Embrace the Twilight (20 page)

Misty only sobbed harder, so Sarafina looked to Edward, who stood uneasily in front of her. “He's run away, mistress. We left him unbound, the door unlocked, as you told us. We assumed he was as loyal to you as we are. But he fooled us all. He's gone.”

“He's gone….” Sarafina blinked, glancing past Edward at the open door to what had been Willem's room. She wondered briefly why she wasn't flooded with rage at his deception, his escape. Instead she felt an odd sense of relief. She hadn't broken him at all. He'd only been pretending. She wanted to close her eyes and weep with gratitude.

And his declarations of love? His enthusiastic kisses? Those had all been a part of his act. They were no more authentic than they would have been had she succeeded in conquering his mind. But God, she was glad she'd failed. She didn't want Willem Stone broken, she realized. But she did want him, still. Despite his black heart.

“Leave it be,” she told her servants. “He was never meant to stay with us.” She felt the touch of the dawn working harder than usual on her in her state of mental exhaustion. “His wallet and some of his things are in the desk drawer, in the library. His home address and several telephone numbers are in them. See that they're sent to him today. I'm going to rest. Think no more about Willem Stone.”

 

“Well, good morning, Amber Lily,” said the bleached-blond female vampire hunter. Amber hadn't slept. She was sitting up in her bed, watching the sun rise over the ocean, and she refused even to turn and face the woman. Her body felt ravaged, and she didn't know why. This last time, when she woke up, her hair had been wet and her throat sore.

“We've brought you two choices for breakfast. A pint of A-positive, freshly drawn. Still warm, even. And some bacon and eggs. Which would you prefer?”

Narrowing her eyes, Amber turned and glared at the woman. “Your heart on a platter. Lightly roasted.”

The woman didn't seem to pick up on the sarcasm. Her eyes widened a little, and she handed the tray to the man who stood beside her, then yanked a notebook from her pocket to jot down a note.

Amber rolled her eyes. “Yes, do write that down, Miz Einstein. ‘Patient shows cannibalistic tendencies.' But you'd better get me someone's liver soon, or I'll turn invisible.” She nodded toward the man behind her. “His will do. You can use the butter knife there. And I like it with onions. Hurry up, now.”

Finally light dawned in the twit's eyes. She stopped writing, looked up slowly from her notebook. “You're playing games again.”

“Gee, do you think?”

The woman angrily scratched out what she had written down. “I'll take an honest answer this time, Amber Lily. Which of these two meals represents your normal diet?” She pocketed her notepad and took the jar of blood from the tray. “Do you drink blood like your parents?”

Amber glanced at the jar, sent her anger full throttle. It exploded, spewing blood and glass shards at the woman's chest and face, hands and arms. She shrieked, back-stepping fast, flinging her hands to her face.

“Kelsey!” The man dropped the tray of food to the floor and went to her. “God, are you all right?”

She turned and ran off in search of a towel, with her attentive sidekick right on her heels. Stiles came walking down the hall, clapping his hands very slowly. “Well done, child. Very well done. But I'm afraid we've run out of patience with you and your little tantrums.”

“Guess you'd better let me go, then, because you're only going to get more of the same.”

“Oh, I don't think so.” He stood in front of her cell, arms folded over his chest, a confident smirk on the good side of his face. “You're going to cooperate from here on in. Answer all our questions truthfully and submit to any tests we care to perform.”

“Oh, really?” she said. “And why the hell would I do that?”

“Nelson, bring her here,” he called to someone, never taking his eyes off Amber.

Footsteps came, slow and measured. And then a man appeared in the hallway, carrying what looked like a body in his arms. It was wrapped in a blanket, head to toe. Amber's heart jumped into her throat.

“Close the curtain,” Stiles said. “I wouldn't want a stray sunray to hit her. We've already established that they have no effect on you, contrary to what you led us to believe.”

Blinking rapidly, Amber closed the thick curtains.

Stiles walked up to the man holding the body, peeled away the blanket.

Amber sucked in a gasp and lunged for the bars. “Mom!” She stretched her arm through the bars, touched her mother's face, felt the life in her through that mental bond they had. Not dead. They hadn't killed her. Not yet, anyway. She stroked her mother's hair as tears flooded her eyes.

“Please,” she whispered. “Please, don't hurt her. I'll do anything. Anything you want, just don't hurt her.”

Stiles nodded. “I thought so. Now, we're going to have a little talk, you and I. You're going to tell me everything about yourself. What you eat. When you sleep. How sunlight affects you, if at all. And anything else I want to know, is that understood?”

She nodded, even as Nelson put the blanket over her mother's face and carried her away down the hall.

“Where is he taking her? Where are you keeping her?”

“Oh, not just her, child. We have your daddy, too. And his pal Roland.”

She closed her eyes, weeping. “I'll cooperate, I promise. Just, please, I have to know where you're keeping them.”

“In a cell, in a sublevel, underneath the basement here. It was created by a vampire, I'm told. His safe haven. Ironic, isn't it?”

She swallowed hard. “Is it…is it small?”

He frowned, making the scarred side of his face pucker and pull. “The size of this room, or thereabouts. Why do you ask?”

She tried to control her breath, not to release the sigh of relief she felt at knowing her mother was not confined in some tiny, cramped space. “I just—I want to know they're comfortable. As long as I know they're all right, I'll be the most cooperative subject you could wish for. I promise.”

“Fair enough,” he said.

Amber nodded and sank onto the bed in the shadowy room, dimmed now by the drawn curtains. “So what do you want to know?”

S
arafina rose at dusk, an empty, hollow feeling in her chest. She kept reliving the touch of Willem's lips on her flesh every time she closed her eyes, and she kept telling herself not to allow such flights of fancy. It was completely unlike her.

She took her time in a deep, hot bath. Then more time as she dressed in her favorite style, that of the old days. A white peasant blouse that left her shoulders bare, full flowing skirts, scarves trailing from her hair and her waist, and so much jewelry she jangled when she moved. Then she went to the kitchen to consult with Misty and Edward about the evening's plans. Part of her was longing to go looking for Willem. Just to see him from a distance and assure herself that he really was all right—untouched by her efforts to control him. She should check on those girls, as well, she thought, though deep down, she knew that Willem was not a threat to them. But before she even began to speak to her servants, there was a crash near the front of the house.

For one insane instant, Sarafina's heart performed giddy acrobatics at the thought that Willem had returned, come back to her—of his own will this time.

But it faded before she could even bother to chide herself for such an idiotic thought, much less that little rush of joy that had accompanied it, because she sensed, very clearly, the new presence in her home. And it wasn't Willem.

It was another vampire, one vibrating with anger, quite possibly murderous with rage.

Sarafina glanced at her pets. “Go. Out the back door—quickly. Get as far from here as you can. Do you understand? Hide yourselves in the woods, and don't come back until I've summoned you.”

“But, my lady—”

“Go!” she commanded.

The two obediently scurried through the kitchen and out the back door. Sarafina watched them move out of sight, then swept through the house into the living room.

The woman stood at the base of the staircase, some sort of green weeds clinging to her damp hair and her skintight black velvet dress. The dress was dripping a bit. A tiny green-tinted puddle had formed around her feet. Mud was smeared over her hands and cheeks. Her straight black hair reminded Sarafina of her long-dead sister, Katerina, and a surge of bitter hatred rose up in her belly.

At the woman's side, a black panther sat on its haunches, as the woman's dagger-tipped fingers stroked its head.

“You must be Sarafina,” the woman said. “I am Rhiannon.”

“I don't really care who you are. I
would
be interested to know, however, why you dare smash a hole through my front door, enter my home without my consent and proceed to drip that sewage all over my floors.”

“Oh, you'd be surprised what I
dare,
” Rhiannon said. “You have a lot to answer for, vampiress.”

“Are you suggesting I should answer to you?”

“It's not a suggestion.”

Sarafina laughed, tipping her head back so her many pairs of earrings rang against each other. Rhiannon lunged across the room, gripping her around her nape, her motion little more than a blur of speed. Leaning into Fina's face, the woman whispered, “You attacked and abducted the man who'd been hired to protect Amber Lily Bryant—the person I treasure most in the universe, and the only child ever born to a vampiress.”

Sarafina held her temper, but it simmered dangerously near the surface. “You have your facts skewed, woman. I took a man, yes. At Amber Lily's request.”

“And because of it, Amber Lily has been taken by the vampire hunters!”

“Take your hand from my neck, bitch.”

“Tell me where that man is,” Rhiannon demanded.

“I don't know where he is, and I wouldn't tell you if I did.”

“Liar!”

Sarafina pressed her palms to the woman's chest and shoved her—hard. Rhiannon flew across the room, hitting the wall so hard she put a hole in the plaster. Paintings crashed to the floor. Rhiannon shook herself and lunged at Sarafina, hitting her like a wrecking ball, and the two fell to the floor, cracking the floorboards, rolling as they pounded and tore at each other.

Sarafina wound up on top. Rhiannon grabbed her by her hair, jerking her head back, then delivered a blow to her face. Sarafina was flung backward again, airborne at first, only to land hard on the floor. She scrambled to her feet, sending a quick glance toward the cat, fully expecting it to pounce and tear her to bits.

But it only stood off to one side, pacing, agitated, its eyes following every move as its tail swished and quivered.

Sarafina attacked again.

She fought for her life, blocking Rhiannon's powerful blows when she could, taking them when she couldn't, and delivering plenty of her own in return. They'd fallen, locked in combat, onto the coffee table, demolishing it, when Sarafina became aware of her servants, just around the corner in the next room.

She'd told them to leave. By God, they'd disobeyed her orders! She pushed Rhiannon off her and spun toward them, saw them huddling over a small black billfold. Willem's. What the hell did they think they were doing, and why had they kept it when she'd told them to send it back?

A chair smashed across her back, knocking her to her knees.

She came up fast, flipping Rhiannon over her shoulder to the floor, kicking her in the head and then in the ribcage, which sent her skidding across the floor. Sarafina followed and went to kick her again, but this time Rhiannon grabbed her by the ankle and hurled her across the room. Her head hit the banister, snapping it in two, and her entire body screamed in pain. Above her, she saw the chandelier swinging dangerously.

“They'll kill each other!” Misty cried. “Here's the number. The phone, Edward, hurry! We have to get help!”

 

Will woke by noon, picked up his car from the hotel garage and drove almost aimlessly, watching the tracking monitor and praying he would get within range of the girls and the light would come on. He stopped twice to eat, each time making it a high protein meal. He thought it was helping. He was starting to feel more like himself by the time night fell again.

He'd tried Bryant's number several more times, even though he knew the man wouldn't be likely to answer during the day. He figured there might be a housekeeper or an answering service—something. Still, he'd had no luck whatsoever by the time the sun went down again, and he was beginning to wonder if his employer
and
his subjects had vanished from the face of the earth.

And then his car phone bleated softly.

He grabbed it up, pushed the on button and ignored New York State's “no cell phone use while driving” law. For some reason he was almost hoping to hear Sarafina's voice on the other end in reply to his terse “Stone.” In fact, every few minutes, it seemed, some longing for her sprang up in his belly. In spite of the job he had to do.

“Willem. You have to come back. Hurry!”

He frowned at the vaguely familiar voice before recognition kicked in. “Edward?”

“Yes. A woman is here. One like the Mistress. They're fighting.”

Will dismissed the little skip in his heartbeat. “Right. This is some kind of a trick to get me to come back, right? Where is she? Let me speak to her.”

“They're killing each other, Willem. We don't know who else to call!”

There was scuffling, and then Misty's voice came on. “Please, Willem, you have to come!” She was crying into the phone now, and Will could hear the sounds in the background.

Crashes, shattering glass, pounding, thudding—violent sounds. There was a grunt of pain, a yelp, a restrained cry, a string of cuss words. He recognized Sarafina's voice, along with that of another woman, and the bottom fell out of his stomach. “Jesus.”

“Please hurry! It's you this stranger wants. It's you! She's killing our lady—because of you! Please—”

“All right, all right. I'm coming.” He was spinning the car around and hitting the gas even as he said it. His brain told him it was idiotic. He'd been away from that place for only a day. It was insane to go back. But the rest of him couldn't get there fast enough—and not only because this woman who was asking about him might be a clue to helping him track down the girls. Because Sarafina was in trouble—she was in pain, fighting for her life, maybe—and he couldn't bear the thought of it. Everything in him wanted to be there to help her, to protect her.

Right. That made as much sense as wanting to protect a hungry wolf.

She didn't
need
his protection. And just what the hell he was going to do when he got there, he didn't know. A woman “like the Mistress,” Edward had said. Did that mean this visitor, this attacker, was another vampire? What the hell was he going to do with
two of them?

He veered through traffic, blasting his horn, and when he finally hit a clear stretch, he yanked open the glove compartment, pulled out his handgun, checked the clip. He wasn't going to face them empty-handed, that was for damn sure. And while a bullet might not kill one of them, he figured it would at least slow her down a little bit.

When he arrived at Sarafina's palacelike home, the front gate was open. It needn't have been. The hedge through which he had crawled to escape had been reduced to mulch, apparently because a Mercedes had driven straight through it. The car was currently parked at an angle on the front lawn, the driver's door still open. Will left his own vehicle outside the gate, tucked the keys under the floor mat and got out, sliding the gun into the back of his pants.

He walked at a fast clip, through the flattened hedge, across the lawn, and then along the drive to the wide front steps. The front door was broken, hanging open; light was spilling out.

He slowed his pace then, ready for a trap. Automatically he pulled the gun, holding it in front of him when he moved close enough to see inside.

The room was a shambles, the furniture broken, vases shattered on the floor. Bits of wood from the door and broken glass crunched under his feet as he stepped inside. It didn't look as if a mere fight had happened in this place, it looked as if a hurricane had struck.

Sarafina sat at the foot of the stairs, beside a broken section of the banister. Her upper body was supported by the newel post at the bottom, her head hanging forward, black curls hiding her face. Her blouse was torn, her arms bruised. He took a single step toward her before spotting the cat.

“Holy Christ!” He pivoted left, pointed the gun at the animal, a huge black panther, which looked as if it was about to devour the limp body of the other woman, who sat slumped against the wall.

“Put the gun down, mortal,” the strange woman said, her head rising slowly, her voice weak. She had as much long, jet-black hair as Sarafina, but hers was perfectly straight, damp and dirty. “She won't hurt you…unless I tell her to do so.” Lifting a hand, she stroked the cat's head.

He lowered the weapon, but only a little, and started across the room toward Sarafina, keeping one eye on the animal. “If it takes a step toward me, lady, it's history.”

“Willem?” At the sound of his voice, Sarafina sat up slowly, as if it hurt to move. There was a nasty bruise on one side of her face.

“Jesus, what the hell happened here?” He stuffed the gun into his pants and hurried to her, the cat all but forgotten. God, why did it make his gut lurch to see her hurt this way? Why did he feel like scooping her into his arms, kissing away her pain, and then raining destruction on the person who'd caused it? She was his enemy!

No. She was a part of him, and he knew it. It was stupid to keep denying what he felt for this woman.

He knelt on the lowest step, gathered her to him, helped her to her feet, holding her close as he did. He stroked her hair away from her face. “Are you all right?”

“I'm fine. I think.” She leaned against him, stared at him as if not quite believing what she saw. “You came….”

“I had to.”

She almost smiled, seemed to stop herself, straightened a little, then shot a glance across the room. The other one was getting to her feet now, as well. Sarafina said, “I
told you
I didn't kill him.”

The other one lifted a brow. She, too, was bruised and battered, though it was hard to tell, with the dirt streaks across her face. “You're lucky
I
didn't kill
you.
”

“If you'd wanted me dead, you'd have let the cat have me.”

The other one glanced down at the panther. “Pandora's getting old. I don't let her fight anymore. Just feed her the scraps when I've finished.”

Will grimaced, then swore softly.

“You're Willem Stone, I take it?” the stranger asked.

He nodded. “And you're…?”

“I am Rhiannon,” she said, and she said it as if she were saying “I'm the Queen of the Universe.”

“Is that supposed to mean something to me?” He shrugged, glancing at Sarafina and then back at the other one. “Sorry, I'm not up on the whole ‘who's who' of the undead, you know?”