that anger glowed in his soul, and it would take only a bit of stirring to bring them back to blazing rage again.
Heâd been attacked, fed upon without his consent, made to feel helpless and nearly killed. Oh, how heâd like to run into that raggedy vampiress again. He was strong now, stronger than she would ever be, he was certain, since heâd been infused with the blood of the truly ancient. Rhiannon in particular. Yes, heâd like to see that tangled and tattered woman try to attack him again. Heâd toss her away like a rag doll. Snap her like a matchstick. She would learn.
Of course, that fury would probably never be vented. She was likely long dead by now. Vampires, Jameson knew all too well, didnât tend to last long in captivity. Particularly when their captors saw them as useless once the experiments were done. Easier to simply let them die in an agony of slow starvation, or just tranquilize them with that drug theyâd developed, and stake them out in the burning rays of the sun. Disposable experiments.
Somehow, it gave Jameson no pleasure at all to think of that bone-thin and chalk-white vampiress dying in such a way. No pleasure at all.
Above all the lessons heâd been taught by his friends was that he mustnât take blood from the living. The bloodlust could become overwhelming, and a vampire could easily lose himself in the act of assuaging his passionate thirst. Well, heâd witnessed that firsthand, hadnât he? And since he had no desire to kill anyoneâanyone in San Diego, at leastâhe took his blood as the others did. From the stores they kept, robbed from blood banks and hospitals.
âJamey, I need to talk to you.â
He turned, saw Tamara entering his room in one of the many houses they all kept around the country, this one in San Diego. He really wasnât certain why they were still here. His affairs were in order. He had plenty of money and a good cover to keep him invisible from DPIâs prying eyes. His lessons were pretty much complete as well. They could go wherever they wanted. He supposed they hadnât moved on yet because they simply hadnât felt the urge to do so.
Tamara still hadnât stopped calling him Jamey, and heâd all but given up hope that she ever would.
He frowned as he met her eyes, and a little trill of alarm rushed through him, because she lookedâ¦very upset. âWhat is it, Tam?â She approached him, gnawing her lower lip, but then stopped halfway, and gripped the back of an armchair as if for support. And this alarmed him even more. âMy God, whatâs wrong?â
âJameyâLord, but I donât know how to tell you thisâ¦.â
He went to her, gripping her shoulders and easing her trembling body into the chair sheâd been clinging to. âHas something happened to Eric? Or Roland? Is Rhiannon allââ
âEveryone is fine, Jamey. But youâ¦you wonât be.â She tipped her head up, her eyes probing his. âIf you fly out of here in a blind rage, Jamey, youâll only end up getting yourself killed, and that wonât help the situation. This isâ¦itâs horrible. If itâs even true. If it is, we have to take action. But with thought, and planning, and extreme caution. I canât stress that enough.â
He narrowed his eyes and stared at her. âI donât have a clue what youâre talking about, Tam.â
She licked her lips, closed her eyes for a long moment, then opened them again. âWhen DPI held youâ¦â
As her words trailed off, Jameson snapped to attention. âWhen DPI held me?â he prompted. âGo on, Tam, get to the point.â
Tamara cleared her throat, lifted her delicate chin, looked him in the eye. âYou said they tookâ¦samples.â
He averted his eyes. But Tamaraâs small hand came to his shoulder, and her steady gaze drew his back like a magnet. âI need to