Edge of Twilight (20 page)

“Take care,” Edge called to them. “He'll revive.” Then, to Amber, “Which way?”

Again she pointed, and he crossed the room, entered another hallway, and kicked open yet another door. The spotless white laboratory stood there, immaculate as before. And empty. The refrigerator door stood open, and there was nothing inside. File drawers were likewise gaping and void. Amber looked around, then let her head fall limp against his shoulder.

“Oh, no.”

“Who else was here?”

She licked her lips. “A woman. Brooke.” Her eyes opened again. “The computer…?”

He looked where she was looking, saw an empty desk. “Gone. As we should be.”

He carried her back into the living room, where Donovan was securing Stiles's hands behind his back. Dante came in from another room. “The house is empty.”

“Amber says there was a woman here.”

Dante lifted his brows. “If there was, she left before we ever arrived.”

“Well, she took Stiles's notes and his serum with her,” Edge told them. Then he nodded toward Donovan. “Those cuffs won't hold him once he revives.”

“Then we'd best see to it he doesn't revive, don't you think?” a woman's voice asked. Everyone turned to see Rhiannon entering the house. Behind her, another woman, one Edge had never seen before, raced toward him. And he knew, when he looked at her face, she had to be Amber's mother. She had the same penetrating eyes and sculpted cheekbones. She was stunning, and yet she didn't compare to her daughter.

She ran her hands over Amber's face, stroked her hair. “My darling,” she whispered. “Tell me you're all right.”

“I'm okay,” Amber said, her voice weak, strained. It was fully obvious she was far from all right. “Stiles…has a device. Heel of his shoe. Homing beacon,” she managed to tell them.

“I'll take care of it,” Donovan said.

Amber's mother shot a look at Edge, obviously worried about Amber's drowsy, drunken state. He said, “It's the tranquilizer.” He guessed its effects were the reason he'd been unable to sense Amber, to know which room she was in. “It'll wear off soon enough.”

A man came in from the back of the house, apparently
having entered that way. He strode right up to Edge, gathering Amber from his arms and into his own. “It's okay, hon. I've got you now.”

Edge hoped, for the man's sake, he was Amber's father. Otherwise…

“I take it you're the fellow who used my daughter's life as bait for Stiles?”

“Easy, Bryant,” Dante said. “He's also the man who led us to her and got her out.”

“I can walk,” Amber said, her voice still slurred. “Please, Dad, put me down.”

Jameson Bryant looked at his daughter for a long moment, then hugged her fiercely before setting her on her feet. She looked at Edge, and her eyes seemed to pierce his soul. “Edge had reasons for what he did,” she said, speaking to her father but never looking away. “And he had no intention of letting Stiles get anywhere near me.”

“It was a mistake,” Edge said. “If I could undo it, I would.”

“I think you just did,” Angelica said softly.

Rhiannon gripped Stiles by his shirt collar. “Let's get out of here. No doubt that alarm was heard beyond these walls.” Turning, she dragged Stiles across the floor, his body bumping down the steps behind her.

The others followed, but Amber faltered with her first steps. Edge reached for her, but her mother was faster, gathering her close and helping her walk. And then, suddenly, Angelica stopped. Her eyes went wide, and she looked at her daughter.

“What? What's wrong?”

Angelica opened her mouth, closed it again, shot a look at Edge, and then at Jameson, who followed behind them. She licked her lips and seemed to battle tears. “Nothing.
Never mind.” Closing her eyes, she tucked Amber's head onto her own shoulder. Then she started forward again.

She knew. Edge had seen it in her eyes. She knew. Hell, if they thought he was responsible for Amber's condition, he would probably be dust by this time tomorrow. Her family would stake him out in the desert to await the sunrise.

Fortunately for him, everyone knew such a thing was impossible. Male vampires were sterile. Amber's child could not be his.

“W
e need to search the place thoroughly before we leave here,” Jameson said as he eased her onto the couch. She could still smell faint traces of Brookie's popcorn. “Amber, rest here, on the sofa. You're safe here.”

“I'll stay with her,” she heard Edge say quickly. Then there was a prickle of tension in the air, but it passed.

She opened her eyes to find him sitting on the sofa beside her, his gaze fixed on her face, as if searching…for something.

“I didn't need rescuing,” she managed to say. “I let him bring me here on purpose.”

“And it was working well, love. Right up until he dosed you with that drug.”

She thinned her lips, nodded. “I filled some of the syringes with water. Faked him out the first couple of times.”

“Think he caught on?”

“Nah, just grabbed the wrong needle.” She drew a breath, sighed. “You seemed…mad at me after we…”

He shrugged. “More at myself than you.” Then he tipped his head to one side. “A little at you, though.”

She pursed her lips. “You tried to kill Stiles, even though I begged you not to.”

“Okay, so I was more than a little mad at you. Do you blame me?”

She frowned, unsure what he was talking about.

“Jesus, Alby, isn't there anything you want to tell me here?”

Very quickly, she averted her eyes. Obviously he sensed she was keeping something from him. He couldn't know what, of course. But—God, she wasn't ready to talk about this. Not here, not now. How did you just blurt something like this out to a man who thought himself sterile? She imagined herself saying it. “I might be carrying your child, even though you and I both know that it's physically impossible. And oh, by the way, don't worry too much about it, because it's going to be stillborn.”

No.

“Alby?”

She sighed. “Look, there is something, but it's…”

“None of my business?” he asked.

She frowned. “That's not what I was going to say.”

“Why not? It's true. I'm sorry, Alby, you're right. I've got no right to press you on this. It's…not my place.”

“The house is clear,” Amber heard her father call. “Let's get Amber the hell out of here.”

Someone lifted her from the sofa. It wasn't Edge. She needed to talk to him, to tell him he had things all wrong. But the drug was fighting her every step of the way.

“Rhiannon and Angelica will take her back to Salem. It's the closest, safest place for her,” her father said.

“And the rest of you?” Edge asked.

“Roland, Dante, Donovan and I will transport Stiles to Eric's lab, in Wind Ridge. It's in Southwestern Pennsyl
vania, near the West Virginia border. Which group you go with is up to you, Edge.”

Amber tried to open her eyes, get her voice to cooperate. She wanted to tell Edge to stay with her, that she did have something to tell him. But before she could manage to win the battle of wills with the drug, she heard him say, “I'll stick with Stiles. Alby's in good hands. She doesn't need me hanging around.”

Her heart seemed to contract and shrink in her chest. He sounded so angry, so…hurt. Amber gave up the fight, feeling she'd lost more than just the battle, and sank into sleep.

 

She felt as if she should be in a state of panic, but she couldn't seem to work up to it. Everything was happening in a soft haze of slow motion bliss. Her head and limbs were heavy, her eyes too tired to stay open. And yet, when they did fall closed, the dream returned—or the memory of it did.

Her eyes flew open. “What—where—”

“Take a breath, honey,” her mother said softly. “You're all right. I've got you.”

She was, she realized, in the back seat of a car, snuggled in the curve of her mother's arm.

“Where…are the others?”

“The men took the other car back to Pennsylvania,” Rhiannon told her softly. She was driving. “Stiles is in their trunk.”

“What about Edge?”

Her mother looked at her gently, probingly, one hand stroking her hair. “Oh,
he's
not in the trunk,” Rhiannon said, deadpan. “Though I think he might have been safer there.” She
turned slightly, just enough to send Amber a sneaky smile.

“He shouldn't be with them,” Amber said. “He wants Stiles dead. He'll kill him if they turn their backs.”

“Darling,” Angelica said, “there are four powerful men with him. Dante, Donovan, Roland and your father. They're not going to let him hurt Stiles.”

“They won't stop him.”

“Of course they will. Meanwhile, we're taking you back to Salem, where you can rest and recover from your ordeal.”

Amber sat up. “Mother, the only thing I need to recover from is that one dose of tranquilizer Stiles managed to get into me. Other than that I'm fine.”

“Are you?” her mother asked.

Amber frowned at her, searching her face. “What are you getting at?”

Rhiannon glanced over her shoulder as she drove, curious.

“Did you think I wouldn't know, Amber? As close as we are, did you think I wouldn't feel it the first time I touched you, see it the first time I looked into your eyes?”

“Mom, I don't know what you're—”

“You're pregnant, Amber.”

Rhiannon hit the brakes so hard the tires squealed and hot rubber scented the air. She jerked the wheel to keep the car pointed straight ahead and brought it to a stop in a cloud of dust on the shoulder.

Then she turned around in her seat, getting up on her knees to stare fully at Amber, a question in her eyes.

Amber released the death grip she had on the armrest, glad they hadn't crashed, forced herself to look Rhiannon in the eye, and then her mother. “Obviously Stiles
managed to spin his fairy tale for you before he was knocked unconscious.”

“Stiles?” Rhiannon asked. “Is he responsible for this?”

“He made it up,” Amber told them, even though she was no longer sure it was the truth. “He's been trying to convince me of it for some insane reason. I can't imagine why. Much less why he'd try to fool you.”

Rhiannon rolled her eyes. But Angelica only lowered her head. “Stiles didn't tell me this, Amber Lily,” she whispered. “Then were
did
you get such a ludicrous idea?”

Angelica lifted her head again, and there were tears brimming in her eyes. “I told you. I saw it in your eyes, felt it in your touch.” She pressed her hand to Amber's belly. “Can't you feel it, Amber? There's life inside you.”

Amber felt the blood drain from her face as she shook her head in denial. “It's impossible. He made it up. It can't be real.”

“It is real.”

“But…but…”

“Who is the father?” Rhiannon's voice was short, clipped, deep and vibrating with menace. “I'll eat his liver.”

“No, you can't hurt him. God, I don't even want you to tell him.” She shook her head. “Let him go on his way. He's a loner, always has been. He wouldn't want this.”

“You don't know that for sure, darling,” Angelica said. “Give the young man a chance.”

“No, you don't understand. All he wants is vengeance on Stiles. That's all.”

The two women met each other's eyes, then, slowly, they both looked at Amber again. Angelica whispered, “Darling, you sound as if you think Edge is the father.”

“Haven't you explained this to her?” Rhiannon asked. “Amber, vampires can't reproduce.”

“Apparently they can,” Amber said. She drew a breath, lowered her head. “He's…the only one.”

Angelica searched her eyes, then sent a similar look to Rhiannon. “How is this possible?”

“I don't see that it matters,” Rhiannon said. “Except as it concerns the methods I can use to kill him.”

“Rhiannon, you aren't going to—”

“I say we douse him in gasoline, give him a head start and then see which of us can be the first to hit him with a lit match.” Rhiannon smiled. “It'll be like a game of tag. Only, you know, better.”

“Rhiannon, you're upsetting her.”

“No, she's not.” Amber sat up straighter in her seat and fixed Rhiannon with a very serious stare. “If you want to hurt him, Aunt Rhiannon, you're going to have to go through me first. And I promise you, I'm way tougher than any of you give me credit for being.”

Rhiannon looked surprised, then angry. “You dare—”

“You wanna go right now?” Amber jerked her car door open, got out, waved a hand at the driver's door and watched it fly open, as well. She was dizzy, unsteady on her feet, and her jeans were so tight they hurt. But she was mad as hell and ready to fight.

Rhiannon got out of the car slowly, gracefully, like a queen alighting from a chariot. Amber stood ready. She kept her stance wide, knees bent, arms loose at her sides.

“I suppose,” Rhiannon said slowly, “raging hormones and Stiles's tranquilizer could be to blame for this.”

“Or maybe she's in love,” Angelica said, getting out of the car, as well. She stood beside her daughter, put a hand
on her shoulder. “Don't be ridiculous, Amber. Rhiannon is not going to fight you.”

Rhiannon shrugged. “Not while you're pregnant, anyway.”

“You'll have to, if you want to hurt Edge.”

“So he gets to keep breathing for a few months longer.” Rhiannon shrugged. “Suddenly defending your honor has lost its appeal. Ungrateful little whelp.” She spun around and got back into the car, slamming the door.

Angelica shook her head. “You hurt her terribly, Amber.”

Amber lowered her head. “She had it coming.” But she regretted her tough talk with her aunt. No one loved her the way Rhiannon did. “I don't want Edge to know,” she told her mother, deciding to deal with Aunt Rhi later. “Not yet.”

Her mother shrugged. “He has a right to know. But you have a right to be the one to tell him.” She shook her head. “But don't expect me to keep this from your father. We don't deceive each other.”

“Then stay away from him for a while. In Salem, with Willem and Sarafina. Morgan's there, you know.”

“Dante's Morgan?”

She nodded, knowing her mother would welcome the chance to get to know the vampiress-screenwriter. “I suppose. That's where you'll be, so I'll stay a while.” She stroked Amber's hair. “A girl needs her mother at a time like this.” Then her face split into a smile. “A baby,” she said. “I can't believe we're going to have a baby in the family again.”

Amber accepted the hug in order to keep her face hidden. But the memory of her dream returned, menacing and dark, with the image of the still, pale child in the ornate, almost coffinlike, box.

She closed her eyes to block it out. Please, she thought. Not that.

A car passed, followed by a bus so large it rumbled the highway.

Amber felt something and looked up, turning to follow the bus's progress. Then she yanked open the car door, pulling her mother in behind her. “Follow that bus, Rhiannon!”

“What?”

“The woman who took the serum is on it. I felt her as it passed. Brooke, her name is Brooke, and she's got the cure for Willem.”

 

The voice in his head kept telling him he was going in the wrong direction. It was loud, so loud Edge couldn't believe the other men in the car couldn't hear it. And it was insistent. After arguing silently with the damn thing for several minutes and struggling to keep his thoughts shielded, he barked, “Where the hell do you want me to go, then?”

The other men stared at him, blatantly stunned.

“Hell,” Edge muttered, and leaned against the seat back as if trying to catch some rest. In truth, he only wanted a rest from the insistent voice and from his own growing guilt. He'd left Amber in a fit of temper based on nothing more than jealousy. He was an idiot. God, it wasn't as if he were in love with the woman. He had no right to be jealous. Must be a male ego thing. Still, he'd made the wrong decision, for the wrong reasons, and he knew it.

Jameson looked from Dante, in the front seat beside him, to Donovan and Roland in the back with Edge. “Is he all right?”

“Hears voices,” Dante said. He drew circles near his ear with a forefinger.

“We
all
hear voices,” Donovan corrected. “Voices, thoughts—both from each other and mortals.” He turned to Edge. “Are the voices like that, Edge?”

“Oh, God, he thinks he's a vampire therapist,” Edge groaned.

Donovan thinned his lips. “If you'd tell us what's happening, we might be able to help.” He looked to the front seat, to Jameson. “It even happened during the day sleep.”

Jameson frowned. “That's not normal. Probably not a sign of insanity, either. It would take more than mental illness to penetrate the day sleep. Could it be someone outside you, Edge? Deliberately sending these messages?”

He shook his head. “I don't know.”

“Well, what do the voices sound like?”

He pursed his lips.

“Don't bother, Jameson. He's a loner. Far too manly to share his problems with us.”

Edge glanced at Dante, who seemed to detest him, and perhaps just to prove the man wrong, he said, “It's one voice. Male. Young, though not a child. It feels as if it's coming from within me. But I can't control it, can't silence it.”

“Can you converse with it?” Roland asked.

Edge frowned. “Yes.”

“And what does it tell you?”

He sighed, shaking his head.

“It told him where to find Amber Lily,” Donovan said, his eyes on Edge. “Didn't it?” He nodded.

“And what's it telling you now?” Jameson asked.

Edge sighed. “That I'm going the wrong way.”

“That's it?”

Edge nodded.

Jameson glanced at his watch. “It's nearly dawn. We're going to have to stop soon, seek shelter.”