been dark. His snakeskin boots were scuffed, the heels worn. Something about him was familiar, but she couldn’t place his face.
Eager anticipation thrummed from the darkness surrounding the stage.
Once again she thought this was a far-out dream, a weird nightmare or hallucination that was now as sexy as it was frightening.
Oh, please…don’t let it be real….
He reached the couch and stopped, the scrape of his boots no longer echoing through her brain, only the hiss of expectation audible over her own erratic heartbeat.
With the back of the lounge separating their bodies, he slid one big, calloused hand onto her bare neck, creating a thrill that warmed her blood and melted a bit of the fear that gripped her. His fingertips pressed oh-so gently against her collarbones and her pulse jumped.
A part of her, a very small part of her, found him thrilling.
A hush swept through the unseen crowd.
“This,” he said, his voice commanding but low, as if addressing the shrouded viewers, “is your sister.”
The audience released an “ahhh” of anticipation.
“Sister Rylee.”
That was her name, yes, but…what was he talking about? She wanted to deny him, to shake her head, to tell him that what was happening was wrong, that her nipples were only stiff from the cold, not from any sense of desire, that the throb inside the deepest part of her was not physical lust.
But he knew better.
He could sense her desire. Smell her fear. And, she knew, he loved her for her raging emotions.
Don’t do this, she silently pleaded, but she knew he read the warring signals in the dilation of her pupils, the shortness of her breath, the moan that was more wanting than fear.
His strong fingers pushed a little more forcefully, harder, hot pads against her skin.
“Sister Rylee joins us tonight willingly,” he said with conviction. “She is ready to make the final, ultimate sacrifice.”
What sacrifice? That didn’t sound good. Once again Rylee tried to protest, to draw away, but she was paralyzed. The only part of her body not completely disengaged was her brain, and even that seemed bent on betraying her.
Trust him, a part of it whispered. You know he loves you…you can sense it…. And how long have you waited to be loved?
No! That was crazy. The drug talking.
But she wanted to succumb to the feel of his fingers, slipping a little, edging lower, a hot trail along her breasts, ever-closer to her aching nipples.
Deep inside, she tingled. Ached.
But this was wrong. Wasn’t it…?
He leaned closer, his nose against her hair, his lips touching the shell of her ear as he whispered so quietly only she could hear, “I love you.” She melted inside. Wanted him. A warm throb rose through her. His fingers rubbed the skin beneath her collarbones a little harder, pressing into her flesh. For an instant she forgot that she was on stage. She was alone with him and he was touching her…loving her…. He wanted her as no man had ever really wanted her…. And…
He pushed hard.
A strong finger dug into her flesh, jabbing against her rib.
A jolt of pain shot through her.
Her eyes widened.
Fear and adrenaline spurted through her bloodstream. Her pulse jumped madly, crazily.
What had she been thinking? That he could seduce her?
No!
Love? Oh, for the love of Jesus, he didn’t love her! Rylee, don’t be fooled. Don’t fall into his stupid trap.
The damned hallucinogen had convinced her that he cared for her but he, whoever the hell he was, intended only to use her for his sick show.
She glared at him and he recognized her anger.
The bastard smiled, teeth flashing white.
She knew then that he reveled in her impotent fury. He felt her heart pumping, the blood flowing hot and frantic through her veins.
“Hers is the untainted blood of a virgin,” he said to the unseen crowd.
No!
You’ve got the wrong girl! I’m not a—
She threw all her concentration into speaking, but her tongue refused to work, no air pushing through her vocal cords. She tried fighting, but her limbs were powerless.
“Don’t be afraid,” he whispered.
In horror she watched as he bent downward, ever closer, his breath hot, his lips pulling back to show his bared teeth.
Two bright fangs gleamed, just as she’d fantasized!
Please God. Please help me wake up. Please, please…!
In the next heartbeat she felt a cold sting, like the piercing of a needle, as his fangs punctured her skin and slid easily into her veins.
Her blood began to flow….
CHAPTER 1
So far, so good, Kristi Bentz thought as she tossed her favorite pillow into the backseat of her ten-year-old Honda, a car that was new to her but had nearly eighty thousand miles on the odometer. With a thump, the pillow landed atop her backpack, books, lamp, iPod, and other essentials she was taking with her to Baton Rouge. Her father was watching her move out of the house they all shared, a small cabin that really belonged to her stepmother. All the while he was glaring at her, Rick Bentz’s face was a mask of frustration.
So what else was new?
At least, thank God, her father was still among the living.
She hazarded a quick glimpse in his direction.
His color was good, even robust, his cheeks red from the wind soughing through the cypress and pine trees, a few drops of rain slickening his dark hair. Sure, there were a few strands of gray, and he’d probably put on five or ten pounds in the last year, but at least he appeared healthy and hale, his shoulders straight, his eyes clear.
Thank God.
Because sometimes, it just wasn’t so. At least not to Kristi. Ever since waking up from a coma over a year and a half earlier, she’d experienced visions of him, horrifying images that, when she looked at him, showed he was a ghost of himself, his color gray, his eyes two dark, impenetrable holes, his touch cold and clammy. And she’d had many nightmares of a dark night, the sizzle of lightning ripping through a black sky, an echoing split of a tree as it was struck, then her father lying dead in a pool of his own blood.
Unfortunately,
