Born in Twilight (Wings in the Night #5)

Born in Twilight (Wings in the Night #5) Page 10

Jameson had been driving in silence for several hours, with no real idea of his ultimate destination, aside from Tamara's vague reference to Petersville. Once there, he had no idea what to do next. But he'd worry about that when he got there. For now, he had other things on his mind.

Angelica.

She sat beside him, pensively silent, and he knew she was worrying about Amber Lily. She'd spoken little since getting into the passenger seat. But her skills at guarding her thoughts were still not quite what they should be-what they would be, with a little more practice-and he could read them. He suspected that even when she became adept at building the wall to guard her mind, he'd be able to see inside.

Because there was something between them. Something powerful and potent, and he was beginning to suspect that all his explanations for it were no more than nonsense. Because he was beginning to think that this was something that had been between them from the very first. It was what had allowed his mortal ears to hear her preternatural sobs. What had drawn him to that building in the first place. It was what had made her lose control when she'd taken from him that first time.

He didn't know what it was. But there had been something there. And he was a fool. A thousand times a fool. Because he thought she was the most beautiful, passionate, fiery, strong woman he'd ever known.

And he wanted her more every time he looked at her.

And she was disgusted by him.

And knowing it didn't stop his stupid mind from wandering into forbidden territory. All it did was wound his pride, and his pride, when wounded, was more deadly than an injured grizzly.

He knew she wouldn't want him sharing her thoughts, invading her mind, as she called it. But he couldn't stop himself. He even tried. But it wasn't working. It was as if each feeling that flitted through her mind was flitting through his as well.

The sex had deepened the link between them. He'd known it would. Just hadn't been certain how it could . Now he knew.

He didn't hear her thoughts word for word, as he'd been able to do at first. But the feelings came through. Fear. Gut-wrenching, soul-wringing fear. She was sick with it. Utterly ill with it. It was killing her, slowly, and by cruel degrees, that she didn't know where their baby daughter was.

And he'd been unmercifully tough on her. He was regretting it, now, though he really shouldn't be, because she'd deserved it, and then some. Looking down at him as if he were some lower life form.

Thinking of him as a demon, a monster. Believing him unfit to be a father to his own child. She deserved his anger for that. What did she expect, that he'd be thrilled with her condemnation of his kind?

Her kind?

He glanced across the car at her. And he knew above all that it was his pride she'd hurt. He wanted her to be as completely engrossed in him as he...

Scratch that.

She sat stiffly, concentrating very hard on trying to get a sense of the child. But he didn't think she was having much success at it. They'd been driving for hours, and she'd been doing this the whole time.

Searching, striving, reaching with her mind. He could see the lines of tension at the corners of her lush lips, and in her forehead. And he was overcome with the ridiculous urge to ease them.

"We have no reason to believe she's not safe and sound with the Garner woman," he said. He couldn't believe he was trying to comfort her. Couldn't imagine what would make him even give a damn how much she was suffering right now. Dammit, if he couldn't feel her pain, he might be able to ignore it.

"I know," she said, her voice gruff.

"Tamara says Hilary is a good person. We have to believe that." She nodded. "Yes."

And then she went right back to worrying again. Her head was throbbing with a pain that reached all the way down the back of her neck. He could feel that. And the pain was weakening her, as pain tended to do to their kind.

"You're making yourself sick, Angelica."

She blinked, and turned to look at him. So much pain in those eyes of hers. So much...ah, God help him... need.

"I can't help it."

"You have to help it. Try not to think the worst. You'll be so worn down by the time we find them that you'll be no help at all."

She tilted her head. "Worrying can weaken me?"

"No, but the headache it's causing could damn well do it."

Her brows drew together in a frown. "You're poking around in my mind again? Reading my thoughts?"

"Not voluntarily, I'm not."

Her curious gaze scanned his face. "What do you mean?"

Jameson drew a deep breath. He had not wanted to bring up the subject with her. Not when just thinking about it reduced him to a mass of unfulfilled yearning. But he supposed he owed her an explanation. "We shared blood, Angelica, and that was enough to forge this bond. We had a child together, and I think we both know that strengthened it. And then we...we had sex." He saw the flare of memory in her eyes. It seared him before she quickly turned away. "That forged an even more powerful link between us. Kind of like the link between you and Amber Lily." He shook his head, sighing hard, knowing she'd likely be even more repulsed when she realized how much a part of her he had become.

How much a part of him she had grown to be. "Whether I like it or not," he said, "I know when you're hurting. I can feel your pain, and I imagine you could probably feel mine as well."

"Yes."

Not disgust in her voice. Not that at all. Just affirmation. He looked at her quickly, but she wasn't grimacing.

"I felt it even before we made love," she whispered.

Made love?

"I felt it when you were shot. Knew you'd been hit even before I saw the wound. I thought at first the bullet had torn through my side, but then I looked, and there was no wound in me. It was in you, instead."

"And you felt it?" he asked her, amazed.

"Yes, I did."

He blinked, thinking this through. "Then the tie between us-whatever the hell it is-was already very strong. The sex...well, that would only serve to make it even more powerful. Very strange."

"It's disturbing," she said. He looked at her. Not disgusting, but disturbing.

"How so?" he asked her. "What do you feel from me now, Angelica? There's no pain, nothing to upset you."

"All I feel from you now, Vampire, is rage. It's frightening in its intensity. Huge and black and potent." She lifted her head, staring straight ahead of them, as if she could see his anger. "And I would hazard a guess that the rage inside you can be as debilitating to you as this worry might be to me." Jameson felt his lips thin. "You'd probably be right."

"Why do you hate them so?"

"They have our daughter, Angelica. How can you ask me why I hate them?" She shook her head slowly. "No. That isn't all of it. You hated them before then. That night...that night when I stupidly went away with that agent, believing all his promises, you hated them then. It was in your mind when you tried to warn me."

"But you went anyway."

"Yes. And you can't forgive me for that, can you? You can't forget that it's my fault they have our child.

My fault, for believing their lies." She fell sideways until her head rested against the window glass. "I don't blame you," she whispered. "You're right to hate me for letting them take her. But you can't possibly hate me for it any more than I hate myself."

Jameson looked at her, saw the twin tracks of tears slowly moving down her face. She was wrong. He might have blamed her for this once, but not anymore. Not since he'd realized the hell she'd been suffering in that ruined building where she'd gone to hide. Gone to starve.

"So tell me," she said. "Why did you hate them so?"

He lifted his chin, swallowed hard. "Years ago, they held Rhiannon prisoner. Had her strapped to a table while they took samples from her flesh. This was before they'd developed their nasty little tranquilizer.

Their only method for keeping us too weak to fight them was starvation. There was nothing to ease the pain of their experiments. Those bastards tortured her nearly out of her mind. But she escaped. Killed one of their top scientists in the process. Broke his neck, she did."

"I can believe that."

Jameson looked at her as he drove, saw her shudder in response to his words. "When Tamara was a small child, her parents died of a rare virus. And a doctor who'd sort of taken her under his wing offered to be her guardian. There was no one else, and his petition was approved." Angelica's lips were parted, eyes wide with interest.

"Turned out the doc was really with DPI, and the parents' exposure to that virus was all part of a well-laid plan. They knew Tam had the belladonna antigen-that rare blood type that enables a human to become a vampire. And they also knew that people with that blood type often have a special bond to one particular vampire, who tends to watch over them."

She gasped softly. "Is that true? I had no idea."

"Yes, it's true," he told her. "A vampire feels a special affinity for a given mortal, feels drawn to them, senses when they're in danger. And often steps in to protect them, though most of the time, the mortal never knows any of it. Eric had been Tamara's protector. Saved her life once when she was just a little girl. And DPI knew it, knew he'd come back someday. So they wanted to hold Tamara as bait. And they stopped at nothing to do it."

Angelica was shaking her head, her eyes filled with sympathy for the child Tamara had been. "They killed her parents...my God. It's horrible." And then she turned those big round eyes on him, and he almost forgot to be angry with her. "And what about you, Jameson? When did you get involved with them?"

"I met Tamara when she worked for DPI."

"She-?"

He nodded. "Yes. Well, remember, she was raised by one of them. He brought her into the organization largely so that he could keep tabs on her. But she wasn't in on any of the really sensitive stuff that went on there. They gave her milk-toast cases. Like working to discover the alleged psychic powers of a twelve-year-old boy."

"You?" she asked.

"Yeah. Only the psychic stuff was a ruse. They wanted me under surveillance because I had the antigen.

The whole damned cycle was gearing up to start all over again. But Tam figured it out. The bastards kidnapped me to get to her and Eric. Roland saved my ass, for the first of many times. When it was over, my mother and I had to get the hell out of the area. Roland took us to France with him, gave my mother a job, sent me to private school."

"And you knew... you knew they were... vampires?"

"Sure I knew. I was young, but not blind."

"And it didn't frighten you?"

"It was those DPI bastards who frightened me."

She nodded, and it seemed to Jameson that she was truly interested in what he was saying as they drove the many miles that separated them from their child. "Where's your mother now?"

"Died a couple of years later. Roland took care of me, though, until later when those DPI bastards tracked us down again. After that he got to thinking I might be better off with my birth father. Hired a PI to track him down, and I ended up in San Diego living with Dad until he passed on two years ago. And my old pals at DPI didn't catch up with me again until last year. They bundled me into one of those inconspicuous gray vans and took me to their 'research center,' for 'testing.' In fact, the others had only busted me out of that hellhole a few nights before I found you in the condemned building." She nodded slowly. "So DPI has been a thorn in your side for most of your life."

"They've been one step behind me all the way. Same as the others. No one should have to live looking over their shoulder."

"And you're going to be the one to end it."

"Someone has to." He felt his jaw clench, and tried to relax it. "Jesus, Angelica, when I came for you, there were others. Those freaking cells were all full. Some dead, some dying, some just being kept alive long enough for those animals to finish their experiments on them. It can't go on. It just can't go on."

"But can one man stop them?"

"This one can." He slanted a sideways glance at her. "I have motivation, Angelica." She lifted her brows, waiting. "Our daughter," he explained. "I'm not going to let her grow up with the constant threat of those bastards looming over her. I can't."

She blinked twice, and nodded. As if she...maybe...understood.

"So now you know what makes me such a monster," he said. "I hate them. I want them all to pay. And I fully intend to extract their penance with my own two hands. Just as soon as my daughter is safe." She lowered her head, shook it. "You're letting your anger control you," she said. "You could die in this feeble attempt."

"Then I'd die for a cause," he said. "Better than dying in a stone sarcophagus, helpless and sheeplike." She lowered her head quickly, stung by his words. And dammit, he should have thought before he'd spoken. "You'll never be able to forgive me for turning myself over to them," she said.

He shrugged, tried to find words to tell her that he did now. Wondered why he couldn't just blurt it, and knew the culprit was his pride. "You thought I was a monster. You thought that DPI agent was safer than me."

"I did think that. I did, it's the truth. The one who...who changed me..." Shaking her head, she let her voice trail into silence.

"What about him?" He could feel her reaction to even thinking of that one. Terror. "You never told me, Angelica. What happened to you to bring you to this?"

She looked at him, really looked at him. And then she sighed. "I can't believe it will make any difference to you."

He sighed. He wasn't going to beg her to tell him. Hell, he'd told her his entire life history, and she couldn't tell him one little bit about her own past? Fine. Let her close herself off from him if that were what she wanted. She was so resistant to him. So...almost afraid of him it seemed. It made him angry all over again.

He was quiet after that, for several miles, and I was, too. He'd given me a great deal to think about. I could even understand his irrational hatred of DPI. But I still disapproved of his intention to destroy everyone involved in the organization. There were good among every group.

Even vampires, as I was rapidly learning. "I never told you so, Vampire," I said, after a long period of silence between us. "But I'm sorry for what I did to you that night when we first met."

"I'm not."

I looked at him, and my surprise must have shown very clearly.

"Oh, I didn't think I was ready for the change," he said, and I sensed he was being as honest as he'd ever been with me. "But I'm better than I was before. Stronger, and smarter. I'm experiencing life now in a way I never could have then. Ironic, isn't it? Only when my mortal life ended could I truly savor all it was."

I nodded mutely, waiting for him to continue.

"When you...when you drank from me that night...God, I had no idea it would be like that. I didn't even fight you, Angelica. You remember that?"

"You did," I told him. "At the very last."

"It was ecstasy," he whispered. "I didn't want it to end."

I remembered. How well I remembered the erotic thrill that shot through me as I suckled at his throat like a babe. It had frightened me and thrilled me and confused me, all at once. I hadn't understood it then. I still wasn't certain I did. That he would confess he'd felt the same way, amazed me. Surely he couldn't hate me when he'd been so eager to participate in his own draining.

"It's the allure of the vampire," he told her. "His victims give themselves willingly, and die in a storm of sensations that are beyond physical orgasm."

"Yes," I whispered, and I closed my eyes, recalling the way I'd felt when he'd brought me to a similar pinnacle the night before, in the wee hours before sunrise. A rapture beyond human endurance.

"That's why we don't drink from the living, Angelica. It would be too easy to get carried away. To hurt them by taking too much. We deny ourselves that rush, in order to protect them. But the craving is always there. Always."

I nodded my head. Because he was so right. The craving was here, now. Burning inside me. Whispering that while we couldn't take from the living, we could take from each other. Whispering that if he could truly feel my pain, he could surely feel this ache that was gnawing inside me, yearning for his touch, for his teeth, for his taste, once again.

Rhiannon had warned me of this. And if we gave in to this lust again, it would only become stronger the next time, and the next. I knew for the first time the power of drugs over the addicts I'd helped care for in the city's shelters. But this was worse. Far worse.

Jameson cleared his throat, drawing my gaze. His jaw was tight.

His eyes, bright with passion. "That sign," he said in a rusty voice. "Petersville, five miles."

"Good," I said. "We're nearly there."

"We'll need to find shelter," he went on. "We've been driving all night. It will be dawn not too long from now."

I met his eyes, stared into them, and I knew he saw my hunger, because I saw its reflection looking back at me. I would not shame myself again, I vowed. He disliked me, and I him. Oh, yes, I'd come to believe that perhaps all of his kind were not damned, after all. But he was damning himself with anger and hate.

And I was so afraid of what I felt for him. So afraid he'd keep his earlier vow to throw it back in my face should I admit how much I wanted his touch again.

And though he'd conceded that the passion was mutual-a conclusion I had already reached on my own-it was still very clear that he disliked me. Distrusted me. And I could not have sex with a man who didn't even like me! I would not let animalistic urges overwhelm me to that shameful extent. Not again.

And I know he saw my firm decision in my eyes. Because his darkened with renewed anger, and his jaw went tighter.

He stopped at a dilapidated, abandoned house, a mile past the cluster of neat country homes that made up the town of Petersville. The place had been modest, a two-story farmhouse, perfectly square. And it wasn't sagging or rotten. But the windows were mostly broken out, and the wood stood gray and peeling and sadly in need of paint. He drove the car around the back, out of sight from the road. And when he cut the engine, we sat there in the darkness, silent, for a long, tense moment.

"I suppose we should go inside," he said at last, and I heard the tightness of his voice. "To make sure there's a place safe from sunlight, where we can rest."

"Yes." I opened my door and got out, stepping into the dry brittle grasses that rasped over my bare calves and brushed the hem of the black dress I wore. I didn't want to go into the house with him. I didn't want to lie down beside him. Not yet, while there was still more than an hour before sunrise would lull me to sleep. He saw too much of what went on in my mind.

"You're afraid," he said, coming up to stand beside me where I'd stopped, just outside a boarded-up rear window. "You don't trust me, do you, Angelica?"

How could I tell him that it was myself I didn't trust?

"Don't worry," he snapped when I didn't reply or even look at him. "I'm not going to touch you again. I already told you that, didn't I?"

I closed my eyes to try to block my thoughts. But they raced around in my brain anyway. And I strained to keep him from hearing them as well. I wanted him to touch me. I wanted him to make me lose my mind the way I'd lost it before. So the decision would be taken out of my hands, and I'd be left with little cause to feel the guilt or shame I knew I should feel. I wanted him to force me, so that I could assuage this burning hunger inside and leave my conscience clear.

I was ashamed of these thoughts, and lowered my head to follow him inside.

"There's a basement. It would be the safest place," he said, his voice stiff and formal. "The floor is concrete. Not comfortable, but better than damp earth."

He stood at the mouth of a blackened doorway, looking down. And I moved as close to him as I dared, peering past him. There were no stairs. Had been once, but only a few rotted boards remained. Without a word, Jameson jumped down and forward, landing on his feet on the floor. Then he turned, hands busy brushing the dust from his jeans. "Coming?"

I drew a breath and swallowed. Rhiannon said I was as strong as he was. Difficult adjusting to the idea.

Even more difficult for a woman who still felt very much mortal, to pitch herself down from the top of a nonexistent stairway, to the concrete floor below. Gritting my teeth, I closed my eyes and pushed myself away.

He'd stepped backward, but I hit him anyway. My body crashed into his and sent him sprawling. I landed on top of him. My body was pressed hard against his, just as it had been that night. And I could smell the masculine, exotic scent of his flesh, and I could hear the thrum of blood rushing in the veins just beneath it. My own pulse pounded harder. The steady beat in my throat growing stronger, more demanding.

His hands came to my shoulders, and gently lifted me, as he slid himself out from under me. He cleared his throat, but didn't look my way. I couldn't have looked him in the eye even if he had. "You need more practice."

Practice was not even close to what I needed. What I needed was escape. I needed to be away from him. I'd be awake for another hour, and this burning for his touch would surely drive me insane.

"I think," I said, recognizing the coarseness in my voice, hearing the slight tremor in my words, "that we should split up."

"Do you, now?"

I nodded, forcing myself to look him in the eye. "We could cover more ground. Find Amber Lily that much sooner."

"You mean you'd find her sooner. You're the one with the link to her. And then what, Angelica? You disappear with the only child I'll ever have?"

I lifted my chin. "I give you my word, Vampire. I won't run away."

"Ah, but you're just one of the damned now, aren't you, Angel? A monster like me, without a soul or a shred of morality. What is your word worth?"

"I won't run away," I said again. "Besides, you say there's a...a connection between us, now. Surely, even if I ran, you could find me." I was testing him.

"I'd find you," he said softly. "If I had to search to the ends of the earth, dark Angel, I'd find you. Make no mistake about that."

"Then why not let me go on my own?"

"Because I don't want to have to find you. And because I don't trust you. You have to admit, your judgment has been rather flawed to this point. I don't want you making a mistake that would get my daughter killed."

I lowered my head, closed my eyes and sat down on the concrete floor. "So the things you said in the car were only lies. I should have known."

He came closer and sat down beside me. "Let's talk about lies, shall we, my dark Angel? Hmm?" I lifted my head and looked at him. Saw the anger in his eyes. "I haven't lied to you," I said.

"Oh, but you have. You don't want to get away from me for the baby's sake. It's for your own. You can't stand it, can you, Angel? A saint like you. It makes you sick to your stomach to be so hot for a monster like me. Doesn't it?" I turned my face away but he pressed his palm to my cheek, turning me to face him again. "You think I can't see it, Angel? You want me. You're burning up inside for me. You can't stop thinking about it, can you? My hands on you. My mouth on you." He smiled bitterly, and shook his head. "Poor little Angel's spirit is at war with her flesh, and she's disgusted by it."

"You're wrong," I told him. "I don't want you! I don't even want you in the same room with me! I hate you!"

"I know you hate me," he whispered. "But it doesn't matter, does it?" Shaking my head in denial, I clambered to my feet, turning my back to him. But he was right there behind me, standing so close I could feel the heat of his flesh. And then his breath fanned my neck, and his body brushed up against the back of mine. I couldn't move, couldn't breathe. With one hand, he swept my hair aside, and lowered his head, his lips hovering close to my throat, but not touching. I trembled all over, from head to toe, I shuddered. And inside I was screaming for his touch.

He moved his hips, and his hard arousal pushed against my backside. And then he bent lower, and his lips brushed my throat. All the fight went out of me in a long, shivering sigh, and I let my head fall back, and to the side, baring my neck in blatant offering to him.

His breaths on my skin were coming in hot gusts now. "I thought you didn't want me in the same room with you," he whispered, but it was a breathless whisper, and strained.

"Please," I moaned, from deep in my throat.

And he wrenched himself from me, turning away, pushing his hands backward through his hair. "So who's the liar now, Angel?" he growled.

I wrapped my arms around myself, hugging tight, and slowly sank to my knees. My head bowed, and I wept in bitter frustration.

He stood there, looking at me. "Believe me," he said, "it's every bit as distasteful to me, wanting someone I can't stand the sight of. But at least I'm not so goddamned self-righteous that I lie about it.

You're not going anywhere, so we're both going to have to live with this situation." And I rose, anger and indignation giving me the strength his nearness had robbed me of only seconds before. I turned, and looked him in the eye. "The hell we are," I told him, and I turned toward the doorway at the top of the stairs, bent my knees and pushed off. Amazingly, I sailed upward as easily as I'd once stepped over a crack in the sidewalk, and landed on the floor above. And then I ran, out of the house and into the night.

The wind whispered in my hair and my ears, as I ran. I knew he was coming after me, but I didn't turn around to confirm it. I just ran, and in seconds, I'd forgotten about my pursuer, my demon. There was a new thrill in running this fast, so fast everything around me became a blur. I didn't run into anything, though I was going far too quickly to see clearly. Some kind of inner guidance system I hadn't been aware of before, kicked in, to steer me around obstacles and over dangers in the path. I raced through the forest, for miles. Miles I ran.

And then I stopped. And I wasn't even breathless. Amazing. My blood was surging in my veins, my heart beating strong and sure in my chest. I felt strong. Stronger than I had ever felt in my life. And I thought I understood what Jameson had said before, about not fully savoring his life, until it ended.

Oh, but that fool understood very little else. I wasn't disgusted by him! I yearned for him. Why did he have to be so cruel?

"Dammit, Angelica, what the hell do you think you're doing?" Ah, yes, my Lucifer had caught up to me at last. I turned to face him. "You can't keep me against my will," I said. "I'm every bit as strong as you are."

He rolled his eyes. "Remind me to thank Rhiannon for telling you that, will you?" His sarcasm was not mean. Not biting. And I almost smiled at it. Almost. Perhaps the exertion was what we'd both needed to break the tension between us.

No. It wasn't what we'd needed. But it was better than nothing.

And then I heard something. A cry, very distant. The cry...of a child. My heart tripped to a stop in my chest. But the wailing sounds grew louder, more insistent.

"The baby," I whispered. And Jameson stared into my eyes, every bit of animosity gone. As one we turned and raced as fast as we could, in the direction of that sound. Down a wooded hillside we flew, crashing through dense undergrowth and thorny briars, and all but tumbling onto the gravel-topped road that wound along at its base.

"There," Jameson shouted. And I turned to see a woman, lying still on the ground. The wailing was louder now than ever. In a single leap, I was crouching at the woman's side, lifting her head and shoulders from the ground, shaking her.

"Wake up, woman! Where is she! Tell me, where is the baby!" Groggy eyes opened, then widened. A look of panic came into them as she scanned the area around her. And then she screamed, clasping her face between her palms. She screamed and screamed and screamed.

I turned my eyes to where she was staring, and saw it then. The car, flipped over and lying on its top.

The child, trapped inside, hanging upside down and howling in fear. The flames licking up into the night sky from the base of the automobile, where the gas tank would be, unless I were sadly mistaken.

"My baby!" the woman screamed, over and over again. "Please, save my baby!" Her baby. Not mine. The cries I had heard had been the cries of this woman's child. The result of a car accident.

"Hurry!" she shouted, struggling to her feet. "Hurry, for the love of God, the gas tank!" And then she collapsed in a heap of unintelligible sobs.

I could not believe what I was seeing. Jameson was clambering over the vehicle to reach the door nearest the child. The flames-and I had seen firsthand the explosive effects of flames on a vampire-were licking up around him. So close to him...

I got to my feet, leaving the woman, hurrying forward. The vampire wrenched the door free and sent it flying into the night. If daylight had allowed the young mother to see his strength, she'd have fainted dead away. I nearly did, when I saw how far that scrap of metal sailed. And then Jameson was inside, crawling, tearing at the belts that held the child prisoner. He paused no less than three times to beat at flames that lapped at his clothes. But each time went right back to the child.

I ran closer, reaching the car just as he emerged with the baby cradled in his arms. He raced toward me, pushing the child at me, dropping to his knees, and it was only then that I realized his delicate vampire's skin was smoldering. Thin spirals of smoke rose from it like specters reaching to the night sky. His black eyes held mine for only an instant, and I saw the agony there. And then I felt it, the hot brands searing his skin, as if it were my own. He rose, staggered away from us, and I saw the stream gurgling in the distance. I heard the splash as he reached it, and the heat on my skin faded, but the pain remained.

The baby cooed and chirped at me, drawing my gaze. I looked down at her, and hugged her gently to my breast. But my heart was slowly breaking. Her lush hair wasn't raven, but red. Her eyes, not jet, but baby-blue. And the plumpness to her cheeks and triple chin, her drooling mouth gave me to know she was a good deal older than my Amber Lily. Cutting teeth already, perhaps.

One chubby, questing hand reached up to grip a handful of my hair and tug almost playfully.

"Please..."

I lifted my gaze. The woman. She'd managed to get to her feet again, and she stood before me now.

Her face already bruising, her hair tangled and her lip bleeding. She stretched out her arms toward her child, tears streaming down her face.

Closing my eyes, I swallowed hard. Her child. Her precious child, not mine. I bent to kiss the infant's silky-soft cheek, and then I placed it in its mother's loving arms.

She hugged the baby close, bowing her head as sobs wrenched her slender frame. Sirens in the distance, then. Another vehicle pulling off the road. White headlights illuminating the darkness, contaminating its preternatural purity with artificial light. Light that didn't belong in the night, I thought. It was an intruder.

I took one last look at the mother and child, embracing and sobbing. And then I slipped away into the shadows, where I belonged.