Wings In The Night - Twilight Memories Part 3

"You're an animal!"

She smiled slowly. "Quite right. A predator, to be precise. And if you go near Roland again, you will become my prey. Believe me, if it is Roland I avenge, your experience will not be a pleasant one. I will hurt you, Curtis Rogers. I will make you writhe!"

With a single burst of speed, she left him there, knowing to his human eyes, it must have seemed she'd simply vanished. He wouldn't go to the castle. Not right away, at least. She thought she'd convinced him that Roland and the boy had boarded a jet bound for parts unknown. He'd fallen so easily. He would search elsewhere first. They'd be safe during the approaching dawn. Yet, there were still precautions to be taken. Rhiannon sped toward the small rental house outside L'Ombre, to accomplish these, and of course, to fetch her cat.

Roland had no idea where she'd gone, or when she'd return. That was the thing about her. Flighty. Volatile. Unstoppable. d.a.m.n near irresistible. He groaned under his breath. He couldn't forget his desire even in his anger.

When she'd looked at Jamey earlier, Roland could have sworn he'd seen the stirrings of genuine affection. Of course, she would have 'to feel something for the boy. He was one of The Chosen. A human with the same two rare traits all vampires had as humans, the single combination that allowed them to be transformed. The line of descent, including, but surpa.s.sing, Prince Vlad the Impaler--yes, despite all of Eric Marquand's theories, it went back farther than that. And the blood antigen known as belladonna. A human with these traits, though he may never be aware of it, becomes the ward of the undead. Vampires watch over such ones, especially the children. They cannot do otherwise. And all preternatural beings can sense the presence of such ones, or the hint of a threat to them. Yet rarely are these Chosen ones transformed, or even contacted. Mostly, they simply go through their lives never knowing of their psychic link to a society they would believe a myth.

The situation with Jamey was unique. In order to protect him, Roland had been left with little choice but to arrange things as they now stood. DPI knew of Jamey's traits. They knew of his connection, not to one, but to three--now four--vampires. They placed a great value on the boy, his worth to them greater than would be his weight in gold. They would stop at nothing to possess him, to hold him in one of their diabolical laboratories, to run countless, torturous experiments upon his fragile young body while they awaited the inevitable arrival of his protectors.

And with all of this on the line, Rhiannon had played another of her vanishing acts.

But he knew better than that, didn't he? Unpredictable, she was, but not disloyal. Her carelessness only applied to matters of her own safety. Not to that of others. He wanted to be angry with her, but instead, found himself worried. She was gone, yes, but where was Rogers? With her? She'd been captured by a manlike him once. Would she be reckless enough to end up in their hands again?

As soon as Jamey was safely installed in his modernized apartment in the east wing with Frederick at his side, Roland made the decision to search for her. She'd resent it, no doubt. She liked to do as she pleased without interference. But he felt she might be at risk, and he couldn't ignore that possibility.

Before he made it to the door, he sensed her presence. He realized a moment later that he'd felt an overwhelming sense of relief along with it. But that was ridiculous. He hadn't been that worried about her.

She entered the great hall through the tall, arching door of ancient hardwood, which was banded with black iron straps. At her side lumbered a panther, sleek and black as the velvet gown she still wore. The beast's green eyes glittered like emeralds, and as it gazed steadily at Roland, it stilled utterly, and emitted a deep-throated growl.

"What in G.o.d's name is that?"

"My cat. Her name is Pandora, and I would appreciate it if you would treat her with the respect she deserves."

"Rhiannon, for G.o.d's sake--" Roland took a single step forward, and froze when the cat crouched, snarling, teeth bared, about to spring.

"Pandora, hush!" At her stern command the animal relaxed, straightening rather lazily, still watching Roland's every move.

"Roland is a friend," Rhiannon said softly, stroking the cat's big head with her long, dagger-tipped fingers.

"Come, Roland, stroke her head, so she'll know you mean no harm."

Roland swore under his breath, but knew Rhiannon adored the beast, simply by the light in her eyes. He would indulge her, this once. It wasn't as if the cat could harm him. He moved nearer the animal, and stretched out one hand.

In a lightning-fast move, Pandora batted his hand away with claws extended, and a short angry snarl.

"Pandora!" Rhiannon smacked the cat on the nose, and reached out, gripping Roland's hand and frowning at the single scratch the cat had managed to inflict. A tiny, narrow path of beaded red droplets.

"I'm sorry, Roland. She is so protective of me, you see, and you did raise your voice." Then she lifted his hand, brought it to her lips, and, very catlike, herself, ran her damp tongue over the mark, from knuckles to wrist. She closed her eyes at the erotic impact of the act. Roland knew, because it rocked him, too.

Tongues of flame licked at his groin, and Roland winced at the force of it.

"Come, darling," she whispered. "Show Pandora how close we are. That will work to calm her. I know it will. Come, take me in your arms. Just this once. Just to calm the cat."

"Rhiannon, I don't think--"

"Why must I work so hard to earn each little touch you bestow?" She shook her head, glancing at the cat, who again, began to snarl menacingly. "Surely you won't die from my kisses, Roland, toxic though they may be. Our embrace will rea.s.sure Pandora. She will keep Rogers out of the castle while we rest, by day. She is well trained, I a.s.sure you. Now, please, just take me in your arms. Hold me to you. Kiss my lips. It will be all the evidence she requires, I promise you."

Without quite meaning to, Roland stepped closer. He slipped his arms around Rhiannon's slender waist, and she immediately pressed her hips against him. Waves of desire raced through his veins. Her deceptively fragile-looking arms linked around his neck. Her scent was unlike anything human. An exotic mingling of the preternatural blood flowing beneath her skin and the spiced juices of her arousal dampening her interior, the henna she insisted on rinsing through her hair and the mysterious incense she burned regularly.

A mortal man would notice none of it. Nor would he see the subtle change in the light refracted in her black eyes, and know it signaled the onset of the powerful l.u.s.t only immortals can feel or understand. It borders on violence, this l.u.s.t. It mingles with the thirst for blood until the two entwine and become inseparable.

His arms tightened around her, until her proud b.r.e.a.s.t.s pressed hard against his chest. Their stiff little nipples--twenty times more sensitive than a mortal woman's might be--poked into his skin, even through the dress she wore, and the shirt covering him.

He looked down into her face, his eyes feasting for a moment on her parted lips. He could still catch the faint trace of his own blood on her tongue. Slowly, he sunk into the madness only she could create within him. He lowered his head until his face, his lips, moved over her smooth cheek. He traced the high cheekbone, and then the shape of her finely arched brow. His lips nibbled a path down the straight, narrow bridge of her nose, then danced over the bit of flesh between nose and upper lip.

She made a tiny sound, like a purr, in her throat, and tipped her head back slightly, to lift her lips to his. Driven beyond restraint, Roland took her mouth the way a man dying of slow starvation takes his first crumb of food. His hands twisted themselves into her hair and his tongue swept inside her. Her taste was intoxicating, an aphrodisiac, certainly, for he throbbed with wanting her.

She felt his arousal, pressed her hips closer, and murmured his name into his mouth on a low, husky exhalation.

Roland put her from him, stepping back, though it took more effort than lifting this castle above his head could have taken. The l.u.s.t in him roared loudly in his ears, but he dared not give in to it. No. He could too easily lose his sanity in Rhiannon. He could be swept completely away on a mindless journey of pa.s.sion. He could forget what was important.

The boy, in the east wing preparing once again to face a fight not even a grown man should have to endure. The tiny cimetiere in the forest beyond the castle's outer walls. The five graves, so old now they would be invisible had he not kept them up, replacing the headstones every few years, and always with more ornate and expensive pieces. His mother lay there, beneath the cold earth. His father, and his three hearty brothers who had once scoffed at his desire to become a knight. Truly, he knew, they'd only been afraid to see their youngest sibling thrown into b.l.o.o.d.y battle. They'd loved him. And he'd returned their love with hatred, and betrayal, and finally, with abandonment. No, he could never forgive himself that.

Most important of all was that he never forget the beast that lived within him. It had lurked in the depths of his black soul even when he'd been a mere mortal. It must be contained, for were it loosed now, the destruction it might wreak would be irreparable.

Rhiannon made him careless. She brought out the impulsive, irresponsible lad he'd once been. The one foolish enough to let that beast escape. She made him, at times, long to free the animal inside. To allow it to take over. She filled him with such hunger that all else seemed unimportant.

"Roland, darling? What is it?" Rhiannon stood alone now, a yard of s.p.a.ce between him and her. She appeared composed, but he felt the confusion, the thwarted pa.s.sion frustrating her. "Don't stop now," she whispered. "We must convince Pandora..."

Roland shook himself. What he felt for her was nothing but l.u.s.t. He wanted no companion at all, let alone one as uncontrollable and explosive as she. Her very presence was a danger to his sanity.

He felt the huge cat's heavy, silken body pressing to his leg, first the head, then a long, slow stroke of its neck and side over Roland's calf.

"I believe the cat is convinced, Rhiannon." Roland lowered his hand and scratched the feline's head. It arched to his touch and purred like a motorcar.

"Pandora, you traitor! I told you to wait until later to be friendly!"

Roland's brows shot up. "You mean she didn't need convincing at all, only your command?"

Rhiannon's lower lip protruded ever so slightly farther than her upper one, looking as plump and moist as a ripe plum. "I have to go to great lengths, sometimes, to get any cooperation from you, you stubborn man."

"And the cat?"

Rhiannon shrugged. "I haven't figured her out yet. Only that she can read me, and I her. We connect on a psychic level neither of us can understand. I don't need to speak to her, only to send her mental messages. Not words, mind you. Images. And she obeys me without question."

"So she snarled at me because you told her to do so?" She shrugged, trying for a look of innocence and failing. "Just as I shall tell her to guard Jamey as we rest. No mortal shall set foot inside these walls with Pandora about. Not and live, at least."

"Suppose she makes the boy into a light snack?"

"She would no more do so than you would, love."

The remark stung, but Roland ignored the barb. "You're certain?"

"Do you think I would risk the child you adore so blatantly?"

He pursed his lips, then shook his head. "No. I suppose you would not."

"You suppose." She tossed her hair over her shoulder and strode away, toward the crumbling, curving stone stairs that spiraled upward along the circular keep's wall. "Come, Pandora. I'll introduce you to your new friends."

As she moved up the stairs, the huge cat leaping to catch up with her, Roland scanned her mind. He saw her envisioning Jamey and Frederick, envisioning herself embracing them, and the cat being lovingly stroked by their mortal hands. He wondered at it, but he didn't question it.

He had enough on his mind at the moment. He wouldn't waste time worrying about her true motives in wing to help the boy. She was sincere, he knew. Yet still, it baffled him; for in all the time he'd known Rhiannon, he'd never thought her capable of feeling much for any mortal. Her thirst for adventure, and constant excitement came above all else. He'd never understood her, the risks she took.

No. He'd do better to a.s.sess his own ridiculous responses to her. Naturally, she excited him. What man, mortal or immortal, could remain indifferent to her touch, her scent, her vibrancy? He didn't constantly resist her advances because he didn't want her. Quite the opposite, in fact. He wanted her too much... physically. To copulate simply for l.u.s.t's sake was to lower oneself to the level of an animal.

Moreover, she would only flit out of his life when it was over.

Not that he cared.

And there was the constant fear of losing control. Rhiannon inspired that tendency in him like nothing else could.

Roland composed himself after several moments of pondering, and went to the worn stone stairs. He slipped along the darkened corridor, and paused outside the vaulted door to the apartment. He opened it only slightly, and nearly cried out at what he saw.

Jamey lay on his back upon the floor, with that black beast over him, front paws pressed to Jamey's chest. The boy's hands cupped the panther's huge head, shoving it left and right roughly. The cat made deep, threatening sounds, its tail swishing in agitation. Roland tensed, about to launch himself upon the cat, but he stopped in his tracks as he realized that Jamey wasn't crying out for a.s.sistance. He was laughing!

Before Roland's stunned eyes, Jamey threw the cat over, onto its side, then Pandora rolled herself onto her back and lay still, head turned, watching the boy. He got to his feet and rubbed the animal's glossy underbelly vigorously, while the cat arched her neck and closed her eyes, emitting a loud purr.

Roland forced his gaze beyond the spectacle, to where Rhiannon stood with Frederick. She gave him a half smile. "She's just an overgrown kitten, you see?" She crossed the room to Roland's side. "It's odd, I thought I would have to introduce them... give them time to become acquainted. Yet, it's as if she recognized Jamey the moment she saw him." Her dark gaze reached out to Frederick with intensity. "You must take care with her, Freddy. She may not be as receptive to you."

Frederick licked his thick lips and moved slowly forward, his limp more p.r.o.nounced now than earlier. "Pandora," he called in his baritone voice. He moved slowly toward the two on the carpeted floor. "Pandora, come here, kitty."

The cat looked up, then slowly rolled onto her stomach. She lay with paws extended, head up, still as a sphinx, eyeing Frederick. He glanced up at Rhiannon. "Can I pet her?"

Rhiannon nodded, her own gaze fixed on the panther, sending silent messages. Frederick reached out, gently touched Pandora's head, and stroked it slowly. He continued until, finally, the cat's deep purr came once more. The glittering eyes closed, and the big head pressed upward against Frederick's hand.

Frederick laughed, tipping back his big, blond head as he did. "Thank you for bringing her."

"Thank you for trusting her," Rhiannon replied. "Rogers likely won't bother us here today. I led him to believe you'd all left the country. Still, she will keep him out should he attempt anything."

"I bet she will," Frederick said softly.

"And tomorrow evening, we'll see about getting Jamey somewhere safe."

"No." Jamey stood, and faced both Rhiannon and Roland.

Roland sighed. "I know this is difficult for you, Jamison but--"

"No. It's impossible. I'm not going anywhere tomorrow. I have one more practice, and then the big match." He faced Rhiannon. "It's the championship, Rhiannon. We can't leave until after that."

Roland opened his mouth, but Rhiannon held up her hand. "This game of yours... soccer, isn't it?"

Jamey nodded. "I've worked all season for this. I'm not letting Curt Rogers cheat me out of it. He's taken enough from me. We're playing in the dome stadium, under the lights. It's the biggest match of the year."

Rhiannon nodded. "The game, what time--"

"Seven tomorrow night." Jamey's eyes lit with hope.

Rhiannon seemed deep in thought. "It is dark by seven, is it not?"

Roland was unable to hold his silence any longer. "Rhiannon, we cannot protect the boy in a stadium crowded with spectators. Do not even suggest--"

"It is important to him, Roland. Surely you can see that."

"I have to make the practice after school tomorrow. If I miss it, I can't play in the match. Coach's rule."

"No. That I cannot arrange," Rhiannon said softly. "This practice session is by day, Jamey. We could not protect you there."

"I can protect myself."

"It is simple, really," Rhiannon went on as if he hadn't spoken. "I will simply pen a note to this coach, telling him you've twisted your ankle, and must rest it for the entire day or else not be capable of playing in the game. If he requires a note from a doctor, I will, of course write one. I will deliver this note, along with a check, a donation, if you will, to the athletic department. I'll make it a hefty enough sum that the man will be only too happy to excuse you from practice. There, you see how simple?"

Jamey smiled slightly. Then frowned. "I shouldn't take your money--"

"Posh," Rhiannon said with a wave of her hand. "I have more than you can imagine." She looked at Jamey, her eyes glowing with affection. "Besides, I can't remember the last time I watched a soccer match. So, it is decided."

She strode out the door, the picture of elegance in her black velvet gown.

Roland dogged her steps.

She stopped on the stairway and turned to face him, daring him to argue with her.

"I do not have any intention of attending this soccer match."

She shrugged delicately. "Well, we'll miss you, of course, but if that's your decision"

"Jamison isn't going either. It's too great a risk."

She rolled her eyes. "What is life without risk?"

"I forbid this, Rhiannon."

"Forbid all you like. Jamey and I are attending the match. And believe me, darling, no mere mortal is going to harm that boy while I am near. You forget who I am."

He shook his head. "There will be, perhaps, over a hundred mortals in attendance. We'd be spotted immediately. Recognized for what we are. Have you no sense7"

She only turned and resumed walking down the stairs. "Just as I was recognized the other night at Le Requin? Roland, there are ways to disguise ourselves. A bit of flesh-toned makeup on our pale skin, a pair of shaded lenses if you fear the glow in your eyes will be seen. A bit of powder to those blood-red lips. It is so obscenely simple to fool them, you see. Besides, they are modern humans. They wouldn't believe what we are, even if we walked up to them and announced it."