Edge of Twilight

Chapter 9

Amber refused to acknowledge the ache in her heart when she returned to the abandoned church just before sundown. The anger, that was all right. Acceptable. He'd used her, leaked her presence in Salem to the entire Internet-using public, just to lure Stiles here. For what purpose, she could only guess. He must have a grudge against the vampire hunter, Like so many of his kind. It didn't matter why. And it didn't matter that she would have done the same thing if she'd thought of it first. It only mattered that Edge had put her life at risk to satisfy his hunger for vengeance.
Well, he wasn't going to get away with it. She would call him on it tonight. Tell him she knew damned well what he'd done. Put him on notice that he wasn't to harm one piece of twisted pink scar tissue on Stiles's face until she got the information she needed from the man.
After that, she could care less.
Dammit, why did it hurt so much? She didn't give a damn about Edge. She wouldn't be stupid enough to have any feelings for a man like him. Any emotional feelings, at least. She couldn't help her physical feelings.
Her insides turned wet and warm when she thought about that, so she banished the memory as she climbed through the window of the church. Landing on the floor, she brushed off her hands, and eyed the punching bag that hung from a rafter. Salem Fitness Center was printed on its side.
"Bastard," she said, punctuating the word with a jab to the bag. It felt good, hitting the bag, imagining it as his face. His chiseled, sharp face. With those cheekbones and that damnable sexy dimple. She hit it again. "You used me, you son of a-" Right hook to the temple, rattling that peroxide blond head. Uppercut, splitting those full, sexy lips. "Probably never even wanted me. Not really." She delivered a roundhouse blow, then a series of kicks that she thought would be rib breakers for sure. "It was all just a game, wasn't it, Edge?" The final blow should have taken off his head.
It didn't. Instead it tore the bag from its eye-ring. The weighted sack flew a couple of yards and hit the floor, cracking several floorboards and sending up a dust cloud.
She pursed her lips, sucking in a few breaths, enjoying the surge of blood in her veins and the release of her anger. Then she turned, noted the spreading darkness and, for the first time, the lack of brick-a-brack on the makeshift altar in the front.
Her brows drew together. She opened her senses but felt no hint of Edge nearby. His presence made her skin tingle; there would have been no mistaking it. "Edge?"
But she didn't need to wait, or listen to the echoing answer of her own voice. She knew. He wasn't there. He was gone.
Edge opened his eyes and stared up at the wooden ribs curving downward, around either side of him. For a moment the notion that he'd been swallowed by a large fish amused him with its absurdity, and then his head cleared and he remembered. His head was pillowed by his freshly packed duffel bag, and his back by the sand and grass surface where beach gave way to meadow. He'd arrived back at the church with enough time to gather his things and head out, but he'd had to settle for the first shelter he'd found, which turned out to be an overturned rowboat. He'd hauled the thing inland far enough to be sure the tide wouldn't reach him and scrambled underneath for the night.
It was a good enough shelter. No sun made it through. And as he lifted one side now, he saw that the sun was long gone. He flung the boat over, sat up, ran his hands through his hair and instantly thought of the one thing he'd decided not to think of, the same thing he'd gone to sleep thinking of. Amber Lily Bryant.
By now, he thought, she probably had a pretty good idea of what he'd been up to, that he'd been the one to send the posts to the 'net, tipping off any who cared to know that she was in Salem.
Hell, he probably shouldn't have done that. And no doubt she was mad as hell about it. But it wasn't as if he intended to let the guy within a mile of her. She wasn't at risk. He wouldn't let her be at risk. He would nab Stiles long before Amber was in any danger.
And besides, this would be over soon. Stiles was on his way. Edge felt it right to his bones. He was making his way north, on U.S. 1., drawing closer with every tick of the clock. Odd he would take the scenic route, rather than the faster one, but Edge assumed the butcher had his reasons. The knowledge had come to him during his rest, clearly, sharply. He didn't question it. He'd been prepared to lurk around Salem, avoiding Alby and her expressive, soulful eyes for as long as necessary. It was just as well it would be over with soon.
He slung the duffel over his shoulder and began hiking into town. He didn't exert his preternatural speed. He didn't need to, he had time, and in fact, he was enjoying the walk, the night, the sea air.
In an hour, he was south of Salem, walking along the shoulder of the road, waiting for Stiles to show. It was going to be great, killing the bastard at last. He intended to make sure the son of a bitch stayed dead this time, even if it meant cutting him to bits and burning the pieces. He would relish every second of it.
Headlights came, grew brighter, passed by. He sent his awareness into each vehicle, until, eventually, he felt the approach of the one he'd been waiting for.
Stiles. He was sitting in the back seat, passenger side. Edge focused on him, homing in on his mind. He could see the backs of the heads of two men in the front seat. He could hear the strains of a baritone, booming out in Italian, and realized it came from a set of headphones. He felt the rub of a waistband slightly too snug, and the protests of muscles too long in the same position.
He waited, letting the headlights come closer, and then he stepped out into the center of the road.
The car didn't slow. Edge didn't move. He could play chicken with the best of them.
The driver stepped down harder on the accelerator, and Stiles yanked the headphones off and leaned forward. Shit. They were going to hit him. Edge braced himself for the impact, set his feet and waited. He wouldn't give easily, and that car was going to end up smoking in the ditch, at the very least.
It came faster, closing the distance between them.
He set his jaw.
And Alby stepped in front of him.
Even as his shocked mind registered her presence and his hands reached up to push her out of the path of danger, she set her feet and flung up her hands as if shooing a fly. Her hair blew behind her, tickling his face, but he saw the car all the same. Its tires skidded sideways, leaving black streaks of rubber on the pavement, and then it flipped up onto its side. Metal scraped the blacktop, and showers of sparks arched. Edge flung his arms up in front of his face automatically. But Alby still stood where she was, not moving, just watching until the car came to a stop in the dust on the side of the road.
She turned slowly.
Edge caught his breath. Her eyes glowed, blue-black, as if backlit from within.
But even as he searched them, the light faded. He found the ability to speak, said, "Jesus, Alby, what the hell are you doing here?"
"Came to tell you to go to hell," she said. "The timing was just good luck."
Turning, she started forward, toward the car.
Edge gripped her arm, tugged her around to face him. "How did you find me?"
She only smiled slowly and pulled free again.
Again he grabbed her, spun her around. "Dammit, Alby, get out of here. He'll hurt you if he can."
"Oh, and protecting me is right on top of your list of priorities, right, Edge? Just like making love to me was?"
"Alby-"
She flung her hand at him, and he thought she meant to backhand him across the face. But it was considerably more than that. While she never touched him, her energy did. He felt the impact like a blast of furnace-hot wind that lifted him off his feet and sent him flying backward a good ten yards.
When he landed, the breath was driven out of him. He lifted his head, shook it clear and focused on the woman.
God, she was raging. He felt it blasting from her in waves. She faced the car, jerked her head upward, then down, an exaggerated nod. The car followed the motion, rocking back down, so all four tires were on the pavement again. She swung her head to the left, and the front doors popped open. She pointed at the car, flicked her wrist upward, and the driver was yanked out as if by an invisible giant. He rolled and tumbled thirty feet along the road. She repeated the gesture and the other man was flung from the passenger side.
She got behind the wheel, slammed the door.
Edge dragged himself to his feet. He moved into the road, aware that Stiles was in that car with Amber, probably in the back seat. Jesus, what if he hurt her? What if he... ?
She gunned the engine, and the tires spun, spitting dirt and rocks up behind them as the car fishtailed its way back onto the road.
Edge moved faster, putting himself right in her path.
And he heard her shout at him mentally, Move it!
You'll have to go through me.
Have it your way.
She gunned it, and she hit him. The pain exploded from his hipbone, where the bumper drove into him, to his head, when it connected with the pavement. He felt his skull split and was blinded by pain.
Jesus! He couldn't believe she'd actually hit him. Oh, God, it hurt!
He struggled to get upright, and that was when he felt the moisture, the blood oozing from the gaping wound. Dammit. It flowed too fast, and though he pressed his hand to the wound to stanch the flow, he knew it wasn't going to do him much good. He sat up, struggled to his feet, pressing his hand to his head and watching through the flowing blood as Amber drove by. And then his knees gave out, and he sank to the ground.
"Dammit to hell," she muttered, easing the car along the road, keeping her focus divided between the unconscious man in the back seat and Edge. "Don't do this to me again," she asked him. "It's an act, it's just an act. Damn you, Edge."
But she saw the blood oozing from between his ringers where they splayed against his head, and she felt the pain shooting like an electric current through his limbs. And beyond him, she saw Stiles's two henchmen stirring.
As Edge's eyes rolled back and he sank to the ground, she stopped the car. She couldn't leave him there. Not like that.
Hell. Twisting in her seat, she leaned over to examine Stiles. He was leaning sideways, seat belt on, body limp, not a mark on him.
Faking?
Beside him, a black bag, like a doctor might carry, rested on the seat. She smiled slowly, yanked it into the front with her and opened it up. It was jam packed with fun little toys. Vials of drugs, tranquilizer guns, handcuffs with keys taped to the chain, leg irons and even a snub-nosed .38 and a miniature first-aid kit. She took out the handcuffs, put one of them on his wrist and jerked him forward until she could snap the other around the steering wheel. Then she put the keys in her pocket and got out, taking the bag with her.
"Edge?"
She moved closer to him, certain he was faking her out yet again. Damn him, using her to lure Stiles here and then trying to beat her to the bastard.
She knelt down on the pavement, where he'd collapsed, and she touched him.
He moaned a little.
"Edge?" She rolled him onto his back and saw the blood pumping from the cut in his head. "Dammit, why the hell didn't you move?"
His eyes didn't open. But his lips moved. In a bare whisper he said, "Didn't think you'd really hit me."
"You deserved worse."
"Mmm. True enough."
She dug the first-aid kit out of the black bag and rummaged inside. It was almost useless, but she did locate a roll of gauze and adhesive tape. She tore off strips of the tape, then pinched the gaping cut together and applied them. He winced, and she knew that pain in him was magnified. Vampires felt it like no one else. And she ached for him, even though she hated him at that moment. She wouldn't have stopped at all, if not for the fact that he would have bled out before dawn.
When she finished her work, the bleeding seemed to stop. She added some gauze over the wound, holding it there with more tape.
"You'll be all right now," she said. "I have to go."
"No." He gripped her arm, even as she rose from his side. "Jesus, Alby, you can't leave me here. I'm weak as a kitten."
"You'll last until daybreak. Just find some shelter and then you'll heal."
"I won't last an hour. Look around you, woman."
She did. The two henchmen were up now, moving cautiously nearer, one from either direction.
"Go away!" she ordered, and with a snap of her wrists, they were both flung backward.
Edge lay there, not moving. She leaned over him, gripping his shoulders. "Come on, get up, I'll put you somewhere safe."
"I'll die if you leave me," he told her.
"You're the best liar I've ever met."
"I never lied to you. I'm not now."
"And I'm supposed to believe that?"
He closed his eyes, hesitated, opened them again, and when he did, he opened his mind to her, let her see and hear and feel inside him. I need you, Alby. Don't leave me to die. Take me with you, wherever the hell you're going.
She stared down at him. As she did, a single strand of blood made its way from beneath the bandage on his head to trickle slowly down his cheek. "Damn you for this." She tugged him up into a sitting position, then pulled his arm over her shoulders and got upright, taking him with her.
"Thanks," he muttered, grunting the word as she hauled him to the car. She opened the front passenger door without touching it and slung him into the seat. Then she went around to the other side to open her own door. She unlocked the handcuff from the steering wheel, then leaning into the back seat, knocked Stiles onto the seat facedown, pulled his hands behind his back and snapped the cuff around the free wrist to keep them there.
Finally she twisted face front in her seat, pocketed the handcuff key and slammed the vehicle into gear again.
Edge lifted his head, opened his eyes, tried to take stock as his awareness slowly returned. His head hurt. That was the first thing that made its way to his consciousness: pain. A sense of exhaustion, of being drained of energy, followed on its heels, and he wondered why, but only briefly. Memory returned slowly. The clash with Stiles. Amber Lily's anger. He frowned, then, because the last thing he remembered was her helping him into the car. But he wasn't in a car now. He was in a pile of musty smelling hay, inside what must be a barn. She must have dumped him somewhere she assumed would be safe come sunrise and gone on her way.
Unfortunately he wasn't sure he was going to survive until sunrise, as bad as he felt.
"Awake, finally?"
He jerked his head toward the sound of her voice. She walked toward him, sank into the hay beside him.
"Finally?" Even speaking was an effort. "How long have I been out?"
"Long enough for all the coolant to run out of Stiles's radiator and the car to overheat, thanks to you."
"You're the one who ran me down."
"You should have moved."
"I didn't think you'd do it."
"You don't know me very well, then, do you."
"Not as well as I thought." He sat up, but waves of dizziness made it difficult. When he started to sway sideways, she gripped his shoulder, steadying him.
"How bad is it?"
"Bad enough so I didn't realize you were nearby." He pressed a hand to his aching head, felt the bandages she'd put there. "Given my usual reaction to your presence, it must be pretty bad."
"Oh, please. We're beyond that now, Edge. You can drop the act."
He lifted his head, searching her face.
She said, "We both know you were only using me to get your hands on Stiles."
He held her gaze until she turned her head away. Then he touched her face, turning it back again. "I didn't have to make love to you to get my hands on Stiles, Alby."
She rolled her eyes, pulled free of his touch.
Edge sighed. "Where is he, anyway?"
"Stiles?" She looked across the barn, nodded toward a corner where the man lay, unconscious, his hands cuffed around a beam. "I found some of Ms favorite tranquilizer in his little black bag."
"You should just kill him and have done with it."
She swung her huge, dark eyes back to his. "I need him alive."
He held those eyes for a long moment, before looking away.
"Why do you hate him so much?"
He shook his head, saying nothing.
"I'm not going to let you kill him, Edge. I can't."
"You drag him around the countryside with you much longer, Alby, he's going to get loose. He's going make a try for you. You know he will."
"Not this time."
Angry, he surged to his feet, but the weakness slammed into him like a wrecking ball, and he found himself flat on his back in the hay again a second later.
It shocked him when Alby's hair tickled his face. She was kneeling beside him, leaning over him, and she looked worried, in spite of her apparent determination to hate his guts. He closed his eyes.
"The damage to your hard head will heal when the sun comes up, but you're not going to make it that long, are you, Edge?"
"I'm fine."
She shook her head. "You need to feed."
"Good idea.'' God, even his voice sounded weak now. "Drag Stiles over here and let me have at him."
"I don't trust you not to kill him."
"Yeah, well, it's him or me."
"Not necessarily."
He shot his eyes to hers.
She shrugged. "There's me."
"No."
"Come on, Edge. You're fading faster than snow in a heat wave. You need blood. I've got it, and I'm offering to share. It would be foolish not to."
He felt the hunger stirring inside him at the very thought of it. Of tasting her. And while his body was weak, he was turned on as hell. "You've... never let a vampire drink from you before, have you, Alby?"
"No. I've heard it's... pleasant."
"Pleasant."
"Mmm." She lifted her arm, pushing her sleeve back, looking intently at the veins in her wrist.
"When I made you come, back there on the beach, and you were shaking all over and screaming my name, would you have, called that pleasant?''
"Edge, that's got nothing to do-"
"My drinking from you would be ten times as intense."
She blinked, clearly not believing him. "I think you're exaggerating."
He shrugged. "No one's ever tasted you. I've tasted plenty of humans, and even a vamp or two in my time. I know what it's like."
She met his eyes. "I'm not a human or a vamp. It could be entirely different with me."
And would be, he had no doubt of that. That was what worried him. God knew sex with her had been the most mind-blowing experience of his life. What would drinking from her tender veins be like?
He wanted it. He burned with wanting it. He wanted to be the first to devour her, just the way he'd been the first to take her body.
She was watching his eyes, which were no doubt beginning to glow with hunger by now. Trembling, she offered her forearm, extending it until her wrist hovered near his lips. "Go on," she whispered. "I can handle it if you can."
Still lying on his back in the hay, he lifted his hands, closed them on her forearm, and drew it to his lips. He let his lips and tongue taste the salty skin there but kept his eyes on hers. Saw them light just a little. She might pretend to hate him, he realized. But she wanted him. In every way.
He parted his lips, sucking at the skin, and then, tightening his grip, he bit down. His incisors sank into her flesh, popped through the tougher walls of her veins. He didn't bite deeply. Just enough to draw a thin trickle of her lifeblood into him.
But when it touched his tongue, he was completely unprepared for the force that hit him. A jolt so strong it made his entire body jerk in reaction. The power of it. God! Her eyes widened, and her mouth opened. Her head fell backward, and she shuddered.
He sucked a little harder, and her force arced through his body. Strength returned. Amber moaned, dropping backward into the hay, even as Edge sat up, dragging his mouth from her wrist so he could roll over onto her. Everything in him screamed for more, more than she'd offered. More than she'd given. He wanted all of her.
His hands found her blouse and slid underneath to find her breasts and close around them. She was shivering, her body begging him to take her. Her nipples were hard and hot against his cold touch. He pushed the blouse out of the way and bent to those peaks, sucking one of them and then biting it until she cried out in mingled pain and pleasure. He tasted her blood on his tongue and sucked harder.
She arched her back to tell him her cries were not protests. And he was hard, the furious hunger raging through him more powerfully than it ever had.
He wrestled her jeans off her, never releasing her nipple, and he freed himself from his own the same way. And then he was on her, pinning her to the hay and driving himself into her as deep and hard as he could.
She screamed and clasped his shoulders, then tore at the T-shirt he wore, peeling it off him. Her legs wrapped around his waist, locking at the ankles, and she tipped her hips up to receive him. He slid his hands to her buttocks, squeezing them hard, to hold her to him as he rose up, onto his knees, carrying her with him. As he knelt there, holding her, lifting and lowering her body over him again and again, he watched her head fall back, her hair slide sideways, baring her neck to him.
He pressed his mouth to her throat, kissing, preparing, and she whimpered what he took to be encouragement. So he sank his fangs into her jugular.
The blood flowed into him, and with it, everything she was feeling-and then everything she was. God, the power of this woman! It raged inside him, so shocking he surged to his feet, her legs still twisted around his waist. He staggered backward, slamming into a wall and feeling it crack behind him. Something crashed to the floor, a beam and several bales of hay from somewhere above avalanching from the ceiling, narrowly missing them, and he didn't care. He knew her, everything about her, everything she'd felt in captivity. Her furious love for her parents and her friends. Her grief for Willem Stone and fierce determination to save him. And her passion right now, for him, for Edge, overwhelming everything else. What she felt for him was so intense it humbled him, shook him to his core, and with it he felt her denial, her resistance, her fear.
And then there was something else, something... separate. Beyond it all, he became slowly aware of something more inside her. Within her, and yet separate. It was something new. Small. Only barely there. Deep, deep inside her.
Life.
His orgasm broke through him at the same time as the shock of his discovery, and he jerked his mouth away from her throat to break contact with the impossible truth.
She was coming, clinging to him, shivering and moving and milking him right to his core. And he held her while it ravaged her with its power and his own ecstasy pumped into her. He held her until the pleasure ebbed. And then he carried her back to the hay, laid her down there, very gently, pushed the hair away from her face and saw tears on her cheeks.
She'd lied to him. And he supposed he would be angry about that... later. But right now, he was too overwhelmed by his suddenly much clearer view of who and what she was. He was not ready for her. Whatever he'd been thinking about her, planning for her, he'd been wrong, because she was way beyond what he'd expected. Everything about her was... more.
She was physically stunning, her beauty on the level one would attribute to an angel or a goddess. A demon or a witch. Unnatural beauty. Her power-it was intense, not greater than his own, but different. The telekinesis, the precognition-yes, she had that, too; he'd felt it when he'd tasted her. The jolt of her blood hit his brain the way he imagined crack cocaine hit an addict. And he wondered if he would be able to live without it. Her passion-it was above and beyond anything he'd ever known any female to feel, and his own had matched it.
Her emotions-God, they were intense. What she felt for him was shattering, and even the mere glimpse of it he'd been allowed was enough to put him on the edge of panic.
Beyond that, he felt he'd committed a sacrilege, defiled something sacred. He hadn't even begun to understand what she was, just how special she was, until now. His mistake. Whoever the other man was, he was probably far more worthy. So he supposed it was just as well. Or he told himself it was.
He touched the tears on her cheeks, absorbing them into his fingertips. "I shouldn't have... "
"Yes, you should."
He closed his eyes against the soulful look in hers. "Are you all right? Did I take too much?"
She nodded, but seemed sleepy, her eyelids heavy.
"God, what have I been doing with you?" he whispered.
"You didn't take that much, Edge. I'm fine."
"That's not what I meant."
She frowned at him, then nodded. "Oh." The word was icy, and suddenly she didn't seem as sleepy anymore. "Stop looking so worried, Edge, I'm not an idiot. I know it didn't mean anything. We both got carried away, that's all." She rolled onto her side, putting her back to him.
Probably, he thought, so that he wouldn't see the lie in her eyes. "Of course it didn't mean anything. How could it?" Given what he knew now.
His body was surging with more energy than he'd ever had. More power. It made itself known to him more with each passing second. Her blood was... different. Supercharged and potent. It sang in his veins, making his skin tingle with heightened awareness. His mind raced with sensations; his body itched with pent-up energy.
Alby dragged herself to her feet. She searched for her clothes, putting them on slowly, clumsily. He moved closer, wanting to help her in spite of himself, but she pulled away from his touch. She might be tired and dull right now-thanks to him-but her anger was as sharp as ever.
No doubt she, too, was finally becoming aware of the distance between them. Probably thinking about the other one, whoever he was. He was as far beneath her as he could be. He wasn't worthy of an angel, and, frankly, he didn't want to be.
"I'm going to have to find another vehicle," she told him. "Stiles's car is stranded a few miles from here where I left it when it overheated. And I won't get far on foot."
So she didn't even want to talk about what had just happened between them? Or the secret she was keeping?
It occurred to him then that maybe she didn't even know.
Hell, that was it. She didn't know.
"Where is it we're going?" he asked her.
"I have to take Stiles to Eric and Tarn's place. Eric has a lab there."
"And when you get him there?"
"I make him talk, make him tell me about his formula for stealing immortality, and then we create our own batch."
"Using his blood?"
She buttoned her blouse without looking at him. "I wouldn't let him pollute Willem with his evil. No. We'll be using mine."
He nodded, understanding her reasons for that, but unsure it was a very good idea. He'd seen her worst nightmares-and they all involved Stiles and the time she'd spent as his prisoner. All the more reason to kill the bastard. The sooner the better. And why he should still feel that way, knowing what he did, was beyond him. He really was pathetic.
"You don't intend to let me go with you, do you, Alby?"
She glanced at him, smiled sweetly, though he could see the pain behind the smile. It swam in her blue-black eyes. "As soon as you curl up for a good day's sleep, Edge, Stiles and I are out of here."
"And you think I won't follow you?''
"You don't know where they live."
"Windy Ridge," he said. "Or something like that," he replied.
She made a face. "What state?"
He lowered his eyes.
"I really don't think my dear friends in Salem are likely to tell you. Especially not once I get to someplace where my cell phone can pull in a signal and call them."
"You have it all figured out, don't you?"
"Mmm-hmm."
"Only one problem, love. Right now, I'm stronger than I've ever been in my life. And you're a little on the weak side." And he was getting angrier by the minute, as well, he thought. Bad enough she'd lied to him; now she was acting as if he were the enemy, all in an effort to protect a pig like Stiles.
She shrugged. "So?"
He smiled his most evil smile, spun on his heel and strode across the barn to where Stiles lay limp. He gripped the man by his throat, shook him so that his head flopped on his shoulders like a rag doll's. "Wake up, you bastard. I've been waiting a long time for this."
Amber lunged toward him, grabbed his shoulder to jerk him away, but she didn't have the strength to make it work. He shook her off, but carefully. She staggered a few steps backward but didn't hit the floor.
"Let it be, Alby. Better I kill him now than let you risk your life on some insane, hopeless trek alone with him. Especially now."
"What I risk or don't risk is my own business, damn you!"
He ignored her, even when she pounded on his back, and gave the man another shake. "Wake up, Stiles."
Stiles opened his eyes, looking confused. But when his gaze fell on Edge, his eyes widened. "You!"
Suddenly Alby stopped beating on him, and Edge knew she was wondering just how he knew this man.
"Been a long time, hasn't it, Stiles?" Edge growled.
Stiles glared at him. "Came to try again? You can't kill me, and you know it."
"Oh, I'll make it work this time. I just wanted you awake enough to know who was going to take you out."
Stiles tugged uselessly on the handcuffs, but they didn't give.
"Edge, don't. Please, don't do this," Amber whispered.
Edge tightened his hand on the man's throat, even as Amber screamed at him to stop. She pummeled him, the blows delivered with her mind, not her hands. None of them were powerful enough to shake him.
He squeezed, and, oddly, the satisfaction of crushing the life out of Stiles wasn't as good as imagining that the throat he was wringing belonged to the man Amber Lily had been with. Had slept with. Maybe even loved. He felt the satisfying snap and crush of the bones underneath his hand and watched the light fade out of Stiles's eyes. He held a little longer, crushing, making sure there was no sign of life left, and then he let go, let the limp body fall to the hay strewn floor.
"You son of a bitch."
He turned to look at her, saw the sheer hatred in her eyes.
"Best burrow under that haystack, Edge," she said, and her voice was ice cold. "Sun's coming up."
He looked beyond her and saw the first hints of dawn peering through the cracks in the barn boards. He swallowed hard. "Don't go on without me," he said. "We need to talk. And Stiles-"
"There's nothing you can say that I really want to hear."
"Alby, there are things you don't know." He sent an anxious glance toward Stiles as he spoke. Then pain sizzled in his skin, and he looked down to see smoke coiling from his shoulder, where a beam of palest sunlight touched him.
Alby shoved him out of the way, both hands flat to his chest. "Get into shelter, dammit."
He stood there for a moment, all too aware of the sun rising outside. It wasn't having its usual impact on him. He felt sleep calling to him, but not overwhelming him as it normally would have. His body didn't grow weak nor his mind lethargic. He was as strong and sharp as he would have been at midnight. And he credited her blood with that.
The light moved, narrow beams of it, seeming to creep toward him as the sun rose higher, slanting between the boards at an ever sharpening angle. "This isn't finished. Not until you hear me out. You have a lot of explaining to do, woman."
"I have explaining to do? You're the one who might have just signed Will's death sentence." She shoved him again. "Go."
"You'd care, then? If I were to stand here and burn?''
"I'd toast marshmallows and sing campfire songs."
"You're a liar."
Again he felt pain. Again light seared his flesh, his side, this time, just over the rib cage. And again Alby slammed him with her hands, shoving him out of the way. "Edge, will you just go?"
He shook his head. "Only if you'll wait for me. Go back to the house in Salem, where you're safe, and wait for me there."
"I... "
More light spilled in; his hair was starting to smolder. "One conversation, Alby. That's all. In Salem. After that I'll leave you alone forever." He felt increased heat, and suddenly she was smacking his head with her palms. Putting out tiny tongues of flame, no doubt.
"All right. All right, I'll do it."
"You promise?"
She shoved him full force, and he knew it cost her, knew she was still weak and tired because she had shared her blood with him. But she mustered her strength, and she shoved him hard, combining her physical and mental power. He shot backward, hitting a pile of hay. Then she lifted her hands, drew them sharply downward, her face contorted as if she was straining every muscle to do it. The next thing he knew, the mountain of hay was tumbling down on him. The weight pushed him to the ground. The battering continued, until he lay flat, choking on hay seed and dust, drowning in its musty scent, but utterly enveloped in darkness.
He sought her out with his mind, even as, at long last, the day sleep began to seep into him, stealing his consciousness.
Alby?
He felt her exasperation.
Promise me you'll do as I ask. Promise me.
If it will shut you up, I promise.
He sighed, finally letting his body relax and his mind surrender to the sleep.
Amber turned around slowly, because something had moved behind her.
Stiles's body lay limply, in a half-sitting position, suspended by his hands anchored to one another high above him, by the cuffs that were looped over a low slanting beam. His head hung very low, nearly upside down, with his neck twisted at an impossible angle.
But as she stood there, looking at him, he moved.
His head turned, and she could hear the sickening crunch of bones. His eyes were wide-open, unfocused, but seemingly fixed on her. That scarred half of his face, with its bright pink skin, never moved, but the other half twisted in a grimace as, slowly, he lifted his head, getting it perpendicular with his neck again. Bones popped and cracked like a favorite cereal she remembered from her childhood. When his head was upright, he turned it slowly, left, then right, making a horrible face as he did so, probably due to the pain. Then he shrugged his shoulders, tipped his head sideways once or twice, and, finally, got to his feet. He gave an experimental tug on the hand-cuffs that held his arms-at chest level now-around the nearby beam, and fixed his steady, searing eyes on her.
Amber swallowed her fear, took an involuntary step backward. She hadn't been certain he would revive-not until she'd seen it with her own eyes. Even now, she could scarcely believe it. She shivered.
Stiles only smiled.