Books by Maggie Shayne (225 page)

Edge stepped through. The room in the back was small, just a storage space, probably. There were shelves on the back wall, even a stray box or two, mold growing on the outsides of them. He reached for one of them, tugging it from the shelf. The wet bottom gave, and the contents spilled over his feet.

Candles.

He smiled. Perfect. Everything a vampire needed to feel at home. A trap-door in the floor led to the small basement. Barely room enough to stand. Dirt floor, stacked stone walls without a hint of cement to hold them together. Just flat stones piled atop one another on all four sides. He nodded in approval and moved back to the upper floor, slung his duffel bag onto a pew. Then he tugged one of the two remaining pews from its place, took it to the front, where the dais was, and set it dead center.

Returning to his duffel, he opened it and removed a smaller sack, carrying it with him. From the sack he took several small items and carefully, lovingly, set them in a circle on the surface of the pew. A bone-trimmed switchblade with Billy Boy's initials carved in the side. The silver crescent moon that Ginger had worn in her ear. Scottie's gold pen. He'd had the soul of a poet. And the opal barrettes Bridget had worn in her hair.

Edge retrieved a handful of the candles from the back, used his lighter to set the wicks aflame and dripped wax onto the pew, then set them upright in it, so they wouldn't tip easily. He placed them in a circle around the objects and watched their fiery light dance over his odd little collection of keepsakes.

His family. These items represented his family. The only one he'd ever had. The only one he wanted, because God knew he wouldn't put himself through that kind of pain again. The people they represented were long gone. Hunted down and executed by a man named Frank W. Stiles. And Edge was closer than ever to finding him and, finally, exacting revenge.

"You look wonderful," Amber told Will when he returned to the house.

"What, you were expecting otherwise?" He set his walking stick aside and gave her a hug, and she noted that his arms felt strong around her, powerful.

She smiled and hugged back, never admitting that she
had
expected otherwise. He had cancer, had been given a death sentence—she'd expected him to be pale and weak, to have lost weight. Not so. His hair hadn't turned gray. His face was harsher, more lines had appeared around his dark eyes, but they seemed more like laugh lines than age. And while his limp was more pronounced than it had been before, that could have been for any number of reasons besides the cancer.

"Don't look terminally ill at all, do I, kid?'' he asked.

She winced inwardly but kept her smile in place. "You look healthy as a horse. Guess it takes more than a little cancer to bother a Special Forces colonel."

"Retired," he said, retrieving his intricately carved and painted walking stick—one Sarafina had bought him on their recent trip to Africa—and limping to where his beloved sat. He leaned over 'Fina, slid his hand over her shoulder, bent to kiss her neck. She closed her eyes. They'd been all around the world, the two of them. Privately, Amber thought it the most romantic thing she could imagine. And thank God, she thought. Thank God they'd had the time they had, to be together. Just in case they were nearing the end.

Amber moved around the table, pulled out the chair next to 'Fina's. "Sit down, Willem, have some tea with me."

He smiled at her. "It's been a while since I've had anyone to share tea with." 'Fina sent him a playful pout, and he patted her hand. "Not that I'm complaining."

Amber poured, and Willem sat. His sharp gaze slid carefully over Sarafina's face, and Amber knew he saw something there. Maybe some clue of the emotional breakdown she had experienced during his absence. God love her, she'd pulled herself together in a hurry. Fixed her hair, her face, put on clothes. But Will knew her too well not to notice something was off.

Rhiannon sat, as well.

"So are you going to tell me, or do I have to guess?" Willem asked when Amber set the tea in front of him.

Amber frowned. "Tell you what?"

He made a face, shook his head, sipped the tea and set the cup down. "Come on, kid. I know you. I know your so-called aunt there, and I know my wife. You've been plotting strategy."

Amber licked her lips and averted her eyes.

"Don't do it, Amber," he said softly. "Don't try to find Stiles." Turning his gaze to Sarafina and then Rhiannon, he went on. "If he finds out where Amber is, he'll come for her. You both know he will. It's not worth risking her life on the slim chance you can save mine."

"Don't you think," Amber asked, "that decision should be left up to me?''

He met her eyes. "Suppose it works, but you get yourself killed? You expect me to live with that?"

"You risked your life to save mine, Will. I'm only returning the favor."

"You're only a girl."

She glanced down at the walking stick, where it leaned against the table beside his chair. Then she jerked her gaze up and across the room. The stick flew like a well-aimed spear, at a speed so fast it hissed through the air. Just before it sank into the wall, Amber flicked up a hand, and it stopped dead. She flipped her hand over, and the stick turned vertical, then sailed easily back across the room and right into her palm. She set it down on the floor, leaning it against the table.

"I'm not
only
anything, Will. I may look young. I may
be
young, chronologically. But I'm a direct descendant of the most powerful vampire I know." When she said it, she looked to Rhiannon. "You sired Roland, he sired Eric, Eric sired Tarn, and all of you, together, saved my father from certain death when you gave him your blood to transform him into what you are. That blood runs in my veins. And I may not be a vampiress, but I'm not a human, either. And I'm stronger than any of you know."

Will nodded slowly. "I know you are. But you've been sheltered, protected. You've never had to fight to survive, to kill or be killed, Amber. It's not something you pick up overnight, and it's not easy. No matter how strong you are. Experience is worth as much as power. And while you have the latter in abundance, you have very little of the former."

She held his gaze. He held hers right back, stubborn as ever. She said, "Rhiannon is taking some of my blood to Eric and Tarn's tonight. They'll work on it in Eric's lab, with help and input from my parents and Roland. They might find the answers there. We don't necessarily have to bring Stiles into this at all, if he's even alive."

"Oh, he's alive," someone said. All eyes turned toward the doorway, where the two newcomers stood: strong, powerful Dante and his small, frail-looking companion, Morgan.

Dante's eyes went straight to Sarafina's, and their gazes locked. She trembled a little, rising to her feet, and Amber knew it was harder than ever for her to keep her emotions in check, now that her beloved Dante was here.

He swept forward, wrapping her in his arms. "I'm here for you, my precious 'Fina. I always will be."

"Don't make promises like that, Dante," she whispered. "You know life is uncertain at best, cruel at worst."

He closed his eyes, no doubt feeling her pain. Sarafina was a relative of his, an aunt or great-aunt, Amber thought, from the Same Gypsy band. But in truth, they were more like siblings. They loved one another, fought with each other, then made up again, just as a brother and sister might do.

Amber waited until they'd parted. She'd never met Dante and his bride, though she'd seen all of Morgan's films. They were still being made today, even though she was supposed to be dead. Her sister had allegedly found trunks full of unproduced scripts, and Morgan had collected more awards posthumously than most screenwriters did while alive.

The films were great, too.

When the introductions were complete, Willem said, "What did you mean about Stiles being alive?"

Pulling out a chair for Morgan, Dante remained standing. "You know, of course, that Morgan and I are silent partners in her sister's investigations agency in Maine. We have… sources. On both sides of mortality. Stiles has been sighted numerous times since your encounter with him five years ago."

"You have proof it was him?" Will asked.

"No. But there's enough circumstantial evidence to convince me."

Will thinned his lips.

"You have doubts as to whether we should pursue him?" Dante asked.

"Of course he has doubts," Morgan said softly. "Stiles is deadly, a threat to every one of us in this room. He nearly killed you twice, Dante. But he's most dangerous to Amber."

Will met Morgan's gaze, nodded. "Thank you. I'm glad someone here sees the risk besides me. I really prefer we give Eric some time to work in his lab with Amber's blood samples before we even consider bringing that monster into this."

"But you'll let us go after Stiles as a last resort?" Sarafina asked, her voice filled with hope.

"Don't even answer, Will," Amber put in. "It doesn't matter if you decide to
let
us. If Eric can't recreate Stiles's formula, we're doing it."

Will lowered his head. "Stubborn woman."

He'd said "woman," Amber noticed. Not "kid." She appreciated that. "As stubborn as you are, Will. And far from ready to give up on you."

"Even if we don't go after Stiles right away," Morgan said, "we can still begin doing some of the work of tracking him down. We've brought our files, everything we've been able to dig up on the man, and if you don't mind, we can set up a computer here, hook up to the 'net and continue following the leads we dug up at home."

Sarafina nodded enthusiastically, only to pause and look at Will. He nodded as well, sighing deeply. "Just be careful. I do not want word leaking out that Amber is here. It would put her at too much risk."

Amber rolled her eyes when Dante said, "Agreed."

"Now that you're all here," Rhiannon said, "I suppose it's safe for me to be on my way. I will trust Sarafina and Amber Lily to fill you in on our
other
little complication."

"We don't know he's a complication," Amber said quickly.

"But we
will
find out," Rhiannon replied.

As goodbyes were said, Rhiannon hugged Amber fiercely and whispered in her ear, "Do not let your guard down with that Edge character. He's powerful, child. Not old, but powerful all the same. And dangerous. I feel it wafting off him in waves."

"He must be related to you, then." Amber walked her outside to the waiting vehicle.

Rhiannon scowled. "If he wasn't up to something involving my favorite female in the universe, I might actually like the man."

"I promise I'll be careful. And, Rhiannon?"

The vampiress looked at her, one brow cocked. "Oh, no," she said. "You're
not
going to ask me to keep my knowledge of Edge from your parents."

"I'm not going to ask you," Amber told her. "I'm going to insist on it."

Rhiannon thinned her lips, crossing her arms over her chest. "Amber… "

"They'd come with flamethrowers and machine guns firing garlic-coated wooden stakes shaped like crosses, if they knew. You know they would."

Rhiannon smiled a little at Amber's use of every cliche, including those that had no more effect on the undead than on the living. But her smile died slowly. "They're going to have to know sooner or later, Amber."

"I prefer later."

"They'll hate him on sight, you know. Just on principle."

"Then the later, the better," Amber said.

"I don't know… "

"Rhiannon, Will had a point about my lack of experience. Let me do this. Let me figure out on my own just what Edge is up to and why he's homed in on me as his tool to get it." She shrugged. "Besides, there's always a slight chance he might just be smitten. Bewitched by my beauty, captivated by my sharp mind and entranced by my infinite charms."

"Oh, I have no doubt of that," Rhiannon said, smiling. "As you pointed out inside, my blood is running in your veins."

Amber rolled her eyes and watched as Rhiannon got into her Mercedes and drove away into the night. Then she turned toward the doorway, where Dante and Morgan waited—two vampires who had not, thank God, known her from birth and who did not, therefore, see her as a child but as she was.

She joined them inside, and being one of the only two mortals in the house, claimed she was tired and needed some rest. It made as good an excuse as any to slip out and stroll along the beach.

She rolled up her jeans, kicked off her shoes and waded through me ice-cold waves that washed up onto the sand and rock shore. But it wasn't a walk she wanted, and it wasn't solitude she sought, and she knew it.

She quieted her mind, then opened it, and put Edge's face before her eyes. It wasn't as if she didn't know his face intimately. She'd been seeing it for a long, long time now, in her dreams.

Silently, she called to him.

Immediately, he answered. And she got the feeling he'd been expecting her summons.

"Has all the comforts of home, don't you think?"

Edge was standing in the window of an abandoned, falling-down church. He'd pushed open the shutters, spoken softly to her as she'd followed her sense of him along the beach. She turned, scanning the darkness. She saw well in the darkness, not as well as a vampire, but far better than a human.

It was always this way, Amber thought as she spotted him there and altered her course, turning toward the church. Everything she did, every talent she had, she weighed against the norms of the undead and of the living, trying to figure out where she fit.

She walked up to the window, stood on the ground looking up at him, six feet above her. "So does this luxury beach house have a door, or… ?"

He reached down, bending low. She took his hand, and he easily pulled her up and inside. Her body slammed into his as she landed, and he wrapped his free arm around her waist as if to steady her, and kept her there.

She lifted her head, saw the mischief in his eyes and the heat around the edges of his smile. She felt the firmness of his body against hers and the power of his arms around her. It felt far too good, made her want far too much more.

He let her go all too soon and turned to walk around the crumbling rain. She scanned the place, taking in every detail. The duffel bag slung on one of the pews, the other pew that had been placed on the dais, and the odd items that sat upon it among some candles that had been recently snuffed. He watched her look around the place.

"Well?" he asked. "You approve?"

"It's a hovel."

He shrugged. "Yeah, but it's home." He brushed a layer of dust off an empty pew, and she sat down.

"You should have stayed with us at the house. Could've had your own room, a soft bed, indoor plumbing… "

"Here I have my own bell." When she frowned, he pointed upward, and she saw the rope hanging from a hole in the ceiling. "Up above, it's open clear to the steeple. There's a bell at the other end of this rope."

"If you ring it, you'll blow your cover."

"It
is
a dilemma."

She smiled at him. "So what's with the little altar?" As she said it, she nodded toward the pew with the candles and other items. "You into Voodoo or something?"

"It's only a few mementos."

Sliding off her pew, she moved closer to take a better look. "You mind?"

He shrugged, so she examined the items more closely, even picking up one or two. An earring, a pair of barrettes. "So you wore an earring and barrettes when you were alive?"

"Not exactly."

She handled the switchblade, examining the initials engraved in the bone handle. B. R. "These aren't yours, are they?"

"Are now."

He was shifting his weight, his eyes moving rapidly from his keepsakes to her hands on them. It made him uncomfortable, her handling these things. She put the blade down carefully. "If you don't want to tell me, just say so."

Again, he only shrugged, then turned away. "So what's the deal? Back at the mansion, I mean?"

It was hardly a mansion. She averted her eyes. "I told you about Willem. He's mortal, and he's sick."

"Dying," he said.

She sighed.

"Not if I have anything to say about it."

"There's the rub, though, isn't it?" She looked at him sharply. "You don't have anything to say about it. Do you?"

She shrugged. "You might be surprised." He licked his lips. "That Egyptian Princess—she bled you, didn't she?"

Amber frowned. "With my full consent."

"I thought as much. Otherwise I'd have torn into her." That brought a smile to her face. He saw it and tipped his head. "What, you think I'd have trouble with her?"

"I don't think, I know."

He rolled his eyes. "I'm tougher than I look, you know."

"You look plenty tough. Don't get all offended." He sighed. "Doesn't matter. If I'd thought she was harming you—"

"You'd have fought to defend me, huh?"

"Do you doubt it?" He was serious now, his eyes darkening, taking on a look of intense emotion. She got the feeling he was lying but decided to believe. He moved closer, cupped her cheek in one hand and bent toward her. He was going to kiss her. And she wanted him to, but she knew damn well she was going to lose her focus the minute his mouth touched hers. So she spoke just before it did, while his eyes were closed and his breath was fanning her face.

"What do you really want from me, Edge?''

It caught him off guard. His eyes popped open, and they held the expression of a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. But he caught himself fast, banished the guilty look and replaced it with a lecherous one. "I thought we'd start with the kissing. From there, I have all sorts of ideas."

Her stomach knotted a little at the suggestion of sex, even though he hadn't actually said it. He didn't have to say it. He practically oozed it. "Beyond that, I mean," she managed, her words emerging hoarsely from a throat that had gone tight. "Why did you fling yourself in front of my car last night? Why are you pretending to be interested in me now?"

He blinked at her as if in confusion. "Do you cast a reflection, Alby?"

Frowning, she nodded. "Yes. Why?"

"Just wondering if you've ever seen yourself in a mirror."

She rolled her eyes, told herself not to let his smooth, slow words make her lose track of her mission here, and gently extricated herself from his full body embrace.

"If you have, why would you accuse me of pretending to want you?''

"You've only known me for twenty-four hours, Edge, and half of those you were resting."

"I wanted you in the first ten seconds," he said. Then he shrugged. "Being female and half mortal, I suppose you're one of those who believes it's necessary to get to know a person before indulging in an exchange of mutual ecstasy."

"Well, yeah. Especially with someone who's being less than honest about his motives."

"I'm being perfectly honest, Alby. I'm not declaring eternal love, and I'll tell you up-front that I never will. Hell, I'm not even sure I like you much at this point. This—" he ran a finger along her cheek until she shivered "—is purely physical." He ran his hand slowly down her neck, to her shoulder, from her shoulder down her back, following the curve of her spine. His fingertips left a tingling wave of sensation in their wake. His hand kept sliding lower, until she stepped away from his touch. "I don't believe in self-denial," he said softly.

"Then I'll do the denying."

"Hell." He heaved a sigh and flung himself onto one of the pews, sitting heavily. "So why are you here, Alby? If you didn't come to let me ravish you, what are you doing here?"

She bit her lip. "I already told you, I want to know why you're interested in me. What were you doing on that road?"

"Walking to Salem."

"Why?"

"Because my car died. I told you that."

"And why did you throw yourself in front of my car and pretend I hit you?"

He pursed his lips, lowered his gaze to the floor, sighed. "All right. All right, you're too smart for me. I did do that. I thought it was my best shot at getting a ride." He licked his lips and searched her eyes. "I had no idea who you were, though. Not until after the fact. And I've got no reason to try to fool you now. I already got the ride I was after."

"Not the only ride you're after," she muttered.

"Well, that goes without saying." His smile was one of pure mischief, and it turned her on like nothing she'd ever seen. "The only question now is, how am I going to get you to change your mind?"

She averted her face, felt the blood heating her cheeks.

"How long are you staying in Salem Harbor, Alby?"

She shrugged. "It really depends. There's a… a man who might be able to help me save Willem. If I can find out where he is, I'll leave immediately."

He nodded slowly. "Then we'll have to make the most of our time together, won't we?"

She felt her brows rise, turned to him in surprise.

"Don't tell me you've forgotten our conversation in the car? I promised I would help you figure out who and what you are." He shrugged. "It'll give me a chance to charm you out of your clothes, while I'm at it."

"Right." She sighed. "So how do you plan to do that?"

"Charm you out of your clothes?"

"Help me figure out what I am." If she were honest, she would admit she was more interested in the other. She was half afraid he could do it. Half
hoping
he could.

"You come back here tomorrow night, and I'll show you."

She licked her lips, nerves jumping. "Don't expect anything in return, Edge."

"Oh, I don't expect—I demand something in return."

She lifted her brows. "Do you?"

"Mmm-hmm."

"What?"

"This." He rose from the pew, walked slowly toward her, holding her eyes with his. She didn't move away, didn't even think about it. He pressed his palms to hers, at her sides, pressed his body to hers, rubbing, and she didn't pull back. No, she stood firm when he pressed himself against her, even, maybe, pressed back a little. He tipped his head to one side, she tipped hers to the other, and he lowered his mouth slowly, slowly closer to hers. Just before his lips touched her, he whispered, "Of course, I won't collect until I've delivered on my promise."

He started to lift his head away. And Amber heard herself saying, "The hell you won't." She tugged her hands from his and pressed them instead to the back of his head, pulling him to her, kissing his mouth. She felt his lips trying to pull into a smile as she kissed them; then they trembled and parted, and his arms slid around her waist and pulled her even closer. He pushed her mouth wider, digging inside with his tongue and feeding from her like a man starved to death. She heard a moan, wasn't sure if it was his or hers, and felt as if her very blood were blazing—molten lava crawling beneath her skin.

Finally, when the shaking was so intense she could barely stand and her mind was spinning, he lifted his head away and whispered, "God, Alby, I could eat you alive."

The words, combined with the blazing hunger in his eyes, sent a jolt of fear through her. She'd never been bitten by a vampire before. She had no idea what it would be like, but she knew he could easily lose control and drain her to the point of death.

His hand pushed her hair from her face. "No, Alby. That's not what I meant." He shrugged. "Though that would be good, too. I'll do both before I've finished with you."

She swore under her breath at the rash of desire his words shot through her. "I have… I have to go."

"But you'll come… here… tomorrow night," he told her. Then he smiled slowly, devilishly. "I promise."

Blinking, Amber turned and went to the window, leaped out, landing hard on the ground, and then ran all the way back to the house.

Edge had, the way he saw it, two options. He could screw the woman's brains out and wait for her and her friends to get a line on Frank Stiles, then follow them to the man. Or he could screw the woman's brains out and move forward with his plan to leak word of her presence in the Salem area to some of the underworld figures he knew, using her as bait to lure Stiles right here.

Either way, he was going to have her. He'd intended to seduce her all along, from his very first glimpse of her. But what he hadn't foreseen was the fire in her and the impact it had on him. By God, he'd never wanted like this. He hoped she was as strong as she claimed to be, because otherwise, he was liable to hurt her. Having her would be an unplanned bonus. Might feel almost as good as killing Stiles was going to feel.

He wondered if he should wait just a few days. Give her friends time to do their digging. Give himself more time to explore every inch of her, fulfill her every fantasy and violate her every inhibition. If he had to use her as bait, it would, after all, put her at some risk. He didn't care, of course. His goal was all that mattered to him.

And to prove that, he had to move and move now. But he would be sure he nabbed Stiles before the man got within a mile of Amber Lily. It would be a crying shame if anything happened to her before Edge had his fill.

The house was quiet. The sun had risen half an hour ago, and everyone except for Amber had slipped quietly into the comalike day sleep of the undead. Even Will had gone to bed. Amber looked in on him, sleeping soundly beside Sarafina in their queen-size bed. It gave Amber time—time to mull over what she'd learned about Edge the night before.

Dante and Morgan had turned one spare bedroom into a kind of "search-central" headquarters. Two computers with cable modems attached, a telephone with a line splitter, and a fax machine lined the room. If not for the bed, which had been shoved up against the far wall, it would have looked more like an office than a bedroom.

Amber spent a couple of hours there, reading the pages of information Dante and Morgan had gathered. There were file folders full of it. Nothing solid, though. Several out of focus photographs that might have been the scar-faced Stiles or a thousand other men. Numerous eye witness accounts that dragged on in painful detail and told her nothing. She found no pattern to the sightings, no one geographical area where Stiles seemed more likely to be. Paris, Albany, San Diego, Houston. She glanced up at the world map that was mounted to a corkboard and hanging on the bedroom wall, understanding now what all the colored push pins signified.

She went online, searching for clues about Stiles on her own, but again she came up empty. Finally she gave in to the sleepiness that was creeping up on her. She didn't require a lot of sleep. Had never needed the eight hours most people needed. And maybe that was part of what she was, or maybe it was the result of growing up with parents who were only awake by night. Whatever it was, Amber's habit was to nap, an hour here, two hours there. Her body seemed to know just how much sleep it needed, and she always woke up once she'd had it.

Right now, it was telling her to go to bed. So she did.

She slept soundly, and she dreamed erotic dreams of her and Edge, writhing and twisting around each other, with him whispering declarations of undying love along with all manner of dirty talk in her ear.