Embrace the Twilight (17 page)

“Now your turn.” She stepped away from him, just a little. His jaw was set as he fought the sensations this woman could bring to life in him. He tried not to shake visibly and battled the urge to just fling her down on the bed and take her, force her to drop the dominatrix act and admit that she was as wild for him as he was for her. That she loved him.

Sarafina drew a tiny blade across her palm, leaving a trail of scarlet beads in its wake. She offered it to him, but when he reached for her hand, his stomach knotting with hunger, she drew it away. “Not until I say. This is a test of your obedience, after all.” She studied him, watching for the slightest hint of temper. “On your knees.”

He didn't hesitate. He dropped to his knees. The awkward landing hurt his bad foot, and he winced, then saw her notice it. She offered her palm again, and he took it in both of his chained hands, drew it to his mouth. Told himself to pretend not to be revolted and realized he didn't need to pretend. He licked the blood, kissed the palm repeatedly, and licked some more.

Her breathing quickened. Good. She
should
be affected. Hell, every taste was sending shock waves jolting through his entire body.

He wanted to devour her, but he was still in control. He recalled what Jameson Bryant had told him about the way a vampire would bleed to death from a minor wound. So he drew his head away, removed his shirt and tore a strip from it with his teeth. Then he took her hand again, gently wrapping it, tying a knot, sealing it with a kiss. “You should be more careful, Sarafina. You cut too deeply.”

Trembling, her hand moved through his hair. “And you would care if I were to die before sunrise?”

Slowly he rose to his feet, slid his arm around her waste. “I would die, too, if you did.”

She didn't pull away, only stared into his eyes as he lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her. He kissed her deeply, tenderly. He didn't ravage or demand, the way every cell in his body wanted to do. He kissed her like a devoted slave, asking, pleasing, utterly selfless. And when he finally lifted his head away, he stared intently into her black eyes and whispered, “I love you.”

Sarafina jerked out of his arms, spinning around to put her back to him. “You must never say that!”

Why?

He moved closer, slid his hands over her shoulders. “I've made you angry. I'm sorry. If it distresses you to hear those words, I'll never say them again.”

“See to it you don't.”

He lowered his head to kiss her neck. “Let me please you. I can balm your soul like nothing else can. If you would allow it…?”

She said nothing. Instead she stood as she was, moving only her arms to slide the robe from her shoulders. It pooled at her feet. She wore nothing else.

Will traced the curve of her spine with his fingers and then with his lips. Oh, yes. She thought she was in complete control, didn't she? That she'd made him a mindless drone like those other two zombies she had sleepwalking around this mausoleum? But she was wrong. He dropped to his knees. She liked him on his knees, didn't she? He kissed her buttocks, which was no doubt exactly what she had in mind, though perhaps not so literally. Then he gripped her hips, and he turned her around.

Her fingers tangled in his hair as he spread her open with his thumbs and fed from her in a far different way. Her head fell backward, and her hands clutched his head as he made her entire body shiver and quake. He kept feeding as he pushed her backward, until her legs hit the bed and she tumbled down onto it, her legs still over the side. He pushed them wider and burrowed deeper, kept pushing her, eating her, wishing he could go on until there was nothing left. Everything left his mind except for her, her taste, her scent, the sounds she was making as he pushed her beyond endurance. And then she screamed his name, mashing his face into her so deeply he could barely breathe, nor did he care, as he obediently lapped her juices. Then, just as suddenly, she shoved him away with so much force he skidded across the floor until he ran out of chain.

She sprang from the bed and followed, looking hungry, predatory. “Get those pants off,” she whispered.

And he did, quickly, had them off before she reached him. It was a good thing, because she mounted him immediately. As she moved, her breasts bounced in front of his face, so he caught one in his mouth and suckled her. She liked his mouth, he could tell, so he kept using it, until she was crying out again, spasming around him, and he was pouring into her. She fell forward, her teeth sinking into his throat. She drank, and she drank some more.

God, how far was she going to go?

He was getting dizzy. Weakening. Jesus, would she do him in this time? His hands moved to her chest as if to push her away, but he stopped himself. That would blow his cover. He had to play this thing through to the end, carry the bluff to the very edge.

“Take it all, Sarafina. I'll gladly die in your arms tonight.”

It worked. The sucking at his neck stopped, and Sarafina jerked her head upright. He stared up at her, saw the sudden hint of panic widening her dark eyes. She pressed a hand to the wounds in his throat, cursing under her breath.

He let his head slump to the side, let his eyes close to mere slits. He could have forced them open wider, but they wanted to close anyway, and it couldn't hurt the situation.

“Willem,” she whispered. “God, what have I done?”

She climbed off him, quickly fetching her robe and pulling it on. Tying the sash and giving it a brutal tug, she went to the door and jerked it open. “Edward, Misty!”

The two came quickly. Will heard their footsteps—though they seemed more distant than they should.

“What's happened to him, my lady?” Misty asked.

“That's none of your business,” Sarafina snapped. Then, in a softer tone, “I never meant…just get him into the bed. And remove the chains. Here. Here is the key.” She started out of the room, then turned. “Watch over him tonight. He'll need fluids. If he dies, there will be hell to pay.”

“Yes, ma'am,” Edward said. “Don't you worry, we'll see to it.”

The door closed.

Will felt his lips pull into an almost smile. Great. The bluff had worked. He felt Edward's grip on his shoulders, felt himself hauled upward, and then the bed was underneath his back. Covers were tugged over him, and Misty, he thought, because of the softness of her hands, dabbed something soft and moist against the wounds in his neck.

“He's awfully pale,” she whispered.

“He must have displeased the Mistress,” Edward replied. “No doubt he deserved it.”

“If he displeased her, she wouldn't want his chains removed.” Even as she said it, he heard the rattle of a key, a tugging at his wrist. The manacle slipped away. While she moved to the other side of the bed to free his other hand, Will began to plan his escape. This was going to be easy. Escaping from that nest of vipers in that desert cave made this little challenge look like child's play. Sarafina wasn't half as good as she thought she was. And he was going to beat her at her own game.

Just as soon as he woke up.

I
t had been impossible to make arrangements to transport a coffin by air on such short notice. A standard ticket was impossible. No flight leaving would arrive in New York before dawn. It would have been even more impossible to leave in haste without alarming Jameson and Angelica, who would likely have baked themselves in the sun in an effort to reach their daughter if they knew the truth. Which was why she had a plan.

Rhiannon booked four tickets on a flight leaving Michigan an hour after sunset and doubted even the day-sleep would relieve the worry in her mind.

But, as always, the sleep came and took her, with or without her will; it never seemed to matter. It seemed only moments before she felt life returning to her body, stirring her cells, activating her heart.

She rose in the guest room of Jameson's home. Angelica had never been able to bear sleeping in a coffin or in any other enclosed space. Not since what those DPI animals had done to her. There were no such places in this house. Just locked, secure bedrooms without windows, invisible from outside, with doorways that doubled as bookcases or solid walls. Jameson had been clever, and he'd had help from the vampire Eric Marquand, no doubt. Eric was Roland's best friend and as close to Jameson as Roland was. He was also something of a scientist among the undead.

Rhiannon was already showered and dressed by the time Roland rose. He looked at her, a crook in his brow. “Are you going to tell me what's going on, or are you still determined to keep me in the dark, so to speak?”

“That's a very bad pun, love. And you're terrible at guarding your thoughts from Jameson.”

“So there's something you don't want him to know?”

“If there's anything he needs to know, he'll know it soon enough.” She had made a decision, one she thought for the best. She would both get Jameson and Angelica to their daughter's side
and
prevent Angelica from unnecessary worry. If she could pull it off.

There was a tap at the door, just before it opened and Angelica stood there, dressed in ordinary jeans and a sweater. “We should go out tonight, the four of us. See a film or something.”

“So long as it's in New York,” Rhiannon said. She smiled brightly. “I've booked all four of us on a flight that leaves in just under two hours. You're coming for a visit.”

Angelica lifted her brows. Appearing behind her, Jameson said, “Look, we promised Amber we wouldn't come spying on her. I think it's important we keep that promise.”

“Pish,” Rhiannon said with a wave of her hand. “You're not spying on her, you're visiting me. Amber Lily knows me well enough to know I don't take no for an answer.” She drew her brows together, deepened her voice. “She, at least, knows better than to try
giving
me no for an answer.”

“But it's such short notice,” Angelica insisted.

“Just a minute here,” Jamey said. “Something's going on.”

Rhiannon turned away from him.

He lunged forward, gripped her upper arm and turned her around to face him. “You tell me what the hell this is about, Rhiannon.”

She glanced down at his hand on her arm. “You're dancing on the edge of oblivion.”

“Rhiannon, just tell him,” Roland said.

She shot him a glare, then met Jamey's eyes and held them. “Who am I?”

“Do we really have time for this?”

“Who am I?” she repeated.

He sighed, rolling his eyes. “You've had many names. First you were Rianikki, firstborn daughter of Pharoah, princess of the Nile, yada, yada, yada.”

“That's right. I'm a vampiress, more than two thousand years old, Jameson Bryant. I am not a frivolous woman who makes requests without a reason.”

“
Requests?
You're not the kind of woman who makes
requests
at all. You just deliver commands.”

“And I
expect
them to be obeyed.” She glanced past him at Angelica. “Gather your things. We leave for the airport in twenty minutes.”

Angelica stared back at her. “It's Amber, isn't it? Something's happened.”

“Amber will be waiting for us at my house when we arrive.” Rhiannon went to her. “I swear to you, as far as I know Amber is perfectly fine. Now go, get ready, so you can see for yourself.”

Angelica rushed away. Jamey turned to Roland. “What's going on?”

“I don't know, Jamey. She has told me no more than she's told you.”

He faced Rhiannon again. “Is she in trouble?”

She glanced toward the doorway, but Angelica was gone. “She might be,” she said, keeping her voice to a whisper. “She was fine when I spoke to her. Safe. There's no cause to plummet your wife into the hell-fires of worry until we know for sure, and we can't know until we get there.”

“All right. But if you're keeping anything from me—”

“Must you challenge me at every turn, Jameson? I'm more tired of it than you can imagine, and if you weren't my precious Amber Lily's father, I'd have ripped out your heart long ago.”

“Sure you would, princess. You keep telling yourself that.”

She bared her teeth at him, and he left the room.

Roland turned to her. “You've reason for concern.”

She nodded. “Enough so that we'll go directly to the house when we return. Pandora will have to wait a few more hours for us to retrieve her from the sitter's.”

Jameson and Angelica got their act together, fortunately for them. They were all on the plane in time for takeoff. They never used their own names when traveling and all had plenty of fake identification. A vampire couldn't survive long in the modern world without it.

Angelica was pale on the flight, and totally focused. Rhiannon guessed she was trying desperately to pick up some sense of her daughter's well-being. She'd always had a powerful bond with the child, but it weakened over great distances. Perhaps as they drew closer to New York she would sense that Amber was all right and recover a bit. Because, despite Rhiannon's efforts to spare the woman pain, Angelica was already nearly sick with worry.

As the plane's wheels touched down on the runway at LaGuardia, Angelica suddenly pressed her hands to her chest and began gasping for air. She couldn't speak for the rapid breathing. A flight attendant rushed to her side.

“What is it? Is it asthma?”

“A panic attack,” Jameson lied quickly. “She's afraid of flying. It's all right, Angel. It's okay, we're on the ground. We're here.”

The attendant ran away and returned with the news that they were taxiing directly to the gate, and that Angelica could get off the plane at once.

It didn't help. Jameson held her, soothed her and whispered, “What is it? What's wrong?”

“They've taken her, Jamey. They've taken our baby,” she rasped.

 

Amber Lily had sensed something an instant before she heard the sound—sensed something so strongly that she'd instinctively rolled off the far side of the bed, pulling Alicia with her. They hit the floor at the moment they heard the crash, the splintering of wood and the heavy, hurried footfalls.

And then three men surged into the bedroom, stopping just inside the doorway, scanning the room. Amber crouched as low as she could beside the bed and silently lifted the bedspread, hoping they could crawl underneath.

There was room! She nudged Alicia, nodded at the space. Swallowing hard, nearly frozen with fear, Alicia forced herself to move, flattening her body to the carpeted floor, sliding, inching, bit by bit, underneath the bed.

The men were coming farther into the room, weapons—odd-looking handguns that didn't really look like handguns—pointing the way. One yanked open the door of the closet, then cautiously ventured inside.

Another explored the adjoining bathroom.

It was the man who remained in the doorway, still as stone, nothing moving but his eyes, who frightened her. Amber could see him from her position. Half his face was mottled and pink, like a glob of unshaped Silly Putty. He wore a bad hairpiece. His mouth was normal on one side, pulled out of shape at the other. And he stood there as if he were listening, or maybe smelling the air.

“I know you're here, Amber Lily. There's no point in hiding. We found a sweet little note from your mamma, tucked into a jeans pocket in your hotel room. It had this address on it.”

He was looking toward the bed. Alicia's hand came groping out from underneath, finding Amber's and tugging. But Amber was afraid to move, afraid he would see. She cursed herself for forgetting about her mom's note. How could she be so careless?

“Closet's clear,” said the man who'd been searching it.

“Bathroom's clear.” The other one came out, stood there.

“And the rest of the house?” He said it loudly, tipping his head, so she could see the left eye. It was a pale blue in color, filmy, milky, and the skin around it drooped like icing down the side of a cake frosted when it was still warm. His ear was a series of lumps on the side of his head.

From somewhere in the living room, a man's voice called, “Clear, sir!”

“Well, that only leaves the bed,” he said in a singsong tone, as if he were reciting a nursery rhyme to a baby. “Are you hiding under the bed, Amber Lily?”

Alicia sucked in a breath, probably startled that he had known Amber's name. Smiling, sort of, the scarred man moved closer to the bed. He was bending over, reaching for the bedspread to lift it up.

Amber got to her feet on the far side of the bed. “I'm right here.”

He lifted his brows. “Are you the half-breed vampire or her faithful companion?” he asked.

“I'm Amber Lily Bryant,” she said. “The girl you're going to wish you had never heard of, before too long.” Her voice was shaking, but maybe he wouldn't notice.

“You have your father's fight in you, don't you, girl?”

“Most people think it's my aunt's.”

“Your aunt?” He smirked. “Oh yes, Aunt Rhiannon. She was mentioned in the note. We've been after her for years.”

Amber pursed her lips, refusing to say more.

“I'm Frank Stiles,” he told her. “You may call me ‘sir.”' He glanced toward the man on his right. “Best continue the search. We can't be sure she's the right one. Her friend would likely lie to protect her.”

The man nodded, started for the bed, the one place they had yet to search. As he reached for the covers, Amber shot her gaze to the vase on the bedside stand, then jerked her eyes toward the man. The vase shot from the stand, hit him in the forearm and shattered to bits.

“The next one will take off your head,” she stated.

The man moved toward her, but the scarred one held up a hand. He dug a microrecorder from his pocket, depressed a button with his thumb. “Extremely well-developed telekinesis,” he said. “Nicely controlled.”

Amber was shaking down deep. She hoped it didn't show that she was so afraid she could hardly stand up. And she hoped to God she could get these men out of here before they discovered Alicia hiding under the bed.

“Where is your friend, the girl who was with you earlier?” Stiles asked.

“There's no one else here. I sent my friend home as soon as we realized we were in trouble.”

“And where is home?”

She met his eyes, shook her head left, then right.

“Why didn't you go with her?” he asked.

She shrugged.

He smiled as if he knew. “Ahh, it was the daylight, wasn't it?”

“Boss, we've glimpsed her outside in full daylight.”

“And you're never mistaken, are you?”

The man just looked at him blankly. Stiles returned his gaze to Amber. “It's daylight now, Amber Lily. We can always put it to the test.”

The two men on either side of the room lunged forward, gripping her upper arms. She thought she could have flung them off her pretty easily, but she didn't try. Let them get her out of here, away from Alicia, first. Then she would give them something to remember her by. But there was no way she was getting her friend hurt.

They moved her toward the window, maneuvered her to stand in front of it, and one of them jerked open the dark drapes.

Brilliant sunlight streamed through, hitting her squarely in the eyes, and damned if it didn't blind her. She jerked one arm free, raising it to shield her eyes even as she jerked her head away.

“Enough! Get her away from there!” Stiles shouted.

The men tugged her into the shadows. One of them reached back to close the drapes.

“I'd like her alive, in case I hadn't made that abundantly clear by now,” Stiles said.

They muttered apologies and, regaining their hold on both her arms, marched her out of the bedroom, into the living room, where two other men and a woman stood like sentries. The two men at the windows, the woman at the door.