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 wood-lot. 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, remember?"
"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.
"I know what you're like," she said, and her whisper was weaker now.
She was remembering. Remembering something that made her stomach heave and her heart race with fear. A dark alley, and an amazingly strong man, holding her down and-
"Stop it!" She snapped her head around to face him, eyes filled with fury. "Stop invading my mind, damn you!"
Anger rose up, but it was brief and gut level. She had every right to order him to keep out of her thoughts. He knew better than to read another's mind without permission. It was just that he was so damned curious about her, and...and those frightening memories he'd just glimpsed made him even more so. He sighed hard. "I don't like you, Angelica. That's no secret. But if you're to be of any help at all in finding our daughter, you're going to need to learn a bit more about your own nature. And I suppose there's no one else to teach you, so..."
She let her head fall back against the seat. "I don't want to know anything you might want to teach me." He lifted his brows. "No? Not even how to guard your thoughts? Not even how to keep monsters like me from reading your mind whenever the mood strikes?"
She sent him a sidelong glance, filled with suspicion and mistrust.
"It's very easy, Angelica, and once the technique is learned, your thoughts will only be readable if and when you intend them to be."
Her head came around a little farther, eyes narrowed. "Black arts, no doubt. Sorcery. Satanism."
"I don't believe in Satan," he said. "So it can't be that."
"Heretic," she muttered.
Jameson shrugged. "Close your eyes and envision your mind as a house, your thoughts as its inhabitants.
And you as the master of the household."
She frowned, not closing her eyes or doing anything he told her to. But she was filing it all away for later consideration, he thought.
"Others wish to invade your home, and it's your responsibility to protect those who live there. So you build a wall. Pick any material you like. Brick or steel or stone. But see yourself, very clearly, building that wall, making it solid and strong, raising it higher and higher, until your house is no longer just a house, but a castle. A fortress. Impenetrable."
A bit of the suspicion left those violet eyes. They widened, and for once, looked directly into his. And their impact, when she did, jolted him like an unexpected blow to the chest. When their gazes met, something happened. It was as if her eyes probing his were the trigger to release the memories he'd vowed to put from his mind. The feelings...the desire...the touch of her lips and...
He blinked, and jerked his own gaze back to the road ahead, breaking the powerful connection. He realized he'd missed his turnoff, and pulled a U-turn in the road and headed back the other way. Then, clearing his throat, he went on, trying very hard to pretend he'd noticed nothing unusual when their eyes had met. Her mind. He'd been telling her how to protect her mind. "See yourself as the keeper of the wall you build," he said. "You can send messages out to others at will, and-"
"I can?"
He glanced at her again. Wider now, those eyes, and filled with purple wonder. Moments ago they'd been passion-glazed as she felt the same things he had. But like him, she'd done her best to hide it. And focused instead on the words they'd been saying. Words, floating on the surface of a still lake, while the deeper waters churned into chaos just below.
She was looking so innocent right now. So surprised at what he'd told her. He caught himself halfway to smiling at her, and checked it with ease. "Yes, of course you can. And you can hear the thoughts of others as well."
"Yes," she said, very softly. "I do hear them. All of them, all the time. It's maddening. Like a constant roar in my head, with nothing clear. Everything jumbled and garbled. I-" She looked up quickly, as if everything she'd just said had tumbled from her lips without her consent. As if only just now realizing that she was speaking to him as if he were something other than a monster. And she clamped her jaw, gave her head a tired shake.
It angered him. But he spoke all the same. "Your wall will admit only the messages you wish to receive.
All others will bounce off it like carelessly aimed arrows." Her brows rose, and she looked at him, doubting, but hoping, he could see that much.
He shook his head, looking straight ahead and refusing to see that distrust in her eyes anymore. "Try it and see for yourself if you're so certain I'm a liar. Go on, do it. Concentrate. Build your wall." Her lips thinned and she rolled her eyes, but seconds later, he saw her leaning back, relaxing, and focusing inwardly on the things he had told her. He gave her time, waited several moments, driving slowly and looking at the coastline as it came into view.
And then he sent his mind to hers, seeking and probing. And he found her wall. Felt it there, a flimsy barrier. His stronger will could break through if necessary, but her defenses would get stronger with time.
"Very good," he said. "Not bad at all, in fact."
She looked at him through narrowed eyes. "You're trying to confuse me with all this nonsense."
"Am I?" he said. And then he focused his mind on hers, and without speaking aloud, said, We're near the sea now, Angelica. See it, off in the distance ?
And he saw her stiffen, and turn toward him as if he'd spoken. Saw her flinch when she noticed that his lips were not moving. Saw her look off in the direction he'd mentally indicated, and notice the Atlantic shore.
"It's...it's uncanny. It's unnatural," she whispered.
"No, not to us it isn't. And it can be damned convenient. Especially when you find yourself in a scrape.
You can send out your cry for help across the miles, and bring others to your aid." She lowered her head, shook it. "I'd rather take my chances with my own trouble, thank you all the same."
"And why is that, Angelica?"
She lifted her brows and her shoulders at the same time. "Same reason it's unwise to deal with the devil, Vampire. He can't be trusted. Nothing made of true evil can be."
"So we're like Satan himself, now, are we? Made of evil? Not to be trusted? I didn't realize you were in such close contact with the Almighty, Angelica. Has He told you all this personally? Or are you judging me without divine assistance?"
"I don't need to judge you," she whispered. "You've already shown your true colors. You began as my rescuer and became my captor. I'll know better than to make the mistake of trusting your kind ever again."
"If I were untrustworthy, that wouldn't necessarily mean that all vampires were, oh Angel of wisdom.
And while we're at it, let's set the record straight. I began as your rescuer, that's true. Then I became your victim when you tried to murder me. And then, dark Angel, I became your lover." He enjoyed the little gasp that statement instigated. He even smiled a little. "True, it was only in a test tube, but we mated, nonetheless. And now, Angelica, I am both rescuer and captor, but only to prevent you from playing the role of child abductor."
She lowered her head, closed her eyes.
"How can anyone so detest the very thing they are?" he asked, half to himself. "You are a vampire, Angelica. When you condemn us, you condemn yourself."
"I'm not the one who's condemned you," she whispered. "God has. And for some reason, He's turned His wrath on me as well."
He tilted his head to one side, saw the utter torment on her pretty face. "You believe this is some form of punishment from God?"
"It's hell," she whispered. "I died in that alley, and this is hell."
"What alley?" He knew...she'd been made in an alley, and against her will, quite obviously. But he wanted to know more. Wanted to know everything.
She averted her face, bit her lip, refused to answer him.
"You know, Angel, you're really without a clue. You have no inkling of what being a vampire is all about. You're jumping to conclusions without the slightest bit of evidence. Do you have any idea how self-righteous and arrogant that is?"
"I'm one of the damned," she whispered, her throat apparently very tight. "Do you really think I care if I seem arrogant to you?"
"Jesus Christ," he muttered.
She flinched and turned her head away. Jameson let the silence stretch between them. Then he saw their destination bathed in the headlights' white glow, and he nodded toward it, thinking he could change the dreary subject. "This is where we'll be staying, for now. A base of operations. At least until they catch on. It probably won't take them long."
She eyed the house, shaking her head. "I don't want to be here. I want to be out searching for my child."
He lifted his brows, amazed in spite of himself. "You can barely function," he said. "And you obviously aren't thinking clearly. You need to rest, and to feed. Give yourself time to regain your strength, and perhaps even learn a bit about your own nature. It's obvious you know nothing."
"I don't want lessons, I want my baby!"
He swallowed hard as he faced the blazing purple flames in her eyes. "So do I," he said. "But it will be dawn soon. There's nothing we can do in the short time of darkness we have left. We'll start our search at sundown."
She grated her teeth in frustration, but turned to wrench her door open all the same. Jameson gripped her wrist before she could jump out of the car, and she faced him once more. "And I do mean we," he told her. "Don't even think about waking before me and slipping away on your own, Angelica. The place may look decrepit, but that's an illusion. My friend Eric keeps it up, and his technological standards are the highest. It's a fortress, Angelica, and I hold the key."
"I despise you!" She wrenched her wrist free of his grasp, and turned to get out of the car.
Jameson held her there easily, preventing that. "Close the door. We're not quite there yet." Scowling at him, she did.
The house was as frightening to me as anything could have been. I was terrified. Alone with a monster who seemed to know more of me than I knew of myself. A man who'd taken me from one prison only to bring me to another. This one looking as if it belonged to a band of witches in old Salem. But it didn't. It belonged instead to a band of vampires. And perhaps that was even worse.
We drove past a tall iron gate that hung open and seemed attached only by one hinge. Above us, an arch of black filigree spelled the name Marquand. The drive was littered with broken limbs, overgrown with weeds and lined with scrub trees and briars. And then the house itself loomed before us like a giant demon. It was a tower of gray stone blocks, and ivy had crept over most of it. Large timbers had been nailed over the massive front door. The wrought-iron railing was broken, and leaned over the chipped stone steps like a crippled old man leaning upon a cane. Water stains darkened the stone beneath each tall, narrow window, giving the ghastly illusion that the house had been crying. I shivered at the thought.
Beyond the house, a sheer cliff tumbled raggedly down to the sea. I could see the black water churning in the distance, and I could hear the breakers smashing against the rocky shore.
And still Jameson drove his small black car farther. He turned off the drive and drove through the brush, and as we went, it seemed a path opened out where none had been visible before. We drove deep into a tunnel made of briars and brush so dense it was impossible to see outside it. Impossible, I realized, to see inside it, as well. Ingenious.
And then Jameson shut off the engine. But he left the keys in the switch. For a fast getaway, I guessed.
"Now," he said, looking at me in the darkness, seeing me just as clearly as I could see him, with his velvety brown, tiger-striped eyes, "you can get out."
Obeying this man made me cringe, but it seemed there was little else I could do. I opened the car door and got out. He was beside me so quickly I gasped in surprise. And again, he took hold of my wrist. I looked down at his hand, wrapped around me, and I knew he could break that small narrow wrist of mine with one simple twist. And at that same moment, it occurred to me that he hadn't once hurt me.
Though he could have, and though it had seemed as if he'd very much like to on more than one occasion, he had yet to cause me any pain. His grip, when he found it necessary to hold me, was tight. Firm. Even unshakable. But not painful.
I thought of the careless cruelty of the one who'd taken me in the alley. He had hurt me. Time and again, without a thought.
It would be a mistake, though, to believe the two were so different. They were the same, both damned, both monsters, demons, servants of Satan himself. I would not let his deceptive gentleness lull me into complacency. I must escape him. And I would.
He led me still deeper into this tunnel of undergrowth, to a wall of the stuff at the very end, and then he pushed some of the branches aside, and stepped forward, and down, pulling me with him.
A staircase...cut into the very earth, and spiraling downward. For just an instant I envisioned the fires of hell awaiting me at the bottom, and I pulled against him.
He turned then, eyes narrow. "It's all right, Angelica. There's nothing here to be afraid of. I know all of this seems absurd, but believe me it's necessary. For our safety. Come." Swallowing my fears, I went with him, down into the depths of the earth, and then along a narrow underground passage. We finally emerged from it, passing through a sturdy door and into a larger room, and it was then that I blinked in utter astonishment.
This was not at all what I had expected. A tomblike dungeon, yes. But not this.
The room was large and beautiful. With a stone fireplace at the farthest side, and kindling lying ready on the grate. A fragrant stack of cherry wood stood beside it. The walls had been painted a muted shade of rose, and paintings lined them. Lovely works, and I noticed then that many of them included a fiery sun's loving rays bathing various land and seascapes. Oriental rugs covered the floors, and a velvet settee, heaped with pillows and throws, stood in one corner. An antique cherry rocker in another. A marble-topped table littered with objets d'art in a third. There were oil lamps everywhere, and doors.
More doors like the one through which we'd entered.
He closed the huge door through which we'd come, and for the first time, I saw the digital panel on this side of it. He punched some buttons, and a red light came on. It was true, then, what he'd said. I was trapped here, with him.
"You see," he said, facing me again. "Nothing to fear. Through there is a fully functional bathroom, and you'll find plenty of clothing in various sizes stocked in the closets. You'll be able to bathe and put on some real clothes. That ought to feel pretty good after all those months in nothing but this thing." As he said it, he touched the thin white gown I wore, brushing his hand over my shoulder. And I shivered.
He let his hand fall to his side again, averting his eyes. "Everything you need is right here. There are exits from each room. Tunnels like the one we came through. They each open onto various parts of the property, so if we need to escape, we can. And here-" he nodded at the small appliance built into the wall, a minuscule refrigerator "-is enough sustenance to keep us going." I stared at the little door, aghast. "What...what do you mean?" He opened the door with a little flourish. I'm not certain what I expected. A long narrow vault holding the bodies of his victims or something equally horrendous, I suppose. But instead, I saw stacks of plastic bags like those used in blood banks and hospitals. My shock must have shown in my eyes, because he tilted his head, and sent me a look as if he knew exactly what I'd been thinking. "You see how little you know, Angelica? We don't feed on the living. That comes straight out of Sunday afternoon monster movies. Why the hell would we prey on innocent humans, when there's blood readily available elsewhere?" And he slammed the door, shaking his head in disgust. "I suggest you feed. I'm going to shower and change. Don't try to leave. The doors will not open without the proper codes. Even if you happened on them by chance, an alarm would sound. And if all of that somehow failed and you did escape, you'd only find yourself out in the open with no shelter in reach and daylight approaching. You'd toast in the sun." He turned as if to leave me alone there.
"And the sun would kill me?" I asked. I couldn't stop myself from asking. For nine months I'd existed without knowing the first thing about myself. He'd made me realize, in his crude way, how very little I knew. Not even what things might kill me. And these were things I had to understand. The questions that had been boiling inside me at first-the ones I'd buried and ignored in my foolish certainty that none of it mattered, since I'd be human again one day-came bubbling back to the surface with a new urgency.
I was a member of a race I knew nothing about. Like a newborn, unfamiliar with her own body. I wanted to know.
His back went stiff, but when he turned to face me once more, his stern expression had softened. His brows rose in bewilderment. "Yes. Of course it would. My God, Angelica, you don't even know that much?"
I lowered my head and turned away from those knowing eyes. I'd revealed too much already. Anything I told this creature would be turned against me, I knew that.
He stared at my back for a long moment, awaiting an answer. An answer I dared not give. So instead, I attempted to change the subject entirely. "Where will I sleep?" I asked.
"Ah, yet another of Eric's marvels. I'll show you." He moved past me to yet another door and pushed it open. Then waved a hand so that I would precede him inside. "Not my first choice, of course," he was saying as I walked into the room. "But when you see the safety of these, you'll understand. Eric is a genius about these things. He's installed...Angelica?"
I could not move. I stood rooted to the floor, staring in horror at the two caskets, gleaming at me in the darkness. I could not breathe, I was so terror-stricken. Even looking at them, I could feel myself trapped inside, feel the cramped space closing in on me, hear my own screams and feel my hands beating against the lid, to no avail.
Jameson touched my shoulder, and all my pride left me in a rush. I spun around to face him, falling to my knees and gripping his hands in mine, not caring that I knelt at the feet of a demon. Lowering my head to hide my tears did nothing to keep the sobs from breaking my words into fragmented bits. "I...beg of y-you..." I said, choking on the words. "Do not put me into that box. Please..." Jameson's heart tripped to a stop as he saw what his thoughtlessness had reduced this fierce woman to.
Kneeling on the floor, clutching his hands and shaking. She was cold as ice. Damn. How could he have been so cruel as to forget where he'd found her?
Sealed in a tiny box and left there for God only knew how long. Left there to die.
He bent down, closing his hands around her small waist and lifting her until she stood again. When he tilted up her chin, he saw the tears staining her cheeks, and he swore. "Jesus, Angel, of course not. I wasn't thinking..." Keeping one arm anchored around her waist, he moved her out of that room as quickly as possible. She was still shaking like a frightened rabbit. "No," he told her. "God, you truly do think I'm a monster, don't you? You honestly thought I'd force you into one of those coffins, seal you inside the way those bastards at DPI did? How could you think that?" She closed her eyes, and he could see her battling the panic that had overwhelmed her, fighting for control. "What else would I think? You said I was your prisoner. You said you'd keep me here until we found her."
"I was thinking of our safety. Eric has those coffins equipped with all sorts of...never mind, it doesn't matter. I should have thought before I ushered you in there. I didn't mean to frighten you like that." He turned, crossing the first room again to open a door on the opposite side. And this time he entered first, leaving her to follow at her own pace. He went to the nightstand and bent to light an oil lamp. They didn't need it to see by, but he thought the amber glow made things seem warmer. Less frightening.
She came in, slowly, warily. God, she mistrusted him. He stood where he was and watched her examine the very normal-looking bedroom. A huge canopy bed held state like a royal personage. Rhiannon's doing, of course. She preferred luxury to caution. Always had.
"Is this more to your liking?" he asked.
She stepped farther inside, turning her head, taking in her surroundings.
"Look," he said, pointing. "The bathroom is through there." She looked, nodded, but her glance returned to the bed. When her violet gaze had first fallen there, it had seemed to Jameson that her muscles relaxed a bit. She sniffed and brushed at her eyes.
Her breath escaped her in a trembling sigh as she closed her eyes. "Yes," she breathed at last. "This is much better."
Jameson stepped away from the bed, shaking his head in puzzlement as she came forward, tugged the plump satin comforter down and nodded in approval at the way the bed looked.
"You'd better feed now, Angelica," he said, his voice taking on the tone of a parent instructing an innocent child. "Dawn is only a short while away, and you need the sustenance before you sleep." She nodded, absorbing that information. "Yes, all right." And she moved past him into the front room again. He heard her open the refrigerator, heard the chink of glass as she located the crystal stored in the cabinet above it. Heard her pouring.
How in the world, he wondered, was he going to manage to hate a woman who needed him so desperately? She knew nothing. Nothing about her strength, nothing about her psychic abilities. Not even how to feed, or what could kill her! It was uncanny. He needed her help to find his daughter, but first she needed his help. To know what she was now, what she had become.
There was no way he could hate a woman who needed him the way this one did.
So he'd try to help her, instead. But the next question on his ever-growing list was how the hell could he manage to help a woman who detested him? She hated him, and his kind. She hated herself, by all appearances. She hated what she was. She didn't want to learn about her new nature, didn't want to explore it, didn't want his help.
Yet she'd taken it when he'd ignored her objections and given it to her. She'd erected the mental barrier around her mind as he'd instructed. She'd fed when he'd advised her to. She'd even asked him a question or two.
Perhaps he could help her. And perhaps she'd realize that he and his kind were no more monstrous than mortals were. Much less so in most cases. And maybe she'd give up her ridiculous notion of taking his daughter away from him. Maybe she'd realize that his own child did not need to be protected from its father.
Or maybe she wouldn't realize it.
There was so much to think about. But not now. He'd drive himself insane if he tried to solve the puzzle of Angelica now. For now, he'd simply light the fire, and see that she'd fed enough to sustain her, but not enough to make her ill. And then he'd let her rest, while he planned what to do tomorrow.
Tomorrow. When she would awaken stronger, and likely more determined to escape him than ever. Not to mention more able. How would he deal with her then?
One thing, at least. It ought to be easier to hate her when she no longer appeared so helpless.
And that was a good thing. Right now, he was realizing just how dangerous not hating this woman could be. Because when he wasn't hating her, he was wanting her. And the sooner he rid himself of that particular longing, the better.