Born in Twilight (18 page)

She lowered her head, shook it. “You're letting your anger control you,” she said. “You could die in this feeble attempt.”

“Then I'd die for a cause,” he said. “Better than dying in a stone sarcophagus, helpless and sheeplike.”

She lowered her head quickly, stung by his words. And dammit, he should have thought before he'd spoken. “You'll never be able to forgive me for turning myself over to them,” she said.

He shrugged, tried to find words to tell her that he did now. Wondered why he couldn't just blurt it, and knew the culprit was his pride. “You thought I was a monster. You thought that DPI agent was safer than me.”

“I did think that. I did, it's the truth. The one who…who changed me…” Shaking her head, she let her voice trail into silence.

“What about him?” He could feel her reaction to even thinking of that one. Terror. “You never told me, Angelica. What happened to you to bring you to this?”

She looked at him, really looked at him. And then she sighed. “I can't believe it will make any difference to you.”

He sighed. He wasn't going to beg her to tell him. Hell, he'd told her his entire life history, and she couldn't tell him one little bit about her own past? Fine. Let her close herself off from him if that were what she wanted. She was so resistant to him. So…almost afraid of him it seemed. It made him angry all over again.

 

He was quiet after that, for several miles, and I was, too. He'd given me a great deal to think about. I could even understand his irrational hatred of DPI. But I still disapproved of his intention to destroy everyone involved in the organization. There were good among every group.

Even vampires, as I was rapidly learning. “I never told you so, Vampire,” I said, after a long period of silence between us. “But I'm sorry for what I did to you that night when we first met.”

“I'm not.”

I looked at him, and my surprise must have shown very clearly.

“Oh, I didn't think I was ready for the change,” he said, and I sensed he was being as honest as he'd ever been with me. “But I'm better than I was before. Stronger, and smarter. I'm experiencing life now in a way I never could have then. Ironic, isn't it? Only when my mortal life ended could I truly savor all it was.”

I nodded mutely, waiting for him to continue.

“When you…when you drank from me that night…God, I had no idea it would be like that. I didn't even fight you, Angelica. You remember that?”

“You did,” I told him. “At the very last.”

“It was ecstasy,” he whispered. “I didn't want it to end.”

I remembered. How well I remembered the erotic thrill that shot through me as I suckled at his throat like a babe. It had frightened me and thrilled me and confused me, all at once. I hadn't understood it then. I still wasn't certain I did. That he would confess he'd felt the same way, amazed me. Surely he couldn't hate me when he'd been so eager to participate in his own draining.

“It's the allure of the vampire,” he told her. “His victims give themselves willingly, and die in a storm of sensations that are beyond physical orgasm.”

“Yes,” I whispered, and I closed my eyes, recalling the way I'd felt when he'd brought me to a similar pinnacle the night before, in the wee hours before sunrise. A rapture beyond human endurance.

“That's why we don't drink from the living, Angelica. It would be too easy to get carried away. To hurt them by taking too much. We deny ourselves that rush, in order to protect them. But the craving is always there. Always.”

I nodded my head. Because he was so right. The craving was here, now. Burning inside me. Whispering that while we couldn't take from the living, we could take from each other. Whispering that if he could truly feel my pain, he could surely feel this ache that was gnawing inside me, yearning for his touch, for his teeth, for his taste, once again.

Rhiannon had warned me of this. And if we gave in to this lust again, it would only become stronger the next time, and the next. I knew for the first time the power of drugs over the addicts I'd helped care for in the city's shelters. But this was worse. Far worse.

Jameson cleared his throat, drawing my gaze. His jaw was tight. His eyes, bright with passion. “That sign,” he said in a rusty voice. “Petersville, five miles.”

“Good,” I said. “We're nearly there.”

“We'll need to find shelter,” he went on. “We've been driving all night. It will be dawn not too long from now.”

I met his eyes, stared into them, and I knew he saw my hunger, because I saw its reflection looking back at me. I would not shame myself again, I vowed. He disliked me, and I him. Oh, yes, I'd come to believe that perhaps all of his kind were not damned, after all. But he was damning himself with anger and hate. And I was so afraid of what I felt for him. So afraid he'd keep his earlier vow to throw it back in my face should I admit how much I wanted his touch again.

And though he'd conceded that the passion was mutual—a conclusion I had already reached on my own—it was still very clear that he disliked me. Distrusted me. And I could not have sex with a man who didn't even like me! I would not let animalistic urges overwhelm me to that shameful extent. Not again.

And I know he saw my firm decision in my eyes. Because his darkened with renewed anger, and his jaw went tighter.

 

He stopped at a dilapidated, abandoned house, a mile past the cluster of neat country homes that made up the town of Petersville. The place had been modest, a two-story farmhouse, perfectly square. And it wasn't sagging or rotten. But the windows were mostly broken out, and the wood stood gray and peeling and sadly in need of paint. He drove the car around the back, out of sight from the road. And when he cut the engine, we sat there in the darkness, silent, for a long, tense moment.

“I suppose we should go inside,” he said at last, and I heard the tightness of his voice. “To make sure there's a place safe from sunlight, where we can rest.”

“Yes.” I opened my door and got out, stepping into the dry brittle grasses that rasped over my bare calves and brushed the hem of the black dress I wore. I didn't want to go into the house with him. I didn't want to lie down beside him. Not yet, while there was still more than an hour before sunrise would lull me to sleep. He saw too much of what went on in my mind.

“You're afraid,” he said, coming up to stand beside me where I'd stopped, just outside a boarded-up rear window. “You don't trust me, do you, Angelica?”

How could I tell him that it was myself I didn't trust?

“Don't worry,” he snapped when I didn't reply or even look at him. “I'm not going to touch you again. I already told you that, didn't I?”

I closed my eyes to try to block my thoughts. But they raced around in my brain anyway. And I strained to keep him from hearing them as well. I wanted him to touch me. I wanted him to make me lose my mind the way I'd lost it before. So the decision would be taken out of my hands, and I'd be left with little cause to feel the guilt or shame I knew I should feel. I wanted him to force me, so that I could assuage this burning hunger inside and leave my conscience clear.

I was ashamed of these thoughts, and lowered my head to follow him inside.

“There's a basement. It would be the safest place,” he said, his voice stiff and formal. “The floor is concrete. Not comfortable, but better than damp earth.”

He stood at the mouth of a blackened doorway, looking down. And I moved as close to him as I dared, peering past him. There were no stairs. Had been once, but only a few rotted boards remained. Without a word, Jameson jumped down and forward, landing on his feet on the floor. Then he turned, hands busy brushing the dust from his jeans. “Coming?”

I drew a breath and swallowed. Rhiannon said I was as strong as he was. Difficult adjusting to the idea. Even more difficult for a woman who still felt very much mortal, to pitch herself down from the top of a nonexistent stairway, to the concrete floor below. Gritting my teeth, I closed my eyes and pushed myself away.

He'd stepped backward, but I hit him anyway. My body crashed into his and sent him sprawling. I landed on top of him. My body was pressed hard against his, just as it had been that night. And I could smell the masculine, exotic scent of his flesh, and I could hear the thrum of blood rushing in the veins just beneath it. My own pulse pounded harder. The steady beat in my throat growing stronger, more demanding.

His hands came to my shoulders, and gently lifted me, as he slid himself out from under me. He cleared his throat, but didn't look my way. I couldn't have looked him in the eye even if he had. “You need more practice.”

Practice was not even close to what I needed. What I needed was escape. I needed to be away from him. I'd be awake for another hour, and this burning for his touch would surely drive me insane.

“I think,” I said, recognizing the coarseness in my voice, hearing the slight tremor in my words, “that we should split up.”

“Do you, now?”

I nodded, forcing myself to look him in the eye. “We could cover more ground. Find Amber Lily that much sooner.”

“You mean you'd find her sooner. You're the one with the link to her. And then what, Angelica? You disappear with the only child I'll ever have?”

I lifted my chin. “I give you my word, Vampire. I won't run away.”

“Ah, but you're just one of the damned now, aren't you, Angel? A monster like me, without a soul or a shred of morality. What is your word worth?”

“I won't run away,” I said again. “Besides, you say there's a…a connection between us, now. Surely, even if I ran, you could find me.” I was testing him.

“I'd find you,” he said softly. “If I had to search to the ends of the earth, dark Angel, I'd find you. Make no mistake about that.”

“Then why not let me go on my own?”

“Because I don't want to
have
to find you. And because I don't trust you. You have to admit, your judgment has been rather flawed to this point. I don't want you making a mistake that would get my daughter killed.”

I lowered my head, closed my eyes and sat down on the concrete floor. “So the things you said in the car were only lies. I should have known.”

He came closer and sat down beside me. “Let's talk about lies, shall we, my dark Angel? Hmm?”

I lifted my head and looked at him. Saw the anger in his eyes. “I haven't lied to you,” I said.

“Oh, but you have. You don't want to get away from me for the baby's sake. It's for your own. You can't stand it, can you, Angel? A saint like you. It makes you sick to your stomach to be so hot for a monster like me. Doesn't it?” I turned my face away but he pressed his palm to my cheek, turning me to face him again. “You think I can't see it, Angel? You want me. You're burning up inside for me. You can't stop thinking about it, can you? My hands on you. My mouth on you.” He smiled bitterly, and shook his head. “Poor little Angel's spirit is at war with her flesh, and she's disgusted by it.”

“You're wrong,” I told him. “I don't want you! I don't even want you in the same room with me! I hate you!”

“I know you hate me,” he whispered. “But it doesn't matter, does it?”

Shaking my head in denial, I clambered to my feet, turning my back to him. But he was right there behind me, standing so close I could feel the heat of his flesh. And then his breath fanned my neck, and his body brushed up against the back of mine. I couldn't move, couldn't breathe. With one hand, he swept my hair aside, and lowered his head, his lips hovering close to my throat, but not touching. I trembled all over, from head to toe, I shuddered. And inside I was screaming for his touch.

He moved his hips, and his hard arousal pushed against my backside. And then he bent lower, and his lips brushed my throat. All the fight went out of me in a long, shivering sigh, and I let my head fall back, and to the side, baring my neck in blatant offering to him.

His breaths on my skin were coming in hot gusts now. “I thought you didn't want me in the same room with you,” he whispered, but it was a breathless whisper, and strained.

“Please,” I moaned, from deep in my throat.

And he wrenched himself from me, turning away, pushing his hands backward through his hair. “So who's the liar now, Angel?” he growled.

I wrapped my arms around myself, hugging tight, and slowly sank to my knees. My head bowed, and I wept in bitter frustration.

He stood there, looking at me. “Believe me,” he said, “it's every bit as distasteful to me, wanting someone I can't stand the sight of. But at least I'm not so goddamned self-righteous that I lie about it. You're not going anywhere, so we're both going to have to live with this situation.”

And I rose, anger and indignation giving me the strength his nearness had robbed me of only seconds before. I turned, and looked him in the eye. “The hell we are,” I told him, and I turned toward the doorway at the top of the stairs, bent my knees and pushed off. Amazingly, I sailed upward as easily as I'd once stepped over a crack in the sidewalk, and landed on the floor above. And then I ran, out of the house and into the night.