Amber squeezed her mother's hand before she let go and veered to the right, Rhiannon at her side, while Angelica moved straight ahead, toward the offices and living areas on the ground floor. Amber and Rhiannon entered a large room lined in shelves and cupboards, every visible space filled. On one wall, two doors stood side by side, like sentries. Amber gave the doors a slow motion wave, and they opened slowly, silently, to reveal two sets of steep, narrow stairs. One led up, the other down.
Amber nodded once to Rhiannon and started down the stairs into the basement, while Rhiannon headed up the other flight to the second floor. The basement stairs were less than sturdy, old and unkempt looking. It didn't fit, Amber thought, as she moved lower, step by creaking step. The rest of the house, though obviously old, was in perfect repair. The place might be old, but the owners kept it looking like new. This, though... this was different.
Almost... deliberately so.
She reached the bottom, a dirt floor cellar with stacked stone walls.
"This is just odd," she muttered, stepping into the cellar, slowly crossing the floor, examining everything from the breaker box to the furnace, both of which looked brand-new. And then she felt it-something that stopped her in her tracks.
She frowned, searching the atmosphere. "Edge?"
Alby!
God, he was here. Down here somewhere. Dull and muffled, but not by distance. Edge, what are you doing here? She asked the question with her mind, hoping to keep the fragile connection open. As he answered, she moved around the basement, searching for the place where the signal was strongest, like moving a radio antenna around in search of the strongest signal.
Came looking for you, what else?
Without Stiles? I thought he was your top priority.
Jealous, are you?
She stuck her middle finger up at him and hoped he knew it. When she felt laughter coming back at her, she was certain he did.
You're still mad at me, then. Even though I rescued you from Stiles?
My hero. She loaded the thought with as much sarcasm as she could manage.
Truth is, kitten, I couldn't stand to think of you off playing warrior princess games in your condition.
Amber went still. He knew?
What, no reply to that?
His signal was stronger, near the back wall. She went to the spot and ran her hands along the stones.
I... was going to tell you.
She detected a fissure-not a natural crack in the stone, but a barely discernible linear break that, though uneven, formed a rough-edged boundary in the shape of a door. Its edges zigged and zagged with the shape of the stone, an extremely effective concealment. Except to eyes as powerful as hers.
Don't apologize. It's not my business, after all.
She blinked. What the hell is that supposed to mean?
Well, I'll admit, I was wildly jealous at first. Petty of me, I realize that now. I thought I was your first, you know. I believed you about that...
"You son of a... " Amber drew her knee up to chin height, then fired off a kick at the door. It crashed inward, from the top down, and she stomped over it into the huge room. Then she spotted Edge, sitting in the middle of the floor, her father sitting beside him, close by, oblivious to the mental conversation she and Edge had been having. Both men sprang to their feet when she entered.
"Amber, watch out!" her father shouted.
Too late, though. Two women had been standing at either side of the door, and they were on her instantly, gripping her arms and trying to force her to the floor.
Amber rolled her eyes, ripped herself free of their hands and jerked both fists up and back, smashing the faces on either side of her. The women crumpled to the floor, and Amber strode forward to the odd little white line painted on the floor around the men.
Edge flung his arms out in front of him, hands making stop signs. "Don't!"
"Don't come any closer, Amber!" her father said at the same moment.
She frowned at them, glancing at the floor. The toes of her shoes were at the edge of the white painted boundary. She rolled her eyes, shook her head. "But there's nothing there." She reached out a hand, half expecting to touch an invisible force field.
Edge hit her, hard, flat of his hand to her chest, sending her reeling backward. She hit the wall, then the floor, even as she saw the flames, closing on his arm from above and below like the jaws of a trap. Edge howled, jerking his arm back. His shirtsleeve was blazing. Jameson tore off his jacket and wrapped Edge in it, arm and all, smothering the flames.
"Oh my God, Edge, what the hell... ?" Amber asked.
He sank to the floor, letting her father's jacket fall away, hugging his arm to his chest. The shirt sleeve was gone, nothing but bits of blackened fabric left. His skin was just as black, just as tattered. "Didn't want you gettin' burned." He ground the words out. His jaw was tight, his entire body shaking now with the pain, which had to be excruciating. "Wouldn't be good for the little one."
Jameson was kneeling over him, telling him to stop trying to talk, but he stopped in midsentence. "Little one?"
Her father looked at Edge, then slowly turned his head to stare at his daughter. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"This is hardly the time," she said quickly. "We've got to find a way to turn off the damn flame throwers so we can get you out of here." She picked herself up from where Edge had flung her and moved close to the boundary again, knelt beside it, saw the harmless looking jets lining the floor. Lifting her gaze, she saw them in the ceiling as well, all neatly lined up and camouflaged within the white stripe. They were spaced every six inches or so.
Licking her lips, she said, "I have an idea."
"Amber Lily... " Jameson whispered. "Are you... are you... "
Edge winced in pain, bit his lip. "Sorry, love. I lost my head for a second." He let his head drop to the floor with an involuntary moan.
Amber ignored them both, even though Edge's pain was like a hot poker in her chest, and she dug into her pockets, praying she would find what she needed. And she did-a stick of chewing gum.
"Amber?"
"Yes, Dad. It's true. Apparently I'm pregnant. I'm also twenty-three years old. This is not a catastrophe." She crammed the gum into her mouth and chewed.
"B-but how... who... ?"
Amber looked past him at Edge, who was perhaps unconscious by now. She hoped he wasn't dead. Enough pain could kill his kind, or that was what the lore said. Lore, however, was proving to be a rather unreliable resource.
Her father followed her gaze, and his eyes widened. "But-"
"I know. It's not supposed to be possible." She plucked the chewed gum from her mouth and broke the pink wad in half. "But it is possible, because that's what happened. I can't explain it. I can only hope you know me well enough to know I wouldn't lie about something like this."
"God, Amber, you can't think I would doubt your word."
"Then it looks as if you're one up on our friend there."
Her father seemed as stunned as if she'd hit him between the eyes with a sledgehammer. Until he looked again at Edge, and then he just looked murderous. "I should have let the bastard burn."
"Now you sound like Aunt Rhiannon." She shrugged. "Actually, I haven't exactly told him it's his yet. I think he's making the logical assumption. Even though I thought he knew me better."
"Amber," her father began, his voice tender.
She held up a hand to silence him and eyed the floor, choosing a spot halfway between two of the jets. "I'm betting the sensors are within the jets themselves, since I don't see anything else that could hold them. I'm going to toss this piece of gum in to you, between the jets, so the flames shouldn't react. Don't reach out for it, Dad. Just wait for it."
He nodded. She tossed the gum, and it moved cleanly between two of the jets, hitting the floor inside. Jameson picked it up. "As my little girl once said about her parents' liquid diet, 'Ew. Gross.'"
She smiled at him. "I'll always be your little girl."
"Are you all right, honey?"
He was getting emotional. This was not a good sign. Sympathy and tenderness from her father right now would turn her into a blubbering basket case. Already her throat felt tight, just from the look in his eyes and the catch in his voice. So instead of answering, she just nodded, and managed to swallow and clear her throat.
"Here's the plan. I'm going to stick my gum over the nozzle on the bottom. You're going to jump up and stick yours to the nozzle on the top. We have to do it at the same time, or one of us is going to get burned. Fortunately, we can both move with pretty impressive speed. I'll give you a beat to get up there."
"Half a beat," he said.
She nodded. "On three. Ready?"
Her father bent at the knees.
"One, two, three!"
He jumped, and as soon as he left the floor Amber slammed her wad of gum over the gas jet's nozzle and jerked her hand out of the line of fire. By then, Jameson was back on the floor inside the square.
No flames shot out. "It worked," Jameson said. Amber shot forward, but he held up a hand. "Let me test it first." He picked up his jacket, the one that had put out Edge's blazing arm, and held it out over the gas jets. Nothing happened. He nodded. "Stay there, Amber. I'll bring him out."
It nearly killed her to do what her father told her, but she forced herself. She stood still while he bent to pick Edge up off the floor and turned toward the boundary line.
Amber shook her head, moving a few involuntary steps closer. "Dad, no. The two of you together are too wide. There's only a twelve-inch space here." Dropping to her knees, she held her hands to either side of the opening, to show him how much room he had to pass through.
Sighing, Jameson put Edge down. "Take his hands," he said. "You pull him slowly out, and I'll keep him steady." As he said it he lifted Edge's arms over his head, laying them gently on the floor.
She reached in, gripped his right wrist, then winced as she nearly grasped the burned left one. "I have to pull him by one arm, Dad. The other one's too damaged."
He nodded. "If he wakes up, we'll be in trouble."
"He won't wake up." She willed it to be true and slowly began to pull, dragging Edge through the opening. He twitched once, and Amber spoke directly to his mind and as powerfully as she could, said, Don't move, Edge. Lie still. Trust me.
Her face beaded with sweat as she pulled him out of the trap. Not from exertion, but from fear. Fear for Edge.
Finally his feet cleared the white boundary line. Jameson walked out behind him, as tense as she was, only sighing his relief when he stood in the clear. Then he closed the space between himself and his daughter, and hugged her gently.
She hugged him back. "Mom and Rhiannon are upstairs. 'Leesha, too."
He nodded. "You see to Edge," he said. "I'll go clear us a path, gather the troops and give you a call when we're ready."
"Make it a loud one, Dad. There's something about this room that seems to... insulate telepathy."
He nodded. "No wonder we couldn't sense you clearly."
She was staring down at Edge even as her father held her, thinking how she'd felt him, wondering if he'd felt her, too, in spite of whatever force was at work here.
"Honey... "
She swallowed hard. "I can't talk about it. Not now, Dad." She pulled free of him and bent down beside Edge, one hand smoothing over his face. "How long till daylight?"
"Eight hours," her father said. "But he's tough. He'll pull through."
She nodded. "He will."
Jameson sighed and left the room, gripping the two fallen guards by one arm each and dragging them along with him-to put them out of reach of his daughter, Amber guessed.
Amber leaned over Edge, drinking in the sight of him so eagerly it stunned her. "Hey," she whispered. "Come on, wake up for me."
His eyelids tightened but quickly relaxed again.
"Edge, come on. I know it hurts. Just try."
Nothing. Nothing at all.
Pursing her lips, Amber said, "Fine. I'll do it myself then." She patted him down, found his ever-present pocketknife and flipped it open. Then she made a little slice on her forearm, sucking air through her teeth as she did. The knife clattered from her hand, and she watched the blood well up in the cut. Nodding firmly, she cradled Edge's head in her other hand, lifting him up a little, and held the wound to his lips.
At the first contact, his body jerked in reaction, awareness. His tongue darted out, snaked over her flesh, and made her skin come alive. But then, just as suddenly, his eyes flew open, and he lifted a hand to push her arm away. "Amber, no," he whispered. "You can't, the baby-"
"You have to, Edge. You need it. Let me do this." She tried to press her arm to his mouth again, and again he flung up a hand to push her away.
This time, when he did, she saw a tiny puff of white smoke rising from his arm. "Edge!" God, he couldn't be burning, not again. The fire was out, how could he... ?
Amber went still then, as a drop of blood from her cut forearm landed on Edge's blackened flesh, and another puff of white smoke rose up. "What the hell?"
"What?" Edge lifted his head to look, but it moved as if his neck were made of rubber and fell back to the floor again with a little thud.
Amber leaned closer, squinting at his poor burned arm. But the spot where her blood had landed... was fading. The black was paling, and a tiny, droplet shaped patch of pink, healthy skin appeared in its place.
"I don't... I don't understand."
"Alby?"
"Shh. Lie still. Just lie still, Edge." She extended her cut forearm and, grating her teeth in sympathy for his pain, let the blood drip slowly onto him. Carefully she used her fingers to spread those drops over his burned skin. Again the white smoke rose from his flesh.
"What are you... God, that feels odd."
"Does it hurt?"
"Tingles. What are you doing, Alby?'' Again he tried to lift his head.
This time she helped him. Then she watched his face as he stared at his arm. It was healing, right before his eyes. Everywhere her blood had touched, he was healing. As he watched, she squeezed her wounded arm again, harder this time, forcing the blood to trickle rather than just drip.
"Alby, stop!" Edge closed his hand over the wound, and she knew it was an impulse. Apply pressure, stop the bleeding and all that. But he used his burned hand, and the process kept working. She watched as her blood oozed between his fingers, leaving healthy new flesh in its wake.
He released her, staring at his hand, fingers splayed, turning his palm. The front, perfect, flawless. The back, blackened, burned.
She touched the burned part, her fingers moistened by her own blood.
Edge lifted his eyes to hers. "How is this possible? How can you... ?"
She shrugged. "Damned if I know. You're my first."
He averted his eyes so fast, she knew what he was thinking.
"That makes twice now," she said. "You being my first."
He lifted his gaze slowly, met her eyes, searched them. "It's not important enough to... I was being petty, Alby. It doesn't matter."
"Mattered enough so you were furious with me back at Stiles's place."
He shrugged. "Male ego. Fragile thing, you know?"
She sighed. "Well, for what it's worth, Edge, I didn't lie to you."
He frowned; then his eyes widened and filled with some unidentifiable emotion.
"You were the first. The only man I've ever slept with, Edge."
"But it's not supposed to be possible... "
"Like this, you mean?" She ran her fingertips over his forearm, up and down his skin, making him look down quickly. His eyes widened as he stared at the new, flawless skin. Even the tiny hairs had grown back. His hand, his arm, were completely restored.
"Lots of things I used to think were impossible have been happening lately, Edge. This baby, for example. I thought it was impossible for a vampire to father a child." She shrugged. "But apparently it's not."
Blinking in shock, he stared into her eyes. "The baby... is... mine?"
She held his gaze, nodded once, and didn't look away.
Edge knew she was expecting something, some reply to leap from his lips, but none did. He was completely speechless. And he wouldn't have been, if he hadn't wanted so badly to believe her. Hell, he did believe her. But there was this twice-burned cynic in the back of his mind telling him he was a blind freaking idiot.
Everyone knew vampires couldn't father babies.
Except... maybe for him.
Or maybe it wasn't him at all, he thought, glancing again down at his arm and hand, turning them this way and that. Maybe it was all her.
His pain was gone. He could flex and open his palm without so much as a twinge.
Amber turned away, stung by his silence, maybe. "I really don't care if you believe me or not."
He snapped his attention back to her. "It's just... a lot to process," he said, but he thought maybe he'd waited too long to speak. The moment was gone. She'd been hoping for something, and he hadn't given it to her, and now she'd closed her hands.
"Tell me about it," she said, her voice thick with sarcasm. She shook her head. "It doesn't mean anything. It's not like we're ordinary mortals, after all. I'm not expecting you to marry me and put up a picket fence, and it wouldn't matter even if I was."
Edge got up off the floor. Amber was pacing away from him now. "And why wouldn't it?"
She stopped walking with her back toward him. "I don't know."
Edge frowned, staring at her back, sensing... something. Fear. Almost... grief. "What are you keeping from me, Alby?"
"Nothing."
He moved forward, clasped her shoulders and turned her around to face him. That she refused to look him in the eye confirmed what he suspected. When he clasped her chin and tipped it up, he saw a glistening in her eyes that made his heart turn over. "Tell me."
She closed her eyes. "The dream... the baby... " She lowered her head, closed her eyes. "I finally saw what it was you were giving to me in the dream, the one I've been having."
"Death," he whispered. "You said I gave you death."
She nodded. "In a small wooden box. I could never see what was inside, only knew it was something horrifying. Frightening. Devastating."
He narrowed his eyes on her, aching with her pain.
"I didn't know what it meant. I thought-if I got to know you I might figure it out."
"And now you have?"
She nodded. "The other night I had the dream again, but this time I could see what it was you gave me. It was a baby. A small, still, lifeless baby."
Edge felt his stomach twist and lurch. He actually doubled over, hands to his middle, staggering a few steps backward. Mouth open, he gulped in a breath, wondering at the power of the blow.
"Edge?"
He looked at her, confused. He didn't understand this. It was as if he were a child again, with his father's fist in his belly. His back hit the wall, and he tried to straighten, to breathe.
Amber ran to him, gripping his shoulder, touching his face. "Are you all right?"
He stared into her eyes, still moist and so incredibly hurting. "No. My God, Alby, are you?"
She lowered her head. "I thought you should know. It's better to be prepared, you know?"
She sounded so cool, so practical about the whole thing. And yet he could feel the storm roiling inside her. "There's no way to be prepared for something like that," he said. "Alby... "
She turned away from him, pacing across the floor. "Maybe it's for the best," she whispered. Her voice was strained, aching. "We don't even know what it would be."
"How can you say that?"
She shrugged, still pacing. "Suppose it's born a vampire? God, can you imagine? An immortal blood drinker, trapped in the body of a newborn forever?''
"Suppose it's not? Suppose it's normal?"
"Come on, Edge, it's mine and yours. There isn't a normal gene in its entire pool."
"Why are you acting this way?"
"What way?"
He went to her again, moving in front of her so he could study her face. "Cavalier. As if you don't care when your soul is bleeding."
"I'm not-"
"I can feel you bleeding, Alby. This is killing you. God, carrying this knowledge around, all alone... "
When he touched her, tried to pull her close, she tugged away. "Don't. We don't... have time for this. Not now."
His mind was racing. So many things rushing around inside it, but mostly one. "This dream, this vision of yours-it doesn't have to come true."
"I've never had one that didn't."
"Ever had one you tried to change?"
She closed her eyes, lowered her head.
"Well, think about it. Remember. In all those precognitive dreams you've had, have you ever once tried to change one of them?"
"No. Not until now. I dreamed about Will being... gone. Not dead, just-no one could find him." She shrugged. "I'm trying hard to change that."
"Then you can try to change this."
"I can't." She closed her eyes, bit her lip. "I can't."
"You can." Edge gripped her shoulders. "Dammit, you have to."
Her eyes snapped open, staring into his. "Edge, I'm so afraid."
And he heard and felt and sensed all she was feeling as the floodgates of her mind opened, swamping him utterly in her feelings, her fears. She was afraid to let herself hope, only to face disappointment. Afraid to try, only to fail. Afraid to love... only to lose.
She was even afraid to let him hold her right now, because she was only barely holding on to her self-control, and a touch from him, an embrace, would shatter her.
He wanted, right then, to hold her-maybe more than he'd ever wanted to do anything. But he held himself back, because that was what she needed. For now.
"Alby, you don't need to bear this alone, not anymore. I'll help you get through it. Whatever happens, it'll happen to both of us."
She stared into his eyes, her own slightly shocky. "I thought you didn't believe this baby could be yours."
"Hell, Alby. That was before you told me it was."
"And you believe me?"
He tilted his head to one side. "You do remember the last time we were alone together, right? When I was damn near dying and you made me drink... "
"So?"
"So something happened, Alby." Something major, he thought. She was inside him now, a part of him. Maybe she had been even before. He only knew that since that moment...
"What? What happened?"
"I saw inside you," he said. Then he shrugged, because the words sounded so heavy with meaning. He tried to lighten them with a look, an attitude. "I know you, that's all."
She was staring at him as if she'd never seen him before. Hell, no wonder. She hadn't tasted him, probably didn't have a clue what he was talking about.
"It never entered my mind you would lie to me about this. I know you."
Her tears spilled over, running down her face. "Thank you for that."
He swallowed hard. "Come on, let's get upstairs. I'm antsy as hell down here, and there's no need to wait on the sidelines now that you've performed your little healing miracle. Is there?"
"No, I... guess not."
"Then let's go." Taking her arm, he turned her toward the door, walked up the stairs and straight into the razor-edged iron bolt of a crossbow.
"It's powerful enough to take off your head," a woman said softly. "So don't even think about trying anything."