Crimson flames swept through the chamber as the women continued to chant, hovering in the thick air before surrounding the screaming woman upon the floor. Then, just as abruptly as they had appeared, the flames melted into the woman's flesh.
Abruptly the gray-haired woman turned her head toward a darkened corner.
"The prophecy is fulfilled. Bring forth the beast."
Expecting some horrid, five-headed monster that would fit right into the bizarre nightmare, Abby caught her breath as a man attired in a ruffled white shirt and satin knee breeches was brought forward, a heavy metal collar and chain hung about his neck. His head was bowed, allowing his long raven hair to cover his face, but that didn't halt a shiver of premonition from inching down Abby's spine.
"Creature of evil, you have been chosen above all others," the woman intoned. "Wicked is your heart and yet blessed are you. We pledge you to the Chalice. In fire and blood we bind you. In the shadow of death we bind, you. Through eternity and beyond we bind you."
The torch suddenly flared, and with a terrifying growl, the man lifted his head.
No. It was not possible. Not even in the strange and ridiculous world of dreams. Especially not ones that felt so horrifyingly real.
Still, there was no mistaking his terrifying beauty. Or the smoldering silver eyes.
Dante.
She shuddered in horror. This was madness. Why would these women have him chained? Why would they call him a monster? A creature of evil?
Madness, indeed. A dream. Nothing more, she attempted to convince herself.
Then without warning, the unease tracing her spine turned to consuming terror. In pure fury, Dante tilted hack his head, the perfect alabaster features bathed in flickering light. The same flickering light that revealed his long, deadly fangs.
When Abby at last woke again, the silver fog, and the sharpest edges of her pain, had disappeared.
Still, with uncommon caution, she forced herself to remain perfectly motionless. After the day she had already endured, now didn't seem to be the best time to be charging and blundering about in her usual style. Instead she attempted to take stock of her surroundings.
She was lying upon a bed, she at last decided. Not her own bed, however. This one was hard and lumpy and possessed a funky scent she didn't even want to consider. In the distance, she could hear the sounds of passing traffic and, closer, the muffled sound of voices or perhaps a television.
Well, she wasn't in Selena's charred house. She was no longer in a damp dungeon with screaming women and demons. And she wasn't dead.
That was surely progress?
Screwing up her courage, Abby slowly lifted her head from the pillow and glanced about the shad-owed room. There wasn't much to see. The bed she was lying upon consumed most of the cramped space. About her were bare walls and the ugliest flowered curtains ever created. At the end of the bed was a broken dresser that held an ancient television, and in the corner was a shabby chair.
A chair that was currently occupied by a large, raven-haired man.
Or was he a man?
Her heart squeezed with a building dread as her gaze swept over the slumbering Dante. God. She would have to be demented to think what she was thinking.
Vampires? Living and breathing… or whatever it was that vampires did… in Chicago? Nuts. Full-out, engines-roaring madness.
But the dream. It had been so vivid. So real. Even now she could smell the foul, damp air and the acrid burning of the torch. She could hear the screams and chanting. She could hear the rattling of heavy chains. She could see Dante being pulled forward and the fangs that marked him as a beast.
Real or not, it had unnerved her enough to desire a bit of space between her and Dante. And perhaps several crosses, a few wooden stakes, and a bottle of holy water.
Barely daring to breathe, Abby sat upright and swung her legs over the edge of the mattress. Her head threatened to revolt, but she gritted her teeth and pushed herself upward. She wanted out of here.
She wanted to be in her familiar home, surrounded by her familiar things.
She wanted out of this nightmare.
Taking one unsteady step followed by another and another, Abby moved across the room. She was just upon the point of reaching for the doorknob when there was the faintest whisper of sound behind her. The hair on the nape of her neck tingled before a pair of steely arms wrapped about her.
"Not so fast, lover," a dark voice murmured directly in her ear.
For a moment her mind went blank, and she was paralyzed with fear. Then sheer panic took control.
Arching her back, she frantically attempted to kick at his legs. "Let me go. Let go."
"Go?" His arms merely tightened at her struggles. 'Tell me, sweet, where do you plan to go?"
'That's none of your business."
Surprisingly he gave a short, humorless laugh. "My God, you don't know how I wish that were true. We were both released, do you realize that? We were free. The chains were broken."
Abby stilled at his rough, accusing words. "What do you mean?"
He brushed his face over the top of her head in an oddly intimate manner before he was firmly turning her to meet his shimmering gaze.
"I mean that if you had kept that beautiful nose out of matters that are none of your business, we both could have gone upon our merry way. Now, because of your Florence Nightingale act, where you go, what you do, what you bloody well think is now very much my business."
What the hell was he talking about? Unconsciously her wide gaze skimmed over the perfect alabaster features. The last thing she needed was more trouble.
'You're insane. Let me go or—"
"Or what?" he demanded in silky tones.
Good question. A pity she didn't have a brilliant answer.
"I… I'll scream."
The dark brows lifted in sardonic amusement. "And do you truly want to discover just what sort of hero is going to rush to your rescue in this place? Who do you think it will be? The local crackheads? The whores working the lobby? You know, I'd place my money on the drunk next door. There was a definite hint of rape in the air when I carried you past him in the hall."
Suddenly Abby understood the cramped room, the vile smells, and the echoes of despair. Dante had taken her to one of the endless seedy hotels that catered to the poor and desperate.
She might have shivered in disgust if it hadn't been the least of her worries.
"They couldn't be any worse than you."
He stiffened at her accusation, his expression guarded. "Rather harsh words for the man who might very well have saved your life."
"Man? Is that what you are?"
"What did you say?"