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Luka’s laughter still hung in the night air when Shadow attacked from behind, his jaw clamping on Luka’s neck and changing his laughter to howls. Shadow took his quarry to the ground, biting and tearing at Luka.

Taking advantage of the disruption of his power, Richelle opened the door and flew out of the car to try and help Jonathon.

Pieter twisted Jonathon’s hand until the dagger fell from his grip and landed on the cement with a heartbreaking clink just as Richelle rushed over and tried to pull his hand from Jonathon’s throat.

“Let him go, you monster!” Richelle screamed as she tried desperately to loosen the hold he had on Jonathon, but she didn’t have the strength.

Jonathon struggled to speak, but his words came out as piteous gurgles.

Pieter grinned evilly and probed Jonathon’s final thoughts. His laugh was a vile cackle, revealing how truly treacherous he was by nature.

“You truly are a fool to fall in love with your friend Valya’s woman.”

Jonathon closed his eyes as Richelle continued to pull at Pieter’s hand to pry his fingers loose and free Jonathon. “Know this, you pathetic excuse of existence,” Pieter sneered. “Neither you nor Valya will have Richelle. She is

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to become the Mistress of Tower of the Red Dragon. She will become Luka’s bride, fulfilling his every sexual desire while Valya watches on, unable to protect or save her. Valya will die and Richelle will become the instrument of destruction as Luka takes his rightful place as Ruler of the World.”

Pieter pulled Jonathon in closer, almost nose to nose. Richelle could smell the foul scent of death lingering on his breath.

“And, as for you, you wanted to give Richelle your heart. Let me help you.” Pieter’s condescending tone made his words ugly, but not as ugly or as loathsome as his meted actions.

Releasing Jonathon’s wrist, he pulled his arm back, his fingers coming together to form a point, and with the speed of a bullet, he drove his hand into Jonathon’s chest. Blood splattered over Richelle’s face and arms. Her screams of horror joined Jonathon’s screams of agony. Pieter dug his hand in deeper, twisting it around before he ripped Jonathon’s heart out. He held it out to Richelle, an offensive and sickening gift.

Richelle continued to scream, fisting her hands in her hair while she backed away from Pieter. Unable to put up her mind blocks quick enough, she felt every agonizing and tortuous moment of Jonathon’s murder. She could do nothing to prevent it and nothing to save him. She tripped and fell, landing on her derriere as she tried to back away from the abominable scene.

Pieter’s attention was now focused on Richelle. Without a thought, he tossed aside Jonathon’s lifeless body as if it were nothing more than yesterday’s trash. He held out his hand, the mass of muscle still beating as he offered it to Richelle.

“Take it, Richelle,” he jeered. “It is his heart he wanted so desperately for you to have.”

She continued to back away along the ground as Pieter advanced with Jonathon’s heart held out in front of him.

“You don’t want it?”
Pieter jeered. He pulled his hand back, bringing the heart toward his face.
“Ah, well. To the victor of the hunt go the spoils.”

He drew back his lips and sank his fangs into the heart she had rejected, taking the last of Jonathon’s pure life spirit as sustenance, relishing the surge of malevolent energy he found in the taking of an innocent’s life.

She screamed, scrambled to her feet, and turned to run away. As she reached the car, she was met by another horrific sight. Luka was bent over

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her limp black wolf, his fangs fastened ruthlessly to his neck. Shadow’s legs were still twitching as Luka gorged himself on her beloved companion. She screamed in revulsion, drawing Luka’s attention as he released his hold on Shadow. He leered at her, his face covered in blood.

“You are mine.”

She turned the other way to escape, but ran into Pieter’s large frame and was engulfed by his massive arms. The pain caused by his touch and all his degenerative thoughts and emotions battering her mind in an unrelenting barrage blinded her. She was so overcome by the onslaught of horrid images, she was barely aware of Luka’s presence behind her until his hand snatched her by the hair, yanking her head back and baring her throat to him.

Like a viper, his fangs slashed through the delicate tissue where her neck and shoulder blade connected. Gripping Pieter’s biceps, her fingernails raked against the sinewy muscles as she endured the lacerating torture and cruelty from her faceless attacker. Her feeble attempts to break free from Luka’s bite resulted only in his tightening his grip as he voraciously fed on her heated blood.

Her thoughts turned to Valya while she suffered the sadistic passion and excruciating pain of Luka’s bite, trying to block out her captor’s spiteful intentions. Visions of Luka touching her, replacing Valya as her lover, were more than she could stand. She tried to hold onto the remembrances of their love, imagining that it was Valya touching her, loving her, taking her blood.

As the agony of being held by the two dark demons became more than she could bear, she was overcome by an unnatural languor. Bright lights burned behind her eyelids, and she succumbed to the pain, collapsing into blessed oblivion.

The last image she saw was Pieter’s face covered with the blood of one of the finest men she had ever known.

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Richelle awoke slowly, feeling a bit dazed and lightheaded, like she had been asleep for a week. Sitting up in the bed, she tentatively ran her hand over the ache on the side of her neck. She felt two puncture wounds, the skin around them being extremely tender.

She sat up with a start to find herself in a large ornate bed with lewd and lascivious carvings along the heavy headboard. She rubbed her temples as she tried to remember where she was and how she got there. For that matter, she tried to remember who she was. This whole scene seemed surreal, like déjà vu as she struggled with jumbled thoughts that held no rhyme or reason.

Feeling cold, she looked down and, with a gasp, grabbed a corner of the sheet to cover her chest. The blood red sheets looked obscene against her alabaster skin, but she had no choice but to wrap them around her as she was naked, her clothes nowhere to be seen. But she did notice some flitting about in the shadows by faceless figures.

“Who’s there?” she yelled, scooting back against the headboard nervously. Three young women emerged from the shadows. They were all voluptuous, exotic beauties, although there was an eerie, haunting quality to their attractiveness that left her unsettled.

“Why, it’s only us, my dear,” the blonde said. Her voice was as soft as silk, but it still grated Richelle’s nerves.

“Who are you?” she asked, not really wanting to know.

“We serve the master,” the brunette responded.

“Yes, the master,” the redhead chimed in. She came over and began stroking Richelle’s hair. Richelle flinched away, not wanting to be touched by any of them. But they closed ranks around her, crowding her. “We are here to serve you.”

“Serve you.”

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“By the master’s command.”

“His command,” they all echoed.

They kept touching her hair, stroking her skin with cold fingers that felt like spiders crawling on her skin.

“You are very lovely, my dear.”

“Yes, very lovely,” the brunette said as she leaned in and kissed Richelle’s cheek. Her lips were ice cold.

“You will become our sister.”

“Our sister,” the redhead repeated. She licked Richelle from cheek to temple while her blonde counterpart kneeled on the edge of the bed, leaning into Richelle, who retreated as far away as she could. She pressed hard against the carvings, trying to avoid their intimate touches.

“What’s the matter, my dear?” the blonde asked as her hand caressed Richelle’s cheek. “Don’t you like us?”

“We like you.”

“Yes, we like you very much,” the redhead agreed, her hot breath singeing Richelle’s neck. The brunette reached out and fondled Richelle’s breast through the sheet. Drawing back, Richelle smacked the hand away and then slapped the redhead.

“Get away from me!”

All three backed away, hissing and baring their fangs. The blonde snatched Richelle by the throat as Richelle clutched at her fingers, trying to pull the icy claw away.

“What
is
the matter, my dear?” the blonde rasped gravelly. “Don’t you like us?”

“Don’t worry,” the brunette continued leaning in. Grabbing Richelle’s chin, her blood red nails scraped and scratched Richelle’s delicate skin.

“You will like us in a moment.”

Richelle fought, struggling as the three Vampyres converged, their mouths gaping open. Their fangs descended to chafe her neck but before they could draw any blood, they were stilled by a booming voice that shook the castle’s stone walls.

“Stop!”

Cringing in fear, they slunk away to hide in the shadows, and Richelle warily eyed the figure approaching her. His face was unknown, still hidden by the shadows, but the silhouette of his form was familiar. With

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confidence, he strode about the room, his long hair swaying with each step.

His broad chest and shoulders tapered down to a narrow waist and hips. His masculine saunter kindled a forgotten memory, which in turn sparked a hidden desire in her womb as she peered into the shadows trying to recognize who was approaching.

As he emerged from the shadows, the dim lighting illuminated his image. His golden blond hair and light blue eyes were highlighted by the candlelight. But it added no warmth. She could fell the chilly air emanating from him even at the distance separating them. The air grew icier with every step he took until he stood over her, his presence enveloping her in an arctic embrace.

He was not what she expected. The right size, the right build, but it wasn’t golden lights and blue eyes that warmed her. It was the haunting dreams of a dark-haired, dark-eyed stranger, but not a stranger, that made her face grow hot with an intimate familiarity, beguiling her.

“Did you sleep well, Richelle?”

“You know me,” she stammered. She started to fidget, uncomfortable with his presence. She searched her fragmented memories for some hint of recollection but could find none.

He chuckled sardonically as he came closer, taking a loose tendril of her hair and wrapping it around his finger to pull her face toward him. Richelle jerked her head, attempting to pull her curl free, but all she accomplished was to pull her hair. Winding the curl around his finger one more time, he yanked on it to pull her face up, meeting his gaze.

“You are mine,” he stated coldly.

You are mine…you are mine…you are mine.
The words echoed in her mind as she recalled abrupt flashes of scattered memories, images of unspeakable brutality and bloody carnage. And Jonathon…gone. Her eyes welled with tears at the loss of her friend. She had known him for such a short time, and he had given his life for her.

Another life gone. Because of her. Her heart ached in anguish.

“Why did you kill him? Jonathon was no threat to you.”

“He stood in my way. He dared to keep from me what was mine.”

Richelle stuck her chin out defiantly. “I am not yours.”

She prayed to the Goddess for help as she strained to fill in the missing pieces in her memories. Her prayer was answered when the stirring visage

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of a man with dark hair permeated her mind. She felt his dark eyes enter and burrow into her soul.
Valya’s
dark eyes.

Luka had said Valya was dead. But in her heart she knew he wasn’t. She could still feel his life’s energy. It was weak and distant. But she felt it growing in strength. He was alive! And he would come for her. Until then, she would need to find a way to get away from Luka.

As she was drawn into Luka’s circle of malevolent wickedness

poisoning her mind, the memory of her Guardian wrapped her in security and comfort. Even as this immoral spirit drew closer, his thoughts an open book revealing the insidious plans he had for her and for all mankind, she felt no pain. She felt no fear. His rancid breath blew into her face as he spoke to her.

“I am Luka cel Rau, master of Tower of the Red Dragon. And you are mine.”

“I belong to no one but myself,” she asserted calmly, although she trembled inside as she spoke the words. “Release me.”

Luka threw his head back and laughed. When he lowered his gaze to meet hers, his eyes were filled with such hate he nearly broke through the wall of composure encompassing her. Fisting his hand in her hair, he yanked her head back to bare her throat to him.

Luka stroked her throat. Richelle closed her eyes to fight back the revulsion, shivering slightly from his icy touch. He leaned in and licked her wound, his tongue leaving trails of frostbite along her tender, sensitive skin.

She balled her hands into fists as the sheet slipped away to reveal her nakedness, displaying her like a sacred sacrifice to Luka’s avaricious and marauding needs.

“You are divine, aren’t you, Richelle?” he ground out hoarsely. He continued to lick and taste her skin as his hand came up and crudely grasped her breast. She twisted away from his touch. He just snickered at her discomfort.

“Please,” she moaned softly. “Release me. If there is anything good left within you, anything Immortal left, then please release me.”

Luka pulled back. His brow creased in confusion, in uncertainty. It was only a moment before it faded to be replaced by an unsympathetic scowl. He

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growled pulling her head back farther, raising himself to loom over her restrained position.

He sneered at the tears escaping from the corners of her eyes to trail down her cheeks.

“Release me!” she screamed. “Never!”

“Valya will come for me and he will stop you.”