Born in Twilight (Wings in the Night #5) 6

Jameson never did get around to showering in the wee hours of that morning. He watched her far too long, lost himself somewhere in the long locks of her satinlike hair, or perhaps it was among the glittering facets of her eyes. Nonetheless, he put it off too long, and the day sleep crept over him with the dawn.

She'd fed, and then crawled into the oversize bed and fallen asleep instantly, and still he was watching her.

And finally, he managed to pull himself away in time to get to the settee in the front room before he fell asleep at the foot of her bed. Like a devoted servant sleeping at the feet of the mistress he'd die for.

Right.

When the sun went down again, he rose before she did. He headed for the bathroom before even giving her a passing glance. While he was washing beneath the spray, he reminded himself several times that he hated her. And that she hated him. And that the sharing of their blood was what made him crave her so.

Dream of her, when the day sleep should be too deep for dreams.

Having convinced himself of that, he emerged from the small bathroom wrapped in a terry robe and rubbing his wet hair with a towel. But he stilled in the doorway when he saw the utter confusion on Angelica's face. She stood staring into the closet, her brows drawn together, head tilted to one side as her graceful hands flitted over the clothes that hung there. Her skin had more color this evening. The day rest had done its magic in rejuvenating her. She seemed stronger. And the bones no longer protruded from her face. Instead of sharp and angular it was gently oval now, with cheekbones an actress would die for.

"Something wrong?" he asked her, snapping his attention back to the matter at hand.

And she jerked as if surprised by his presence. She really did need to tune in to her newly heightened senses and learn how to use them. She should have sensed him there, felt his eyes on her. Instead, she reacted like a mortal.

"These... these are all very... normal."

"You were expecting...what? Black satin capes with stand-up collars and scarlet lining?" He tossed the towel onto the foot of the bed as he passed, then stood just behind her, looking over her shoulder at the clothes.

"Of course not."

"Sure you weren't. Hell, I only know of one vampire who still wears a cloak, and I think he just does it for the dramatic effect." He moved past her to pull a violet cashmere sweater from the rack. One of Tamara's old ones. Modest and demure and sweet, like her. It would fit this woman...in size, if nothing else. And the color nearly matched her eyes, although no man-made dye could ever equal those sparkling amethysts of hers. Jameson blinked and shook himself. "Here. This will do you for tonight." Then he continued flipping the hangers. "And a pair of jeans to go with it. What size are you?"

"Size?"

"In jeans," he said, pausing with a pair of black Levi's in his hands. When she didn't answer, he turned to look at her. "Well?"

"I'm...not sure."

Jameson frowned at her. "How can anyone not know what size jeans they wear?" Then he narrowed his eyes. "Don't tell me you're one of those women who refuses to tell a man her size."

"That would be the height of vanity," she said, and she averted her eyes. "It's simply been quite some time since I've worn blue jeans."

Aha, he thought. A clue to who this mysterious woman had been. "Why is that, Angelica?" Her head came up sharply, eyes wary.

"I mean, what kind of things did you wear? Perhaps I can find something like what you're accustomed to."

And it seemed to him in that moment that she came as close to smiling as he'd ever seen her do. Not that she actually smiled. Not at all, but there was a hint of mirth in her eyes. "Nothing you're likely to find in a vampire's closet," she said. "The jeans will be fine." But Jameson wasn't as willing to change the subject as she seemed to think he'd be. "You were wearing a dress of some sort when I saw you that first time. Though...I didn't have preternatural night vision, then. And it was quite dark. I seem to recall it as black and loose fitting. Kind of like a-'"

"I'm going to bathe now," she said, interrupting him, and leaving him with no illusions that it had been unintentional. "I really care very little what I wear. I just want to hurry and begin the search for my child." And she tugged the jeans from the hanger, turned and quickly crossed the room, closing the bathroom door behind her.

And for the first time, Jameson thought back to that night when she'd nearly killed him. Really thought back. Oh, he'd thought about it before. Far more often than he'd like to admit, actually. But he'd always focused on the way she'd felt, pressing tight to him while her avaricious little mouth fed at his throat. The way he'd felt...

Now he needed to get past that madness, and focus on something else. Details. Senses besides the one flaring to life in his libido. He went to the bed, sat down on its edge and mentally replayed all of it, from his first glimpse of her. Her tangled hair. Her dirty face. The sunken cheeks and hollow violet eyes. And the tattered black...dress...or was it a dress?

There had been beads of some sort, clutched in her bony hands.

Beads she'd been worrying or playing with, and that she'd dropped abruptly when he'd spoken to her.

Beads...and she'd held them, one by one, between her fingers. Held each one, caressing it, and muttering before she moved on to the next. And they were...

My God. Rosary beads? And the black dress could have been...a habit. Jesus, was it possible? Had Angelica been some kind of...of nun in life? In life, yes, even up to the very moment when she'd been brought over, or she wouldn't likely have still been wearing the habit.

She'd called him a heretic. She'd spoken of vanity. And she was so damned concerned about God and Satan and good and evil, and being damned. It made sense. Lifting his head very slowly, Jameson stared at the closed bathroom door. Beyond it he could hear water running, and the nearly inaudible sound of singing, her singing, very softly so he wouldn't hear. "Amazing Grace." And then the sound of Tamara's hair dryer drowned out her song.

He was still sitting there when she came out, wearing the jeans and the sweater he'd given her, sometime later. And he was still reeling from what he thought he had learned about her. And more determined than ever to know the truth. And yet part of him tried to get in the way of his curiosity. It was the part of him that knew full well she wore nothing beneath the sweater. He hadn't given her a bra, wasn't even sure Tamara kept such things around down here, and wouldn't have known what size to choose if he'd found a cache of them in the closet. His eyes were drawn to her breasts, and the cashmere clung to them because of their dampness. And he could see her shape very clearly underneath. Her nipples poking out into the fabric in reaction to its rough, yet soft texture rubbing against them.

He licked his lips.

She stopped halfway across the room, and froze there, waiting. And when he realized she was looking at him, looking at her, he forced his gaze upward and met her eyes. And he knew she was only pretending to be offended over where he'd been staring. Because he could see the awareness flaring in the violet depths. The arousal. The hunger.

He licked his lips again, and told himself to get to the matter at hand. Was she...had she been...what he thought she had?

He cleared his throat. "I was wondering, Angelica...if perhaps I should be addressing you as Sister Angelica?"

She took the question well, he thought. The swift intake of breath and slight widening of those eyes the only clue she'd been dealt some kind of blow. "If I had taken my solemn vows, I would have been Sister Mary Elizabeth. Since that day never came for me, I'm still simply Angelica."

"If not exactly angelic." He quipped. Then he saw her wince and almost regretted it. "So you were a novitiate?"

"Something like that." She came forward, and finally resumed pulling the brush through her now gleaming and utterly glorious hair. It was incredible, that mane of hers. Thick and wild and long. The hair of a goddess. Or an Angel. A dark angel. "Of what order?"

She turned, still brushing. "Why is it you ask so many questions about me, Vampire? You hate me, blame me for all that's happened. So why do you want to know?"

"You...bore my child. Isn't it natural for me to be curious?"

"Nothing about you is natural."

"And you know that for sure, do you? Are you sure you were just a novice nun and not God Almighty Himself?"

Her head snapped toward him. "How dare you!"

" 'Well, you certainly pass judgment as if you were, as much as you try to deny it. I was merely checking."

She got up, paced away from him in quick, angry strides. She was stronger now. Maybe just a little bit more herself. Having sustenance had helped even further to restore the shape of her face, and the gleam to her hair. And the sparkle to her eyes. And the spring to her step.

With her hair flying wild, and her eyes flashing, wearing sinfully tight-fitting jeans, and an equally revealing sweater, it was easier to imagine she'd been a centerfold than a sister.

Jesus, he wanted her.

"I want to go now. I want to find my baby. I'm tired of you and your prying. What will we do to find her? Where will we begin?"

He stared at her for a long moment. It should be easier to hate her now that she was strong and well. It should be. Why wasn't it?

Before he'd been distracted by the way she looked, and then by who she might have been in the other life, he'd been trying to decide how best to warn her about the possible nature of their child. He hadn't come to any perfect conclusion, but he knew he had to say something. Give her some kind of preparation, just in case.

"Before we begin," he said, slowly, "there's something...I'm not certain you're aware of. Something you need to prepare yourself for, Angelica."

Her brows furrowed. "You're frightening me, Vampire. Whatever it is, just tell me and let's be on our way."

Jameson licked his lips, averting his gaze. He'd been wrestling with the possible nature of his child for days. It had been a blow when he'd first realized the implications. But he'd been among friends. People who loved him and explained it gently, and who would be there for him no matter what.

It would be far worse for her. She was alone, except for a man she despised more with every breath she drew.

Bracing himself, he met her eyes. Brilliant now, glowing like amethysts in candlelight. Breathtaking.

"There has never been a child born to a vampiress before. None...that I'm aware of, at least." She blinked. That was all. "Angelica, we have no way of knowing... what we'll find, when we find our baby."

"What...we'll find?"

"Whether she'll be mortal...or immortal. Or some cross between the two. Whether-"

"No." She took two staggering steps backward, then gripped the back of a chair, her fingertips digging into the fabric.

"I hope to God she'll be a normal child, Angelica, but we can't be certain until we see her. It would be tragic if-"

"Your kind," she whispered. "They never grow older?"

Again, she confirmed his suspicion that she knew nothing about her own race. "No. Our kind never grow older."

"She'd be trapped inside the body of a newborn for all of her life?" She shook her head from side to side, rapidly. "No, it's too horrible. It can't be."

"It might not be. I only...I only wanted to warn you. In case..." She lifted her chin, and met his eyes, her own wide and clear and filled with fierce determination. "God won't do this. Not to her. It's enough...sweet Jesus, it's enough to punish me. But not my baby. She is a healthy, normal little girl. She is. I know it."

Had he thought her weak? Physically, perhaps. But never in any other way. Not her. She looked like an avenging angel just now. And he found himself nodding in agreement with her. "You're right. She's fine.

I'm sure of it. I've been worrying for nothing."

And in that very brief moment, when their eyes met and held, something passed between them. A connection was made. They touched on some level. And then she looked away and the feeling vanished.

"Do you have any sort of plan?" she asked him.

"Just a starting point. This woman who contacted my friend Tamara to tell her about the child...Hilary Garner. She works for DPI, but apparently even she couldn't stomach them using a child this way. I have her address. We'll go there tonight, talk to her. She might know where they've taken the baby...and she might be willing to tell us."

"And if she isn't?"

Jameson gritted his teeth. "Then we'll convince her."

Hope surged in my heart as we neared the building where the woman lived. I sought with every part of me for some sense that my daughter was near, but felt nothing. Still, I clung to that hope. This woman would know something. And she would help us.

Surely that had been her intent all along, or she never would have contacted Jameson's friend.

Jameson...

He was not living up to my expectations of him. He'd taken me from that horrible place. Fed me from his own body. Even...oddly enough...tried to comfort me when I'd been terrorized at the sight of those coffins. And he seemed as determined as I was to rescue our child.

Our child. It was wrong to keep referring to her in that way. "She needs a name," I whispered, half to myself.

Jameson turned to stare at me, brows lifted, then lowering as he understood. "Yes, she does. Do you have something in mind?"

I tilted my head. "When I was alone, chained to the walls of my cell, or trapped in that box waiting for my guards to feel the urge to release me, I talked to her. I sang to her and cradled my belly in my arms and pretended to hold her. I called her Lily. That's the way I envisioned her. As perfect and flawless as a beautiful lily. And Amber, because she was a mystery as old as time. A child born to a vir-" I bit my lip, then. But too late. My loose tongue had given away yet another of my secrets.

"Born to a virgin?" His eyes widened in disbelief. And then he smiled. "It's almost...holy. The first child born to a vampire... is born of a virgin."

"There is nothing holy about what they did to me," I said, and again wished I would learn to keep quiet and not blurt my every thought to this man.

"No. Of course there isn't." He was silent for a moment. Then, "I know what it's like, Angelica. I was held by them, too. And more than once."

"Perhaps you know what captivity is like, Vampire. But you cannot know how it feels to have your living child taken from your womb by your enemies. Taken away from you while you're told that you will never set eyes on her again." Tears welled in my eyes then. That pain was still fresh and sharp. It cut to my very soul, if indeed, I still possessed one.

"No. I can't know that. It must have nearly killed you."

"I'd have preferred they cut out my heart." I averted my face to hide my tears from him.

"You can tell me, Angelica. There's no need for embarrassment between us." I looked at him, and knew it was true. We were linked, somehow. Bonded by blood, and by the child we shared. Much as we might dislike each other, that bond was not going to be easily broken. Perhaps not broken at all.

"I was drugged. Weak. I should have been able to help her...but I couldn't. I couldn't move. It was like a nightmare, where you try and try to make yourself wake up, but you can't. It was horrible." I lowered my head, only to feel his hand cover mine gently. Warmth and comfort in his touch. It surprised me. "We'll find her," he said, and his voice was firm and sure. "Amber Lily will be all right." For a moment, I felt reassured. Imagine, reassured by a man I knew was a monster. A demon. An abhorrence to God.

But then he reverted to his true nature. "And when we have her safe, I'll make them pay. I'll kill them.

One by one...all of them. They deserve worse than death for what they've done."

"Only God can say who deserves death, Jameson," I told him.

"God is too slow." The anger I saw in his eyes frightened me. It was there in those black tiger stripes that split the brown velvet apart, a jet-black flame, leaping and crackling with rage. "Vengeance is mine, sayeth the vampire." He stopped the car, and looked up at the towering apartment building's myriad lighted windows. "And it begins with this one right here, unless she tells me what I want to know." Hilary Garner's apartment had been ransacked. Thoroughly, and recklessly. Jameson knew DPI's tactics, and he knew their searches were usually conducted with such care that few people would even notice they'd taken place. This time, it had been different. They must be very angry with this woman.

Or they had been. She wasn't here, and he wondered whether she were even still alive. DPI did not deal lightly with agents who wanted out. Or who betrayed the organization.

He heard Angelica's gasp, and whirled to see her staring at a photograph in a silver frame. One of Hilary Garner and a friend, arm in arm, smiling at the camera. "What is it?"

"This woman," she said, pointing. "She was with me when I gave birth. She...I could see in her eyes that she was suffering... She bent close to me, and told me that the baby was a girl."

"But did nothing to keep those bastards from taking her away."

"I pled with her to help Amber Lily. And she nodded. Very slightly, she nodded."

"Trying to ease her own guilt." Jameson swung his arm and sent the photograph crashing to the floor.

Angelica stared at him, wide-eyed. "She got word to you. She tried to help."

"She worked for them, Angelica. For years, she served the devil himself. One token act now doesn't exonerate that."

"Even the worst sinners can repent," she whispered.

"The hell with repentance. I want her to pay. I want them all to pay. Dammit!" He slammed his fist onto the table where the photo had been, and the wood split in two. Tears burned in his eyes. The disappointment did likewise in his gut. Damn, he'd been so sure he'd find something here. Some clue.

Angelica could afford to be charitable. She probably didn't have a clue what those bastards might be doing to that helpless baby right now. But he did. He did, and the nightmarish images would not go away.

And then she was standing very close to him, head tilted to one side as she stared into his eyes.

"You...you're crying ?"

He turned away abruptly, not wanting her or anyone to see the torment inside him.

"I didn't know," she whispered from behind him. "I didn't know you...you care as much for Amber Lily as I do, don't you, Jameson?"

He sighed. "Jesus Christ, Angelica, why do you think I'm here? What the hell do you think I'm doing if I don't care?" He faced her again, saw her shaking her head.

"But I thought...I thought..."

"I know what you thought. You thought I was a monster. An animal without feelings or emotions. Well, surprise, Angel. I'd cut off my arm if it would save Amber from those bastards. I'm every bit as human now as I was before, Angel, and so are you, whether you can see it or not. The differences are physical, not spiritual. Hell, if anything, I feel things more deeply than I did then. And you do, too. You know damn good and well you do."

She shook her head slowly from side to side, her gaze turned inward. Jameson sighed hard, frustrated with trying to make her understand. She was as bad as the rest of them.

"You're hurting," she whispered, searching his face with eyes that were wide with surprise and wonder.

He closed his eyes, tipped his head back as the pain overwhelmed him. "I just want to hold her in my arms. I just want to know she's safe and...and..."

His voice broke, and he was ashamed. Until he looked at her again and saw the tears flowing like rivers from those violet pools. "I know," she whispered. "Yes...I know...I don't know why I thought..."

"Let's get the hell out of here," he said.

"Do you love her?" she asked, and as she did she lifted a hand to touch his face.

"I love her more than my own life, Angel. I'd die for her here and now if I knew it would make things safe for her. And I know that I'll love her even more when I lay eyes on her. When I touch her for the first time..."

His tears ran down to her hand where it rested on his cheek. And she stepped closer, a tremulous smile dancing over her lips as she nodded. "Yes," she whispered. "Yes, you will. Oh, Jameson, she's so beautiful. Her hair is thick and satiny and dark as a raven's wing." Like yours, he thought, and he touched a strand, ran it between his fingers.

"And her eyes are as black as midnight. So big, and innocent..." And that was it. All she could take. She choked on a sob, and her face crumpled. She cried noisily, her entire body shaking as he pulled her close. Hell, he felt like crying, too. He might dislike the woman, but they shared something. This...this grief and worry and gut-wrenching fear for their little girl. And they always would share it. No matter what.

He held her close, rubbed her back and stroked her hair. "It's gonna be okay, Angel. We'll find her. I'm telling you, I haven't even begun."

"Aw, gee, isn't that touching?"

Jameson stiffened. The deep voice came from the doorway, and they both spun around to see its owner.

The man stood there, pointing a weapon at them. A weapon Jameson knew contained the one most powerful tool in DPI's arsenal. The drug they'd developed that would render even the most powerful vampire helpless.

In a flash, Jameson had pushed Angelica behind him. That he'd done it instinctively and without forethought didn't matter. It was understandable. Protecting the mother of his child would come naturally to any man.

"You have no use for us," Jameson told the man calmly, slowly. "You've got what you wanted from us.

Don't go risking your neck for nothing."

"Do I look like a fool to you?" the man asked, smiling slightly. "Now talk, Bryant. Where is the child?" Jameson's blood went cold. "What the hell do you mean, where is the child? You're the ones..." He paused, narrowing his eyes. "You don't know where she is?"

"Stop playing games. We've had this place under surveillance for days in case Garner tried to come back, though I can't believe she'd be that stupid. Now where is she? Where is she hiding that kid?" He felt Angelica's eyes on him. Felt some kind of foolish hope spring into his chest. "The child," he said slowly, "is in a place where you'll never get your filthy hands on her again. Guarded by a hundred vampires. A thousand by the end of the week. Tell your boss to give it up. It's over. We've won." The man's brows lowered. "You're lying."

Jameson only shrugged.

"Come on, you're coming back with me. We'll get the truth out of you lying scum, one way or another." He looked past Jameson at Angelica, and smiled just a little. "I'm gonna have a good time trying various ways to make you talk, sweet thing. I've heard your kind can't get enough. We'll find out, I promise."

"Touch her and I'll rip your heart out," Jameson growled, and he had no idea where the words came from, but knew he meant them.

The man's eyes flashed with anger, and he lifted the gun barrel, centered it on Jameson's chest.

"No, there's no need of that," Angelica said from behind him. "Please, don't...don't use that thing."

"That's a good she-dog," he said. "There, you see, Bryant? Your girlfriend wants to cooperate. Maybe she knows a real man when she sees one, eh?"

She was too upset to guard her thoughts. And she felt ill, physically ill at the thought of this pig laying his filthy hands on her. And yet, she'd submit, if it would keep her alive long enough to rescue her child.

Jesus, she had a core of solid steel in her.

"Fine," Jameson said. "We'll come along peacefully. You can put the gun down." And he took a step toward the man. The fellow looked surprised, then smug. He waggled the barrel of the gun, and Jameson moved forward.

No! Angelica's thoughts rang clearly in his mind. Jameson, don't go over there! He'll shoot you !

Easy, Angel, he told her without words. He knew damned well the bastard would drop him where he stood. It was Angelica he wanted alive, not him. And he'd be damned if he'd let the pig touch her. This animal isn't going to lay a finger on you. Trust me. I just need to get a little closer .

He sensed her start of surprise. She'd spoken, mentally, for the first time. And heard his reply in her mind as clearly as it he'd said the words aloud. She hadn't truly believed it possible, he thought. Well, now she knew.

Jameson moved a few more steps...and then he lunged with such speed he knew the mortal could see no more than a blur. He twisted the gun from the startled man's grip with one hand, hit him hard in the face with the other. And ended standing over his unconscious attacker. Looking down at the helpless bastard, he pointed the gun, knowing the drug contained in its dart would be lethal to a mortal.

And then Angelica gripped his arm. "You don't have to kill him. He's no threat to us now." Jameson swallowed the bile in his throat. "You're right, I don't have to kill him. I'm killing him because I want to."

He closed his finger around the trigger. Angelica's hands swept in like the wind, and snatched the gun away. She couldn't have done that if he'd been expecting it. But he hadn't been. As he looked up in startled surprise she flung the weapon, and it sailed across the apartment, smashing the window and arcing into the night.

"Jesus Christ, Angelica!" he snapped. "Why the hell are you protecting this bastard? You know what he intended to do to you."

"Murder is a sin, Vampire, no matter what one's justification may be."

"And according to you, I'm already damned, so what the hell do I care about one more sin on my record? Hmm?"

He bent down, gripping the man by his lapels, lifting him off the floor, intent on doing him in with or without the dart.

"No," she cried, and gripped his shoulders. "No, Jameson. I...I might have been wrong about that.

What if I was wrong?"

He turned, looked down into her pleading violet eyes.

"Please," she whispered. "Please, don't kill this man when you don't have to." And he couldn't. Not now. For some reason, her eyes did him in, and he let the worthless lump of flesh thud to the floor. "No doubt he didn't come here alone," he said. "Come on." He led her over the body and into the hall, but not to the elevators or the main stairs. Instead he went the opposite direction. He found a service elevator, and hit the button marked Roof. And once inside, he allowed himself a hint of hope. Just a bit of happiness, and relief.

"Jameson, where are we...what..."

"Did you hear what that bastard said, Angelica? They don't have her. They don't have our little girl." He looked down into her eyes, and saw his own excitement reflected there. "I heard."

"Garner," he muttered, thinking out loud. "It had to be Garner. She must have taken her. I can't imagine why, but..."

Angelica closed her eyes and a soft sigh escaped her parted lips. "She has kind eyes, this Hilary Garner.

She's trying to help. She won't hurt her."

"She'd damned well better not." The car jarred to a halt, and its doors opened. Jameson stepped out, and up the short flight of stairs to the door at the top. Then through it. And he was on the roof, beneath the stars. Hurrying to the edge, he peered down to the street below. Cars were parked helter-skelter, at cockeyed angles, and men were hurrying from them into the building as more vehicles screeched in behind them.

"This place is swarming."

"There's a fire escape, down this side of the building," she called, drawing his gaze. And for just a second, he stopped, and just looked at her. She was silhouetted by a starlit night sky, and her hair blew in the wind like a shining ebony flag. And when she turned and looked at him, some of that starlight danced in her eyes.

"Jameson? The fire escape?"

He shook himself. "They'll be expecting that. They'll have it covered." He turned and glanced at the building next door. Separated by an alley no more than ten feet wide. "We're gonna have to jump for it, Angel."

On legs that seemed unsteady, she crossed the roof to stand beside him, and her eyes widened as she looked down, then up at him. "We can't...we'll fall and-"

"You don't know the half of what you can do. This is a short hop for you, now. You're strong. Stronger than ten of them," he said, nodding toward the men below.

"I'm not."

"You are," he insisted. "You want to know our best-kept secret, Angel?" She stared into his eyes, obviously frightened. "Yes," she said.

"The truly ancient ones...can even fly."

She shook her head. Then stopped, stared at him, and her eyes went even rounder.

"They'll laugh us out of immortality if we can't make this little leap. Come on, Angel. Trust me, I've been around vampires all my life." He took her hand, led her back to the other side. "We run, and we jump.

Don't hesitate, or you'll put us both in some pretty intense misery."

"The fall would kill us."

"No. But it would probably hurt like hell."

She looked doubtful. He squeezed her hand. "Our baby is safe. She's not in their filthy hands anymore, Angelica. Doesn't that make you feel like you could fly?"

She nodded, still shaky though.

"If we don't get out of here, we won't get her back. For her, Angel. For our Amber Lily." The fear in those violet eyes vanished. She nodded once, firmly. "All right."

"Good girl." Clinging to her hand, Jameson ran, and she matched him, step for step. She didn't falter, didn't hesitate, poured every bit of her effort into it. As one they pushed off, and as one they sailed into the night, arching high. He felt the rush he'd felt each time Roland had challenged him to push his abilities to their limits, only to find they truly had none. The wind whistling in his ears, riffling through his hair. And then they landed, hard, on the next building, and he pulled her close to him on impact to keep her from falling forward and smashing her face.

His arms linked around her waist, her body pressed to his, he looked down to see her...smiling. Her eyes glittering up at him. "We did it!"

"I told you." That smile of hers. That was what got to him. Seeing her smile, when she'd been in such agony such a short time ago. An agony they'd shared. There was hope now. Real hope, and they were sharing that as well. He lowered his head, and he kissed her. And it was lunacy. Madness. But her lips were full and moist and chilled from the night air. And they felt good beneath his, ripe and succulent, and he drew on them, traced them with his tongue, parted them and slipped his tongue between them.

The lust hit him hard, like a freight train, and he felt it running her down as well. She shuddered and clung to him, parted her lips and tipped her head back. He bowed over her, and plunged his tongue deep into her mouth, and thought about plunging himself deeply into her body.

A thought he forgot to guard.

She heard it loud and clear, and went stiff. Then gently, she pulled free of him and turned away. She was breathless. And so was he.

"I'm..." He pushed a hand through his hair. Christ, he'd just kissed the hell out of an almost nun. And thought about doing one hell of a lot more to her. Which was nothing new, and nothing she hadn't been thinking as well. But... "I'm sorry."

"We have to go, Vampire," she said, but her voice was coarse and shaky. "They'll find us here soon enough."

"Yeah." He let her lead this time, and he followed, wondering what the hell kind of insanity had just had hold of him.

When we reached the ground again, Jameson and I crept through the shadows of the night. I could hear very clearly the crackling of their radios as they spoke to one another. As they searched for us. It was obvious that we were a high priority to them. No, that wasn't exactly right. It was our daughter they wanted. A tiny babe who didn't even know why so many people should be hunting for her.

And I would die before I would let them have her.

I looked sideways at the man who stood close to me, and I realized that he would likely do the same.

Give his life to protect the baby. Already, he'd risked it, and more than once. Perhaps... he was not exactly the monster I'd believed him to be.

Or perhaps he was. I'd seen the rage in his eyes. I'd watched him stand over a helpless man, perfectly willing to take his life. No hesitation. No compunction. No morality. Perhaps it was only in regard to his child that he showed any sense of honor or nobility. Perhaps.

He had kissed me.

I still marveled over how that had come about. But it was easy enough to understand. We'd both been exhilarated at the knowledge that perhaps our child was safe, somewhere. Carried away in the moment.

He'd never have laid a finger on me otherwise, I had no doubts about that. He hated me. Had told me as much. Even blamed me for this entire predicament. Held me solely responsible for the danger Amber Lily was in right now. And yet I responded to him like a lust-starved lover. And I did not understand why.

As for his judgment of me, I, for the most part, agreed with it. I'd been a fool. An utter fool. And he was right, it was my fault our child had been taken. But I hadn't known, then, the horrors that I knew now.

I only knew that I should have listened to him as he lay on the floor near death, telling me not to go, not to trust the DPI agent who'd come for me. I should have listened.

We stood now in an alley, peering through the night at the men who surrounded the building. The vampire's squat black car waited like a deadly spider, only a few yards away from us. But those men were only a few yards beyond it. They stood facing the building, in case we came out, no doubt. Their backs were to us.

We can make if to the car, I heard him say. And then realized that he hadn't said it at all. This silent way of speaking made me dizzy. He took my hand, an act that seemed to be becoming his habit, and led me forward. Then he opened the driver's side door, which was nearest us, and crouching low, I crawled over his seat and into my own. When I was there, I kept my head down.

Jameson was beside me in no time at all, and he pulled the door very gently shut. And then he turned the key.

Immediately, those men spun around. Jameson jerked the shifting lever, and the car lurched into motion.

But not before those men began firing their weapons at us. Such a horrific scene I'd never imagined.

Men, firing guns at us. The black barrels spitting fire in the night. The window beside me shattered, and I heard Jameson swearing as he yanked hard on the wheel. Only seconds later, those other vehicles came to life, and roared in pursuit.

But the chase they gave was not my main source of concern. A searing pain, like a red-hot blade, screamed through my mind, enveloping my entire body. I'd never known such pain. The labor had torn through me like this, yes, but I'd been drugged, and it had been duller. Distant. This was immediate and agonizing. And yet it was not my own. Not my own.

"Don't worry," he said, maneuvering the vehicle at dizzying speeds. "They'll never catch us. This car goes like hell, and I have the advantage. I can run without lights." He looked toward me, and tried to keep the pain from his eyes. But when his gaze met mine, he saw the agony in my gaze. "Angelica?"

"Tell me, Vampire," I said softly, "is it only the sun that can kill us? Or would their bullets do the job as well?" And as I spoke, I lifted my hand and laid it against his waist, and I felt the blood there, dampening my palm.

"We'll worry about that later," he said, but I knew he was in terrible pain. He spoke through gritted teeth, and his flesh was white, eyes sparking with anguish. "First we have to get the hell out of here." He took a corner so fast that I was flung against him. I cried out when his pain grew worse, and he looked at me sharply.

"Angelica? You're not hurt, too, are you?"

"No," I whispered, staring down at the blood that pooled on the seat around him in horror. "No, it's your pain I feel, Vampire. As if it were my own. Why? Is this normal?" He shook his head slowly, grating his teeth. "I don't know."

"You're weakening!" I said, because I knew it. "You'll bleed to death, won't you?"

"Put pressure on the wound," he instructed, and he caught my hand and drew it to his side, pressing my palm to the blood-soaked injury. "Don't let it bleed, Angel. We can bleed to death in no time flat. It's deadly to us." Another corner, and I did as he said, but my hand was shaking, and I was afraid my efforts were doing little to stanch the flow. But the pain began to fade as well. And then his head fell sideways, and his eyes closed.

"Stay awake, dammit," I ordered, my voice harsh as I took the steering wheel when his hands dropped to his sides. "Don't you die on me. Hold on!"

But I don't think he heard me. He just lay there, and the pain went away. I steered the car off the road, pulled him out from behind the wheel and took over the driving myself. We were almost back to the house near the sea, so that was where I took us. But I was terrified. Terrified he was going to die and leave me to face this challenge alone. And though he'd called himself my captor, I found that the thought of his death gave me no pleasure. In fact, it filled me with a horrible dread. I'd become dependent on him to some extent. And I needed his help. Those things were true. But they were not the source of my anguish.

I simply didn't want this man, this enigma I'd only begun to understand, to die. I didn't want him to leave me. Not yet. Not like this.

And that feeling frightened me almost as much as the blood oozing from his side did.