"I can't believe you didn't tell your mom what was going on." Alicia used her most annoying tone, but only after Amber had finished speaking to her mother and hung up the phone. "And you didn't even ask if I wanted to talk to mine!"

Amber did feel a little guilty about that. "She wasn't there. Mom and Dad gave her a spa weekend to enjoy while we were gone. That's why she didn't answer the phone earlier today."

"Maybe there's a number where we can reach her. How do you know, when you didn't even ask?"

"Look, Alicia, if you talk to her you'll spill the whole thing. You know you will. And then the whole bunch of them will come charging to the rescue like the vampire cavalry, with your mom and mine both scared out of their wits for no good reason."

"No good reason? Hello? We're in trouble here, Amber. Or haven't you noticed that?" Alicia paced the living room, pushing a hand through her platinum curls.

Amber stayed where she was, sitting comfortably in a leather chair that hugged her in luxury. "We're not in trouble. We're perfectly safe here. Rhiannon and Roland are on their way, and they'll see us safely home."

"Right. And have you noticed what time it is?"

Amber frowned, glancing first toward the windows, which were still dark. But then again, they were lined in tightly drawn miniblinds and black velvet drapes. So she looked at the antique grandfather clock- which must have been Roland's contribution to the decor. It was almost midnight. She'd been putting off her call home, fully expecting Roland and Rhiannon to arrive at any time, unaware they were so far away. She should have called home far sooner.

"There's no way Roland and Rhiannon will get here before sunrise. So we're on our own for another entire day."

Amber sighed. "Alicia, don't worry. We're safe. No one knows where we are-except for Rhiannon, and she's certainly not telling. We'll just hang here for the day."

Alicia sighed, pacing to the sofa and dropping herself onto it. "I still think we should have told your parents the truth. Just in case."

"In case of what? Real danger?"

Meeting her eyes, Alicia nodded.

"Don't you get it, Alicia? If there's real danger here, that's even more reason to keep your mom and my mom safe at home, as far from this mess as they can get." She licked her lips, hugging a pillow to her waist. "I don't want anything to happen to my mother, Alicia. She's been through enough because of me."

Alicia sighed, but at least she didn't argue. They both knew she didn't want anything to happen to her mother, either. Amber got up and went to sit beside her on the sofa. She slid an arm around her friend, pulled Alicia's head down onto her shoulder. "Before another night passes, we'll both be safe at home in our own beds. I promise, Alicia. Come on, let's get some sleep. We both need it."

"All right."

The two got up, still arm in arm, and walked into the bedroom. Amber had checked the locks a dozen times, but she found herself glancing at them again as they passed by the entry door.

They hung Rhiannon's dresses in the enormous walk-in closet, put her shoes back into their spots on the wall-size shoe rack, put on T-shirts for sleeping and curled up in the king-size bed.

They were sound asleep when, hours later, something smashed through the front door.

Why? Sarafina asked herself the same question over and over after leaving her captive alone in his room. Why had she let herself be washed away by the tide of passion he set loose in her? When she left the room, she had been trembling, weeping, her lips tender and tingling from the delicious assault of his. How long had it been since she had allowed a man to kiss her?

She'd kissed Dante. But never in passion. No, it had been a century. It had been Bartrone. And even with him, it had only been a companionable sort of love. Not the explosive fury she felt with Willem.

But she'd done more than kiss Willem. She'd impaled herself on him. She had reached climax, and it had been shattering. When she'd climbed off him, she honestly hadn't been certain her legs would support her. My God, she knew better. Passion, in her kind, mingled with the bloodlust, each magnifying the other. She could have killed him.

She could have killed him.

And now, as she lay in the safe haven of her crypt-like bedroom, deep beneath the house, reviewing the events of this night as she waited for the day-sleep to claim her, there were still tears dampening her face.

Tears! How many times had she wept since he'd come charging into her life? Too many. God, she'd vowed long ago never to allow another living being to have this kind of effect on her. And yet she had. Dammit to hell, she had.

She'd made a dire mistake in bringing him here. He held a power over her, one she did not understand. One she feared.

She closed her eyes, vowing that, come sundown, she would have to set him free. He wasn't like the other slaves. He wasn't like any man she had ever known. Willem Stone could not be broken. Will of Stone, she thought, as her eyelids grew heavy and the lethargy stole over her body. She would locate the girl and her mortal friend first. She would take whatever steps were necessary to ensure their safety, even if it meant returning them to their home personally. And then she would have to turn him loose.

Because the only alternative was to kill him. And she knew she was incapable of doing that. No matter what kind of evil he had done, or planned to do, she couldn't kill him. She couldn't.

Will knew exactly what he had to do.

After Sarafina left him, his chains were once again loosened. Misty appeared, bringing him a fresh change of clothes that were not his own and a morning meal. He greeted the timid woman with a weak smile, taking the clothes, thanking her for the food. He dressed right there in front of her, and then he sat down and obediently ate the meal.

There was no reason not to. The food wasn't drugged, as he had at first suspected. It was Sarafina's blood that drugged her prisoners, and he'd had enough of it to understand that now. He craved her. It was like a hole in his gut that only she could fill.

But he would never let her own his soul the way she owned Misty's and Edward's. He could not be broken.

Not ever.

The breakfast consisted of sausage so perfectly seasoned it must have been imported, an omelet oozing with cheese and mushrooms and ham, thinly sliced fried potatoes, seasoned with bits of onion and green pepper, freshly ground, freshly brewed coffee, and a pastry so delicate it nearly floated from the tray. It was delicious, all of it, and his stomach was beyond empty. He relished the food, wondering if the other meals had been this good and regretting that he'd refused them.

Only the best for Sarafina's pets, he thought as he ate.

Misty lingered. He was certain she must be under orders from "the Mistress" to watch him and report back. So he ate with enthusiasm, keeping that dumb-ass blank expression on his face, except to smile wanly every now and then, and compliment her on the food.

When he finished, she picked up the tray, no longer wary of getting too close to him. "It's good to see you feeling better, Willem. I told you everything would be all right. Our lady loves us. And you most of all, I think."

"What makes you think that?"

She shrugged. "She was weeping when she went to her rest. I've never seen the Mistress weep before. At first I thought you'd harmed her in some way, but when I asked, she nearly took my head off. Said if Edward or I harmed a hair on your body we'd spend the rest of our lives regretting it."

He took all that in, knowing it was insane of him to believe that Sarafina was still harboring some trace of the girl she had been. The one he had fallen in love with, even when he was just a voice in her mind.

He closed his eyes, remembering everything that had happened between them the night before. She'd fed from him as if he were prey and she was a hunter. She'd mounted him and worked him as if he were little more than a sex toy she'd purchased to pleasure herself.

But when she'd kissed him...all that had changed.

Her pace had slowed, her movements becoming languid and almost...tender. Definitely needy. He could feel everything she felt, and he thought maybe she could feel what he was experiencing, too. The way she took him deeper when he needed to go deeper. The way she moved still faster when he neared release. The way she took him to the hilt at the moment when he exploded inside her. And she did, too. He felt her shuddering climax as powerfully as he had felt his own. And she had still been kissing him.

Loving him.

He'd felt it.

Or was that just the power of her blood working its dark magic inside him?

He had never had sex that intense. Never.

And in spite of everything, he wanted her again.

Misty left him alone, returning later with a selection of books. Edward showed up a short while after that with a portable television set.

They were buying it.

But would she?

The day passed at a snail's pace. He plugged the television set into the wall, managed to maneuver the rabbit ears until he got a viewable picture, and passed the time answering game show questions and critiquing the acting skills of soap stars. When that grew too monotonous, he dug through the books.

And finally night fell and he sensed her coming. He didn't hear her, which was odd. He didn't have a clock to go by, but he knew she was coming to him. He felt it.

Jesus, maybe her blood really was having some effect on his anatomy.

His chains didn't suddenly begin winding up, dragging him to the bed to be held there by a short leash. Apparently her drones had informed her of the change in his attitude. Not that she had much reason to be afraid of him anyway. The woman was as strong as he was-stronger, though he hated to admit that. And even if she hadn't been-hell, he couldn't have hurt her if he'd tried. And that wasn't the blood. That was a preexisting condition.

His door was unlocked and opened. She stood there wearing a red satin robe. She hadn't even dressed yet. He almost smiled, thinking maybe she wanted a repeat of last night. But then he forced his face to be expressionless and simply stared at her, pretending to adore her as mindlessly as her whipped puppies did.

"My beautiful lady," he said, his voice soft. "I've been so alone without you."

She blinked in surprise, and he thought he saw a hint of suspicion in the bend of her brows. She was beautiful. God, he'd never seen a woman as beautiful. But she was not convinced.

He fell to his knees, bending low to press his lips to her feet. Soft, pale skin, cool to the touch. She smelled clean, freshly bathed. For him? The thought made him hot. He slid his mouth around to her ankles, kissing a path up her calf to the hollow behind her knee.

"Enough, of that. Get to your feet, Willem. If you think I am so easily fooled, you should think again."

He got to his feet, keeping his head lowered. "I'm sorry. Please don't be angry with me."

She narrowed her eyes on him, studying his face. He thought she was trying to read his mind, but he remembered Jameson Bryant saying he couldn't make that particular trick work on Will. That he had his thoughts naturally blocked. He hoped that was the case with her, as well.

Her frown of frustration hinted that it might be.

"So you're my servant now. Is that what you'd have me believe?"

"Your devoted servant."

"And how do you feel about me?"

"I adore you, Sarafina. I love you with everything in me." His stomach knotted when he said it. He tried to ignore that.

She paced the floor, circling him, tapping one finger against her chin in thought. "How shall I put you to the test?" She stopped behind him, and he could feel her eyes boring into his back. He waited, knowing he had to make this convincing. Obey her without question, though it would grate on him to do so.

"Your mistress is hungry, Willem."

Will closed his eyes. Jesus, not that. Not again. It made him lose his mind to wanting her, and it left him weak and barely able to function.

Still, he lifted his hands to the front of his shirt, ripped it open and turned to face her. "Then drink," he told her.

She came closer, watching his face closely, waiting, he knew, for him to flinch or shrink back or in any way indicate resistance. He gave her none. In fact, when she bent her head to his chest, he threaded his fingers into her hair and urged her forward. She touched his skin with her cool, damp lips, and he shivered. How he could be so turned on by a woman he had every reason to hate was beyond him. Her mouth opened wide on his chest, and he whispered, "Do it. Drink me, Sarafina."

Fangs pierced his skin just below the collarbone, cutting, but not too deeply. Then they withdrew, and she lapped the blood up with her tongue. His entire body shuddered with awareness and need.

"Now your turn." She stepped away from him, just a little. His jaw was set as he fought the sensations this woman could bring to life in him. He tried not to shake visibly and battled the urge to just fling her down on the bed and take her, force her to drop the dominatrix act and admit that she was as wild for him as he was for her. That she loved him.

Sarafina drew a tiny blade across her palm, leaving a trail of scarlet beads in its wake. She offered it to him, but when he reached for her hand, his stomach knotting with hunger, she drew it away. "Not until I say. This is a test of your obedience, after all." She studied him, watching for the slightest hint of temper. "On your knees."

He didn't hesitate. He dropped to his knees. The awkward landing hurt his bad foot, and he winced, then saw her notice it. She offered her palm again, and he took it in both of his chained hands, drew it to his mouth. Told himself to pretend not to be revolted and realized he didn't need to pretend. He licked the blood, kissed the palm repeatedly, and licked some more.

Her breathing quickened. Good. She should be affected. Hell, every taste was sending shock waves jolting through his entire body.

He wanted to devour her, but he was still in control. He recalled what Jameson Bryant had told him about the way a vampire would bleed to death from a minor wound. So he drew his head away, removed Ms shirt and tore a strip from it with his teeth. Then he took her hand again, gently wrapping it, tying a knot, sealing it with a kiss. "You should be more careful, Sarafina. You cut too deeply."

Trembling, her hand moved through his hair. "And you would care if I were to die before sunrise?"

Slowly he rose to his feet, slid his arm around her waste. "I would die, too, if you did."

She didn't pull away, only stared into his eyes as he lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her. He kissed her deeply, tenderly. He didn't ravage or demand, the way every cell in his body wanted to do. He kissed her like a devoted slave, asking, pleasing, utterly selfless. And when he finally lifted his head away, he stared intently into her black eyes and whispered, "I love you."

Sarafina jerked out of his arms, spinning around to put her back to him. "You must never say that!"

Why?

He moved closer, slid his hands over her shoulders. "I've made you angry. I'm sorry. If it distresses you to hear those words, I'll never say them again."

"See to it you don't."

He lowered his head to kiss her neck. "Let me please you. I can balm your soul like nothing else can. If you would allow it...?"

She said nothing. Instead she stood as she was, moving only her arms to slide the robe from her shoulders. It pooled at her feet. She wore nothing else.

Will traced the curve of her spine with his fingers and then with his lips. Oh, yes. She thought she was in complete control, didn't she? That she'd made him a mindless drone like those other two zombies she had sleepwalking around this mausoleum? But she was wrong. He dropped to his knees. She liked him on his knees, didn't she? He kissed her buttocks, which was no doubt exactly what she had in mind, though perhaps not so literally. Then he gripped her hips, and he turned her around.

Her ringers tangled in his hair as he spread her open with his thumbs and fed from her in a far different way. Her head fell backward, and her hands clutched his head as he made her entire body shiver and quake. He kept feeding as he pushed her backward, until her legs hit the bed and she tumbled down onto it, her legs still over the side. He pushed them wider and burrowed deeper, kept pushing her, eating her, wishing he could go on until there was nothing left. Everything left his mind except for her, her taste, her scent, the sounds she was making as he pushed her beyond endurance. And then she screamed his name, mashing his face into her so deeply he could barely breathe, nor did he care, as he obediently lapped her juices. Then, just as suddenly, she shoved him away with so much force he skidded across the floor until he ran out of chain.

She sprang from the bed and followed, looking hungry, predatory. "Get those pants off," she whispered.

And he did, quickly, had them off before she reached him. It was a good thing, because she mounted him immediately. As she moved, her breasts bounced in front of his face, so he caught one in his mouth and suckled her. She liked his mouth, he could tell, so he kept using it, until she was crying out again, spasming around him, and he was pouring into her.

She fell forward, her teeth sinking into his throat. She drank, and she drank some more.

God, how far was she going to go?

He was getting dizzy. Weakening. Jesus, would she do him in this time? His hands moved to her chest as if to push her away, but he stopped himself. That would blow his cover. He had to play this thing through to the end, carry the bluff to the very edge.

"Take it all, Sarafina. I'll gladly die in your arms tonight."

It worked. The sucking at his neck stopped, and Sarafina jerked her head upright. He stared up at her, saw the sudden hint of panic widening her dark eyes. She pressed a hand to the wounds in his throat, cursing under her breath.

He let his head slump to the side, let his eyes close to mere slits. He could have forced them open wider, but they wanted to close anyway, and it couldn't hurt the situation.

"Willem," she whispered. "God, what have I done?"

She climbed off him, quickly fetching her robe and pulling it on. Tying the sash and giving it a brutal tug, she went to the door and jerked it open. "Edward, Misty!"

The two came quickly. Will heard their footsteps- though they seemed more distant than they should.

"What's happened to him, my lady?" Misty asked.

"That's none of your business," Sarafina snapped. Then, in a softer tone, "I never meant...just get him into the bed. And remove the chains. Here. Here is the key." She started out of the room, then turned. "Watch over him tonight. He'll need fluids. If he dies, there will be hell to pay."

"Yes, ma'am," Edward said. "Don't you worry, we'll see to it."

The door closed.

Will felt his lips pull into an almost smile. Great. The bluff had worked. He felt Edward's grip on his shoulders, felt himself hauled upward, and then the bed was underneath his back. Covers were tugged over him, and Misty, he thought, because of the softness of her hands, dabbed something soft and moist against the wounds in his neck.

"He's awfully pale," she whispered.

"He must have displeased the Mistress," Edward replied. "No doubt he deserved it."

"If he displeased her, she wouldn't want his chains removed." Even as she said it, he heard the rattle of a key, a tugging at his wrist. The manacle slipped away. While she moved to the other side of the bed to free his other hand, Will began to plan his escape. This was going to be easy. Escaping from that nest of vipers in that desert cave made this little challenge look like child's play. Sarafina wasn't half as good as she thought she was. And he was going to beat her at her own game.

Just as soon as he woke up.