Born in Twilight: Twilight Vows

by Maggie Shayne

“Tamara says Hilary is a good person. We have to believe that.”

  She nodded. “Yes.”

  And then she went right back to worrying again. Her head was throbbing with a pain that reached all the way down the back of her neck. He could feel that. And the pain was weakening her, as pain tended to do to their kind.

  “You’re making yourself sick, Angelica.”

  She blinked, and turned to look at him. So much pain in those eyes of hers. So much…ah, God help him…need. “I can’t help it.”

  “You have to help it. Try not to think the worst. You’ll be so worn down by the time we find them that you’ll be no help at all.”

  She tilted her head. “Worrying can weaken me?”

  “No, but the headache it’s causing could damn well do it.”

  Her brows drew together in a frown. “You’re poking around in my mind again? Reading my thoughts?”

  “Not voluntarily, I’m not.”

  Her curious gaze scanned his face. “What do you mean?”

  Jameson drew a deep breath. He had not wanted to bring up the subject with her. Not when just thinking about it reduced him to a mass of unfulfilled yearning. But he supposed he owed her an explanation. “We shared blood, Angelica, and that was enough to forge this bond. We had a child together, and I think we both know that strengthened it. And then we…we had sex.” He saw the flare of memory in her eyes. It seared him before she quickly turned away. “That forged an even more powerful link between us. Kind of like the link between you and Amber Lily.” He shook his head, sighing hard, knowing she’d likely be even more repulsed when she realized how much a part of her he had become. How much a part of him she had grown to be. “Whether I like it or not,” he said, “I know when you’re hurting. I can feel your pain, and I imagine you could probably feel mine as well.”

  “Yes.”

  Not disgust in her voice. Not that at all. Just affirmation. He looked at her quickly, but she wasn’t grimacing.

  “I felt it even before we made love,” she whispered.

  Made love?

  “I felt it when you were shot. Knew you’d been hit even before I saw the wound. I thought at first the bullet had torn through my side, but then I looked, and there was no wound in me. It was in you, instead.”

  “And you felt it?” he asked her, amazed.

  “Yes, I did.”

  He blinked, thinking this through. “Then the tie between us—whatever the hell it is—was already very strong. The sex…well, that would only serve to make it even more powerful. Very strange.”

  “It’s disturbing,” she said. He looked at her. Not disgusting, but disturbing.

  “How so?” he asked her. “What do you feel from me now, Angelica? There’s no pain, nothing to upset you.”

  “All I feel from you now, Vampire, is rage. It’s frightening in its intensity. Huge and black and potent.” She lifted her head, staring straight ahead of them, as if she could see his anger. “And I would hazard a guess that the rage inside you can be as debilitating to you as this worry might be to me.”

  Jameson felt his lips thin. “You’d probably be right.”

  “Why do you hate them so?”

  “They have our daughter, Angelica. How can you ask me why I hate them?”

  She shook her head slowly. “No. That isn’t all of it. You hated them before then. That night…that night when I stupidly went away with that agent, believing all his promises, you hated them then. It was in your mind when you tried to warn me.”

  “But you went anyway.”

  “Yes. And you can’t forgive me for that, can you? You can’t forget that it’s my fault they have our child. My fault, for believing their lies.” She fell sideways until her head rested against the window glass. “I don’t blame you,” she whispered. “You’re right to hate me for letting them take her. But you can’t possibly hate me for it any more than I hate myself.”

  Jameson looked at her, saw the twin tracks of tears slowly moving down her face. She was wrong. He might have blamed her for this once, but not anymore. Not since he’d realized the hell she’d been suffering in that ruined building where she’d gone to hide. Gone to starve.

  “So tell me,” she said. “Why did you hate them so?”

  He lifted his chin, swallowed hard. “Years ago, they held Rhiannon prisoner. Had her strapped to a table while they took samples from her flesh. This was before they’d developed their nasty little tranquilizer. Their only method for keeping us too weak to fight them was starvation. There was nothing to ease the pain of their experiments. Those bastards tortured her nearly out of her mind. But she escaped. Killed one of their top scientists in the process. Broke his neck, she did.”

  “I can believe that.”

  Jameson looked at her as he drove, saw her shudder in response to his words. “When Tamara was a small child, her parents died of a rare virus. And a doctor who’d sort of taken her under his wing offered to be her guardian. There was no one else, and his petition was approved.”

  Angelica’s lips were parted, eyes wide with interest.

  “Turned out the doc was really with DPI, and the parents’ exposure to that virus was all part of a well-laid plan. They knew Tam had the belladonna antigen—that rare blood type that enables a human to become a vampire. And they also knew that people with that blood type often have a special bond to one particular vampire, who tends to watch over them.”

  She gasped softly. “Is that true? I had no idea.”

  “Yes, it’s true,” he told her. “A vampire feels a special affinity for a given mortal, feels drawn to them, senses when they’re in danger. And often steps in to protect them, though most of the time, the mortal never knows any of it. Eric had been Tamara’s protector. Saved her life once when she was just a little girl. And DPI knew it, knew he’d come back someday. So they wanted to hold Tamara as bait. And they stopped at nothing to do it.”

  Angelica was shaking her head, her eyes filled with sympathy for the child Tamara had been. “They killed her parents…my God. It’s horrible.” And then she turned those big round eyes on him, and he almost forgot to be angry with her. “And what about you, Jameson? When did you get involved with them?”

  “I met Tamara when she worked for DPI.”

  “She—?”

  He nodded. “Yes. Well, remember, she was raised by one of them. He brought her into the organization largely so that he could keep tabs on her. But she wasn’t in on any of the really sensitive stuff that went on there. They gave her milk-toast cases. Like working to discover the alleged psychic powers of a twelve-year-old boy.”

  “You?” she asked.

  “Yeah. Only the psychic stuff was a ruse. They wanted me under surveillance because I had the antigen. The whole damned cycle was gearing up to start all over again. But Tam figured it out. The bastards kidnapped me to get to her and Eric. Roland saved my ass, for the first of many times. When it was over, my mother and I had to get the hell out of the area. Roland took us to France with him, gave my mother a job, sent me to private school.”

  “And you knew…you knew they were…vampires?”

  “Sure I knew. I was young, but not blind.”

  “And it didn’t frighten you?”

  “It was those DPI bastards who frightened me.”

  She nodded, and it seemed to Jameson that she was truly interested in what he was saying as they drove the many miles that separated them from their child. “Where’s your mother now?”

  “Died a couple of years later. Roland took care of me, though, until later when those DPI bastards tracked us down again. After that he got to thinking I might be better off with my birth father. Hired a PI to track him down, and I ended up in San Diego living with Dad until he passed on two years ago. And my old pals at DPI didn’t catch up with me again until last year. They bundled me into one of those inconspicuous gray vans and took me to their ‘research center,’ for ‘testing.’ In fact, the others had only busted me out of that hellhole a few night
s before I found you in the condemned building.”

  She nodded slowly. “So DPI has been a thorn in your side for most of your life.”

  “They’ve been one step behind me all the way. Same as the others. No one should have to live looking over their shoulder.”

  “And you’re going to be the one to end it.”

  “Someone has to.” He felt his jaw clench, and tried to relax it. “Jesus, Angelica, when I came for you, there were others. Those freaking cells were all full. Some dead, some dying, some just being kept alive long enough for those animals to finish their experiments on them. It can’t go on. It just can’t go on.”

  “But can one man stop them?”

  “This one can.” He slanted a sideways glance at her. “I have motivation, Angelica.” She lifted her brows, waiting. “Our daughter,” he explained. “I’m not going to let her grow up with the constant threat of those bastards looming over her. I can’t.”

  She blinked twice, and nodded. As if she…maybe…understood.

  “So now you know what makes me such a monster,” he said. “I hate them. I want them all to pay. And I fully intend to extract their penance with my own two hands. Just as soon as my daughter is safe.”

  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.