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Chapter Five

 

  I was hosed down like an animal, and then wheeled back to my prison cell. Men lifted me from the gurney, and carelessly dropped me into that box where I was condemned to spend my days. The coffinlike box with the lid that sealed from without. The place where I would lie, trapped and suffocating, until they saw fit to let me out.

  And only vaguely did I realize as they shifted me into this tomb, that it was not dawn. Nor even near to dawn. It was still fully night, and the slumber wouldn't fall upon me for several hours yet. Surely the chains on the wall were preferable to being trapped in this box!

  "Please," I said to the two who lowered me into my prison. "It's not daylight yet. " My words were thick and slurring together. And I was still weak from the drugs they'd given me, still feeling the residual cramping from my enforced labor.

  They did not answer me. Just lowered me into that box, and reached for the lid.

  "No!" I tried to pull myself out again, tried with everything in me. Suddenly I was terrified of being sealed inside the tiny casket. I couldn't bear it. I wouldn't! It might have been some form of precognition that made me feel this panic, but whatever the source, I felt it, and I fought.

  But it was little use. One orderly, a burly man in white, held me down as I kicked and clawed, while the second easily pushed the lid into place. I screamed. I howled and pushed at the heavy, perhaps lead-lined lid that held me prisoner, but my efforts were worthless and exhausting. I heard them working without. Heard the bolts they inserted to keep the lid down tight. And eventually, I stilled. I would have curled up into a tiny fetal ball if the space were wide enough to allow it. But as it was I could only lie flat in the darkness, with the ceiling only inches above my face, and my knuckles brushing the walls on either side of me. I pressed my hands to my flat belly, empty now of the child I'd cherished all these months, and I wept bitter tears, until it seemed no more remained.

  There wasn't enough air. I couldn't move. I could only lie there in the pitch-black closeness, feeling the heat of that cramped space closing in on me. With my heart, my mind, I felt my child's presence. I knew she was near. . . but that faded a short while later. My sense of her grew slowly weaker, until it vanished entirely. Why I was so aware of her, I did not know. I'd felt her crying for me, and I'd known she was comforted in someone's arms. I'd sensed when she was wrapped in a warm blanket, and when she'd fallen into a contented sleep. And I knew now, as surely as I knew my own name, that she'd been taken from this place. Taken away, so far away that I could no longer reach her. And the tears I had thought were used up, renewed themselves, and spilled from my eyes.

  I slowly realized the awful truth. These people had used me. And their use for me was finished. They had no reason to keep me alive any longer. And I knew with an instinct that struck me with mind-numbing fear, that the lid of this coffin was never going to open again.

  How long, I wondered, would it take for me to die?

  The white lab coat had belonged to the man who was now occupying space in the darkest corner of a supply room. As did the ID tag. Jameson knew this was not a foolproof plan, but not entirely a bad one either. He could read their thoughts. He'd know which of them were suspicious of him, and which believed his stories. He moved through the corridors of the fourth subterranean level of DPI headquarters in White Plains. The last place any of them would expect to find a vampire visiting of his own accord. He knew well enough that the captives were kept below ground level, and the more important the prisoner, the deeper he would be found. Like a living burial, life in this hole. He pushed a stainless-steel cart full of instruments, and he wore a pair of latex gloves, and he stopped on occasion to flip open the chart he'd stolen, and gaze thoughtfully at the gibberish scrawled there. All to add flavor to his charade. An extra white lab coat, and surgical mask and cap were tucked inside the coat he wore. And he knew from the blueprints he'd pilfered that there was a rear exit used only to remove the remains of those who died in captivity here. An elevator that went directly to that exit. And a large blast furnace in the room that elevator opened into. A crematorium, of sorts.

  He passed a young woman. . . then stopped as he sensed her gaze on him, her approval of his appearance, the initial flare of attraction, and he turned to her, saw her glancing back at him, running one hand through her silken blond hair, and moistening her cover-model lips. "Excuse me, maybe you can help," he said. "I'm a little bit lost. "

  Her smile was quick and brilliant, and she was hoping he'd ask her to meet him after her shift. She was a lab technician, an up-and-comer, very talented. And utterly without morality. "Sure," she said, her gaze dipping only briefly to the ID tag on his chest. Seeing it dangling there was all the confirmation she required. She was a beautiful fool. "What are you looking for?"

  " The uh-" He glanced around, made a pretense of being secretive, knowing full well that not everyone here would be privy to the most secret of information. Then he checked her ID tag, noted her security clearance was one of the highest and nodded. "The new mother?" The woman frowned, and a bit of suspicion rose in her mind.

  He heard her thoughts plainly. Why would he be visiting that one? She's probably dead by now, anyway .

  "I'm supposed to take a few samples, and then move the remains down to forensics," he added quickly.

  "Oh. " The suspicion left her pretty face. "One level down, isolation cell 516-S. "

  "Thanks. "

  She was thinking maybe she ought to mention this man's mission to someone. Jameson turned once more, flashing his most brilliant smile, yet careful to conceal the telltale tips of his incisors. "Say, what time do you get off?"

  "Midnight," she told him, a triumphant gleam in her green cat's eyes. "Why?" Jameson stared into her eyes, and though he'd never used the mind control before, he knew he could do it, so long as the mortal in question didn't resist. And he sensed no resistance or fear in this one. He'd seen Eric do it. The trick took practice, and he hadn't had much. Still, influencing the actions of one mortal female shouldn't be too difficult. Say nothing about me to anyone. Say nothing. Nothing .

  Aloud, he said, "Why don't you meet me in the parking lot at twelve-fifteen? We could go out for drinks. . . or something. "

  She nodded, her eyes eager. "That sounds nice," she said.

  "Great. " He turned and headed down the hall to the elevators. He passed several others, but none of them seemed at all wary of him. The woman he sought, whoever she was, was in all likelihood dead, according to the pretty technician. Why was she still here then? And would he find the child, as he'd expected he would? He'd thought they'd be together, sharing a cell at the very least. Now, he wasn't so sure.

  Sublevel five was like a dungeon. And it was only seconds before Jameson knew this was where they brought the vampires when their use for them had ended. This was where the undead were left to die.

  The second death. The final one. This level was encased in concrete, and painted a dark green, like a basement Morgue in a hospital. Each tiny cell had a door, and all the doors were sealed. And he could smell the stench of death heavy in the air.

  He reached the door with the correct number. No guards on this level. Apparently, they assumed none was needed for dead or dying vampires. Jameson gripped the door handle, and it was with only a minimal exertion of his strength that he pulled it open, breaking the locks in the process.

  He stepped inside, and caught his breath. In the far corner of the tomblike room was a box the size and appearance of a stone sarcophagus. Six inches thick. No baby in sight, and thankfully, no tinier, infant-sized deathtrap sat nearby. He'd thought to find the child with her mother. He'd obviously been mistaken. And if she were dead already, the woman would provide no clues as to where his daughter might be. Even if she were alive, he realized, heart sinking, she might know nothing. But he had to try.

  Stepping closer, Jameson pushed the huge stone top aside, wincing at the grating whine of it. The sound was li
ke a cry, and it echoed endlessly in this room. Within it was a smaller coffin, ordinary wood, though he sensed there was a layer of lead within it. This one was bolted shut, but he snapped the bolts like twigs, and wrenched the lid from the casket.

  In the pitch-darkness, his eyes were as sharp as those of a cat. And she lay there, still and white, the sharp bones of her face protruding into her pale skin. Her hair spread around her in tangles. And he stared down at her in utter shock, and whispered, "You!"

  Her eyes opened, their violet light so dulled he barely recognized it there. "Please. . . " she whispered, parched lips barely moving to form the words. "My. . . child. . . "

  Why she made the effort to speak the words aloud when it was so difficult for her, he could not fathom.

  She could transmit her thoughts to him much more easily. Her. Why the hell did it have to be her? What twist of fate had brought this ridiculous irony about?

  "Where is the child?" he demanded, gripping her shoulders, shaking her when she would have faded into slumber. "Where?"

  She parted her lips, but only a low moan escaped them. Jameson shook her again, and she blinked up at him. "They. . . took my baby. . . they took her. . . "

  "Took her where, dammit!"

  Her eyes widened at the anger in his voice. And then she stared up at him as if seeing him for the first time. "You're alive," she said with a sigh, scanning his face.

  "No thanks to you. Now, dammit, where is the child?"

  Licking her lips, she shook her head. "I. . . they've taken her. . . away from here. "

  "She's not in this building?"

  She shook her head.

  "And you've no idea where she is?"

  "No. "

  Jameson swore, spinning in a slow circle, then pacing away from the woman's intended tomb.

  "Please," she groaned. "Don't. . . leave me here. "

  And then he laughed, a low, bitter sound that echoed from the concrete walls, and turned to face her again. "You want me to help you? Me, your victim, the mortal man you did your best to murder? Why the hell should I? You tried to kill me, lady. You drained me and left me for dead, and then you turned yourself over to these bastards. It's your fault they've got their hands on my daughter, and you deserve everything they-"

  "Your. . . daughter?'"

  Jameson stopped speaking and stepped closer to stare down at the pathetic, yet somehow still beautiful woman, who was too weak even to sit up on her own. "Yes," he said softly. "My daughter. I was once a prisoner here, just as you are now. And it was my seed they used to impregnate you. She is my little girl.

  And I will find her. "

  She closed her eyes, drew a painful breath. "I. . . can help you. "

  "How?" He didn't think he believed her. Hell, he wasn't truly going to leave her here. Wouldn't leave his worst enemy to die this way. But she obviously thought he would, and she was trying to convince him not to. Grasping at straws. Bluffing, in all likelihood.

  "I. . . " She gripped the edges of the coffin, struggled to sit up. And Jameson's hands moved automatically. It seemed they found it a bit too easy to forget this woman had once tried to murder him.

  He slipped his hands over her shoulders, grimacing at how thin she was, and helped her to sit up. She had to cling to the wooden sides to keep herself in that position, and her head fell forward as if even holding it upright were more than she could manage. "Please, if nothing else. . . take me out of this box. " He saw the fear in her eyes when she lifted her head briefly to look around her, when she realized the box she'd been entombed within had been sealed inside a larger one, made of stone. "They're monsters," she whispered.

  "Ah, so you've finally figured that out, have you?" Jameson gathered her featherlight body into his arms and lifted her out of the box. But when he lowered her feet to the floor, her legs buckled. She fell against him, and only his quick reaction kept her from sinking into a heap at his feet.

  He held her. And doing so stirred up unpleasant memories. Memories of the last time he'd held her this way, with her face pressed to the crook of his neck. Of the desire that had overwhelmed him when she'd put her mouth to his throat. Of how much he'd wanted her at that moment. She'd been desperate then.

  Starving. She was, if anything, more so now. He waited, tense and expectant, his arms around her waist to keep her from falling. Her body pressed tight to his. And he felt her lips touch the skin of his neck, felt her soft gasp.

  And then she turned her head away from his neck, and rested her cheek on his shoulder.

  Of course. She wouldn't attempt to overpower another vampire. Particularly as weak as she was. It was that, nothing more, surely.

  "Tell me," he said, "how you think you can help me to find my child. "

  "My child," she whispered, not moving. "There's. . . there's a link between my baby and me. I felt it. . . even before she was born.

  "I knew how. . . she'd look. " She slipped lower in his arms, sinking toward the floor, and he was forced to hold her tighter, closer. "I knew she was female. I spoke to her. . . and she heard, I know she did. " Her voice was so weak. But a whisper, and speaking was obviously a tremendous effort.

  "Of course she did," Jameson said, not believing a word she said.

  She lifted her head, met his eyes. "I could feel what she felt. I knew when she was here, and I was aware of it the instant they. . . took her away. " Her head lowered to his shoulder again, and he knew she could hold it up no longer. She was very near death right now. "I'll know again, when we get close to her. I swear to Christ, I will. "

  Jameson tipped her chin up with one hand and searched her eyes, wondering if she might be telling the truth, nearly wincing at the agony he saw in their violet depths. And then he scanned her mind, not expecting to find much there, particularly if she were lying. She'd be smart enough to guard her thoughts if she hoped to fool him. But he was surprised, because her mind was utterly unguarded. Completely open to him.

  He must take me out of this place! Yes, he's a monster. . . a horrible monster, just like the other. . .

  but even a monster is better than dying here. I'll run from him. I'll get away as soon as I leave these walls behind. And then I'll use this psychic bond to find my child by myself. I'll take her away from them. . . and away from him. His kind will never lay eyes on her. I'll protect her from all of them. And if I must feed on the innocent to do it, then so be it!

  Jameson tilted his head, studying the brief, rebellious anger in her eyes. Shocked by the power of it.

  Hungry. She was so very hungry. And she thought him a vile monster. Odd, since if vampires were monsters, she must surely realize she was one as well.

  She hated him. Hated what he was. Hated every one of her own race. She was a traitorous, murderous creature. And she wanted to take his child from him.

  But the bond with the baby was apparently real. And he needed her if he hoped to rescue his daughter.

  The rest, he'd worry about later.

  "Come on," he said, turning for the door. "Let's get the hell out of here. " She took a single step, and fell to the hard floor. Jameson looked at her, lying there, all but helpless, and slowly he closed his eyes, knowing full well what must be done. Hating it, but knowing it. He could not carry her from this place and risk being seen. She must wear the disguise he wore, and she must walk out on her own. And she couldn't do that in this weakened state.

  He crouched and scooped her up into his arms, holding her like a child, and then he turned her face to his own throat, one hand at the back of her head, cupping her, supporting her. Sharing blood with another vampire. . . he'd been warned of the bond it could create. The attraction it could stir. The longing it would embed in the depths of his soul like an addiction. But it could not be helped. For his daughter, he must do this.

  She turned her face away.

  "You know what's necessary as well as I do," he told her. "Do it. "

  "I can't," sh
e whispered, and he thought there might be tears on her cheeks.

  "Do it, damn you!" And he turned her face to him again, pressed her tight to his neck.

  She parted her mouth and sank her fangs deeply into his flesh, and Jameson drew a deep, shuddering breath. He felt her mouth working him there, hesitantly at first, but then harder and faster as the bloodlust overwhelmed her. He felt each movement of her lips, each lap of her hungry little tongue. And lust came rushing through him. Weakening him. He trembled with it, dropping to his knees and moaning, and still he held her there. His heart rate quickened, and his breaths came rapid and shallow. True, Roland had warned him how closely the bloodlust and sexual desire were linked in his kind. How the two intertwined to the point where they were nearly inseparable. But this was a thousand times more powerful than what he'd experienced with her before. And he hadn't expected it to be like this. Not like this. Not this urge to pull her closer. To do to her what she was doing to him. To take her, in every way he knew how, until, until. . .

  She lifted her head, blinking and looking dazed. He hadn't had to tell her to stop. She'd done it on her own. And judging from the look in her eyes, he thought she'd experienced the same mind-numbing desire as he had.

  As he. . . still did?

  He swallowed hard, and got to his feet, lowered her to the floor, still shaking with unbelievable need.

  Her face was no longer chalk white, but was slowly becoming infused with healthy color. A glow. And her eyes were shining brighter with every second he spent looking into them. Her dulled hair took on a new gleam, and her hollowed cheeks began to plump right before his eyes.

  God, she was beautiful.

  He blinked the thought away. No time for this. Not now.

  "I. . . feel stronger," she whispered, but the shock of the desire that had raged between them still showed in her violet eyes. "Thank you. " She was bewildered. She had no clue what had transpired between them, was completely shocked over the feelings that had swamped her just now.

  Looking back at her, he nodded and reached into his pocket for the second lab coat he'd brought along.

  He held it open for her, and she turned, swayed, nearly fell, but managed to catch her balance and thrust her arms into its sleeves. It wasn't starvation weakening her now. It was desire. And it disgusted her.

  Jameson watched her struggle with the buttons for just a moment, then ran out of patience and bent to do them up himself, effectively covering the thin white robe that was all she'd been wearing.

  He then produced a surgical mask and a disposable paper head covering, a puffy thing with elastic.

  Quickly and efficiently, he wound her long, tangled hair into a bunch, snapped the cap over it and tucked the loose tendrils up underneath.

  "That's going to have to do," he said, standing back and eyeing her, noting how those violet eyes stood out above the white mask she wore. "Come. " He took her hand once more, pulled her out of the room, into the hall, and started down it. He looked down at her, saw her fear in her eyes. She was afraid of him. He'd sensed that from the start. And no wonder. She must expect some kind of retribution from the

  "monster" she'd once tried to murder. But right now, she was more afraid of the others who roamed this place. Her eyes were wide with it, and she was trembling.

  He squeezed her hand for some reason he could not explain. Perhaps to calm her fears. It was cold, shaking. She didn't pull it away. "I don't know your name," he said softly. "Ironic, isn't it? We have a child together, and don't even know the simplest things about each other. "

  "I'm Angelica," she whispered.

  Angelica. Angel, he thought. A dark, frightened, lonely angel. Stupid thought. She was no angel.

  "I'm Jameson. "

  They reached the elevator that led to the furnace. No one should be there at this hour of the night. DPI didn't dare risk one of their victims waking-bolstered by the night-as they shoved him into the flames, and wreaking havoc on the attendants. They stepped inside, and the doors slid closed. "What happened to you?" he asked her as the car started upward. "How did you end up alone in that condemned building, half-starved?'"

  She lowered her head, shook it slowly. "I was mad. Out of my mind, that night. " The car jerked to a stop. Angelica was jostled against him, and he closed his arms around her without forethought.

  "I'm sorry for what I did to you," she whispered. "It's my fault you're. . . "

  "What, Angelica? A monster? That's what you think I am, isn't it?" She looked up at him as the doors slid open, eyes widening. Yes, she must know he'd read her mind now.

  "Just so you know, your plan to run from me as soon as we're out of here is never going to come about. "

  "What?"

  Taking her arm, he led her from the elevator, and out through the exit. There were guards outside of course, but he kept close to the shadows, using trees and shrubs for cover. He stopped behind one, out of earshot of those sentries, and faced her once more. "Your maker should have taught you better, Angelica. Vampires can read one another's thoughts. Just as I read yours back there. Even a fledgling ought to know enough to guard them. You are not going to run from me once we're away from here.

  You're not going to find my child and take her away where I'll never lay eyes on her again. I won't allow that. "

  "You can't stop me," she whispered. "I can find her. I'm the one with the bond to my little one, not you!"

  "Which is why," Jameson said as the guards in the distance turned away, and he started forward again, still holding her arm in a firm grip. "I've decided to keep you with me. Right by my side, Angelica, until we find our daughter. As my prisoner, if need be. "

  "No. "

  "Yes," he said, gripping her arm and leading her quickly across an open space before the guards could turn in their direction again. "But don't worry. I'm not nearly as monstrous as you seem, for some reason, to think I am. "

  I went with him. But only because I had no choice. I was still weak, and run-down, and he was obviously much stronger than I. I knew nothing, then, of my own abilities. Of the limits of my power, or the psychic part of my newfound senses. I only knew that I could die easily if exposed to fire, as my creator had. And that starvation could leave me weak and barely able to function. I suspected it, too, could kill me, but of course, I couldn't be sure.

  So I went with this stranger. This vampire. This Jameson who claimed to have fathered my child. I went with him, thinking I'd certainly traded one hell for another, and vowing in silence that when I was strong, I would run. If he could read my thoughts, then let him. I would run from him, just as fast and as far as I could, at the very first opportunity.

  I was afraid of him. When I'd put my mouth to his skin, a wildness had come to life inside me. A madness far more intense than what I'd felt the first time I'd taken from him. A passion that blazed like hell itself, and weakened me with its intensity. I was ashamed of the feelings that had overwhelmed me for this man. And what frightened me even more was that I'd sensed he'd felt them, too.

  I must escape him.

  But until then, I would bide my time. Use it to regain my strength and to discover the extent of my abilities. That way I'd be more able to rescue my child from the animals who held her.

  Jameson was young, not more than thirty. He was human when I met him. I was certain of that. No vampire would have allowed me to do what I'd done to Jameson. He was strong, too. Broad across the back, and very tall. But I would escape him. When we were out of this place, I would get away. I had to, for my daughter's sake. And for my own.

  He led me right up to the towering and obviously electrified mesh fence that surrounded this prison, and as I looked up at it, my hopes of escape faded rapidly. "What now?" I whispered, turning to look up at him.

  He frowned down at me as if puzzled by the question. Then he reached up to pull the cap from my head, and remove the mask from my face, tossing them carelessly to the ground. "Now,"
he said, "we jump it. " I nearly choked as I stood there, searching this grim-faced man's countenance for some sign that he was joking. When there was none, I looked up at the fence, back at him, and slowly shook my head. "It's impossible. "

  "You have no idea how strong you are, do you?"

  Well, of course, I did not. But I felt admitting as much to him would be a dire mistake.

  "Just how long ago were you made, Angelica?"

  I shrugged, turning my gaze to the fence once more, ignoring his question.

  "Put your arm around my shoulders," he instructed, and though still doubtful, I did so. He slipped his strong arm around my waist, his fingers pressing into my belly as he pulled me firmly against his side. And that rush of desire for him returned. What was this madness?

  Then he bent his knees, drawing me down with him. "Now. . . jump!" He pushed off, and I did as well, nearly laughing at the idiocy of it all. I fully expected to hop perhaps a foot or two into the air, and then land right back where I stood. So I was ill prepared for the flight that followed. We sailed into the night sky like two rockets, propelled upward by no more than the force of our legs, pushing off. The mesh rushed before my eyes in a blur, and then we cleared it by several feet.

  And as the momentum eased and changed, and we began to plummet toward the earth on the other side, my heart nearly tripped to a stop in fear. My hair blew upward, and the night wind whistled past my ears.

  I peeked below us, saw the ground rushing at us at dizzying speeds, and I clung to Jameson and I buried my face against his shoulder, too afraid to look again. He closed his free arm around me, holding me against him as if I were a child. We hurtled downward, and I expected I would suffer incredibly upon impact.

  But instead, I felt my feet hit the ground, and then my knees bent as the rest of my weight followed. My body absorbed the impact without pain. I stumbled and fell onto my backside, the motion pulling me out of Jameson's firm embrace, which was a relief and a disappointment, all at once. I felt clumsy, I recall, as I saw the grace with which he landed, squatting low and then springing upright again, all without wobbling in the least. And then he turned to me, reached for me and pulled me to my feet.

  I could only stare up at the fence we'd just leaped, almost effortlessly. I couldn't believe. . .

  "You didn't have a clue, did you, Angelica?"

  Dumbly, I shook my head, then faced him and, realizing what I'd just admitted, bit my lower lip.

  "Who made you?" he asked, searching my face. "What kind of vampire would bring you over and leave you alone?"

  I met his dark eyes, lifting my chin. "You ask me things that don't concern you. " He blinked, but finally nodded and stopped waiting for my answer. Apparently he'd realized it was not forthcoming. Taking my arm, he led me through the parking lot to a small black sports car that seemed to be crouching there, waiting like a bandit in the night. It was completely concealed in the shadows.

  He opened a door, and I slid into a seat so low that it seemed to rest atop the road. Then he slammed the door, moved away and got in on the other side, sliding behind the wheel. He started the engine and we rolled away, unnoticed. And when the place that had nearly been my deathtrap was finally out of sight behind us, I turned to him. "How will we find our child?" I whispered. "Where will we begin?" He met my eyes, and his seemed to blaze in the orange-red glow of the dash lights. "We'll begin by finding out which of them knows," he said. I saw his hatred for my former captors- his former captors, if his story was true-flare in his eyes. Saw it for the first time. I knew that hatred well, for I felt it, too.

  "And then we take them. We question them, one by one, until we get the answers we need. "

  "They will never tell us," I said, shaking my head and losing hope rapidly.

  "They will," he replied, and he fixed his eyes on the road ahead. "If they want to live. "