thrashing more than once since she'd known him. And this was one of those times.

“I'm so sorry that Amber Lily isn't here to see you,” Jameson said as he hugged Roland, slapping his back in manly fashion.

“No matter. We didn't exactly warn you we'd be stopping by. We're just back from a cruise to Hawaii. Driving cross-country by night in one my beloved's cursed autos, naturally, and we couldn't pass by without stopping to say hello.”

Rhiannon listened to Roland fill Jameson in on the details of their cruise, her eyes locked with the meek and mild Angelica's the entire time. She waited for Roland to pause in his conversation before saying, “What do you mean, Amber Lily isn't here?”

Angelica sighed, looking away. “I was against it, Rhiannon.”

“I have to say, this is a
nice
place you've found,” Roland said, as always, trying to play the peacemaker.

“It's a gloomy, isolated, ancient mansion on the foggy, rainy shore of Lake Michigan,” Rhiannon said. “Of course
you
think it's nice. Now, if you don't mind, can we find out where my precious niece is?”

Roland sent her an adoring, indulgent smile, nodded once, and Rhiannon turned to Jameson, crossing her arms over her chest and waiting.

“She and Alicia are celebrating their high school graduation with a week in New York.”

She blinked slowly. Her hands curled into fists so that her nails pierced her hands. “By themselves?”

“Rhiannon, I'm her father. I know her. And trust me when I tell you that if I hadn't let her go, she would have run off on her own.”

“And you couldn't at least wait for a time when we were in residence so I could keep an eye on her?”

“Rhiannon, Jameson and Angelica surely know what's best for their own daughter,” Roland said softly. Though she knew he had doubts.

“Angelica has already stated she was against the idea,” Rhiannon said. “Obviously she hasn't yet learned to stand her ground.”

“Or maybe it's just that I trust my husband's judgment,” Angelica snapped, then she turned on her heel and left the room.

“What judgment?” Rhiannon shot after her.

Jameson stepped in front of Rhiannon before she could go after his wife. “Easy, princess,” he said to Rhiannon. “I'm not as stupid as you seem to think. I was practically raised by vampires, after all. Give me some credit for picking up a little caution along the way. Amber and Alicia are perfectly safe. I have someone keeping an eye on them.”

Rhiannon lifted her brows. “Who?”

Angelica reentered the room, a magazine in her hand. She thrust it at Rhiannon. “Him. That's who.”

Rhiannon glanced down at the cover of
TIME.
The rugged face of a man, superimposed over a rippling American flag, stared back at her. She looked at it, then looked up again. “A
mortal?
You've put my niece's safety in the hands of an ordinary mortal? Has the constant rain in this godforsaken place mildewed your brain, Jameson?”

“Spoken like a true desert dweller. This man is no ordinary mortal. Read the article.”

“As if there's time to read when our precious Amber Lily is on her own in the city. Stiles and his rogues have been hunting for her forever.”

“They have no way of knowing what she looks like. Besides, she checks in every night by phone.”

“And has she checked in yet tonight?”

Jameson glanced at Angelica, who glanced at the clock.

“Call her,” Rhiannon said.

 

When the cell phone in her purse bleated, Amber Lily almost jumped out of her skin.

She and Alicia had spent the entire day safely ensconced in Aunt Rhiannon's posh Long Island home. The place had everything. A hot tub and a sauna, a home theater with a huge screen and surround sound, state-of-the-art DVD player, stereo and computer systems, high-speed Internet, and an endless supply of movies and music.

They'd been trying on some of Rhiannon's trademark gowns, all of them skintight and floor-length, with daring low necklines and high leg slits, when suddenly the cell phone wept pitifully.

Both girls went dead still and silent, their eyes meeting.

It rang again, and Amber hurried to where she'd left her bag slung on a chair, rummaged inside, pulled out the phone. As it rang for a third time, she looked at the digital panel. “It's coming from home.”

Alicia sighed in relief. “Your mom, checking on us. We haven't called in yet tonight.”

It rang a fourth time.

“It's not like we didn't try,” Amber said. “It's not our fault my parents are dead to the world during the day, or that your mom was out somewhere. And this isn't exactly the kind of news I could leave on the machine.”

“Aren't you going to answer it?” Alicia asked.

“No. We already decided they might have bugged the cell phone, or maybe they have some other way of tracing it. We'll just call them back from Aunt Rhiannon's line.”

“Good thinking.”

As the phone rang again, Amber pushed the power button to turn it off. Then she dropped it back in her pack. The two girls walked to the living room, moving carefully on pairs of Rhiannon's stiletto heels, and sat down. Amber picked up Rhi's telephone and dialed her own number.

Her mom picked up on the first ring, sounding anxious. “Amber?”

“Yeah, it's me, Mom. Sorry I didn't answer before. The, uh, the reception's kind of funny here. Comes and goes, you know?”

Alicia frowned at her. Amber covered the mouthpiece and whispered, “There's no point in us scaring her to death, is there?”

Shaking her head, Alicia sighed and sat back in her chair.

“I'm just glad to hear your voice and to know you're okay. And I—” There were muted voices, then, “Oh, for God's sake, all right! Amber, um, your aunt Rhiannon is here, and she really wants to talk to you.”

Amber shot a look at Alicia. “Aunt Rhiannon is there?” She covered the mouthpiece with one hand and whispered to Alicia, “New plan. Aunt Rhi is there.”

“Yeah, just a minute, let me put her on before she has a coronary.”

Amber scrambled to her feet, studying the telephone on the end table, and finally finding the speakerphone button and pushing it.

“Amber? Where are you, child, are you all right?”

Amber licked her lips. “I'm fine. For now. Listen, don't say anything to scare Mom, okay?”

There was a pause. She could picture Rhiannon's face so clearly, could imagine her looking worried, then covering the expression easily. She was so smart. God, of every woman she had ever known, vampire or mortal, she admired her aunt Rhiannon above them all. She might not have to confess to her father after all.

“Of course, love. Please, tell me all about the adventures you've been having.”

“We really are fine.” Amber was so glad to be able to tell someone what was happening, besides her parents, who would overreact. They
always
overreacted. “But our hotel room was broken into. And we think it was bugged.”

“Oh, I agree, the Metropolitan Museum is spectacular. And what did you do next?”

“We thought we were being followed. But then I ran into this vampire—I know I'm not supposed to interact with those I don't know, but she was all right, Aunt Rhi. In fact, she reminded me a little bit of you.”

Rhiannon sniffed. “Her name?”

“Sarafina.”

“I have heard of that actress. She's a recluse. A loner. Some say she has a dangerous temper.”

“Maybe so, but she got rid of the guy who was following us. We didn't want to go back to the hotel, so we came to your place. That's where we are now.”

“Ah, a lovely choice. And you're comfortable there?”

“Comfortable and safe. No one knows where to find us.”

“Well, that's good to hear. I think you should continue with that plan.”

“You mean…stay right where we are?”

“Exactly, child. Roland and I will be on the first flight, and we'll be sure to see you the instant we arrive back in New York.”

“Thanks, Aunt Rhi. I promise, we won't leave this house until you get here.”

“I'll hold you to that.”

Rhiannon handed the telephone to Angelica, so she could speak to her daughter. She drew the necklaces from her silk handbag. Each was made of pink-toned pearls, alternating with tiny shells, on long strands. She'd picked one out for her darling Amber Lily, and then decided to purchase one for Alicia, too. She was a dear thing, for a mortal.

Turning, she wondered whether to betray her beloved Amber's trust, or head home and deal with this on her own. She eyed Jameson and Angelica, as they held their heads close together near the phone to speak to their daughter, smiling and fully reassured by whatever she told them. God, Amber Lily knew her mother very, very well. Jameson was as tough as any vampire ten times his age. But Angel was fragile. Like Rhiannon, she'd been a captive, a lab rat for the DPI once, long ago. Unlike Rhiannon, she'd emerged from the experience damaged and broken, with wounds that would never heal.

No, Amber Lily was right to want to protect her mother from the truth. Perhaps Rhiannon should simply rush home, pack Amber Lily and Alicia up and personally escort them back here to their dreary lakeshore mansion.

And then she would deal with whoever had frightened her niece.

Rhiannon was certain it was the right thing to do. Angel need never suffer the horrible fear for her daughter that she had suffered once before. The tender vampiress could not survive going through that kind of torment again.

“I
can't believe you didn't tell your mom what was going on.” Alicia used her most annoying tone, but only after Amber had finished speaking to her mother and hung up the phone. “And you didn't even ask if I wanted to talk to mine!”

Amber did feel a little guilty about that. “She wasn't there. Mom and Dad gave her a spa weekend to enjoy while we were gone. That's why she didn't answer the phone earlier today.”

“Maybe there's a number where we can reach her. How do you know, when you didn't even ask?”

“Look, Alicia, if you talk to her you'll spill the whole thing. You know you will. And then the whole bunch of them will come charging to the rescue like the vampire cavalry, with your mom and mine both scared out of their wits for no good reason.”

“No good reason? Hello? We're in trouble here, Amber. Or haven't you noticed that?” Alicia paced the living room, pushing a hand through her platinum curls.

Amber stayed where she was, sitting comfortably in a leather chair that hugged her in luxury. “We're not in trouble. We're perfectly safe here. Rhiannon and Roland are on their way, and they'll see us safely home.”

“Right. And have you noticed what time it is?”

Amber frowned, glancing first toward the windows, which were still dark. But then again, they were lined in tightly drawn miniblinds and black velvet drapes. So she looked at the antique grandfather clock—which must have been Roland's contribution to the decor. It was almost midnight. She'd been putting off her call home, fully expecting Roland and Rhiannon to arrive at any time, unaware they were so far away. She should have called home far sooner.

“There's no way Roland and Rhiannon will get here before sunrise. So we're on our own for another entire day.”

Amber sighed. “Alicia, don't worry. We're safe. No one knows where we are—except for Rhiannon, and she's certainly not telling. We'll just hang here for the day.”

Alicia sighed, pacing to the sofa and dropping herself onto it. “I still think we should have told your parents the truth. Just in case.”

“In case of what? Real danger?”

Meeting her eyes, Alicia nodded.

“Don't you get it, Alicia? If there's real danger here, that's even more reason to keep your mom and my mom safe at home, as far from this mess as they can get.” She licked her lips, hugging a pillow to her waist. “I don't want anything to happen to my mother, Alicia. She's been through enough because of me.”

Alicia sighed, but at least she didn't argue. They both knew she didn't want anything to happen to her mother, either. Amber got up and went to sit beside her on the sofa. She slid an arm around her friend, pulled Alicia's head down onto her shoulder. “Before another night passes, we'll both be safe at home in our own beds. I promise, Alicia. Come on, let's get some sleep. We both need it.”

“All right.”

The two got up, still arm in arm, and walked into the bedroom. Amber had checked the locks a dozen times, but she found herself glancing at them again as they passed by the entry door.

They hung Rhiannon's dresses in the enormous walk-in closet, put her shoes back into their spots on the wall-size shoe rack, put on T-shirts for sleeping and curled up in the king-size bed.

They were sound asleep when, hours later, something smashed through the front door.

 

Why? Sarafina asked herself the same question over and over after leaving her captive alone in his room. Why had she let herself be washed away by the tide of passion he set loose in her? When she left the room, she had been trembling, weeping, her lips tender and tingling from the delicious assault of his. How long had it been since she had allowed a man to kiss her?

She'd kissed Dante. But never in passion. No, it had been a century. It had been Bartrone. And even with him, it had only been a companionable sort of love. Not the explosive fury she felt with Willem.

But she'd done more than kiss Willem. She'd impaled herself on him. She had reached climax, and it had been shattering. When she'd climbed off him, she honestly hadn't been certain her legs would support her. My God, she knew better. Passion, in her kind, mingled with the bloodlust, each magnifying the other. She could have killed him.

She could have killed him.

And now, as she lay in the safe haven of her crypt-like bedroom, deep beneath the house, reviewing the events of this night as she waited for the day-sleep to claim her, there were still tears dampening her face.

Tears!
How many times had she wept since he'd come charging into her life? Too many. God, she'd vowed long ago never to allow another living being to have this kind of effect on her. And yet she had. Dammit to hell, she had.

She'd made a dire mistake in bringing him here. He held a power over her, one she did not understand. One she feared.

She closed her eyes, vowing that, come sundown, she would have to set him free. He wasn't like the other slaves. He wasn't like any man she had ever known. Willem Stone could not be broken. Will of Stone, she thought, as her eyelids grew heavy and the lethargy stole over her body. She would locate the girl and her mortal friend first. She would take whatever steps were necessary to ensure their safety, even if it meant returning them to their home personally. And then she would have to turn him loose.

Because the only alternative was to kill him. And she knew she was incapable of doing that. No matter what kind of evil he had done, or planned to do, she couldn't kill him. She couldn't.

 

Will knew exactly what he had to do.

After Sarafina left him, his chains were once again loosened. Misty appeared, bringing him a fresh change of clothes that were not his own and a morning meal. He greeted the timid woman with a weak smile, taking the clothes, thanking her for the food. He dressed right there in front of her, and then he sat down and obediently ate the meal.

There was no reason not to. The food wasn't drugged, as he had at first suspected. It was Sarafina's blood that drugged her prisoners, and he'd had enough of it to understand that now. He craved her. It was like a hole in his gut that only she could fill.

But he would never let her own his soul the way she owned Misty's and Edward's. He could not be broken.

Not ever.

The breakfast consisted of sausage so perfectly seasoned it must have been imported, an omelet oozing with cheese and mushrooms and ham, thinly sliced fried potatoes, seasoned with bits of onion and green pepper, freshly ground, freshly brewed coffee, and a pastry so delicate it nearly floated from the tray. It was delicious, all of it, and his stomach was beyond empty. He relished the food, wondering if the other meals had been this good and regretting that he'd refused them.

Only the best for Sarafina's pets, he thought as he ate.

Misty lingered. He was certain she must be under orders from “the Mistress” to watch him and report back. So he ate with enthusiasm, keeping that dumb-ass blank expression on his face, except to smile wanly every now and then, and compliment her on the food.

When he finished, she picked up the tray, no longer wary of getting too close to him. “It's good to see you feeling better, Willem. I told you everything would be all right. Our lady loves us. And you most of all, I think.”

“What makes you think that?”

She shrugged. “She was weeping when she went to her rest. I've never seen the Mistress weep before. At first I thought you'd harmed her in some way, but when I asked, she nearly took my head off. Said if Edward or I harmed a hair on your body we'd spend the rest of our lives regretting it.”

He took all that in, knowing it was insane of him to believe that Sarafina was still harboring some trace of the girl she had been. The one he had fallen in love with, even when he was just a voice in her mind.

He closed his eyes, remembering everything that had happened between them the night before. She'd fed from him as if he were prey and she was a hunter. She'd mounted him and worked him as if he were little more than a sex toy she'd purchased to pleasure herself.

But when she'd kissed him…all that had changed.

Her pace had slowed, her movements becoming languid and almost…tender. Definitely needy. He could feel everything she felt, and he thought maybe she could feel what he was experiencing, too. The way she took him deeper when he needed to go deeper. The way she moved still faster when he neared release. The way she took him to the hilt at the moment when he exploded inside her. And she did, too. He felt her shuddering climax as powerfully as he had felt his own. And she had still been kissing him.

Loving him.

He'd felt it.

Or was that just the power of her blood working its dark magic inside him?

He had never had sex that intense. Never.

And in spite of everything, he wanted her again.

Misty left him alone, returning later with a selection of books. Edward showed up a short while after that with a portable television set.

They were buying it.

But would she?

The day passed at a snail's pace. He plugged the television set into the wall, managed to maneuver the rabbit ears until he got a viewable picture, and passed the time answering game show questions and critiquing the acting skills of soap stars. When that grew too monotonous, he dug through the books.

And finally night fell and he sensed her coming. He didn't hear her, which was odd. He didn't have a clock to go by, but he knew she was coming to him. He felt it.

Jesus, maybe her blood really
was
having some effect on his anatomy.

His chains didn't suddenly begin winding up, dragging him to the bed to be held there by a short leash. Apparently her drones had informed her of the change in his attitude. Not that she had much reason to be afraid of him anyway. The woman was as strong as he was—stronger, though he hated to admit that. And even if she hadn't been—hell, he couldn't have hurt her if he'd tried. And that wasn't the blood. That was a preexisting condition.

His door was unlocked and opened. She stood there wearing a red satin robe. She hadn't even dressed yet. He almost smiled, thinking maybe she wanted a repeat of last night. But then he forced his face to be expressionless and simply stared at her, pretending to adore her as mindlessly as her whipped puppies did.

“My beautiful lady,” he said, his voice soft. “I've been so alone without you.”

She blinked in surprise, and he thought he saw a hint of suspicion in the bend of her brows. She was beautiful. God, he'd never seen a woman as beautiful. But she was not convinced.

He fell to his knees, bending low to press his lips to her feet. Soft, pale skin, cool to the touch. She smelled clean, freshly bathed. For him? The thought made him hot. He slid his mouth around to her ankles, kissing a path up her calf to the hollow behind her knee.

“Enough, of that. Get to your feet, Willem. If you think I am so easily fooled, you should think again.”

He got to his feet, keeping his head lowered. “I'm sorry. Please don't be angry with me.”

She narrowed her eyes on him, studying his face. He thought she was trying to read his mind, but he remembered Jameson Bryant saying he couldn't make that particular trick work on Will. That he had his thoughts naturally blocked. He hoped that was the case with her, as well.

Her frown of frustration hinted that it might be.

“So you're my servant now. Is that what you'd have me believe?”

“Your devoted servant.”

“And how do you feel about me?”

“I adore you, Sarafina. I love you with everything in me.” His stomach knotted when he said it. He tried to ignore that.

She paced the floor, circling him, tapping one finger against her chin in thought. “How shall I put you to the test?” She stopped behind him, and he could feel her eyes boring into his back. He waited, knowing he had to make this convincing. Obey her without question, though it would grate on him to do so.

“Your mistress is hungry, Willem.”

Will closed his eyes. Jesus, not that. Not again. It made him lose his mind to wanting her, and it left him weak and barely able to function.

Still, he lifted his hands to the front of his shirt, ripped it open and turned to face her. “Then drink,” he told her.

She came closer, watching his face closely, waiting, he knew, for him to flinch or shrink back or in any way indicate resistance. He gave her none. In fact, when she bent her head to his chest, he threaded his fingers into her hair and urged her forward. She touched his skin with her cool, damp lips, and he shivered. How he could be so turned on by a woman he had every reason to hate was beyond him. Her mouth opened wide on his chest, and he whispered, “Do it. Drink me, Sarafina.”

Fangs pierced his skin just below the collarbone, cutting, but not too deeply. Then they withdrew, and she lapped the blood up with her tongue. His entire body shuddered with awareness and need.