She hated him. Hated what he was. Hated every one of her own race. She was a traitorous, murderous creature. And she wanted to take his child from him.
But the bond with the baby was apparently real. And he needed her if he hoped to rescue his daughter. The rest, he’d worry about later.
“Come on,” he said, turning for the door. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”
She took a single step, and fell to the hard floor. Jameson looked at her, lying there, all but helpless, and slowly he closed his eyes, knowing full well what must be done. Hating it, but knowing it. He could not carry her from this place and risk being seen. She must wear the disguise he wore, and she must walk out on her own. And she couldn’t do that in this weakened state.
He crouched and scooped her up into his arms, holding her like a child, and then he turned her face to his own throat, one hand at the back of her head, cupping her, supporting her. Sharing blood with another vampire…he’d been warned of the bond it could create. The attraction it could stir. The longing it would embed in the depths of his soul like an addiction. But it could not be helped. For his daughter, he must do this.
She turned her face away.
“You know what’s necessary as well as I do,” he told her. “Do it.”
“I can’t,” she whispered, and he thought there might be tears on her cheeks.
“Do it, damn you!” And he turned her face to him again, pressed her tight to his neck.
She parted her mouth and sank her fangs deeply into his flesh, and Jameson drew a deep, shuddering breath. He felt her mouth working him there, hesitantly at first, but then harder and faster as the bloodlust overwhelmed her. He felt each movement of her lips, each lap of her hungry little tongue. And lust came rushing through him. Weakening him. He trembled with it, dropping to his knees and moaning, and still he held her there. His heart rate quickened, and his breaths came rapid and shallow. True, Roland had warned him how closely the bloodlust and sexual desire were linked in his kind. How the two intertwined to the point where they were nearly inseparable. But this was a thousand times more powerful than what he’d experienced with her before. And he hadn’t expected it to be like this. Not like this. Not this urge to pull her closer. To do to her what she was doing to him. To take her, in every way he knew how, until, until…
She lifted her head, blinking and looking dazed. He hadn’t had to tell her to stop. She’d done it on her own. And judging from the look in her eyes, he thought she’d experienced the same mind-numbing desire as he had.
As he…still did?
He swallowed hard, and got to his feet, lowered her to the floor, still shaking with unbelievable need. Her face was no longer chalk white, but was slowly becoming infused with healthy color. A glow. And her eyes were shining brighter with every second he spent looking into them. Her dulled hair took on a new gleam, and her hollowed cheeks began to plump right before his eyes.
God, she was beautiful.
He blinked the thought away. No time for this. Not now.
“I…feel stronger,” she whispered, but the shock of the desire that had raged between them still showed in her violet eyes. “Thank you.” She was bewildered. She had no clue what had transpired between them, was completely shocked over the feelings that had swamped her just now.
Looking back at her, he nodded and reached into his pocket for the second lab coat he’d brought along. He held it open for her, and she turned, swayed, nearly fell, but managed to catch her balance and thrust her arms into its sleeves. It wasn’t starvation weakening her now. It was desire. And it disgusted her. Jameson watched her struggle with the buttons for just a moment, then ran out of patience and bent to do them up himself, effectively covering the thin white robe that was all she’d been wearing.
He then produced a surgical mask and a disposable paper head covering, a puffy thing with elastic. Quickly and efficiently, he wound her long, tangled hair into a bunch, snapped the cap over it and tucked the loose tendrils up underneath.
“That’s going to have to do,” he said, standing back and eyeing her, noting how those violet eyes stood out above the white mask she wore. “Come.” He took her hand once more, pulled her out of the room, into the hall, and started down it. He looked down at her, saw her fear in her eyes. She was afraid of him. He’d sensed that from the start. And no wonder. She must expect some kind of retribution from the “monster” she’d once tried to murder. But right now, she was more afraid of the others who roamed this place. Her eyes were wide with it, and she was trembling.
He squeezed her hand for some reason he could not explain. Perhaps to calm her fears. It was cold, shaking. She didn’t pull it away. “I don’t know your name,” he said softly. “Ironic, isn’t it? We have a child together, and don’t even know the simplest things about each other.”
“I’m Angelica,” she whispered.
Angelica. Angel, he thought. A dark, frightened, lonely angel. Stupid thought. She was no angel.
“I’m Jameson.”
They reached the elevator that led to the furnace. No one should be there at this hour of the night. DPI didn’t dare risk one of their victims waking—bolstered by the night—as they shoved him into the flames, and wreaking havoc on the attendants. They stepped inside, and the doors slid closed. “What happened to you?” he asked her as the car started upward. “How did you end up alone in that condemned building, half-starved?”
She lowered her head, shook it slowly. “I was mad. Out of my mind, that night.”
The car jerked to a stop. Angelica was jostled against him, and he closed his arms around her without forethought.
“I’m sorry for what I did to you,” she whispered. “It’s my fault you’re…”
“What, Angelica? A monster? That’s what you think I am, isn’t it?”
She looked up at him as the doors slid open, eyes widening. Yes, she must know he’d read her mind now.
“Just so you know, your plan to run from me as soon as we’re out of here is never going to come about.”
“What?”
Taking her arm, he led her from the elevator, and out through the exit. There were guards outside of course, but he kept close to the shadows, using trees and shrubs for cover. He stopped behind one, out of earshot of those sentries, and faced her once more. “Your maker should have taught you better, Angelica. Vampires can read one another’s thoughts. Just as I read yours back there. Even a fledgling ought to know enough to guard them. You are not going to run from me once we’re away from here. You’re not going to find my child and take her away where I’ll never lay eyes on her again. I won’t allow that.”
“You can’t stop me,” she whispered. “I can find her. I’m the one with the bond to my little one, not you!”
“Which is why,” Jameson said as the guards in the distance turned away, and he started forward again, still holding her arm in a firm grip. “I’ve decided to keep you with me. Right by my side, Angelica, until we find our daughter. As my prisoner, if need be.”
“No.”
“Yes,” he said, gripping her arm and leading her quickly across an open space before the guards could turn in their direction again. “But don’t worry. I’m not nearly as monstrous as you seem, for some reason, to think I am.”
* * *
I went with him. But only because I had no choice. I was still weak, and run-down, and he was obviously much stronger than I. I knew nothing, then, of my own abilities. Of the limits of my power, or the psychic part of my newfound senses. I only knew that I could die easily if exposed to fire, as my creator had. And that starvation could leave me weak and barely able to function. I suspected it, too, could kill me, but of course, I couldn’t be sure.
So I went with this stranger. This vampire. This Jameson who claimed to have fathered my child. I went with him, thinking I’d certainly traded one hell for another, and vowing in silence that when I was strong, I would run. If he could read my thoughts, then let him. I would run from him, just as f
ast and as far as I could, at the very first opportunity.
I was afraid of him. When I’d put my mouth to his skin, a wildness had come to life inside me. A madness far more intense than what I’d felt the first time I’d taken from him. A passion that blazed like hell itself, and weakened me with its intensity. I was ashamed of the feelings that had overwhelmed me for this man. And what frightened me even more was that I’d sensed he’d felt them, too.
I must escape him.
But until then, I would bide my time. Use it to regain my strength and to discover the extent of my abilities. That way I’d be more able to rescue my child from the animals who held her.
Jameson was young, not more than thirty. He was human when I met him. I was certain of that. No vampire would have allowed me to do what I’d done to Jameson. He was strong, too. Broad across the back, and very tall. But I would escape him. When we were out of this place, I would get away. I had to, for my daughter’s sake. And for my own.
He led me right up to the towering and obviously electrified mesh fence that surrounded this prison, and as I looked up at it, my hopes of escape faded rapidly. “What now?” I whispered, turning to look up at him.
He frowned down at me as if puzzled by the question. Then he reached up to pull the cap from my head, and remove the mask from my face, tossing them carelessly to the ground. “Now,” he said, “we jump it.”
I nearly choked as I stood there, searching this grim-faced man’s countenance for some sign that he was joking. When there was none, I looked up at the fence, back at him, and slowly shook my head. “It’s impossible.”
“You have no idea how strong you are, do you?”
Well, of course, I did not. But I felt admitting as much to him would be a dire mistake.
“Just how long ago were you made, Angelica?”
I shrugged, turning my gaze to the fence once more, ignoring his question.
“Put your arm around my shoulders,” he instructed, and though still doubtful, I did so. He slipped his strong arm around my waist, his fingers pressing into my belly as he pulled me firmly against his side. And that rush of desire for him returned. What was this madness?
Then he bent his knees, drawing me down with him. “Now…jump!”
He pushed off, and I did as well, nearly laughing at the idiocy of it all. I fully expected to hop perhaps a foot or two into the air, and then land right back where I stood. So I was ill prepared for the flight that followed. We sailed into the night sky like two rockets, propelled upward by no more than the force of our legs, pushing off. The mesh rushed before my eyes in a blur, and then we cleared it by several feet. And as the momentum eased and changed, and we began to plummet toward the earth on the other side, my heart nearly tripped to a stop in fear. My hair blew upward, and the night wind whistled past my ears. I peeked below us, saw the ground rushing at us at dizzying speeds, and I clung to Jameson and I buried my face against his shoulder, too afraid to look again. He closed his free arm around me, holding me against him as if I were a child. We hurtled downward, and I expected I would suffer incredibly upon impact.
But instead, I felt my feet hit the ground, and then my knees bent as the rest of my weight followed. My body absorbed the impact without pain. I stumbled and fell onto my backside, the motion pulling me out of Jameson’s firm embrace, which was a relief and a disappointment, all at once. I felt clumsy, I recall, as I saw the grace with which he landed, squatting low and then springing upright again, all without wobbling in the least. And then he turned to me, reached for me and pulled me to my feet.
I could only stare up at the fence we’d just leaped, almost effortlessly. I couldn’t believe….
“You didn’t have a clue, did you, Angelica?”
Dumbly, I shook my head, then faced him and, realizing what I’d just admitted, bit my lower lip.
“Who made you?” he asked, searching my face. “What kind of vampire would bring you over and leave you alone?”
I met his dark eyes, lifting my chin. “You ask me things that don’t concern you.”
He blinked, but finally nodded and stopped waiting for my answer. Apparently he’d realized it was not forthcoming. Taking my arm, he led me through the parking lot to a small black sports car that seemed to be crouching there, waiting like a bandit in the night. It was completely concealed in the shadows.
He opened a door, and I slid into a seat so low that it seemed to rest atop the road. Then he slammed the door, moved away and got in on the other side, sliding behind the wheel. He started the engine and we rolled away, unnoticed. And when the place that had nearly been my deathtrap was finally out of sight behind us, I turned to him. “How will we find our child?” I whispered. “Where will we begin?”
He met my eyes, and his seemed to blaze in the orange-red glow of the dash lights. “We’ll begin by finding out which of them knows,” he said. I saw his hatred for my former captors—his former captors, if his story was true—flare in his eyes. Saw it for the first time. I knew that hatred well, for I felt it, too. “And then we take them. We question them, one by one, until we get the answers we need.”
“They will never tell us,” I said, shaking my head and losing hope rapidly.
“They will,” he replied, and he fixed his eyes on the road ahead. “If they want to live.”
Chapter Six
Jameson drove away from White Plains, and as he did, he tried to keep his eyes, and his mind, on the highway ahead of him. But that was useless, because his curiosity about the woman in the seat beside him seemed to gain strength with every mile that passed. He’d asked her about her origins. Twice now, and he’d been rudely slapped down on both occasions. He wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of asking again.
But he couldn’t help but wonder about her. What kind of woman had she been in life? When had she been changed, and by whom? And why did she seem to detest her own race so thoroughly?
She leaned back in the passenger seat, her head resting against the black leather, her eyes closed. She wasn’t sleeping. No. Not at all. She was feeling. As Jameson let his thoughts slip unnoticed into her mind, he sensed her every aspect was focused on feeling that connection she’d described to him. The one that would tell her when her child—his child—was near. Her mind seemed almost to sniff the air through which they sped, to search every car they passed, and every building, and every field and every woodlot. And the farther they went, the more desperate that search became, until he could almost hear her soul crying out to the child.
She’d taken only a very little sustenance from him. And he realized now that it was not enough. She was draining her own energy, sapping her strength in this mental search, and as little as she understood about her own nature, Jameson was surprised at her ability to even try it. Instinctive, he supposed.
She was paling, now. Her eyelids twitched in protest, and a gentle shudder worked through her body. He wanted to despise her. And he should. He certainly should. She’d attempted to murder him. She’d handed herself over to his oldest enemies, allowed herself to be used by them, and because of her, they now had his child. The only child he’d ever have. In the hands of the people he despised with everything in him. All because of her.
And yet he didn’t quite hate the woman. He shrugged and mentally shook himself. It was natural that he couldn’t hate her just now. She was barely able to remain conscious, as weak as she was. Months of captivity, and God knew what kind of abuse. Pale and trembling and sickly. No, he couldn’t hate any person in this kind of sorry state. Not even her. He’d worry about hating her later. No doubt it would come in time. He touched her shoulder.
“Angelica,” he said, and then schooled his voice before going on. It should have the sharp ring of command, rather than that quiet hint of concern. “Stop, you’re not strong enough.”
Her eyes opened, but slowly, and she blinked at him as if rousing from a deep slumber. And then her gaze focused, her eyes narrowed. “What do you care how strong I am? You detest me, rememb
er?”
“It’s not something I’m likely to forget,” he told her. “And my only concern about your strength, Angelica, is that you not waste all of it and kill yourself before I find my little girl.”
Something flashed in her eyes. A fierceness that surprised him. Even when she’d attacked him all those months ago, he’d sensed no viciousness in her. Only desperation. This was quite different. Like a lioness eyeing a careless hunter and licking her chops. A half-dead lioness, still managing to stir up a healthy rage for what she perceived as a threat to her young.
“You need to understand something, Vampire,” she spit at him, making even this harsh whisper sound violent. “No matter what you do to me, no matter how you try, you will never have that innocent child. I am her mother, though not long ago I’d have believed it impossible. I am her mother. And I will raise her in a fine and moral manner. She will not be touched by the likes of you. I will not have her corrupted by your evil. If you want her…” She closed her eyes, took a breath, as if the very act of speaking was draining her. “You’ll have to kill me.”
Jameson closed his eyes very briefly and shook his head as if to shake the confusion away. “The likes of me?” he repeated, searching her weary face in brief glances. “Angelica, you are the likes of me.”
“No.” She turned her face away from him, staring out the window into the night. “I’ll never be like you.”
“And how can you be so sure of that, when you have no idea what I’m like?” He turned the wheel, taking the exit that led to the isolated estate on Long Island, which through a series of tricky legal maneuvers and several transfers of deed still legally belonged to Eric. It had been so many years since he’d been sighted there that DPI had long ago stopped keeping the place under surveillance. Eric had been there, though. And he’d been busy.
Born in Twilight: Twilight Vows Page 8