"We can take my car," Amber said, jarring Edge a bit from his contemplation of the ever-shrinking motor-boat. He dragged his gaze from the sea, fixed it instead on the woman who stood beside him on the pebble-strewn shore.
"To check the hotels in town, I mean," she added. "To see whether Stiles has checked into any of them."
"Right." He glanced at the sea again. "I'm surprised he's willing to dump the body like that."
"Why?"
He shrugged. "Figured this crew of yours to be more the notify-the-next-of-kin-and-hold-them-while-they-cry types." He shook a cigarette from the pack in his pocket, fired it up.
She lowered her head, so her dark, dark hair fell over her eyes. "They're kind, Edge, but they're not stupid. Leaving victims around only draws attention to our existence. It would be a dangerous thing to do, for all of us." She glanced behind them at the ocean. "I pity her family, though. Never to know what became of her... "
"She has no family."
Amber looked at him sharply.
He shoved his hands into his pockets, lowered his head. "Lost them in a house fire six months back. Husband, teenage twins."
Her eyes narrowed. "How do you know this?"
He didn't answer the question. "Then last month she was diagnosed with cancer. Inoperable. So she went to that bridge, tied a cinder block to her leg, and stood there trying to work up the nerve to jump."
"You killed her, didn't you?"
"I did her a favor."
Amber sighed deeply, lowering her head. "You shouldn't have done it."
"Do you believe in an afterlife, Alby? Some paradise where souls go when their bodies wear out?"
She started walking back along the beach toward the house, and he fell into step beside her, smoking, waiting for her answer.
"I suppose I do," she said.
"Then she's there now, with her husband and her girls. Better than where she was, facing a slow, lingering death with nothing but her grief for company."
They'd skirted the house and come to where Amber's car was parked in the driveway. She went to the driver's door, opened it, but didn't get in. Instead she looked over the top of the car at Edge. "Do you?''
"What? Believe in heaven?"
She nodded.
He took a last drag from his cigarette, then flicked it away. "Haven't thought about it, Alby. Why should I? I'm never going to die."
They visited every hotel and inn they could locate, stopping first at a visitors' center for a comprehensive list. They didn't go inside. Copping a look at guest registries or computers wasn't necessary. Amber knew Stiles-far better than she would have liked. She searched for him by opening her mind, her senses, listening, smelling, feeling for his presence. She was certain she would know if he were near.
Certainly her psychic powers were nowhere near as strong as those of a vampire. But they were good, sharp. Especially where her one-time captor was concerned.
Oddly, she could have sworn Edge was doing the same thing. And yet, he didn't know Stiles. Did he?
By the time they had finished, it was 4:00 a.m. She drove back to the beach house, which was quiet now. Apparently everyone had gone inside. When they got out of the car, Edge said, "No sign of Stiles, then. You must be relieved."
She met his eyes, sighed. "Not as much as you would think. We need him."
He nodded. "We'll find him."
She was certain they would. They had to. She licked her lips. "That woman, the one you-"
"What about her?"
She lowered her head, looked away.
"You want to know what kind of cancer she had. Whether it was like your friend Willem's." He came around the car and, to her surprise, closed his hand around one of hers, tugging her with him as he walked toward the shore.
"Was it?" '
"No. Pancreatic. And it had spread to the liver, stomach. She was a mess."
Amber nodded. They were on the shore now, walking slowly back toward Edge's place. She looked at him, searched his face, wondering if he was a monster, wondering what the poor woman's final moments had been like.
He held her gaze as they walked, then stopped and turned her to face him. "I walked up on her, there on the bridge. Her grief was so loud I didn't even have to try to read her thoughts. They were pouring out of her. She looked at me, just looked at me, for the longest time. And she knew what I was. I don't know how, but she did."
Amber felt caught in his eyes, mesmerized by them. "Was she afraid?"
He shook his head slowly, left, then right. "She pushed her hair back, tipped her head to one side. She said, 'Please.' Just that one word, nothing more. But it came with a rush of pain that was... unbearable."
She saw the echo of that pain in his eyes, just for a moment.
"So I took her into my arms," he said, taking Amber into his arms as he did so. She relaxed against him, and he bent his head, nuzzled her neck. "I held her, and I drank from her." His lips moved against her throat as he spoke. "Her pain, her grief, her suffering, her despair-I took it all away, and I felt every bit of it as I did. But she felt... only ecstasy. A rush of relief and release." He let his lips part and close on the skin of her neck, gentle suction that made her knees weak. "She thanked me with her final breath."
"It was a better death than she might have had otherwise," Amber whispered. "Then you truly only did what you did-to help her?''
He backed away from her neck, blinked down at her. "I did what I did because it was a free meal."
The spell was broken. Amber took a shocked step away from him.
"Don't try to think of me as one of your do-gooders, Alby. I make decisions based on what's best for me, and me alone. I'm nobody's hero. And I'm nothing like your friends back there at Chez Stone."
She stood there for a moment, willing his mind to open to hers, but it was impenetrable. "I don't think I believe you," she told him.
"You don't want to believe me. You can't let yourself be taken by a man like me. You think you're too good for that. But you do want me to take you. So you're trying to believe I'm someone else."
"That's not what I'm trying to do."
"No?"
She shook her head slowly. "No. I'm just trying to-know you."
"And why do you want to know me, Alby?"
She held his gaze, decided to shock him by being straightforward with him. "Because I want you, and I can't let myself... be intimate with a man I don't even know. And because I'm not convinced our first meeting was an accident at all. I think you're up to something, and I can't let myself be intimate with a man I don't trust."
He smiled slowly. "You never know until you try."
"What would be the point?"
"The same thing that's always the point where sex is concerned, Alby. Pleasure. Screaming, trembling, mind-blowing pleasure." He ran a fingertip from her temple down her cheek to her chin. "What else is there?"
She held his gaze, shivering down deep, and she knew he was doing something to her with his eyes, with his mind, or trying to. He was making her want him. He had to be, because God, she'd never wanted this way before. Never!
"You're afraid of me, aren't you?"
She shook her head in denial.
"It's all right. That'll only make it better. Come on." He slid his arms around her waist, pulled her hard against him, so his hips were pressed to hers. He put his hands on her backside, squeezing it and holding her to him. He lowered his head, nuzzled her neck some more. She shivered, and he slid his lips around, tracing her jaw and finally finding her mouth. He kissed her, and she, opened for him, let him lick and taste and probe her.
He held her so hard that when he let his knees bend and fell backward onto the sand, he took her with him. He was powerful. So strong. And yet, so was she. And she was on top of him now, and angry with herself for being so afraid of something as simple as sex with this man, when she wanted it so badly she burned.
She shifted her legs so that she straddled him, her knees in the sand bracketing his hips, and she threaded her fingers in his hair and kissed him back, just as deeply as he'd kissed her. His hips moved against her, and she rubbed him in return. He made a little growling sound, rolling her quickly onto her back, pinning her there with his body. Rising a little, he reached down to her blouse, hooked a finger at the neck and gave a tug, tearing it from neck to hemline, smiling while he did it.
She gasped at the feel of the chill sea air on her naked breasts, but it was his eyes on them as much as the cold that made them harden and ache. He put his hands on her then, flicking his thumbs over her nipples and making her suck in a breath with every touch. Then he bent, sliding lower over her body so his mouth could catch a nipple, while his fingers held the other.
At the touch of his lips, she cried out. At the tugging, pulling suction, she stopped breathing. At the pinch of his teeth, every cell in her body screamed in pleasure.
He slid one hand between them, down the front of her jeans, and he didn't take his time, didn't hesitate, didn't wait for permission to tug them open. He pushed her legs apart with his own and slid his fingers into the wetness there, rubbing, stroking, driving into her until she was writhing.
Then suddenly the hand was gone, and the mouth left her breast, wet now in the cold air, and he was kneeling between her parted legs, tugging the jeans off her so furiously she didn't have time to object. He tore the panties off and threw them to the wind, then pushed her knees up to her chest and bent his head to her center.
She heard herself screaming, begging, panting and moaning, and didn't even recognize the sound of her own voice. His mouth attacked, his tongue possessed, as he devoured her. When she twisted he held her still, when she pushed at his head he shoved her hands away and burrowed deeper. He bit and licked and sucked at her until her mind exploded and she shrieked his name aloud.
And even as the spasms racked her body, he was sliding up over her, shoving his own jeans down as he did. She felt the hardness of him at her pulsing center, and then he plunged into her, spearing her deeply. She felt resistance, no real pain. Her body was too busy screaming in ecstasy to allow her to feel pain. And even before the waves of the first orgasm faded, he was pushing her toward another, driving into her, possessing her, holding her to receive him.
When she exploded again, he did, too. She felt the rash of him filling her, the pleasure of his release as, finally, for the first time since she'd known him, the barriers around his mind dissolved and she could feel everything inside him. His pleasure. His confusion. His wondering what the hell it was about her that made the experience more powerful than any he'd ever had before. His wondering how soon he would be able to convince her to do this again. His regret that he had to use her...
Use me for what? she wondered, and the moment she did, the shields slammed back into place around his mind. Dammit, it hadn't occurred to her that she'd been as open to him as he had to her during those moments of intense union.
He rolled onto his back, pulling her with him, until she lay nestled in the curve of his arm, her head on his chest. She lay there, shivering with the aftermath of pleasure.
He said, "Still afraid of me?"
"Petrified," she admitted.
"Afraid I'm going to hurt you?"
"Try it and I'll kick your ass. I suppose I might be a little afraid of doing you permanent damage if I have to do that."
"Right."
She lifted her head, smiled at him.
"That's not what I meant, and you know it."
She looked away. "You think you could hurt me any other way? Emotionally? I don't intend to give you the power to do that, either. Don't flatter yourself."
He held her gaze. "You're a smart girl, Alby. Smart girl." Then he pulled her to him again, arching his hips to hers, hard and ready for more.
She kissed his chin and whispered, "The sun will be up soon, Edge."
He closed his eyes in frustration, fell back onto the sand, swore softly.
"Not too bad, hmm? If I could make a vampire forget the sunrise?"
He lifted his hips off the sand and tugged his jeans up. "Not too bad at all, Alby."
She pursed her lips. "You're a real romantic." She rolled to her back, sat up, and looked around the sand at her scattered clothes. Her jeans were within reach, so she pulled them on. Her panties and blouse were ruined. "How the hell am I supposed to walk back to the house like this?"
He rolled into a sitting up position, peeling his T-shirt over his head as he did, then handed it to her. "Put mine on. It's not like I need it."
She stared at him and tried not to let herself get distracted by the washboard abs, instead sending him a disapproving look. "You didn't even get undressed."
"I'd strip off every stitch if we had more time. I will next time," he told her. "Promise." He sent her a wink.
She scowled at him, held out a hand, and when he took it, she pulled him to his feet. "You're damn right you will."
His smile grew. "Wow."
"What?"
"I half expected you to tell me there wasn't going to be a next time."
"That would be pretty stupid, considering we both know there will be."
He waggled his eyebrows. "That good, was I?"
"That's not what I heard whispering through your mind a few minutes ago."
His eyes narrowed. "Thought I felt you listening in."
"It's the first time you've let your guard down since I've met you. I couldn't resist."
"Mmm. The euphoria of sex will do that to a man."
She shrugged. "So I was the best you've ever had, huh?"
"Everyone's the best one at that particular moment, Alby. Don't go reading too much into it."
"Don't worry, I won't."
He studied her face for a long while. She didn't hold his gaze, though, as they walked along the shore. Instead she let hers fall and found herself studying his chest again. He had a great chest. Not huge, not bulky, but every muscle clear and hard beneath the taut, pale skin. He could have been a sculpture. She thought vaguely that it ought to be illegal to cover it up, ever.
Finally she looked up. "We're going the wrong way, if I'm still walking you home," she said.
"You're not. I'm walking you home." He stopped looking at her, sighed and slid an arm around her shoulders.
"Don't tell me you're getting protective instincts just because we had sex?"
He made a sound of disbelief. "Hell no. I never wanted you to walk me home in the first place. Just wanted to get you alone on the beach so I could make my move."
"I see." She glanced out at the paling sky. "You going to have time to get back home?"
"Have you seen my speed?''
"Yeah, just a few minutes ago on the beach."
His head swung around fast, eyes wide, until he saw her smiling. Still he said, "Is that a complaint?''
She lowered her head, put a palm on his chest and slid it slowly over his luscious pecs. "I enjoyed every second of it, Edge."
"But next time you'd like to go slower." He put a hand over hers on his chest, so she had to stop moving it around. She wondered why. He licked his lips, looked past her. "We're here."
All too soon, she thought. She turned, saw the house behind her, sighed and faced him again.
"I should go," he said.
"So go, then."
He started to turn away.
"Bye, Edge. Have a good rest."
He stopped moving and stood there, then turned halfway around, and she thought he was arguing with himself. Finally, he sighed, swore under his breath and faced her again, only to wrap her in a fierce embrace. He took her mouth deeply, thoroughly, held her entire body so tightly to his own she wondered why they didn't meld. And she thought she felt him shiver.
When he let her go, he turned without a word and vanished. She knew he hadn't disappeared. It had only been a burst of speed.
She licked her lips, lowered her head, wondered why every cell in her body tingled and sang. She felt more alive than she had ever felt. Ever. Because of him?
No, she told herself. Not because of him. Because she'd experienced something she'd never experienced before, and it had been great. Better than great.
She couldn't let this feeling be because of him. She couldn't let herself fall for him, because he'd made it very clear to her that that would be a mistake. And because she believed him.
She'd dreamed of him. In the dream, he'd been dark, tortured, frightening. He'd given her something, something that terrified her. Death. What did it mean? That damned dream, what could it possibly mean?
She had to find out. And she had to be careful.
She walked along the beach, found a place to sit, with a boulder at her back and sank into the sand, drawing her knees to her chest. She watched the waves rolling slowly over the shore. Watched the deep indigo color of the sea slowly change to purple. The upper curve of the sun licked at the sky, painting the streaks of cloud above it in fiery red, neon orange, lemon-yellow.
"Beautiful thing, the sunrise."
She didn't take her eyes away from the spectacular sight when she heard Willem's voice or when he sank into the sand beside her. "I think people like us probably appreciate it more than most."
"I imagine we do. Being so intimately close to those who can never see it themselves."
"It's odd, isn't it? The very thing that ensures life can exist on earth means death to vampires."
"Mmm. Maybe someday we'll find a way around that."
She sighed, turning to study Will. He didn't look well, she thought. Paler than usual, and there were dark circles under his eyes. "How are you feeling?''
"Not great, but that's between us."
She nodded. "You can trust me."
"I know. I hope you know you can trust me, too."
"I do." She clasped his hand, leaning closer, so her shoulder pressed to his.
"Amber, Morgan managed to find the source of those Internet posts."
She lifted her head. "That's progress. So who sent them?"
He licked his lips. "We don't know who. But they were posted from a computer in the office of a local gym."
Amber's heart slowly formed a thin layer of ice.
"Salem Fitness Center,'' he said. "And the posts were sent after hours, sometime in the dead of night. We checked the police blotter in the local paper, found they'd reported a break-in that same night. A few pieces of equipment are missing."
She lowered her head very slowly. "Thanks for telling me."
He didn't say anything for a moment. Then, "Do you think it was Edge?"
She shrugged, knowing even that motion of uncertainty was a bald-faced lie. She knew it was Edge. He was using her-apparently as bait to lure Stiles. But why?
"Amber, I don't know this guy. What I've seen of him, I don't find particularly endearing, but... things aren't always what they seem."
She lifted her head, searching Willem's eyes.
"When I first met 'Fina, I thought I knew what she was. Bloodthirsty, cold-hearted, ruthless. I was wrong. There might be more to this Edge fellow than he's letting you see."
"I had the same notion myself."
"We might know a little more about him soon, at any rate."
"How?"
Will sighed. It seemed to Amber that talking was leaving him short of breath. And she thought he might be cold, as well. She rose to her feet, extending a hand to him. He pretended not to see it there and got up on his own, using the good leg and walking stick more than the bad one. Stubborn man.
They turned together, began walking back to the house. His limp seemed more pronounced than it had been earlier. "Dante said he mentioned the name of his sire last night."
"Yes. O'Roark. I think it's someone Dante knows."
"Someone Dante sired," Will told her.
She blinked in shock. "You're kidding me."
He shook his head. "He hasn't seen the man in centuries. Traveled back to Ireland several years ago hoping to renew the acquaintance, but it never happened."
She smiled a little. "Dante took an instant dislike to Edge, It's almost funny that it turns out they're related."
Will rolled his eyes. "I suppose, in vampiric terms, they are." Then he joined her in the smile, though his seemed halfhearted. "Serves Dante right. He's always been a little too full of himself, in my opinion."
"You just haven't forgiven him for hurting Sarafina all those years ago."
He shrugged, pausing at the bottom of the back steps, and she thought he was catching his breath.
"God, Will, it's worse than you've been letting anyone know."
He lifted his head. "Yeah. But keep that to yourself."
"You know I will, but how are you managing to hide it? Especially from Tina?"
"Hell, kid, I've learned a few things about shielding my thoughts from the graveyard shift."
She smiled. "How bad is it? Be honest with me, Will."
He pursed his lips, lowered his eyes. "I've been through worse."
"You've been through torture, so that's not really saying much."
He sighed and climbed the three steps to the deck, then crossed it. "It's not so much the pain-that comes and goes, and right now it's absent-it's this damned exhaustion. I can't stand being this weak."
"Maybe he did us a favor, posting that information on the Internet," she said softly.
"He?"
She shot him a glance. "Whoever it was, he had to be male. Women just aren't that obvious."
He knew perfectly well she thought it was Edge, but he wasn't going to call her on it. "Typical reverse sexism."
She got to the door before him, reached to pull it open, then waited while he walked through. "You ready to get some sleep?" she asked him.
He nodded. "You?"
"Yeah, soon as I shower."
He closed and locked the door, flicked a button. "We've got an alarm system and it's armed. If anyone comes near the place, you'll hear bells and whistles. You come straight to me if you hear anything like that. All right?"
"She nodded as she walked beside him up the stairs to the second floor, and they stopped outside the master bedroom. "All right."
"I mean it. I'm sick, not dead. I can still shoot straight, and my forty-five will stop an elephant in its tracks."
"I have got to get myself one of those."
He chucked her on the chin. "I'm well aware you're not without skills of your own, kid. But if Stiles and his goons come for you and you don't let me help fend 'em off, I'm gonna be mad as hell."
Secretly, she thought that if Stiles and his goons came for her, the goons would wind up dead or running for their lives, and Stiles would end up her prisoner for a change.
"Have a good sleep," she told Will.
"You, too."
She didn't, though. She had the dream again. The man, the beautiful man, with a face like an archangel, all dressed in black, came to her again, appearing from within a thick swirl of mist. He had a name now, her dark angel. Edge. And again he held out the box. Ornate, ancient looking, not a single inch of its rich dark wood face was smooth. All of it was carved, engraved, embellished, with swirls and symbols and shapes. She thought she saw eyes tooled into the wood. He offered it to her yet again.
As before, she told herself no. Don't take it. Don't touch it. Don't look inside.
But this time she could not stop her dream self from accepting the gift. She reached out, her hands trembling, sweat beading on her forehead, as her palms pressed to the sides of the box, and, slowly, she lowered her gaze.
She stared inside, and this time... she saw what was there.
Amber shrieked in terror. She sat up in the bed, coming wide-awake, and still screaming until she forced her jaws closed.
Her bedroom door burst open. Will stood there, wide-eyed, a handgun so big she was surprised he could heft it clasped in his hands.
"What is it?" he shouted. "What's wrong, Amber?"
She lowered her head, shaking it side to side, racking her brain, her memory. But the dream was gone. Whatever she'd seen, whatever had caused her terror, was gone like the morning mist when the sun comes out. What the hell had she seen in that box in her dream that had made her blood ran ice cold and her mind whirl in shock and denial?
"My God," she whispered. "Nothing could be that bad. Could it?"