Books by Maggie Shayne (142 page)

They hovered at the open window as Ramsey conversed via the cordless phone with Fuller. No one was in sight outside now. Only two DPI cars and three agents. They must want Damien very badly, Cuyler mused, to take such a chance.

Either that or they were playing a huge bluff. Maybe the others were only out of sight, waiting. Maybe Fuller and DPI had no intention of letting any of them go.

“He’s out cold, Fuller,” Ramsey said into the phone. “Apparently your tranquilizer works. Cuyler and I want transportation out of here. Now.”

Ramsey held the phone away from his ear, and Cuyler leaned in close to hear the reply. Damien didn’t bother. Cuyler wondered if perhaps he didn’t need to. She had no idea the extent of his powers.

“You and Cuyler stay put. We’re coming in. When we see for ourselves that he’s incapacitated, we’ll let you go.”

Ramsey covered the mouthpiece with his hand. “Lying through his teeth.” Removing his hand, he said, “All right, Fuller. But you better keep your word.”

They waited, all of them pressed to the opening in the window. Cuyler knew Damien could leave if he wanted to. He had the ability. But he stayed, all the same.

When they heard the front door open, and Fuller calling Ramsey’s name, Ramsey made a stirrup of his hands, and bent. Cuyler stepped up, pushing herself through the window. She emerged kneeling, concealed by the shrubbery, still close enough to hear Fuller’s voice raised in alarm.

“Where the hell are you, Bachman?” Then, “Dammit, he’s up to something. Search the place.”

Damien was beside her a second later. Then Ramsey himself crawled through. She bit her lip as Damien reached back, offering a hand, which Ramsey took. Sandwiched between the two men, she glanced toward the car.

“We move as one,” Ramsey said, his body shielding hers on one side. Damien nodded. Bending low, they ran toward the car. Just as they reached the end of the shrub cover, the front door of the house burst open and several shots rang out.

She felt Ramsey stiffen beside her, but he never faltered. One arm came around her and he moved faster, around the far side of the car. Ramsey opened the back door, bending over her body as she threw herself inside, facedown on the floor. The window above her exploded and glass rained down into her hair. She tried to turn, tried to see Ramsey and Damien, but the bullets whizzed near her face, bringing back a flood of horrifying memories, until she could only lower her head again, covering it with her hands. She heard the door slam and felt the car jerk into motion. And then the bullets stopped ringing in her ears. She chanced lifting her head, only to see Damien on the back seat, sitting calmly amid the gunfire, his gaze so intense… and then glowing as he stared at something behind them.

Curious, even while shaking all over, she sat up a bit, following his gaze. She saw the DPI men running toward their car. But before they reached it, it exploded in a ball of blinding white flame.

Shielding her eyes and gasping, she glanced at Damien. But he didn’t notice, still too focused on what was behind them. He stared at the house now, even as the confused men turned to scramble toward it.

All three flew backward when it exploded. This time, the ground beneath the car rocked with the impact. She heard Ramsey swear, saw him twist in the driver’s seat to look at the sight. Then she was looking, too. The entire house was nothing but a flaming framework, rapidly disintegrating to ash. Great beam-shaped lengths of fire fell in slow motion, disappearing into the mouth of the inferno waiting below to devour them.

She still felt the vibrations of the explosion, and the house was all but gone already.

My God.

They rounded a bend. The car weaved in and out of its lane and steadily lost speed. Cuyler frowned, clambering over the seat. “Ramsey, what’s wrong? What’s—”

She bit off the rest of her words, seeing the blood that soaked the front of him. His grip on the steering wheel was white-knuckled, his eyes steadily glazing over, his back bowing more and more as his right leg began a spastic dance. The car jerked with his foot’s movements on the accelerator.

“Ramsey!” She swung her leg over his, jamming her foot down on the brake and jerking the gearshift into Neutral. She gripped the wheel, guided the car to the roadside, slammed it into Park, and grabbed Ramsey’s shoulders, shaking him. “Dammit, Ramsey, don’t do this to me! Ramsey! Ramsey!”

He focused on her eyes, and she could see it was a struggle. One side of his mouth pulled into that half smile of his, and he managed to wink. “Maybe Damien oughta drive, hmm?” Both his legs trembled now. Then they stopped, and his eyelids fell closed.

Cuyler buried her face in the crook of his neck, crying uncontrollably. “It isn’t over, Ramsey. Damn you, it isn’t over. Not yet, not like this!”

A firm hand on her shoulder drew her gaze upward to look into Damien’s solemn eyes. “No, Cuyler. It isn’t over. Not yet.” He got out of the car, opened the front door, hauled Ramsey out, then carefully placed him across the back seat. Cuyler got back there, too, and lifted Ramsey’s head as she slid in, so she could cradle it in her lap. Damien got behind the wheel. “Hold on to him, Cuyler. I’ll drive you somewhere safe. And the rest…” He glanced over his shoulder at the man she held, his eyes narrow. “The rest, I guess, will be up to Ramsey.”

Ramsey woke to the most incredible, burning pain he’d ever felt in his life. But at least he woke. He supposed he ought to be grateful for small favors.

His chest was bandaged. His legs had gone numb. But there was warmth, softness. His head was pillowed on what felt like satin. Small hands were running over his face, through his hair. A musical voice, like the wind, begged him to wake up. Salty tears rained down on his face. Trembling lips pressed to his over and over again.

He opened his eyes. Hazy, everything was so hazy. His body felt weak, drained. And there was this incredible urge to just close his eyes again and float away.

“Ramsey?”

God, but he didn’t want to float away. Not if “away” meant away from Cuyler.

“Right here.” That didn’t sound like his voice. It sounded far away, echoing back to his ears from the other end of a hollow tunnel. Man, he was fading fast. He tried to look around, but could only make out several halos of golden light. Candles? And one bigger one, a fireplace, maybe. He felt the warmth, smelled the fragrance. Yes, a fireplace. And he thought he was on a bed, but he couldn’t be sure. “Where are we?”

“Damien’s house…one of his houses, as he put it. We’re safe here, Ramsey. Damien went to get rid of the car. When he comes back, I’m sending him for a doctor.”

“A doctor can’t help, Cuyler.” He knew it, somewhere deep in his soul. Just the same way he knew her devastation. She sensed him slipping away, just as he did. And she was dying a little bit, right along with him.

He struggled to sit up, and she helped him. “I can’t stand this, Ramsey. I can’t stand losing you.” She propped pillows at his back.

He caught her hands, brought them to his lips. “I’ve been a fool.”

“You saved our lives, Ramsey. Even Damien knows what you did back there.”

“A fool,” he whispered. God, it was getting harder and harder to speak, to string words together. He had to focus every ounce of strength on saying what he had to say. “He’s a decent man, Damien. I was wrong… about him. About…about everything.”

“It doesn’t matter now—”

“Yes. Yes, it does. I’m not…” He drew a painful breath, grated his teeth. “I’m not what you think I am, Cuyler. The insulin… all this time…they tricked me.”

She sank onto the edge of the bed, running her hands through his hair. “Don’t try to talk. Just rest—”

“I don’t deserve…to be…to live. But I’m not ready to die, either.”

She choked on a sob. Shaking all over, she lowered her head to his chest, clung to him.

“But I’ll…make it up to you…to all of you.”

She lifted her head and stared into his eyes. “What do you mean?”

“I want to live, Cuyler.” He wanted to stop. He was panting, out of breath as if he’d just run a marathon, but he had to continue. “I want to be able…to love you…the way you deserve.” The pain in his chest was unbearable. But the pain in his heart was worse. “I want it. I want you to do it to me, Cuyler. Right now.”

Her brows drew together as she searched his face, desperation etched in her every feature. “Do… Ramsey, what are you saying? I can’t transform you. The antigen—”

“I have it.” He inhaled, but it was too shallow. His voice grew weaker with every word. “I have…all along. The insulin…” That was it. It was the end. He felt himself slipping steadily away from her. He tried to tighten his hold on her, but didn’t have the strength. With supreme effort, he gasped, and in a harsh whisper, went on. “I love you, Cuyler…”

His eyes fell closed and the breath slowly escaped his lungs.

“Ramsey! Ramsey, no…”

But she knew the end was here. And she knew he’d been telling her something… something she didn’t understand.

Go on, Cuyler. Damien’s soft, deep voice floated across the boundaries of time and space. He’s one of us. Always has been. It’s all in the files. They’ve masked it with some new drug or other. Told him it was insulin and that he was diabetic. They’ve brainwashed him through most of his life, and still he found his way to you. Go on, bring him over. If ever a man was worthy of the gift, it’s him.

Cuyler felt her eyes widen. She was shocked beyond belief, and half wondered if the voice in her mind might have been her own imagination. But if there was a chance…

She bent her head and kissed Ramsey’s slack mouth. Then she bent lower, sliding her lips over his bristly jaw, to his throat. “Come back to me, love,” she whispered, her lips moving over his salty skin.

When Ramsey opened his eyes a long while later, there were a hundred new and unbelievable sensations coursing through him. Things he’d never felt before, didn’t understand, a sense of elation and strength and vitality he’d never had before.

But all of that paled beside the joy he felt at finding Cuyler cradling him in her arms. He looked up at her, saw the uncertainty in her huge onyx eyes as they searched his face.

“You did it, didn’t you?” he asked her, and even his voice seemed different. Or maybe it was his hearing that had taken on a new intensity.

She nodded. “You said… I thought…” She bit her lip. “Don’t hate me for it, Ramsey. It seemed to be what you wanted. If I misunderstood, then—”

“It’s what I wanted.”

“But—”

He lifted his head, silencing her by pressing his lips to hers. “I love you, Cuyler Jade. You know that, don’t you?”

The worry fled her eyes and she smiled. “Of course I do. I knew it before you did. And it’s a good thing.”

“Why’s that?”

She kissed his forehead, then his mouth. “Because, Ramsey, I love you, and I wouldn’t settle for anything less in return. Especially since I have to put up with you for the rest of eternity.”

“Eternity with Tinkerbell,” he said, grinning. He gathered her into his arms and held her close. “I can’t think of a sweeter fate.”

BORN IN TWILIGHT

Copyright © 1997 by Margaret Benson

All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

I loved not the night

but he drew me,

With dark whispers beckoned me near His shadows I thought

would subdue me, Enslave me in chains made of fear

I wished not to look but he wooed me,

His strong, gentle hand turned my face

I opened my eyes

and saw beauty,

Where I'd seen but a desolate place

I fled from the night

but he chased me,

He caught me in arms of dark steel

I sighed as I let him

embrace me In his touch, at last, I could feel

I turned to the night

and he kissed me,

On his lips I tasted sweet wine

I opened to night's

sacred mystery He took me, and whispered, "You're mine"

The night has become

my dark lover

By day but a dream, bittersweet At sunset I run

to no other My surrender to night is complete

This book is dedicated to you. You who refuse to apologize for your choice of entertainment.

You who walk into a bookstore, place your stack of romances on the counter and look the clerk in the eye with your chin up and your spine straight.

You who-despite the opinions of pop psychologists-know full well the difference between fantasy and reality.

You who have made romance
the world’s top-selling form of fiction
.

All of you who share the secret-romance novels are by women, for women and about women. You and me.

No wonder some people are so afraid of them.

I am damned. I am damned. I am damned.

Those words were the only ones I could utter as I stumbled through the city streets that first night of my new life. My hair in tangles, my clothes torn and dirty. Passersby looked at me and then quickly looked away, their eyes flashing with alarm—or was it contempt?—as their steps altered to give me a wide berth. Almost as if they knew.

I’d been on the right path. Or I thought I had. Perhaps I’d been a bit too confident in my righteousness. Pride goeth before a fall, after all. But surely the sin of pride didn’t warrant this severe a retribution. Surely it hadn’t been the hand of God that brought me this low.

No. No, God had nothing to do with it. Nor Satan himself, but a monster. A creature far more hideous than even Lucifer in all his evil glory could ever be.

For thirteen years I’d been as pure and as holy as I envisioned the very angels to be. From the darkest night of my life—the night my mother had left me at the altar at St. Christopher’s, promising she’d come back for me soon—I had done only good. Though I’d barely been old enough to know good from bad then, a nine-year-old child abandoned by her mother learns quickly enough. If I were only good enough, perhaps she would come back for me.

She hadn’t. But it had only served to convince me that I
hadn’t
been good enough. It only served to make me strive to be better.

The sisters had raised me well, taught me all they knew of the ways of truth and righteousness for His name’s sake. And I hadn’t left them when I’d come of age, but instead, had clung to the refuge I’d found among them.

My final vows would have been spoken a week from that horrible night. Just one more week. And I wondered, for just a moment, if I’d have been safe from the monster had I taken the veil sooner. Would my devotion have protected me then?

“I am damned,” I muttered again, this time sinking to the steps of a beautiful cathedral. I didn’t gaze up at the spires, or wonder at the beauty of the stained-glass windows. I couldn’t. When I looked at the colors, my monstrous eyes refused to linger on the heavenly blues and greens and golds. They focused instead on the bits of scarlet-colored glass, and on those alone. And a hunger stirred from the very depths of my soul. A sinful hunger, one I could not—
would not
—assuage.

I’d gone out alone that wintry night, despite the sisters’ dire warnings…

My soft-soled shoes made squeaking sounds as I raced down the steep wooden stairs from my cell. I was in a hurry to be off. It was snowing outside! The first snow of the winter, and how I loved it. I’d been pacing my chamber, unable to concentrate on my studies, or much of anything else for that matter. All I seemed able to do was glance at the small, white-faced clock on my wall, and scowl at its slow ticking, before turning back to my single window to gaze longingly out at the snow.

We were not a cloistered order, exactly. We did go out among the worldly, but only in service to the Lord, or when Mother Mary Ruth saw it as absolutely necessary. Tonight it was my turn to work at the shelter several blocks away. And while I knew I should be rejoicing in the opportunity to serve God by helping my fellow man in his time of need, I wasn’t. I was rejoicing in the opportunity to go out in that brand-new snow.

I pulled a light shawl over my habit, which was a simplified version of the ones the true sisters wore. I’d have one like theirs soon. In just over a week when I took my solemn vows.

But my steps faltered as I reached the bottom of the staircase and saw Sister Rebecca, who was to accompany me to the shelter, leaning against the newel post and looking sickly.

“Sister, what’s wrong?” I rushed forward, my heart sinking as much at the thought of having to stay in tonight as at the thought of Sister Rebecca being ill. We always worked in pairs at the shelter. Always traveled there and back together.

“Stomach virus, or so I suspect,” she replied. She was young, like me. It had been only a year since she’d taken her final vows, and I sometimes thought it was a shame she’d never married or had children, as lovely as she was. And as I thought it, a small, niggling doubt tried to creep up my nape and into my brain, but I shook it off. This was the only life I’d ever known. I remembered almost nothing from before my mother left me here. I wouldn’t know how to live among the worldly. Besides, I wanted to be
good
. And there wasn’t a better way, was there?

“Don’t worry,” Sister Rebecca said, valiantly lifting her chin and trying to paste a smile over the grimace on her lips. “I’m not going to beg off. You’ve been looking forward to this all day.”

Had I been so obvious? I averted my face. “No, Sister Rebecca. I won’t have you going out when you feel so poorly. You should be in bed.” I pressed a hand to her forehead, and felt heat there. Then I turned her around, and helped her toward the stairs. “Now, go on upstairs and rest. I can certainly tend to the needs of the homeless without a partner on the verge of collapse.”

She stiffened, as I’d feared she would. “You will most certainly not go out alone! You know the mother superior’s rules!”

“Surely she’d make an exception if she knew you were sick. She’d never insist you go with me.”

“No. She’d insist you stay here.”

“Lucky for me she’s not here, then.”

Sister Rebecca shook her head slowly. “Look at you! Your eyes are sparkling tonight. What has you so excited, Angelica?”

“The snow,” I said, spinning around and stopping when I faced the window and could see the snowflakes pirouetting in the glow of the streetlights outside. “I want to be in it. Feel it on my face.”

Her soft hand came down to my shoulder. “There will be other snow, Angelica.”

“But this is the first,” I said, and I faced her once more. “Please let me go. I’m a grown woman. Grown women traipse about this city by themselves every day.”

“Not women of this order,” she began.

“Well, technically, I’m not of this order…yet. So I can do what I want.”

“Angelica…”

I stopped on my way to the door, and turned to face her.

She smiled, and I saw the fever in her pink cheeks and shining eyes. One strand of golden hair had escaped her wimple and curled against her cheek. “You’re a very strong-willed young woman, Angelica,” she said, but her smile remained. “And adventurous, and more than a little bit mischievous. I often wonder if you’ve given enough thought to the decision you’ve made.”

But I only shrugged. “I’m going to the shelter. Mother superior can lecture me when she returns, but until then, I’m going out in the snow.”

She nodded then, as if in defeat. “Hurry then. Don’t miss your bus. If you do, you come straight back here—” But I was already out the door.

Oh, the snow! I’d always loved winter. I tipped my face up to let the icy, wet flakes fall against my cheeks and my nose. And even tasted them the way a small child might do. They coated everything I passed, like powdered sugar on parked cars and sidewalks and windowsills and front stoops. And I know I dawdled, because it enchanted me so. I remember thinking it was like magic, that first snow of the winter. Like a fairy tale come true. And I remember telling myself that I was far too old to be so giddy over a simple thing like snow. Dancing in it like a little girl. But I couldn’t help myself. I
was
giddy.

And wrong, I was wrong to have come out alone, blatantly breaking the rules of the order. But I’d done so often enough in the past that the sisters must surely expect it by now. I disliked rules. I’d probably have to change my rebellious ways and conform a bit better once I took my vows, but I refused to do so until then. After that…

Again, that shiver of doubt. Again, I shook it away. I’d think about that later. Not now. All I wanted to do right now was walk alone at night, breaking the rules with every step, and enjoy the snow.

And that is precisely what I did. When I finally reached the bus stop on the corner though, it was only to see my transportation rolling away without me.

It threw me, but only for a moment. After all, I was almost a sister of the Order of the Sisters of Mercy. I was
good
. I lived my life serving God, and surely no one else did so with such enthusiasm as I. And certainly, wherever I went I was walking within the protection of His love. In fact, I’m sure I felt invulnerable, though where I got that idea, I do not know. It was not something the sisters would have taught me, not something I’d read in my studies. But I felt it, all the same. I felt surrounded by a protective shield that would let no harm come to me, and because of it, I foolishly decided to walk the six blocks to the shelter. And that, I later realized, was the foolish pride that led to my downfall.

He was waiting. Crouched in the shadows of a garbage-strewn alley. The monster called out to me as I passed, and my steps slowed to a reluctant stop. What a fool I was.

“Sister! Sister, please, help me.”

My beloved snow fell in gentle puffs as I turned to look into the darkness, unable to see the owner of that plaintive voice. I stood a little straighter, feeling a hint of fear for the first time. “Who’s there?” I called. “Come here, where I can see you.”

“I can’t. I’m hurt. Please, Sister. Don’t let me die here in the cold.
Help me
!”

My fear did not evaporate. It was simply outspoken by my unwavering confidence. I was a servant of the Lord, and I would walk where even His most trusted angels feared to tread, if that were what was necessary. I’d help this poor soul in the alley. But I’d be careful, cautious, wise. Tentatively, I stepped into the blackness, and an icy shiver raced up my nape, chilling me right to my soul. And I should have known. I should have known right then not to go a single step farther.

“Over here,” he moaned, drawing me closer. Closer, until the lighted, busy street was out of reach. And when I was close enough, still blind in the darkness, he came at me. Bony arms with the strength of Samson closed around me, nearly crushing me, and a hand clapped over my mouth. I struggled. Mightily, I struggled. For though devout, I had never been timid or weak, or cowardly. I kicked at him with a force that surely should have broken his shins. And I boxed his ears hard enough to knock him unconscious. I twisted and pulled against his grip, and tried to bite the hand over my mouth. But nothing I did to him seemed to have any noticeable effect. He didn’t flinch, or even draw a harsh breath. My heart pounded so loudly it deafened me as he dragged me deeper into that alley. And silently, I began praying. Praying for salvation from this madman, praying for my life to be spared. Lord, forgive me for that error. I should have been praying for my immortal soul, not the preservation of this life, this body.

He threw me down among the rubbish so hard my breath was taken away when I hit. And then he came down on top of me, as I gasped for air among the fetid garbage. The stench was sickening. I caught my breath, parted my lips to scream, but he covered my mouth again. He sat there, straddling me, and with his free hand he tore the wimple from my head, freeing my hair and grasping handfuls of it.

“Black satin,” he whispered as he fingered my hair. “And eyes like onyx. You’re perfect.” I struggled beneath him. “Perfect. I won’t be alone anymore.”

I still could not see him well. Only the shape of his face, and the darker wells of his eyes were visible. But I could not escape the feeling that he could see me perfectly.

“I’ve been watching you for so long, you know. I’ve chosen you, of the many I’ve known. You should be grateful, Angelica, for the gift you’re about to receive.”

I shook my head, but to no avail.

“Yes. Grateful,” he went on. “No cloistered order for you, my perfect one. No vows. You’re not meant for that. You’re meant for me.”

The monster bowed over me, lifting me slightly from my bed of refuse. He bent to my throat, and my stomach turned when I felt the touch of his cold mouth on my skin. With one hand, he forced my head back until I thought my neck would break. And then the moment I shall never forget for as long as I live. Indeed, the moment I’d never dreamed of. I thought he would rape me, murder me. I thought many things when that creature bent over me that night. But I never thought this.

There was pain—brief, shocking pain, when his incisors pierced the tender skin of my throat. And then that pain was gone, and I was left instead with the horror of what was happening to me. His mouth sucked at my neck as he drank the very lifeblood from my body. I could feel it, feel my essence leaving me through those two tiny holes in my throat. My mind swam, faded. Everything faded. The stench of the garbage and the chill of the cold winter night. The feel of those wet snowflakes on my face. The very ground on which I lay. Everything vanished, and I was left with nothing. Every aspect of me was focused on the part of me where this monster had fastened himself. My throat, and his mouth drawing the blood from it, were all that remained of the universe.

He lifted his head. I lay still, barely conscious, unable to move or utter a sound. He moved, and there was a glint of silver. I couldn’t even feel alarm when it occurred to me that he held a blade. That he would finish me now. I could hear nothing. The sounds of the city could no longer reach my ears. Only his voice.

He lifted me, pressing my face into the crook of his neck, and he whispered, “Drink, Angelica. Drink…and live.”

He forced me closer, his hand on the back of my head. And my lips touched warmth, wetness on his throat. I tried to draw away, but my weakness would not allow it. And the first taste of it touched my tongue, quickening my senses. A jolt, like a blast of icy wind, shot through me. I think my eyes shot wide. My lips parted on a gasp, and more of the thick, salty liquid surged into my mouth. Had I not swallowed, I’d have drowned. And if I’d been as devout as I’d prided myself on being, that’s precisely what I would have done. Let myself drown in this cursed elixir. Gone willingly into the arms of the Lord rather than surrendering myself to the instinctive need to stay alive. But instead, I swallowed. And that was when I first felt the power of this devilish hunger. It shot through me, overwhelming all that I had ever been. It took control, a need I couldn’t even identify. I closed my lips over the wound in his throat…and I drank. Hungrily, greedily, I drank, and as I did, my body came alive with sensations I’d never known. So gluttonous was I, that he had to push me away when the curse was complete. Push me, his unwilling victim, away from his neck.